Chapter 22: War Win, L.S.N 3 (18+)

The night air shimmered with heat, perfumed with sweat, wine, and desire. Flickering torchlight danced across the marble walls of the palace courtyard, casting soft gold on flushed skin and tangled limbs. Kaelith and Hale walked side by side, their steps measured yet slow, as though the weight of the night clung to their boots. The echo of moans drifted like music around them, but neither spoke until Kaelith subtly turned his head toward the towering silhouette of the palace.

Hale noticed the motion immediately. "Where are you going?" he asked, his voice low, curious, but not accusing.

Kaelith barely glanced at him. "Didn't you just come to call me?" he replied. "You said the King summoned me."

A lazy, amused smile crept across Hale's lips. "No," he said simply. "The King isn't calling for you. I just needed an excuse to pull you away... You were taking too long with Prince Ronan."

Kaelith halted mid-step. His eyes searched Hale's with cool amusement. "Ronan is my friend," he said with a slight raise of his brow. "Don't tell me you're jealous."

They turned down a side corridor, moving away from the central chaos of the festival. Kaelith chuckled as he walked. "You can't be jealous," he teased lightly. "I'm not even yours yet."

Hale's smile darkened, softened. "You're not mine now," he murmured, voice almost lost to the sounds behind them. "Doesn't mean you can't be."

Kaelith caught the whisper. "I heard that," he said with a half-smirk, not looking back.

They continued walking through a scene painted in carnality. Servants and nobles alike indulged openly. Shame had no place tonight.

To their right, two female palace maids, their uniforms undone and half-forgotten, pressed against one another in the shadows of a pillar. One was on her knees, her face buried between the thighs of the other, whose head was thrown back in ecstasy. Her fingers moved beneath the other's skirt, slick sounds mixing with soft, breathy cries. They were unabashed, their rhythm raw and primal, their pleasure a public performance.

Hale's jaw tightened, but he didn't comment. Kaelith kept walking, his steps even practised. He had seen enough of Lost Shame Night in the past. Its excesses no longer shocked him.

But Hale was new to this world.

Further ahead, two men leaned against a stone bench, wrapped in each other's arms. One lifted his leg, bracing against the wall. The other, tall and built like a warrior, guided himself with deliberate hunger. Just as Kaelith and Hale neared them, the man behind thrust forward with a low growl, and the other cried out a sharp, guttural moan that echoed into the night.

Kaelith's breath caught in his throat. His spine straightened.

Hale swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. Heat flared beneath his skin, but it wasn't the sight alone that stirred his blood. It was Kaelith, how his arm brushed his own, how his scent mixed with incense and fire. Hale had seen enough tonight to remain composed. Yet now, beside Kaelith, his control splintered.

They turned another corner, finally away from the worst of it. The sounds dulled. Here, only distant pleasure murmurs reached their ears.

Kaelith finally spoke again, his voice quieter now. "I'm going to see Ronan. I didn't give him a proper goodnight. I need to rest afterwards... I'm tired."

He didn't meet Hale's eyes.

"Besides," Kaelith added, "tomorrow's the grand contest. The one who lasts longest during sex will be crowned the night's Master. It'll be chaotic."

Hale didn't answer. His eyes remained on Kaelith, but there was a new intensity in them dark, longing, restrained, and close to snapping.

Without warning, Hale stopped walking and reached out and gently took Kaelith's hand.

Kaelith looked down, confused, until Hale slowly guided that hand down his own body... and pressed it against the hardness already straining in his pants.

Kaelith's eyes flew open.

Hale stared directly at him, his voice a bare whisper. "See? This is what you do to me."

Kaelith's lips parted, stunned. "Hale... what are you doing?"

But Hale didn't let go. Instead, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Kaelith's forehead. Then, lower lips brushed the prince's mouth. Their lips met, slow, charged, and warm.

Kaelith melted into it for a heartbeat... but only one.

He broke the kiss, panting. "Don't—don't let us do this again."

Hale's eyes searched his face. "Again?" he asked, his voice rough. "I haven't even touched you like that.

Kaelith turned away slightly, as though trying to shield himself from Hale's gaze. "This is wrong."

"Then why does it feel so right?" Hale stepped closer. "I can't keep pretending I don't want you. I can't watch you walk past me like I'm nothing."

Kaelith looked around the quiet corner nervously. "Someone could see us..."

"What about your room," Hale whispered, desperate now. "No one will."

"I don't..." Kaelith began, but his voice trembled.

Hale stepped closer still, took Kaelith's hand again, and guided it once more to the heat between his legs. "Please," he said. "Help me. I need you. No one else... just you."

Their mouths met again, and this time, the kiss deepened, opened, and threatened to drown them both.

