Chapter 20
Est sat still, back to the bed, chest heaving in the slow echo of fury that had nowhere left to go.
His fists were clenched. Muscles tight. Jaw aching from how hard he’d been grinding his teeth. The room had gone eerily still, the only sound their breathing – his sharp and uneven, William’s thin and fragile, trailing into silence.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. Seconds. A minute. Long enough for the worst of the rage to dull. Long enough for his pulse to slow enough to hear something other than blood in his ears.
And then he turned.
Slowly. Like his body didn’t want to obey him.
He turned – and saw him.
William lay curled in on himself. Back to him. Shoulders rising and falling in shallow little breaths. His legs were still parted slightly, trembling faintly in sleep, skin flushed and splotched with bruises blooming along his hips and thighs. His hole was raw and open, smeared with come, swollen and leaking. There were faint, broken marks on his ribs where Est had held him too hard. His hand rested near his face, fingers slightly curled.
He looked ruined.
And very, very quiet.
Est’s stomach turned violently and shame hit like a fist to the gut. . The world inside his chest twisted.
What have I done.
His anger had felt righteous, necessary, even earned in the moment. But now –
Now he looked at William, utterly spent, and something inside him cracked.
Too much. You went too far.
He moved.
Crawled closer, hesitant. Slowly. His hands, which had held so tightly before, hovered now like they didn’t belong anywhere. Like touching would do more harm.
“William…” he whispered.
No answer.
Only the faintest rise and fall of breath.
Est’s throat worked around nothing. His vision burned.
He crawled forward on the bed, heart suddenly in his throat – and reached out to touch him. His fingers hovered for just a second, trembling now for a very different reason, before he gathered him up carefully into his arms.
He clutched him close, rocking slightly like it might somehow undo the damage.
William stirred with a soft, pained sound, eyes fluttering but not fully waking. His cheek pressed weakly to Est’s chest.
He murmured something barely audible.
Est froze.
It was a single word. Half-mumbled. But it made his heart stutter.
“…Est…”
Not angry. Not afraid.
Just tired. Raw.
Trusting.
Like he hadn’t just been torn apart.
Like he still wanted Est to hold him.
The breath left Est’s lungs in a sharp, quiet gasp.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Shit, no…”
He cupped the back of William’s head, pressing him gently to his chest, the guilt hitting all at once like ice water. Shame settled over his skin in a wave. His throat burned.
He looked down again – at the bruises. At the mess he’d left. The heat. The oversensitivity still visible in the tremble of William’s thighs. The way his fingers clutched weakly at Est’s side even in his sleep.
Est swallowed hard. Then again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible.
He shifted William gently, laying him back with as much care as he could manage, and reached for a soft cloth. Cleaned between his legs with slow, reverent hands. Rewet the cloth and did it again. He was trembling now. Quiet. Every careful stroke full of something unspeakable.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I didn’t mean to – “
He broke off. The words wouldn’t come.
Est felt like he might throw up.
So he just kept going.
Soft cloth. Warm water. Gentle hands. Tender murmurs.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”
Over and over, until his voice cracked.
Until his own breath was trembling.
Until William shifted once in sleep, brow furrowed – but didn’t wake.
Est pressed his forehead to William’s shoulder and whispered it again.
“I’m so sorry.”
And for the first time since the anger had taken over –
He finally meant it.
Because he knew now.
It wasn’t just anger.
It wasn’t just jealousy.
It was something deeper. More dangerous.
He was in far too deep. His heart knew it even if his mouth refused to say the words. And tonight, it had shown – in every thrust, in every harsh grip, in the way he couldn’t let go until William was his again. Until everyone else was wiped from his skin.
But now… with the silence settling, with the red bruises on William’s hips, with the soreness carved into him like a signature… it didn’t feel victorious.
It felt like breaking.
Est leaned back, rubbed his face, then glanced over at the prince again.
