The Prince and the Painter

By Emily Carrington

The Prince and the Painter (Part 1): Aaron and Jason would gladly spend all their time in bed together, but they’re haunted by their pasts. A rapist and a serial killer are stalking Aaron, and Jason’s growing love may not be enough to protect either of them.

The Prince and the Painter (Part 2): Aaron and Jason must face their demons. But those demons never counted on the love between them growing from a single flame to a raging inferno. Now, just maybe their demons will have trouble with them.

Painter’s Pride (Part 3): Jason and Aaron have been together since Aaron was a freshman. Now he’s a senior and getting ready to pursue his art career in NYC. Jason believes in Aaron, but his boyfriend’s refusal to let Jason help is pulling them apart. Will the season of hope bring them together or will it destroy their love forever?

Warning: The Prince and the Painter deals with issues of PTSD, M/M rape, hate crimes, stalking, kidnapping, and torture. Jason and Aaron’s stories may be triggers for some readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Oct 3, 2021

Book preview

The Prince and the Painter (Part 1)

Emily Carrington

Aaron and Jason would gladly spend all their time in bed together, but they’re haunted by their pasts, literally as well as figuratively. Death and destruction follow them -- a rapist and a serial killer are stalking Aaron, and Jason’s growing love may not be enough to protect either of them.

Chapter One

Seven months previous

Aaron considered the wig he’d worn in the past when he truly felt like dressing up. It was an expensive bit of foolery and he treasured it but it had no place in today’s experiment, so he left it on its Styrofoam head. Then he brushed indifferently at the jeans he wore and nodded. Good enough for undergraduate work.

He left his dorm room and headed for the visual arts building, Channing Hall. He felt pretty damn good considering the letter he’d gotten that morning. Maybe, he thought, I’ve finally accepted her as part of my life.

That didn’t mean he would ever welcome Mrs. Fielding’s influence, but if he could come to accept her, that was progress.

Channing Hall’s first floor was crowded with students of all ages. Mondays were SUNY -- State University of New York -- Besker’s community days. Everyone from stay-at-home moms and dads to buses full of senior citizens visited the college to take art classes. There were still regular courses going on too, those for full-time students. Aaron wound his way between clusters of people, listening to the snatches of their conversation with an English minor’s passion for dialogue, and supplied the ends of sentences with a wicked delight.

"… thirty-seven times…" I came thirty-seven times. I thought only pigs could do that.

Aaron passed into the classroom where he’d agreed to model for a modest fee of ten dollars per each two-hour class. He was almost the first person in the room. The guy in the front row looked like he was ready to draw a dozen pictures. Paper was stacked up precariously high on his narrow left-hander’s desk. At least half a dozen pencils were in danger of rolling onto the floor. And, biased as it was, he didn’t look like an artist. There wasn’t a single mark on him, either on his clothes or the tips of his fingers. Aaron’s own fingers were often paint-spattered or charcoal-fuzzed.

The guy was attractive, Aaron noted as he settled onto the raised platform in the middle of the room and began stretching in preparation for sitting completely still for two hours. The guy’s black hair was bushy. His glasses were wire-rimmed, delicate-looking things over hazel eyes. His broad face was like Nate’s face in its construction and impression of honesty.

Aaron looked away. He didn’t want to think about Nate right now, not when his chest ached just at the name.

Aaron! Excellent, you’re here early. Ms. Gillian bustled in with her arms full of camera equipment.

Aaron hopped off the platform and rushed to help her. You decided to take pictures after all, he said quietly as he unfolded the tripod. He kept his voice soft because part of the task was for the students to not know if he was male or female. To that end, Aaron was dressed in a way that was indicative of neither gender. And since he’d be staying in his clothes, there would be nothing to give him away.

Ms. Gillian said, This way the students can choose a pose they like best.

Which meant the class would be working from pictures after today rather than Aaron getting to come back for another ten-dollar stint. He was disappointed, but not too surprised. Ms. Gillian was paying him out of her own pocket after all.

