The prince had grown reckless. There was no gentler word for it.

What had begun as a thrilling, forbidden game behind bolted doors had become a ravenous hunger that devoured every scrap of caution. Edward’s need for Piers for the intoxicating blend of raw dominance and tender sanctuary the Gascon offered had turned blinding. Dangerous.

It started with small betrayals of sense, a hand lingering too long on Piers’ shoulder in the corridor while they spoke of hawks and visiting barons. A shared glance across the crowded hall, carrying the weight of private sins and knowing smiles. Then came bolder indiscretions. Edward began summoning Piers to his chambers by day, under the flimsiest of pretexts, a missing gauntlet, a question about Gascon wine shipments. The guards admitted the squire with carefully blank faces, but the sounds that soon spilled from within were unmistakable: the sharp slap of flesh, the prince’s low, commanding growls, and Piers’ broken, choked-off cries. They were not the sounds of statecraft.

The court began to whisper.

Nobles who had been present at court banquets, watching their interactions, smirked into their wine. “The prince has developed quite the appetite for Gascon fare,” one murmured, “and it isn’t the vintage.” They noted the extravagant gifts, the white stallion worth a minor barony, the jewelled daggers, the fine clothes. They saw how the prince’s piercing blue eyes tracked the slender squire with naked possession.

Below stairs, servants gossiped about the state of the prince’s linens. Guards stationed outside Edward’s door became a source of crude entertainment for passing knights, who slowed their steps to catch the rhythmic proof of their future king’s forbidden appetites.

The gossip slithered through the palace like venom, climbing stone staircases until it reached the royal apartments.

King Edward I, the Hammer of the Scots, was not a man accustomed to being defied. At sixty-one, he remained formidable, tall, iron-grey, his face a map of wars and losses. The deaths of his beloved Eleanor and so many of his children had scoured all softness from him, leaving only granite will and an obsessive need to secure his dynasty. His last surviving son was the final, fragile piece of that legacy.

When his spies confirmed the whispers, cold rage settled in the old king’s chest. His heir was not merely dallying with a pretty page. He was utterly, publicly, recklessly enamoured of his Gascon squire fucking him like a common whore and keeping him like a favoured mistress.

One night, the mockery grew too loud. A group of drunken barons turned the scandal into a bawdy song in the lower hall. The king heard every verse.

His fury was silent, and therefore terrifying.

He seized his heavy walking staff and strode through the palace, boots ringing like judgment on the flagstones.

Inside the prince’s chamber, the world had narrowed to sweat-slick skin and desperate rhythm.

Edward had Piers bent over the heavy oak table, powerful body pinning the smaller man down. One broad hand was fisted in strawberry-blonde hair, yanking his head back, while the other gripped his hip hard enough to leave bruises. He drove into him with brutal, possessive strokes, thick cock stretching him open again and again.

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Dawn crept through the narrow arrow slit windows of the prince’s private chamber, painting the stone walls in soft gold. Edward woke first, his powerful body still wrapped around Piers like a living shield. The scent of sex hung thick in the air, dried cum flaking on both their skin.

Edward’s cock twitched at the memory of how thoroughly he had ruined the younger man, three heavy loads pumped deep into that greedy hole, the way Piers had sobbed and begged and milked him dry. A dark, possessive smile curved his lips. He shifted, pressing his morning hardness against Piers’ thigh, and let one large hand slide down to cup the squire’s arse. His fingers found the still-slick, puffy entrance and pushed two thick digits inside without warning.

Piers woke with a sharp gasp, hips jerking instinctively. “M-my prince…”

“Shh,” Edward murmured, voice low and rough with sleep and renewed hunger. “Your cunt is still leaking my seed. Feel that? I marked you inside and out last night, you pathetic little whore. And you’re already twitching for more.”

He curled his fingers, stroking the sensitive spot that made Piers whimper and push back like a bitch in heat. Edward fucked him slowly with those fingers for long minutes, watching the Gascon’s face flush and his cock harden against his belly.

“Beg,” Edward commanded softly, nipping at Piers’ ear. “Beg for your prince’s cock before the servants come knocking.”

“Please… please, my lord,” Piers breathed, voice hoarse from the brutal throat-fucking he had taken hours earlier. “Use your worthless Gascon cunt again. Fill me… breed me before the day starts… I need to feel owned.”

