The Royal Affair 👑 | Part 20: Last Night of Defiance (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 from Elias’s point of view.

The door shut behind me with a soft click that sounded too final in the quiet of Damian’s quarters. The room was small, austere, lit only by a single candle on the plain wooden table and the low glow of embers in the hearth. The air carried the faint scent of leather and steel, of a man who lived with discipline rather than ornament. A narrow bed stood against one wall, its blanket neatly folded. A sword rested in its scabbard on a stand beside it. Everything here spoke of restraint, of a life shaped by service.

Damian stood in the center of the room, shirtless, his trousers low on his hips, hair unbound and falling across his brow. He had been sharpening a small dagger; the whetstone lay abandoned on the table, the blade glinting beside it. His eyes met mine the instant I entered, and for a heartbeat the mask slipped. I saw everything there: pain, resignation, a love so fierce it looked like grief.

Then the mask returned. He straightened, shoulders squaring, voice steady. “Elias. You should not be here.”

The words hit me like a slap. I crossed the room in three strides, fury and sorrow boiling over until I could barely see through the haze of it. My hands found his chest and shoved, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him take a step back. His skin was warm under my palms, the muscle solid, unyielding, and the contact only fed the storm inside me.

“You knew,” I said, my voice cracking like thin ice. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew my father was planning this betrayal, this public chaining of me to a woman I do not love, and you said nothing.”

His jaw tightened, but he did not deny it. He let my hands stay on his chest, let me push again, lighter this time, as if the anger itself needed somewhere to land. “Elias—”

“Don’t.” I shoved once more, tears burning hot behind my eyes. “That is why he moved you to her side. That is why you have been shadowing Amara like a ghost, smiling at her, protecting her, while I—” My voice broke completely. “While I have been dying every time you looked away from me.”

A tear slipped free, and I hated it. I hated the weakness, the helplessness, the way my chest heaved with sobs I could not swallow. Damian’s hands came up slowly, carefully, closing over my wrists. Not to stop me. To hold me. His thumbs brushed the inside of my palms, gentle even as I tried to pull away.

“I knew,” he said quietly. The admission was soft, but it struck like a blade. “The king spoke to me three days ago. He told me the alliance was moving toward marriage. He told me to prepare myself for reassignment. He told me—” His voice roughened. “He told me that if I cared for the future of this kingdom…if I cared for your future, I would keep my distance.”

I laughed, a broken, bitter sound. “And you obeyed. Like the perfect soldier. Like the perfect shadow.”

His grip tightened, pulling me closer until my forehead rested against his collarbone. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath my cheek. “I obeyed,” he said against my hair, “because I thought it would protect you. Because I thought if I stayed away, the whispers would die, and you could—” He stopped, the words catching. “You could have the life you were born for.”

I pulled back just enough to look at him, tears streaming freely now. “I don’t want that life. I want you. I cannot marry Lady Amara. I cannot stand before the court and swear vows to anyone else when every breath I take belongs to you.”

His arms came around me fully then, crushing me to him as if he could hold the breaking pieces together. I fought it for a moment, fists pressing against his chest, but the fight drained out of me as quickly as it had risen. I sagged against him, sobs tearing free, raw and ugly and unstoppable. He held me through all of it, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other splayed across my back, anchoring me as I shattered.

“Elias,” he whispered, over and over, like a prayer against my temple. “My prince. My love.”

I clung to him, fingers digging into the bare skin of his shoulders, needing the solidity of him to keep from falling apart completely. “We could leave the kingdom of Corwin,” I said against his neck, the words muffled but fierce. “Tonight. We could take horses from the stables, ride north until the borders blur, find somewhere the crown cannot reach us. I don’t care about the kingdom. I don’t care about duty or legacy or any of it. I only care about you.”

He went very still. For a long moment he said nothing, only held me tighter, his breath warm and uneven against my hair. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady, laced with a sorrow that cut deeper than anger ever could.

“If we ran,” he said, “we would spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders. Your father would send riders. Not to kill us…he loves you too much for that but to bring you back. And when they find us, they would drag you home in chains of duty, and they would hang me for treason. I have seen what happens to men who steal princess, Elias. I will not let that be our story.”

I shook my head against his chest. “I would rather live hunted with you than safe without you.”

