Page 223

Marco’s lower lip begins to tremble. A furious, bright cherry-red blush spreads across his cheekbones, rising all the way to the tips of his ears.

“You!” Marco gasps, his voice wobbling.

Alexei completely abandons his cold enforcer persona, taking two steps into the room with his hands raised. “No—listen to me, hear me out—”

“You are deceitful!” Marco’s eyes start watering. He shoves the platter of tarts onto the nearest table and turns on his heel.

“Marco, wait!” Alexei fusses frantically, rushing after him.

Ilya slowly emerges from behind the back of my armchair. He leans over my shoulder, resting his forearms against my chest, his face practically glowing.

“That was dirty,” Ilya purrs, his eyes glittering like crushed glass. “Vicious, petty, and completely uncalled for. I liked it.”

I chuckle as I reach up, hook my hand around the back of his neck, and haul him down until he’s tumbling sideways into my lap. Ilya lets out a surprised sound as his knees bracket my thighs, but he doesn’t pull away. He settles against me, his fingers instantly finding their home tangled in my dark hair, his body melting against my chest like he was built to exist nowhere else.

I tilt his chin up with my thumb, leaning in to kiss him softly.

“No one bullies you in my sight. I will crush them,” I murmur against his lips.

Ilya chuckles, resting his forehead against mine, his arms winding loosely around my shoulders.

“You will protect me?”

“Yes. Always.”

Kento

One month later.

I wake before him.

He’s sprawled on his stomach, one knee drawn up, the sheet kicked down to the small of his back. He isn’t hiding from me anymore. Not the way he used to, and I love watching him become comfortable in his own skin. Especially since he started seeing his therapist. I can see the difference, even in the smallest things. He laughs more easily and lets me hold him without always needing an excuse.

But there are still moments when he starts drowning.

Sometimes someone mentions Alya at school, and I watch something inside him shut down. His expression barely changes, but I know him. I think he misses her. Not necessarily the sister who betrayed him, but the one he believed he had. The girl he grew up loving. He’s not healed, but he’s getting there, and I’m so proud of him I sometimes don’t know what to do with all the love sitting inside my chest.

Yesterday, he told me he used to hurt himself.

I didn’t know.

I was silent when he said it because all I could think about was my prince being in so much pain that he’d turned it against himself, and me being somewhere in the same world, completely unaware. I wanted to crack my skull open just to make the thoughts stop.

He told me he doesn’t do it anymore.

And more importantly, he trusted me enough to tell me at all.

I wish he knew how much that means to me.

Looking at him now, I feel the unbearable urge to protect him from every cruel thing in existence, but I know I can’t promise he’ll never hurt again. I can’t love the past out of him, can’t kiss away every memory, can’t stand between him and the things that happen inside his own head.

But I can be here. And if there comes another night when he feels like breaking, I want him to know he can wake me. He can cry, swear, shake, or say nothing at all.

I shift onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow, and let my gaze travel over him. The bruises my mouth left along his shoulder have darkened overnight. There are fainter ones at his hips, fingerprints where I held his hips while driving into him over and over again. His thighs are still faintly pink from the friction, and between his legs, I can see the shine of slick and cum still drying on his skin.

He didn’t let me clean him properly. He never does. He just curled into my chest, mumbled something vicious, and fell asleep before I could argue. I guess he likes sleeping with my cum inside of him, and I have no complaints about that.

My fingers trace the line of his spine. His skin is soft in a way that contradicts everything rough about him. I follow the curve down to the small of his back, then lower, brushing over the swell of his ass. He makes a small sound in his sleep and shifts slightly, pressing back into my touch.