Chapter 45
The journey to Prince Anen’s kingdom lasted five weeks.
Five long weeks of roads and sea crossings and crowded camps.
Five weeks of sleeping within walking distance of William and never once truly having him.
By the end of it, Est thought the yearning itself might consume him whole.
The royal wedding procession stretched for miles wherever it traveled – an entire moving court winding slowly westward beneath banners of gold and royal blue. Princess Popeya traveled at the heart of it all, radiant despite the exhausting pace, surrounded by her ladies, attendants, musicians, advisors, seamstresses, priests, and noble companions while wagon after wagon carried her dowry toward the western isles.
Jewels.
Silks.
Gold.
Paintings wrapped carefully against weather and salt air.
Ceremonial gifts from one royal house to another.
And surrounding it all, soldiers.
Hundreds of them.
The King and Queen themselves had come for the wedding, which meant the procession moved with even greater ceremony and scrutiny than usual. James, as Crown Prince, had remained behind in their kingdom to oversee affairs of state in the royal family’s absence – a fact the Queen reminded everyone of repeatedly whenever logistics became difficult.
William, freed temporarily from council obligations but trapped instead within endless diplomacy, spent nearly every waking hour visible to someone.
To everyone.
Est remained at his side through all of it.
Which should have brought comfort.
Instead, it became its own form of torment.
Because William was always there.
Always close enough for Est to catch the scent of cedar and clean linen whenever they passed one another.
Close enough to hear the low warmth of his laughter from across crowded dining tents.
Close enough that their eyes constantly found each other without trying.
And yet utterly unreachable.
Every morning began the same way.
Before sunrise, campfires still smoldering low beneath cold dawn mist, servants rushed between tents preparing the royal convoy for departure while sleepy nobles emerged wrapped in expensive furs complaining about weather or roads or sea-sickness.
And then William would appear.
Always somehow beautiful despite travel exhaustion.
Sometimes in dark riding leathers lined with silver stitching. Sometimes wrapped in heavy navy cloaks against sea winds. Sometimes visibly sleepy, hair slightly disordered before attendants managed to tame it properly.
Those mornings nearly destroyed Est.
Because William always looked for him first.
Always.
No matter how crowded the camp was.
No matter who surrounded him.
His gaze would find Est instinctively across horses and servants and guards, grounding there for one brief heartbeat before duty reclaimed him again.
Sometimes William smiled faintly.
Sometimes his eyes looked tired enough that Est physically ached with the urge to pull him somewhere quiet and hold him until he slept properly.
Sometimes his expression softened in that devastatingly private way that belonged only to Est now.
Then someone would interrupt.
Princess Mia climbing excitedly into William’s carriage already talking endlessly about the upcoming wedding festivities. Popeya demanding opinions about fabrics or ceremony traditions. Advisors requesting signatures. Diplomats requesting audiences. Officers bringing reports.
And the moment would disappear again before either of them could properly breathe inside it.
By the second week, the hunger between them became unbearable.
Not merely physical.
Though gods, that was part of it too.
Est missed touching him so fiercely some nights it became difficult to sleep.
He missed the weight of William curled against his chest. Missed kissing him lazily in quiet rooms with no fear of interruption. Missed brushing fingers through his hair while William drifted toward sleep after long days.
But more than anything, Est missed privacy.
Every conversation belonged partly to someone else now.
If William rode beside him for stretches of road, officers inevitably approached with reports. If Est escorted him through marketplaces during rest stops, courtiers trailed after them. If William lingered near him during evening dinners, some noble always demanded the prince’s attention moments later.
There was never silence.
Never space.
Never them.
And yet the longing only deepened because William felt it too.
Est saw it constantly in the tiny fractures appearing in William’s composure over the weeks.
The lingering glances across crowded banquet tables.
The way William sometimes brushed unnecessarily close while passing him maps or goblets or riding gloves.
The quiet moments when their hands touched accidentally and neither let go quickly enough.
Once, during the third week aboard ship, a storm struck after midnight so violently the entire vessel groaned beneath the waves. Nobles panicked. Servants cried openly in corridors. Priests wandered the decks praying loudly to calm frightened passengers.
Est spent hours above deck helping secure rigging alongside the royal guard before finally being summoned below to report directly to William.
When he entered the prince’s cabin, Mia was already asleep near the lantern-lit window after crying herself exhausted from fear earlier that evening.
William stood alone near the desk.
