Chapter 35

The first light of dawn crept timidly through the heavy curtains, brushing pale gold over the chamber walls. William hadn’t moved all night. He remained half-reclined against the carved headboard, Est’s frail body nestled against him, wrapped in blankets, one arm secured around him as if he feared letting go would mean losing him again.

He hadn’t slept, not truly.

 Every shallow breath that rattled in Est’s chest kept William awake, every fevered twitch or faint whimper lanced straight through him. He found himself whispering broken reassurances into Est’s ear – words he scarcely knew were his own until he heard them leave his lips: “You’re safe… no one will touch you again… I’ve got you, Est. I swear it.”

When Est stirred at last, it was not in clarity but in fevered delirium. His eyelids fluttered, half-lidded, unfocused. He muttered in fragments – a mixture of soldier’s instincts and fractured dreams. “Chains… can’t move… don’t leave me behind… captain – “ His lips cracked, the words dissolving into incoherent murmurs.

William’s chest tightened, a wave of guilt near crushing. He bent close, stroking back sweat-dampened hair from Est’s temple. “No, no, don’t fight. You’re here, with me. I’ll never leave you. Do you hear me?” His voice was raw, the kind of hoarseness born from hours of holding back rage and grief.

The chamber door opened quietly at dawn. The physician entered, bowing low before crossing to the bedside. William didn’t relinquish his hold, even as the man knelt to examine Est. He noted the shallow breaths, the bandaged wounds, the bruises that mottled his ribs and wrists. Only when pressed did he carefully ease Est down upon the pillows, rising reluctantly, his eyes shadowed with sleeplessness.

“How is he?” William’s voice was low, rough from the night’s vigil.

“Fever is still high,” the physician murmured, keeping his tone careful, measured. “He has endured both injury and deprivation. It will take time – days, perhaps longer – for his strength to return.”

William’s jaw clenched. “And his mind? He barely knows where he is.”

“Delirium is common in such states, Highness. With rest and nourishment, it should pass. But there is risk – fever can turn, wounds may sour. He must be watched carefully.”

William’s hand tightened around Est’s limp one, thumb brushing over the calloused palm. “Then I will watch him.”

“He will drift in and out of consciousness for days, perhaps longer, depending on how deeply the body has been strained.” The physician murmured.

William’s jaw tightened. “Days?” The word was almost a curse. He looked at Est – his lashes resting dark on his cheeks, lips parted slightly as though even breathing was an effort. “And if he does not wake?”

“He will wake, hopefully,” the physician said with measured certainty. “With rest, nourishment, and time, his body will recover. But His Highness must understand – there is no remedy to hasten what must heal of its own accord.”

The words struck like stones against the weight already in William’s chest. He should have found comfort in them, but guilt gnawed sharper. He had doubted Est. He had let his brother’s poison make him believe – even for a fleeting moment – that Est might have abandoned him. That thought alone left him sick with shame.

The physician handed the attendants a small bundle of vials, explaining their contents in brisk tones. “A draught for the fever every four hours, broth in small measures as soon as he can swallow without difficulty. Cool compresses against the head and chest. Do not move him more than necessary. I will return by nightfall.”

The physician hesitated, but decided against saying whatever was on his mind. Instead he bowed again, murmuring assent before retreating.

When the door closed, silence fell heavy. William pressed his forehead to Est’s, swallowing hard against the burn in his chest.

How had he been so blind? How had he let himself believe – even for a moment – that Est had abandoned him, when the truth was chains, darkness, torment?

The weight of his own doubt pressed down cruelly. He wanted to rage at James, at Kenta, at himself most of all. Instead, all he could do was hold the man trembling faintly in his arms, whispering into his fever-warmed skin: “I’m here.”

Est shifted weakly at the sound of his voice, a faint whimper escaping him as though seeking the anchor William offered. Instinctively, William gathered him closer, tucking Est’s head beneath his chin, stroking soothing circles over his back.

