Chapter 34

The key felt heavy against William’s chest, hidden beneath his shirt. Every time it shifted with his movements, it seemed to burn him, as though reminding him of the price he had paid for it. Kenta’s hands still lingered like a poison on his skin, the taste of him in his mouth making him want to retch. He had kissed him. He had let it happen. He had even smiled through it, played along, leaned into Kenta’s touches – all because he had no other choice.

William pressed a hand against his mouth, his throat working, bile threatening to rise. He had whispered every prayer he knew when Kenta’s lips pressed against his own, when those hands slid over his body, when he had pretended to be pliant and willing. He had smiled and coaxed Kenta to drink more, to laugh louder, to trust him, and when Kenta’s head finally lolled, heavy with wine, William had slipped the key free.

It had worked.

But it had cost him something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back.

The guilt sank into him like lead. He remembered Est’s steady gaze, his loyalty, his vow that he wouldn’t leave. And here William was, allowing another man’s hands on him. Even if it was for Est – even if it was the only way – William’s stomach twisted with shame. Forgive me, he whispered silently, clutching the key until its edges bit into his palm. Forgive me, Est. Please let this bring me back to you.

Sleep had been impossible. So when the palace finally quieted, William pulled on a cloak, pulled the hood low, and slipped into the darker halls of the east wing. He had studied the way Kenta had always walked at odd hours, the smirk on his lips when he thought no one noticed. William’s heart pounded with every step, fear clawing at his throat. If James found him here… if Kenta woke before morning… if Est wasn’t there at all –

The thought nearly crushed him.

No. He’s here. He has to be here.

His hand trembled as he touched the key again, reassurance and terror bundled into one. Every sound echoed too loud – the creak of the floorboards, the faint scurry of rats in the walls, the whistle of the wind through narrow windows. William forced himself onward, following the narrow stairwell that led beneath the palace’s outer walls.

The cellar stank of mildew and iron, the damp air closing in on William as he moved deeper into the labyrinth beneath the palace. The torch in his hand flickered against walls slick with condensation, each shadow lengthening into grotesque shapes that made his heart pound harder. He clutched the stolen key so tightly his palm had started to ache, his breaths shallow with dread. Every step echoed like a betrayal.

God, let me be wrong. Let me be wrong. Please…

But something inside him knew – had known since the night Est disappeared – that this was where it would end. Not with Est walking out on him. Not with indifference. No, something darker had pulled Est from his side, and now the air itself seemed to whisper it back to him.

It smelled of damp and mold. The air grew colder. He could hear the drip of water somewhere distant, like the ticking of a clock counting down his resolve.

The descent into the cellars was like walking through the bowels of hell.

William held a lantern in one hand, the stolen key cold and sharp in the other, his heart pounding so violently he thought it might give him away before he even reached the end. Every step echoed in the silence. The air grew damp, colder the deeper he went, stone walls slick with moisture, the smell of mildew and something far fouler clinging to him. He forced himself to breathe quietly, to keep moving, though his mind screamed with a thousand what-ifs – what if Est wasn’t here, what if he was already dead, what if James or Kenta found him first.

When he reached the heavy door tucked at the end of the last corridor, his fingers shook so violently it took him three tries to fit the key into the lock. The hinges gave a low groan, and the stench that rolled out nearly dropped him to his knees: blood, sweat, filth, rot.

The lock clicked, a sound louder than thunder in the silence.

William hesitated, forehead pressing to the cold iron for a moment, closing his eyes. He thought of Est’s voice, the way he had laughed, the way he had said he wasn’t going anywhere. He thought of his eyes, sharp and steady, the only anchor William had left.

And he pushed the door open.

He raised the lantern higher, and his world splintered.

Est.

Or what was left of him.

He was chained against the far wall, slumped like a discarded doll. His skin was an ashen gray, streaked with bruises and half-healed cuts. Blood crusted at the corner of his mouth, his lips cracked and trembling as though he were muttering to someone unseen. His shirt – or what remained of it – was torn, stiff with dried blood. His wrists were raw from the shackles, swollen and angry red. His chest rose and fell shallowly, as if each breath cost him everything he had left.

For a heartbeat, William couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. The lantern nearly slipped from his grip.

“Est…” His voice cracked, so soft it was almost a prayer.