But then... Kaelith's breath caught.

Something inside him shattered like glass, a memory, an oath.

He broke the kiss violently and pulled away, his hand slipping from Hale's.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, stepping back into the shadows. "I can't do this."

He turned and left without another word, the hem of his robe brushing stone as he vanished into the corridor.

Hale stood alone, the heat of his arousal still pulsing in his veins, watching Kaelith disappear into the night that promised no shame and yet left him aching with guilt and need.

His chest rose and fell slowly. He thought each breath might cool the fire, still raging in his blood. He clenched his fists once, then released them, grounding himself. He said no. He walked away. Hale whispered the words in his mind like a sacred curse. But even rejection couldn't erase the memory of Kaelith's lips against his. Of his hand, warm and trembling, touching where Hale ached the most.

He waited a moment longer, gathering control, smoothing his robe, pushing down the storm inside him. Then, with silent determination, he moved. No matter what had just happened or what hadn't, he was still Kaelith's appointed servants, his shadow, his silent guard. His desires didn't matter. Not right now.

His boots barely made a sound as he slipped along the stone corridors, catching up from a distance, remaining close but invisible, like a loyal ghost.

Kaelith had already reached the northern garden hall where Ronan was lounging like a cat on a low cushioned bench, surrounded by the soft glow of floating lanterns and the scent of jasmine-heavy night air.

Ronan spotted him immediately and smirked, eyes glittering with mischief. "Ah, the lost prince returns," he teased, swirling a goblet of silver wine in one hand. "I thought you'd vanished into the night. But your face..."

He leaned forward playfully.

"You look like you've just been thoroughly fucked."

Kaelith narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. "You talk nonsense a lot. Aren't you tired of hearing your own voice?"

Ronan chuckled, unbothered. "Not in the slightest. I find myself delightful." He winked. "So what brings you back? Changed your mind about taking me up on my offer to share a few sinners?"

Kaelith shook his head, exasperated but fond. "I came back to say goodnight properly. And to thank you. Your presence meant more than I can say. You're always welcome here, Ronan."

Ronan's teasing expression softened for just a heartbeat then turned wicked again.

"You're welcome. Though, truthfully, I should be the one thanking you. I'm having the best time of my life here. I've already spotted a pair of pointed breasts calling my name, a muscle-bound stallion of a man who's ready to wreck me, and a sweet little feminine one I plan to make moan my name before dawn."

Kaelith let out a laugh, despite himself. "You really can't change, can you?"

Ronan placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. "Change? In a land like this? It would be a sin not to sin."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "You have no idea how much I envy your kingdom. Zarethrone... it's free. It's real. No masks. No burning at stakes. No laws that pretend love is a crime."

He paused, swirling his drink again.

"In my father's court," he said bitterly, "Lost Shame Night would never exist. If a guard so much as hears of a man laying with another, it's the gallows by morning. Or the blade."

Kaelith's smile dimmed. "I know.

Ronan nodded once. "But here, everything is different. And gods, it makes me feel alive."

Kaelith chuckled gently. "You're a true sinner."

Ronan grinned. "And proud of it."

As Kaelith laughed again, Ronan's gaze drifted past him and landed on Hale, who had finally approached, standing quietly a respectful distance away. His arms were folded behind his back, posture straight, his expression unreadable. But Ronan's eyes narrowed knowingly.

"Well, well," Ronan muttered with a slow grin. "Your shadow's still lingering, I see."

Kaelith turned slightly to glance at Hale, then looked back at Ronan.

"I don't mind stealing him for the night," Ronan said, eyes never leaving Hale's form. "I've been curious about how strong that power of his. I'd love to feel it between my—"

Kaelith cut in, not hiding the slight edge in his voice. "Stop dreaming, Ronan."

Ronan gave an exaggerated sigh. "Spoilsport."

Still, Kaelith smiled faintly. He and Ronan began talking again about their kingdoms, about trade, about peace and war and the future of Zarethrone. They drifted from topic to topic, wine shared, jokes thrown. Kaelith laughed often too easily, too brightly. Like someone trying to forget.

But deep inside, he felt Hale's presence behind him like a burn.

And even as he laughed with Ronan, Kaelith could feel Hale's eyes on him, hot, silent, full of want. It made his skin prickle.

He was pretending well. Laughing, talking, playing the perfect prince. But he knew exactly what he had done.

He had left Hale hanging.

He had pulled away when Hale reached out not just with touch, but with heart. He'd rejected the heat in Hale's kiss, the desperation in his voice.

But now he couldn't forget it.

Kaelith laughed again at something Ronan said, tilting his head back as though he were completely at ease.

But inside?

He was on fire.