It was the first time William admitted the truth – not aloud, not where anyone could hear – but within himself, buried beneath his guilt and fury: he loved this man. He always had. And he would not fail him again.

___

The next day, William had only just begun forcing his mind back to the matters of state – ledgers, decrees, reports he could hardly see for thinking of Est lying feverish in his bed – when the doors to the council chamber burst open.

His mother swept in, silks rustling, her face a mask of regal fury. James lingered behind her, his expression carefully neutral, though the faint curve of his mouth betrayed satisfaction.

“William,” the Queen snapped, not bothering with formality. “How dare you undermine me? Who gave you the authority to pull that… that guard out of the cellar?”

William’s head snapped up. “You?” His voice rang sharp, incredulous. “It was you who ordered him there?”

The Queen’s chin lifted. “Of course it was me. Insolence cannot be tolerated – least of all against a guest of this court. That man, your so-called protector, overstepped unforgivably.”

William stared, his chest tightening. “What exactly did he do?” His voice was low, dangerous, edged like a drawn blade.

The Queen looked almost pleased to be asked, gesturing with a hand as though recounting a trivial scandal. “He publicly threatened Lord Kenta. Spoke to him with vulgar disrespect – snarled at him like a common thug. And when the lord pressed him, he all but promised to maim him. In my presence, William. He raised his voice to a guest under my protection and attacked him. You call that acceptable?”

William’s blood ran hot. He had to clench his fists against the table to stop from surging to his feet. “So for defending me, for daring to speak against Kenta’s poison, you had him dragged to the dungeons like a criminal?”

The Queen’s brows snapped together. “Defending you? He was threatening one of your noble allies – “

“Ally?” William’s laugh cracked out, bitter and sharp. He shoved to his feet, the chair clattering backward. “Do you even know what Kenta has done? What he tried to do to me? Or is your precious decorum more important than your son’s safety?”

The Queen faltered, confusion flashing across her face. “William, what are you saying?”

He turned on her fully now, eyes blazing. “He assaulted me, Mother. Entered my bed chambers at night and would have taken me by force had Est not been there to stop him. That is the man you are defending. That is the guest whose honor you protect above your own son’s!”

The Queen staggered back as though struck, hand lifting to her lips. “No… William, that cannot – “

“Oh, but it can,” William bit out, voice rising. He whipped toward James then, his fury narrowing. “And you. You knew. You encouraged him, didn’t you? Stood by and watched while I – ” His throat tightened, fury warring with shame. “While Est had to shield me from that filth you invited into our halls.”

James shifted, mask slipping for a fraction of a second, just enough for William to see the truth in his stillness.

The Queen turned to her elder son, horror dawning. “James… tell me this is not true.”

For a heartbeat, the chamber was silent save for the thundering of William’s heart.

James’s mouth curved – just barely – but it was enough to stoke William’s fury.

“You knew,” William hissed, taking a step toward him. “Don’t you dare deny it. You and Kenta… all those secret meetings, the smirks. You thought I was too stupid to notice.”

“William.” James’s voice was steady, carefully measured, as though speaking to a hysterical child. “You are overwrought. You’ve always had… a tendency toward dramatics. Est has filled your head with poison. He is a guard. A nobody. His word against a nobleman’s.”

The words landed like blows, but William didn’t flinch. He stalked closer, his hands trembling at his sides. “Do you think I’d invent this? Do you think I’d stand here and accuse a lord of attempted violation because I’m… dramatic?” His voice cracked with the weight of it, rage and humiliation burning his throat raw.

The Queen’s face drained of color. “Enough, both of you.” But her voice wavered, no longer the iron command of a monarch – rather, the brittle edge of a mother unraveling. Her eyes darted between them, desperate for a truth she could bear to hear.

William turned on her again, every word struck like steel. “You locked the only man who saved me into a cell, and for what? For frightening my would-be attacker? For being loyal to me when none of you were?” His gaze swept the chamber, landing back on James like a blade’s point. “At least Est fought for me. At least Est bled for me. What have you ever done, brother, except throw me to the wolves?”

