Chapter 17

William’s kiss was deep and deliberate – a consuming thing, hot and hungry, like he’d been waiting weeks just to touch Est again. It stole Est’s breath, left him reeling in the prince’s scent, the press of his lips, the taste of him. It was everything he had missed, all wrapped in fire and velvet.

But then, too soon, William pulled back – just enough to leave Est gasping.

His hand lingered on Est’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly under his eye. “If I had time,” he murmured, voice rough with regret, “I’d have you right here. Against that desk. Against the floor. Wherever I could take you.”

Est exhaled sharply, heartbeat thrumming in his throat.

William smiled faintly, though there was tension in it. “But I don’t. I have another meeting in fifteen minutes.”

He stepped back fully, straightening his collar, then gestured toward the low trunk near the hearth.

“I asked you here because I realized… I’ve neglected you.” His gaze flicked up, softer now. “You entered into this agreement trusting me to fulfill certain promises. And I haven’t made good on any of them.”

Est followed his hand as he opened the trunk.

Inside were neatly folded silks, embroidered tunics, finely woven shawls, lacquered boxes of sweets and spices, a stack of gilded books, toys – a beautiful array of gifts, clearly chosen with care. Not just wealth, but thought.

“These are for your family,” William said simply. “And an allowance will be sent to them every month – it’s already been arranged.”

Est was still, lips parting slightly.

“Would it be possible,” he said after a moment, “for me to deliver it myself?” He looked up quickly. “Not that I don’t trust your men, but… I’d prefer they didn’t know. What we are. A palace guard showing up with money would answer questions I’ve never wanted asked.”

William blinked – and then let out a short, warm laugh. “Of course. I didn’t think of that.” He reached into a drawer at the desk, pulled out a thick envelope, and held it out. “Here. First month’s share. Spend it however you like.”

Est took it gingerly, thumb running across the seal – and then he opened it.

He inhaled sharply.

It was far too much.

“Your Highness,” he said, stunned. “This is – this is too much. I can’t take this.”

William only huffed, crossing his arms as if the entire objection was beneath him. “That’s a fraction of what I’d give if you asked.” He tilted his head. “It increases every year.”

“But – ” Est started, still reeling.

“No,” William said firmly, stepping forward again. “Don’t insult me by refusing what you’ve earned.”

Est held the envelope with both hands, grounding himself.

The prince wasn’t finished.

“I also arranged for your younger siblings to transfer to better schools – the best within the region, actually.” He shrugged a little, like it wasn’t monumental. “They should get the kind of education they deserve.”

Est’s throat was tight now. It was everything he could have wanted for his family. And more. Too much more.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said softly, voice taut with emotion.

He meant it – and didn’t, at the same time. Because somewhere in his chest, it didn’t feel like gratitude. It felt like something heavier.

Even as he accepted the gifts – smiling, polite, and thankful – something twisted deep inside.

He knew what he had agreed to. He had signed that contract with full knowledge of what it entailed – the money, the status, the role. But that had been before William had become something more. Before those eyes had turned soft at night. Before Est had fallen for the man behind the title.

And now, as he stood in a room filled with silk and silver and quiet generosity, he felt… cheap.

Not because of the gifts themselves – but because he couldn’t pretend it didn’t feel like a transaction.

He smiled anyway. Said thank you. Bowed, properly and formally. Took the envelope and the wrapped books and nodded when William said he’d have the trunk sent down to Est’s quarters that evening.

He stood tall.

And inside, something ached.

Because even kindness, when tied to power, could taste like control.

______

Est walked back to his quarters alone.

The envelope was tucked safely inside his coat, pressed against his chest like a stone he couldn’t quite shake. Behind him, somewhere up in those gold-tipped towers, the prince would already be moving on to his next meeting – another hour in velvet, another performance behind lacquered doors. Always in motion. Always distant.

He glanced down at the envelope again.

Too much.

He hadn’t even counted all of it. Just the weight of it in his hands had made his mouth go dry. More than his family had seen in years. Enough to buy a new roof for the cottage. Enough for boots that didn’t leak in the monsoon, for medicine that wouldn’t come too late, for his sisters to wear something other than secondhand uniforms at school. Enough for his brother to study full-time instead of working nights at the grain shop.

It was everything he could have asked for. Everything he would’ve killed to give them.

And yet.

