“Gonna… come…” Hardwic warned, his small hands tangling in Snow’s hair. Snow moaned in encouragement, and, a moment later, his mouth was full of Hardwic’s release. He sucked at the head and swallowed it down as best he could. Hardwic drew away with a soft groan, pressing a kiss to his lips, his tongue sweeping into Snow’s mouth to taste himself there. Snow tangled their tongues together, panting softly. When Hardwic pulled back, Snow turned his head to take Bernhardt into his mouth and suck on him as he squeezed and rolled his balls in his palm. He did that for several moments, then turned his head to switch to Sigurd on the other side, doing the same. He suddenly found another cock in front of his face, and he lifted his eyes to Dagobert in front of him. With an eager moan, he surged forward, Der helping to prop him up, taking Dagobert’s leaking cock into his mouth and down his throat. He let the momentum of Der and Sigmund’s thrusts deep into him pull him back and forth on Dagobert’s cock, making soft grunting, whining noises as the pleasure assailed him.
He eagerly sucked down one cock, giving it a few swallows around his throat as his hands stroked two others, then switching to take another into his mouth and stroke over two more. He wasn’t even sure whose was whose anymore; all he knew was that he wanted all of them, wanted to bring each of them as much pleasure as he could.
Dagobert grabbed his hair to pull him off of his cock as he began to come, his warm seed hitting Snow in the face, some of it in his open mouth, and he stretched out his tongue, eager to catch it. Something warm hit his cheek, and he realized that Bernhardt was coming too. Snow tipped his head back, sticky seed splattering over his eyes and forehead. He kept his eyes closed, making little panting and mewling sounds as Sigmundand Der’s thrusts became harder and faster, letting his body go completely under their mercy as they fucked him. Someone wrapped their lips around his bobbing cock and sucked eagerly. The head of Sigurd’s cock slid into his open mouth as he cried out, and he swallowed it down eagerly, his eyelashes and brows too sticky to open. He felt more seed splatter his face, his chest, his hair, down his throat, all of it warm and reminding him of how much he was loved. He swallowed the mouthful, then gave a scream as the mouth on his cock gave a powerful suck, and his orgasm rocked through him like he had been struck by lightning. His body jerked and spasmed as his balls emptied themselves into the hot mouth, spilled seed dripping down his face, neck, and chest, pooling into the creases and crevices of his skin. His body still moved, ass pulsing in pleasure, and then Der was coming, and Sigmund too, grinding themselves against him in a way that made him see stars and brought a wild scream of rapture to his lips. He felt himself collapsing forward into a warm embrace, the world too bright, his body both too heavy and floating at the same time.
He wiped clumsily at the stickiness on his face, his chest rising and falling eagerly as he sank down against a pillow, heart fluttering, his body singing with sensation all over. His ass ached, his balls were tight, he was sticky and itchy all over from spent passions drying on his skin, in his hair, and inside of him. But he had never in his life felt more satiated or more loved. His seven lovers had each loved him in their own way, bathed him in their affection and desire, pleasured him and let him pleasure them in return, and he was sure he could never be happier than he was right now with all of them holding him and surrounding him with love.
He became aware of a wet cloth wiping gently at his face, first his eyes, then over his nose and mouth, clearing away the mess there until he was able to open his eyes without troubleagain. Bernhardt had a cloth that he was using to wipe Snow’s face tenderly. Someone spread his legs, and he looked down to see Dagobert wiping carefully between the globes of his ass. He knew he was probably going to be leaking seed all night, but he was perfectly all right with that. He wanted all of them to know that he belonged to them, that he loved each of them, that he would always be faithful and loyal to them, his seven little lovers.
Grimwald pressed a cup of fresh, cool water to his lips, and Snow obediently drank it down. The cloth cleaning his face moved on to his chest and torso, wiping away the sticky streaks left on his skin. Someone helped him roll over onto his side so that his back could be washed as well. When he was settled once more onto his back, his eyes were burning with the desire to sleep, and they drifted shut as a warm blanket was draped over him. “I love you all, each and every one of you,” he whispered. Each of them echoed the sentiment back to him, but he didn’t hear any of them because he was already fast asleep.
Seventeen
The Queen traveled alone up and down the lands close to the southern foothills. She encountered some travelers and villagers as she searched, but no one had knowledge of a young man with skin as pure as snow and hair as black as ebony. Every day that did not yield up Makellos’ location fanned the wind of her hatred.
She had searched high and low without success when she heard tell of a small cottage in a clearing where the men who mined the hills lived. So, the next morning, she set out for the area near the mines, tying her horse to a tree and wandering on foot past a burbling stream until she smelled chimney smoke and saw golden thatch peeking through the trees. She followed the gleam to the edge of the tree line, and there she found a cottage, a humble dwelling with a garden and a well. She hid just out of sight behind the trees and watched the house intently. The little men had already left for work, it seemed, for the house was quiet.
