Chapter 8

The next few days passed in a haze of strict routine.

Each morning, Est would rise before first light and dress carefully in his royal guard uniform. Every buckle was fastened precisely, every insignia gleamed – his hands moving with automatic skill while his thoughts roamed elsewhere.

And every day was the same.

He would take up his post outside Prince William’s chambers at dawn, trailing him like a quiet shadow as they moved through endless duties: council sessions, audiences with nobles, sword practice in the morning courtyards, formal dinners that stretched into the candlelit evenings.

And all the while, the prince kept him at a measured distance.

There were no more soft glances or lingering looks.
No light, teasing remarks or secretive smiles.
When William spoke to him at all, it was purely professional – as though whatever embers had glowed between them were now thoroughly doused.

Est told himself it was better this way.

And yet a hollow ache unfurled in his chest every time he caught some fleeting reminder – the familiar scent of William’s cologne as he passed close, or the sound of his rich voice curling into laughter with someone else.

And then one evening – as the sky outside burned orange and gold – Est was posted once more outside the prince’s private chambers.

He stood as still and disciplined as ever while servants and courtiers hurried past him.
And then his gaze caught a small procession approaching from the far end of the hall.

Two elegant ladies in trailing silk – their arms linked, their painted smiles coy – and behind them, a tall and exquisitely beautiful man with dusky eyes and a languid grace that spoke of practiced sensuality.

The steward at their head paused just long enough to give Est a polite nod before leading them onward, swinging the prince’s heavy door open to admit them into William’s rooms.

Est stiffened instinctively.

He told himself there was nothing unusual about the prince taking lovers.
That it was none of his concern.

And yet his stomach felt leaden.

The door closed behind them with a solid thud – and then, from behind its carved oak panels, the faint sound of laughter.
A voice – warm and familiar – that made Est’s heart twist painfully.

And soon enough, the murmurs inside gave way to other sounds.

Low, breathless.
Soft moans.
The creak of furniture as bodies moved together.

More followed – softer, tangled with laughter and the gentle rustle of silk and sheets.

He couldn’t make out who was making what sound.
But the very not-knowing only unsettled him further.

Est kept his chin up, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

His gaze fixed straight ahead – though his thoughts roiled and his chest felt too tight.

He’d known, hadn’t he?
That whatever strange and fleeting intimacy had sparked between them would not last.

And he was a soldier – trained to endure.
He would endure this too.

But gods, it hurt.

As the evening deepened into full dark and the noises finally subsided into quiet murmurs and fading laughter, Est remained outside the door – silent, statuesque, his heart beating a slow, dull rhythm against his ribs.

Est felt his chest tighten as he stared ahead into the torchlit corridor.
He kept himself utterly still – hands clasped behind him, shoulders squared – but inside, something small and fragile was crumbling.

Just a week ago, the prince had been leaning in close, his hands hovering over Est’s own, his eyes dark and heated as he whispered the most scandalous suggestions against his ear.

And now?
Now strangers moaned for him behind those doors as if none of that had mattered at all.

The noises continued in hazy waves – indistinct, unhurried – and Est felt something ugly knot in his gut.

How was it so easy for William to slip into new arms, to lose himself in unfamiliar hands as though he’d never once hungered for Est?

How could someone seem so captivated one day and utterly detached the next?

A faint sound – a sharp gasp followed by a softer sigh – threaded into his thoughts, making his skin prickle.

And Est felt small.
And foolish.
And – he realized with a hollow ache – just a little dirty.

He had thought himself special that night, had held onto those whispered promises like they were something rare.

And the prince?
The prince had moved on as if Est were just one more nameless face in a long, indulgent string of appetites.

He stared into the darkened hall, his jaw tense, hands trembling almost imperceptibly behind his back – trapped between duty and an ache that felt impossible to name.

And he wondered bitterly if he had ever truly mattered at all.

And when at last the guests took their leave – stepping past him in a waft of perfume and satisfaction – Est’s hands stayed steady at his sides.

