Chapter 25 - Sleeping King

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Chapter 25

 

 

The night Fisé had mistaken for the arrival of a storm turned out to be a night of aching sweetness—a dream so tender it left him paralyzed.

 

Even now, cradled in Aurelian's arms, he could feel the slow, even rhythm of his sleeping breath… and yet, Fisé could not open his eyes.

 

Because when they did wake—when both of them were fully awake—he would have to face Aurelian as himself, as Fisé of sound mind.

 

He imagined what Aurelian must be thinking now: Fisé loves me. We've become lovers.

 

And to that bright, hopeful face… what was he supposed to say?

 

That I was half-asleep and remember nothing? No, that excuse was meaningless. After all, he had wrapped his arms around Aurelian's back and clung to him—welcomed him deeper into a place no one else had ever reached. He had wanted it. Desired him. There was no denying it.

 

He didn't know how many times they had made love before the sky began to pale.

 

Only that it had lasted until morning. Only that it had blurred into something uncountable.

 

And even if he couldn't number the times, he remembered every moment. Every act, every touch, every breath they shared—he remembered, and the memory made him burn.

 

In those moments, he had been drowning in happiness—melting from the inside out.

 

The feel of skin against skin had filled him with unspeakable joy. And all he could do was silently repeat in his mind, like a warding spell: This isn't love. This isn't romance. It's only lust.

 

Fairy or human—it made no difference. All beings were drawn to beautiful things. They wanted to look at what shimmered. They wanted to touch what felt good. It was instinct, nothing more.

 

That's all this is. Aurelian is a beautiful man, and I have simply indulged in a night of fleeting pleasure. He told himself this again and again, even as he surrendered to the delight Aurelian gave him.

 

But in the end, he had fallen in love again.

 

He could no longer deceive himself. Somewhere along the way, he had come to care for Aurelian—deeply. That realization hit with quiet finality, and with it came the decision to believe in that feeling. To acknowledge it.

 

This one might truly be different, he had thought. At least as sleep began to claim him, he'd felt that hope take root—strong enough to eclipse the ever-present anxiety.

 

And yet, come morning, all that certainty dissolved.

 

Seventeen years ago, he had been held by someone else. There had been joy then, too. More than one night spent drowned in pleasure. He couldn't deny that those moments had also felt like happiness.

 

Even if the memory now made his skin crawl, at the time, he had smiled.

 

The man had come to the Rose Garden not just as a knight, but as a king. He had hidden his wife and child. Their very meeting had been built on lies. And yet, though Fisé wanted to pretend it never happened, he couldn't quite erase the feelings he'd once held for the fictional knight Spencer.

 

That meant, whether he wanted to or not, he could compare then and now.

 

But what proof did he have that the past had been a mistake and the present was right?

 

A year from now, this night would be nothing more than another memory. Love only sparkles while it's unfolding—fleeting and blinding. And someone like him, who once failed to see through a king's deceit, had no guarantee that he was making the right call this time. Before placing faith in Aurelian, he had to confront the harder truth:

 

He couldn't yet trust himself.

 

Lying against Aurelian's chest, listening to the soft breaths of sleep that sounded almost boyish, Fisé finally opened his eyes.

 

He wanted to reclaim the usual version of himself while Aurelian still slept.

 

He wasn't going to reject what had happened or the feelings he now carried. But he knew all too well—most human men were not to be trusted. And when he was in love, his ability to judge clearly was the first thing to fail him. He couldn't afford to let himself get swept up in it again.

 

He had to stay grounded. Think carefully. Hold himself steady.

 

What would he say when Aurelian awoke? How should he act?

 

Most urgently—should he end things now? Remain holed up in this room until their parting was clean?

 

His answer would shape everything. If he were to say, "We can't see each other again. I wish you happiness," then admitting to any kind of affection would be too cruel. It would be cowardice disguised as kindness.

 

I need to step away. Breathe in cold air again… Because if he stayed wrapped in arms this warm, he would lose the ability to think clearly. He might even start to wish for forever—to remain like this, in this embrace, always.

 

He gently pulled away from the arms that held him, and as he did, a faint murmur escaped Aurelian's lips.