He pulled back just enough to cup my face, thumbs brushing away tears that kept falling. His eyes were bright with unshed moisture, fierce and tender all at once. “Listen to me. The people of this kingdom need a king who is just. Who is kind. Who sees them as more than pieces on a board. You are that king. You were born for it. You told me how your mother…” His voice caught, and he swallowed hard. “Your mother said, when you were small and running wild through the gardens, that you would be the best of them. That you would rule with a heart the crown could not harden. If you run now, you abandon them to whoever comes after you. To men who care only for power, not for people. Do it for her, if not for your father. Do it for the boy she believed you would become.”

The mention of my mother struck like a physical blow. I had told Damian about how she wanted me to become king and do better. She had died when I was twelve, taken by a fever that swept the palace like wildfire. Her last words to me had been soft, whispered through parched lips: Be good, my love. Be brave. Rule wisely.

I closed my eyes, fresh tears spilling. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“You will,” he said, voice fierce now. “You will learn. And when you sit on that throne, when the crown is yours to wield, we will meet again. I will wait in exile, in shadow, in silence. I will wait until you are king and the world bends to your will.”

His words settled into me like stones in deep water, heavy and immovable. I wanted to fight them, to cling to the reckless dream of flight, but I could feel the truth of them rooting in my chest. He was right. Damn him, he was always right when it mattered most.

I looked up at him, my vision blurred with tears. “You would truly wait?”

His answer was a kiss, slow and deep and devastating. He poured everything into it…love, sorrow, promise. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. “I would wait forever for you.”

The kiss reignited something desperate between us. My hands slid up his chest, over the broad planes of muscle, tracing scars I knew by heart. He shuddered under my touch, a low sound escaping his throat as I pressed closer, the loose robe slipping from my shoulders entirely. It pooled at my feet, leaving me bare to him, vulnerable in a way I had never been with anyone else.

He looked at me then, eyes dark and reverent, drinking in every inch as if memorizing me for the long nights ahead. “Gods, Elias,” he whispered.

But then he stepped back, pulling his hands away as if my skin burned him. His chest heaved, his cock still straining against the air between us, but his face twisted with anguish. “No,” he said, voice rough and broken. “You are no longer mine. You are betrothed to Lady Amara now. We shouldn’t do this. We can’t.”

The words landed like a blow to my gut, sharper than any exile decree. I reached for him, fingers grazing his arm, but he caught my wrist gently, holding me at bay. “Damian,” I whispered, desperation cracking my voice. “Please.”

He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut as if the sight of me pained him. “You belong to her now. To the alliance. To the crown. If we do this, it only makes the letting go harder. I won’t be the reason you fall.”

Tears welled again, hot and unbidden. I stepped closer, pressing my body against his despite his grip, feeling the hard length of him twitch against my thigh. “One last time,” I begged, my voice trembling, raw with need. “Please, Damian. Fuck me one last time. Let me feel you inside me, filling me, claiming me before the world takes you away. And then… then I will do whatever you say. Whatever my father demands, whatever the King of Solara wants. I will marry Amara. I will wait years, endure the crown’s weight until I am king. And then I will bring you back to me. Please. One last time.”

His resolve cracked visibly, his breath hitching as he looked down at me, eyes searching mine. The battle raged there…duty against desire, honor against the love that had already damned us both. But I saw the moment he surrendered, the tension bleeding from his shoulders as he pulled me flush against him.

“Gods forgive me,” he murmured, and then his mouth crashed down on mine.

The kiss was fierce, dominating, his tongue sweeping in to claim every inch as if this truly were the end. His hands gripped my hips hard, pulling me up against him until I was on my toes, my cock grinding against his. I moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging sharply to urge him on. He growled in response, the sound vibrating through me, and spun us around, backing me toward the bed with relentless steps.

He broke the kiss only to shove me down onto the mattress, his eyes blazing with a mix of love and possession as he loomed over me. “You beg so beautifully,” he said, voice low and commanding, his hand trailing down my chest to wrap around my aching cock. He stroked once, hard and slow, making me arch off the bed with a gasp. “But if this is our last time, I’m going to fuck you until you forget everything but my name.”

I nodded frantically, spreading my legs wider in invitation. “Yes. Please, Damian. Take me.”

