Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The monster attacks in Avalon have been endless.

The forest was alive with shrieks of grotesque, bone monsters crawling from the mist, all claws and teeth. They swarmed the old ruins like locusts, tearing through bark, stone, and knight alike.

King Arthur's golden armor was already covered in blood. “Hold formation!” he yelled, sword cleaving through another shrieking wraith. “Lancelot guard our flank! Gawain, shield the casters! Percival and Galahad behind me!”

Around him, the Knights of Camelot roared to action, steel singing, magic blazing. Arthur moved like fire. Each strike was precise, cruel, theatrical, his blade dancing through limbs like parchment but then, a dark figure sliced through three monsters at once. A second force stormed into the fray, black banners tearing through the fog.

It was King Shadow with his obsidian armor who surged ahead of his knights with a growl. “Clear the west line!”

Arthur froze mid-swing, and his eyes instinctively narrowed at the dark king. “Oh, perfect…”

Shadow locked eyes with him across the carnage and neither smiled.

“Why are you here?” Arthur snapped, carving down another shrieker who tried to get him from behind.

“Killing monsters,” Shadow replied flatly as if it were obvious. His red and black sword was dripping with blood. “You’re in my way.”

“This is Avalon. My territory.”

Shadow parried a charging beast without blinking. “Then defend it better. The monsters have leaked onto mine.”

Their clash came naturally as it usually did.

A monster lunged, its shriek piercing the smoke-choked air. Shadow moved without thought, and his blade sliced through flesh and ligaments as claws scraped past his side. But the beast’s weight and momentum sent him stumbling forward, straight into Arthur.

Their bodies collided with a crack of armor on armor, boots skidding across blood-slick stone. Their swords met, steel screamed, and history repeats. They broke apart just enough to swing again.

“Of course you’d interfere,” Arthur snarled, red cape flaring as he drove Shadow back a step with a flurry of blows.

“You were in my way,” Shadow snapped, catching the tip of Arthur’s sword with his own and shoving hard.

The clatter of combat around them faded, their respective knights and monsters now just distant chaos. Here, in this pocket of war, there were only two kings, and the pressure of things unsaid boiled beneath every strike. Their blades sang when they sliced together, dancing dangerously close to flesh.

“You love this, don’t you?” Arthur laughed, circling him with his teeth bared like a predator. “Fighting me. Testing how far we’ll go.”

Shadow’s jaw twitched. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet here you are.”

Their swords locked again, eyes inches apart, and the space between them was always tense.

Then, Shadow twisted with a swift feint. He rammed his shoulder into Arthur’s chest and, at the same time, gave a well-placed kick to his leg. Arthur fell back, and Shadow followed. They crashed to the ground. Arthur landed hard, but rolled fast to get on top of Shadow. He put his blade against his throat and was laughing like a madman. “Pinned by me,” he said smugly. “Must sting, hm?”

Shadow didn’t answer and instead bucked violently, flipping Arthur beneath him in a single vicious motion. His sword clattered away, and his hand closed around Arthur’s throat, slamming him into the broken cobble floor. The force made the golden king's breath leave him as blood seeped from a gash on his brow. Shadow loomed above him, one hand choking him, the other holding his sword. He was seething with rage.

Arthur let out a strained laugh at how worked up the dark king had gotten. Even with blood in his mouth, even pinned beneath Shadow who might kill him, his aura was like a creature that could never truly be caged. “Oh, choke me harder,” Arthur mocked hoarsely against Shadow’s muzzle. “At least pretend you don’t enjoy this.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed, and his grip tightened. Their faces were so close now, sweat and blood and anger crackling like lightning between them. Arthur didn’t flinch. He only stared up, defiant yet inviting, which made Shadow's grip falter. Because the look he saw on Arthur’s face was unsettling and more now than in their previous skirmish.

That was when Lancelot cut through the haze. “My King!” The knight crashed into Shadow with a shoulder slam, knocking him away. Shadow stumbled back, blade raised, but Lancelot was already between them with his sword drawn. “Touch him again and I swear, I’ll carve your heart out.”

Arthur coughed, sitting up with a rasping laugh. “Tch, Lancelot. It’s alright.”

Shadow wiped dirt from his cheek, his face back to his usual unreadable expression. “Control your dog, Arthur.”

“You're just upset he interrupted us.”

Which only made Lancelot and King Shadow stiffen for similar reasons.

The monsters were still dying, and the mist was still burning away, but in the middle of it all, two kings, a knight, and one very twisted grudge stood locked in a different kind of war.

6 Months Later

The lands of Camelot and Blackthorne could not be more different, just as their kings could not be more opposed.

King Arthur of Camelot was as golden as the sun that kissed his high towers each dawn. He had calculated eyes filled with mischief, emerald in color. He ruled with both might and manipulation.

A born strategist and a master of charisma, Arthur wore a confident smirk as easily as his ornate, golden armor was an ensemble forged for both war and theater. Every move he made was measured, and each word laced with double meaning. His court was one of silk and fire, where charm masked cruelty and elegance danced alongside ruthlessness. He never shouted to command attention. He simply entered a room and owned it.

Then there was King Shadow of Blackthorne near the Outlands, a stoic monarch of the north. Where Arthur’s realm bathed in warm sun, Shadow’s kingdom knew long winters and starlit silence. Shadow wore his authority well. He was unyielding, honed, and always ready to strike. He ruled with a sense of duty as cold as his mountainous homeland. His armor was obsidian black, its edges razor-sharp, and his cape flowed like smoke.

Rarely seen without a frown, King Shadow spoke only when necessary, and never indulged in the flowery banter Arthur thrived on. What he lacked in spectacle, he made up for in unwavering strength. His people respected him not because he charmed them, but because he protected them, no matter what needed to be done. He was war-hardened, disciplined, and unshakable.

If Arthur was fire wrapped in silk, Shadow was ice bound in steel.

Their kingdoms had been rivals for generations, locked in cycles of uneasy truces and vicious warfare. Skirmishes along the borders, full-blown battles that painted rivers red, and tense summit meetings between Kings whose blades were always closer than their open palms were the legacy of Camelot and Blackthorne.

Arthur and Shadow had crossed swords both literally and politically more times than either cared to count. They had exchanged blows in muddy fields and barbed words in gilded council chambers. Each ceasefire lasted only as long as it suited their ambitions. Yet despite or perhaps because of their enmity, the two kings found themselves inextricably drawn to one another.

For Arthur, their meetings were a delicious game. There was nothing quite like the thrill of baiting the ever-serious King Shadow, of watching that carefully neutral mask twitch at the corners.

He delighted in testing Shadow’s patience, calling him names like Your Grimness or Brooding Majesty, each nickname dripping with mock affection. He flirted with danger and laced his diplomacy with taunts, finding it irresistible how tightly wound Shadow always was.

However, beneath the jabs and smirks, Arthur harbored something deeper… a fascination he refused to name. Shadow’s solemn resolve, the way his voice never wavered even when blood dripped from his blade. He was dealt a harsh hand in how others viewed him but all Arthur found lately was how maddeningly attractive he grew over the years. There was beauty in Shadow’s stoicism, in his harsh honesty and unreadable eyes. It was a dangerous, terrible appeal, Arthur longed to unravel.

Shadow, for his part, had always viewed Arthur as a menace, manipulative, serpentine, and far too clever for his own good. He distrusted every word from the golden king’s mouth, knowing they often carried hidden daggers. Arthur was a King who would kiss your cheek with one hand while stabbing you with the other. But… no matter how he tried, Shadow could not bring himself to look away.

There was something magnetic about Arthur… his charisma, his confidence, the way he commanded a room with nothing more than a crooked grin. Shadow hated that charm almost as much as he hated how well it worked. He told himself it was just caution, wariness of a dangerous opponent.

Arthur stirred something in him. Something primal. Something he couldn't name without shame. Their shared history was a wound neither could close. Since their encounter at Avalon, they had only seen each other once more.

At the last summit between the High Kingdoms, they had stood face to face in the throne room of Eloria, a neutral empire near the Highlands. Arthur had strolled in late, his armor polished and smirk razor-sharp, and greeted Shadow with an exaggerated bow.

“Well, if it isn’t Your Grimness, still frowning as if the clouds depend on it,” Arthur purred with amusement, but Shadow did not dignify him with a reply.  “Tell me, do you ever smile? Or has the cold frozen that function from your face entirely?”

Shadow’s hand had gone to the hilt of his sword, and it wasn’t to draw it, but to remind Arthur that he could.

Arthur’s grin only widened because that was their dance, one misstep from war, one glance from something far more dangerous.

Now… tensions between their kingdoms rise once more. Whispers of raids along the border, a wounded knight crossing enemy lines, and rumors of ancient magic stirring beneath the soil, all paths lead the rival kings back to each other.

Back to fire and frost… back to temptation wrapped in armor and scorn, and neither of them is ready for what comes next.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

It had been a mission of mercy, or so Arthur had told himself.

Near the Misty Lake, there was a small town, a quiet swath of land nestled between Camelot and Blackthorne, that had sent urgent pleas for aid. Bandits, perhaps stirred by one kingdom and blamed by the other, had descended upon its farmlands like wolves. Arthur led his knights himself. It was supposed to be a simple save, a simple fight, but something unexpected happened.

The attack began at dusk. A quiet outpost turned to chaos in minutes. Flaming arrows rained from the trees. Enemy soldiers, faces obscured by shrouded hoods, emerged like ghosts from the woods. It had been an ambush, tactically brilliant and infuriatingly familiar. Arthur had seen this kind of maneuver before, but in the fray, Sir Lancelot fell.

Arthur had spotted him too late, his most beloved knight, his dearest companion from the early days of the crown, cornered and overwhelmed. Lancelot’s blade danced valiantly, silver slicing through the fog, but one attacker came from behind with a spear that was too quick. The sound Lancelot made, a guttural shout, was something Arthur would never forget.

“Lancelot!” Arthur had screamed, shoving through foot soldiers, slicing apart anything that dared block him. He dropped to his knees beside the knight just as blood began to pool beneath the armor. It was a mortal wound that was much too deep. Lancelot trembled in Arthur’s arms, his mouth opening in shock more than pain. “Stay with me,” the king whispered fiercely. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. You don’t die here, you idiot.”

He knew time was short. The nearest healer was leagues away. Camelot’s borders were too distant and the town’s meager resources wouldn’t sustain them this far gone, which left only one option.

Blackthorne.

Arthur sat still for only a moment, cradling Lancelot’s blood-soaked form against his chest. Then, with barely a word, he rose. His armor was drenched… part blood, part smoke, part shame. He looked to his remaining troops, who watched him with quiet horror. “To Blackthorne,” Arthur ordered. “Now.”

His knights hesitated, and Galahad dared to speak. “Your Majesty… that’s his territory.”

Arthur's eyes sliced through the knight's audacity. “I know exactly whose land it is. You think I enjoy this?” He knelt again and gathered Lancelot into his arms. The knight groaned faintly, eyes hazy from pain. “We are going because if Shadow wants to call himself a King, he'll prove it today. If he lets one of mine die under his roof, then let it be the spark that burns his frosty kingdom to ash.”

They rode through the dead of night. Arthur refused to relinquish Lancelot, even as his arms ached and blood soaked through to his fur. He held his knight like a fallen brother, jaw clenched against the fear that crept closer with each passing hour.

Rain descended as they reached the high gates of Blackthorne’s fortress, a vast obsidian citadel carved into the cliffs. The guards saw them first, Arthur in golden armor stained red, his knights weary and wary behind him, and the unmistakable form of someone dying in his arms.

The gates remained closed, but Arthur didn’t wait. “OPEN YOUR DAMN GATES! Or tell your brooding monarch that King Arthur of Camelot has come bearing war. His choice!”

More soldiers appeared, bristling and armored, unsure whether to draw blades or bow. Arthur took a step forward, unsteady but unbroken. His fur was matted, blood streaked his cheek, and still, his presence commanded the mountain. He looked every bit a desperate King, and that only made him more dangerous.

“I’m not here to play games,” Arthur growled. “One of mine is dying. I didn’t come crawling to you out of courtesy. I came because your damn fortress is the only thing standing between him and the grave.” He raised Lancelot slightly, enough for the blood to be seen, for the ragged breathing to be heard. “Let me in,” He continued, quieter now, but with a venom that promised ruin. “Or I swear by every god you've ever cursed. I will remember this.”

Moments later, the gates began to open, the drawbridge creaked down, and standing at the threshold, silent, arms folded behind his back, was King Shadow himself.

Clad in full black armor, he stood with the poise of a statue and the eyes of a hawk. He said nothing as Arthur stepped through, Knights of the Round Table at his sides and Lancelot in his arms. Their eyes met across the distance… two kings, two storms colliding at last.

Arthur’s lip curled into something bitter and exhausted. “Your Grimness,” he taunted slightly. “Try not to look so pleased to see me.”

Shadow looked down at the knight in his arms. There was a moment… so small, so subtle that passed over his expression.

Pity? Concern? Annoyance? Arthur couldn’t tell, and it annoyed him.

“Follow me,” Shadow said curtly. He didn't honestly know why he agreed, perhaps because he had never seen Arthur like this, but he tried not to dwell on it.

Arthur didn’t thank him. He merely tightened his grip on Lancelot and followed the Blackthorne king into the darkness of the fortress.

Behind them, the gates closed once more, sealing Camelot’s lion in the den of the wolf.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Inside, the halls reeked of iron and discipline, and Shadow stormed ahead without waiting. Arthur followed just behind like an amused thorn in his side. Lancelot and Arthur’s fellow knights were with the healers now, just leaving the two Kings.

“You should thank me,” Arthur said as they reached a grand empty room just beyond the castle’s entrance. “I bring excitement to your otherwise dull fortress.”

“You bring trouble.”

“Same thing.”

Shadow rounded on him. “I should have left you outside.”

“You still could,” Arthur said smoothly, stepping close. “But then you'd miss our quality time.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re tense.”

They were nose to nose now, breath steaming in the cold. Shadow’s glare could have carved granite.

Arthur tilted his head. “You’re really quite handsome when you’re angry.”

Shadow slammed him against the stone wall. “Shut. Up.”

Arthur laughed, but he struck right back.

Arthur's palm slammed into Shadow's chest with enough force to stagger him. Shadow didn’t stumble. He struck back. A fist cracked against Arthur’s jaw, spinning him halfway before he retaliated with a brutal elbow to the ribs. There were no formal stances, no measured distance, just fury ignited by memory, pride, and something far more dangerous.

Then came the steel. Their swords clashed with the violence of storms. Sparks flew where metal met metal. The wet stone beneath their boots made every step a risk… slick and treacherous, but neither cared. They circled, lunged, and parried with rage wrapped in the elegant language of swordplay.

This was no duel of honor. This was war in miniature. A thousand old grudges re-lived with every swing.

“I missed this,” Arthur panted, but still with his signature wicked smile, ducking beneath a sideways slash, rain from outside cascading from his quills.

Shadow’s eyes narrowed, a snarl curling his lip. “You’re deranged.”

Their blades locked with a crash, quivering in the tension between them. The closeness stole their breath, making their muscles strain, and their faces always seemed just to be a few inches apart.

Arthur’s lips curled. “Tell me you don’t enjoy this.”

Shadow twisted with perfect control, pivoting fast with a sharp twist of his wrist and a jerk, Arthur’s sword spun from his grip and clattered to the stone. He gasped, more from surprise than pain, but he wasn’t done. Arthur threw himself forward and tackled Shadow off his feet. They slammed into the floor and hit the ground hard.

They rolled fists flying, boots scraping, curses lost to the storm outside. As their bodies clashed, they were being mixed with each other’s blood, blinding all at once. One of Arthur’s punches caught Shadow across the jaw, and Shadow responded with a knee to the gut, knocking the wind from him. They slid across the stones, their limbs tangling, and their breathing was coming in heaves.

Shadow growled, flipped their weight, and slammed Arthur down with all its strength. He pinned him, one hand crushing Arthur’s throat against the cold stone, his blue quills squished against the wall behind him, the other pinning one of his arms down, claws digging into his arm, trembling with restrained fury. It was an exact repeat of their fight 6 months ago. Arthur felt it then, and he wanted to do something about it now.

“Yield,” Shadow barked.

Arthur only laughed, a rough sound in his ruined throat. His lips were split. His blue fur was matted and there were blood-traced lines over the curve of his muzzle, down his throat, over the bruises beginning to tinge.

Arthur looked up at Shadow and saw the fury in his eyes, the anger, the hate. After years and years of rivalry he couldn’t help his next words. He loved seeing the dark king come undone. “You’re beautiful like this,” Arthur said hoarsely.

Shadow blinked from shock, and his grip faltered. “What?”

Arthur’s hand rose slowly, curling into the wet fur at Shadow’s chest. He stared up at him with defiance and mischief as he pulled him down into a kiss.

It was violently filled with blood and need, and Arthur’s mouth was hot and demanding, lips torn but ruthless. Shadow froze, heart seizing in confusion, while Arthur groaned sinfully, hips shifting beneath him as if trying to drag them closer together.

Shadow’s world cracked open, and his body betrayed him, responding, heart racing, every nerve alight with heat... hate yet unbearable longing. For a moment, just one, he kissed back… and their wet mouths moved against each other with punishing urgency.

Then Shadow jerked away, breathing like he’d been drowned. He shoved Arthur away, chest heaving with fury and something darker burning in his eyes.

Arthur was still on the floor, laughing like it had all been a joke. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”

“You—”

“—kissed you? Yes.” Arthur taunted, looking up at him. “You looked so… pretty, choking me. I couldn’t resist.”

Shadow’s fist crashed into the stone beside his head, cracking it, but he didn't hit his face. Not this time.

Arthur didn’t even flinch. “Coward.”

Shadow’s throat worked silently. He couldn't believe what had just happened. He stood abruptly and turned away without a word, his back tense with restraint as rain fell outside the castle walls. His footsteps echoed as he walked off into the storm, leaving Arthur on the stone ground, laughing softly into the night.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The storm rolled in like a secret, silent, wet, persistent. By nightfall, Blackthorne was cloaked in fog and drizzle.

King Arthur, newly bandaged and sore, moved with his usual grace through the dark King’s castle. His armor had been stripped away, leaving only his cloak and crown. Blood, most of it, not his, still clung to his fur.

He paused at one of the inner chambers and saw Lancelot lying beneath wool blankets, chest rising steadily. He looked younger in sleep, vulnerable in a way he’d never allow while awake.

Arthur lingered. “You’ll be alright... You always are.” He turned to leave, only to find Percival standing in the doorway. “Report?”

Percival gave a nod. “Gaiwan’s watch says the storm’s worsening. We’re grounded tonight.”

“Convenient,” Arthur drawled.

Galahad appeared behind them, arms crossed. “You shouldn’t have engaged King Shadow directly.”

“Oh?” Arthur raised an amused brow. “How come?”

“You always come back bloodied,” Gaiwan said, stepping in. “What if he’s planning something?”

Arthur leaned against the stone archway. “Nonsense.”

Galahad pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s dangerous.”

“They all are. But no one’s more dangerous than me.”

That drew silence. No one could argue that. Just then, a knock echoed behind them. A shadow passed across the torchlight. It was Rouge the Bat, King Shadow’s trusted knight and spymaster, who stood in the arch with her usual smirk and a scroll tucked in her belt.

“Evening.”

Arthur grinned, “Have you come to arrest me?”

“Tempting.” Rouge’s smirk widened. “But no. The storm’s bad. His Majesty says your lot can stay the night.”

“Does he, now?”

“He didn’t look happy about it,” Rouge added.

“Hm.” Arthur tilted his head. “Not like him to leave an enemy at his back.”

“True,” she said casually, though her eyes danced with amusement.

Arthur laughed again, and his knights looked increasingly exasperated.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Later that night, Arthur sat beside the fire, sharpening his blade out of habit. He could still hear the thunder rumble overhead.

Lancelot stirred behind him. “Arthur…”

He turned quickly. “Lancelot.”

The knight was sitting up now, hand pressed to his side. “You’re hurt.”

Arthur shrugged. “Nothing serious.”

“You were choked,” Lancelot noticed the bruises on his King’s neck.

“Well, yes, but only briefly.” He gave a casual wave. “I asked for it.”

Lancelot stared at him, aghast. “What does that even mean?!”

Arthur just smiled crazily. “Oh, Lancelot. Truly, if I told you, you’d never sleep again.”

“I already don’t sleep when you fight him,” Lancelot muttered.

“Good instinct.”

Lancelot stared at him a moment longer, then shook his head and sank back down with a sigh. He never understood their relationship.

Arthur rose and crossed the room, brushing a hand briefly through Lancelot’s fur before tugging the blanket back up. “We leave tomorrow. Rest while you can.”

Lancelot nodded, though he didn’t close his eyes right away.

Arthur stood at the window then, watching the storm. He knew King Shadow was awake somewhere in his castle... maybe still tasting the same damn kiss on his tongue.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The door slammed shut behind him with a reverberating clang, and King Shadow began pacing.

The storm outside had dwindled to a light drizzle, but the thunder inside him hadn’t stopped. Not since that arrogant bastard of a king had waltzed into his castle like he belonged here. Shadow regretted letting him in. To hell with his knight.

He tried to forget it... Like what happened hours ago hadn’t happened. Like the bruises on Shadow’s lips and the rawness of his throat were meaningless.

Shadow ripped off his gauntlets and pauldrons, threw them onto the table with a crash. He caught his reflection in the mirror and hated it.

Not because he looked weak. No. King Shadow never looked weak. Even in exhaustion, he was a pillar of lethal grace. Jaw sharp, eyes despire being red, colder than steel. But beneath it all… just beneath, there was something else.

A heat that shouldn’t be there. His claws still had blood from where they’d pinned Arthur down, and his lips... Shadow growled and turned away from the mirror.

“It meant nothing,” he muttered, but no one was there to hear him, which made it worse.

“It was a tactic. He baited me. I reacted.” He leaned both hands on the edge of the table, arms slightly shaking. “It wasn’t real.” But his body betrayed him and his mind replayed it again and again. Arthur’s tongue, bold and wicked, had invaded his mouth like a king claiming land, and he couldn’t forget it. That laugh, dark and sinful, resounded in his skull.

Shadow squeezed his eyes shut. Get out of my head.

He grabbed a goblet of dark red wine and downed it, bitter and sharp. It did nothing to dull the throb inside of him. He needed to fight or maybe he needed to focus. He definitely needed to forget... but when he peeled off the last piece of armor and sat heavily on the bed, his fingers went to his lips. Shadow stared down at his hand as if it belonged to someone else.

The look on Arthur’s face. The shameless way he had moaned underneath him, demanding more, pushing harder. That kiss hadn’t been strategy. It hadn’t been leverage. It had been something he couldn't name... because Shadow had lingered into it.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The next day, Arthur bathed in silence, the soft light of the chamber barely piercing the steam that rose from the wooden tub. The water was tepid, but it was a relief after the days of riding and the tension that had been building within him.

Lancelot had stabilized, thanks to Shadow’s healers. Arthur had been begrudgingly assigned a chamber, a stark room with stone walls, fur pelts scattered across the cold floor, and a narrow window that faced nothing but the bleak, stormy sky. The room was as unwelcoming as the king himself, but Arthur found a grim comfort in it. He hadn’t seen Shadow since the kiss, the moment that had ignited something feral and untamed within him.

Not that he minded... Waiting made the game more fun. The anticipation was a thrill, a slow burn that heightened his senses. He knew the storm was coming. He could feel it in his bones and he welcomed it.

Rain still fell in thin sheets over the ancient spires, but the worst of the storm had passed. Knights moved through the mist like ghosts, checking mounts, oiling blades, muttering reports beneath their breath.

King Arthur left his assigned chamber. He should’ve stayed. Rouge herself formally told him not to roam the stronghold unescorted. Not to provoke. Not to linger where he did not belong.

Naturally, he ignored every word. He was completely unbothered as he strode down the stone corridor, red cloak trailing behind him. The bruises on his neck bloomed proudly, fingertips like proof of indulgence, and his golden circlet was slightly askew.

He looked infuriatingly content, a smug smile playing on his lips, as if he was always one step ahead.

The imposing doors to the war room loomed ahead, heavy and foreboding, their dark wood polished to a sheen that reflected the dim light of the corridor. Arthur pushed them open with force, the creak of the hinges echoing in the stillness. He lingered for a moment, taking in the intricate plans laid out before him, their edges curling slightly with the battles to come, but he wasn’t alone for long.

The war room door slammed open with a force that shook the very foundations of the castle. Arthur didn’t flinch, for he had been expecting this.

King Shadow stepped into the room with seething anger and confusion, his cloak dark ebony, eyes burning like twin forge fires. His crown was absent, but there was no mistaking who ruled the room. His presence was a physical force, commanding and brutal, and the air was immediately tense as the door closed behind him, trapping them together.

Their eyes met, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Shadow said coldly.

Arthur, lounging with his boots up on the bench, hummed thoughtfully. “But I’ve just gotten comfortable,” he drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. He knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn’t resist the allure of the flame.

Shadow stalked forward, and his eyes were locked onto Arthur, a predator zeroing in on his prey. “You kissed me,” he growled, the accusation hanging heavy in the air.

Arthur’s smirk didn’t waver. “You kissed me back,” he retorted in a lazy drawl that belied the tension coiling within him.

Shadow’s hands clenched at his sides. “I should have killed you."

Arthur rose lazily to his feet, closing the distance between them with an unbothered arrogance. “But you haven’t. Why is that?” He could see the struggle in Shadow’s eyes, the war between desire and duty. Shadow growled and grabbed him, slamming him back against the stone wall with a crack of impact. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and Arthur exhaled a laugh, the sound rough and challenging.

“Getting repetitive, aren’t we?” he mocked, his breath stolen as Shadow’s grip tightened around his throat. His hand was a vice as he held Arthur pinned against the wall, but the golden king’s grin never faded from his lips. “Do it,” he rasped, “I dare you.”

Shadow’s face hovered near Arthur’s, and before he could get away, Arthur closed the gap once more. He leaned in slightly, his bottom lip parted, eyes half-lidded, that smug grin still carved into his face, and bit down on his bottom lip. Shadow grabbed his shoulders, trying to hold him back, but the kiss held this time. It was no gentle meeting. It was a collision of fury with immediate blood.

Their mouths crashed together, broke apart, then slammed again with raw hunger. Arthur moaned into the contact, his tail wagging wildly as his hands clutched at Shadow’s chest fur, pulling him in.

Then suddenly, Shadow ripped away, his chest heaving, mouth swollen. “That meant nothing.”

Arthur licked the blood from his lip. “Liar, you enjoyed it.”

Shadow immediately punched Arthur's face, the impact snapping his head sideways, sending it crashing into the stone wall.

Arthur chuckled dangerously. “Hit like a king.” He struck back a hook to the ribs, a knee to the thigh. Shadow grunted, countering with a shove that sent Arthur sprawling over the war table. Maps crumpled beneath him, candles spilled and guttered, casting long, dancing shadows across the room.

They were fighting now. Real fighting that was fast and with no finesse. It was full of kicks, fists, and more. Arthur dodged a swipe and rammed his shoulder into Shadow’s gut, sending them both tumbling over a bench. They hit the ground hard, the impact jarring, but neither paused. They rolled, grappled, each fighting for the upper hand.

“Still pretending you hated it?” Arthur mocked, his lip was bleeding again, blood trickling down his chin.

Shadow growled and kicked him in the ribs hard. Arthur wheezed, rolled, grabbed Shadow’s arm, and twisted it. They wrestled, armor scraping, breath ragged, fingers tangling in fabric and quills. The room filled with the sounds of their struggle, grunts, curses, and harsh breaths.

Then, Shadow froze because Arthur had him pinned, and one of his legs was between his.

“You’re trembling,” Arthur purred.

“I’m disgusted,” Shadow growled, but his body betrayed him.

Arthur could feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against his thigh, and he smiled. “Your cock’s not."

Shadow could feel his rage, along with an unnamed emotion, intensifying, so he shoved Arthur off him. They both staggered to their feet, bruised, bleeding, and breathing hard. The room was a mess. The war table was already dented. They circled each other like wolves, eyes locked, breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“You’ll rot for this,” Shadow spat.

Arthur wiped his mouth. “Say that without an erection."

Shadow lunged again, and Arthur caught him mid-motion, slammed him into the wall, and kissed him brutally. This time, it was Arthur who dominated, choking him lightly with one hand against the stone, invading Shadow’s mouth with his tongue, triumphant. Shadow tried to jerk away, but the kiss held him in place and stole his breath. Arthur’s mouth moved with hunger, hips grinding once, claiming space, power, everything.

Shadow groaned and responded. His hands clenched in Arthur’s quills, torn between pulling him in or throwing him off, but.. his mouth opened and his body arched. Arthur was pleased with his response, the curve of his mouth a victorious smirk, so he broke the kiss and stepped back, leaving Shadow panting, shaken, lips red, wet, and slightly parted. His following words were smug and sweet. “There’s my answer.”

Shadow’s eyes blazed, but his silence was deafening. He stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, fists clenched at his sides, lips parted to speak, then closed again. Arthur watched him like a lion tempting a wounded wolf. Then, he stepped forward again and put one hand on Shadow’s chest, pressing him back against the wall, while the other slipped down to the king’s belt.

Shadow caught his wrist. “You—” 

Arthur leaned in, mouth brushing his ear. “Tell me to stop..." But there was only silence. Arthur smiled again and ground his hips forward. The effect was immediate. Shadow shuddered, snarling through clenched teeth, but he didn’t push him away, and his body felt like it was caught between instinct and rage. “You want to hide your true desire so badly,” Arthur continued, “But I can see everything. Everything you’ve been hiding.”

“I will kill you,” Shadow growled.

“Maybe later,” Arthur breathed, “But right now…” his hand slid between them. Armor plates had been loosened in their fight. Fingers clawed through leather and cloth. Their bodies pressed flush… hard, straining. Arthur moved his hips in tight rolls, grinding against Shadow’s thigh, his own breath trembling with restraint.

Shadow grabbed his shoulders and shoved him, but Arthur shoved back. They stumbled across the war room and crashed into the table's edge. Arthur seized the moment and grabbed Shadow to pin him down. Shadow twisted him around, but Arthur used the momentum to throw him back against the table. Climbed on top. And then he grinded down, hips rolling hard and slow. Their groins met with agonizing friction. Shadow’s hips betrayed him by pushing towards him.

“You bastard,” he hissed.

“You’re moaning.” Before he could object, the next roll had him groaning, the denial crumbling on his lips so Arthur leaned down and his lips were at Shadow’s throat, biting, sucking, marking. “Say it,” he murmured, rutting against him now more desperately and shamelessly. “Say you don’t want me.”

Shadow growled, but it broke into another desperate groan when Arthur’s teeth sank deeper into his collarbone. The table creaked, one of the legs cracking. Everything was a mess. There was nothing royal about it; it was all sweat, breath, and desire. This was destruction in rhythm. Power blurred into pleasure until neither of them could tell if they were fighting or not anymore.

Shadow’s hands clutched at Arthur’s waist now, trying to still him, but Arthur didn’t let up. He grinded against him harder, faster, tongue plunging into his mouth with a growl, until Shadow’s own hips bucked against him.

The dark king’s head slammed back into the table as a muffled curse ripped from his throat, and Arthur grinned savagely. “You need me.”

Shadow bared his teeth. “Shut. Up.”

Arthur kissed him again, practically drowning him, but this time… Shadow kissed back fully, letting his arousal win, despite it still being violent. Their mouths mashed together, tongues twisting, and their hands explored each other's bodies without care. Shadow cursed because he felt like he was being dragged into a different kind of battlefield.

Arthur spoke now, sounding wrecked, ruining their silence, “Gaia… you’re glorious when you break.”

Shadow turned his head. “That's not—”

“You are breaking... crumbling underneath me,” Arthur countered. He didn’t give Shadow time to retreat. He continued to grind on top of him, their bodies pressed flush, heat to heat, muscle to muscle. The friction made Shadow hiss through his teeth. “You're strong enough to push me off, but you won’t,” Arthur goaded as he leaned over him. “You act like you hate me... but your body says otherwise.”

Shadow opened his mouth to retort, but then Arthur’s hips rolled with purpose, and finally made Shadow’s cock unsheath, and the words crumbled to a betraying moan. Arthur’s cock was out now as well. Their lower bodies met in a devastating rub. Hardness against hardness, nothing but hot breaths and instinct between them. Arthur slid a hand between their stomachs, cupping both of their lengths in one hand, gripping them together and pressing them tightly against each other. Shadow’s hips jerked, and an involuntary noise of pleasure slipped past his lips.

“There you are,” Arthur purred with satisfaction. He moved his hand slowly, dragging the heel of his palm up and down. Shadow cursed, grinding upward despite himself, unable to stay still. Their hips moved in tandem now, rubbing, rocking, frantic and furious.

“You should stop me,” Arthur murmured, biting down on the shell of his ear while Shadow was breathing too hard to reply. “But you won’t. You’re enjoying this... Aren’t you?”

Shadow still didn’t answer, and his fingers twisted into Arthur’s cloak, eyes clenched shut, panting like a beast wounded at last. Arthur continued to work them together, pressing, stroking, grinding, driving them both higher.  Shadow tried to turn his face away, but the king caught his jaw and forced another kiss on him, vicious and wet, tongue plundering deeper than before. Shadow groaned into it, spine arching off the table, caught between hate and hunger. Their rhythm grew more ragged and needy.

Arthur broke the kiss with a shudder, forehead pressed to Shadow’s. “Give in. You already have.” Then he rutted against him hard, dragging them together in one final, brutal grind. Shadow choked on his breath as his body finally gave way, trembling beneath him. Arthur followed with a snarl, biting Shadow’s neck as pleasure tore through him that was fierce and consuming.

Their release coated each other's stomachs and thighs, and the rest dribbled onto the table beneath them. They stayed like that, panting, shaking, tangled in ruined maps and torn cloaks.

Eventually, shame crept in like cold, and Shadow finally spoke, sounding hoarse. “This changes nothing.”

Arthur, still atop him, gave a knowing laugh. “This changes everything.” He hadn’t moved from on top of him, his body a heavy, possessive weight with something darker. Arthur’s hand still gripped Shadow’s cock. He adjusted himself on top of him, inching it inside him, spreading himself wider, grinding mercilessly against the blunt of his tip. The friction was maddening, and the arousal was not only still there, but it was unbearable. They both wanted more, no, needed more.

Shadow bucked upward with a growl. “Get off me.”

Arthur bit down hard on his ear. “You think I’m done? You may be King here, but I’m the King who's making you listen.”

“You’re—” he started, but Arthur cut him off, pushing Shadow’s cock halfway inside of him, and the dark king's retort collapsed into a strangled moan.

“I am making you listen. You may not want to admit it, but you love how I feel, don't you?”

Shadow didn't answer. He twisted beneath him, trying to shift, to flip the situation, but Arthur held him down, grinning like a beast. He knew Shadow was strong enough to push him off. Physically, Shadow had him beat, so that made this all the more thrilling.

Arthur leaned in, tongue tracing a slow, teasing path along Shadow’s jaw. “Let me show you what surrender tastes like.” Then slowly Arthur lowered himself further, taking Shadow’s cock without care.

Shadow responded by pressing inside Arthur deeper with teeth gritted and seizing with overwhelming pleasure. “I hate you...” 

“Say it like you mean it.”

With those words, he had had enough. Shadow was done letting Arthur have all the control. He surged upward, keeping Arthur’s legs wrapped around his waist, pinned him down on the table, and entered Arthur so deep, so fast, Arthur had to bite back a cry of pain. “You want control? Then fight for it.” Shadow snarled.

Arthur grinned, one eye shut, still in pain. “With pleasure.”

The war began anew. They pushed and pulled, kissed and cursed. Every thrust was a power struggle, every grind a question of who would break first. Shadow leaned down and bit into his collarbone. Arthur pushed back, trying to regain control, but Shadow grabbed his hips harshly and reversed the rhythm, fucking him harder. It was not gentle nor soft. It was destruction.

When their eyes locked, something else glimmered beneath the violence. Hunger, yes, but also something rawer. Something neither of them could explain.

Arthur’s words were hoarse, fond, yet vicious all at once. “Look at you. You did need me after all. Bowing to me while you fuck me.”

Shadow moved immediately. "That’s what you think.” In a flash of strength and purpose, he pulled out and dragged Arthur down by the arm. Arthur barely had time to laugh before he was flipped, chest pressing to the war table, palms braced against it.

Shadow then immediately pushed his cock in again, causing Arthur to bite his tongue so as not to let Shadow hear his yelp. Their bodies collided, but Shadow was on top this time, driving forward, reclaiming his power.

“That's better,” Shadow said smugly.

Arthur shuddered, not in fear, but in thrill. “Taking charge, are we?”

“You want to be fucked so badly?” Shadow snarled, pressing flush against him. “Fine. I’ll break you.”

He yanked Arthur’s hips back, forcing him into position with ruthless efficiency. He pulled on his tail, hard, while his other hand gripped his hip to keep him still.

“Oh, damn…” Arthur choked, but Shadow kept thrusting, pushing inside the other deeper, and despite him not wanting this in the beginning, it felt really good to be inside of him. Arthur’s nails clawed the table while his grin only widened. “Is that all?”

