Chapter 36

Between the fourth and fifth day, William stopped eating.

He drank water only when the attendants begged him. The chamber blurred into a haze of candle smoke and the shallow rhythm of Est’s breaths.

The physicians reported no change.

William wanted to tear the words from their mouths. No change. As if those two syllables weren’t a death sentence drawn out endlessly.

That day in council, James leaned back in his chair, voice honey-smooth. “The lords grow uneasy,” he said, not looking at William. “Our brother’s devotion to a single guard has kept him… distracted.” His lips curled almost imperceptibly. “One wonders how long the realm can afford such neglect.”

The nobles chuckled, some uncomfortably, some eagerly.

William’s vision went hot, red, furious – but he said nothing. If he spoke, he would roar. If he roared, they would call him unfit. So he clenched his fists, endured, and left before the echo of their laughter faded.

Back in his chamber, he dropped to his knees beside the bed, gripping Est’s arm so tightly he feared he might bruise it.

“Do you hear them?” His words came ragged, almost hysterical. “They think you’re nothing. That you’re my ruin. And maybe you are – because I can’t breathe without you. So if you mean to ruin me, Est, then ruin me awake. Don’t do it like this. Don’t leave me like this.”

______

Exhaustion hollowed him. His attendants whispered that he looked half-ghost himself. Still, he didn’t move from Est’s side except when the council forced his presence.

By now the gossip was no longer whispered. It was voiced in measured tones over goblets of wine, drifting through the palace corridors like smoke: The prince chained to a soldier’s bed. Or rather allowing a dirty soldier into his own bed… Neglecting duty for lust. Unfit. Unready.

He heard them. He heard James’s hand in every word.

That evening, William returned to the chamber, slammed the door, and leaned against it as though holding back the entire world. His chest heaved.

Est lay unmoved. Still. Silent.

William crossed the room in three strides, sat heavily beside him, and caught his hand once more. His forehead pressed against their joined hands, his shoulders shaking.

“They’ll take everything from me,” he whispered. His voice was raw, scraped from days without rest. “The title, the court, the people. Even you. If you don’t wake, darling – ” His breath broke, a shudder wracking him. “If you don’t wake, I don’t know how to hold any of it. I don’t know if I even want to.”

He stayed like that until sleep finally dragged him under, slumped at Est’s side, still clinging to him as though by sheer force of will he could anchor the soldier’s soul to this world.

By the ninth day, William had lost all sense of time. Morning bled into evening, the chamber lit only by the dull glow of candles and the pale shaft of light from the high windows. He barely ate, barely slept, and when he did it was slumped in the chair at Est’s bedside, his fingers curled stubbornly around the soldier’s hand.

The court had grown louder. He could feel their whispers seeping under the door like smoke, choking him even in this sanctuary.

And then the door opened again – not an attendant this time, but his mother.

The Queen.

She entered swiftly, shutting the door with a snap. Her face was drawn, her jaw tight. “William,” she said, her tone sharp with restrained fury.

He didn’t rise. He didn’t even look away from Est. “If you’ve come to scold me again, I’ve no strength for it.”

Her voice cut across the room like a blade. “The lords are laughing at you. At us. At this court. Do you hear what they whisper? That the prince spends his nights clasping a common soldier’s hand, that he’s enthralled, bewitched, undone by someone unworthy. That he has abandoned his duties. That he is – ” She broke off, eyes flashing. “And you do nothing to stop them.”

William finally turned to her, his face pale with exhaustion but burning with fury. “Should I parade into the court and tell them the truth, then? That one of their noble lords tried to force himself on me in my own palace? That Est nearly died protecting me while you – ” His voice cracked. ” – while you chose not to believe him?”

The Queen’s throat worked, but she held herself rigid. “You cannot keep him here, William. Not in your bedchamber. Not with the eyes of the palace upon you. It is reckless. It is dangerous. If the King himself hears of this – ” She lowered her voice, almost whispering, ” – everything will be over for you.”

