Chapter 46: Chapter 46: Tristan’s panic
The Empress Carlton awoke from his blissful slumber, his heart still fluttering with the afterglow of passionate lovemaking that had consumed him and his young husband for days on end. As he rose from the bed, a halo of light seemed to surround him, and little flowers danced playfully in his wake as he skipped towards the closet to find some clothes. However, as he passed by the grand mirror adorning the wall, something peculiar caught his eye.
As Carlton passed by the grand mirror adorning one wall of their chambers, something peculiar caught his eye. His reflection appeared jovial and upright as he leapt about merrily - yet there was an unsettling discrepancy between what he saw before him and what was mirrored back at him. The image within the glass stood hunched over slightly, one hand clutching its lower back as if wracked with pain.
Puzzled by this anomaly, Carlton approached the looking glass cautiously. The moment his digit made contact with the cold surface, an all-too-familiar sensation washed over him - that of being pulled into a swirling vortex.
Carlton squeezed his eyes shut against the dizzying disorientation of being violently tossed about like driftwood upon stormy seas. This time proved far more turbulent than any previous crossing.
After what felt like an eternity, Carlton’s world began to spin and blur around him. Dizziness consumed him utterly until at last, mercifully, his consciousness faded away completely...
*
*
*
Back to another world
Carlton jolted awake, his bare skin pressed against the frigid stone floor. As he gazed up at the vaulted ceiling of this unfamiliar chamber, a momentary blankness clouded his mind before the unsettling memory of the mirror’s peculiar reflection came rushing back.
Rubbing his throbbing head, Carlton slowly sat up and cast his eyes towards the looking glass. To his relief, it appeared normal now - no more eerie discrepancies between himself and his mirrored image.
Intrigued by this turn of events, Carlton rose to his feet and sauntered over to examine the mirror more closely. He decided to test if any strangeness remained by striking various poses before it.
First, he flexed mightily like a bodybuilder on stage, muscles rippling as he admired himself with an exaggeratedly smug grin. Next came an attempt at a graceful ballerina pose - one leg raised high while arms stretched out elegantly... though it quickly devolved into something far less refined as he lost balance and wobbled precariously.
Finally, in a fit of silliness, Carlton clasped his arms around himself and pouted shyly at his reflection like a bashful maiden. The overall effect was less than dignified, given his state of undress and the various love bites adorning his body.
All in all, it made for quite the comical sight - a naked man prancing about and posing shamelessly before a mirror with no audience but himself. The overall effect was less than dignified under any circumstances; but performed entirely nude? It bordered on downright terrifying.
Carlton blinked at his reflection, perplexed. "Well that was...anticlimactic," he muttered to himself, scratching the back of his head in consternation. "Guess I just imagined it all then? How disappointing."
*
*
Meanwhile, a few agonizing minutes ago...
Alaric, having finally put an end to his frantic flight through the palace corridors, stood panting in the middle of the hallway. He was seized by a sudden urge to travel back in time and give himself a stern talking-to - preferably followed by a resounding slap or two. Why oh why had he allowed himself to be so thoroughly ensnared by Carlton’s charms
And that blasted aphrodisiac...
He even felt an urge to reach down and deliver a firm slap to his own manhood! His unruly cock had been acting with all the restraint of a rabid beast, betraying him at every turn...
In his agitation, Alaric found himself drawn towards an open window, yearning to hurl himself out into the open air and bellow his frustrations for all the world to hear. But alas, he was still Crown Prince Alaric Rhysandor Aurelius - heir apparent and paragon of royal composure. Such an undignified display would never do.
As these thoughts swirled through his mind, Tristan came bounding down the corridor towards him like an excited puppy spotting its master after a long absence.
"Your Highness!" Tristan called out, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "You’re finally out of your chamber after all this time!"
Alaric blinked in surprise at the sight of Tristan, having expected to encounter Kastiel upon emerging from his chambers. He took a moment to compose himself before responding.
