[BL] Rules Of Desire: His Majesty's Secret-Chapter 28 - 26: L.S.N. The King’s Commands [18+]

The courtyard had turned into a fever dream of bodies and rhythm.

The first cries of pleasure had given way to louder moans, gasps, and slaps of skin against skin. Sweat-soaked backs arched, hips bucked, and hands gripped silk and flesh with rising urgency.

Every bed was a battlefield now.

The two boys were still locked in a deep, frantic rhythm, one riding the other with breathless cries, hands braced on the other’s chest. His thighs trembled, but he kept going.

Nearby, the two girls had shifted, one now sitting on the other’s face, moaning wildly, her hips grinding down with raw desperation as the other clutched her thighs and devoured her like worship.

The trio of two men and a woman had lost all rhythm and turned chaotic, one man thrusting hard into the woman from behind while she kissed the second, begging between moans to be filled deeper, harder, faster.

Then came the six.

A storm of limbs and sounds, one man pounding into a woman while another was taken from behind by another man, his cries swallowed by a girl who straddled his face. Groans. Screams. Praise. Begging.

Pounding. So much pounding.

Until the beds began to shake.

And the crowd began to cheer louder for every orgasm reached.

One by one, contestants began to collapse slick with sweat, unable to continue, their stamina drained by pleasure too wild to control. They were carried off gently by attendants, still gasping, smiling in the haze of release.

Ronan, seated beside Kaelith near the raised dais, grinned like a devil.

"By the gods," he breathed, "I came here expecting a show... but I didn’t think I’d be hard just from watching."

Kaelith didn’t respond.

His jaw was clenched, eyes distant. There was heat in his cheeks but not from desire.

Ronan leaned closer, grinning. "Come on, Your Highness, don’t tell me your heart is pounding for them. Or is it for someone else?"

Kaelith shot him a glare sharp enough to silence steel.

That only made Ronan chuckle. "You’re not denying it," he whispered.

Kaelith turned away, but he didn’t miss the way Hale, just a few paces behind him in the shadows, was watching him quietly, gaze soft and burning.

Their eyes met for only a second.

But it was enough.

Enough to say everything their mouths couldn’t speak out loud.

Then...

The King rose.

The drums stopped.

The courtiers straightened.

The moans fell into hushes, and even the competitors paused, trembling and catching their breath.

King Aldric stepped forward, his voice commanding and low.

"Too many fall too fast," he said. "Is there no one in this courtyard with true strength of body and restraint of lust?"

His eyes scanned the room like a hawk.

Then they landed on Hale.

"You. Step forward."

Kaelith’s breath caught. "No..."

Ronan turned in his seat, eyes widening in delight.

"Oh this," he whispered, smirking. "This is going to be good."

Kaelith’s fists clenched on the arms of his chair. He kept his expression calm, but his heart was hammering in his chest.

Hale took a breath. He looked at Kaelith again.

Hesitating.

Waiting.

Begging, don’t make me do this.

But Kaelith didn’t move.

Because to protest would be to admit too much.

Hale stepped forward.

The muscles in his back were tense beneath his shirt. His jaw was tight. But he obeyed. Because no servant disobeyed the King, not in public, not on Lost Shame Night.

A servant rushed to undress him quickly. His shirt was peeled off. His boots were removed. His trousers loosened. The firelight caressed the sharp lines of his body, drawing gasps from the crowd.

Even the King’s voice softened slightly, with amusement.

> "Lysaro," he called to one of his generals, lounging nearby in silk robes, "let him pick. I want to see what your golden warrior is truly capable of."

Lysaro, smiling cruelly, stepped down from the dais and addressed Hale with a nod.

"Choose your opponent. Pick well. You’ll need more than strength. You’ll need control."

Kaelith looked down, face hard. Every breath was a war.

Ronan leaned in again, his voice a whisper dripping with mischief.

"I knew there was something between you two," he said. "And now I get to see what you’ve been hiding from me."

Kaelith turned his head slowly.

The look he gave Ronan was pure death.

But Ronan only chuckled. "Relax, Your Highness. I’m just enjoying the show."

