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It wasn't supposed to be a hassle. He'd marry the neighboring princess, change a few documents, then he'd be back. But the gnawing guilt ate at him, threatening to drag him down under. Of course, he loved the princess, but that love didn't compare to who he yearned for deeply.
Black hair, agile and lightweight body, sharp and calculating eyes. No she would never compare to the priest's adopted son—Kael. She could love him for a million years, yet that deep rooted yearning will never waver.
Lorenzo watched the young man closely whilst he was saying his own vows, his focus very obviously torn from the woman he was supposed to love and cherish. The guilt seemed enough to perish.
His gaze followed Kael, taking in his every movement. Every little thing he did seemed to captivate his attention. He watched the slightest shift in his expression, the flicker of emotions in his eyes.
His fingers itched to reach out, to touch him, to feel his skin against his own. But he knew he couldn't. He was about to be married to someone else.
He felt like he was trapped in a living hell, his heart pulling him in one direction, his duty pulling him in another.
Every word the priest said seemed to fade into background noise, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. He could barely concentrate on the ceremony, his mind swirling with thoughts of the young man he could not have.
His eyes kept flicking back to Kael, like a beacon calling to him. He could not tear his gaze away, no matter how hard he tried.
He silently cursed himself for letting these feelings fester within him, for getting so attached to someone he could never have. But it was too late, his heart was already ensnared.
As the ceremony continued, his mind raced with the what-ifs and the could-have-beens. He imagined a different life, a different world where he could openly love the priest's son. A world where he could hold him in his arms, kiss him whenever he wanted.
But reality was a harsh reminder. He was the prince, and he had responsibilities. He had a duty to his kingdom, to the princess he was supposed to love. And he could not, would not, let his feelings for Kael interfere.
He tried to push back the feelings, to bury them deep within himself. He tried to focus on the princess, to find something to love about her. But it was futile. Every time he looked at her, all he could think about was the young man who had stolen his heart.
The ceremony finally came to an end, and the guests cheered.
He was now officially married to the princess, and he had to play the part of the happy groom. But he didn't feel happy, he felt like he was a fraud, pretending to be what all expected him to be.
He plastered a smile on his face, accepting congratulations and well wishes from the guests. He played the part well, feigning joy and happiness as he held onto the princess' hand.
But it was all an act. He didn't want to be there, holding the princess's hand. He wanted to be holding the priest's son's hand, to be with the person he truly loved.
As the reception began, he couldn't help but watch Kael from across the room, his heart clenching with every glance.
The next morning he made a point to wake up early. He got dressed quickly, before immediately walking down the hall to the church wing. Every footstep was calm and controlled, the first thing he needed was to go to the boy's room.
He passed a few sisters, asking them where the boy's room was. He was around his age, just freshly 18—so it didn't seem like any harm to the sisters to tell him. He managed to make it to his room in about five minutes from what should've been a ten-minute run from his room to the adopted boy. He took a moment to compose himself, then knocked gently.
The door opens a creak, revealing the young boy's sharp and calculated eyes. He opened it more when he saw it was the prince, stepping aside to let him in.
"Your highness?" he asked tentatively. The prince stepped in quietly. He took in the state of the room. The boy's desk had necklaces and rings scattered on it, his laptop open to an unfinished essay page. The bed hadn't been made; his own hair was half-styled.
Lorenzo's breath hitched slightly as he stepped inside, the scent of ink and something faintly sweet—like citrus or a candle—filling his senses. His gaze flickered over the scattered jewelry, half-finished essay, unmade bed. The boy looked... disheveled in a way that made Lorenzo’s pulse jump.
"I need to talk to you," he said quietly, voice low enough that no one outside would hear. "Alone."
He didn’t wait for permission before closing the door behind him with a soft click. His fingers twitched at his sides as if fighting not to reach out and touch anything—Kael included.
The moment the door was closed, he was acutely conscious of the intimacy of the situation. They were alone in his room, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his composure.