Shadow answered with motion rather than words, driving into him at a more brutal pace, every movement a declaration of fury, heat, and revenge. Hands gripping hard on exposed blue hips, bruising him. Arthur groaned, head hanging forward, muscles tight with exertion and pleasure, but still, he laughed. Even now. Even as Shadow claimed control, Arthur’s laughter rang out wild and burning with joy. “Harder,” he whispered, panting from the pain and pleasure, but still daring him. “Show me you mean it.”

Shadow did, and every snap of his hips became even more punishing, but Arthur took it, welcomed it, reveled in it.

It wasn’t submission. It was two kings, breaking each other open.

Shadow leaned down, and his teeth grazed Arthur’s neck from behind, biting down hard enough to break flesh. The pain quickly dissolved into a flood of pleasure, and even Arthur, who held control, couldn't suppress the moans that spilled from his lips. Each sound was a testament to the enjoyment that coursed through Shadow, who realized just how much he relished the golden king sounding this way.

“Say my name,” Shadow growled into Arthur’s ear. It was a resonant command that sent shivers down Arthur’s spine. 

“No,” Arthur taunted with a mischievous smirk.

“Say my name,” Shadow repeated, his movements halting, creating a tension that made Arthur inwardly seethe with frustration. Oh, he hated that. He wanted more, wanted Shadow to continue.

“I refuse,” Arthur declared with defiance.

King Shadow moved one hand away from his tail to push Arthur’s head down into the war table. ”Say it and I’ll continue,” he promised, and that sent heat coursing through Arthur.

Arthur considered the offer, the desire swirling within him, but he chose to be an asshole. “Fuck you."

“Say it,” Shadow instructed, his tone brooking no argument.

“Who’s really begging now?” Arthur goaded.

Shadow resumed his movements, each thrust a wave of pure pleasure that threatened to overwhelm Arthur’s senses...

Eventually, King Arthur’s mind began to blur, losing his sharp edge of control he was accustomed to wielding.

“Say it,” Shadow demanded again.

Arthur, too aroused, loses a bit of his resistance. “Fuck you, S-Shadow—" The words escaped in a whisper too heavy with desire. He bit his lip, cursing the name that escaped.

"Again," Shadow was panting now, and though he didn't initially want this, the golden king felt too good wrapped around him.

"You must love hearing my voice—" Arthur managed.

Shadow's grip strengthened as he grasped Arthur's quills, pushing his head harder onto the table. "Say it, you insufferable king.”

Arthur didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help it; he was close and wanted to come. "Damn it, fine... fuck Shadow—" Arthur made sure to repeat his name. Though each word was still filled with annoyance... and arousal.

Satisfied, Shadow continued relentlessly pumping inside Arthur, and each movement spoke of an overwhelming and complex connection.

Arthur moaned, his body filled with pleasure as he couldn't help but enjoy the sensation of Shadow fucking his hole, his every nerve electrified by the union. "Fuck," he gasped with pleasure from every brutal thrust.

Shadow, lost in the rhythm of their entangled bodies, couldn't believe just how sinfully good this all felt, and the realization of being with King Arthur added a surreal intensity to the moment. "Fuck… Arthur," he groaned, unable to stop his name from leaving his lips, for he was too overwhelmed by the completeness he felt, their hate and rivalry faded away for this one moment, as they reached the height of their passion.

So finally, with a final thrust, their climax surged through both of them, trembling as they reached their peak. Shadow filled him completely, and Arthur came at the same time, ruining the war table further.

When it ended, neither spoke. Arthur lay draped over the table, body twitching with aftershocks, lips still curled in that damn smile.

Shadow stood behind him, panting, hands shaky not from weakness, but from what they’d just done, from what it meant.

Arthur looked over his shoulder, smug and ruined. “Well… That was diplomatic.”

Shadow turned away, but not before Arthur saw the heat in his eyes... The way he didn’t regret it. Not one bit. Arthur sat up on the ruined table. His blue fur was a mess and he had even more bruises blooming like royal marks.

Shadow stood beside him, buttoning his cloak. “Leave now."

Arthur stretched, reaching for his crown that was lost in their moment. “You’re going to miss me.”

Shadow didn’t reply, but Arthur could see the truth in his eyes. He stood, boastfulness in every step, and walked up to Shadow, leaned in, and whispered in his ear, “I promise you will.”

Shadow didn’t move... but he didn’t pull away either. It was like his body was frozen after what they had just done.

In that moment, Arthur knew he had won. The king was his, and nothing would ever be the same.

Chapter Text

The air reeked of blood and decaying monsters. The battles at Avalon were truly endless, and if anything, it was getting worse. The summons were increasing, death became more frequent, and magic seemed only to twist and turn in a more unnatural way.

Thunder cracked as hooves pounded over muddy soil. The dying sun bled red across the battlefield, only adding to the blood and destruction around them. Screams echoed in the distance, drowned out by the clash of steel and monsters gasping their last breath, and what the rain tried to wash away would only get replaced by more death.

King Arthur rode at the front, as he typically did. Excalibur gleaming gold in his grip. His blue quills were matted with sweat beneath his helm, but his emerald eyes remained cruel in their precision. No matter how many monsters there were, how much blood he needed to spill, the battlefield was his kingdom.

Beside him, Lancelot cut down enemies like a hurricane of polished steel, his black and silver armor untouched by hesitation. Always at Arthur’s flank, always guarding his blind side. Galahad charged ahead to shatter the enemy line, while Gawain and Percival closed in behind, forming a lethal cross.

They moved like a unit: loyal and flawless... but still, Arthur's eyes wandered... just for a moment.

To the outer ridges of the field, past the dying monsters and crumbling pillars, past the ruins of Avalon's twisted towers now sunk into the mud. He immediately cursed himself for the weakness.

Looking for him again, he thought bitterly.

King Shadow with his obsidian armor, golden crown and black cape. The flicker of Chaos energy that always danced at the edge of visibility. That damn King… silent, merciless, unrelenting, had not shown his face in months.

Not since Blackthorne. Not since that night and despite himself, Arthur always scanned the battlefield. Always expecting… or rather hoping to see him in battle again, but he hadn’t.

“You drift,” Lancelot called, cleaving through a shrieker who had dared lunge for the king's side. “Are you hurt, my king?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He was never in real danger, knowing Lancelot would take care of it or he would himself whether it be at the last second.

“No,” he growled, turning back toward the fray. “Only bored.”

“King Shadow hasn’t come to battle,” Lancelot said, assuming that is what his king is thinking about.

“King of silence,” Arthur muttered, “or maybe cowardice.”

Lancelot nodded, and Arthur smirked to himself. “It’s almost funny.”

“How come?”

Arthur let out a quiet laugh. “Poor thing. Probably thinks he’s winning something by staying away.”

There was no venom in his voice, only amusement and fascination. “He’s pathetic."

Despite not seeing it, Lancelot raised a brow behind his armored mask. He still didn’t understand their relationship… but he also knew not to question his King. He went and returned with the other knights.

After they were done clearing the east side of Avalon, everyone regrouped, carving through any leftover smaller monsters, but something in Arthur remained distant.

Even as Excalibur sliced through chainmail, even as blood sprayed across his gauntlets, his thoughts strayed to that one damned silhouette, the one not here.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The next day Arthur and his knights were at the Round Table discussing future plans. The midday sun filtered through tall stained-glass windows that depicted victories long past.

Arthur and his knights had taken care of Avalon’s horde of beasts for now and had a bit of a reprieve. However, now the question was why.

Why have the monsters in Avalon been endless? It’s been years, but they keep coming. It’s like something was constantly sending them, feeding their energies, reviving those lost.

“So, we regroup and call for an attack in one week?” Galahad asked smoothly.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “We’ll take the southern pass through the Dark Hallow. Last reports place the beasts near the border of nearby towns. I want them extinguished before they spread to another kingdom.”

“They’ll scatter like ash before us,” Percival said.

“They better,” Arthur replied. “I’m not interested in chasing down monsters. Don’t need them getting to the Highlands.”

Gawain yawned. “Can’t we send someone else to do the chasing? I just polished my armor.”

Lancelot gave him a look. “Your armor was dented this morning.”

“Exactly. I just polished the dent.”

“There is a reason we are the best Gawain. Do not get lazy.” Arthur gave him a look so cold that Gawain froze in place. Gawain immediately shut up and apologized to Arthur. Lancelot was about to speak when the chamber doors opened with a groan.

A robed figure stepped in wrapped in the green and gold ceremonial garb from the empire of Eloria. All four knights stood automatically, but Arthur did not.

“Lord Elric,” Arthur said with a sly smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Elric approached the Round Table with the grace of someone used to being bowed to.

“His Grace of the Council wishes to remind you that the Convergence of Kings is upon us. You are expected at the summit in three days.”

Arthur’s brows lifted. “So soon? Time flies when you’re bleeding in battle.”

Elric didn’t flinch. “No matter as tradition holds. Your absence would be... noted.”

Arthur waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll be there. Wouldn’t want to miss all the pomp and flattery.”

Elric bowed stiffly and exited without another word, and as soon as the doors shut, Arthur leaned back in his chair, with a dangerous glint in his eye.

He couldn’t help but smile, knowing who would have to be there.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The cold stone halls of King Shadow’s citadel pulsed with silence. Fire from the hearth cast shadows along the tall columns and dark silk banners that bore his crimson crest.

He sat alone in the council chamber, the sealed letter still unopened in his hand because its wax seal was unmistakable. He knew what it was and he always hated this time of year. He stared at it like it was poison.

“You going to burn it,” Rouge said from the doorway, “or sulk at it all night?”

Shadow didn’t move, and Rouge walked in, heels tapping like punctuation on his nerves. She leaned on the table with one arm, the other casually resting at her waist. “Uh-huh... hmm, but here you are,” she poked at him mischievously, “in the dark, brooding over the High Kingdom’s invitation. Must be because of King Flamboyant…”

Shadow tore the seal without a word and read the summons.

“Well?” Rouge pressed.

“It’s the Convergence of Kings, and every King is required to go. You are aware of this.”

“Mm, how terrible,” Rouge said, nearing him. “A party. With wine, incessant chatter... and Arthur.” She grinned when he flinched.

“I don’t care about him,” Shadow said.

“Sure. That’s why you have been avoiding Avalon's battles.” She leaned in closer. “And why your hands always tighten like that when someone says his name?”

Shadow looked up, glaring crimson daggers at her.

Rouge raised a brow. “You’re transparent to anyone who knows how to look.”

“He’s a distraction,” Shadow muttered.

“Is that what we’re calling a man you fought bloody in a corridor and then kissed in the war room and Gaia knows what else?” she said with mock innocence. “I’m still hurt you won’t tell me. Though… A bat can assume.”

Shadow stood, pushing the chair back with a scrape. “It’s a political gathering. Nothing more.”

Rouge grinned, tilting her head. “Uh-huh. So, are you bringing your sword or your self-restraint?”

Shadow turned, already heading for the armory wing. “Both, in case he’s stupid enough to make me use either.”

Rouge followed with a satisfied smirk. “He’ll love that.”

Shadow paused near the archway, shadows dancing over his face as he added, almost quietly. “He always does.”

Shadow remembered the first time they met. It was at a King’s Convergence.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The hall had been excessive.

There were deep purple banners draped like dusk, starlight seeping through the domed glass above. Merriment thrived there, and it was boisterous with so much incessant chatter that was at times too uninhibited... the kind of noise Shadow found both unnecessary and irritating.

Every year it was something different, but this was the first time he had been here physically because Shadow had finally become King. 

He and many others were forced to learn about the High Kingdom’s traditions before, as Princes. Such is the law. Some years, there were balls, archery battles, but this one was just a grand feast. The kingdom of Eloria tended to do when the past year had become too bloody...

“A peaceful kingdom.” Shadow thought to himself and scoffed.

His knights had mingled easily, drinking to their heart's content, while Rouge, naturally, had charmed a dozen nobles within minutes, but Shadow? He hadn’t moved from his place near the edge of the grand hall. He wore simple light obsidian armor, as he would receive a real one once he was older, and had a small golden crown. He stood still, silent, untouchable. The perfect weapon. The perfect wall... But that wall was bound to be pushed.

He hated this sort of thing. The laughter, the false warmth, the eyes always watching. He didn’t drink. He didn’t smile. He had no interest in dancing and he growled at anyone who got too close to him. He was only there because diplomacy demanded it... and then came King Arthur.  

Shadow noticed him before he spoke. How could he not? Even among a sea of gilded nobles and overdressed lords, Arthur stood out like wildfire in snowfall. He was young then and fresh to the crown and reckless in a way that seemed second nature for him.

Shadow watched him weave through the crowd with a goblet in hand and arrogance in every step. When their eyes finally met across the hall, Shadow regretted not fading into the darkness sooner.

And Arthur noticed him immediately... The dark king stood apart from the festivities, from anyone else he had ever seen. He didn’t speak or drink, and he barely moved. “Intriguing,” Arthur mumbled to himself. He then walked confidently, champagne in hand, crown crooked from a long day of half-faked smiles and political games. He didn’t bother fixing it. His eyes were already locked on this stranger.

Well, no… not quite a stranger. King Shadow of Blackthorne. Arthur had heard of him: the bloodline, the wars, the silence. The youngest ruler to ever seize the Obsidian Throne and hold it with an iron fist yet, here he was. Brooding at a party like some cursed prince in a fairytale.

“Well, hello there,” Arthur said, casual as summer wind, stopping a few steps away.

Shadow didn’t even glance at him, which made Arthur raise a brow, undeterred. He took a slow sip of champagne and tilted his head, studying the other king openly.  From what he could see up close now, he had a sharp jaw and presence that crackled even without a word.

“You always lurk and brood at parties,” he asked lightly, “or is tonight a special occasion?”

Shadow continued to ignore him, which only made Arthur smile, as he enjoyed the challenge.  “You must hate being here, huh? Then why attend?”

Finally... Shadow turned his head, and their eyes met. His eyes were like piercing, burning coals, and they were assessing him. His lips were etched into what seemed like a permanent frown. Arthur felt his gaze like the ghost of a blade along his throat, cold and thrilling.

"Handsome," Arthur thought, with striking features he knew would be hard to forget.

“Because it’s required,” Shadow said coldly and collected. The tone in his voice made Arthur’s ears perk up. He wanted to hear more of it.

Arthur laughed. “And you’re such a good little soldier, aren’t you?”

That earned him a more annoyed look. Shadow glared him down, then up, like a silent threat. “You speak far too freely.”

“Only around those who fascinate me,” Arthur saw the slight shift in Shadow’s stance and the twitch in his jaw like a ripple beneath the ice. He stepped closer, just enough to test the air between them, and Shadow didn’t retreat, but he didn’t soften either. So Arthur reached out, fingers grazing the barest edge of his arm that was seemingly innocent...

Shadow reacted instantly, shoving him. It wasn't too hard or violent, very much decisive, like cutting a line in stone.

Arthur stumbled back half a step, caught his balance, and grinned. “You really hate being touched, don’t you?”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “I hate presumptuous men who don’t know when to stop.”  

Arthur’s smile only widened. “That’s funny. I hate men who act like they don’t want anything.”

Shadow’s expression didn’t move, but something burned behind it. “I don’t."

“Of course you don’t,” Arthur said smoothly. “Which is why your eyes haven’t left me since you decided to finally look at me. I’m quite handsome, aren’t I? Everyone seems to think so.”

“I don’t,” Shadow repeated, irritation crossing his eyes.

“Hmm… not a King of many words... How did you even become King, being so cold like that?” Arthur teased, smiling at the game only he knew he was playing.

Shadow looked away then. “Damn him”, Shadow thought, furious with himself. “He’s insufferably loud and reckless. Smiling like the world belongs to him.” And the worst part? Shadow not only found him handsome but… beautiful.  

King Arthur was all fire and gold, with eyes like a dazzling emerald, and apparently had a mouth that never shut up. His armor was tailored to him perfectly, and he looked like no other King at the ceremony. He was like trouble wrapped in firelight, and Shadow hated that he noticed. Hated even more the way his heart stuttered when Arthur leaned in again.  

“We could trade barbs all night, but I get the feeling you’re not used to someone talking to you like this.”

“Quiet,” Shadow snapped.

"That’s a yes, then. Ah perfect… Then you’ll remember me.”

Shadow ignored him, turned around, and walked away, cloak snapping behind him. Arthur watched him go, grinning like a boy who’d stolen something valuable.

Shadow hated that he felt… unsettled, by not just his words or arrogance, but that grin and even his touch... because somewhere deep in his chest, something had stirred way back then.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The great hall of Eloria shimmered with torchlight and opulence. Banners of every kingdom draped the high walls, their crests glinting with silver and gold thread. Grand fabric spilled from every table, the air scented with spiced wine and perfumed oils.

Every Kingdom had gathered, their laughter and shallow diplomacy echoing beneath the vaulted ceilings.

This was no ordinary political function.

This was the Convergence of Kings, an ancient tradition dictated by the High Kingdoms, held once a year under strict oath. Each ruler of the realm, no matter how fractured or antagonistic their alliances, was bound by honor to attend. They would dine, drink, and dance beneath the same roof, and through it, preserve the illusion of unity.

Arthur of Camelot arrived late to the Convergence. He decided to ditch his red cloak and armor but kept his golden crown on. He wore a frock coat of indigo, heavy with golden royal embroidery on the front and cuffs, complemented by matching pants underneath.

His knights trailed behind him, boots clinking against the marble of the outer court, where banners from half the known kingdoms rippled in the afternoon light. Trumpets greeted him despite him being late.

Arthur typically got away with a lot. He strode toward the outer ring of the Battle Grounds, where Kings and other champions demonstrated might beneath open flame and scrutinizing eyes. This year would be a fight amongst the Kings.

The King’s Battle and Arthur loved that idea. Already, two Kings had taken the ring. Arthur watched with a hand on his hilt. The first challenger, a fox-lord from the Northern territory, was strong, methodical, and utterly slow.

How boring. Arthur dispatched him in under two minutes. The crowd cheered politely, but Arthur barely broke a sweat. Not one quill was unruly. His blade didn’t even taste blood. When another came forth, some stag-antlered lord from the western lands. Arthur didn’t bother to remember his name.

It was like cutting through fog. No resistance. No thrill. No fire. He was still in the ring, stretching lazily with his blade over one shoulder, when the crowd suddenly murmured, shifting like a tide.

A new challenger entered, and he was dark as obsidian yet red as a dying star and it was King Shadow.

Arthur’s smirk twitched, but he held his ground and let him take his turn.

Shadow stepped into the ring without ceremony, shedding his cloak with a single motion. His opponent, a hawk-eyed monarch from Misty Ruins, lunged with a scimitar held high. Shadow dodged and ended it in three strikes.

The next challenger lasted a measly two. The audience gasped, roaring approval. But Shadow looked like it was any other day. He wasn’t stimulated. His blade moved with precision, but his shoulders didn’t tense. His eyes didn’t light.

Without realizing he was looking for someone else and when he turned toward the edge of the ring, he found him.

Neither Arthur nor Shadow had truly been tested. That changed now.

Arthur stepped into the warm, sunny battlefield with royal grace, ready for the icy storm ahead. “Well, well,” he drawled, “look what I’ve found.”

Shadow shifted his stance, readying himself, revealing the gleam of his blade still in his hand. His red eyes now burned brighter for his flame had arrived. “You.”

“In the flesh.” Arthur moved closer like a predator, the gold embroidery of his cuffs catching the sun. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he added, stopping decently close.

Shadow’s jaw tensed, barely perceptible, but Arthur noticed because of course he did. “You haven’t been to Avalon.”

“I had my own front to manage.”

Arthur’s eyes glinted. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You weren’t needed. I just wondered why the great King of Blackthorne continues to sit them out. You usually love a good bloodbath.”

Shadow didn’t move, but there was something flinching behind his mask and it was something bitter, so he chose not to respond.

Which... only made Arthur’s grin turn more cruel so he stepped into Shadow’s space like it belonged to him. “It’s not the battles you’ve been avoiding. It’s me.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, no,” Arthur said smoothly, circling him. “I know that look. That twitch behind your eyes. You’ve been hiding.”

“I don’t hide,” Shadow snapped, spinning to face him directly.

“Then why not fight at Avalon?”

Shadow growled, already irritated, but he didn’t answer again.

Arthur laughed, filled with pride. “How pathetic.”

Shadow’s hand shot out, and he shoved Arthur back hard, sending him stumbling into one of the wooden towers with a grunt. Arthur bounced back up, his grin never faltering. He swung, but Shadow ducked. So Arthur twisted, pivoting on one heel and aiming a kick at Shadow’s thigh, and it connected with a solid thud.

Shadow grunted and retaliated with a brutal jab to Arthur’s ribs. Arthur hissed, stumbling back, but his sword was already half-drawn. They moved together like fire and ice, colliding. One was trying to melt the other while the other tried to put out the flames.

Steel rang out as their blades met, not in practiced formality, but with raw, teeth-gritting energy. Arthur’s blade slipped along Shadow’s in a dangerous arc. Shadow deflected with a sharp parry, but Arthur lunged again, his elbow clipping Shadow’s jaw.

Shadow staggered. His head turned—and when he came back around, his eyes were wild. He tackled Arthur, and they crashed to the ground, rolling through the gravel like beasts. They were fighting with fists now, not blades, and their hands were grappling, legs tangling. Arthur got the upper hand first, pinning Shadow beneath him with one hand on his throat and the other pushing down on his armored chest.

Their faces were inches apart, both panting, and Arthur's smug smile returned.

“You’re avoiding me because you don’t trust yourself around me,” he mocked, “Because you feel something. Because you can’t help it.”

Shadow’s hands shook ever so slightly against Arthur’s arms. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

Shadow threw him off with a snarl, and Arthur hit the stone wall with a harsh thud. He coughed, winded, but laughed through it and the sound only pissed Shadow off further. He crossed the distance in a blink, grabbing Arthur by the collar and slamming him back.

Arthur retaliated, catching Shadow’s wrist and spinning them both around so he was the one pressing Shadow against the wall, forearm braced across his back. Their swords had clattered to the floor some time ago, long forgotten.

Shadow growled. “You... infuriating bastard—”

Arthur’s chest heaved against Shadow’s back. One arm held him still while his right hand came up to grab his face harshly.

“And you also… infuriate me,” Arthur hissed with a cruel smile, words soaked in pretty venom, “but you’re so intriguing.”

Shadow’s rage intensified, prompting him to turn around and shove him off, this time with even more force. Arthur’s foot caught the edge of the steps, and he stumbled and collapsed into a nearby marble chair. His long coat fanned out behind him, and he sat there, panting, chest rising and falling raggedly. Sweat beaded his furred brow.

Shadow stood over him, fists still clenched, breathing erratically, and for a moment, neither spoke. Their anger crackled in the air between them, but underneath it, something else pulsed. Not hatred. Not entirely.

The bell rang, and King Shadow was deemed the winner of their battle. Shadow looked one last time at Arthur. Arthur licked the blood from his lip where his fang cut him with his eyes fixed on Shadow and the taste only made him smile wider.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Once the battle was over, Arthur found himself back in the grand hall of Eloria, where the festivities began. His knights were eating, and Arthur had already had two goblets of wine.

The revelry thundered on, but a hush swept through the eastern archway as a procession of robed figures entered the hall—tall, veiled, and adorned in jeweled circlets that shimmered like constellations.

The High Council had arrived.

Their presence shifted the mood instantly. Nobles straightened, cups were lowered, knights stood at attention, and even the music softened, as if the very strings feared plucking out of turn.

Arthur barely turned his head. He didn’t need to. He felt their stares like a cold wind across the back of his neck. One stepped forward—Lady Virella, Keeper of Balance and Peace and senior among them, with a voice like frostbitten silk. Her eyes, pale lavender, fixed on Arthur’s lounging form with poorly hidden disapproval.

“King Arthur,” she said evenly, “a word.”

He raised his cup in mock salute. “Can’t imagine what about. I’ve been nothing if not civilized tonight.”

“Please try to restrain yourself,” muttered Lancelot under his breath behind him.

Arthur stood slowly, confidence in his stride. He approached Virella with the loose elegance of a predator in no hurry, still smiling, still dangerous.

“My lady,” he said smoothly, “to what do I owe the honor?”

She didn’t waste time. “We remind you that the Convergence of Kings is sacred. A rite of peace, not a field for provocation. The Council has already sensed unrest stirring in the currents of this gathering. From you.”

He placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “Me?”

She didn’t blink. “We do not need a repeat of last year's offenses.”

“Oh no,” Arthur said, leaning down just enough to be disrespectful, “I would never.”

She ignored that remark, “Nor will you continue to drink past a rational limit.”

Arthur blinked, surprised, and looked down at his refilled goblet like he’d only just noticed it was full again. “That’s oddly specific…”

Virella narrowed her eyes. “This is your warning, King Arthur. If you disrupt the sanctity of this night—”

“I’ll be invited to another council lecture, lose support amongst other things… Yes, I am aware of the consequences.”

“Mind your tone.”

Arthur straightened, wine in one hand, mischief in the other. “I always mind it. That's how I sharpen it.”

The councilwoman gave a cool nod, stepped back, and disappeared into the crowd with the rest of her robed companions.

Arthur didn’t move at first, but the tension was thick, and His knights exhaled only once the Council had left earshot.

“…You really enjoy needling them,” Gawain muttered, breaking the silence. “They could strip you of support in a heartbeat.”

“They could try,” Arthur replied, lifting his wine again. “But they won’t. They are indebted to me. I am the main King who keeps Avalon safe. Without me, they would only suffer.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The feast continued, and the High Council left to have a meeting, and the evening was already spiraling deliciously into chaos.

Arthur sat lazily on his throne-like seat near the end of their table, goblet still in hand. His golden circlet glinted above windswept blue quills. He was every bit the regal sovereign—the warrior-king, sharp with wit, charm, and a wickedness that never quite left his eyes.

And everyone wanted a piece of him. This was typically the case... There were other kings and queens, but no one could resist King Arthur’s personality or looks.

Male and female mobians both flocked like moths to a flame. Nobles, barons, envoys, and daring courtiers swooped in with gifts and flattery, desperate for a touch, a word, a glance.

One fox duchess practically fell into King Arthur’s lap laughing. Another mobian, a dashing tiger lord named Silas of Bravens, lingered by his shoulder, pouring wine with trembling hands and moon-eyed admiration.

Arthur took it all in stride while Galahad and Gawain exchanged knowing looks over their drinks. Percival raised a brow but said nothing. Lancelot, ever the serious knight, stood just behind Arthur’s chair with his arms crossed, unimpressed but unsurprised. They’d all grown used to it. Their king was both flame and blade, magnetic, cruel, impossible not to watch, and impossible not to desire.

Arthur didn’t care for any of the flatterers. Not truly... but tonight, he knew he would see and things were different this year.

So, when Silas, bold and broad-shouldered with sea-glass eyes, offered him another deep red pour of cherry wine, Arthur smirked, looped an arm around the tiger's waist, and pulled him into his lap. The nobles near them tittered and Lancelot was thankful the High Council was gone for now.

Arthur gave no mind and cradled his wine, one leg lazily crossed, Silas perched across his thighs like a prize. He murmured something low into the tiger’s ear that made the poor lord flush to the tips of his striped ears, and that was when he felt it... The shift in the room and the tension was tightening like a drawn bowstring.

Arthur’s gaze slid to the far side of the great hall, and there he was. King Shadow, with his cold yet crimson eyes, was scanning the revelry like he couldn’t stand to be here. His stride was controlled, his shoulders broad beneath the black overlays of his armor, his knights trailing silently behind him.

Arthur’s smirk grew, and he leaned back theatrically, adjusting Silas closer to his groin. He tilted his head, watching King Shadow without shame—without subtlety and oh, he saw it...  the brief tightening of Shadow’s hands.

Arthur pressed his palm against Silas’s lower back, fingers grazing downward until they squeezed firmly over the tiger lord’s perfectly rounded backside. The tiger gave a startled little gasp, and Arthur didn’t even look at him. His eyes were locked on Shadow daring him to react.

Shadow could not stop his eyes from dropping to Arthur’s hand. To Silas. To the curved way Arthur’s fingers lingered and the deep sip he took from his cup afterward, green eyes still fixed, maddeningly, smugly, on his favorite enemy.

Shadow’s eyes twitched, just faintly. Jealousy hit him evil and brutal in the gut, and he hated how fast it came. How natural. How primitive. He should’ve looked away, should’ve ignored the way Arthur smiled at him over Silas’s shoulder like a devil made flesh. But instead, something burned behind his eyes.

Arthur licked the rim of his goblet with infuriating slowness and winked.

Shadow turned away quickly, his cloak trailing behind him as he walked away from the scene, teeth grinding and Arthur’s grin widened like a wolf baring its teeth.

“Oh, that got him,” he purred under his breath.

Lancelot stepped closer to his side. “You do know how to provoke him, my king.”

“Of course I do,” he said. “That’s the whole point.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Shadow’s boots struck the marble with controlled fury as he exited the grand hall. The noise of the crowd still rang in his ears, every drunken cheer and chiming goblet grating like steel on stone.

Arthur’s hand. Arthur’s hand on Silas. The tiger lord had flushed like a maiden at spring festival. Gaia, his gasp. Shadow had heard it from across the room, delicate and breathy, as if Arthur had wrung it from him with a single squeeze.

His hands balled into fists at his sides. It wasn’t the touch that angered him. Kings were always flirting at these ridiculous court functions… trading bodies for favor, using charm like currency.

No, what enraged Shadow… was the way Arthur had looked at him the entire time with that smug little glint in his eye. That lazy sip of wine, licking the rim like it was Shadow’s pride he was tasting. That wink.

That damn wink.

Shadow took the first corridor he could find that led to privacy, nearly ripping the curtain aside as he passed into one of the side lounges. Candlelight flickered off the dark stone walls, across a table of untouched wine bottles and fruit bowls too decorative to be eaten. He paced once... then twice. Then stood perfectly still.

“You look like someone pissed in your drink,” Rouge drawled from behind him.

He didn’t turn. “Go away.”

Rouge ignored him, as she always did, sauntering into the room like it belonged to her. She plucked a grape from the table, then poured herself half a glass of red wine, humming off-key. “So. Silas, huh?”

Shadow’s ear twitched.

Rouge grinned around her sip. “He’s got a nice ass, I’ll give Arthur that.”

Shadow didn’t reply, but his silence was its own confession.

“Ohhh no. Don’t tell me,” she said, placing her glass down and leaning against the edge of the table. “You’re jealous.”

Shadow turned, slowly. “I am not.”

“Sure and I’m the Queen of Magalith.” She folded her arms. “Face it. You’re mad because Arthur touched someone else.”

“I’m mad,” Shadow said through gritted teeth, “because he knows exactly how to provoke me.”

“Because he knows you’re into him.”

Shadow stared her down like she’d spoken treason.

Rouge raised an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that look. I’ve known you since before you could frown properly. You only get this worked up over two things: betrayal… and flirtation.”

Shadow’s fingers flexed at his sides again. “I do not like him.”

“Sweetie,” Rouge said, pouring him a glass now and handing it over. “You’d throw yourself into a lava pit if it meant dragging Arthur down with you—tongue first.”

He didn’t take the wine.

She raised it higher, shaking it slightly. “Drink.”

He sighed and relented, and the silence stretched between them as he downed the whole thing in one go.

Rouge nodded, approving. “That’s the spirit.”

Shadow’s eyes were fixed on the nearest candle, jaw still tight. “It’s not… him. It’s me.”

Rouge tilted her head. “Well, yeah. That’s kind of the problem.”

Shadow set the empty glass down harder than necessary. “I shouldn’t care.”

“But you do.”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” she interrupted, crossing the space between them and poking his chest with one perfectly manicured claw.

“And the worst part? He knows it. That smug bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. That’s why it drives you insane.”

He didn’t respond... because unfortunately, she was right. It did. Shadow hated that he wanted to go back into the hall. Hated that he could still feel Arthur’s eyes on him—cocky and maddening and utterly, irresistibly familiar... He hated how much of himself he lost every time Arthur smiled like that.

“Pour another,” he muttered.

Rouge gave him a look but obeyed, topping off his glass. “Don’t do anything stupid, you know the High Council isn’t as lax with you as they are with him.”

“I’m not going to,” Shadow said, though his voice was already rising.

“Uh huh.”

He downed the second glass and thought of Arthur’s hand... The way it mocked. Another growl built in his throat as he stalked toward the window and Rouge just leaned back against the wall, swirling her wine.

“Y’know,” she called after him, “if you just fucked him, we could all stop dancing around this stupid war-drenched foreplay.”

That was the thing, though. They did fuck and it’s why Shadow had been avoiding him and Avalon. He couldn't stop thinking about. Not that he would ever admit that to Rouge. She would never let him live it down.

Shadow paused at the archway, cloak flaring. “I hate him.”

“Sure,” she said cheerfully, raising her glass again. “But your dick doesn’t.”

He didn’t dignify it with a reply, but he didn’t pour out his wine, either.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Arthur walked away from Silas, knowing there was no use for him anymore. He smiled and had a feeling he would know where his King was.

Eventually, he found him just past a walkway, standing on a balcony overlooking the mountains beyond the Citadel wall. The moonlight hit his armor like frost and his arms were crossed, head slightly bowed, alone and unapproachable.

Arthur reached Shadow just as the latter turned to avoid him, but it was too late. “Well, well,” Arthur started, “look what I’ve found.”

“You reek of alcohol.”

Arthur hummed. “Perhaps.”

“Go away.”

“Or what?” Arthur leaned against the stone column beside him. “You going to fight me?”

“Maybe.”

“Please do."

Shadow narrowed his eyes, and Arthur could feel the alcohol a bit more, caring less about what he would say. “You really can’t control yourself around me. Too scared to face me?” Shadow immediately grabbed Arthur by the face, squeezing harshly, wanting to hurt him, but the action only made Arthur laugh. “Touching me already? That was quick. You missed me, haven’t you?”

Shadow’s jaw clenched, and he let go of Arthur, looking away. Arthur took a long sip from his cup. “I saw you watching.”

Shadow glanced at him. “I was watching you embarrass yourself.”

“Oh?” Arthur tilted his head, swirling his wine around. “Was it the tiger lord? He did have a nice rear, but it wasn’t for him, I grabbed it.”

Shadow’s ears twitched, betraying him his supposed disinterest, and Arthur stepped closer, now fully facing him. “You didn’t like it, did you?”

“I don’t care.”

“Liar. You seethed with jealousy.”

“I didn’t,” Shadow replied with annoyance.

Arthur reached out suddenly, fingers gripping Shadow’s jaw, tilting his face roughly toward him. The force of it made Shadow stiffen, eyes narrowing, but he didn’t pull away, and the golden king was close now... too close. Shadow could feel his breath slightly on his muzzle because that was how close he had let Arthur get.

Arthur's thumb brushes near the edge of his lip like a dare. “You did, and I love it.”

The bowstring’s tension snapped. Shadow shoved him back against a stone column. Arthur’s wine spilled some across his wrist from the push, yet he was grinning, always grinning.

Shadow stepped in close, chest pressed to his, both of them just slightly out of breath. “You are irritating as always."

Arthur’s hand grabbed his forearm. “Perhaps... though you’ve probably been waiting for this moment for months.”

King Shadow couldn't help the blush that formed on his dark muzzle. Damn alcohol.

There you are. Arthur’s grin widened, delighted at seeing his redden from his words and touch. “Gaia, I missed this.”

Shadow turned, ready to vanish, but Arthur stepped in front of him. “Stay,” he urged, now offering his wine. “Have a drink. You might actually enjoy yourself.”

Shadow eyed the wine like drinking it would cause his last breath. “I don’t drink.” Which was a lie because he was already feeling the effects of the alcohol from earlier. But he didn’t trust Arthur with anything.

“You don’t breathe either, apparently.” Arthur tipped it toward him. “Come on. For peace. Isn’t that what tonight’s all about?”

“For peace,” Shadow repeated mockingly. “Peace, you never actually want.”

Arthur stepped closer, the tension between them ever increasing. “I want you... to admit that you think about me outside of war.”

“Stop behaving like a fool.”

Arthur chuckled and took a sip of wine. “Only if you start behaving like a man who doesn’t want me to fuck you against the nearest stone wall.” 

Shadow's eyes widened at his boldness, and it was enough to betray his usual icy exterior. It was a crack that Arthur saw, so he smiled like a predator almost about to grab his prey, but... that was the last straw. Shadow surged forward, grabbing the front of Arthur’s coat in a fistful of gold-threaded fabric and slamming him backward into the stone wall away from the balcony. The goblet clattered to the floor, wine pooling like blood across polished stone.

The grand hall beyond them went on laughing, singing, drinking... blissfully unaware of the storm crackling where they were. Arthur hit the wall with a grunt, wind knocked from his chest, but the smirk never left his lips. “There we go,” he breathed. “Knew you were still in there somewhere.”

Shadow snarled, “You think this is a game?”

“Maybe,” Arthur said, and then shoved him back hard. Shadow stumbled one step, caught his balance, and retaliated with a swift punch to Arthur’s ribs. It wasn’t ceremonial or refined. It was brutal, intimate, a blow that left Arthur wheezing, but he cackled again, even as he doubled over. “Amazing… you hit like you want me to remember it in the morning.”

Shadow grabbed him by the collar and spun him, slamming Arthur face-first into the pillar. “You never shut your mouth.”