And look at it this way. You won’t have to stay in one posture for two hours, just long enough for her to snap the pictures. He fitted the camera to the top of the tripod even though photography wasn’t his strong suit. This wasn’t his first modeling gig and he’d learned a little about how to help set up.

Now the room was getting full. Aaron made his way back toward the platform, passing close to the student with too many art supplies and the graceful fall of ebony hair. He looks nervous. So, Aaron smiled at him.

Hey. The guy returned the smile. What’s your name?

Oh hell. Of course he’d want me to speak. Aaron shook his head and covered his mouth.

The guy started moving his hands in elegant patterns and pointing to first himself and then Aaron.

Aaron wondered if it was sign language. He grinned, amused and impressed. He grabbed a piece of the guy’s paper and scribbled with one of the extra pencils, I can’t tell you my name because you’re going to have to guess if I’m a man or a woman. When he turned the page around so the guy could read it, he watched for a startled expression. And got a laugh instead.

Well, my name’s Jason Cooper, the seated man introduced himself. Can you tell me your name after class?

The name’s Aaron Spencer, Ms. Gillian said as she fussed with the camera. Not that it’ll help you figure out male or female. Come on, Aaron. Let’s get started.

It could be Erin, like the other name for Ireland. Unable to stop smiling, he mounted the platform and made himself comfortable with one knee up and his chin resting in his hand. He winked at Jason.

Who winked back.

He really doesn’t look like Nate when you take in his whole aspect. True or not, it did nothing for the tension in his chest. So he looked away.

* * *

Jason stared helplessly at a blank piece of paper after the teacher was done explaining their first lesson in androgyny. This class is too advanced for me. He could draw stick people. Hell, he could draw graphs full of figures and parabolas. He could even draw the mathematically correct plans for a simple architectural structure. But this… Forms and lines, shading and curves… He was lost.

Thank God it was only the first week of classes and he could quit this one and find another.

In the meantime, he was caught by the androgynous wo/man reclining on the block in the center of the room. Aaron -- or Erin -- wouldn’t be his first crush on a not-quite-male-or-female person, and surely s/he wouldn’t be the last. There was something beautiful, artful about an androgynous human being. In a way that had nothing to do with the androgyny of buildings and animals, people who could be either male or female, or maybe some alternative to these two opposites, were simply nature’s gift to the world.

Jason concentrated on one of the model’s eyes and drew that. The shape wasn’t exactly circular, but starting from a geometrically perfect arc helped him keep the basic curve. He made the pupil and iris before drawing the outside. It was far from perfect, but he thought he’d caught the slight upturn at the corner that seemed to reflect the model’s smile.

When Jason sat back, he realized he was sweating. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, he looked at his picture. It didn’t look exactly like the eye before him, but it did at least look like someone’s eye. Then he glanced at the clock and saw thirty minutes had passed. How was he possibly going to finish the rest of the drawing? He cursed under his breath. That single eye took up most of the top half of the page.

On the platform, the model adjusted position, leaning on elbows that looked near as pointy as a protractor’s needle. In fact, all of the model’s features -- face, arms, legs, chest -- were narrow. They had a chin like a triangle and cheekbones like two half circles. That doesn’t sound flattering at all, but damn if s/he doesn’t look hot with those features.

Giving up on squeezing the rest of a face onto the first sheet, Jason put this one at the bottom of his stack. Then he tried drawing the angle of the elbow on the block and the shadow under it.

This drawing failed miserably. Too bad they’re aren’t as easy on the pencil as they are on the eyes. Jason smirked in spite of his failure and shuffled this drawing also to the bottom of the pile.

The model’s eyes sparkled as if s/he knew what Jason was thinking.

By the time the class was over, Jason had six failed drawings and no progress.

If you check the class website on Poster -- the SUNY Besker website -- you can choose one of Aaron’s poses to draw. Your first drafts are due Wednesday. And the teacher began packing up.