He looked beautiful in sleep. Disarmed. His lips parted. His lashes dark against his cheek. A faint curl of hair falling onto his brow. The same boy who teased him, who whispered against his neck, who fell asleep on his chest and told him not to go.
Est reached out without thinking – brushed that strand of hair back, fingers ghosting across warm skin.
William didn’t stir.
“I’m sorry,” Est whispered, so quiet it barely reached the air between them.
But still – no response.
Only the weight of his own guilt to keep him company.
And it was heavy.
—-
Est hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
But at some point in the late hours of the night, exhaustion dragged him under – his arms wrapped tight around William’s bruised, aching body, his forehead resting against the back of his neck like a silent apology.
He didn’t sleep deeply. It was the kind of restless half-sleep that comes when the mind is still burning. He hovered on the edge, caught between guilt and fear, flinching every time William shifted, every time he whimpered in his sleep.
He was awake the moment William stirred.
The prince moved slowly – groggy and clearly in pain. He blinked hard against the dim grey light beginning to leak through the heavy curtains, his breath catching as he tried to roll onto his back and instantly winced.
“William – ” Est’s voice was soft, urgent, and immediate. He pulled back slightly to give him space, hovering. “Are you – are you hurting too bad?”
William didn’t respond.
His lashes fluttered. His brows twitched faintly, like his brain was still catching up to his body.
“William.” Est’s voice cracked.
His hands were already moving – adjusting the sheets, gently tucking a cushion behind him, trying to make him more comfortable without touching too much. He hovered, unsure, frantic in his stillness.
“I’m sorry,” Est said again. “Gods, I’m so sorry – “
He waited.
Still nothing.
William turned his head slowly and looked at him.
And that silence – that look – was worse than anything Est could’ve imagined.
His face was drawn, pale, the bruises beneath his eyes darker in the early light. His lower lip was slightly swollen, marked. His expression wasn’t angry.
It was just… hurt.
Quietly, deeply hurt.
Est felt the breath leave his lungs.
“I – please,” he said, voice cracking. “Say something. Anything. Be angry with me. Yell at me. You’d be right to. I – I deserve it.”
William blinked once.
Then again.
But still didn’t speak.
He just swallowed tightly – his throat visibly working – and then turned his face away.
Rolled slowly to his other side, facing away from Est without a word.
The sheets rustled with the movement. The silence that followed was heavy. Deafening.
Est sat there, chest hollowing out, staring at the back of William’s head. He opened his mouth. Closed it. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make it worse.
So he didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just sat there in the quiet, alone with the weight of his own actions.
Marinating in it.
Wishing – for the first time in his life – that someone would scream at him.
Because anything would’ve been easier than that silence.
And the simple, undeniable truth:
He had hurt the person he cared so deeply for.
A care he could no longer deny.
And he didn’t know how to fix it.
—-
Est sat unmoving.
Eyes fixed on nothing. Breath shallow. The seconds bled into minutes. Minutes into hours.
The sun rose, slow and indifferent, casting pale golden light across the wreck of the bed. William was asleep again – his body curled in on itself, still turned away. Small twitches pulled at his limbs now and then, but his face was still, lips parted just slightly, lashes resting dark against his cheeks.
Est stared.
He’d thought the guilt couldn’t get worse.
But in the stillness of dawn, it did.
It swelled and swelled, until it pressed like a stone on his chest, suffocating in its weight.
Because it was true, wasn’t it?
William was a prince. There were roles he had to play. Dances to perform. Flirtations to navigate with grace and diplomacy. Whether he wanted to or not – it wasn’t a choice. It was expectation.
And yet Est – Est had taken that frustration, that jealousy, that ugly burning need – and turned it into something brutal. Even if William had provoked him, even if he’d wanted it – he hadn’t deserved what Est had done.
Not like that.
Est’s fingers curled into the blanket where William had once reached for him. The same hand he’d flinched from.
Shame choked him.
He stood up too fast.
Grabbed his robe and pulled it around himself with jerky, tight movements. The fabric felt too soft against skin that still carried the ghost of what he’d done.
