The Royal Affair 👑 | Part 21: Veils of Longing (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.

Two months have passed since Damian’s exile.

Two months.

Sixty days of waking to an empty space beside me that no amount of silk or ceremony could fill. Sixty nights of reaching across cold sheets for a warmth that was no longer there. The palace had moved on with its relentless rhythm…councils convened, treaties signed, seasons shifting from autumn gold to winter frost but I had not. I carried the absence like a wound that refused to scar, tender and raw beneath every layer of composure I wore.

The wedding had come swiftly, as royal weddings do when alliances demand haste. Two months was barely time for invitations to reach distant courts, for gowns to be stitched and banners embroidered, yet the palace had transformed itself with ruthless efficiency. White roses from the southern greenhouses lined every corridor. Gold thread gleamed on every drape. The great hall had been scrubbed until it shone like a mirror, reflecting back a version of joy that felt like mockery.

I remembered little of the ceremony itself, but the nights leading up to it were etched in my mind with painful clarity. Three nights before the wedding, in the small solar adjoining the queen’s apartments that had been prepared for Amara, we had spoken truly for the first time. The fire burned low, casting long shadows across tapestries of ancient battles. She had dismissed her attendants with a gentle word, leaving us alone beneath the watchful eyes of painted ancestors.

I had stood by the window, staring out at the moonlit gardens, unable to sit. When I finally turned to her, the words came haltingly.

“Lady Amara,” I began, my voice low and strained, “I must be honest with you before we stand before the priests and the court. I will never be able to give myself fully to you. My heart… it belongs elsewhere. I can offer you respect, partnership, loyalty to our realms. But not love. Not the kind a wife deserves. If you wish to withdraw from this, I would understand. I would support it, even.”

She regarded me for a long moment, her dark eyes steady and kind. Then she rose, crossing the room to stand beside me at the window. The moonlight silvered her profile, softening the sharp intelligence I had come to admire. “Prince Elias,” she said softly, her hand resting lightly on the windowsill beside mine, “I appreciate your candor. It speaks well of you. But I must be honest in return. I have never been under any illusion that this marriage would be born of passion. My father seeks stability for Solara. Yours seeks it for Corwin. We are the bridge between them.”

I turned to face her fully, searching her expression for any sign of resentment or sorrow. “And you? What do you seek?”

She smiled faintly, a touch of sadness in it now. “I seek to do right by my father, by my people. He has always taught me that duty is the highest form of love we can offer those who depend on us. I have known since I was a girl that my marriage would be arranged for the good of Solara. I prepared for it. I accepted it. And in you, Elias, I see a man who understands that burden. Who carries it with grace, even when it weighs heavily.”

“But does it not pain you?” I pressed, my voice dropping to a whisper. “To bind yourself to someone whose affections lie elsewhere? To share a life, a bed, knowing that my thoughts drift to another?”

Amara’s gaze softened further, and she placed her hand over mine on the sill, a sisterly gesture rather than a romantic one. “It does, in moments. But pain is part of duty. And I do not expect a shared bed, Elias. Not if it brings you suffering. We can be partners in rule, allies in court, friends in private. That is enough for me. My heart… it has its own quiet corners, ones that do not yearn for what cannot be. I want to build something strong with you, for our kingdoms. Not out of passion, but out of trust.”

I squeezed her hand gently, gratitude welling up amidst the turmoil. “You are kinder than I deserve. And wiser. If we must walk this path, I am glad it is with you.”

She nodded, her smile returning, warmer now. “Then let us walk it together. As equals. And perhaps, in time, the weight will feel lighter for us both.”

We spoke longer that night, of our childhoods, of the expectations that had shaped us, of the small freedoms we had carved out in secret. She told me of her father’s hopes for her, how he had raised her not as a delicate flower but as a steadfast oak, meant to weather storms for Solara’s sake. I shared fragments of my own burdens, careful not to name Damian, but enough for her to understand the depth of my loss. By the time the fire had died to embers, a fragile bond had formed between us…not love, but something solid. Something I could lean on in the days ahead._The wedding day dawned clear and cold, winter’s breath frosting the palace windows like lace. The great hall had been filled with the nobility of both realms, their finery a riot of crimson and gold, the air thick with the scent of incense and fresh evergreens woven into arches overhead. Musicians played softly from the balcony, strings and flutes weaving a melody of unity and promise. I stood at the altar in robes of deep red embroidered with silver stags and golden suns, the symbols of our joined houses. The high priestess waited, her white robes flowing like snow, a ribbon of unity clutched in her hands.