The moment the doors shut behind Est, they simply looked at each other.
For one suspended heartbeat, the storm outside vanished entirely.
William looked exhausted.
Worried.
Beautiful.
Est wanted desperately to cross the room and hold him.
Instead he bowed because two guards remained stationed outside the cabin doors.
“The ship is secure, Your Highness,” he said evenly.
William nodded once.
But his eyes never left Est’s face.
“You should rest while you can,” William murmured quietly.
Something about the softness in his voice nearly undid Est entirely.
Then Mia stirred faintly in her sleep.
And the moment shattered.
By the fourth week, even the smallest touches haunted Est afterward.
One afternoon, helping William dismount after an especially brutal stretch of mountain roads, William’s gloved hand slid into his for balance.
Nothing improper.
Nothing unusual.
But William’s fingers tightened instinctively around his for one fleeting second before letting go.
The memory burned through Est for days.
Another evening during a diplomatic feast in one of the coastal duchies, Est stood silently behind William’s chair while nobles toasted the upcoming union endlessly around them. At some point during the meal, William leaned back slightly beneath the pretense of adjusting his posture.
His shoulder brushed against Est’s stomach.
Barely there.
But deliberate.
Est nearly stopped breathing.
The worst part was watching William belong so effortlessly to everyone else.
The beloved second prince.
Graceful. Charming. Intelligent.
Nobles adored him.
Princesses watched him too long during dances and dinners.
Foreign dignitaries sought him out constantly.
Est watched all of it from only a few feet away every single day while saying nothing.
Doing nothing.
Sometimes the ache became so sharp he needed distraction simply to remain sane.
And strangely enough, he found some relief in Dylan.
Which was deeply unfortunate for everyone involved.
Dylan had resumed flirting with him almost immediately after joining the royal escort sometime during the second week of travel – though now it had transformed into something so hopelessly dramatic that even Est eventually stopped taking it seriously.
After his earlier confession and subsequent rejection months ago, Dylan had, to his credit, apologized sincerely.
Very sincerely.
Painfully sincerely, in fact.
One night while camped near the northern forests, after far too much wine shared between exhausted guards, Dylan had finally admitted the truth with unusual seriousness.
“I was unfair to you,” he’d said quietly, sitting beside the fire with his elbows resting on his knees. “I kept pushing after you’d already made yourself clear. That wasn’t right.”
Est remembered staring at him for a long moment, surprised by the lack of joking for once.
Dylan had sighed dramatically afterward, ruining the solemnity almost immediately.
“Though in my defense,” he added mournfully, “you are very beautiful. It was difficult for me spiritually.”
Est had nearly laughed despite himself.
After that, things between them shifted.
Dylan still flirted relentlessly, but now it lacked any genuine expectation behind it. It became lighter. Easier. Something closer to habit than pursuit.
And unfortunately for the entire royal guard, Dylan flirted with everyone.
Young stable boys bringing fresh horses.
Foreign soldiers stationed along border crossings.
Handsome servants aboard ships.
A priest once, disastrously.
One poor diplomat from the eastern provinces had turned bright red after Dylan spent an entire dinner complimenting his hands.
“You cannot keep seducing every man we encounter,” Est muttered one evening while helping secure horses near camp.
Dylan looked genuinely offended. “First of all, I absolutely can. Second, seduction requires success. At this point, I merely create emotional confusion.”
Despite himself, Est snorted quietly.
Dylan pointed triumphantly. “There. I made you laugh. My work here is done.”
And gods help him, Est found himself grateful for the distraction.
Because Dylan treated him normally.
Not like William’s shadow.
Not like the prince’s beloved hidden carefully behind protocol and silence.
Just Est.
A tired guard suffering through endless travel.
Sometimes they shared late-night patrols together while the camp slept around them. Sometimes Dylan would talk endlessly simply to fill the silence – gossiping about nobles, complaining theatrically about sea travel, ranking attractive men they’d encountered in various kingdoms with alarming seriousness.
“That guard captain from the western port could ruin my life,” Dylan sighed one evening.
“You say that about everyone.”
“Not true. Some men could merely destroy my emotional stability.”
Est rolled his eyes so hard it physically hurt.
But still he listened.
Still laughed occasionally despite himself.
And slowly, unexpectedly, friendship settled into the spaces where awkwardness once lived.
Dylan stopped looking at him with longing eventually.
Or perhaps he simply hid it better.
Either way, the tension faded.
