Woes and Hose Read online

  The Glorious Adventures of Glamorous Prince Dietrich

  Woes and Hose, Volume 2

  IGOR LJUBUNCIC

  Copyright © 2019 Igor Ljubuncic

  All rights reserved.

  Also by Igor Ljubuncic

  The Lost Words series

  The Betrayed

  The Broken

  The Forgotten

  The Humbled

  Woes and Hose series

  The Amazing Adventures of Dashing Prince Dietrich

  The Glorious Adventures of Glamorous Prince Dietrich

  The Daring Adventures of Amorous Prince Dietrich (coming soon)

  Humanz series

  Decay

  Darkness (coming soon)

  Standalone books

  I Shall Slay the Dragon!

  And more!

  Visit dedoimedo.com and thelostwordsbooks.com for a wealth of short stories, anthologies, and other cool writing.

  What readers have to say…

  Praise for The Amazing Adventures of Dashing Prince Dietrich (Woes and Hose, Volume 1):

  Ljubuncic keeps the reader walking a tightrope between wanting the “dashing prince” to succeed and wanting him to get his comeuppance. The author’s ability to keep the reader turning the pages despite so few not-despicable characters is truly a feat to behold.

  —Lynne Hinkey, undergroundbookreviews.org

  Despite all the completely unsympathetic characters, I couldn’t stop reading. It was like watching a train wreck. Truly gut-wrenching and dreadful, but you can’t look away.

  —N. E. White, sffworld.com

  Ljubuncic’s odious novel takes the idea of the fantasy quest to a new low: Prince Dick is crude, self-involved, greedy, lazy, and completely dishonorable. He has no redeeming qualities and never gains any through his ridiculous attempts to dodge his royal duties.

  —BookLife

  Filled with gray characters, political machinations, amoral actions, and nonstop twists and turns, it will satisfy most every grimdark lover’s craving.

  —Bookwraiths.com

  Praise for The Betrayed (The Lost Words, Volume 1):

  It is hard to match the fervor of fanaticism. The Betrayed is the first entry of Igor Ljubuncic’s fantasy series set in the Realms, as the sect of Feor enters the realm of the old Gods and the people of the Safe Territories must band together to stop their impressive force, if they can avoid breaking down themselves. The Betrayed is an enticing fantasy that should prove very hard to put down, much recommended.

  —“Reviewer’s Bookwatch,” Midwest Book Review

  The characters in The Betrayed are fascinating people who are placed in extraordinary circumstances…This is a lightning-fast novel in which subtle political and religious messages abound.

  —Reviewed by Karen Pirnot for Readers’ Favorite

  The Betrayed is a grimdark fantasy that impresses in its scope, themes, and ambitious narrative.

  —Bookwraiths.com

  Acknowledgments

  A princely book needs princely acknowledgments.

  To wit, Anton Kokarev (kanartist.ru) for a beautiful and provocative cover—you just want smack that smug face, don’t you?— Charlotte Ashley (once-and-future.com) for proof reading services, and Andrew Leon Hudson (andrewleonhudson.wordpress.com) for interior and cover formatting.

  And to my wife (commander-in-chief), who is forever making sure you end up reading the good stuff.

  To Niccolo Machiavelli, the prince of princes

  The Glorious Adventures of Glamorous Prince Dietrich

  IGOR LJUBUNCIC

  CHAPTER 1

  A Rite of Passage

  “I need a hero!”

  —KING WILLEM CALLING TO HIS PEOPLE, AFTER ALL HIS KNIGHTS REFUSED TO HUNT THE BLACK MONSTER IN THE GREAMWALD, DEATHRUNG CYCLES, MONRICH FOLKLORE, TIME UNKNOWN

  13th Day of the Month of the Blizzard

  The room was red, garish red, eye-hurting bright red. Even the ceiling was painted crimson, and the scented candles were made from red wax, snuggled into red-gold holders. The soft, satin cover rippled like a lake of blood under him.