At the sound, Est’s head lifted fractionally, though his eyes barely focused. He squinted into the light, pupils blown wide, lips parting. His throat worked, a broken sound leaving him that might have been William’s name – or just a hoarse rasp pulled from his delirium.

William crossed the room in three stumbling steps, falling to his knees before him. His hands hovered, afraid to touch, afraid his fingers might undo what little life clung to him.

“Gods, Est… what have they – ” His voice broke. He pressed his fist to his mouth, choking on the sob clawing up his throat.

Est stirred faintly at the sound of his voice, lids fluttering open just enough to reveal a glassy, delirious haze. For a moment his gaze slid right past William, as though he couldn’t recognize him.

“…Will…” The name cracked from his lips like a prayer, so faint William almost thought he’d imagined it.

William choked, tears spilling freely now as he gathered Est into his arms. The man was frighteningly light, frighteningly limp.

Est blinked sluggishly, his gaze unfocused. He whispered something, faint, his lips trembling: “…didn’t… leave…”

Tears burned down William’s cheeks before he realized he was crying. He grasped Est’s hand, cold and trembling, bringing it to his lips. “I know. I know you didn’t. I should have known. I should have never doubted you.”

Est gave a weak, almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if trying to ward off the guilt William carried. Then his body sagged again, his breathing hitching.

William’s heart clenched. The guilt clawed at him – how close he had come to believing James, to letting doubt twist its knife deeper until he had nearly lost Est entirely. He’d played their game, pretended, seduced, kissed, let Kenta touch him – all for this moment. And yet now, looking at Est, he couldn’t shake the horror that it might have been too late.

No. He wouldn’t let it be.

“I’m here. I’m here, I’ve got you, love… I’m so sorry. I should’ve found you sooner.” His voice broke, and he pressed his forehead against Est’s, clinging to him as if sheer will alone could knit him back together.

Est made a faint sound, somewhere between a sob and a broken laugh, before his eyes slipped shut again. His breath rattled weakly against William’s neck.

William held him tighter, fury and grief twisting inside him like fire and ice. His brother. Kenta. Every filthy word, every manipulative lie – William could see it now for what it was. They had done this. They had left Est here to rot, all while poisoning William’s heart against him.

He pressed a trembling kiss to Est’s matted hair, whispering, “They’ll pay for this. I swear it.”

“Hold on, darling,” William whispered fiercely, pressing his forehead to Est’s. “I’m getting you out. Tonight. I swear it.”

Est’s eyes cracked open. Cloudy, unfocused, yet somehow – searching. He murmured something that tangled into itself, syllables barely strung together.

“…don’t… can’t… William – left – ?”

William’s chest seized. He shook his head furiously, gathering Est’s face in his hands, brushing damp hair back from his forehead. “No. I’m here. I’m right here, Est. I didn’t leave you. They lied to you. You hear me? They lied.” His voice cracked, ragged with desperation.

Est blinked sluggishly, pupils struggling to focus. His mouth moved again, forming fractured words. “Cold… too cold… can’t… he said you – said you were gone – “

William bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, trying to swallow down his rage. James. Kenta. He forced his voice soft, soothing, even as his insides screamed. “No, love, never. I could never leave you. I’ve been searching. I’ll get you out – just stay with me.”

His fingers fumbled with the shackles, the rusted lock stiff. He cursed under his breath, forcing the stolen key into the iron until it scraped. All the while, Est rambled in delirium, his voice a cracked whisper against the stone.

“…fire… hurts… Kenta laughing… said you… with him now…” His head rolled weakly against the wall, lips trembling as though he wasn’t sure what was real. “…couldn’t… didn’t believe – but maybe – William – didn’t – “

William pressed his forehead against Est’s temple, eyes burning, words tumbling out in a near frantic rush. “Don’t listen to them. Don’t you dare believe them. I would burn the world down before I ever – ” His throat closed, and he forced the words out softer, steadier. “You’re mine, Est. Always. I came for you.”

His shaking hands fumbled with the shackles, the rust biting into his skin as he worked at the lock with the stolen key. His heart pounded, every second stretching unbearably long. He prayed silently, desperately – for strength, for silence, for Est to survive until he could drag him out of this nightmare.

The lock gave with a final, sharp click.

William exhaled shakily, bracing Est against his chest as the chains rattled to the floor.

