Faerie Story:  Chapter One

The sun was well advanced on its slow descent towards the horizon, but the afternoon was still warm enough that Alexin was drowsing on the grass, next to the slow-flowing waterfall. His eyes were closed and, except for the occasional twitching of his nostrils as a faint breeze wafted the perfume of the nearby roses over his reclined body, he would have appeared asleep to an onlooker.

He wasn’t asleep, but he *was* dreaming.

He was listening to the faint trickling water and imagining what oceans might look like. The night before, one of the latest parties of guests to arrive at the castle had regaled the diners in the main hall with stories of their homeland, an island between the two Territories, far from the place Alexin had lived his entire life. Although he’d been sent to retire early, as was seemly for someone in his position, he’d heard enough to fire his imagination and reawaken his longing to see more of the world than the narrow confines of the castle ground.

He’d made the mistake of saying as much to Marita who, despite being eight years younger than him, had been allowed to remain in the main hall for the entire evening, and she’d laughed in her usual condescending way and had pointed out that his wish would come true at the next full moon so he’d best choose wisely from among the assembled guests.

He knew she was right, though it irked him to admit that his ten-year-old sister was so wise in the way of the world, and what further infuriated him was her casual comment that no matter where he ended up living after his marriage, she’d come to visit him.

Of course she would.

Unlike him, she’d never have to carefully choose which prison should replace the one he’d grown up in, in the knowledge that he’d spend the rest of his life cloistered in his new home with even less freedom than his current limited existence.

By accident of birth, his baby sister had been born a girl, and that meant she had the whole world at her fingertips.

If he’d been capable of hate, he’d have hated her for that. As it was, his resentment was low-key and subdued by the basic gentleness of his nature. Yet the sentiment remained the same. Alexin spent a lot of his waking hours wishing that he’d been born female.

Yet, if he were honest with himself, he wouldn’t trade *most* of his life for Marita’s. While he was lazing in the rose garden, she was undoubtedly sweating and swearing in the combat yard. Even at ten she was expected to wield a sword and a bow with proficiency. While Alexin sometimes imagined himself with a weapon in his hands, he was secretly pleased that his life was full of gentler pursuits. He couldn’t imagine himself sweat-stained and weary, and he *definitely* wasn’t attracted to the idea of his delicate skin being bruised or blemished.

Once, when he was very young, he’d stumbled on one of the castle’s steep stone staircases and had fallen hard enough to break his left arm. It was his first and only experience of physical pain. His personal guard had been executed in punishment for her ‘crime’ of allowing him to come to harm, and his personal quarters had been moved from the Queen’s tower. It had been ordained that he was obviously far too ‘delicate’ to live in the main palace and so a special, ground-level apartment had been designed for him in which there were no steps, nor sharp corners or low ceilings. His entire living quarters were softly furnished with all the fripperies his mother considered necessary for a boy of his standing, and the entire palace was charged with ensuring his protection.

The only activity he was allowed out of the safety of his own quarters was the tending of the rose garden.

Naturally, in his case ‘tending’ didn’t involve any physical effort on his part. Quite apart from the risk of him possibly cutting himself on the rose shears, or pricking himself on the thorns, he was forbidden to partake in any activity that might roughen the soft skin of his hands.

“You’re a prince,” his mother would scold, if he ever attempted to pick up any instrument more taxing than an eating fork. “It’s your sole duty to be beautiful.”

She approved, at least, of his enjoyment of the outdoors. A healthy, rosy glow to his cheeks was a ‘good thing’ as long as it wasn’t accompanied by freckles or sunburn. So on fine afternoons, after the most destructive sunrays had eased, he was allowed to wander through the rose gardens, directing the gardeners to cut and prune as he preferred, and then, if he were lucky, he might steal an hour or two for quiet reflection by the waterfall before one of his guards arrived to herd him back to the protection of his room and more lessons on how to be ‘beautiful’.

Sometimes he envied Marita her tutors, who taught his sister of politics and geography as well as war-craft. It seemed to him that it *had* to be more interesting to learn about the world outside than to spend his mornings and evenings being taught how to be the perfect, pleasing husband.

Yet, he understood the importance of his own education.

He was expected to marry well and his entire childhood had been dedicated to ensuring he would do so.

Males were a rarity. Less than one in fifty babies were males and few of *those* lived to adulthood. Apparently many males had peculiarly thin blood. The slightest cut could lead to them literally bleeding to death. So *any* healthy male was valuable, but the ones with looks such as Alexin’s were prized beyond compare. His long, thick, silken dark hair, pale skin and emerald eyes fringed with lush lashes, together with his delicate features and slight frame, apparently set him apart even from the most beautiful men who adorned his mother’s court.

He had to take his mother’s word for that, since all respectable adult males wore veils to protect their modesty. But, since he’d spent his entire childhood being praised for his beauty by every visitor to the castle, he had no reason to doubt her.

His mother said he had the looks of his father, who had died when he was a child. Alexin had to take her word for that too, since he barely remembered him and, anyway, his father had even worn a veil when visiting the nursery. The beauty of a married man of any good station was concealed from the view of everyone except his wife. Even a male's children weren’t permitted to look upon his face.

Still a little memory was better than none. Alexin had never even seen Marita’s father, the Queen’s current consort. His mother never permitted her new husband out of her bedchamber at all.

There *were* a few males in the castle who walked around with their faces on display, but Alexin understood that those men were ‘not respectable’. He’d even heard a rumor that those men lived in the barracks, belonged to the castle guard rather than to an individual wife, and were shared between any woman who had sufficient coin to buy their company for the night. He wasn’t sure whether it was true though, because none of his guards or tutors would discuss such disreputable men with him and, anyway, Alexin truly couldn’t understand how a man could be expected to survive without a wife’s care and protection.

He was also aware of rumors that *some* wives were less than gentle with their husbands. They abused their superior height and strength and treated their husbands badly.

Again, he was uncertain of the truth of those rumors. His mother and tutors both assured him that as long as he remained beautiful and pleasing in his manners, he would be the delight of his future wife and so she would value and adore him.

He had no reason to doubt his mother. As her son, he had been reared with infinite care and trained from his first waking moment to behave with impeccable manners. He knew it was considered uncouth for a man to ever look a woman in the face, so he’d learned the art of glancing shyly upwards through his lashes in a discreet plea for attention. Besides, when he was veiled he would depend almost totally on his ability to communicate with his eyes alone because a man should never speak unless invited, and even then his comments were to be light and airy, designed only to amuse and entertain. He was never to make the mistake of believing he had sufficient intelligence to venture any opinions of value.

In the last two months, because of his rapidly approaching marriage, he’d already been taught how to wear the head to toe veil, which obscured all but his eyes from view. Although, as a ‘boy’, he was still permitted to show his face, he knew that after the next full moon he would never be able to again walk in public unveiled. So it was important that he learned how to wear the garment with grace and decorum.

He had also been taught the art of love.

Though he still blushed furiously whenever his tutors raised the subject, Alexin had learned the necessary bed skills to please his wife-to-be. Though, naturally, his schooling had all been theoretical – since his virginity was one of the greatest gifts he could take to his marriage bed – he now knew exactly how to please his wife.

He understood that it was his duty as a husband to always be available for his wife’s pleasure. He’d learned the drugs and dosages necessary to ensure that his ‘maleness’ was always stood to polite attention in his wife’s presence. He knew that his role in the bedroom was to be completely innocent in his behavior, lest he be mistaken for either one of the shameless men who lived in the barracks or, even worse, for one of the despicable monkey-people who lived outside the castle walls. A respectable male lay passively in his wife’s bed and allowed her to take her pleasure from his body. He wasn’t *quite* certain of what that entailed, but it was, he had been assured, sometimes pleasurable for the male too.

However he also understood that his own feelings were irrelevant. A man was no more than his wife’s prized possession and her ownership of her husband was total.

He was, to tell the truth, a little frightened by the prospect of his impending marriage. Given a choice, he would much prefer to remain a ‘boy’ forever. He dreaded the day he would have to take up the veil. It wasn’t only that he’d never again feel the sun on his face, nor experience the pleasure of even total strangers exclaiming about his beauty. It wasn’t even that his already limited freedom in his mother’s castle would be exchanged for a virtual imprisonment in his new wife’s home.

Although *some* wives allowed their carefully veiled husbands to participate in castle life, Alexin was a prince and so would only be permitted to marry either a princess or a queen. Royal husbands like Marita’s father, unlike the males belonging to ordinary high-ranked females, were rarely allowed out of their wife’s bedchambers. At least not until several heirs had been born and raised to adulthood. It would be Alexin’s duty to raise any children from his marriage. He would be responsible for any male children until they left ‘boyhood’ behind and were claimed by wives of their own. The female children would be taken from his care at age five, so that they might learn of womanly things, like warcraft and politics.

He understood and accepted all of that. He had, after all, been raised and trained for almost eighteen years to be a perfect husband.

His problem was simply that he was absolutely terrified at the prospect of *being* a husband.

His tutors all expected him to be eager to leave boyhood behind and put on the veil. They spoke endlessly of the charms of the suitors who would vie for his hand. Between his mother’s position as the most influential queen in the land and his own considerable beauty, it was anticipated that all the eligible princesses and queens would attend his veiling. Furthermore, his mother was breaking with tradition and allowing him to *choose* his wife, rather than the more usual convention of the suitors fighting each other for him. Admittedly, she’d made that decision for political reasons rather than his happiness. With the dramatic expansion of the settlements of monkey-people, it was imperative that all warriors remained fighting fit at all times.

The Queen was unwilling to risk any of the best fighters becoming wounded, or even killed, simply for the sake of a wedding. So she’d decided that instead of letting the women battle physically for Alexin’s hand, there would be a month-long gathering during which time the interested suitors could woo her son’s affection.

It was unprecedented, though politically wise, and it meant that Alexin could actually choose the woman who would own him.

He had no excuse for his fear of his impending marriage.

He knew that.

Yet he couldn’t escape a feeling of dread.

He’d tried to explain his feelings to his tutors, but they’d laughed at his fears.

“All virgins are terrified of the marriage bed,” they’d told him. “It’s natural. But remember your lessons. Simply do as your wife tells you to do. No one expects you to think for yourself. As long as you are beautiful, sweet and obedient, your wife will be pleased with you. You aren’t expected to be anything more than that, Alexin. And you’re lucky that you can actually choose a wife whom you desire to please.”

Alexin understood what they meant, though it was taboo to actually suggest that he might desire his wife ‘physically’. Only a man without shame or breeding would ever suggest he might have ‘sexual’ urges of his own. He was expected to choose a wife because of her skill in battle, her wealth or even her capacity to treat him with kindness, but there was the unspoken suggestion by his tutors that it was alright if he ‘secretly’ found his wife desirable.

The problem was that he couldn’t imagine finding *any* woman sexually desirable.

He knew that was probably just proof of his immaturity. His tutors assured him that when he took the veil and became a ‘man’, that he’d lose his fear and develop strong feelings of love and adoration for his wife.

It wasn’t that Alexin disbelieved them exactly, but he couldn’t comprehend how one single ceremony and the masking of his face from the world would suddenly change his entire character.

He knew the night of his marriage was when he was expected to lose his ‘innocence’. But since he’d spent almost eighteen years with every occupant of the castle drumming it into his head that the most pleasing quality in a boy *was* innocence, he was more than a little confused as to how his marriage was supposed to be a ‘good thing’.

~~~

The next day heralded the start of the month of festivities.

Seemingly overnight, the castle had been brightly festooned with the colors of over two dozen royal families. Alexin knew that was an illusion, since the guests had been arriving for several days, but suddenly the castle seemed to be filled to bursting with unfamiliar faces, and every guest tower was flying the flags of its occupants. The lower courtyard was teeming with gay marquis made of rich, expensive fabrics such as spidersilk and Etrovian lace, and he knew they were filled with frivolous but expensive gifts for himself.

Which was, admittedly, not an unwelcome idea.

He’d carefully questioned his tutors as to appropriate behavior regarding the gifts of his suitors and had been considerably pleased to learn that it wouldn’t be unseemly of him to accept presents even from women he had no intention of marrying. So, no matter whom he ultimately chose as his wife, he would enter his marriage not only with a huge dowry from his mother but also a wealth of personal possessions.

“A warrior has no interest in fripperies, except in the pleasure she receives from gifting them to a beautiful creature such as yourself,” his nurse and tutors had assured him.

So, despite his unease over what would happen at the end of the month, when the new moon heralded the start of his future life as some woman’s chattel, Alexin still was boy enough to quiver with excitement at the thought of all the beautiful silks and jewels that would soon adorn his quarters.

The beginning of the festivities was, however, something he’d dreaded even more than their ultimate aim. The first order of business was to establish his value and desirability as a mate to his potential suitors, and if he was found ‘wanting’ then the royal guests would all pack up their tents (and their pretty gifts) and leave the castle immediately.

Alexin didn’t believe that would happen. For his entire life he’d been groomed to be a perfect husband and so had been given neither the desire nor opportunity to sully his reputation or lose his most precious virginity, and he was, his tutors assured him, a physically perfect specimen. So he knew it was a mere formality that he should be subjected to examinations to prove his desirability and that he would be handled with extreme delicacy and deference by the male representatives of his would-be-suitors

But, despite their care and respectful attitude, it was still an ordeal, particularly for someone as innocent as himself, to allow perfect strangers to touch and handle him as though he was no more than a dumb animal.

One by one, each royal household sent a veiled, deferential male to visit Alexin’s quarters. Under the strict watchful eye of his mother, the castle’s chief medicant, and Alexin’s nurse – an unrelated but loyal man who had taken the role of raising Alexin after the death of the prince’s father - Alexin was subjected to over two dozen humiliating examinations. Since his innocence was sacrosanct, no female had ever seen him unclothed. Even his mother and the medicant were forbidden to see his ‘maleness’. In his whole life, no one except his father and his nurse had viewed his naked body.

Yet his desirability and potential to father children obviously had to be established before any of the assembled women would apply for his hand.

So, one at a time, the veiled strangers dropped to their knees, crawled under Alexin’s skirts and checked for themselves that he was both an entire male and pleasing in his proportions. Alexin spent the whole ordeal blushing furiously, horribly humiliated by the experience, but still praying that he’d be found to be satisfactory. Even despite his fear of the marriage itself, Alexin couldn’t imagine anything more terrible than being found unsuitable and less than totally beautiful.

He didn’t even want to *think* what fate might befall him if he was judged unworthy of marriage. Although, privately, he suspected it would mean he’d finally discover what truly went on in the castle barracks.

It took until mid-afternoon before Alexin was finally declared ‘entirely beautiful’ by every single representative and then a huge celebration feast was declared by the Queen and the official ‘wooing’ began.

Attending that feast was an ordeal in itself.

Sitting in the main hall, at his mother’s side, Alexin picked listlessly at the food on his plate, his cheeks burning hotly at the knowledge that every woman in the hall now knew the exact shape, size and proportions of what was carefully concealed under his skirts, and so he refused to raise his eyes from the table. Naturally, his bashfulness simply increased his attractiveness to the assembled warriors.

Alexin cheered up a little when, half-way through the feast, the gifting began. One by one, his would-be-suitors rose from their seats, introduced themselves by spinning tales of their bravery on the battlefield, their wealth and their position, then sent a servant to the Queen’s table with a token of their affection for Alexin. By the time he had a small pile of precious jewels in front of him, Alexin managed to put the small humiliations of the day to the back of his mind.

Although, following tradition, these first gifts were no more than trinkets to tantalize him, his suitors didn’t waste this first opportunity to catch his attention. Ariana, the Queen of Hollowfall, gifted him with an intricately woven gold hair-clasp in the shape of a spider-web, with a jewel encrusted spider nestling in the middle. Alexin was so taken with its beauty that he immediately swept his long hair into a pony-tail and fixed it in place with the clasp.

A low murmur ran through the hall, as Ariana grinned with smug satisfaction at her rivals, and Alexin’s mother approvingly patted his thigh under the table. Although Ariana was old enough to have already outlived three husbands, Alexin knew she was still a strong handsome warrior queen who would make a wonderful ally for their kingdom.

Yet, despite his knowledge of this, the nuances of his mother’s approval sailed completely over Alexin’s head. He had been expressing his delight in the gift, rather than the giver, and so he next chose a string of perfect pearls from his growing pile of booty. Rather than being iridescent white, like most pearls, the necklace in his hand was in the soft hues of water. Delicate blues, greens and turquoises. All colors that would, he knew, emphasize and enhance his eyes.

He slipped the pearls around his neck, shivering slightly as their cool touch made him think of far-off oceans, and he ignored the ripple of speculation through the assembled guests over the fact he’d chosen the gift of one of Ariana’s greatest rivals, Princess Carinda of Aisa Cove.

At his side, Alexin’s mother smiled. Since Alexin was only a boy, and thus completely unaware of such intricacies as politics, she knew her son was simply picking through the jewelry with the simple greed of a magpie fascinated by sparkly things, but she was pleased he’d innocently and inadvertently set the cat amongst the pigeons with his first reactions. She was well aware of her son’s exceptional beauty and had spent almost eighteen years planning how she would use his desirability to best advantage. By the end of the month, she intended to extract so many unbreakable pledges of loyalty from the assembled Royals – in their efforts to gain her support for their winning of Alexin’s hand – that regardless of whom he actually chose she would become powerful beyond her wildest dreams.

Besides, she already knew whom he’d ‘choose’. Alexin was an obedient boy, after all, and would follow his mother’s wishes. While it was politically expedient to let all the suitors believe they had a chance to win her beautiful Alexin’s hand, he would actually marry the woman who offered his mother the best alliance and she had already decided which of the gathered queens best suited *her* ambitions. Not that she’d try to explain such complicated matters to a mere boy. She’d simply let him play at being courted while she made arrangements behind the scenes and then she would tell him who his future wife was going to be.

She turned to Alexin, who was still playing happily with his trinkets, and patted him affectionately on his hand.

“It’s time for you to leave, child. Even a boy as comely as you still needs his beauty sleep, and we need to speak of womanly things now.”

Alexin pouted, glared at Marita who was smirking at him from the other side of his mother’s chair, and begged for a little more time (since the longer he sat there, the more pretty baubles kept appearing on his table).

His mother shook her head firmly. “The time has come for your suitors to speak to me of their desire for your beauty, Alexin, and it would be unseemly of you to listen to such talk.”

When he still looked as though he might plead for a little more time, she gently added, “I am sure the conversation will include your potential to father heirs, Alexin.”

Alexin blushed furiously and stumbled hastily, if still totally gracefully, to his feet as he understood the implications of his mother’s words. He *definitely* didn’t want to listen to the women comparing notes on the findings of the earlier examinations of his ‘maleness’. Leaving one of the servants to collect his baubles, he lifted his heavy skirts and fled from the room.

His hasty, red-faced exit only served to convince the guests that he was indeed the delicate, shy flower they believed him to be and so his value as a potential husband increased yet another notch.

His mother simply smiled.

~~~

The next morning, Alexin’s nurse woke him up far earlier than normal and spent over three hours preparing him for a day of being courted. He was bathed and oiled. His hand and toe nails were filed and buffed. His hair was washed and brushed until it was sleek and shining. Then it was braided with a string of small delicate flowers and tiny leaves. Next, his eyes were carefully outlined with kohl, his lips were painted with the softest, most natural pink of a rosebud, and then he was dressed in a brand-new outfit of the most delicate, expensive spider-silk.

Alexin baulked at the outfit at first. Although it was the most beautiful material he’d ever seen, a soft, swirling pattern of various leafy greens that emphasized the paleness of his skin and made his eyes look enormous as they reflected its hues, and was perfectly respectable in length, reaching from just under his throat to the very top of his feet, it was, in Alexin’s opinion, also completely obscene.

The fabric was so light and fine that it hugged his body, rather than flowing over it. It outlined and emphasized every curve of his body. It was so tight that not only his slight musculature was evident, but his nipples were clearly protruding from his chest. That wasn’t the worst of it though. It *also* clung tightly to his groin. His most secret anatomy was clearly outlined by the tight sheath of the skirt, making him look and feel almost naked.

“I can’t wear this,” he gasped. “It’s not respectable.”

“Your mother chose your outfit,” his nurse replied. “It is perfectly suitable for this brief but incredibly important stage of your life. You’re leaving boyhood behind, Alexin, and for this one month you must shine so brightly that you are never forgotten. Soon enough, you’ll be veiled and hidden from the world for the rest of your life. You’re so beautiful I can’t imagine *any* wife ever allowing you to leave her chambers. But for this short last month of boyhood, it’s your *duty* to show the entire world what a wonderful prize you are. It’s not enough for you to *be* beautiful. Your reputation as a beauty must be such that your wife will spend her entire life being envied that she owns you.”

Alexin pouted slightly but nodded his acceptance. If his mother had chosen the outfit, it *had* to be the correct attire. Since he’d never witnessed a prince being veiled before, he had no way of judging for himself.

But he cried a little when his nurse insisted that he took a dose of the drug that ensured his maleness became even more prominent against the sheath-like skirt of his outfit.

“I look like a barracks man,” he whimpered.

“You look like a young prince who’s ripe and ready to be veiled,” his nurse corrected. “For the next month, your suitors will all fall over themselves to be the one who finally wins the right to remove your skirts. In the meantime you must tease and tantalize them. Their eyes will follow you everywhere as you glide through their midst, so desirable and yet still so completely untouchable. So dry your eyes, my prince, before you ruin your make-up. Consider instead how best to use this opportunity to your advantage. If you think the gifts you received last night were beautiful, just imagine what your suitors will gift you with after they see you like this.”

Alexin wasn’t fully convinced. He still was certain he’d spend the entire month blushing furiously and unable to raise his eyes from his hemline. On the other hand, he knew that shyness was considered a desirable trait and, anyway, he couldn’t even imagine defying his mother, so he decided to accept his nurse’s advice and concentrate on the prospect of acquiring more gifts.