"Tristan," Alaric acknowledged with a nod, still slightly winded from his impromptu jog. "I must say, I’m rather shocked to see you here."
Tristan wiped his brow with the back of his hand, still catching his breath. "Indeed, Your Highness," he replied between gasps. "Kastiel and Rowan have been working tirelessly to manage...the situation."
Alaric arched an eyebrow quizzically. "Situation? What situation might that be?"
Tristan took a deep breath before launching into an explanation. "Well, Your Highness...for the past three days, we’ve had to empty out your wing of the palace entirely. We told everyone - including His Majesty and Her Majesty - that you were suffering from some sort of highly contagious illness..."
Alaric’s eyes widened in shock at this revelation. "You did what?!"
"We had no choice, Your Highness!" Tristan pleaded. "There was simply no way we could tell the truth - that our beloved Crown Prince had gone AWOL to engage in some rather...intense activities with a certain Duke Carlton."
Alaric felt his cheeks flush hotly at the mention of Carlton’s name. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ah yes, well...I suppose I can see your point."
Tristan nodded vigorously. "Indeed! Rowan and Kastiel have been running themselves ragged trying to keep everything under control and prevent any rumors from spreading. And we even enlisted the help of Physician Lucas to act as your personal physician and ’treat’ you for this supposed ailment."
Well, it seems that when Tristan, Kastiel, and Rowan had desperately summoned Lucas to the Crown Prince’s wing and reluctantly confessed the true nature of Alaric’s ’illness’, the poor royal physician had experienced far more than he’d bargained for. No sooner had they finished explaining the situation than Lucas’s virgin ears were assaulted by a symphony of passionate moans and rhythmic thumping that echoed through the corridor with impressive volume and enthusiasm.
The physician’s face had cycled through several shades of crimson before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he’d collapsed to the floor like a puppet with cut strings—his first of many fainting spells to come.
By the third day, palace dwellers had grown accustomed to the peculiar sight of the royal physician being carried out of the Crown Prince’s chamber in an unconscious state, hoisted between two grim-faced guards like a sack of particularly dignified potatoes. The rumors had spread faster than butter on hot bread—Crown Prince Alaric must be on death’s doorstep! Or perhaps the mysterious illness had claimed its second victim in Physician Lucas! Meanwhile, the actual "patient" was merely experiencing the vigorous joys of carnal knowledge for the first extended period of his royal life.
Alaric rubbed his temples, a mixture of admiration and self-reproach swirling within him as he contemplated the ingenuity of Kastiel and Rowan’s cover story. The irony was not lost on him - while they had been busy spinning tales of contagion to conceal his carnal pursuits, he himself had been blissfully engaged in the very activities that necessitated such deception. The deep self-disappointment washing over him. As the old saying went: post-coital clarity arrives like an unwelcome guest at a feast.
"I must commend your quick thinking," Alaric admitted, straightening his rumpled attire. "But where in the nine hells are Kastiel and Rowan? It’s utterly uncharacteristic of Kastiel not to be hovering nearby like an overprotective mother hen."
Tristan cleared his throat awkwardly. "About that, Your Highness..."
Tristan’s face flushed an even deeper shade of crimson as he struggled to find the words, his usually stoic demeanor cracking under the weight of this revelation. Alaric felt a growing sense of unease as he watched Tristan squirm uncomfortably. Whatever Rowan and Kastiel were up to, it clearly involved more than just paperwork. Alaric leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.
"What are you trying to say, Tristan? Spit it out before I lose my patience."
Tristan took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was sure to be one of the most awkward conversations of his life. "I don’t really know what exactly happened... but two days ago when Rowan and Kastiel were here to covering you for some paperwork duties, it seems that Kastiel fell ill. Some guards and servants mentioned seeing Rowan carrying Kastiel back to his chamber..."
Alaric frowned, concern etched on his features. But before he could inquire further, Tristan’s next words struck him like a physical blow.
