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Lucan would liked to have said he didn’t understand the allure of what was clearly an insane activity, but he understood it all too clearly. It was dangerous, and therefore it was masculine and virile, and therefore it caught the attention of Thadecus, who by this time was loudly and cheerfully demanding that everybody call him Thad.
“I’ll bind your wounds!” the king declared. He was unsteady on his feet and unravelling a bandage into the dirt, but of course the wounded knights who received his attentions had no qualms about accepting his ministrations. Lucan watched as the king he had pledged his sword and life to bandaged the wrong arm of a man whose other arm had a bit of bone sticking out of it, having broken due to being wrapped around a tree by a Forcehund. Nobody seemed to mind this at all. In fact, everybody was so inebriated they barely seemed to notice.
Lucan had not drunk nearly as much as everybody else. He wanted to remain sharp so as to impress the king. However, now that they had come to the clearing, and more drinking was underway, something was beginning to dawn on him.
Every single knight present was one who could be described, at the very minimum, as attractive. Most of them were very, very incredibly good looking. Also, an increasing number were beginning to take their pants off, abandoning those clothes as much as they had abandoned those on the upper halves of their bodies.
Soon, a good half of the men present were entirely naked, and quite pleased about it. A good half-dozen erections were paraded about the clearing as the cream of the military might of Force engaged in what soon became a rather brutal orgy.
Lucan had never seen such a sight, and he was not nearly so drunk as to be carried along with the general enthusiasm being displayed by the others. He found himself lingering by the Forcehunds, rather hoping to blend into their fur.
“Where is the new boy!?” The king’s voice rang out through the gathering.
“Loris!” Thadecus called. “Where are you!?”
The knights began to search among their number for Loris, only to discover that no such man seemed to exist. There was then a great deal of arguing.
“Loris? Are you sure you don’t mean Lorax?”
“Is there a Lorax here?”
“No.”
Thad cuffed the knight over the head, catching Sir Birkan a hefty blow. “Then why would you tell me about this Lorax if he is not here? I want the dark, smoldering, quiet one. The new boy!”
Lucan realized that the king, his king, was in fact, speaking of him. He had a choice to make. He could continue to hide as a coward, or step forward and see what the king wanted. He decided to do the latter.
“There he is!” Thadecus fixed Lucan with a broad grin and the kind of glittering smile in his eyes that sent a bolt of both sexual arousal and pure anxiety shooting through Lucan’s flesh. Royal sights had undoubtedly been set on him. Suddenly, he knew precisely why he had been invited to the hunt.
When he looked around, he saw wolfish expressions on the faces of many of his contemporaries. They had known. They had not said a word. He had been lured here as surely as any wild animal might be lured into a trap. That trap was now sprung, and he was without arms. He had his pants, his wits, and very little else to protect him from what was coming.
“Come, gallant knight!” Thadecus crooked his finger, summoning Lucan to the center of the clearing.
Lucan obeyed the summons, doing his best to not be overawed. Never before had he been directly addressed by the king. Never before had he seen the king in quite this level of undress. Thadecus had not removed his pants entirely, but the lacing had been loosened and there was clear evidence of the king’s arousal.
There was an air of anticipation among the assembled men, tinged with a hint of malice. Lucan wondered if each and every one of those present had at one time or another been called forward and asked the question so clearly on the king’s lips.
“Do you like to be fucked, Lucan?”
Lucan swallowed, not knowing the proper response. As attractive as Thadecus was, Lucan had no intention of allowing himself to be mated on the forest floor by a drunken monarch. The intensity of the moment increased second by second, until Lucan heard himself speak.
“I prefer to do the fucking, sire.”
He answered honestly and boldly, throwing caution to the wind. He knew very well that his answer might mean he never left the clearing again, or that he might be demoted immediately. Perhaps even, worst case scenario, he might be made the target of the hunt.
In the aftermath of his response, a hush fell over the clearing. Even the birds stopped singing as if shocked by the hubris of this relatively new knight who had only served the king for three years, and had just been promoted to hunt status.