James’s expression twitched, a flash of sharpness breaking through his calm facade. “Careful,” he said, low, dangerous.

William barked a laugh that tasted of acid. “Or what? You’ll finish what Kenta started? I’d like to see you try.”

The Queen gasped, stepping between them. “Stop this! Both of you – ” Her eyes brimmed with tears now, panic written across her face as she reached toward William. “My son, I… I didn’t know. I swear to you, if what you say is true – “

William wrenched back, her touch burning. “If? You still doubt me?” His voice dropped, hollow and raw. “You doubt your own son, but not your scheming heir. Not your precious nobles.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

He shook his head, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I have nothing left to say to either of you.”

And then he turned, storming from the chamber before the Queen’s trembling voice or James’s cold reply could catch him.

The corridors blurred as he strode, fury and shame choking him. Every step beat with the same thought: Est. Est had been punished for protecting him. Est had been dragged to the dungeons while William had sat silent.

By the time he reached his chambers, he was breathless. He threw the doors open, uncaring of the startled attendants. All he wanted – all he needed – was to see him.

Est lay propped weakly against the pillows, still unconscious. At the sight, William’s anger cracked, shattering into something deeper, more fragile. He crossed the room in two strides, sinking beside him.

“I’m so sorry,” William whispered, his voice breaking as he caught Est’s hand in his own. “I should have stopped them. I should never have let you suffer for me.”

Est stirred, his lips murmuring something unintelligible, still delirious.

William bowed his head, pressing Est’s knuckles to his forehead, tears finally spilling free. “I’ll never let them touch you again. Never.”

____

The next morning, Est continued to lay unconscious, despite the physician’s watchful eye and care.

William barely got any time, caught in a whirlwind of official meetings.

When the council chamber had finally emptied that evening, the echo of voices lingering in William’s skull like a dull ache. He stood alone by the long table, papers and scrolls strewn across the polished wood. He’d sent the last of his attendants away. For once, he wanted silence.

The heavy doors creaked.

He turned, expecting yet another advisor with another demand. But it was his mother. 

The Queen.

 Alone.

She closed the doors behind her, fingers lingering on the brass handle as if the act itself required effort. No guards, no ladies-in-waiting. Just her.

William straightened. “Mother – “

“Don’t,” she cut him off, her voice low – not sharp, not scolding, but weary. Her crownless hair hung loose about her shoulders, and though her posture was regal, there was something unsettled in her eyes.

“I should not be here,” she said after a moment, stepping closer. “But you’ve left me no peace.”

William’s jaw tightened. “If this is about Est again – “

“It is always about him.” Her voice wavered, just enough for William to hear it. “About him. About you. About what you think you can risk with this title as though it were nothing.”

William turned his face away. “If you’ve come to lecture me again, save your breath.”

“I came,” she hesitated, “to listen.”

That startled him more than any reprimand would have. He met her gaze, saw the fracture in it, the uncertainty. But his fury was too deep to be softened.

“You dismissed him,” William said, his voice low but shaking with anger. “You dismissed me. Est told you what Kenta tried to do. I told you. And yet you would rather call him a liar than admit what your precious court shelters.”

Her lips parted, then closed again. “You think I did not hear? That I did not – “

“You didn’t believe,” he snapped. “Not him. Not me. You believed James.” His brother’s name was spit like poison. “You believed his assurances that nothing happened, that Kenta was above reproach. And why? Because he is the heir to the crown? Because keeping him untarnished is easier than facing the truth of what was done to me?”

The Queen flinched. It was subtle, but William saw it.

“I am not blind to what Kenta is,” she said at last, her voice taut. “Nor to what James is not. But William – this is not a matter that touches only you. The succession, the unity of the lords, the fragile peace of this kingdom – “

“Peace?” William laughed bitterly. “Is that what you call it? A peace that depends on silencing me, on protecting James, on excusing the filth of men like Kenta?” His eyes blazed. “Tell me, Mother – what is my worth in this kingdom? A body to be bargained with? A mouth to be shut?”

