Chapter Ten
The rush to Kaelen’s chambers was a monochrome blur, a collision of fleeting images and moments that blurred together like ink in water.
They phased through the scenery, the passages flashing in silvery glimmers of moonlight, corridors bending sharply around the gleam of cold, dark metal and the faint sheen of crushed velvet.
The weight of stone pressed against them, the very walls seeming to thrum with the hurried rhythm of their footfalls.
Kaelen’s hand, heavy and warm through his gloves, wrapped tightly around Thorne’s wrist, pulling him along with a force that made it clear: they weren’t sneaking, they weren’t hiding.
They were not subtle.
If anyone were to see them now, they would know—no question.
The crown prince, king-to-be, was not merely heading to his chambers for solitude. He was heading to bed, and not with some delicate lady of the court, but with a damned southern stranger in all his lace. They would know the golden prince was about to lie with a man tonight.
Yet, the rush of their flight went undisturbed.
No guards leapt from darkened corners, no maids passed through the hallways, no guests wandered, seeking pleasure in the shadows of the night.
It was as if the entire world had receded, leaving only them—Kaelen’s grip on him, unrelenting and full of purpose.
Thorne could feel the raw intensity of the moment, ready to rip through anyone they might meet.
He was so close to losing himself, to crossing the point of no return.
And in the stolen glances he shot at Kaelen, he saw it too—the prince might very well let him do it.
Every tug on his arm, every rough movement of Kaelen's hand, seemed to carry him closer to something inevitable. Finally, finally, Kaelen was leading him, drawing him in, pulling him to the very heart of the prince's den.
Through the royal apartments they stormed, until at last they arrived at the door of Kaelen’s quarters.
And Thorne’s breath caught in his throat as he realized something unexpected—this wasn’t the king’s chamber.
Kaelen still resided in the crown prince’s suite, surrounded by the memories of his childhood.
And it would be here, in this very room, that Thorne would either succumb or end it all.
In Kaelen's childhood bedroom, no less—how fitting.
Thorne felt the knot of irony tighten in his chest.
Kaelen would have him here. And he might very well die here, in the prince’s bed.
The door slammed open, and Kaelen was on him before the sound of the hinges even had time to settle.
Thorne was hauled inside, caught in the weight of Kaelen’s presence, drawn into the prince’s hunger.
The room was dark, the fire long since extinguished, but the pale light of the moon sliced through the room from a single window, where a torn curtain fluttered, its soft dance casting delicate shadows over the bed.
The bed.
It was tucked against the far wall, its four tall posts draped in thick blue fabric.
The sheets were a mess, covers tossed aside as if some restless soul had turned over and over, unable to find peace.
Pillows lay scattered, offering no reprieve to the unsettled mind that had once laid its head there. A black coat lay discarded at the foot of the bed, the bedside table cluttered with medicinal bottles, one drawer’s handle long broken.
Kaelen’s grip on Thorne’s wrist tightened, dragging him back into his grasp, and suddenly Thorne found himself pressed against the door once more.
The sharp edge of the wood dug into his back, and Kaelen’s mouth was upon him—brutal, demanding, stealing the air from his lungs with each heated kiss.
Kaelen’s desperation bled through the raw thrust of his tongue, his hand a vice around Thorne’s wrist, the other threading through Thorne’s hair, tearing at the fragile strands holding his ponytail together.
Thorne’s breath hitched as his hair began to unravel, the leather binding snapping like a crack of thunder in the silence of the room.
He was left with nothing but loose strands cascading to his shoulders, an ink-dark waterfall that mirrored his turmoil.
He gasped, a sound of both surprise and frustration escaping him, and Kaelen chuckled low, the sound rumbling through his chest as he pulled Thorne even closer.
The prince’s strength was undeniable, a beastly force that began to walk backward, dragging Thorne along.
His grip never loosened, fingers tangled in the fabric of Thorne’s cape, guiding him forward with a surety that made the room tilt on its axis.
Thorne stumbled, barely keeping his balance as Kaelen’s insatiable kisses continued to assault him.
His mind raced, spinning with images of the bed—of the chaos and intimacy it promised.
Thorne could almost taste it, feel the inevitability of being claimed, broken down piece by piece.
He knew the moment he fell onto those sheets, he would lose.
He would be dominated, unable to fight back, unable to win. He would be as good as caught, as good as dead.
A cold shiver ran down Thorne’s spine at the thought, and his body reacted before his mind could fully comprehend the consequences.
