026

026
Nathan crouched on the luxurious sofa, his fingers creaking as he flexed them, and lips slightly parted. The office around him felt distant, hollow—his mind was trapped in the vivid echoes of the previous night.
Sarang beneath him, his lips warm and pliant as Nathan kissed him deeply, trailing lower to worship the delicate column of his neck. His collarbone flushed pink under the attention, his body trembling with every teasing touch. Soft moans and breathy mewls spilled from his lips, each sound a sweet surrender—until he could take no more. With a sudden push, Sarang forced Nathan onto the bed.
Dropping to his knees, Sarang reached for Nathaniel’s trousers. He peeled the fabric down and Nathan’s bulging cock sprung up, smacking Sarang’s cheek.
Sarang stilled, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red. Tentatively, he reached out, wrapping his fingers around Nathaniel’s cock, his touch soft, unsure. Precum coated his fingertips, warm and slick.
Their eyes met. Sarang’s blue gaze shimmered with a mix of innocence and something darker—depravity, seduction, unspoken curiosity.
They had shared stolen moments before—heated kisses, desperate strokes in the dark—but nothing this intimate. This raw.
Then his lips parted, taking Nathan into his mouth.
A sharp gasp tore from Nathan’s throat. His hips twitched, instinctively thrusting forward. The heat, the tight, wet warmth—it was overwhelming. Sarang’s inexperience only heightened the sensation, the way he struggled to take more, his tongue hesitant but eager.
Nathan couldn’t hold back. His rhythm grew frantic, unrestrained, until with a strangled groan, he came, spilling over Sarang’s flushed face.
Panting, he reached out, fingers brushing against Sarang’s cheek, the urge to return the pleasure stirring in his chest. He wanted to give back—to see Sarang unravel the way he had.
But just as he moved to do so, Sarang stopped him.
“I can’t go on,” he whispered, voice unsteady. “I’m sorry.”
Nathan froze. The brazen playfulness Sarang usually wore had vanished, replaced by something unfamiliar. Anxiety.
His gaze dropped to Sarang’s hands—his nails were digging into his skin.
Without a word, Nathan reached out, taking Sarang’s hand and gently prying his fingers away from his thighs. “As I said before,” he murmured, “I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
Sarang’s shoulders sagged in relief.
Nathaniel exhaled and leaned back against the sofa, dragging a hand through his hair.
How long was too long?
What if…
No. He shook the thought away. Sarang had always been anxious—hesitant when it came to sex, even during his heat. The doctor had assured him that it would get better, that things would change once he bonded with an alpha.
Unless the root cause was something deeper.
The door creaked open.
Five men entered, each distinct in age, build, and bearing. Their suits were well-tailored, sharp, and pinned to their breast pockets was the sigil of the Court of Chancery—a scale held by a sword, a small crown above it, with the letters L and T beneath.
Rising to his feet, Nathaniel bowed. “My lords. It is an honour to stand amongst the council of the Court of Chancery. Thank you.”
Three of the five returned the bow.
“The honour is all ours,” an elderly man with neatly combed gray hair and round glasses replied. “But if anything, some of us should be bowing, Prince Blackwell. You resemble your mother greatly.”
Nathaniel’s interest piqued. “You knew my mother?”
“We met a few times,” The man admitted. “But I am more familiar with your maternal great and grandfather. Judge Benedith Cowell.”
Judge Cowell gestured toward the others. “From my left, Earl Shepherd Grey, Baroness Margery Princeton.” He motioned toward the two younger men beside him. “Lord Edmond London and Countess Hazel Welling–”
The door opened, cutting Benedith on his words. A young man entered, holding a book in one hand.
“Ton.” Benedith added. He stretched his hand at the man strutting towards him with a smile. “Our Lord Chancellor is here. His Royal Highness, Prince Ashton.”
Ashton extended an open hand in greeting.
“Welcome to the court, Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel grasped his hand in a firm shake. “Thank you.”
