After some rather... intense activities, a fragile, silent peace had settled between them. The kind of peace that seemed to hum in the air, warm and delicate, like it might break if either of them moved too suddenly.
Said peace was instantly shattered when Elliott felt the full force of the sun on his face. The light was glaring, golden, mocking. He let out a squeak—an entirely dignified, thoroughly graceful squeak, of course, the sort only a monarch could muster.
"Heavens, the time—Aiden! The time!" he exclaimed, bolting upright in bed with all the poise of a startled cat.
Aiden didn't move. His arms remained firmly wrapped around Elliott's waist, anchoring him down, keeping him exactly where he wanted him.
"It's nearly mid-morning!" Elliott continued, tugging, wriggling, trying in vain to untangle himself.
Aiden, meanwhile, had been luxuriating in the soft scent of Elliott's skin, in the steady beat of the pulse beneath the delicate line of his throat. He made a low, grumbling sound of protest into the back of Elliott's neck—a sound almost bratty in its stubbornness. Instead of releasing him, he only tightened his grip, making a pointed effort to drag Elliott right back into the cocoon of safety and warmth they'd made.
"They can wait..." he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep, a husky vibration against Elliott's neck. His eyes stayed closed, face pressed into the graceful arch where shoulder met throat. The bones beneath Elliott's skin felt too sharp, too fragile, and as always, the thought tugged at something raw in Aiden's chest.
This time, it wasn't strategy holding him there. The deceit was already over, the search already done. The three subtle knocks had come—Elara had been cleared, thoroughly searched, and was waiting. The world outside this room was already moving forward. But Aiden's refusal to let Elliott out of bed now wasn't part of any plan. It was pure, unadulterated possessiveness. He had his beloved here, warm and pliant in his arms, still bearing the marks of his affection, and in this bliss, in this small eternity, he couldn't bring himself to care about anyone—or anything—else. Not Cyrus. Not Elara. Not the empire.
Elliott squirmed. The motion was small, bashful, almost shy despite the flush that had long since bloomed over his cheeks. "They cannot! I cannot receive the daughter of the Empress Dowager looking like I've just rolled out of bed—oh, Aiden..." His words dissolved into a gasp, then a faint moan when Aiden's teeth grazed the back of his neck.
He tugged again at Aiden's arms, but this time, after a long pause, the younger man relented. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold, letting Elliott scramble away, out of his arms and off the bed.
The emperor only made it a few steps before he froze, catching sight of himself in the faintly gilded mirror across the room. His breath caught, and Aiden, now propped up lazily on his elbows, watched with practiced neutrality. But Elliott could feel it—that smug, unrepentant aura rolling off him in waves, his silence louder than laughter.
Elliott's eyes went wide with horror. His nightshirt was half-open, his hair a wild, tousled mess, and his skin... his skin was littered with a whole constellation of love bites. Some were faint, pink, blooming like flowers across his throat and collarbone. Others were already darkening, purple and stark, like ink stains scrawled by greedy hands. And one— one bite mark— was plain as day on his collarbone.
"What—Aiden!" Elliott yelped, turning crimson. "Look at what you've done!" He pointed an accusing finger at his reflection, aghast. "You bit me!"
"Affectionately," Aiden drawled.
"This—" Elliott sputtered, huffing, nearly stamping his foot. "This is entirely inappropriate!"
Aiden's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, smug and utterly unrepentant. "I was thorough."
"You were a menace!" Elliott shot back. His face was furious—or at least, he was trying for furious—but the effect was ruined by the way his shaking fingers lifted, brushing tentatively across one of the marks. His touch was tender, reverent even, as if he couldn't help himself. "What are you, a dog? Biting like that..."
Finally, Aiden rose from the bed. His bare torso caught the light, lean muscle shifting under skin as he crossed the room with quiet, unhurried confidence. He wore only his black pants, and the sight was enough to make Elliott falter, fluster all over again.
Without a word, Aiden came up behind him. His arms wrapped around Elliott's waist, locking him back against his chest, and he leaned down, settling his chin comfortably atop the emperor's golden head. Their eyes met in the mirror—Elliott's still scandalized, Aiden's dark and smug and wickedly pleased.
"No one will see them," Aiden promised, his voice a low rumble against Elliott's ear. "All below your collar. These aren't for the world. Not yet. They're only for me."
Elliott's resolve to stay annoyed visibly wavered. He exhaled, exasperated, though the sound lacked bite. His body betrayed him, leaning back against Aiden's chest, savoring the solid warmth pressed flush against him. "...You're shameless."
"Only for you," Aiden murmured, nuzzling the crown of his hair, brushing the faintest kiss there. "I'll only ever be shameless for you."