Without thinking, he sank to his knees.
The shift in his movement caught Kaelen off guard.
The prince froze, fingers trembling slightly as they hovered above Thorne.
His eyes, wide with astonishment, followed Thorne’s descent, disbelief painting his features.
Thorne’s hands were already on Kaelen’s belt, ready to take control, ready to twist this into something he could manage.
“Thorne!”
Kaelen’s voice cracked through the tension, a harsh hiss escaping him as if the very sound of his name—uttered in such disbelief—had shattered the air around them.
It was a mixture of astonishment, confusion, and, beneath it all, a whisper of embarrassment.
Thorne didn’t heed any of Kaelen’s whispered pleas, his mind consumed by an overwhelming need to feel.
His fingers worked deftly under the prince’s belt buckle, his movements precise and quick.
The belt came free with an audible tug, and Thorne cast it aside without a second thought, his attention never wavering.
His hands traveled up Kaelen’s calves, feeling the lean muscle there, the strength hidden beneath the prince’s clothing.
His touch journeyed higher, over the smooth curve of Kaelen’s thighs, marveling at the tautness of his skin, the heat that seemed to radiate from him.
His hands climbed to the narrow jut of Kaelen’s hip bones, his thumbs pressing into the flesh there, feeling the subtle flutter of Kaelen’s pulse beneath the surface.
With a low, almost reverent sound, Thorne leaned forward, pressing his face into the heat of Kaelen’s body.
His eyes darted upward, catching the barest flicker of a kiss—a flash of their lips brushing—his intentions as clear as day.
The beast before him was blazing, a furnace of desire that made Thorne’s pulse quicken.
Kaelen’s hardness, firm as steel, pressed against his cheek, the scent of musk and leather filling his senses.
Thorne couldn’t help himself.
He mouthed at the curve of Kaelen’s body, savoring the swell beneath his tongue, his thumbs digging deeper into the prince’s hips as he pulled closer, desperate for more.
Kaelen’s gaze was on him, unwavering, enraptured by every touch, every movement.
Thorne had his full attention, every scrap of it, and it was a power he had never felt before.
It gave him the courage to continue, to push further into the moment, to surrender to the tension between them.
His hands moved with purpose, finding the buttons of Kaelen’s shirt.
As he continued to press his mouth to the beast’s hard body, Kaelen shuddered, his fingers threading through Thorne’s hair, brushing over his temples, and finally cupping the back of his head with a tenderness that belied the rawness of their moment.
“Thorne…”
Kaelen’s voice was soft, breathless, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.
“You are a vision.”
Thorne’s response was a sharp bite to Kaelen’s hip, the sharpness of it cutting through the haze of passion.
“Stop that,”
he growled, his own body responding to the prince’s touch.
Kaelen’s hands slid up Thorne’s neck, gentle yet possessive, coming to rest on either side of his head.
His thumbs traced the angles of Thorne’s jaw, brushing the skin there with a reverent touch.
Then, without warning, Kaelen removed Thorne’s mask.
The soft feathers of the mask brushed over Thorne’s cheeks as it was pulled away, and for a brief, disorienting moment, he was plunged into darkness.
It lasted only the span of a heartbeat, but when Kaelen’s eyes met his, it was as though the entire world had shifted.
Kaelen’s expression was blistering, burning with a hunger that seemed almost too much to bear.
His gaze roved over Thorne’s face, his eyes tracing the sharp lines of his nose, the curve of his peaked hairline, the hollow of his cheeks.
He pressed his cold thumbs into the hollows beneath Thorne’s eyes, as though brushing away something unspoken, something hidden.
Thorne’s skin shivered as Kaelen’s thumbs moved up to his temples, sending a ripple of electricity through him.
He couldn’t contain the snarl that tore from his throat, his instincts demanding that he escape the vulnerability Kaelen’s touch threatened to unlock.
In a flash, he ripped Kaelen’s buttons free, tearing them open with a force that matched his hunger.
His tongue ran a hot stripe up the prince’s bare abdomen, tasting the smooth skin there.
Silvery scars marred the pale plane of Kaelen’s stomach—marks of past battles, of struggles long past, and yet they were as much a part of him as the raw power that rippled beneath his skin.
Thorne’s breath caught as Kaelen pressed his hips forward, grinding into his throat, his body an iron will against the vulnerability of Thorne’s mouth.
Thorne responded with a low chuckle, the sound thick with desire.
