Chapter 34: Cursed Title

Left alone by the table, Darius stood frozen in confusion, staring toward the hallway leading to the bathroom.

"What just happened?"

A faint frown appeared on his face.

Had he pushed too hard again when he had been so sure they were finally getting somewhere?

At least they had managed to celebrate together. That had to count for something.

"Uh..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks for today, Basil."

No response.

Darius glanced toward the bathroom, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

I guess that’s my cue to leave, right?

"I’ll see you at dinner, then," he called out, trying to keep his voice light.

Still no answer.

He sighed softly, his shoulders slumping.

Well. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

With a resigned exhale, he began packing up the remaining cake. The earlier excitement slowly faded as uncertainty crept in. Every few seconds, his gaze drifted back toward the hallway leading to the bathroom.

Hopefully he hadn’t ruined everything again.

Unfortunately, judging by Basil’s reaction, Darius wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t as he quietly left the suite.

Inside the bathroom, Basil leaned his forehead against the cold tiled wall the moment he heard the door click shut. His legs finally gave out beneath him, and he sank down against the wall, panting for air. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird desperate to escape its cage.

"What is actually wrong with me?" he breathed as his fist clenched in the fabric of his trousers, twisting the cloth alongside his skin and welcoming the sting.

He knew he had made a great mistake the moment he let Darius into the room.

Basil groaned and squeeze his eyes shut as the pain did nothing to ease the heat rising in his groin. This was ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous. What on earth was wrong with him? How could he be having these humiliating, vivid reactions to a man he had practically just met today?

Why did it always rattle him whenever Darius called him my prince? It was almost as if his body were being hit with a potent aphrodisiac the moment those words left Darius’s lips.

It wasn’t as though Darius was the first person to address him that way. Literally all his life, he had heard countless people use that title. The maids, the guards, nobles, even his former friends, and none of it had ever affected him like this. Which meant it wasn’t the title itself that was causing the problem. It was the person saying it.

Why did it have to sound so dangerously different coming from Darius?

Why did a title he had heard ten thousand times before suddenly make his blood run hot and his pulse hammer wildly in his throat?

He hadn’t even known the man for a full twenty-four hours. He was supposed to feel resentment. He was supposed to be angry, cautious, and distant from the unpredictable menace who alternated between threatening him and bewildering him. When had that started blurring into something else?

Something far more dangerous because Basil couldn’t even properly define it.

Was he attracted to him? The thought hit him like a slap. Was it really attraction at first sight? Had he been too consumed by anger to notice it, forcing his traitorous body to react on its own? Was that what this was?

But Darius was a man. Basil was a man. How could he even be having such feelings for another man? "Don’t tell me I’m..." He cut the thought off before it could fully form.

He had never felt this way about another man before, so why was Darius the one capable of unraveling him like this? Why did his body keep reacting to him this way? How could someone he had truly met for the first time today have such a ridiculous, overwhelming effect on him?

A knot of embarrassment and confusion twisted inside him. The sheer absurdity of it made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He pressed his knees together harder, trying to ignore the persistent awareness of his own body. This was wrong. Everything about it felt wrong. "I’m losing my mind."

And none of this would have been happening if Darius hadn’t come on so strongly and driven Basil to the edge of insanity.

Why was he constantly pushing into Basil’s space, smiling at him, teasing him, being unexpectedly kind, and acting so absurdly happy over a stupid belated birthday cake? Now his body had apparently mistaken basic affection for something far more dangerous, and his traitorous mind wouldn’t stop supplying him with images of Darius grinning while singing the birthday song, the excitement shining in his eyes when Basil had finally joined in, and the way his entire face had lit up after receiving the smallest bit of cooperation. Basil groaned again.

"Oh, my God. I’m completely hopeless."

He took a deep breath and forced himself to his feet. The room tilted slightly as he stood on shaky legs.

"I better get myself under control before I completely lose it," he muttered.

Basil unfastened his trousers, bringing out his hard, aching length.

​"Fuck," he hissed, furious at his body’s complete lack of restraint.

​His cock, rigid, flushed dark at the tip, and already slick with the barest bead of moisture, sprang upward and met the cool air of the washroom. The relief of freedom from the confines of fabric was immediate and maddening, a pulse of sensation that made his abdomen clench.

Their two encounters today had made one thing embarrassingly clear: cold showers and distracting thoughts were never going to calm this down. The only way out was to give himself a quick, desperate handjob while his mind filled with thoughts of Darius.

Here we go then, he thought, surrendering to the situation as Basil wrapped his right hand around the shaft and squeezed.

The sound that clawed its way out of his throat was anything but dignified. A choked, rough groan escaped him as his thumb swept over the swollen head, spreading the gathering moisture in a slow circle. His hips jerked forward into his grip without permission.

"Fucking hell."

It was almost as if his own flesh were punishing him. Every stolen year of the true prince’s life, every ounce of love and privilege that should have belonged to Darius, seemed to have twisted itself into this relentless ache. As though his body had decided he deserved no peace until he paid for it.

Basil closed his eyes, and the darkness behind his lids became a canvas painted with Darius’s face.

He was suddenly there, standing far too close, his towering frame hemming Basil in against the sink. The heat of his presence seemed to wrap around him, impossible to ignore. Darius lowered his head slightly, his breath ghosting across Basil’s cheek as he murmured that cursed title once more.

"My prince... can I lend you a