"...But then I heard it," Tristan blurted out, eyes wide with shock. "The same noises that filled the corridor outside your chamber! Non-stop moaning and... and other sounds I can scarcely describe!"
Alaric’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. Rowan and Kastiel? The two men who had been at each other’s throats for as long as he could remember, now engaged in a tryst so passionate it shook the very walls of the palace?
"I had already suffered enough mental anguish upon discovering your dalliance with Duke Carlton," Tristan continued, his voice rising with each word. "But this... this is beyond anything I could have imagined! Those two have always been bitter rivals, locked in a never-ending cycle of one-upmanship and mutual loathing..."
Tristan trailed off, unable to continue, his face now a deep shade of purple. Alaric felt like he’d just witnessed the most improbable event in recent history - Tristan losing his composure entirely.
Alaric groaned and rubbed his temples, the revelation about Rowan and Kastiel’s tryst triggering a resurgence of his nagging headache. He couldn’t help but ponder the implications - if Future Carlton was to be believed, then this coupling would lead to three children. But there was one crucial detail that didn’t add up - Kastiel hadn’t consumed the mystical fruit that granted male pregnancy.
No, Alaric shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. The real issue wasn’t Kastiel’s potential for pregnancy, but rather why these two sworn enemies had suddenly become so sexually compatible. And more importantly, what role did Carlton play in all of this?
Alaric’s mind raced as he considered the possibility that Carlton might have orchestrated this entire situation. After all, he had drugged Alaric with an aphrodisiac; could he have done something similar to Rowan and Kastiel?
As Alaric lost himself in thought, Tristan stood before him with both hands clutching at his own head. His eyes spun wildly, a clear sign of the immense stress he had been under lately. Despite his outward composure, Tristan was clearly shaken by the recent events from Alaric’s dalliance with Carlton to this new development with Rowan and Kastiel.
Alaric finally snapped out of his reverie and focused back on Tristan. "Tristan," he said, his voice tinged with concern and disbelief, "are you telling me that they’ve been at it non-stop since two days ago? From dusk till now in Kastiel’s chamber?"
Tristan let out a shuddering sigh, still not quite able to meet Alaric’s gaze. "I... I don’t know for certain," he admitted. "But based on what I heard through the walls that night... and what I’m hearing now from the guard... it certainly seems that way."
Tristan stammered, his face flushing a deep shade of red as he tried to explain away the situation. "I-I told the guards and servants who saw Rowan and Kastiel enter together in the chamber, and also heard their... voices," he said, struggling to maintain his composure. "I assured them that there was nothing untoward happening. I said Rowan was merely looking after Kastiel who was in pain..."
As Tristan spoke, a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over him as he recalled the mortifying incident from the two days ago. He had tried so hard to maintain appearances, gathering the four people who knew about Rowan and Kastiel’s tryst and spinning a tale about Rowan merely tending to Kastiel’s ailments.
But just as Tristan finished delivering this flimsy excuse, an unmistakable moan echoed through the corridor, emanating from behind the very wall where Kastiel’s chambers lay. The cry was so loud and wanton that it seemed to deliberately expose Tristan’s lie for what it was.
"Aaahhhnnn! Rowan fuck me deeper!!"
The corridor fell deathly silent in the wake of this lewd proclamation, save for the distant moans that continued to drift out from behind closed doors. Tristan stood there like a mannequin, utterly deflated and humiliated beyond belief. It felt as though his body and soul had been reduced to mere dust motes scattered on the wind.
Alaric let out a heavy sigh, rubbing at his temples once more as he pondered the situation. After a moment of contemplation, he turned on his heel and began to make his way back towards his own chamber.
"There is something important I must attend to," Alaric declared, his voice tinged with an air of resignation. "I require solitude in my chamber."
Tristan nodded absently as Alaric turned to leave, his mind still reeling from the mortifying revelation that had just transpired. He stood there in the corridor, a dazed expression etched upon his face, until even the distant figure of Alaric had vanished from sight.
