Chapter 23

“Watch your mouth,” William said, voice low.

But James ignored the warning, pacing leisurely.

“I mean, you always had a taste for scandal. But this? You’ve really outdone yourself. Is he that good in bed, or is this just your latest act of rebellion?”

William moved so fast Est barely had time to stop him.

One step, two, and he was in front of James, eyes blazing, fists clenched.

“Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Why not?” James said, utterly unfazed. “He’s dressed like a servant, marked like a lover, and walks around like he owns your crown.”

Est’s hand rested on William’s shoulder, firm, grounding.

James chuckled. He stepped forward, close now, daring.

“Tell me something, Will. Does he let you fuck him? Or do you drop to your knees for him like a good little princeling?”

William’s fist hit the wall beside James’s head.

The crack was loud, splintering wood.

William’s voice was ice. “I said – don’t talk about him.”

Est was beside him instantly, fingers tightening on his arm.

“Don’t,” Est said softly.

James didn’t even blink. But his smirk faltered for just a beat. “Touch a nerve?”

William was breathing hard, knuckles white. “You’re not worth the bruises.”

James scoffed. “No, but he is, right?”

He smirked. “I thought I sensed something yesterday,” he said, voice like poisoned silk. “But I assumed you had the sense to keep it discreet. Now I see – ” His gaze slid down Est’s figure, slow and condescending. “You’ve gone completely stupid.”

Est didn’t react. He didn’t need to. William stepped in front of him, chin tilted, rage carefully leashed beneath his calm voice.

“Why are you here?”

James ignored him. “Is this what gets you off, little brother? A common guard dressing you, bathing you, bending you over?”

“James – “

“He’s not even noble-born. No family. No land. No power. Just a well-trained mouth and a warm hole, and suddenly you’re bringing him into royal chambers?”

Est’s hand moved – but not to his weapon. Just a slight shift, resting lightly on the curve of William’s lower back. Steadying. Grounding.

William’s voice was ice. “You don’t get to talk about him like that.”

James scoffed. “Why? Hit a nerve? You’ve always had a thing for the underdog. But this is embarrassing even for you. I mean – ” He chuckled, gesturing vaguely between them. “Are you in love with him? Or is it just the cock?”

Est’s shoulders stiffened – but he didn’t move. He didn’t rise to it. He just stood, centered, his voice calm but edged like drawn steel. “Choose your next words carefully, Your Highness.”

James arched a brow, amused. “Oh? Are you threatening me, soldier?”

“I’m protecting my prince,” Est replied. “You’re lucky I haven’t drawn steel yet.”

William’s eyes glittered with barely controlled fury.

James chuckled, unbothered. “Really? You can’t even see it brother, can you? The way he stands in front of you like he owns the place. He’s got you tied in knots. I wonder, is he that good in bed or are you just that easy to please?”

“Shut your mouth,” William growled.

But James was enjoying himself now.

“He’s got you wrapped around his little finger. Playing the perfect loyal servant. Let me guess – calls you ‘Your Highness’ even in bed?”

Est was silent, eyes fixed on James, expression hardening with every passing second.

James leaned against the edge of a nearby table, casual as anything. “I always thought you were arrogant and stupid, William, but this – this is pathetic. You’re letting a pretty face and a skilled mouth drag you into ruin.”

He looked back at Est and added, cruelly sweet: “You must be very good at what you do.”

That was the line.

Est took one step forward. “Interesting,” he said evenly. “You weren’t so disgusted last night when you tried to buy me.”

James stilled.

“You don’t like the word?” Est asked. “You offered me gold, land, a house, a title – all if I let you fuck me. But now suddenly I’m a ‘whore‘?”

James’s expression didn’t change immediately. But something in his jaw tightened.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he said after a moment. “It wasn’t you I wanted. Just something beautiful and obedient to warm my bed and keep quiet. You just happened to be available.”

Est tilted his head slightly. “And when I turned you down, what? Suddenly you need to convince everyone I’m beneath you?”

James barked a short, humorless laugh. “You can polish a dog and put it in silk, but it’s still a dog. You think saying no to me made you anything more than what you are? You’re still just a whore. Fucking your way to a better life. Doesn’t matter whose bed you’re in.”

“The offer still stands.” he said, “You’d be better off in my bed than warming my idiot brother’s.”

