Prologue
Prologue
In a world where men are the princesses and the women are the knights; a great war rose between two Kingdoms.
BORDERLANDS OF FULCRUM
Grey ash drifts through a wind that tastes of salt and old iron. The landscape is a jagged scar of obsidian rock and dead scrub. Princess Stephano (22) stumbles through the haze. He is a vision of ruined elegance. He wears a short, puffy-sleeved pink bodice dress, once a masterpiece of silk and lace. Now, the fabric hangs in scorched ribbons. Blood, dark and viscous, has soaked the pale pink into a bruised crimson. A deep gash across his rib’s weeps through the corset’s tightening laces. Every breath is a battle against the restrictive bodice and the searing pain in his side. He clutches a shard of broken steel in his hand, his knuckles white. He stops. Ahead, the towering spires of the Kingdom of Fulcrum pierce the smog like needles. The walls are charcoal stone, imposing and cold. Stephano lets out a wet, rattling cough. He doesn’t turn back. There is nothing behind him but the corpses of his own guard and the scent of burning ozone. Two guards stand at the gate.
They are women, encased in heavy, matte-black plate armour that swallows the light. They hold halberds with practiced ease, their faces hidden behind steel visors. Stephano approaches. He doesn’t scream for mercy. He doesn’t beg. He simply walks until his legs give way. He hits the cobblestones with a heavy thud. The pink silk of his skirt flares out around him, a splash of wounded colour against the grey stone.
“Look at this. A stray bird from Aramark.” Said the 1st guard.
“He is barely breathing. Look at the dress. It is a slaughterhouse in lace.” Said the 2nd guard.
The 1st guard reaches down and grabs Stephano by the collar of his bodice, dragging him across the stone. Stephano’s head lolls, his eyes half-closed, watching the grey sky spin. The courtyard is a circle of oppressive silence. In the centre stands Princess Fenris (24).
Fenris is a striking contrast of cruelty and poise. He wears a violet bodice corseted dress. The sleeves are long and elegant, trailing down to his wrists. The skirt is a daring cut—short in the front to reveal polished black boots, and long in the back, flowing behind him like a royal cape of amethyst. He stands with his arms crossed, watching as the guard’s dump Stephano onto the floor at his feet. Fenris looks down.
His eyes travel from the shredded pink sleeves to the blood-soaked waist of the corset. A slow, predatory smile curls his lips.
“Oh, this is precious.”
Fenris circles the fallen princess, the hem of his violet dress sweeping the dust. He leans down, his voice a low, melodic purr.
“My mortal enemy has been brought before me bleeding out. Whoever wounded you, Princess, I must congratulate them. They have a wonderful eye for ruin. Stephano turns his head. His lips are cracked, stained with a hint of red. He glares up at Fenris with a spark of undying hatred.
“Shut up... and get it over... and done with already.”
Fenris freezes. He lets out a loud, visceral laugh that echoes off the stone walls. The sound is sharp, devoid of warmth.
“Oh! Eager to die, are we? I admire the enthusiasm. Truly.”
Fenris reaches for the hilt of the sword at his hip. The steel slides from the scabbard with a high, singing hiss. He holds the blade aloft, the edge shimmering. He steps over Stephano, the point of the sword hovering inches from Stephano’s throat. Stephano doesn’t flinch. He closes his eyes, waiting for the cold bite of the metal. The silence stretches. Fenris stares at the pulse jumping in Stephano’s neck. He looks at the way the pink fabric clings to the curve of the other man’s chest, the desperate rise and fall of his breath. Something shifts in Fenris’s expression.
The cruelty doesn’t vanish, but it is eclipsed by a sudden, sharp curiosity. He snaps his wrist, flicking the sword away from Stephano’s throat. Fenris turns to face his guards.
“Get my personal physician. Now.” The guards stiffen. The 1st guard looks at the sword, then at the dying princess.
“Your Highness? He is an Aramarkian. He is the enemy.”
Fenris turns on her. His eyes flash with a sudden, violent intensity.
“Do you find my commands optional?”
“No, Your Highness.” Replies the first guard.
“Then move before I decide your head looks better on a pike than on your shoulders! That goes for you too.”Said Fenris turning to face the 2nd guard.
“Go with her.” Said Fenris. The 2nd guard balks at this command.
“But Your Highness!” She tries to protest, but Fenris cuts her off.
“I won’t ask a second time.” Remarked Fenris with a snarl. The guards scramble away, their armour clanking in their haste. Minutes later The Royal Physician, an elderly man in a drab grey tunic, rushes into the courtyard. He stops dead when he sees the blood-soaked pink mess on the floor.
