The Cursed Six
Copyright© 2017 by thecursedsix
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 3 - A historical fiction surrounding a cursed royal household. A dark tale of siblings and the lives they live.
Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa ft/ft Fa/ft Ma/Ma Ma/mt Teenagers Coercion Consensual Magic NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Romantic Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Historical War Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Father Daughter Cousins Uncle Niece MaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Sadistic Spanking Torture Orgy First Lactation Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Politics Royalty Slow Violent
~ PRINCE A’ZUR ~
Somber greys came to rest on the scene depicted before him. Astrid, winded and panting whilst pinned to the floor. Ethan, unkempt and aggressive atop her, snarling at the female behind him: Eleanor, squatted and gleefully ensnaring Ethan’s crotch with a wild, ecstatic glint in her eyes.
“Let go of me,” he heard his brother ground out.
Ah yes, the future of their kingdom. Showcased at its absolute finest. He couldn’t have portrayed it more accurately if he’d tried. It was almost comedic and pathetic enough to alleviate the burdensome thoughts churning in his mental recess.
His father’s words echoed hollowly from afar.
“You are to escort her to Redthorn the night before the sacrifice, counsel her in matters of their crown prince. I hear that he is unwed, an oddity for one his age. What more, given they know the rumours about us, despise us for it, it is critical you ensure Astrid amends the prince’s ... doubt.”
“And should we fail, Father? Should our image condemn us from the start?”
“Then I would see no reason for either of your return to this castle.”
Spoken just hours prior. Now the news lay like spiked prongs through his chest, digging and scathing, intent on inflicting scars not even he knew how to heal--or pretend were nonexistent.
He was losing her.
Always had he known the day would come where their father’s ambitious incentives would careen the wheels of monarchical affairs into motion. And for some time, he’d fooled himself into believing he would welcome the day, celebrate the opportunity to finally dip his toe in the riotous game of politics and power. But now that such a day was here, he cursed his faulty mind and body, for it detested the thought of willfully cutting a Misseldon from the cloth. Handing his sister over to some ... some foreigner.
A man whom none of them had ever met. A man he had no interest in getting to know.
Alas, duty superseded personal desires, whereas personal desires were granted proceeding duty. A’zur sat heavily at his brother’s desk, an exquisite seating to the brawl afoot. He’d have been content to witness the small form entertainment, if only for a moment longer, but it couldn’t go on. More pressing matters were at stake.
Much like calling off a domesticated animal, he made a noise at the back of his throat and gave a bored flick of the wrist. “Eleanor, please release him.”
The youngest girl’s right eye twitched in irritation as she gave a stubborn shake of her head. “But it’s funny.”
“I can’t breathe...” Astrid grunted from beneath their brother.
“Shut up,” was Eleanor’s firm reply.
“Will it be funny when I report your skipping out on today’s lesson to Mother and she has you spend countless hours with Master Beecham?” he murmured down to her.
Eleanor scoffed. “You wouldn’t do that because your precious Astrid would get in trouble.”
“Don’t tell, big bro- Ethan stop!”
Ethan appeared constrained, stock-still as he seethed, “I will as soon as Eleanor lets go of me!”
Astrid would be immune to any evoked wrath due merely to the fact that she would not be here much longer. Their entourage was set to depart in four days’ time, all of which would be spent preparing for the departure. All the while, their parents would love nothing more than a feasible excuse to tether Eleanor to her tutelage while preparing for their youngest brother’s sacrifice.
Elbow to desk, he rest his chin at the pad of his palm and sighed. “Eleanor. Please.”
Physical altercations were reserved for the younger four of them, seldom Astrid and himself. However, A’zur was not opposed to it, if necessary.
“I’ll stop squeezing his stones once he stops pressing on Astrid’s jugs!”
“Eleanor!” The shriek from Astrid was piercing. “A’zur get him off!”
He summoned patience with a deep intake of breath, lids scaling lower as his teeth clenched. His thumb tapped twice at his chin, his leg crossing over the other. There was no telling how Ethan got into such a compromising position, but if the nature of the scene was any indicator, he knew with certainty it was the girls’ fault, for never had Ethan welcomed them in his room prior.
That, and Eleanor clutched a leather binding in one hand as though her life were dependent on it.
The exhale came much slower, but rather than find a gust of patience riddling after it, he located a mountain more of ire. He didn’t have time for this. “Ethan.”
Unlike Eleanor, his brother snapped his gaze reluctantly to A’zur’s face, read the stringent undertone and scoffed in defeat. Gradually, careful not to shift the lower half of his body, he slid his arm from over Astrid.
