Simon's small chamber felt even smaller in the dead of night. The single candle on the rough wooden table had burned low, its flickering light casting long, unsteady shadows across the stone walls. He sat on the edge of his narrow cot, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as if the answers to his turmoil were etched into the cold flagstones.
His lips still tingled.
The memory of Lucian's desperate kiss refused to fade. The prince's hands framing his face, the urgent press of his body, the raw hunger that had ignited something deep inside Simon despite every warning screaming in his head. "I don't care about that," Lucian had said, voice thick with emotion. "You're the person I want, and I don't feel like hiding it anymore."
Simon dragged a hand through his messy brown hair, exhaling shakily. Did Lucian really mean it? Was the prince truly tired of hiding? Or was it just the heat of the moment?
