Chapter 32

William had not slept the first night Est went missing.

William lay in his chambers with the fire burning low, staring at the empty space by the window where Est usually lingered like a silent shadow. The silence pressed in too close, too heavy. Est always said nothing, but William had grown used to the faint scuff of boots on stone, the steady breath just at the edge of hearing, the comfort of knowing he was watched over.

But now, the space was hollow.

He paced his chambers until his legs ached, checking the corridors, the courtyard, even the stables, foolishly telling himself Est might have slipped away for some air. But the silence pressed down harder with every hour. By dawn, there was still no sign of him.

He told himself Est was strong, that maybe he’d gone on some task he hadn’t mentioned. Yet the knot in his stomach wouldn’t loosen. Est had promised – in that steady, unwavering voice – that he wouldn’t leave William alone, not with Kenta hovering around. He’d meant it. William had seen the sincerity in his eyes.

So where was he?

He told himself at first that maybe Est had been called away – perhaps sent to stand guard elsewhere. Yet the longer he waited, the more his chest tightened. He went to the door once, then twice, demanding the attendants find out where his guard had gone. No one had an answer. Some looked puzzled, others whispered, but no one met his eye directly.

That was when the first coil of unease wound around his heart.

Sleep never came. He tossed restlessly, haunted by the possibility that something had happened. By morning, the hollowness in his chest had curdled into panic.

______

The days blurred together after that, marked only by fruitless searches and the sickly weight of disappointment. William scoured the palace halls under the pretense of routine inspections, always watching, waiting for a familiar face to appear among the guards. Nothing.

The palace was vast, but William searched it anyway. Corridors, courtyards, practice yards, barracks. He questioned guards – one after another – but they exchanged glances and gave evasive answers, as though there was something they were not allowed to say.

“Dismissed on duty.”
“Reassigned temporarily.”
“He’s… away.”

Each half-answer stoked William’s fury. He stormed into meetings with the councilors, demanded explanations from the captain of the guard. But he was met with politeness, a veil of empty words.

He even went to his mother, the Queen.

“You’re fretting needlessly,” she said, voice smooth as polished glass. “Soldiers come and go. Do not become too attached.”

Too attached.

The words cut sharper than intended. He left her chambers in a storm, fists clenched, heart hammering. He couldn’t tell her the truth – that it wasn’t just about a soldier, not just about loyalty. Est was more than that. He had become the one constant in William’s fractured life, the one presence he had begun to… rely on.

The longer Est’s absence stretched, the more William’s mind spiraled.

_____

The nights were the worst.

He would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, the emptiness beside him unbearable. He could still feel Est’s warmth from nights past, the press of his hand against William’s shoulder, the roughness of his palm. He replayed their moments again and again, clutching them like fragments of glass – sharp, painful, but all he had left.

By the third night, dread began to settle in.

What if Est had left? Withourt telling him…

The thought burrowed deep and poisonous.

He remembered Est’s silence, his hesitation every time William pushed too close, too far. He remembered the words William himself had spoken in the library – that Est should go, set his priorities, and only return if he chose William with certainty.

What if Est had taken him at his word?

What if he had simply walked away, deciding William wasn’t worth it after all?

The more William tried to dismiss it, the more the fear gnawed at him.

That was when James began to appear more often.

Always with a sympathetic smile, always with some sly comment:

“Not all guards are as steadfast as they pretend.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best. Soldiers like him are never truly loyal.”
“You shouldn’t torment yourself with someone who chose to vanish.”

At first, William snapped at him. He told him to shut his mouth, to leave him alone. But James was persistent, always lingering, always pressing. And the court – hearing whispers, seeing William’s agitation – began to echo the same poisonous doubts.

Maybe Est had abandoned him.
Maybe he wasn’t coming back.

The thought hollowed William out more than he cared to admit.

______

And then came Kenta.

He appeared with his practiced smile, all gentle tones and false concern, asking how William was coping, whether he’d eaten, whether he wanted company. William could smell the intent under every word, feel the way Kenta’s gaze lingered, too soft, too familiar. One evening, Kenta lingered longer than usual, pressing a cup of wine into William’s hand.

“You don’t need to torture yourself, you know,” he murmured, sitting too close. “Some people… are simply not who we think they are. I tried to warn you.”

William’s grip on the cup tightened, but he said nothing. His chest burned with irritation, not at Kenta’s words but at how desperately he wanted to deny them. To defend Est. To shout that he knew him better than that.

