Shadows of the Moon - 3. Chapter 3

Shadows of the Moon

Home at last

As Reginald Thorne steps into the manor, his very presence radiates composed authority. The staff, standing in perfect alignment, greets him not out of fear but with a profound respect earned through years of fairness and compassion. Even the young stable boy, Jim, beams proudly as he stands with the others, looking up to Thorne as a figure of inspiration.

Among his companions, Reginald carries himself as both a leader and a peer. Though his words often guide the group's direction, he listens as much as he speaks, showing genuine care for their opinions. Still, there’s a spark of tension, not rooted in distrust but in unresolved matters that linger between them.

Master Thorne led the way, his demeanor calm and composed despite the underlying tension. He began with the butler, a tall, dignified man with a neatly trimmed beard and a stern expression. “This is Mr. Hawthorne, our butler. He oversees the household and ensures everything runs smoothly.”

As interduce they shook hands of each person.

Mr. Hawthorne bowed slightly, his eyes flicking over the guests with a practiced, assessing gaze. “Welcome to Thorne Manor,” he said in a deep, resonant voice.

Reginald nodded, a faint smile softening his otherwise stoic features. “Thank you, Hawthorne. The manor stands as it always does—a testament to your dedication. I trust all has been prepared for our arrival?”

“Of course, Master Thorne,” Mr. Hawthorne replied with a glimmer of pride in his otherwise reserved demeanor. “The household is ready to assist you and your guests in any way necessary.”

There was an unspoken understanding between the two men, born of years of mutual trust and shared purpose. Reginald valued the butler not only for his impeccable management but also for his unyielding loyalty—a quality that had seen the household weather many trials. For his part, Mr. Hawthorne served not merely out of duty but out of respect for the man who led with fairness and composure.

“This is Mrs. White, our housekeeper,” Master Thorne said, gesturing toward the woman who stepped forward with a graceful nod. Her kind eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride and modesty as she regarded the assembled group. “She manages the domestic staff and keeps the manor in pristine condition.”

Mrs. White curtsied slightly, her warm smile exuding a sense of maternal care. “Welcome to Thorne Manor,” she said, her voice gentle but firm, as if she could offer comfort and command authority in the same breath. “Should you require anything during your stay, please do not hesitate to let me know.”

Reginald turned to his companions, adding with a small smile, “You’ll find that Mrs. White has an extraordinary ability to keep everything running smoothly, often before I’ve even noticed something needs attention.”

“Oh, Master Thorne, you flatter me,” Mrs. White replied, though her expression hinted at a quiet appreciation for his words. “It’s simply my duty to ensure the manor reflects its master’s high standards.”

There was an undeniable warmth between them, built on mutual respect. Mrs. White had served the household for years, and her unwavering dedication was matched only by her steadfast loyalty to the man who had once helped her family through a time of hardship.

Mrs. White curtsied gracefully. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth.

“This is Mrs. Beasley, our cook,” Master Thorne said, with a note of admiration in his voice. “She prepares the most delicious meals you will ever taste.”

Mrs. Beasley nodded curtly, her hands resting on her hips, leaving faint flour prints on her apron. Her twinkling eyes betrayed a no-nonsense demeanor paired with a deep pride in her craft. “I’ll make sure you’re well-fed during your stay,” she promised, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Reginald offered her a small smile. “I have no doubt about that, Mrs. Beasley. Your rosemary roast and apple tarts are legendary.”

“Flattery won’t get you seconds, Master Thorne,” she quipped, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She shifted her gaze to the guests, sizing them up with an assessing eye. “You look like a hungry lot. I’d best get back to the kitchens and make sure you don’t leave my table dissatisfied.”

The guests exchanged amused glances, already charmed by the cook’s gruff warmth and clear passion for her work. Reginald watched her retreat, a faint hint of gratitude in his expression. Mrs. Beasley wasn’t just a cook—she was the heart of the manor, her meals and presence bringing comfort to all within its walls.

Finally, Master Thorne introduced the footmen, a pair of young men dressed in immaculate livery that emphasized their crisp professionalism. “These are James and Thomas, our footmen,” he said, his voice carrying a note of quiet pride. “They assist with serving meals and attending to any needs you may have.”

