Benedict tugged at the shackles locked to his wrists. It started to come back to him. Samson and the others were escorting him home and then…
“Fight all you want, you can’t get out of those.”
Lord, he was naked, too. Benedict stared at his bare flesh, lit by what seemed to be dozens of wall sconces. Yet where was the voice coming from?
“You might be a little dizzy still. It takes some adjustment to come back from that particular spell.”
Benedict blinked, and his head hurt. Spell? Then he really had been shrunk? And his men… Had they been killed?
“I’m not going to hurt you, your highness.”
That man. He’d fallen from the tree. A dark angel. But not an angel. Something far more sinister.
“I’m…I’m not a prince,” Benedict whispered, finding his voice, seeming to speak to no one.
“You are the king’s son.”
“A bastard son only.”
“Ah, but you are infinitely more than that to the king. You are well-favored.”
Benedict shook his head. “Who are you? Why do you hide yourself and where are my men and my…clothes?”
For several moments, a low rumbling chuckle was his only answer.
There was movement by the door, but still Benedict could see no one there. “What trickery is this?”
“I know not the current whereabouts of your men. Or whether they live to tell of their failure to protect you. If they did survive, no doubt your father will see to their execution. They are no longer a concern to you, your highness. As for your clothes…you do not need them for what I have in mind. You are my prisoner and are mine to do with as I please.”
Benedict’s heartbeat raced. He swallowed the lump of fear forming in his throat.
“As for who I am, your highness? We met once, though I think you do not recall me. It was a year ago at your father’s court.”
Benedict tried to remember meeting the dark angel who’d fallen from the tree, then attacked them. He would have thought he would recollect a man that handsome. Before the attack, Benedict had been thrown by the masculine beauty of the man.
Though most of his life he’d resisted his attraction to men, Benedict hadn’t been able to prevent his cock from growing half-hard just looking at the man. Dark curly hair, soulful dark eyes with impossibly long lashes, the man from the tree had instantly reminded him of a fallen angel. Only now, it was clear just how far the angel had fallen. The devil’s apprentice, no doubt. Had he been able, Benedict would have crossed himself.
“Think, your highness. Think hard. You had much to drink that night and in a dark hidden corner you allowed…”
Benedict gasped. The memory came rushing back, flooding his already pained brain. He had been drinking heavily, and when he’d been approached by a hooded, faceless stranger, had not resisted.
The man had undone his braies, taken Benedict’s cock and stroked him until he was so hard he could not stand it. Then the stranger knelt before him and took Benedict’s erect length into his mouth.
Moaning, Benedict closed his eyes against the memory. His skin flushed with his shame.
“Ah, you remember now, your highness. I remember, too. How wonderful you tasted. The way you released in my mouth. Your knees gave out and I had to hold you up against the wall.”
Benedict clenched his eyelids shut, feeling the betrayal of his own cock as it lengthened and hardened. He was in hell and the voice was his tormentor...