Unless he was fortunate enough to choose an incredibly indulgent wife, he knew it was unlikely that he would receive more than the odd trinket during his marriage. No woman was going to waste money on buying expensive fripperies for her husband when no eyes but her own would see them. So Alex needed to acquire a wealth of possessions *before* his marriage to ensure he’d always be able to look perfectly beautiful.

His first ‘appointment’ of the day was with Queen Ariana. He wasn’t sure whether that was co-incidence, a reflection of his pleasure in her gift or simply his mother’s way of acknowledging Ariana’s rank.

It was pretty irrelevant either way, he decided, because he would have been horribly embarrassed *whomever* had first seen him in his new, revealing outfit. He spent almost the entire conversation staring firmly at the floor, trembling at her proximity and giving silent thanks that their meeting was fully chaperoned by his nurse, two castle guards and three of Ariana’s servants.

His mother, Sylvana, was an impressive looking woman, but Ariana was almost a century older and nearly six inches taller. She was also so muscular that her biceps were nearly as wide as Alexin’s thighs. She looked as though she was capable of crushing him in one hand and he cringed at the thought of being pinned helplessly under her bulk as she mounted him. He’d heard that she’d already outlived three husbands and, blushing hotly, he decided he had a pretty good idea of how they’d gone to their graves.

“You are absolutely the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes upon,” Ariana told him bluntly, patting him on the thigh.

Alexin shivered, but then remembered his manners and mumbled his gratitude for the compliment.

“Such a lovely, husky voice,” Ariana continued. “I hear that you’re an accomplished singer, my prince.”

“I’m fully trained in all the manly arts,” Alexin agreed quietly, then bit his lower lip in sudden doubt as to whether it was a good thing to confirm his excellent upbringing to such a terrifying woman.

“Which arts?” she teased, sliding her hand dangerously close to his prominent maleness.

Before Alexin’s chaperones could even cough a protest, the young prince yelped in fear and leapt to his feet. He backed away from Ariana, his face scarlet and his heart pounding so hard that he was afraid he’d faint.

“Forgive me,” she said immediately. “I had to be sure that you truly are as good and innocent a boy as you appear to be.”

She snapped her fingers at one of her servants, and the woman disappeared from the room only to appear moments later carrying a huge bolt of silken lace. Alexin glanced at the material from the corner of his eye and gasped aloud. It was Rastan lace, the rarest, most expensive of cloths. The servant was holding a small fortune in her hands. Enough material to make perhaps a half-dozen outfits and still have spare to trim his bed-pillows and blankets.

“Skin as delicate as yours should never be touched by anything except the finest material,” Ariana declared. “Please accept this gift as a homage to your beauty.”

Then she rose to her feet and swept from the room, fully satisfied by the expression of stunned awe on Alexin’s face.

The rest of the day was pretty much a constant repetition of Ariana’s visit. Six more women came to see him, praised his beauty, did something mildly ‘inappropriate’ as though to double-check his innocence and virginity, and then they gifted him with something wonderful.

“See,” his nurse told him, while he prepared Alexin for that evening’s feast. “No one found you to be    'unrespectable’. All they saw was your beauty.”

“Each and every one of them groped me,” Alexin replied, with a sulky pout. “I hated it.”

“Of course you hated it,” his nurse agreed patiently. “The point was that they wanted to be sure that you *did* hate it. No respectable woman wants used goods, my prince.”

Alexin flushed and fell silent for a moment. He swallowed heavily, took a deep breath, then whispered, “They’re all so *big*.”

His nurse laughed gently. “All women seem big compared to males,” he agreed, “and Royal women are larger than most. They live longer than the lower caste women and the older women are, the taller and more muscular they become.”

“Why don’t boys grow tall and muscular?” Alexin asked plaintively.

“Probably because we don’t live long enough,” the nurse replied. “But why would you *want* to be like a woman, my prince? It’s the very fact you’re so petite that makes your beauty so desirable. You’re small even for a male, and delicacy like yours is greatly prized.”

Alexin nodded. He knew the fact he’d stopped growing when he was barely more than six foot tall was one of the reasons he was considered so ‘special’. Women preferred their husbands to be fragile because it emphasized their own strength and thus brought out all their protective urges.

“You’re lucky,” his nurse continued. “With your looks, even if you’re widowed you’ll have no difficulty in marrying again.”

Alexin felt immediately ashamed of himself for his whining. He knew that his nurse had been married once and had lost his wife due to an infected wound she suffered during a border-skirmish with the monkey-people. Because his nurse had already fathered several heirs and was, to be honest, rather plain in appearance for a male, he’d received no offers of a second marriage. Even though males were rare in their society, a man had to be truly beautiful for a woman to take him in marriage when he was no longer a virgin. Had he not been lucky enough to be employed to raise the young prince, Alexin’s nurse would have either become the concubine to a lesser-ranked female or even, possibly, ended up as a barracks man.

“What will happen to you, after my marriage?” he blurted suddenly.

His nurse winced and his eyes looked lost and wounded for a moment inside his veil. But he sighed heavily and said, “I probably should refuse to tell you but, since you’re almost a man now, I suppose you deserve an adult answer. I will have to seek protection wherever I can find it. I am neither young nor beautiful, and I doubt any woman would want one such as I for her own. I have not what a woman desires in a husband.”

Alexin’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “I shall insist you go with me,” he announced firmly. “Whomever I choose as a wife must also agree to give you a home.”

His nurse chuckled sadly, but reached forward and stroked Alexin’s cheek with obvious love. “No woman will home her husband’s nurse, Alexin. You will be a man, not a boy, and I will no longer have a place at your side. That’s the way of things, and not even a boy as sweet and beautiful as you can change traditions simply because you have a big heart.” Then, seeing Alexin’s mouth trembling, he said, “Though, possibly, you might mention my plight to your mother and ask that she find me a new home.”

Alexin nodded solemnly. “I shall,” he agreed. “You’ve looked after me so well, for so many years, that you deserve to be happy. There’s no way she’ll refuse to help you.”

His nurse smiled softly and nodded his head in gratitude, even though he highly doubted the Queen would care about his fate one way or the other after Alexin’s veiling. Whatever the Queen might promise her son, the nurse knew his fate lay in the barracks. But he didn’t tell Alexin that.

There was no reason to ever destroy the boy’s innocent naiveté because Alexin was destined to live a charmed, pampered existence in which the grim reality of how *most* Faerie males were treated would hopefully never intrude.

~~~

The next week passed in a blur. Between being painstakingly groomed each morning before his private, though chaperoned, meetings with his suitors and feasts every evening at which he was frequently expected to demonstrate his manly talents such as singing and reciting poetry, Alexin didn’t even have time to visit his rose garden.

Only the fact that his quarters became filled to overflowing with bolts of exotic material and treasure boxes full of jewels and gem-encrusted hairbrushes and combs prevented him from pouting over the loss of his already limited freedom.

Besides, he supposed he’d have to become accustomed to living in permanent seclusion.

So the only truly upsetting part of that week was the visit of his sister, Marita.

Although she was only ten, she already had a precocious, world-weary air of condescension born undoubtedly of her knowledge that she was destined to become the Queen of the richest, most influential settlement in their land. She appeared almost indecently pleased that her older sibling was male and thus destined to be nothing more than another queen’s plaything.

She had, it seemed, spent most of the week enquiring of the particular details of married life and, despite her age, her rank and her persistence eventually gained her the knowledge she sought. Then she immediately ran to Alexin’s quarters to share her new-found wisdom.

Had she not been grinning with cat-like satisfaction for the entire conversation, she *could* have pretended she was too young to fully comprehend the impact of the knowledge on her older, but far more sheltered, brother.

“Do you know *why* it’s so important that you’re a virgin?” she demanded.

Alexin flushed hotly and pulled a cushion over his lap. It was bad enough that his ‘suitors’ witnessed his maleness through his tight shift but it was intolerable that his sister should stare at his lap as though the strange bulge in his clothing proved he was created to be no more than a woman’s pet.

“Be…because a respectable woman rightly expects to be the only person who’s ever touched her husband,” he replied with dignity.

“Tosh,” Marita scoffed. “It’s got *nothing* at all to do with you being ‘innocent’, you fool. It’s all about sex.”

Alexin moaned at the forbidden word and covered his ears quickly in case Marita said anything else obscene.

Marita irritably slapped his hands from his head. Even at ten she was as tall as him and far stronger. His eyes filling with tears at the small, but totally unexpected, pain of her slaps, he cringed back in his seat and glanced at her warily.

“It turns out that males have magic too,” she announced.

Alexin shook his head in disbelief. Only high-caste females were capable of magic. Only those females could set the wards that kept the monkey-people from finding their settlements. Only they had the ability to cast the spells that changed the weather. Along with their size, strength and longevity, it was a woman’s ability to do magic that proved they were naturally created to rule. Males like himself, being smaller and without magic, were totally dependant on the kindness of females.

“But it’s a weird kind of magic,” Marita continued smugly. “Apparently, male magic is sexual. The tears of a virgin boy are an irresistible aphrodisiac to a female, forcing her to mount him, and then the first orgasm of that male completes the spell and the female is bound to her husband until one of them dies. Or another female mounts the male. Which is why you’re going to spend your whole life locked away for your own safety. If another woman should rape you, it’ll break the spell and your wife will no longer want you. It’s got nothing to do with ‘respectability’. It’s just that there’s apparently nothing as pleasurable as mounting a boy while your body is responding to his spell.”

“I don’t understand,” Alexin whimpered, his eyes filling with tears again. He had no idea what an ‘orgasm’ was and very little comprehension of the word ‘rape’ but, even so, none of Marita’s words sounded pleasant.

“It’s like your body releases a drug,” Marita laughed. “And your wife is going to be totally addicted to that drug. That’s why *you* have to take drugs. Because she’ll desire you constantly, whether or not you want her to mount you. That’s why Queen Ariana is looking for a fourth husband. She rode her last three to death. And that’s what happened to your father, Alexin. That’s why he died so young. He was as pretty as you are, and mother couldn’t leave him alone.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’ll believe me soon enough when you get married, Alexin. You’ll spend the rest of your life lying in your wife’s bed, being constantly mounted until you eventually die of heart-failure. That’s why men live such short lives. You’re so physically inferior that we women wear you out,” Marita announced, with a wide satisfied smirk.

Although the color had drained out of his face at her words, Alexin shook his head proudly and bravely said, “Whether you’re right or not about the ‘magic’, it makes no difference. I’ve never doubted that my only purpose is to give my wife both children and pleasure. That’s the sole purpose of a boy. Just as my wife will gladly lay down her life on a battlefield to keep me safe, so I’ll willingly die in my wife’s bed. If my last act is giving my wife pleasure, then I’ll have lived a good and proper life.”

“A sore *miserable* life, from what I’ve heard,” Marita countered. “It isn’t your ‘maleness’ that creates a woman’s ultimate pleasure, it’s your tears. That’s where your magic resides. Every time you weep, you release some kind of hormone that heightens sexual pleasure. So your wife’s pleasure is directly proportional to your pain.”

She laughed at Alexin’s shocked face. “From what I heard, most wives spank their husbands as a prelude to sex. They beat their husbands until their bottoms are redder than your cheeks are right now, and when their husbands are crying their eyes out in pain, they flip them over onto their backs and ride them unconscious.”

“I don’t believe you,” Alexin whispered, but a sole tear trickled down his face.