He walked to the outer chamber, barefoot and quiet, and called for the attendants. His voice was low, unreadable.
“I need tea. And warm water. And the strongest herbal balm you have,” he said, not meeting their eyes. “Please. Take care of the prince. Gently. Don’t wake him if you don’t have to.”
They nodded and rushed off. Est remained standing there, staring at the desk.
Then he sat.
And picked up a pen.
Est sat, staring down at the blank parchment for what felt like hours, the quill heavy between his fingers. Words circled in his chest – ugly, broken, too many – and none of them good enough.
But he wrote anyway.
Slowly. Carefully. Like the act itself might help him breathe.
The note was short. Stiff at first, then slower, more careful. More honest.
William,
I don’t know if you’ll read this. Or want to. But I need to say it.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for last night – for letting my jealousy turn into something that shouldn’t have touched you. You didn’t deserve what I did, no matter what I was feeling.
I know I crossed a line. I took out my anger on you. And I hurt you.
You reached for me. And I didn’t respond. I will never forgive myself for that.
But you should know that was not about you. It was me. I was caught up in my own emotions and feelings.
I’m leaving the room now – not because I don’t care, but because I care too much. I don’t want the first thing you see when you wake up to be the man who hurt you.
If you want me to go back to being just your guard, I’ll do it. I’ll stand behind you. Serve you. Protect you.
And I’ll say nothing about how much it will kill me.
But if there’s still a place for me – not the bodyguard, not the jealous fool, but just me – then I’ll be here. I’ll wait for you to call me back.
I’m sorry.
Always,
Est.
He signed only his name. Nothing more. Folded the note and left it where it would be seen.
Just then, the attendants returned.
Est didn’t say anything. He simply took the balm, dismissed them with a silent nod, and returned to the bed.
William hadn’t moved much – still curled loosely on his side, the blankets bunched at his hips. His mouth was slightly open, cheeks pale, brow faintly furrowed even in sleep.
Est’s throat tightened and his hands trembled as he set to work.
The sheets had twisted around his legs. One of his arms had slipped from beneath the covers. There were still faint tear-tracks on his cheek, nearly invisible in the light.
He knelt beside the bed and uncovered him gently. The bruises looked worse in daylight. Red and violet blooming down his spine, around his hips, the inside of his thighs. Angry. Unforgiving.
He swallowed hard and dipped his fingers into the balm.
He cleaned the dried slick between William’s thighs. Reapplied balm to the bruises on his hips, his wrists, his inner thighs. His rim was still red, puffy and swollen, marked with the mess of the night.
Est worked slowly, gently, biting down on every apology that threatened to rise.
William shifted once, groaning faintly in his sleep, but didn’t wake.
Still, Est’s chest burned.
His touch was featherlight. Reverent. He smoothed it over each mark with care, as if gentleness could erase what had already been done. His hands trembled when he reached William’s rim – still raw, swollen, stretched open slightly with the remnants of what Est had left inside him.
The prince flinched softly in his sleep. A quiet breath hitched.
Est froze.
Then bent forward.
And kissed him there.
A soft, broken thing. Barely a press of lips. An apology too deep for words. A promise that he’d never let it happen again.
He moved higher, pressing a kiss to the curve of William’s hip. Then the bruises on his back. His shoulder.
Small. Careful. Not meant to wake him.
Just meant to say: I’m here. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
He covered William again with the sheet. Smoothed the hair from his forehead.
Then stood there.
Just staring.
His gaze lingered over the curve of the prince’s spine, the soft crease of his brow, the small shadows under his eyes. Every part of him still beautiful. Still regal. Still his – but only if he chose to be.
And Est wasn’t sure he’d ever earned that choice.
His lips parted.
But no words came.
So he turned.
And walked out of the room.
Slow. Quiet. Carrying the weight of what he’d done with every step.
The door shut softly behind him.
And the silence that followed was absolute.
—–
Est stood outside the prince’s chambers, back straight, eyes forward, unmoving.