Jason got up and approached her. I wanted to let you know I’ll be dropping this class. He realized he’d brought two of his drawings with him and showed her, feeling shamefaced.

She took the pictures, studied them for a moment, and then said, I think this class is too advanced for you.

Everyone else was leaving. Jason nodded.

Don’t give up on it, if art is what you really want to do, she told him. But learning to swim by falling into the deep end is really not the best way to go.

Jason winced. He returned to his desk to collect his failures. What was I thinking, working with live models?

You didn’t draw anything? the model asked from behind him.

Jason groaned and covered his face. Yeah, he told the unknown voice because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, but it all looks like shit.

Let me see. A delicate hand with long fingers took Jason’s stack of paper and shuffled through. I like this one.

Jason looked up into the guy’s face, knowing the model was male because of his voice. His narrow face held a pair of hypnotic, dark brown eyes. Which one? They’re all pretty terrible. That was an understatement.

Aaron retreated to the raised platform in the middle of the room and hiked one skinny hip up onto it. I like this one, he repeated, and then showed Jason the drawing of his eye.

Jason shook his head. That one’s okay, but it’s not small enough. If I could even fit your nose in there it would be a miracle.

You just need a bigger piece of paper. He slid off the edge and returned the drawing. You haven’t taken an art class before?

Is it that obvious?

Not from your work, from your face. Aaron grinned. Let me see that page again. He bent over Jason’s eye drawing, flipped the paper over, and wrote something on the back with one of Jason’s pencils. Here. Try this book. It’ll make your life easier, especially if this isn’t your passion.

Jason read the underlined title and frowned. It sounds like a biology book.

Aaron laughed. It’s an art book. I promise. But it’s more enjoyable and less technical than most. He headed for the door. I’ll see you later, Jason.

Don’t let this one go. Jason blinked, unsurprised and a little annoyed to hear his friend, Shawn’s, voice in his head. But he called, Hold up a minute. I’ll walk out with you. He shoved his paper together, grabbed his pencils and the bag everything had come out of, and rushed to join Aaron at the door.

I’m headed upstairs to do more work, Aaron said. But you can walk me as far as the stairs if you want. He said this without looking at Jason, and there was something chilly in his tone.

Jason kept pace. You’re an art major? he asked just to be saying something.

Aaron nodded but didn’t ask anything in return.

I’m losing him. You’re a great model. You really know how to, um, hold still?

That got him the flash of a smile. Thanks. It’s harder than it looks. Especially if your nose itches. They’d reached the stairs and Aaron said, Bye, as he went up.

Jason stood at the bottom, retreating a little as other students rushed around him. He watched Aaron’s ass in the tight jeans until other asses, most less attractive, cut off his view. Then, mildly disappointed, he headed away from the stairs and toward the front of the building.

Go after him.

Used to hearing Shawn’s voice or not, Jason jumped a little. Usually Shawn’s voice was just a reflection of his own thoughts. But not always. Sometimes the dead really did speak.

I can’t, he told Shawn in case the ghost was really listening. He’s gone.

Shawn didn’t seem to have anything to say to that.

Jason pushed his way out into the overly warm late summer day and trotted down the stairs to the sidewalk. He left Shawn’s voice, if it had really been Shawn’s voice, inside. There was a time, and not that long ago, when he would have been creeped out to hear his dead friend’s mild tenor but it was almost commonplace now. Hearing someone’s words in rain or shine, during the middle of the night or at high noon, got to be normal.

* * *

Interlude 1: Aaron

Present Day

Something dug into his ass, his back, and the bottoms of his feet. Aaron lay very still, struggling to reclaim unconsciousness. It didn’t come, and gradually he became aware of other things outside himself. His ass hurt. Not just from whatever was thin and hard against it, but on the inside.

Vance has been at me.

The thought brought disgust rather than anger or a feeling of violation. His gorge rose and he swallowed against it. After all, he didn’t know if he was in a place where puking would be advisable. As long as he could control the urge, he should.

