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vacantgodling · 3 months ago

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OC KISS WEEK 2025 DAY 3: STOLEN

In which King Ricaud is thoroughly caught off guard by the newest member of his council.

characters: King Ricaud of Concordia (currently 30, cis he/him) & Duke Calohan II of the House of Belverat (26, cis he/him)

contains: polyamory, fade to black/implied sex, having a crush, potential political blunders, you ever see a guy so pretty you forgor how to talk? yeah.

King Ricaud never enjoyed council days. They persisted bi-monthly, whether he was not out on some journey to another kingdom to break bread in their jousts or festivals aplenty—or when he was simply preoccupied and would really rather not. But still—duty was duty, even if to an ungrateful, spoiled lot. There were many of the council who still believed that his father, the late and laid forcibly to rest, King Escowain Orcanes, should still wield the throne. Nevermind that even as kings went, he was a man rife with incompetence; one who made promises that he not only had no intention of keeping, but that he simply couldn’t. He could say all the right things; he knew the song and dance, but he could not forge it into fruition. The council loved it. They could engage in petty squabbles amongs thtemselves; proverbial, and sometimes literal (Ricaud would, unfortunately, never be able to unsee the Duke of Engren’s manhood whipped out in the middle of a meeting) cock measuring contests of who hoarded the most abundance. They played with their serfs and soldiers like a child played with dolls; never mind the implications of the human lives at stake for it. And this was why Ricaud hated the them. He was truly more of a lover than a fighter, but how could he not fight when these old men and women of genteel birth that had never taken life with their own hands? Who had never gone a day hungry, nor a night cold? Who had their wealth and orchards to insulate them against the strifes of a bleak, miserable mortal life; a life that Ricaud never knew even as the prince of this great and terrible nation until he was crowned king of it—and yet even then he dealt with their grief. These same bureaucrats who would treat their children such that he was treated—all for the chance to line their own pockets.

But if there was one thing that he would always do, irregardless of his personal annoyances, was find each and every reason to show up the council who still, after all these years, hated him. With each meeting, he made it his mission to quell calls to restore the “Glorious Concordian Empire.” He would turn this kingdom away from its violent past, even if he were to steer it alone. The people who lived in the streets depended upon it. He would restructure their internal systems to prioritize peace and the people. He would remind every nation that looked upon their land what concord meant: harmony; something long forgotten by every ruler since Queen Nise of the House of Dawnbran. But it seemed so unfortunate that no one but his closest confidants shared this vision. The council, lined with old gentry of every gender and persuasion, would rather dwell on thier imagined vision of a glorious past. Yet, dwelling on the past—nevermind if it was one of glory or pain—was how Concordia had gotten into the precarious situation that it had long persisted in before he came to rule: one of strife, famine, and war.

This was the uphill battle Ricaud fought, bi-monthly, since his coronation. And he presumed that it would persist that way, until he finally croaked. Perhaps he too would become a blip in the records of history—a king who fought for much yet gained so little. But even if in his lifetime he could keep them from war, then he would consider it a grand achievement. Thankless and threadbare work, it reminded him why he never wished to be king—yet as it was his lot in life, he would do it. And things persisted. At least, until, last summer.

Last summer was the first grand funeral that Ricaud had been slotted to attend; the funeral of the first of the Grand Chancellor’s of the Royal Council to pass to the other side: Duke Calohan I of the House of Belverat. He was the oldest, and least wise (in Hyhfrit’s “humble” opinion, Ricaud tried to refrain from making comment) of all the council members, nearing 100 years old at the time of his death. As a king should, Ricaud spoke a few words—mellow and somber, but still accepted by the people of doing his due diligence. But what truly concerned him, was who the House of Belverat would send to the Royal Council as his replacement. If it were another duke such as he, who scoffed at progress, and spent most of his speaking time rambling inanely about the Glorious Empire… then Ricaud would be in for a lifelong headache.

However, that was not what he got, when he was introduced to Duke Calohan II, son of Calohan I, and the only heir of the House of Belverat.

In fact, Ricaud wasn’t quite sure what to make of the young noble at all.

At least, not at first.

He was the first young soul among the Council’s ranks, younger than Ricaud even, by four winters. His sharp midnight locks were cut precisely in such a way to frame his elegant jaw, and scant tendrils of hair at the back that the young lord deemed acceptable to grow longer, trailed like tailcoats behind him as he briskly walked up and down the royal halls. He was delicately unapproachable—Ricaud didn’t quite know why he thought that the noble was delicate, he certainly wasn’t… was he? Ricaud had spent the past two bi-monthly meetings staring quite intently at Duke Calohan II’s fingers. Pale brown they were, almost like a sandy ash, as well as long and limber—an instrument player, perhaps he was. And Ricaud caught himself wondering, one meeting, as the young duke was finally granted an opportune moment to speak, what else those hands may be capable of.