He had been there since sunrise.
The tea, the ointment, the letter – he’d done what he could. And then he’d left quietly, gone to his quarters, washed the guilt and sweat from his body, put on his uniform, and returned to his post like nothing had happened.
But everything had.
The prince’s morning engagements had been cleared. “The prince is unwell” the staff whispered. “A migraine, nothing serious.” someone said. The court physician had been summoned and dismissed swiftly. The real reason was never spoken aloud.
But Est knew.
And every second he stood outside that door, he hated himself more.
Attendants came and went, carrying trays of soup and herbal water, soft linens and scented oils. None of them met his eyes. No one dared to speak to him.
And still he stood. Silent. A soldier turned to stone.
It wasn’t until mid-morning that the hall stirred again – this time with footsteps heavier, slower, more deliberate.
Est didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
The Crown Prince.
James.
He stopped just before the chamber doors, dressed not in full ceremonial robes but still every inch the heir. Gold-threaded tunic, high collar, rings on every finger. The guards accompanying him fell back as he approached the chamber door.
And then – he saw Est.
He paused.
A smile tugged at his lips. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Well,” he said softly, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
He stepped closer, slowly, folding his hands behind his back. ” Didn’t think you’d last this long but William always did have a taste for the forbidden.”
Est bowed his head. “Your Highness.”
“Standing so dutifully,” James murmured. “How touching.”
Est remained silent.
James tilted his head slightly, studying him.
“Tell me,” he murmured, voice low, almost companionable. “How does it feel to be my brother’s little secret? His pet soldier?” The words dripped with soft amusement. “Don’t bother denying it. I have eyes everywhere.”
Still, Est said nothing. His jaw remained clenched, eyes focused on the opposite wall. Not rising to it.
James stepped even closer. “You’re loyal,” he noted, as if observing a curious specimen. “Interesting. I thought you’d have more ambition than this.”
He let the silence linger.
Then: “You could do better, you know.”
Est’s gaze didn’t shift, but James continued anyway.
James stepped in closer, voice dropping into something confidential – more mocking than conspiratorial.
“You know he’ll never be what I am, don’t you?” His smile sharpened. “William. He’s just a spare. A decoration. Crowned only when I allow it. He plays the part well – smiles, dances, charms – but at the end of the day, he’ll never have power. Not real power. Not like I do.”
He waited. Watching. Measuring.
Est remained still.
James tilted his head. “And yet you cling to him. Admirable. Naive. But still – admirable.”
James’s gaze dragged down over him, slow, almost hungry.
“You know, I could make far better use of you,” he said casually. “You wouldn’t have to hide. I’d show you off, not keep you behind locked doors like some guilty indulgence. And I wouldn’t bruise you unless you begged me to.”
Est’s mouth was a tight line.
“I appreciate Your Highness’s… generous offer,” he said with quiet formality. “But I must decline.”
James raised a brow. “Must you?”
Est didn’t answer.
“You know I’d take better care of you,” James added, voice dipping into something more suggestive. “No messy emotions. No royal scandals. Just pleasure, luxury, a place in my bed and my favor. You’d never want for anything again. You’re wasted playing shadow to someone who still blushes when he flirts. With me, you would have it all. My protection. My favor. Wealth. Standing. I’d even acknowledge you publicly. You’d be one of mine.”
A beat.
“And if not that,” James said, straightening slightly, “then at least be of some use to me. Stay where you are. Warm his bed. Keep his secrets. And pass the important ones to me.”
He smiled faintly, like he already knew the answer.
Est’s voice was steady. “With all due respect, Your Highness – no. And I belong to no one.”
A pause.
“No to both.”
There was no defiance in his tone – just quiet finality. Impeccable restraint. Unshakable loyalty.
A flicker of something sharp passed through James’s eyes.
“And William?” he asked. “Do you belong to him?”
A long pause.
Then, quietly: “I serve the prince. Loyally.”
James chuckled. “Spoken like a true dog.”