What remained instead was something strangely easy.
And Est needed easy during those five weeks more than he cared to admit.
Because wanting William constantly while never being able to touch him was slowly driving him toward madness.
Dylan noticed, too.
He noticed every stolen glance across crowded dining tents. Every time William’s attention instinctively sought Est in a room full of nobles. Every tiny moment where the air shifted subtly between them before either man carefully stepped back behind propriety again.
One evening during the fourth week, Dylan caught Est staring openly at William across a diplomatic banquet.
The prince sat surrounded by foreign dignitaries, smiling politely through some endless political discussion while candlelight flickered gold across his face.
Est had been looking too long.
Dylan sighed dramatically beside him. “You are both suffering so visibly that I almost respect it.”
Est tore his gaze away immediately. “Be quiet.”
“I’m serious. I’ve seen widows mourn less tragically.”
Est elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
Dylan winced. “Violence. Typical response from a repressed man in love.”
Still, there was kindness beneath the teasing now.
Real kindness.
Dylan covered for him sometimes without being asked.
Distracted nosy guards when William lingered too close during conversations. Redirected attention subtly whenever he noticed certain looks lasting too long between them in public.
Never obvious.
Never enough to raise suspicion.
But enough that Est noticed.
Enough that he understood.
And perhaps that was why guilt twisted uncomfortably inside Est whenever he occasionally caught William watching them together.
Because Dylan flirted constantly still.
Carelessly. Ridiculously.
One afternoon while helping unpack supplies near the shoreline camps, Dylan had thrown himself dramatically across Est’s shoulder complaining about manual labor like a dying nobleman.
“Carry me instead,” he’d sighed theatrically. “Surely your large strong arms exist for something useful.”
Est shoved him off immediately.
But when he looked up afterward, William was already watching from across the courtyard.
The prince’s expression remained perfectly composed.
Only his eyes betrayed him.
A faint shadow.
Jealousy.
Gone almost immediately.
Still there.
Est’s stomach twisted at once.
After that, he instinctively tried placing more distance between himself and Dylan whenever William was nearby.
Not because anything improper was happening – gods, it truly wasn’t – but because Est knew too intimately how poisonous insecurity could become if left alone too long.
And after everything William and he had survived already, Est refused to risk hurting him carelessly.
Still, avoiding Dylan completely proved impossible.
Because somewhere along the endless roads and sea crossings and sleepless campfires, the irritating flirt had become Est’s only real friend during the journey.
And perhaps Dylan understood more than anyone realized.
Because after noticing Est pulling away slightly, he stopped draping himself dramatically over him so often. Stopped certain jokes whenever William was nearby.
Not entirely.
That would require maturity Dylan fundamentally did not possess.
But enough.
Enough to say silently:
I understand.
Enough that Est found himself grateful for him despite everything.
______________
By the time the royal procession finally reached Prince Anen’s kingdom, the entire traveling court was exhausted.
But the western capital awaiting them looked like something built from fantasy.
Five weeks of travel had worn even the nobility thin.
The hems of expensive cloaks were dust-stained from roads and sea salt. Servants moved slower now, their once-perfect efficiency dulled by endless unpacking and repacking. Even the royal horses seemed weary beneath their jeweled harnesses as the convoy climbed the final winding road overlooking the western capital.
The city climbed steep cliffs overlooking brilliant blue waters, white marble buildings glowing gold beneath the afternoon sun while sapphire banners snapped sharply in the sea wind from every balcony and tower.
The entire kingdom had transformed itself for the wedding.
Below the cliffs, the harbor glittered with hundreds of ships.
Merchant vessels.
Royal fleets.
Foreign banners from neighboring kingdoms already gathered for the wedding celebrations.
Every mast had been wrapped in silk streamers that snapped brightly in the sea wind while bells rang continuously somewhere below, blending with music drifting upward from the crowded streets.
The entire kingdom felt alive.
Celebratory.
Breathing.
As the procession descended into the capital proper, cheers erupted almost immediately from the gathered crowds lining the roads.
Flower petals rained from balconies overhead.
Children darted through the streets waving ribbons while musicians played from nearly every square they passed. Vendors shouted happily over one another selling sweet pastries, wine, flowers, ceremonial masks, embroidered scarves in Popeya’s wedding colors.
The scent of sea salt mixed with roses and spiced honey carried through the warm afternoon air.