And yet – how could he? What evidence did he have, except for his own fragile trust?

Kenta reached for his hand then, gentle, practiced, as though he still had a right. William pulled away, but the gesture lingered like oil on his skin.

And James.

Always careful, always respectful, but there at every turn. Quiet words, heavy with suggestion. You look tired, brother. Perhaps don’t hope too much. Sometimes people leave when the burden becomes too heavy. He was only a guard, after all. You cannot expect loyalty when temptation calls them elsewhere.

He never said Est’s name. He didn’t need to.

The poison seeped slowly, drop by drop. William fought it, but doubt clung like smoke in his lungs.

Because truthfully, he couldn’t explain Est’s absence either.

At night, alone in his bed, he turned the words over and over, feeling the sheets cold where Est should have been. He replayed their last night together, Est’s warmth against him, his low promise: I’m not going anywhere.

Had it been a lie?

He tried to remember the conviction in Est’s eyes, but with every passing day, the memory blurred. He tried to hold on to the heat of Est’s hands, the safety of his presence, but each night it slipped further away, leaving only emptiness.

And in that emptiness, James’s words echoed louder. Kenta’s gentle persistence felt harder to push away.

Still, somewhere deep, William clung to the idea that there had to be another explanation. Est wouldn’t abandon him. He couldn’t.

But what if… what if William had been wrong all along?

The uncertainty ate at him until he no longer knew which thought was his own, and which had been planted in him.

_____

By the end of the first week, William stopped sleeping entirely.

He paced the halls at night like a restless ghost, searching corners of the palace no one thought to look. He sent discreet messages to riders, asking if anyone had seen a man matching Est’s description on the roads beyond the city.

Nothing.

Each day, he grew more gaunt, more furious, snapping at attendants, slamming doors. He stopped attending half his duties, too consumed with the absence that gnawed at him.

Somewhere between exhaustion and desperation, he began whispering to himself at night – He’ll come back. He promised. He wouldn’t leave me like this.

But with every passing dawn, his certainty thinned.

And in the cold, lonely dark, William began to wonder if James was right – if Est had left of his own choosing.

And if that was true… then perhaps William had been a fool to believe he could be loved at all.

______

Meanwhile,

The air in the cellar was damp, heavy, and bitter with the stink of old water and mold. Stone walls pressed close, swallowing every sound except the occasional drip from somewhere in the darkness.

Est sat slumped against the wall, wrists raw beneath the bite of his shackles, the cold seeping into his bones like a second skin. His body ached in deep, throbbing waves, the bruises layered over one another until it felt like even breathing pressed against pain. His lips were split, the metallic tang of dried blood constant on his tongue.

The first day, he had fought the guards when they shoved him down, teeth bared, refusing to give them the satisfaction of fear. He had spat their mockery back in their faces, even when it earned him a blow to the stomach that left him gasping for hours.

But as the days stretched, the fight drained. Not because he yielded, but because his body was betraying him. Sleep came in fragments, broken by dripping water and scurrying rats. He clung to memory to survive – the sound of William’s laugh, the warmth of his hand on his arm, the press of his lips that still burned against his mouth.

The first day in the cellar was bad.

The second was worse.

Est had learned to ignore the damp smell, the faint scurrying in the shadows, the cold stone that never warmed beneath him.
But hunger was harder. The constant thirst even harder still. They gave him just enough to keep him breathing – a chipped cup of stale water, a crust of bread so dry it scraped the roof of his mouth.

Est had long since stopped straining against the chains biting into his wrists – each time he did, they cut deeper, slicking the metal with his own blood. His arms throbbed with the ache of being bound above him for days, shoulders burning from the strain, ribs screaming with every shallow breath.

It was impossible to tell the time. Sometimes he thought he could hear footsteps above; other times it was just the thud of his own pulse in his ears.

When the heavy door groaned open, the sudden shaft of torchlight was almost blinding.

James stepped in first, his silhouette sharp against the glow. Behind him, Kenta followed at an unhurried pace, dressed like he’d come straight from some leisurely evening engagement – rings glinting, hair neatly tied back. Their boots clicked on the wet stone as they approached, and Est tensed despite himself.

“Still alive,” James remarked, as though Est were nothing more than an animal whose resilience he mildly admired. “You’re tougher than I thought. But you’re making things difficult for yourself.”

