Chapter Four

Edvard could not convince King Adam to cancel the rest of the punishment, but he did manage to convince him to let Hans have three days to recover rather than two. Hans spent the days sulking and pouting and shouting at his servants. He would have abused his servants, but Edvard stopped him from it with a threat. Despite his claim of enjoying being the bad boy, Hans was still very reluctant to subject his raw buttocks to further toasting. He would look over his shoulder at the bruises every morning in the mirror, wincing as he pressed on them gingerly. Edvard made love to him some more times, but he ceased smacking him for the while. He rubbed down the bruises with oils and sometimes let his hand soothe them with a little cold, but it was still a day before Hans was out of bed, and two before he dared sit down. When he did sit, he cushioned his chair with a pillow, though it humiliated him so much that his face burned scarlet every time he did. When Edvard jokingly suggested that they go for a horse ride, Hans had turned a worrying shade of pale.

As the days went on, Hans grew more nervous. Desperation grew on him like a second skin, and he had regressed in manner. He stared at his hands more, or his feet, and largely avoided looking anyone in the eye. He had even begun scrubbing a fist over his mouth again, which he had not done since childhood. Fear and misery would overtake him, and he would sit crying stupidly for hours. Edvard would hold him and kiss him and comfort him. Though it made Hans feel even dumber, Edvard's comfort soothed him, so he allowed it.

On the fourth day, Hans tried to stay in bed. When Edvard pulled the covers off and tugged his arm, desperation broke the lad.

"No, please!" he begged Edvard, clutching his arm. "Tell my father that I'm sick. Or-or take me out of here, right now. Take me to that castle you have down here, let me serve you there. Please, please don't make me go."

"I'm sorry, but I can't, Hans," Edvard said gently. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, trying to guide the boy out of bed. "Come on, lad, don't embarrass yourself."

"Please!" Hans wailed as he was pulled bodily out of bed, struggling. "Prince Edvard, please, if you love me, if you care about me at all, don't make me go! Please!"

"Must I call the guards?" Edvard asked. "Come on, lad, don't make this any harder than it is. Be a man about it."

"Damn you!" Hans shouted at him. He pushed Edvard off. "I hate you! You're a sick, sick, cruel old man, and I hate you! I never should have let you touch me. You're never going to touch me again."

Edvard was in no mood to deal with the resistance. He summoned servants and guards. Hans was stripped of his nightclothes, bathed, dressed, and forced out of his bedroom. He was grimly quiet by the time he was marched through the palace. Edvard tried to squeeze his hand, but Hans veered away from him.

Hans considered taking one of the guards' swords and making a mad dash when he saw the spanking bench in the palace hall. He hesitated and had to be discreetly pushed along. He was trembling as he stepped onto its single step, and his stomach fluttered as he bent over it. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. Behind him, a servant peeled down his breeches, exposing his buttocks. The bruises had faded, the cuts had healed, but he was still very sore. He dreaded the pain of having that tender flesh beaten all over again.

Hans blinked back tears, and then Edvard was kneeling before him. The prince took Hans's hands in his own and held them tightly. Despite himself, Hans gripped Edvard's hands back, and gave him a small, sad smile.

Taking a cue from Adrian, the first brother to spank him today used his naked palm. He was very thorough, however, warming Hans's buttocks into a warm buzz of irritation. Hans bit his bottom lip and clung to Edvard's hands, but it did no good. The tears spilled from his eyes, and he shut them. Edvard's thumbs rubbed over his knuckles, though he could not say anything due to the audience.

Hans was paddled next, and he could not keep from crying out. He yelped and kicked, as his bottom burst into a glow of pain. His nails dug into Edvard's skin, but the man did not release his hands. After the paddling came a series of strokes with a thin whipping cane, after each of which Hans yelped and jumped a bit on the bench. That was three, and he was halfway done, but he already felt that he could not take anymore.

"Please, oh please, I'm sorry," the prince of the Southern Isles cried. "I won't be bad again, I promise. Please, no more. Please, give me a moment, please- Aaaaaoooowww!"