  Dietrich lazed about happily, rolling over from one end of the bed to the other so he could nibble on the grapes and figs laid on a red-lacquered bedside cabinet. Expensive fruit, especially in the middle of the winter, but for someone like him, handsome, lavish exceptions were always eagerly, unquestionably made.

  “Dick,” the girl called.

  Dietrich smiled. She knew his name. Well, all Volkard’s girls knew his name. He had made his personal goal to get acquainted with each one. But Anelie was his fresh new favorite.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Are you ready for your treatment?”

  Dick looked up eagerly, but she was still hiding behind her partition. “Indeed I am. Come out.”

  He almost choked on a grape when the whore stepped out.

  She was everything he could hope for. Big, but not too big, with massive breasts, fiery hair that matched the room’s lurid paint and styling, a wicked smile that promised pain and mischief, and a short leather whip in her hands. Who would have believed lashing could be so much fun?

  “Someone’s been a naughty prince,” she whispered in a coy, yet dangerous, tone.

  “Someone has,” Dick intoned, getting excited.

  “The prince requires punishment,” Anelie crooned, swatting her own thigh playfully.

  “Elder Eckart always thought so.” He hated himself for thinking of the old man, but then he focused on Anelie, and his momentary annoyance evaporated.

  She slid up onto the bed, slowly, gracefully, never taking her eyes off him. Dick was mesmerized by her rust-colored eyes, seeing madness and infinite possibilities behind them. He could—

  There was a sharp, loud knock on the door.

  “Get lost!” Dick shouted.

  “Master!” Crispin’s muffled plea stole through the thick, padded wood.

  “I told you not to disturb me!”

  “You told me not to disturb you unless it’s a matter of life and death, Master.”

  Dick rolled his eyes. Anelie sat back on her heels, her face wrinkled with lustful sympathy. “What now?”

  “Your Father—”

  “Dead?”

  “No, Master. The king demands your presence. Right now.”

  “It’s only the middle of the day, can’t he wait some?”

  “He has sent a squad of Drechknights to find you, Master. It’s that urgent.”

  Reluctantly, Dick stood up. “Saint be praised. I’m sorry, darling. We will have to continue this on another occasion.” Well, he couldn’t just go. He reached for a nice, fleshy grope. The pain was sharp and sudden.

  “Bad Prince!” Anelie scolded him, holding her whip up for another lightning crack.

  Dick rubbed his burning hands, but it made the already visible welts flare up even more. Frustrated, worried and in agony, he hobbled over to the door and unlatched it, his fingers numb.

  “Crispin, I am not pleased!”

  “The King will see you in the Garden of Solace,” Castellan Helmut told him when he showed up in the court room.

  Oh, shit. This cannot be good. If his father wanted a private talk with him, it meant huge trouble. “Crispin, what does he want?”

  “I don’t know, Master.”

  “Have I done anything to provoke his wrath?”

  “Not more than usual, Master.”

  The blast of dry cold air only helped intensify the knot in his gut. Treading through soft, feathery snow, Dick followed Crispin into the small, secluded garden on the northern side of the inner castle. Always in the shadow, the place was overgrown with moss, now frozen to bright green patches, and it had three large, wind-worn statues of knights over
looking its paths. No one knew who they were supposed to have been anymore.

  Old Fart and Voytech were standing under a large fir, its branches sagging with white, talking in hushed tones.

  “Stand right there,” the Right Man ordered, his scarred lip turning into a sneer. He sauntered over, his gloved hand on the pommel of his sword. “Any weapons, Prince Dietrich?”

  I wish. Dick waited in silent humiliation as Voytech checked him for hidden blades and assassin’s crossbows. Dietrich winced as the scarred bastard pinched the soft flesh of his arm. Even through the thick layer of silk and wool, it hurt.

  “What’s this, My Prince? More fat?”

  You will die one day, too. “Your sister does not mind, Voytech.”

  Laughing, the Right Man retreated to King Ulaf’s side. He motioned for Dick to come over. Smartly, Crispin made himself scarce among the firs.

