Chapter 7

A very erotic tale.

William’s laugh was low and knowing. “That will do,” he murmured, rising. “And you needn’t pretend you didn’t notice what it was.”

That dark amusement was still in his voice as he led Est into the bathing chamber.

Steam rose in ghostly tendrils from the marble bath already prepared, its surface shimmering like glass. Candles glowed all around – their light pooling gold across William’s skin as he shrugged his robe off his shoulders and let it slide to the floor.

Est froze – pulse roaring in his ears – as he took in the prince’s body.

“You’ll read,” the prince instructed softly, untying his robe and letting it slip from his shoulders.

Est kept his eyes down as water lapped at the prince’s waist, but when he glanced up, William was watching him – mouth curved in something dark and satisfied.

“Start,” William prompted – leaning back against the bath’s edge, one long arm trailing through the water.

And Est did – voice careful at first, recounting the story of two lovers tangled in each other’s arms, hands and lips and breathless, whispered pleas.

Each sentence was more explicit than the last.

And all the while, William listened – gaze heavy-lidded and wicked, hands moving slowly, unabashedly over his chest and shoulders.

Est’s breath hitched – words faltering.

“You’re losing your pace,” William noted, his tone a teasing purr.

Est swallowed hard. “Forgive me, my prince,” he murmured – eyes dragging back to the page.

But gods, it was impossible not to look.

Est felt himself harden just watching him – could hardly concentrate on the words when those hands slid lower, gliding beneath the surface of the water.

“You’re blushing,” William observed – lips curving as his hands moved lower, hidden beneath the surface.

Est’s breath caught – eyes helplessly drawn to the prince’s shoulders, his chest, the slow parting of his knees beneath the water.

“Do you wish it were you?” William asked softly – his voice rich with amusement.

And Est’s mouth went dry.

By the time he glanced up again, breath trembling, William’s fingers were no doubt wrapped around himself under the water – stroking with a slow, unhurried rhythm that made Est’s heart slam against his ribs.

And the prince never broke eye contact.

“Keep reading,” William murmured – voice husky – though it was hardly an order as much as an invitation.

And Est obeyed, lips dry, eyes devouring him between sentences.

And William kept moving – hands stirring the bath water in slow circles as if savoring his own touch.

Est could not see clearly what was happening beneath the ripples and mist – only glimpses of a flexing arm, the subtle rise and fall of William’s chest, and the occasional husky catch in his breath.

And gods help him – his imagination ran wild.

William reclined further, water lapping as his palm moved – slower then faster – every rise of his breath as audible as every slick sound.

“Look at me,” he groaned softly – and Est’s gaze was trapped in his as surely as any chains.

By the time the story reached its most decadent passages – lovers crying out as they gave themselves over to pleasure – William was fully lost in it, muscles taut and head tilted back as he fucked his hand, water trembling around him.

And Est was trembling too – throat tight, every nerve on fire.

“You want to touch me,” William rasped – eyes glowing as they locked onto him.

“Do you want to see me come?” William murmured – and by then Est was gripping the pages so tightly they crinkled.

“You’d look so good,” the prince husked – gaze fixed on him like a predator savoring its next bite – “if you were the one making me feel this way.”

Est couldn’t speak – could hardly breathe – and when William finally came with a dark, broken groan that echoed in the misted silence, Est thought he might come too just from watching him.

When at last the prince slumped back, breath shivering through him, Est lowered the book – hands aching.

And William’s lips curved slowly.

“Your voice,” the prince drawled – gaze dark and satisfied – “suits such stories well.”

He ran a hand back through his wet hair, then gestured to him – a wordless summons.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured – voice threaded with heat – “you’ll read again.”

William let the silence stretch between them as he lay back in the bath, water lapping against his chest, hands trailing lazily across his own damp skin.

And all the while, those dark eyes stayed fixed on Est – slow, heavy-lidded, satisfied.

“Your imagination must be racing,” William murmured – lips curving as if savoring the taste of the moment.

“You must be wondering what it would be like,” he continued – gaze sweeping unabashedly down Est’s body, lingering like a touch – “if I pulled you in right now.”

And then, with a dark chuckle, he sank a little deeper into the water.

“You want to touch… see…” William said – and there was nothing teasing in his voice anymore, only a raw and undisguised hunger.

