Chapter 46
Est remained where he was at the center of the wreckage, breathing hard.
Blood dripped steadily from his hand.
His shoulder burned sharply where the blade had caught him earlier, warm wetness already soaking through dark uniform fabric beneath his cloak.
Across the hall, guards surged forward at last.
They descended on the assassin violently.
The man still struggled weakly despite the blood pouring from his side, snarling through broken breaths as three guards slammed him face-first against the marble floor and wrenched his arms behind his back hard enough to make bone crack audibly.
“Hold him down!”
“Search him!”
“Check for poison – “
Another guard kicked away a hidden blade that skidded bloodily across the floor.
The assassin laughed.
Actually laughed.
A wet, horrifying sound bubbling through blood.
Dylan was among the first to reach him. He drove his knee hard between the assassin’s shoulders, forcing him flat against the marble while another soldier wrapped chains around his wrists.
“You picked the wrong fucking palace,” Dylan snarled.
The assassin only grinned through bloodstained teeth.
And then suddenly –
“Est.”
William’s voice cut through the chaos. Again.
Sharp.
Terrified.
Est turned instinctively.
William was already looking too worried, weven as he stood beside him.
Far too worried for protocol.
Far too worried for royalty.
The Queen called sharply after him – something about security, about waiting for guards – but William ignored her entirely.
Completely.
His face had gone deathly pale beneath the candlelight.
Not fear for himself.
Fear for Est.
The prince grabbed Est’s injured hand carefully before Est could even properly lower his sword.
Blood immediately stained William’s fingers.
His expression changed instantly.
Terror turning vicious.
William looked ready to murder him, he snapped, voice sharp enough to silence half the room around them. “You’re bleeding all over the floor!”
Only then did Est realize blood had begun dripping steadily from his fingertips onto the marble beneath them.
The Queen had finally reached the edge of the ruined banquet hall now alongside the King, both surrounded by guards and advisors barking overlapping orders. Her gaze landed immediately on William clutching Est’s bloodied hand in front of half the western court.
Her expression sharpened instantly.
A warning.
A mother’s suspicion.
William ignored it completely.
For perhaps the first time in his life, he truly did not care who was watching.
“Medic!” he barked suddenly, voice cracking through the hall with startling force. “Now.”
Servants scattered instantly.
Several palace physicians rushed forward from the edges of the room carrying cloth and medical kits while Anen’s military officers shouted over one another about securing entrances and sealing the palace.
Prince Anen himself finally crossed the hall then, visibly shaken but unharmed, with Popeya clinging tightly to his arm beside him.
“You saved my life,” Anen said breathlessly, staring at Est with genuine shock still written across his face.
Est barely managed a nod before one of the physicians caught his injured arm.
The medic visibly blanched.
“This isn’t minor, my lord.”
William shot Est a furious look at that.
“I told you.”
“It looks worse than it is.”
“You are actively bleeding onto my shoes.”
Despite everything – the blood, the chaos, the screaming nobles still being ushered from the hall – Est almost laughed.
Then pain finally caught up with him fully.
His vision swam sharply for half a second.
William noticed instantly.
His grip tightened hard around Est’s wrist. “Sit him down.”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
The sheer panic beneath William’s anger hit Est harder than the injury itself.
Before he could respond, several more figures approached rapidly from the far side of the hall.
Anen’s siblings.
Two younger princes and an older princess, all dressed in formal western ceremonial silks now stained by wine and ash from the destroyed banquet tables.
The eldest prince looked furious enough to kill someone himself.
“The assassin?” he demanded immediately.
“Alive,” Dylan answered from across the hall while guards hauled the barely conscious attacker upright in chains. “Unfortunately.”
The prince’s expression darkened coldly. “Not for long.”
The assassin spat blood onto the marble floor at his feet.
That proved to be a mistake.
One of Anen’s guards struck him across the face hard enough to send him collapsing sideways again while nobles nearby recoiled in horror.
Everything blurred after that into noise and movement and overlapping commands.
Servants rushed through the wreckage gathering shattered glass.
Guards sealed the hall entirely.
The Queen argued furiously with Anen’s military advisors about security failures while Popeya cried quietly against Anen’s shoulder nearby.
The assassin disappeared dragged between armored guards, blood smearing behind him across white marble as nobles watched in horrified silence.
Someone said execution.
Someone else said interrogation first.
Est couldn’t follow any of it properly anymore because William still stood directly in front of him gripping his injured hand like he physically could not let go.