Est stirred faintly, a broken sound escaping his chest. “…warm…”

“Yes,” William whispered, swallowing the sob rising in him. “I’ll keep you warm. Just hold on. Just a little longer.”

Each bond he undid felt like a war won, but Est’s ragged breaths rattled too loud in the silence, and his head lolled dangerously against William’s shoulder. William kept speaking, kept touching him, desperate to anchor him. “Look at me, Est. Stay awake. You’ll see – the sky, the sun – . Just don’t let go.”

Est’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, fever-bright and unfocused. His cracked voice rasped, “Will…? No – you shouldn’t… shouldn’t be here. It’s a trap.” He tried to push weakly against William’s chest, but the effort only made him collapse harder into his arms.

William held him tighter, refusing to let go. “I don’t care. Let it be a trap, I’ll burn the whole damn cellar down before I let them take you from me again.”

Est shook his head, barely conscious, yet still trying to protect him. “You have to… go. Please. Please.” His hand fumbled weakly at William’s shirt, as though trying to shove him away, though his body clung to the warmth instinctively.

William caught that trembling hand and pressed it to his own heart. “I’m not leaving without you. If I walk out of here, it’s with you in my arms or not at all.”

Est’s lashes fluttered. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment before a hoarse whisper escaped: “Stubborn prince.”

A ghost of a smile tugged his mouth before he slipped back into delirium.

William kissed his temple, tears slipping free.

When the last shackle clattered to the floor, William gathered him up, cradling him as though he were glass. Est sagged into him, his lips brushing William’s throat in a half-formed murmur. “…knew you’d… come…”

William’s vision blurred, hot tears slipping free. He pressed a kiss to Est’s temple, to his hair, his jaw. Then, unable to stop himself, he found Est’s lips. They were cracked, chapped, tasting of metal and dust – and salt, from William’s own tears. The kiss was desperate, trembling, not for passion but for proof: proof that Est was still here, still breathing, still his.

“Always,” he whispered against that broken mouth, a vow and a plea all at once.

He felt how light Est had become, how wrong it was, and rage burned through his guilt. James. Kenta. They would pay for this.

But first – he had to save him.

____

The corridor seemed endless. William’s breath came ragged, his arms burning from Est’s weight. The man was lighter than he should have been, far too light, but still heavy in his current state, dead weight half-conscious and slipping against William’s shoulder. Each step jarred his body. Est groaned softly, his head lolling against William’s chest, his lips cracking as he muttered broken words William couldn’t make sense of.

“Almost there… just hold on,” William whispered, adjusting his grip, even as his knees buckled from time to time. His boots scraped stone, the sound echoing through the stale air of the cellar stairs. The torchlight flickered over Est’s ruined wrists, the angry rope burns that William’s eyes couldn’t look away from. His stomach twisted with guilt at every mark, every bruise, every cut that looked as though it had been left untended for days.

It felt wrong to rush him up the stairs like this, but there was no choice. If Est stayed here another hour, William feared there would be nothing left of him to save.

He could see the faint light of the corridor above. He staggered, forcing himself to push, whispering Est’s name like a prayer.

They had just reached the last curve of the stairwell when the faint shuffle of boots echoed ahead. A lantern swung into view, and William froze.

James.

His elder brother leaned lazily against the archway, the golden glow illuminating a face far too composed for this hour. He blinked once, deliberately slow, as if appraising a curiosity at court rather than the bruised, bloodied body clinging to William.

“Well, well,” James drawled, his tone feather-light. “I didn’t expect you to come prowling the cellars at midnight. And certainly not to find… him.” His gaze slid to Est like one would regard a broken chess piece.

William tightened his hold on Est, forcing his voice steady. “You expect me to believe you didn’t know he was here?”

James lifted a brow, expression artfully wounded. “Accusations, brother? Without proof? You’ll make a poor statesman if you leap at every shadow.”

William’s jaw clenched, teeth aching. “Drop the act. You put him here.”

For the first time, James’s smile flickered – just a fraction, just enough. Then it returned, sharper. “And if I did? Would you rather I left you to tether yourself to a distraction that weakens you?” He stepped forward, lowering his voice like he was imparting wisdom. “You’re cleverer than this, Will. Attachments like these are dangerous. Best cut free before they rot you from within.”