Est’s voice was hoarse, his throat raw from thirst. “…Where’s William?” The words were barely audible.

James smiled without warmth. “Far away from here. Living his life without the nuisance of a disobedient guard dragging his name through the mud.”

A pulse of disbelief tightened Est’s chest. That didn’t sound right. William wouldn’t… he wouldn’t just –

But James stepped closer, crouching until they were almost face-to-face. “He’s not coming for you. He doesn’t even know where you are. Do you think the queen would tell him? Or that anyone else would risk their position to send word? No… He probably assumes you’re long gone. Out of the picture.”

The words were soft, almost pitying, which somehow made them worse.

Kenta’s voice slid in like oil over water. “Gone, yes. And conveniently, I’ve been there to… ease the transition.” He smiled faintly, as though sharing a private joke. “You’d be surprised how warm he can be when he’s not wasting himself on hopeless causes.”

Est’s vision swam – anger spiked hot, but his body was too exhausted to hold onto it for long. He searched Kenta’s face for any crack in the façade, any hint this was a lie, but the other man just tilted his head, studying him like a predator savoring a slow kill.

“Careful,” Kenta murmured, circling behind him, “you’re shaking. Don’t tell me you’re worried I’m telling the truth.”

James straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. “Why wouldn’t it be? You’ve given him nothing but trouble. The moment you were out of the way, he could see sense again.”

Est wanted to laugh – wanted to spit in their faces – but the thirst clawing at his throat made even breathing painful. Instead, the thought came unbidden, unsteady:

What if they’re right? What if he believes I left?

He remembered William’s hands, warm against his neck; his voice, fierce with promise – I’ll fight for you every day. But promises were only as strong as the chances to keep them. And if William thought Est had abandoned him, why would he fight at all?

Kenta leaned closer, close enough that Est could smell the faint spice of his cologne, utterly out of place in this rot. “He doesn’t speak your name anymore,” he said softly, like an intimate confession. “He doesn’t have to.”

Something twisted low in Est’s gut – fury and grief tangling until he couldn’t tell one from the other. He wanted to break Kenta’s jaw, to shatter that smug curve of his lips. But his wrists were raw and bloody in the shackles, and every movement made his head throb.

James glanced at Kenta, as if sharing the pleasure of watching him unravel. “We’ll let you think on it a little longer. Who knows – maybe you’ll come to your senses and beg for the chance to apologize to the right people.”

When they left, the door slammed shut, snuffing the light, leaving Est alone with the sound of his own uneven breathing and the poisonous echo of their words.

He tried to push them out, to focus on anything else – William’s smile, the way his laugh caught on the edge of disbelief – but the doubt crept in again, insidious.

Why hasn’t he found me?

Silence settled like a weight, thick and suffocating. The damp, cold air pressed against Est’s skin, raising gooseflesh. His body throbbed with the deep ache of untreated bruises; every breath burned down his ribs. He lay slumped against the rough stone wall, his wrists raw from the constant grind of the shackles.

He told himself Kenta was lying. That William wouldn’t – couldn’t – just believe he had left. That the prince would never let days pass without searching. But the thought wouldn’t stay steady. Every time he tried to clutch it, James’s words slithered back in.

He’s not coming.

The first day, Est had waited. Counted the hours. Listened for footsteps that never came.

The second, he’d still believed – telling himself the prince was just delayed, that something had held him back.

Now… how many days had it been? Six? Seven? His sense of time was shattered. Hunger had gnawed at him until there was nothing left to gnaw but pain. His lips were split. The trickle of water they tossed him once in a while only kept him conscious enough to feel everything.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to picture William’s face – anything to anchor himself. The way his eyes softened in rare moments. The way he’d lean in just a fraction when Est spoke. The way he kissed like he meant it.

But then Kenta’s smirk pushed in, crowding out the memory, whispering filth about the prince’s bed being warm again.

A dull tremor ran through Est – not from cold this time, but from the sharp, unfamiliar sting of doubt.

What if he thinks I left because I wanted to?
What if he believes them?
What if… he doesn’t care?

He hated himself for even thinking it. William had been the one thing – the only thing – in the court who’d made him feel alive. And yet… the longer the silence stretched, the harder it was to ignore the small, ugly voice asking if he’d misjudged him all along.

His head tipped forward, heavy with exhaustion. His body screamed for rest, but his mind wouldn’t let him sink fully into it – not when every sound from the hallway made him flinch, bracing for James’s mocking drawl or Kenta’s honeyed venom.