For the first time, William’s composure broke. He surged to his feet, his chair scraping violently against the stone floor.

“Over?” His voice trembled with rage. “Do you think it isn’t already over? Look at him!” He gestured wildly at the still body on the bed. “Every hour he doesn’t wake, something dies in me. And you would have me pretend? Hide him away like he is shameful?”

“Like you are foolish!” she snapped, her mask cracking for just a heartbeat. Her voice lowered, more desperate now. “I am trying to protect you. The court will not forgive weakness. They will not forgive love or whatever you think this is. You cannot – William, you must not – make yourself their weapon.”

He stared at her, his chest heaving. His hands shook with the weight of words he could not say – that she was too late, that the court had already made him their prey, that her protection was never enough.

But he swallowed them, because if he spoke them, he feared he would shatter.

The Queen pressed her lips together, gave him one last look that was more grief than anger, and turned on her heel. The door slammed behind her.

William’s breath came ragged. He sank back into the chair, head falling into his hands. His throat burned. He had no one – no one he could tell the whole of it to.

Until the door opened again.

“Brother?”

William raised his head. For a moment, he thought exhaustion was playing tricks on him. But no – it was Hong. His younger brother stood in the doorway, hesitant, his expression full of worry.

William exhaled shakily. “Hong…”

The younger prince stepped inside, his presence careful, almost reverent in the heavy silence. “I only just returned,” he murmured, voice low. “I’ve been away too long. I had no idea… that so much had unraveled while I was gone.” His gaze shifted to Est’s still form, and his breath caught. “Gods, William. I keep hearing things. What happened here?”

William tried to answer, but the words tangled in his throat. His brother’s eyes softened with something between pity and protectiveness as he crossed the room and lowered himself onto the chair opposite. “You look like hell,” Hong said gently.

William gave a humorless laugh, the sound cracking. “I feel worse.”

For a while, they sat in silence, the only sound Est’s shallow breathing.

Then Hong spoke again, his voice firmer, more sure. “I know what James is doing. The whispers don’t come from nowhere. He’s feeding them.” His jaw tightened. “He’s always been that way. Always grasping, always needing to make himself look brighter by casting shadows on us.”

William’s throat tightened. “He’ll succeed. He always does. And Mother – ” He broke off, shaking his head. “She wants me to pretend none of this matters. That Est doesn’t matter.”

Hong’s gaze drifted once more to Est, and this time his voice gentled. “But he does. Anyone with eyes can see it.” He paused, a faint, almost bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “Brother… he holds a special place in your heart. You can’t hide it from me – not when you sit at his side like this, as though you’ll shatter if he slips further away. It’s written all over you.”

The lump in William’s chest nearly choked him. He turned away, blinking hard, unable to speak for a long moment. His chest seized, his throat thickening until he could barely draw breath. He bowed his head, fingers tightening desperately around Est’s hand, as if to keep himself tethered. Emotion clawed up too quickly – grief, fear, love, fury at the world that dared to threaten this one person. His voice cracked when he tried to speak. “I – Hong, I – ” He couldn’t finish.

Hong leaned forward, watching him closely. His tone was soft, but insistent. “Is it… what I think it is?”

William blinked, confused, lost in the haze of exhaustion and feeling. “What do you mean?”

Hong hesitated only a heartbeat before saying it plainly, gently but without evasion. “Est. Is he your lover… or …. ?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than any whisper in the court halls.

William froze. For a long, aching moment, he could only stare at his brother. The thought, put into words so bluntly, sent his stomach twisting, heat rushing to his face. His lips parted, but no answer came. The truth pulsed in him – raw, undeniable – but it tangled with fear, with shame, with the poisonous laughter of the court echoing in his mind.

“I…” His voice fractured. His grip on Est’s hand turned almost frantic. “I don’t know how to answer that.” He swallowed hard, eyes stinging as he turned away. “But I know I can’t – ” His voice broke entirely. He pressed Est’s hand to his mouth, trembling. “I can’t lose him. Not him. He’s my everything.“

Hong’s eyes softened further, but he didn’t push, not yet. He only reached across the small space between them, resting a steadying hand on William’s arm. “That’s enough of an answer for me.”