He would do his duty.
And nothing more.

Yet as he held his post through the long watches of the night, his thoughts kept circling back – to the way William’s hands had once cupped his jaw so gently.
To the heat that had sparked between them when they’d kissed.
And to the unfamiliar ache that now left him feeling strangely empty.

_______________

That night, long after his shift had ended and the halls had grown silent, Est finally found his way back to his own quarters.

The tiny room felt unfamiliar as he stepped inside – a far cry from the grand marble halls and candlelit salons where the prince walked. It was quiet here, plain and bare, just a narrow bed, a washbasin, a chair.

And for the first time since entering the palace, it felt like nowhere near enough.

He pulled off his uniform piece by piece, hands moving quickly as if to rid himself of a weight that had become too much to bear.

And then, with a kind of trembling urgency, he scrubbed himself raw.

He doused a rough cloth in water and dragged it hard across his chest, over his arms, his hands.
Again and again, until his skin burned pink and tender.
As if he could wash away the faint scent of polished marble and fine perfume that clung to him.
As if he could erase every phantom touch that had marked him since the night the prince had first kissed him – promising him a world that had proven so very easy to take back.

The water ran cold, beads rolling down his trembling shoulders.
And still he scrubbed – into the hollows of his collarbones, over the muscles he had once trained so proudly.
The cloth scraped at him like penance, dragging up the sting of humiliation with every pass.

And all the while, that hollow ache in his chest deepened.

He thought of home – of his mother’s gentle hands and his siblings’ bright eyes.
Of the simple morning light spilling through the windows of their modest house, the honest weight of labor that earned them their bread.
And gods, he felt so terribly far from it.

What had he been thinking?
That he could mean something to someone like William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong – a prince with gold and power and a face so beautiful it was easy to believe every whispered promise?

Est paused, his hands trembling as they gripped the sodden cloth.
That night – that one perfect night – had already begun to feel like a strange, feverish dream.

And tonight?
Tonight had made plain what he was in this palace: a diversion.
A fleeting piece on the prince’s chessboard.

He felt his throat tighten painfully as he thought of his family and of how easily he’d been lured by soft glances and even softer hands.

By the time he finally set the cloth aside and collapsed into his narrow cot, exhaustion was already tugging at him.

And as his eyes slipped shut, one bitter thought clung like a splinter in his heart:

He was nothing more than a pawn – played, then forgotten.

The morning after was a trial Est felt wholly unprepared for.

He rose before dawn as always, moving through his motions with the practiced efficiency of a soldier.
He donned his uniform – its embroidered crest feeling strangely heavier than it had yesterday – and made his way back to his post outside the prince’s chambers.

And then, for the first time since entering royal service, Est kept his eyes carefully lowered when the prince appeared.

William emerged dressed impeccably in a dark tailored coat, his bearing as regal and composed as ever – yet Est could hardly bear to look at him.
He kept his gaze fixed on some unimportant point across the hall whenever their paths crossed.
He spoke only when spoken to, answered with measured politeness, his hands steady even though his heart thudded erratically in his chest.

And William, for his part, made no remark.

That strange, brittle silence held between them for the next three days.
Est remained close enough to do his duty, but never close enough to feel the warm ease that had threaded through their earlier encounters.

And though the prince never openly acknowledged the shift, Est thought – once or twice – that he caught a flicker of something like curiosity in William’s dark eyes.

By the morning of the third day, Est was sure he had nearly convinced himself to accept this new distance as permanent.

And then – just as he was leaving the prince’s study after a briefing – William spoke, his voice quiet enough that it stopped Est in his tracks.

“Est,” he called gently.

Est paused, his hand stilling on the polished wooden doorframe.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

There was a hesitation.
And then William asked, carefully – as though testing the words as they left his mouth:

“You’ve been quiet these last few days. Paler too. Are you feeling alright?”

Est’s pulse quickened – some fragile part of him aching at the softness in the prince’s tone.
He kept his shoulders straight and his gaze a respectful notch too low.

