The palace had gone quiet. The music from the earlier festivities was nothing but a distant echo now, swallowed by the night. Candles flickered in the hallway as Camilla padded toward her room, her steps light, her mind still reeling from the way Xavier's eyes had followed her all evening.
She closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a breath. The soft rustle of fabric was the only sound — until she heard it.
A knock.
One… then two.
Her heart leapt into her throat. "Who is it?" she whispered, though she already knew.
The door opened without a word, and there he was — Xavier, his black shirt undone at the collar, his hair slightly tousled as if he'd run his hands through it on the way here. The shadows seemed to cling to him, but his gaze… it burned.
"You left without saying goodnight," he said softly, stepping inside before she could answer.
"I didn't think it was necessary." Her voice came out breathless, betraying her.
He stopped only when he was close enough for her to feel the faint brush of his body heat. "For me, it is."
Her pulse raced as he reached past her to close the door. The faint click of the latch sent shivers down her spine.
Neither moved at first. They simply stood there — his breath mingling with hers, the charged air between them almost tangible.
"Camilla…" His voice was low, as if tasting her name. "Tell me to leave, and I will."
But she didn't.
Her silence was an invitation.
Xavier's hand came up, fingers brushing the curve of her jaw. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of her. She leaned into it, her body betraying the restraint her mind was still clinging to.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"Then why aren't you pushing me away?" His lips were so close now, she could feel the ghost of his breath against hers.
When she didn't answer, he took another step forward, closing the last of the space between them. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, and her lips parted instinctively.
The kiss, when it came, wasn't rushed. It was molten and unhurried, the kind of kiss that built heat slowly until it threatened to consume them both. His hand slid into her hair, holding her to him as though he couldn't bear to let go.
She clutched his shirt, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath her palm. When he pressed her gently back toward the bed, her legs bent easily, letting him guide her down until she was sitting on the edge.
"Xavier…" she breathed, not sure if it was a plea to stop or to go further.
He leaned in, his lips tracing a slow path along her jaw to the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Tell me when to stop," he murmured.
Her head fell back, a soft sigh escaping as his fingers brushed the bare skin of her arm. Every movement was measured, unhurried — as though the night belonged to them and them alone.
When their eyes met again, the air between them seemed to pulse. It wasn't just desire. It was something deeper, something neither of them dared to name.
And as he kissed her again — slower this time, deeper — Camilla realized there was no going back from this.
He deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding to her waist, pulling her against the solid warmth of his body. Camilla's fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, clutching him like she was afraid he'd vanish.
His mouth left hers only to trail down her throat, his lips and tongue marking a path that made her knees weaken. The soft drag of his teeth on her pulse had her gasping, her grip tightening.
Xavier's hands explored her like he was learning her by touch alone—skimming over the arch of her back, the slope of her hip, the delicate dip of her waist.
He paused, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing hard.
"You're sure?" His voice was gravel.
Camilla answered not with words, but by kissing him.
The world outside that room disappeared. Clothing became an afterthought, falling to the floor in quiet surrender. Skin met skin, and every brush, every caress was charged—an unspoken conversation in touches and gasps.
Xavier moved over her with a reverence that made her chest ache. Every kiss was a confession; every sigh from her lips was an answer.
The room was filled with the quiet rhythm of shared breath, the rustle of sheets, and the low, intimate sounds that escaped when they could no longer pretend this was anything less than need.
And when the last barrier between them shattered, it wasn't just a surrender of bodies—it was something deeper, something neither dared name yet.
When it was over, Camilla lay tangled in his arms, her head resting against his chest. His hand traced slow, lazy patterns down her spine.
"This," he murmured into her hair, "changes everything."
Her heart was still racing, but she didn't pull away. "I know."
They both did.