Chapter 4

Est stirred slowly from sleep, eyes fluttering open to the faint light streaming through gauzy curtains.

For a breathless instant, everything felt suspended –
The warmth of the bedclothes around him.
The faint scent of jasmine oil clinging to his skin.

And then the memories rushed back:
The prince’s hands on him.
Those deep, dizzying kisses.
The slick, perfect heat of their bodies moving together through the dark hours.

He could still feel the phantom ache in his thighs – and the lingering taste of William’s skin on his lips.

But when he turned, reaching instinctively across the bed…
The sheets were cool and empty.

A chill ran through him.

Est pushed himself up onto his elbows, scanning the room –
but there was no one there save a servant who stood quietly by the door.

Where was William?

“Your Highness,” Est began – his voice rougher than he expected – then paused, realizing the title was meant for someone not present.

The servant bowed, careful and polite.
“His Royal Highness was called away on business this morning,” they said softly, as if sensing his questions.

And Est felt his stomach knot.

Business?
Or had last night simply been… transactional?
A beautiful distraction for a prince with far too much power and too little time?

Est wasn’t sure which thought unsettled him more.

Was this just another one of the prince’s whims – leaving him to wake alone like any other fleeting distraction? He didn’t want to believe that – not after the way William had kissed him last night, the way those dark eyes had held him as if he were someone rare and valuable.

And yet…

What did he really know of princes and their moods?

Before he could dwell too long, the stewards moved forward – bowing – gesturing toward a marble bath and a rack of crisp linen.

“Please,” one murmured, “allow us to help you prepare for your day.”

And Est let them – moving like a man in a dream as they guided him into warm water that smelled faintly of cedar and sage.

As hands smoothed soap across his shoulders and hair – as they wrapped him in a robe and brushed his hair into place – his thoughts kept circling back to the prince.

He could still hear William’s voice – low and coaxing – feel the ghost of him against his palm.

And as they led him at last down a series of quiet halls, toward a small salon where a king’s attendant waited, Est realized that, beneath the confusion and the ache, a fragile ribbon of hope had begun to unfurl inside him.

The man greeted him with a respectful nod and handed him a folded receipt.

Est stared blankly at the parchment.

“You’ll want to read this,” the attendant urged gently.

And when Est unfolded it – eyes tracing each careful line of ink – his heart stumbled.

Every penny of his father’s debt.
Every crushing sum that had hung like a yoke around his family’s neck for years –
Paid in full.

And then – in bold strokes across the bottom – the prince’s own signature and the royal seal.

He felt his hands tremble slightly as he read it again.
And again.

Just like the prince had promised.

Est’s heart thudded hard.

“Sir,” the business attendant prompted gently – drawing his gaze up – “His Royal Highness ensured this was taken care of, as he promised you. You’ll also want to know that you have been shortlisted – along with some others – for the position of his personal bodyguard.”

Est blinked – taken aback.

“Shortlisted?” he echoed – fingers tightening around the parchment.

“Yes,” the man assured him with a deferential nod. “You will receive a summons for the final trials shortly. His Highness looks forward to seeing you again then.”

That last part – seeing him again – caught Est like a hook.
And yet part of him was tangled in questions.

That was all?
No personal word?
No sense of whether last night had meant more than convenience to a prince who could have anyone at his side?

He thanked the attendant with a bow – hands trembling only slightly as he tucked the parchment carefully into his tunic – and left the palace as the morning crowds began to stir.

Every step back through the narrow streets felt strangely weightless – his gaze unfocusing as thoughts tumbled one after the other.

The scent of jasmine oil.
The dark gleam of William’s eyes.
That kiss like an unspoken promise.

And now, this: his debts erased with a single stroke.

By the time Est reached his mother’s modest house – the wooden door familiar and weather-worn beneath his palm – his heart was still spinning.

He paused before pushing it open – drawing a long breath as he gathered himself.

There was relief in knowing that his family would never have to scrape by again.
And yet there was something deeper – more dangerous – humming just beneath that.

He wanted to see him again.

That was the most troubling part – and the most honest.

And as Est finally pushed the door open and stepped inside – home – part of him already felt pulled toward the summons he knew would come.