“I’m fine, Your Highness,” he replied smoothly. “Just tired.”

But the words felt hollow even as they left him.

And from the corner of his vision, Est thought he caught the prince’s brow crease – a fleeting shadow of concern that was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“You don’t look it,” William murmured.

Then, after a short pause that felt unexpectedly weighty:
“If there’s something troubling you, you can speak it. I wouldn’t have you hide it.”

That small, earnest crack in the prince’s polished exterior tugged at Est like a hook.
He felt his breath catch – an ache unfurling deep in his chest.

And still, his reply was careful, measured, and unyielding:

“There’s nothing troubling me, Your Highness. Only the duties you entrust to me.”

And before William could say anything more – before Est could risk betraying himself with a glance – he bowed low and withdrew, his boots echoing softly as he made his way into the hall.

Behind him, the prince remained in the doorway for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Est’s retreating back – and whatever thoughts crossed his face were unreadable to anyone who might have witnessed them.

______________

That evening, just as Est was preparing to settle into his quarters for the night, there came a knock at his door.

A junior steward – looking vaguely nervous – held out a handsome wicker basket brimming with fruit: ripe pears and oranges, small dark plums, a little jar of golden honey, even a few delicately wrapped pastries.

And tucked among them, a folded note, its seal unmistakably royal.

Est took the basket carefully, murmuring his thanks before closing the door.

The scent of oranges filled his modest quarters as he broke the seal and smoothed the note open.

Est –
Your face has been pale, your hands unsteady these past days.
Allow me this small gesture for your health and strength.
You need only take care of yourself – the duties will wait as long as they must.

W. J. K.

Est stared at the bold, decisive strokes of the prince’s handwriting, feeling his throat grow tight.

For all the cool distance Est had shown him – for all the shame and regret that had festered inside him since that night – William had noticed.
And he had cared enough to send this.

Est closed his eyes and held the parchment to his chest for a breath.
There was a bitter ache there, threaded through with a reluctant warmth that refused to be snuffed.

That night he slept fitfully – the scent of orange peel clinging to his hands, the prince’s measured concern ghosting through his thoughts.

___________

The next day, William had a council meeting with the Crown Prince.

The hall leading to the Council Wing of the inner palace was grand – all high arched ceilings and narrow, polished windows that threw golden light across the stone floor. Est followed a step behind Prince William, his posture straight, expression composed, every inch the devoted royal guard. His ceremonial uniform had been pressed to perfection, his sword gleaming at his side, his eyes sharp and quiet as they took in the surroundings.

Ahead, double doors were pulled open by two stewards, revealing the formal reception room beyond.

Inside stood Crown Prince James Kaewpanpong – lovingly referred to as Prince Jimmy – heir to the throne, eldest son of the king, and in every way William’s political opposite. He was broader in build than William, with slicked-back hair and the commanding air of someone who had always known the weight of power. His smile, as William approached, was practiced – friendly enough to pass for civility, but never quite warm.

“William,” the crown prince said, stepping forward. “You’re punctual, as always.”

“I do try,” William replied, tone light as he bowed his head in greeting.

They exchanged formalities with the elegance expected of royals – brief nods, brief smiles, each man standing just on the edge of performance and truth. Est remained a quiet shadow near the wall, just close enough to be ready should anything arise – and just distant enough to remind them he did not speak unless spoken to.

The conversation turned quickly to trade reports and council schedules. William’s voice was smooth, precise – utterly in control. And if Prince James noticed the quiet confidence with which William handled the business of governance, he made no comment on it.

But Est saw it.

And he saw something else, too – the way the crown prince’s gaze occasionally flicked toward him, lingering just a moment too long before returning to William.

By the time the meeting concluded, the sun had begun to slide lower through the arched windows, casting the room in warmer light.

William bowed politely. “Until next council.”

James offered a nod, his smile easy. “Of course. Don’t work too hard.”

William turned to leave.

Est followed.