Edward growled in satisfaction and rolled Piers onto his stomach. He mounted him in one smooth motion, sliding his thick, veiny royal cock back into the cum-slick heat with a wet squelch. The fucking was slower than the night before, but no less possessive, deep, grinding strokes that made Piers moan into the pillow while Edward’s muscular hips rolled powerfully against his arse.

“That’s it… take it like the secret royal cum-dump you are,” Edward whispered against his neck, one hand fisted in the younger man’s hair. “In an hour, you’ll be standing behind my chair in the hall, smiling politely, while my seed drips down your thighs under your fine clothes. No one will know the future king spent the night turning his favourite squire into a sloppy, bred whore.”

Piers came first with a broken cry, spilling onto the sheets. Edward followed soon after, burying himself to the hilt and pumping a fresh load deep inside, groaning low as the younger man’s hole clenched greedily around him.

They lay panting for a moment before Edward pulled out, watching with dark pleasure as a thick trickle of cum leaked from Piers’ ruined entrance.

“Clean me,” he ordered.

Piers obeyed instantly, turning to lap and suck the messy cock until it shone. Only then did Edward tug him up for a slow, surprisingly gentle kiss.

“Get dressed,” the prince said, voice softening. “We have a court to face. But remember, you belong to me. Every inch.”

By the time the heavy door opened, both young men were immaculate. Edward’s tall, broad-shouldered frame was clad in deep crimson velvet, accentuating every powerful line. Piers followed two steps behind, the perfect picture of a devoted Gascon squire — expression politely deferential.

The two guards outside straightened, their faces carefully blank, though one couldn’t quite hide the faint smirk tugging at his mouth. They had heard everything.

In the great hall, Edward took his place at the high table with regal ease, nodding graciously to the assembled nobles. Piers stood at his shoulder, refilling the prince’s cup with steady hands. Beneath the table, Edward’s booted foot slid along Piers’ calf in a secret caress.

Later, during a break in the morning’s business, Edward leaned close under the pretence of examining a document and murmured, voice velvet soft, “Your cunt is still wet with me, isn’t it, Master Gaveston?”

Piers’ cheeks flushed faintly, but his voice remained perfectly composed for any listening ears. “As you left it, my lord. I feel… full. And grateful.”

Edward’s eyes darkened with promise. “Good. You’ll stay that way until tonight. I intend to test how many loads it takes before you can’t walk straight.”

The day passed in a haze of courtly duties, meetings with barons, letters to the king, training in the tiltyard where Edward once again overpowered Piers with effortless strength, pinning him to the ground while the watching knights cheered. Each time their bodies brushed, the memory of the previous night and the fresh seed still inside Piers sent heat licking through both of them.

That evening, after supper, Piers approached the prince’s chamber as usual. The guards opened the door with the same knowing glances, one of them whispering just loud enough for Piers to hear, “Enjoy your… chess lesson, Master Gaveston.”

The door closed. The bolt slid home.

Edward’s civil mask dropped the instant they were alone. He shoved Piers against the wall, one powerful hand around his throat, the other already yanking down his hose.

“On your knees, you filthy Gascon slut,” he snarled, freeing his thick cock. “You’ve been parading around my court all day with my cum still in your guts. Now you’re going to thank me properly mouth first, then that greedy boy-cunt until I’ve bred you senseless again.”

Piers dropped eagerly, eyes shining with lust and devotion. “Yes, my prince. Use me. Ruin me. I’m yours to break.”

Edward fisted the younger man’s hair and thrust deep, fucking Piers’ throat with the same commanding brutality as the night before. The sounds of wet gagging and obscene slurping filled the chamber once more.

Outside, the guards leaned against the wall, exchanging amused glances as the familiar rhythm of skin slapping skin and desperate, muffled moans began anew.

Hours later, when the raw claiming was finally over, Edward had flooded Piers with three more loads, the last one while the Gascon was bent over the heavy oak table, legs shaking, hole gaping and overflowing. Piers lay spent and trembling on the bed, cum leaking steadily down his thighs, his body marked with red handprints and bite marks.

Edward collapsed beside him, chest heaving. For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Then the prince reached out, pulling Piers into his arms with surprising gentleness. He tucked the younger man against his broad, muscular chest, one strong hand stroking slowly up and down Piers’ sweat-damp back.

