Lucius rolled over in his very comfortable, room enough for 6 type monstrosity of a bed. It had been one hell of a night and his dreams were reminiscing it, every last succulent morsel. Even now, through the foggy, misty depths of never never land his cock was a rod of steel and he could feel his blood pulsing through it. Thankfully in his kingdom it was never, never never land but always, how can we please you, can we do this or that or perhaps please you this way land.
The serving wenches last night were particularly lusty things too. Three of them, all buxom eye popping flesh everywhere and oh so anxious to please. He'd had one on her knees sucking diligently at his cock, his hands pulling her short, tumbling curly locks while watching the other two play nicely together. How sweetly they'd played; kissing and fondling each other, fingers dipping and gently probing in each other's cunny's to squeals of delight. They'd made a glorious sight romping around on his bed, screaming riotously as they came.
'MORNING SIRE,' yelled his valet in his usual unpleasantly jovial morning mood.
Lucius awoke dribbling, to the painful light of the shutters thrown wide and the sight of his valet's eyes bulging.
Damn, must have forgotten to get rid of the wenches. A soft giggle confirmed this.
'Out,' he roared, rolling over to push the nearest girl who gasped and spluttered when she landed unceremoniously on the floor.
'Out, out, out!' and as Lucius had a reputation in which his bite was a good deal worse than his bark... the girls scampered quickly, in a flurry of fluffy white underwear confetti which flew around the room in all directions.
Byron, the valet, was too well trained to offer comment on anything before 9am. The Prince was not a morning person.
Lucius rubbed a fist over his face and shook himself awake.
'What's on the cards today?' he asked. Thinking it would probably be some wretched tea party with Lord n Lady whatnot from Wherever.
'Not much Sire. Just need to find a Princess, marry her and produce many, MANY heirs.'
Lucius looked back aghast for a second, then breathed.
'Ahhh, it must be that novel day in April where you're allowed have a little fun with me.' He smiled and began to relax once more.
'No, orders from the top Sire. King says get your lazy err... bottom out of bed, find princess, get married and preferably before next Month when the Queen's coming home. Elsewise, his Majesty says you'll be disinherited and thrown out on your... er... derriere. Sire.
'He said WHAT?' Lucius looked apoplectic.
'Yes, your Mama is back soon and she'll be... err... EXTREMEMLY disappointed if you're still single. Wedding is to be set on the day of the summer solstice. The Queen will attend said glorious event of her social calendar, toast the new happy couple and err... something about babies.' Byron ducked as a heavy wool slipper whizzed past his ear.
'So my bachelor days are over?' the Prince wore an expression of great and all consuming pain.
'That appeared to be the gist of it Sire. Well, either that or your pauper days are just beginning.' He ducked again as the remaining slipper flew his way.
*
'I hate Princesses.'
Byron rolled his eyes as that must have been the 10th comment along that vein he'd heard today.
'Right let's go back to life on the open road then Sire. I've always wanted to have a go at begging for my supper. We could camp in the great wide open, steal things from peasants or perhaps actually work for a living....' A voice of awe at that one.
'Very funny,' said Lucius. 'Whoever has the delightfully dubious pleasure of marrying me, is going to pay every single second of every single day they remain with their head still attached to their body. I swear the little upstart would be Queen will be praying for death before I'm done with her.' The look Lucius wore was so dark, that for once, the valet was lost for words.
*
Two days of riding at breakneck pace brought them to the neighbouring kindom of Richelieu. After a suitably long begging session with King Ragnor, Lucius and Byron were ushered forth for an audience with Princess Gabriella.
'First time lucky eh Sire?' whispered Byron encouragingly. A sharp nudge in the ribs was all he received for his troubles.
Lucius found himself holding his breath as the first bout of bile caught in his throat. Being a Prince was damn hard work at times. Then he caught sight of the lovely Gabriella, so called by King Ragnor.
'Lovely my arse,' he muttered to his companion, accompanied by a glowering glare.
Gabriella was to lovely as a wicked stepsister was to Cinderella. Byron was trying hard not to explode into raucous laughter. The Princess was perhaps a little bit on the plumpish side, her heavenly bosom straining every button of the rather unfortunately tight dress she wore. She'd make three of Lucius and if looks could kill he'd already be dead. Then there was the mop of unruly black hair, which looked like it hadn't seen a comb in a decade at least and could perhaps house a local population of mice. Her nose stuck out at quite an unattractive angle to say the least and the tiny, beady eyes did not help the general ensemble. That was not the worst of it however. When she spoke... ah God, Lucius wanted to cover his ears. Such a viciously nasal, booming voice that produced a shudder of all those in ear shot.
When asked by her 'lovely highness' the purpose to which her audience had been sought, Lucius hurriedly spluttered something about 'making friends with the neighbours' and made fast his exit. Honest to God, he'd have rather been poor was the departing thought.
*
The next castle the two happened upon found Byron as the 'ambassador' of quality control. Lucius was refusing to enter the Castle grounds unless said terms were met:
