Chapter 25

Est lay on his side, eyes open in the dark.

The room was still, the only light a sliver of moon through the window. William’s breathing was steady beside him – soft, even – the sound of someone finally at peace.

But Est was far from it.

He stared at the ceiling, every nerve in his body still humming from what they’d done. From what he’d done.

His fingers curled against the sheets.

He hadn’t meant to –

Not like that.

He’d lost control. Gotten carried away. Let emotion and need and months of everything unspoken drive him until he couldn’t stop.

And still… William hadn’t turned away.

Hadn’t scolded him. Hadn’t flinched when Est touched the same places he’d hurt.

Instead, William had let him in again. Closer. Deeper. Had let Est worship him in silence, with hands and mouth and lips that whispered I’m sorry over every inch of him.

And afterward, he’d held Est like nothing was broken.

Like it didn’t hurt anymore.

Like he believed him.

Est turned his head – slowly – to look at the sleeping figure beside him.

Even in rest, William looked regal. Beautiful. His lashes dark against his cheeks, lips parted slightly in sleep. The faintest crease between his brows, as if something inside him still lingered.

Est felt it then – sharp and sudden in his throat.

How could he be so gentle?

After everything.

After Est had accused, doubted, ruined something sacred between them, and then begged for forgiveness with his hands, with his mouth, with everything but the words he still didn’t know how to say.

Still, William had let him in. Let him stay.

Had looked at him like he still mattered.

Est didn’t know whether to call him foolish or brave.

Didn’t know which of them was more vulnerable in that moment.

He reached out, just barely, fingertips ghosting over William’s hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. The motion made something ache in his chest.

I don’t deserve this.

But William never made him feel that way.

Not once.

He was a prince – raised with power and poise and all the sharpness of a throne – and yet, he’d met Est’s jagged edges without flinching. He had let Est see all of him – desire, pain, jealousy, fear – and in return, asked only for honesty. For presence.

And Est had failed him.

He didn’t know how to fix it. How to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.

He didn’t even know how to hold all these feelings without breaking apart.

But watching William sleep, that pain softened just slightly – smoothed over by awe, by love, by something wordless and terrifying blooming inside him.

Est swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling again.

How do I stop falling, he thought.

And then – bitter, helpless – Why would I want to?

He turned on his side, facing William fully now, just inches between them.

He didn’t reach out again. Just watched.

And maybe, in some quiet, secret way, that was a kind of vow.

Not yet forgiveness. Not yet peace.
But the beginning of something that could still be salvaged – if he had the courage to keep showing up.

—-

William lay just beside him, turned slightly in his direction, his eyes tracing the faint lines of Est’s profile in the soft blue morning light.

He didn’t say a word. But he wasn’t sleeping either.

He was thinking. Replaying.

Est’s words still echoed through his mind like something he wasn’t allowed to touch too hard.

“You ruined me.”

He didn’t think Est meant it. Not entirely. Not in the cruel way the words could sound.

But he had said them. With shaking breath. With his head bowed and voice frayed like something about to break.

And William, even in the heat of it, even in his own pain, had felt it – that vulnerable edge beneath the words. The fear. The rawness of someone who was loving for the first time and didn’t know how to survive it.

And now…

Now Est lay beside him, breathing softly, pretending to be asleep.

But William knew he wasn’t.

He could feel the tension in his limbs. The stillness that wasn’t natural. The kind of stillness that only came from trying not to move, from being afraid that if you did – if you said the wrong thing, or reached too far – it would all come undone again.

And so William stayed still, too.

But inside, everything was moving.

Was it true?
Had he ruined something in Est?
Had he taken the steadiness out of the man who once moved like a soldier, thought like a strategist, and kissed like he knew what he wanted?

He didn’t want to believe that.

Didn’t want to believe he had broken anything.

But there was no denying it – something between them had bent sharply in the dark of James’s words.

And they hadn’t found the words to set it right yet.

But still… here they were.

Not speaking. Not pretending either.

Just lying there in the silence of a love that had been tested.

William swallowed hard, then shifted just slightly – his hand brushing Est’s under the sheets, fingers curling into a loose, tentative hold.

It wasn’t much.

But Est didn’t pull away.

And that was enough for now.

—–

It was sometime in the early hours when William stirred.

The room was still dark, the soft flicker of the fireplace casting faint shadows across the bed. He shifted sleepily, adjusting his grip – and that’s when he noticed.

Est hadn’t moved.

His body was warm against him, but tense. Awake.

William blinked, his voice a whisper against Est’s hair. “You’re not asleep.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Est let out a small breath, almost a sigh, but said nothing.

William’s hand moved slowly over Est’s back, gentle and steady. “Talk to me.”

Still, nothing. No words. Just the quiet tension of a man trying not to break.

William didn’t press. Not again. Not tonight.

Instead, he shifted slightly, drawing Est even closer, their foreheads brushing now. He let his voice soften into something fond, something familiar.

“You know,” he began, “I once got stuck in a privy for an entire hour during a royal banquet. Thought I was going to die of embarrassment.”

Est gave a faint snort against his shoulder – but didn’t speak.

William smiled faintly and continued. “It was Lord Quentin’s dog’s fault. He chased me in there when I tried to steal one of those candied pears from the kitchen. Damn thing nearly bit my ankle.”

Another pause. Est didn’t laugh, but the tension in his shoulders shifted – just slightly.

“And did you know I hate fish?” William murmured, trailing his fingers lightly up and down Est’s spine. “Everyone thinks I love it because they keep serving it at state dinners. I never said anything, so now it’s a permanent part of the royal menu.”

His hand moved in slow, soothing strokes, thumb brushing the nape of Est’s neck.

“I once tried to run away,” he added a few minutes later, quieter now. “I was nine. Packed a satchel with three biscuits and a book about pirate treasure. Got as far as the stables before Hong found me and dragged me back by the collar.”

Est huffed something that might’ve been a tired chuckle.

William didn’t stop.

He started murmuring more stories. Silly, pointless ones. Stories about his tutor falling into the fountain. About the time he tried to make breakfast for a diplomat and almost set the kitchen on fire. About sneaking out of the palace dressed as a maid to avoid a suitor.

Each one softened the air between them a little more.

Each one chipped away at the tightness in Est’s chest.

The tension began to ease. The trembling slowed. His hand, once frozen over William’s back, began moving again – a gentle sweep across his spine, his shoulders, down the curve of his waist.

And eventually – finally – Est turned his head and pressed a kiss to William’s hair.

Just once. Quiet. Grateful. Aching.

William felt it and smiled against his skin. Still speaking. Still telling some half-true story about a stableboy and a runaway horse.

Est closed his eyes. Not because he believed everything would be easy. But because, for the first time, it didn’t feel like he was alone in it.

And somehow, that made it bearable.

He let the warmth of William’s voice carry him.

Let the soft, affectionate way he held him sink into his bones.

And eventually – finally – Est slept.

William smiled into his hair. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, not asking for agreement. Just stating it, the way he might offer a promise.

His hand kept moving – calm, rhythmic, grounding.

William remained awake a little longer, fingers still moving lightly, protectively, until he was sure.

Then he closed his eyes too, holding Est steady against him, as if to shield him from every cruel word that had ever been spoken.

And for the rest of the night, he did not let go.

—–

The softest thing Est had ever known was not the silk of palace bedsheets.

It was William’s gaze – when it lingered on him like this.

He woke to it.

The first thing he saw when his eyes cracked open was the prince, lying on his side, chin tucked in the crook of his hand, just… watching him.

Fondness sat openly in William’s expression, unguarded in the hush of early morning. But there was something else, too. A quiet to it. A shadow that softened the edges of his smile, like he was letting himself feel something he wouldn’t name aloud.

Est flushed beneath it.

His instinct was to look away, to mumble something about duty or the time – but before he could move, William leaned in.

“Good morning,” he said, voice low, still tinged with sleep.

And then he kissed him.

A real kiss. Not lazy. Not teasing. A kiss that stole Est’s breath and scattered every half-formed thought from his head.

William’s hand curled at his jaw as their mouths met – slow, searching, almost reverent.

When they parted, Est was breathless. His lashes fluttered. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know if he could say anything, not with his heart drumming like it was trying to break free.

William smiled against his cheek, and murmured, “My darling.“

The words bloomed inside Est like sunlight through frost. He startled faintly, eyes widening.

It wasn’t the first term of endearment he’d heard from William – but this one hit different.

It wasn’t playful. Or sly. Or teasing.

It was tender.

Soft and warm and achingly sincere.

It left Est blinking, lips parted, heart caught in his throat.

But William didn’t elaborate. He didn’t tease or follow it with anything clever. He just kissed him again, slower this time. Pressed their foreheads together afterward and exhaled a breath like he was finally, finally content.

They lay like that for a while.

Breath mingling. Limbs tangled.

The air between them felt warmer than it had in days. Softer. As though something that had been too raw to touch had begun, however cautiously, to heal.

They didn’t sleep.

Not really.