They had just stepped into the hallway – the doors closing behind them – when James’s voice floated out from the entrance.

“Wait.”

Both Est and William paused as the crown prince stepped through after them, walking at an unhurried pace.

William turned smoothly to face him, brows lifting. “Was there something else?”

James’s gaze, however, didn’t land on his brother.

It landed squarely on Est.

Slowly – deliberately – the crown prince’s eyes traveled over him. Down and then up again. Est didn’t flinch, but he felt the way his shoulders tensed, the flicker of heat crawling at the base of his neck.

“Well, well,” James drawled, tone easy and amused. “You’ve certainly chosen a pretty one for yourself.”

Est went still. His jaw clenched.

William didn’t smile. “He’s my guard,” he said flatly.

James’s mouth curved into something between a smirk and a leer. “I was about to say he’d be more useful in a harem than a guard post.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then William – sharp and fast – stepped half a pace forward, chin lifted, expression steel.

“He could have you in a headlock in under a second,” he said coolly. “If I so much as gave the word.”

Est’s heart skipped – not from fear, but from the sheer fury in William’s voice. He saw the flash in the prince’s eyes – dark, protective, immediate.

James raised both hands, laughing lightly. “Touchy, touchy. I didn’t know your tastes ran so… defensive.”

William didn’t answer.

The tension hung.

Then James’s eyes slid back to Est – and this time, the smile he wore was edged with something colder.

“Still,” he said. “I wish I’d been there that day. I might’ve kept you for myself.”

Est’s shoulders squared.

His voice was low, clipped, but calm. “My loyalty belongs to my prince.”

James blinked – surprised, perhaps, that the pretty guard spoke at all. But Est didn’t waver.

He stood straight, unreadable, his eyes hard as steel.

And for the first time in the exchange, the crown prince faltered – just slightly.

Then he gave a single nod, still smiling faintly, and turned back toward the chamber doors.

“I’ll see you at the royal dinner, William,” he called over his shoulder.

William said nothing.

Only once the doors had closed behind the Crown Prince, did William exhale – sharp and tight, like he’d held his breath through the entire encounter.

He didn’t speak right away, jaw clenched, fingers flexing once at his side.

Est followed at a respectful distance, eyes cast ahead, until William muttered, voice low but tense, “He always knows how to get under my skin.”

Est glanced toward him, his expression composed, voice even.

“You shouldn’t worry yourself over me, Your Highness,” he said quietly.
“It isn’t worth it.”

William stopped walking.

Turned, just slightly – head half-tilted – as if what he’d just heard didn’t sit right with him.

His brows drew together, not in disbelief but in something sharper, something more personal.

For a second, he looked… offended.

His mouth parted, a reply caught behind his teeth. He looked at Est like he wanted to say something – no, needed to – but whatever it was, he didn’t let it out.

Instead, William gave a small, almost bitter exhale through his nose.

His eyes lingered on Est for a moment longer – unreadable, dark – and then he turned away without a word, walking ahead with clipped, deliberate steps.

Est stood still for half a beat, watching his back.

Then followed.

And in the space between them, something cold and unresolved settled in.

Not distance.
But something unspoken.
Something neither of them had yet dared to name.

____________

And then, that evening, as the deep orange of sunset gave way to the rich indigo of twilight, a royal summons arrived.

This time there was no polite suggestion – merely a crisp message that the prince wished to see him privately in his chambers at the ninth hour.

Est felt his heart thump against his ribs as he read the summons.
He stood in his tiny room for a long moment after, hands fisting slowly at his sides, his thoughts a tangle of unease and anticipation.

He dressed with careful hands – his plain uniform scrubbed and neat, his hair smoothed back, his shoulders squared – and set off through the torchlit corridors.

And all the while he wondered:
Would this be like the other nights? A chess game? Another contract? Another carefully placed seduction? Or something else entirely?
Or would tonight reveal something truer beneath William’s polished, unpredictable surface?