“You could,” he went on, “you could do more than touch – once you’ve given yourself to me properly.”

He let the words sink in – let Est feel them in his bones as the bathwater shifted around him.

“Tomorrow,” William reminded him – voice quieter now, but no less intense – “you’ll have one last day to decide.”

He reached up and ran one wet hand slowly through his hair, gaze never leaving Est.

“Sign,” he breathed – deliberate, deliberate – “and this is yours. My hands, my mouth, my body – all of it. Me. However you want, whenever you want. I’ll never stop you.”

A pause.

“Don’t,” he added, “and this is the closest you’ll ever come to knowing me again.”

Est swallowed, chest tight.

“Your Highness,” he began – but William only smiled.

“You may go,” the prince dismissed – voice a velvet stroke as he settled comfortably against the marble edge.

“You can take the book,” he added with a glint in his eye. “Read it tonight in bed. Let it keep you company.”

And then, as Est hesitated at the threshold, he spoke one last time – low and final:

“There’s one more day. Make up your mind.”

And with that, he waved a damp hand lazily toward the door – releasing Est into the hall and into the silence of his own thoughts, where the ghost of the prince’s voice and the phantom heat of his gaze would haunt him all through the restless hours of the night.

____________

That night, Est lay in his narrow bed – body still humming with memories he couldn’t chase away.

The prince’s voice.
The sharp dark look in his eyes.
The heated way his hands had disappeared beneath the bathwater.

And all the possibilities those hands had promised.

Yet, as the candlelight danced across the ceiling and the scent of lavender drifted in from the gardens, doubts began to settle into him like a slow, coiling mist.

He thought about the scroll tucked away safely in his chest – the elegant lines of the contract William had sent him the very next morning – and his hands went cold.

“You’ll want for nothing,” the prince had told him.

And gods, it was tempting – so tempting.

No debts.
No worry for his mother or siblings.
A place at the prince’s side – body and soul, just as William had promised.

And yet…

Est had never belonged to anyone before.

He’d spent years crafting himself into a soldier – independent, disciplined, proud.
And now he was being asked to give himself wholly to someone else.

Would he lose himself?
Would he even recognize himself after?

And there was something deeper too – an unease that settled into his bones the more he thought of the prince.

Not fear, exactly.
But awe.
And a strange sort of helpless craving that scared him as much as it thrilled him.

_____________

The next evening felt as though it would never end.

Est was pacing his modest quarters long after the light outside had begun to sink into a dusky orange, the contract still folded neatly on the corner of his desk. Every time he glanced at the parchment, his throat tightened.

He had read the prince’s terms over and over again, tracing the elegant, sure strokes of William’s hand.
The promises were bold and tempting – safety for his family, a comfortable life, everything taken care of.

And most dizzying of all: the prince himself.
His hands on Est.
His dark, knowing gaze, full of things Est had never had a name for before.

Est moved to the window and stared out at the gardens, hands gripping the ledge as if to anchor himself.

Why can’t I make a choice?

He thought of his mother’s tired face.
Of his siblings’ bright hopes – of the future they deserved.
Of the taste of wine and heat from William’s bath still lingering on his lips.

And then there was his pride – the stubborn soldier part of him that refused to bow too quickly, too easily.

What if this is a mistake?
What if I lose myself in him entirely?
And what if – Est’s pulse leapt – what if I want to?

He had intended to go, he told himself.
He’d risen from dinner resolving to see the prince at sunset.

Yet every time he reached for the scroll to leave, his hands froze.
The words blurred before his eyes, and a knot of unease settled deep in his belly.

A knock came at the door – light and measured.

Est tensed, breath caught in his throat.

When he opened it, one of the prince’s personal stewards was waiting. Immaculate as always, hands folded at his waist, expression smooth.

“His Highness sends word,” the steward began evenly. “If you have decided to accept his offer and sign, you are to come to his chambers tonight. If you have not decided, you need not come – the prince will take that as your answer.”

Est stared at him, fingers tightening on the doorframe.

“You mean…”

“That tonight will be your last opportunity,” the steward clarified with a small nod. “If you do not appear, then the matter is considered closed.”

That single, measured sentence hung between them like a challenge.
The steward inclined his head politely – then turned and disappeared into the hall, leaving Est alone with his thoughts.

He shut the door and leaned back against it, heart hammering.