The guests exchanged intrigued glances as the two stepped forward, their striking resemblance impossible to miss. Both were tall and lean, with sharp features and identical dark eyes that sparkled with intelligence. Even their neatly combed dark hair fell in the same tidy style.

James, the elder by mere minutes, took the lead, bowing with practiced grace. “It’s an honor to welcome you to Thorne Manor,” he said, his tone formal but warm.

Thomas followed suit with a matching bow, his freckled face lighting up with a touch of youthful enthusiasm. “We’re at your service,” he echoed, his voice carrying a hint of eagerness.

Reginald nodded approvingly. “While it may take you a moment to tell them apart, you’ll find that they complement one another perfectly. Their attentiveness ensures that no detail goes overlooked.”

James flashed a subtle smile, while Thomas’s eyes darted briefly toward the guests, curiosity evident in his youthful demeanor. The twins shared a brief glance—a silent exchange that hinted at their close bond.

The symmetry between them was not just in appearance but in their movements, a testament to years of working side by side. Their connection and seamless coordination were assets to the household, ensuring everything ran with precision.

And of course this was Thomas the stable master. Who had drove the coach to the manor house and Reginald's friend. Master Thorne shook his hand “Thank you Thomas for all the good work you do!”

With the introductions complete, Master Thorne turned to his companions, a hint of relief in his eyes. “Now that you have met everyone, please make yourselves at home. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

The staff dispersed to their duties, leaving the group to explore the manor and settle in. The atmosphere was one of quiet efficiency and understated elegance, a testament to the careful management of the household.

Mr. Hawthorne, with a gracious nod, led the guests through the grand foyer of Hawthorne Manor. The opulent chandeliers cast a warm glow, illuminating the elegant tapestries that adorned the walls. The faint scent of jasmine from the garden outside lingered in the air, adding to the inviting atmosphere.

"This way," Mr. Hawthorne said, his voice calm and welcoming. "I will show you to your rooms. Follow me to the third floor."

The guests, weary from their journey, followed him down a magnificent hallway lined with portraits of his ancestors. The eyes in the paintings seemed to watch over them, as if guardians of the manor's rich history. They ascended the grand staircase, the polished banister reflecting the soft light.

Upon reaching the third floor, Mr. Hawthorne paused before a set of large oak doors and pushed them open, revealing a suite of luxurious rooms. Each one was adorned with plush velvet drapes and ornate four-poster beds, exuding an air of timeless elegance.

"Please make yourselves at home," Mr. Hawthorne continued, his smile warm and genuine. "Dinner will be served in the dining hall at eight. I trust you will find everything to your liking."

The guests couldn't help but marvel at the opulence of their surroundings. They could hardly believe their fortune to be staying in such a splendid place. As they settled into their rooms, they felt a sense of comfort and anticipation for the adventures that awaited them at Thorne Manor.

As Reginald stepped into the master bedroom, he took a moment to appreciate the space, its elegance tempered by the comfort of familiar surroundings. The room itself seemed to exude a quiet dignity, as though it had absorbed the weight of countless memories over the years.

The grand four-poster bed was the room’s centerpiece, commanding attention with its dark mahogany frame and intricately carved details that told stories of craftsmanship long past. The posts rose like silent sentinels, steady and unyielding, supporting drapes of rich burgundy velvet that cascaded in elegant folds. The bed, dressed with plush bedding and pillows, seemed to beckon him after the long journey, promising sanctuary in its embrace.

To one side, a mahogany dresser gleamed softly under the faint moonlight streaming through the window. Its surface was meticulously polished, catching hints of silver from the moon’s glow, while brass handles reflected a quiet sophistication. Reginald’s personal items lay scattered upon it—a pocket watch with an engraved family crest, a leather-bound journal worn from years of use, and a small, framed photograph of his mother, her kind smile frozen in time.

In the corner, a gilded standing mirror caught his eye. The ornate frame was a masterpiece, adorned with intricate floral motifs that seemed to come alive under the flickering light of the fireplace. The mirror had borne witness to decades of moments—glimpses of celebration, reflection, and perhaps regret. Now, it captured the room’s ambiance, its reflective surface offering Reginald’s own calm, thoughtful gaze as he stood before it.

