Boi Bride Read online

  Taryn stared back at him with his eyes still wide and his lips glistening with saliva. He wiped them on his sleeve and broke free of Soren’s hold. Reluctantly, Soren allowed it. He stuffed his dick back into his trousers, aware that his erection hadn’t fully abated. His desire for his bride wasn’t easily satisfied, apparently. An apology rose within as he balled up his handkerchief and tossed it aside. The words stuck on his tongue and never came out because notwithstanding his bride’s actions, the boy’s cock was still stiff within his skirts.

  Soren stood with a smile. “Let me ease your ache, my dear.” He took a step forward.

  Taryn took a step back. “No. It’s nothing. I don’t want you to touch me.”

  That assertion made Soren rather sad. “Please believe me when I say that your need is perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of.” He took another step closer and tried to take hold of his bride once more.

  Taryn ducked away with surprising speed and raced back to the convoy, and Soren could do little more than follow. By the time he caught up, Sam was already helping him back into the carriage. As much as Soren wanted to join his bride and press the issue, he knew that would be worse. The soldiers were watching him, knowing looks on their faces, but nothing malicious. As he’d told Taryn, they were happy for their prince and understanding that he was newly married. If he chased Taryn into the carriage, they’d know something was wrong, and that wasn’t good for anyone.

  Reluctantly, he plastered a cocky smile on his face and joined Rolf where the man held his horse’s reins for him. He’d known him too long and trusted him too much to put up a front with him. He conveyed with his expression that he was both satisfied and frustrated, before swinging into the saddle.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Three

  “Would you like more water, your grace, or another slice of bread and cheese?”

  Taryn shook his head while staring out of the window. “No, thank you. You have fed my hunger wonderfully, and I dare not drink more, not knowing when our next stop will be.” That was mostly the truth, but disturbingly not the whole of it. He didn’t want anything to wash away the lingering taste of Soren in his mouth. Or at least, he felt as if it were there. They had resumed their journey some time before, and he’d downed several cups of water. There really couldn’t be any of Soren’s tangy cum left. Still, he could conjure the memory of what little he’d experienced without any effort. And it felt as if the man’s large cock remained sitting heavily on Taryn’s tongue.

  He should be furious over how his husband had insisted he suck his dick—and part of him was. But there was no denying that he’d also known a moment of disappointment when Soren had elected to come in a piece of cloth instead of inside Taryn’s mouth. That brief taste of a few drops of cum had left him hungry for more. And his own dick pulsed at the thought of it. The book he’d placed on his lap when he’d first returned to the carriage remained fixed there. He couldn’t bear the thought of Sam seeing him aroused. Did the squire know what had transpired out in those woods? Probably. All Soren’s soldiers must, the lot of them being far more experienced than he about what could transpire between two men.

  Hobart’s incessant taunts rattled around in his head. “Prissy little cocksucker. Why don’t you put on a dress and service the longhouse guards? You know you want to.” Well, Taryn’s brother was stupid about so many things, but in this, he’d proven to be prescient. Here Taryn sat, wearing a lovely gown and with the stark memory of sucking another man’s dick fresh in his mind. He should feel worse about it than he did. Instead, he wondered if he might end up on his knees again before the day was out—the thought of it not repulsing him as it should.

  “I’ll gladly return the favor.” Had Soren meant it? He’d seemed sincere. It was hard to picture the commanding prince kneeling between Taryn’s legs and taking his cock into what must be a warm, snug place and sucking, and sucking… Taryn started, straightening from where he’d been resting his head against the side of the carriage. His cock and balls ached. He had to mash the book against his lap to get them under control.

  “Are you all right, your grace?” Sam’s eyes held no hint of teasing, only genuine concern. He’d put away the basket of food and was sewing the bodice of a green gown.

  Taryn cleared his surprisingly tight throat. “Yes, thank you. I must have dozed off for a few seconds.”

  Sam smiled as he returned to his task. “That’s easy to do. The journey is long and tedious, and the swaying of the carriage can put one to sleep quickly.”