“Your Highness, I was told there was an emergency, but... this? This is Princess Stephano. I must protest.” Fenris looked the physician in-between the eyes.
“Do so and it will be you that I will kill today!”
Fenris roared. The physician jumps, nearly dropping his medical bag. Fenris steps into his space, the violet fabric of his dress brushing against the physician’s robes.
“Heal him. Now. Every scratch, every bleed. I want him conscious and whole.” Commanded Fenris
“But the risk, Sire—” The physician tries to protest.
“Heal him, or you will be the next one bleeding on my stones. The physician doesn’t argue a second time. He drops to his knees beside Stephano, frantically opening his bag. He begins to apply pressure to the wound in Stephano’s side, his hands shaking. Fenris stands back, watching. He doesn’t look away. He watches the way Stephano’s eyelids flicker, the way his chest heaves under the ruined pink bodice.
“You aren’t dying yet, Stephano. I have far too many things to say to you.” Said Fenris in a low whisper that Princess Stephano did not hear. The room is a cavern of deep purples and golds. Heavy velvet curtains block out the moonlight. A massive four-poster bed dominates the space, draped in silk sheets the colour of a bruised plum. Stephano lies on the bed. He is cleaned now, though his skin is pale, almost translucent. He is dressed in a simple, loose white linen shift, the restrictive corset finally gone. He stirs. His fingers twitch against the silk sheets. His eyes open slowly, blinking against the dim glow of the candles.
The first thing he sees is the ceiling. The second thing he feels is a presence looming over him. He turns his head. Fenris is there. He is still in his violet dress, though the bodice is loosened slightly at the top. He is leaning over the bed, his face inches from Stephano’s. Stephano tries to sit up, but a sharp pain in his ribs forces a gasp from his throat.
“Where Am I?”
Princess Stephano let out in a low gasp.
Fenris doesn’t answer with words. In one sudden, violent motion, Fenris lunges. Stephano flinches, expecting a blade or a fist. Instead, he feels the sudden, hot pressure of lips slamming against his own. It is not a gentle kiss. It is a collision. It is a battle fought with tongues and teeth. Stephano’s eyes widen. He brings his hands up to Fenris’s chest, intending to shove him away, to scream, to fight. His palms press against the smooth violet fabric of the bodice. But as the kiss deepens, as Fenris’s tongue forces its way into his mouth, tasting of wine and obsession, something breaks inside Stephano.
The hatred that has fuelled him for years twists into something else. Something starving. Stephano’s fingers, instead of pushing, curl into the fabric of the violet dress. He pulls Fenris closer, dragging him down onto the bed. He kisses back with a desperate, starving hunger, his tongue tangling with Fenris’s in a frantic exchange of saliva. The war outside the walls vanishes. There is only the scent of violet silk, the heat of skin, and the sudden, crashing realization that the only person in the world who understands them is the person they were born to kill.
The air in the room is thick, smelling of beeswax, expensive oils, and the metallic tang of dried blood. The only light comes from a dozen flickering candles that cast long, dancing shadows against the deep purple velvet of the walls. Fenris has Stephano pinned against the silk sheets. The kiss is a collision of teeth and tongue. It is not an act of love; it is an act of conquest. Fenris’s hands, slender but strong, grip Stephano’s jaw, forcing the kiss deeper, claiming the space. Stephano’s breath comes in ragged, shallow hitches.
He is fighting, but the fight has changed. His hands, which once sought to push Fenris away, now claw at the violet fabric of Fenris’s bodice. He pulls the other man closer, his fingers digging into the expensive silk. They break apart for a second, both gasping for air. A thin string of saliva connects their lips, shimmering in the candlelight before it snaps.
“Tell me you hate me. Tell me while I’m tasting you.”
“I loathe you. I loathe everything you are. I loathe the way you look at me.” Said Stephano
“And yet, your heart is hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You’re shaking, Stephano. Is it fear? Or is it because you’ve spent ten years wondering what my mouth tasted like?”
Fenris smiled, which widened at the edges.
“You are an arrogant, narcissistic pig.”
Stephano gasped, but he did not let go of Fenris.
“And you are a broken, bleeding doll in a ruined dress.”
Fenris lunges back in, his mouth crashing against Stephano’s again. This time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. He sucks on Stephano’s lower lip, pulling it between his teeth and tugging sharply. Stephano lets out a muffled moan, his back arching off the bed. Fenris moves his mouth down, trailing hot, wet kisses along Stephano’s jawline to the sensitive skin of his neck. He finds a spot just below the ear and bites down, hard.
“Ah! You... bastard...”