The hungry gasp of air may have come from someone submerged beneath water for a prolonged time. Astrid rose to a seated position, her hair a messy halo around her pinkened cheeks.
With an irritated sigh, one that may have emerged from a child who had been instructed to put away their toys, Eleanor released Ethan’s nethers in a final, harsh tug, eliciting one last yelp.
“We still read your diary,” Eleanor muttered as a smug grin spread across her lips.
“It was funny, big brother,” Astrid insisted as she came to her feet and sauntered slowly over to A’zur’s side. Her hand rested against his shoulder and despite her recent ordeal she offered him a soft smile. “He is a tortured soul.”
And that was about the size of it, was it not? Their father wished for Astrid to deploy herself in some unknown kingdom, gain the favor of its much older prince, when it was clear to see she was still a child. Perhaps, he’d admit, he himself was bias. Perhaps he was destined always to see her as little more than a girl, incapable of caring for herself, let alone going off and gaining a husband.
The hand on his shoulder, it beckoned forth a frown. These things, these little inconsequential things, they would cease upon their arrival. And so too would his childish lovelorn, he told himself.
Ethan was cupping the area between his legs, glaring with cheeks reddened from either fluster or embarrassment. Though when he rose, A’zur realised too late, the darkening crimson was none other than rage.
Ethan shoved Eleanor, hard, and looked about ready to do so again before A’zur rose and grabbed him by the collar.
Rather than confront either two, the steel greys rounded to Astrid, perturbed. “This is what you allow them to digress to?”
He knew she was not at fault, but suddenly he couldn’t help but question what would come of them if she behaved in such an ill manner once in Redthorn, before people who actually mattered. While he trusted her to have common sense enough to elude such poor behaviour, he didn’t trust her performance to be flawless when clearly she retained old habits.
Astrid’s lips pursed close and she gazed at him from beneath her fair lashes, appearing both innocent and guilty of the crime of childish misbehaviour. “Well, we thought that we might find the two of you here. There is little harm in arriving early and we planned to wait for you, but Ethan left his diaries out on the side. They were screaming to be read. I would never do that to you of course, big brother. You would never be so careless to leave your belongings out for the world to see.”
“That does not make it right!” Ethan fired back, earning him a firm shake.
A’zur had to take a moment to compose himself, for between his own agitation and the unlawful things done to his body when she spoke ‘big brother’ so delicately, he feared he would be the next to befall misbehaviour.
He released Ethan, then looked to Eleanor. “Return his journal where you found it.”
Eleanor clutched the volume close to her chest and gave a defiant shake of her head. “No. I want to read it. He talks about eating poo in here.”
“When A’zur tells you to do something you have to do it,” Astrid informed her.
“You didn’t have a problem with this until A’zur told us off.”
“Told you off.”
“I don’t care. I want to read it.” Eleanor shuffled over to A’zur and held out the book as though in offering. “Could we read it together? Like we used to do with our stories? Maybe Ethan can do his own voice so it’s like we’re there, in his thoughts, instead of just reading it.”
He snatched the leather up instantly and slapped it into Ethan’s waiting hand. “I truly wish you all would not do this. I cannot stress enough the importance of trust we have amongst one another, because there will come a time the faces you see now will be the only ones we can trust. But clearly my word means so little to you, Eleanor. I do appreciate the respect you afford me. Truly, it’s touching.”
Not waiting for a response, he whirled around to pin Astrid with a less sarcastic glare. In fact, he felt it soften, and soften, until the spark faded completely. “I need to speak with you on an important matter, though it may be best we not do so amongst children.”
Ethan bristled, having collected all of his journals from the desk, now holding them in a cage to his chest. “I’m not a child. Only Eleanor is. If anything, Eleanor should be the only one banished.”
“Your head should be banished up your bum!” Eleanor retorted.
Ignoring the quarrels of their younger siblings, Astrid afforded A’zur a brief nod. “Of course. We should talk about this where we won’t be interrupted by petty squabbles.”
He returned it, prepared to make his leave, but was surprised to find Ethan stepping in front of them. His lips were downturned, eyes averted questionably sheepishly.
Now his brother’s lips were puckering into a moue, followed by a tsk. “I dislike being excluded,” he finally divulged, the reluctance brimming through seashell eyes. “And Eleanor is sorry for being Eleanor, so tell us. Tell us all the big news.”
He leveled his gaze studiously, but understood his brother’s urgency naturally. Too often the younger siblings were swept beneath the rug when it came to courtly affairs—any affairs, he should say, and this seemed to affect Ethan most of all, for despite all the boasting his younger brother asserted, the boy was adamant in that he wished to someday be a good king. A better king. Which shouldn’t have been too large of a feat. As A’zur saw it, any male who was not Robert would suffice. Even one as immature as this one.