  “Yes,” Taryn agreed vaguely, not sure if had been the movement or the memories that had overwhelmed him so. Needing to change the subject of his own thoughts if nothing more, he asked a question he already knew the answer to simply to make conversation. “Is that another of the traveling dresses for me?”

  “Yes, your grace. I altered a shift for you to sleep in tonight, and this will be done for tomorrow.”

  “You needn’t put yourself to such bother. The shift I have on will serve me well enough tonight and with a little airing, this gown will be fine to wear again tomorrow.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh no, your grace. It would be worth my hide if the dowager queen learned that I’d let you wear the same thing two days in a row.”

  His own disturbing and conflicting thoughts about Soren forgotten, Taryn leaned forward. “Would she really have you whipped?” The idea that his new in-laws were cruelly demanding didn’t sit well with him. He’d somewhat hoped that he at least headed to a place not filled with fear as much as his father’s domain.

  Sam smiled. “No, your grace. I exaggerate. Although, believe me, you don’t want to be on the other end of Queen Margrette’s cutting tongue.” The boy shook his head as he focused on a row of stitches. “The entire royal family is well-loved by Moorcondians. They are wise and just rulers.” He snapped his thread with his teeth and peered with obvious judgment at his work. “Prince Soren in particular is revered by his men. To a man, if he told them to jump off a cliff, they would do so without hesitation, knowing that he would only give an order that was necessary for the greater good.”

  The squire held up the top half of the dress for Taryn to see. “There, your grace. I altered this the same as I did for the one you’re wearing. I think the fit is good. Are you happy with it?”

  It was on the tip of Taryn’s tongue to say ‘no’ but that wouldn’t be fair to the boy. He wasn’t the one who had insisted on Taryn wearing a gown. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

  Even as he said the words, Taryn wondered if he was truly expected to dress like a woman for the rest of his life or would everyone stop trying to pretend that he was Alissa. Despite Hobart’s baiting, it wasn’t the case that Taryn believed himself to be female. It was only that he was drawn to other men. Among the Marshers, that was a forbidden desire, no matter the reason why. Yet Soren and these other Moorcondians acted as if it were nothing of concern. Was that truly the case, that men lying with other men was acceptable, or did they too think Taryn was a woman born with the wrong anatomy?

  Clearly pleased with Taryn’s approval, Sam laid the dress on his lap and pulled out more thread. “Now, I need to redo the waist. I should have time before we stop for the night.”

  “When do you think that will be?” He hadn’t lied to Soren when he’d said he was sore. No matter how much he shifted his weight, his hole ached as if Soren’s cock were still embedded in it. That thought made his own dick perversely twitch with interest. He pushed the book down harder again and focused on listening to Sam’s answer. It helped to distract him from his own traitorous body.

  “Well before sundown, I should say. But the prince won’t want to stop until we’ve met up with the others.”

  Taryn furrowed his brow. “What others?”

  Now Sam looked flustered. “Oh, um, the rest of the prince’s men. He, ah, left them nearby in case…”

  “The offer of a treaty was a trap,” Taryn finished, easing the boy’s obv
ious embarrassment.

  Sam ducked his head to concentrate on his work and to not look Taryn in the eye. “Yes, your grace. The prince is a brilliant tactician, always planning for all eventualities. He meant nothing by it, I’m sure, merely being cautious.”

  Taryn shifted his gaze to stare out of the window again. “As someone who has known my father my entire life, I can’t fault the prince for his planning.” He didn’t trust the chieftain or Hobart, either, except for them to do whatever they thought was best for themselves. Even now, he wasn’t sure if they meant to uphold the treaty. As essentially the hostage against the Marshers’ good behavior, Taryn hoped so. He didn’t want to imagine his fate if not. But worrying about his family’s motives or next moves never did him any good, so he put the thoughts aside and let the carriage lull him to sleep once more.