Stephano said, gasping, yet yielding to Fenris.
“I’ve spent a decade imagining how you’d sound when you finally broke. I didn’t think it would be a moan.”
Fenris’s hand slides down from Stephano’s face, moving over the white linen shift. He feels the heat radiating from Stephano’s skin. His palm brushes over the bandage on Stephano’s side, and Stephano winces, a sharp intake of breath whistling through his teeth. Fenris stops. He looks up, his eyes dark and clouded with a mix of lust and something far more complex.
“Does it still hurt?”
Fenris’s face was that of concern for Stephano’s wound.
“Since when do you care about my pain? You’re the one who laughed while I was bleeding out on your cobblestones.”
Stephano rasped, feeling his cock grow hard.
“I laughed because you looked beautiful in your ruin. But I don’t want you broken now. I want you whole so that I can be the one to ruin you properly.”
Fenris reaches for the hem of the white linen shift. He doesn’t ask. He simply grips the fabric and pulls it upward. The linen bunches up around Stephano’s chest, exposing his pale, lean legs and the soft hair of his groin. Stephano’s breath hitches. He feels the cool air of the room hit his skin, and then the searing heat of Fenris’s gaze.
“What are you doing?”
Stephano gasped in confusion.
“I’m talking what I want. Isn’t that how we’ve always handled our borders?” Fenris, begins to strip his own clothes. He reaches back, his fingers working the laces of his violet bodice. He struggles for a moment, his breathing becoming heavy. Stephano watches, his eyes tracking the movement of Fenris’s muscles beneath the skin of his back.
“Need help, your Highness? Or is the dress too complex for your royal intellect?
Stephano mocked, but with a playful tease.
Fenris lets out a sharp, guttural laugh. He gives a violent tug, and the bodice loosens, sliding down his shoulders. He casts the garment aside, the violet silk pooling on the floor like a spill of wine. He stands before Stephano, bare-chested, his skin pale and mapped with a few thin scars from training. He is lean and toned, his chest rising and falling in a steady, hungry rhythm. He reaches down to undo the fastenings of his short skirt, letting it fall away until he stands completely naked.
Stephano’s gaze drops. Fenris’s cock is already hard, a thick, pulsing length of flesh that stands proud from his groin. A bead of clear pre-cum glistens at the tip, catching the candlelight.
“You’re...”
Stephano gasps, but Fenris cuts him off.
“Desperate for you? Yes. I am. Now your turn.”
Fenris reaches down and grips the linen shift, ripping it away with a sudden, violent motion. The fabric tears with a loud screech. Stephano is left exposed, his own cock twitching, fully erect and leaking a steady stream of pre-cum that smear across his lower belly. Fenris leans over him, his weight pressing Stephano deep into the mattress. The contrast of their bodies is stark—the tension of their mutual hatred fuelling a physical attraction that is almost violent.
“Look at you. So proud, so defiant, and yet you’re dripping for me.”
Fenris laughed.
“Shut up. Just... shut up and touch me.”
Stephano rasped, his need heavy.
Fenris doesn’t need to be told twice. He reaches down, his fingers wrapping around the base of Stephano’s cock. He squeezes firmly, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head. Stephano lets out a loud, uncontrolled cry, his hips jerking upward.
“Do you like that? Does the enemy’s touch feel better than your own?”
Fenris mocks.
“I hate you... I hate you so much...” Stephano reaches down, his hand finding Fenris’s cock. He grips it tight, his palm sliding over the smooth, hot skin. He begins to stroke, a fast, rhythmic motion that makes Fenris groan, a deep sound that vibrates in his chest.
“God, you’re... you’re gripping it so hard.”
Fenris gasps.
“I’m imagining it’s your throat.”
Stephano laughed, but there is no real malice to his words. Fenris laughs, the sound turning into a moan as Stephano increases the speed. He leans down, capturing Stephano’s mouth again, their tongues fighting for dominance, swapping saliva in a messy, desperate exchange. Fenris moves his hand down, his fingers exploring the cleft of Stephano’s buttocks. He finds the tight, puckered ring of the asshole and presses a single finger against it. Stephano stiffens, his breath catching.
“Wait...”
Stephano gasps, half in fear, half in lust for Fenris.
“Don’t fight it. Give in. Just this once, Stephano, stop fighting.”
Fenris applies more pressure, pushing the finger inside. Stephano lets out a sharp, high-pitched gasp, his eyes rolling back. The friction is sudden and intense. Fenris doesn’t stop; he adds a second finger, stretching the tight muscle, feeling the internal heat of Stephano’s body. The sound of their interaction fills the room—the wet, shlicking noise of fingers sliding in and out of a tight hole, the rhythmic slapping of their thighs, the heavy, synchronization of their breathing.