  “Son,” the king said in his worrying voice.

  “Father,” Dick tried to keep his own tone neutral.

  “I am worried.”

  Anelie’s sweet tits, this is not good. “What about, Father?”

  “You, Son. You are not meeting my expectations.”

  “Why not, Fa—”

  “How long has it been since you and Amadea wed?”

  Dick broke an icicle off a statue’s elbow. “Two months?”

  “Five months. And yet, Amadea is still not with a child.”

  Reasonable, since I haven’t bedded her yet. He tossed the crystal away. “It’s a mystery, Father.”

  “I am not sure you are committed to the idea of keeping Monrich strong. The realm needs royal blood. You must have a son. The Drechtoter family must have its heirs.”

  Dick wasn’t sure how to retort, so he just shrugged.

  “For as long as you don’t have children of your own, I am loath to send to you away. If you were to perish, there would not be a male successor to the throne.”

  I was hoping you’d die first, and then we would not have to worry about any of that. “I appreciate your concern, Father.”

  The king stabbed him with a withering look. “If I want my arse scratched, there are people at the court who will gladly do that. You should keep your tongue to yourself.” Voytech smiled broadly, his split lip pushing into his nostril.

  “I apolo—”

  “But I’ve changed my mind.”

  Dick swallowed.

  “What do you mean, Father?”

  Old Fart offered a smile of his own. It was as bleak and cold as the sun that rose above Monrich these days. “Last year, you proved you do have some resilience and wit after all. You did horribly botch my plans, of course, but you survived battles and kidnapping, and you showed there’s some Drechtoter spirit under all that lard and bitterness.”

  Thank you, Father, your tender love has always been my most cherished possession. But his heart hammered louder as his dread mounted.

  “Your poor cousin did not make it.” Both Old Fart and Voytech made genuinely pained faces. “And that foiled my plans even further. But then, it also highlighted the urgency of making you into a proper warrior.”

  Me, a warrior? Madness! “I may have heard you wro—”

  “So, I have a new plan.”

  Dick felt his buttocks clench involuntarily.

  “I am going to send you to Ostland. You will assume the role of the Warden that your poor dead cousin, Saint bless his soul, was supposed to take upon your return. Now that the war is over, the rule in Ostland is even more critical than before. The Barvans are eyeing my borders, always testing my resolve. The Salabians and Koravs may try to rebel in the spring.”

  What has that got to do with me? Dick didn’t dare ask out loud.

  “You are going to make sure nothing bad happens in Ostland. You will make sure the people pay taxes, especially those rats in my new palatines. You will learn military strategy and defense from the local garrison, and you will train with a sword. Of course, you will take Amadea with you, and by the end of the year, you will have sent a flizzard informing me that she’s conceived, and that you’re expecting a healthy child, preferably a son, come the next spring. If you don’t—”

  Black Desert, camels and all that, Dick thought, almost resigned.

  “—I will disinherit you. I will name Mina my successor,” his father finished.

  Dick felt the world reeling around him. He stumbled, having to lean on the icy stone of the statue to keep from falling. What? Father was going to let Wilhelmina become his heir—heiress—unless he rutted with Amadea and produced some fat, ugly offspring? That was practically rape!

  “Are you unwell, Son? Is it too cold for your taste?”

  “I am fine, Father,” he growled, bile making his mouth sour.

  “Your sister showed her worth last year. While her betrothed fought the war in the east, she skillfully managed the court in my absence. She kept matters in check, she held festivities and made people happy. She has the skill to be a great ruler. And with the help of the White Constable, she can make Monrich prosper. But I am willing to give you this one chance, Son.”

  Your benevolence knows no bounds, Father. And that was that. He could choose not to go to Ostland and become a disinherited prince, which probably meant living off his sister’s mercy and Voytech’s cruel jokes, or he could try to get himself killed in a cold, remote place, with a fat slab of a wife warming his side.

  He had never been happier.

  Then he remembered.

  What about Eva? Could he somehow take her with him?

  “You are silent, Dietrich. That means you’re either scheming or being utterly confused.”