Amara entered on her father’s arm, a vision in white silk trimmed with gold, her hair crowned with a circlet of winter berries and diamonds. She walked with grace, her eyes meeting mine without hesitation. The court rose as one, a murmur of approval rippling through the assembly. My father watched from his throne, his expression one of quiet triumph.

The vows were simple, ancient words spoken in turn. “I, Elias of Corwin, pledge my hand and my honor to you, Amara of Solara, in alliance and fidelity.” My voice was steady, though my heart raced. She repeated them back, her tone clear and resolute. The priestess bound our hands with the ribbon, intoning blessings for prosperity, peace, and enduring strength. Rings were exchanged…cool gold bands etched with intertwined symbols. When I slipped hers onto her finger, her hand was warm, steady. She did the same for me, her touch light but sure.

The kiss that sealed it was brief, chaste; a brush of lips before the court that drew cheers and applause. Her mouth was soft, unfamiliar, and in that moment the absence of Damian hit me like a physical ache. But I smiled for the crowd, lifting our joined hands as the hall erupted in celebration. Feasts followed, toasts raised to our future, music swelling until the night blurred into a whirlwind of forced joy.

That night, we retired to the royal suite prepared for us, but Amara paused at the door to the inner chamber. “Goodnight, Elias,” she said softly, her eyes kind. “I will take the antechamber. Rest well.”

I nodded, gratitude flooding me. “And you.”

We did not share a bed. Not that night. The court assumed discretion. We allowed them their assumptions.

The months that followed were a study in endurance. Winter deepened, snow blanketing the palace grounds in silence. I threw myself into duties…councils, inspections, diplomatic missives…anything to fill the void. But longing stalked me relentlessly. In the quiet hours, when the fire burned low in my study, I would trace the ring on my finger and remember Damian’s hands, rough and sure, mapping my body like territory he had claimed. Flashbacks came unbidden: the way he had filled me that last night, hot and unyielding, his groans mingling with mine as he came inside me. I ached for him physically, my body remembering the stretch, the fullness of his cock, the way I had clenched around him until we both shattered.

Some nights, the need became unbearable. I would lie in the vast bed alone, hand sliding down my stomach to grip myself, stroking my cock slowly as memories flooded me. The scrape of his beard against my inner thighs. The heat of his mouth swallowing me whole. The guttural sound he made when I begged him to fuck me harder. Release came, but it was hollow, leaving me more empty than before. Tears followed, silent and bitter, as I whispered his name into the dark.

Amara noticed, though she never pressed. We dined together often, walked the frozen gardens arm in arm for the court’s eyes. Our friendship grew..conversations turned to politics, literature, the burdens of rule. She shared stories of Solara’s sun-drenched hills, of her father’s unwavering sense of duty that had shaped her into the woman she was. “He always said the crown is a servant’s burden,” she told me one evening by the fire. “We wear it not for glory, but for those who cannot.”

I admired her for it. In another life, perhaps, I could have loved her. But my heart was a locked chamber, key buried in the northern snows.

Attempts at contact were futile. I tried once, slipping a sealed letter to a merchant bound north, but it returned undelivered, the seal unbroken, with a note from the border guard: “Exile forbids correspondence.” The risk grew too great…spies watched, whispers persisted. I learned patience the hard way, channeling longing into resolve.

My father’s health declined steadily. The cough worsened, confining him to his chambers more often. Physicians came and went, their faces grave. I sat at his bedside during lucid moments, listening to his wheezing advice on rule. “Strength is in alliances,” he rasped one night. “Not in fleeting passions.” I nodded, hiding the fire in my chest.

Three months post-marriage, as spring’s first thaw softened the snow, I stood on the battlements overlooking the northern road. The wind carried whispers of change. And every day, the crown drew closer.

Every day, I grew stronger.

Every day, I waited.

For the throne. For power. For the day I could send riders north with a different message.

Come home. I am king now. And you are mine.

────────────────The Royal Affair 👑 | Part 22: The Dying Crown