“More... please... more...”
Stephano pleads Fenris pulls his fingers out with a wet pop. He reaches for a small crystal jar on the bedside table—a scented oil used for royal massages. He pours a generous amount into his palm, the scent of sandalwood and musk filling the air. He coats his cock in the oil, the slick liquid making the flesh shimmer. He then reaches down and applies the oil to Stephano’s entrance, rubbing it in with a circular motion that makes Stephano writhe beneath him.
“I’ve wanted this since we were children. Since the first time you insulted my lineage at the Summit of Spires.”
Fenris admitted with a smile on his face.
“You... you’ve thought about this... for that long?”
Stephano looks shocked.
“Every single night. Every time I ordered a charge against your walls, I wondered if you were watching from the balcony. I wondered if you were as terrified as you were beautiful.”
Fenris positions himself, the head of his cock pressing against the tight opening of Stephano’s ass. He doesn’t slide in immediately. He rubs the head against the rim, teasing the entrance, letting the oil lubricate the way.
“Just do it! Stop talking and just... fuck me!”
Stephano gasped, with desperation hitting its peak.
Fenris lets out a guttural growl and thrusts. He pushes forward with a single, powerful motion. Stephano’s scream is muffled by Fenris’s mouth as he leans down to kiss him again. The entry is tight, a searing pressure that makes Stephano’s entire body tense. He feels his internal walls stretching, the thick head of Fenris’s cock forcing its way past the sphincter and deep into his heat. Fenris freezes for a moment, his eyes closed, his face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure. He is buried deep, his balls slapping against Stephano’s perineum with a dull thud.
“God… you are... so tight... fuck...”
Fenris gasped, feeling the walls of Stephano’s ass.
“It’s... too much... it’s too...Oh sod it, I don’t care.”
Stephano gasped, feeling Fenris’s cock penetrate his prostrate.
Fenris begins to move, the pain transforms. He pulls back slowly, almost all the way out, before slamming back in. Squelch. The sound of the oil and the natural lubrication of their bodies create a wet, rhythmic noise that echoes in the quiet room. Squelch. Slap. Fenris picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more desperate. He isn’t just fucking a body; he is fucking a history of war, a lifetime of rivalry, a decade of loneliness.
“Yes! Right there! Oh god, Fenris!”
Stephano let out a squeal of sheer pleasure.
His legs wrap around Fenris’s waist, pulling him deeper. He arches his back, his chest heaving, his nipples rubbing against Fenris’s chest. The friction is electric. Fenris is relentless. He drives into Stephano with an overzealous energy, his hips hitting Stephano’s with a loud, meaty sound. Every thrust pushes the air out of Stephano’s lungs in a series of short, sharp gasps.
“You’re mine. Do you hear me? In this bed, in this room... you belong to me.”
Fenris declared, his breath rasping.
“I’ll... never... belong... to anyone...”
Stephano hissed, but despite the words, Stephano’s body betrays him. He is clinging to Fenris, his nails digging into the other man’s shoulders, leaving red crescents in the skin. He is chasing the sensation, his own cock rubbing against Fenris’s abdomen with every thrust. The pace accelerates. The sounds in the room become a symphony of lust—the heavy thud of the headboard against the wall, the wet shlicking of the penetration, the guttural moans of two men who have finally found a way to communicate that doesn’t involve swords. Fenris’s breathing is a series of ragged snarls. He feels the pressure building in his loins, a tide of heat that is becoming unbearable.
He reaches down, his hand gripping Stephano’s cock, stroking it in sync with his thrusts. “I’m... I’m going to...!”
Stephano gasps but doesn’t finish his sentence.
Fenris doesn’t slow down. He drives in one last time, burying himself to the hilt, his balls slapping hard against Stephano’s skin.
“AHHH!”
Stephano’s body spasms. He cums with a violent intensity, thick ropes of white seed erupting from his cock, splashing across his own stomach and Fenris’s chest. His internal muscles clench around Fenris, milking him, pulling him deeper into the heat. The sensation is the final trigger. Fenris lets out a roar, his body stiffening as he releases. He cums deep inside Stephano, a hot, pulsing flood of semen filling the other man’s bowels. He thrusts several more times, each one a shuddering release, emptying himself completely.
They collapse together, a tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving chests. The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the sound of their synchronized breathing and the distant tolling of a bell in the city below. Fenris doesn’t pull out immediately. He stays buried inside, his forehead resting against Stephano’s. They are both covered in a sheen of sweat, their skin sticking together.