Piers nestled closer, pressing a soft kiss to the centre of Edward’s chest. “You were… fierce tonight, my prince,” he whispered, voice still hoarse. “I felt truly owned.”

Edward was quiet for a while, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Piers’ skin. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its earlier cruelty and carried a raw, heavy vulnerability he showed to no one else.

“I lost my mother when I was only six,” he said softly, staring at the flickering firelight on the ceiling. “Queen Eleanor… she was the only one who ever softened my father. After she died, everything changed. My brothers and sisters began to slip away, one by one. Alphonso, my eldest brother and the heir, gone at ten. Then Henry, then the little ones. By the time I was twelve, I was the sole surviving son. The only heir left to the throne of England.”

He swallowed hard, his powerful arms tightening around Piers as if the younger man might vanish too.

“My father… he looks at me and sees only the future king. Every day, he demands perfection. ‘You must be harder, Edward. Stronger. A lion, not a lamb.’ He pushes me in the lists until my bones ache, drills me on statecraft until my head spins, and reminds me constantly that the realm will one day rest on these shoulders alone. There is no room for weakness. No room for… softness.” Edward’s voice cracked just slightly. “Sometimes I wonder if I am enough. If I can ever be the king he expects me to be without breaking.”

Piers lifted his head, eyes warm and adoring in the firelight. He reached up to cup Edward’s handsome face, thumb brushing gently over the prince’s cheekbone.

“You are more than enough, my prince,” he murmured. “You carry the weight of a kingdom on your back, yet you still find the strength to protect me, to claim me, to let me see the man beneath the crown. Let me carry some of that burden with you. In this bed, you do not have to be the perfect heir. You can be Edward fierce, gentle, broken, whole. I will yield to you a thousand times if it eases even a fraction of that pressure. You are not alone. Not while I draw breath.”

Piers paused, his voice dropping to a tender whisper as he nestled even closer. “Use me when the fire burns hot, hold me when the world feels heavy. I’ll gladly be your refuge.”

Edward’s eyes glistened for a moment. He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to Piers’ palm, then drew him closer, their sticky, sweat-slick bodies fitting together perfectly. He buried his face in the crook of Piers’ neck, breathing him in.

“You are my sanctuary, Piers,” he whispered against warm skin. “The only place where I can be both the beast who ruins you and the man who needs to be held. Stay with me tonight. Forget the court, the barons, my father’s shadow. In here, I am simply yours.”

They lay entwined in tender silence for a long while, exchanging soft kisses and whispered promises. The fierce passion of the night gave way to quiet intimacy; Edward’s strong arms wrapped protectively around his devoted Gascon.

From that night onward, their secret life together deepened rapidly. They would fuck at any chance they got: bent over hay bales in the stables with Edward’s hand clamped over Piers’ mouth to stifle his moans, or late at night on the King’s throne in the empty great hall. At the same time, the court was distracted by a lavish feast, the risk of discovery only heightening Edward’s hunger. On private walks through the royal gardens or hidden forest paths, Edward would suddenly pull Piers behind a tree or into a secluded alcove, yank down his hose, and take him hard and fast against the bark or stone, growling filthy promises into his ear. The prince had become utterly addicted to Piers to the way the Gascon yielded so completely, to the tight heat of his body, to the soft refuge he offered afterwards. No matter how demanding the day, Edward craved the moment he could claim his favourite squire again, body and soul.

The prince began to spoil Piers shamelessly with lavish gifts: fine silk doublets embroidered with gold thread, a matched pair of sleek hunting hounds from the royal kennels, jewelled daggers, and even a magnificent white stallion saddled in gilded leather. He presented them in private moments, watching with dark satisfaction as Piers flushed with gratitude and dropped to his knees in thanks, often leading to another frantic coupling right there on the chamber floor. These gifts were more than generosity; they were marks of possession, reminders that Piers belonged to him in every way.

Outside the chamber, the night watch continued. Inside, the future King Edward II found a rare moment of peace in the arms of the man who saw every part of him — the dominant prince, the grieving son, the burdened heir.

To be continued…

The next chapter, the King returns link below.

The year was 1300. Prince Edward, eighteen years old, was already unusually tall and powerfully built for his age, broad-shouldered and muscular from years of rigorous training with sword, lance, and horse, his body hardened like a young warrior’s. His golden-blonde wavy hair fell past his shoulders, framing a strikingly handsome face that turned heads across the court.