After the kiss, after Est folded into William’s arms, something loosened between them – something quiet but real. And when Est didn’t move, didn’t pull away, William simply held him closer. His thumb traced slow circles on Est’s back, like coaxing him to stay tethered to the moment.

Eventually, William spoke. His voice soft, still wrapped in sleep.

“…Tell me something,” he murmured, lips brushing Est’s temple.

Est hummed in response.

“What were you like as a kid?”

The question surprised him. Est blinked into the darkness. He didn’t remember the last time someone had asked him something like that – something without expectation, without reason.

“I don’t know,” he replied, quietly. “Serious, maybe. A bit too quiet.”

William chuckled. “I find that hard to believe. You? Quiet?”

Est smiled faintly. “I didn’t talk much unless I had to. My mother used to joke that I was born frowning.”

“Are you close to her?”

There was a pause.

“Yes,” Est said eventually. “She is kind. Tired… but kind. My father wasn’t always around. Work. War. Sometimes other things. So she held everything together. I tried to help her, even when I was too young to be useful.”

William’s hand kept moving, warm against his skin. “Is that why you joined the guard? To protect her?”

Est exhaled slowly. “Partly. And because I didn’t want to be another burden. I was always trying to earn my place.”

William shifted, resting his head more firmly against Est’s shoulder. “You always try so hard to be enough,” he whispered. “But you don’t have to earn anything with me. You already have.”

Est didn’t reply – but his hand slipped around William’s back, holding him tighter.

The conversation drifted from there. In low voices and half-smiles, they spoke of broken bones and scrapes from tree branches, of Est’s sister who once chased a boy down the street for teasing him, of village fairs and the one time Est got drunk at fifteen on rice wine and fell off a hay cart.

William laughed at all of it – genuine, bright laughter that Est hadn’t heard in weeks.
In turn, Est asked about his princely childhood.

William painted it with bittersweet colors – lonely at times, filled with tutors and silence, but also with moments of rebellion and hidden joy. Of sneaking into the kitchens with Hong for sweets, of midnight swims in the palace lake, of books stolen from his father’s library to read under moonlight.

“Sometimes,” William said, voice softening, “I wished I was born in some quiet village. That I could’ve grown up chasing storms instead of titles.”

Est turned his face into William’s hair. “You would’ve hated it after a week. No drama. No schemes. No royal excuses to break the rules.”

William snorted. “True.”

They stayed like that, words winding like soft threads in the dark, long into the night – until the windows grew pale with the promise of morning, and their hands were still tangled, their hearts a little less guarded.

—-

The next few days passed in a blur – celebrations wrapping up, carriages departing, and the long corridors of the palace slowly emptying of its visiting royals and dignitaries.
There were farewells, banquets, processions, and formal goodbyes.

William was constantly occupied – swept up in duties and ceremonies, shaking hands, exchanging smiles, standing tall. The kind of performance that looked effortless but wore down the soul in quiet ways.

Est, meanwhile, stood a pace behind – a shadow in uniform – eyes alert, hands still, fulfilling every duty a royal guard was meant to.

They didn’t talk about that night.
Didn’t mention James.
Didn’t touch the wounds that still lingered in unsaid words.

But every evening, they returned to the same bed.
Held each other. Kissed quietly before sleep.

The distance didn’t go away.
Not completely. Not yet.

It clung to the edges – in the silence between them, in the way Est sometimes hesitated before reaching for William’s hand, and the way William smiled just a little too quickly, trying to cover how hollow parts of him still felt.

But they were trying.

And that mattered more than anything.

The first night, though, was different.

Est hadn’t come.

He’d remained in his cot – jaw clenched, lying still, staring at the ceiling of the guards’ quarters – trying to convince himself that he’d made the right choice.

It was better this way.

He shouldn’t crawl back into a prince’s bed after the things he’d said.

But still…

The ache of missing William was sharp and merciless.
And in another part of the palace, William lay awake too – alone in a bed too large, too cold, thinking of how Est hadn’t come.
And how he hadn’t called for him either.

Which made it hurt more.

Later that night – the guards’ quarters, late, nearly silent –

Est startled awake to the sound of his door opening.

His training kicked in instantly.

He shot up, voice low and hard, “Who’s there?”

A beat of silence. Then, softly:

“It’s just me.”

William’s voice. Gentle, almost amused.

Est blinked, confused – then alarmed.

The prince stepped inside, barefoot, in his sleep robe, hair still damp from a late bath.

“You didn’t come to me,” William said simply, moving closer. “So I came to you.”

Est was already sitting upright, heart in his throat.