“I still... No, I no longer hate you. I love you. I love you Feris.” Stephano gasped out. Fenris lets out a soft, genuine chuckle. He kisses Stephano’s forehead, a gesture of tenderness that would have been unthinkable an hour ago.
“I know. I love you too.” Fenris slowly withdraws, the sound of the exit a wet, sliding noise. A mixture of oil and semen leaks out of Stephano, staining the plum-coloured sheets. Fenris rolls to the side, pulling the silk coverlet over both-of them. He holds Stephano close, the other man’s head resting on his chest.
“Why did you save me? Truly?”
Stephano asked, his curiosity peaked.
Fenris was silent for a long time. He looks up at the canopy of the bed, his eyes thoughtful.
“Because the thought of a world where you didn’t exist was suddenly more terrifying than the thought of a world where we were at war.”
Fenris whispered softly into Stephano’s ear.
Stephano shifts, looking up at him.
“That is the most romantic thing you have ever said to me. It’s disgusting.”
“Get used to it, Princess.”
Fenris chuckled.
“My Queendom will never forgive this. My mother... he will see this as a betrayal.” Said Stephano worriedly.
“Our mothers are old men who love the smell of burning villages. They are relics. We are the ones who have-to live in the ashes they leave behind.” Said Fenris softly. Stephano closes his eyes, feeling the steady beat of Fenris’s heart beneath his ear. For the first time in years, the noise in his head—the screams of the dying, the clash of steel, the pressure of the crown—falls silent.
“What happens tomorrow?”
Stephano’s face was one of worry.
“Tomorrow, we pretend we still hate each other. Tomorrow, we figure out how to stop the killing.”
Fenris smiled and it was a beautiful smile.
“And the dresses?”
Stephano looked on with concern, with the state of the dresses strewn all over the place.
“You’re keeping the pink one. It looks wonderful when it’s torn to shreds.”
Fenris laughed Stephano punches him lightly in the arm, but he doesn’t move away. He clings tighter to the man he was born to destroy, as the candles finally flicker and die, leaving them in the velvet embrace of the dark. The room is colder now. The scent of sex and sandalwood still lingers, but the intensity has faded into a soft, contemplative hum.
Stephano is sitting up in bed, draped in a gold-embroidered robe that is far too large for him. He is watching Fenris, who is standing by the window, looking out over the city of Fulcrum. Fenris is wearing a simple silk robe of deep violet. He looks tired, the arrogance replaced by a heavy weariness.
“Your people think you are a monster.”
Stephano sadly pointed out.
“I have spent my whole life ensuring they believe that. A monster is feared. A monster is obeyed. A princess who is loved is a princess who can be manipulated.”
Fenris’s face was stern, yet at the same time, lovingly inviting.
“Is that why you’re so cruel? For protection?”
Stephano looked shocked.
Fenris turns. His eyes are soft, stripped of the predatory glint.
“In this world, Stephano, the women hold the swords. They protect us, yes, but they also control us. We are the jewels of the court. We are the currency of alliances. The only way to have real power is to be so feared that even the knights hesitate to question you.”
“I always thought that you just enjoyed the suffering.” Said Stephano. Fenris turned and smiled at him.
“I mean, I did enjoy seeing you stumble in those ridiculous puffy sleeves. But the suffering... that’s just the costume I wear.” Stephano reaches out, his fingers brushing against the silk of the sheets.
“We are both costumes, aren’t we?” Remarked Stephano.
“Perhaps. But for the first time in my life, I feel like I’ve taken the mask off.” Fenris walks back to the bed and sits beside Stephano. He takes Stephano’s hand, his thumb tracing the lines of his palm.
“If we do this... if we actually-try to stop the war... it won’t be easy. There will be blood. Not the kind we just spilled on these sheets, but the kind that doesn’t wash off.”
“I’m not afraid of blood. I’ve lived in it since I was fifteen.” Admitted Stephano
“I know you aren’t. That’s why I want you by my side.” They stay like that for a long time, two enemies bound by a sudden, inexplicable hunger, staring into the void of an uncertain future. The hatred is still there, but it has been transformed. It is no longer a wall; it is a bridge.
“You still owe me a new dress, by the way.” Said Stephano with a laugh and a smile.
“God, you are insufferable.” Said Fenris, smiling back at him.
“I learned from the best.” Said Stephano, his smile now wider. Fenris pulls him back down into the pillows, his lips finding Stephano’s in a kiss that is no longer a battle, but a promise. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Stephano holds out his hand and from the palm of his hand, a flower starts to bloom, but it is no ordinary flower, it is a pink rose and it has a soft pink glow to it. Both Stephano and Fenris look shocked and surprise.