 

Not yet… please, don't wake up.

 

Fisé placed his feet lightly on the floor, balancing his weight carefully on one leg so as not to brush against the bedposts.

 

The bed didn't creak. Aurelian remained asleep, instinctively pulling the covers closer in search of warmth.

 

As he shifted, his palm became briefly visible.

 

The mark left by the key still burned red—and just the sight of it made Fisé's chest tighten with guilt.

 

If I could take the pain in his place… I would.

 

He looks different now. More important, more compelling… more like a man.

 

Just yesterday, Fisé had been trying to convince himself that Aurelian was still a boy—physically mature, yes, but emotionally still a child. But now, after witnessing his strength, his yearning, his vulnerability—after sharing in it—Fisé saw him differently. And it was only natural that he did.

 

There were no more iron bars between them. Nothing to stop him from reaching out and touching. Now, it was only his own heart he had to wrestle with.

 

I want to touch him again. To bury my fingers in that silken hair, now that I know the texture of it. To comb through it again and again with my hand. To feel the skin I haven't fully explored last night… to trace the lines of the muscle beneath, and the sturdy frame that held it all. To press my lips to his warm skin damp with sweat, and leave my own mark behind.

 

Staring down at the sleeping Aurelian, Fisé gripped the fabric of his own dark robe.

 

If he didn't, his hands would reach out on their own. He drew in a deep, quiet breath, over and over, steadying himself.

 

The garment beneath his fingers clung snugly to his body, but patches of it had dried to a pale white, giving off a faint scent that made him flush with embarrassment.

 

Some of the traces belonged to Aurelian—but most of it had come from himself.

 

The intense sweetness of his own essence, like rose nectar, had left a stain across the robe like an inkblot map.

 

Much of Aurelian's own cum remained within Fisé's body, and even now, it left him feeling as though his insides were still moist.

 

I mustn't carry this into the sunlight… I have to get rid of it.

 

Part of him wanted to keep every trace of it inside him, but he couldn't.

 

Not when he didn't even know what expression to wear when Aurelian awoke. He couldn't hold onto something so fragile and uncertain.

 

Disappear. Let me return to a body that's clean and untouched.

 

With a hand against his chest, he made the wish—and fae magic stirred within him.

 

It wasn't warm, but rather, a cooling energy that spread from the heart out to his fingertips. Anything his kind considered impure was gently swept away.

 

The sweat that clung to his skin and hair vanished. His body, his clothes—everything returned to its pristine state, as though untouched by the night before.

 

Still gripping the front of his now-unblemished robe, Fisé turned his gaze toward Aurelian's clothes.

 

Though he had shed his outer coat, Aurelian still wore his vest. And his shirt remained neatly in place.

 

It hadn't been redressed afterward—he had simply never taken it off. The memory struck Fisé with a slow, blooming discomfort.

 

Before, he might not have thought anything of it. But in the seventeen years since, he had read a great many books—across disciplines, from lore to etiquette—and he had come to understand what was considered common among humans.

 

It was said that noblemen, when visiting brothels, often kept their clothes on—revealing only what was necessary.

 

But there were other theories, too. "A man bares himself fully only before the one he truly loves," claimed one custom in warmer climates. Yet in colder regions, it was considered normal for both partners to remain partially dressed.

 

If I, as the one embraced, am likened to a human woman… then perhaps Aurelian didn't mean to treat me lightly. And yet… the room last night was far too warm. So warm we both broke into a sweat, yet he never once moved to weaken the fire. He had been entirely focused on holding me.

 

He could have removed his vest or shirt. So why hadn't he?

 

Was it because he'd learned about my past with the king? Did he see me differently because of it?

 

Or perhaps, having seen Fisé lie still without protest—pretending to sleep, offering no resistance—Aurelian had somewhere in his heart felt a quiet disdain for his silence, his passivity.

 

If that were true, the thought was almost too painful to bear.

 

He had read that human men possess a kind of hunting instinct—that once a prize is claimed, they begin to lose interest.

 

Fisé, now held more tightly by feelings of love than ever, couldn't help but wonder if for Aurelian, it might be the opposite.

 

 

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