Arthur twisted around with a grunt, elbow jabbing backward into Shadow’s ribs, catching him just enough to make him grunt. Then, fists, an elbow, a knee, and a stumble. It became messy quickly, more of a scuffle than a duel, most likely due to both of them feeling the liquor even more now. They grappled like rivals yet wrestled like lovers. Armor shifted and cloth tore.

“Can’t keep your hands off me.” Arthur panted, fingers twisting in Shadow’s cloak, trying to drag him down to the floor with him.

“You think I want this?” Shadow spat, dodging another blow and slamming Arthur back into the pillar with his forearm across his throat.

Arthur gasped, but not in fear... in challenge. “I know you do.”

Shadow’s grip tightened, lips just inches from Arthur’s ear now. “You are the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

Arthur hissed a breath, tilting his head to murmur, “Let’s make it again.”

Shadow almost did. He almost closed that final inch... almost gave in to heat and hunger, but instead, he shoved Arthur down with a growl, stepping back like the air burned. Shadow glared, the scarlet glow of the torchlight reflecting in his eyes like fire in garnet. “You haven’t changed.”

Arthur’s lips curled with that crooked, knowing smile. “But you have.” He leaned in just a fraction, letting his eyes sweep over Shadow’s form with decadent approval. “I never thought you could look even better under moonlight.”

Shadow hated the way his blush bloomed redder, but still he blamed it on the effects of the alcohol.

“Is your restraint worth it?” Arthur goaded. “You’re surrounded by enemies, but I’m the only one you stare at.”

“You're just an irritation,” Shadow hissed.

Arthur’s smile grew sharper. “One you secretly enjoy.”

Shadow’s hand twitched to hit him again, but not before Arthur’s hand slid along his jaw with intention. He tilted Shadow’s head, just enough to trap his gaze, and the dark king could see it: Arthur’s expression was dark and wicked, but utterly sincere in the heat of it. However, it didn't stop the desire that shimmered beneath mischief... beneath madness.

“I could fuck you right here at this idiotic ceremony." Shadow surprisingly didn’t shove him, despite his words, and Arthur took advantage of that, so he leaned closer and their lips nearly brushed. “Would you let me?”

Their faces hovered just centimeters apart. The music faded into a dull roar beneath the weight of that question, and Shadow couldn’t help it. He was losing more and more control. He closed the distance, and they kissed roughly, their mouths colliding into one another. It was like their kiss at Blackthorne, except more sloppy, but still with anger.

It was short-lived, though, for as soon as Shadow heard Arthur's chuckle against his mouth, a small flash of reality hit him, trying to shake away the impending intoxicating haze around him. Shadow pushed Arthur away, and instead, he slammed him back against the wall behind them. The stone groaned under the impact. They were chest to chest now, both breathing hard, the tension thick like it usually was with them.

Shadow didn’t strike him, and Arthur noticed. “Looks like a yes.”

“You’re asking for it,” Shadow warned.

Arthur tilted his head and, using a great deal of strength, spun Shadow around and pinned him against the stone wall with his right arm. “When haven’t I?”

Shadow didn’t respond, and Arthur's other hand dropped, gripping his hip, then slid lower. Shadow growled but couldn’t stop the warmth rushing through him.

"Still want me to stop?" Arthur whispered.

Shadow groaned, hating that he enjoyed his touch, his hands bracing against the stone, but now he was letting his desire overtake him. Arthur leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "I’ll take your silence as a no," Shadow growled, but Arthur didn’t stop. "You came to this hall knowing you’d want me. Probably got hard from the moment you laid your eyes on me. You know you can’t deny this. You never could."

"I came out of requirement, not to be pawed at by a drunken tyrant," Shadow snapped, though it lacked bite, too hoarse, too close to a moan.

Arthur’s hand slid lower, squeezing Shadow’s hip possessively. "Then walk away. Push me off. You could before at your castle… You could right now..."

Shadow’s teeth grit, claws flexing against the wall. Arthur kept one arm firmly pinning him from behind, keeping his cloak to the side, while his other hand explored, fingers pressing against Shadow's hip, rolling, squeezing, and venturing into new territory. Arthur traced the curve of Shadow’s back, softly over his black and red fur just underneath his armor, sending shivers up the dark king's spine. Arthur was thankful Shadow was only wearing his top armor and cloak. It made for much easier access. He moved ever so slowly down, toward his ass, inching closer to what he really wanted. What he assumed no one else had ever conquered before.

Then, Arthur began teasing the outer edge of Shadow’s entrance, making him still from the intrusion. He couldn’t believe what was happening, and some part of him was angry, but Arthur's touch was undeniably satisfying. His mind screamed to leave, to fight back, but his body betrayed him, rooted in place.

"You are vile," Shadow managed, though now his speech was slurred.

"Yet you haven’t moved," Arthur breathed. He could tell he was getting tipsy, too. Then Arthur eased a finger inside, and Shadow clenched around him, hating the intrusion but also loving it. He could feel Arthur’s desire, the solid press of his chest, the unmistakable want growing harder between them. He could feel his dick near his ass, and it pissed him off even more that the thought of it inside him not only crossed his mind, but he only got hornier thinking of it.

A growl tore from Shadow’s throat, and Arthur smiled against his neck. "You like how I feel, don’t you?"

"No."

"Another lie."

Shadow let out a shuddering breath, his anger tangled now with something far more dangerous. His body ached despite his pride, his judgment, his damn dignity. Arthur’s fingers kept pushing inside Shadow, adding another finger in. He kept it slow but confident. Perhaps the position they were in helped Shadow let go, not seeing Arthur at the moment, just feeling him.

"You’re shaking with need," Arthur couldn't help himself. "Is it still rage, or something else?"

Shadow turned his face, baring his fangs. "You think I’m weak enough to melt under your hands?"

"No. I know you’re strong enough to take it."

That made Shadow falter, and Arthur’s other hand, which was pinning him, slid down towards his front, this time gripping Shadow’s length, already unsheathing from arousal. Arthur stimulated the area more until his cock was completely out. The golden king's touch was bolder now, making Shadow jerk with a half-swallowed sound. The audacity of it, the heat of it, the nerve… but still he didn’t shove him off.

Arthur chuckled darkly. "No armor here. Just you and me."

Shadow’s breath was hot and uneven. "You’re a bastard."

"And you’re letting a bastard touch you like this," Arthur purred, pushing his hips forward just enough to make Shadow’s head snap back in a warning snarl.

What was left of Shadow’s mind pushed Arthur off. They fought again, but barely, if it could even be called that, not with blades, but with bodies. Shadow shoved him, and Arthur dragged him back. They crashed against another pillar until finally landing near the wall again. "You make me sick."

Arthur’s lips brushed his jaw, "Hmm… you’re aroused."

Shadow pinned Arthur against the wall this time but Arthur grabbed his hand, feeling hazy from his own alcohol, and put it on his dick. “I’m hard for you,” he admitted. He was caring less and less about fighting and more and more about needing, and Gaia, did he want to feel Shadow around him. He knew Shadow needed more coaxing, so he let down his pride just a tad more. “Feel it?” He made Shadow’s hand squeeze his cock through his pants. “This is what you do to me.”

Shadow felt a stir inside him, his desire only increasing at Arthur's words. His body reacted instinctively, his exposed cock twitched in excitement, his face flushed from Arthur’s admission and Gaia did his head only swirl at the promise of what was to come.

"Get on your knees," Arthur ordered, despite being slurred.

Shadow blinked, taken aback by the demand. "What?" 

"Let me feel you." Arthur's eyes were hazy but still held a commanding presence.

Before Shadow could process the request, Arthur nudged his shin with enough force to unbalance him. Shadow fell to his knees, staring up at Arthur with irritation and arousal. Arthur reached down, fingers firm as they guided Shadow's face closer to where he wanted him. He unzipped his own pants and bunched his coat out of the way.

He looked down at Shadow with such desire that his emerald eyes were practically melting. Despite the dark king's anger, the alcohol and arousal weren't just simmering beneath the surface. The heat of desire was indisputable. Shadow couldn’t help it, feeling more drunk and seeing Arthur’s cock so up close, so hard, needy, and leaking…

He leaned in, closing the gap, letting his lips brush against Arthur’s cock. The sensation sent a tremor of ache down both of them. This was entirely new. Shadow had never done this, and Arthur never thought in a million years he could get this, and damn did Shadow look fucking gorgeous on his knees. It was driving what little mental stability Arthur had crazy. He wanted to burn the image into his mind forever, and he was worried he would forget it.

The moment Shadow licked the tip. Arthur let out a low moan, unrestrained. The sound was absolute heaven in Shadow’s ears. Shadow took Arthur just slightly more, feeling the girth of him, the hunger. He couldn’t help but enjoy each moan that came out of his mouth. Despite this humiliating position, in a way, he felt some control over Arthur's pleasure. He enjoyed that. It was because of him. Shadow was the one causing such sweet, sinful noises from Arthur’s irritating but pretty mouth. He only wished the golden king would learn to shut the fuck up and only sound like this when they were together.

So, he teased him. Shadow licked and sucked, but never went too deep, never went too fast. Arthur's hands found their way into Shadow's quills, fingers tangling in dark strands, holding him steady. But Shadow didn't pick up the pace, didn't go any deeper, and Arthur was impatient. He hated being teased, and he was never one to wait.

Arthur, wanting more, grabbed Shadow's head to push in deeper, testing the limits, and at first, Shadow let him have some control, but the moment Arthur got too greedy and tried to push it down his throat, Shadow bit down slightly, a reminder of his own will.

The sharpness pulled Arthur back, a hiss escaping his lips as he withdrew. His mind might be muddled, but his body responded to that. Arthur shoved him off and swung. It connected but barely. A small blow to Shadow’s jaw that turned his head. “You fucking bit me,” Arthur growled.

Shadow growled back. “Thought you liked pain.”

They tangled again with fists, boots, and breathless grapples. It was messier now. They were barely landing any hits... until finally Shadow’s knee knocked Arthur’s leg out from under him, and he stumbled back, crashing into a padded stone bench with a grunt.

Arthur slumped down, legs wide, as he caught his breath, and across from him, Shadow stood panting, chest rising like he’d just run from a warfront. A trickle of blood curled down his lip. His cloak hung crooked from one shoulder. His eyes.. Gaia, those eyes were wild and drunk and aroused.

Arthur looked up at him with a crooked smile and wine-drenched arrogance. “You’re terrible at this... All heat with no aim, there is barely any fight left.”

Shadow didn’t answer, but he didn’t leave either. His eyes moved to Arthur’s parted lips, then down to his exposed cock. His heaving chest rose beneath layers of indigo and gold velvet.

“Come on then,” Arthur slurred, patting his lap. “You’re thinking about it. Been thinking about it since you saw the tiger on my lap.”

Shadow hesitated. He hated that he was thinking about it. The wine buzzed through him, dulling his rage but sharpening his hunger. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the alcohol or arousal that made him want him. Arthur, the damn bastard, looked glorious with his crown askew, and his smile like sin itself. Shadow hated even more how often he thought of that mouth on his.

Arthur knew he needed the extra push. “Come here. Let me be your throne. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Shadow sighed, tossed his restraint, and walked toward him.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow, a sloppy smirk playing on his lips as he looked at Shadow standing before him. He was surprised that his provocative comment had worked, but then again, what king doesn't love a good throne? Especially one who was about to fuck the man standing before him into oblivion.

Shadow swayed slightly, the alcohol coursing through his veins, but his eyes were fixed on Arthur. There was a hunger in them, a desire that he couldn't hide behind his usual stoic facade. Arthur, triumphant and shameless, reached out and grabbed him, pulling him into his lap in one swift motion. Shadow hissed, but it was half-hearted; his hands gripped Arthur’s shoulders, but he didn’t resist. Whether he was bracing himself or preparing to strike, neither of them knew, nor did they care in that frenzied moment.

Arthur leaned in, his breath hot on Shadow’s ear. “Admit it. You hated Silas in my lap, didn't you?” He could help but ask again. He really wanted to hear the truth.

Shadow tensed, his grip tightening on Arthur’s shoulders. He looked at him, and his inhibitions were practically gone. “Yes... I hated it.” The jealousy in his voice was evident, and it was honest emotion that sent a thrill through Arthur’s hazy state.

Arthur chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound. “Good." His hands slid up Shadow’s thighs, and his thumbs circled closer to his groin. “Because I never wanted him. Just you.”

Their faces were inches apart and there were so many more things they could say, but they didn’t. Arthur didn’t press for more, and Shadow didn’t care right now about the consequences of what was to come between them.

So, finally, a real kiss came. It was messy and intense but... there was desire beyond lust now. Shadow bit down on Arthur’s bottom lip and immediately sucked it right after, causing Arthur to moan into his mouth. It wasn’t just teeth clashing, tongues battling like before. The two kings were giving in to each other more. It was desperate, full of need and want.

Shadow moaned into the kiss when Arthur invaded his mouth. He felt lost as his body pressed more against Arthur’s.

Arthur’s hands roamed, one sliding around his waist, the other boldly, shamelessly grabbing his ass, kneading and squeezing. Shadow welcomed the touch, the contact sparking something hot in his gut. Arthur pulled back, his eyes raking over Shadow, hungry and intense. “Ride me."

Shadow hesitated, a tiny self-aware part of his mind screaming at him to stop, to pull back, to resist, but his body was telling him yes, urging him on, begging for more. He was too horny, too drunk, too lost in the moment to do anything but comply. Maybe he would regret this later, but right now, he didn’t care. Slowly, he lowered himself onto Arthur’s cock, his rear already slick and prepared from Arthur’s earlier teasing. Arthur’s dick was wet from Shadow’s mouth, and they both groaned at the sensation of their bodies joining.

Shadow wasn’t necessarily a virgin. He had been with others, male or female, as Arthur wasn’t the only one who others flocked to. King Shadow was incredibly handsome, strong, and skilled. Who wouldn’t want him?

But this was new. He had never let anyone inside of him, a tease sure a finger maybe but someone’s dick? Let alone the last man he ever thought he would let inside.

Once Arthur was fully inside, they both looked at each other hazily. The anger never fully left. There was still a small part of their personalities there, but they couldn’t think straight anymore.

Shadow began to move, rolling his hips on Arthur’s cock. That was both punishment and pleasure. Arthur gripped his hips, his head falling back against the wall behind the bench, a guttural moan escaping his lips.

“Fuck, Shadow,” he rasped. “You feel incredible.” Arthur meant it and could tell he was fucked because he was already addicted to the feeling of Shadow around him. Shadow leaned forward, his hands tightening on Arthur’s shoulders, his body moving with a feral grace despite being a little dizzy.

“Shut up,” he growled, but there was no heat in his words, only desperation, only need.

Arthur’s hands roamed over Shadow’s body, touching, squeezing, possessing. “Never,” he panted, his hips lifting to meet Shadow’s movements. The room filled with the sounds of their fucking, the raw, sensual noises that spoke of years of repressed need and desire. Both were grunting, and their breaths were coming in ragged gasps.

What was left of Arthur’s mind was admiring just how beautiful Shadow looked. Crimson eyes half lidded, mouth open from moaning, strong dark body riding on top of him. It truly felt like impossible was happening, and Arthur loved every second. He was in heaven. Happy drunk heaven.

Arthur reached up, his hands tangling in Shadow’s quills, pulling him down into another fierce kiss unable to help himself. Shadow really just looked so damn pretty taking his cock so well. The kiss was wet and hungry, both moaning without a care in the world, every time Shadow would come down, Arthur would meet up, making them both groan at the same time. The kiss was more erotic and possessive. Like, no matter how they felt for each other, one thing was clear. They both felt the need to claim the other.

Shadow pulled back, his eyes wild, his body moving faster, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was driving Arthur mad. “Touch me, you idiot,” he slurred, with a commanding tone.

Arthur complied, his hand wrapping around Shadow’s dick, pumping in rhythm to his movements. Shadow’s pace quickened, his body chasing release, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. “F-Fuck…”

“You sound so good, taking my cock so well…”

“Fuck y-you,” Shadow groaned though there was no bite.

Arthur met him thrust for thrust, one hand gripping the dark king's hips, tightening, his body tensing. Shadow sank his teeth into Arthur’s shoulder, eliciting a low, drawn-out moan from Arthur.

"I hate you," Shadow grumbled, roughly filled with a mix of emotions.

"I hate you too," Arthur replied, laced with a similar intensity.

Each movement, each thrust, touch, kiss, suck, bite was overwhelming their senses. They were losing themselves in the moment, their minds clouded by the intense pleasure coursing through their bodies, making it impossible to think of anything else.

“F-Fuck,” Arthur groaned, his words a plea and a demand all at once. “I’m going to-” He couldn't hold back, and his body shuddered, his release filling up Shadow’s hole. The dark king followed soon after, his body convulsing above Arthur’s hips, his grip on his shoulder’s bruising, his cum making a mess on Arthur’s shirt.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies pressed together, tangled and flushed. The wine still hummed in their veins, but the urgency had passed, replaced by a silence far more dangerous.

Shadow's breath was warm against Arthur’s neck. His gloves had been discarded somewhere on the floor. Arthur’s coat hung open, his quills an erratic mess. The only sounds were their breaths, shallow and uneven, and the distant hum of noise leaking from the grand hall.

Then Shadow shifted, pulling back slightly to look at Arthur. He looked spent but also different... unarmored. He seemed soft in a way Shadow had never seen before.

Arthur studied him in return, something unreadable moving behind his smile, and then he traced the edge of Shadow’s jaw with a finger. “So... did you miss me?”

Shadow looked away, unsure of what to say, considering... what the hell he just let happen. Again.

Arthur pressed closer, the question blooming between them like a dare. “Come back to Avalon... Come fight with me.”

Shadow still didn’t answer, and instead, his hand lifted to touch Arthur’s face, or shove him off; it was hard to tell.

But then there were footsteps. They both froze, and whatever moment they were about to have was gone. A gaunt man in a stiff gold-hemmed robe came in, eyes darting... Only to stop dead, and his mouth parted in horror.

Shadow was still straddling Arthur on the chair, their legs a tangled mess of royal insignia and battle-worn boots. The air still smelled faintly of sweat, wine, and sin.

“Wh-what in the name of—!”

Arthur didn’t even look fazed, and Shadow turned to glare.

The councilor fumbled for some scrap of dignity. “This is highly inappropriate, I—I should report—”

“Should you?” Arthur countered dangerously.

The man stiffened while Shadow rose with all the menace of a rising storm, cloak sweeping around his shoulders like wings.“You didn’t see anything,” he said coldly, and the threat in his voice was unmistakable.

They barely had to say anything more. The man paled and was filled with fear. “I—of course,” he stammered, bowing slightly, trying not to look at the fresh bruises blooming along Arthur’s collarbone or the... slickness they had on their clothes. “B-But you are both… r-required. An a-announcement. It couldn’t wait.”

Arthur sighed, stretching with feline satisfaction as he straightened his coat and zipped up his pants. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

The councilor cleared his throat, desperate to look anywhere but at them, and led them to the other councilors. Virella, looking at them with judgment, continues her speech. Both Arthur and Shadow sobered up a bit from the shock, but also, after enough time, fighting and sex occurred for their energies to burn off the alcohol.

“There’s been movement in the heart of Avalon. The beasts... they’ve grown restless and are unending.”

Shadow’s brow furrowed, and Arthur already knew this. He and the knights were worried about this, too. “And?”

“We believe we’ve found the source.” A male councilor trembled as he spoke. “A node of corruption buried beneath the old catacombs of Avalon. Something ancient. It’s not just leaking magic. It’s… as if it is birthing them.”

Arthur’s smirk faded, but Virella continued. “It requires power. United. The High Kingdom believes it will take more than Camelot’s magic or Blackthorne’s alone. We need both of you... together.”

Arthur’s grin returned, slow but smug. “Oh, how convenient. You mean to tell me... that after everything, after this,” he gestured vaguely between him and Shadow, “you want us to march into hell hand-in-hand?”

Shadow looked at him. “Don’t—”

“I think the High Kingdom’s conspiring for our marriage next.”

“I swear to Gaia, Arthur—” But Arthur was already laughing, being his utterly infuriating self, and Shadow moved away from him, cursing under his breath. “You planned this! I knew you’d drag me back into Avalon's mess.”

Arthur leaned against the edge of the wall of the grand hall, watching him with a smug, knowing look. “I have no power in this. We cannot defy the High Kingdom. We all have to protect Avalon as Kings. Besides...” He closed in. He may be a bit sluggish, but enough of his mind was back to tease, “You didn’t seem to mind being dragged earlier.”

Shadow’s blush reached his ears. “I hate you.”

“You’ve said that before yet...” but before Arthur could finish, Shadow stormed out, with a growl, nearly knocking the councilor aside on his way through the door. Arthur remained, basking in the warm aftermath, fur slick and lips still swollen from stolen heat.

He gave a contented sigh, then turned to the flustered councilman. “Bring us wine at the briefing. I think we’ll need it.”

Chapter Text

They had been riding for three days.

Three days since the High Council had summoned every king to silence with a single phrase, “The heart of Avalon is dying.”

Arthur thought they were being dramatic, but things were even worse since he had last been here. Weeks since Arthur had stood side by side with Shadow, at the Convergence of Kings, and heard that it would take both of them to stop whatever foul force had taken root in the land.

He hadn’t spoken to Shadow since. Not properly. Not beyond clipped orders, curt glances. Not beyond the brief brush of hands when they’d both reached for the same war map.

Now, they rode at the head of two combined kingdoms. Camelot’s finest knights on one side, Blackthorne’s grim elite on the other. Arthur’s golden armor gleamed despite the sludge. Shadow’s blackened steel drank in the darkness. The contrast made the woods seem even more cursed.

Behind Arthur rode Lancelot, Galahad, and Percival, ever determined. Behind Shadow, the infamous Rogue, her violet cloak rippling like blood in the wind, and a dozen of Shadow’s dark-armored knights.

Arthur didn’t know their names, but he recognized their eyes, cold and stoic. Just like Shadow.

The silence broke when they crested a moss-covered hill and saw the ruins. Black stone jutting like broken teeth from the land. An ancient temple, swallowed by vines and rotted trees, the mouth of it yawning open with unnatural darkness.

“It’s worse than the scouts said,” Rogue muttered, drawing up beside Shadow.

“I can smell it,” Percival said grimly. “Magic gone foul.”

“Corruption has overtaken this place,” Galahad added, brow furrowed. “It was sacred, once.”

“This has been Avalon as of late,” Lancelot said darkly, hand resting on his sword handle. “What’s holy becomes haunted.”

Arthur dismounted in one smooth motion. His boots landed in wet earth, the mud sucking like hungry mouths. He strode forward toward the entrance of the temple, and Shadow, of course, was already there.

They stood side by side, yet not together.

“Don’t get in my way,” Shadow said curtly.

Arthur arched a brow and immediately countered, “Don’t beg me to save you.”

Shadow glared at him. “Nonsense. You try not to die. I don’t want to explain your stupidity to your council.”

Arthur smirked. “If anyone’s dying first, it’s the one dressed like a funeral.”

Then they stepped into the darkness together.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

They were now inside the cavern. The stale air was thick with the copper tang of blood long dried. Then came the mutters of nonsense… it was unworldly.

The monsters crawled out of the walls. They were pale things with too many limbs and hollow eyes, their bodies etched with runes that bled smoke. Runes that were obviously giving them power, and the knights fell into formation instinctively.

“Behind me!” Arthur barked.

“Hold the flank!” Shadow commanded.

Just like that, they were fighting side by side, but not together.

Arthur surged ahead, and cut a beast down with a roar, another with a spin of sheer fury. Shadow was colder and crueler with every strike precise. His chaos spears erupted from the floor, skewering three monsters at once. A fourth lunged, and he spun with a sweeping kick that shattered its ribs.

They moved fast and efficiently. Both kings were beautiful, terrible, and terrifying. But not in sync. Arthur sliced a monster and got close to Shadow’s cloak, and cut part of it off. Shadow redirected a monster that tackled Arthur instead.

“You fight recklessly,” Shadow snapped.

“And you fight like you’re scared to bleed,” Arthur shot back, slashing through another foe. “Come on then, Your Grimness… try to keep up.”

“Try not to get impaled and call it strategy,” Shadow snarled.

Behind them, their knights were faring well. They were making progress... until the wrong kind of clang echoed behind them.

A storage container from Shadow’s supply caravan, one of the iron-sealed crates only his soldiers were permitted to access, rattled ominously before it burst open with a loud BANG and a cloud of glittering confetti. Out tumbled a blue blur in mismatched silks and a crooked jester hat, coughing dramatically and brushing dust from his gloved fingers.

“Ugh gross! Do you know how cramped it is in there?” the jester groaned, then blinked up at the battle around him. “Wait. Are we... oh. Oh no. Is this the Avalon?”

Everyone froze, well, except the monsters, who kept charging.

“...What the hell,” Arthur muttered, eyes narrowing at the newcomer.

King Shadow turned, and his face immediately twisted into absolute rage. “Sonic?!”

The jester perked up. “King Shadow! Hiya! Fancy meeting you here.”

“You—” Shadow snarled, as he stalked toward him, fists clenched. “You were supposed to be in the dungeons!”

“I was,” Sonic replied with a sheepish smile. “But they were super drafty, and kind of boring, and there was like a lot of screaming. Not the fun kind.”

Arthur was surprised. “Wait. You know him?”

Shadow didn’t even glance his way. His eyes bore holes into Sonic’s. “How the hell did you get out?”

Sonic shrugged, lifting his hands. “Okay, so… technically, I was gonna flee. Rogue, let me out… Hey, thanks again for that, by the way, doll!”

Rouge groaned and rubbed her temple. “I told him to run, not stow away like a goblin in a crate!”

“But then you all started prepping for battle,” Sonic continued, “and I panicked, so I dove into the nearest box. Didn’t realize it was full of death swords and war scrolls.” He looked around. “Or that it was heading directly to a monster-infested hell zone. Talk about... bad timing.”

Arthur blinked slowly. “Who is he?”

“My jester,” Shadow growled, “and an imprisoned traitor.”

Sonic made a face. “Traitor’s such a heavy word. I prefer ‘misunderstood actor with a penchant for mischief.’”

Arthur turned to Shadow, incredulous. “You keep that as a jester?”

“He’s useful for diplomatic events. He keeps nobles distracted,” Rouge muttered. “When he’s not seducing them or breaking into vaults.”

Sonic waggled his fingers at her. “Guilty on both counts.”

Arthur groaned, rubbing his temple as another monster exploded near the front line. “We are in the middle of a battle, and you brought a fool?”

“I didn’t bring him!” Shadow countered. “He snuck in! And when this is over, I’ll make sure he regrets it.”

Before Sonic could say another word, Shadow’s hand shot forward, snatching the jester by the back of his collar and lifting him clean off the ground. Sonic let out a surprised wheeze, legs dangling, bells jingling faintly with the motion.

“Whoa—Shadow! This is very aggressive flirting,” Sonic managed with a lopsided grin, one hand grabbing Shadow’s wrist, the other reaching up to dramatically brush his dark muzzle. “You trying to sweep me off my feet again?”

Shadow growled darkly, “You absolute idiot! You could’ve gotten yourself killed. Or worse—distracted me.”

From a few paces away, Arthur paused mid-command, as he took in the scene. The way Shadow’s grip tightened possessively, the way Sonic leaned in rather than pulled back, smirking even as he dangled like a cat caught stealing pies. Then he saw Sonic’s hand, lightly pressing against Shadow’s face, thumb brushing across dark fur with infuriating familiarity.

Arthur’s expression darkened with something unfamiliar. It felt like anger or something worse… something he would never want to admit. “…They’ve done this before,” he muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, Sonic was still hanging cheerily in Shadow’s grip. “Aw, so you do care,” he teased, batting his green eyes. “That's sweet. You missed me, didn’t you? I could always be around you if you just stopped throwing me into your dungeon!”

Shadow’s eye twitched, “I don’t care. That’s it, I'm feeding you to one of the monsters, it’s about time I get rid of you.”

As he was about to throw Sonic into the belly of the beast, Arthur stepped between them before Shadow could launch him across the battlefield. “We don’t have time for this. We’re being flanked.”

Shadow yelled to disagree, but Arthur stopped him, sighing and shaking away any thoughts from before. “I’m not letting him run around without protection.” He turned, pointing to his best knight. “Lancelot.”

Lancelot straightened immediately. “Yes, my king?”

“Protect the jester. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

Lancelot glanced at Sonic, still held up in Shadow’s hand, and nodded tightly. “Understood.”

Shadow threw him down with a growl, glaring at Rouge and Arthur on his way back into the fray. “We will talk about this later.”

Sonic gave a mock bow, looking at Lancelot. “Oh, charming…. Pleased to meet ya, Sir Knight.”

“I can’t believe I let you out and this happened…,” Rouge muttered under her breath to Sonic.

Sonic gave Lancelot a grin. “So! What’s the plan? Hit stuff, stay alive, look good?”

“You stay behind me,” Lancelot said curtly, twisting his blade.

Sonic winked. “Now that sounds familiar.”

Arthur and Shadow exchanged one last look before charging forward again, side by side, fire and fury in their wake.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Your kingdom is unhinged.”

“And you’re still losing to it,” Shadow shot back.

Behind them, Sonic laughed a bit maniacally, and the battle thundered on.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

A more resounding roar shattered the air, louder than the rest. A hulking figure lumbered from the far shadows, ten feet tall, its flesh stitched from the dead, its eyes silver, and both kings turned.

“Yours?” Arthur asked without thinking too hard about it.

“I’ll take care of it,” Shadow replied.

This time, they didn’t argue and charged together. Arthur went high, Shadow low. Shadow feinted left, Arthur struck from the right. Their blades found rhythm. They weren’t perfect, but deadly. One distracted, the other killed as they moved with an unspoken truce.

Shadow caught Arthur’s eye once mid-fight, brief, and the golden king winked, making him nearly growl, but didn’t miss his cue.

In a final flourish, Arthur vaulted off a broken column and brought his blade down through the monster’s skull, just as Shadow’s chaos spear pierced its chest from beneath. The creature shrieked and crumpled, twitching once before it stilled, and silence returned.

The knights were panting, bloodied but victorious. The ground was littered with steaming corpses.

Arthur wiped his blade and looked at Shadow, chest rising and falling. “That went well.”

Shadow didn’t answer at first. His quills were misshapen, his dark muzzle flushed, and his cloak torn. His crimson eyes met Arthur’s, and something passed between them. A flicker of camaraderie.

“…We fight better when we stop trying to kill each other,” Shadow muttered.

Arthur smiled and it was more honest than his usual ones. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

Shadow rolled his eyes and turned away. “Don’t make me regret this alliance.”

“Too late for that,” Arthur said, following him. They were getting deeper to the heart of the temple. “You regretted it the moment I smiled at you.”

“And you haven’t stopped since.”

“Because I know it bothers you.”

Shadow didn’t reply, but he didn’t walk faster either.

They eventually reached the next area.

The inner sanctum of the temple was alive with dark magic, black and pulsing, with veins that ran like rot through the ancient stone, converging at the center of a massive cavern. The air was suffocating, thick with mold and death.

It smelled and looked disgusting. It was all horrid. The knights formed a ring around the core, blades drawn, and some who knew magic had spells readied.

Something shifted beneath the water. Something was wrong... and then it rose.

A monstrous beast erupted from the depths, towering nearly thirty feet high, its body stitched together from bone and armored with obsidian plates etched in cursed glyphs that shimmered with malevolence. Its jaw split open too wide, jagged teeth that were made of blades. Like teeth and steel fused together, probably from previous knights and kingdoms that were unfortunate enough to be down here in the past.

“Oh, lovely,” Rouge muttered, with three daggers already in hand. “That’s definitely not in the scriptures.”

“It’s feeding from the temple’s core,” Galahad said. “We need to sever the magic.”

“Not until it’s dead!” Arthur shouted, already charging in. He held up Excalibur, and his eyes were fierce with purpose.

Shadow swore under his breath. “Arthur, don’t—!”

But Arthur didn’t wait. His blade struck the creature’s leg with a strong force, searing through the bone. The monster reeled, shrieked, but retaliated with speed. One of its limbs swept across the cavern, sending Arthur flying into a pillar.

“King Arthur!” Lancelot yelled, bolting after him.

Meanwhile, Sonic, who had crept too close in his panic to help, scrambled forward. “Wait—I can—!”

“No—Sonic, get back!” Rouge shouted, too late.

The jester dove in, spinning fast, aiming for the monster’s eyes. He struck one, barely, causing the beast to snarl in pain, but it turned its attention to him next. A claw slammed down and Lancelot barely intercepted it, blade locking with the beast’s talons. “Get behind me!”

“I was trying to help—!” Sonic protested.

“You almost got yourself killed!”

The beast slammed down another limb, faster this time, and Lancelot pushed Sonic aside, barely avoiding the full brunt. The attack landed a hit on his shoulder with a sickening crunch, making him stumble and grit his teeth.

“Lancelot!” Arthur called out bloodied but rising, charged again, and this time with a purpose to defend them both. He threw himself in front of them just as the monster reared back its tail, spiked, serpentine, laced with poison. The strike came down and pierced Arthur’s side. He didn’t scream and instead, slashed through the tail as it withdrew.

However soon after his body buckled and a large chunk of his armor cracked and fell away. His blood spilled onto the stone underneath him.

The beast shrieked one last time before it collapsed, slain by a barrage of attacks. Rouge’s exploding daggers, Percival’s fire blasts, and Shadow’s chaos spears skewering its heart, but the area quieted only when Arthur hit the ground.

“No!” Lancelot walked to him, ignoring his own injuries.

Sonic hovered nearby, feeling guilty “I didn’t mean… I was just trying to—”

“Shut up.” Shadow’s demanded with fury. He was already beside Arthur, kneeling over the king’s motionless form. His hands pressed against the bleeding wound, lips curled in fury. “You reckless, stubborn bastard.”

Arthur coughed weakly but conscious. The poison was seeping into him further. “You’re one to talk.”

“You let the jester stay on a battlefield,” Shadow snarled. “Of all the idiotic things—”

“He’s your jester! Besides, I told Lancelot to protect him,” Arthur hissed, glancing toward Lancelot, who was still shielding Sonic.

“He got in the way,” Lancelot muttered. “Nearly cost us all—”

Sonic flinched, eyes wide with guilt, guilt he wasn’t used to having.

Shadow’s rage simmered, but something else crept in behind it. There was also a feeling of responsibility. He looked down at Arthur, his hand ready and glowing red.

“Don’t,” Arthur said, recognizing that look, “Save it—use it on yourself—”

“You don’t get to die here,” Shadow spat and chaos energy burst from his palm, flooding into Arthur’s body. It was fiery, violent, more than necessary. White light wrapped around the wound, sealing flesh and bone, mending torn organs.

Arthur gripped Shadow’s wrist, trying to stop him. “Too much—Shadow—!”

“I don’t care!” The dark king snapped back. “You’re mine to kill, not this cursed thing’s.”His energy flared brighter, dangerously unstable, Shadow used more than usual knowing he needed to rid of the poison too.

“Stop him!” Rouge shouted. “He’s burning himself out!”

But it was too late and Arthur gasped as the wound closed entirely, scarred, but sealed. His vision cleared, and his strength returned... Just in time to catch Shadow as he slumped forward, collapsing into his arms.

“Shadow?” Arthur rasped feeling a worry he wasn’t used to. He eased him down, brushing aside his chest plate, only to find blood, from a wound Shadow had never healed. He must have gotten it earlier…”Idiot,” he whispered bitterly.

Sonic watched and his eyes were shimmering with regret. “I didn’t mean to… I thought I could help,” he murmured.

“You almost got him killed,” Lancelot said coldly. He glanced at Arthur, then at Shadow’s still body.

Rouge crouched beside them, her expression tight. “He’s not dead, just drained. That injury would’ve killed a lesser man.”

Arthur looked down at Shadow’s face, softened now in unconsciousness. Then he glanced back at Sonic. “…I know you didn’t mean for any of this,” Arthur said, forcing himself to be calm, “Let’s all go back to Camelot.”

Sonic swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Arthur wanted to yell at Sonic, truly but the fool looked guilty enough, and no one died. He looked back at Shadow and rested his hand lightly over his chest.

“…Can’t believe you,” Arthur’s words were barely audible and beneath the blood and the silence, the temple pulsed with slow, fading magic. 

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The journey back was a blur. Shadow drifted in and out of consciousness, his black fur fever-warm, his breath shallow. Arthur held him close atop his steed, his knights riding beside him in tight formation.

He didn’t speak once. Not until they reached Camelot’s gates. He swept through the halls like a storm, shouting for the royal physician, demanding the cleanest linens, the most potent salves. He set Shadow down on his own bed, peeling off the black armor with gentle fingers. The wound had worsened during travel but it was still healing from the remnants of his chaos energy. Though it was agonizingly slow.

The physician worked in silence, but when they were done, they bowed and said, “He’ll recover, sire.”

Arthur dismissed everyone once Shadow stabilized. He stood alone in his chambers, watching Shadow sleep, one hand curled against his chest, his brows still furrowed in pain, even unconscious.

Arthur sat beside the bed, hands folded, armor scratched and blood-streaked. He watched the rise and fall of Shadow’s chest.

“…You’re such a bastard,” Arthur murmured with irritation. “I didn’t ask you to save me.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Just down the corridor, Sonic sat on the lip of a windowsill in one of Camelot’s inner courtyards, the soft sound of rain just audible through the open arch. His jester’s outfit was torn, spattered with dirt and dried blood, the bells long silenced by grime. He was curled in a loose half-hug, arms around his knees, blue quills a mess, ears drooping.