His eyes slid to Eleanor, then dismissed the girl to land squarely back to Astrid. How was one to deliver the delicate subject of shipping one body to another region in the name of alliance? Among the multitude of texts sprawling the length of the castle’s vast library, those in which he read time and again, there were none specialising in how to cope with the loss of a loved one. More specifically, being tasked with handing them off to another man.
Thus, he chose to apply steel to his words, a means to fortify his crumbling resolve. “I was summoned by Mother and Father this morning to discuss upcoming matters regarding Thellemere’s outreach. Its expansion.” The word was a delectable against his palate, as he craved nothing more than expansion of his homeland, yet its underlying meaning cut deep. Expansion equated to their separation. “As you are aware, they’ve had their eyes set on four possible suitors.”
There had been two border lords who held a significant relation amongst their subjects, those who were more loyal to their lords than the crown. It was perhaps this very reason Father had come to exclude them from the pile of possibles. Then there had been Prince Dunstan of Pyracea. The most preferable union seeing the deluge of misfortune the current riffs had brought about between Thellemere and Pyracea. But with both kings horn-to-horn, it seemed more likely one side would bring an army to the wedding as a ‘gift’.
Which left the last man standing: Prince Tristian of Redthorn, a man born of the most irksomely pious of the three kingdoms—as well as the richest.
“Marriage...” The word escaped Astrid’s lips in a barely-there whisper as all previous joviality was removed from her face and replaced with a look of resignation and realisation.
It was his job to discourage such an expression, to assure her this was for the best and would grant her unimaginable happiness. Instead he was pressed to fight back a triumphant smile, a small curve of the lips that said he was in fact immensely pleased that whoever this Prince Tristian was, would find nothing short of frigid ice when he searched for his sister’s heart.
“Yes, sister, marriage. Though it is no sure thing yet, which is why they’ve tasked us with the attendance to one of King Gregor’s festivals, as I hear he holds one every other day. You are to catch the prince’s eye—” Which could mean a world of things, though A’zur’s mind instantly plummeted to debauchery. “And gain his favour before the visit is done. And I am to be your escort.”
“Stay with her. Ensure she doesn’t manage to spoil it.”
A’zur brushed aside Father’s words, he himself assuming a look of resignation.
“With ... Prince Tristian? That is King Gregor’s son, yes? I’ve heard he’s older than me by over ten years. What if he doesn’t like me, or even look my way, or even know I exist, or... ?” She trailed off, appearing to ignore the sniggers that escaped from their younger sister. “What if he’s cruel or makes fun of me? Or thinks me too fat? Or too stupid?”
She reached to clutch his forearm, shaking with desperation. “What if he’s ugly?!”
No foreigner to hysterics, A’zur calmly brought her body closer. Dutiful reassurance, nothing more. “Astrid, you have no worries. Is this not what we’ve prepared you for your entire life? Does it not make you happy such dedication will not go to waste?”
While he was not above lying to her or anyone else, he found he couldn’t bring himself to bear false promises then, that the prince would be handsome, kind, appreciative of her form and smitten by her intellect.
“What if I forget everything?” A hand went to his chest and rested there as her eyes met his, wide and frenzied. “He might see through everything I am trying to do. There might be others, better than me, prettier than me, more courtly...”
“Just show him your body,” Eleanor said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, though Astrid ignored her.
“I wish it was you!” It was then she stumbled forward and buried her face in his chest.
Breath instantly fled his lungs, her arms encasing him, moulding her form to his own. Like this, he became not one of constant vigilance and cleverness, but a steady entropy into the pure, desirable softness that were her curves.
He forced himself to swallow, but even that little forbidden motion probed him into painful awareness of her body shaking against him, the whispering feathers of her lips in the crevice of his neck, as though this all would halt her fate and bind her to him.
A’zur’s hands stalled inches from her back. He wanted to embrace her, he wanted to feel the tender fabrics of her dress, her heat infused beneath it as he clutched her tight.
But he couldn’t. Her fate had already been decided. Possibly since the day Eleanor was born, granting King Robert the pawns he needed.
Long fingers combed through the lustrous waves of blonde, brushing it back from her image as he cupped her cheek, moving her to look to him. “But you know it cannot be me, Astrid.” Even if he felt the same. “And while I do not wish to appear callous, I unfortunately must. The circumstance will not change; there’s already been preparations for departure in four days. You must get ready. We must.”
In the background, Ethan made a gruff noise at the rather cloying display, apparently nonplussed with any of it, but not surprised either.
“F-four days?” questioned Astrid as her pale orbs gazed into his.