William’s stomach churned. He couldn’t risk a scene – not here, not now, with Est trembling in his arms. He forced his tone cool. “He is my guard. My responsibility. You’ve overstepped.”

“Your guard,” James repeated, rolling the words on his tongue. Then his smile deepened into something cruel. “Is that all he is?” His gaze swept over Est’s battered frame and then up to William’s face, catching the storm burning in his eyes. James chuckled softly. “Ah. I see. That explains your… urgency.”

Heat flared in William’s chest, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He couldn’t give James the satisfaction. Instead, he called out, sharp and commanding: “Guards!”

The clatter of steel-shod boots answered. Two men appeared at the far end of the corridor. William shifted Est’s weight into their arms, voice clipped with authority. “Take him to my chambers. Send for the court physician immediately. No one else is to touch him.”

James clicked his tongue. “Your chambers? Bold. Almost scandalous, really.”

William ignored him, refusing to turn. The mask of the dutiful prince held, though inside his blood roared. James could laugh, could taunt – but William would not give him the weapon of confession.

Still, as the guards bore Est away, James leaned close, his voice a low whisper meant only for William:
“Careful, little brother. Emotions makes men foolish. And you’ve always been far too easy to read.”

William didn’t even spare him a glance. He walked alongside the guards, his hand never leaving Est’s shoulder.

When they reached his room, William ordered sharply to the attendants waiting there: “Fetch the court physician. Now. And prepare warm water. Clean linens. Anything he needs.”

The attendants scrambled to obey. William sank onto the edge of the bed, holding Est’s hand as though it anchored him. His voice softened, breaking as he whispered against his temple: “You’re safe now. No one touches you again. Not while I breathe.”

Est’s lips parted faintly, a broken murmur escaping. William leaned close to catch it, though all he heard was his name, fragile as breath itself.

And it shattered him completely.

The court physician arrived with a retinue of attendants carrying jars, cloth, and herbs. He was an older man, his presence brisk, accustomed to tending nobles and soldiers alike without indulging overmuch in sentiment. But even he paused upon seeing Est laid out across the prince’s bed, half-naked, his wrists raw and bloodied where the rope had bitten, lips cracked, his breaths shallow.

William stood at the bedside, hands fisted white at his sides. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Est – not even to greet the physician.

The physician sighed, gesturing for his assistants to begin. “Starved, dehydrated, bruised… but not beyond repair,” he muttered as he examined Est with brisk fingers, checking pulse, prying open an eyelid, pressing a hand to the battered ribs. “He’ll live, Your Highness, provided he receives rest, food, water, and proper tending.”

Relief jolted through William like lightning, but it was laced with venomous guilt. His throat tightened; his tongue felt like lead. He should never have been here at all. Never bound, never bled, never left to rot because of me.

Est stirred faintly at the physician’s touch, mumbling incoherently, his head turning weakly toward William’s side of the bed – as if, even delirious, some instinct sought him out. William nearly broke then and there.

The physician noticed his fixed gaze, and cleared his throat with an officious click of the tongue. “Your Highness, it may be best if this man were returned to his own quarters once he’s stable. It is not fitting for a soldier – however loyal – to occupy the royal bed. You’ll be inconvenienced by his presence.”

William’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “He stays.”

The attendants froze, heads bowed. The physician raised a brow, unused to being contradicted so curtly. “Forgive me, sire, but in these matters – “

“In these matters,” William cut in, his voice cold as winter steel, “you will do as you’re told. He remains here, under my protection. If that inconveniences me, then it is my inconvenience to bear – not yours. Tend to him here.”

The physician opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He inclined his head stiffly and set to work.

William moved closer, unable to stay apart, hovering by Est’s side as salves were applied to cracked skin and herbs pressed into his mouth with careful drops of water. Every flinch from Est was a knife in William’s ribs. When Est whimpered, William reached down, stroking sweat-matted hair from his brow, murmuring low reassurances that no one else could hear.

And through it all, that voice in his head kept twisting the blade deeper: This is because of me. He is suffering because of me. If I had been faster, braver, if I had seen through James sooner…

The physician finally straightened, wiping his hands. “With time, nourishment, and rest, he will recover. The body is resilient, even after such… treatment.” His tone suggested censure, but William’s glare pinned him into silence.