Lancelot stood a few paces away, arms crossed, and eyes still tense behind his helm. His shoulder had already been healed somewhat, enough for it to stop bleeding from their healers. He hadn't said a word since they'd arrived back.

“You shouldn’t have been there,” he said at last.

Sonic looked away. “Yeah, well. After being in the dungeon for a little too long, Rouge felt bad... well, and my incessant chatter.”

Lancelot’s expression slightly softened. “You should’ve run.”

“I did run,” Sonic said, then gestured vaguely. “Just... in the wrong direction, I guess.”

“You almost got yourself killed.”

“I know.” Sonic said sounding somber. “And about your king... I didn’t mean to get in the way. I was just trying to—”

“Help?” Lancelot interrupted.

Sonic nodded. “…Yeah.”

Lancelot was quiet again, the rain filling the silence between them. Sonic finally looked up, guilt dark in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to be part of a fight. I was trying to get out of a cell and then all this chaos," he paused, mouth twitching at the irony, “heh no pun intended… happened, and… I didn’t want to just stand there.”

After a long pause Lancelot let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly. He was still furious, but he felt bad too. He couldn’t help but have sympathy for the jester.

“You’re odd,” he said, quieter now.

Sonic rolled his eyes. “That’s your knightly way of calling me a disaster?”

“Perhaps.” Lancelot reached up and pushed his helm away, needing some air on his face.

Sonic watched, eyes wide, unable to help himself but see... the knight looked like King Shadow but at the same time not at all. Everything about him seemed different. His face was striking, sure, but more expressive than Sonic had expected. His eyes weren’t cold. He looked tired, maybe a little regretful… but also kind. One eye had a scar across it too, but it only added to his allure. His eyes were also softer than King Shadow’s, and gentler than Arthur’s.

“…You’re really handsome,” Sonic said without thinking, blinking at him in quiet awe. “Like, stupidly so.” Lancelot’s brows twitched up, and Sonic grinned. “I mean it! Even covered in monster goo and dragging me out of that wreck, you looked like you stepped out of a painting.”

Lancelot looked away, but that didn’t stop a faint pink painting his muzzle. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m thanking you,” Sonic said, nudging his shoe against Lancelot’s boot. “You didn’t have to save me. Or say anything. You could’ve just dragged me back to Shadow’s dungeon and told him I tripped over a sword.”

“…I considered it.”

“See? There’s that charming edge,” Sonic teased, his grin softening. He reached out and gently placed his hand on Lancelot’s shoulder, the one that got hurt because of him. “Hey. I mean it. Thank you. For not letting me get eaten. I'm sorry you got hurt because of me Sir Knight.”

Lancelot shook his head slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “The injury is nothing. You were reckless.”

“I’m a jester,” Sonic replied brightly, standing and throwing his arms wide. “Reckless is part of the job description. Just… maybe not meant for the battlefield. I’m more for entertainment.” He winked at him and laughed, trying to lighten the knight's mood.

Lancelot glanced at him with the barest twitch of his lips before he looked away again. He slid his helm back down, but not all the way, just enough to shield his slight blush. Then, without another word, he turned and left, leaving Sonic watching after him with a lingering grin.

“…He totally blushed,” Sonic whispered to himself, tugging his torn colorful collar straight.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The moment King Shadow opened his eyes, he knew something was wrong.

The ceiling wasn’t made of stone, but rather smooth ivory with gold-framed beams. The sheets were too soft. The candlelight too warm and there was a scent of sandalwood and citrus. There was also something faintly floral and everything reeked of Camelot.

His Chaos sense pulsed quiet still in his bones like a distant thunderclap. He tried to sit up, only for his ribs to scream in protest.

Then the door creaked open, and the footsteps were annoyingly familiar. Arthur strolled in like he owned the world, and, well, he did own this castle. His red cloak hung open at the throat, revealing the barest edge of a smug smile.

“Oh, the mighty Dark King awakens,” Arthur cooed. “I was starting to think you’d just die dramatically in my bed and ruin the mattress.”

Shadow was up instantly, ignoring the blinding pain in his side, as he launched toward Arthur and grabbed him by the collar.

“Where is my sword?” Shadow growled, eyes growing more ruby with annoyance. “Where is my armor?”

Arthur didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink. “Your sword is sleeping off your idiocy, same as you and your armor was practically fused to your body. You’re welcome, by the way. I peeled it off myself... Tenderly.”

“You had no right—!”

Arthur rolled his eyes and, with a quick shove, pushed Shadow back hard. The dark king stumbled, his heel catching the carpet, and his hand flew to his ribs instinctively, which gave Arthur a real grin. “Oh, what’s wrong? Did the hurt warrior forget he was injured?”

“You smug bastard,” Shadow spat, straightening his posture as best he could.

Arthur circled him now, very much calculated, and his smirk only stretched wider with every step. “You know, I expected a thank-you. Maybe a dramatic gasp, a whispered ‘You saved me, Arthur, you cunning genius’ but this? This feral snapping? It’s adorable.”

Shadow’s anger flared. “I saved you first.”

“True, but I didn’t ask for it.”

“I’m leaving. I don’t need your help.”

Arthur stepped back at last, lifting his hands with exaggerated patience. “Then by all means. Crawl out and bleed all over my staircase. I’ll have the knights clean it up.”Shadow didn’t move and Arthur cocked an eyebrow. “What? Thought I’d beg you to stay? I appreciate you healing me, but like I said, I didn’t ask for it.”

After another moment, Shadow turned, fury stiffening his every step. He didn’t say goodbye and didn’t look back. His every muscle screamed, but he refused to let it show. His boots scraped softly against the marble as he stormed past the light curtains and polished pillars, swaying only slightly as he clutched his side.

He had to get out. Out of Camelot. Out of Arthur’s room. Out of that suffocating bed that smelled too much like him. His ribs ached and his vision blurred, and just as he reached the end of the corridor, something inside him gave out... His knees buckled and the world lurched sideways. The pain in his side flared into something hot and blinding, and then went utterly, terrifyingly numb. Shadow collapsed, hitting the cold stone floor with a heavy thud.

Inside the chamber, Arthur’s smirk faltered and he was out of the room in an instant. “Shadow?”

The hallway was quiet, too quiet. Arthur’s eyes locked on the crumpled figure sprawled near the stairway. Blood leaked onto the floor, and without thinking, he ran. “Shadow!” He knelt beside him, grabbing his shoulders but there was no response, and that made Arthur’s heart skip. “Oh, hells—”

His hands flew to Shadow’s throat. There was a pulse. It was weak, thready, but there. He breathing wad shallow and rapid. Arthur cursed under his breath and gathered the unconscious hedgehog in his arms again, more carefully this time. The weight was the same, but it felt wrong now too light, like his strength had burned out.

He moved quickly, ignoring the few stunned knights nearby with stiff glares that dared them to speak. None did, and back in the bedchamber, Arthur gently laid him down. The bandages around his ribs were soaked red again. He didn’t look good at all. Arthur’s heart did something he thought could never happen. It ached, seeing him like this... This was worse than before.

Arthur’s mouth tightened. “You idiot… You should’ve said something.” He fetched fresh bandages, then a cloth soaked in cool water. For once, his hands were not playful, just precise and efficient. The wound glowed faintly with Chaos energy, but it was erratic, dimming like a dying star.

“He used it all... Burned himself empty…on me.” And that made him feel even more... He rewrapped the injury with practiced ease, pressing down on the worst of the bleeding and whispering words he hadn't used in years. Ancient phrases of protection. Healing magic he rarely relied on, much preferring the blade...

When he finally sat back, his furred brow was damp, his fingers stained red, and the mask he wore so easily, the amused king, the sly devil, was gone.

He just watched and waited.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Hours passed and the candlelight had dimmed greatly. The castle quieted, and then he heard a groan. Arthur leaned forward just as Shadow stirred. The dark king’s eyelids fluttered, then snapped open with sharp clarity. He tried to push up immediately, but winced and fell back with a gasp.

“Stop,” Arthur said, firmer this time, and not mocking. “You’ll tear the stitches.”

Shadow looked at him dazed, then scowled as recognition set in. “You again.”

Arthur raised both brows. “Yes. Me again. Funny how I’m always the one catching you when you fall.”

“Don’t start,” Shadow hissed, turning his face away.

“I’m not,” Arthur said, softer now. “You passed out in the hallway. You tore the wound wide open. You’re lucky you didn’t bleed out on my damn carpet.”

Shadow didn’t respond immediately, and his body was rigid and taut with shame. He hated being here.

Arthur stood slowly and crossed the room, pouring water into a goblet, holding it out, but Shadow didn’t take it. Arthur sighed. “Look, I’ll spare you the clever remarks if it helps, alright?”

Shadow’s looked at him, suspicious of his kinder words.

“You need to rest,” Arthur said plainly. “You’re still healing. You burned through your Chaos reserves. I’ve seen you fight half a battalion and not collapse like that before.”

“…Damn it all,” Shadow muttered.

Arthur nodded and Shadow looked away again, the tension in his shoulders more shame than anger now. Arthur didn’t press for once and he sat back down in the chair beside the bed and folded his hands, watching him with quiet eyes.

After a long silence, Shadow finally muttered, “You could’ve left me.”

“I'm aware.”

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“…Why?”

Arthur leaned back in the chair. “Because you saved me first.” Shadow huffed, eyes narrowing but it lacked heat. Arthur continued, this time with something uncharacteristically sober in his voice. “Besides. I’m not done with you yet.”

Shadow turned his head slowly, and his expression was still wary. “That a threat?”

Arthur’s smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “A promise.”

Arthur stepped closer and tried to sound casual. “So, tell me more about your jester?”

Shadow, still bristling with leftover fury, snarled under his breath. “What does it matter?”

Arthur tilted his head. “I’m curious.”

At that, Shadow turned slowly to face him. His crimson eyes scanned Arthur’s face, and there was a definite shift... Something new. There was the tiniest twitch of emotion. Vulnerability? No... more than that. Jealousy. Shadow’s lips curled with amused cruelty. “Oh. I see.”

Arthur’s expression darkened. “See what, exactly?”

“You’re jealous,” Shadow said smoothly. “Of the jester?”

Arthur recoiled, more in offense than denial. “Hardly. You think I would envy that?”

“I think,” Shadow mused, “you didn’t like the way he touched me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Interesting.” Shadow’s replied now delighted.

Arthur’s hand twitched at his side. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” Shadow said, and then, for the first time Arthur could ever remember.

King Shadow smiled. Not the mocking curl of a battle-hardened soldier. Not a smirk or sneer. A real smile. It was small, faint, fleeting, but real... and then, even rarer, a breath of sound followed. It was a chuckle.

Arthur couldn’t believe what he had just seen, what he had just heard, and he stared at Shadow as if he’d grown horns. “You laughed,” Arthur said blankly. “You smiled.”

The golden king’s throat felt tight, too tight. That sound, that expression, had tugged something deep inside him. It was something inconvenient and... dangerous... as if a thread knotted to something warmer than fury and Arthur hated it. He hated that it made Shadow look different. He hated that it made him feel something. Something real for once, and not whatever they had. “Don’t do that again.”

Shadow blinked at him confused by his words. “Do what?”

Arthur’s mouth opened like he would say something, then closed again. Then suddenly he turned his back, cape whipping behind him, but his ears burned, and he didn't want Shadow to see him like this.

Shadow watched him go and wondered, What the hell just happened?

Chapter Text

It had been half a day.

King Shadow now sat stiffly on the edge of King Arthur’s bed, arms crossed, eyes locked on the stone wall across from him. He hated being here. He hated the softness of the mattress, the suffocating stillness of the chamber, and most of all, the feeling of helplessness that clung to him like a stain.

His chaos reserves were still flickering low, though finally starting to return. He was healed enough to stand, walk, and leave. That was all he intended to do, but then, the door creaked open, and Shadow glanced towards it. Arthur stepped in, scowling, his white shirt ruffled slightly as he entered. He looked tense, in a way that Shadow hadn’t really seen before. Arthur had emotions he didn’t want to name.

“You’re still here,” Arthur muttered, tossing paperwork onto a nearby table.

Shadow looked away. “I’m not thrilled about it either. I’m leaving now.”

Arthur moved deeper into the room, pacing a short line before coming to a stop. “Good. You have overstayed your welcome.”

Shadow looked back at him, ruby eyes annoyed. “You insisted I stay. You brought me here to your room. Now that I’m upright again, you’re mad I haven’t vanished yet?”

“You act like it was a prison sentence.”

“Wasn’t it?” Shadow snapped. “Stuck in your bed, watched like a sick dog, being treated like some... fragile thing.”

Arthur turned away, tension radiating off his shoulders. “Well, you're fine now, so you can leave.”

Shadow stood now, slowly, testing his legs. His tone dropped, bitter and biting. “Odd. Why the sudden change of attitude? You liked it. Liked having me here. And now you suddenly want me gone after you mentioned the jester.”

Arthur spun around, eyes flashing with annoyance. “That’s not—”

“True?” Shadow scoffed. “For once, it seems as though you’re the one who is rattled.”

Arthur’s tone was now full of fire. “I don’t fucking care. You seem fine enough to move, so leave. I’ve done enough for you.”

Shadow tilted his head, unable to hide the slight amusement in his eyes at Arthur’s odd demeanor. “Riled up now, aren’t we? What is it? The fact that I saved you? Is that your other problem? The golden king was upset that he needed someone to save him. Well, you did, and yeah,” Shadow stepped up and got closer to his face, “You're pathetic for needing me.”

Arthur growled at him and pushed him away. He couldn’t help it. He had been rattled. Too much happened… First, Shadow saved him, then he felt an emotion he had never felt before. Something he still couldn’t admit it to himself, and then?

Shadow smiled and chuckled. None of these things had ever happened before and it was too much. Sure, Arthur was the one who initiated their advancement, but that was different then. Lately, things felt too real, and he didn’t feel in control of his own emotions.

And Arthur was always in control. Before he said anything else he would regret, he left, leaving Shadow in his room again.

Shadow shook his head in disgust and reached for his cloak. He was done being here, but then he heard a knock on the door.

“I brought you something sweet, Shadow,” came Rouge’s voice from the other side. “You still miserable?”

“Come in,” Shadow called.

Rouge stepped in, and her teal eyes immediately found him. She grinned, unable to help herself, she had just seen Arthur walk out. “Oh? What did I walk into? Things seem quite steamy in here…”

Shadow pulled on his cloak, brushing past her. “Nothing worth repeating. I’m leaving. I’ve rested long enough. I can walk, and I won’t spend another second in this cursed room.”

Rouge watched him with a sly smile. “Then maybe... you should have a little fun on your way out. Make him squirm for once.”

Shadow scoffed. “I don’t care.”

Rouge stepped closer stopping him from leaving, “But he does. He has mocked and ridiculed you. Always the cunning king, while keeping you close enough to hurt and play with. What if you had the upper hand for once? Be a part of his game? Just a little.”

Shadow narrowed his eyes, uncertain, but before he could disagree, the bat leaned in, whispering something in his ear that made his expression twist into one of disbelief. “You’re ridiculous."

“Am I? You know it would work, my King.”

Shadow hesitated despite himself.

“And… you want to do it now,” she continued, grinning. “Don’t lie. After that argument and all your previous fights? He deserves a taste of his own cruelty.”

Shadow glanced back at the door. The bitterness from earlier was still fresh, still burning just under his fur. He rolled his eyes, but what Rouge suggested would make Arthur furious... and Shadow was tired of being the only one being undermined.

So, for once, he agreed with one of her ridiculous ideas. “Fine. It’s time he got a taste of his own medicine.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The grand halls of Camelot glittered under the afternoon sun filtering through stained glass, but the Jester hardly noticed the usual splendor. His grin was far too wide, his steps light and bouncy, almost like he was dancing rather than walking.

Shadow, that brooding, infuriatingly asshole of a King, was injured, trapped in Arthur’s chambers, no less and Sonic was free from his rule.

He couldn’t help it. He liked this castle more. Camelot’s skies seemed brighter to Sonic than Blackthorne’s.

“Hah! Guess the mighty King Shadow isn’t so invincible after all!” He whispered gleefully to himself, twirling his jester’s bells with a flourish.

He turned a corner, almost bumping into a figure seated quietly in a dim corridor alcove. 

That is when he saw Lancelot. The knight’s focus was absolute, his blade was gleaming under the sunlight as he methodically ran a whetstone along the edge. His expression was calm, composed, every bit the epitome of Camelot’s noble protector, but to Sonic’s mischievous eyes, there was something intriguing behind that serene resolve.

Unable to resist, Sonic tiptoed closer, eyes full of playful curiosity. “Hey, Sir Knight! Sharpening your sword, huh? Bet you don’t get to do this kind of thing every day. How’s it feel to be the king’s most trusted knight?”

Lancelot gave a faint glance but no answer and kept the whetstone moving steadily.

“Oh, come on! You’re way too quiet for a knight of Camelot. Bet you’ve got stories locked up behind that stone-cold stare.” Sonic wiggled his fingers near the knight’s elbow, unable to resist poking just a little.

Still no words, only the smooth scrape of blade meeting whetstone.

Sonic smiled in curiosity. The last time they interacted, Lancelot had spoken to him, but perhaps that was due to him being angry after the battle?

Well, no matter! Sonic could always use a good listener.

“Maybe you don’t want to talk... that’s okay! I can just keep chatting for both of us. Like, did you ever sneak out for some mischief back in the day? Or maybe you have a secret sweet tooth?”

Lancelot finally looked up, almost amused despite himself, but said nothing. He just returned to his sharpening, as if Sonic’s rambling were a breeze brushing past him.

Sonic was mid-ramble, now onto theories about which knight had the worst handwriting, when someone called out from the hallway. “Hey! There you are!”

Sonic turned to find Galahad striding in with an easy grin, and Gawain following just a few steps behind, arms crossed and brow slightly raised.

“Well well well, if it isn’t Camelot’s golden boys,” Sonic said brightly, spinning to face them. “You two here to make sure your reserved friend doesn’t stab me for talking too much?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Gawain said flatly, though a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Galahad elbowed him. “We heard you knew magic... So,” he leaned forward, hands on his hips, “what kind of tricks can you do?”

Sonic raised a brow. “Tricks? You wound me, sir! I am a virtuoso of illusion, mischief, and multitasking.”

He flicked his fingers, and a glowing wisp of magic sparked to life above his palm, spinning in the shape of a tiny dancing knight, complete with sword and cape. The little figure twirled, flipped, and gave a miniature salute before exploding into a burst of glittering dust.

Galahad laughed, clapping once. “That’s splendid! Much better than the last court mage we had. He just made smoke and had a bad cough.”

Even Gawain snorted. “Not bad..." Then his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked Sonic up and down. “So. You’re an entertainer, right?”

Sonic leaned back on a pillar beside Lancelot. “Yup, that’s my job description.”

“What other forms of entertainment do you provide? I’ve heard... other things. About you.”

Sonic’s grin widened. “Oh? Care to elaborate, or just gonna keep being mysterious?”

“Maybe a bit of both,” Gawain said, stepping in closer than expected. “You seem chatty, but that’s okay, I don’t mind, I like mouthy types.”

Sonic raised his eyebrows. “Ooh. Flirting already? Guess I have you spellbound already.”

“Perhaps,” Gawain said, eyes glinting. “You planning on running away?”

Before Sonic could answer, Gawain’s hand came down confidently on his waist, pulling him a half step closer. Sonic let out a surprised breath, but then he grinned, leaning into the touch. This was certainly nothing new for him.

“Well now. Aren’t you bold? Usually it’s me who makes the moves on others.” He flicked a glance sideways, just briefly, toward Lancelot—still seated, still sharpening his blade with vexing calm, but—

Yes. There it was... slight tension in his grip now. Interesting, Sonic thought.

Just as Gawain was about to lean closer, someone else interrupted.

“Sonic.” Rouge stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. “The king’s asking for you.”

Sonic huffed. “Can’t even flirt in peace around here...” He turned to Gawain with a wink. “Rain check, Sir Handsy.”

Gawain smirked. “Any time.”

As Sonic walked past Lancelot, he couldn’t help himself. He glanced at him, meeting his eyes, and gave him a quick wink.

The action made the knight’s eyes widen slightly, and his hand hesitated from sharpening his blade. It only lasted for a second, but it was there, and Sonic noticed, and he definitely liked it.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Without a word, Rogue practically tossed Sonic through the open door of Arthur’s chambers. Sonic stumbled forward, catching himself just before he crashed into the richly embroidered curtains. The room was dim, heavy with the scent of herbs and floral notes.

Arthur wasn’t there.

Instead, lounging on a high-backed chair near the hearth, was King Shadow himself, softened by fatigue but still holding that imperious edge. The sight made Sonic’s heart drop, just slightly. He could handle King Shadow but he also knew… he was probably extremely pissed at him.

“Oh hey!!! King Shadow! How ya doing? You look unbelievably scary and handsome like always,” Sonic said with his typical jester grin, only slightly faltering.

The king didn’t say anything and just looked at him with his typical scowl.

“Wow! Quite the look you're giving me, Uh, um, I mean, I didn’t do anything wrong... okay, maybe a little wrong. I kinda am the reason you’re stuck here in the first place.”

He shuffled awkwardly, hands twisting his colorful hat. “Look, I can explain! It’s all a big misunderstanding—well, mostly. Um… well I guess you were there, so you know how it is.”

Sonic was rambling, he couldn’t help it, he was pretty sure he was either going to be yelled at or hit, or who knows…

Shadow’s eyes narrowed, a faint sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, unexpectedly, he lifted a hand and beckoned Sonic forward.

“Come here,” Shadow commanded.

Sonic blinked, surprise flashing across his face. “Uh, okay, if you insist.”

He moved closer, trying to keep the mood light despite the pounding of his heart.

Shadow’s cold gaze held him in place. “I’m tired of the golden king always having the upper hand.”

Before Sonic could process what that meant, Shadow’s hand shot out and grabbed him firmly by the waist. Sonic gasped, caught off guard, but then something mischievous flickered behind his eyes.

“Oh? Are you finally falling for me?” Sonic teased, tilting his head with a sly smile. “Well, it had been a while for us, hasn’t it?”

Sonic laughed a little maniacally, him and King Shadow have fucked, not as many times as Sonic may had suggested, but even the king grew tired and would end up taking out his frustrations on him. Not that Sonic minded, he typically asked for it.

Chaos, King Shadow, was rough.

Shadow’s eyes darkened. “Kiss me.”

Sonic smirked, unable to help himself, words dripping with playful mockery. “I thought you hated it when I did that.”

A gruff scoff from Shadow’s chest. He didn’t care for the jester, found him an annoying plaything when he grew bored from time to time, but he was done being the fool Arthur played.

He grabbed Sonic by the collar and pulled him forward on top of his lap, giving him a rough kiss that surprised Sonic. But whatever a hot king was kissing him, so he melted into it, his fingers curling against Shadow’s shoulders, the tension between them familiar. Sonic knew he didn’t have the king’s heart, but he sure didn’t mind when they fucked.

When they finally broke apart, Sonic grinned and gave a small laugh. “Damn Shadow! Maybe you do like it.”

Shadow only growled, annoyed, and pulled Sonic close again.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The torchlit corridor was quiet, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. King Arthur strode ahead with his usual confidence, but there was a stiffness in his shoulders that Lancelot couldn’t ignore. The tightness in his jaw, the slight twitch of his fingers—signs only someone who had served at his side for years would catch.

Lancelot quickened his pace to walk beside him. “My king,” he said gently, “is everything alright?”

Arthur’s eyes remained forward. “I’m fine.”

“You seem... tense.”

“I’m not.”

Lancelot looked at him with disbelief.

Arthur let out a short breath, relenting. “It’s King Shadow.”

Lancelot’s brows drew together. “You asked him to stay, did you not?”

“I didn’t ask him to linger in my castle,” Arthur snapped. “I offered sanctuary. Rest. Not an extended occupation.”

That surprised Lancelot. He glanced over at his king, searching for something behind the scowl. “I thought you enjoyed provoking him. You always did.”

Arthur looked away slightly. “I used to. It was... entertaining. But now? He’s a distraction. And I have no patience for distractions.”

They walked in silence for a few steps. The tension hung in the air like a sword suspended above their heads. Then Arthur muttered darkly under his breath, “Especially when he surrounds himself with that ridiculous jester.”

Lancelot looked up sharply. “Sonic?”

Arthur’s lip curled. “He’s trouble. Mischief in too-tight clothes. Always slinking around with that stupid grin like he knows something no one else does. I don’t trust him.”

Lancelot hesitated. “He is strange,” he admitted. “Unpredictable,” he paused, frowning. “He’s... odd...”

Arthur gave a bitter chuckle. “Odd is a generous word. That little trickster’s a walking headache.”

Lancelot’s mouth tightened. He thought back to how Gawain was so touchy with him just moments ago.

He didn’t know why it unsettled him—seeing Sonic lean into Gawain’s flirtation, laughing, relaxed, letting someone touch him like that like it was normal.

It wasn’t as if Lancelot cared. Not really, but it was… odd. He had no other word for it.

Arthur snapped him from his thoughts. “He’s dangerous, Lancelot. Seductive in all the wrong ways.”

They rounded the last corner toward Arthur’s bedchamber. Arthur’s pace slowed, then halted. Lancelot almost bumped into him.

Arthur’s expression froze. From behind the heavy wooden door of his private chambers came a sound. Arthur’s face turned to stone, his fists clenched at his sides as he heard moaning through the cracks of his bedroom door.

There was one that was high and breathless.... and then a deep groan. Shadow’s voice?!

Arthur had heard those groans; he couldn’t forget them, and Lancelot’s eyes widened slightly in shock, mouth parting. He turned slowly to Arthur.

“That bastard—” Arthur hissed. He slammed the door open, and every inch of King Arthur burned with a rage so fierce it seemed to scorch the air itself. His eyes seethed, and his lips were pulled back in a snarl of pure fury.

Because there, tangled on his own bed, was Sonic laughing, teasing, shamelessly on top of King Shadow, whose jaw was clenched, thrusting into him.

Arthur’s next words tore through the room like a battle cry. “What in all the hells is this?” Without hesitation, he closed the gap and grabbed Sonic by the collar and yanked him off Shadow with a rough, violent shove.

Sonic stumbled but didn’t lose his grin, though worry flashed behind his eyes. Sonic tried to stay playful but now he was nervous, “Hey, come on, I was just—”

“GET OUT!” Arthur cut him off, grabbed him again, and threw him out of his room, slamming the door shut.

Then his glare zeroed in on Shadow. “And you,” he snarled, stepping forward, fists clenched so tightly, ready to attack, “what the bloody hell is your problem? Doing that?! With him?”

Shadow’s eyes locked with Arthur’s, and for the first time, a more sinister grin curled Shadow’s lips. “You said you weren’t jealous. So why not use my jester as I please?”

That sentence struck and only added to Arthur’s fury which exploded into a seething storm. “Jealous? I’m furious! You think you can just FUCK SOMEONE HERE?! In my castle? In my bed?!”

Shadow stepped closer, aura venomous. “It was time for a taste of your own medicine.”

Arthur didn’t hesitate. His fist slammed into Shadow’s jaw with a sickening sound. Shadow staggered but caught himself, throwing a punch back that clipped Arthur’s ribs. The fight ignited with brutal intensity.

Arthur roared, swinging wildly, fueled by a fire he’d never let anyone see before. Shadow met every blow with equal ferocity, their bodies crashing together like clashing swords, each strike an echo of their twisted history.

“This is perfect.” Shadow spat, slamming Arthur into the wall with a harsh shove. “Your rage is a sight to behold.”

“Fuck you!” Arthur growled, pushing Shadow back with more strength than he ever had before. “You crossed a line with that absurdity!”

They grappled fiercely, teeth bared in snarls, sweat and rage dripping down their faces. The room sounded with grunts and the sounds of their bodies colliding, a tempest of hatred and twisted desire. Arthur’s fury was a tidal wave, unstoppable and devastating, while Shadow’s defiance was a dark storm.

Between them, the line blurred... between hate and something far more dangerous.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Arthur’s shove sent Sonic flying out of the room, pantsless, and he landed hard on his rear with an oof against the cold stone floor of the hallway. For a split second, he just sat there, stunned, his colorful hat askew and his dignity slightly shifted, but before he could scramble up, a shadow fell over him.

Lancelot stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes wide and impossibly, deeply flushed, his usual serious expression cracked by a bright, creeping red along his muzzle.

Sonic’s cheeks matched the knight’s as heat rushed through him. “Uh… hey! Sir knight!” Sonic stammered, trying to laugh it off. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, at this exact location… at his exact moment.” He tugged awkwardly at his hat, hoping it would somehow cover more than just his face.

Lancelot’s eyes flicked away for a moment, but when he looked back, there was no mockery—only a quiet, serious concern. He stepped forward and, without a word, pulled off a thick cloak from nearby and draped it over Sonic’s bare legs.

“You shouldn’t be out here like this,” Lancelot said quietly.

Sonic blinked, surprised by the gentle gesture. “Uh. Thanks... I guess.”

Lancelot held out his hand. “Come with me. There is a spare room with clothes that will fit you better.”

Sonic hesitated but then allowed himself to be helped up. The warmth of Lancelot’s touch lingered longer than expected.

The two walked down a quieter corridor to a modest chamber. Sonic lowered himself onto the edge of a sturdy wooden table, legs dangling awkwardly, still feeling exposed in ways that had nothing to do with his missing pants.

Now Sonic wasn’t shy, not at all. He really was known as a whore at King Shadow’s fortress. It’s what got him in a lot of trouble but he was admittedly thrown off for the knight to look at him like this.

Though Sonic couldn’t deny it, he found Lancelot extremely attractive, from the moment he saw him in battle, and even more so when he took off his helm. Chaos was he strong, too. Perhaps call him old-fashioned, but the knight saving him at Avalon was pretty hot.

Speaking of hot, Sonic was still horny, riding Shadow was fun at all, but he didn’t get to come. So he couldn’t help it… he looked at the knight’s back, could see his strong frame, and he had a sly grin, feeling his natural mischievousness rise.

Still sitting on the table, he shifted the cloak Lancelot gave him and opened his legs. “Sir knight? Look at me,” he said sultrily.

Lancelot glanced at him briefly, catching a glimpse before his hand shot up, covering his own eyes in a flustered, near-panic gesture. “What are you doing?!”

“Like what you see,” Sonic teased, laughing at how shy the knight looks. “Don’t hide now.”

Lancelot’s flush deepened. “You are being inappropriate.”

Sonic chuckled and waved a hand in dismissal, finding his actions humorous, and it only urged him on. “So shy? That’s adorable… Look, I was just used by Shadow, and we didn’t get to finish.”

Lancelot’s brow furrowed. “Used?”

Sonic laughed again, running a hand through his quills. “That’s kind of my... specialty. Entertain, seduce, distract. King Shadow used me to stir up jealousy in your king. I’m the jester, the fool—his pawn and still very horny.” He paused, then looked up at Lancelot with a teasing tone. “Now, I want you to finish the job.”

Lancelot’s face darkened. Finding out that information made him angry. Angry in a way he didn’t fully understand. He walked towards him, not making eye contact, wrapping the cloak tighter around Sonic’s legs.

“I will not use you that way.” He said gentler but no less firm. “And you shouldn’t let others use your body like that either.”

Sonic grin faltered just slightly, the weight behind Lancelot’s words stirred something unfamiliar in him. It was a small ache, a flicker of something tender and serious. Something he wasn’t expecting… but he recovered shaking his head slightly. This was all he knew. The knight must just be playing hard to get. No one is that noble. Everyone just wants sex and uses people.

So, he ignored the ache. “I welcome it.” He said and then suddenly reached out and grabbed Lancelot’s waist, tugging the knight playfully toward him. “You’re way too prudish and proper for your own good. It’s not that serious. Sex is just sex.”

Lancelot stiffened at the touch, dark muzzle blazing hotter now, but he didn’t pull away.

Sonic’s grin turned sharper, more wicked. His fingers brushed lower against Lancelot’s waist, caressing just beneath the edge of his armor. “Aw, c’mon handsome,” he purred. “You’re not even a little curious?”

Lancelot’s jaw clenched. He didn’t know why, but his body was frozen.

“Not even wondering what it’d be like?” Sonic purred in a husky whisper as he leaned in, lips brushing just beside Lancelot’s ear. “What I could do to you? What I would let you do to me?”

Lancelot stopped breathing, but this time he grabbed Sonic’s wrists, away from his body, and insistently held him back. “Stop.”

Sonic’s green eyes sparkled with delight. “Oh, stop? Or ‘don’t stop’? Hard to tell when you’re blushing so hard, Sir Knight.”

“I said no.” Lancelot’s usual calm unraveling just slightly at the edges. He still couldn’t look at him.

Sonic tilted his head, amusement bubbling up like champagne in his chest. “You know, most people don’t turn me down. I flash a little skin, whisper a few pretty words, and poof! They’re butter.”

“You’re not ‘buttering’ me.” Though his flush now reached the tips of his ears, only betraying him more.

Sonic laughed, soft and musical. “Huh… are you a virgin?”

“That is none of your concern,” Lancelot said tightly.

“Oh, come on,” Sonic sang, swinging his legs where he sat on the table, letting the cloak slide down just a little. Sonic twisted his hands so he could hold the knights properly. “You’ve got these strong, noble hands… I bet they’d be real careful with me… Or maybe not. I prefer it that way…”

That finally earned a reaction. Lancelot stepped back, dropping his hands like Sonic’s touch had burned him. His tone hardened but the words were still genuine. “I won’t use you that way,” he said again, more to himself than to Sonic. “That’s not who I am.” Then he turned toward the door.

“Wait!” Sonic called, still playful but softer now and curious. Lancelot paused, his hand on the frame, his back turned. Sonic tilted his head. “You really mean that, huh?”

“Yes.” Lancelot replied, and then he was gone. The door closed with a quiet finality, and Sonic was left alone in the small chamber, the cloak still wrapped around his waist, legs swinging idly off the table. For a moment, he sat there, blank-faced.

That never happened.

He was used to attention—craving, indulgence, and desire. People wanted to touch him, taste him, have him. He was fun, he was easy, he made people forget themselves. No one had ever said no so firmly. So cleanly. Even King Shadow, who may have denied him here and there, caved more to his touch in their first meeting, and eventually more.

Lancelot just leaving… with such finality? It stung. Just a little sure, but more than anything… it made Sonic’s lips curl into a slow, dangerous grin.

“Damn,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “I really wanna corrupt him now.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The room was a wreck. There were pillows slashed open, chairs overturned, and curtains torn from the walls.

Arthur grunted as his back slammed into the stone floor with a thud. Shadow straddled him, his weight heavy and unrelenting, one hand pinning Arthur’s wrists above his head while the other hovered just barely over his chest, still crackling with Chaos energy. The dark kings ruby eyes glowed with fury and control, a predator pressing down on his prey. “Admit it,” Shadow growled. “You’re jealous.”

Arthur snarled back, chest heaving. “You bastard. I’m furious, not jealous!”

Shadow’s grip tightened. “Liar.”

Arthur surged beneath him, but the Chaos flared again, hot, binding, and locked him in place. His muscles burned with the urge to move, but he was caged. “Damn you!”

But Shadow didn’t move. He stared and really stared.

The seconds stretched, and the fight began to crack under the weight of something else. Arthur’s chest rose and fell rapidly beneath him. His fur was ruffled, his shirt torn, and his crown was missing. His ears were flushed. His light muzzle tinged a deep, furious pink, and his emerald eyes were alive and somehow looked even greener than usual, like a beaming sunray behind stained glass.

For all their years of fighting, of dancing around each other’s blades and threats and even the past shared nights stolen in secrecy, he had never seen Arthur like this. He was livid, sure that was the norm, but also annoyingly radiant and surprisingly vulnerable...?

Arthur noticed the stillness, the shift. His eyes narrowed with something darker than pride. Despite the tremble of his rage, he took advantage of this moment. “Oh?” he taunted, “Like what you see?”

Shadow’s eye twitched in response.

Arthur leaned his head back smugly against the stone. “Tell me, Shadow,” he purred. “What word describes me best right now? Handsome? Beautiful? Stunning? You can’t seem to stop staring.”

Shadow’s jaw clenched now only making Arthur’s grin widen. “Come on. Say it.”

Shadow, to his own dismay, did. “All of them.” The words left his mouth before he could catch them, so unbelievably real. They dropped like stones into the tension between them.

Arthur’s mouth parted, stunned, eyes flickering for a moment with disbelief. Shadow had never complimented him before, nor had he ever admitted to, well, anything kind about the golden king. Sure, Arthur knew he must have an attraction for him. He wasn’t dumb, but the dark king had just confirmed it… for the very first time.

Shadow moved before either of them could think better of it.

He leaned down and kissed him.

Chapter Text

The kiss was unlike any other. Shadow’s mouth wasn’t necessarily gentle, but it wasn’t hot and fierce. It wasn’t all teeth and heat and the usual fury.

It was different… like Shadow meant something else with it, something neither of them ever allowed before and Arthur froze. He couldn’t move and couldn’t comprehend what was happening. His back was still pressed to the stone, wrists bound by Chaos energy—helpless not from the power, but from the emotion flooding his chest. His lips parted in shock, as the realization hit...

Shadow was kissing him and not mocking, not biting or trying to win...? It was just kissing, and it didn’t feel like power, but it didn’t feel good like it did before, because all Arthur felt was betrayal.