James stared at him a moment longer.
Then laughed softly, shaking his head.
“Loyal and pretty. What a waste.”
He leaned in one last time, lowering his voice.
“He’ll break you, you know,” he said. “He doesn’t know what he wants. He never has. But I do. And when you’re tired of being a secret – of playing nursemaid to a boy with more charm than strength – you’ll remember this conversation.”
Est’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply.
“Think about it,” James said, breezing past with the lazy confidence of someone who’d never heard no in his life.
He entered William’s chambers without knocking.
Est stayed at his post, still as stone.
But something cold and bitter twisted in his gut.
Not just at the prince’s words.
But at the fear that James was right – about William’s pain, about how vulnerable he truly was.
And how easily James could destroy him.
His stomach churned.
Because he knew this wasn’t the end of it.
And he hated that in refusing James, the only person who might pay for it – was William.
Est’s shoulders stiffened.
He stood still. Listening.
The visit lasted less than two minutes.
There were no raised voices, no laughter. Just quiet. A few footsteps. A door opening and closing again.
When James emerged, his expression was unchanged. Smooth. Unbothered. He didn’t spare Est another look as he passed, nor did he say anything more.
But Est – Est was still standing there.
Still reeling.
His hands were clenched at his sides, every muscle pulled tight, stomach a knot of shame and fury and fear.
He’d hurt the man he cared so deeply for.
And now the man who wanted to use him probably knew.
——
Evening fell with the hum of celebration.
Music drifted through the corridors. Laughter echoed across the halls. The palace had been dressed in gold and silk again – another night of festivities, another show of grace and grandeur.
And then the door opened.
Est straightened on instinct.
William stepped out into the corridor.
He was dressed immaculately in deep crimson and black, gold embroidery catching the light like fire. A brooch pinned at his throat, rings on his fingers, crownless yet every inch royal. He moved with the same grace he always did – measured, calm, impossible to look away from.
But his eyes didn’t shine.
He glanced at Est once. A flicker. No words.
His expression was perfectly blank.
And Est – Est followed without a word. He fell into step behind the prince as always, half a step to the left. Just far enough to not be mistaken for something more than he was.
William walked with his chin high, shoulders square, and posture flawless. Like the boy from last night – the one who trembled under Est’s hands, who reached for him half-asleep, who rolled away without a word – was someone else entirely. A dream. Or a ghost.
Est stared straight ahead.
And yet… the ache didn’t go away.
Even now, watching William sweep through the corridor like a vision of royalty, Est’s chest twisted. Not with lust. Not with shame.
But with jealousy. Once more.
Because William didn’t look at him again.
Because he spoke to attendants with his usual charm, paused to greet a minor dignitary, and nodded politely at the nobles waiting near the ballroom doors.
And Est hated it.
He hated that he still felt possessive, still watched every man and woman who smiled at William with something sharp in his gut. He hated that he still wanted to be the one standing beside him instead of behind him. Hated that he longed for William’s gaze, his voice, his touch – when he hadn’t earned any of it.
Not after last night.
But he couldn’t help it.
He followed the prince into the ballroom, silent, unseen.
A shadow once more.
And as the crowd swallowed William whole – welcoming him with applause and longing eyes – Est stayed on the edge.
Watching.
Wanting.
Hurting.
—-
The ballroom glittered.
Cascading chandeliers bathed everything in gold. Strings and flutes played softly under the murmur of courtly conversation. William moved through it all like water – graceful, effortless, smiling with just the right tilt of his head, offering toasts, accepting compliments, twirling a laughing princess across the floor.
It was the kind of perfection only a prince could master.
Est stood in the shadows near the side columns, back straight, eyes sharp, armor polished, expression unreadable.
Just a guard again.
No one paid him much attention. Except for one.
A figure came to stand beside him – another palace guard, tall and broad-shouldered, younger than Est. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. His uniform was crisp, but his posture wasn’t nearly as stiff.
“You must be Est,” the man said, low enough not to draw attention.