The further he walked from William’s chambers, the heavier it sat in his chest.

Est didn’t think William meant to make him feel like this – like a servant being rewarded, like a good pet being given treats for obedience. No. That wasn’t the kind of man William was. His gestures, his care, his fondness – none of it ever came with a leash.

But that didn’t stop the feeling from blooming under Est’s ribs like something sour and aching.

He sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, the envelope still in his hands. His fingers itched to open it again, to double-check the amount, to make sure this wasn’t all some fever dream. But he didn’t.

Because he knew what it would make him feel again – that sharp, brief flicker of shame. Not because he was ashamed of needing help. But because he hated what it stirred in him.

He had agreed to this, hadn’t he?

He had read the contract. Signed it. Let himself be taken into the prince’s private guard – the unsaid implications, the quiet glances, the long nights that followed.

He knew what it meant to play consort behind closed doors.

He had known.

So why did this feel different now

Why did this feel worse?

Because somewhere along the way, William had stopped being just a prince. He had become his prince. His flame in the dark. His impossibility made real. His smile across a crowded hall. The man who held him close at night and kissed the side of his throat and whispered don’t leave yet when dawn came too fast.

And now, after weeks of distance, of aching silence, Est had finally been summoned – and instead of pulling him into bed, instead of warmth, instead of closeness – he had been handed gifts.

Expensive, thoughtful, generous gifts.

And a trunk full of silks he hadn’t asked for.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

He was being ungrateful. He knew that. He hated that he was even thinking like this.

William had done nothing wrong. If anything, he had done everything right. And maybe that was what made it worse.

Because Est had never known what it was to be cared for like this – to have his needs anticipated, to be looked after not just in bed but outside of it. Not just as a lover, but as a man. A brother. A son.

And yet… something in him flinched from it.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the quiet, awful realization that somewhere along the line, he had let his heart slip further than he should have.

Don’t fall, he had warned himself, back when this began. Want, but don’t hope. Care, but don’t dream. Serve, but don’t love.

But now?

____

Est didn’t light a candle.

He sat in the dim quiet of his room, barely illuminated by the dying coals in the hearth. The envelope was still on the desk, untouched, its pale paper catching the faintest glow like a thing alive. The silence pressed against his ears, loud and close. His fingers curled on the edge of his chair, knuckles white.

Am I falling for him?

The question came uninvited – like a splinter under the skin, like something buried long ago finally surfacing. And once it came, it wouldn’t leave.

He’d been careful. Or he’d thought he was.

He hadn’t let himself daydream, not too much. He hadn’t thought about a future – hadn’t let himself imagine things beyond the next evening, the next encounter, the next lingering glance. He hadn’t let himself want anything more than what was already given: the late-night kisses, the teasing, the affection that burned bright but never quite promised tomorrow.

But maybe that wasn’t true anymore.

Maybe he had started to want more. Maybe that was the problem.

Because if he hadn’t – why did it twist something deep inside him to be handed silks and money and gifts instead of time?

Why did he want the prince’s attention more than his generosity?

Why did it ache?

Est leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. He breathed in, slow and shallow.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He was supposed to be the composed one. The grounded one. The one who knew his place.

The one who didn’t fall.

Because falling for someone like William – a prince – wasn’t a simple thing. It wasn’t a sweet ache. It was a blade. A dangerous game with no guarantee of safety. It meant turning yourself inside out for someone who would always belong more to the world than to you. It meant stepping into the fire, knowing you couldn’t keep it.

And if Est had already begun to fall – if that was what this strange hollowness in his chest was, this unspoken longing, this tightness in his throat when he caught William laughing with others – then what the hell was he supposed to do with it?

He didn’t have an answer. And that scared him more than anything else.

Because affection he could survive. Lust, he could handle. Even a quiet, one-sided attachment – that too, he’d seen before.

But love?

Love was dangerous.

It couldn’t be bought or promised or tucked into an envelope with good intentions.

It meant vulnerability. Risk. Heartbreak.

And in Est’s world, heartbreak wasn’t just painful – it was costly. It meant stepping too far beyond your role and being reminded, brutally, where you stood. It meant knowing you were disposable – no matter how gentle the hands that held you.

He exhaled slowly, letting his palms fall away from his face. The room remained still around him.

He didn’t know if he was falling. Not for sure.

But he knew he cared.

More than he should.

