Chapter Text
The wind blew sharply against Dean’s face as his horse galloped along the cobble path. He had been traveling through the trees for what felt like years, and yet the decapitated ogre head in his satchel still reeked of fresh blood.
The King had asked him—head of the King’s guard—to venture into the swamp to kill the hideous beast that has been hunting the kingdom’s maidens. It was an easy fight, Dean had only managed to kill the beast at the cost of his already scarred face. The gargantuan beast had only managed to give a light scratch.
Now Dean was on his way back to the castle, prepared to serve the nasty beast’s head to the King on a silver plater. Dean knew how it would end, the King would thank him for his bravery, then request for “special training” in his and Queen’s bedchamber.
This “special training” required some physical prerequisites that otherwise would not meet Dean’s eyes. He did it enjoy the sensation from time to time, but in his opinion, the Queen was too much of a solitary partner while the king merely sat and watched. Dean would often find himself wishing the King would join the two, but he knew such thoughts were blasphemous. However, he would still find his mind wandering when in his own chamber.
The walls to the castle stood tall over the trees, their dark stone creating a cascading shadow over the already thick canopy of trees. He approached the drawbridge and within seconds, the wood began to creak and thud against the dirt.
After Dean left his horse with the stable boy, he began his ascend up the stone stairs. His armor clanked against itself and the screeching sound made Dean happy that he was nearly out of this godforsaken uniform.
When he entered the throne room, the King was siting on his thrown, but something was off about him. His typical demeanor of confidence was faltered and his boot was tapping endless on the velvet rug beneath him. His advisors stand next to his throne, their faces equally disgruntled.
“Your Majesty, I have returned from my journey and I have brought you what you seek,” Dean says, kneeling at the bottom of the stairs. He reaches into his satchel and pull the mighty beast’ head out, presenting it proudly to his superior.
“Very good, Sir Dean,” the King responds quickly, brushing the man aside. Dean looks at him in confusion as he stands up. This type of behavior was beside the King, so what ever was the problem with his Majesty?
The King stood from his throne and hurried down the stairs until he was at Dean.
“I request training in my bed chambers tonight, Sir Dean,” he whispers to him. Dean sighed internally. He was truly hoping for his own private time.
“Of course, Your Majesty. I shall knock when the sun falls,” he responds with a hushed voice.
With that King swiftly leaves and every else comes down the stairs.
“What is the matter with His Majesty?” Dean asks the King’s most trusted advisor—and also his brother—Samuel.
“I shall tell you over a drink, come.”
***
“The King has received some unfortunate news from his brother…their father passed early morning today.”
“Oh my God,” Dean responds, taking another sip from his mug.
The King was very close to his father, so losing him was surely taking a toll on him. Despite his empathy, he was not looking forward to what the King had planned for later tonight.
“And that’s not even the worse part. Once hearing of his father’s passing, he order for a sorcerer immediately. He wishes that they may raise the dead.”
“But that is blasphemy!”
“I know, we tried to warn him yet he insisted. The sorcerer should arrive early morrow,” Samuel said as he took the last sip of his ale.
Dean sighs and put his mug down, he was not happy with the news of a sorcerer coming to the aid of the King. He found them quite obnoxious with their almighty intelligence, and often felt like a simple brute when he was in the company of one.
“I am going to slumber, Dean. I shall see you tomorrow to greet the sorcerer,” Samuel remarks before standing, leaving Dean to his own thoughts.
Dean was tired, but he knew that his duty wasn’t done. He sighed and stood, making his way to Their Majesty’s bedchamber.
——————
Dean woke up in his bed with a searing ache in his back. Last night was just like all the others—he did all the hard work while the Queen lay still and the King watched. The only thing Dean seems to enjoy was the thought of a man watching him pleasure himself, but that was hardly the case.
For once, Dean would like to be the one who just took the pleasure.
A sharp knock pulled Dean out of bed and to his door.
“Yes?” He asked, waiting for a response.
“Dean, we are late. The sorcerer will arrive any minute. Please hurry yourself and meet in the throne room,” Samuel says from the other side of the door. Dean huffs and rubs his face.
“I shall make haste.”
Dean hears Samuel’s footsteps fading, so he begins putting his formal gear. He hated this armor the most. It was shiny, so reflective that it bounced candlelight right into his eye in the most infuriating manner.
He had to admit it, he did look dashing though.