The fourth brother was another who had intended to woo one of Arendelle's princesses. He whipped his younger brother with a strap, ignoring his screams and shrieks. Hans kicked so violently that his ankles had to be tied to the bench legs. Edvard swallowed tightly, caressing his hands as he held them.

"Two more yet, lad," Edvard murmured under his breath. "Shhh. There, there, there. Almost done, boy, almost done."

The youth's face was red and blotchy, his eyes circled red from crying. He was shaking awfully, his breathing wet and irregular pants. He nodded, but then there was another crack, and he wailed. His throat sounded hoarse from shouting. Even Edvard began to think that this was all too excessive.

Hans was reduced to quiet whimpers when the fifth brother to punish him this day dully whacked his fire-red buttocks with a paddle. He was entirely silent as his last brother, the priest Jakob, chastised him with a flogger. Edvard did not like the look of him, and thought the lad might have gone into a state of shock. He dropped the boy's hands and stood.

"I think that is enough," Edvard said, staying Jakob's hand. He turned to the thrones up on the dais and bowed low. "Arendelle is satisfied that justice has been done. Thank you, Your Majesty. I know this has not been easy for you."

"No," King Adam said, his voice hoarse as well. "It has not. I accept your forgiveness and thank you, Prince Edvard of Arendelle. If you would please … my son … "

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Hans was untied and Edvard helped him off the bench. His eyes were hazy, and he looked up at the man with the expression of the very slow. Edvard led him out of the throne room stiffly, having to guide him and support him both. When they were in the hall outside, Hans collapsed. Edvard struggled with his weight, finally having to pick him up in his arms and carry him.

Hans clung to Edvard, huddled against him like a kitten. All trace of the brash, ambitiously malevolent usurper was gone from him. He shook like a leaf in the wind, and his eyes were dazed. Edvard murmured condolences to him, but he seemed not to hear.

In Hans's bedroom, Edvard dismissed all his servants and shut the doors. He lay Hans down on his bed, where Hans buried his face in his pillow. The redness of his bruises could be seen through his light-colored breeches. Edvard pulled his shoes off, then peeled the breeches down. The remaining bruises from the first spanking session had deepened to dark purple, and the fresh welts were ruddy and swollen. Edvard was tempted to give the boy enough cold to numb the pain out, but he did not. It was a hard lesson, but Hans had needed to learn it. Edvard rubbed his bottom gently, letting his hand cool it some with his magic. Afterward, he rubbed some soothing oils in, though Hans winced and gave small mewling cries at every rub. This reignited his misery, and he began to cry in heart wrenching sobs.

Edvard removed his own shoes and climbed onto the bed once he was done. He pulled Hans onto his chest and stroked his shoulder and back. He kissed the top of the youth's head, smelling the faint sweat in his hair.

"It's over, lad, it's over," Edvard murmured to him. He tilted Hans's face up to his own gently, kissed his lips. "You be a good boy from now on. You will behave yourself, won't you? No, look at me. Look at me, Hans, and answer the question. Will you behave?"

"Yes," Hans said meekly. He cleared his throat painfully. "Yes, I will."

"And are you sorry?"

To Edvard's surprise, Hans hesitated. The pause lasted only two seconds, but it was enough to make Edvard realize that the lad probably had many more spankings coming in the future. Gunnar was right, Hans did need to be with someone strict.

"Yes."

"I want you to say it," Edvard said. "Are you sorry?"

"Yes, I'm sorry … Prince Edvard."

"Good." Edvard kissed the youth's forehead and let him fall back onto his chest. He stroked his silky auburn hair, noting the strands of copper and wine. "You won't be a boy forever, Hans. As unpleasant as you find this to be, a real whipping is a thousand times worse. Remember that."

"Would you lash me?" Hans asked with a sniffle. "If I go with you, when I'm older … would you have me lashed?"

"No, lad." Edvard knew that he should lie to frighten the boy, but he could not bear to. "No, I would send you away, back to your father, but I could not have you lashed. How could I scar that lovely fair skin?"