More than what was safe.

And if this was what the edge of it felt like – just this ache, this confusion, this strange sense of not knowing where he began and where the prince ended – then the fall itself might just ruin him.

Est glanced toward the envelope one more time.

He would accept it. He had no right not to. He wouldn’t spit in the face of kindness just because he was struggling to accept it cleanly.

But as he lay back in bed that night, alone, staring at the ceiling while the scent of bergamot still clung faintly to the linen, he knew this much:

He was slipping.

And if he didn’t stop soon… he didn’t know how he’d ever climb back out.

_______

The days had grown longer, brighter – the royal capital soaked in gold as the weeks of preparation neared their end. Banners fluttered from every turret, floral garlands strung across gateposts, and the palace corridors echoed with the constant thrum of footsteps, music, and laughter.

And Est, for all intents and purposes, remained unchanged.

He fulfilled his duties with quiet precision. Greeted the prince each morning with a bow and a folded hand over his chest. Followed his every step through the flurry of meetings, inspections, and diplomatic briefings. He stood behind William at every event – a silent shadow of loyalty in the prince’s ever-moving world.

The gifts and money sent to his family had arrived without issue. His siblings were now enrolled in better schools; the little ones had new books and shoes and uniforms. His mother had sent a letter that smelled of old cloth and dried rosewater, scrawled with overwhelmed gratitude and trembling handwriting. The relief in her words had clutched something deep in Est’s chest.

He was grateful. He truly was.

But the unease never left him.

Some nights, as he lay alone in the quarters assigned to the royal guards, staring up at the carved canopy above his bed, Est couldn’t escape the feeling gnawing at him. That he’d crossed a line somewhere. Or that the line had never really existed in the first place – not for him.

That what was happening between him and the prince had started with a contract… but no longer felt anything like one.

And yet he said nothing. He carried on, steady and composed, even when his chest felt like it held a storm. Even when he caught glimpses of William in private moments – laughing freely with one of his siblings, or exhausted with ink-stained hands at his desk – and felt something tighten so sharp and sudden behind his ribs it made his breath catch.

Then came a morning, just a few days before the festivities were set to begin.

Est had taken his usual post outside the prince’s chambers, dressed sharply in full uniform, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade. His eyes were forward, posture perfect, the stillness of a soldier honed from years of practice.

But then the door creaked open and a page stepped out, bowing slightly. “His Highness requests your presence inside, Sir Est.”

Est blinked.

That was unusual. William was rarely alone in the mornings anymore. There were always advisors, scribes, or a younger sibling or two bouncing in and out of the room.

But Est simply nodded. “Of course.”

But when the door opened and he stepped into the room, what he saw sent a pulse straight through him.

The prince was alone.

William wasn’t dressed yet. He was lounging in a loose silk robe, the deep forest green one that brought out the vivid blue of his eyes. One leg was curled beneath him on the cushioned seat, a porcelain cup balanced in his hand, steam curling lazily from it. His dark hair was tousled like he’d only recently risen. The sight was devastating – intimate in a way Est was still not used to, even now.

There was no bustle, no parchment, no flurry of attendants.

Only him.

And when William looked up – his face softened instantly.

Not the mask of the prince. Not the calculating diplomacy of royalty.

Just… William.

Not the public smile, not the charming one he offered to dignitaries and councilmen – no, this was a private, lazy smile, meant only for Est. It pulled at something inside him immediately, painfully.

“Good morning,” he said softly, voice still husky with sleep. “Come here.”

Est hesitated only a breath, then crossed the room. He took the seat across from him – upright, disciplined, hands resting on his thighs, like always.

But something ached in him. Just the sight of the prince – bare-throated, hair slightly mussed, eyes bright with mischief – made his chest tighten. Gods, he wanted to touch him. Pull him in. Kiss him until neither of them could breathe.

But he didn’t. He knew his place. He always had.

William raised a brow at the distance. “That far?” he drawled. “Am I contagious?”

William sipped once more, then set his cup down with slow, deliberate elegance.

Est stayed quiet, eyes dragging over the soft fall of the robe, the pale thigh half-revealed beneath it. His chest ached with something far more dangerous than lust.

“I thought we were past all that.” William murmured.

Est didn’t respond – not with words. His jaw tensed slightly, eyes still fixed on the folds of the prince’s robe.