~~~

“It’s true to an extent,” Alexin’s nurse reluctantly confirmed when the tearful prince confronted him later. “Most women *do* spank their husbands to encourage tears, since the tears *do* increase their pleasure, but you shouldn’t think of it as being beaten. If your wife loves you, she’ll make the experience pleasurable for you too and since no woman could fail to adore you, my prince, I don’t believe your wife will ever *beat* you.”

“How can being spanked be pleasurable?” Alexin wailed.

“You’ll understand when you’re a husband. It’s one of the mysteries of the bedchamber that you’ll be introduced to after your veiling. The princess had no business telling you about things that should remain private between a woman and her husband, but it changes nothing. Your destiny is to become the adored husband of a powerful queen and your only role is to make her happy that she owns you. Even if she chooses to express her affection with a little roughness, you must keep in mind that you’re pleasing her by passively accepting whatever she chooses to do to you. It’s not a boy’s place to question his wife’s behavior.”

“I know,” Alexin agreed sadly. Then he frowned again. “Is it true that only a virgin male has this ‘magic’?”

“There are legends of some males who could bewitch more than one female. Enthor, for instance, the husband of the great Queen Agnala, was once kidnapped and held to ransom by another queen. During his imprisonment, his captor mounted him several times and so, when he returned to Queen Agnala, their bond had been severed and she was no longer enspelled by him. She had, however, developed true love for him during their marriage and so, instead of casting him aside as soiled, she consented to take him back to her bed and it’s said that he managed to re-establish their bond.

”But then, it’s a legend and so is possibly just a story. All I know for sure is that the woman you give your virginity to *will* be bound to you and will protect you with her life. To protect that bond, she will keep you forever cloistered to prevent you being taken from her. So, if nothing else, at least you now know why it is so important that a married male should be kept in seclusion.”

Alexin nodded his understanding. “For my protection,” he whispered. “Lest anything should happen to me that would break my bond with my wife.”

“Exactly,” his nurse agreed. “Just as your virginity is currently your most precious possession, after your marriage you must keep yourself equally pure and chaste. To allow yourself to be touched by another woman, even under duress, would not only destroy your reputation but would also end your marriage.”

~~~

So it was a much subdued Alexin who began the second week of the ‘courting’. Again he had a series of individual meetings with the women he’d been introduced to the week before, but this time instead of a simple gift and short conversation, the women took the opportunity to extol the virtues of their queendoms.

None of the tales impressed him much. Considering he’d be locked inside a bedchamber wherever he ended up living, the only interesting knowledge was how *far* away those queendoms were. As far as he could see, his sole opportunity to see anything of the world would be during his journey to his new home. It seemed, therefore, wisest to choose a wife who lived a very long way away. Perhaps even the one who lived across the ocean on Aisa Cove, the island between the two Territories

Distance wasn’t the only criteria though.

It wasn’t even his *primary* criteria.

Although he’d absorbed his nurse’s words of comfort, and had meant it when he’d told his sister he accepted his inferior role in their society, he couldn’t prevent himself from beginning to judge the acceptability of his suitors from the size of their hands.

Queen Ariana, for instance, was an absolute *no*. Alexin was already terrified of her sheer size, but one look at her palms and he found himself almost swooning with fear. The idea of being ‘spanked’ by Ariana was enough to bring him out in a cold sweat.

Never having experienced a spanking, Alexin wasn’t entirely sure of what it entailed or how painful it would feel. The fact it was designed to put him in tears was, however, sufficient clue of its prospective unpleasantness.

He began practicing to make himself cry on demand, since that seemed a far less painful alternative, but his success was patchy at best. He was forced to accept he was far from accomplished as far as acting was concerned.

By the middle of that second week, he’d almost made a choice of who his wife would be. Naturally, one choice was Princess Carinda of Aisa Cove, she who had gifted him with the sea-colored pearls. He had several reasons for his decision. Although she was a mere princess – her mother was still hale and hearty and liable to be still ruling her queendom long after Alexin’s death – she lived on an island off the north east coast so Alexin *would* see the ocean at least once.

Secondly, she was small-framed for a woman. She was no more than six and a half feet tall and was still in her first century of life which meant she hadn’t yet had time to build any truly substantial muscle. Her hands, being in proportion to her body, were far less terrifying as potential weapons.

Thirdly, her gifts were not only exquisitely beautiful but seemed to have been chosen with great care for his tastes. She was putting so much effort into her wooing of him that Alexin liked to believe she would continue to be truly affectionate, should she win his hand.

His other choice was Queen Rhianna of Ravendale. She was even older and larger than Ariana and her queendom was far from any ocean, being nestled in the mountainous terrain of the most northern part of the Southern Territories. She was, however, the absolute *nicest* of his suitors. She had an intrinsic gentleness that belied her huge frame. She had a sparkle of humor in her eyes every time she spoke to him and, most importantly, she promised that since her queendom was so isolated and well-fortified, her people had little fear of attack and so Alexin would be allowed the freedom of the entire inner castle. Her previous husband had, she assured him, even had a rose garden similar to Alexin’s.

Regardless of his dream to see the ocean, the idea of being allowed a garden was almost irresistible. He had been so tempted by the picture she painted of the surprising freedom she’d grant him that he’d unthinkingly blurted, “But will you spank me?”

After an initial reaction of complete shock, she’d laughed uproariously and then had patted his cheek with clear fondness. “Of course I’ll spank you, little one,” she’d chuckled. “I may be old, but never fear I’d neglect such a sweet and beautiful boy as yourself.”

Her reaction had, admittedly, put a whole new complexion on the ‘spanking’ issue. Since he knew Marita was a spiteful person who always twisted her words to cause him the maximum amount of fear, he began to wonder whether his nurse was right after all when he’d said that spanking could be ‘pleasurable’. Certainly, Rhianna had taken his question as a need for reassurance that he *would* be spanked, rather than a plea not to be touched in that fashion.

He wished he could ask his mother, but he knew that she’d be shocked that he was even *thinking* of such sordid things as what would take place inside his future bedchamber.

So, with just over two weeks to go before his veiling, he had chosen two definite possibilities out of his suitors and was beginning to feel a lot less apprehensive about his impending marriage.

And it was in that frame of mind that he attended yet another feast, and learned about the capture earlier that day of the monkey-man.

~~~

As a mere boy, he didn’t partake of the discussions in the main hall. He simply sat there and ate gracefully, while listening with great interest to the womanly discussions taking place around him. Because men were forbidden even the bluntest of knives, lest they somehow harmed themselves, he picked slowly at his food with a fork. To ensure his grace and decorum while eating, his food had already been cut up into tiny, bite-sized morsels. So Alexin ate slowly and silently, concentrating more on his posture and the graceful angle at which he raised his arm whenever he lifted his fork than on the actual food he was eating.

Sometimes he wondered why it was so important that he learned to eat with such grace. A veiled man was incapable of eating in public, since his veil reached head to toe with only his eyes revealed, so Alexin often grumbled internally that every feast in his mother’s castle was a painstaking attempt on his part to demonstrate his perfect – and ultimately pointless - manners while every woman at the table was simply tearing into their food as though they were starving.

It also irritated him that he was forbidden to speak unless asked a direct question. Sometimes the conversations around him were so intriguing that it took all his self-control not to blurt out a comment or question. Particularly when the discussion fell to journeys to other lands. He so wanted to ask about the ocean. What it truly looked like. How it smelt. How it felt to be on a boat. Whether there truly were mystical beasts roaming its depths. Instead he could only sit there silently and wish that, just for an hour or two, he could behave like a woman.

Naturally, Marita took part in almost all the conversations. Sometimes he suspected she deliberately changed the general topic if it looked like he was particularly interested in a subject. She seemed to delight in making him miserable.

He didn’t dwell overmuch on her spitefulness since, as a rule, he knew it was born of jealousy. Oddly enough, although she was fully aware of the limitations of his life and his future, she seemed permanently furious that he lived such a pampered existence. Just as he envied her freedoms, she envied him his life of uncomplicated comfort. And she definitely resented the fact that his beauty was sufficient reason for guests to coo over him while she only garnered attention by actual achievements. She would be praised for winning a race or performing well in combat. He would be praised endlessly simply for existing.

Sometimes Alexin suspected it *was* better to be a boy after all.

On this particular evening however, the conversation wasn’t of oceans but of the monkey-people. It seemed that one of his mother’s patrols had caught one of the monkey-men inside one of the outermost ward-gates. When he heard that, he shivered and went so pale that one of the visiting queens gently suggested that the conversation should be shelved until after he’d retired.

His mother retorted that even such a fragile, delicate boy as himself couldn’t live a totally sheltered life. The monkey-people were a growing menace to them all and, now he was almost a man, it was best that Alexin fully appreciated the danger his wife would be facing daily to ensure his safety.

Her comment was met with general agreement and considerable pleasure by the most warlike of the queens. They preened and primped, flexing their biceps in Alexin’s direction as though glad of the opportunity to prove that it was their strength and fighting ability that should woo him, rather than their gifts and sweet words.

“It’s a most disturbing creature,” the captain of the guard informed them. “At least six inches taller than any monkey-man I’ve ever seen before and surprisingly strong. It’s either a mutation, or a member of a tribe we haven’t come across before.”

“I would have liked to have witnessed the animal for myself,” Ariana announced.

“You may,” Alexin’s mother answered. “Normally we kill the beasts immediately but, whenever one is unusual my guards have the sense to bring it to the castle alive. It’s important we establish this particular animal’s origins and learn how it managed to penetrate the ward-spell. If you wish, you may see it in the morning before we begin the interrogation.”

“I’d very much like to see it, too. It won’t be half as much fun to play with after you’ve tortured it,” Princess Carinda said, leaning forward eagerly with a look in her eyes that sent a small chill down Alexin’s spine.

He began to rethink his choice of her as a possible wife. There was something distinctly cruel in her expression as she spoke of ‘playing’ with the captured monkey-man.

“Why not bring it here now for us all to see?” Ariana asked.

Alexin’s mother thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose it could be entertaining,” she agreed.

Alexin froze in his seat, attempting to look small and insignificant. He knew he *was* small and insignificant, but he was terrified that if his mother noticed him,she’d send him from the room and he *so* wanted to see what one of the fabled monkey-people looked like.

Some said they were animals that walked on two legs, had a rudimentary language and almost looked like ‘people’. Others described them to be as ugly as the monkeys they had evolved from and barely capable of doing more than grunt at each other. He really wanted to see one for himself. Though, admittedly, he was a little worried about the rumor that they had a most foul bodily odor.

Fortunately, no one seemed to remember he was there. Not even Marita, who could usually be counted on to loudly exclaim that a boy shouldn’t witness such potentially frightening things as monkey-men, and so he was still in the hall when the beast was dragged in.

Equally fortunately, his loud gasp of amazement was drowned in the exclamations of the guests.

The monkey-man was *huge*.