Her face paled, her composure splintering. She stepped closer, hands trembling as if she wanted to reach for him. “You are my son. My blood. I would cut my own flesh before I let them break you.”

“Then why didn’t you?” he whispered, the words cutting.

The Queen’s breath faltered. She looked at him as if seeing him anew – not the boy she raised, but a man standing against her.

“I love you,” she said, and it trembled out of her. “Both of you. James is the crown, you are my heart. Every choice I make tears me in two. If I lean to one, I betray the other. And I… I cannot… I cannot keep the balance.”

William shook his head, his anger edged with grief. “No. You choose, every time. And it is never me.”

Silence thickened the chamber.

Finally, she straightened, retreating into the mantle of her station, though her eyes still shone. “Your anger may be just,” she said coldly. “But anger does not rule. The crown does. Remember that, William. Or it will destroy you. Your heart will undo you.”

She turned and left, her steps steady but her hand trembling as it brushed the doorframe.

William stood alone, his chest heaving, fury and heartbreak tangled in his throat. For once, he did not know whether he hated her or pitied her more.

______

The Queen’s words still rang in William’s skull as he pushed open the chamber door. Your heart will undo you.

But when he saw Est lying pale against the pillows, still and silent, it wasn’t his heart that felt undone – it was his whole world.

The air smelled faintly of herbs, of smoke from the braziers the physicians kept burning. Est hadn’t stirred in hours. His breathing was shallow, too shallow, and his skin carried the waxen sheen of someone balanced on the edge of something William dared not name.

William sank into the chair beside the bed and caught Est’s hand in both of his. “I’m here,” he murmured. His voice cracked. “I won’t leave you.”

And he didn’t.

The attendants begged him to rest, to eat, to change his clothes. He ignored them all. He sat by Est’s side, his thumb brushing the soldier’s knuckles again and again as though touch alone could summon him back.

When a summons came from the council, he forced himself to go – only because absence would draw too much attention. He sat through an hour of droning voices and ink-stained parchments, his mind never leaving Est’s stillness.

When it ended, he fled back to the chamber before anyone could waylay him. He returned to find Est unchanged, exactly as he had left him, as though time itself had stalled in this room.

He bent low, whispering against Est’s temple. “You’ve stood guard over me for years. Let me keep watch now. Just… wake up, Est. Please.”

The words had barely left him when a shadow shifted in the doorway. William turned, already tense, already protective.

Kenta.

He leaned casually against the carved frame, the torchlight gilding the disdain carved across his face. He didn’t even attempt civility.

“So it’s true,” Kenta said, voice low but dripping venom. “You pulled your gutter born soldier out from where I had him cornered. Slipped him past me like some street thief.” His eyes slid to Est’s still body, then back to William. “You think you’ve outplayed me. Clever. Dangerous. But clever.”

William rose slowly, releasing Est’s hand with reluctance, his body bristling with anger. “Get out.”

But Kenta only smirked, stepping a pace inside as though the chamber belonged to him. “Do you know what your filthy little guard dog did? He threatened me – me, a lord, a guest of this court. Promised he’d cut me down where I stood. And you reward him for it.” His lip curled. “You must be very desperate to keep him close. Desperate enough to ruin yourself.”

The words struck their mark, echoing too closely to the Queen’s warning.

“You shouldn’t be here,” William said, voice hard.

Kenta smirked, unbothered, and sauntered closer. “I only wanted a word – Why so cold? Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten the years we shared. I was good to you. Better than he could ever be.”

His gaze flicked to Est’s unmoving form. “Look at him. Weak. Dying. That’s your great protector?“

William’s jaw clenched. His hands shook.

Kenta’s smile widened. “You want to hit me, don’t you?” he taunted softly. “Go on, then. Strike me.”

