The Royal Affair 👑 | Part 4: The Sparring Match (Patreon)

All characters are 18+ and this story is entirely fictional.Everything that happens is safe, sane, and consensual.Please note that the sparring match is fully consensual and takes place solely for self-defense training. No harm comes to any of the fictional characters.

Author’s Note: This part of the story is written from Damian Holt’s point of view.

I hadn’t slept well.

The prince’s words still burned in my ear, a phantom touch, as if his lips hadn’t hovered but pressed.  ‘You’re the danger I should be guarded from.’

He had walked away after whispering it, leaving me rooted in that corridor like a fool. Elias knew exactly what he was doing, and I hated that it worked. Princes weren’t supposed to toy with shadows. Guards weren’t supposed to imagine what it would be like if he had leaned in just one inch closer.

I told myself it was nothing. That it had been another test, another jab to see if I’d flinch. That I should have dismissed it, shoved it into the vault where I kept the things I refused to feel.

But when dawn broke and I stood at my post outside his chamber, I could still feel him in memory; the warmth of his breath ghosting against my ear, the faint wave of his hair when he leaned close, the subtle spice of his skin that clung to me longer than it should have. My jaw tightened as I forced myself back into discipline, fighting the pull of sensations that had no place in my thoughts.

I was not supposed to want this.He is a prince.I am his shield, not his equal.I cannot let my guard down.

And yet when the door opened and Elias stepped out, hair brushed back but eyes still carrying the heat of last night, something in me tightened. He didn’t say anything, just glanced at me with the faintest curl of a smirk before walking past, as if he already knew what that whisper had done to me.

────────────────The day was meant to be ordinary; briefings, a luncheon, endless handshakes and nods until one of the king’s senior guards made an offhand remark in the corridor.

“Your Highness,” the man said, bowing slightly, “have you considered training more regularly in self-defense? It would serve you well. Even princes aren’t immune to danger.”

Elias laughed, sharp and dismissive. “What, you think I need to wrestle assassins in the courtyard? I have shadows breathing down my neck for that.”

His eyes flicked to me, deliberate.

The guard chuckled, awkward, and bowed again before retreating. Elias, however, wasn’t finished. He turned, walking backward now, eyes locked on mine.

“You think you could take me down, Holt?” he asked, his voice carrying that teasing edge I’d already learned to recognize.

I kept my face impassive. “My role is to make sure no one tries, Your Highness.”

“That’s not an answer.” He smirked, tilting his head. “What’s the matter? Afraid I might bruise your ego?”

I didn’t take the bait. “This isn’t a game.”

“Everything’s a game when you’re trapped in a palace.” Elias leaned closer as we walked, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “Come on. I’m not some glass doll. Show me.”

His tone was mocking, daring. And I should have shut it down. I should have dismissed him with the same cold efficiency I applied to every provocation. But there was something in his eyes; a challenge I couldn’t walk away from.

────────────────That afternoon, we found ourselves in one of the palace’s secluded courtyards, a space used occasionally by guards for drills but now cleared for us alone. Sunlight spilled through the high arches, warming the stone floor. The air smelled faintly of cut grass and leather.

Elias shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it carelessly over a bench, rolling his sleeves to his elbows with an ease that made the motion feel deliberate, almost staged. He turned, cocky grin in place.

“Try not to go easy on me, soldier.”

I ignored the jibe, circling him slowly. My stance was calm, controlled, but inside I was taut, coiled.

He lunged first, wild and unrefined. I sidestepped, letting his momentum carry him past. He stumbled, caught himself, laughed.

“Afraid to touch me?” he taunted.

I didn’t answer.

Again he came, this time throwing more weight behind his movement. Again, I evaded. His frustration grew visible, and with it, his energy. He wasn’t just playing anymore; he wanted me to respond.

Finally, he tried to grab my arm. Reflex took over. I twisted, catching his wrist, flipping him lightly onto the mat with practiced ease. He landed with a surprised grunt, eyes wide.

“That,” I said evenly, “is what would happen to anyone else who tried.”

He lay there for a beat, then laughed, breathless. “So you do enjoy throwing me around.”

I released his wrist, straightening. “You wanted proof.”

But Elias wasn’t finished. He got up, brushing himself off, a stubborn set to his jaw. “Again.”

This time, I held back less. His strikes were clumsy but spirited, his body moving with a natural athleticism that surprised me. But he was no match for precision. Every move he made, I countered. Every attempt to break my balance, I turned back on him.

It was during one of these exchanges that I caught his hand, twisted lightly, and brought him flush against me to show him how to break free.

And suddenly, the air changed.

His chest brushed mine, heat bleeding through the thin layers of fabric. My grip tightened around his wrist, and I felt his pulse racing. He looked up at me, mouth parted, a flush across his cheeks that wasn’t just exertion.

“Your stance is sloppy,” I muttered, trying to ignore the way his breath ghosted my jaw.

“Maybe I need you to correct me,” he shot back, voice low, suggestive.

I should have let go. I didn’t.

I stepped behind him, guiding his arm into proper position, one hand braced against his back to straighten his posture. My palm rested just below his shoulder blade, feeling the line of his muscles tense beneath my touch. His scent was maddening; clean linen and sweat, sharp with adrenaline.

He shivered, barely noticeable, but I felt it.

When I adjusted his other arm, my fingers brushed the inside of his wrist, tracing the vein that pulsed there. His breath hitched, unmistakable.

And I realized, with a clarity that burned, that this wasn’t just sparring anymore.

He made another clumsy attempt to break free, twisting with more force than skill. I countered easily, spinning him until his back hit the stone wall of the courtyard. One arm pinned above his head, the other braced at his side, my body pressed close enough to keep him caged.

He froze.

So did I.

Our faces hovered inches apart, breaths colliding in the charged silence. His eyes searched mine, bright, defiant, but underneath… something else. Something raw.

I felt the hammer of his heartbeat under my grip. The faint tremor in his chest as it rose and fell against mine.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The world narrowed to the sound of our breathing, the heat between us, the wild thought that if I just leaned in—

Elias broke the silence first, his voice a whisper, sly but shaking with the same tension that held me still.

“You enjoy this,” he said, lips curving into the ghost of a smile. “Throwing me around like I’m yours.”

The words punched the air from my lungs. My jaw clenched, every instinct screaming to push back, to deny, to walk away.

But I couldn’t move.

His mouth was right there, soft and flushed from exertion, his eyes daring me to close the last inch.

And that was when I realized I wasn’t holding him anymore. He was holding me with nothing but a look, a word, a temptation I wasn’t strong enough to bury.

The courtyard fell silent but for the ragged pull of our breaths, two men pressed too close, too long, the forbidden line drawn razor-thin between us.

And I didn’t know if I could keep from crossing it.────────────────The Royal Affair 👑 | Part 5: When Restraint BreaksThis story began as a modern royal romance. As it developed, the world around Elias and Damian deepened into something more insulated, ceremonial, and governed by tradition rather than technology.

From Part 5 onward, the setting shifts into a more timeless royal court, where power is enforced through ritual, proximity, and lineage, and where the palace exists largely apart from the modern world beyond its gates.

If you are reading from the beginning, imagine the early chapters as an entry point into this court rather than a strict depiction of contemporary monarchy. The emotional continuity remains unchanged; only the lens has sharpened.

Thank you for stepping fully into the world with me.