Rumor said they were barely five and a half feet tall with their females, oddly, supposedly even smaller, but this monkey-man was at least as tall as himself and so densely muscled he looked like a woman.

Well, not a ‘real’ woman, since he was dwarfed by his guards, but compared to Alexin himself the creature was almost terrifyingly large.

It was also almost hairless. Well, it had hair on its head. Long flowing hair that rivaled Alexin’s own locks in luster if not in length, but that was all except for a little smattering of hair on its well-defined chest and groin. It was very confusing because the term ‘monkey-man’ had always led Alexin to assume the beasts were as hirsute as the other beasts of the forest.

It was also completely naked, and this was what made Alexin groan with shock and sway in his seat, struggling not to faint. Its considerable maleness was completely exposed, making Alexin all too aware of the tightness of his own outfit, and he cringed at the thought that the assembled women were staring at the creature’s groin in the knowledge that he, too, had similar appendages.

“I think poor Alexin is going to pass out,” Marita announced loudly.

Most of the women turned abruptly in his direction, looking completely shocked and scandalized that he was still present. One of the guards quickly tore a strip off her uniform and covered the creature’s genitals from his view.

Alexin’s mother looked furious. “How dare you expose the prince to such a sight?” she demanded of the guards. “Go to your quarters immediately, Alexin.”

“It’s just an animal,” Queen Rhianna soothed, “and it’s a little late to send Alexin to his room now. He’s already seen the worst, so you may as well let the child stay now.”

Alexin flashed her a grateful look and risked not immediately responding to his mother’s order. Since she said nothing about his not leaving, he decided he’d gotten away with his small disobedience. Except for his natural shock at seeing even an animal’s maleness so shamelessly exposed, Alexin was still totally fascinated by the monkey-man. It looked so much like a real person that it was frightening.

Well, there *were* obvious differences, now he could concentrate on the creature’s face rather than its groin. Its eyes were dark and round, rather than brightly colored and slightly slanted. People invariably had either blue or green eyes, so the brown eyes - like those of a horse or a dog - confirmed he was definitely looking at a beast. The monkey-man also had rounded ears, rather than the pointed, elegant ears of a person. Its nose was wide, almost squashed, as though it had been broken at some point (though possibly that was just how monkey-men’s noses *always* looked). Its features were heavy, almost coarse, compared to the high cheekbones and elegant bone-structure of a real person. But the most fascinating thing about the animal was its musculature. If Alexin hadn’t seen the creature’s ‘maleness’ with his own eyes, he’d honestly have thought it to be female.

Its voice was definitely female.

Guttural and incomprehensible to Alexin, since he’d never been taught even the rudimentary words of the monkey-men’s simple tongue, but it had the depth and strength of a woman’s voice.

One of Alexin’s peculiarities (which was, fortunately, considered cute rather than a fault) was the slight huskiness of his own voice. It made him sound, apparently, more like a girl than a boy. Instead of being high and lilting, like most men’s tones, his voice was surprisingly deep and always sounded a little as though he had a cold. Compared to the creature, however, his own voice was *definitely* male.

He shivered a little as the monkey-man gave a decidedly female roar of outrage and tried to escape its chains again.

“Don’t be frightened, sweetness,” Rhianna said, moving up the table to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “The beast can’t escape.”

She received several furious glances from the other queens for using the opportunity to further woo the boy, but Alexin didn’t notice their anger. He was just grateful for the comfort of her touch.

Alexin’s mother laughed at his white face and the way he was biting his lower lip in obvious fear of the captive.

“Make the creature dance,” she demanded. “Show the prince that it’s harmless.”

Two of the guards took hold of a chain on either side of the monkey-man and stepped aside, so that it was standing alone but unable to escape because of the chains holding it in place. Then a third guard took her sword to the fire in the centre of the hall, heated it until it was glowing a deep orange-red, and returned to stand behind the creature.

She began to poke it with the sword. Not hard enough to break its skin but instead using the sharp, burning tip to make the creature roar in pain and fury. It also began to dance in place as the sword pressed randomly at various parts of its body. It soon appeared to Alexin that the creature’s buttocks were its most sensitive area, because its most enthusiastic roars and jigs were when the sword was pressed against its posterior.

Everyone, even Rhianna, was laughing uproariously at the monkey-man’s antics, and he knew he was *supposed* to think it was funny, too. Particularly when one of the guards took one of the large metal platters, heated it on the fire and made the creature stand on it. Perhaps his failure to laugh was because the creature began to dance from foot to foot so violently that the material covering its groin fell off and the monkey-man’s maleness began to flop up and down in rhythm to its jigging. The watching women clearly found that hilarious, but Alexin just found it mortifyingly embarrassing.

The other thing that stole any possible humor from the situation was the way the guard’s assault on the creature’s buttocks reminded him too closely of his fear of being spanked.

He didn’t think what they were doing to the helpless beast was funny at all.

Actually, it was making him feel quite sick.

After a few moments of watching the monkey-man being teased, taunted and tortured, he lurched to his feet, announced he didn’t feel very well, and then collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

~~~

Alexin slept badly that night.

Despite being carried back to his quarters and fussed over and pampered for several hours by his nurse until he’d recovered from his shock and had put ‘the nasty animal’ out of his mind, Alexin dreamed he chose a wife only to find himself married instead to the monkey-man. In his dream, the monkey-man spanked him so hard that he danced and screamed as loud as the creature had at the feast and then, somehow, the beast had mounted him and so claimed him as its mate forever.

He woke in a cold sweat, sobbing loudly and wishing desperately that he’d never seen the awful creature. He couldn’t get the image of the beast’s prominent maleness out of his mind and that, combined with its female musculature, completely disturbed him.

He’d never had an erotic dream before, let alone an erotic nightmare, and although he knew it was the creature’s peculiar resemblance to a female that had allowed his subconscious to imagine it mounting him, he was terrified that there was something unrespectable, or possibly even sinful, about imagining himself to be touched by another male.

Particularly a male *animal*.

He was so disturbed by his dream that he made a conscious decision not to ask about the fate of the beast. He knew it was being held in the dungeon and ‘interrogated’ and’ although he’d only heard vague rumors of what his mother’s guards did to prisoners to ensure their co-operation, he had little doubt that it would soon spill its secrets and then be swiftly put to death.

The upside of his embarrassing faint at the feast was not only that all of his suitors sent him special ‘get well’ gifts but they put up no argument when his nurse said he was still feeling too unwell to entertain visitors. So he had a whole two days of peace, the second of which was spent in his garden since his mother agreed that the fresh air would probably do him good.

All too soon, the two days passed and he was to be thrust back into the endless cycle of rotating queens and princesses vying for his hand. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he discovered on the second night that his quarters were a little too close for comfort to the dungeon if the shutters to his room were open, and it was far too humid at that time of year for him to sleep without a breeze into his bedchamber.

He was still sleeping badly, his dreams plagued endlessly by the monkey-man, and whenever he woke up he then heard the creature’s groans and howls for real. By the second night, over-tired and furious, he decided he was going to walk down to the dungeon and tell the guards off. He didn’t see why they couldn’t torture the creature at a civilized hour.

He knew he *should* have sent his nurse, or even one of his own guards with the message, but he was tired and cranky and he had so few opportunities in his life to vent his feelings in person. He almost *never* had a chance to raise his voice to a woman, but he knew he’d get away with telling the guards off because they’d never want to admit to his mother that they’d disturbed his sleep in the first place.

So instead of stepping through his bedchamber door, he snuck quietly to his window, carefully pried the shutters further open until they were wide enough for him to slide his slim body through, and he crept out into the dark, silent courtyard.

He could see some guards gathered at the portcullis, and more at the gateway to his mother’s tower, but the tower which the dungeon was under was both unlit and unguarded. It was so dark that he stumbled a few times on the cobblestones, but he used the low repetitive groans of the monkey-man to guide him to the dungeon entrance. The door was locked, which confused him a little since the door locked from the outside, rather than the interior. There was no need to ever lock the door from the inside since prisoners were always held within individual metal barred cells.

It finally occurred to him that perhaps the guards *weren’t* torturing the creature in the middle of the night but that it was simply groaning in pain by itself.

For just an instant he felt a brief unfamiliar feeling of pity for the creature, but then his own tiredness and irritation took over once more. He was the prince and he was getting married in two weeks. Everyone was supposed to put his comfort before their own. Absolutely everyone, even Marita, understood that he *needed* his sleep to remain beautiful.

It wasn’t *fair* that the monkey-man was making so much noise.

That decided, Alexin returned to the door and unlocked it.

As the prince, he had a master key that allowed him to enter or exit any doorway in the palace. The only reason he had the key was in case the castle was ever attacked and he needed to quickly hide himself. Since the castle never *had* been attacked, he’d never used the key before and so had resented his nurse’s insistence that he should carry it at all times. Now, however, he was finally glad to own it.

Stepping inside he froze and momentarily reconsidered his actions. All he *had* to do was complain to his guards and the animal would undoubtedly be gagged. He didn’t *have* to enter the dungeon himself. And it smelt *bad*. Damp and dank and stale, with the unmistakable scent of sweat and, unless he was mistaken, the acid undertones of urine and even worse.

He really didn’t want to enter.

And yet, even as he had that thought, he realized he was lying to himself. He’d been lying to himself ever since the moment he’d decided to sneak out of his bedchamber window instead of simply summoning his nurse.

He *did* want to enter the dungeon.

And the reason he wanted to enter had *nothing* to do with his disturbed sleep. He’d just been waiting for an opportunity to see the beast again.

It was just curiosity, just fascination with the idea of coming face-to-face again with the creature which had haunted his dreams. It was, he decided, simply his need to see for himself that the creature was safely caged and therefore totally harmless. When he saw with his own eyes that the animal was incapable of ever breaking out of its cage and attacking him, he’d sleep far better.

That decided, Alexin lit a torch and made his careful descent into the dungeon.

~~~

Wrinkling his nose at the smell of combined blood, urine and possibly the presence of even more unmentionable things, Alexin took a deep breath for courage, carefully lifted the skirt of his nightgown to avoid staining the expensive fabric on the wet, dirty floor, and moved to peer into the monkey-man’s cell.

He gasped out loud.

Not so much at the piteous state of the creature as the fact it was bound in such a way that it seemed even larger than he’d remembered.

It was hanging upside down from the ceiling, its ankles locked into stiff iron shackles that bore its weight with ease (though the blood trickling down the monkey-man’s legs from the site of the shackles suggested that its body objected most strenuously to being suspended in such a way.) and its wrists were shackled behind its back. Its long hair was, therefore, dangling freely under its head, and since it was long enough to touch the floor it created the illusion that the creature was over seven feet tall. Smaller than the average woman but still, combined with its musculature, Alexin’s stomach churned at the beast’s obvious strength. He was considerably relieved to find it so soundly restrained.

He stared with fascination at its broad shoulders, wide back and substantial biceps. Its arms were *almost* as well muscled as Ariana’s.

Again, Alexin had a moment of doubt as to whether he was *truly* looking at a male. Despite having seen its prominent ‘maleness’ for himself at the feast, nothing else of the creature’s appearance or anatomy was that of a man. He wished he had more learning of the world. Perhaps the beast was neither male nor female but somehow a monstrous combination of both sexes. Alexin didn’t know whether that was even possible, but it seemed a logical (if slightly fanciful) conclusion.