Fuck. His ass hurt. And his feet. His back was merely uncomfortable. Maybe because it’s a broader surface area. Those little bits of wire mesh are painful but narrow.

He shifted a half inch or so and his hand hit more metal even as his ass protested and his back twinged. He sucked in a breath and lifted his feet off the painful rods. His ass protested more loudly and Aaron whimpered.

The sound frightened him; he shut his mouth at once.

Then he opened his eyes. There was a grayish roof perhaps three feet over his head. He looked to the left and saw the wire mesh he was probably lying on. His fingers, one at a time, could fit through the holes, but that was all he could manage. Looking past the mesh, he saw the drape of a blanket off the edge of a bed and the pattern of wood.

Aaron turned his head the other way and was rewarded with more mesh and a white wall.

Awake?

Aaron jumped; his elbows struck the sides of the dog cage and he cried out when his ass and feet were assaulted by the metal.

Vance crouched beside the cage. I can see you’re awake. Good. Are you hungry?

Aaron’s stomach rumbled.

Vance smiled. All right, I’ll let you out if you promise not to run away again.

Again? Then he remembered the mad dash through the dark with Jason’s name on his lips and Vance at his heels. I promise. Not meaning it, but needing to be outside the kennel. Thank Yahweh I’m not claustrophobic. Although I could always develop that fear. Looking up at the ceiling of his prison, Aaron knew this was all too likely.

Vance left his side but walked to the front of the cage at once. All right, my Aaron. I’m going to trust you. Until you prove yourself a liar.

I’m not your Aaron. He belonged to no one.

Chapter Two

Seven months previous

Aaron had no classes after his modeling stint in Ms. Gillian’s, but he did have work to do and looking at Jason Cooper did nothing but remind him of it. Did I think I’d accepted Mrs. Fielding’s place in my life? Did I really? He sat before an easel in the back of a room on the second floor of the Channing building and uncapped his pen. What picture should he give her this month?

At once, a memory took him and Aaron realized he’d only been suppressing it, and not very successfully if it’d leaped to the fore so easily.

In his memory, he stood by the bleachers in the gym. His sketch pad was tucked under one arm and there was a pencil stuck behind his ear. He was watching the football team being celebrated by the cheerleading squad and most of the rest of the school.

Nate stood in the very center of all the hoopla, helmet tucked under his arm and a huge grin on his face. He waved to the rest of the students arrayed on the bleachers. He seemed to wave especially at Aaron.

Back in the present, his face burning with consciously repressed emotion, Aaron began to draw with the pen. He drew from the middle outward, catching Nate’s beaming smile in a few quick strokes. It was mostly a matter of the long-dead quarterback’s eyes crinkling at the corners. Then he moved on to Nate’s brush cut and down to Nate’s ears, chin, and neck. The rest of Nate’s body was hidden by a mass of cheerleaders’ pompoms. He caught just the top arc of Nate’s helmet caught inside the curve of Nate’s muscular arm.

When the ink drawing was done, Aaron flipped it over and wrote,

Dear Mrs. Fielding,

This is a picture of Nate at the pep rally before the homecoming game his senior year. I hope you enjoy.

-- Aaron, August 30

I hope you enjoy was how he ended all his letters to Nate’s mother.

With his chore done for another month, Aaron let out a breath and folded the picture carefully with the message on the outside. This he tucked into his back pocket. Then he headed downstairs. He’d be expected to attend his first class of the year in about fifty minutes, but for now all he wanted to do was walk in the summery heat and lollygag his way back to his dorm room, pick up his books, and wander over to the nearby Hosmer building.

At the back door of the building he took a flying leap off the top step and landed on both feet, hard, on the sidewalk. Then he checked to make sure Mrs. Fielding’s picture was still seated in his pocket. It would suck having to draw it again. And he’d never manage to finish it so effortlessly a second time. Repeated subject matter always had that effect on him.