  * * * *

  Taryn next woke when the carriage came to a stop. Sam had already packed away his sewing and leaned over to open the door next to Taryn. He didn’t get a chance to do more than put his fingers on the handle before it flew open. Soren reached in a large hand in a silent command. Taryn chose not to make an issue out of it and told himself that it was courtesy and he should appreciate it as such—so he took it. As soon as his foot hit the raised step, Soren let go and grabbed Taryn’s waist with both hands. The man swung him to the ground with ease. Compared to Soren’s large proportions, Taryn was nearly as small and light as a child. The difference in their power, both politically and physically, should have made him uneasy. In some ways it did, but out here in places he’d never ventured before, it also made him feel safe.

  “Thank you,” he said, shaking out his skirts. It was weird how easily he’d adapted to this new mode of dressing so quickly. He took a step forward and swayed.

  Soren clasped him by the shoulders to steady him. “Easy. Your body thinks it’s still in the carriage. I’ll walk you to where a rug is being laid for your comfort.”

  “I’m fine now, thank you.” Taryn tried to push Soren away, but he may as well have tried to move a mountain for all the good it did him.

  With his arm wrapped around Taryn’s shoulders, Soren steered him through the throng of soldiers, horses and the various servants running to and fro to set up camp. Taryn could see that a large encampment was already laid out as far as his eyes could see. It was here, near a small lake, that Soren took him, so that by the time they reached their destination, he was cocooned within the army, well-guarded, although whether to keep him from leaving or being harmed was hard to tell. These new men were getting their first look at the prince’s ‘bride’, and they weren’t shy about their curiosity. Taryn made himself stand tall, knowing better than to show his discomfort and trepidation. Powerful men always took advantage of any weakness.

  The waiting men greeted Soren respectfully but also with open affection. He, in turn, returned the salutations, calling out many by name. Taryn could see the truth in Sam’s words about the loyalty these men had for their prince. By the time they arrived at a large rug spread out with pillows by the water’s edge, Taryn’s tension had eased. Everyone was too obviously happy for him to worry over much. The night would likely pass without incident—if one didn’t count what Soren was going to do to him.

  Taryn craned his neck around. “Where is your tent?”

  “Still packed away. It takes too much time and effort to set it up only to tear it down again the next morning. We’ll sleep here on the rug with blankets to ward off the chill of the night.”

  The pile of the carpet was lush, and the pillows at one end were large and fluffy. There were no covers to be seen, yet, but the other squire, Tom, was busy setting up a low table. “Will we eat here?” Taryn asked as Soren took him to the mound of pillows.

  “Yes, the cook already set up here is likely nearly done preparing our dinner, given that I sent a man ahead to announce our imminent arrival.” Soren paused and turned Taryn to peer into his eyes. “I left these men here just in case…diplomacy fell apart.”

  Taryn freed himself from the hold. “You needn’t explain yourself to me. I understand what you did and why. Don’t forget I know my father far better than you do.” Sweeping his skirts aside in what was still an unfamiliar move, he sat with as much grace as he could. He was still holding his book, he realized and placed it back on his lap because his dick was trying to react to Soren’s recent touch, no matter how much Taryn fought it. There was no way he wanted Soren’s men to see his arousal. That thought led to another horrifying one—with no tent for privacy, was Soren going to fuck him out in the open for everyone to see and hear?

  Soren planted his long legs in front of him. “I must go and confer with my sub-commanders. I’ll be back to take my meal with you. Are you all right for now?”

  Taryn glared up at him. “Of course. I couldn’t be safer, surrounded by a thousand Moorcondian soldiers as I am.”

  Soren chuckled. “Not quite that many.” He crouched down and spoke in a low tone. “These are your men, now, Taryn. You are my duchess, and they are loyal to you as that.”

  Because the man’s gaze was so intense, Taryn had to look away. “If you say so.”