Ashton handed him the book. “For you.”
The cover was a deep, rich red, thick and cool to the touch. Nathaniel opened it, eyes scanning the neatly pressed certificate inside. His name was stamped and signed at the bottom.
A member. Officially.
The room broke into applause.
As the orientation concluded, members began to depart, one by one. Eventually, only Nathaniel and Ashton remained.
Ashton was preparing to leave when Nathaniel spoke.
“I have a favour to ask.”
Ashton stilled, then slowly reclaimed his seat, crossing his legs as a smirk tugged at his lips. “So soon to enter and so quick for favours. If it is within my power, I will help you.”
“There is a slave I want to free.”
Ashton raised an eyebrow. Then, after a beat, he chuckled. “A favour for a slave?”
Nathaniel cracked his knuckles, controlling his breath.
“It is nothing difficult,” Ashton continued, amusement lacing his tone. “It can be done in a day.”
“He is not mine.”
Ashton’s smirk faltered. “Have you negotiated with its master?”
“He declined every negotiation. He wants nothing.”
Ashton leaned back, studying him. “No one is foolish to reject a small fortune—or connection with the Grand Duke’s heir unless…”
He trailed off, then grinned, something knowing in his eyes.
“So the rumours are half-true,” He mused. “Lucian isn’t the only one smitten with his little white pet but you as well.” He tilted his head. “Or... is he yours?"
Ashton cackled, shaking his head in disbelief.
Nathaniel jumped up.
“I am not here to be mocked or insulted by you! If you can’t help me, then I have no reason to stay!”
Ashton merely smiled, unbothered by his outburst. He strolled over to the cabinet by the window, retrieving a bottle of bourbon and a glass.
“In hierarchy of birth, I am before Lysandra. Everyone knows.” Ashton remarked as he poured himself a drink. “Inside the palace, we are neither close nor fond of each other.”
He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before continuing.
“Imagine my surprise when Luke mentioned our only sister wanted a favour from me. Then I hear the name Blackwell—and there is only one family in Eldoria that bears it, unless we start rewriting history truthfully.”
Ashton drank the bourbon and poured himself another. He lifted the glass in offering.
“Care for a drink?”
Nathaniel’s expression darkened. Ashton smirked and retracted the glass.
“It piqued my interest,” he admitted, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Your last name alone could get you anything you wanted without question and your father’s reputation holds enough weight to crush opposition. Our statuses are somewhat equal, and yet… you went to Lysandra instead of him.”
His gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing.
“Now, I have my answer. It’s nice—we have something in common.”
“Will you accept my favour?”
“Yes. The slave was not bought from our people, so I’ll need his certificate of ownership or at least a copy. I am against stealing it if Lucian–”
Nathaniel pulled a folded document from his jacket pocket and handed it to Ashton. “I would appreciate a swift solution.”
Ashton pinched the papers and slipped it into his breast pocket. “I’ll send a message.”

Nathaniel bowed and marched towards the door. He had grasped the handle when Ashton spoke again.
“Lest I forget, dearest Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel stilled.
“Lysandra has deep affections for you. When she loves, she loves blindly—wholeheartedly. At times, I even admire that.” Ashton’s voice was calm, almost thoughtful. “I find nothing wrong with you seeking her help as a friend… if that is what you are.”
His fingers drummed against the rim of his glass.
“She is guileless—that, I blame on the Queen Mother and the King. But you are not.”
Ashton slammed his empty cup onto the table, the sound sharp in the silence.
“If you ever take advantage of her affections…” His smile widened, but his eyes gleamed with something cold. “Not even your father will be able to save you.”
Nathaniel met his gaze for a lingering moment before opening the door and stepping out, closing it behind him.
He exhaled slowly.
There was no denying it—Ashton creeped him out far more than he annoyed him.
Now that he had spoken with him, the rumours about Ashton being terrifying, fickle, and unpredictable didn’t seem so exaggerated.
But one thing was certain.
Ashton enjoyed games.