He sat at the high table in the crowded great hall when the new Gascon squire was presented. Edward kept his voice perfectly civil and composed for the listening court.

“Master Gaveston,” he said warmly, a small smile playing on his lips as his eyes lingered a moment too long on the young man’s face. “Welcome to my household. You shall serve as my companion in all matters.” As he spoke, Edward reached out and clasped Piers’ forearm with one strong hand, his thumb brushing subtly along the inside of the wrist in a slow stroke before releasing him. “I look forward to your loyal service… and trust we shall become very close. Please, rise and join me at the table tonight.”

Piers Gaveston, eighteen years old with his strawberry-blonde hair, rose with a faint flush. “It is my greatest honour, my lord prince,” he replied softly, eyes lowered for a beat longer than strictly necessary. “I live only to obey your every wish.”

Throughout the meal, Edward wove in gentle flirtations. He leaned close, breath brushing Piers’ ear: “You handle a lance with such grace, Master Gaveston. I shall enjoy watching you… perform.” His knee pressed lightly against Piers’ beneath the table. When passing wine, Edward’s fingers grazed Piers’ in a lingering caress. “Drink deeply tonight. You’ll need your strength… for all that lies ahead.”

Piers answered with quiet deference: “As you command, my prince. I am yours to direct… however you see fit.” His thigh pressed back against Edward’s just enough to acknowledge the touch.

In the weeks that followed, their bond deepened through sparring, hunting, and long evenings together. One night, Edward took Piers to the finest whorehouse in the city, a luxurious establishment catering to nobility. The prince paid generously for several beautiful women to entertain them both in a private room.

They fucked the whores side by side on wide, silk-draped beds. Edward was commanding and dominant, verbally degrading the women with cruel relish. “That’s it, you worthless slut spread that cunt wider for your prince,” he growled at one, slapping her arse hard. “You’re nothing but a cheap hole for royal cock. Take it deeper, you pathetic cum-dump.” To another, he snarled, “Look at you leaking already, you greedy whore. Beg for my seed like the filthy bitch you are.”

Piers watched, mesmerised and painfully hard, as the prince’s tall, muscular body moved with powerful confidence. Edward’s thick, long, veiny cock, far bigger than any Piers had seen, slammed deep into the whores, making them moan and cry out. The harsh, degrading words sent a shiver of arousal through Piers. He couldn’t take his eyes off Edward’s massive cock or the way the prince so effortlessly reduced the women to whimpering, used sluts.

From that night onward, Piers was consumed by lust for the prince. The memory of Edward’s dominant side and those cruel, filthy words haunted him. He realised he wanted the same treatment to be degraded, used, and treated like a whore by the prince. The desire burned hotter every day, fueling his growing submissive hints.

During sparring in the tiltyard, Edward’s tall, muscular frame easily overpowered the Gascon. After pinning him, Piers stayed on his knees a moment longer and murmured, “You overpower me so easily, my lord. I yield completely… and gladly.” His eyes flicked up with heat.

One afternoon in the stables, when Edward’s strong hand brushed his, Piers said softly, “Command me, my prince, and I shall do whatever pleases you… no matter how demanding.”

Evenings brought the chess games. The first time Piers arrived at Edward’s private chamber after supper, the two guards stationed outside exchanged a quick, knowing glance, one raising an eyebrow, the other suppressing a smirk as the strawberry-blonde squire was admitted. The heavy door closed behind him. Edward, focused entirely on Piers, noticed nothing.

They played by the fire, knees touching under the board. When Edward captured a piece, Piers leaned in and whispered, “Take what you desire, my lord. I offer no resistance.” Their fingers brushed. Piers added, voice barely audible, “I find myself wanting to be… directed. Completely.”

Each subsequent evening, as Piers approached the chamber, the guards’ knowing glances grew more obvious. Edward remained oblivious, his attention fixed on the man beside him.

The tension built. Piers continued his subtle signals: fetching Edward’s wine and kneeling briefly to present it, saying, “For your pleasure, my prince.” After a hunt, he replied to a compliment with lowered eyes, “I exist to serve and satisfy you in all things… even those unspoken.” During a quiet walk, he admitted, “There is a part of me that craves yielding to a stronger will… especially yours.” Deep down, the memory of Edward degrading the whores and that impressive royal cock made Piers ache to be the one on his knees, degraded and used.