The chaos, the tension, the twisted mess of everything they had been through the past two days all. It carved straight through him. Anger had burned through him before, but this wasn’t that. No, this was more because ever since Shadow saved him Arthur felt things he never felt before. And after seeing Shadow with someone else… this wasn’t just rage anymore because suddenly, Arthur felt hurt.

The kiss ended, Shadow pulling back just slightly, his breath ragged, eyes searching Arthur’s face for something, but Arthur couldn’t give him anything, not words at least.

Then there was a sudden crack! He slammed his forehead into Shadow’s with bone-jarring force, a headbutt full of fury and unexpected heartbreak. Shadow staggered, grunting, one hand flying to his temple.

“Get off me,” Arthur growled out each word. “And get out.”

Shadow growled back at him from the hit and released him immediately. His chaos energy biting out with a faint snap and then he laughed bitterly. “Really? After everything? After always making the first move? After you spent years toying with me, now you want to deny—?”

But the laughter died in his throat when he saw Arthur. The king sat up slowly, bracing himself on one arm, the other curled near his chest. He didn’t look at Shadow and his head was bowed as if shielding his face.

That was when Shadow saw it... the faint shimmer at the edge of his lashes and a barely-there tremble in his jaw. Arthur flinched as if ashamed, quickly wiping the tear away with the back of his hand as if it hadn’t happened at all.

“Go away,” Arthur spat. “You don’t get to kiss me. Not after what you did. Not after I walked in and found you fucking someone else on my bed.”

Shadow’s mouth opened, but no words came. He was completely stunned by this reaction.

Arthur stood, staggering slightly, fury boiling over now. “You humiliated me. Used him and now what, you want to kiss me and call it even?”

Shadow’s face darkened. “You said it didn’t bother you.”

“I lied.” Arthur snapped. “Of course I lied! Because that’s what we do, isn’t it? You lie, I lie. We stab each other in the back, call it flirting, most of the time it ends in us leaving and only twice did we let something more happen.”

He turned his back on him. “Well, not anymore. Get out, Shadow.”

Shadow took a step forward, but Arthur didn’t flinch. “I hate you. LEAVE.”

The silence between them was final, and Shadow… had nothing left to say.

He watched Arthur’s back for one long moment, his chest aching with something like guilt, like regret, but he shoved it down. So… without another word, he turned and left, footsteps fading down the corridor like the end of something.

Arthur stood alone in the silence. He waited until the last echo of Shadow’s boots disappeared. Then… and only then, he let himself crumble... His knees buckled and caught the edge of the table, holding himself up. His vision blurred again, and this time, the tears came faster. “Damn you,” he hissed, wiping his face furiously. “Damn you, Shadow and damn me too. I can’t believe I’m crying over you. This is so fucking stupid. I hate everything about you so why—”

He didn’t dare finish that sentence. He pressed a hand to his chest, where the kiss still burned. Arthur didn’t understand why he was crying. Why his heart suddenly acted like he cared. But one thing was for certain, and those were his next words.

“I’m done with you.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Shadow closed the door behind him. The hallway outside Arthur’s chambers was cold and quiet. The thick stone muffled everything, but he could still feel the echo of Arthur’s voice ringing in his chest.

I hate you. Leave.

He walked, and his footsteps felt so heavy, down the corridor. He didn’t get far before he stopped, just beneath one of Camelot’s tall windows, sunlight catching on the gold bands of his gloves. His hands curled into fists.

He knew Arthur had every right to be angry. He knew it was a cruel game, using Sonic like that. Rouge’s idea had seemed clever at the time… twist the knife Arthur so often buried in him. Let him feel it. Let him see what it meant when Shadow held the power for once... but he hadn’t expected this. Not the look of betrayal on his face, but especially not the tears. A bitter breath left him. Shadow turned his face toward the stone. Damn him.

That old familiar burn curled in his gut. It was a semblance of guilt, yes, but twisted up with something darker… resentment. Because after all these years, Arthur was allowed to tease, to flirt, to wound, and now Shadow was the villain? He’d finally hit back, and Arthur couldn’t take it.

“Tch,” Shadow muttered. “Pathetic.” But it didn’t feel like a victory. It didn’t feel like anything but like a hollow emptiness. He didn’t get to dwell on it though because then he heard heels click against stone. Rouge.

She paused beside him, saw his face, and raised a brow. “That bad?”

Shadow chose not to answer her question and turned toward the hall. “We’re leaving.”

She gave a curt nod, asked no further questions, and moved ahead. Guess her plan didn’t work, or maybe it was a necessary step for later, she wasn’t sure, but she felt a little guilty either way.

Shadow turned the opposite way, toward the courtyard. It didn’t take long to find Sonic.

The jester was balancing three golden goblets and a lemon, juggling for an amused Percival and two random knights. His smile was wide and bright. He didn’t see Shadow until Rouge whispered something behind him.

Then he froze, making the the lemon fall, and the goblets clattered. “What?” Sonic asked, looking at her. “Already?”

“We’re going home,” she said smoothly.

“Home?” Sonic echoed, ears twitching. “But I like it here.”

“Your presence here has ended.”

“That’s not your call!” Sonic looked ready to argue harder, but then Shadow walked up behind him, eyes muted with an emotion Sonic couldn’t quite read.

“Let’s go,” Shadow said coldly.

Sonic turned to him slowly. “Do I get a say?”

“No.”

“Why?” Sonic asked, hurt blooming faintly beneath the sass. “Because I did what you asked? Played your game? Made Arthur jealous?”

“You. Don’t. Belong. Here.” Shadow commanded angrily.

The words hit harder than they should have making Sonic’s ears droop. He looked around, eyes scanning the knights and castle around him, decorated with gold, banners, and silks. His eyes landed on Lancelot near the edge of a corridor.

Lancelot was watching and their eyes met. For just a moment, Sonic hoped that maybe he would say something, but the knight… just looked away.

Sonic swallowed hard. He may have only been here for a day or so and enjoyed it, but… he doesn’t belong here. He was sure Arthur hated him, and whatever he was hoping to find in Camelot, clearly wasn’t his. “…Fine. Let’s go.”

Rouge turned with him, but Shadow didn’t move right away. He stood still, eyes checking once more toward Arthur’s chambers but there was nothing to see now. That door was shut.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Lancelot lingered in the corridor after they left. He didn’t know why. He didn’t want to care. He barely knew Sonic but the look on the jester’s face… it hadn’t been dramatic. It hadn’t been theatrical. It had been real, and after what Sonic told him... that others used him, Lancelot couldn’t help but feel a twinge of shame. He didn’t like hearing that information. He should’ve said something, but he didn’t, and now the jester was gone.

With a sigh, he finally moved and made his way toward Arthur’s room. His boots echoed down the empty corridor as the flickering torchlight cast tall shadows behind him. He paused at the door and knocked once.

A faint voice answered. “What?”

“It’s Lancelot.”

“Come in.”

He stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him. Arthur was seated at the edge of his bed, hands clasped tightly in front of him, and the room was destroyed. His cape was discarded. His crown set aside. He looked physically and mentally tired. Not like himself at all.

Lancelot stepped forward, slowly. “Are you alright, my king?”

Arthur laughed bitterly. “No, but I will be.”

Lancelot just stood beside him in silence, and knew it had to do with Shadow why he seemed so distraught.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The gates of Blackthorne creaked open at midnight. The air here was colder than Camelot’s. The trees clawed at the night sky, and the wind carried whispers no one could quite place.

Sonic sat sideways on the transport carriage, legs swinging over the edge. He’d said nothing for the entire ride back. Not one joke or even a sigh. Which was very rare for the jester.

Shadow and Rouge had been just as quiet and when the carriage stopped, the guards opened the gates without a word. The trio disembarked, the clink of their shoes echoing across the courtyard.

Rouge gave a parting glance toward Sonic before heading inside first. “I’ll prepare your quarters.”

Sonic lingered outside beneath the watchful moon, his jester hat tugged off and held in his hands. Shadow stood beside him silent and still.

“You didn’t have to drag me back,” Sonic muttered at last, not looking at him.

“You didn’t belong there.”

“Not like you even like me around… Why is that your decision?”

“I am your king, you obey my orders,” Shadow argued. “So, shut your mouth.”

Sonic scoffed and turned on him, eyes gleaming with something raw. “You’re really something, you know that? You use me, ask me to make Arthur jealous, and then toss me aside like I’m some game piece.”

Shadow ears twitched at the words that didn't help his guilt, which he tried to deny. “That wasn’t how it was meant to end.”

“Oh?” Sonic snapped. “Then how was it supposed to end?”

There was a pause, but then Shadow eventually said, “That is none of your business.”

Sonic laughed, but it was a completely fake laugh. “Wow. So I really was just your little dagger.”

“You were the only one Arthur ever—” Shadow stopped himself, the words coiling in his throat.

Sonic waited, but when Shadow didn’t finish, he shook his head. “Whatever.”

He started walking toward the inner gates.

“Sonic.”

He stopped, and Shadow stepped forward, and though he was quieter now, his words held weight. “For what it’s worth… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Sonic turned slightly, his profile framed in silver light. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He was lying, and they both knew it… But Shadow didn’t call him on it.

“Get some rest,” the king said. “You’ll need it.”

“For what?” Sonic asked annoyed.

“We have a summit with the high council in a week to discuss the battle at Avalon.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Inside his small chambers, the warmth of the small hearth did nothing to warm Sonic’s body. Everything was the same as he had left it: a few pillows, black curtains, and various random items Sonic had collected for his jester performances, but it felt like a cage.

He tossed his hat onto the floor and sat on the edge of his bed, hands trembling faintly in his lap. He hated it. The quiet. The way his chest ached. The way he knew what another castle could be like. Bright, warm, sunny. Though at least he wasn’t in the dungeons... and King Shadow seemed less angry like something was wrong with him.

But still, in a way, it hurt that his life always felt like it was dictated by someone else. His childhood was hard and when he attempted to find his own way that… was somehow worse. Being here in Blackthorne he at least had a room and a role, despite the King being an ass at times.

It had its good and bad for sure but apparently the summit was soon. Now, typically, Sonic didn’t mind a spectacle. He really did enjoy performing and using his magic to make others laugh.

But… he wondered if he could get out of this one. He clenched his fists, trying to stop his own worrying.

“Stop it,” he whispered to himself. “You’re fine.”

You’re always fine. You have to be.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

It was late afternoon by the time Blackthorne's war room doors opened for the Summit of Avalon.

Shadow sat at the head of the war table, cloak heavy across his shoulders, the steel and wood around him creaking under the weight of political tedium, but he barely heard them. What caught his attention was the vacant seat opposite him.

Arthur’s. Instead of the golden king, it was Lancelot who stood in his place. He wore polished ceremonial armor, dark and calm as ever, and addressed the table with clear, even tones. “King Arthur extends his regrets,” he said, folding his hands before him. “He is recovering from illness and trusts my voice to speak for Camelot.”

A ripple of surprise moved through the council. Arthur, absent? The man had once gone to war with a fever, claiming even death wouldn’t excuse poor diplomacy. But Lancelot's red eyes said nothing else, and Shadow’s ruby ones lingered on him, knowing there was more at play.

When the meeting ended, Shadow forced himself to his feet. As tradition demanded, the host was to throw a small celebration with wine, food, and music. It was a supposed ‘formal cheer’ to cover the bloodstains of the kingdom's long history.

He ordered it, stood through it, drank none of it, but there was one more absence that unsettled him... Sonic's.

When Shadow returned to his private chambers to check, he found the jester under his blankets, motionless, the fire low.

“You’re not coming,” Shadow said flatly, standing at the foot of the bed.

“I’m sick,” Sonic mumbled from beneath the blanket.

“You don’t get sick.”

“I do now.”

Shadow narrowed his eyes. He opened his mouth to push—but something about the way Sonic curled into the covers stopped him. Not laziness. Not mischief. Just… refusal. “Fine,” he turned away. “Stay.”

The door shut behind him, but hours later, Sonic slipped barefoot down the stone hallways, grumbling. “Stupid royal feast. Stupid stomach. Stupid me forgetting to steal extra bread earlier.”

He peeked around the corner into the kitchen annex, where servers bustled between storage and the main room. He started toward the food—then froze because he saw Lancelot? The knight stood alone at a corner table, holding a modest plate and eating with quiet dignity.

Sonic’s eyes went wide. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Guests were nearby, and there were chattering nobles from foreign lords.

So... without thinking, Sonic darted forward and grabbed Lancelot by the arm, dragging him down a side hallway.

“What are you—!” Lancelot started, but Sonic hissed, “Shh!”

They pressed into the shadows between two old tapestry drapes. Sonic peeked out, heart racing.

“Why are we hiding?” Lancelot asked, raising a brow.

“I wasn’t supposed to leave,” Sonic said. “King thinks I’m sick, and I don’t want to deal with… council stuff. You know how they have weird stares and uh pointy hats.”

Lancelot’s gaze softened slightly. “So you’re hiding from your own king now?”

“Yep. But really, I just needed to know what the heck you're doing here.” Sonic smirked.

Lancelot hesitated. “Camelot needed a voice. Arthur trusted me.”

Sonic frowned. “Isn’t he supposed to attend? Is this just him being stubborn and avoiding—”

“Maybe,” Lancelot said, honestly, he felt no point in hiding it... Sonic was already involved, albeit slightly, due to what King Shadow had done.

Sonic’s stomach growled loudly, cutting the moment.

“You have food,” Sonic said, peeking at Lancelot’s plate.

“You’re hungry.”

“Starving.”

Without protest, Lancelot handed over the plate.

Sonic's mouth watered. “You sure?”

“You seem to need it more than I do.”

Sonic gave a half-smile. “Thanks.” Then he grabbed Lancelot’s wrist. “C’mon. You’re already here. Might as well come to my room. It’s safer. I don’t want anyone seeing me out here.”

Lancelot hesitated. “Wait, what?” But before he could protest more, he let Sonic drag him away.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Lancelot sat stiffly on the cushioned bench beneath the window, arms folded across his chest like he was guarding against more than just the cold night air. The fire crackled softly near them.

Sonic flopped down across his bed with a contented sigh, munching on the last of the fruit from Lancelot’s plate. “Mmm... okay, so this food? Divine. I might fake-sick more often.”

Lancelot didn’t respond at first. Though he found it interesting, both of the blue hedgehogs in his life were pretending to be sick… at the same time.

His eyes were fixed on the fire, lost in thought. Eventually, he muttered, “I shouldn’t be here.”

Sonic glanced at him, chewing thoughtfully. “You’re not being chained to the bed or anything... Yet.” He couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped him.

Lancelot’s glare was swift but not cutting. More weary than anything.

Sonic grinned. “You’re so serious all the time. It’s a miracle you haven’t shattered from stress.”

“I’m a knight,” Lancelot replied. “It is expected of me.”

Sonic tilted his head, more curious than mocking. “Even in private?”

Silence again, and fire cracked.

Then Sonic shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. “So... what’s the deal with our kings, huh?”

Lancelot looked at him, surprised by the question. “What?”

“You know,” Sonic gestured vaguely with a grape, “Arthur. Shadow. Their whole... enemies-to-lovers-to-enemies-again-to-maybe-awkward-something thing.”

Lancelot sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “It’s been going on for years.”

Sonic sat up straighter. “Years?”

“Yes.” Lancelot sounded exhausted by the very concept. “Since before the Battle of Avalon. Before the alliance talks. Before even the court rumors. I’ve watched them circle each other with blades and glances for longer than I care to count.”

Sonic whistled low. “Damn. And I thought I was messy.”

“They admire each other. Deeply. But neither of them will admit it. Not in any way that matters.”

Sonic finished the grape and flopped back down. “So it’s like… equal parts lust, rivalry, and emotional constipation?”

Lancelot’s eyebrows furrowed, confused by how odd he spoke. “What?”

“Nevermind.” Sonic grinned, but then he quieted. “Still. Must suck. To love someone and be too proud to say it.”

Lancelot didn’t respond. His eyes dimmed with something unreadable. Sonic stretched, rolled onto his side, and eyed the knight. The air had settled between them, soft and contemplative… but Sonic was still Sonic and silence was never his strong suit.

“So,” he said more playful again, “now that I’m fed and warm, what should we do? Play cards? Spin a dagger? Strip chess?”

Lancelot groaned faintly.

Sonic sat up, slowly crawling toward the edge of the bed like a cat stalking curiosity. “C’mon, Sir knight... You’re in my room, in the evening, after sneaking food. That’s, like, the start of all my best stories.”

“I told you before,” Lancelot said tightly. “I am not going to do anything with you.”

Sonic’s smirk didn’t falter. “You say that—”

“I mean that.”

“But you’re blushing.”

Lancelot stiffened. His hand moved to adjust his gauntlets, though there was nothing wrong with them.

“Hmm~ you even seem a little hard.” Sonic gave a look at his pants and well he actually couldn’t tell, but wanted to mess with the knight more.

Lancelot jerked his head to him, eyes wide. “Sonic—!”

Sonic leaned forward, grin sharp and eyes mischievous. “I’m just saying... I don’t bite.”

“I am a knight of Camelot,” Lancelot said shakily despite his conviction.

“And I like teasing you… I see the way you get so flustered when I smile at you.” Sonic got off his bed with that unmistakable look in his eyes—the kind that spelled danger in the shape of a smirk. He walked over to the knight and leaned closer, real slow, until their knees brushed. “Y’know,” he continued in a silky voice, “I’m beginning to think… You like me.”

Lancelot tensed. “I do not—”

Before he could finish, Sonic reached out, fingers brushing up his jaw before confidently cupping Lancelot’s muzzle. The knight immediately froze, his eyes wide, and crimson flushed under his fur.

Sonic grinned, thumb brushing lightly along his cheek. “Mmh, look at you. Bet no one’s ever touched you like this, huh, Sir Knight?” he teased. “What would your King say if he saw how red you get from a little affection?”

Lancelot at first didn’t move, but then he forced himself to gently but firmly push Sonic’s hand away. “I-I should go,” he stammered, avoiding the jester's eyes as he stood too quickly, nearly knocking his chair.

Sonic leaned back on his hands, watching with a lazy smile that didn’t match the heat in his green mischievous eyes. “Suit yourself, handsome. Door’s always open.”

Lancelot hesitated at the threshold, saying nothing, and then he left.

Behind him, Sonic just chuckled to himself. “Such a knight…”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Six Months Later

The golden kingdom was quiet this morning.

In Arthur’s study, Lancelot stood beside a long oak table strewn with scrolls and sealed letters. The fire burned low in the hearth behind them. He hadn’t spoken in a minute, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood as Arthur leaned back in his chair, arms folded, eyes fixed on the window.

Neither of them had mentioned Blackthorne, but both of them were thinking it.

“Still nothing,” Lancelot finally said. “No ravens. No border activity. No sightings.”

Arthur didn’t move. “Good.”

Lancelot’s brow furrowed. “Is it?”

Arthur’s eyes remained fixed outward, and his jaw stayed tight. “It means he’s staying out of my business.”

The words fell flat, and even Arthur heard them. He sighed and sat forward, bracing his arms on his knees. His crown was absent. It had been six months since Shadow left, and in that time… there had been nothing.

No messages. No visits. No attempts at reconciliation. Not from him. Not from Arthur, either.

“I’m surprised,” Lancelot said gently. “You always liked keeping your enemies close.”

Arthur smirked with resentment but didn’t say anything. The silence lingered, weighty and full of the unsaid. Lancelot didn’t press further but he did glance toward the corner of the room, where a folded jester’s hat still sat on the side table. Forgotten… but not discarded.

Arthur noticed the look. “…He only came once.” There was a short silence before he added, “Little menace.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Three Months Ago

Sonic stood in the courtyard garden at dusk, arms folded behind his back, grinning up at Lancelot.

“You ever miss me, Sir Knight?” Sonic teased, leaning in just a bit. “I bet you do.”

Lancelot’s ears twitched, but his tone remained careful. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to be,” Sonic replied. “Things are cold back home. Shadow barely speaks. Rouge keeps trying to pull me into politics. No one laughs in Blackthorne.” He looked up with wary eyes that seemed like a plea. “I like it here better.”

Before Lancelot could answer, the garden gates slammed open, and Arthur stood at the entrance, his cape like thunder behind him. “Sonic.”

The name cracked like a command, and Sonic’s smile dropped. Arthur strode forward, ignoring Lancelot completely. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Sonic opened his mouth, defensive. “I—”

“No,” Arthur snapped. “You’re not welcome here. Go back to Blackthorne.”

Sonic flinched at his tone. “I didn’t come to cause trouble—”

“You are trouble,” Arthur hissed, each word laced with venom. “All you do is stir chaos. You are his plaything, go away.”

Sonic’s jaw trembled, but he didn’t back down. “Shadow never liked me,” he said quietly. “You know that, right? He only did it to make you jealous! He’s totally miserable back at Blackthorne. He wants you.”

“I don’t care,” Arthur turned his back and ordered a final phrase, “Get out.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Present

Lancelot looked at Arthur now, brow drawn, his arms crossed. “You said you don’t care.”

“I don’t.”

Lancelot looked away, and Arthur’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t answer. The knight stepped closer, quieter now. “You both miss each other. Sonic sees it. Even I see it.”

Arthur stood abruptly. “Drop it.”

Lancelot sighed. It really had been years of this, and he wondered if it would ever stop.

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again… and this time when he spoke again, he sounded strained. “I told myself I was done.”

Lancelot just looked at him, unwavering, wanting to push, but knew there would be no point. Arthur looked away, because the alternative was admitting he wasn’t.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The halls of Camelot were unusually warm.

Lancelot stood alone in the throne room, though it looked… different. The torches burned blue instead of gold. There were silk banners that draped the ceiling like the inside of a circus tent, and petals? There were strange, violet petals that drifted down from nowhere... and at the center of it all stood a figure in brilliant blue, crimson, and gold.

He wasn’t just smiling, he was glowing. Lit by some internal flame that pulled all the air out of the room. His hat had been tossed aside, his eyes half-lidded with mischief as he paced barefoot across the stone toward Lancelot.

“Well, well,” Sonic cooed, echoing oddly in the enchanted air. “My favorite knight.”

Lancelot stepped back slightly, armor clinking, but his body didn’t obey his commands the way it should have. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came and Sonic didn’t seem to care.

He was suddenly much closer… too close, leaning up on his toes to press gloved fingers against Lancelot’s chest. “I know you can’t stop thinking about me. All stiff and noble by day, but at night…”

He dragged those fingers lower, over the edge of a chestplate that wasn’t there anymore. Lancelot was no longer wearing armor. He was just in his undershirt, which was suddenly too thin.

“You’d never say it out loud,” Sonic whispered, tilting his head, “but you want me, don’t you?”

Lancelot breathed hard. His hands twitched at his sides. “I-I don’t—”

“Oh, please,” Sonic laughed, stepping into his space, straddling his thigh like it was his throne. “You’ve been thinking of me since the first time I teased you.”

His hands cupped Lancelot’s jaw, guiding his face down. “So, kiss me... Or shall I make you beg first?”

The words burned… and then their mouths met. Sonic kissed him like he was trying to tear the truth out of him, and Lancelot gave in. His hands slid to Sonic’s hips, making the jester smile. They both wanted this. Sonic wanted him, so why was he trying to deny it again?

Sonic pushed him back against the stone throne, climbed into his lap, grinding with wicked intent, teeth brushing over Lancelot’s ear. “Let me ruin you... just once, my handsome knight. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Lancelot gasped and awoke with a violent start.

Moonlight spilled through the tall windows of Lancelot’s room, silver and cold. His chest heaved. His hands clenched the blanket beneath him and… gods. He was so aroused and completely ashamed. He ran a hand through his quills, staring at the ceiling like it could offer forgiveness.

It was just a dream... one small dream, but it hadn’t felt like it. It had felt real. Sonic’s scent, teasing, and the weight of him... even the taste of his tongue.

Lancelot cursed softly under his breath and sat up, pressing his palms against his eyes. “What is wrong with me…” He had resisted Sonic’s flirtation for so long and had been cold, guarded, and proper, like he knew he should be. 

But in the quiet dark of his room, he was burning for him.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Three Months Later

The golden wax seal was already broken by the time Arthur sat back on his throne. The parchment trembled slightly in his hand. Not because of the paper, but because of what it meant.

The King’s Convergence.

Arthur let out a slow breath, pressing a hand to his forehead. “A year,” he muttered to himself. “It’s already been a year.”

He couldn’t believe it. Ten whole months had passed... Since they last spoke. Since that kiss.

He had thought time would dull the ache but he was wrong. At first, there was rage. Sharp and white-hot. Then resentment. Then, cold resolve. And now… now it was something worse. Because now there was nothing. There were no letters, sightings, and no excuses to speak his name.

Arthur had thrown himself into work. Into council affairs. Into defending Camelot’s borders from weak monsters since the Battle of Avalon took care of the monster rampage. And it worked… most days but not today. Today, the invitation felt like a summons from the past. From everything he had buried. He hated it and tossed the scroll onto the nearby table.

“I don’t want to go,” he said flatly.

There was a long silence before Lancelot stepped forward, folding his hands in front of him with that ever-patient calm. “You’ve never missed a Convergence, my king. This would be the first time in history Camelot refused a seat.”

“I’m aware,” Arthur muttered, rubbing his temple.

“And yet…”

Arthur cut him off. “Don’t say it.”

Lancelot did not but Arthur could feel it, the unspoken truth between them. They both knew what this really was about and Arthur stood abruptly, pacing toward the windows of the royal solar, looking out over the autumn-dusted fields. This time, when he spoke again, he was quieter. 

“I don’t want to see him.”

“You might not have to,” Lancelot offered carefully. “It’s a large event. Formal. He may choose to keep his distance. He always had in the past.”

Arthur scoffed. “True. I don’t know why I still feel so affected by all of this.”

“Because what you felt was real,” Lancelot said.

Arthur looked at him and narrowed his eyes, but so much time had passed that he couldn’t even deny it.

“Would you like me to handle the correspondence?” Lancelot asked softly.

Arthur was quiet for a long moment. “…No.” He turned back around, cloak sweeping dramatically with the movement, shoulders squared. “Draft a response. We’ll attend.”

Lancelot inclined his head.

“Tell Galahad to ready my royal colors,” Arthur added. “If I’m going to suffer through this idiocy, I’ll do it looking the part.”

“As you wish, my king.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The room was warm, firelight flickering against polished stone walls. The scent of wine and candlewax lingered faintly in the air, familiar and haunting. King Shadow stood at the edge of a bed he knew too well—Arthur’s.

The golden king lay sprawled across it, robes undone, long blue quills shimmering in the firelight. His emerald eyes shined with mischief, and that smile, that smile, twisted something profound in Shadow’s chest.

“Well,” Arthur purred, one hand beckoning lazily. “Are you going to stand there sulking all night, or are you finally going to come to bed, your majesty?”

Shadow tensed. “What is this?”

“A perfect night with me, obviously,” Arthur said with a smirk.

Shadow’s fists clenched, but his body didn’t move away, and if anything… it flamed with desire.

Arthur pushed himself up onto his elbows, robes parting shamelessly as he looked at him with a look so unlike him. “I’ve missed you,” he said, more honest than usual. “Have you missed me?”

Shadow said nothing. Arthur leaned back against the pillows and then brazenly reached for him, fingers curling around the front of Shadow’s shirt and tugging him forward. “Come here. Let’s finish what we started… last time. In my bedroom.”

Shadow’s breath caught as he was pulled down, their bodies aligning in an all-too-familiar way. His hands braced on the mattress, caging Arthur beneath him. Their noses brushed, and the golden king’s eyes never wavered.

Then their lips met, and it wasn’t like their usual kisses, which were typically messy, rage-filled collisions. No, this one was somehow full of desire yet sweet… like they had all the time in the world to say sorry. Shadow melted into it before he realized what he was doing. One hand slid into Arthur’s quills, the other cradling his cheek. Arthur arched up into him, soft gasps mingling with the kiss, and everything inside Shadow ached.

It wasn’t just heat nor was it just need. It was something older and deeper and terrifying. When they finally parted, they were both our of breath and tangled in each other, Shadow stared at him.

“Why…” he asked thick with an emotion he couldn't name. “Why is this different?”

Arthur looked at him with something heartbreakingly open.

“Because I’m done playing our game, Shadow. I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

Shadow gasped sharply, sitting bolt upright in bed, breath ragged and his chest heaving. The room was cold again. The fire was out. The sheets were soaked with sweat, and he cursed under his breath, covering his face with both hands.

His heart ached. He had never, never dreamt of Arthur like that. Not with tenderness. Not with longing. Not like a man begging for something real. Disgust and confusion churned in his gut. Arthur would never say that. Never surrender. Never beg. Never want him like that.

…Right?

Shadow stared into the dark, the ghost of Arthur’s lips still burning against his own, and then he looked at the King’s Convergence summons that were already open at his desk.

Damn it all.

Chapter Text

The ballroom of Eloria glittered with gold and polished obsidian. Massive crystal chandeliers floated by enchantment over a sea of velvet banners, each bearing the crest of a kingdom.

This year, though still held in the kingdom of Eloria, Lyreon, another Lord of the Highlands, was in charge and spared no expense. Servants in silver-threaded uniforms offered spiced wine. Nobles spun across the floor in waltzes choreographed for peace, not passion… but none of it mattered.

Not to Arthur because he had just walked through the arched entrance of the hall with Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, and Percival at his side. All knights were in armor, but Arthur was dressed in royal crimson with golden embroidery, and of course, his signature golden crown. The air was heavy with magical elements that controlled the music and made wine shimmer, but Arthur’s attention snapped like a thread the moment he saw him.

In the far corner, half-shadowed by a crystal pillar, sat a group in deep crimson and black.

Blackthorne and there, seated at the head of the table with his chin resting on gloved knuckles, was King Shadow. He looked unchanged. His quills were still dark and sleek, red eyes burned quietly, and he sat with Rouge, who was draped in black, lounging like a queen, with their other warriors.

Arthur’s steps slowed. He hated how his heart ached at the sight of him, but he kept his face calm.

Lancelot noticed immediately, coming to his side. “He arrived early."

“He usually does,” Arthur said through his teeth.

But it wasn’t Shadow that caught Lancelot’s full attention next. It was the flicker of red and gold leaping above the crowd. “Wait—” his eyes were wide from shock. “Is that…?”

Arthur followed his gaze. Up on a raised stage, surrounded by floating cards, ribbons of glowing magic, and glittering orbs, a familiar blue figure performed a spinning leap midair, landing in a crouch before snapping upright with a flourish and a wink to the crowd, and it was Sonic.

Arthur’s brow arched. “He’s here?”

“He’s never attended one of these before... Not once.”

“And now suddenly he’s not only here… He’s performing?” Arthur said very much curious as to why.

As if on cue, Sonic caught sight of them from the stage, and he slightly faltered. Then his smile widened into something toothy and bright, and he gave a theatrical bow so low his hat brushed the marble floor. The audience clapped politely. None of them knew what passed between Camelot and Blackthorne.

“Do you think Shadow brought him to perform?” Lancelot asked.

“I suppose so,” Arthur said.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Shadow hadn’t heard a single word Rouge had just said.

His attention was no longer on the glass of wine at his elbow or the carefully curated defenses of his knights. His gaze had latched onto the grand hall entrance the second it opened, when a sweep of red, gold, and steel spilled through.

King Arthur... and his posture was regal, expression cold, and he looked the same— No... he looked worse… because he looked even more like a king than the day Shadow left. It hurt more than he expected. He kept his face still, still as stone, but inside his heart lurched like a curse rebounding in his chest.

“I said,” Rouge repeated beside him, arching one elegant brow, “I find it odd the High Council requested your jester this year. Usually, they pick local magi.”

Shadow didn’t respond because he didn't even notice she said something.

Rouge turned her head slightly toward him. “You, okay?”

“…No.” He muttered. He stared at Arthur across the room. A hundred courtiers milled between them, but none of them mattered. He hadn’t seen him in nearly a year. Not once. Not at a negotiation, not at a war table, not in a forest by accident. He tried not to think of him. Tried to forget, but Arthur walked in like a dagger, shining and proud, and Shadow felt every buried thought unravel in his gut. Rouge said nothing, because she didn’t need to.

“…You’re not going to say it was your idea again, are you?” Shadow growled.

Rouge just sipped her drink with a smirk. “You never got mad at me for the plan. Wonder why?”

Shadow couldn’t help but tense up because… if he got mad at her, it would mean he cared that he’d hurt Arthur. That he wasn’t above it all, like he told himself.

Shadow looked back toward the stage and finally registered what Rouge had meant. Sonic was in full regalia, mid-performance. Twirling his wand, tossing flaming cards into the air that transformed into shimmering birds. The crowd was delighted. Of course they were.

“The council wanted something different,” Shadow muttered, watching Sonic dance in the firelight. “They said this year needed a more theatrical touch.”

Rouge raised a brow. “And a ballroom dance.”

Shadow’s gaze narrowed. “It is odd he was requested this time.”

Rouge smirked. “Very.”

Shadow’s hand tightened slightly around his glass.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Sonic spun, leapt, and landed in a dramatic crouch, and a glittering mist exploded behind him like smoke and stars, and the crowd of nobles clapped once more. A noblewoman near the front laughed at his conjured bouquet of roses, each flower meowing like a kitten before vanishing into sparks.

He loved that sound. Laughter. It made him feel like he was doing something right. Something normal.

He threw up a handful of enchanted dice, which transformed into doves mid-air. They flew above the audience, bursting into confetti that rained over giggling lords and ladies. It was his best performance in months... yet his body betrayed him ever so slightly. His ears twitched from instinct, and his smile was strained, because even as he danced, juggled, and charmed the ballroom with spells and wit, his eyes kept sweeping the crowd, searching for a certain council member. One he knew must have called for him this year, and Sonic knew better than most.

Snakes hid best in the glitter. His gut twisted at the thought… Just don’t be here. Please, not tonight. He flicked his hand and summoned a ring of gold that hovered above his head like a mock halo.

Then he gave a wink to Arthur and Lancelot, who both looked at him. The audience laughed, but behind the laughter… Sonic’s eyes kept scanning the crowd, waiting and praying he was wrong.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Music floated through the grand hall like wine for the dance had begun.

Percival and Galahad had taken to the dance floor, moving with noble grace and practiced ease.

Gawain, ever the charmer, had already whisked a laughing noblewoman into a bold, fast-paced twirl, his red armor shining like flame and in the center of the dance, in the most visible space reserved for royalty, Arthur and Lancelot danced. It was tradition for them.

They moved in perfect synchronicity—refined, controlled, like the choreography of a battle they knew by heart. Their expressions were calm, and their posture regal. But beneath the polished exterior, Arthur was watching him.

Lancelot’s gaze kept drifting over Arthur’s shoulder. To the stage, to him, and this time, Arthur didn’t miss it. “You like him, don’t you?”

Lancelot stumbled, just a fraction, but quickly caught his footing. “My king?”

Arthur raised an amused brow. “Don’t play coy. You’ve been looking at him since we arrived.”

“I have not,” Lancelot muttered.

“You have and… I think I understand now.” Lancelot looked away, trying to escape this conversation, but Arthur continued, more to himself now. “He didn’t come to Camelot just to escape Blackthorne. He came for you.”

The dance turned slowly, sweeping them past the stage. Sonic was juggling knives made of light, laughing, basking in the attention. For a moment, their eyes met across the room, and Arthur saw it. That subtle brightness in Sonic’s eyes shone more when Lancelot looked at him, which only made Arthur’s throat tighten. Guilt pooled in his chest. He remembered how he’d sent Sonic away so coldly, how he never asked why he came. He just assumed.

“I didn’t see it before,” Arthur continued. “Because I didn’t want to. But it’s clear now.”

“Even if I did feel something… it would be inappropriate.”

Arthur gave a brief laugh. “Lancelot, you’re my knight, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel. You’re allowed to care.”

“He’s a jester,” Lancelot said sharply, as if saying it aloud would break whatever spell the jester had him under since the moment he teased him. “He flirts with everyone. He’s… he’s improper, crude, and seductive. You said so yourself.”

Arthur chuckled at that. “I did.”

They turned again and saw Sonic spun into a backflip, fire swirling behind him, landing with one foot planted on his staff like a stage prop. 

Arthur’s expression sobered as he looked back at Lancelot. “But maybe he doesn’t know how to be anything else. Maybe that’s his way of surviving. Maybe no one ever taught him he could be more than a jester… more than something to laugh at or use.” Then, Arthur’s tone turned wry. “He does seem to keep glancing at you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It might.”

The music slowed, and this time it was an elegant waltz fading into a softer, quieter number. The two of them moved a little closer as tradition demanded. Arthur was now more sincere. “He might be a plaything... but if anyone in this kingdom needed a knight in shining armor, Lancelot…” He glanced toward Sonic again, “…it’d be him.”

Lancelot scoffed softly, but the heat rising to his cheeks gave him away.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Thalor is an influential, high-ranking member of the High Council—a Mobian known for his dignified appearance, commanding presence, and unsettling sense of entitlement. He’s served the council for decades and is feared more for the favors he collects than any official authority. Whispers in court speak of him as a patron of performers, though those who have worked under his "favor" often seem... quieter afterward.

And Sonic… Sonic’s entire demeanor changed when he saw him. His ears, so often perked high with mischief, drooped instantly. His tail tucked in. The confidence faltered just slightly.