That day, Ricaud was thusly shaken out of his distracted stupor when sharp violet eyes met his, beneath dark lashes and a golden-rimmed monocle, met his gaze head on. There was an inquisition in the Duke’s gaze, even as he kept addressing the room, even as he spoke of, honestly, a brilliant plan to convert some of the downtrodden, barren castles of old into school houses of trade for the people. There was a grumble within the ranks of the Council, how could they reuse such artifacts for the purpose of tending to the poor—but the rumblings all fell to a hush when King Ricaud held up a hand.

“Please, Duke Calohan,” Ricaud gestured with that same hand to the Duke who was still giving him that calculating stare. “Go on.”

After that meeting, Ricaud understood.

The Duke was attractive, of course. He was talented and sharp witted, bred and primed well for taking on this important position. But his calculated aloofness before and after meetings—how he could easily skirt the women of the council that sought wiles from him, and tongue tie the men who scorned his ideas because of his youth. The sharp slant of his cunning eyes. The way that he knew Ricaud was looking at him whenever he had the floor to speak, and never let his gaze fall from Ricaud’s as he spoke—seeming to be both a challenge and an invitation…

It was… enticing.

Ricaud wanted him.

He knew how awful it was, politically, to entangle himself with a member of his Royal Council. But with each meeting, whenever Calohan spoke; of opening orphanages, of electing a council, of make similar to this current forum that the people had vested interest in, of peace offerings and treaties that so aligned with Ricaud’s vision… He was tantalized, curious, and wary, all at once.

It was a matter that he did not take lightly; and as such Ricaud took it to his two closest consults: Arkmagi Hyhfrit, for the political lens, and Sir Gleriath, for the personal. Hyhfrit was wise beyond the feeble stretches of human comprehension, and Ricaud’s tutor in every sense of the word. They had seen the rise and fall of kingdoms aplenty—and when they sensed no ill-intent from the newest addition to the Royal Council, that was when Ricaud turned to Gleriath for the intimate. His lover, and closest friend only rolled his eyes (fondly) at him, when he bemoaned the duke’s handsome visage and uncanny ability to nail every talking point that was close to his heart.

“What would you have me say, my lord?” Gleriath asked, arms crossed over his bare, sweat-sheened chest, and just recently claimed to languid doclity. Worst of all, utterly bemused at his king’s expense, in the king’s own bed no less! Ricaud, as it were, was strewn across the mattress, sheets in disarray and barely covering his nude form. He groaned into the pillow that bracketed his face. “Tell me that I am stupid for considering it.”

“You are a fool,” Gleriath agreed readily. Ricaud propped himself up from the pillow, only to give him a playful, withering look. “An honest, brave, and loving one. But a fool no less.” Gleriath smiled at him and that only somewhat made up for the offense. Ricaud told him so, and his knight laughed.

“I have made up my mind that I shall not approach him.” Ricaud sighed aloud when Gleriath’s laughter died. “Hyhfrit perhaps already knew why I was asking when I sought their counsel, and they would perhaps turn me into a squirrel if only to skin me alive, should I bed the duke.”

“But he is handsome.” Gleriath egged on.

“Terribly.” Ricaud dropped his head back into the pillow. Muffled, he continued, “But a member of my Council no less. There is not even a guarantee that he would care for me in such a way.”

“My lord, I think you could charm a snake from it’s skin.” Gleriath said bluntly. “But they shed them anyway.” Ricaud mumbled, mostly to himself.

“They’d shed them before they ought to, if only you asked it of them.” Gleriath nudged Ricaud with his foot. The king did not move. Gleriath let out a sigh. “For your own sake, I should suggest to keep an open mind. I do not know one who would so brazenly hold the king’s gaze, if t’were not of the desire of him.” Ricaud pulled his head up from the pillow once more to meet Gleriath’s eyes, and unsurprisingly, his knight’s gaze did not falter. In fact, it dropped appreciatively down the planes of his hairy chest, a warmth like desire alighting his fair eyes darker.

“You desire me again, Sir Gleriath?” Ricaud could perhaps ease his mind away from the distracting duke with a familiar indulgence. Gleriath only had to bite his own lip for Ricaud to tuck the thoughts into the back of his mind; much in favor of ravishing Gleriath instead.

**~~**

But even that temporary bliss was not enough to distract King Ricaud forever. His restless thoughts drew him back to the council room, on one of its off days, simply to try and work out some semblance of sensibility regarding it. He knew himself well enough to know that there perhaps wouldn’t be a way to truly avoid his own… pleasantries. He was a flirt, he knew. It was worse when it was reciprocal. And while he hadn’t talked much to the young duke outside of meetings, he knew it would perhaps be only a matter of time before he did—and then what? What if his flirtation was received well? He really was quite terrified of being a naked squirrel, thank you very much! And as he pondered, pacing back and forth restlessly in front of his own grand seat, he failed to notice the door to the council hall open, nor for the object of his current fixation, to enter the room.