His eyes skipped rapidly over the creature’s body, registering the many marks of torture but being unmoved by them. For one thing, he had no basis of comparison. Although he *imagined* it would be painful to be whipped (and certainly the red raised welts that lined the creature’s flesh from its ankles down to its neck *did* look angry and sore) his one and only experience of pain had been the breaking of his arm almost thirteen years previously. He had only the vaguest remembrance of that pain and everyone had told him at the time how brave he was because a broken bone was the worst pain *ever*.

The beast didn’t appear to have any broken bones, so Alexin was reasonably certain that it couldn’t *really* be in as much discomfort as its grunts and groans suggested.

Perhaps, being a mere beast, it was incapable of bravery.

His eyes *did* linger on the monkey-man’s buttocks. In addition to the stripes left by the whipping, Alexin could see multiple small red burn-marks. Effects, undoubtedly, of the night the beast had ‘danced’ in the hall. His own bottom tightened at the tiny marks, remembering his sister’s assurance that his wife would keep *his* bottom completely reddened.

It was enough to inspire at least a small amount of unfamiliar empathy for the creature.

He wanted to touch the monkey-man’s buttocks to see whether they were truly as hot as they looked, but the animal had soiled itself either during or after the beating and, despite his intense curiosity, Alexin couldn’t actually bring himself to touch the swollen flesh through such filth.

He chose instead to step carefully around the dangling beast and examine it from the front.

Alexin blushed furiously as he found himself almost face to face with the animal’s ‘maleness’. Although it was dangling limply, it still reached almost to the creature’s belly button. Since the beast’s front was as striped as its back, with pronounced welts from its feet down to its neck, Alexin wasn’t surprised to find that the ‘maleness’ was red and swollen where its flesh had been split by the whip. What *did* amaze him was the creature’s sac. Unlike his own small, neat, smooth, hairless sac, the monkey-man’s sac was ponderous, heavy and lightly furred. It was also so large that Alexin understood why monkey-men walked with so little grace, but he couldn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed such an ugly protuberance when he’d seen the monkey-man in the main hall.

The sac was as reddened as the beast’s buttocks but far cleaner, so Alexin tentatively reached out and touched it. He startled and jumped backwards as the creature gave a sudden bellow of pain and obvious rage. He shook himself, reminded himself the monkey-man was helpless and returned to his careful examination of its body.

After a few minutes of poking and prodding at the sac, he realized that its heat, redness and immense size wasn’t its natural state. The sac had been soundly beaten, Alexin decided. Which meant it was merely swollen, rather than naturally huge, and he felt a considerable amount of relief that his memory wasn’t playing tricks on him after all.

Feeling a little self-conscious at having spent so much time looking at the beast’s maleness, Alexin stepped back a little and ran his eyes down its torso.

It had female breasts.

Solid, well-defined breasts with prominent pinkish/brown nipples.

Alexin ran his right hand contemplatively over his own slim silk-sheathed chest. Men had smooth chests, with small nipples. Women who weren’t warriors often had soft breasts, warrior women had hard, muscular breasts like the monkey-man, but men didn’t have breasts at all.

So the creature *was* at least half-female.

How fascinating!

Alexin bit his lower lip and blushed furiously. He’d never seen bare breasts before. Well, he *had* if he counted the evening the creature had danced in the hall but he’d been too preoccupied by its maleness then to notice its breasts. Unless it was the fact the animal was upside down that loosened its chest muscles enough for the breasts to be so obvious to him now.

He’d definitely never *touched* a breast.

Heart thumping, torn between fear and fascination, he cautiously reached down and ran his fingertips over one of the animal’s nipples. Its startled grunt almost made him loose his nerve, but he steeled himself, took a handful of breast in his hands and squeezed it.

The beast gave a roar of combined outrage and pain, jerking so much that its body swung wildly in its restraints.

Alexin took a rapid step backwards. As the creature span from its ankle chains, its maleness bounced wildly against its stomach and the combination of its female breasts and its male appendages suddenly made the boy feel rather ill.

“Are you just a freak, or are all monkey-men female too?” he demanded.

The beast just continued to growl and curse in its unintelligible tongue.

Alexin sighed with disappointment that he couldn’t communicate with the animal. Still, even though he knew it couldn’t understand him, he was determined to say what he’d gone there to say.

“I came here to tell you to be quiet,” he announced firmly. “I can’t sleep with you making all this noise.”

The beast simply glared at him through its dark animal eyes, its face so infused with blood from its upside-down position that it was too dark for Alexin to see any expression on its features.

Alexin sighed, shrugged, and decided he might as well return to his bed.

From the look of the creature, the castle guards were interrogating it with considerable enthusiasm, so it was unlikely to survive long enough to disturb Alexin’s sleep for much longer.

Alexin paused at the door to the cell and looked back. He *knew* the creature was just an animal – and an animal that would probably kill him without hesitation if it were free – but he still felt vaguely unhappy at its obvious suffering.

“If I were you, I’d tell them what they want to know. They’re going to kill you anyway. All you’re doing is giving them an excuse to be cruel to you first.”

He sighed again. He was wasting his breath, because the animal didn’t understand him, and anyway it *was* just an animal.

Yet somehow he felt that almost made the torturing of the creature even crueler. How could a dumb beast like a monkey-man be expected to understand what its captors wanted when even Alexin himself was considered too unintelligent to partake in any meaningful conversation with a woman?

“You know something?” he said suddenly. “In a way, I think they consider *me* to be an animal, too. The only real difference between us is that *I’m* beautiful.”

Naturally, the monkey-man didn’t reply.