The noble made his way to Sonic, pulling him away from his magic show, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw as if to test the merchandise. “There you are,” the councilor murmured. “I didn’t see you at the last summit in Blackthorne. You owe me, jester.”

Sonic didn’t smile. “I was busy that time... You know, being a jester is busy work.”

The councilman’s grip tightened at his chin, enough to bruise. “Not what we agreed on.”

From his place on the dance floor, Lancelot’s steps faltered just slightly. His eyes narrowed, fixating not on Arthur, but across the room, on Sonic.

He saw it. The drooped ears. The forced laugh. The way Sonic didn’t squirm, didn’t fight, but shrunk just the tiniest bit.

Arthur said something beside him, but Lancelot didn’t hear because for all the chaos Sonic brought, all the trouble he stirred, all the flirtation and unpredictable madness…

This? This wasn’t part of the act… and Lancelot didn’t like it.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The music from the ballroom played on, but down the cold corridor behind it, the melody sounded like mockery.

Lancelot’s boots echoed over stone, moving quickly because he felt something wasn’t right.

Sonic had vanished not long ago, slipping away into the maze of hallways with that ever-present grin, but that grin had wavered. His laugh had rung hollow. His ears had drooped just a little too far for his usual mischief.

Lancelot knew that something was wrong. He heard a muffled, shaky whimper, then all of a sudden nothing, and that wasn’t good. Lancelot’s blood ran cold, and he sprinted. The chamber door was half-shut when he reached it. He didn’t hesitate. He slammed it open with a force that rattled the hinges, and what he saw drove the breath from his lungs.

Lord Thalor loomed over Sonic. His hand tangled in torn fabric, Sonic’s body bent awkwardly over the edge of the chaise, one arm stretched out limply like he’d tried to fight but couldn’t. His mouth was parted, barely breathing, his eyes dazed and wet.

“Get away from him!” Lancelot demanded.

Thalor turned, caught mid-motion, expression smug and unrepentant but that look vanished the moment Lancelot threw him across the room. The impact was loud—flesh and robes and bone crashing into the stone wall. Thalor crumpled in a heap, gasping for breath.

Before Lancelot could continue, his ear twitched at the whimper behind him, and he immediately fell to his knees beside Sonic. The jester flinched violently at the touch, jerking back, his body tense.

“Not again, please,” Sonic whimpered.

“Sonic,” Lancelot whispered softly, “It’s me.”

Sonic blinked at him as if he weren’t real, his eyes glassy, unfocused. Then, slowly, his body sagged forward, into the knight’s arms. He folded like he had no strength left to hold himself up. His breath came in shallow hiccups.

Lancelot held him closer, a protective arm curling around Sonic’s back, the other shielding his head as if to hide him from the world.

“What ha—?”

“It’s nothing.”

But Lancelot knew something was wrong, very wrong, the jester was completely limp and then he picked him up, holding him in his arms, and the front of his pants wasn’t just damp from sweat, there was blood. This wasn’t just an attack or rough session, it was…

“You're bleeding,” Lancelot said, horrified.

Sonic let out a thin, broken laugh, nothing like his usual melodic chime. “It’s... fine. I’ll heal.”

“Sonic—”

“It’s not the first time,” Sonic said, more firmly now, trying to sound casual. “I’ll bounce back. I always do.”

Lancelot froze. Not the first time!? The words tore through him like fire, like guilt, like fury he couldn’t contain.

Sonic tried to laugh again, looking at him weakly. “It’s fine, Sir Knight. Really. You don’t have to look at me like that. I’m not b-broken.”

“Sonic... stop.” Lancelot looked down at him. 

A wall inside of Sonic cracked. “Why are you so close. Stop looking at me like that,” He pulled his face away, trying to squirm out of his hold, but doing that only hurt, so he stopped.

“You don’t have to pretend you're okay,” Lancelot soothed, seeing the tears in his eyes, “Not with me.”

Another wall cracked, and a sob burst from the jester’s chest. It was harsh, involuntary, as if the pain had slipped out before he could stop it. Then another followed. Then another. Sonic clung to him, fingers digging into the knight's chest, trembling from the inside out. All the false bravado, the witty remarks, the illusion of control collapsed under the weight of it. He couldn't hold back anymore; his walls crumbled.

“I didn’t want to—he just—he always does this— and I can’t say no to a high councilman,” Sonic hiccuped.

Lancelot held him tighter, as if trying to protect him from his grief and pain. “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Sonic’s cries turned into quiet sobbing, muffled against Lancelot’s armor. The knight continued to hold him, gently rocking, one hand cupping the back of Sonic’s head, the other curled around his waist like a shield. His armor was wet with tears and blood and shaking breath, but he didn’t care because all he could think was how wrong this was and how furious he was.

Sonic had gone through this not just once but multiple times.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The hallway outside the grand hall felt eerily quiet.

King Shadow stood at the far end, having just turned from his corner path when he spotted a familiar figure exiting one of the guest rooms, his robes rustling, his pace a little too fast, too purposeful. Lord Thalor?

Shadow’s eyes narrowed, tracking the nobleman’s retreating form. His hand twitched toward his side, but he held still. That man had a reputation. A council blade. A survivor. Still, something about the way he moved was off… Too clean. Too timed. As if he had been injured.

Shadow stepped forward, turned the corner, and froze because inside the open chamber, lit only by dying candlelight and one high window bleeding moonlight across the floor, was Sonic in Lancelot’s arms. The knight sat on the bed, with Sonic perched on one of his legs, his arm wrapped under the hedgehog, the other hand holding his sword. Shadow could barely see Sonic but assumed they were having an intimate moment.

The king stopped just inside the doorway, arms crossed loosely. “Well... What do we have here, Lancelot?”

Lancelot’s grip on his sword only tightened, and then, without warning, without caring who he was speaking to, his voice rose harshly. “You knew.”

Shadow raised an eyebrow. “Knew what?”

Lancelot’s head finally turned, just enough for the candlelight to catch on his eyes that were bright, furious, and wet. “You knew what that bastard Thalor was like. You let him near Sonic. You left him unguarded.”

Shadow’s calm faltered just slightly. “What are you talking about?”

Lancelot stood slowly, still holding Sonic in one arm like a lifeline, his sword now fully raised in the other. The way he stood was not defensive. It was challenging.“Don’t act senselessly. Sonic is your jester! You had to have known what others do to him."

“Sonic is his own person, he does what he pleases,” Shadow countered, still confused by the knight’s anger.

“Is that what you tell yourself? To sleep at night?” Lancelot spat. “That he’s fine, that he’s an entertainer, that he’ll bounce back, right? That it’s not your problem.”

Shadow’s face darkened. “Watch your words, knight.”

“Why? Too close to the truth for you?”

Sonic whimpered softly against Lancelot’s chest, curling tighter into the knight’s armor, and that’s when Shadow saw it. Sonic wasn’t just in Lancelot’s arms, no… He was collapsed against his chest like he’d been broken, like he’d melted, body trembling in the knight’s grasp. Shadow’s eyes trailed down and saw it… The dark red stain down Sonic’s thigh. The blood soaked into his colorful pants.

Shadow's heart stopped, and he stepped forward. “What? What happened?”

Lancelot snapped the blade up between them again. “Don’t. You don’t get to ask.”

Sonic stirred at the sound of Shadow’s voice, barely able to lift his head. “It’s fine."

Shadow looked down at him, though, and something in his chest twisted that was painful. “You’re bleeding.”

“I said…” Sonic coughed. “I’ll heal.”

Shadow’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Who?”

Lancelot didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, and Shadow’s eyes burned with realization. “Thalor… that fucking bastard.” Shadow stepped closer, eyes locked on the trembling figure cradled in Lancelot’s arms. “Give him to me,” he said quietly, nothing like the cold edge his words usually carried. “Let me heal him.”

Lancelot took a step back, sword raised a fraction higher. He didn’t trust Shadow not one bit. “No.”

“Lancelot—”

“You weren’t there,” Lancelot snapped as his grip on Sonic tightened, his body angled between the jester and the king like a shield. “You weren’t there when he needed you. You are supposed to be responsible for him. He broke in here. You weren’t there for him, and I don’t think you ever were.”

Shadow's jaw clenched, he was furious by what he saw, what he now knew happened, but he couldn’t just yank Sonic out of the knight’s grasp. That would only hurt him. So, he tried to remain calm. “I know that. That’s why I’m trying now. He needs to be healed.”

“He needs to be held,” Lancelot growled. “He needs someone who won’t let go of him once the bleeding stops.”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Shadow assured, but Lancelot didn’t budge.

“Forgive me,” the knight hissed, “if I don’t trust the king who lets horrors like this happen in the first place.”

Shadow's ruby eyes seethed at the accusation. “I don’t let horrors like this happen to Sonic. Not once had he ever mentioned anything like this to me. I wasn’t aware Thalor was like this. I would have never brought him.”

“Lies. Why should I believe anything you say? You are his King, you had to have known,” Lancelot stepped a little closer, “Or no… perhaps you're just a thoughtless king who has no consideration for those under his rule.” He paused and added, “You’re despicable. You don’t deserve to have him.”

Shadow’s chaos energy fired up because everything the knight was saying was only pissing him off more and more.

Their standoff burned like a forge with pride and guilt pressed together by a shared care for the boy trembling between them… but his chaos energy snuffed as Sonic whimpered softly, trying to shift. The sound was barely audible and sounded so fragile.

It broke something in both of them.

Shadow exhaled slowly, stepping back just slightly. “Fine… Then let me heal him, while you hold him.”

Lancelot’s eyes narrowed. His sword didn’t lower, but after a long, heavy silence, he gave the smallest nod. He wanted Sonic’s pain to go away. “You touch him wrong,” he said coldly, “I’ll kill you where you kneel. King or not.”

Still holding Sonic protectively to his chest with one arm, he allowed Shadow to kneel beside them, never lowering his blade. The tip hovered, aimed just inches from the king’s throat.

Shadow met his eyes once, acknowledging the unspoken warning, before turning his focus to Sonic.“Hold still. This will be warm, but it won’t hurt.” His gloved hand hovered just above Sonic’s torn clothes. Chaos energy shimmered gold between his fingers, and as it passed over the open wounds, the torn flesh began to knit. The bruises faded. The blood stopped trailing.

Sonic exhaled a shaky breath. His forehead pressed tighter to Lancelot’s shoulder, his body slumping further into the knight’s hold.

“You’re alright,” Lancelot murmured against his ear.

The energy faded, but the damage it couldn’t touch, the deeper pain, lingered in the silence that followed.

Shadow slowly stood, his eyes looking again to the sword at his throat. “You can withdraw now.”

Lancelot didn’t answer. He just shifted Sonic higher against his chest.

“I should have protected him,” Shadow said, barely audible.

Lancelot’s eyes never stopped burning. “You should have, but it doesn’t matter. He will be under my protection now. I won’t let anyone touch him again.”

Sonic’s ears twitched, but he had fallen asleep from being healed and the whole ordeal. Shadow watched for a moment longer and was unsure of how to respond to that. Then, without another word, he turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps.

King Arthur entered the room, and his eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Sonic in Lancelot’s arms and King Shadow suspiciously close. Lancelot was bloodied, sword still in hand, and he could tell something was off. At first, jealousy flickered, but then it died immediately, because he saw the blood on the jester’s pants.

“What happened?” Arthur demanded.

Shadow looked over, surprised to see Arthur, but the conflicting emotions he had over their... situation wasn't the focus. Not with what just happened.

“It was Thalor.” Shadow said with a lethal edge.

“What about him?” Arthur questioned.

“He raped Sonic,” Lancelot said with disgust.

Arthur’s expression turned ice cold. “He will not leave this castle alive.”

“No,” Shadow said. “He won’t.”

Arthur looked at Shadow, then at Lancelot. “Is he stable?”

Lancelot nodded once. “Resting.”

Shadow’s voice was tight. “I healed him… physically.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “That fucking bastard.”

There was a long, bitter pause between the kings, their history simmering between them. Rage and jealousy, guilt and pride, all buried under this one truth: Thalor had to be dealt with.

Arthur turned to Shadow. “We’ll do it quietly. No public scene.”

 “We won’t let anyone hear. The Council can’t know it came from us.”

“They won’t,” Arthur said.

The kings exchanged a long, lingering look. No truce was spoken. This was the first time they had spoken in just under a year, but for this one thing, this one righteous purpose, they stood as one.

Lancelot broke the silence. “Go.”

They both turned as Lancelot sat on the edge of the bed, cradling Sonic still. His sword lay at his side now, untouched but ever present.

“I’ll stay with him,” the knight said firmly. “You two handle the rest.”

They shared one last glance. Shadow to Sonic, Arthur to Lancelot, and then they turned and left, their rivalry momentarily buried beneath a shared fury.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The private corridor beneath Eloria Citadel was damp and disused, with darkness clinging to the stone. No music reached this far. No laughter. Only the shuffle of old boots and the air was thick, wet, and oppressive… the kind of air that made lungs tighten and time feel slower.

No guards stood sentry here, and no servants wandered these halls. This was where the things that needed to disappear were taken. How convenient.

Lord Thalor suddenly heard footsteps behind him. He turned with one hand pressed to his ribs where Lancelot’s earlier strike had broken through his defenses. His robe hung half-torn, and his breathing was labored. Then, when he saw the two kings approaching, side by side, his expression twisted into something smug and oily.

“Your Majesties,” he hissed through clenched teeth, words laced with the last remnants of bravado. “You’re making a mistake. I serve the Council—what you do here will doom you both.”

Arthur didn’t slow, and Shadow didn’t blink.

Thalor sneered, straightening. “You’re just kings. One wicked. One feral. You don’t have the power—”

He didn’t get to finish because Shadow’s fist collided with his stomach like a bolt from a cannon. The force sent Thalor to his knees with a guttural choke, spittle and blood hitting the cold floor as he doubled over, gasping.

Arthur came to a stop just beside him; his aura was regal and unflinching. His gloves were still on, and his cloak brushed softly against him, too pristine for the councilors’ filth.

“You don’t get to speak anymore.”

Thalor wheezed. “You… can’t… do this…”

Arthur tilted his head. “Who will stop us?”

A second blow struck from the side from Shadow again. His hand now ungloved, dark knuckles already stained from the first hit, but this time he hit Thalor square in the ribs, a brutal strike that sounded a sharp crack. He knew he had to have broken at least three yet it was still not enough.

Thalor screamed, a high, shrill sound that tried to claw its way to the ceiling—until Shadow’s hand clamped over his mouth and shoved him hard into the stone wall.

“You touched my jester,” Shadow said evilly. “You put your hands on someone who was mine to protect.”

Thalor flailed, but Shadow only drove his elbow harder into the lord’s back, pressing him down like he was nothing.

“Your games end here,” Arthur added coolly. “No trials. No speeches. No carefully worded defenses in the Council chambers. Just the two of us here with you.”

He stepped closer, withdrawing a small dagger from beneath his cloak, and it gleamed silver in the low light. Thalor whimpered against Shadow’s palm, and all of his fight was gone... only pitiful sounds remained. Arthur crouched beside him, pressing the tip of the dagger against Thalor’s cheek with agonizing slowness, cutting him in the process.

“You didn’t just assault a jester,” Arthur murmured. “You upset two dangerous kings, and now we will do the same to you.”

Thalor’s eyes widened in terror, and Arthur didn’t even blink. He delivered a final shallow cut to his jaw, wishing he could do more, but he knew this wasn’t his kill, so he rose and nodded once to Shadow.

Shadow let him go, and Thalor slumped, coughing, bleeding, and then the true end began. Shadow struck immediately, swift and ruthless. His Chaos energy flared, not enough to light the corridor, but enough to crackle down his arm like a living thing. He struck the lord in the chest, once, twice, and a third time, each blow more punishing than the last. No power surges. No grand finales. Just bare-handed force.

The dark king was delivering punishment like a judge with a gavel made of bone, and Arthur stood behind him, watching him, dagger still at his side. Honestly, despite everything, he was enjoying it all. Seeing Shadow kill was never boring.

Thalor tried to crawl away and drag himself toward the wall, but Shadow stepped forward. “You deserve worse.” But because he had to be quick, he ended it. With one final blow, he snapped Thalor’s neck clean with a brutal twist. Shadow stepped back, panting once, his eyes empty of hesitation. His fur was ruffled, but his hands no longer trembled with fury.

Arthur approached slowly, and his eyes dropped to the crumpled form, to the pool of blood, and distorted limbs. Then he looked up at his rival. “We’ll burn him. No burial. No records. The Council will believe whatever they want, but fuck it, let them whisper.”

Shadow nodded, and they both acted fast.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The fire had long since dimmed to embers. A random chamber in Eloria was silent save for the occasional gust of wind brushing past the tall arched windows.

Shadow lay on the bed, not sleeping. His cloak and armor had been discarded unceremoniously on a nearby chair. One arm lay across his chest, the other draped over his face as if trying to shut out the world. His legs hung slightly over the edge of the mattress, too long for the frame.

His breaths were uneven and that was the first thing Arthur noticed when he walked in.

He had meant to come to talk since there was still the matter of Thalor’s records, his estate, the cover story that had to be woven with delicate precision. He had rehearsed what he would say, but all that fell away the moment he opened the door and saw Shadow, the infamously composed King of Blackthorne, laying there like something defeated. He wasn’t moving. Not asleep. Not at peace.

Arthur stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “What are you doing?”

Shadow didn’t move. “I’m tired.”

There was no sarcasm or fire in his tone... just exhaustion.

“I feel like a terrible king.”

Arthur frowned. “Because of Sonic.”

Shadow exhaled slowly, but didn’t answer. Arthur walked to the foot of the bed and crossed his arms, ready to throw one of his usual biting retorts, but then he noticed it. The slight tremor in Shadow’s tone. The way his chest rose and fell was too uneven. The silence between his words was too heavy to ignore.

“Leave,” Shadow said hoarsely.

Arthur didn’t listen. He stepped around the bed and slowly sat on the edge beside him. “You’re upset."

Shadow let out a bitter sound between a scoff and a broken laugh. “Of course I’m upset,” he muttered, lowering the arm from his face. His eyes were dull, rimmed faintly with red. “He was under my rule, and I let him get hurt.”

Arthur couldn't help his following words because he hated how upset Shadow looked. “You didn’t let him. You didn’t know.”

“I should’ve,” Shadow growled. “I should’ve seen something. Asked something. He lives in my damn castle, Arthur.”

Arthur's ears twitched at the very rare moment of Shadow calling him by his name, but he continued. “And he’s made a career out of hiding things with a smile. He’s good at making people think he’s fine. He’s probably been doing it his whole life. We took care of Thalor. It’s done.”

“Then why does it feel like I still failed?”

Arthur looked at him, really looked. This wasn’t the proud, infuriating rival who taunted him from across battlefields. This was something raw, something he had never seen in him, and it made their moment so terribly heavy. “Because you care.”

That made Shadow turn his head slightly, “Why are you trying to make me feel better? I thought you hated me.”

Arthur looked away. That... was a fair question. He looked down at his gloved hands and laced them together on his lap. “Perhaps I don’t hate you.”

Shadow tilted his head. “You sure act like it.”

Arthur gave a dry chuckle. “I hate things about you, but… I don’t know if I ever truly did.”

Shadow moved slowly, pushing himself to sit up, his back to the headboard. His eyes were on Arthur now, focused, but uncertain, and he needed to say the two words he had been wanting to say since he made Arthur cry. “I’m sorry,” Shadow said at last. “About what happened in Camelot. Months ago. What I did. That plan. That whole stupid... moment.”

Arthur gave him a long, unreadable look. “It... doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does,” Shadow said firmly. “It was an idiotic idea. I never should’ve agreed to it. Rouge suggested it and I… I still can’t believe I agreed.”

Arthur’s brow lifted. “Rouge came up with that?”

Shadow narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t figure that out?”

And then Arthur... laughed. He laughed harder than he had in weeks. Maybe months. His hand covered his mouth, but his shoulders shook, and a genuine grin cracked through his face.

Shadow stared, baffled. “What?” he asked, annoyed.

Arthur wiped a tear from his eye. “It just… makes so much sense now. Of course, it was her. That whole ‘walk in on your rival in bed with someone else’ bit? It had her flair all over it.”

Shadow looked away, grumbling. “She said it would get a reaction.”

Arthur chuckled again, unable to help himself. “It did. Just not the one either of you expected.”

The laughter faded into something quieter. The room stilled again but this time… it wasn’t tense. They sat there, both realizing, with a flicker of shock, that they’d just laughed together, well, Arthur laughed, Shadow watched but still. It was a first for them, and it hadn’t felt like war.

Shadow met Arthur’s gaze. “Are we still playing your game?” 

Arthur was surprised by the question, but couldn't help his natural mischievous side. His mouth turned into a coy smirk, but it faltered as he looked at him, because suddenly Shadow was right next to him, and Arthur was stunned and pulled his head back slightly. “What… are you doing?”

“Answer me. Are we still playing your game?”

Arthur scoffed, “We haven’t played my game in practically a year.”

“So, you admit you started it.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and gave him a cruel smile, “So what if I did?”

Shadow ignored that and pressed, “So, is that a no?”

Arthur looked away and didn’t answer and when nothing was said, Shadow sighed. “I think I’ve learned something about you.”

“Oh yeah, and what is that?”

“You're so damn prideful, truly worse about it than I am. You can’t even admit that you did wrong, too.”

Arthur’s eyes glared at him. “What you did was still worse.”

“I agree,” Shadow paused and realized that nothing was going to get done this way. He thought about everything. The past year, practically, and how much he... hated it. He hated that he hurt Arthur. He hated that Arthur refused to come to the summit and had sent Lancelot instead. He hated that Avalon no longer needed them once they defeated the magical beast that was pouring out monsters in their lands. He hated that he was even bothered by all of this because it all meant one thing.

It all meant that he couldn't see this damn king in front of him for nearly a year. The man who frustrated him endlessly, playing with his body and heart... but started something between them, and Shadow hadn't been the same since.

So... he offered a bit of truth, something more than admitting attraction to him, the last day he saw him. He also hated that his voice shook on his following words, “And I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

Arthur’s glare vanished, and his eyes widened, surprised by what Shadow just said, and he couldn’t help how his heart stuttered.

Shadow’s hand rose, hovering near his face, hesitant which was another bold and unexpected move. “I thought leaving you behind would make it easier, but every step away from you… only made it worse.”

Arthur swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze from him.

“I regret it. All of it. Not just the fight. Not just Sonic. Us.”

Arthur was frozen because he didn’t know what to think or what to do... Shadow was... really apologizing? And maybe something more?

Arthur wanted to get up right then and there. Argue. Tell him it's his fault. Tell him it doesn't matter. Tell him... anything that derailed whatever the fuck was happening, but... He remembered all the months that had gone by in between. All the anger... even the tears his eyes betrayed him with, all the bullshit, all the times he vented to Lancelot about this damn king, and he didn’t want to fight it anymore.

He was tired... of his own game too. At least right now he was. He finally looked up at Shadow, and uncertain emerald eyes met vulnerable ruby ones. “I was miserable without you,” he whispered, the truth finally too heavy to deny.

Shadow's ear flickered at the admission. He didn't expect Arthur to give in. He didn't even realize what he was doing, but his fingers, that had been so close, finally touched his cheek, barely.  “Me too.”

Arthur peeked over at his hand on his muzzle and continued. “I don’t know how to be anything else with you."

Shadow nodded slowly. “Me either.”

But before they could say more, the door from their room slammed open, and it was Percival. “My King! Something happened!”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

For nearly half an hour, the knight didn’t move.

He simply watched over him, listened to the rise and fall of Sonic’s breath, the quiet pulse of life. He really was completely healed, Shadow’s chaos energy worked, and all injuries were gone, but still… Lancelot felt an immeasurable amount of guilt, like a weight on his chest, but it wasn’t because Sonic was still asleep on him.

No… it was the fact that there were signs. Sonic missing the summit, faking being ill, how he said he was used, why he seemed not to want to go back to Blackthorne at all, how he looked at Lancelot as if he wanted him to tell him to stay in Camelot. Safe and free.

The fact that this happened at all broke Lancelot's heart, and he had made up his mind.

Sonic stirred with a soft inhale and twitch of his ears. “…Wh…?” He blinked blearily into the candlelit room, confused, dazed. Then he shifted, realizing he wasn’t alone, that his head was resting on warm armor.

He was being held? By Lancelot?

“W-What—” Sonic started to sit up, but the arm around his waist tightened and he stilled.

“Sir Knight…?” he whispered, uncertain.

“Yes.”

“…What are you doing?”

The knight’s voice was quiet but absolute. “Protecting you.”

Sonic let out a weak laugh, trying to wiggle out of the embrace. “You already did that. You can let go now. I’m fine.”

Lancelot didn’t move. “You’re not.”

Sonic stopped struggling, but his breath hitched, ever so slightly. “…This is weird... You’re being weird.”

“I’m keeping you safe.”

Sonic looked around, “Uh... I don’t see any danger.”

Lancelot said nothing, just stared at him, and it made Sonic feel too much, so he tried to squirm again, more insistently. “I—I can’t do this.”

“Why?”

Sonic looked at him, lips parting, but nothing came out. His throat worked around a knot he couldn’t name.

Lancelot looked at him gently, not pressing. Not judging. “You don’t have to run.”

“I’m not running away.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

Lancelot sighed. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Sonic snapped, but it was too fast, too shaky, and Lancelot knew.

“You are,” the knight said softly. “Because someone’s holding you like you matter and you don’t know what to do with that.”

Sonic turned his head away, blinking rapidly. “You don’t get it.”

“I believe I do.”

Sonic paused, unsure how to proceed, but eventually he asked, “Then what do I do, Sir Knight? Stay in your arms forever?”

Lancelot loosened his arm around him. “No... but I do think your life could be different.”

Sonic’s breath caught in his throat. “What?”

Lancelot’s tone softened even more. “You don’t have to be used. You don’t have to act like everything is okay. You just have to let someone be here.”

“…And that someone is you?”

“Yes.”

Sonic huffed a tiny laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Lancelot didn’t smile, but his eyes were earnest. “From this day on… I’m your knight.”

Sonic’s ears twitched. “What?”

“I said,” Lancelot repeated, “I’m your knight now.”

Sonic laughed a little louder this time. “You’re… kidding. You’re a knight of Camelot. Arthur’s sword. His right hand. You can’t be mine.”

“I can,” Lancelot said without hesitation. “And I will.”

Sonic turned to face him more fully now, eyes narrowed slightly. “How? You belong to King Arthur.”

“I aid him, I don’t belong to him,” Lancelot said.

Sonic looked at him like he had grown a second head. “How would that even work?”

“You will stay with us in Camelot so I can protect you.”

“What?!” Sonic practically yelled, “Have you asked King Shad—?”

“I do not need his permission, nor do I think he will argue with me.”

Sonic looked at him with complete disbelief. “Wh… why are you even doing this? Why me? Why do you care so much?”

Lancelot was quiet for a breath but he made himself continue. “Because I care about you.” The admission made Lancelot flush, red touching the tips of his ears. He couldn’t help it... he tried to deny his feelings for Sonic for months. He still wasn’t completely sure what he felt but he knew two things: He felt the need to protect him, and he cared for him.

Sonic stared at him, stunned. “You… care about me?”

“Yes. I do.”

Sonic narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t trust what he was saying, so Lancelot continued. ”I hate the way others treat you... like you’re a toy, like you don’t feel anything, I hate that it seems like no one in your life ever looked at you and thought you were anything more than an entertainer. I especially and vehemently hate what happened to you tonight… I refuse to let anything like that happen ever again to you. You don’t deserve that.”

Sonic’s chest ached, and his eyes watered. He didn’t know why. It was just words, but hearing them in that voice, from him, it hit something deep… Too deep.

So, Sonic did what he always did when he felt too much. He shoved it away. “Tch. Look, I’m my own man,” he muttered, slipping from Lancelot’s grasp entirely now. “I don’t need a knight in shining armor. I don’t need to be ‘protected.’ I can handle myself.”

Lancelot didn’t stop him and he calmly said, “I want to protect you. With my life.”

Sonic turned, expression tight with twisting emotions that seemed only to be growing. “What?” he snapped. “With your life?! What does that even mean?! Why would you want to do this?”

“I care about you.” Lancelot repeated.

“Why?! I flirt with everyone. I like sleeping around. I’m not looking for some noble romance.”

“Then let me still be your knight,” Lancelot insisted. “And if you want sex so badly…” Lancelot’s entire muzzle bloomed red from what he was about to say. However, he didn’t let his nervousness stop him, so he grabbed Sonic’s hand, making him freeze. The knight gently brought it to his lips, looking at Sonic with complete seriousness and devotion. “…Then you can have me.”

The jester’s heart stopped, like completely stopped, and his jaw dropped. “W-What?!”

“I’m offering. I know you may still want others… but if that’s what you want… if that’s what will keep you close and safe. Then yes. You can have me, Sonic.”

Sonic’s whole face flushed scarlet, his ears lowering slightly, as if trying to hide from the weight of Lancelot’s words. “You don’t mean it…”

Lancelot didn’t waver, and his gauntleted hand rose slowly to cradle Sonic’s muzzle with a gentleness that stole the air from his lungs. Despite the metal being cold, it felt warm against his cheek, his touch light but firm, like he was afraid of breaking something precious. Their eyes met, never faltering, blazing crimson to radiant green. “I do. I wish to take care of you, even in that way if you so request.”

Sonic’s heart pounded in his ears. The flickering candlelight painted soft gold over Lancelot’s face, casting sharp angles in softer tones, and for a moment, Sonic couldn’t look away. “But you… Y-You always denied me before.”

“I did.”

“And all of a sudden?”

“I want to take care of you.” He repeated.

Sonic tried to scoff, to push past the emotion blooming painfully in his chest. “You probably don’t even know how to kiss, virgin.”

Lancelot didn’t deter because his resolve was there. “Would you like to test that?”

The words were trapped in Sonic’s throat. He opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. He swallowed hard and turned his gaze to the floor, suddenly feeling like he’d tugged the wrong thread and unraveled something deeper than he was ready for.

Lancelot tilted his head, his thumb brushing lightly along the edge of Sonic’s jaw. “Do you want me to prove it to you?”

“Prove what?”

“That I… could attend to you.”

Sonic hesitated. “What are you trying to say?”

Lancelot hesitated slightly unable to help his nerves. “I-I can kiss you.”

“Huh?!” Sonic couldn’t believe what he was saying. He’d been kissed before sloppy, rushed, claimed, tossed aside. He knew what kisses were supposed to feel like. But the way Lancelot looked at him made his chest feel too small like this would be different. Like it would mean something.

“I said I can kiss you, would you like that?”

Sonic looked at him, eyes wide, conflicted, scared, and despite everything in his head telling him no to run, that this isn’t real, his heart kept him there staring at Lancelot. “I don’t know…”

Lancelot had the slightest hint of a smirk, unable to help himself. “After months of you trying… All of a sudden, the jester doesn’t want to advance.”

Sonic scoffed, still flushed. “It’s not that…”

“Then you’re scared.”

“I’m not.”

“Your actions say otherwise.”

“Ugh, whatever! I’m not scared,” Sonic snapped, still very defensive. He didn’t fully understand what was even happening. Why the knight saying all of this was making him like this, like there was more than his superficial flirting before. His cheeks were flushed, his tail twitching with agitation. No, not just agitation but anxiousness.

So without wanting to think about this anymore, he surged forward and grabbed Lancelot’s face with both hands. The kiss came fast, messy, driven by reflex more than thought. It was a flurry of heat and rebellion. Sonic kissed out of lust because that was all he knew.

Lancelot didn’t pull away. He let Sonic kiss him in a rush, he couldn’t help it. He liked it a lot but it was sloppy. Though it still made his heart race from the contact, especially considering his confusing feelings he had the past few months for the jester… but it wasn’t how Lancelot would kiss someone for the first time.

So the knight moved and one hand found Sonic’s waist, anchoring him gently, fingers splayed across his side like armor turned to shelter. The other lifted, calm and certain, and rested against Sonic’s cheek, not to push him off, but to hold him still.

Just like that, the kiss changed. Lancelot kissed him back, and it wasn’t wild or desperate but calmer. The kind of kiss that made time slow down. It taught Sonic how to slow down.

The tension in Sonic’s shoulders loosened. His lips softened against Lancelot’s, the frantic edge giving way to something slower, more… real. Lancelot kissed like it mattered. Like Sonic mattered. Like every inch he claimed was a question, he let Sonic answer.

There was no possessiveness in the touch, no domination in the grip. Just... care and that made Sonic let out a noise he wasn’t sure he ever made before, surprised and startled by the way his heart raced from the kiss. He curled his fingers into Lancelot’s chest plate, gripping him tightly, holding on. He didn’t even know why he felt the need to, but he did.

The pressure in Sonic’s chest rose like a tide, swelling behind his ribs until it ached.

He’d never been kissed like this. Not like he was something sacred. Not like he was worth holding gently.

Lancelot pulled back just slightly, just far enough to breathe, and his red eyes searched Sonic’s face, quiet and unwavering.

The kiss had ended, but something in Sonic had just begun. He stared at Lancelot, breath shaking, lips tingling. A single, unspoken truth echoed in his chest like a drumbeat.

He was in trouble. Because that? That was the kind of kiss from someone you fall in love with.

“Are you okay?” Lancelot asked, still holding Sonic flush against his body.

Their muzzles and ears were now more flushed than before, but matching one another's.

Sonic’s eyes shimmered at him, “I-I… don’t know what to say, Sir Knight.”

Lancelot’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his tone dipping lower as his eyes smoldered. “I do.” He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching Sonic’s. “How about you start by calling me by my name?”

“Wh-what does that matter?!” he stammered, twisting in Lancelot’s hold, trying to wriggle out but not very hard. “You think because we kissed, I’m suddenly gonna go soft and start cooing your name like a love-struck fool?”

Lancelot arched a brow. “Would that be so terrible?”

Sonic huffed. “Hmph! Don’t flatter yourself, Lancelot.” He said it teasingly, but the name still caught in his throat, and hearing it come out like that, a bit shakier than he meant… it did something to both of them.

Lancelot’s eyes flickered. His hand on Sonic’s cheek, gently but a little shaky with his own nerves traced his jaw again. His next words dropped to a whisper. “Say it again.”

Sonic narrowed his eyes in defiance and looked at his lips. “Make me.”

Lancelot got the hint and didn’t hesitate. He leaned in and kissed Sonic again, and it was richer this time, slower, with a quiet hunger that curled under Sonic’s fur. Sonic melted into it before he could stop himself, letting out a small, involuntary moan. He shifted to better straddle his lap.

It was nothing like his usual games. No teasing or distractions and right as things deepened, right as Sonic’s hand found its way into the back of Lancelot’s quills—

“Well, well, well.” The words shattered the moment.

Sonic spun around so fast he nearly fell over, but Lancelot caught him in time.

Arthur stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a smug grin on his face, his eyes emerald, full of mischief. Behind him stood Shadow, who looked away immediately, his ruby eyes fixed on the ceiling as though physically repelled by what he had just witnessed.

Sonic’s and Lancelot’s faces burned an even brighter red if that was possible.

“H-how long have you—?” Sonic managed.

“Long enough.” Arthur’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying himself. He pointed casually. “We have to leave. Now. Things are moving faster than expected.”

Sonic opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—absolutely flustered. Lancelot coughed, visibly composing himself. His hand at Sonic’s back slid away, but not entirely. He kept Sonic close with a quiet steadiness, not a hint of shame.

Arthur noticed, and his smirk shifted, softened into something more thoughtful. But he said nothing else.

Shadow gave a glance toward Sonic, then Lancelot, and though he said nothing either, understanding passed over his face. He turned and walked away. Arthur lingered just a second longer, then turned too.

As their footsteps echoed down the corridor, Sonic leaned into Lancelot’s side and muttered, “Talk about bad timing.”

Lancelot, ever composed, couldn't help but smile softly.

Sonic looked at him for a while, quiet and still reeling from earlier, but now he was awed. He really has a nice smile.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The carriage rocked gently over the uneven roads that led toward Blackthorne, the moonlight filtering through the narrow windows. Inside, it was quiet—only the sound of hooves and the creak of wheels beneath them. Sonic had dozed off immediately after five minutes of riding, his head tucked against Lancelot’s chest.

The knight hadn’t moved since.

He sat stiffly, arms protectively around the jester. Every so often, his fingers brushed behind Sonic’s ear or rested briefly along his back, a touch so light it seemed accidental, but it wasn’t.

Arthur watched them with mild curiosity and amusement from the other bench, his back resting against the panel. Shadow sat beside him, arms crossed, crimson eyes unfocused as he stared through the window.

“He wants to be his knight,” Arthur said casually.

Lancelot looked up, startled for a moment.

“Isn’t that right, Lancelot?” Arthur added.

“Yes,” Lancelot said and looked at Shadow.

Shadow gave a grunt. “Tch. Fine by me.”

Arthur raised a brow at that. “You’re not going to fight it?”

Shadow leaned back. “He wouldn’t be happy with me. Not there. Not after everything. If Lancelot wants to protect him, then fine. Let him.” There was a pause before he added, “He’ll do better than I did.”

Lancelot’s jaw hardened, but he said nothing.

Arthur glanced down at Sonic again, softening slightly. “It’s a good idea. He needs someone steady.”

Lancelot bowed his head slightly, as if accepting the duty once more.