Something inside William snapped.

He crossed the space between them in three strides, his fist arcing before thought could catch it. His fist cracked against Kenta’s jaw, sending the man staggering into the doorframe with a grunt of shock. The sound rang in the quiet chamber, sharp as a blade being drawn.

William stood over him, breath coming fast, hands trembling with the force of the blow. “If you ever speak of him again – if you so much as look at him – ” His voice shook, not from fear but from the wild force of his own fury. ” – I swear to you, Kenta, I will finish what Est began.”

For a moment, silence crashed down again – broken only by the harsh sound of both their breathing.

Kenta touched his lip, saw the blood on his fingers, and his face twisted with fury. He surged forward, trembling with it.

William straightened, chest heaving, and barked a sharp laugh. “What now? Will you attack me in my own chambers? In my lands?” His voice dripped with disdain. “How very stupid of you.”

Kenta’s expression curdled into fury. His lip bled where William’s ring had split it. “You’ll regret that.”

William tilted his head, his tone icy, mocking. “Will I? What will you do, Kenta? Hurt me? Break me?” He leaned in, daring him. “You never could.”

For a heartbeat, Kenta said nothing, his eyes narrowing to slits.

His teeth bared, but then his fury slithered into something colder, crueler. He leaned closer, hissing, “No. Why would I ever hurt my darling Will?” His eyes slid past William, narrowing at the figure on the bed. “I’d rather finish off the low-born filth you’re so desperate to protect.”

Something inside William snapped again.

He lunged. His fists struck again and again, raining down with years of buried rage. Kenta grunted, tried to shield himself, but William’s fury was relentless – every blow a rejection, every strike a scream that never reached his throat.

The noise brought the guards rushing in, their boots pounding against stone. They froze for a split second at the sight – William, the prince, standing over Kenta’s bloodied form, chest heaving, fury still sparking off him like lightning.

William shoved Kenta back and stood, chest heaving, his face carved in cold fury. His voice when it came was like ice.

“Restrain him,” William spat, pointing at Kenta. His voice was low, cold, commanding. “Get him out of my sight. Out of my court. He is never to be seen here again.”

Kenta, panting, wiped blood from his mouth and sneered. “You can’t – I’m the Crown Prince James’ guest. Only he can decide whether I stay or go.”

The guards hesitated, caught between conflicting loyalties.

William’s gaze cut through them like a blade. “Restrain him.”

Steel hissed as the guards finally obeyed, seizing Kenta by the arms.

William stepped forward, his shadow falling across Kenta. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper that made even the guards stiffen. “Hear me well, Kenta. Give up. Stop being so pathetic. You will never have my affection again. The very thought of what we once were makes me sick.” His lips curled, venom dripping with every word. “You disgust me. You always did – though I was too young, too blind, to see it then.”

Kenta tried to smirk, but the tremor in his jaw betrayed him.

William pressed on, his words cutting like blades. “Do you think I don’t see it? You’re not here because you want me. You’re here because James pays you – or feeds you scraps of power – to crawl back and try to twist the knife. Is it money? A title? I don’t care. Whatever he’s giving you, it doesn’t matter. You were nothing then. You’re less than nothing now.”

Kenta’s breath came fast, sharp, his eyes wild.

William leaned in close enough that Kenta could feel the heat of his words. “And if I ever see you within the borders of this city again – ever – I will have your neck – and the Queen herself will stand with me when I do. So run while you can, Kenta. Because the next time, I won’t stop at my fists.”

Kenta froze at that, the defiance in his eyes flickering with fear.

The guards seized Kenta, dragging him toward the door. He struggled, spitting curses, but William’s voice cut across the chamber like a blade.

“You are finished.”

The doors slammed shut behind them.

And for the first time in years, William felt something close to catharsis – his fury still burning, but no longer trapped inside him.

_____

The next day, the whispers began.

