Chapter Text
He broke through the Throne Room doors just in time to see the Queen fall, cradled in the King’s arms with his dagger through her heart. Behind him, his men came swarming through, circling the royal family and cutting off all chance of escape. The coup would be complete once he killed the Xaviers, and Kurt didn’t hesitate to plunge his sword swiftly through the King’s chest.
It was not until the body fell at Kurt’s feet, that the boy started screaming.
The Crown Prince, young Charles not yet fifteen, had been in a state of shock, unable to comprehend the sight of his mother’s murder at his father’s hand. He couldn’t understand that it was love that motivated the King, to spare her the indignities to follow; what an omega – and the Queen – would experience at the hands of the usurper and his men. Brian would surely have done the same to Charles if Kurt hadn’t dispatched him in time, to ensure that his only son would remain innocent and unmolested by a too early death.
Kurt backhanded the boy with a snarl, and knocked him clean off his feet.
“Secure the Royal Quarters,” he barked, his troops scrambling to obey. “Leave none alive.”
He left it to his Captain to carry out the order, dispersing the men until only four remained to guard the Throne Room. Their presence made little difference to Kurt, for he doubted that any of Xavier’s guards yet lived, or that any would make it past his people to reach the castle’s core. No, there was nothing and no one to take his attention away from the two dead bodies, and the omega princeling sprawled upon the marble floor.
The boy’s eyes were wide with terror, and he scrambled backwards as Kurt advanced and grabbed him by the arm. He kicked and fought as Kurt hauled him towards the dais, desperation increasing as he was shoved roughly on his back. It would be easier perhaps to flip him over onto his stomach, though Kurt would rather see the look on his face as he was breached for the very first time.
He waved one of the guards over, and yanked the princeling’s arms over his head. “Hold him still.”
“No. No! Get off me…murderer!”
Kurt laughed, and slapped the boy hard across his cheek, stunning him to silence as he ripped the finery from his wriggling body. “I am any and all the names you may deign to call me, Your Highness,” he cooed, unbuckling his leather gauntlets and cuirass, and letting them clatter to the floor. His cock throbbed painfully as he pulled it loose from his breeches, and he coated it with only a little spittle and the drying blood on his hands. “I am also King now, and your liege lord too. And I will stake my claim upon your flesh as is my rightful due.”
He pushed in, relishing the tightness of the boy’s virgin hole, sliding in until he was sheathed inside that soft and lithe body. The princeling screamed and thrashed and tried to buck him loose with all his strength, though he managed only to tighten the clench around Kurt’s throbbing prick. Taking a few moments to admire his quarry, Kurt ran his hands down the boy’s flank and rubbed at his nipples, drinking in the tantalising sight that lay prostrate before him. He was very beautiful, his skin soft and smooth as silk, with blood red lips that begged to be bitten. But it was the boy’s gaze that inflamed him the most; the fire that yet simmered in those startlingly blue eyes. There was nothing he wanted more than to dim that inner light; to see innocence defiled and his spirit broken, his body a vessel for Kurt’s seed and for his boundless ambition.
“You should consider yourself lucky,” he breathed as he started thrusting his hips, luxuriating in the keening wails he drove from the boy’s pretty lips. “That I should be the one to sully your sweet flesh. Be grateful for my mercy, Your Highness, for I could easily arrange for my men to take their turn too.”
The boy shuddered, his eyes wet with tears, though he didn’t plead or answer Kurt’s taunt. He stopped struggling or trying to pull his arms loose, attempting to bear his violation with a semblance of stoicism and grace. A prince’s comportment, even in the face of such pain and humiliation, and Kurt vowed to break him utterly until only shame and despair remained.
He pulled out without warning and rolled the boy over, hiking his ass up high and sinking in with a growl. With a blistering pace, his thrusts deep and harsh, Kurt fucked the little princeling vigorously as he quivered and quaked. The boy’s pained cries echoed in the silence of the near empty Throne Room, his distress like a siren’s song to Kurt’s ears. His men too watched avidly as the boy was impaled, pucker stretched obscenely wide and taut around his hard prick. He could smell their arousal, equal to the lust that thrummed in his blood; knew they envied him greatly and imagined themselves in his place.
It felt glorious, and Kurt thought he might do it again before an audience in the Great Hall.
“You are a very fine specimen,” he said, nuzzling the boy’s neck, leaving bite marks all over his fair skin. The omega’s sweet scent permeated the air, as his slick finally started to gush from the ruthless stimulation. “I wonder…will you come on my knot while my men are all watching? While your parents’ blood still flows warm from their dead bodies?”
The princeling screamed and kicked and tried to pull away, though Kurt only laughed as he continued pounding his arse. There would be bruises on his skin and fingermarks on his hips, tangible, irrefutable proof that he’d been ravished and claimed. It was thrilling, to have such power over Xavier’s sole heir, his life and his wellbeing entirely at Kurt’s whim.
He grinned, imagining the boy rounded with child, mewling as Kurt fucked into his pretty pink hole.
It did not last long, this first time together, for the boy was too tight and Kurt too impatient. He stiffened, his knot swelling fast and locking in place, and he grunted as he spurted a stream of hot come. The boy gasped at the feel of it, splattering his walls, Kurt’s seed filling his battered insides to the brim. There would be much more, once he finished securing the castle and its grounds; he would have the boy as many times as he could, in whatever way he desired it.
“Take him to the King’s chambers,” he ordered, once his knot deflated and he pulled out with a groan. “Have him tended to and fed, and tie him to the bed.”
The boy made no move at his words, allowing Kurt ample time to admire his handiwork. He looked so small and pathetic, like a child’s broken doll, splayed on the floor with blood and come pooling between his thighs.
“Yes, my Lord.”
Outside a lone horn sounded, mournful and high, signaling success for Kurt’s people and the battle’s true end.