His gaze turned dark. “You want gold? Power? You’ll have it.”

Then, slowly, cruelly, he added, “But I pay for something, I use it how I like. You wouldn’t be pretending to be anything more than what you are.”

Est’s face was a mask of restraint. But his voice sliced through the tension.

“You talk like a man used to owning what he can’t earn.”

James looked back at William then, cold and smug. “You can dress it up however you like, brother. But at the end of the day, you’re just paying for affection like any other fool.”

He scoffed. “You really think he cares for you? He’s here for the comfort. For what you can give him. He’ll take what he wants, and when it’s not enough, he’ll move on to the next man with coin.”

Silence dropped like a stone.

Est’s hands had curled into fists, but he didn’t move. His breathing was sharp and quiet.

James’s brow lifted, amused. “Didn’t realize you were this attached. How cute.”

He looked between them again, expression twisting.

“If he’s more than a whore to you now, then you’d best be careful. Because when it falls apart – and it will – it’s you who’ll be left looking like a fool.”

Silence.

Then William spoke, measured and cold. “You should leave.”

James tilted his head, testing him. But something in William’s gaze gave him pause. It wasn’t a plea – it was a warning.

James sneered, turning on his heel. “Suit yourself.”

He stepped back, smoothing down his doublet like he hadn’t just invited violence.

“When he bleeds you dry, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He pushed past the attendant, the door slamming shut behind him.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Silence settled like ash after the door slammed shut. But James hadn’t left.

He lingered just beyond the threshold, lingering like rot in the air. His voice came again, laced with mock civility.

“Well?” William asked, spine straight. “Say what you came here for. Or leave.”

James stepped back into view with the same casual arrogance, smoothing down the front of his dark embroidered coat.

“The king,” he said, tone cool and unbothered, “has summoned us siblings to the council wing. I was on my way and thought it polite to collect you.”

He smiled without warmth. “But clearly, you were busy.”

Est didn’t speak, but his stare was sharp enough to pierce armor.

James took one last glance around the room – the rumpled bed, the steam still rising faintly from the bath, Est’s flushed throat where faint red marks were beginning to bloom, and William’s slightly parted shirt collar revealing teeth-shaped shadows.

Then, with a slow, deliberate step backward toward the hall, he added over his shoulder:

“Might want to button up, little brother.”

His voice dropped, coated in poison.

“Don’t think our parents would be too pleased to see their royal son marked, choked, and bent over by someone who should’ve been polishing boots in the stables.”

The words hit the air like a slap.

Est’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move. William took a single step forward, his expression unreadable, his silence more dangerous than rage.

James gave a final mocking bow and disappeared down the corridor.

The door shut with a dull thud, the silence that followed far heavier than it should’ve been.

Est didn’t move. His arms were loosely folded across his chest, his mouth set in a hard line, but his eyes – they gave him away. Still fixed on the door, the sharp edge of restraint in his gaze was unmistakable. He was trying to keep it together.

William watched him, the churn in his own chest slowly settling into something heavier. Something colder.

“Est…”

Est blinked but didn’t turn. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

That made Est finally look at him, but not fully – his gaze hovered somewhere just below William’s eyes. “I should go,” he muttered, almost absently, reaching for the coat he hadn’t quite finished putting on. “I have duties to check on, and – “

“Est.”

He turned, startled by the note of quiet urgency in William’s voice.

William stepped closer. “You’re upset.”

Est looked away, jaw tightening. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of us. It’s not worth reacting to.”

“But you are reacting,” William said gently. “And I can see it’s more than just anger.”

Est’s silence answered for him. He shook his head faintly, then straightened. “It doesn’t matter. Really. I don’t – “

A knock interrupted them.

This time it was a more formal, measured one – followed by a soft voice from beyond the door: “Your Highness? His Majesty has asked for your presence in the east drawing room in his quarters.”

William didn’t respond immediately.

His eyes were still on Est, taking in the faint flush of his neck, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands wouldn’t stay still.

Est, for his part, took a step back.

“You should go,” he said quietly. “It’s your father.”

William exhaled slowly, then stepped forward until he was just in front of him.

“You know none of what he said was true,” William said quietly, walking toward him.

Est didn’t move. His voice was quiet, measured. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Especially if you believe it.”

