Chapter 95: Guilt

Hours passed in total stillness.

The gloom in the bedroom deepened into the heavy indigo of evening, the rest of the palace feeling miles away beyond the suite doors, distant and forgotten in the quiet cocoon of the room. Basil stirred first. His eyelids fluttered, heavy and resistant, before slowly peeling open. For a long moment, his vision remained blurred, tracking the dark, familiar outlines of the room before gradually coming into focus on the broad chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. He was completely enveloped in heat, one of Darius’s arms wrapped around his waist like an iron band, anchoring him to the mattress. A dull, thrumming ache resonated through every muscle in his body. His thighs felt leaden, his skin tender, and his lower back carried a deep, persistent soreness that served as an undeniable reminder of the afternoon.

He tried to shift his leg, but the motion drew a soft gasp from his throat as his joints protested. He felt as though he had been dismantled and put back together incorrectly.

Beside him, Darius’s arm tightened around his waist slightly. A low, incoherent mumble escaped him, his brow furrowing for a brief second before smoothing out again. He shifted closer, burying his face into Basil’s neck as though seeking warmth even in sleep. Basil lowered his gaze to him. Darius was sleeping soundly, his features completely relaxed, the ruthless composure that usually defined him completely softened in rest. He was without the usual sharp calculation in his eyes, looking younger somehow, almost peaceful. A few dark strands of hair had fallen across his forehead, and his breathing remained slow and steady against Basil’s skin.

The sight should have been comforting. Instead, everything that had happened that afternoon came crashing back into Basil’s mind with brutal clarity. The bed. The sheets. The bathroom.

Heat flooded his face.

Darius had taken him all over the bed in more positions than Basil had ever imagined possible. Every time he thought he couldn’t endure another round, Darius had somehow coaxed another response from him. And as if that humiliation wasn’t enough, Darius had gotten on his knees in the bathroom and—

?Basil squeezed his eyes shut.

Shit.

The curse slipped out beneath his breath as his stomach twisted into a tight knot of panic and raw vulnerability. What have I done?

The question echoed through Basil’s mind over and over again. What was he thinking?

That was the problem. He hadn’t been thinking at all. He had let the moment consume him entirely. He had abandoned every ounce of caution and allowed his dark, forbidden impulses to sweep away every shred of reason. The shame was a cold, suffocating weight settling over his chest, making it hard to breathe.

How had he allowed this to happen?

They were supposed to be brothers.

Even if no blood tied them together, that was the relationship they were meant to build. Basil was supposed to be making up for everything that had been stolen from Darius and paying for everything his biological family had put him through. He was supposed to spend his life making amends, offering his loyalty, his deference, and his absolute submission to Darius’s rule to balance the scales for everything his lineage had taken.

And instead of helping Darius heal from those wounds, Basil had complicated everything. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Darius had done nothing but accept him.

He had protected him, shielded him from political ruin, accommodated his presence, and tried relentlessly to bridge the gap between them, offering a genuine brotherhood when Basil deserved none of it. Basil was the one who should have been earning forgiveness, yet it was Darius who continuously reached out, taking the burden onto his own shoulders and doing everything possible to make Basil feel welcome.

And how had Basil repaid that generosity?

He had ruined it.

He had let himself want things he shouldn’t have wanted. He had let feelings grow when he should have crushed them immediately. He knew with sickening clarity that if he hadn’t initiated that first kiss, if he hadn’t given in to the dark pull between them, none of this would have happened. Darius had respected his boundaries until Basil himself shattered them. He had handed over his dignity, his pride, and his role as a brother, trading them all for a fleeting, selfish surrender to temptation.

How am I ever going to look at him again?

How could he face the King and Queen? How could he stand beside Darius, call him "brother," or pretend that nothing had changed? He had committed an absolute betrayal of the dynamic they were supposed to build. He had taken Darius’s effort to form an unbreakable family bond and twisted it into something ruined and unspeakable. A fresh wave of panic, cold and sharp, seized him. He couldn’t fix this. There was no grand strategy, no political maneuver that could undo what had happened or erase the shameful way he had completely surrendered to the moment. He needed to get away.

He needed to disappear before Darius woke up and saw the utter ruin he had made of everything.

Carefully, meticulously, Basil began to untangle himself. He held his breath as he reached down to grasp Darius’s heavy forearm, lifted it off his waist millimeter by millimeter, and slid out from beneath the weight. Darius stirred instantly.

His brow furrowed, a low, discontented rumble catching in his throat as his hand instinctively swept across the empty space beside him, searching for the warmth.

Basil froze. His heart slammed against his ribs like a trapped bird. He didn’t dare breathe, hovering suspended over the mattress, waiting for those dark eyes to snap open.

Darius shifted, turning onto his side. The tension in his shoulders slowly dissolved, his breathing settling back into a deep, rhythmic cadence, accompanied by the faint, soft sighs of sleep.

Basil let out a silent, shaky breath.

Slowly, agonizingly, he swung his legs off the edge of the bed. The moment his feet touched the cold floor, his body revolted. A sharp ache radiated from his core down through his thighs. His knees buckled slightly under his own weight, and he had to press a hand against the nightstand to keep from collapsing.

Glancing down, the sight of his own pale, bare skin made his stomach turn. Marks dotted his hips and collarbone, vivid reminders of the afternoon. He forced his gaze away, scanning the shadowed floor until he spotted his discarded clothes scattered near the foot of the bed.

Suppressing a wince with every step, he crept across the rug, gathering his tunic and trousers with trembling hands. He dressed as quickly as his bruised, exhausted limbs would allow, the fabric chafing against his sensitized skin.

Every movement was a struggle, his muscles screaming in protest, but the terror of being caught propelled him forward.

Once dressed, he moved toward the suite doors.

He didn’t look back at the bed, not even once. He couldn’t bear to see Darius lying there, peaceful and unaware in the wake of the disaster Basil believed he had created. He eased the door open, slipped through the crack into the silent corridor, and closed it without making a sound.