He saw a tree halfway back to his dorm and went to it. Laying a hand on the rough bark of the maple, he closed his eyes and half-prayed, half-thought, I miss you, Nate. But not half as much as she does.

Wherever Nate was, if he was still in a state to hear anything, he would hopefully hear Aaron’s thoughts. Or at least that was Aaron’s wish each and every time he stopped to send his words out into the silent universe.

A sudden breeze combed through his hair and Aaron jumped, startled. He was too practical to take it for an answer to his prayer/thought, but he did remember he was supposed to be heading for his room so he could make it to class on time.

He arrived back at his dormitory lobby ten minutes later and would have sped up the stairs if the Resident Assistant, the RA on his floor, hadn’t called, Hey, Aaron, someone left a note for you. She pointed to the bulletin board across from the main staircase.

She’s good. I’ve only been here two days and she already knows my name. Aaron grinned. Thanks, Dayna. He spotted the folded over piece of notebook paper almost at once. Aaron Spencer it said in blocky newsprint.

Tugging the push pin out of the board, he replaced it before unfolding the note.

I know you’re here was printed in faint pencil.

Aaron blinked at the message. Who knew he was here? His parents, yes, and his suicide prevention group from back home. He’d received one letter from the group already. But besides them, who else knew or cared? His high school guidance counselor and a couple teachers had the information since he’d gotten some of them to write recommendation letters. None of those people were likely to leave such a vague note.

Anything interesting? Dayna called. She was sitting at the front desk; it must have been her turn to man the post.

Aaron crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and threw it in the trash. Nope. He flashed a feigned grin in her direction and took the stairs up two at a time.

No reason to feel uneasy, he thought as he let himself into the room he shared with the roommate he’d only seen once since moving in.

But his wind was up nevertheless and Aaron stole a few minutes to sit on his bed and figure out why. The reason came almost at once and he laughed aloud. It was a shaky sound. This is not about Vance Anderson. Or Isaiah Hurst. Or Nate. That message could have been left by Mrs. Fielding, although why she would drive three hours to drop off a veiled, hell, a weak threat at best… That seemed farfetched.

It’s easier to believe that than to think Isaiah got out of the hospital to come after me. Or that Vance even thinks about me anymore. One rape, one near-rape, and he was done with me.

Aaron scrubbed at his face, unsurprised to find tears standing in his eyes but not spilling down his cheeks. He got up, wincing when the picture for Mrs. Fielding crinkled in his back pocket. I’ll take care of that after class. With trembling hands, he gathered his books and binder for calculus.

* * *

Wednesday dawned brisk and chill. Jason put on a sweater before going out for his morning run. Disdaining a jacket, he knew he would be warm enough soon. He had yet to explore the space around the new buildings erected during the summer months and those were on the far side of campus.

You’re nuts, his roommate, Griffin, grumbled from the depths of her bed where she’d created either a tunnel or a blanket fort. It’s not even eight o’clock yet.

Jason smiled at the mound of covers that was Griffin’s form. They’d been roommates all through their freshman and sophomore years and neither of them saw any reason to change now. Roommate arrangements rarely worked out so well.

Don’t forget to go to class, Jason said before shutting the door.

Once outside, he settled first into a jog and then into a run. His sneakers pounded the pavement as he angled west from his dorm and toward the student union. He drew the cool air into his lungs like a thirsty man drinks water and let it out, hot and used.

September’s first kiss of chilliness thrilled Jason’s blood. He ran harder and longer than he normally did, simply enjoying the greenery, the pristine, soft blue of the sky, and the peach bowl of clouds to the east where the sun was still hauling its freight off the horizon. He ran around the student union and on to the new buildings.

One was a dormitory and the other the new science building that would supposedly be joined by a planetarium in the fall two years from now. Neither building was graceful or possessed anything to recommend it to the casual observer, but Jason ran around the dorm twice, admiring the still-flowering bushes and the disability access ramps. Probably most people would notice such an amenity as a front-entrance ramp, but his friend Shawn had been a wheelchair user and Jason had gotten