Est finally looked at him then. Not with anger, but with something worse – something tired, bruised. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” William’s voice was gentle, but there was a thread of frustration beneath it, coiled tight.

“You’re not a whore to me,” he said – firm, clear, not loud, but certain.

Est’s breath hitched, just slightly. His eyes darted to William’s face then, finally meeting his gaze.

William’s voice didn’t rise, didn’t shake.

“You never have been. And you don’t have to explain or prove anything. Least of all to someone like him.”

“I know what James was trying to do,” William continued, softer now. “But he’s not going to make me question what I already know. And you shouldn’t either. He’s trying to get in your head. He wants to drive a wedge between us.”

For a second, Est looked like he might speak – but then he only nodded once, eyes clouded but touched with something warmer. Quieter. “Okay.”

The silence between them hung thick and full of things unspoken. William reached out slowly, cupping Est’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. Est closed his eyes at the touch, like he was letting himself feel it just for a second.

“I wish I could stay,” William said, voice low, regret tugging at every word. ” But I’ll be back as soon as I can,” William promised, brushing his fingers briefly against Est’s arm.

Est opened his eyes. There was something wounded and determined in them all at once. “You should go.”

William hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

“I’ll be okay.” Est offered a smile, small and forced but real. “I’ll be here. Tonight.”

That made William smile.

“Good.”

And with one last glance – lingering, heavy with what neither of them had the time to say – William turned and left.

—–

Est didn’t wait. The moment William turned the corner, surrounded by the glint of uniformed shoulders and polished boots, Est slipped down a side corridor alone, ignoring the startled look of the attendant posted near the staircase.

He didn’t stop walking until he reached his chambers.

The moment the door closed behind him, the silence roared back in.

He exhaled – too sharp. Peeled off his coat, dropped it on the chair. Tugged the collar of his shirt open like it was choking him.

“A whore has you wrapped around his finger.”

Est stared at his reflection in the gilded mirror near the wardrobe. The bruises on his neck had darkened into something worse overnight – William’s marks. The evidence of being wanted. Claimed.

Used?

He winced. Turned away from the mirror.

It had been an insult. Designed to sting. And yet – it landed. Not because it was true. Not entirely. But because there was a sliver of something close. Something that had been lodged under his skin since the beginning. James had just known how to dig it up.

Because what was he, really?

A consort in secret. With no lineage, no title, no standing. Plucked from the training grounds, trained in palace etiquette only because the prince fancied him. Given silks to wear, food fit for royals, a room too nice for a man like him.

And a contract.

Est pulled open a drawer and stared at it.

He didn’t need to reread it. He knew every clause. Every seal. The signature William had written with a slight tremble in his hand, even as he said, “This is only to make sure no one uses this against me or you.”

But still – it existed.

It defined the terms. Of being his. His what, exactly?

Not lover. That word had never been used.

Consort? Not officially.

Bodyguard? Not anymore. Not in the way that mattered.

He was William’s. But only because William had chosen to keep him. For now.

Est sat down slowly, fingers curling around the edge of the bed, gaze dropping to the floor.

He’d mocked James earlier – said that he’d tried to buy him too, with jewels and promises and royal protection. It had made his skin crawl.

But wasn’t that exactly what this was?

A prettier cage. Draped in affection. Tenderness. Kisses that felt too real.

And that – that was the worst part.

Because William was too good.

Too kind. Too careful. Too open-hearted in a way Est wasn’t used to. The kind of prince who would kiss you like it meant something. Who would hold you after. Whisper stupid, sweet things half-asleep. Draw circles on your shoulder in the dark.

He wasn’t like the others.

And somehow, that made everything worse.

Because now Est was falling.

And he didn’t know if there was a ground waiting beneath him, or just air.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, breathing through the sudden, hollow ache blooming in his chest. No training had prepared him for this. For the feeling of being kept and cared for and yet still… temporary. Replaceable.

It shouldn’t matter.

He’d always known the rules.

But suddenly, it did.

It mattered too much.

And he wasn’t sure how long he could keep pretending it didn’t.

—-

By midday, Est was dressed in uniform and halfway to the east wing when a junior guard intercepted him.

“Sir Est – His Highness has asked that you not report for duty today.”

Est blinked. “What?”

“He said you were to rest. He left a note.”

The guard passed him a folded parchment. Est opened it with careful fingers.