Est didn’t move. “I am.”
“Dylan,” he offered, turning toward him with a grin and extending a hand. “New to this post. But not new to palace whispers.”
Est glanced at the hand, then took it briefly. Firm grip. Warm. No threat.
Dylan smirked faintly, still watching the party. “You’re the talk of the guards’ quarters, you know. Not just for your discipline. Or that lovely swordsmanship.”
Est didn’t answer. But Dylan wasn’t the type to be deterred by silence.
“Too well-kept for a guard,” Dylan mused, as if repeating something overheard. “Hair always neat. Nails trimmed. Not a scratch out of place. Must have someone looking out for you.”
The implication hung in the air.
Est’s jaw twitched.
Dylan raised a brow. “Don’t worry. I don’t care.”
He turned to face Est fully, expression more genuine now.
“I figure we all have our reasons for being where we are. And who we’re with. Not my place to judge. And everyone here’s tangled in something. It’s how this place runs.”
He didn’t say it like an accusation – just fact. Like he’d seen it before.
Est glanced at him, then nodded. “And what are you tangled in?”
Dylan laughed. “If I told you, I’d lose half my charm.”
A pause, then his voice lowered slightly – still warm, but more pointed.
“Just… a word of advice. If you are involved – with anyone in power – be careful. These royals are notorious for their… tastes. Their appetites. Most of them don’t do commitment. They collect lovers like medals.”
Est’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t answer.
Dylan continued, gently, “Take what you can from them – pleasure, protection, position, if that’s your thing. But don’t give away more than you mean to. And always – always – remember your place.”
Est finally spoke, tone even. “That sounds like advice from someone who’s been burned.”
Dylan’s smile widened, faintly crooked. “Let’s just say… it’s advice from experience.”
Their eyes held for a moment – Dylan’s steady and light, not prying.
Then he glanced away toward the ballroom, as if sensing Est’s unease.
“Honestly,” Dylan said, more casually now, “I think the real gossip should be how someone like you ended up wearing steel and not silk. You’re wasted in guard black. You’d turn heads in ruby.” Est raised an eyebrow. “Was that a compliment?”
Dylan smiled, turning his head slightly toward him. “Just an observation. A flattering one, maybe.”
Est huffed a soft breath. Almost a laugh.
It was the most like himself he’d felt all evening.
Dylan clapped a hand lightly to his shoulder, then eased back against the wall.
“I’m around if you ever need a break from staring holes through the court,” he said, voice easy. “Or just someone to talk to who isn’t dressed in brocade and entitlement.”
Est didn’t reply, but this time when he glanced Dylan’s way, there was something softer in his eyes.
Acknowledgment. And, just maybe, the faint beginning of trust.
“I appreciate it.”
Dylan smiled again, more gently this time.
“Offer stands,” he said. “Friendship. Or at least conversation.”
Est looked at him for a moment, surprised by the honesty. Then gave a short nod.
Dylan didn’t push. Just smiled faintly and reached into the inside of his uniform, pulling out a wrapped mint leaf.
“Don’t say I never offer anything on first meetings,” he joked lightly, slipping it into Est’s palm.
Est blinked down at it. A memory stirred – Sir Jeff and his peppermint drops, Tomas’s sweet-and-spicy lemon tea pressed into his hands after long drills. Old kindness. Old warmth.
His fingers closed over the mint leaf slowly.
“Thanks,” he said. His voice was quieter than usual. A little steadier, too.
Dylan nudged his shoulder gently. “We’re all a little bruised under the armor. Good to have someone to talk to now and then.”
Est nodded again and smiled faintly.
Some part of him softened. And for the first time that evening, he didn’t feel like he was drowning.
—–
They’re not speaking to each other. And the shame and the guilt of hurting William is eating away at Est. And he is slowly realizing just how deep he has fallen.
What will happen next? Keep reading to find out!
And as always, I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter. Don’t forget to leave your thoughts in the comments for me.
Cheers!