Edward’s public flirtation grew bolder in response lingering touches on the shoulder in the hall with his powerful hand, murmured words like “You please me greatly, Master Gaveston. I shall enjoy testing the limits of that loyalty.” His knee pressed firmer under the table, fingers trailing longer along Piers’ wrist.

One night, after a tournament where Piers had excelled, the buildup became unbearable. Piers approached the chamber as usual. The guards exchanged another knowing glance as they opened the door for him. Edward, already reaching for Piers the moment the door began to close, noticed nothing. The heavy door slammed shut and the bolt slid home, and Edward’s polite mask shattered.

“Strip, you pathetic fucking whore,” the powerfully built young prince snarled, voice low and vicious. “Get every stitch off and show your prince that worthless body. I want to see the sloppy cunt I’m going to ruin tonight, the same one that’s been aching and dropping hints for weeks while I played the gracious host.”

Outside the door, the two guards pressed their ears close. One whispered with a smirk, “Fuck, the prince is really a vicious bugger, he’s really going at it.” The other grinned and nodded, both of them quietly amused as the sounds of skin slapping and Piers’ muffled moans began to filter through.

Piers obeyed instantly, trembling with built-up need. His cock stood stiff and leaking, balls tight, hole already twitching. His strawberry-blonde hair glistened with nervous sweat.

Edward laughed cruelly, circling him with his tall, muscular frame. “Look at that. All those days, I called you ‘Master Gaveston’ and flirted so sweetly, brushing your wrist and pressing my knee to yours while you knelt, yielded, and whispered how you wanted to be commanded and used. Pathetic. On your knees, cunt.”

Piers dropped hard. Edward hauled out his thick royal cock, long, veiny, and shiny with precum, the very one Piers had become obsessed with since the whorehouse.

He slapped the fat cockhead across Piers’ cheek, smearing pre across his face. “Open that whore mouth. Suck your prince’s cock like the filthy Gascon cocksucker you are. I want to hear you gag while I remember every submissive hint you dropped.”

Piers lunged forward, swallowing Edward’s fat cock to the root with desperate hunger. He bobbed frantically, tongue swirling, throat convulsing wetly as thick drool poured down his chin and onto his own leaking prick.

Edward fisted Piers’ strawberry-blonde hair with one strong hand and fucked his face brutally. “That’s it, you stupid little cum-rag. Choke on royal cock. You spent weeks telling me you yield gladly, that you crave being directed and broken, now you’re just a gagging, slobbering whore with a whore’s throat made for dick. Your only talent is taking cock, isn’t it? Say it around my cock, cunt.”

Piers pulled off just enough to gasp, voice hoarse. “Yes, my prince… I’m just a worthless Gascon cunt… made for your cock…”

Edward shoved back in deep. “Louder, slut. Tell me what a degraded hole you are after all those weeks of begging to submit.”

“I’m your filthy Gascon whore,” Piers moaned around the thick shaft. “My mouth is your cock-sucking mouth… my cunt is yours to breed… use your cum-dump…”

Outside, one guard whispered with a stifled chuckle, “He’s really laying into the poor lad, vicious bugger, isn’t he?” They smirked at each other, amused by the filthy sounds echoing from within.

Edward yanked him off with a wet pop. “On the table, arse up. Spread that worthless cunt for me. Show me where you want your prince’s seed after you spent weeks hinting how badly you wanted to be commanded.”

Piers scrambled onto the oak table, chest down, knees wide, hands yanking his cheeks apart. His tight pink hole winked.

Edward spat thickly onto it. “Pathetic. Look at that greedy little boy-cunt twitching for cock. All that time you knelt and whispered you existed to serve and satisfy me, now beg like the cheap tavern whore you are.”

“Please, my prince,” Piers whimpered. “Please fuck my worthless Gascon cunt… ruin it… I need your cock so bad… command me…”

Edward slicked his throbbing prick and slammed in balls-deep with his powerful hips. Piers screamed in overwhelmed pleasure.

“Fuuuck yes, my prince use my cunt—”

Edward pounded mercilessly, hips slapping wetly. “Shut up and take it, you disgusting whore. This hole is all you’re good for. A royal cum-dump for me to breed. In public, I’ll smile and flirt. In private, you’re nothing but my personal fuck-cunt, just like you hinted you wanted. Say it.”