Est,

Take the day. Rest. Don’t overthink everything – I know you are. If you want, visit your family. If not, do something that makes you feel more like yourself.

Just… come back to me tonight. I’ll be waiting.

– W.

Est read it twice. The words didn’t make him feel better.

If anything, the thought of William knowing he was spiraling made the shame worse.

He folded the note and tucked it away, murmuring his thanks, and turned toward the west side of the palace without really thinking. He had no intention of going home – his mother would know something was wrong the second she looked at him, and he wasn’t sure he could take that today.

Instead, he made his way toward the stable yard.

The clamor of steel on steel reached him before the sunlit yard opened up – young guards sparring with wooden swords, the clatter and grunts and shouts grounding in a way palace corridors weren’t.

He spotted Sir Jeff first, barking instructions with his arms crossed. And then Tomas and a shirtless Dylan, laughing as he deflected a blow from a younger trainee.

Est leaned against the fence, arms crossed.

“Look what the wind dragged in. Thought you’d gone soft guarding princes all day. Finally decided to remember you’re a soldier?” Jeff called, spotting him. “Get in here, show these idiots what a real fight looks like.”

Est smirked. “Soft? You want to test that?”

Jeff waved him in. Est vaulted the fence in one smooth motion and joined the sparring ring.

Tomas was sparring with someone – sharp, fluid, precise. Beside him, Dylan was leaning against the fence, shirt clinging to his chest, his curly hair damp with sweat. He noticed Est almost immediately.

“Sir Est,” Dylan called, grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think you’d show up here on your day off. You stalking me already?”

Est raised an eyebrow as he strode over. “That would imply you’re worth stalking.”

“Ouch,” Dylan laughed. “Give me five minutes and I’ll prove I am.”

Tomas snorted nearby. “Gods, he’s been like this since breakfast.”

“What can I say?” Dylan said, straightening up and tossing his towel over his shoulder. “He’s got that smoldering, brooding thing going. You know,” he turned to Est, “the kind of look that says ‘I’ve killed three men this morning and I still haven’t had tea.’ It’s incredibly sexy.”

Est rolled his eyes but the corner of his mouth twitched. “And you’ve got the look of someone who’s never been in a real fight and wants someone to pin him down.”

—-

The training helped.

Not enough to quiet the ache completely, but enough to make it bearable. The strain in his arms, the sting of blocking a too-fast strike, the beat of breath – all better than thinking.

He sparred against three of them at once, then ran through drills with the newer recruits until the sun tilted past its peak and his shirt stuck to his back.

Eventually, the others began filtering out for food or rest.

The midday sun hung high over the palace yard, casting long shadows as Est wiped the back of his hand across his brow, sweat glistening along his collarbones. He’d discarded his overshirt sometime during drills, the thin linen of his tunic clinging damply to his chest as he sparred with one of the younger guards. His strikes were sharp, efficient – controlled even when he could have easily knocked the other off balance.

When the round ended and they stepped back, Dylan was already approaching with that same cheeky grin Est had come to recognize in less than three days.

“Is it hot in here,” Dylan asked, raking his eyes up and down Est’s frame, “or are you just showing off?”

Est shot him a look, though his lips quirked despite himself. “You sweating already, kid? We’ve barely gotten started.”

Dylan grinned wider. “Maybe I’m just hoping you’ll take pity on me. Teach me the ropes – privately. One-on-one. Somewhere quieter. I promise I’m a fast learner.”

Est gave a soft snort, stripping the leather gloves from his hands. “Sounds more like you want a personal demonstration.”

“Oh, I do,” Dylan said, without missing a beat, “Especially if it involves you pinning me down and teaching me how to – submit.”

Across the yard, Tomas barked a laugh and wandered over, shaking his head. “For fuck’s sake, Dylan, you’ve known the man all of three days and you’re already trying to get him under you?”

“Under him, preferably,” Dylan grinned, elbowing Tomas. “But I’m flexible.”

Tomas raised a brow at Est. “I warned you he was trouble.”

“Trouble’s putting it lightly,” Est muttered, though the flush at the tips of his ears betrayed him.

Dylan leaned closer, voice dropping low. “What can I say? I have a thing for mysterious men with knives up their sleeves and jawlines that could slice me in half.”

