Yerel sat hunched over his desk in his private study. The aftermath of the banquet poisoning had thrown the entire palace into absolute chaos, and the crushing weight of the investigation fell squarely on his shoulders. His head throbbed with a relentless, blinding ache, making him feel completely dizzy and disoriented.
He rubbed his temples roughly, desperately trying to anchor his wandering mind, but the exhaustion was a heavy fog rolling over his consciousness.
Suddenly, the door to his study swung open.
There had been no polite knock, no formal announcement from the guards outside, and certainly no permission granted to enter. The complete disregard for proper etiquette instantly rubbed his raw nerves the wrong way.
"How dare you come in without..." Yerel snarled, his voice sharp as he snapped his head up.
But the words died completely in his throat.
The anger in his voice vanished the instant he recognized the figure walking into the room. The intruder wasn’t a reckless servant or a panicked guard.
It was Cherion. He moved with his usual lazy, effortless grace, his silver hair catching the light with every step. He looked completely unfazed by the crisis engulfing the palace, a soft, familiar smirk tugging at his lips.
Yerel’s heart gave a sudden, violent thud against his ribs. The dizziness that had been plaguing him twisted into a strange, intoxicating rush. Forgetting his fatigue entirely, Yerel pushed himself to his feet and practically marched toward the silver-haired youth.
Seeing the intense, frantic energy radiating from the Crown Prince, Cherion merely chuckled, raising a hand in a relaxed gesture. "Easy there, Your Highness. It’s just me."
"What are you doing in here?" Yerel asked. His mind was racing, trying to comprehend why he was here.
Cherion didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a step closer, narrowing the distance between them until Yerel could feel the faint, comforting warmth radiating from him. "What? Am I not allowed in here anymore, Yerel? I didn’t think I needed an invitation."
Yerel’s eyes darkened, a bitter, possessive edge sharpening his features as he stared down at Cherion. The image of Zarius standing protectively beside Cherion flashed vividly in his mind, fueling a spark of resentment. "Shouldn’t you be somewhere else, Cherion? Aren’t you comfortable enough wrapped up in the Duke’s arms?"
Cherion tilted his head, a quiet, delighted laugh escaping his lips. He leaned in just a fraction closer, his dark eyes glittering with absolute amusement. "Oh? Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, Your Highness? How charming."
Cherion stepped flush against Yerel’s chest, his voice dropping into a teasing whisper that sent a shiver straight down the prince’s spine. "You have no idea how happy I am right now. It’s nice to know you finally understand how I feel... every single time I’m forced to watch you standing beside Philia."
Before Yerel could formulate a response to the blunt confession, Cherion reached out, his fingers wrapping firmly around the lapels of Yerel’s royal tunic. With surprising strength, Cherion pulled the prince forward before turning and deliberately pushing him back onto the long, plush velvet chaise lounge stretching across the side of the study.
Yerel hit the soft cushions, his breath hitching as Cherion immediately climbed over him, pinning him down. Straddling the prince’s lap, Cherion leaned down, his silver hair falling forward like a curtain that shut out the rest of the world.
When their lips met, the last remnants of Yerel’s control shattered completely.
It was a desperate, bruising kiss, fueled by yearning, frustration, and a hunger that refused to fade. Yerel brought his hands up, wrapping them tightly around the back of Cherion’s neck to deepen the embrace, pulling him down until there was absolutely no space left between them.
He kissed him with a frantic, consuming hunger, his teeth grazing against the youth’s bottom lip, desperate to anchor this elusive, frustrating creature to his side once and for all. Cherion kissed him back just as desperately, his hands sliding up to grip Yerel’s shoulders as the heat between them threatened to consume the entire room.
Yerel kept kissing him, completely lost in the intoxicating scent and the unyielding warmth of the youth, biting down slightly to leave a possessive mark. But as the intensity reached a fever pitch, a soft, breathless sound echoed through the quiet space.
"Your Highness..."
The prince froze. His brows furrowed slightly against the plush velvet cushion. The voice calling his name was soft, melodic, and gentle, but it wasn’t Cherion’s lazy, smooth tone.
It was entirely wrong.
Yerel’s eyes snapped wide open.
The vision of shimmering silver hair and dark, mocking eyes vanished instantly. There was no silver hair.
Yerel’s heart practically stopped. He violently recoiled, his hands shoving the figure away as he scrambled backward on the chaise lounge, his boots dragging against the floor as he forced himself to stand up in a blind panic.
"Philia?!" Yerel choked out, his voice raw and shaking as he stared at his fiancé. He pressed a hand against his racing chest, his breath coming in short gasps. "What... what are you doing in here?"
Philia sat back on the edge of the velvet lounge, slightly breathless and startled by the prince’s sudden, violent rejection. He straightened his slightly rumpled clothes, his gentle eyes filled with confusion and concern.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," Philia said softly. "I did not mean to frighten you. I was incredibly worried about your health after the stress of the banquet, so I decided to come look for you. When I entered, the guards said you hadn’t left your study. I found you completely fast asleep right here."
Philia reached out, his cool fingers lightly brushing against Yerel’s arm in a comforting gesture. "You were tossing and turning quite violently, murmuring in your sleep. I only wanted to wake you from what seemed like a terrible nightmare."
Yerel stood entirely rigid under Philia’s touch, his mind reeling as the cold reality of the study crashed back into his senses. He slowly raised a trembling hand, roughly rubbing his face and temples as a wave of bitter realization washed over him.
The sudden entrance. The blunt confessions. The intoxicating, desperate warmth of those lips.
It was a dream. All of it. A hallucination conjured by his own exhausted, stressed-out mind and his deepest, most fiercely repressed desires.
Cherion hadn’t come to see him
"Your Highness?" Philia asked again, his voice gentle as he leaned closer, his eyes scanning the prince’s pale face. "Are you alright? You look unwell. Should I call for the physician to examine you?"
"It’s fine," Yerel snapped, his voice tight and completely devoid of emotion as he abruptly pulled his arm out of Philia’s grasp. He turned his back to Philia, walking back over to his desk just to put physical distance between them. "It’s nothing more than exhaustion. I am perfectly fine, Philia. You may leave."
Philia hesitated for a moment, his smile twitching slightly at the cold dismissal, before he bowed low and silently exited the room.
Left alone again, Yerel exhaled sharply. His fingers dug into the edge of his desk while he bit his lower lip, unable to shake the lingering sensation of lips that had never truly touched his.