Arthur let his head fall against the wooden panel beside him, shutting his eyes, exhaustion finally winning out. Shadow watched him from beside him, arms crossed, but his gaze lingered more than it should have. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since they left Eloria. Arthur looked peaceful for once.

The carriage hit a jagged stone on the road and jostled them sharply. Sonic let out a soft sound in his sleep but didn’t stir. Lancelot tightened his hold just slightly, but Arthur slumped to the side. Shadow moved instinctively, catching him before he could hit the edge. He gently pulled Arthur against his side, one arm wrapping around him without thought.

He expected Arthur to jerk awake, but he didn’t. Shadow glanced down. Arthur’s brow twitched faintly, his face drawn, but his breathing remained calm, and his body relaxed completely against him.

“He’s still asleep,” Shadow murmured in disbelief.

Lancelot, still awake, glanced up. “He hasn’t slept well in months... Not really.”

Shadow looked at him, “What?”

“He would never admit to it…” Lancelot looked at him seriously. “But the fight, your absence affected him.”

Shadow stared back at Arthur, and something deep in him ached. “Idiot.”

“Guess they are quite alike,” Lancelot said, looking between Sonic and Arthur, “Falling asleep like this.” He paused to lock eyes with Shadow again. “You must take care of my king when I am not around.”

Shadow scoffed. “He doesn’t need protection… but he’ll have it. Always did.” His gaze drifted toward the window again. “You saw it at Avalon.”

Lancelot nodded once, but his expression remained firm, watchful, unsure whether to believe Shadow or not. Though Shadow wasn’t wrong, he poured so much energy into healing Arthur months ago that he got trapped at Camelot. 

The carriage eventually slowed because they were at the gates of Blackthorne, under a greying sky, and servants were already waiting. The moment the door opened, the wind swept through, making Arthur wake up and immediately move away from Shadow, flushing at how close they were.

Shadow said nothing about it, stepped out first and his black cape trailed behind him. Arthur followed, adjusting his attire with a regal sigh.

Lancelot carefully gathered Sonic in his arms. The jester stirred, murmured something against Lancelot’s chest, but didn’t wake. The knight carried him without hesitation.

“Take him to his quarters,” Shadow said over his shoulder. “He’ll need rest.”

Lancelot gave a nod and turned down the corridor while the kings walked side by side toward the war room, their steps matching. Neither said anything for a time, perhaps out of habit, perhaps out of peace, but the weight of their shared burden: the events of the night, Thalor, Sonic, and what they had possibly become… hung between them still.

For now, there was more to discuss.

Chapter Text

In the dimly lit war room, King Arthur found himself standing once again, his mind flooding with memories from over a year ago. 

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

When it ended, neither spoke. Arthur lay draped over the table, body twitching with aftershocks, lips still curled in that damn smile.

Shadow stood behind him, panting, hands shaky not from weakness, but from what they’d just done, from what it meant.

Arthur looked over his shoulder, smug and ruined. “Well… That was diplomatic.”

Shadow turned away, but not before Arthur saw the heat in his eyes... The way he didn’t regret it. Not one bit. Arthur sat up on the ruined table. His blue fur was a mess, and he had even more bruises blooming like royal marks.

Shadow stood beside him, buttoning his cloak. “Leave now."

Arthur stretched, reaching for his crown that was lost in their moment. “You’re going to miss me.”

Shadow didn’t reply, but Arthur could see the truth in his eyes. He stood, boastfulness in every step, and walked up to Shadow, leaned in, and whispered in his ear, “I promise you will.”

Shadow didn’t move... but he didn’t pull away either. It was like his body was frozen after what they had just done.

In that moment, Arthur knew he had won. The king was his, and nothing would ever be the same.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

This was the place where they had first come together, a desperate and passionate encounter that had left them both bloodied and craving more. 

Arthur couldn't help but recall the simplicity of their relationship back then. It was just hate, raw and uncomplicated. A smirk played on his lips.

King Shadow was standing, reviewing some paperwork, but Arthur was done talking, done overthinking about Thalor and the consequences if the High Council found out what had happened.

All he wanted was to rekindle the fire they once shared. It had been so long, and everything in between was a bitter, annoying memory.

Arthur and Shadow hadn’t talked yet about what they were, nor were they sure who would attempt it first. But Arthur was good at initiating sex. And fuck was he pent up. He looked at Shadow again and couldn’t help it. The king was attractive, and Gods, did Arthur miss touching him, fucking him, seeing him unravel at his touch and words, and even more so his anger.

So, when Shadow took his seat on the throne, Arthur saw his opportunity. He closed the distance quietly and swiftly as if stalking his prey. He wrapped a hand around Shadow's neck, biting his ear as he whispered, "Let's make up for lost time."

Shadow was immediately surprised. “What?”

Arthur's hand gripped Shadow's neck harshly, and he growled. "You missed me, didn't you?"

Shadow glared at him, trying to maintain his composure. "What are you doing? Last time—"

Arthur interrupted. "I don't fucking care what happened last time. Enough talking, enough thinking. Let's do this, or do I have to convince you for the third time?"

Shadow hesitated for a moment before... allowing Arthur to touch him. The king's teeth grazed Shadow's ear and neck from behind, his hand trailing down Shadow's body, taking off his armor and unbuttoning his underlayment, he left his crown on.

Shadow couldn't help but let Arthur touch him. It had been so long, and Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had missed him.

Once his clothes were out of the way, Arthur rubbed his hands along his chest and stomach. He had never been able to touch Shadow so easily; he had always stopped him before, and it made Arthur’s smirk only deepen. He had a feeling he could get away with a lot tonight…

Arthur’s hand trailed lower teasing his pouch, seeing his dick peek through already. “So eager, now, aren’t we?”

Shadow shifted and scoffed but didn’t push him away.

When Arthur finally unsheathed him, he grabbed his dick, and he looked down with a wicked grin. "You really did miss me," he purred with desire.

“Barely,” Shadow grunted.

"Ah… but you're letting me so easily right now… I’m shocked. Maybe I can make you beg for me this time around." He taunted.

Shadow glared, moving away from his touch. "I don't beg."

Arthur laughed darkly because he had always had a trick up his sleeve, and now perhaps… was the time to use it. He got down on his knees, a rare sight that Shadow couldn't help but immediately enjoy, and his mouth immediately parted slightly in shock. 

Arthur smirked up at him, and his hand resumed its teasing on his cock, working Shadow until he was leaking precum. It was the first time Arthur could really stare at Shadow's cock, noticing just how big it was, ridged and veiny, and how well it self-lubricated. Arthur couldn’t help but lick his lips, his desire evident. He had never tasted it before, and Gods… did he want to. The only other two times they had sex, he never got to see it so up close, nor did he ever give Shadow oral.

So right now, Arthur wanted to savor this because not only was Shadow not fighting back, but he also relished in the way the king’s cock was already so needy and slick for him.

Shadow had a faint smile, noticing how Arthur seemed to be captivated by his dick, and he really wanted to feel him. "Go ahead, put your mouth on it."

Arthur smirked more cruelly this time, looking up at him again. "Oh no, you won't get my mouth until you beg for it."

Shadow only glared at him. "No."

But Arthur kept teasing him, and when he knew Shadow needed more coaxing, he looked at Shadow dead in the eye, opened his mouth ever so slowly, and let his tongue flick out to lick the tip of Shadow's cock and immediately pulled away.

Just once, only once, for fucks sake only once?  Shadow immediately groaned. That felt too fucking good, and he barely did anything.

Shadow’s body was pent up with desire from months and months of nothing. And right now, at this very fucking moment… Arthur, the golden king of Camelot, was on his knees for him and just licked his damn dick.

Shadow needed more and wanted it now, so he grabbed Arthur's head and tried to force him. But that's when Arthur grabbed both of Shadow's hands, placing them on the chair handles, and he did something Shadow never expected.

Arthur whispered a magic spell, binding Shadow's hands, legs, and neck to the chair. 

"What the fuck!?" Shadow exclaimed.

Arthur’s eyes were shining evilly. "There are many things you don't know about me. So now that you're tied up, what's the poor king going to do about it?"

Shadow pulled at the restraints, which were golden glowing circles. He had never seen anything like it. Arthur had never shown him this strength before… Never once in battle. The absurdity almost made him laugh. “You never once used your magic in battle, but you use it to bind me?!”

That made Arthur chuckle darkly. “Is that so wrong?”

Shadow shook his head in disbelief. “You are absurd!”

Arthur smirked and continued to rub Shadow's cock, making it only have more and more precum. He wanted Shadow to unravel. 

Shadow couldn't believe it. Even with Arthur on his knees, teasing him, the damn king still had power over him. He struggled to get out of the magical hold, but nothing worked, not even his chaos energy. This only made Arthur laugh again.

Arthur got off his knees and leaned into him, stopping at his ear.  "Beg for me," he commanded.

Shadow gritted his teeth. "No."

"Be a good king and beg for me. I know you need it. Your cock is begging for my mouth. I'll make you feel good, Shadow.” 

“Fuck you. I’m not begging.”

Arthur looked into Shadow's eyes, tipping his chin up. He loved that Shadow was bound. It made this so much easier. "Yes, you are. You need me. You can't fucking find anyone else like me. Say the word." All the while, his hand never once stopped teasing Shadow.

“No.”

“Say. It.”

“No.”

Arthur only laughed. He truly was enjoying himself. His movements got faster with his hand, and Shadow groaned from the touch. It felt good, too good. He was growing increasingly frustrated; his body ached with desire. It had been too long since he had been anyone, and he cursed himself for that. He hated how much of an effect Arthur was already having on him because Arthur kept the cycle, pumping his cock in long, harsh strokes. Then, he stopped when he could see Shadow get close, prolonging his torture. Shadow couldn’t fucking move, and his breath was beginning to get uneven.

“Guess you only get to have my hand… Poor King…” Arthur goes up right to his ear, “I promise my tongue is much better.”

Just when Shadow didn’t think the golden king could be crueler. Arthur licked his ear while standing still, keeping the fast rhythm, and started sucking on it, moaning softly. “… Beg for me so sweetly, Shadow… Let me hear how pretty you sound.”

“F-Fuck you…” Shadow heart was racing, everything Arthur was doing felt so good... too good.  Every time he sucked on his ear he would nibble pull back and give a light moan. The action only made Shadow crazy with frustration, and he was getting close again, and just as his breath hitched, Arthur stopped. Again. Shadow’s body immediately lit up with chaos energy in frustration. “Damn you…” He growled, moving his head away to stop Arthur from tormenting his ear.

“I won’t let you come until you beg. I can keep this up all night.” Arthur whispered sinfully.

He resumed the motion on Shadow’s dick, and Shadow was so pissed off now that he started crackling his chaos energy, stinging Arthur in the process.

But the craziest part was that Arthur didn’t even move. He doesn’t fucking flinch. It burned his clothes from the convergence, leaving singed holes in the fabric. He continued his assault with his mouth, but now on Shadow’s neck.

Shadow still couldn't move away because of the damn binding magic. Arthur never stopped. He did it again. He sucked on Shadow's neck and raised the pace on his cock to the point where Shadow could feel himself on the edge again, and like magic, Arthur stopped.

Shadow couldn’t help what his body did next. He whimpered. It was a soft, involuntary noise, vulnerable and intimate. It slipped past his lips before he could swallow it down, charging the air like a secret no warrior should ever utter.

Arthur froze against him, his lips still parted over the patch of damp fur he’d been sucking just above Shadow’s collarbone. His ears twitched sharply, head lifting, emerald eyes wide and wild because he loved that noise. His tail started wagging behind him like it had a mind of its own. “Oh…” Arthur exhaled with delight. “Baby, that was a delightful sound.”

Shadow stiffened from the audacity. The nickname was a curse on his pride, and his fury detonated on instinct.

In an instant, raw chaos energy erupted from his body in a spiraling shockwave, crackling with red and black energy like a solar flare. The war table shattered instantly, splinters embedding into stone walls and scattering papers like bloodied snow. The floor cracked under the throne’s legs, and the temperature of the room dropped.

Arthur staggered back with a wince, the energy licking his arms like fire. Even he had to admit, the power was too much. It fucking stung.

The only thing still intact was the obsidian throne Shadow sat in, though it trembled beneath his fury. He looked like a god of war. He was breathing heavily, muscles taut, eyes burning through Arthur like molten lava. “I’m not your fucking baby,” Shadow snarled, fangs bared.

Arthur let out a rough laugh from deep in his chest, more animal than man. Shadow’s response only made his tail whip harder, excitement sharpening the air around them. He loved that anger. Loved that defiance. It was one of his favorite things about the dark king, but he had to break it... Because underneath all that fire, he knew something tender was hiding. Something Arthur wanted to drag into the light and ravish until Shadow never denied it again.

“Why not?” Arthur crooned mockingly. “You just whimpered for me… like a fucking baby would… Hmmm, no—like a good king would.” He tilted his head with that maddening smile, the one that always danced on the edge of cruelty. “So… Shadow. Be my good king.”

Shadow’s claws dug into the throne’s armrests as his ruby eyes narrowed to slits. His breath steamed from his lips like smoke from a volcano ready to blow. “You fucking—”

“Fine,” Arthur cut in quickly because he saw it— Shadow’s chaos energy was unstable. If he didn’t ground it, then he really would be in trouble. So, he dropped slowly back to his knees. His hands found their place between Shadow’s thighs, stroking, firm and confident.

“What are you doing—?” Shadow began, but the question strangled itself.

Arthur didn’t answer with words. He leaned forward and dragged his tongue up the underside of Shadow’s cock—sinful and methodical. The taste of him was unfamiliar but intoxicating. Damn the dark king tasted good… too good like syrup. But Arthur didn’t let it distract him. He traced Shadow’s hot, thick length with his tongue and eventually sucked gently at the tip.

The effect was instant and the air shifted. The chaos energy evaporated like a fever breaking. Shadow’s head dropped back, a groan crawling out of his throat, full of longing and anguish. “Fuck…”

Arthur grinned, but his tongue was still swirling, and his hands were holding his thighs in place. He looked up with hooded eyes, still licking, still teasing. He loved this view—Shadow writhing, panting, proud and unravelling all at once. “Say it,” Arthur whispered between licks, humbler now.

Shadow opened his eyes. They were red, glowing, and much more desperate, as they met Arthur’s gaze. He was still resisting, but his breath was ragged. His claws were digging into the throne’s arms hard enough to crack them.

Arthur sucked harder. “Say it.”

Shadow growled but it was weaker than before. “Fuck you.”

Arthur stopped instantly and pulled back. The sudden loss of heat made Shadow flinch. “Then you don’t get to have me,” Arthur snarled, every word a warning. He didn’t move and didn’t return to touch him. He just knelt there, perfectly still, staring up at him with the patience of a predator.

The silence dragged, and Shadow’s chest heaved. His pride screamed to not give in but his cock throbbed.

Arthur licked his lips slowly, leaning in ever so slightly. “One word. That’s all.”

Shadow shut his eyes. His ears, usually so rigid and so proud, finally twitched downward. “…Please,” he muttered and it was barely audible. His voice shook, not from fear, but from something far more dangerous. Surrender.

Arthur’s smile returned more savage now. “Again.”

Shadow glared down at him. That defiance was still there, but barely. His shoulders had slumped. “…Please, Arthur.”

That did it. Arthur’s ears perked, and every muscle in his body responded to the plea like it was a trigger—because it was.

Shadow's ears drooped lower, submission written into every inch of him, and Arthur felt a hot pulse of triumph shoot through his veins. Not just from power. From knowing he could take a war god and make him break.

Arthur nestled between his legs, licking his lips with dark satisfaction. “There’s my good king."

And Shadow hated how much he liked hearing that.

Arthur’s mouth returned with purpose, lips wrapping around the head of Shadow’s cock with measured, unrelenting pressure. He sucked gently at first, then deeper, sliding down with ease, taking more of him inch by inch, his tongue gliding beneath, teasing every vein, every sensitive ridge.

Shadow groaned loudly and without shame, the kind of sound that echoed in his chest. His claws clutched the throne’s arms with a firm grip, jaw slack as he leaned back, breath hitching with every movement of Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur hummed as he worked him deeper, the vibration making Shadow curse under his breath. “F-Fuck…”

Arthur pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing against the slick tip. “Never stop begging." Then he descended again, bobbing his head with increasing speed, tongue tracing circles, cheeks hollowing with each suck. His hands roamed up Shadow’s thighs, gripping tightly, possessively.

Shadow didn’t stop. All shame was gone by this point. “Please… fuck, please,” he panted, eyes squeezed shut as the tension built unbearably in his gut. “You feel so good… more—” He sounded ruined. Beautifully ruined. Arthur would never forget that. The way King Shadow, the cold, untouchable monarch of Blackthorne, was gasping like he was being worshiped from the inside out. All for him.

Arthur increased the pace, mouth moving faster, sloppier, more frantic. His tongue lapped greedily, jaw aching but he didn’t care, not when Shadow was bucking up into his mouth, moaning his name like a sacred chant. “Arthur… Arthur… please—”

Then Shadow came with a strangled groan and a full-body shudder, his climax tore through him like lightning. Arthur felt it, hot and thick, spilling onto his tongue. He didn’t pull away. Not for a second. He swallowed every drop. He couldn’t help it. Not only was this his first time sucking Shadow’s dick, but it was also the first time he ever made Shadow beg for him, and the taste. Well, damn he tasted way too good.

Shadow writhed in the throne, legs shaky beneath Arthur’s grip. He had never come like that before. Never felt so stripped down and needy, his mind floating somewhere between reality and euphoria.

Arthur pulled back slowly, licking the head clean with lazy, indulgent strokes, like he was savoring the aftertaste. He let his tongue flick the tip one last time, watching with pride as Shadow twitched. “Damn…” Arthur whispered, licking his lips as his eyes met Shadow’s, “You taste good.”

Shadow’s chest rose and fell unevenly as he tried to steady himself. His crown had tilted on his head, and his knees felt weak. It had been Arthur’s first time doing that... and it had nearly broken him.

Shadow glanced down at him, ears still lowered, face flushed with residual heat, but the submission was easing quickly. He could feel his body burn with more. He needed more, but this time it would be different.

Arthur rose slowly, leaning into him. “You’ll beg for me again,” he whispered against Shadow’s mouth. “And next time, it’ll be louder.”

Shadow didn’t argue, but his silence wasn’t surrender. It was strategy. Because the second Arthur’s magic faltered, finally fading from where it had been tightly coiled around Shadow’s aura, the dark king moved like lightning. He surged up from the throne and grabbed Arthur in one brutal motion, dragging him into his lap with no hesitation. Arthur didn’t even have time to brace before Shadow’s teeth sank into his neck, hard enough to leave a mark. Arthur hissed through clenched teeth, the sharp sting sending a jolt of heat down his spine.

“You—” Arthur began, but gasped as Shadow’s hand gripped his ass, squeezing possessively.

Arthur tried to wriggle free, to reclaim the high ground, but Shadow’s chaos energy flared like shackles, binding him down and keeping him perfectly, humiliatingly still in his lap. To make matters worse, Shadow tore off Arthur’s pants, discarding the barrier, quickly. “What the fuck—?!” 

But Shadow interrupted him. “It’s my turn to make you beg,” he growled into his ear. “But not here.”

Before Arthur could bite out another retort, Shadow lifted him effortlessly, hands under his thighs, making Arthur’s legs wrap instinctively around his waist. It was undignified. Embarrassingly so.

Arthur flushed, teeth clenched. “You’re treating me like some fucking court maiden—”

But Shadow shut him up by squeezing his ass and pushing a finger inside, and Arthur’s attempt to growl at the touch sounded more like a moan.

“Don’t fight me,” Shadow commanded, heading to his bedchambers.

And every time Arthur squirmed, his finger slid inside further as not just a warning but a promise.

“Stop moving,” Shadow ordered, pushing the tip of another finger in just enough to make Arthur moan again. “I know you like to be in control,” Shadow murmured as he walked, “but not this time. I will make you let go.”

Arthur glared at him, snarling. “You can try.”

Shadow smirked. “I’ll do more than try.”

The journey to Shadow’s chambers was a blur of teeth-gritting arousal and furious resistance. Every time Arthur twisted or kicked or growled in defiance, Shadow’s chaos energy would spark along his spine, holding him tighter, the teasing pressure inside him increasing just enough to make his breath stutter.

By the time they reached the room, which was dark and cold, lit only by the moonlight in the windows, Arthur was already flushed and aching. His cock was unsheathed, hard and leaking, pressed against Shadow’s groin where their hips met.

Shadow dropped onto the bed with Arthur still straddling his lap. Arthur immediately tried to shove him down, tried to seize control again but Shadow wouldn’t budge.

Instead, he ground their cocks together, gripping Arthur’s ass with both hands, and rolling his hips up.

It made Arthur moan louder this time, fingers tightening around Shadow’s shoulders. The friction was warm, slick, but not enough.

“You’re not in control this time,” Shadow said roughly with arousal. “It’s your turn to fucking beg.”

Arthur sneered. “No. You can’t make me. I’ll never beg.”

Shadow didn’t argue. He kept up his teasing, holding Arthur in place with one arm, while his hand pumped two fingers inside him. Shadow bit down on his collarbone, making Arthur groan. Everything felt so good, and Shadow’s fingers curled in so right, pushing inside roughly. Even the biting felt so good. Fuck Arthur couldn’t help it. This was what he liked about Shadow. He liked how rough he was, and if anything, he only wanted it rougher. He wanted Shadow to do more.

He wanted his damn dick inside him already.

“Beg,” Shadow growled while biting down still.

“Fuck you, I said no.” Arthur panted.

“I begged for you, your turn."

Arthur chuckled with defiance, which made Shadow pick up his pace inside his ass. Arthur tried to wiggle free again, and Shadow’s arm that held him still shot out chaos energy, seizing Arthur’s squirming.

“I know you want my dick inside you. I can feel the way your ass is clenching around my fingers.”

“Fuck…” Arthur’s head couldn’t help but fall into Shadow’s shoulder. He could feel it, the whimpers that wanted to come out of his throat. Shadow’s fingers were only getting quicker, and the entire time, Shadow had been rocking their cocks together.

It had been a while for Arthur, too. He doesn’t even remember the last time he had sex during his stubbornness in Camelot. He could feel himself getting close, just from Shadow’s fingers, and he felt pathetic for it.

But Shadow wasn’t about to give in. Not what Arthur made him beg for him. So, Shadow pulled his fingers out, and Arthur will forever regret not just the word that came out of him but the sound. “Fuck... No…” he whimpered.

That made Shadow smug with pride. “Damn, that is a beautiful sound.”

Arthur was panting slightly, moving his ass to feel something, anything.

“Beg. Now.” Shadow demanded, but Arthur shook his head, making Shadow roll his eyes. “Fine, maybe this will help your damn stubbornness.”

The hand that was holding Arthur in place, though a risky move, grabbed Arthur’s face roughly, keeping his other hand tight on his rear, and Shadow pulled him into their first kiss of the night. It was fierce, deep, tongue sliding past his lips like a claim. Arthur resisted it at first, but only for a second. The moment their mouths met, he felt everything crash into him at once.

The weight of ten months apart. The silence. The longing. The desire to see each other again. Arthur melted and kissed Shadow harder, hands tangling in his quills, pulling him closer. Maybe it was the exhaustion from the day’s events. Maybe it was the magic he overused from holding down Shadow. Maybe it was more, the unsaid thing between the two kings. But Arthur’s mouth was greedy against Shadow’s now. He bit his lip, drawing blood. Shadow groaned and sucked on Arthur’s mouth in response, tasting the coppery tang between them.

All the while, Shadow’s hand didn’t stop teasing Arthur’s ass—rubbing and pushing in his hole deeper, curling, twisting. He kept rocking his hips, grinding their cocks together, stuck in between their groins. Everything was making Arthur shaky from the stimulation.

“Now look whose body is begging for it,” Shadow growled into his mouth.

Arthur couldn’t help but let out another needy whimper, fucking actually whimper again from Shadow’s touch. His muzzle flushed with embarrassment, but Shadow didn’t call him out on it because the teasing was getting to him, too. So, for now, he just needed Arthur to beg.

“What did you tell me at last year’s Convergence?” Shadow murmured, nipping at his ear now. “‘Come here. Let me be your throne. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.’” His tone dropped into something almost reverent. “Say one word, Arthur. One word, and I’ll give you everything. We can fuck until dawn.”

Arthur panted against his neck, trembling with need, but he still managed to glare. “I don’t fucking beg.”

Shadow gave him a dark look, then kissed him again, deeper, hungrier. Shadow pushed two fingers all the way inside, practically to his knuckle, fucking at a steady rhythm, stretching him with each movement.

“F-Fuck… that feels good,” Arthur moaned.

“Beg Arthur,” Shadow insisted, but Arthur just growled in response.

Shadow was by this point over his defiance, so he thought of something, anything else that could convince him. He was already teasing him, kissing him, but damn it all. It was like he had to let go of just a bit of power. But what… what can he do or say that will make Arthur let go? That was when he remembered… his dream.

“Well,” Arthur purred, one hand beckoning lazily. “Are you going to stand there sulking all night, or are you finally going to come to bed, your majesty?”

Shadow could never stop thinking of how heavenly that sounded out of Arthur’s mouth. How much it made him feel… not only aroused but… more. Like he held him to something almost like worship. It could work, Shadow knew Arthur loved his damn compliments. He definitely had a praise kink.

So, Shadow never stopped his teasing with one hand, and using the other, grabbed Arthur by the waist to pull him in. He made sure not to command this, just say it.

“Beg for me, your majesty,” Shadow whispered.

Arthur froze, and he looked straight into Shadow’s eyes. That title. That tone. It shook something in him. His eyes widened in surprise, ears twitching back. Despite being physically dominated, those words gave Arthur power too... they gave him proof of something real in Shadow’s voice. Not just lust, but desire, even a little devotion.

So, he began to give in. His arms wound around Shadow’s neck. He kissed him again, unhurried and more vulnerable this time. He let himself fall into it. His eyes closed, while his mouth opened against Shadow’s. His fingers grabbed a bunch of his quills, pulling him close, like he needed to feel him.

Finally, he whispered it... a demanding but still needy, “Please.”

Shadow growled with approval, one hand wrapped around Arthur’s cock, stroking it slowly, and the other held him in place as Shadow positioned himself. “Again,” he ordered.

Arthur was already moaning as the tip pushed inside him. “Please… fuck—”

“Say my name,” Shadow demanded, hoarse with restraint.

Arthur let out a weak laugh. “You always want me to.”

“So do you,” Shadow said, pulling back just enough to see Arthur’s face. “Say it.”

Arthur’s eyes were heavy-lidded, pupils so dark from desire that they practically covered his emerald glint. His mouth parted with another moan as Shadow pushed in deeper. His ears twitched in barely veiled submission. He was right on the edge. “…Please, Shadow,” Arthur whispered. “Fuck me already.”

Shadow grinned with a victorious smile. “Fucking finally.” He drove his cock inside in one powerful thrust, burying himself deep. Arthur cried out from the slightly painful stretch, but he loved it. His hips moved instinctively, bouncing on Shadow’s cock, needing more, and he gave it to him.

They moved in sync—rising, grinding, falling—bodies clashing and pulling apart only to crash again. Arthur rode him like a warrior, taking what he needed, and Shadow thrusted upwards into him like a god reclaiming his throne.

Their mouths didn’t stay apart for long. They kissed again and again, and it was roughly possessive. Shadow grunted into Arthur’s mouth as he thrust deeper, and Arthur moaned into his, whispering filth between kisses.

Their climax built quickly. Arthur came first, gasping Shadow’s name, his cock twitching in Shadow’s hand. Shadow followed, snarling as he emptied inside him, burying his cock to the hilt and holding Arthur there, shaking with the force of it.

They stayed tangled like that, sweating, panting, lips brushing.

“…Fuck,” Arthur finally muttered, still ragged. “I love feeling your cock inside me.”

Shadow grinned, eyes lidded with desire, “Then why should we stop?”

Shadow didn’t let Arthur rest. Still buried deep inside him, sweat slicking both their bodies, he shifted their position with seamless strength—gripping Arthur by the hips and rolling until Arthur was sprawled on his back, still impaled on his cock. “If you like it so much…” Shadow growled, leaning over him, closing the distance, breath now hot against Arthur’s mouth, “then let’s keep going.”

Arthur’s chest heaved, cock flushed and twitching between them. He nodded once as if saying, Please and Shadow didn’t wait for anything more. He wrapped one hand tight around Arthur’s cock, stroking it immediately. They were long, rough strokes that made Arthur arch and moan, and his hips moved instinctively. His other hand slid up Arthur's throat, fingers curling firmly around his neck.

Arthur let out a strangled noise, half moan, half growl, his claws immediately digging into Shadow’s shoulders in response. The moment was electric, violent, and intimate. Like they were still fighting, even as they fucked.

Their bodies rocked together again, Shadow thrusting into him with long, deep movements while Arthur clenched around him and pulled him in deeper, wrapping his legs around Shadow’s waist, locking him in. “F-fuck…” Arthur panted.

Shadow was unyielding, stroking his cock, pounding into him, keeping pressure on his throat. Every time Arthur gasped or moaned, it sent a jolt of satisfaction through Shadow’s whole body. He loved making him fall apart like this. But Arthur didn’t stay passive. He leaned in and bit Shadow’s shoulder—hard enough to make the dark king grunt, his hips stuttering. Shadow responded by sinking his own teeth into Arthur’s neck again, the two of them locked in a spiral of teeth and heat and pain.

Even in agreement, they couldn’t help but hurt each other.

Arthur clawed at Shadow’s back, dragging sharp nails down fur and muscle, drawing blood in messy, red lines. Shadow hissed and grunted through it, holding him tighter, biting harder. They glanced at his back briefly, blood trailing in rivulets across Shadow’s dark fur, and it only seemed to fuel them. They crashed into another kiss, all tongue and teeth, no rhythm, just pure and complete desire. Arthur moaned into his mouth, being choked, fucked, jerked off, and bitten all at once.

“You, fuck—you look…” Shadow rasped as he pulled back just far enough to see Arthur’s face. His light muzzle and blue ears were flushed red. He was sweating, mouth parted, eyes hazy with lust and defiance. “…you look fucking amazing right now.”

Arthur gasped under the hand on his throat, lips curling. “Then say it again.”

Shadow scowled. “You and your fucking praise…” But he did it anyway. His words were thick with lust. “You feel so good around me. So hot. So tight. I love how your hole twitches when I hit that spot. I even love how your stupid fucking face looks—when you’re drooling and desperate and too fucked out to speak.”

Arthur moaned, biting down on Shadow’s jaw in retaliation.

“You’re so pretty, it’s annoying,” Shadow growled, his own hips speeding up again, slamming into him harder, chasing the next peak.

“Fuck... keep talking—” Arthur gasped, thighs tightening.

“I like the way you moan,” Shadow said between thrusts. “I like how you squirm when I choke you. I like that I can make the great King Arthur crumble underneath me until he’s crying.”

Arthur let out a broken sound, part sob and whimper, his hips bucking desperately into Shadow’s strokes.

Their pace became erratic, sloppy, and oh so frantic. The pain blurred with the pleasure. Shadow’s claws dug into Arthur’s throat, hard enough to bruise. Arthur scratched at his chest now, leaving angry red lines between his pecs. The bed was shaking while the air was thick with sweat, heat, blood, and sex.

They kept fucking. Kept hurting. Kept talking shit through their moans.

“You’re obsessed with me,” Arthur hissed.

“Shut up,” Shadow snapped, thrusting harder.

“You love how I sound.”

“You love it when I make you beg.”

“You’re the one praising me, idiot.”

“You like it.”

They were tangled in their war again, even in the height of pleasure, and finally, Shadow snapped. He growled, sounding feral, slamming up into Arthur one last time, his grip locking down on his throat and hip. He came, deep inside, with a guttural groan, hips twitching.

Arthur’s eyes rolled back, head tilting as his own climax ripped through him like a goddamn spell—cum spilling over Shadow’s and his own stomach as he shuddered, mouth slack, breath catching in his throat.

They didn’t move. They were chest to chest with blood and sweat, and neither cared how messy they had gotten.

Shadow leaned in, his forehead resting against Arthur’s, still inside him. “Fucking hell…” he murmured. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Arthur coughed out a laugh, his throat wrecked. “You’ll die happy.”

Shadow thought the night was over bt no… Arthur wasn’t done. He leaned up on shaky arms, eyes half-lidded, face flushed with exhaustion, but beneath it, that glint had returned. It was dominant and still very hungry.

Shadow noticed immediately. “What?”

Arthur tilted his head. His cock was already twitching back to life, half-hard, slick with the remnants of release. He leaned forward and grabbed Shadow’s white chest fur, pulling down, his teeth brushing the shell of Shadow’s ear. “My turn again.”

Shadow’s eyes widened, just barely, before narrowing in challenge. “You think you’ve got enough left in you?”

Arthur grinned against his cheek. “Enough to fuck you stupid.” Before Shadow could get a word in, Arthur grabbed him and flipped him over onto his stomach.

Shadow let out a growl, twisting slightly, but Arthur shoved him back down, one strong hand between his shoulder blades, using his own magic to keep him there. He didn’t have enough power to bind Shadow, but he had enough to keep him still. Arthur straddled behind him, bare, with his cock still hard. He was ready to take him.

Shadow braced on his elbows, baring his fangs with a subdued warning. “If you think I’m just gonna lay here—”

“You’re gonna take it,” Arthur growled, reaching between Shadow’s legs and stroking him back to hardness with ruthless ease. “And you’re gonna love it.”

Shadow hissed through clenched teeth, muscles tensing under his touch. Arthur leaned over him, bare chest pressed to his back, cock sliding between his cheeks, teasing his entrance. “All night, Shadow. I started this and now I’m finishing it.” Then, without warning, Arthur slammed into him in one deep thrust.

Shadow snarled, head snapping back, his claws digging into the sheets. “Fuck—!”

Arthur grabbed his hips, keeping his magic steady to anchor him, and started thrusting immediately. The movements were harsh, dragging his cock out nearly all the way before pounding back in, over and over. Shadow growled into the mattress, muscles clenching under the weight and burn of it. But he was moaning, too, and loudly.

Arthur reached down and wrapped his hand around Shadow’s cock, jerking him in time with each brutal thrust. His other hand spread across Shadow’s back, fingers slipping over old scars, fresh claw marks, sweat-slick fur. He couldn’t help himself and scratched at Shadow’s back again.

Then he saw the king try to fight back and heal himself with his chaos energy. “No... don’t heal yourself. Let me see the blood fall over you.”

“Fucking sadist,” Shadow growled.

“I know.” Arthur grinned, and Shadow listened, feeling too good from Arthur fucking him. It had been so long since he had been fucked, honestly, the last time was with Arthur. Since the last time they had seen each other, though the moments were few and far in between, call it anger or regret, Shadow only ever fucked some random idiot. But he never let himself be entered and chaos, did he almost forgot how incredible it felt.

He couldn’t help but let Arthur have his way with him. No point in fighting it now, he had already begged and whimpered for the golden king. They fell into a brutal rhythm, skin slapping, moans echoing, the bed shaking again beneath them.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Arthur growled, leaning over him again, nipping at his shoulder blade. “Even now. You try to act so composed and in control. Let me hear you.”

Shadow groaned, eyes fluttering. “Shut… up—”

Arthur bit down on his shoulder and thrusted even harder. “No,” he said darkly. “I want to hear you moan for me again.”

Shadow cursed again, but his voice broke mid-word as Arthur hit that spot deep inside him, to fucking good and perfect. He choked on his next breath, body spasming slightly under the onslaught.

Arthur’s grip on his hips tightened, and he fucked him even harder, setting a pace that bordered on cruel. He groaned into Shadow’s shoulder, loudly and shamelessly above him. Arthur never wanted to stop fucking him. “I love the way you sound. Fuck—your body not only wanted this but needed this. A whole fucking year and Gods, I’ll make it up to you, Shadow.”

“D-Don’t flatter yourself—” Shadow panted, but his arms were shaky now. His thighs quivered with each thrust, and his cock leaked onto the mattress still used by Arthur’s fist.

Arthur grinned. “Still fighting me. Even when I’ve got you moaning into the mattress.” He shifted slightly, angling his hips, and slammed into him deeper. Shadow let out a strangled cry, back arching and that’s when Arthur knew he had him.

He pounded into him now with unrelenting force, hips snapping. Shadow was moaning, biting into the sheets, trembling all over. He pushed back into every thrust, chasing it, unable to help himself. He needed him.

“You’re perfect like this,” Arthur panted. “On your hands and knees. Taking it. Wanting it. Wanting me.”

Shadow’s answer was a ragged moan and the flex of his thighs as he tried to thrust back against him harder.

“Say it,” Arthur demanded, thrusting deep again. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

“Fuck—I do, yes,” Shadow groaned.

Arthur groaned deep in his throat, hand squeezing Shadow’s cock tight as he drove in even harder. “That’s it,” he hissed. “Good King.”

They kept going and going. Over and over. Shadow came again with a ragged shout, cock pulsing hot in Arthur’s hand.

Arthur kept fucking him through it with long, dragging thrusts that made Shadow shudder, sensitive and overwhelmed. Then, when Arthur finally came again, it was deep and forceful, cock twitching inside Shadow’s aching hole, his body draped over him like a shroud, both of them shaking.

But still. They didn’t stop. They continued like that for hours.