“Four days?” The question burst from Eleanor almost simultaneously. “That’s so soon! Then we’ll be parted forever.”
“No!” The thought appeared to renew Astrid’s distress, though she offered not one brief glance towards her sister, her hold of him firming.
“I mean, he will like you, of course. Not forever, just ... We won’t be together like this anymore.”
“Yes, who will help you snoop through my private journals,” Ethan commented drily.
A’zur only shook his head. “She is not going to stay. She is going to—” Ensnare. “Enthrall the prince. When the festival has drawn to its end, she is to return here at once, and should we hear word from Redthorn, that will decide the permanence of her absence.”
Ethan grinned. “Callous.”
A’zur glared. “Not permanence, just...”
Now Ethan was laughing, having backed up to the ledge of his bed, which he jumped back on. Watching Astrid. “I have to say, you will not be missed by me, I promise.”
The admission did not appear to surprise Astrid as she finally turned to stare her other brother in the eye, slipping from his grasp and causing a tar to build in his chest. With an expression that was calmer than before, as though she had taken some sedative concoction to soothe her, she offered Ethan a gentle smile. “I will miss you, anyway.”
That alone erased the smile from his face, replaced by a scowl.
A’zur knew the moment to be a delicate one. A moment to allow the siblings a time to allow the news to fully marinate through their thick, impossible skulls. His body said otherwise, as it would not behave itself in that moment. It insisted on warming and overheating and demanding he feel something. Demanding he do something to cast out the worry in Eleanor’s eyes, to reverse the defencive mechanism of Ethan’s scowl and ascertain onto Astrid that she would never leave his side no matter what.
In the end, feeble, ineffective hands could only fall to his side and his eyes could only harden from iron to steel. As well as his pathetic, throbbing heart.
He was prepared to pull Astrid from the fray of emotions and direct her to commence her packing, when the door pushed open farther.
Edgar stood, his leather brown tunic wrinkled, breeches crusted with grass stains. His hair in disarray. His eyes were very blue this morning, refracting, as though they’d been washed mercilessly with tears of despair. Across his cheek was a streak of something brown. Mud.
A’zur accepted the distraction with alacrity, injecting a little more of that cutting steel he had to spare, for apparently it existed in his voice as well. “Edgar. You were at the tower. Again.”
The boy shrank back at the harsh tone, the directness. His eyes flickered once to Astrid. It was only common for Edgar’s gaze to seek out that who would best protect him in his time of trouble. A’zur had never meant for himself to be the bringer of such a fear.
This caused his shoulders to loosen, the narrow of his eyes to relieve itself. He beckoned his brother forward with the crook of a finger, where the significantly smaller form cautiously slinked over, his eyes somehow wider.
A’zur knew what this was about. Since the declaration of the sacrifice, their brother had been disappearing at odd hours throughout the day and night. A’zur had only recently discovered where to.
When Edgar reached A’zur, his face contorting as though preparing for a stern lash, A’zur reached up ... and wiped the dirt from the rough but young skin. With great effort, he smelted the hard metal of his voice to something more suitable for a child of eight. “Did I not forbid you from visiting Alan, Edgar?”
Soft, chalcedony eyes lowered apologetically. Silence.
“And if Father had caught you?”
A bony shoulder lifted, then dropped.
Which was a facade. His brother feared their father perhaps more than the rest of them. Whether it had anything to do with how Edgar resembled a much hated nephew of Robert’s or something else entirely, A’zur could not say, but for all the vile cold their parents served the siblings, their father issued Edgar a malice far more severe; the boy often hid at first sign of the man.
He sighed. There was no time to take care of the boy’s appearance before either parent took notice. With a gentle push on the shoulder, he directed his brother towards the bed and asked tiredly, “Ethan, would you please see to his appearance?” Before he could receive objection, he looked to Astrid. “And we need to begin to prepare you for the long journey.”
But, as though the room hadn’t enough tension-filled bodies clogging its womb, there tugged another presence at the threshold of the door. This one caused the recently loosened composure of the prince to presume the former glacial rigidity.
He didn’t even turn to look at his mother.
The steady and almost ominous click of her heels as she entered their company seemed to be the only sound that filled the room. He felt her eyes scrutinising each sibling, up and down, side to side, as if making brief assessments of their current states along with the situation which called them all together.
Then, “Ethan neaten your hair. Eleanor do not slouch. Edgar,” the Queen paused. “you’re absolutely filthy. Astrid that dress adds inches. A’zur,” she stopped and her attention was like searing needles, the undeniable disapproval poisoning the air around him. “Why are they in such a mess? You know better than to allow the standards your father and I trust you to uphold and enforce to slacken.”