Princess Popeya’s carriage rolled at the center of it all, gilded panels gleaming beneath sunlight while crowds shouted blessings and congratulations toward her from every direction. Through the thin curtains, Est occasionally caught glimpses of her smiling shyly at the celebrations outside, overwhelmed but radiant.
Ahead of her rode the King and Queen beneath heavy ceremonial banners, surrounded by royal guards in polished armor.
William rode nearby alongside Princess Mia and several high-ranking nobles, every inch the prince despite the exhaustion hidden carefully beneath composure.
Gods.
Est’s chest tightened painfully at the sight of him.
The sea wind had loosened strands of William’s hair from its careful styling, dark fabric rippling softly around him as sunlight flashed against silver embroidery along his sleeves. He looked beautiful in a way that almost angered Est after five weeks of wanting him this badly.
At one point during the procession, William laughed softly at something Mia said beside him.
The sound barely reached Est through the noise of the crowd.
Still, it hit him like a physical wound.
Because he missed him so much.
Not abstractly.
Not poetically.
Physically.
He missed hearing that laugh close to his ear in quiet rooms. Missed William sprawling lazily across him late at night while speaking softly about nothing important at all. Missed touching him without witnesses everywhere.
The ache settled deeper beneath his ribs as the procession continued upward through the capital streets.
Beside him, Dylan let out a low whistle.
“If I ever become wealthy enough to own a palace like this,” he announced dramatically, staring up at the marble terraces climbing the cliffs, “someone should kill me immediately. No man should possess this many balconies voluntarily.”
Est barely heard him.
Because William had glanced back again.
Just once.
Their eyes met instantly through the shifting crowd.
And there it was again.
That unbearable, restrained hunger stretching taut between them after weeks without privacy.
William looked tired.
Beautiful.
Wanting.
Then the moment vanished as nobles crowded closer around him once more.
The climb toward the palace itself took nearly another hour.
The royal residence of House Anen towered above the sea at the very top of the cliffs, vast white marble terraces cascading downward toward the ocean below. Massive archways wrapped in thousands of white flowers framed the entrance while fountains glittered beneath afternoon sunlight.
Servants flooded the courtyards in organized chaos the moment the royal convoy arrived.
Stable hands rushed forward for horses.
Attendants hurried toward the dowry wagons with endless inventories and instructions.
Musicians lined the grand staircase leading toward the palace entrance, their instruments filling the sea air with triumphant music while nobles gathered along the upper balconies to witness the arrival of the foreign royal family.
And standing at the center of the staircase waiting for them was Prince Anen.
Tall.
Elegant.
Dressed in deep sapphire and silver ceremonial robes that caught the light almost like water itself.
The moment Popeya stepped from her carriage, the prince descended the steps immediately to meet her personally.
The entire courtyard seemed to soften around them.
Anen took her hands with unmistakable warmth, bowing over them gently while Popeya laughed softly beneath obvious nervousness. Whatever political arrangement had begun this marriage, affection already existed there now – visible even from a distance.
The Queen looked pleased by the sight.
The King visibly relieved.
Around them, courtiers and nobles erupted into applause while servants continued unloading endless chests of wedding gifts beneath the palace arches.
Est dismounted only after William did.
Immediately his instincts shifted fully back into duty despite exhaustion and longing alike. His gaze swept automatically across balconies, guards, entrances, crowds.
Protect.
Watch.
Stay close.
William moved through the welcoming ceremony gracefully, exchanging greetings with foreign nobles while Mia nearly vibrated with excitement beside him at the sheer scale of everything surrounding them.
And through it all, Est remained only a few steps behind.
Close enough to hear William’s voice clearly beneath the noise.
Close enough to catch the faint scent of sea wind tangled in his clothes.
Close enough that wanting him became almost unbearable again.
At some point during the formal greetings, Prince Anen’s attention shifted briefly toward Est standing at William’s shoulder.
Recognition flickered immediately across his face.
Ah.
So William had spoken about him.
The realization sent unexpected warmth through Est’s chest.
Anen inclined his head politely toward him before returning his attention to the royal family, but Est didn’t miss the brief glance exchanged between him and William afterward.
Small.
Private.
Knowing.
And gods, suddenly the hunger inside Est sharpened terribly.
Because five weeks was too long.
Far, far too long to go without touching the man he loved.
______________
The palace of House Anen transformed completely after nightfall.
By the time the royal families had retired briefly to their chambers and reemerged for the evening welcome banquet, the entire western wing overlooking the sea glowed beneath thousands of candles and hanging lanterns reflected against white marble walls.