The heavy front door opened, and a familiar figure stepped out. Makellos had a broom in his hand and swept over thethreshold, whistling a jaunty tune as he did. The sound of it made her jaw clench. She had told him many times as a child that whistling was vulgar. Not that it mattered though, for he would be dead shortly. She started to step out of the trees, then quickly ducked back in. Someone besides Makellos was at the house. She peered out from behind the tree again. A short man with chestnut hair and a pointed beard had appeared in the doorway, carrying a bow and arrow. He was quite diminutive. She vaguely recalled they were not far from the mines where she had sent the little men of the kingdom all those years ago. This must be one of them, she reasoned.
She watched as Makellos leaned down and pressed a kiss to the man’s lips. The little man hugged him around the neck as he kissed him back before he set off into the woods. She shrank back behind the tree as he approached the tree line. She heard him walk across several crunchy leaves and twigs, close by, before the sound faded again, leaving the area in wooded silence once more. She stepped out from behind the tree. The door to the little cottage was closed now, but the window next to it stood open, at which she could see Makellos in his ever-white shirtsleeves, filling a bucket with water from a pump. She approached the little cottage, her back bent as if with age, clutching her basket tightly. “Fruit for sale,” she called, her voice a haggard croak. “Lovely fresh fruit for sale.”
Makellos looked out the window, his blue eyes meeting her own, and she gave him a small, toothless grin. “Hello, good sir,” she said, lifting her bony hand in a wave. “Might I interest you in some fresh fruit today?”
The poor older woman looked to be no more than a whisp that would be blown away by the wind. And being able to offer his lovers a fresh fruit tart would be a wonderful surprise as well. Makellos opened the door and stepped out into the crisp air.“Good morning. I believe I would be interested. May I offer you a seat, ma’am?”
“So polite,” she cooed. “Don’t worry about an old woman’s comfort, dear boy.”
“Please, I insist,” Makellos said, offering her his elbow. She took it and hobbled over the threshold into the little cottage, casting her eyes about for anyone else who might be in the way of her plans, but it seemed as if they were all alone.
Makellos sat her upon one of the wooden benches. “May I offer you tea or something else to drink?”
“Oh, no, no,” the woman said, waving her hand dismissively. “I am more spry than you might think, dearie.” Makellos laughed and sat on the bench next to her. “My, you are a strapping young lad, aren’t you? What is your name?”
“The little men call me Snow White,” he said, giving her a kind smile.
“Snow White.” The Queen had to stop herself from cackling aloud. What a silly, childish name, for a silly, childish boy. Makellos looked none the worse for wear after his attempted assassinations. In fact, if anything, he looked even more fair. His blue eyes sparkled with delight, and his cheeks were pink and rosy. Her hatred boiled within her like molten lead, but she just gave him another smile as set her basket upon the table. The bright red apple was on the very top of the pile, the only apple in the lot. “The little men are not here?”
“No,” Makellos said. “They work at the mines in the mountains. I tend the house for them.”
“What a good boy you are,” the Queen said, reaching up a withered hand to pat his cheek. “I am sure they would love some fresh fruit after a hard day’s work.”
“I am certain they would,” Makellos said brightly. “Please let me see your wares.”
The Queen pushed the basket toward him, and, sure enough, Makellos’ eyes landed directly on the single bright red apple at the top. “Ah, you are a lover of apples, good sir?”
“Indeed, I am,” Makellos said with a sheepish grin. “And it has been a long while since I have had a fresh one.”
“Oh, poor lad,” the Queen said. “I only have the one apple. Please, take it for yourself, no payment required.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that!” Makellos said, his blue eyes wide. The idea of taking something for free from this poor old woman when he had the means to pay her with some of the silver squirreled away in the cottage did not sit right with him.
“Please,” the Queen said, plucking the rosy fruit from the basket and holding it out to him with both hands. “I insist. Then you will know how sweet and fresh the rest of my wares are.” She held out the bright red apple toward him.
Makellos took the apple from her hands. “You are so very kind,” he said, giving her a warm smile. He lifted the fruit to his nose and gave it an inhale. The Queen’s heart quickened, watching him closely. He sank his teeth into the apple with a satisfying crunch as he broke through the blood-red skin into the white flesh beneath it.
As he chewed the bite, his vision suddenly swam and melted before him, making the world into streaks of watercolor. His head pounded ferociously, and his limbs felt heavy, like they were dragging him to the ground. He took a breath that felt like nothing in his lungs. A coldness spread over him, starting at his lips and moving outward and downward. There was a thump as the apple fell from his hand onto the floor, his fingers no longer able to clench. As the cold seeped into his knees, his vision went white. He fell off the bench and collapsed to the floor in a sprawl of limbs. He let out one more breath that expelled everything in his lungs, and the whiteness in front of his eyes faded to nothing as they closed. Prince Makellos was dead.
The Queen cackled with laughter as she saw his stillness at her feet. “Foolish boy,” she said. “Your heart was too tender, and I am once more the fairest in the land.” She picked up her basket and left the cottage with a swish of her dark cloak. She hurried to where she had left her horse, and she set off back toward the castle once more, confident now that when she asked the mirror who was the fairest, there would be only one answer it could give.