For a while, they stood like that—the flustered, half-scandalized emperor in the arms of his smug, most devoted protector, wrapped in a quiet intimacy that felt both new and yet so... inevitable. As though it had always been meant to be this way.
At last, Elliott pulled away, though the reluctance in his movements was obvious. "Behave. We have to dress. We'll be late."
Aiden's gaze sharpened, if only for a moment. The emperor still believed Elara had not yet arrived. And for the first time, Aiden realized that he didn't even feel guilty anymore. Not for lying. Not for deceiving. Not for keeping Elliott blind to the truth. If it was what he had to do to keep him safe, then no matter how cruel or deceitful, he would feel nothing but certainty. No remorse. No regret.
Outwardly, he nodded, wordless, moving to help Elliott with his garments. He covered the marks with practiced ease, fastening layers of linen and silk until the traces of their night disappeared beneath imperial fabric. Only then did he let the attendants sweep in, fussing over the emperor's robes, smoothing folds, polishing him into perfection.
When they were both ready, Elliott stood in muted purple, his robes somber in preparation for the mourning ceremony later. Aiden wore stark black and silver, the severe cut accentuating his pale skin and dark hair.
For a moment, Aiden only looked at him. Then he picked up the crown from its velvet cushion, and with gentle, reverent hands, placed it on Elliott's head.
"Ready?" he asked softly.
Elliott drew in a steadying breath, his shoulders straightening, his face transforming into the mask of imperial poise. The emperor stood once more before him, regal and unshakable. But Aiden knew—beneath those fine robes and that polished crown—his beloved bore the marks he'd carved into him, marks that only he would see.
And he would be lying if he said the thought didn't fill him with an almost possessive glee.
"Yes," Elliott said, voice calm, commanding. "Let's go."
-------
The walk out of the emperor's wing was silent. Elliott moved with steady steps toward the main entrance of the palace, still under the impression that they were going to receive Elara together. Aiden didn't say anything. He kept pace half a step behind, as always, the picture of obedience. After all, he was supposed to be just as oblivious to the... unfortunate circumstances as Elliott was.
They had only just turned into a wide corridor when one of Aiden's handpicked men—a guard told in advance exactly what to say and how to act—snapped to attention. He approached the emperor with crisp, practiced precision.
"Your Majesty." The guard bowed low, voice sharp and respectful. For the briefest of moments his eyes flicked to Aiden's, and in that heartbeat an entire exchange of understanding passed between them. Then he focused fully on the emperor again. "A word, if I may. There has been a development. Queen Elara's carriage arrived near the first light. Far earlier than anticipated. The stewards received her and she has been led to a waiting room. We... we did not disturb your rest earlier."
The lie was delivered perfectly—calm, steady, without a single misplaced pause.
Elliott blinked, a flicker of confusion shadowing his expression, followed swiftly by the tightening of his jaw in displeasure. "First light? But—Aiden—you said she was arriving mid-morning?"
Aiden's reply came smooth, practiced, not a thread of hesitation. "That is what dispatch relayed to us. Perhaps... she simply arrived earlier."
There was no reason for Elliott to doubt him. Still, the emperor frowned, his brows knitting together as he considered it. He had wanted to be there himself, to receive her with the proper respect. He had made a promise to Sydney, after all. That mattered.
Aiden, watching him carefully, caught every flicker of feeling across his face. The subtle frustration. The quiet disappointment. He stepped in, his tone low, reassuring. "I had only told them not to disturb your chambers, since you would be... in deep sleep. I did not realize it would lead to this decision."
At those words, the faintest blush crept up the blonde's pale neck. The implication was far from subtle, and the emperor, for all his composure, was not immune to it. His mind darted back—unbidden, traitorous—to exactly why Aiden might have given such instructions. He remembered, and the warmth blooming across his skin betrayed him.
The fluster distracted him just enough. His embarrassment outweighed his irritation, smothering the urge to press further. Just as Aiden knew it would.
Elliott gave a short, dismissive wave of his hand toward the guard. "...Very well. You did not disturb me on the prince's orders. That is fine. See that it does not happen again. Anything related to Queen Elara, while she stays here—I am to be informed with the utmost urgency."
"Of course, Your Majesty." The guard nodded, bowing deeply before retreating back down the corridor.
Aiden exhaled quietly through his nose, the tension in his chest loosening. The gamble had paid off. His affection had kept Elliott tangled in their sheets, and now the memory of it provided the perfect excuse. A convenient shield.
And for that, Aiden almost allowed himself a small, inward smile.
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AN: at this point just imagine they banged because those marks don't come from pg 13 god approved hand holding. Aiden is taking that hound nickname way too literally sir your lover is not a chew toy. Dual update today cause it's festive seasonnnn. Happy diwali 🪔 🪔 🪔