The Royal Affair 👑 | Part 2: The Prince Tests His Shadow (Patreon)

All characters are 18+ and this story is entirely fictional.Everything that happens is safe, sane, and consensual.

Author’s Note: This part of the story is written in 3rd person.

The marble floors of the east wing caught the light of the chandeliers overhead, spilling golden patterns across the hall as Damian Holt kept a steady pace behind Prince Elias. He’d been doing this long enough to know the rhythm: the slight forward lean when Elias was annoyed, the sharp lift of his chin when he wanted to appear untouchable, the restless flick of his hand when courtiers and dignitaries approached. To anyone else, Elias looked calm, collected, the embodiment of royal poise. To Damian, he looked like a man barely tolerating his own life.

Damian was used to this type; the stubborn ones. He’d guarded politicians in war zones, arrogant billionaires in hostile countries, actors who thought bodyguards were accessories. But Elias was different. It wasn’t arrogance. It was… something quieter. A closed door, locked tight, with glimpses of charm spilling through the cracks. Enough to make him unpredictable.

And Damian hated unpredictable.

Tonight was a gala. Another one. Long tables, chandeliers, laughter that didn’t quite reach the eyes of the guests. Damian was positioned just off Elias’s shoulder, always close enough to intervene, far enough to be invisible. He wore his suit like armor, crisp and dark, the faint bulge of his shoulder holster a secret no one was meant to notice.

Elias gave a polite smile to the French ambassador, laughed at some tedious joke about trade agreements, and then…just as suddenly….he was gone.Damian caught the flicker of his movement instantly. Elias had slipped between two towering vases of roses and disappeared toward the service corridor.

“Christ,” Damian muttered under his breath, already moving.

He intercepted him near the kitchen doors. Elias had his jacket half-unbuttoned, mischief tugging at his mouth.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Damian said flatly.

Elias arched a brow. “Neither are you, apparently.”

Damian stepped closer, his voice low, commanding. “Back to the gala, Your Highness.”

Elias tilted his head, smirking, but there was a flash in his eyes; something sharp, testing. “Do you follow me into the bathroom too, or just everywhere else?”

Damian’s lips barely twitched. “If you keep wandering off like this, I might start.”

That earned a soft laugh from the prince. A laugh that was much warmer than it had any right to be. “You make it sound like I’m in danger walking down a hallway.”

“You are,” Damian said, serious, steady. “Every time you step away from protocol, you’re a risk. You think no one notices, but someone always does.”

For the first time, Elias faltered. His smirk thinned, then returned like a mask. He stepped closer, close enough that Damian could catch a faint whiff of expensive cologne. “Maybe I like seeing if you’ll follow me.”

Damian didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just held his gaze. “Then you’ll be disappointed if I ever stop.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. Then Elias exhaled, shook his head as if brushing it all away, and pushed past Damian back toward the hall.

────────────────The next test came two nights later. A diplomatic dinner with half the parliament in attendance. Elias slipped away again, this time onto the terrace, where the cold night air swirled around him like a cloak. Damian followed, his shoes silent against the stone.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Elias said without turning around.

Damian stood a measured distance away. “And yet here I am.”

“Exactly.” Elias pivoted sharply, his jacket catching the moonlight. “Do you think I need a shadow breathing down my neck every time I exhale? I’ve managed twenty-five years without being kidnapped or assassinated. I think I can handle walking outside alone.”

Damian’s jaw ticked. “You underestimate how many people want to see you fall.”

Elias scoffed. “You make it sound like I’m some fragile thing that needs constant guarding.”

“No,” Damian said, his voice firm. “You’re not fragile. You’re reckless.”

That stopped Elias cold. He blinked, clearly unused to being spoken to that way. Everyone else bowed, scraped, deferred. Damian cut through him like steel. And it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

After a long silence, Elias smirked again, though his voice was softer now. “You don’t even try to flatter me, do you?”

“Not my job,” Damian said simply.

For some reason, that answer landed heavier than Elias expected.────────────────They fell into a rhythm after that. Elias slipping, Damian catching. Elias testing, Damian steady.At the art exhibit, Elias purposely lingered behind the delegation, slipping into a quieter gallery just to see how quickly Damian would find him. He found him in less than two minutes.

“At least pretend you’re admiring the painting,” Elias teased, standing in front of a massive canvas of abstract blues.

Damian glanced once. “It looks like someone drowned in oil paint.”

Elias barked out a laugh, genuine and surprised. He wasn’t sure what to do with the warmth that rushed into his chest.

At the theater, Elias leaned back in his seat, whispering during intermission, “Do you watch me the entire time? Or do you actually look at the play?”

“Both,” Damian murmured, eyes still scanning the crowd.

“Of course,” Elias muttered, smirking. “So thorough.”

The sarcasm was his shield. But every time Damian answered with cool authority or, worse, with that dry wit of his; Elias felt something twist in his stomach. Something unfamiliar.────────────────

It all came to a head at the charity ball.

The ballroom was crowded, cameras flashing outside, nobles and donors mingling inside. Elias wore a tailored black jacket, silk lapel catching the light. Damian hovered near, his presence sharp, unyielding.

Halfway through the night, Elias made his move. He slipped toward the grand staircase, pretending to be interested in the architecture. Damian, as always, shadowed him.

“You really don’t leave me, do you?” Elias asked, voice low, almost amused.

“No Sir.”

The simplicity of it rattled him more than it should.

At the top of the staircase, a cluster of photographers shouted his name, and Elias prepared to descend for the staged photo opportunity. But as he turned, Damian stepped in, quick and efficient, and adjusted the collar of his jacket. Just a simple movement…precise fingers straightening the lapel.

But Elias froze.

His breath caught, a shiver racing through him at the unexpected intimacy of the touch. Damian’s hands were steady, professional. But Elias couldn’t stop staring at the line of his jaw, the calm intensity of his eyes, the way his body radiated control without saying a word.

For a fraction of a second, Damian’s thumb brushed the fabric near Elias’s throat. A subtle drag of skin against skin.

Elias’s pulse leapt.

He looked up, eyes locking with Damian’s. The ballroom noise seemed to fade, the crowd below blurring out of focus. There was nothing but that touch. That maddeningly restrained touch.

And then Damian withdrew, stepping back as if nothing had happened.

“Go,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only Elias could hear.

Elias swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He descended the stairs to the blinding flashes of cameras, but his mind wasn’t on the crowd anymore.

It was on the heat that still lingered at his collar.

On the ghost of a touch that shouldn’t have meant anything.

And on the dangerous, undeniable truth that it meant everything.────────────────The Royal Affair 👑 | Part 3: The Prince Watches His Shadow