The sound of the maidservants' giggling faded down the hall, their whispers carrying a final, mortifying echo. Arion stayed crouched in the wardrobe, his body a trembling mess of shame and raw desire. He was a Lord, a warrior, a man of honor, and he had just been a subject of vulgar gossip from common servants. The realization was a blow more painful than any sword fight.
He finally dared to crawl out of the wardrobe, his muscles stiff and protesting. The room was pristine, scrubbed clean of all evidence of the night before. But the air, to him, still held the lingering ghost of Kyon's rut and his own desperate pleas. The bed was made, the broken vase was gone, and the floor was spotless. To any other person, this was a simple, clean room. To Arion, it was a crime scene of his own public humiliation.
He stumbled to the bed, his body feeling heavy and weak. He collapsed onto the freshly made sheets, burying his face in the pillows. They smelled of white tea, a floral scent that was now a torment. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rip the sheets off the bed, to find the hidden truth of the night. He wanted to find a way to escape this cage of a relationship.
A low, guttural purr rumbled in his chest, a sound that was a mix of agony and ecstasy. He was an alpha, a man who had faced down a bear, and he was purring like a kitten. His body, a traitor to his mind, was still responding. A sharp, agonizing pain, a sucking and pulling sensation, flared up from the mark on his belly. He let out a low, pained groan, a sound that was quickly swallowed by the silence.
The unraveling façade :(
Arion lay on the bed, a shell-shocked wreck. The shame was a physical weight, pressing him into the mattress. He had been a man of action, a warrior, and he had been reduced to a trembling mess. His body, a traitor to his mind, was still humming with the aftershocks of Kyon's rut and their subsequent, wild night. He felt a sharp, agonizing pang from the mark on his belly, a phantom pull that was both a torment and a pleasure. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories, but they were a constant, nagging presence.
Just then, the door creaked open. Arion's breath hitched. He sat up, his body tensing, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was a prisoner in his own mind, and now, he was a prisoner in his own bedroom.
It was not a servant. It was not a guard. It was Kyon.
The prince was a vision of perfect composure. His hair, now perfectly styled, was a black cascade over his shoulders. His face, a beautiful, serene mask, held no hint of the beast from the night before. His scent, a soft, floral white tea, was a suffocating, intoxicating lie.
Kyon closed the door behind him and walked to the bed. He sat on the edge, his presence instantly filling the room. Arion instinctively tensed, ready for another verbal assault, another demonstration of power.
But it didn't come. Kyon's gaze was direct, unwavering. He reached out a hand, his fingers gently tracing the line of Arion's face. Arion flinched, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't.
"I apologize," Kyon said, his voice a low, melodic murmur. "I should have known the servants would come to clean the room."
Arion's mind reeled. He was a man who had just been a subject of vulgar gossip from common servants, and Kyon was apologizing to him. For the first time, Arion saw not a monster, but a man who was just as trapped as he was.
"I'm not a monster, Arion," Kyon said, as if he had read his mind. "I am a prince. A man who has been forced to live a lie. But you… you are my truth. You are the one person who knows who I truly am."
He leaned in, his lips brushing against Arion's ear, his scent of burning amber a warm, intoxicating blanket. "I know it hurts," he whispered. "I know you're confused. I know you're angry. But you are not alone. You have me. And I will never let you go."