  “Neither, Father,” Dick replied, wondering how he might get Eva to accompany him on his voyage to Ostland. This would finally give him the time and opportunity he needed to get her to like him, and then, his nights in the goat-infested Ostfort might not be so lonely.

  Besides, he would get her free from Mina’s clutches.

  But how could he make Father part with his prized hostage?

  “It’s a big responsibility, Son.”

  Dick was also rather worried about the prospect of having to bed his wife. Was there a way he could fake it? Get her drunk, then find someone else to plant a baby in her womb? Force himself to do it? Only, there was great risk in siring a child. Old Fart would then really find him disposable, and would probably send him to a dozen wars. A good, glorious chance for Dick to become a man, the father would say. Only wars were a bad, inglorious opportunity to get oneself killed, and Dick did not fancy that.

  “So, what will it be, Son? Will you travel to Ostland?”

  After so many years, again and again, his hated father had managed to surprise him. Dick didn’t have all the answers yet. Not how he would get Eva out of Eisenstar, nor how to make her sleep with him. He didn’t know how he would make Ostland safe and secure, either. The notion of bedding Amadea filled him with dread. The idea of having to train with a sword horrified him. All of it made him wish he was fast enough to murder his father with a couple of well-placed pistol shots, but then somehow be able to outrun Voytech and live happily ever after as the king. However, the daydreaming usually ended with the image of the Right Man standing above him, sneering with that lopsided grin of his, skewering him through with a fine length of Drechknight steel.

  Today was no exception.

  Dick shook his head to banish the ugly thoughts.

  He took a deep breath and smiled at his father. If hatred was a river, Eisenstar would be drowning in cold, muddy torrents. I will get you one day, by the Saint, I swear. “Yes, Father. I will travel.”

  CHAPTER 2

  A Humble Apology

  “I wish I had dogs for sons, then I might know true loyalty.”

  —GUSTAF THE CYNIC, CIRCA YEAR 570-606

  13th Day of the Month of the Blizzard

  Dick waited for Crispin to open the door to his chambers. The moment his manservant stepped away from the crack, Mutt ran out, assailing Dick’s
leg.

  “Get off me, you blasted thing,” Dietrich growled.

  Undeterred, the sloppy, furry little mongrel started humping Dick’s leg.

  “Crispin!”

  “Sorry, Master. There. Come, Mutt.”

  “I will need new hose,” Dick complained.

  “Right away, Master.”

  Mutt was struggling in Crispin’s grip, trying to free himself, so he could renew his attack on Dick’s shin. The dog was beside itself with joy. Dick couldn’t understand it. At first, the Ferek’s mongrel had hated him, barking and snarling, but now, Dick could hardly make it across the room without being pestered by the tiny bastard. He hadn’t done anything, hadn’t shown it any affection, and yet, Mutt loved him the best.

  Well, it made Dick really adored by the ladies of the court, which is why he put up with all the licking, false humping and playful bites.

  Maybe dogs are great judges of character, and this tiny thing has finally discovered mine.

  After a while, Mutt calmed, and Crispin helped Dick change. For a brief moment, Dick considered tying his own shoes—he had asked Eva to teach him, so she would like him more—but then gave up on the idea. Eva wasn’t around, and it was best not to agitate Crispin.

  “What are you going to do, Master?”

  “I am going to see my wife,” Dietrich said, looking himself up and down in the mirror.

  “No, I meant about Ostland, Master.”

  Dick smoothed his hair. It was still damp from the garden outing. “We shall obey the king. It is obvious he wants me to fail, which is why I must make sure nothing goes wrong.” And find a way to kill Father, of course.

  “What about Eva?”

  Dick stabbed his servant with a hard look. Crispin was sometimes too clever for his own good, but he also kept his mouth shut. Most of the time. However, Dick wasn’t sure he could tell him anything yet. Especially since he still didn’t know the full details of his own plan.

  Dick smoothed his hair again. He took a deep breath. “Let’s find my wife.”