“I’m your personal fuck-cunt!” Piers sobbed, pushing back desperately. “Nothing but a worthless hole for your cock… please breed me… fill my guts… use me…”

Edward squeezed Piers’ dripping cock hard, denying release. “No cumming yet, whore. Only my pleasure matters. You exist to milk my royal cock with that sloppy cunt after weeks of teasing me with your submissive hints.”

He fucked harder, spanking Piers’ arse bright red with his strong hand. “Gonna flood this worthless Gascon cunt… pump you so full it leaks for days while you walk the court like my secret breeding bitch.”

Piers broke. “Yes, please cum in my cunt make me your cum-dump humiliate me, ruin your slut… command me completely…”

Edward buried deep and unloaded, thick ropes of hot seed blasting into Piers’ spasming guts. Piers came untouched, wailing as his cock spurted across the table, hole milking every drop until creamy cum leaked down his thighs.

Edward stayed buried for only a moment before pulling out, watching his cum bubble from the stretched hole. “On your back, whore. Legs up. I’m breeding you again.”

Piers rolled over obediently, pulling his knees to his chest. Edward scooped a thick glob of his own seed and shoved three fingers back inside the sloppy cunt, stirring it noisily. “Taste how thoroughly I’ve ruined you.” He fed the cum-slick fingers into Piers’ mouth. “Suck them clean, you pathetic cum-eater. This is what you begged for with all those submissive little hints.”

Piers sucked greedily, moaning around the fingers as Edward lined up and thrust back in, the wet squelch loud and obscene. He pounded even harder, powerful muscles flexing with every brutal stroke.

“Fuck yes, my prince fill me again…” Piers gasped, drool and cum running down his chin.

Edward gripped his hips and slammed deep. “That’s right, take it. Your worthless Gascon cunt was made for this stretched and flooded while you leak like a used whore. Beg for another load.”

“Please… breed me… flood my cunt… make me drip with it for days…” Piers sobbed.

Edward fucked him mercilessly until Piers came again with a broken cry, spurting across his own stomach. The clenching pushed Edward over the edge he buried himself to the hilt and pumped a second thick flood of hot seed deep inside, so much that it overflowed instantly and ran in creamy rivers down Piers’ arse and onto the table.

Still hard and breathing heavily, Edward pulled out and slapped his cum-smeared cock against Piers’ face. “Clean it, slut. Lick every drop of your prince’s seed off my cock before I decide to use that hole a third time.”

Piers obeyed eagerly, tongue lapping at the messy shaft, sucking the head clean while Edward watched with dark satisfaction.

Edward thrust back in for a final, slower but deep round, grinding possessively as he filled Piers with a third load, the excess cum leaking steadily. Only then did he finally collapse beside the spent Gascon, both of them slick with sweat and seed.

The raw dominance melted away. Edward pulled Piers close against his broad, muscular chest, golden-blonde wavy hair mingling with strawberry-blonde strands on the pillow. He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to Piers’ temple, his strong arms wrapping around him protectively.

“You are the only one who sees me like this,” Edward whispered, voice soft and vulnerable in the quiet afterglow. “Not the prince, not the future king… just Edward. The weight of the crown already presses on me my father’s shadow, the barons who watch my every move, the day when I must rule England alone. It feels crushing sometimes. But with you… I can breathe. You make the burden lighter.”

Piers nestled closer, tracing lazy patterns on Edward’s chest with trembling fingers, his voice warm and adoring. “Then let me carry some of it with you, my prince. I am yours not just in body, but in heart. I would yield to you a thousand times over if it brings you peace. You are not alone. Not while I draw breath.”

Edward smiled faintly, holding him tighter, their bodies still sticky and entwined. “Stay with me tonight. Forget the world outside this chamber. In here, you are my sanctuary… and I am simply yours.”

They lay together in tender silence for a long while, exchanging soft kisses and whispered promises, the fierce passion giving way to quiet intimacy. The future king found solace in the arms of his devoted Gascon, even as the heavy responsibilities of the throne loomed on the horizon.

From that night onward, their days remained filled with civil grace and subtle flirtation in public, while nights alternated between raw, degrading, multi-round claiming and these moments of genuine romantic closeness Piers’ submissive hints fully answered, yet balanced by deep emotional connection.

To be continued…

Next chapter link below…