Near the window, a large mahogany desk stood, angled to capture the daylight that would stream in during the morning hours. The desk was no stranger to chaos, its surface cluttered with handwritten letters, half-read books, and neatly stacked papers. The ink pot and quill resting at the corner suggested a mind that rarely rested, always turning over thoughts and plans. Tucked beneath the desk was a high-backed chair, its cushioned seat designed for both comfort and the weight of contemplation.

The floor, which might otherwise have been cold, was softened by an ornate Egyptian rug that Reginald had acquired during his travels. Its intricate patterns wove stories of an ancient civilization, blending rich hues of crimson, gold, and sapphire into an artful contrast against the dark wood furniture. The rug was a piece of his past, brought back to this manor to serve as both decoration and memory.

Each element of the room told a story—not just of Reginald himself, but of those who had come before him. From the ornate furnishings to the personal touches, the space was a living testament to the layers of history that defined both the man and the manor. For now, the room offered a rare solace, a haven amid the uncertainties that lay beyond its door. Reginald allowed himself a moment to breathe before turning his attention back to the matters awaiting him.

Alex was given the room next to Reginald’s, a cozy space with a comfortable bed and a small writing desk by the window. Across the hall, Omar’s room was similarly appointed, with a view of the rolling hills, and Kareem’s room was next to his, featuring a charming fireplace and a plush armchair.

As they settled into their rooms, the butler, Mr. Hawthorne, approached Master Thorne with a respectful bow. “Dinner is ready in the dining room, sir,” he informed him.

Reginald nodded, acknowledging the butler’s message. “We will be down soon as we dress for dinner, also I would like for the Taylor to make a call and make some suits” he replied. The Butler said with smile “Of course my Lord

Reginald then went to his wardrobe and selected his navy-blue suit, an expertly tailored ensemble that highlighted his distinguished appearance. He dressed in care, ensuring every detail was perfect, from the crispness of his shirt to the shine of his shoes. Once ready, he took a moment to compose himself before heading downstairs to join his friends for dinner.

The dining room was a magnificent space, exuding an air of timeless elegance. The walls were adorned with rich, dark wood paneling, intricately carved with floral motifs and scenes from English folklore. Large windows draped with heavy velvet curtains allowed natural light to filter in, casting a warm glow over the room.

Dominating the center of the room was a massive dining table, a true antique that had been in the Thorne family for hundreds of years. The table was made of solid oak, its surface polished to a high sheen that reflected the flickering candlelight from the ornate chandeliers above. The legs of the table were carved with intricate designs, showcasing the craftsmanship of a bygone era.

In the center of the table stood a magnificent silver stag. Its form was exquisitely detailed, capturing the grace and power of the animal. The stag’s antlers reached upward, branching out like a crown, each tine meticulously crafted to reflect the light. The body of the stag was polished to a mirror-like finish, giving it an almost ethereal glow under the room’s lighting.

Omar asked “Does the stag have a meaning for your family?

“It does,” Reginald said, gesturing to the delicate patterns at the base. “They depict scenes of the lands surrounding the manor as they once were—a reminder of what we protect and why we must endure. My great-grandfather believed that the stag was more than a symbol; he saw it as a guiding force, a beacon for the family through good times and bad.”

The group exchanged thoughtful glances, each struck by the layered meanings imbued within the object. For a moment, the room fell quiet, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. The stag, poised in its eternal leap, seemed to command the silence, a steadfast observer of the lives that unfolded around it.

Breaking the pause, Reginald moved to take his place at the head of the table, his movements deliberate and composed. As he sat, the silver stag stood tall before him, its antlers gleaming under the golden light. It served as both a centerpiece and a sentinel, its presence tying together the legacy of the past and the uncertainty of the future.

“Shall we begin?” Reginald asked, his calm voice drawing the group’s focus. The atmosphere shifted, the anticipation of the meal and the evening ahead infusing the room with a quiet energy.