He bit down on Kaelen’s other hip, his lips moving over the marks, tracing each scar like a map of the prince’s soul.
Then he moved down, down the slope of Kaelen’s stomach, his hands searching for the growing hardness pressed against him.
It only intensified with every touch, and Thorne felt a twisted pleasure in the power he held over the prince, the tenacity with which Kaelen responded to him.
It wasn’t enough.
Thorne wanted more.
He rucked up Kaelen’s shirt, hands moving with impatient urgency as they reached for the prince’s small clothes.
But then, without warning, Kaelen’s hands cupped under his chin, dragging him back to his feet with a force that left Thorne breathless.
Kaelen kissed him, swift and heavy, the force of it stealing Thorne’s breath. “Enough,”
he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Bed.”
Thorne hissed in protest, reaching again for Kaelen’s pants, desperate to continue.
But Kaelen was already pressing close, thwarting Thorne’s attempts to undress him.
Their struggle intensified, a tangle of bodies and breathless murmurs as Thorne grabbed at Kaelen’s hair, at his waist, snarling in frustration.
And then, with a final, frustrated growl, he succeeded in throwing Kaelen’s cloak off, the fabric tumbling to the floor, discarded in the heat of the moment.
Thorne pulled back with a victorious smirk, but before he could revel in the moment, Kaelen’s hands shot out, locking around his waist with an unyielding grip, and yanked him back.
The sudden force took Thorne off guard, and they collided with a bone-wracking impact, bodies crashing together in a tangle of limbs.
A moan escaped him, deep and raw, as the shock of the collision bled into pleasure.
Their hips and thighs aligned, grinding together in an aching proximity, the friction between them electric.
Thorne could feel the stutter of Kaelen’s breath against his skin, the drag of desire as they moved, and through the haze, he dimly noticed his own cloak being ripped from his shoulders and thrown into the shadows.
He barely registered the action, too consumed by the overwhelming heat building between them.
Free of the cloak, Kaelen’s hands roamed, exploring with a rough possessiveness.
He found the hollow of Thorne’s throat, his teeth sinking in with a growl that sent a ripple of heat through Thorne’s body.
The sharpness of the bite made Thorne lash out instinctively, hands flying to Kaelen’s hair, tugging violently as his shoulders strained beneath the pressure.
His body was burning from the inside out, a heat that consumed him as Kaelen’s tongue laved over the spot where his teeth had bitten, the sensation sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine.
The beast was relentless, each touch drawing him deeper into the spiral of need, and Thorne’s control, the last remnants of his resistance, began to slip away.
His body reveled in the debauchery, delighted in being torn apart by the sheer ferocity of Kaelen’s touch.
The hands at his waist made their mark, tightening, pulling him closer with a brutal urgency, dragging him through ribbons of fabric and lace.
Thorne’s breath hitched as he barely had time to think, his daggers hidden in the folds of his attire still fresh in his mind—until those clawed fingers sank in, pulling at him, tearing at him with a savagery that left him gasping.
The sound of fabric tearing was deafening, the seams splitting under the force of Kaelen’s grip.
Thorne’s breath caught as the cold air hit his exposed skin, the inner layer of his clothing now all but destroyed.
Kaelen’s grunted exertion made his pulse race faster as the ribbons that had once held him together were snapped with a ruthless efficiency.
He released Thorne’s neck just long enough to tear the shredded sleeves from Thorne’s shoulders, and with a final toss, they joined the cloak in the darkening shadows of the room.
“Enough,”
Kaelen commanded, his voice thick with an authority that made Thorne’s blood run hotter.
“Come here.”
Before Thorne could even react, Kaelen’s hands were on him again, lifting him with ease and throwing him bodily toward the bed.
The world spun as light and dark collided, the disorienting sensation a blur in Thorne’s mind as he landed, ass first, sinking into the plushness of the bed beneath him.
For a brief moment, his mind scrambled to catch up, and he realized—four of his knives were gone.
His weapons, lost to the violent chaos of their struggle.
And yet, despite that loss, despite the fury of being thrown across the room and divested of his garments in such a violent and spectacular fashion, Thorne was still painfully, maddeningly aroused.
The kiss with the beast had done nothing to slake the thirst that had been building inside him.
It had only made it more desperate, more needful.
Thorne sat up, his mouth open, ready to snap at Kaelen, to demand answers, but the prince was quicker.
With a swift movement, Kaelen hauled him by the loops of his pants, pulling him back to the edge of the bed.