“This will help to unite our Kingdoms, which cannot deny it’s meaning, for it is the symbol of peace. But what will help even more our two Kingdoms being united. Marriage. Marry me Fenris.” Said Stephano, just then his cock becomes erect. Fenris looks surprised and amused at the same time.
“God! You’re hard again.” Stephano smiled.
“I can’t help it. You excite me.” Said Stephano with an even wider smile on his face.
“You’re nothing but a little sex kitten.” Said Fenris with a laugh.
“I’m your little sex kitten. I’m always yours.” Said Stephano, hungrily. Fenris looks surprised.
“Say that again.”
“I’m Always yours.” Stephano repeated. Fenris suddenly pulls Stephano toward him and kisses him on his lips. Stephano returns the kiss.
“Well, since I awe you a dress. I’ll let you have the pink one that I got some time ago. I honestly do not know why I got it.” Fenris admitted. Stephano smiles at him.
“You got it, because you were thinking of me at the time.” Stephano stepped forward and placed a playful kiss to Fenris’s lips. Fenris softly pulls away with a smile on his face.
“Come on, let’s get dressed, we have an announcement to make to both our Kingdoms. We can use the communication stones.” Said Fenris
“Oh. I was hoping for more sex.”
Stephano sounded a little disappointed and he pouted.
“Annoucement first, sex later.”
Fenris smiled at Stephano.
Soon, Stephano was wearing a shimmering pink bodice corseted dress that was long at the back and short at the front and it had short puffy sleeves, on his feet, he wore a pair of pink boots. Fenris was now in a new violet bodice corseted dress and in his hands are the communication stones. He places them into the Receptacle, where the two communication stones slot into specially carved recesses that hold and connect the stones to the Receptacle.
As the stones connected with the Receptacle, Stephano and Fenris stepped onto a balcony and the air shimmered around them, they were holding hands with each other, two huge bubbles appeared, and within them, were the two castles belonging to both Kingdoms. The castle of Aramark inside the left bubble and the castle of Fulcrum inside the right bubble.
“Loyal Subjects of Fulcrum and Loyal Subjects of Aramark hear us. Cease the war.” Said Stephano and Fenris together at the same time and with his free hand Stephano held up the pink rose which came into full view and enlarged somehow, so that all could see it.
“I hold in my hand as you can all now see, a pink rose and it is the symbol of peace. It is not a fake, such a rose cannot be duplicated. And we all know the legends of this rose, it only blooms, when two lovers join as one and Princess Fenris and I are two such lovers. The war between our Kingdoms is to come to an end under the symbol of peace, this the law of both our Queendom’s decree, that there shall be peace, to go against it, would bring terrors beyond imagination to both our Kingdoms. Princess Fenris and I propose a joining of our two Kingdoms and to help such a joining, Princess Fenris and I have betroved to each other, and as such we shall get married.”
Stephano made clear by giving Fenris a kiss on the lips.
A heavy silence fell over both Kingdoms. Both Mothers of Stephano and Fenris were shocked at first. But when marriage was proposed, both mothers were determined to give both princesses the best wedding of their lives.
“Before we can bless such a union the laws for both our Kingdoms dictate that proof of your love for each other is required.” Said both mothers of Stephano and Fenris. Fenris smiled, he then suddenly removed his dress, Stephano did the same, Stephano laid down on the balcony and Fenris now straddled him and then he thrust his cock into Stephano’s ass.
The gasps from both Kingdoms were deafening. Women knights dropped their weapons in shock, old council members fainted where they stood, and somewhere in Aramark, a stained-glass window shattered from the sheer force of collective scandalized disbelief. But neither Stephano nor Fenris cared. Their bodies moved together with a rhythm born of desperation and newfound hunger, their moans echoing across the magical projection for all to hear.
Stephano arched beneath Fenris, his fingers scrabbling against the stone balcony as Fenris drove into him with ruthless precision. “Harder—*ah*—let them *see*,” Stephano gasped, his voice cracking on the last word. Fenris obliged, his hips snapping forward with enough force to make Stephano’s vision blur. The pink rose lay forgotten beside them, its glow pulsing brighter with every thrust, as if feeding off their passion.
In Fulcrum, Fenris’s Mother—a wiry man with a silver-streaked violet bodice—clutched his chest. “By the gods, he’s *fucking* the enemy on the *balcony*.” His voice was equal parts horrified and impressed. Beside him, the High Knight Commander, a broad-shouldered woman with a scar bisecting her brow, muttered, “Well. That’s one way to prove devotion.”