They clung to the halls like smoke, curling sharp and sour into William’s lungs. He felt them even before he entered the council chamber – sidelong glances from attendants, the deliberate hush of conversations cut short as he passed.

When he slipped into his seat, late, his hair unkempt and his eyes rimmed red from a night that had been far too long, the room shifted. Nobles straightened, some arching brows, others pretending at indifference but failing to hide the curl of disdain at the corners of their mouths.

It had already reached them, then. What happened with Kenta. How he had been thrown out, “cruelly cast aside” by the younger prince in a fit of temper. The way the tale was told, William had been volatile, unstable – lashing out at a man who had once been his companion. Kenta painted as the injured party, poor and humiliated, his loyalty met with violence.

And all of it, William knew, was being fed from James’s own lips.

James sat now at the head of the table, composed as ever, every movement measured, his voice smooth as velvet while he steered the morning debate. He leaned back, fingers steepled, the very picture of calm authority. When one of the lords ventured a sharp remark about William’s silence, James chuckled lightly, just enough for everyone to hear.

“My brother has been… indisposed,” he said, lingering on the word. “Attending to private matters.”

Private.
It dropped like a stone in the chamber. Too heavy, too knowing.

James let it spread, William could see it in the satisfied flicker in his eyes.

William’s stomach clenched. He said nothing. He had no words left for these people, not when Est still hadn’t opened his eyes.

A ripple of murmurs spread, discreet but unmistakable. Smirks half-hidden behind hands. Eyes darting, assessing, gleaming with judgment. The implication was enough – William, so weak he couldn’t control his own temper, couldn’t even control the company he kept. His affair with Est whispered of as vulgar, his confrontation with Kenta twisted until it sounded like a lover’s quarrel turned violent.

William’s stomach twisted. His palms went clammy on the table. He stared down at the wood grain until it blurred, saying nothing, unable to breathe past the knot tightening in his chest.

When at last it was over, he didn’t wait. He fled back to Est’s chambers, his boots loud in the corridors, and the moment the door closed behind him he caught Est’s hand in his own.

But the grip wasn’t tender. It was almost harsh, desperate, his fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. His jaw was tight, his breath ragged.

“They’re laughing at me,” he said hoarsely, though his eyes were wild when they met Est’s. “At you. At us.” His lip curled, his voice shaking with fury. “I don’t care. Let them choke on their whispers. Let them choke on James’s poison. But I can’t – without you – “

His throat closed. He broke off, trembling, and in that split second the anger cracked, showing what lay beneath: the raw ache, the bone-deep exhaustion, the humiliation clawing at him.

He pressed Est’s hand against his forehead, holding it there like a talisman, his breath coming sharp and unsteady.

“I can’t stand here alone.”

William’s grip on Est’s hand trembled, his thumb stroking circles over skin that was far too still. His chest felt caged, every breath a fight.

“Darling, wake up. Please,” he whispered, leaning close as though his voice alone might tug him back. “You’ve slept long enough. It’s been days. You don’t get to rest like this, not when I’m the one sitting here falling apart.”

He shook Est’s hand gently, almost desperately, as if it might coax a response. His voice cracked, sliding into a low plea. “Sweetheart… come back to me. Call me reckless, call me foolish, mock me, hold me like you always do – but don’t leave me with this silence. Please. Please, love, just… wake up.”

His forehead dropped to the back of Est’s hand, his words muffled, tumbling one over the other in a fraying thread. “I’ll do better if you wake. I’ll behave, I’ll stop fighting, I’ll be whatever you need me to be – just don’t do this. Don’t leave me waiting like this.”

He pressed a kiss to Est’s knuckles, lingering there, whispering into skin that refused to stir.

“Darling, please. I can’t breathe without you.”

_____

Dun dun dun. Finally some payback for Kenta. But is this the end?

Will James give up? Or does he have more tricks up his sleeve?

And when will Est wake? Or will he?

Let me know what you think could happen. And also your thoughts on the chapter.

As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Cheers!