His fingers slipped between Thorne’s hips, prying at him with a savage precision that had Thorne’s breath stuttering in his chest.
The sound of belt buckles scraping harshly against the gauntleted fingers was enough to send a wave of heat through Thorne’s veins, the brutal sound leaving him positively inflamed.
Kaelen’s movements were quick and deliberate, his hands working to undo the belt with a skill that made Thorne’s pulse quicken.
The belt came free, the metal buckle clattering to the floor, but Kaelen didn’t even glance at the attached dagger—he didn’t need to.
His gaze never wavered from Thorne’s face, piercing and unrelenting, as he tossed the belt over his shoulder, another weapon discarded into the shadows.
Thorne lost his next breath when Kaelen’s hands found their way to his chest, pressing against his skin with a slow, deliberate force.
The prince’s palms smoothed over his sides, drifting down to trace the curve of his front, and Thorne could feel every movement, every shift, like fire against his skin.
Kaelen’s eyes roved over him hungrily, never lingering too long in one place but devouring every inch of him nonetheless.
Thorne’s breath hitched, and a soft whine escaped his lips before he could stop it.
He felt his body tremble in response, muscles tensing as though he should pull away, push the beast off, stop this.
But his arms betrayed him, lying useless at his sides as if they were held captive by the very sensation Kaelen was creating with each touch.
He commanded them to fight, to push, but they didn’t move. His body quivered beneath Kaelen’s touch, unable to fight, aching in a way that made him want to give in—want to take and to give in equal measure.
Kaelen leaned a knee onto the bed, pressing in closer, his weight straddling Thorne’s lap.
The closeness was almost unbearable, the heat of Kaelen’s body settling against his, sending a shiver through him.
The prince ran his palms over Thorne’s shoulders, his touch restless, eager.
And then, in a movement that felt too urgent, Kaelen began to unbutton Thorne’s shirt.
His fingers fumbled over the small buttons, struggling against the fabric, armored hands making quick, clumsy work of it.
Thorne couldn’t help but watch the beast labor over him, pawing at him with a wild abandon, growing more desperate with each failed attempt.
The frantic atmosphere around them seemed to reach a peak, hanging there for a moment before it came crashing down, the world suddenly still. The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound their ragged breathing.
Thorne couldn’t move.
He was pinned beneath Kaelen’s strength, crushed by the weight of him, his chest rising and falling with each breath in a rhythm that matched Thorne’s own.
The heat of Kaelen’s thigh pressed against his, the prince’s breathing heavy in his face.
Thorne felt every inch of him, unable to escape.
He was forced to confront the undeniable reality of the situation—the crown prince of Erethos, the man Thorne had been tasked to kill, was straddling his lap, fumbling desperately to unbutton his shirt.
The absurdity of it hit him hard.
For a moment, he couldn’t believe what was happening.
He heard himself speak, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them.
“Why don’t you just tear it off?”
Kaelen huffed in surprise, and for a fleeting moment, Thorne thought he saw a hint of a blush creep over the prince’s face, deep and genuine.
It was a strange thing to witness, this vulnerability in the beast, and it made Thorne’s chest tighten with something unfamiliar.
“I didn’t mean to...
you were just being so difficult...”
Kaelen’s voice trailed off, an unexpected edge of shyness in his tone.
Thorne, frustrated and a little amused by the prince’s clumsy attempt, wrapped a hand around one of Kaelen’s wrists and tugged.
“It’d be a lot easier without those,”
he muttered, his voice low and tinged with impatience.
Kaelen looked down at his hands, then back up at Thorne, his gaze unsure.
Thorne slipped a finger under the largest buckle on Kaelen’s gauntlet, his touch delicate but firm against the warm leather that encased the prince’s forearm.
Kaelen shivered but didn’t pull away, his gaze flickering to Thorne’s face with a sudden, vulnerable intensity.
“The gloves,”
Kaelen said quietly, almost uncertain.
“I won’t...
the gloves...”
“Keep them then,”
Thorne replied, his voice carrying an edge of finality, and pulled the gauntlet off with a swift motion.
The smooth black metal slid through the moonlight like a serpent, glinting momentarily before crumpling harmlessly into Thorne’s gloved hand.
It was just another weapon he’d rid the beast of, he told himself, a pragmatic decision.
A survival instinct.
Yet even as the thought crossed his mind, something twisted in his chest, something strange and conflicted that he couldn’t name.