When sleep finally took him, it was restless, broken by visions of William standing just beyond the cellar door, looking at him – not with relief, not with anger, but with indifference.

______

Days later, James visited again.

The door opened with a groan of metal, and Est dragged his gaze up, blinking against the sudden torchlight. The prince’s brother stood framed in the doorway, face carved from ice. He stepped inside, followed by two guards who lingered behind him.

“Well,” James said softly, almost as if to himself. “So this is what loyalty amounts to, isn’t it? Shackled like a dog in the dirt.”

Est kept his silence, his body taut.

James crouched before him, close enough for Est to see the faint smirk curling his lips. “You’re wondering why William hasn’t come. Why he hasn’t torn the castle apart looking for you. Shall I tell you?”

Est glared, jaw locked tight, but his chest tightened despite himself.

“He thinks you’ve left,” James whispered, leaning closer. “He believes you abandoned him. Isn’t that fitting? After all, you always claimed you were nothing but his guard, his shadow. Shadows disappear. He’ll never look for you in these dungeons.”

The words sank like knives. Est’s fists clenched, the skin of his knuckles raw from earlier chains. “You lie.” His voice was hoarse, cracking.

James’s smile widened. He motioned, and one of the guards stepped forward, driving a fist hard into Est’s gut. He gasped, doubling over, bile burning his throat. James’s hand gripped his chin, forcing his head back up.

“Am I lying?” James asked almost gently. “Then why has he not come?”

Est’s breath shook, fury blazing through his veins. “He will,” he rasped. “He will come.”

James only chuckled, rising to his feet. “Keep telling yourself that.” He turned, leaving Est heaving in the dirt.

That night, Est could not sleep. His ribs ached, his body screamed, but worse was the echo of James’s voice. Why has he not come? He tried to recall William’s face, the warmth of his smile, the stubborn devotion in his eyes. He whispered it to himself in the dark, like a prayer, forcing himself to believe.

The next day – or perhaps the one after, time blurred together – the door opened again. This time, Kenta walked in.

He was smiling, but it was a cruel, self-satisfied smile that made Est’s blood run cold. Unlike James, who wielded words like blades, Kenta carried a blunt ugliness with him, savoring the spectacle of Est brought low.

“Look at you,” Kenta said, stepping close, his polished boots scraping the stone. “I can hardly recognize the great, loyal dog of the crown. Pathetic.”

Est forced himself not to respond.

Kenta crouched, close enough that Est could smell the wine on his breath. “Do you know where William is right now?” His grin widened, eyes glittering with malice. “In my bed. Where he belongs. He doesn’t even whisper your name anymore.”

Est’s chest seized. He stared at the ground, refusing to look at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Ah,” Kenta laughed softly, “that silence tells me everything. Do you doubt him now? Do you wonder if I’m lying? Or worse – if I’m telling the truth?”

Still Est said nothing. His fingernails bit into his palms, his whole body trembling with restrained rage.

Kenta tilted his head. “I should thank you, really. With you gone, it was so easy to step back into place. To comfort him. To remind him how unworthy you are. Do you think he would choose you over me? Over someone of his station?”

That tore a growl from Est’s throat. His head snapped up, eyes blazing. “You dare – “

The blow came hard across his face, Kenta’s ring slicing his skin. Est reeled, tasting blood.

Kenta laughed, low and delighted, and struck him again, this time with a vicious punch to the stomach. Est collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.

“You’re nothing,” Kenta hissed, his voice vibrating with cruel pleasure. “And soon William will see it too.”

He kicked Est hard in the side before standing, brushing imaginary dust from his clothes. “I’ll visit again. I enjoy seeing you like this.”

When the door closed, Est was left writhing on the cold stone, blood dripping from his split lip, his ribs burning. He tried to push himself upright, but his body wouldn’t obey.

William wouldn’t… he thought desperately. He wouldn’t believe them. He wouldn’t let this stand.

But the doubt gnawed at him, cold and merciless. Each day without rescue, each cruel word from James, each mocking laugh from Kenta carved into him deeper than the bruises.

At night, when the cell grew deathly silent, he whispered William’s name under his breath. He tried to remember the warmth of William’s body against his, the sound of his laughter, the way his fingers tangled with his hair. He clung to those memories as if they were fire, as if they could keep him alive.