But Hong wasn’t finished. “Still – ” His voice tempered, pragmatic. “You have to be careful. The court will always gossip. They’ll twist every truth into a weapon. If you want to survive… you can’t give them more blades to cut you with. Keep Est here, keep him safe. But don’t let the court see just how much he means. Hide it, if you have to.”

William’s hands clenched. The thought of hiding Est away, of denying what burned so fiercely in him, made his stomach churn. But Hong’s words rang true.

For the first time in days, William breathed deeply. He looked at his brother – the one person who hadn’t betrayed him – and whispered, “Thank you.”

Hong offered the faintest smile, placing a steady hand on William’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

And for the first time in days, William felt something almost like relief – a fragile thread of hope, thin but unbroken.

——

The morning crept in gray and cold. William hadn’t moved from Est’s bedside all night. His head rested against their joined hands, his body slumped, wrung dry of anger and tears alike.

A knock roused him. He straightened, stiff and hollow-eyed, as the door opened.

It was Hong. And with him came another figure – slim, neat, carrying a satchel of instruments and vials.

“William,” Hong said gently, “I brought someone. My physician – Nut. He’s the one I trust above anyone. He’s treated me since I was a boy.”

William blinked, disoriented, wary. “Why?”

Hong stepped forward. His eyes went to Est, then back to his brother. “Because I worry. Est’s wounds weren’t fatal. Not by any measure. He should be recovering by now. But he isn’t. And that makes me fear…” He trailed off, glancing at Nut.

Nut bowed low, then approached the bedside with careful, quiet steps. “With your permission, Your Highness.”

William hesitated only a moment before nodding, almost desperate. “Yes. Please. Do whatever you need.”

Nut laid out his tools and began to work. He examined Est’s body, the fading bruises, the stitched wounds. Then he opened the jars of salves and packets of herbs the court physicians had left behind. One by one, he sniffed, pinched, rolled the leaves between his fingers. His brow furrowed deeper with every sample.

At last he straightened, shaking his head. “These are not medicinal. They are… aromatic only. Harmless, yes – but also useless.”

William’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”

Nut glanced uneasily between the brothers. “I mean, Your Highness, that the concoctions prepared for him were never intended to heal. There is nothing in them to reduce fever, to fight infection, to strengthen the body. Only pleasant scents. To soothe, perhaps, but not to cure.”

The words sank like stones in William’s chest. He gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles white. “So you’re saying… someone…” His voice cracked. He couldn’t finish.

Nut pressed his lips together, reluctant. “It may not be the physician himself. He may have been instructed. But yes – someone is behind this.”

Silence filled the chamber.

Then Hong’s voice, low and grim: “I feared as much.”

William looked up at him, his face stricken.

Hong’s eyes hardened. “I suspected as much… The physician serves at the Crown’s pleasure. If …James… wanted Est kept weak, kept quiet… it would be simple.“

William stared at him, unable to breathe, unable to think. Betrayal pressed down on him like iron chains – his brother’s schemes, his mother’s warnings, the court’s whispers – and through it all, Est’s stillness, his silence, his life hanging by a thread.

His voice came out as barely more than a whisper. “I can’t – ” His throat closed, then opened again. He turned to Nut, his expression crumbling. “Please. Do whatever you can for him. Anything. I’ll give you whatever you ask. Just… save him.”

Nut’s gaze softened. He gave a small smile, steady and kind. “Do not worry, Your Highness. I will take care of it.”

William sank back into his chair, still clutching Est’s hand. This time, though, there was someone else in the room who might fight for him too.

______

That night, the air was thick with incense and silence, broken only by the faint crackle of the lamps that lined William’s chamber. Est lay as he had for days – unmoving, breath soft and shallow, skin pale against the dark coverlets. William sat at his bedside, his hand curled loosely around Est’s, thumb brushing over knuckles that gave nothing back.