The conversations around the table started with light pleasantries, but Reginald’s mind wandered back to the stag and what it symbolized. Tonight’s gathering, though seemingly ordinary, felt like the prelude to something more—a moment in time that the unblinking eyes of the silver stag would witness and remember.

Surrounding the table were high-backed chairs, each upholstered in rich, burgundy fabric and adorned with brass studs. The chairs were arranged meticulously, ready to accommodate a large gathering.

Each piece within the cabinets told a story of the Thorne family’s heritage and taste. Some of the porcelain had been commissioned generations ago, while others were heirlooms passed down through the decades. A particularly ornate teapot, adorned with a design of blooming roses and delicate hummingbirds, had once been a wedding gift to Reginald’s grandparents, a symbol of love and unity.

Reginald’s eyes briefly lingered on the cabinets as he moved through the room, their presence a silent reminder of the weight and beauty of his family’s legacy. The dining room, with its rich furnishings and carefully preserved artifacts, seemed to embrace him like a living museum—one that whispered stories of the past, even as it bore witness to the present.

The walls of the dining room were further adorned with imposing portraits of Reginald’s ancestors, their stern faces gazing down from gilded frames that gleamed softly in the candlelight. Each painting was a masterpiece, capturing the formidable expressions of the Thorne lineage—men and women who had once wielded power, endured hardship, and upheld the family legacy. Their eyes seemed to follow the movements of the living, as if silently passing judgment or offering their unseen approval.

At one end of the room, a grand fireplace added to the ambiance, its carved stone surround echoing the intricate floral motifs that decorated the paneling and furniture. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm and flickering glow that danced across the mahogany surfaces. The mantel above was a testament to taste and tradition, decorated with a pair of ornate silver candlesticks whose polished surfaces caught and reflected the firelight.

In the center of the mantel stood a grand clock, its face adorned with Roman numerals and delicate gold filigree. The steady tick-tock of its mechanism marked the passage of time with an unyielding rhythm, a quiet reminder of the inevitability of change amidst the enduring legacy of the Thorne family. The clock had been in the family for over a century, its craftsmanship as precise and dependable as the traditions it represented.

Together, the portraits, the fireplace, and the clock lent the room a sense of gravitas, their presence grounding the dining room not just in elegance, but in history. For Reginald, this was not merely a space for meals—it was a shrine to those who had come before him, and a stage for those who would follow.

As the group settled into their seats, the atmosphere around the table softened, the warmth of the fire and the flickering candlelight creating an intimate glow. The footmen, James and Thomas, moved with practiced precision, their movements synchronized as if choreographed. Each bowl of steaming vegetable soup was placed in front of the guests with quiet elegance, the delicate clink of porcelain against the table the only sound to break the serene moment.

"Thank you, James," Master Thorne said with a polite nod as the footman filled his glass with the estate's wine.

Alex smiled as his own glass was filled. "This is quite the welcome, Master Thorne. The hospitality here is unmatched."

Master Thorne chuckled softly. "Thorne Manor prides itself on leaving an impression, my dear Alex. Though much of the credit goes to Mrs. Beasley and her culinary talents."

Omar inhaled the aroma of the soup before taking a spoonful. His eyes lit up. "This is incredible! I can smell the fresh herbs. Mrs. Beasley must have picked these herself this morning."

"Likely before sunrise," Kareem added, sipping his tea. "She seems the type to be devoted to her craft."

Reggie, sitting at the end of the table, smiled as he reached for the wine bottle. "Here, Alex, let me top you up. Omar, Kareem, your tea is safe—I won't tempt you."

Omar laughed, shaking his head good-naturedly. "Much appreciated, Reggie. Besides, this tea is exceptional—Thomas, you’ll have to tell me what blend this is."

Thomas inclined his head with a faint smile. "It’s a special blend from the manor’s collection, sir. Mrs. Beasley insists it pairs well with the evening courses."

Once the soup course was cleared, the footmen returned with the main course: a succulent roast of venison, accompanied by an array of roasted root vegetables. Omar’s eyes widened in astonishment.

"This meat is unbelievable—so rich and delicious," he exclaimed, taking his first bite.

Reggie grinned, gesturing with he's fork. "It’s venison—deer meat. And yes, it’s just lovely. You won’t find flavors like this anywhere else."