And gods.
The prince looked furious.
Furious and terrified all at once.
“You intercepted a blade with your bare hand,” William said sharply while the physicians wrapped fresh cloth around Est’s palm.
“There wasn’t time.”
“There is apparently never time when you decide to do something reckless.”
Est blinked tiredly at him. “I was protecting Prince Anen.”
“And who,” William snapped quietly, leaning closer now, “was supposed to protect you?”
The question landed somewhere deep inside Est’s chest before he could answer it.
Then suddenly more guards surrounded them.
“His injuries need proper treatment immediately,” one physician insisted urgently. “The shoulder wound may require stitching.”
William straightened instantly. “Take him.”
Est frowned. “William – “
“Go.”
The single word came out strained.
Controlled only barely.
Their eyes met for one brief moment amid the chaos surrounding them.
And suddenly Est understood.
William was holding himself together by force alone right now.
If Est stayed another minute bleeding in front of him, the prince might genuinely forget every protocol drilled into him since birth.
So Est bowed his head slightly.
“As you wish, Your Highness.”
William visibly flinched at the formality.
Then the physicians were already pulling Est away through the ruined banquet hall while guards cleared corridors ahead of them.
Behind him, chaos still consumed the palace.
Nobles shouting.
Guards running.
The Queen demanding answers.
Prince Anen barking orders beside his siblings.
And somewhere beneath all of it –
William.
Still watching him leave.
_____________
The next several days disappeared into fever.
Later, when Est tried to remember them properly, they came back only in fragments – disconnected flashes of pain and warmth and voices drifting through darkness like echoes underwater.
He remembered blood first.
So much blood.
Not fear exactly. Just the strange distant awareness of it soaking through cloth while physicians shouted around him and the palace corridors blurred overhead as guards half-carried him toward the royal medical wing.
The wound in his shoulder hurt.
The one in his hand was worse.
He remembered someone trying to pry his fingers open and realizing vaguely that he still hadn’t let go of his sword.
Then came the treatment.
Gods.
That part he remembered clearly enough.
The western physicians worked quickly, efficiently, stripping him out of bloodstained clothes while servants rushed boiling water and silver instruments into the chambers. Someone forced bitter alcohol between his lips before stitching began.
The cut across his palm had sliced deep.
Too deep.
Est remembered the physician apologizing once in accented speech before threading the needle through torn flesh.
Then pain.
White-hot and immediate.
His vision blackened around the edges while he bit down hard enough on leather to nearly tear through it.
Somewhere nearby William was shouting at someone.
Not at Est.
At the physicians.
At the servants.
At anyone who moved too slowly.
“Carefully!” he snapped at one point, voice sharp enough to silence the room instantly. “If he loses function in that hand – “
“He will not, Your Highness,” the physician assured quickly.
“You don’t know that.”
“My prince – “
“I said carefully.”
Est remembered trying weakly to tell William it was fine.
The words never fully formed.
Then the fever came.
By the second night, infection had spread despite every effort made by the palace healers.
The blade had not been clean.
His body burned beneath endless blankets while physicians moved constantly through the chambers carrying medicinal herbs, silver bowls of steaming water, and tinctures so expensive Est recognized immediately they had been pulled from royal reserves.
Prince Anen spared absolutely no expense.
Neither, apparently, did William.
The fever dreams blurred reality into something shapeless after that.
Sometimes Est woke convinced he was still fighting in the banquet hall.
Sometimes he heard the sea outside and thought briefly he was back aboard the storm-tossed ships from the journey west.
Other times he woke only long enough to realize William sat beside him again before darkness swallowed him whole once more.
Always William.
Every single time.
Est remembered fragments of him most clearly.
A cool cloth pressed carefully against his forehead.
Fingers brushing sweat-soaked hair away from his face.
William arguing furiously with physicians because the fever wasn’t breaking fast enough.
William refusing to leave the room even when servants begged him to sleep.
William asleep in the chair beside the bed one dawn, head resting against folded arms while one hand remained loosely wrapped around Est’s wrist as though he had fallen asleep checking for a pulse.
That memory stayed with Est strangely.
Because William looked exhausted.
Not princely.
Not polished.
Just frightened.
One evening Est surfaced long enough to hear Princess Mia crying quietly somewhere near the windows.
“He saved all of us,” she whispered shakily to someone. “If Anen had died – gods, Popeya would’ve – “
“Shh,” came William’s tired voice softly afterward. “He’s resting.”
“You haven’t slept either, brother.”
Silence.
Then quietly:
“I’m not leaving him.”
Est remembered wanting desperately to open his eyes then.
To reassure him.
But exhaustion dragged him back under before he could.
Another time he woke to find Prince Anen himself seated beside the bed reviewing security reports with several officers while William stood nearby staring murderously at a physician attempting to change Est’s bandages.
“The fever has reduced somewhat,” the physician explained nervously.
“Somewhat is not enough,” William answered coldly.
Anen sighed from his chair. “If you glare any harder, the poor man may collapse before your bodyguard does.”
William ignored him entirely.
The physician looked deeply grateful when Est lost consciousness again shortly afterward.
The fever finally broke sometime near dawn, the fourth or fifth day.
Est woke slowly this time.
Properly.
The world no longer spun violently when he opened his eyes. The pounding in his skull had faded to something dull and manageable while sunlight spilled warmly through gauzy white curtains overlooking the cliffs beyond the palace.
For several long moments, he simply lay there breathing.
Alive.
Everything hurt.
His shoulder throbbed sharply beneath layers of fresh bandages, while his stitched palm felt heavy and tight against the mattress beside him.
Still.
Alive.
The room smelled faintly of medicine and salt air drifting inward from the sea.
A physician seated nearby noticed him stirring almost immediately.
“My lord?”
Est blinked toward him slowly.
The older man’s entire face changed with visible relief. “You’re awake properly this time.”
Properly.
So it had been bad enough for them to distinguish between levels of consciousness.
Wonderful.
Before Est could answer, the physician was already halfway to the door shouting for attendants in the corridor.
Chaos erupted almost instantly outside.
Footsteps.
Voices.
Orders overlapping one another.
And then –
William.
He entered so quickly he nearly collided with the servants rushing out of his way.
The moment he saw Est awake, he stopped dead.
For one suspended heartbeat neither of them spoke.
Gods.
William looked terrible.
Beautiful still, impossibly so, but exhausted in a way that physically hurt to witness. Dark circles shadowed beneath his eyes. His hair looked hastily arranged rather than properly styled. Even his clothes sat slightly disordered, as though he’d stopped caring about appearances several sleepless nights ago.
And the expression on his face –
Relief.
Pure overwhelming relief.
It cracked something painfully open inside Est’s chest.
“Everyone out,” William said immediately.
The room froze.
One of the physicians blinked. “Your Highness, we still need to – “
“Out.”
Sharper this time.
Cold enough that servants immediately began scrambling toward the doors.
The reactions around the room did not escape Est even through exhaustion.
The exchanged glances.
The confusion.
The suspicion rapidly sharpening behind several officers’ expressions.
A prince dismissing every servant, physician, and guard from the room to be alone with his bodyguard was perhaps not the most subtle thing William had ever done.
William clearly no longer cared.
“Leave us,” he repeated flatly.
Nobody argued after that.
The doors shut heavily behind the last servant.
Silence fell immediately.
And then William crossed the room.
Fast.
He reached the bedside within seconds and grabbed Est’s face carefully between both hands like he physically needed to reassure himself he was conscious.
“Are you okay?”
The question came out rough.
Urgent.
Est blinked at him, startled slightly by the intensity of it. “I’m fine.”
William stared at him in disbelief.
“You were unconscious for nearly five days.”
“It wasn’t that serious.”
William actually groaned.
A full frustrated sound of disbelief.
“I hate when you do this.”
Est managed a faint tired smile. “Do what?”
“Pretend nearly dying is somehow a mild inconvenience.”
Despite the exhaustion and lingering pain, Est laughed softly.
The movement immediately pulled painfully at his shoulder.
William’s expression shifted instantly from irritation back toward concern. “Careful.”
“I’m all right,” Est assured gently. “Truly.”
William just stared at him.
For a long moment, he said nothing at all.
Then suddenly his hands tightened against Est’s face and he kissed him.
Hard.
Not careful.
Not restrained.
Pure frustration and relief colliding all at once.
Est made a startled sound against his mouth before immediately kissing him back, his good hand sliding instinctively into William’s hair.
Gods.
Finally.
After five agonizing weeks of yearning followed by days lost to fever and blood and fear, the kiss nearly shattered him.
William kissed like a man who had spent five nights terrified.
Demanding.
Desperate.
His fingers trembled slightly against Est’s jaw even while his mouth moved fiercely against his, anger and relief tangling together so intensely Est could barely breathe through it.