By the time he reached the familiar carved door to the prince’s private suite, Est’s pulse was a steady, muted drum in his ears.

He took one slow breath – then knocked.

The prince’s private chambers felt softer tonight – lit with warm lamps, the curtains drawn against the deep blue of the dusk outside.
When Est was shown inside, William was seated comfortably by a small, polished table, a delicate pot of steaming tea and two cups already waiting.

“Est,” William greeted him, his smile gentle as he gestured to the chair across from him.

Est bowed his head and took his seat, hands neatly folded in his lap.
“You summoned me, Your Highness.”

“William,” the prince corrected, voice warm with an edge of familiarity.
He took up the teapot and carefully filled both cups, then offered one across to Est.
“Please. Drink – I want you at ease tonight.”

Est accepted the cup with a murmur of thanks and a small, careful sip.
The tea was fragrant with mint and lemon – a quiet, thoughtful touch.

For a while they spoke of ordinary things – of Est’s recovery, his family’s wellbeing, his training, and the handful of duties he had taken on since joining the royal household.
William listened with his chin propped lightly in one hand, dark eyes steady and intent on him, making him feel strangely seen and unburdened at once.

“Have the duties been too much for you?” the prince asked at one point, brow faintly furrowing.

“Not at all,” Est assured him quickly. “Your Highness has been more than generous. The work is manageable.”

“Good,” William said – and his gaze held him there, unhurried and thoughtful.

And then, as the tea cooled and the easy small talk had been spent, the silence between them began to stretch – gentle at first, then weightier.

Est sat opposite him at a small round table, hands folded tightly in his lap, gaze fixed on a point just past the prince’s shoulder as if the darkened corridor beyond might rescue him.

But there was nowhere to hide.

The silence stretched between them like a bowstring, taut and trembling.

Est sat still, hands resting too neatly on his knees, every muscle tight with restraint. The tea in his cup had long since gone cold, untouched, forgotten. Across the small table, William sat with his hands folded loosely before him – too casual, too composed. And yet Est could see the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze drifted away for half a second too long before coming back, as if he were weighing a thousand thoughts and deciding which one to speak aloud.

Then – finally – the prince inhaled softly. And said, very quietly:

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

His voice was different now – low and open, stripped of its usual teasing edge. He stared down at his own hands, fingers briefly curling in on themselves before he looked back up, and for once, he didn’t wear that confident, unreadable mask.

“After the other night,” William murmured, “I told myself I wouldn’t reach out again.”

Est’s chest tightened. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare speak.

“But then today, I kept thinking about it,” William said – softer still, as though saying the words might undo him. “About you. About how quiet you’ve been since.”

He met Est’s eyes again – and this time, there was no performance in his gaze. No coyness. No pretense.

At last William shifted forward in his chair, his hands clasped loosely before him.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer, and threaded with something raw and tentative beneath its usual polished confidence.

“Est,” he began, eyes not leaving his face, “Tell me – why did you refuse to sign the contract?”

Est’s breath caught.

“You never had to, of course,” the prince continued quietly, as though to ease whatever unease he’d just stirred.
“You had every right to say no. But I must confess – I did not expect it.”
His dark gaze searched Est’s face as though hunting for a missing piece.

“I thought there was… something mutual between us. That whatever had begun that night was real – real enough to draw you back.”
He paused, lips parting as though to say more, then added in a softer voice that held a thread of vulnerability, “But perhaps it was only real for me.”

That admission hit Est like a tremor.

He lowered his eyes to his hands, his fingers flexing faintly around the empty cup as the silence deepened.

Est’s fingers twitched.

He wished – gods, he wished – he could say something to ease that faint, bitter curve at the prince’s mouth.

But there was too much at stake, too much still tangled in his chest to put into neat words.

And then, suddenly – like a blade laid flat against his skin – William’s gaze sharpened.

“Why?” the prince pressed – his voice smooth, low, deceptively gentle. “Why did you refuse? Tell me the truth, Est.”

Est’s breath felt too short, too thin as he fought for an answer.

