Chapter Two Hundred and Forty
Chapter Two Hundred and Forty
Leonardo
Five years later
Just when I thought I’d never have to do that again—because with my Charming, oh my God, I haven’t even thought of it in years—there I was.
Jerking off in a sterilized room.
And not even in a kinky way.
In a cup.
Welcome to royalty, baby.
They told me it would be “discreet.” That I’d have “privacy.” That the room was “tastefully clinical” and “optimized for comfort.”
They lied.
There were two magazines from 2016, a scented candle that smelled like sterile citrus trauma, and a wall print of a forest that somehow made me feel watched.
And through it all, the thought pounding through my brain wasn’t “don’t spill the cup,” or “focus, Leo,” or “the technician is definitely judging you right now.”
But, despite missing the obvious most fun part of it, I couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off my face.
We’re really doing this.
Charming and I… we were building a family.
A royal heir.
Not because tradition demanded it. Not because the council finally wore us down. But because one night, wrapped in our ridiculously silky egyptian sheets, tangled in laughter and leftover cake from someone’s anniversary party, Alex had looked at me and said—
“Do you ever wonder what kind of dads we’d be?”
And I had said—very reasonably—
“Hot. And mildly chaotic.”
He’d smiled.
And then he said the words that changed everything:
“I want a baby with you.”
And now… here we were.
The plan was simple: we’d both donate. One embryo. One pregnancy. And no one—not even us—would know which of us was the biological father.
Because it didn’t matter.
They would be ours. Fully. Equally.
A child born of love and choice, not obligation or bloodlines.
Even the council, once skeptical, had agreed. Helena helped. Karl said nothing—but sat in the room the whole time, watching every lawyer squirm like a statue of silent vengeance.
And now, Charming was waiting for me just outside.
With that face he made when he was trying not to look excited.
That face that ruined me every single time.
So yeah.
I took a deep breath, sealed the cup, whispered a quiet “You’re welcome, future royal fetus,” and walked out into the next chapter of our lives.
Back in the car, I collapsed onto the seat beside him and groaned.
He raised one elegant eyebrow without even hiding his smile. “Successful mission?”
“I feel violated.”
“You were alone.”
“I was emotionally supervised by a very judgy plant and a scented candle named Pure Freshness.”
He snorted and finally looked at me—eyes warm, lips twitching. “Well, I’m proud of you. Truly. Plus I did it too, remember?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You should’ve been there.”
He didn’t deny it. “I know… but then we would’ve end up fucking, and that would’ve defeated the purpose…”
We didn’t talk for a while. Just held hands as the city rolled by outside, the kind of silence that felt like breathing in sync. Our life had settled into something I never thought possible: a routine.
Still chaotic. Still ridiculous. But safe.
Five years in, we had a rhythm.
Breakfasts together when we could. Political fires when we couldn’t. Planning sessions that turned into neck kisses. Council meetings that turned into footsie under the table. Sex in every bathroom… Our version of normal.
Alex was thriving. Truly.
He had grown into the kind of king that made people fall in love with his leadership—and his husband, of course. My baby was kind, eloquent, unshakable—even when he still carried ghosts in his shadow.
And now, he was preparing to give a speech for the anniversary of our public coming-out. An annual event that had started as a panic PR maneuver and had somehow become a nationally celebrated day of visibility and love.
Naturally, I had opinions.
“Don’t say ‘beloved husband’ again. It makes you sound like I died.”
“Say ‘devastatingly attractive consort.’ Better energy.”
“Also, wink once. Just once. Make the tabloids work for it.”
He ignored most of my suggestions, which was rude.
But I still got to pick his tie, and that was a win.
It felt like the perfect moment to start thinking about more.
More love. More joy. More mess.
A new little prince—or princess—Charming the Second.
“Are we really ready for a baby?” I asked him a few nights ago, breathless in bed, limbs tangled, sweat cooling between us.
He looked at me with that lazy, post-orgasm smile and said, “You asked that before we got married.”
“Yeah, and look where that got us.”
He kissed me. “Exactly.”
And that was that.
In other breaking news: Dante was now dating someone very unexpected.
“Mario?” I said the first time he showed me the picture. “My Mario?”
“Ex-Mario,” he said casually.
“Tabloid-Mario. Reporter-who-saw-me-naked-Mario.”
He grinned. “Don’t be jealous, babe.”
“I’m not. I’m just… impressed.”
And I was.
They were weirdly good together. Sharp, high-functioning chaos. One was a political shark with a poetic streak looking for news, the other a walking tabloid with endless energy and drama. Love in the time of unresolved sexual tension.
“Who would've thought?” I told Alex over lunch. “But hey, at least he keeps him in the center of the news. Right where I used to be.”
“You never left the center,” Alex said, not even blinking.
He was right, obviously.
I was a star.
A married star.
Still very obsessed with my husband.
And still very determined to get him to say “My royal consort is thicker than a Scandinavian forest” on record at least once before I died.
I looked over at him now, his face lit by the sunset filtering through the car windows, and something about it hit me in the chest.
He turned and caught me staring.
“What?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I just love you so much, it makes me deeply stupid.”
He smirked. “I know.”
I leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “When we get home, I’m going to make you scream like you just lost the monarchy.”
“Leonardo.”
“Loudly. With subtitles.”
“Leo—”
Too late.
I was already planning every minute of it.
I leaned into him and kissed him. A long kiss that represented everything that meant the world to me. To us.
“I love you, baby.” I whispered.
“I love you too. Forever.” He smiled in that way that melted my heart.
That was all I needed.
And maybe, if the stars aligned…
We’d be adding one more little chaos-maker to the royal household very soon.
But for now?
I had him.
And he had me.
And in this new chapter of crowns and lullabies and legacy…
We had everything.
Not because fate was kind to us.
But because we chose each other—every time, through every storm.
And in the end…
Love was the kingdom we built.
THE END
Author’s Note
To every single reader who joined us on this wild, royal ride—
Thank you.
From the bottom of my heart… thank you. 💛
For every chapter you read,
For every moment you laughed, cried, raged, swooned, or screamed into your pillow—
For every comment that lit up my day and reminded me why I do this—
You made this journey unforgettable.
Alexander and Leonardo’s love story has been one of chaos, passion, heartbreak, healing, and ultimately, hope. And knowing that you were there—waiting, supporting, and feeling alongside them—meant everything to me. Truly.
This story wasn’t easy. It dealt with some heavy truths and deep wounds. But in the end, it was always about love. About freedom. About being seen—and loved—for who we are.
And I hope that somewhere in their journey, you saw a piece of yourself.
If you enjoyed Royal Temptations, don’t worry—more stories are coming soon! Stay tuned for the next Medusa Stone release on NovelSnack, where more unforgettable characters and thrilling, steamy plots await.
Until then, I’ll leave you with this:
Never stop believing in love.
Never stop fighting for your fairytale.
And never, ever stop reading.
With all my love,
Medusa Stone 💛