Pulled toward a prince whose hands had held him so carefully in the dark.

And pulled toward whatever future might lie waiting just beyond the edge of his uncertain heart.

___________

Each day slipped past like water through his fingers.

Days blurred into one another as Est fell back into the rhythm of his old life – helping his mother with the household, seeing to his younger siblings’ chores, repairing a cracked doorframe or hauling water up from the well.

And yet beneath all of that, an unshakable tension pulled at him.

Each morning, as the light broke through the shutters, Est would wake with a fleeting sense of anticipation – heart skipping as if expecting someone at the door.
Each evening, as the lanterns flickered in their modest rooms, he would listen for every knock, every unfamiliar voice outside.

But nothing ever came.

Est kept up with his usual routine- He would rise before the sun, shrugging into his worn tunic while the house was still dark, and slip outside and walk to the narrow courtyard where other soldier hopefuls often gathered.

There, they trained together – bodies aching, breath misting in the early light as they ran drills under the watchful eye of an old veteran. Est relished the soreness that followed – the ache in his shoulders from swinging a practice sword for hours, the satisfied burn in his legs after endless footwork.

By mid-morning, he would hurry across town to the small pub where he worked – serving drinks to laughing tradesmen and gruff guardsmen, scrubbing wooden tables until they gleamed under the lamplight.
The smell of roasted meat and stale beer clung to him as he moved among the crowds, hands sure and voice polite – another face in the hum of everyday life.

And yet beneath it all, Est carried a restless tension he couldn’t shake.

There were nights when the training and the work left him too tired to think – and then there were nights when his thoughts roamed far beyond his control.

More often than not, they circled back to the prince.

That kiss.
That dark blue gaze fixed on him.
The dizzying heat of their bodies pressed together.

And most of all, the lingering question: would he ever see him again?

At times, Est would catch himself wondering if that single night had been nothing more than a fleeting indulgence – a prince’s passing fancy, never to be repeated.

And at other times – especially when exhaustion settled into his bones at the end of a long day – he would allow himself to remember more.
He would lie back in the quiet dark of his small room and let those memories wash over him in aching detail.

He would remember William’s hands – broad and warm – skimming across his back and pulling him close.
He would recall that slow, devastating kiss, William’s lips parting beneath his own.
And most vivid of all were the prince’s eyes – dark blue and unguarded – looking up at him as they moved together.

Est’s hands would drift downward – slowly at first, hesitant, then bolder as his pulse quickened – sliding past the waistband of his loose trousers to wrap around his length.

And as he began to stroke himself, breath trembling in the dark, the memories sharpened.

He imagined himself back in that bed – imagined William arching into him, hands tangled in his hair, voice low and husky as he guided Est to go deeper, harder.

A quiet moan slipped past Est’s lips as heat coiled low in his belly.

His strokes quickened – eyes shut tight, breath spilling in shuddering gasps as his thumb brushed the head, slick with precum.

And then – with a shivering groan – he tipped over the edge, spilling across his palm, hips trembling into his touch as he pictured the prince’s hands gripping him just as tightly.

When it was over, the world rushed back in – the darkened ceiling above him, the sound of distant rain on the window – and Est lay there a long moment, heart still racing.

And as his breath steadied, a familiar ache returned to his chest.

Two weeks had passed since that unforgettable night.
Two weeks without word.
Two weeks of wondering whether the prince had already forgotten him, or whether some long-anticipated summons might still come.

And most of all, two weeks of knowing – despite himself – that he would give anything to feel that heat again.

With a sigh, Est cleaned himself up, pulled his blankets close, and stared into the dark, thoughts swirling until sleep finally took him.

Why hadn’t he heard from him?
Had he failed some unspoken test?
Had the prince already forgotten him – lost him among a dozen other fleeting amusements?

Or was this silence deliberate – a trial all its own?

Est kept these thoughts to himself as best he could.
He didn’t want his mother worrying, or his siblings catching some sense of his distraction.

But at night – when the house was quiet and the weight of tiredness tugged at him – those questions became louder.

And under them all was one steady, secret desire.

That the summons would come.

That he would see William again.

That whatever fragile thread had bound them that night would pull them together once more.

More than he could put into words – Est found himself hoping.