The scroll was right there – crisp, rich with ink.
And all that was left was to sign.

If I go, it’s forever.
If I stay…

He had intended to go, he told himself.
He’d risen from dinner resolving to see the prince at sunset.

Yet every time he reached for the scroll to leave, his hands froze.
The words blurred before his eyes, and a knot of unease settled deep in his belly.

And so the hours slipped by.

First the fading light of sunset.
Then the deep blue of night.
And Est hardly noticed – not until the grandfather clock outside his door chimed softly, telling him it was already past the appointed hour.

More than two hours past.

He went still.
Heart thudding so hard it felt as though it might bruise his ribs.

He’d missed it.

And surely the prince would take his absence as a refusal.

A bitter taste filled Est’s mouth as he slumped into the chair by the window, head in his hands.

Maybe this is what I wanted.
Maybe I was never meant to belong to him.
Maybe I should feel relieved.

But all he felt was hollow.

Time dragged after that – slow and oppressive.

He didn’t bother to light the lamps.
He didn’t bother to change his clothes.
He didn’t bother to climb into bed.

He just sat and stared at nothing as the last traces of warmth bled from the room.

When he finally did doze off, it was a restless sleep – tangled in fragments of dark, restless dreams.

Dreams of strong hands gripping him.
Of a voice at his ear, low and commanding.
Of his name murmured like a promise in the dark.

And always – always – that fleeting feeling of something just out of reach.

__________

By dawn, Est still hadn’t slept.

He had spent most of the night staring into the dark, hands folded across his chest as if holding himself together. The parchment lay unsigned where he’d left it, ink capped and pen untouched. Every hour that passed had been a silent, unyielding confirmation: he hadn’t gone.

And now the morning light was a cool gray that crept across his windowsill – far too bright, too real.

He rose before the palace had fully woken.
Bathed.
Dressed in his royal guard uniform, fingers methodical as they smoothed and fastened every fold and buckle.

Yet as he paused before the door, a twist of uncertainty surged through him.
He wasn’t at all sure he’d made the right decision.

When he finally entered the prince’s wing, the corridors felt strangely hushed. The few stewards he passed greeted him with polite bows and moved on quickly, as though sensing some unspoken shift in the air.

And then he was at the prince’s chambers.

“Your Highness,” Est greeted as he stepped inside.

William was already seated at his desk – morning light turning his dark hair almost bronze as he bent over some papers. The air between them felt sharp and unfamiliar, as if something fragile had shattered and left jagged edges behind.

Est felt his stomach tighten.
He searched that gaze – those dark, beautiful eyes that had been so full of heat and promise just nights ago – and found them guarded.

The prince held his silence too long.
And for a breathless heartbeat, Est thought he saw something there: a flash of what could have been regret, or disappointment, or something more complicated.

William’s lips pressed together as if on the verge of saying something – something private and weighty – but whatever it was, he let it go.

He inclined his head instead, offering a small smile so faint and bittersweet that Est wondered if he imagined it.

“Good morning,” the prince said evenly.

And nothing more.

Est felt the absence like a cold draught at his heels.

He hadn’t realized until then how much he’d come to expect those lingering glances, the casual intimacy of their brief conversations, the easy way William had once drawn him into his world.

“Your Highness,” Est answered – careful, formal.

And that was how it was, for the rest of the day.

The morning was an exercise in careful silence.

William dictated his correspondence in a quiet, even tone, never looking to Est for more than what duty required.

William moved with his usual grace, conducting affairs of court and signing letters as Est stood at attention – near enough to feel the quiet power rolling off him, far enough that there was a glass wall between them.

When their hands brushed as Est passed him a document, the prince barely reacted.
When their gazes met across the room, they held for only an instant – distant and polite.

And yet…
Est caught the prince watching him when he thought himself unnoticed.
And once, as William dismissed a visiting noble, Est heard him exhale in a way that felt tired – almost wistful – though the moment was gone before Est could fully grasp its meaning.

Every easy familiarity they’d built over the last few days had vanished into some unspoken distance.

By midday, Est’s thoughts were knotted up tight.

He had expected to feel relief.
Freedom.

But what gnawed at him instead was the slow ache of something lost before it could begin.

And every time William spoke – measured, correct, cool – it reminded him of the deep, dark eyes that had once shimmered with unspoken hunger, and of hands that had once traced fire across his skin.