Aramark’s reaction was less amused. Stephano’s Mother, a barrel-chested man in a ruffled pink doublet, turned purple. “You—you *whore*!” he bellowed, but the insult lacked its usual venom. Because beneath the outrage, something else flickered in his eyes—relief. Relief that his son wasn’t dead. Relief that the war might finally end.
Stephano barely registered the outcry. His world had narrowed to the heat of Fenris’s body, the rough grip of fingers on his hips, the slick drag of skin against skin. The balcony’s stone was cold beneath his back, but he barely felt it—not with Fenris moving inside him like a man possessed, his breath hot against Stephano’s throat. “They’re *watching*,” Fenris growled, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust. “Let them see what peace looks like.”
Stephano laughed, the sound ragged and breathless. “You—*ah*—you planned this.” His fingers tangled in Fenris’s hair, pulling him down into a biting kiss. The rose beside them pulsed brighter, its glow casting shifting pink shadows across their sweat-slicked skin.
In Fulcrum, Fenris’s Mother exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the armrest of his throne. “Well,” he muttered to the stunned silence of his court. “That’s… definitive.” The High Knight Commander, arms crossed, gave a slow, approving nod. “No one can accuse him of half-measures.”
Stephano arched beneath Fenris, his fingers scrabbling against the stone balcony as Fenris drove into him with ruthless precision. The pink rose beside them pulsed brighter, its glow deepening to a vivid, molten hue. A shimmering trail of petals began to swirl around them, lifted by an unseen wind.
“Fenris—” Stephano gasped, his voice breaking as a sudden warmth spread through his chest. The rose wasn’t just reacting—it was *bonding* them. The legends had spoken of this: the rose’s magic weaving lovers together, but neither had expected the visceral pull of it. Fenris’s thrusts slowed, his breath hitching as he felt it too—a searing, golden thread winding around his ribs, stitching itself into his pulse.
In Aramark, Stephano’s Mother sagged into his throne, the fight draining out of him. The rose’s glow was undeniable. War was one thing, but defying the ancient magic of the peace rose? Even he wasn’t that foolish. He raised a trembling hand, silencing his murmuring court. “Enough,” he croaked. “The rose has spoken.” The words tasted like surrender, but beneath them lingered something unfamiliar hope.
Back on the balcony, Fenris’s rhythm faltered as the rose’s magic coiled tighter around them. His thrusts became shallow, erratic, his forehead pressing against Stephano’s as a shudder ran through him. “It’s—*ah*—it’s pulling,” he gasped, his voice raw. Stephano’s nails dug into Fenris’s back, his hips lifting to meet every movement. “I know,” he breathed. “Let it.”
The rose’s glow intensified, its light swallowing the balcony in a blinding pink radiance. Across both Kingdoms, the people shielded their eyes—but when the light faded, Stephano and Fenris were no longer just two bodies entangled. A shimmering lattice of golden threads now connected them, pulsing in time with their shared heartbeat. The rose hovered between their chests, its petals unfurling to reveal a core of liquid light.
Fenris’s Mother staggered to his feet, his violet bodice rumpled. “By the old laws,” he whispered. The High Knight Commander’s scarred face split into a grin. “Looks like we’re planning a wedding.”
The golden threads pulsed brighter, wrapping tighter around Stephano and Fenris until they were pressed flush together, chest to chest, their breaths mingling. The rose’s light seeped into their skin, branding them with intricate, glowing patterns—interwoven vines curling around their wrists, their ribs, their thighs. Stephano gasped as the magic settled deep into his bones, a warmth unlike anything he’d ever felt. “It’s *inside* me,” he breathed, his voice hushed with wonder.
Fenris’s fingers traced the luminous vines now etched across Stephano’s collarbone. “Mine,” he murmured, the word half a growl, half a prayer. The threads hummed in agreement, thrumming with a possessive energy that made Stephano shiver.
Below, the Kingdoms erupted into chaos—knights shouted, council members wept, and somewhere in Aramark, a bard began composing an *extremely* explicit ballad on the spot. But on the balcony, the world had narrowed to the two of them and the rose’s unbreakable bond. Fenris’s Mother cleared his throat loudly. “Right. Well. We’ll need to discuss the *logistics*—”
Stephano barely heard him. His entire focus was on the golden threads pulsing between their bodies, thrumming with a warmth that seeped into his veins like liquid sunlight. Fenris’s hands trembled slightly against his hips, his usual arrogance replaced by something raw and unguarded. “It’s *binding* us,” Fenris murmured, his voice rough. “Not just politically. *Literally*.”