The door creaked open. Hong slipped inside, carrying the quiet with him. He didn’t speak at first, only joined William at the table set off to the side, pouring two cups of wine. When William didn’t move, Hong pushed one closer.

“You’ll need your strength,” he said gently.

William’s eyes stayed fixed on Est. “I don’t care for strength. Not without him.”

Hong leaned back, studying his younger brother, then followed his gaze to the still form on the bed. “Nut has begun his treatment properly. Already, I trust him more than the other physicians combined. Est will recover.” He let that assurance linger, then shifted the subject with careful precision. “But William… you cannot keep this as it is.”

At last, William tore his eyes away. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve not left his side for days. He lies in your own chambers. The court is restless. They will talk until their whispers become daggers.” Hong’s tone was not chastising, but pragmatic. “I know you care for him. That much is plain to anyone with eyes. But you must learn what to show, and what to shield. It is survival.”

William’s jaw clenched. “You sound like Mother.”

Hong chuckled softly, though without mirth. “Perhaps. But unlike her, I’m not warning you to turn your back on him. I’m telling you – if you want to keep him, then you must be clever. There is a difference.”

William looked down at his hands, knuckles white against the edge of the table. The admission tumbled out before he could stop it. “I love him, Hong. I don’t… I don’t know how to be clever about that.”

Hong’s expression softened, and for a moment the careful prince’s mask slipped. He reached across, resting a steady hand on William’s shoulder. “Then you must learn. Because love alone won’t protect him.”

William’s throat ached with unshed words. He wanted to confess everything – the rage boiling at James’s shadow in every corridor, the despair of Est’s stillness, the fear that love was not enough. But Hong spoke first, voice low and steady, as though offering a secret.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured. “I know what it is to love someone you cannot name in public.”

William blinked at him. “What are you saying?”

Hong hesitated, as though testing whether to draw back, then decided. “Nut has been by my side for years. Not only as my physician, but as my lover, my partner. Quietly, privately. It is no less real for being hidden.”

Hong allowed himself the faintest of smiles. “Yes. It isn’t easy. But it is possible. We’ve learned to navigate it. The glances, the careful words, the stolen time. The crown does not allow for openness – but that doesn’t mean one must live without.”

William leaned back, stunned into silence. For so long he had thought himself alone, cursed by a love that could not exist. Now, suddenly, there was proof that it could. Not without pain, not without sacrifice – but it could.

“You’re saying…” William’s voice was a whisper, raw. “You’re saying I can have him. That we can make this work.”

“I’m saying,” Hong replied, firm now, “that you must. If you love him, then you owe it to him to fight cleverly, not just passionately. Learn from my mistakes. Do not flaunt what you cannot yet protect. Keep him safe until you are strong enough to shield him openly.“

William closed his eyes, and for the first time in days, a thread of hope wove through the despair. He thought of Est’s steady hand in battle, his quiet devotion, the rare smile that cracked his reserve. He would not give that up. Not for the crown, not for James, not even for fear.

When he opened his eyes again, they were sharp with resolve. “Thank you, brother.”

His brother gave his shoulder a final squeeze before rising. “Take care of him. And of yourself. One without the other won’t last.”

Hong slipped out as quietly as he had come, leaving William once more by Est’s bedside. He reached for Est’s hand, pressing it to his lips.

“Stay with me,” he whispered into the stillness. “I’ll find a way. I swear it.”

______

The next evening, the lamps burned low in William’s chambers, their light throwing long shadows across the floor. Est lay still upon the bed, his breath shallow but steadier than it had been before Nut’s intervention. William sat nearby, restless fingers drumming against his knee, too drained to read, too anxious to sleep.

The door creaked softly, and Hong entered without ceremony. He didn’t speak at first, only crossed the room toward where Nut was bent over Est, carefully adjusting the fresh poultices he had prepared. William’s gaze sharpened.