And yet, not once did William look at him that way today.

That aching emptiness only deepened when he thought about what might have been – about the way William had once looked at him, as if seeing not just a soldier, but someone he could possess and treasure.

And now that gaze was nowhere to be found.

By the time the day ended and Est was dismissed to his own quarters, he was aching with a kind of tired regret he couldn’t quite name.

He moved slowly through the halls, thoughts circling endlessly back to the same uncertain point – a door he had not dared to open, a path he had turned away from without truly knowing where it might have led.

And as he finally closed himself into the quiet of his own chamber, he thought he heard the distant sound of the prince’s laugh – light and fleeting – echoing faintly through the stone halls.

And for a long while, Est just stood there in the dark.

_________

That night, Est lay sleepless in his bed, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling, chest tight with something he couldn’t shake.

Regret. Want. Confusion.

His hands fisted the sheets beside him, breath shallow. No matter how many times he replayed the day in his head, it led back to the same bitter truth: he had chosen silence. Inaction. He had not gone to William. He had not signed.

And now?

Now the prince was distant. Courteous. Formal.

Untouchable.

Est hadn’t realized how quickly he’d grown used to the way William would look at him – those sly, dark glances full of intent. The quiet purr in his voice. The casual brushes of touch that had, somehow, burned hotter than most kisses.

But today, none of that had returned. It was like it had never existed.

And that absence – that void – was driving him mad.

Est rolled onto his side and pressed a hand to his chest, trying to still the thudding ache. He had spent years training his body to obey, to restrain, to follow orders with calm precision. But there was nothing calm about the way his thoughts kept circling back to William.

The way the prince had looked in the bath. The way he’d spoken. The way he’d offered himself so openly, so brazenly.

And the way he’d pulled it all back the moment Est failed to act.

He thought of the way William had laughed with a visiting diplomat today – easy, charming, radiant. And Est had hated it.

Hated the way the man looked at the prince like he wanted him. Hated the way William didn’t correct the subtle flirtation.

Est had stood there, still and professional, burning.

Possessiveness wasn’t new to him. He knew how to suppress it, ignore it, crush it with duty. But this – this was different. This was a sharp, aching pull he hadn’t expected. As if he was watching something that should have been his being handled like it was common.

And gods, it was his fault.

He hadn’t claimed it. He hadn’t signed. He hadn’t gone.

So he had no right to want anything.

And yet…

The image of William leaning back in that bath, stroking himself with Est’s voice in his ear, was seared into his mind. He’d seen desire before – but he’d never seen someone so utterly unashamed of it. So in control of it. So willing to give it – for a price.

Was it that easy? Was it simply the matter of signing?

He thought of the contract on his desk, untouched.

The promises were more than generous.

But it wasn’t the gifts that lured him. It was the thought of being wanted like that.

Of William pulling him down into silk sheets with hungry hands and a wicked smirk. Of the prince surrendering to him completely, only to take everything back the moment Est wavered.

And goddamn, he wanted it now.

He didn’t know what scared him more: that he’d said no to something he might never be offered again… or that deep down, part of him wanted to own and be owned like that.

Because it wouldn’t be just sex.

It would be William.

All of him.

And now Est wasn’t sure he would ever be offered it again.

He sat up abruptly, rubbing his face. The night was quiet, save for the faint shuffle of guards outside.

In his mind, he imagined William asleep in his chamber, golden skin flushed against sheets, long lashes brushing his cheeks. He wondered if the prince ever thought of him now. If he was angry. Disappointed. Indifferent.

The thought of William being indifferent to him sent a fresh ache through Est’s chest.

He paced. He sat. He stood again.

He kept thinking of how William had said, “If you don’t come tonight, that’s your answer.”

And Est hadn’t gone.

But gods, he wished he had.

And still – even now – he wasn’t sure if he would, even if given another chance.

Because the truth was, Est had spent so long holding his life together with rigid control that the thought of surrendering to someone – even someone like William – terrified him.

But it also thrilled him.

And as the candlelight burned low beside his untouched contract, Est wondered if it was too late.

If he’d already lost the only thing he’d ever truly wanted.

____________

Oh no – Est is still confused. And William has pulled away completely after the refusal.  What do you think will happen next? 

As always, I hope y’all enjoyed! 

Cheers!