Alexin sighed and made his way up the cool stone stairs of the dungeon, took a deep relieved breath of the fresh, untainted courtyard air and crept furtively back to his bedchamber.

~~~

The following morning, Alexin tried desperately to put the monkey-man out of his head. In the cold light of day, he was appalled at his behavior the night before. It was bad enough that he’d visited the dungeon at all, but the fact he’d *touched* the creature was inexcusable.

His feelings of guilt were increased with each visit of his potential suitors. He found himself unable to even raise his eyes from the hem of his skirt, lest he accidentally glance at one of the women’s breasts and remember the feel of the creature’s flesh in his hand. He was filled with shame… and yet also a terrible pointless curiosity to know whether the breast he had touched truly was the same as that of a *real* woman.

Pointless because he doubted he’d ever know the answer. From what his nurse had told him of a man’s role in his wife’s bedchamber, he doubted his future wife would permit him to touch her in that way.

He had hoped to have some time to himself to put his thoughts in order, but even though he managed to convince his mother that he needed to spend a few hours that afternoon in his beloved rose garden (which she agreed to because he was oddly pale and his eyes were a little dark as though he’d slept badly the night before) she insisted he was accompanied to the garden by his least favorite suitor, Queen Ariana.

So Alexin found himself miserable, tongue-tied and horribly nervous in the place that usually was his sanctuary.

Because Ariana became somewhat offended when he tried not to look at her at all, and since looking at her face was forbidden and looking anywhere near her breasts made him feel too shamed, Alexin found himself totally fixated by her huge biceps.

“I know I said you could look, but you’re now staring at me, little one,” she laughed.

“You’re…. Um, you’re so strong,” he whispered, blushing furiously.

She gave a deep, pleased bellow of laughter at the observation and proudly began to flex her arms for him. “Do you want to touch me?” she asked, her expression open rather than testing. In view of Alexin’s chaperones it was permitted for him to touch such an innocuous part of her body as her arms, as long as she gave him specific permission to do so.

Wide-eyed, Alexin shook his head in terrified negation.

“Come on, my pretty,” she coaxed. “Surely you must wonder how it feels to touch flesh that is strong and hard, rather than soft and manly like your own.”

Alexin backed away from her, swallowing rapidly, his face filled with an expression of sheer terror. She took a step towards him and he fled, running from the garden as though a pack of wolves was on his tail.

He arrived back at his quarters, breathless and flushed, and blurted out what had happened to his nurse. Who simply laughed, patted him fondly on his cheek and told him not to worry and that he was sure Ariana was more charmed by his display of bashfulness than insulted by the fact he’d run away from her.

“I don’t *want* her to be charmed,” Alexin protested. “I want her to leave me alone. Why can’t she understand that she’s the absolute *last* woman I’d agree to marry? She scares me.”

His nurse, wisely, said nothing. He had his own suspicions about the reason Alexin’s mother was allowing Ariana more access to the boy than any of the other suitors, but it wasn’t his place to say so. Alexin would come around, he was sure. The boy was simply demonstrating a typical virgin’s reaction to being wooed by such a powerful woman. In fact, he wondered whether Alexin’s vehement denial of any attraction was actually a case of ‘protesting too much’. Perhaps the boy was actually so attracted to Ariana that he mistook his awakening sexual feelings for terror. The flush in Alexin’s cheeks was definitely a little too hot to be based only on fear.

The nurse was right in a way. Alexin’s reddened cheeks had little to do with terror and an awful lot to do with embarrassment. When Ariana had invited him to touch her biceps, Alexin’s head had immediately filled with the memory of touching the monkey-man’s breast. The fact he remembered comparing the creature’s arms to Ariana’s had only increased his feelings of guilty shame over his behavior. He wondered whether it somehow showed on his face that he was no longer so ‘innocent’ and *that* was why Ariana had made the offer that he should touch her.

“Tell my mother I feel too unwell to attend the feast tonight,” he begged.

His nurse frowned with concern. “You can’t afford a reputation of being sickly, my prince. Highly strung is acceptable, but constantly saying you’re unwell is not a good idea.”

“Then say I want to spend the evening preparing my bedding gown,” Alexin suggested.

The nurse’s face cleared. “An excellent idea. The Queen will be pleased that you’re finally showing some enthusiasm for your veiling. Mind you, you *will* have to spend the evening at your sewing lest she calls by to visit you.”

Alexin shrugged his easy agreement. Although he had little interest in what he would wear to be deflowered, he was itching to make use of some of the gorgeous cloth he’d been gifted with by his suitors. There was a particular fine cream lace he was sure would compliment his skin perfectly.

So after the nurse had delivered the message to his mother’s servants, he returned and carefully cut the lace as Alexin instructed – since Alexin was forbidden the use of scissors – and then left the boy to sew in peace.

When his mother called by his quarters, Alexin was sitting on a soft cushion in the middle of his outer-chamber and industriously embroidering a design of entwined rosebuds into what would be the collar of his bedding gown.

“Your work is so delicate and precise,” she said approvingly, as she examined the cloth he was working on. “I really must compliment your tutors.”

He blushed and thanked her prettily for the compliment.

“But it grows late and you look tired, Alexin,” she continued. “Your beauty is far more important than your boyish talents.”

“Just a few minutes more?” he begged. He *really* wanted to finish the rosebud he was working on before retiring.

The Queen nodded her assent. “But tomorrow, you must attend the feast. Your admirers missed your presence tonight. Don’t waste these last two weeks, Alexin. They’re your final chance to establish your beauty into legend. After your veiling you’ll regret not taking every opportunity to blind people with your looks. Remember that your future wife’s standing in society can only be improved by jealousy over the man she possesses. The envy of other women is what will bind your wife to you forever.”

Alexin had to bite his lower lip to prevent himself blurting out that he knew *exactly* what would bind his wife to him and it had little to do with ‘envy’. Although he suspected that Marita would be in more trouble than himself if he repeated his sister’s words, Alexin couldn’t bear the thought of his adored mother looking at him with disapproval.

Which naturally reminded him of his shameful behavior with the monkey-man, and he blushed fiercely.

But he managed to whisper a promise to attend the following night’s feast, and the Queen patted his head approvingly and left.

Deciding that his mother was right and he *did* need to catch up on the sleep he’d missed the night before, Alexin hurried to finish the rose he was embroidering. Either because he was distracted by his feelings of guilt or just possibly because he’d rarely embraced the concept of ‘hurrying’ in any task, he fumbled slightly and his needle pierced the soft flesh of his left thumb.

The pain was so sudden and unexpected that he squealed in shock, dropped the material and sucked desperately at his throbbing thumb for a few minutes. It was only when the ache eased considerably that he allowed himself to actually look at the wound. It was the merest pin prick in width but the needle had pierced deep enough that a tiny droplet of blood still welled up in front of his eyes.

He stared at its vivid redness in fascination for a moment, then paled and felt suddenly faint as he remembered the brutal, bleeding welts covering the monkey-man’s entire body. Had he *truly* thought the creature lacked bravery? If a tiny needle prick could hurt so much, how much more agonizing must a whipping be?

Belatedly, but honestly, Alexin finally found some true empathy for the beast. Now he had a basis for comparison, he felt genuinely sickened to remember the monkey-man’s injuries.

He wondered suddenly if it was still alive and suffering, or whether it had already been killed by the guards. He wasn’t sure which to wish for. If the beast was dead, its suffering was over. If it was still alive, then its torments would continue until the guards had extracted all its secrets.

If it *was* still alive, that meant that it *hadn’t* yet given in and told the guards what they wanted to know, and didn’t that mean it was actually braver than Alexin could even imagine?

Perhaps it was an animal, but it was a *brave* animal, because Alexin was pretty sure he’d tell anyone anything if they so much as threatened him with another needle-prick.

It was most confusing.

He was actually feeling admiration for the creature.

Then again, he reminded himself quickly, since the beast was at least half-female perhaps it wasn’t surprising that it had a warrior’s courage.

That settled in his head, he put his sewing aside unfinished – lest he ruined the lace with his blood – and, still fretfully sucking his thumb, he retired to his bedchamber.

He definitely didn’t plan to visit the dungeon again. He went to bed with no thought of deliberately waking up several hours later and creeping back to see whether the beast was indeed alive or dead. Yet just after midnight, when the castle was quiet and dark, Alexin slipped out through the open shutters of his window and made his way to the dungeon for a second time.

The beast *was* alive.

It was no longer suspended by its ankles. This time it was chained from the ceiling in the centre of the room, its wrists locked together behind its back and its entire weight supported by a chain between its wrists and the ceiling since its feet were dangling several inches from the ground.

The position seemed even more painful than that of the night before. The beast’s shoulders were hunched and knotted with their straining as the chain wrenched its arms so high above its back, and its face was locked in a grimace of sheer agony.

Its body bore no trace of further whipping but was almost covered by round red marks the size of a gold coin. Even its buttocks, maleness and sac had been decorated by the circular marks and Alexin swallowed heavily, feeling almost too light-headed to remember to keep his nightgown off the filthy floor, as he realized the marks were burns from a hot iron.

And still the creature lived, suggesting that it still protected its secrets.

“How can an animal be so brave?” Alexin demanded, his face twisting in confusion.

His voice alerted the monkey-man to his presence and it immediately launched into an angry tirade through its cracked, dry lips. Although its words were almost all guttural, incomprehensible grunts, Alexin was stunned to clearly hear “Faerie” and “No” jumbled inside its ‘speech’.

Stunned, he rocked back on his heels and frowned at the perplexing creature.

Had it learned those words since the night before from listening to its guards?

If so, could it truly be as dumb and unreasoning a beast as Alexin had been led to believe?

“My name’s Alexin,” he said, prompted by some strange but irresistible compulsion, and patted his chest significantly. “ALEXIN”.

The beast’s immediate response was to snarl in fury and roar more indecipherable words in his direction. But after a moment, it seemed to deliberately calm itself – though it clearly took the creature considerable effort to control its temper – and then it said “Alexin” back to him – or at least a recognizable, if croaking, attempt at the name. It sounded more like ‘lesin’, to be honest, but Alexin still clapped his hands in glee at the beast’s cleverness.

Then he stared down in glum dismay at the hem of his nightgown since he’d let it drop to the dirty floor in his excitement.

The beast grunted another word, but this time Alexin didn’t recognize it and merely shrugged his incomprehension.

The beast repeated itself several times, then shook its head in frustration as Alexin failed to respond and then, closing its eyes, it sagged back into its chains with a groan of seeming despair.

Alexin chewed nervously on his lower lip. The monkey-man was obviously asking for something, but he had no idea what it was saying. Probably it was simply asking to be let down from its painful restraint, he finally decided, but since he had no way of releasing it - even if he had been stupid enough to let a wounded wild animal loose in his vicinity – he just twisted his hands nervously and wondered why he’d come back to the dungeon at all.

He didn’t *like* seeing the animal in such pain. He was actually feeling even fainter than he had the previous night. Perhaps simply because it was so much more wounded, but he suspected it was because he was losing his ability to see it as just a ‘thing’ to be interrogated and then slain.

Alexin accepted that the only useful purpose of an animal was to be eaten or ridden and wild animals like monkey-men had *no* useful function at all and so their lives, therefore, were completely unimportant. And yet it seemed wrong to him that a beast could be tortured with impunity simply because it was weaker and less intelligent than a person. Following that logic, didn’t that mean a male could be tortured simply because he was weaker and less intelligent than a female?

So, against his will, Alexin found himself identifying his own situation with that of the beast, and the moment he did that he felt so nauseous he just wanted to bolt from the dungeon in terror.

“I can’t help you,” he said, and his voice was genuinely sorrowful. “I’m just a boy. I don’t have the *power* to help you. No one will listen to my opinion. They’ll just call me a foolish child if I try and tell them they’re wrong to hurt you like this. Maybe I *am* wrong. I don’t know very much. I’m not clever like a woman. I don’t really understand very much at all.”

Saddened, Alexin started to leave the cell, only to hesitate at the doorway as a thought struck him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get too close to the beast. He was still too frightened by his own behavior the night before. Yet it occurred to him that even if he couldn’t ease the beast’s suffering, he *could* offer it a little water. There was a bucket next to the fire, used for cooling the irons slightly before they were applied to flesh, and so Alexin could at least give the animal a drink.

He forced himself to put his fear aside. There was a huge metal ladle in the bucket, used to quench the flames of the fire if they grew too fierce, so he didn’t even have to *touch* the beast to give it some water. He hesitated when he realized the water in the bucket was brackish and dirty. He most certainly wouldn’t have appreciated a drink of it himself. But then he told himself that the monkey-man *was* an animal, so probably wouldn’t know the difference between clean water and dirty, and so, although his hands were trembling so much that he spilled more water than he carried, he filled the bowl of the ladle, carried it over and lifted it to the creature’s lips.

At first the beast just glared at him, its eyes angry and filled with suspicion, but when he continued to hold the water to its face – even though the strain of holding the heavy metal ladle was becoming rather painful - the beast gave a deep groaning sigh and eagerly thrust its mouth into the water. As it slurped desperately, Alexin had the sudden insight that the guards might have teased the creature with the offer of water, only to pull the ladle away before it could drink.

The thought of such teasing was so distressing that, despite the mild ache in his arms, he refilled the ladle after the monkey-man had emptied it and then proffered it again. It took three refills before the creature’s thirst seemed to be satisfied, by which time Alexin’s arms were aching considerably and he almost regretted starting the process, but when the beast whispered “Lexin”, as though to acknowledge his small kindness, something leapt in Alexin’s heart and he forgot the strain to his shoulders in the surety that he’d done a ‘good thing’.