“Then you’ll see to it,” William said, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. He looked down at Est, his thumb brushing gently against the back of the soldier’s bandaged hand. “Every hour of every day, if that’s what it takes. He is not to be moved. Not until I say so.”

The physician bowed again, reluctantly. “As you command, Your Highness.”

When they left, William sank into the chair by the bedside, finally allowing himself to breathe. He reached for Est’s hand again, clutching it with both of his, whispering a vow only the unconscious man could hear. “I’ll never let them touch you again.”

The physician’s footsteps faded down the corridor, and with them went the bustle of attendants. The chamber grew still, save for the faint crackle of the hearth and Est’s fragile, uneven breaths.

William sat perfectly still, his body locked in the chair beside the bed, but inside he was unraveling. His gaze never left Est, drinking in every detail as though the act itself might tether him back to life. The pale sheen on his skin, the faint tremor in his breath, the shadows beneath his eyes – each one cut into William like a blade.

He should have known. He should have seen. He had sworn to keep Est safe, to guard him from the very cruelty that had dragged him into this bed. Yet here he was – battered, weakened, slipping away – and William had been blind.

Blind, and worse: doubtful.

The thought twisted like iron through his chest. When Est had disappeared, when word spread like wildfire through the palace, William had let the cruelest suspicion take root. That Est had left him. That perhaps he had grown weary of the prince’s dangerous affections and simply walked away.

How could he have thought it? Even for a heartbeat? The shame of it pressed against his ribs until his breath came shallow. Est – who had sworn his loyalty in silence and in action a thousand times over. Est – who had stood beside him when every other voice called him unfit, reckless, too much. Est – who had never once wavered, even when William pushed him away.

And William had doubted him.

His hands clenched white in his lap, nails biting into his palms. The betrayal wasn’t Est’s. It was his own.

And underneath the guilt, something darker burned: anger.

Anger at his brother, with his sly words and measured cruelty, always circling, always testing the boundaries of what William would endure. And anger at Kenta – most of all at Kenta. That vile smirk, that cold calculation, that hand daring to touch what William cherished most. The thought of it made his blood surge hot, his vision blur. If fate gave him the chance, he would tear Kenta apart with his bare hands.

The heat of his fury only made the truth clearer. There was no going back now, no pretending this bond was a whim or indulgence. William could feel it in his marrow, heavy and unshakable: he was in love with Est. Irrevocably, irreversibly. He had known it for some time, buried it under layers of denial, smothered it with duty and fear. But tonight had stripped everything bare.

He could live without the crown. He could live without the approval of his brother, without the suffocating weight of tradition. But he could not live without Est.

The prince bowed his head into his hands. The weight of the crown – of the mask – felt unbearable. He would never forgive himself if Est…

A sound broke through the storm of thought. A soft, pained whimper.

William’s head snapped up. Est’s face twisted faintly in sleep, his brow damp, lips parted as if fighting some phantom pain. A choked sound tore from his throat, and William’s chest seized.

“Shh… Est,” William murmured, rising immediately, perching on the edge of the bed. He reached out, brushing back sweat-tangled hair. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Est shifted toward the warmth of his hand, instinct overriding even unconsciousness. His body, thin and trembling, pressed almost imperceptibly against William’s side, seeking something solid, something known.

The prince couldn’t resist. Carefully, cautiously, he lay down beside him, curling his body to fit the space Est allowed. One arm slid around him, gathering him close without pressure, his palm resting against the curve of his shoulder. Est exhaled – a breath that sounded more like surrender than sleep – and nestled against his chest.

William tightened his hold, stroking a steady hand along his back, each pass a promise.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against Est’s hair. His lips brushed the crown of Est’s head, his voice breaking into softer threads. “Rest now. Heal. I’ll watch over you. Always.”

The room felt smaller, quieter, as though time itself had folded around the two of them. Est’s breathing steadied, evening out with William’s own heartbeat, and for the first time since the nightmare began, the prince let his guard slip – not away from Est, but into him, as though holding him close was the only thing tethering him to life.

_____

William has finally – finally found Est. Wait to see what happens next…

Hope y’all enjoyed the chapter. And definitely leave your thoughts in the comments!

I’m honestly trying my best to update as soon as possible, because I know you guys wait impatiently… But I barely have time to sleep and breathe aaahhh. And yet I’m coming through. Honestly idek how I’m doing it.