The prince set down his cup slowly. Then, with a feline sort of grace, he stood – Graceful. Barefoot. The robe parted slightly as he walked, showing a sliver of skin and the firm line of his thigh.

When William reached him, he didn’t speak. He simply straddled him – one knee on either side, lowering himself into Est’s lap without hesitation, without shame. His robe parted slightly at the motion, revealing bare skin beneath, and Est’s breath caught, sharp and low.

He didn’t kiss him. Didn’t speak. Just looped his arms lazily around Est’s neck and stared at him, eyes glinting.

Their mouths were inches apart.

Est tensed. His hands didn’t move. William’s nose brushed his. Breath against his lips. Not a kiss – not quite – just a dare.

“You’re being restrained again,” William murmured, voice velvet-soft. “Not even touching me. What is it today? Do I have to beg?”

Est groaned softly, the noise catching in his throat. His hands rose slowly, resting against the prince’s hips, thumbs pressing into the soft edges of skin where the robe slipped apart.

William’s lashes lowered at the contact. “There you are,” he said, almost smug – but the way his hips shifted in Est’s lap was anything but composed.

“I’m trying to be good,” Est replied, voice low and rough.

William smiled against his skin. “But I don’t want you good,” he whispered. “I want you the way you are when the doors are closed.”

“I missed you like this,” William continued, letting his lips barely brush Est’s. “Missed being close to you. Thought you might’ve gone soft on me.”

Est growled softly, one hand moving to William’s waist – gripping him, holding him in place.

“Do you not want to?” William asked then – quieter now, a thread of uncertainty behind the teasing. “You’re being… obedient.”

Est looked up at him – something dark flashing behind his eyes – and that was all the permission he needed.

Est crushed their mouths together in a sudden, searing kiss.

William melted into it instantly, gasping into Est’s mouth. It started as hard and hungry – lips crashing, mouths open, teeth grazing. Est’s hand slid up into William’s hair, fisting it to tilt his head just so. He licked into William’s mouth, tasting him deep, slow, demanding everything.

William groaned and arched into him, his hands tightening around Est’s shoulders as he chased the kiss, matching his rhythm, then yielding just as quickly – letting Est take whatever he wanted.

And Est wanted everything.

He devoured the prince’s mouth, tongue sliding deep and slow, kissing him like he had something to prove. He nipped at William’s bottom lip, then soothed the sting with a gentler kiss, all while his other hand slipped beneath the robe, finding warm skin at the small of William’s back.

William whimpered softly – not from pain, but pleasure. Surrender. He rocked his hips, grinding down slightly against the hardness forming between them. Est’s fingers flexed against his skin.

They didn’t speak. The kiss went on and on – slow, then fast, then slow again. Breathless. Dizzying. At some point, William’s robe slipped further open, exposing more of his chest. Est’s mouth followed, leaving a trail of wet, open kisses along the column of his throat, his collarbone, the sharp edge of his shoulder.

“You taste like tea,” Est murmured against his skin.

“And you taste like want,” William whispered, fingers threading into Est’s hair, tugging him back to kiss him again, tongue meeting his in a wet, lazy tangle.

They kissed like they hadn’t in weeks – like they had no idea when they’d get the chance again.

Est pulled him closer, one hand cradling the back of William’s neck, the other spreading wide against the prince’s bare back. William stayed perched in his lap, flush against him, breath coming faster now as they rocked together subtly, lips swollen and slick.

Eventually, they parted only because their lungs demanded it. Est rested his forehead against William’s, both of them panting. William’s eyes were heavy-lidded, cheeks flushed, a dazed smile on his face.

“You always kiss like you’re starving,” he breathed.

“Maybe I am,” Est replied, thumb brushing the corner of William’s mouth.

Then the tension between them shifted. No longer just hunger – it was need.

Est’s breath hitched as William adjusted himself, grinding down with more purpose, more pressure. Even through the layers, Est could feel the heat and hardness between them – his cock aching where it pressed against William’s bare thighs, and the prince’s body hot and pliant in his lap.

Then William moved – one hand slipping between their bodies.

Est caught his wrist instinctively, but William only smiled – that same private, princely smile that always made Est lose all sense.

“Let me,” William murmured, voice a breath against his lips.

He freed Est from his trousers in one smooth motion – slow, deliberate. The prince’s hand wrapped around him, warm fingers curling with reverence as he stroked once, twice, dragging a soft groan from Est’s throat.