He was still congratulating himself on being so brave when, suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sound of the Dungeon door opening and the faint voices of two women as they began to come down the stairs.

Alexin froze in horror. There was no other exit from the dungeon. He was about to be discovered, not only somewhere he had no business being when he was supposed to be asleep in bed but in the act of giving water to a creature that was supposed to be suffering unrelenting torture until it gave up its secrets.

Maybe it was even treason to have done what he’d done, since the monkey-man was an ‘enemy’ of the castle.

“It claims to be no more than a lone hunter from the Northern Territories that accidentally stumbled across our land in pursuit of a hind,” one of the women said, as she descended.

Alexin’s already frightened eyes grew impossibly larger. That was unmistakably his *mother’s* voice.

Had it been anyone else, he probably would have remained frozen to the spot but the added terror of being discovered in his transgression by the Queen herself spurred him into pure self-protection mode. He rushed over to the fireplace, replaced the ladle in the bucket, then ran to hide in one of the unlit, unoccupied cells opposite and huddled against the far wall, praying that he was sufficiently concealed in its shadows.

A moment later, his mother and Queen Ariana entered the dungeon and strode into the monkey-man’s cell. Neither commented on the torch still burning where Alexin had left it, perhaps assuming the cell had been deliberately left lit by the guards to make it even harder for the beast to fall asleep.

“If it were merely a hunter, it wouldn’t have been carrying a sword,” Ariana pointed out, with a sneer in the monkey-man’s direction.

“Exactly,” his mother agreed. “Perhaps it’s a mercenary and that’s why it doesn’t dare confess its origins. It knows that being a professional fighter is the worst crime it could commit. Whenever we begin a cull of the nearest settlements, these opportunists come and try to convince the local monkey-people to pay them to fight us on their behalf, instead of them simply fleeing back to where they belong.”

“The problem is they breed so fast,” Ariana said. “The mistake we make is in allowing them to live *anywhere*. Instead of simply culling the ones that come too near to our settlements, we should raze their main cities. Deal with the problem at the source.”

“None of us have enough warriors to do that and still retain sufficient troops to protect our homes. The only way we’ll ever eradicate the monkey-people from our land is if all the queendoms join together and combine our forces.”

Ariana laughed heartily. “I begin to understand the reason for your ridiculous pretence of allowing young Alexin to ‘choose’ his wife. If you offend any of the queens, they’re unlikely to ally with you to create this army you dream of.”

Alexin’s mother smiled. “Of course. You didn’t honestly think I’d allow a silly child like Alexin to actually make such an important decision, did you? It’s fortunate he’s so exquisitely beautiful, because even for a male he’s slow-witted.”

Alexin shook his head in total disbelief. He couldn’t possibly have heard what he’d just heard and, even if he had, he’d misunderstood. Perhaps he *was* slow-witted because he *thought* he’d just heard his mother admit that the whole idea of his being able to choose his own wife was no more than an elaborate deception.

In the monkey-man’s cell, Ariana nudged his mother with her elbow and chuckled. “You don’t fool me, Sylvana. There’s nothing wrong with the boy’s brains. You’ve simply groomed that boy since the moment he was born to be so absolutely perfect that no woman could resist him. You’ve deliberately brought him up in an environment that’s prevented him from ever having to even try to think for himself.”

Alexin’s mother gave a careless shrug. “It’s irrelevant *why* he’s perfect, the important thing is that he is. I’ve spent eighteen years working towards this moment, my chance to bring all the queens together to propose an alliance, and nothing less than a perfect boy would have brought so many people to a mere veiling. When I think of all those years of suffering, of forcing myself to always smile at him and handle him with gentleness when I actually find boy-children to be horribly insipid and boring, I’m frequently amazed at my own self-control.”

Hidden in the next cell, Alexin had to bite down on his sleeve to muffle his moan of distress. His mother, his wonderful adored mother, didn’t even *like* him? She found him to be insipid and boring? It couldn’t be true. Surely this was just a joke, a jest, perhaps even a punishment. Yes, that was it. She somehow *knew* he was listening, and was saying these things to chastise him for being in the dungeon.

“He *is* perfect,” Ariana agreed. “Almost irritatingly innocent at the moment, but that will just make the job of breaking him to my bed so much more satisfying.”

“Absolutely,” Sylvana agreed. “He’s so like his father in both looks and temperament and I’ll never forget the pleasure I had teaching *him* to be a perfect ride. He was exquisite, Ariana. From the moment Alexin’s tears first touch your skin, you’ll be more than satisfied with our arrangement.”

“I’ll be satisfied from the moment I start turning those perfect little cheeks of his as red as the roses he favors,” Ariana chuckled.

Alexin’s eyes widened in horror. Ariana was to be his wife? Ariana whom he feared more than any of his suitors. Ariana who was even now laughing at the idea of spanking him until he cried? His mother had already sealed a secret pact with Queen Ariana for his hand? It couldn’t be true. Surely, it couldn’t be true.

“Still, we must continue to dance the dance for two more weeks,” Alexin’s mother said, her face twisting with boredom at the prospect. “Alexin doesn’t have the wit to deceive, and I can’t risk any of the other queens learning of our arrangement, so I’ll wait until just before his veiling before I tell him that he’s to choose you.”

“It’s going to be an interminably long two weeks,” Ariana sighed, “but since I can’t bed him before his veiling anyway, I’m happy to wait. Besides, anticipation always heightens pleasure, doesn’t it? I’m content with knowing I’ll have him in my bed by the full moon.”

“Good,” Sylvana said. “Our alliance is agreed then.”

“It is,” Ariana agreed. “I’m perfectly content with the boy. And, of course, his substantial dowry doesn’t hurt,” she laughed. “Tell the truth, for sixteen of your wonderful horses I would have married him had he looked like a woman.”

Sylvana just chuckled at the comment.

In the next cell, Alexin tried desperately just to keep breathing. Tears of fear and betrayal were streaming down his face so heavily that his nose was as stuffed as though he had a severe cold.

“So let’s move on to the matter of this beast,” Sylvana suggested. “The real question is whether we should believe it’s a solitary creature from the North as it insists, or whether it has others of its kind hidden beyond the forest.”

“I tend to believe it *is* from the Northern Territories,” Ariana answered thoughtfully. “Nothing else would explain its height and its ability to penetrate the ward-spell.”

Sylvana shuddered dramatically. “I still struggle to believe that any of our people would ever be so perverted as to lie with beasts, even those who have lived in isolation for so many centuries in the Northern Territory.”

“I too,” Ariana agreed. “But the rumors are too prevalent not to be based on some truth and when I see a creature like this I have to give some credence to the idea. No monkey-man could possibly be so tall without at least *some* of our blood in its veins.”

Desperately stifling a gasp, Alexin collapsed almost silently to his knees as his legs suddenly turned as weak as water. The monkey-man was in part a *real* person? Despite the shocks he’d already suffered that night, this last piece of information was the most shocking of all. If the beast was even partly of the Faerie, how could it possibly be truly a beast?

Sylvana shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense,” she argued. “While I agree it’s abnormally tall, how can it be so muscular if it’s a hybrid? Our males are slim and delicate.”

“Don’t be naïve,” Ariana scoffed. “Our males are delicate because we deliberately make them that way. Even sweet little Alexin would have been capable of developing muscle had he been brought up like a girl rather than a boy. Our males are naturally short, but their physical delicacy is a matter of female preference rather than an immutable fact.”

“I suppose,” Sylvana agreed reluctantly. “Though the very idea of Alexin looking like *this* thing is quite nauseating.”

“It would certainly make him less pleasing in my bed,” Ariana chuckled. “I certainly wouldn’t wish to have a husband who was capable of ever physically denying me my pleasure.”

“Well, no matter. Tomorrow we will break this beast on the rack and will finally know the last of its secrets,” Sylvana said, with a cruel smile in the monkey-man’s direction. “No matter how brave it tries to be, it will confess all as its sinews tear and its bones crack apart. And I think, to punish it for its defiance, I’ll tell the guards to cease the torture before they actually kill it. I rather like the idea of keeping it as a pet once it’s been broken and defanged. Imagine the creature on my leash, trying to shuffle its shattered bones fast enough to stay at heel in a desperate attempt to escape the regular application of my whip.”

“It will make an enjoyable plaything,” Ariana agreed. “It has no beauty to ruin, so there will be no need for you to stay your hand with it. The mistake I made with my last three husbands was I occasionally forgot how fragile they were. I think I too will acquire myself a monkey-man pet to soothe my bad temper on. That way, I’ll never risk beating Alexin *too* badly.”

Sylvana simply shrugged. “Treat him as you will. Alexin may be beautiful, but his sole purpose is to bring you pleasure, Ariana, regardless of what form that pleasure takes. I’ll have no further interest in his fate once our alliance is formalized.”

Ariana nodded her understanding. It was the marriage itself that would seal the alliance and it would be formed in such a way that even Alexin’s death wouldn’t shatter it. “Even so, I obviously want to keep him long enough to bear at least a boy-child from his loins,” she told Sylvana. “Like yourself, I understand the political advantages of breeding an exquisite boy to facilitate my future alliances.”

“I was thinking that Alexin’s first son could be promised in marriage to Marita,” Sylvana replied. “Re-enforcement of good breeding is never a bad thing and I know most of Marita’s hatred of her brother is that he is so much older than her. Had she been the eldest, I believe she would have insisted on bedding him herself and I would have lost my chance to barter him to you.”

With that comment, she turned and led the way back up the stairs.

As he heard the upper door close behind the two queens, Alexin released a wail of despair. Then he began to rock back and forth on his knees, his arms clutching his stomach in a desperate attempt at a self-hug.

In the last twenty minutes, his whole life and perception of the world had been turned on its head. The monkey-man wasn’t half-female after all. Its musculature, which he had always been taught was something that only a female could achieve, was apparently something that any male, even himself, was capable of developing. He wasn’t puny and weak because he was a male, he was that way because he’d been deliberately raised to be physically soft and defenseless. Although he could never reach the height and size of a female, he didn’t *have* to go through life so fragile and delicate that even lifting a heavy metal ladle had made him ache.

Why had he been brought up that way? Because being so slim made him look more ‘beautiful’?

Apparently not.

He looked the way he did simply because it made him defenseless. It would make him incapable of ‘denying’ his wife. It ensured he would be the perfect, passive, submissive husband, even if his wife chose to brutally beat him for her own pleasure.

His whole life had, he now understood, been a complete lie. In fact, his whole society was a lie. An elaborate deception engineered by the females of his species to ensure that they had unrestricted access to the sexual ‘magic’ of their males.

As Marita had tried to explain to him, it *was* all about sex.

He cast despairing, almost envious eyes at the monkey-man. *It* didn’t have the magic. It wasn’t destined, like himself, to be a woman’s plaything. It wouldn’t die in its wife’s bed, beaten and ridden until it expired of sheer exhaustion. In fact, if the females of its race were truly smaller than the males, Alexin doubted the beast was even considered a lesser being in its society. It wasn’t veiled, was it? And it carried a sword, like a warrior. Maybe in the monkey-man society a male could even *be* a warrior.

Alexin was suddenly filled with a desperate longing to run away from the castle and his people and the terrible, terrifying woman who was planning to claim him for her bed. The monkey-man *almost* looked like a person. Didn’t that mean that he himself looked *almost* like a monkey-man? Was it possible that he could flee the castle and disappear amongst the monkey-people? See the ocean with his own eyes? Spend his adulthood unveiled and free? Live his life traveling the land and seeing all the things he’d always dreamed of instead of languishing in the prison of Ariana’s bedchamber?

His already tearful eyes filled to overflowing with the thought.

He knew it was just a hopeless dream. Even if he could escape the castle guards, he’d only die of starvation or exhaustion within a few days. He had only the vaguest idea of where the food on his plate came from. He was so unused to exercise that even fleeing from Ariana in the rose garden had left him breathless. He doubted he could even lift a sword, let alone wield one in his defense. He’d inevitably be eaten by wild animals or be attacked by the savage monkey-people.

He had to accept that after eighteen years of being trained to be a perfect Faerie husband, he was now incapable of ever becoming anything else.

Again his eyes locked upon the beaten, tortured figure of the monkey-man, and still they were filled with envy.  At least the creature wasn’t destined to spend years in the cruel Queen Ariana’s bed.

The beast was *lucky*, Alexin decided, and if he’d been capable of speaking its tongue he would have told it so.

“I hate you,” he announced to the beast, which he knew had heard, but fortunately not understood, the dissolution of his entire existence. “And I don’t pity you anymore either,” he added angrily. “You were free. I’ll never in my life *ever* know what it’s like to be free. I’ll never be any more than a woman’s plaything. I’ll never get the chance to grow strong like you. You had *everything* and you threw it all away when you let yourself get captured, you stupid beast. I hate you for that.”

He burst into tears again when the beast-man simply glared at him from its angry, pain-filled eyes.

The beast clearly didn’t care about his hate any more than his misery. The beast wouldn’t have cared for his broken heart even if it had understood the conversation it had witnessed.

“Stupid animal,” Alexin hissed bitterly. “If you could understand me, if you could ‘talk’, I’d do a deal with you. I’d let you go, help you escape, if you took me with you. Instead of dying here, you’d get the chance to go home again and all you’d have to do to save your life is promise me your protection. Even though you’re just an animal, I’d trust that your promise would be good. I guess that’s pretty stupid of me but then it seems like every Faerie I know has been lying to me since the day I was born, so what do I have to lose? But you *don’t* understand me, and you won’t help me, and you’re probably too wounded to escape anyway so…so…I guess that’s it. You’ll either die or be my mother’s pet, and I’ll marry Ariana, and who can say which one of us is the more fortunate?”

For a long moment, the beast held his eyes as though it was looking right into his soul, and then it opened its mouth and spoke in perfect, fluent Faerie.

“I accept the deal, Faerie boy.”

And Alexin was so shocked to hear the animal speak that he fainted.

 

~~~

 

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