Edvard raised the youth's shirt up and off. His fingers grazed his bare back tenderly. Edvard had seen men whipped, and the thought of seeing this boy's back striped with bleeding welts made him ill. He was a failed usurper, an attempted murderer, a seducer, a liar, but he was still a boy, for all that. Edvard cursed his weakness for handsome men.

"Sending you home might get you a lashing, though," Edvard warned. "Judging by how harsh some of your brothers were, I think more than a few of them would have you whipped."

"Some of my brothers intended the same thing that I did, and punished me for ruining their chances," Hans sulked. "They wanted to marry that Anna, just like I did."

"But they would not have wanted her and her sister dead, I would imagine."

"You'd be surprised," Hans said darkly. "Taking power, giving power, keeping power, it's all a game to people like you and I. You quit the game. I lost a round. It will still go on without us."

Edvard wanted to shake his cynicism out of him, but he found that he could not even argue. He recalled the youth he had spent traveling the world: mastering his power, forging secret alliances, sniffing out potential threats to his claim, whispering in the dark. It had felt like a game, an exhilarating sport of chance and charm. His own brother, family, and kingdom had been relegated to pieces on the board in his mind. Had he really been so different from Hans? Was he really so different from him now?

"You lost a round, you said," Edvard noted. "You're still plotting."

Hans knew better than to respond to that. He settled fully on Edvard's chest, closing his eyes. He had run out of tears, and he had nothing more to say to anyone. His buttocks were aching desperately, and all he wanted to do was sleep and be rid of it.

"So be it," Edvard told him. "Whatever your plans, just remember that I plan to tame you. You won't have an easy time playing this game of yours lying on your stomach with a smacked bottom all the time."

"You're a cruel man."

"And you are a brat."

Hans opened his eyes and looked up at him. He leaned up, wincing, and kissed Edvard. It was a bittersweet kiss, full of need and tasting of tears. Then the lad curled up on his chest, and Edvard sang him an old lullaby from the Isles until he had fallen asleep.

When Hans woke up, Edvard was gone. He was covered with the sheets and duvet, but otherwise still naked. His buttocks hurt so much when he tried to move that he cried out. Utterly depressed, Hans lay very still on his stomach. He could see twilight through the curtains, stars coming out. For some reason, he thought about his night with Anna, the moonlight beaming on her big, loving blue eyes. Would she laugh when she read an account of his prolonged and painful punishment? He thought that she would. He tried to be angry at her for it, but all he felt was sadness.

They could have both died, Hans thought. His mind was foggy, muddled with emotion and pain. They could have been dead because of me, and all I got was a spanking.

No, that was not all he had gotten, he recalled. He was banished from Arendelle, and forbidden to travel outside the Isles. He could not forgive his family for this brutal beating, and he knew that many of them would not forgive him for the trouble he had caused. He would most likely be sent to live as an unofficial hostage of Edvard's.

I did get Edvard, though, Hans thought. The older man was as brittle and harsh as winter ice, and Hans knew he would not hesitate to tan his hide all over again if he provoked him. Still, Edvard loved him, and he had that power of his, that cold magic. There was a lot of potential in the man, if Hans could only draw it out. Hans had always wanted to be a king himself, but if that could never happen, being a king's consort was not so unappealing. Edvard was severe, but love was a weakness, no matter what the man said. Hans was certain that he could manipulate him in time, and there were ways of ruling from the bottom, even from over the man's knee.

The bedroom door opened and Hans turned his face on the sweat-stained pillow. To his surprise, his father was making his way slowly towards the bed. Hans pulled the sheets high over himself, and spread the covers over the sex-dirtied sheets.

"My poor boy, my Hans," King Adam said softly. His hand stroked Hans's hair. "My dear son, please, you must forgive me."

Hans hit his hand away and propped himself up on his elbows.

"Forgive you?" he echoed incredulously. "Forgive you? I will never forgive you! I can hardly look at you! You disgust me!"

"Hans, you must understand, you forced my hand."

"Arendelle forced your hand, and you let them!" Hans cried. "You should have denounced their treatment of me, denied their accusations! You should have gone to war for me! But what did you do? You let them make me the villain, and you have your own son beaten savagely by his brothers! Do you know how humiliating it was? To have all the princes that are so much better than I am punish me?"