William’s robe had slipped halfway down his shoulders, exposing one perfect, flushed line of collarbone and chest. His own cock was straining, trapped against Est’s stomach, and with every grind of his hips, the friction grew unbearable.

Their lips met again, messier now. Tongues tangling. William whimpered when Est’s hand slid under the silk robe and gripped his waist, holding him still while their bodies rutted together.

Skin to skin now, Est’s cock slid against the hot line of William’s own, both of them leaking, grinding together in a rhythm that grew faster, more desperate.

“Fuck,” Est groaned into his mouth, voice hoarse and low. “You’re going to make me lose my mind.”

“You already have,” William whispered, and then bit his lower lip – gently, teasingly – enough to make Est twitch in his hand.

Est’s fingers roamed – down William’s spine, over his ribs, cupping the curve of his ass as he rocked them tighter together. The prince’s body was hot, slick, and sinfully responsive, every breath catching as he arched into the touch.

Then – suddenly – Est froze.

His hands stilled. His mouth pulled just slightly away. And his voice, when it came, was rough but steady.

“Do you really have time for this?” he asked, the restraint in his voice trembling under the strain.

William looked at him, dazed and flushed, mouth red from kissing.

And then – that smirk again. Lazy. Laced with fondness. But when he spoke, his voice was quiet. Sincere.

“Even if I didn’t,” he said, “I wouldn’t let you stop now.”

That alone made Est’s jaw tighten, a muscle flickering near his cheek. But William leaned in closer, still grinding faintly against him, body slick and needy.

“I don’t have much time,” he admitted softly, hands sliding into Est’s shirt, palms flat against warm skin. “But I missed you. I needed you.”

His eyes met Est’s, burning.

“So why are you making me wait?” he whispered.

And that was all it took.

Est surged upward – kissing him like a man starved, pulling him tight, lifting his hips to thrust up against the prince’s cock again.

William gasped – head falling back, spine arching. Est’s mouth moved to his throat, licking and biting at the flushed skin there as his hands gripped William’s hips hard enough to bruise, guiding them into a fast, frantic grind.

Their cocks slid against each other – bare, slick, leaking – the heat unbearable, the need choking.

“I’ll give you what you want,” Est growled against his skin. “But you better not come until I say so.”

William moaned – breathless and ragged – nodding without hesitation, already trembling from the friction.

William’s smile was slow, a little breathless, eyes dark with want as he rocked once against Est’s cock – still slick, still hard, pressed against his own. Then he leaned in, kissed Est deep, slow, as if answering some question the guard hadn’t dared to ask aloud.

When he pulled back, he reached for the oil that always sat by the bedside – a silent understanding between them. Est didn’t move, just watched him – eyes blown wide, breath shallow – as William slicked his palm generously and reached between them.

Est exhaled harshly when that warm hand wrapped around him, spreading the oil, coating every inch.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

William’s robe slid off his shoulders, pooling around his waist as he slowly rose up on his knees, gripping Est’s shoulders for balance.

There was no ceremony, no teasing preamble this time – just William shifting, aligning himself, and sinking down with a choked gasp

Est’s head fell back against the chair. “Fuck – ” he breathed, grip tightening on William’s thighs as that tight heat enveloped him, inch by inch.

William groaned, low and shaking. His hands clutched Est’s shoulders, nails biting in as he seated himself fully, hips flush to Est’s.

They stilled for a breathless moment.

Est cupped William’s jaw, pulling him into another kiss – slower now, messy, hungry. Their chests pressed close, skin damp and heated, the pace languid at first as William began to move – rolling his hips in slow circles, getting used to the stretch, the fullness.

“You take me so well,” Est murmured against his mouth, one hand sliding down to grip his hip. “Like you were made for this.”

William moaned softly, grinding down with more pressure. “I am,” he whispered back. “You made me like this.”

The prince’s fingers dug into his shoulders, trembling faintly, lips parted against Est’s jaw.

Then slowly, Est began to move again – not with urgency, but with purpose. His hips rolled up in a slow, steady rhythm that had William gasping, his head tilting back with a breathless, broken sound.

Est’s mouth trailed kisses across the prince’s jaw, down his throat, and then he returned to his favorite spot – William’s nipples, already sensitive, already flushed. He suckled one, then the other, until William was writhing, helpless, moaning with each slow thrust that filled him to the hilt.