Music drifted softly through the open corridors.
The scent of salt air mingled with roses and warm spices from the kitchens below while servants moved soundlessly through the halls carrying silver trays heavy with wine and crystal.
The wedding itself would take place in seven days.
Seven days of ceremonies and diplomacy and celebration.
Tonight was merely the beginning.
An intimate welcome dinner reserved only for the two royal families and their closest companions before the true spectacle began.
Still, even intimacy among royals meant nearly fifty people inside the banquet hall.
Nobles.
Military advisors.
Religious officials overseeing the marriage rites.
Trusted courtiers from both kingdoms.
And guards.
Always guards.
The banquet hall itself overlooked the ocean through towering open arches draped in white silk and flowers. Beyond them, waves crashed violently against the cliffs far below while moonlight silvered the sea into something unreal.
Long curved tables filled the center of the hall beneath cascading chandeliers. White flowers spilled across polished silver centerpieces while musicians played softly from a balcony above the gathering.
Prince Anen sat beside Popeya at the center of it all.
And gods, they looked happy.
Not politely pleased.
Not politically appropriate.
Happy.
Anen watched Popeya constantly when he thought no one noticed – quiet warmth softening his face whenever she laughed nervously or leaned closer to him during conversation. Popeya herself had relaxed visibly since arriving at the palace, her earlier anxieties dissolving slowly beneath Anen’s steady gentleness toward her.
It struck Est unexpectedly hard to witness.
Perhaps this marriage would truly become something real.
Something loving.
The thought lingered warmly in his chest even as duty kept his attention moving relentlessly around the room.
Watching entrances.
Windows.
Servants.
Hands.
Always hands.
And still, despite all his discipline, Est remained devastatingly aware of William.
Gods.
The prince looked beautiful tonight.
The formal dinner required full ceremonial dress, and William wore deep navy embroidered heavily with silver thread that shimmered beneath candlelight whenever he moved. Jewels glinted subtly at his throat and wrists, elegant without crossing into excess, while his dark hair had finally been properly styled again after weeks of rough travel.
He looked rested for the first time in days.
And somehow that made the ache worse.
Est remained positioned several feet behind William’s chair throughout the meal, close enough to hear the soft cadence of his voice beneath conversation and music alike.
Close enough to catch fleeting glances whenever William looked back under the pretense of acknowledging servants.
At one point during dinner, William leaned back slightly while speaking to Mia.
His shoulder brushed against Est’s hand resting near the back of the chair.
Barely a touch.
Still, heat shot straight through Est’s body so violently it nearly angered him.
Five weeks.
Five unbearable weeks without privacy.
Without kissing him.
Without touching him properly.
William’s fingers twitched once afterward against the armrest, subtle enough that nobody else would notice.
Est noticed.
Always.
The evening stretched onward warmly after that.
Wine flowed more freely.
Conversation softened.
Even the Queen appeared faintly relaxed beneath the glow of diplomacy going well for once.
Prince Anen eventually rose to offer a formal toast to the joining of their kingdoms.
Goblets lifted throughout the hall.
Music quieted.
Anen smiled toward Popeya as he spoke.
And that was when Est noticed the servant.
Tiny things first.
Wrong things.
A servant approaching the high table from the eastern corridor carrying wine.
Male.
Young.
Head lowered correctly.
But tense.
Too tense.
Not servant tense.
Soldier tense.
Every instinct inside Est sharpened instantly.
The tray in the servant’s hands trembled slightly.
Not from fear.
From readiness.
Est’s gaze dropped lower.
There.
Metal.
Barely visible beneath folded serving cloth near the base of the tray.
A blade.
Cold realization ripped through him.
The world slowed violently.
The servant moved.
Fast.
Far too fast for an ordinary man.
The tray exploded sideways across the banquet table in a violent crash of silver and shattered crystal as the assassin lunged directly toward Prince Anen, a narrow blade flashing bright beneath chandelier light.
Popeya screamed.
Someone shouted.
William surged to his feet –
But Est was already moving.
Instinct obliterated thought entirely.
He shoved William backward hard enough to send both chair and prince crashing safely away from the table while drawing his sword in the same movement.
Steel sang sharply through the hall.
The man reached Anen –
And Est hit him like a battering ram.
Their collision overturned half the banquet table instantly.
Wine exploded across marble.