And hoping.

And hoping.

_____________

At first, he had kept himself hopeful. Every knock at the door, every voice at the gate set his heart thudding like a drum. But as one empty day followed the next, that first spark of anticipation slowly dulled into a tired, aching sort of emptiness.

Each morning, as the light broke through the shutters, Est would wake with a fleeting sense of anticipation – heart skipping as if expecting someone at the door.
Each evening, as the lanterns flickered in their modest rooms, he would listen for every knock, every unfamiliar voice outside.

But nothing ever came.

Two more weeks bled into each other without word – a whole month since that night.

By then, Est had all but given up hope.

He still rose before dawn to train – his hands familiar with the hilt of a practice sword, his body lean and strong with constant effort.
He still spent long hours at the pub – weaving between crowded tables with a practiced smile as he poured drinks and kept to himself.

And most nights, when thoughts of William rose up unbidden – soft hands, dark blue eyes – he crushed them quickly.

There had been one perfect night.
And that was all.

So when a liveried messenger appeared at the pub one rainy afternoon – royal seal on his parchment, voice formal as he read aloud – Est nearly dropped the tray in his hands.

“Est Supha Sangaworawong,” the messenger intoned clearly, “you are hereby summoned to present yourself at the royal court tomorrow at midday for the final round of assessments for the position of His Royal Highness Prince William’s personal guard.”

Est’s breath caught. And just like that – it was real.

He hardly heard the noise of the tavern after that.

That night, Est dug his best clothes from his battered trunk – a tunic of deep green trimmed with gold thread that his mother had saved up to buy him years ago, polished boots that still fit snug and neat.

He spent an extra long time washing, making sure every trace of sweat and dirt was gone before smoothing oil into his hair and straightening his spine before the cracked glass.

And then he lay in his bed with his hands clasped over his ribs, staring up into the dark – pulse thudding, a fragile thread of anticipation unfurling again.

When the morning light broke, Est felt a nervous energy humming in his bones.
He kissed his mother goodbye, ruffled his siblings’ hair, and then set off toward the palace.

The marble halls felt larger than he remembered as he was ushered into the grand court – banners of royal blue and gold glowing in the morning light.

But Prince William was nowhere in sight.

Instead, Est and the small group of other hopefuls were greeted by the stern chief of the royal guard – broad-shouldered, hair like silver steel – and an assortment of captains and commanders.

“You will be tested again,” the chief barked. “And only those who stand apart will proceed.”

The assessments began without ceremony.

Est moved through each trial with practiced discipline – lifting blades, dodging blows, racing across rain-slick tiles.
His tunic was soaked through with sweat before the morning was up, his hands raw against the practice weapons.

And all the while, he kept stealing glances toward the throne room – hoping for a glimpse of him.

But William never appeared.

By the end of the testing, Est felt as though he’d been dragged through the streets – exhausted, disheveled, breath still coming hard – but proud of how well he’d held up under every challenge.

He and the other candidates were led to a small side chamber with a basin of water and a few benches, told to clean up as best they could and wait.

And Est obeyed in silence, hands trembling slightly as he scrubbed his face and hands clean.

A short while later, the chief of the guard returned.

“You,” he began, pointing to two of the other men. “You are dismissed. The rest – follow me.”

That left three.

Est’s heart thudded dully in his chest as they followed the chief into the throne room.

The grand hall was as imposing as Est remembered – marble columns, banners of deep blue and gold, nobles gathered like a tide around the dais where King Niran Ananda Kaewpanpong and Queen Anya sat side by side.

And standing slightly apart – hands clasped behind him, expression unreadable – was William.

Est felt a jolt of heat as their eyes finally met. Est felt the prince’s gaze like a touch across his skin – heat crawling up his neck, his hands tightening at his sides.

The chief of the guard bowed to the monarchs. “Your Majesties,” he announced, voice loud and proud, “these are the three I have selected. Each is highly capable – each would serve the royal personal guard with distinction.”

King Niran inclined his head, gaze sweeping over them all before settling on William.

“And which of these,” the king asked his son, voice measured and deliberate, “have you chosen for yourself?”

That dark blue stare held Est for a long, breathless heartbeat before moving to the chief of the guard.