"They are not better than you, and I have never thought they were," King Adam said gently. "I love you, Hans, as I love all of my children. I had to make peace with Arendelle by having you punished, otherwise they would have demanded a more severe punishment, don't you see? I could not risk losing you."

"You could not risk going to war!" Hans sneered. "You've made the Southern Isles into a coward's paradise!"

"Hans, please-"

King Adam reached out to his son, but Hans hit his arm away.

"Don't you touch me!" he screamed. "Don't you ever touch me again! I will stay in the Isles, and I will go to live with Prince Edvard. You will be rid of your troublesome son, so do not trouble yourself on my account any further!"

"Do you wish to live with Prince Edvard?" King Adam inquired. "Gunnar tells me that he believes that will be the best thing for you, but are you content?"

"I'll be more content to be his whore than your son," Hans growled. "I do not forgive you, father, nor any of my brothers. At least in disgrace I will be free of all of you!"

Edvard had entered the room, and now he appeared behind King Adam. The King was stricken, nearly as pale as Edvard. He rubbed his clammy face.

"Hans-"

"No! Do not speak to me!" Hans shouted. "Never call me a son again! I do not forgive you! I will never forgive you! Get out! I don't want to see you again! Leave me!"

Edvard walked around King Adam. He sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Hans's shoulder. "Now, Hans, don't be so-"

"Oh shut up, you've already gotten what you came to the Isles for," Hans scowled. "He is your friend, but I'm your lover. I don't want to see him."

"Hans, you're being unreasonable," Edvard told him. "Your father is-"

"No, I cannot blame him for hating me," King Adam said. He was breathing heavily, and a hand was over his chest. "I only hope that you believe I love you, Hans, and that someday you might forgive me."

"Never!" Hans said fiercely. "I never will! Never!"

King Adam staggered out of the room. Hans hit the pillow several times, seething. Edvard stroked his shoulder through his thin shirt.

"That was cruel of you, Hans," he said. "Your father did not look well."

"Let him be unwell," Hans said. "I hope he dies!"

"Prince Hans, that is no way to talk," Edvard scolded. He squeezed Hans's shoulder, wiped the few tears that stood at the corners of his eyes. "Now, how are you? Hungry?"

"No," Hans sighed. "No, I'm tired. Lie with me."

Edvard stepped out of his shoes and climbed onto the bed. For all his tough words, Edvard found Hans to be quite needy. His hands thirsted for touch, and his eyes were perpetually hungry for attention. His ambition had led him to desire a kingdom, but Edvard suspected Hans had ever only wanted one thing: someone all his own to love and be loved by.

"As soon as I am able, I will go with you to your castle here," Hans said. "There is nothing left for me here, and I am a prisoner in my own kingdom. I dare not show my face in public after this."

"What shall you do with yourself?"

"I have no idea."

"I'll bring you home with me, and you can recover from all of this," Edvard suggested. "Perhaps you can pursue some studies, and I'll be certain to teach you manners better suited to a prince."

"I can be well-mannered," Hans pointed out. "If I were incapable, I never would have been the charming prince that I was for so many years. I had so many prospects … "

Edvard turned his eyes heavenward, but said nothing. Hans nestled against his chest, one leg thrown over Edvard's. His shirt slipped back, revealing the ugly bruises on his buttocks and upper thighs. He sympathized with Hans, but Edvard had to admit that there were few lovelier sights than a haughty brat having been well-punished.

"Well, at least I can do whatever I want now," Hans said. "No pretending, no pleasing anyone-"

"Excepting myself."

"-and no family," Hans continued, ignoring him. "You might be a strict master to serve, but you are mine and mine alone. Besides, you will also serve me, won't you?"

"In bed only, Hans," Edvard said. "Do not think that I will be charmed into serving your questionable agendas."

Do not think that you won't, Hans thought, smiling. He kissed Edvard, feeling the icy sternness melt as he did. He might have done more, simply to prove the point, but he was hurting too sorely. He lay down again upon the man, and basked in the warmth of his company until he fell asleep.