  On a sigh, Soren straightened and walked away. Taryn occupied his time by watching the goings-on around him. He had never been among so many men in his life. His father’s warriors were plentiful but had paid him little attention, which had been all to the good. These Moorcondians appeared to be fierce fighters, but they were also clean, where the Marshers were a dirty and disheveled lot, more often than not. Everyone moved with efficient purpose, as well. No petty fights broke out among them. Taryn even spied women sprinkled among the larger group as Soren had mentioned. His father would never tolerate female warriors, no matter how big and skilled they were.

  Sam appeared by his side with various pieces of cloth in hand. “Would you like to bathe after your long journey, your grace? There is plenty of hot water ready for you.”

  It was then that Taryn realized how dusty and sticky he felt. He stood. “That would be lovely, thanks. The lake will do well enough, however.”

  Sam looked aghast. “Oh, but, your grace, the water will be quite cold.”

  “That’s all right. I prefer a brisk bath, given how fuzzy my head is from all of that napping.” Taryn didn’t wait for the squire’s permission. He figured if he were truly a powerful duchess now, he could do as he liked, not what a servant wanted.

  Sam confirmed his instincts by scurrying after him. By the water’s edge, a row of men stood a few feet apart from each other, scanning the area. The squire overtook Taryn to approach a grizzled man who was built like a mountain.

  “Sir Francis, the duchess wishes to bathe in the lake. Please take appropriate steps.”

  The soldier grimaced before shouting. “Turn around and eyes forward, lads. The duchess is in need of privacy.”

  Taryn stopped at the very edge of the water and slipped off his half-boots, then waited for Sam to tackle the laces in back. “Why do they feel the need to do that? We are all men, after all. What difference does it make if they see me?”

  “You are the prince’s consort. Your modesty matters. He wouldn’t want any of his soldiers to see you naked.”

  Taryn rolled his eyes but said nothing more about it. It was almost comical how much everyone was determined to weave this fantasy that he was really a girl. But the water was so inviting that he put those thoughts aside and waded in as soon as he was stripped of his clothing. Thank the Gods his cock was mostly flaccid. The icy water ensured that it went completely limp. He was bracing to splash himself, and he longed for a quick swim, despite the coldness.

  “Please, your grace, don’t go too far.”

  Taryn glanced back at a worried Sam, who was undressing. “I’m a Marsher. I can swim almost as well as I can walk.”

  “I’m sure, your grace, but the prince—”

  “Wouldn’t like it. I understand.” Taryn had to be satisfied with wading to his thighs and sluicing water on his upper
body. He stood his ground, however, when a clearly uncomfortable Sam followed him with a bar of soap. “I’ll wash myself, thank you. Go back to the bank.” He made the order clear and firm, and the squire’s obvious relief mollified Taryn’s displeasure at his restrictions. At least he could have a positive impact on those beneath him.

  The sun was dipping quickly, however, so he didn’t linger. After a brief moment of indecision, he washed his hair as well. Once ashore, he let Sam rub him dry and pull a thick, opaque, white shift over his head. Then clean stockings and the half boots went on and finally a cloak was draped over his shoulders. He stood patiently while Sam wicked moisture from his hair, feeling refreshed and hungry.

  “Would it be all right if I comb and braid your hair back on the rug, your grace?”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s fine.” Long hair and braids on warriors were not unknown by his people, so he wasn’t opposed to the idea on the principle that it made him look more like a woman. The squire’s careful attention was quite soothing, actually, so that by the time Soren returned to his side, Taryn felt relaxed enough not to worry over the intrusion. The prince plopped down beside him, cross-legged. His hair was also wet, and he wore a casual tunic and trousers.

  “I bathed the dust off me in the lake,” the prince casually remarked. “I hear you did the same.”

  Of course, he had. Taryn doubted there was anything he could do that wouldn’t be noticed and reported on. He lifted his chin. “Yes, I did. That’s what the water is for. There was no need for anyone to go to the trouble of heating some. I don’t need coddling. I’m not a girl, and even if I were, I’m a Marsher and used to making do with what nature provides.”

  “I meant no admonishment, my dear.”