Now that he knew, he couldn’t help but notice it – the way Hong’s shoulders eased the moment his eyes fell on Nut, the way his voice, usually clipped and commanding, softened when he finally spoke.

“Have you finished for tonight?” Hong asked, standing just behind him.

Nut glanced up, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “For now. The fever has dropped, but his body is still weak. We must be patient.”

Hong’s hand lingered a little too long on the back of Nut’s chair as he leaned in, murmuring low enough that William almost felt like an intruder listening in. “You’ve done well. As always.”

Something unspoken passed between them. Nut’s smile grew warmer, his eyes holding Hong’s for just a second longer than propriety allowed. He gave a small, almost teasing shake of his head. “Don’t flatter me in front of others, Your Highness.”

Hong chuckled under his breath. “I only speak the truth.”

William’s chest tightened – not with jealousy, but with a kind of aching relief. He had spent days drowning under whispers and suspicion, his heart torn between fear for Est and the venom of court gossip. Yet here, in the smallest of gestures – Hong’s hand brushing against Nut’s as he took the discarded bowl from him, the quiet ease between them – William felt something shift.

It was possible. Love could survive even here, within the suffocating walls of the palace, if only one was careful.

When Nut finally excused himself to prepare another draft, Hong lingered at William’s side. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but William caught the faintest softness in his tone when he said, “You see? Even in this place, there are ways.”

William’s gaze drifted back to Est, then to the door Nut had gone through. He nodded slowly, his throat tight. “Yes,” he whispered. “I see.“

_____

That night, when the corridors of the palace finally stilled, William could not sleep.

Est lay beside him, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, the fever easing at last. In the dim glow of the lantern, shadows softened the hard lines of his face, made him look younger, almost untouched by the storms he had weathered. William could not look away.

Every detail pulled at him – the scar along Est’s jaw, the stubborn set of his mouth even in sleep, the way his hand had found William’s without thought. William let his fingers trace the back of it, feather-light, aching with all the things he could not say aloud.

Hong’s words replayed in his mind. It was possible. Not public, never public, but possible. Nut and Hong had proved it. Their closeness, hidden in plain sight, had endured. Perhaps he and Est could carve out the same – something secret, but real. Something worth fighting for.

The thought did not just give him comfort; it gave him purpose.

By morning, William rose with a steadiness that surprised even him. When he entered the council chamber, he did not shrink beneath his mother’s glare nor waver before the whispers that had been circling since Est’s outburst with Lord Kenta.

He took his seat with authority, his voice clear as he announced Est’s return – not to the shadows of confinement, but to his rightful post. He ordered Est’s chambers restored and improved – more fitting to the commander he was. Upgraded with new furnishings, armory access, and the presence of trusted guards, it would be a space worthy of his station, not a cell disguised as mercy.

“His strength is the strength of this kingdom,” William said firmly, eyes locking with those who dared look doubtful. “And I will not see it wasted.”

Hong, at his side, gave the faintest nod of support. When others murmured of scandal, of Est’s temper, of the danger of keeping him close, Hong’s voice cut through with quiet steel. “Loyalty is not a weakness,” he said, “and neither is devotion. We’d do well to remember that.”

Together, they pushed back against the tide.

And though William bore the crown’s weight with renewed resolve, his heart was elsewhere. When dusk fell and he returned to his chambers, he could almost feel Est waiting.

This was the balance he would learn to master – the prince the court demanded, and the man who, in the quiet of night, reached for Est’s hand and dared to hope for more.

_____

The days that followed shifted like the turning of a tide.

For William, the council chamber became the battlefield. Rumors still circled like carrion birds – about Est’s defiance, about William’s so-called recklessness – but William no longer flinched from them. He entered each meeting with his chin high, his voice steady, and his purpose clear.