“Have they been thoroughly tested?” William asked – voice deceptively casual.

The chief nodded. “More than thoroughly,” he assured. Then he gestured toward Est. “Especially this one – Est Supha Sangaworawong. Strength, skill, endurance, discipline. The boy impressed every commander who faced him today.”

Est swallowed – pulse jumping – as those dark eyes found him again.

And in that moment, all the days of waiting and wondering felt as if they’d never existed – washed away by that single look.

King Niran gave a single approving nod.
“Very well,” the monarch declared. “Est shall be appointed personal bodyguard to my son, Prince William. The other two shall join the royal personal guard. See to it that they are properly sworn in before the court.”

Est dropped to one knee as the royal steward approached – hands gripping the hilt of a ceremonial blade, words of fealty spilling like silk in the hushed throne room.

And all the while, Est was painfully aware of William’s gaze on him – heavy and warm and promising as a summer rain.

The ceremony concluded with a graceful finality – the last of the formal words fading into the grand hall as nobles began to stir and murmur amongst themselves.

Est hardly had time to catch his breath before the chief of the royal guard was at his elbow again, voice brisk.

“Follow me,” the veteran soldier instructed. “There are a few matters to see to.”

Est followed, heart still thudding as they left the grand hall and moved deeper into the palace.

They walked winding corridors, past grand salons and marble-floored halls, until they reached a more private wing that felt altogether quieter.

The chief paused at a plain wooden door set into the corner of the hall and opened it with a firm push.

“This will be your quarters,” he said.

Est stepped inside and glanced around. The room was simple by palace standards – a modest bed covered in clean linen, a small table and chair tucked under the window, a polished chest at the foot of the mattress. There was a single lantern already lit on a wall bracket, its warm glow spilling across the stone floor.

And folded neatly on the chair was a uniform.

The deep blue and silver of the royal guard – fine wool and supple leather – with polished buckles and distinctive insignias stitched into the breast: one bearing the royal crest of Kaewpanpong, and the other the special badge that marked him as personal guard to Prince William himself.

The room wasn’t much, yet to Est, after years of scraping by, it felt almost impossibly fine.

The chief’s voice broke his thoughts.

“Your post is in the prince’s personal wing,” he explained. “You’ll stay close to him at all hours. Be vigilant. Ready to answer his call.”

Est nodded, hands tightening slightly at his sides.

“Yes, sir.”

The chief of the guard gestured toward the uniform.

“You’ll wear this at all times,” he said, voice low and matter-of-fact. “Unless His Highness instructs you otherwise.”

Est stepped closer, fingertips brushing the fabric – smooth and strong beneath his hands – feeling the weight of what it all meant.

“You’ll report here tomorrow at dawn,” the chief continued. “Go home today – say your farewells, put your affairs in order. From tomorrow onward, you will be on duty as the prince’s personal guard.”

Est inclined his head, his voice steady despite the quickening of his heart. “Yes, sir.”

And with that, the chief of the guard gave a final, brief nod and left him alone.

For a long moment, Est simply stood there – gaze lingering on the uniform, hands flexing at his sides.

This was real.

Every promise, every fleeting look from William, every lingering ache of anticipation – all of it had led to this.

And starting tomorrow, his life would likely change forever.

When he finally left the small chamber and began the walk back toward home, Est felt a strange mixture stirring in his chest – pride and uncertainty, relief and an almost electric anticipation.

He thought of his mother, of his siblings – of the last night they’d all share together before he gave himself fully to this new role.

And, most of all, he thought of William.

The dark blue of his gaze.
The heat of his hands.
And the thrilling thought that, come morning, he would be by the prince’s side once more.

___________

Est was just turning toward the gates – already thinking of the goodbyes waiting for him at home – when a soft knock broke the quiet.

“Est Supha Sangaworawong?” a polite voice called.

He pulled the door open to find a slim, liveried attendant standing there, hands clasped properly.

“Yes?”

“His Highness Prince William wishes a word before you leave,” the attendant informed him smoothly. “If you’d come with me, please.”

____________

Well well well – what do we think? Is William playing games with Est or will Est soon be the one playing games with him?!

Anyway, let me know your thoughts in the comments. 

And ENJOY!