Chapter 3

When Henry woke up to the rays of the sun hitting his face, it was to the instant feeling of nausea and pain. Hangover to be exact. But he was exhausted. Whoever he fucked much have been good. Hm..n who was she?

He opened his eyes to see a tray of food on the table by his bed. The bottle of oil next to it had been knocked over and was pooling on the dark wood. his room smelled like sex. Sex and blood. Blood?

Henry sat up, and grimaced as the sheets stuck to his skin. He tore the sheets of, to see seed stains... and blood. Not much. Just a few smudges. But some was on his groin, which was alarming.

He looked at the tray of food, the bottle on the floor and the blood in his lap. He frowned. The... oh good Lord in heaven. The boy. He'd had intercourse with a boy. Blood. He'd hurt the boy. Had he... raped...him? Henry dared not think the thought.

He laid back down in a feeble attempt to make the throbbing in his scull lessen as the memories flooded back. Dean, young Dean Winchester. Blond, green eyed, pretty, beautiful even. His skin had been butter soft, and warm. So tight and hot, it made Henry harden at the thought. Then he remembered the blood, and he deflated. What had he done?

What should he do? Ignore it? Hope he never saw him again? Apologise? Give him a raise? Avoid him? No, a king did not avoid a teenage boy. Henry groaned and covered his eyes, was he boy even of age?

The sun had risen and Dean, ruffled, exhausted, in pain and he was sure, bloody, had finally set his nose homeward. He didn't know what to think of the nights events. The king had forced himself on him. And it had been incredibly painful. And it was still incredibly painful, he thought as he took a shortcut through the kings garden. He halted briefly as a dull sting throbbed through his lower stomach. But... that sort of pleasure he had never known. He had made him spill all of three times before he had emptied himself within Dean. Then the king had promptly fallen into a drunken slumber, on top of, and inside of the youth. Deep. And hard. the king just had not seemed to go soft.

He'd heard the queen had a miscarriage again. That was probably why the king was in such a drunken state. Dean bit his lip and cringed at every step. There was something wet, sticky and hot running down his legs. He did not want to guess what it was. Slowly, he crawled up the stairs to his bedroom. He pushed open the doors, took the few steps that it took to get to his bed, crawled under the covers, and fell into a deep sleep.

It took another two days before Dean was healed enough to move around without too much pain. Lucky as it were, it was Saturday, 1st of October and the cook had loudly let him know that the only reason he still had his job was because the king loved his meat. By his 'meat', the cook meant the deer, and other animals Dean caught, but it still made him flinch. His back still ached, and he could not walk or move around for too long.

With a pained sigh, he resigned to his fate as he took the deer and started flaying it carefully.

Henry was pacing back and forth in his office. A maid came in with a cloth to clean any dust that might have settled from the previous day, "Maid, tell me what you know of Dean Winchester?"

The maid jumped as she was addressed by the king, "Um, the hunter, sire?"

"If I knew everything about him, I would not ask," he scowled, "5'11, blond, green eyes, too pretty for his own good."

The maid blushed, "Oh, he is the best hunter in your employment sir. He is very smart and dedicated to his family. His father was a general, but is now a hunter and he travels much. Dean lives alone with his uncle and younger brother. As far as I know, every penny he makes goes to fund his brothers education, sire," she said, "He is pleasant and sociable. He," she blushed, "-is quite the charmer -"

Henry scowled.

"But he never takes advantage, though I know many who would not mind-" she was now beet red. "He is a devout believer, although I don't know how he worships."

Henry nodded thoughtfully. He didn't give a royal shit in how the boy worshipped. "Is he an acceptable rider?"

"Yes, sire."

"Is he literate?"

"Yes sire, in English and Latin, as far I know."

Henry raised a brow. Commoners, who were not doing academic work, were usually not literate, and if they were then usually just in the necessary workings of financial matters and sermons. That made Dean Winchester interesting. "And how does he fare in his work?"

"Excellent, sir, as I said, he is the best hunter, and the others obey his orders. The cooks adore him, he is ever so helpful, even if they say he talks too much."

"A good man then," Henry concluded. "How old is he?"

"Twenty-one, I believe."

Henry cursed under his breath. The boy wasn't even legal. Even as king, he was in so much trouble. He had himself implemented the laws that prohibited older men, regardless of social standing, taking advantage of the younger in true Greek fashion. Mostly because he had witnessed some priests doing more than teaching his peers the sermons. Of course, that had never happened to him. He'd always been a loudmouthed brat, and a royal. The risk was more than it was worth for them in that case. Of course, the same could not be applied to girls as they frequently married before that age. There he set it to sixteen if married, eighteen if not, but engaged. But then women were more susceptible for men just doing as they pleased, without their consent, which was never acceptable, though Henry knew from experience that getting those dresses off was not easy task, and there as always the risk of pregnancy- which as why young boys often found themselves in tricky situations. It had been his first act as a king. He was not heartless. But now it seemed it was come to bite his arse. Hard.

Henry waved his hand, dismissing her.