Kareem gave a playful smirk. "Careful, Reggie. If Omar falls in love with the food here, we might never get him to leave."

The room filled with light laughter, the camaraderie around the table growing stronger.

As dessert arrived—treacle tart glistening with its golden syrupy filling—Alex leaned closer to Master Thorne. "Tell me, is there a secret ingredient in this? It’s divine."

Master Thorne smiled, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mystery. "Ah, Mrs. Beasley would never forgive me if I revealed her secrets. But rest assured, every bite is made with care and tradition."

The conversation ebbed and flowed, the rhythm of the grand clock above the fireplace softly marking time. The silver stag, its mirror-like surface gleaming under the candlelight, stood as a silent witness to the bonds forming among those gathered around the table.

Once again Omar spoke “I believe I love English food.” He smiled. Reggie turned to a footman and asked him to take their compliments to the chef. The footman left to do as he was asked. They sat there enjoying their coffee and waiting for a moment to speak privately. At last, they were alone, and Reggie told them to come to his room.

Reginald set his spoon down, his gaze sweeping the room before he spoke again. “Gentlemen,” he began, his tone imbued with subtle excitement. “I have some news to share. Tomorrow, the tailor will be coming to take our measurements.”

Alexander, ever curious, leaned forward slightly. “For what occasion, Reginald?” he asked, his brow arching in anticipation.

Reginald’s smile widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “For all of us. We will each have three suits made, and one tuxedo or dinner jacket as well. It’s all for an incredibly special event—a formal party we’ll host later this year.”

There was a moment of silence as the friends absorbed the news. Alexander broke the silence with a grin. "Reginald, you truly are a generous host. This will be a splendid affair."

As the evening wore on, the friends reminisced about their past adventures and shared laughter-filled stories. By the time the clock struck ten, they were all filled with a renewed sense of camaraderie and anticipation for the days to come.

Reggi went to his room and undressed, slipping into his robe. The moon was up, its light shining through the windows. He moved over to the window, looking down at the garden. The eerie glow reminded him of his time in Egypt, but his thoughts soon shifted to something much closer to home. He walked over to his jewelry drawer and retrieved the amulet of Khonsu.

The silver amulet gleamed softly in the moonlight, its intricate carvings depicting the ancient Egyptian god of the moon. He held it for a moment, feeling the cool metal against his palm, before fastening it around his neck. The weight of the amulet was familiar, comforting even, as if it held a connection to a distant past.

As he stood by the window, memories of how he had discovered the amulet flooded his mind. It was not found in some far-off land, but rather in the attic of this very manor house. It had been a stormy night when he first came across it. The rain had been relentless, and the winds howled through the corridors.

Reginald had been searching for an old family heirloom when he stumbled upon a dusty chest tucked away in a corner of the attic. Curiosity piqued, he opened the chest to reveal an array of forgotten relics. Among them, wrapped in a worn piece of cloth, was the amulet of Khonsu.

"What on earth is this?" Reginald had whispered to himself, carefully unwrapping the cloth to reveal the shimmering silver amulet.

The intricate designs had immediately caught his eye, and he felt an inexplicable connection to it. He had spent the rest of that night researching its origins, discovering that it was an ancient Egyptian artifact believed to be imbued with the power of Khonsu, the god of the moon.

Back in the present, Reginald touched the amulet around his neck, feeling a sense of peace wash over him. He had worn it ever since that stormy night, and it had become a part of him, a reminder of the mysteries hidden within his own home.

As he stood at the window, lost in thought, he found solace in the silence of the night. The moonlight cast a silvery glow on the amulet as it lay against his chest, reflecting the serene yet powerful connection he felt to the ancient artifact.

Reginald knew that being alone didn't mean being lonely. The memories, the discoveries, and the sense of purpose the amulet brought were all he needed in that moment. The night was quiet and serene, filled with the promise of more adventures and mysteries to uncover.

