The wine had dulled his thoughts, but the ache in his chest remained sharp.
The Prince sat alone in his chamber, fingers tracing the rim of his cup, eyes fixed on the rain drumming against the balcony.
He was already tipsy when he whispered, "Shèng Lín."
The door creaked open a moment later.
The knight—Lǐ Wú, to everyone else—stood at the entrance, hair damp from the evening fog.
> "You shouldn't call me that here," he whispered, urgently. "You never know who's listening."
But the Prince didn't care.
Not tonight.
He rose, wobbled a bit from the wine, and walked toward him—eyes glinting with something darker than just drink.
> "You still won't tell me," he said, voice low. "Who ordered you to kill me."
Shèng Lín said nothing. He only shook his head.
> "It was my mission," he said quietly. "But everything changed."
> "You know what else changed?" the Prince whispered, stepping closer until their chests nearly touched. "Your duty."
> "And you know what it is now?" he added, leaning in, lips brushing the shell of Shèng Lín's ear—
> "To satisfy me."
Before Shèng Lín could respond, the Prince grabbed his robe and pulled him in, tumbling them both onto the bed.
The rain outside crashed harder, masking their breathless whispers and the sound of tangled cloth.
> "You're drunk," Shèng Lín said softly, but his hands were already gripping the Prince's shoulders.
> "Then stop me," the Prince dared.
But he didn't.
Instead, he let the Prince kiss him.
Their mouths met in a hungry, heated clash. The Prince's hands explored every familiar part of the body he had once occupied. He traced his jawline, kissed the curve of his throat, sucked gently behind his ear—the places he remembered as sensitive.
When Shèng Lín pulled him closer, the Prince chuckled against his skin.
> "I knew it," he whispered. "This is what I've been waiting for."
Their robes fell one by one, tossed aside in a slow, intimate rhythm. Their bodies pressed together beneath the silk sheets, skin meeting skin under the heat of the moment.
The candlelight flickered madly.
The rain roared outside.
And in the stillness between thunderclaps, they held each other tighter, as if afraid the world would split them apart again.
---
Later that night, the Prince lay curled in Shèng Lín's arms.
His breath evened out, and he mumbled softly in his sleep, completely at peace—his fierce, storming self transformed into something tender. Gentle. Almost vulnerable.
Shèng Lín looked down at him, hand stroking his hair.
> How could he be both my enemy and the only person I want to protect now?
And yet…
He could not speak the name.
Because revealing the truth would not just destroy his past—but the life of someone innocent, someone the Prince had once trusted.
> I've already betrayed once, he thought, closing his eyes.
> I can't do it again.
---