“You absolute idiot,” William whispered roughly between kisses. “Do you have any idea what you did to me?”
Est’s chest tightened painfully.
“I’m sorry.”
William kissed him again before he could say more.
Softer this time.
Lingering.
His forehead rested briefly against Est’s while their breathing mingled together.
“You scared me,” he admitted quietly.
The vulnerability in those words nearly undid Est entirely.
“I’m here now.”
William closed his eyes briefly at that.
Then kissed him again.
Slower now.
Deeper.
One hand slid carefully into Est’s hair while the other settled gently against his neck, and gods, the kiss was becoming dangerous now – emotional and hungry and weeks overdue all at once.
Est pulled him closer instinctively.
William made a soft sound against his mouth.
The kiss deepened immediately.
All the restrained wanting from the journey west surged suddenly between them – five weeks of stolen glances and lingering touches and sleepless nights collapsing at once into heat and relief and desperate affection.
William shifted closer against the bed.
Est’s hand tightened in his hair.
And then –
The doors swung open.
Both of them jerked apart instantly.
William stepped backward so fast he nearly looked guilty.
Prince Anen entered mid-sentence alongside several attendants carrying ornate chests.
He stopped.
The silence became catastrophic.
Est still looked visibly kissed.
William stood far too close beside the bed.
One of Anen’s brows lifted almost imperceptibly.
Then, to his eternal credit, the prince continued forward as though he had noticed absolutely nothing.
“Excellent,” Anen said smoothly. “You’re awake.”
William recovered first somehow.
“Anen.”
Perfectly calm.
Perfectly princely.
Est wanted the fever to take him back.
The attendants opened the chests beside the bed.
Jewels glittered immediately beneath the sunlight.
Gold chains.
Decorated ceremonial daggers.
Royal seals.
Land decrees stamped heavily in wax.
Est blinked in confusion.
Anen smiled slightly at the reaction.
“You saved my life.”
“My lord, truly, there was no need for – “
“There absolutely was.” Anen waved dismissively. “The assassin belonged to a faction opposing the alliance between our kingdoms. They intended my death before the wedding could secure the treaty formally.” His expression darkened briefly. “Fortunately for me, your reflexes are terrifying.”
Est looked deeply uncomfortable already.
Anen noticed immediately.
And looked amused by it.
“If you belonged to my court,” the prince continued honestly, “you would no longer remain merely a bodyguard after this.” He gestured toward the treasure spread across the room. “I would knight you personally. Grant you command. Armies perhaps.”
William looked entirely unsurprised by this statement.
Anen sighed dramatically afterward. “Alas, you unfortunately belong to another kingdom already. So instead I offer land, wealth, titles should you desire them, and my endless gratitude.”
Est looked genuinely horrified now.
“My prince, truly, none of this is necessary.”
“It absolutely is.”
“My duty is toward protecting Prince William and his family,” Est answered carefully. “Lord Anen by marriage, is under that same protection. I only did what I was trained to do.”
Anen stared at him for one long moment.
Then laughed softly under his breath.
“There it is again.”
Est frowned slightly. “What?”
“That absurd humility everyone keeps warning me about.” Anen shook his head slowly. “You nearly bled to death saving my life and somehow still sound embarrassed about being thanked.”
William looked quietly smug beside the bed.
Est noticed immediately.
And suddenly became deeply suspicious about what exactly William had apparently been saying about him during the last four or five days.
_____________
By evening, the entire palace seemed to know his name.
Est found this deeply unfortunate.
The western physicians finally discharged him from the royal medical wing shortly before sunset after nearly an hour of stern warnings delivered in increasingly dramatic tones.
“No sword training.”
“No riding.”
“No reopening the stitches.”
“And absolutely no returning to active duty for at least several days.”
Est endured the lecture with the exhausted patience of a man who had already lost the argument long before it began.
His shoulder remained tightly bandaged beneath a fresh dark tunic specially altered to avoid rubbing against the wound. His injured hand had been wrapped even more thoroughly, white linen crossing his palm and wrist almost to the elbow where the deeper cut had needed stitching.
Worst of all, the physicians insisted on assigning attendants specifically to monitor him.
“They will not monitor me,” Est said flatly.
“They absolutely will,” replied the eldest physician without hesitation.
“I am capable of taking medicine myself.”
“You also attempted to stand up three separate times this morning while feverish.”
Est opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
Because unfortunately that had happened.
Beside him, William looked far too pleased with the physician’s refusal to tolerate Est’s stubbornness.