But his body was weakening. No food, barely water, and endless beatings left him raw and trembling. Sometimes, in the dark, he thought he saw William’s face in the corner of the cell, reaching for him. Sometimes he thought he heard his voice, soft and insistent. Other times, the hallucinations twisted into nightmares – William turning away, walking into Kenta’s arms, whispering that Est had abandoned him.

The confusion clawed at his mind as sharply as the hunger.

Did William know? Did he care? Or had James spoken true – that he believed Est had left him for good?

Est curled into himself on the freezing floor, shivering, whispering William’s name again and again, as if that alone could anchor him to reality.

But with each passing day, the name felt fainter on his lips.

—–

William drifted like a ghost through the palace halls.

Kenta was there, every evening, every morning, like a shadow determined to reclaim a space he no longer deserved. He would slide into William’s chambers under the pretense of concern, offering him food, drink, company. Sometimes he reached for William’s hand too easily, too confidently, as though Est’s absence had already unraveled everything between them.

“William,” Kenta murmured one night, as they sat near the fire, his fingers brushing against William’s wrist. “You don’t need to suffer alone. I was here before. I know what you need. I can take care of you again.”

The words landed like stones, heavy and choking. William pulled away, quietly, but the damage had been done. His chest burned with something hot and defensive, because the thought of anyone but Est touching him felt like betrayal. Yet Kenta smiled, satisfied with the crack he thought he had made.

James, meanwhile, played his game more slowly. He would join William in the library, in the stables, at meals, always casual, always kind. A brother’s concern. A steadying hand. And yet his words dripped poison, sweetened with patience.

“You know,” James said one evening, pretending to study a ledger, “Est was never bound to you. You gave him no oath, no chains. He was free to leave whenever he wished. Perhaps he grew tired of court life. Perhaps he realized he was never meant to stand at your side.”

William clenched his jaw. “He told me he wasn’t going anywhere.”

“People say many things, especially in the heat of loyalty… or lust,” James replied, his voice quiet, careful. “But when faced with the burden of staying, the burden of being yours against the tide of politics and family? Perhaps he chose differently.”

The words echoed long after James had gone. William sat awake until dawn, staring at the last place Est had sat in his chambers, searching for traces of him – a faint scuff on the floor, a forgotten thread, the memory of his warmth.

And yet, doubt grew. It clawed at him, even when he tried to banish it. Est was stubborn, yes, but Est was also proud. Had William’s constant battles with his mother, with James, with the court, finally been too much? Had Est left because he could no longer endure it?

But no – his heart rebelled at the thought. He remembered Est’s eyes, the way they had darkened, firm and steady, when he’d said, “I’m not going anywhere. Not while he’s here.” He had meant Kenta. He had meant every word. William knew it.

So why had he vanished?

The palace began to feel colder, heavier. He searched for traces – questioning attendants, demanding answers from the guards. Each one swore ignorance. His brother’s patient sighs and his mother’s cool dismissal made it worse.

“You can’t cling to someone who has chosen to walk away,” James told him softly one afternoon, clapping a hand on his shoulder as if consoling him. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

And yet… a seed of suspicion had begun to sprout in William’s chest.

If Est had left, truly left, why had he not come to say goodbye? Why no word, no message, no explanation? Est was not a man of cowardice. He would not vanish into silence.

And Kenta – always there, always pressing – too eager. Too triumphant in the void left behind.

William began to watch. To listen. Snatches of whispers in corridors, a flinch too quickly hidden on a guard’s face when Est’s name was spoken, a smirk James did not quite suppress.

One night, as Kenta sat too close on the couch, speaking of how William needed someone steady, someone who understood court life, William saw it. The faintest trace of satisfaction in Kenta’s smile when he mentioned Est’s absence. Not sorrow. Not worry. Satisfaction.

A cold certainty coiled in his gut.

They knew something.

Perhaps together.

And if that were true, if James and Kenta had laid their hands in deceit, if they had dared touch Est…

William’s hands curled into fists, blood running hot and violent through his veins.

He no longer believed Est had simply walked away.

_____

Finally.

It took some time for William to start to believe that something suspicious was happening and Est hadn’t just disappeared. But he got there in the end. I bet you’re all sighing in relief . 

At least he suspects foulplay. 

Whether he’ll be able to get to Est in time is a different question all together. 

What do y’all think will happen next?

ENJOY and definitely let me know what you think in the comments.

Cheers!