“I did not realize you would be here, Your Highness.” Duke Calohan II of the House of Belverat said aloud. King Ricaud would deny to any and all witnesses the startled noise that came out of his mouth, even on pain of execution. After a moment, as the king realized who was with him, he grabbed hold of his remarkably plain lenin shirt and let out a sigh of relief.

“Gardens, you gave me a fright, Duke Calohan!” For what it was worth, the Duke let out a soft chuckle, disguised as a cough behind his hand, Ricaud heard it clear as daybells. “Though, I should say the same to you. There isn’t a meeting today.” He said after a moment.

“Of course not. It should be in a fortnight, if I am not mistaken.” Calohan was giving him a strange smile. Ricaud traced it with his eyes. Shamelessly, even to his own faculties. “Yes. A fortnight.” Ricaud had no true idea. He was ensnared in the magnetism of the duke’s gaze again; even more so as the duke set down a bundle of scrolls on the long table at the centre of the room, then began the small trek from the entrance whence he came, to where Ricaud stood at the front of the room. The duke stopped until he was directly toe to toe with the king—a closeness that was reserved for any of Ricaud’s various lovers, a threshold never breeched by a council member, until now. Up close, Ricaud could see that Calohan was wearing a sort of smudging around his eyes that brightened them to the untrained eye, and it was nearly as mesmerizing as seeing him this closely—enough to study him. There was a beat where neither of them said anything, then Calohan finally pulled back—only just—with laughter dancing on his lips like the twittering of little songbirds.

“You are far too straight forward, Your Highness.”

Ricaud cocked his head. “In what way?”

“The council meeting is tomorrow.” Calohan shook his head, still amused. Ricaud found that he couldn’t even mind if bemusment looked that sweet. “Do you think I would travel all the way from Belverat for my health?”

“I… Suppose that’s true.” Ricaud stammered. His honesty would be the death of him, but somehow Ricaud didn’t mind such a death if it was at the hands of someone who’s eyes shimmered like amethysts when they smiled. Duke Calohan breeched the threshold once more by leaning back in, steadying himself with a hand planted purposefully onto King Ricaud’s chest. The touch sent lightning up and down Ricaud’s skin, raising goosebumps and standing his hairs on end all at once; alert and honed into the duke’s presence like a bloodhound on a fox.

“Have you ever been to Belverat?” Calohan purred. Ricaud was going to combust. “Not… since I was crowned.” Ricaud cleared his throat. “But, I remember it was quite lovely. If far—quite far… actually.” The gears in the king’s head were slowly beginning to turn. “Actually, for these meetings is it not a hassle to travel such length? Would it not be easier for you to take up residence in the capital?”

“I was intrigued by such an option.” Calohan’s hand, bless it, trailed from Ricaud’s chest to the buckles of his trousers. He stepped closer into Ricaud’s space if possible. “Would Your Highness happen to know of such empty properties that I could settle my house into?”

His house. Oh, that sucked the wind slightly from Ricaud’s sails—it was likely that Duke Calohan II was married, wasn’t it? Most nobles of their age were long married—and it was a topic that circled again and again throughout most council meetings; Ricaud’s lack of bride, and more importantly, lack of heirs. Curiously, Calohan was one of the few who circled back to the topics at hand whenever it was brought up, and Ricaud did find that he was quietly grateful for the intervention. But that did not mean that it meant what Ricaud’s torturous heart and loins hoped it meant.

But ever observant, Calohan seemed to pick up on Ricaud’s suddenly shift in mood. When he pressed closer ever still, until Ricaud met his gaze again—what the king saw there was a concentrated inferno of lust that blew the air straight from his lungs. His surprise at the sudden determination, gave Calohan enough leeway to slink his other hand up to cradle itself against Ricaud’s jaw, and then use it to tug him forward until they were kissing; so thoroughly that when they pulled back, Ricaud was quite positive that Calohan stole all the thoughts out of his head with him.

“I… Believe I may have a few ideas.” Ricaud finally said, breathlessly. It was worth it to see Calohan’s cheshire smile spread across his face again.

“And I look forward to hearing them, Your Highness.” Calohan stepped back and Ricaud found himself reaching after him, wanting to pull him back to further understand what barriers they’d suddenly thrust themselves over. But nimble as a thief, Calohan slipped out of his grasp, flouncing back to the back-room entrance of the council hall where he’d originally entered. When he looked at Ricaud again, who was still rightfully slack-jawed, he winked. “A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance properly.” And with that, Calohan slipped out of the door, letting it fall shut behind him.

Ricaud touched his hand to his lips.

“A pleasure, indeed.”

#s: king concordia #ockiss25 #ren writing #this one took me SO LONG to work out how to get going #i love calohan however this isn't my favorite thing in the world #i'll write better shit for them at some point i'm just happy its done lol

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