The traitor.
In the end, a compromise had been reached: Est would return to his assigned chambers under the condition that physicians examined him twice daily and attendants ensured he actually took the medicines prescribed.
Est hated every part of this arrangement.
Still, standing upright again after days trapped in bed felt good enough that he endured it quietly.
At least until he left the medical wing.
Then things became significantly worse.
Because apparently somewhere during the last five days, Prince Anen’s palace had collectively decided Est was now some kind of legendary war hero.
The moment he stepped into the western corridor outside the medical chambers, conversations stopped.
Then applause started.
Actual applause.
Est froze in immediate horror.
Guards stationed near the corridor walls straightened visibly upon seeing him. Servants smiled openly. Several younger soldiers from Anen’s household guard actually cheered.
“Captain Est!”
“Glad you’re still alive!”
“You nearly split that bastard in half!”
One older knight slapped a fist proudly against his chest in salute as Est passed.
Another servant girl curtsied nervously before blurting out, “My prince says the wedding would’ve collapsed without you, my lord.”
Est wanted very badly to disappear into the sea.
Beside him, Dylan appeared absolutely delighted by the entire situation.
“Oh, this is catastrophic for your ego,” he announced cheerfully while falling into step beside him. “You’re going to become unbearable now.”
Est shot him a tired glare. “Please stop talking.”
“You have admirers.”
“I have injuries.”
“You have both. Very heroic combination.”
As they moved through the palace corridors, more greetings followed.
More thanks.
More looks of open admiration.
The western guards especially seemed almost awed by him now. Est caught several staring openly at the bandages wrapped around his hand before glancing away quickly whenever he noticed.
Gods.
It was humiliating.
He had done his job.
Nothing more.
The attention sat uncomfortably beneath his skin the entire walk back toward the guest chambers assigned to the eastern royal party.
At one point, even several palace servants bowed deeply as he passed.
Est nearly walked directly into a marble column from sheer discomfort.
Dylan noticed immediately.
“You hate this so much,” he said with obvious delight.
“I would rather be stabbed again.”
“Now that’s dramatic. The attention is not that bad.”
Three young guards further down the corridor immediately straightened and saluted Est like he was returning victorious from war itself.
Est looked genuinely pained.
Dylan burst into laughter.
Word spread faster than wildfire apparently, because by the time Est finally reached the eastern wing overlooking the sea cliffs, even some of their own royal escort had emerged from surrounding chambers to see him.
Mia nearly launched herself at him.
“You scared us half to death!”
Est barely caught her with his uninjured arm before she crushed his shoulder by accident.
“Ouch.”
She immediately recoiled in horror. “Sorry! Sorry – “
“I’m fine.”
“You are visibly not fine.”
Before Est could answer, another familiar voice cut smoothly through the corridor.
“Well.”
James’s younger military advisor leaned lazily against one of the archways nearby, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Looks like you finally became interesting.”
Dylan scoffed loudly. “Finally? He was already interesting. Emotionally constipated perhaps, but interesting.”
Est groaned softly.
Mia looked between them suspiciously. “Why are you two acting like friends now? That’s upsetting somehow.”
“Trauma bonding,” Dylan answered solemnly.
Est walked away before either of them could continue.
By the time he finally reached his chambers overlooking the western cliffs, exhaustion had settled heavily into his bones again. Healing, apparently, was deeply irritating work.
The sea beyond the balcony windows had turned molten gold beneath the setting sun.
For one brief moment, alone at last, Est allowed himself to breathe properly.
The room felt strangely quiet after days spent surrounded constantly by physicians and guards and worried voices.
And gods.
He missed William already.
The realization struck almost immediately and with embarrassing force.
Five days of fever had apparently done nothing to lessen the aching pull he felt toward him.
If anything, nearly dying seemed to have made it worse.
Est had barely finished taking the first round of medicines left beside his bedside table when a sharp knock sounded against the chamber doors.
One of Anen’s royal attendants entered moments later after permission was granted.
The young man bowed deeply.
“My lord Est,” he said respectfully. “You are requested in the Great Hall this evening.”
Est frowned slightly. “Requested by whom?”
The attendant hesitated only briefly.
“Prince Anen himself.”
________
Is this a genuine fresh start, or are we just basking in the calm before a massive storm?
Drop your theories in the comments, don’t forget to vote, and leave your feedback!
Thank you all so much for reading and sticking with this journey, enjoy the chapter!
Love ,
Author S.