“Est…” William whispered, voice hoarse, “Gods – “

“Shh,” Est murmured, cupping the back of his neck, pressing their foreheads together. “Let me have you. Like this. Just like this.”

Their lips met again, messy and soft and open-mouthed. William’s hands framed Est’s jaw as he kissed him slow and deep, tongues curling, breath mingling.

And then Est adjusted his angle, pressing deeper, stroking just right – and William’s entire body arched into him, crying out, “There – please – Est – “

“You feel so good,” Est groaned, nipping at his lips. “Every fucking part of you…”

Est growled and bit gently at the prince’s shoulder. “…Mine.” He thrust up suddenly – slow, deep – and William gasped, clinging tighter.

The rhythm built – slow at first, teasing, until William found his pace, riding Est with increasing fervor. Est met him thrust for thrust, hands guiding his hips, dragging moans out of the prince with each angle he found.

“You feel..,” Est groaned. “So fucking tight. Look at you – “

William whimpered as Est sat up straighter, dragging him close by the small of his back – their chests flush, mouths tangling again in another desperate kiss.

The sounds of slick movement, skin meeting skin, soft gasps and deep groans filled the chamber.

When Est finally shifted forward and stood – still buried inside him – William let out a startled cry, arms wrapping around his neck.

Est carried him to the bed, laid him down without ever pulling out, and began to thrust in earnest – slow, deep, possessive strokes that had William arching, moaning, his thighs trembling around Est’s hips. He began to move faster now – still deep, still controlled, but with a growing intensity that left them both gasping.

“You’re mine,” Est whispered against his throat. “No matter who sees you, no matter what they say. Here, like this, you belong to me.”

William nodded, dazed and desperate, clutching at him. “Yes. Yours.”

“Say it,” Est rasped. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” William moaned, voice thick with need. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

That broke something in Est. He kissed him again, hot and desperate, thrusting harder now – chasing release, chasing that unbearable high.

And when they both broke – William with a strangled moan, Est with a deep, groaning release buried inside him – it was with mouths pressed together, bodies locked tight.

They stayed like that – tangled, panting, forehead to forehead, lips brushing, not quite speaking.

William smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. “You always know exactly what I need,” he murmured.

For a long time, they didn’t move. Only the sound of their breathing filled the room, their heartbeats slowing against each other’s skin.

Est pulled William close, still buried inside him, their bodies fitting like they were always meant to. He kissed his forehead, his cheek, his lips – slowly, reverently, like each press of his mouth could imprint a memory, a promise, a plea.

And William, dazed and flushed, whispered sleepily against his lips, “Don’t go.”

Est just held him tighter.

A few more moments passed – the kind of silence so intimate it hummed with things unspoken – before William shifted slightly in his arms. His voice came quieter now, tinged with a reluctant vulnerability.

“I wish I had more time,” he murmured, not looking at him. His fingers lightly traced Est’s collarbone, aimless, tender. “Not just this hour. Or tonight. I want more. I always want more.”

The ache in his voice hit Est somewhere deep – right between the ribs. A familiar weight settled in his chest, heavy and wordless.

But he said nothing.

Because what could he say? That he wanted more too? That he dreamed of it, hungered for it – but didn’t dare hope for it?

He didn’t answer.

Instead, Est kissed him.

Deep, slow, and consuming. One hand cradled the prince’s jaw, the other pressed flat against the small of his back, holding him in place as if by sheer force he could make time still. Their lips moved together – not rushed, not frantic – just long and lingering. The kind of kiss that said everything Est couldn’t.

William melted into it, sighing softly against his mouth, one hand curling into his hair, the other gripping his shoulder.

They stayed like that, just kissing, long after their bodies stopped aching, long after the heat cooled. Just two men, tangled in shadow and silk, suspended for a while in a world that didn’t quite belong to either of them.

Eventually, William’s head dropped to Est’s shoulder, his breath brushing his neck.

Neither of them spoke again.

Because in that moment, the silence said enough.

_____

The celebrations are starting soon. And with it with will come a whole flurry of drama and emotions.

How will Est navigate all these new feelings and emotions?  

For now, ENJOY the prince and his guard thoroughly ruining each other.

And as always remember to leave your thoughts in the comments.

Cheers!