He knelt between my thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them apart further, his breath hot against my skin as he leaned down. His mouth found my inner thigh first, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, drawing a whimper from me. Then higher, his tongue tracing the crease where thigh met groin, teasing but not touching where I needed him most. I bucked my hips, desperate, but his hands pinned me down, dominating with effortless strength.

“Patience,” he murmured against my skin, his beard scraping deliciously as he nuzzled closer. “I want to savor you.”

But his control frayed quickly. His tongue flicked out, lapping at my balls, drawing them into his mouth one at a time, sucking gently until I was writhing beneath him. “Damian,” I moaned, fingers clutching the sheets. “Please…”

He hummed his approval, the vibration sending shocks through me, and finally moved higher. His mouth closed over the head of my cock, tongue swirling around the tip, tasting the precome that beaded there. I cried out, hips jerking, but he held me firm, taking my cock deeper inch by inch until his nose brushed my abdomen. His throat worked around me, tight and hot, swallowing my cock whole as his fingers found my hole again.

He pressed two inside, curling them. I sobbed, thrusting into his mouth, the dual sensations overwhelming. His free hand stroked my thigh, soothing even as he dominated, his love pouring through every touch. He bobbed his head faster, sucking hard, his fingers pumping in rhythm until I was teetering on the edge.

“Not yet,” he growled, pulling off with a wet pop, his lips glistening.

He withdrew his fingers, leaving my hole empty and aching, and positioned himself at my entrance. His cock was thick, veined, the head flushed and leaking as he rubbed it against my hole, teasing, coating me with his precome. “Look at me,” he commanded.

I did, locking eyes as he pushed forward, breaching me slowly. The stretch burned, exquisite and familiar, my body yielding to him as if made for this. Inch by inch he filled me, his gaze never wavering, love and dominance intertwined in the depths of his eyes. When he was fully seated, buried to the hilt, he paused, letting me feel every pulsing inch.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss me tenderly, a stark contrast to the possession in his words. “Even when the world says otherwise.”

Then he began to fuck me…slow at first, long drags that made me feel every ridge, every vein. I wrapped my legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper. He obliged, pace quickening, hips snapping forward with dominating force. The bed creaked under us, the sound mixing with my moans and his grunts, the slap of skin on skin filling the room.

His hand found my cock again, stroking in time with his thrusts, twisting at the head until I was babbling incoherently. “Damian… gods… harder…”

He growled, shifting his angle to hit that spot relentlessly, pounding into me with loving ferocity. One hand braced beside my head, the other pinning my hip, controlling every movement. “Come for me, Elias,” he commanded, his voice rough with emotion. “Let me feel you clench around my cock.”

The pleasure crested, shattering me. I came with a cry, spilling hot between us, my release coating his hand and our stomachs. My body clamped down around him, milking him, and he followed with a guttural roar, thrusting deep one last time as he flooded me, hot pulses filling me until I overflowed, his cum leaking out around his cock.

We collapsed together, sweaty and breathless, his weight a welcome anchor. He stayed inside me as long as he could, softening slowly, until he finally slipped free. Then he gathered me close, tucking me against his chest, his arms a fortress around me.

We fell asleep like that, tangled and sated, the candle burning low beside us.

────

I woke to the sound of the door crashing open.

Early morning light spilled into the room, gray and unforgiving. My father stood in the doorway, flanked by four guards, his face pale with fury and something that looked disturbingly like sorrow.

Damian moved instantly, shielding me with his body, but it was too late. The king’s eyes took in everything: the rumpled bed, my legs half hidden beneath Damian’s arm, the unmistakable evidence of what we had done last night.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then my father’s voice cut through the silence, cold and final.

“Damian Holt, you are exiled from the kingdom of Corwin, effective immediately. You will be escorted to the northern border under guard. Any attempt to return will be met with death.”

Damian stiffened but did not protest. He rose slowly, pulling the blanket around me to shield me from view, his movements calm even as his eyes burned with quiet devastation.

I scrambled up, clutching the blanket to my chest. “Father, no—”

“This is not open to discussion,” the king said, his gaze fixed on Damian. “You have until dawn to prepare. The prince will remain here.”

Guards moved forward. Damian met my eyes one last time, a silent vow passing between us.

I love you. I will wait.

Then he was gone, led away in silence, leaving me alone in the cold light of morning, the warmth of him already fading from the sheets.

────────────────The Royal Affair 👑 | Part 21: Veils of Longing