The King’s Unclaimed Mate(BL)

The palace was drowning in whispers.

Servants spoke in hushed voices, guards exchanged uneasy glances, and concubines huddled together, their faces painted with both curiosity and fear.

The King was restless.

More than restless.

His temper had grown razor-sharp, his patience nonexistent. Nothing pleased him. Not his advisors, not his meals, not the gold-plated luxury that surrounded him.

Because he still didn't have him.

His River Beauty.

And the longer he went without him, the more reckless he became.

---

The King's Unrelenting Search

"Find him."

The order had been given.

The King had sent his best men to scour the lands, disguised among merchants and travelers. Any village near the river, every noble estate, even remote monasteries—they would search everywhere.

If they didn't bring him what he wanted—

They would suffer.

He wasn't in a patient mood.

The King sat in the war room, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair as the commanders listed off their failures.

"No sign of him, Your Majesty. No one fitting the description—"

"Then you're not looking hard enough."

The King's voice was low, dangerous.

The commander swallowed, bowing his head.

"We will double our search."

"Triple it." The King's tone was ice. "I don't care how long it takes—I want him found."

The room fell silent.

The King exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of his chair. He could still see him. Could still feel the way his breath had hitched in shock that night at the river. Could still picture the way water had caressed his skin, sliding down the curves of his body.

A vision.

A temptation.

His.

The mere thought sent a dark, slow heat through him. He would have him.

And once he did—

He would make sure the boy never ran again.

---

Caelum's Fear and Denial

Far from the palace, hidden deep within the grand halls of his family's estate, Caelum tried to push down the growing sense of unease twisting in his stomach.

The King was searching.

He had felt it.

A weight pressing down on the land, a presence growing stronger, darker. Like an approaching storm.

The rumors had reached his ears.

"The King is searching for someone. A beauty by the river."

His breath had caught when he overheard the whispers. He knew.

There was no doubt.

It was him.

A sharp shiver ran through his body.

He had tried to convince himself that the man he met that night had been nothing but a stranger.

But a King?

A King hunting him?

Why?

The memory of that voice came back to him. Deep. Powerful. Commanding.

"What is your name?"

His stomach tightened. He had almost answered. Had almost given the King the very thing he was now trying to hide.

He should have been relieved that he hadn't.

But relief was the last thing he felt.

His fingers curled into the fabric of his robe, his breath unsteady.

He could not be found.

He could not let the King know who he was.

Because if he did—

There would be no escape.

---

The King's Restless Night

That night, the King did not sleep.

He sat in his chambers, bare-chested, restless, burning. The room was dark, save for the flickering glow of a single candle. His body ached with frustration.

He had sent for no concubines this time.

He knew they would not satisfy him.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on the shadows dancing against the wall. His body was tense. His hunger unbearable.

He imagined it again.

The cold water against hot skin.

The slow, teasing way the droplets had rolled down that pale chest.

The way he had gasped in shock.

The way his lips had parted, breathless, afraid.

A slow, dark exhale left the King's lips. His blood was running too hot, his control slipping.

"You should not have run, little beauty," he murmured to the empty room.

His hands curled into fists, jaw clenched tight. The next time they met—

The boy wouldn't run.

He would kneel.

And this time—

The King would not let him go.