And Hale standing now under the full weight of the King’s gaze, the crowd’s curiosity, and Kaelith’s unspoken fear began to walk forward, toward the beds, toward the heat...

Toward what he could no longer avoid.

The crowd roared as Hale dominated the bed with power that stirred more than just desired. It shattered restraint.

The trio beneath him cried out, one straddling his thigh, another wrapped around his waist, the third arching beneath his mouth. Hale’s strength was unyielding, his rhythm precise, his hands everywhere at once. He didn’t just take pleasure, he commanded it.

Then came Lysaro.

The seasoned warrior shed his robe and approached the bed like a challenge carved in bronze. He stepped in behind Hale and whispered low enough for only him to hear:

"Let’s see what you’re made of."

Without waiting, he grabbed one of the writhing men and pulled him onto his lap, burying himself with a sharp thrust. The crowd screamed in delight.

Now, it was a battle.

Hale didn’t flinch.

He looked up at Lysaro, sweat dripping from his jaw, and smirked.

The rhythm increased.

Bodies moved faster.

The man riding Hale wailed, gripping Hale’s shoulders as he came undone, his whole body twitching.

One.

The woman atop Hale moaned his name as she came with her thighs trembling around his face.

Two.

The softer man arched with a scream, his release wet and desperate as Hale’s hand worked him into ruin.

Three.

But Hale?

He stayed firm. Unshaken.

Even Lysaro’s rhythm faltered.

He tried to match it grunted, thrusted, bit down on the woman’s shoulder to keep going, but his pace wavered as he watched Hale take them apart.

Hale’s muscles flexed, his hips rolling with perfect control, his cock still hard, still unrelenting.

The crowd began to chant his name.

"Hale. Hale. Hale!"

Women rubbed their thighs together in the crowd. Men stroked themselves while watching. Nobles who had once dismissed him were now moaning his name in secret.

Even Ronan...

He watched with his tongue wetting his lips, chest rising, heart thudding. His eyes raked over Hale’s glistening abs, the tension in his thighs, the way he controlled everyone around him like a god of flesh.

If Kaelith didn’t want him, Ronan thought, I might’ve.

His cock throbbed just from watching.

But Kaelith...

Kaelith was frozen.

His jaw locked. His hands trembled where they gripped the edge of his throne. Because this wasn’t just Hale serving the king.

This was Hale burning for him and still pretending he wasn’t.

Until...

Kaelith stood up.

He couldn’t watch anymore.

Not the mouths wrapped around Hale’s cock.

Not the eyes Hale kept casting his way between thrusts.

Not the way the crowd worshipped him like he was already crowned.

Kaelith turned and left.

He didn’t look back.

But Hale did.

Immediately.

His rhythm faltered just a beat.

He saw the silk of Kaelith’s robe vanish through the archway.

His heart dropped.

Even with mouths sucking at him, hands gripping him, thighs wrapped around him.

He felt cold.

His breath stuttered, and he quickly grabbed the edge of the bed to steady himself.

He hadn’t even climaxed.

But it didn’t matter.

Because Kaelith was gone.

Lysaro finally collapsed beside him, breathless, defeated, sweat-soaked, and laughing in disbelief.

"You win," he muttered. "You damn beast."

The King stood, voice booming:

"Let it be known. Tonight’s victor is Hale servant of Zarethrone, and warrior of unmatched strength."

The crowd erupted.

But Hale didn’t care.

He climbed off the bed quickly, wrapping a silk cloth around his hips. His cock was still hard, painfully so, but the fire in his chest burned hotter.

"Your prize," the King called as he descended. "A title. A land. Or a night with anyone of your choosing."

Hale bowed respectfully, barely hiding his urgency.

Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll make my decision soon.

The King nodded, pleased, but moved slowly through the crowd, shaking hands and receiving cheers.

Too slowly.

Hale waited as long as he could.

Then..

He ran.

He pushed through sweat-slick bodies, ignored outstretched hands, and passed moaning courtiers and silk-slick lovers on the floor.

He had to find Kaelith.

Because even though he’d made everyone else cry for him...

He only ever wanted to make one man moan his name.

New n𝙤vel chapters are published on f(r)e𝒆webn(o)vel.com