Hong became his anchor there, never overbearing but precise in his interventions. When lords muttered about impropriety, Hong silenced them with sharp reminders of Est’s record – his victories in skirmishes, his loyalty proven beyond doubt. “You call it insolence,” Hong would say coolly, “but had it been anyone else protecting the prince, you’d have called it valor.”

It worked. Slowly, the balance shifted.

Even the Queen, sharp-eyed and unsparing, played her part in subtle ways. She never publicly recanted her anger, but William noticed how, during heated discussions, she allowed silence to fall long enough for him to press his case. She allowed rumors to burn themselves out instead of fanning them further. Once, when she passed him in a corridor, she said nothing at all – just a faint nod, a recognition that though they stood opposed, she had seen his strength. It was enough.

Meanwhile, Est’s chambers transformed under William’s orders. Gone was the cold austerity of confinement. In its place came warm light, reinforced armory access, maps, training equipment, and a physician on call. It was no gilded cage but a space befitting his role as commander.

And within those walls, Est’s recovery was steady and sure – thanks to Nut.

Nut proved meticulous in his care, sharper and calmer than William had ever seen him. He measured herbs, mixed tonics, pressed cold cloths against Est’s brow when fever lingered.

Slowly, color returned to Est’s cheeks.

William visited often, though not always at Est’s side. Sometimes he stood in the doorway, watching the way Est’s color had returned under Nut’s patient care. It ached, but it also reassured him. Est was healing, and that mattered more than pride.

And in the palace at large, William’s own reputation began to mend – piece by piece, with Hong’s quiet reinforcement and his mother’s hidden hand.

It was not yet victory, but it was no longer retreat.

_____

The next days blurred into a vigil. 

William hovered between his chambers and Est’s sickroom, each hour dragging yet sharp with fear. Nut worked tirelessly, precise in his care, his calm presence a quiet anchor against William’s storm of guilt and rage. Under his hands, Est’s fever broke, the tremors eased, the bruised body began, impossibly, to knit itself back together.

And slowly – like dawn creeping over a battlefield – hope returned.

Two days later, William was fastening the last buttons of his doublet, preparing to make his morning visit, when a soft knock came at his door. One of Est’s appointed attendants slipped inside, eyes alight.

“Your highness,” he said, barely containing his relief. “Sir Est is awake. Coherent. Asking for you.”

The breath left William’s lungs. He didn’t wait for more – he was gone before the words had fully settled in the air.

The corridors blurred beneath his feet, heart thundering. He pushed into Est’s chambers –

And there he was.

Est sat propped against the pillows, a faint flush of life in his cheeks again, dark eyes clearer than they had been in weeks. His dark eyes lifted to him, clear and steady for the first time in days. The sight hit William like an arrow – sharp, sudden, almost too much to bear.

William’s chest constricted. For a heartbeat he could only stand there, staring, unable to believe. Then his voice, sharp with command, cut the silence.

“Leave us.”

The attendants bowed hastily, Nut with a glance that weighed but did not interfere, and within moments the chamber was empty. The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence.

William took a step forward. Then another. He couldn’t speak – the words were strangled, useless, caught somewhere between his heart and throat.

And then Est smiled, faint but true, as if it had cost him everything yet meant even more. His voice came low, hoarse, but steady.

“I knew my prince would come for me.”

Something inside William broke. A sob clawed free from his chest as he surged forward, dropping to the edge of the bed, hands rising to cradle Est’s face with aching reverence.

“Est – ” His voice cracked. He bent, pressing his mouth to Est’s lips in a desperate kiss, salt of tears blurring the moment. He kissed him again, harder, clutching his face as if terrified he might vanish. “Gods, Est, I thought I’d lost you.”

He didn’t stop – couldn’t stop. His lips brushed across Est’s forehead, his cheeks, his jaw, frantic, worshipful kisses raining wherever he could reach. He caught Est’s hand next, kissing each knuckle, the back of his palm, lingering as though to burn devotion into the skin.

Est let out a soft breath, closing his eyes, his fingers curling against William’s cheek. “You didn’t lose me,” he whispered. “You never will.”