And when none readily came, the prince shifted closer – leaning forward, hands braced on his knees, dark eyes fixed like they could see into him.

“Look at me,” William urged.

And Est did – meeting that intense, searching gaze and feeling his heart lurch in his chest.

“You owe me that much,” the prince murmured, “at least tell me why.”

And something in Est finally broke loose.

“You make it sound like it meant so much to you,” Est blurted – his voice shaky, yet laced with the quiet accusation he hadn’t even known had been coiled inside him.

His hands bunched into fists.

“But if it did,” Est went on, eyes burning into William’s, “then it didn’t seem to stop you from having someone new in your bed within days.”

The prince froze.

Est held his gaze, breath coming faster now – heart thudding with all the things he’d never meant to say.

“You told me you thought about that night,” Est continued, voice lowered, trembling. “That you had been hoping.”

He swallowed hard.

“I thought maybe you were telling me the truth. But it was easy for you to replace me, wasn’t it?”

The words tasted bitter, but they left him feeling strangely lighter too – like a festering wound finally uncovered to the air.

There was a charged silence.

And then – so sudden that Est actually flinched – William laughed.

A sharp, bright sound that cut through the tension like a knife.

Est stared, utterly thrown.

And the prince – still chuckling lowly, shaking his head as if at some private joke – met Est’s eyes with an expression that was far less wounded than it had been a heartbeat ago.

“Oh,” William drawled, a slow, wicked smile tugging at his lips as he studied Est anew – like he was seeing him for the first time.

“You thought I had taken a new lover,” he purred.

Est felt his face heat, uncertainty churning in his gut.

“Yes,” he managed, voice quiet. “I heard…”

“You heard,” William echoed – amusement glinting in his gaze like sunlight off a blade.

And then he was leaning in, close enough that Est could feel the faint warmth of his breath.

“That was never a lover,” the prince murmured, voice like dark velvet. “That was a performance, Est. For you.”

Est’s heart stumbled.

“You…” he breathed – brow knitting.

And William’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

“I was hoping for some reaction,” he confessed, eyes fixed on Est as though savoring every flicker that crossed his face. “Some jealousy. Some spark.”

A quiet hum of satisfaction slipped from him.

“But you gave me nothing,” the prince went on, fingers reaching up to trail oh-so-lightly along Est’s jaw – his touch just a ghost of heat on his skin.

“Or so I thought,” William whispered, eyes dark and bright as they held Est captive.

“Yet here you are,” he continued softly, leaning back in his chair with an elegant ease. “And only now do I see what you kept so carefully hidden.”

Est’s heart thudded in his ribs – an aching, dizzy rhythm.

And he couldn’t seem to look away.

“You were jealous,” William concluded – voice rich with discovery and a kind of dark triumph.

“Weren’t you?”

Est’s mouth was dry.

He opened his lips, and then – somehow – forced the words past them.

“I – “

His breath hitched.

“I thought,” Est began, a flush rising in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat of the fire, “that I was just one of many.”

His hands flexed against his thighs as he fought to keep his voice steady.

And then – a small, trembling exhale –

“I thought that was what princes did.”

The silence between them was different this time – taut with something that wasn’t pain anymore, but a kind of charged possibility.

And slowly – savoring the moment – William reached across the table.

This time, his touch was no fleeting graze but deliberate – warm fingers curling around Est’s wrist, thumb brushing his pulse.

“You have no idea,” William murmured – his voice lower now, dark and intent – “what I’d do to prove you wrong.”

And as Est’s breath caught at the promise coiled in those words – and in the prince’s gaze – he felt some of his guarded resolve slip, melting into the charged heat between them.

______________

Hmm William is more possessive that he lets on it seems – The Crown Prince has definitely picked up on the soft corner he has for his bodyguard.

Will this convince Est to finally try getting the Prince back?  Or maybe, just maybe, William will offer him the contract once again?

Keep reading to find out.

And as usual, I hope you ENJOY!