It seemed as if time had stood still. In the room stood a man-sized Khonsu! The deity spoke to Reginald, “Greetings, Reginald. I have come to speak with you.” He smiled warmly. “The gods of Egypt want you to know that you mean a lot to them and to me as well. We want you to know that we are looking out for your well-being and will not let any harm happen to you. And with that Khonsu placed his hand on Reginald’s head and blessed him. A glowing blue light encompasses him “Time is short I have come to do what I must do.” “Khonsu, could you bless my Alex and Omar please.” Khonsu told Reggie that he too could bless them.

Reggi asked Khonsu “Is the lady in Black human?”

“I had hoped that you would have waited on that question however I will be honest and tell you that she is not. As to what she is we will speak of it later.”

And with that he vanished Reggie was overcome; with a feeling he could not explain!

In walked Alex and Omar, they closed the door and Omar locked it. They were in their underwear and smiling at Reggie, Alex walked over to Reggie and kissed him passionately. Omar removed Reggie’s robe, and he looked amazing in the moonlight. His manly body highlighted by the moon light. They were kissing each other, and “Khonsu was here, and he blessed me he told me I can also bless you two.” He said, “In the name of Khonsu I bless you Alex” and he placed his hand on his head and with that Alex began to glow with a blue light. He repeated with Omar, and he glowed with blue light as well. They were surprised and then again not. They laughed.

As Alex kissed Reggi, Omar pull Reggi's drawers down and started suck on his cock it filled him with joy to have his member in his mouth, he loves the taste of it. Reggi smiled “I love you both so much!” he moaned but very quietly. Alex wanted his turn with Reggi’s cock. Which reminds he of the first time he had sex with Alex and how that had made him love him. Finally, they moved to the bed, Reggi laid on his back and turned on his side so Alex could suck his cock. Omar went to work on Alex cock which had a profound effect on him. Reggis was enjoying Omars cock he just loved Egyptian food he would have laughed but he had a cock in this mouth. At last, they all came, cum filling all their mouths and filling them with happiness!

The moon hung low, casting a pale glow through the cracked blinds, while shadows seemed to twist and flicker with lives of their own. Alex turned in his bed, his breath steady in rhythm with the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Across the hallway, Omar lay sprawled under a quilt that clung to the chill of the night, and Kareem's soft snores punctuated the eerie stillness.

In the morning Reginald awoke to an empty bed and yet he smiled.

Reginald awoke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains. He stretched and got out of bed, feeling the cool wooden floor beneath his feet. He made his way to the bathroom, where he washed up and dressed in his usual attire—a crisp white shirt and tailored trousers. The morning routine was familiar and comforting, a moment of calm before the day's events.

Once he was ready, Reginald stepped out into the hallway. The manor was already stirring with activity. He could hear the faint sounds of his friends getting ready in their respective rooms. He decided to check on them, making his way down the corridor.

Reginald reached Alexander's room. He knocked softly before entering. Alexander was standing by the window, buttoning his shirt. The morning light cast a warm glow on his features, and Reginald felt a rush of affection.

Without a word, Reginald crossed the room and took Alexander in his arms. Their eyes met, and in that moment, the world seemed to fade away. Reginald leaned in and gave Alexander an ardent kiss, one that set their hearts ablaze like an inferno. The kiss was filled with passion and love, a silent promise of their bond.

Alexander responded with equal fervor, his hands gently cupping Reginald's face. When they finally pulled away, both were breathless, their hearts pounding in unison.

"Good morning," Alexander whispered, a smile playing on his lips.

"Good morning," Reginald replied, his voice soft and tender. "I couldn't start the day without seeing you."

They stood there for a instant, savoring the intimacy of the moment. Eventually, Reginald stepped back, his hand lingering on Alexander's arm. "We should join the others. It's going to be a busy day."

Alexander nodded, still smiling. "Yes, let's go. "Together, they left the room, their hearts still warm from the shared moment. The day awaited them, filled with challenges and adventures, but they knew they could face anything as long as they had each other.

“I will always love you, Alex, with all my heart,” he said, tears streaming down his face. Reginald finally regained control of himself and wiped the tears away with the back of his sleeve.

Alex, deeply moved, responded, “And I will always love you too, Reggie. God made us for each other, and it is good and right!”

“We should collect Omar and Kareem and head down for breakfast.”