Stephano laughed breathlessly, his fingers tracing the glowing vines now coiled around Fenris’s wrist. “So much for pretending we hated each other.”
Fenris’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual edge. “Oh, I still hate you. I just also want to fuck you senseless on every available surface.” He leaned down, his lips brushing Stephano’s ear. “Starting with the throne room.”
Stephano’s breath hitched—not just from the words, but from the way the golden threads pulsed between them, tightening like a living thing. The rose’s magic was still weaving them together, its glow casting long, shifting shadows across the balcony. Below, the Kingdoms were in upheaval, but the sound was distant, muffled, as if they stood inside a bubble of their own making.
Fenris straightened, his movements fluid despite the way the threads tugged at him. He offered Stephano a hand, pulling him up with effortless strength. Stephano’s legs trembled—partly from the lingering aftershocks of pleasure, partly from the unfamiliar weight of the magic thrumming beneath his skin. His ruined dress lay in a crumpled heap beside them, but he didn’t reach for it. Neither did Fenris.
“They’re still watching,” Stephano murmured, nodding toward the shimmering bubbles where both Kingdoms’ courts stood frozen in shock.
Fenris smirked, his thumb brushing over the golden vines now spiralling up Stephano’s wrist. “Good,” he said, voice low and rough. “Let them memorize this.” With a deliberate slowness, he dragged Stephano flush against him, their bare chests pressing together, the rose’s glow pulsing between them like a second heartbeat. The threads hummed, tightening in approval as Fenris captured Stephano’s mouth in a searing kiss—one that left no room for misinterpretation.
Below, Fulcrum’s High Knight Commander barked out a laugh, slapping her thigh. “Gods’ blood, he’s *committed*.” Her amusement cut through the stunned silence of both courts. In Aramark, Stephano’s Mother buried his face in his hands, but his shoulders shook—whether with laughter or despair, no one could tell.
Stephano barely noticed. The magic thrumming between them was intoxicating, a heady rush that made his knees weak. He broke the kiss, panting, and pressed his forehead against Fenris’s. “We should—*ah*—we should probably *address* them,” he managed, though the way his fingers dug into Fenris’s hips suggested he wasn’t entirely sincere. Well, he was sincere, but he was enjoying the sex too much. With having Fenris inside of him, he felt whole.
Fenris chuckled darkly, rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate motion that made Stephano’s breath hitch. “They can wait,” he murmured, nipping at Stephano’s lower lip. “Let them *stew* a little longer.”
Stephano’s retort dissolved into a moan as Fenris thrust deeper, the golden threads between them flaring brighter with every movement. The magic wasn’t just binding them—it was *amplifying* every sensation, every touch, until Stephano could barely think past the heat coiling in his gut. His nails scraped down Fenris’s back, leaving faint pink trails in their wake.
Below, the Kingdoms were in chaos. Knights muttered amongst themselves, council members clutched their chests, and somewhere in Aramark, Stephano’s childhood tutor fainted clean away. The High Knight Commander of Fulcrum—a woman with shoulders broad enough to bench a horse—folded her arms and grinned. “Took them long enough,” she remarked to no one in particular.
The golden threads binding Stephano and Fenris pulsed brighter as Fenris rolled his hips again, drawing a broken gasp from Stephano’s throat. The balcony’s stone railing dug into Stephano’s back, but the discomfort was secondary—distant—compared to the heat of Fenris moving inside him, the strange magic thrumming between their bodies like a live wire. Stephano arched, his fingers tightening in Fenris’s hair as the golden vines coiled around his ribs tightened in response.
“Fuck—*Fenris*—” Stephano’s voice cracked as the magic surged, sending a shockwave of pleasure through him so intense his vision whited out for a second. He distantly heard the collective gasp from both Kingdoms as the rose’s glow flared violently, painting the balcony in molten gold.
Fenris didn’t slow. His breathing was ragged against Stephano’s throat, his movements losing their earlier precision as the magic wove tighter around them both. “*Mine*,” Fenris snarled again, the word half-lost in a groan as his hips stuttered. The golden threads hummed in agreement, pulsing in time with their racing hearts.
The rose’s glow flared one final time, its petals shuddering as the magic surged—then stilled, settling into a steady, radiant pulse between them. Stephano gasped as the vines coiled around his ribs tightened one last time, branding him with a warmth that sank deep into his marrow. Fenris shuddered above him, his fingers digging into Stephano’s hips hard enough to bruise, his release spilling inside Stephano with a ragged groan. The threads flared gold, then softened, their light dimming to a gentle shimmer.