Est turned toward the training dummy, rolling his eyes as he adjusted the straps on his gauntlet. “You flirting like this with all your commanding officers?”

“Only the handsome ones.”

“And the unavailable ones,” Tomas added dryly, tossing Dylan a short spear.

“Those too,” Dylan winked. “Makes the game more fun.”

Est threw a glance between them, amused despite the tightness still curled in his chest from the morning. “Shouldn’t you be using that mouth for breathing, not digging your own grave?”

Dylan laughed, flipping the spear expertly in his hand. “With the right man, I’d be happy to use my mouth for something else entirely.”

Tomas groaned. “Gods, get a sword between you two before he bursts.”

Est smirked then, finally stepping forward and drawing his own blade again. “Fine. One-on-one. Let’s see if your tongue’s as fast as your feet.”

Dylan’s eyes lit up like it was a challenge. “That’s the spirit.”

They circled. There was heat in Dylan’s eyes – not just the usual eagerness of a soldier looking to prove himself, but something else. Admiration. Curiosity. Something slightly reckless, like he liked playing with things that might hurt him. Est could relate to that more than he cared to admit.

Their blades clashed. Sparks flew. Tomas watched from the side, arms crossed, muttering something about idiots in heat.

Est wasn’t really smiling – but his eyes were sharper now, his movements lighter. For the first time that day, his mind didn’t drift to cruel words or paper contracts.

Just steel, sweat, and the satisfying crack of parry and strike.

Est didn’t intend to smile. But Dylan’s antics – though ridiculous – were oddly… refreshing. The kind of transparent flattery no one had tried on him in a long time. Nothing cloaked in duty, rank, or politics. Just a man making it clear he thought Est was hot and wanted to spar as an excuse to get close.

And Est? He let him.

Dylan’s footwork was decent, his grip just a little too tight. He lunged eagerly, teeth flashing as he laughed when Est dodged him clean.

“You’re fast,” Dylan panted after a flurry of movement.

“You’re predictable,” Est replied, circling him. “Stop telegraphing your shoulder before you move.”

“You noticed my shoulder?” Dylan winked. “That’s intimate.”

Est rolled his eyes but didn’t bother hiding his grin this time.

They went a few more rounds – enough for Dylan to get winded and Est to finally break a sweat. By the end of it, Dylan had a scratch on his cheek and a few grass stains, but he was glowing like he’d just won a prize.

“I’m going to need a massage later,” he said as he wiped his brow. “Know anyone good with their hands?”

“I know someone good with a boot to the head,” Est offered, tossing him a rag.

Dylan caught it, grinning wider. “Kinky.”

Est shook his head and turned away, heading toward the water trough.

He didn’t make it more than a few steps before Sir Jeff appeared beside him, arms crossed, amused smile tucked into his greying beard.

“Careful,” Jeff said, voice low, “That boy’s going to have you in his bed by the end of the week.”

Est snorted. “Hardly.”

“You’re humoring him.”

“I’m bored.”

“You’re smiling.”

Est didn’t answer that one.

Jeff watched him for a beat, then elbowed him lightly. “Nothing wrong with enjoying a bit of attention, Est. You’ve been carrying the weight of ten men lately. Let someone look at you like you hung the damn moon for once.”

“I didn’t hang the moon.”

“No. But if you told him you did, he’d believe it.” Jeff smirked. “Just don’t break his heart. Dylan – he’s not a bad one.”

Est let out a quiet breath, then took a long drink from the water skin. He wiped his mouth and stared across the yard, where Dylan was laughing at something Tomas said, utterly unbothered, still watching Est from the corner of his eye.

Est didn’t answer.

Because for a second – for a stupid, ridiculous second – it had felt nice. Someone wanting him, without politics. Without shame. Without James’s voice in his head.

But it wasn’t what he wanted.

He knew what he wanted.

And he just wasn’t sure he deserved it.

—–

By the time dusk settled over the palace, whatever lightness Est had found in the stableyard had vanished.

He sat on the edge of his bed, half-dressed, fingers curled loosely around the hem of his shirt. His uniform jacket lay folded, untouched. His boots were still muddy from training.

The note from William was tucked on the table beside him, still unopened since morning. He didn’t need to read it again – he knew the words by heart. Rest. Don’t overthink. Come back to me tonight.