Seeing the prince here in the faint glow – barefoot, hair tousled, wrapped in a soft dressing robe – all Est could feel was relief. So heavy and sudden it nearly unmoored him.

William crossed the room without hesitation.

And then he was there.

Climbing into the narrow cot without a word of complaint. Reaching for Est with hands that trembled slightly with how much they missed.

And the first thing he did was lean in – and kiss him.

Not a peck. Not a graze. But a kiss. Deep, and full of all the things he hadn’t said. His mouth was warm, familiar, desperate, as though he’d been starved for it.

When he pulled back, his voice was thick.

“I missed you so much, my darling.”

Est stared at him. Lips parted, heart aching.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he managed, even as his hands found the prince’s waist, as if on instinct. “It’s not safe – “

“Then you should’ve come to me,” William murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “So I wouldn’t have to sneak into my bodyguard’s quarters like some desperate fool.”

Est almost laughed. Almost.

But he didn’t. Because the ache in his chest was too real. Too wide.

They were lying on a narrow soldier’s cot, barely enough room for one, much less two – but William fit himself into Est’s arms like he belonged there.

They didn’t speak for a moment. Just breathed.

They lay close together, not speaking, just listening to the sound of each other breathing.

It was warm.

Too small a cot. Too many thoughts. Too much left unspoken.

And yet, somehow… it felt more comforting than anything had in days.

William was the first to speak again – something stupid, something casual. A muttered comment about how Est’s cot felt like a plank of wood compared to his mattress.

Est rolled his eyes.

William snorted.

And just like that – the tension began to dissolve. Little by little. Bit by bit.

They lay there talking about nothing – about how bad the wine had been at the final banquet, about a guard’s terrible haircut, about the look on a visiting duke’s face when someone mispronounced his province name.

Soft, sleepy nonsense.

But it mattered.

It was a way back.

—-

The next night, William waited.

Not with expectation. Not with hope. Just… with space beside him. A space that felt colder now that he knew what it was like to share it.

He lay still, back to the door, pretending to read, the pages unmoving for long minutes. The palace was quiet, the last of the revelers long gone, and the ache in his chest sat dull and deep.

And then –

A soft creak. The door easing open.

He didn’t turn, didn’t speak.

But he felt it – the hesitation at the threshold. The soldier’s stillness. The breath being held.

Est stood at the edge of the bed. Silent. Motionless. As if unsure whether this was allowed – if he should reach for comfort he hadn’t been told he could take.

William closed his book and turned.

Their eyes met.

William said nothing. Just opened his arms.

A quiet invitation.

Est didn’t move at first. Not right away. His fingers curled at his sides, jaw tight. He looked like he might refuse – like his body wanted to step back even as his heart tugged forward.

But then something cracked.

He exhaled, slow and long, and climbed in.

No ceremony. No words.

Just a soldier folding into arms that had waited for him. Just a prince pulling him close like nothing had ever gone wrong.

Est tucked himself in carefully, every movement deliberate, as if still afraid to ask for too much.

But William’s hands were steady. His hold was sure. And he murmured something soft – meaningless – just to fill the air.

That night, they didn’t talk much. Just lay there.

And something settled.

—-

The night after that, Est came again.

This time with a game board under his arm – old, worn, familiar. He placed it wordlessly between them, and William grinned like it was the best thing anyone had ever brought him. They played under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, whispering bets, mocking each other’s moves, sharing slices of sugared fruit from a bowl on the table.

William won. Barely.

Est demanded a rematch the next night.

And the next.

And the next.

Some nights they talked. Sometimes they played. Sometimes they read together – heads bent over the same book, fingers brushing as they turned the pages. Sometimes they just lay in silence, letting the weight of each other’s presence do the healing.

There were still shadows. Still things left unsaid. Still the ache of what had happened and what might happen next.

But Est kept showing up.

William kept waiting.

And every night, they found each other – not in declarations or apologies, but in the simplest of rituals.

The comfort of shared space.

The safety of silence.

The warmth of a body that always returned.

It wasn’t a grand promise.

But it was something. Steady. Real.

And that, for now, was enough.

—–

The first few nights, Est said nothing.

They shared warmth, quiet conversation, stolen glances across firelight or books. William would curl into him with content sighs, and Est would wrap arms around him like a shield.

He didn’t touch more than necessary.

Didn’t tease. Didn’t even kiss him past a soft press of lips to forehead or temple.

And William – true to his word – never asked for more.

It was strange.

Tender.

Comforting, even.

And that was what terrified Est the most.

So he began pushing. It wasn’t even conscious.