Est leaned into the touch, weak but steady, his breath uneven. His eyes, fever-bright only days ago, now held clarity, soft and unwavering. “Takes more than that,” he murmured. “You know me.”

The words undid William all over again. A sob wracked him; he bowed his head into Est’s hand, shoulders shaking as he fought to contain it. He failed. A few tears slipped free, hot against Est’s skin, and his voice broke as he tried to laugh through the ache in his chest. “I’m sorry – I can’t stop – “

Est’s lips trembled into the ghost of a smile, though his eyes were wet too, glimmering. “Don’t,” he rasped. “Don’t hold it in. Not with me.”

William looked up at him then – raw, undone, everything he’d buried spilling across his face. His thumb brushed clumsily at his own tears, but more fell, silent, unrelenting. He bent again, forehead pressed hard against Est’s, breath breaking between them. “I prayed – every night – I begged the gods – ” His voice caught, jagged. “I would have traded everything,  even my life – if it meant you’d open your eyes.”

Est’s lashes fluttered, damp with unshed tears, his breath trembling. He pressed his brow back into William’s, voice a thread of sound. “You’d give up your life you say… but don’t you see? You’re the reason I fought to stay.”

William let out a shaky, broken sound, half laugh, half sob. His hands tightened helplessly in Est’s hair, on his face, needing to touch, to ground, to believe this wasn’t a dream.

For a long moment, neither spoke. They simply held each other, two men stripped bare of every guard, trembling in the aftermath of too much loss, too much fear.

After a few moments, William pulled back just enough to search his face. “How are you feeling?”

Est exhaled slowly, shifting against the pillows. “Like I’ve been trampled by a horse. But – better. Clearer.” He studied William’s face, reading the exhaustion etched there.

William bowed his head into Est’s hands, shoulders trembling. When he finally forced himself to sit back, his gaze searched Est’s face, raw and unguarded.

Est paused, then frowned slightly. “How long… how long has it been?”

William’s throat tightened. ” A fortnight,” he said softly. “Twelve days since they – since I found you. Two days since the fever broke.”

Est blinked, as if measuring time lost. “I’m glad you’re here.”

William closed his eyes, pressing Est’s hand to his lips. “I’ll never forgive myself for leaving you in their hands. But I swear – no one will ever touch you like that again. Not while I breathe.”

For a while, they sat in silence, hands clasped, the quiet filled only by the sound of Est’s breathing and William’s thumb tracing circles over his skin.

When Est shifted, grimacing, William was on his feet instantly, sliding an arm behind his shoulders. “Easy. Don’t move too quickly.” He adjusted the pillows, then reached for the water cup, holding it steady to Est’s lips.

The first sip had Est coughing, but William steadied him, murmuring soft reassurances, brushing stray drops from his chin. “Slowly, darling, Just a little at a time.”

When Est sank back, spent, William set the cup aside and brushed damp strands of hair from his forehead. He lingered, fingertips trailing lightly, as if memorizing every line of his face anew.

“I thought I’d never hear your voice again,” William said hoarsely. “I lay awake every night, praying for this moment.”

“You have me,” Est said quietly, his eyes drifting closed. “You’ll always have me.”

And William stayed. He refused to leave, even as the hours stretched on and night fell outside the windows. He fed Est water in careful sips, pressed cool cloths to his skin when he grew warm, guided him gently when he shifted against the pillows. When Est dozed, William watched over him, tracing his hand, his jaw, kissing his temple when nightmares stirred him.

And when Est woke again, blinking at him through heavy lashes, William was still there, a vow in his eye – broken open, whole again, undone and remade in the space of Est’s breath.

____

So Est is finally awake and healing!! 

I baited you guys so hard with the “will he?” comment, in the last chapter aaaahhhsdhdgf (those who know, know). This book is WilliamEst  afterall – they’re the end all, be all.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. There’s a lot more to unravel in the next chapters. 

Do leave me your comments as per usual. I have the most amazing time going through them!