Candles crashed sideways.
The man twisted with terrifying speed despite the impact, slashing viciously toward Est’s throat before he’d fully regained footing.
Est blocked instinctively.
Steel slammed against steel with brutal force.
The sound cracked through the banquet hall.
The man fought like a trained killer.
Not desperate.
Precise.
Every movement efficient and lethal.
Est drove him backward across the marble floor while nobles scattered screaming from the tables around them. Guards rushed forward from every entrance now, but the fight moved too violently, too quickly through panicked guests for anyone to intervene cleanly.
The man ducked low suddenly – Feint.
Est saw and realized it one heartbeat too late. An assasin.
A second blade flashed from the man’s sleeve straight toward Prince Anen again.
Too fast.
Too close.
Est lunged sideways, intercepting the strike barehanded.
Pain exploded instantly.
The hidden blade sliced deep across his arm and down his forearm in a spray of blood.
William shouted his name somewhere behind him.
The assassin ripped free viciously and drove forward again.
Est retaliated instantly.
His sword slammed into the man’s ribs hard enough to crack bone audibly, but the assassin barely reacted – fanaticism burning wildly across his face now.
He came again.
Again.
Again.
Violent.
Relentless.
The banquet hall descended fully into chaos around them.
Nobles fled.
Servants screamed.
Guards struggled to clear civilians from the fighting.
The assassin overturned another table deliberately, sending shattered glass and burning candles crashing toward Est before lunging through the debris with terrifying speed.
The blade caught Est across the shoulder this time.
A sharp burning line.
Not deep.
Still enough to stagger him half a step.
Mistake.
The assassin slammed into him bodily, driving both of them hard against one of the marble columns overlooking the sea.
Est’s sword clattered briefly from his grip.
The assassin struck immediately for his throat.
Est caught the man’s wrist inches from his neck.
Every muscle in his body strained violently as they grappled against the column, the assassin snarling like something feral now, trying to force the blade downward.
Blood poured steadily from Est’s injured arm.
His footing slipped slightly against spilled wine and shattered glass.
The blade edged lower.
Closer.
Then –
William’s voice cut through the hall.
“EST!”
Something savage surged through him instantly.
Est twisted violently sideways, slamming the assassin’s arm against the marble column hard enough to shatter bone.
The man screamed.
Est ripped the blade free from his grip and drove his elbow brutally into the assassin’s jaw before reclaiming his sword from the floor in the same movement.
The assassin still lunged.
Still tried reaching Anen.
Madness burned in his eyes now.
Est ended it.
One brutal slash across the stomach dropped the man instantly to his knees.
Another strike drove straight through his side.
The assassin collapsed hard against the marble floor choking on blood.
But still alive.
Still moving.
Guards finally flooded the scene fully then.
Dylan among the first.
Three guards tackled the half-dead assassin violently before he could move again, wrenching his arms behind his back while others kicked remaining weapons away across the blood-slick marble floor.
The man laughed through blood anyway.
Actually laughed.
A horrifying wet sound.
“Traitorous dog,” one guard snarled, slamming his head hard against the floor.
The assassin only grinned bloodily.
Then finally lost consciousness.
Silence crashed through the banquet hall afterward.
Heavy.
Stunned.
Broken only by distant waves crashing below the cliffs.
Est stood breathing hard at the center of the wreckage.
Blood dripped steadily from his hand onto shattered crystal and overturned flowers.
His shoulder burned sharply now too.
Across the hall, Prince Anen remained alive only because Est had reached him in time.
And then –
William.
Est looked toward him instinctively.
The prince had gone completely pale.
Not from fear for himself.
For Est.
William crossed the ruined banquet hall immediately despite guards trying weakly to stop him.
“Move.”
His voice cut sharply through the silence.
People obeyed instantly.
William reached Est seconds later, grabbing his injured hand carefully despite blood staining both of them now.
His fingers trembled.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing,” Est answered automatically through rough breathing.
William looked furious at the suggestion.
Absolutely furious.
Behind them, Popeya was crying openly now while Anen’s advisors barked orders throughout the hall, guards dragging the unconscious assassin away across bloodstained marble.
But William barely seemed aware of any of it.
His entire focus remained fixed on Est.
Alive.
Bleeding.
Standing.
_____
What do you think is going to go down? Are we getting a wedding, a total disaster, or both?
Drop your predictions in the comments, don’t forget to vote, and most importantly, enjoy the chapter!