Soft kisses that started as goodnight but turned hungry halfway through. Fingers that wandered down his spine. Warm hands under William’s shirt. Lips brushing his neck, then his shoulder, then lower.

And when William groaned, shifted, whispered “Est, don’t – “, Est only blinked innocently, voice honeyed with mischief.

“But I haven’t broken any rules, have I?”

William would curse. Clench his fists. Pull him close and kiss him breathless just to shut him up.

But never more than that.

Not yet.

Est didn’t know if he was doing it to punish him or to prove a point – maybe both. And maybe… maybe he just couldn’t stand the idea that someone might really want him this way.

So he kept pushing.

And William kept resisting.

Until one night.

The touches had turned desperate – both of them hard, breathing fast, William pinning Est down to keep him from grinding. Kissing him like his life depended on it, then whispering “No… no, not yet”, like he was begging himself to hold on.

Est hands had drifted. First to William’s arm, then his chest, splaying fingers over skin and tracing slow, absent-minded circles. Nothing overt, nothing urgent. But unmistakably… more.

William didn’t stop him.

He just exhaled softly, savoring it.

Until Est’s lips found his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, and finally kissed him – deeper, needier than usual.

William kissed back. Of course he did.

How could he not, when Est melted into him like that, when his mouth trembled with want, when his hand slid low –

But he pulled back gently, cupping Est’s face with both hands. His thumbs stroked over his cheeks. He kissed Est again – slow, reverent – then rested their foreheads together.

“Darling,” he whispered, voice thick with restraint, “if you keep touching me like that, I won’t last.”

Est’s breath hitched. He didn’t pull away.

“I want you so badly,” William went on, smiling faintly through the ache, “but… I want to show you that I’m not here just for your body. That you’re not something I only reach for in the dark.”

Est’s lashes fluttered. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think,” William murmured, brushing his thumb across Est’s lower lip, “you want to believe it. But part of you doesn’t. And I need you to feel it. Not just hear it.”

“You think one month will change that?”

William kissed his brow. “No. But it’s a start.”

There was a pause.

Est’s eyes searched his, something raw flickering there – hope, fear, disbelief. His fingers tightened briefly around William’s shirt before letting go.

He turned his face, pressing it to William’s chest, and sighed.

“Fine,” he murmured.

“You can keep trying.”

William chuckled, kissing the top of his head.

“I will.”

Est had fallen asleep aching.

Frustrated. Wanting.

But something woke him.

A sound.

Soft. Muffled.

He stayed still, kept his breath even, his back to the direction of the noise.

But he could feel it.

The air was different.

Sticky. Warm.

Charged.

Carefully, barely opening his eyes, Est turned his head just slightly – enough to glimpse the couch near the balcony doors.

And what he saw made his pulse lurch.

William.

Sitting on the edge of the couch. Shirtless. Sweat damp at his temple.

One hand buried in his hair.

The other –

Moving fast. Rough. Desperate.

Est froze.

His eyes widened as he watched William jerk himself off in the dark, teeth sunk into his lower lip, hips twitching.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t sweet.

It was need.

Pure and shaking.

And then –

William’s head fell back against the couch cushion. A breathless moan escaped him.

“Est…”

Another stroke. Another.

“Fuck – Est – please…”

Est’s chest tightened.

He watched, transfixed, as William fell apart – quiet and panting and undone.

He didn’t want to. That was obvious.

He was trying so hard.

And still, in the end, it was him William broke for.

Not some faceless fantasy.

Not relief for its own sake.

Him.

William came hard – shuddering, biting back a cry, his body jerking with the force of it.

Est swallowed.

Heat spread through his own body again, involuntarily. But he didn’t move.

Didn’t make a sound.

He stayed where he was, face turned away, letting his breath fall slow and even.

Pretending to sleep.

But he didn’t sleep again.

Not that night.

He just lay there, listening to William clean himself up, crawl quietly back into bed, settle behind him with a deep exhale.

And when William whispered “I’m sorry” – so faintly that it may not have been meant for anyone but himself – Est’s eyes burned.

Because he was no longer sure what he wanted to prove.

Or who he was even trying to protect anymore.

—–

Hope y’all enjoy the chapter as usual.

Let me know your thoughts in the comments.

PS Guys, I’m moving cities this week. So naturally, I am very busy at the moment. I will likely be offline. But If I manage to find time, I will try to upload a couple times. But cannot make any promises. 

So until I have things up and running again, I will be taking a bit of a break.

Don’t worry too much, I will be back asap.

Cheers! 

– Author S.