His gaze trailed over the boy, cataloguing every little detail. The slight disarray of his hair where he'd been running his hands through it, the half-lidded eyes that betrayed a hint of fatigue, the delicate lines of his exposed collarbones where his shirt slips off of his shoulder.
Lorenzo let his eyes linger on the exposed curve of collarbone, the way the fabric of his shirt hung off of him slightly. The urge to reach out and touch him, to run his fingers lightly over that smooth, exposed skin, was nearly overwhelming. But he forced himself to keep his hands by his sides, his fingers curled into fists to keep himself from acting on the impulse.
He cleared his throat, his voice slightly hoarser than he'd intended when he spoke again.
"Close the curtains."
The boy hesitated for a moment, before padding across the room to close the curtains. They went from floor to ceiling, bathing the room in the sun's rays. The room fell dark when it was fully closed, Kael made a move to flick on the desk light.
Lorenzo only then noticed the half-finished painting in the corner of the room. A man, keeling in the sight of a shining angel, rays distorted along the white figure. The man on his knees, worshipping at the feet of the angel, was a painfully accurate depiction of how he felt in this moment.
Lorenzo's breath stuttered as he took in the painting, his entire body going rigid. That was—him. Kneeling at the boy’s feet like a devoted sinner.
His lips parted slightly, but no words came out for a long moment. His fingers twitched again before finally unclenching—only to reach up and slowly remove his wedding ring from his finger.
He set the ring down on the desk carefully, then turned back to the boy, his gaze flicking over his features again, drinking in every aspect of him like a starving man.
"I want you so bad it hurts," he murmured quietly. The words came out without him intending them—he was far past caring about propriety at that point.
He took a slow, measured step forward, closing the small distance between them. He reached out, the hand that had taken off his ring coming up to cup the boy's cheek. His touch was gentle, his thumb running over the sharp line of his cheekbone.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his voice low and rough. He stepped even closer, their bodies almost but not quite touching. The younger male stepped back. "Every time I see you, every time you look at me with those damn eyes—it's a sweet torture."
Lorenzo's fingers clenched at his sides as the boy stepped back, the small distance like a dagger twisting in his chest. His eyes darkened, something like desperation flickering through them at the realization that the boy was keeping himself just out of reach. The desire to take, to claim and consume, flared up inside him like a wildfire.
"I feel like I'm going insane," he said hoarsely. "I can't bear it anymore. Being with her, marrying her—when I'm thinking about you. Thinking about touching you, having you."
He took Kael's wrist without warning, dropping to his knees in front of him. He keeled in the sight of the black-haired boy, wrapping his hands around his own. He could see the painting out of the corner of his eye, how ironic.
"I beg, I beg for mercy," he started, putting his head on the cold floor between the boy's feet. "I prayed to God, day and night. I asked him to torture this feeling away from me,"
Kael's lips parted soundlessly as he watched the prince drop to his knees in front of him, the sound of him hitting the wooden floor like a jolt straight to his core. He tried to step back, but the hold on his wrists kept him in place, watching with wide eyes as the prince knelt before him, begging him. "Your highness—"
Lorenzo's grip tightened at the boy's protest, his fingers digging into his wrists just shy of painful. He could feel the rapid pulse under his fingertips—the way the younger man trembled slightly as he watched him kneel there, worshiping at his feet like a sinner begging for salvation.
"Don't call me that," he whimpered, "Not when I'm on my knees for you."
He rose his head to look up at Kael, his gaze burning and intense. He was so beautiful it made his chest ache—the sharp, almost feline features, the dark black hair, the pale skin, the way his shirt dipped down to reveal a glimpse of collarbone…
"You're like some kind of drug..." he whispered, his voice low and rough, "You're in my head, in my dreams. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't..." He trailed off, biting back a sob.
"I beg for mercy..."
Kael’s breath hitched as Lorenzo spoke, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The prince was looking at him with such raw, desperate sadness that it sent a shiver down his spine—equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
For a moment, the younger man just stared down at him in stunned silence. Then—
"You idiot," he finally snapped, "Do you even realize what you're doing? You're married now."
That sharp tongue. Oh, how he loved it so.