And he had wanted to. Gods, he wanted to. But his body wouldn’t move.

All day, he’d tried to outrun the echo of James’s voice, but it lingered like a stain. No matter how many times he reminded himself that it was meant to provoke, that it wasn’t truth – something inside him whispered otherwise.

No matter how kindly William looked at him, no matter how softly he said You’re not a whore to me, the truth clung to Est’s skin like oil.

Because he was. Bought. Bound.

And even if William never meant it that way – even if he cared – none of that erased the arrangement. The paper still existed. The price still stood. He was still the one paid to be there.

You let him touch you like he owns you.
You go to him when summoned.
You let him mark you like you belong to him.

Est pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He wasn’t ashamed of sex. He wasn’t ashamed of needing, or wanting. But this –

This hurt. And he didn’t know where the pain ended and the guilt began.

When he finally rose, it was only because a knock came at his door. One of the night guards with a quiet message.

“The prince is asking for you.”

He almost said tell him I’m not coming. The words sat heavy on his tongue.

But in the end, Est nodded, and the guard left.

He changed slowly, methodically, every motion forced – belt, boots, jacket. He washed his face, ran his hands through his hair. Looked in the mirror and didn’t quite recognize the man staring back at him.

When he walked the halls toward William’s chambers, he didn’t let himself think. Not about the contract. Not about the aching want inside him. Not about how hard it had suddenly become to tell what was real.

Because William’s hands felt real.

His mouth, his voice, his damn tenderness – too real.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of it all.

Because even when Est wanted to pull away, when he told himself this was all arrangement and illusion and position – his chest still ached with the truth:

He had already started to fall.

And he didn’t know how to stop.

And he didn’t know how not to be angry about the injustice of it.

—–

When Est finally stepped into the prince’s chambers, the room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a few candles near the writing desk. The curtains had been drawn. Outside, the palace had long settled into its hush.

William stood near the hearth, dressed simply in a loose robe of royal blue, the collar slightly open, his hair damp from a recent bath. He looked up the moment Est entered – and said nothing.

The silence lasted just long enough to sting.

Then, softly, William asked, “Why didn’t you come?”

No anger. Just something that twisted in Est’s chest more sharply than any raised voice might have.

It wasn’t just a question. It was hurt. Quiet, uncertain disappointment – like William had waited with hope and it hadn’t been answered.

And there it was. The ache deepened.

Expected of him, Est thought bitterly.

He bowed his head, expression unreadable. “I apologize, Your Highness. I should have come as instructed.”

William flinched. “Don’t – don’t be like that.”

The sharpness in his voice startled even him.

He exhaled, hands falling loosely to his sides as if trying to shake something off. When he spoke again, it was steadier, softer.

“Est. Please. Just come here.”

Est didn’t move at first.

“I’m not angry,” William said. “I just… I thought we were past you standing at the door like a soldier waiting for orders. If something’s wrong, talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”

That made Est look up.

And for a moment, William saw it – all of it – in his eyes.

The storm. The hurt. The confusion. The deep-rooted shame William had never put there, but couldn’t quite reach to take away.

Est crossed the room slowly. Not out of obedience, but something far heavier. He stopped just within reach, gaze cast slightly downward, jaw clenched.

“I’m here,” he said, quietly. “But I don’t know what you want from me tonight.”

William blinked. “What?”

Est’s voice was flat. “Do you want me to kneel? To undress? Or will you talk first, and then fuck me after?”

“Est – ” William stepped forward, alarm flickering in his eyes.

But Est wasn’t finished. “I just need to know which part of me is needed. The man. Or the body.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

William stared at him. “Is that what you think this is?”

Est’s silence said enough.

And William’s breath left him in a quiet, wounded exhale.

He moved closer, very slowly, and reached for Est’s hand – not to pull, not to command – but to offer.

“Come sit with me,” he said. “Please. Just talk to me.”

——

The Crown Prince unfortunately is not done stirring his share of trouble yet. 

And Est doesn’t know how to accept all the things he feared and thought about himself being spoken out loud – with disgust. Especially since William so easily made him forget who or what he was to him before. But now with the words out in the open, the words are more real than ever.

Will Est pull away now? Will William be able to convince him that the words aren’t true? – Keep reading to find out.

Hope y’all enjoy the chapter. And as always, do leave me your thoughts in the comments.