Arthur would slow just long enough to let Shadow recover, then Shadow would take over again. Different positions. Different rhythms. Shadow sat back and Arthur would ride him until his legs gave out. Then Arthur would bend him over the edge of the bed and fuck him so deep that Shadow clawed the headboard.

Sometimes, they kissed. Sometimes, they argued between thrusts with gritted insults like, “You fuck like a tyrant,” and “You moan like a whore.”

Sometimes, they hurt each other on purpose. Biting. Scratching. Bruising.

And sometimes… they just held each other, panting, unable to stop moving, even when it felt like their bodies were melting into one.

But they didn’t stop.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Later… hours, maybe, it was impossible to tell. Arthur was lying next to Shadow.

The heavy scent of everything they had gone through still hung in the air, but the chaos of earlier had faded, replaced now with a tense quiet. The sheets beneath them were disheveled and damp, twisted by bloodied hands and frenzied kisses. Shadow lay on his side, one arm braced beneath his head.

Arthur looked over at him and didn’t even realize what he was about to do before it happened... He smiled, not only that, but it was a genuine smile. Maybe I can let myself fall for— Arthur’s smile immediately dropped. No. This isn’t who you are, this was meant to be just sex, and sure, you got a little carried away and fucked each other all night, but that doesn’t mean you fall…

Arthur thought about everything from the day. From their talk at the King’s Convergence. “I was miserable without you.” He had admitted that to Shadow, they hadn’t talked about it, they never talked about it in the war room, and they still hadn’t… So…

Shadow’s other arm eventually moved across the space Arthur was no longer occupying. Shadow eyes opened, surprised he couldn’t feel him anymore. And that was because Arthur was standing by the edge of the bed, half-dressed again, as if still trying to maintain some illusion of control. His fingers tugged his shirt back over his shoulders, clumsy with exhaustion and his quills were messy.

But his pride… his pride was stubborn as ever, and Shadow watched him for a long moment. “You’re not leaving."

Arthur paused, back turned. “I am—”

“No.” Shadow sat up slowly, and the muscles in his back flexed, dark fur catching the moonlight, silver against black. “You're not.”

Arthur didn’t respond, and his fingers trembled as they reached for the laces of his red coat.

Shadow got up, crossed the floor, and before Arthur could take another breath, he was pulled back into Shadow’s arms wrapped around him from behind, dragging him down into the bed again. Both of them landed with a heavy thud into the still-warm sheets.

Arthur hissed slightly, twisting in his hold. “Let me go—”

“No,” Shadow said firmly, pulling him close to his chest. “You’re done pretending.”

Arthur’s heart faltered, and he pushed Shadow’s arms away, but there was no strength behind it. “I can’t sleep.”

“You haven’t slept in months,” Shadow replied flatly. “Lancelot told me. And I believe him.”

Arthur fell still. That damn knight betrayed me.

Shadow's arms tightened around him. “You’re staying. You’re going to sleep.”

Arthur muttered something under his breath, but Shadow didn’t budge. “You begged for me. I begged for you. You had me on my hands and knees, Arthur. So, stop pretending your pride is still intact when we both let go multiple times tonight.”

Arthur clenched his jaw. “I’m not—”

“You are.” Shadow shifted behind him, his chest pressed to Arthur’s back now, one hand curled against his waist. “You fought for power every second we touched. Even when I fucked you. Even when you cried for it.”

Arthur turned his head away, face flushed. “Don’t—”

“Enough,” Shadow cut him off. “You’re exhausted. You can barely keep your eyes open. So, stop.”

Arthur went still in his arms, but not limp. He still carried tension in his spine, in his jaw, in the way he refused to lean back fully. It was still hard for him, when they finally stopped fucking it meant all Arthur could do was feel those cursed emotions.

So, Shadow did the only thing he could. He twisted Arthur to face him, and before he could retort, he tilted Arthur’s chin up and kissed him.

It wasn’t a kiss like before. No anger. No teeth. No demands. It was a slow, calm press of lips that was meant to be not only steady but grounding, and Arthur… despite himself, melted into it. He hated how much calmer Shadow seemed to be right now. Hated that he was physically enhanced. Arthur would never admit it before… But Shadow’s chaos energy outmatched Arthur's, and he had always been physically broader. It was why the past two times when they had sex, and Arthur’s cunning ways were able to make him be still, make him stay, and take him, he was so smug about it.

Because deep, deep down, Arthur knew that Shadow was actually physically stronger than he was.

Arthur wasn’t ignorant either. He knew he had different biology, and everyone in the kingdoms knew. It’s a reason why Shadow is more secluded. Some of the other lords and kings didn’t like that King Shadow wasn’t “normal.” That he didn’t need to sleep as often. That his body was built differently.

But right now, what was even more annoying was that he could hold Arthur like this, so gently, like Arthur wasn’t a king or a rival or a warlord… but something breakable.

Bot only that, but the kiss… was still happening and Shadow was healing Arthur. All the wounds they gave each other all night, scratches, closed up, and Arthur sighed into him. His body stopped fighting. When Shadow pulled back, he curled around him again, and this time with purpose. His arms formed a cage around him. His mouth brushed the side of Arthur’s neck.

Eventually... slowly, Arthur allowed himself to be tucked into Shadow’s warmth, into the safety of his embrace, into the bed that smelled not just of war, but of him. Never in his life had he let himself be held like this. It was odd, strange, stirred even more feelings in his heart, but he was too exhausted now. Besides, Shadow felt too good next to him.

The edges of his vision grew soft, and sleep pulled at him like a tide he couldn’t resist. His body gave way before his pride did. “I hate when you heal me,” he whispered, barely audible, mostly a lie.

Shadow smirked against his shoulder. “Doubtful.”

“I hate that you… don’t need as much sleep.”

“That’s specific…”

Arthur grunted softly. “It isn’t fair.”

Shadow didn’t respond, just tightened his hold, and Arthur, despite himself, buried his face in Shadow’s chest, breathing in, and paused. He sniffed and could smell the blood, sweat, and sex from earlier. But… beneath it was the faintest lavender. It was soft, nice, clean, and faintly floral.

Arthur blinked in slight shock at his scent because he had never noticed that before. He had never breathed him in like this. He had never had the opportunity. “You smell like lavender...?"

Shadow’s brow quirked. “So?”

“It doesn’t fit you.”

Shadow rolled his eyes. “Good. You don’t fit anything either.”

When Arthur tried to say something else, Shadow pressed a small bite to the nape of his neck. “Stop arguing and go to sleep.”

Arthur growled softly, but exhaustion was finally winning. The smell, the healing energy Shadow imbued in him, the months of longing, the sex, just everything… Arthur couldn’t fight it anymore. He closed his eyes and for the first time ever, Arthur the King of Camelot, master of blade and battlefield, fell asleep in the arms of not only his rival, but someone else at all.

Held like something King Shadow never wanted to let go of again.

Chapter Text

Arthur awoke slowly, his mind surfacing from a haze of warmth and exhaustion. The air was still, quiet in a way that made him pause, blinking into the dim light of early dawn peeking through the dark curtains.

His first instinct was to shift, to move, to rise, to go but the moment he tried, he realized something very obvious.

He couldn’t move. He could barely squirm. He looked down and nearly snorted aloud.

Shadow had him caged in. One muscled arm locked beneath him, the other thrown across Arthur’s waist, and even a leg was draped over his legs. It was as if the dark king had purposely entombed him in a grip of fur and muscle. Arthur could hardly breathe from how close they were. “…You brute."

Though... He couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped him. Of course, Shadow would hold him like a prisoner, even in sleep, but the ridiculousness of it faded as his gaze shifted and landed on Shadow’s face. His breath stilled… because Shadow was asleep. Actually asleep.

Arthur had never seen this before. In all their years of rivalry, summits, battles, even the few post-war feasts they’d been forced to tolerate side by side, Shadow had never let his guard down this much, and damn, it was annoying how beautiful he was.

The sharp lines of his face were softened in sleep. His lashes rested lightly against his dark muzzle, breath slow and steady against Arthur’s face. His ears twitched once, but otherwise he remained perfectly still, and he was warm. Like, so warm, why even have a hearthfire in here?

Arthur didn’t even realize he was doing it, but he was able to free one arm from Shadow’s cage, and his fingers were already tracing the line of Shadow’s jaw. Lightly. Barely touching. His heart skipped a beat or two, even though it shouldn't have.

What are you doing, his mind hissed, but he didn’t stop, because this... this was odd, impossible even.

This man, this king, was supposed to be his equal and his rival. They had hated each other, had fought each other, yet here they were… tangled in Shadow’s bed, Arthur tucked in so close he could feel the thrum of Shadow’s heartbeat against his chest.

It wasn’t even uncomfortable. He wasn’t sore. Not even a little. Which made him pause. Because he should be?! They had been at each other all night, and yet his body felt… whole. He frowned slightly. Did he—?

Arthur remembered now. Shadow had healed him... while they kissed, and the fatigue gave way to deep rest. That bastard had actually healed him, and that only made Arthur’s chest tighten. His fingers lingered for a moment longer against Shadow’s face, then almost pulled back, but he didn’t. He was slightly hypnotized.

So much so, he didn’t realize Shadow stirred. “...Are you tracing my face?”

Arthur froze and immediately pulled his hand away, shoving it back in between them as if it had always been trapped. His gaze darted up to Shadow’s eyes, now very much open, amused, and slightly smug.

Arthur’s ears flicked back and he looked down in annoyance and embarrassment, jerking his body back as if that would erase what had just happened, but Shadow didn’t let him go. The second Arthur pulled away, a strong arm caught him around the waist and yanked him right back into Shadow’s fluffy chest.

Arthur let out a small, involuntary noise at the motion, his body landing flush against Shadow’s. “I wasn’t…”

“You were.” Shadow responded gravelly from sleep, his breath warm against Arthur’s temple.

Arthur squirmed. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Shadow—”

“Are you going to run away again?” Shadow asked flatly, not letting up his hold.

Arthur froze, his shoulders locking tight and his breathing stalled. “Maybe,” he muttered a bit too quietly to be proud of it.

Shadow didn’t ease up. “Then I’m not letting go.”

Arthur gritted his teeth and pushed half-heartedly at his arm. It didn’t budge. “Damn your stupid enhanced body,” he muttered bitterly. “Always using it against me.”

“I can’t help that I’m stronger,” Shadow said without a hint of remorse, chin settling lightly atop Arthur’s head now. His amusement was palpable.

“No, you’re not.”

“Then use your magic to push me away.”

“I only use it when necessary.”

“Then I guess this isn’t a problem.”

Arthur looked back up at him, eyes narrowed. “Do you ever sleep normally? I was practically suffocated.”

Shadow couldn’t help the amusement in his eyes. “You were purring last night.”

Arthur’s mouth parted in disbelief, “I don’t purr.”

“You do when you’re tucked under my chin like a cat.”

Arthur glared at him, ears flicking in frustration, “Lies.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Shut up.”

“You liked it.”

Arthur bared his teeth, “I didn’t.”

They glared at each other for a moment, locked in that same ridiculous stalemate they always returned to, full of pride and old wounds, attraction and restraint that never quite held.

Shadow’s eyes softened, just slightly. His arms loosened, not letting go, but relaxing into something quieter. Now was as good a time as any. “So…” he began slowly, “You were miserable without me?”

Arthur didn’t flinch, but his shoulders stiffened because Shadow… brought it up.

“Apparently,” Arthur shot back, tone sharp, “you couldn’t stop thinking about me.”

Shadow looked away. “So?”

Arthur’s emerald eyes burned. “So don’t act like I’m the only one who felt it. You think I wanted to miss you? That I enjoyed losing sleep over the ghost of your goddamn voice in my head?”

Shadow met his eyes again, something flickering behind them. “Oh, so now I’m a ghost?”

He sat up slightly, just enough to lean on one elbow and look at Arthur from above.

“Please, Your Majesty.” He smirked, but it was a tired smirk. “You haunted me. Don’t throw that back in my face.”

Arthur sat up as well, ignoring that damn nickname he liked too much, leaning in with a sneer. “You left me.”

“You told me to.”

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?”

“Why didn’t you?”

They were close now, foreheads nearly touching, breathless with all the things they’d left unsaid. A thick, heavy silence fell.

Then Arthur broke the silence. There was something that was true, and why this…

“But we’re both kings,” he exhaled, looking down and away from Shadow’s eyes. “We have castles. Empires. Thrones. I can’t walk away from Camelot. And you won’t leave Blackthorne.”

“I am aware,” Shadow said quietly.

“It’s... complicated,” Arthur said, looking back at him with tired honesty. “And I don’t know what this is.” His eyes searched Shadow’s face, gaze vulnerable for the first time. “Whatever this is. Between us.”

Shadow’s reply was soft, like something pulled from his ribs. “It’s not just hate.”

“No. It’s not.” Then Arthur shifted slightly, moving to sit up fully, maybe to break the moment, but Shadow’s arms were suddenly around him again, dragging him back against his chest possessively.

“I’m not done.”

Arthur groaned and let his head fall back against Shadow’s shoulder. “You’re clingy.”

“You started all of this, your fault for kissing me first a year ago.”

“Shut up.”

Shadow smirked, eyes half-lidded. “You’re still annoyingly pretty when you’re pissed.”

Arthur’s turned and bit him on the neck, a sharp little nip of retaliation, making Shadow hiss.

“Shut up,” Arthur growled.

“I thought you liked compliments.”

Arthur didn’t reply right away, because... he did. But this felt different. This wasn’t flattery. This was affection in the form of irritation, warmth tucked in gritted teeth. And gods help him, he liked it.

Shadow’s fingers softened, trailing along Arthur’s back in slight grounding strokes. They lay there a while, the storm of tension but slightly quieter now.

“I don’t want to go months again without this,” Shadow murmured suddenly. “Without you.”

Arthur looked away, but his hand curled gently into Shadow’s chest fur. “Neither do I."

They didn’t have answers. Not yet. The future loomed uncertain, with too many borders and too many crowns between them, but for now, just for now… Arthur knew they could easily do one thing. “I don’t want to talk anymore."

Shadow looked down at him with a slow blink, knowing what he wanted now. “You never want to talk. You just want to fuck.”

Arthur’s lip curled into a smirk. “Fucking’s easier. Less annoying. Less thinking.” With that, he bit Shadow’s neck hard again.

Shadow grunted, head tipping back, though his arm stayed firmly wrapped around Arthur’s waist. “Charming as ever.”

“You like it,” Arthur muttered against his fur, trailing rough kisses up his jaw. “You’re still here.”

“I’m starting to regret it.”

“No, you’re not.”

Shadow rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop him. Instead, he let Arthur press in, teeth and heat and bruising affection.

Then Shadow muttered, “We need to bathe. I might’ve healed us last night, but there’s still cum everywhere.”

Arthur growled in his throat. “You’re disgusting.”

Shadow just shrugged. “And so are you.”

Arthur moved to shove him, but Shadow grabbed him. “I swear, I’m going to have to carry you everywhere,” he taunted as he grabbed Arthur with both arms to drag him there.

Arthur bristled. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Carrying me!”

Arthur bared his teeth and lunged again—this time breaking skin at the curve of Shadow’s shoulder. Shadow growled but didn’t let go.

Eventually, they made it to the washroom while still bickering, grumbling, but never far from each other’s touch.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Sunlight streamed gently through the curtains of the chamber. The air was soft and quiet, save for the steady breathing of the knight curled in a chair not far from Sonic’s side.

Sonic blinked slowly awake, muscles still aching from the night before—not just physically, but in ways he didn’t have words for. What happened with Thalor haunted the edges of his memory like a bruise he hadn’t yet looked at, too afraid to see the color of, but there, resting awkwardly upright with his arms folded over his chest, was Lancelot.

Sonic blinked at him for a long moment… Did he stay all night? In that stiff chair…?

The knight's helmet was still on as if he was guarding... watching.

Sonic had never been saved before.

That truth settled in his chest like a song and a thorn at once. His heart ached with it. Lancelot, this… knight, had come for him. Had held him through his pain and said… he wanted to be his knight.

And then the kisses. Sonic grabbed his muzzle, feeling it warm from the memory. Damn… that was quite the kiss. Not only that, but then he said… that Sonic could have him. Sonic looked at him again and couldn’t help the warmth that pooled at his belly. Chaos did he want him. He had wanted him for months…

But before he went to wake him up, he realized the state he was in. He looked down at his torn, colorful pants and shirt, which barely clung to him. He didn’t have his colorful hat on; Lancelot must have taken it off. If he wanted to… seduce the knight, he certainly couldn’t look like this.

He carefully and quietly got up and drew himself a bath.

Now Sonic may have some cool powers, but it was really his magic where he shined, being a jester and all. He used it to make the water come out fast, warm, and bubbly. Then he proceeded to take a bath in literally less than 2 minutes and was dry in another.

He peeked through the door and saw that Lancelot was still sleeping.

Poor thing… guess he was really tired.

Either way… he looked at his closet, which was connected to his bathing chamber, and settled on a non-jester outfit… perhaps Lancelot would associate it with what happened.

So, he decided on a simple purple tunic and, honestly, didn’t bother with pants. He really liked his bells, but maybe the hat would be in the way, so he settled on two bells with a ribbon and wrapped them around a small bunch of his quills. He looked in the mirror and realized…

Holy shit, why am I trying so hard to get in his pants? Not like I like him that much. Well, maybe I do, but eh let’s not dwell on that for now.

Ignoring his thoughts and happy with his look, he went back to bed. He was surprised to find that he was still sleeping.

Sonic reached out and gently took Lancelot’s gloved hand. He noticed his gauntlets were set to the side. Guess he wore dark gloves underneath?

“Sir Knight?” he whispered.

Lancelot stirred at once, blinking rapidly, and immediately flushed when he realized how close they were.

“Sonic!” he gasped, nearly tripping over himself to rise. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I should have been—”

“Hey, it’s okay!” Sonic said with a soft, reassuring smile. “You were obviously tired.”

Lancelot looked at him properly now and faltered. His could see that Sonic was in entirely different clothing. He noted the bells in his quills, too, and found them quite… endearing. “You… changed your attire?”

Sonic rubbed the back of his head, cheeks faintly pink. “Yeah! I took a quick bath. You know…” he laughed nervously, trying to brush it off. He didn’t want to say the real reason he changed, his clothes had been a mess. Torn, stained. Reminders of Thalor. He didn’t want to think about it. Not when Lancelot was here. Not when the knight looked so… only then did he really notice.

The armor was gone.

Instead, Lancelot wore a simple black tunic, laced at the throat and rolled at the sleeves. It wasn’t his usual look, but it fit him alarmingly well. Without the heavy plates, Lancelot looked younger yet somehow, more regal.

Sonic blinked. “Did you… change last night?”

Lancelot glanced away quickly, moving as if embarrassed, reaching for the set of armor that had been carefully stacked near them.“Briefly,” he admitted. “Once I was sure you were resting, I… borrowed something to sleep in. King Shadow had a spare set. I didn’t wish to disturb you.”

Sonic tilted his head. “You stayed here?”

Lancelot’s hand paused over his armor. “Yes. I came back after I changed. I needed to… make sure you were alright.”

Sonic’s heart gave a strange little skip but before he could fully think about it, Lancelot surprised him again.

He reached out and gently took Sonic’s hand.

Sonic looked down at the way their fingers tangled, the way Lancelot’s gloved thumb rubbed a slow, grounding circle against the back of his hand. It was so rare for Lancelot to initiate touch. He was always so careful, so hesitant.

Sonic wasn’t used to seeing that restraint drop. “What are you doing?”

“Checking on you,” Lancelot said, then he dropped to one knee. He looked up at Sonic with sincerity burning behind the helm. “How are you feeling? Are you truly alright?”

The ache in Sonic’s chest was instant and deep. He smiled, because it was easier than crying, and squeezed Lancelot’s hand. “Honestly?” he said, leaning in a little. “I feel perfect now that you’re here.”

Lancelot’s ears flushed, and Sonic, seeing that, ran with it. He lifted his free hand and gently rubbed Lancelot’s dark muzzle, the touch teasing but affectionate. His fingers skimmed along the edge of his cheek, brushing just below his jaw. “Handsome…”

Then he leaned in, his lips a whisper away from the knight’s but just as they were about to meet, Lancelot stiffened and pulled back ever so slightly. Sonic’s brow arched, both amused and curious. “Why are you pulling away?” he teased. “I was going to invite you into bed.”

Lancelot’s muzzle was now flushed, “I couldn’t presume—”

“Didn’t you say I could have you?” Sonic teased, smile turning playful.

Lancelot looked away, his ears twitching with embarrassment. He hadn’t forgotten. How could he? That kiss still burned in his mind like a promise made in another life. But… he didn’t think Sonic would ask for this. Not so soon. Not when he still felt like a fumbling fool beside him.

Sonic giggled mischievously, and tugged him forward. “Are you going to run away now, Sir Knight? Do you regret saying those words?” He leaned in, lips brushing along the curve of Lancelot’s neck. “Did you only want me because I was hurt? Or do you want me because I can ruin that noble, knightly resolve of yours?”

Lancelot took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “I meant what I said… You can have me.”

“But why?” Sonic asked, still playful, but the question had weight.

Lancelot turned away, pulling away slightly, only for Sonic to reach up and gently lift the edge of his helm, and reveal his red eyes. “Look at me, handsome,” Sonic whispered softly. “What are you scared of?”

Lancelot swallowed hard. “You may have been right before. I’ve never… been with anyone.”

Sonic blinked at him, stunned. WHAT?!

He knew he teased him about it but… after that kiss they’d shared? It was too good. Too confident. He was honestly surprised to hear that.

But wait… hearing the truth sent a warm rush through his chest, a mix of shame and longing. Lancelot deserved better... A first time that was tender, thoughtful. With someone who— “Sir Knight,” Sonic started, “trust me when I say I would love to. You’re… so damn attractive it’s unfair. But I don’t want to force you. Wouldn’t you want your first time to be with someone you love?”

Lancelot looked at him and reached for Sonic’s hand. “I care for you,” he said, only a little shaky. “And I want this. I just… may need some help.”

“Are you certain? You don’t care about my… past entanglements?” Sonic asked, looking down now.

Lancelot could see the slight shame the jester was trying to hide. He gently grabbed his face, pulling him up, and, despite his nerves, he wanted to erase the doubt he had. “I am certain. I find you beautiful, and I want this.”

Sonic felt his muzzle pinken, and his heart skipped a beat. That was enough to let go of any lingering shame. His confidence surged forward, and he smiled up at the knight. He pulled Lancelot in and had him sit on the bed. Lancelot let him and was quite sure his whole face was going to be flushed the entire time.

Sonic leaned in and looked at him.

Lancelot’s so shy. Gods he’s so cute.

Sonic leaned further to close their remaining gap, and his lips brushed against Lancelot’s muzzle, barely a breath of contact. Lancelot froze, his breath catching as Sonic moved to his mouth. Their lips met, soft at first, then grew firmer, deepening with every stolen second. Sonic climbed into his lap, straddling him, pressing down into the space between them.

The moment their hips aligned, Sonic rolled them ever so slightly, just enough to grind against Lancelot’s thigh, and he felt the knight flinch beneath him.

A grin curled onto Sonic’s lips mid-kiss.

“You really do want me to ruin you... Don’t you?” he whispered against Lancelot’s mouth, teasing.

Lancelot looked at him with uncertainly. The gold halo in his crimson gaze caught the sunlight and shimmered faintly, betraying more than he realized. Something inside him trembled. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t hesitation. It was something he never allowed before.

He thought of the dream. Sonic said something similar, “Let me ruin you,” he whispered, “Just once. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” and of the way he didn’t turn away.

But now Sonic was real and warm in his lap, looking at him with a grin that could knock stars out of orbit. This wasn’t a dream. This was him… vibrant, laughing, teasing him, and pressing into him like he belonged there.

“…Yes,” the knight breathed, finally answering his question. The word slipped from his lips like a secret.

Sonic’s grin widened instantly, as if the world had tilted in his favor. That one syllable was all he needed. It was permission and confirmation of Lancelot's true desire.

So, Sonic moved. His kisses turned hungrier—no longer asking, just taking. His mouth found Lancelot’s ears, his jaw, the curve of his neck, making him gasp. The knight's hands hesitated to Sonic’s hips like he didn’t know where to hold him. Sonic’s fingers slid up the seams of his tunic, palms dragging heat across his chest.

Lancelot felt exposed. Not just physically, but soul deep. Like every inch of him was being learned by Sonic’s mouth.

Is this really happening? 

Sonic trailed lower, his lips ghosting over Lancelot’s collarbone with a tenderness that belied his teasing nature. Each kiss made the knight’s breath snag, his usually steady composure unraveling under the jester’s slow, deliberate affection. Sonic’s hands moved with careful precision, unfastening the dark clasps of Lancelot’s tunic.

The cloth slipped from his shoulders, revealing dark fur with a still somewhat fluffy white chest; he must groom it down, but his body was dusted with the quiet truth of battle. Scars… some faint, some deep, mapped his chest like constellations. Sonic stilled. His fingers brushed one of the older ones, a long, jagged line that crossed diagonally over his ribcage.

“Whoa…” he murmured, eyes wide. “You have so many scars… Sir Knight…”

“I do,” Lancelot said shyly.

“I’ve never seen someone with so many,” Sonic whispered, awe creeping into his tone as he traced another line across his sternum. “Do they… hurt?”

“No,” Lancelot replied gently. “And they never did. I’m… resilient.”

Sonic’s eyes lifted to his, searching his face. “You must be,” he said, quieter now, more sincere. “To survive all this and still look like… that.”

Lancelot’s head tilted. “Like what?”

Sonic smirked, the teasing spark returning. “Like a goddamn storybook prince. Gorgeous face, strong body… and even these scars just make you hotter.” He leaned in, kissing one of the more faded marks reverently. “You’re unreal.”

Lancelot flushed, ears drooping faintly. He was used to praise in battle like commendations, honors. But admiration whispered between kisses? This was entirely new.

"Thank you," he said softly, looking away.

Sonic leaned back slightly, his fingers drifting to the edge of Lancelot’s belt. He toyed with it, eyes flicking upward with a wicked grin. “May I?”

Lancelot nodded, his breath stuck in his throat.

Sonic tugged the belt free, the soft clink of the buckle echoing in the room. He slid it aside and, with Lancelot’s help, guided the knight’s pants down and off, revealing him. Sonic sat back on his knees, gaze trailing down.

An immediate flush crept into Sonic’s cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from very real, very amused awe. He let out a quiet, scandalized laugh that sent a shiver down Lancelot’s spine.

“Holy gods…” Sonic breathed. “You’re… bigger than I expected.”

Lancelot’s face turned scarlet, ears pinned back.

“I mean—” Sonic continued with a laugh, biting his lip at how delicious it looked. “No wonder you’re so shy. You’ve been walking around hiding that? And a virgin?! What a waste of resources…”

“I—I wasn’t—” Lancelot stammered. His hands instinctively gripped the sheets, his spine rigid, mortified beyond belief.

“Don’t,” Sonic said gently. “Don’t hide from me.” Sonic bit his bottom lip even harder, enjoying every second of Lancelot’s wide-eyed struggle. His fingers reached down with a light, curious touch and wrapped around the base of his shaft with gentle pressure.

Lancelot choked on a breath. His hips bucked slightly from the contact.

“Easy,” Sonic murmured, drawing him into a slow pace. “We’ve got time.”

His other hand found Lancelot’s jaw and guided him back into a kiss, deeper this time. And it was immediately messier with untapped hunger. Their mouths met with a shared gasp, and Lancelot kissed back like he was falling, clinging to the warmth of Sonic’s lips like they were his lifeline.

It was different from any kiss Lancelot had ever imagined. Not composed. Not strategic. Just raw, aching need.

Sonic adored it. There was something grounding about the way Lancelot kissed. No pretense. No façade. He kissed like someone discovering pleasure for the first time, and the jester couldn’t get enough of it.

Lancelot’s thighs trembled. The pace of Sonic’s hand never faltered. He was slow, teasing, coaxing him closer and closer until… With a sharp groan, Lancelot spilled across Sonic’s fingers, hips jerking forward helplessly, eyes wide in disbelief. His chest rose and fell in uneven waves. His arms dropped back to brace himself against the bed, overwhelmed and dazed.

“I—I’m sorry,” Lancelot whispered. “That was—too fast—I didn’t mean—”

“Hey,” Sonic whispered, lifting his hand slowly, letting the evidence of Lancelot’s release catch the light. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”

Their eyes met, and Sonic, grinning like a colorful star fallen to earth, licked his fingers clean, making Lancelot’s eyes widen in disbelief at what he was seeing. The sight made his body twitch again. His cock already had more moisture beading at the tip.

That was beyond attractive.

“Sensitive, huh?” Sonic cooed, drawing his tongue over the last drop on his glove, savoring it with a soft moan.

Lancelot felt like his soul was short-circuiting. His fingers dug into the blankets behind him. “Sonic…”

But Sonic was already sliding down, planting slow kisses along his chest and belly. Gentle nips, licks, and teases. Unable to help himself, he kissed every scar he found. They were endearing yet maddeningly attractive.

Lancelot squirmed. Every touch made his breath stutter. He had never, never felt this much sensation… this much arousal. He had certainly had moments… but even after coming once, he still felt like he needed more… and with a vehement passion.

“Say it,” Sonic murmured, his face was now against his cock, not touching just breathing near it. “Say what you want.”

Lancelot’s throat worked. His brain was scrambling. “I—I…”

Sonic moved and nibbled just above his groin.

“C’mon, Sir Knight,” he whispered. “Plead for it. I know you want to.”

Lancelot buried his face in his arm, groaning like a man defeated. He was flushed with embarrassment and desire.

“I—please.”

Sonic tilted his head up, with a wicked grin. “Please, what, Sir Knight?”

Lancelot’s ears were pinned back, words barely audible. “Please… your mouth. I want—I need—you…”

Sonic laughed, a little evilly. “Okay, I’ll give you just a taste…”

He moved with slow and careful intention. There was no rush. No urgency. Just the fluid, focused grace of someone who knew exactly what they were doing and loved watching the effect it had. Sonic leaned in, breath ghosting over his flushed and thick cock, the heat of Lancelot’s arousal radiating beneath him. But instead of diving in, instead of giving Lancelot what he so clearly begged for, Sonic tilted his head and pressed the softest, slowest kiss to the very base of him.

Lancelot let out a shaky breath.

Sonic kissed again, higher this time. A press of lips. Then a slow, languid lick that traveled halfway up his shaft, stopping just before it could be too much. He nuzzled the length with his cheek, letting it drag against the velvet of his fur, eyes fluttering closed like he was savoring the warmth. Then pressed another kiss on the shaft… Then another.

Lancelot's hands clenched into the sheets. He thought he was prepared for this. He wasn’t.

Sonic didn’t suck. Didn’t go deep. Didn’t even wrap his lips around the head.

He just… worshipped.

Sonic dragged his tongue slowly along the underside, then traced teasing circles around the tip without ever taking it in. Then, with maddening patience, he rubbed his cheek against it again.

Lancelot’s thighs trembled. His breathing was uneven.

Sonic’s hands massaged gently up and down Lancelot’s thighs as he moved, keeping him grounded. Keeping him open. Then, wickedly, he shifted further down and nipped at the soft, dark fur along Lancelot’s inner thighs.

Lancelot jerked, making Sonic smile.

“You're so sensitive,” he whispered. “That’s cute.”

Then he kissed the same spot, soft and slow, knowing this must be an erogenous zone for him. He licked it, gave it small nibbles, then bit a little harder, eliciting a gasp from the knight, then soothed it again with his tongue.

Every motion was careful and controlled, as if Sonic were memorizing him. He wanted to get to know the places where he twitched, which spot would elicit a higher gasp. He went to the other side of his inner thigh and repeated the process, lick, nibble, bite then sucked harder this time. Lancelot’s hips tried to buck up, and Sonic moved one hand to hold him down with a palm on his stomach.

Over and over, Sonic returned to the main attraction… but still refused to do much. He traced slow lines. Pressed gentle kisses. Ran his tongue over the knights cock with lazy affection. Occasionally, he’d kiss the tip gently, whisper something just shy of audible, then move away again… back to Lancelot’s thighs, to his hips, to the edge of his pelvis, everywhere but where Lancelot needed him most.

Lancelot was beginning to break. His head fell back, jaw slack, lips parted around shaky gasps. “Sonic…” he whimpered, not even recognizing his own voice. “Please…”

But Sonic didn’t stop.

“Not yet,” he murmured a little callously, but a bit fond, almost like he was savoring it too. He hadn’t been with a virgin… in a while, and gods were they fun to break down… especially one so attractive like Lancelot.

Plus Sonic couldn’t help it; the knight definitely deserved such a nice and slow first time after what he had done for him. Sonic gave another slow lick and kiss to the tip.

Lancelot shuddered and his hands had long since left the sheets and were now hovering helplessly in the air like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

And Sonic just kept worshipping. Every lick was like honey, and every breath like silk. Every moment felt like it stretched into eternity.

Lancelot let out a loud moan, much rawer and more desperate now. His eyes squeezed shut. “I need you. I can’t—” Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. Not from pain but from a growing frustration and from need… From how good it felt to be touched like this… It was sinfully crafted devotion.

And Sonic, noticing the change in Lancelot’s breathing, slowed his kisses again. Licked away a bead of precum that would not stop collecting. “You’re doing so well, Sir Knight,” he whispered. “I’m just taking my time. You deserve that.”

Lancelot opened his eyes, still misty, and looked down at him. Each brush of Sonic’s lips, each slow lick along his length, each press of heat to his inner thigh, was driving him to the edge of insanity. He’d never felt this exposed. This seen. Not in armor, not on the battlefield, not in the court but here, beneath Sonic’s mouth, beneath his warm hands and playful, knowing gaze, he was bare.

He nuzzled into Lancelot’s thigh again, tongue dragging along a patch of sensitive skin. Lancelot’s hips lifted instinctively, seeking more, but Sonic only smirked against him and pulled back, again.

Lancelot was panting, every muscle taut with restraint.

He could feel his climax near, and Sonic hadn’t even done much to his length. He was that close just from him teasing. But it was as if the jester knew that anything he got a little too eager and Lancelot was close, Sonic denied him again and again, keeping him in that sweet, unbearable place.

Another kiss, this one to his very swollen tip. Sonic’s tongue flicked out. Lancelot let out a noise that was a half-sob, and covered his face with one wobbly hand. His whole body was pleading and when he spoke, it was as if something inside of him had cracked. “Sonic… Please. I—please, I need you—”

Sonic paused because change in his tone was stark. Not the teasing little whine from before. This was something deeper and the knight was choked with longing. “Let me see your face.”

Lancelot’s hand slipped from his face, and Sonic saw it—real tears glistening at the corners of his eyes and still, he looked beautiful. Knees bent, arms unsteady, his usually serious crimson gaze now so helpless and pleading.

And that’s when Sonic finally gave in. “Oh, baby…”

He leaned up, hands cupping Lancelot’s thighs, and pressed a firmer kiss to the needy arousal between them. No teasing this time. No games. He opened his mouth and pushed the tip of his cock inside. Sonic’s mouth was warm, wet, and welcoming.

Lancelot moaned and his hips lifted into the heat. He cried out again when Sonic took more of him in, slowly, delicately, as if he was being unraveled thread by thread.

Sonic’s tongue swirled, his lips moving gently, eyes closed shut as he tasted him in full. The weight. The heat. The desperation. Lancelot really was big even after ejaculating once, but Sonic knew what to do to take him well.

Everything was only making Sonic wetter, and by the gods was he wet. He hadn’t even touched himself but from the moment they were kissing Sonic knew his pussy and inner thighs were a dribbled mess.

Lancelot’s hand shot out, tangling in Sonic’s quills—but he didn’t pull, didn’t push. He held like he was anchoring himself to reality, to this moment.

Sonic moved slowly, taking him just deep enough to press him to the back of his throat without gagging. He eased off, then repeated it again, his mouth, now slick with effort and want.

Lancelot’s head tipped back, mouth open in a silent cry. He was barely coherent, barely breathing as his whole body bowed toward the jester.

When Sonic glanced up, he saw it—Lancelot's flushed face, lips parted, brows drawn up in something that looked almost like pain but was nothing but ecstasy. He was close, and Sonic knew he didn’t need much more. He shoved the knight’s cock all the way to the back of his throat, forcing himself to gag, making the bells jingle in his quills from the harsher movement and after a few pumps—

“I—I’m—” Lancelot rasped and Sonic let him come. He didn’t stop. He welcomed it, relished in it, drinking him in like stolen nectar, staying with him through every twitch, every eager cry, every tremble of release.

Lancelot finally collapsed against the bed… He was panting, chest rising in uneven gulps.

That was when Sonic pulled away with a smile. His lips were pink. His green eyes sparkled slightly with tears. He leaned over to him, brushing the fur from Lancelot’s damp brow, and kissed his cheek, jaw and lips. “You okay, Sir Knight?”

Lancelot was still dazed, still flushed, nodded slowly. “I’ve never felt… anything like that.”

“You did so well. You were perfect. But we aren’t done.” Sonic’s smile turned more mischievous. He could feel the heat between his thighs throb with a need that had only grown from watching Lancelot fall apart so beautifully with him.

But he didn’t move to take what he wanted just yet.

Instead, he rolled onto his back, the sheets rustling beneath him, and sensually spread his legs wide in front of Lancelot. With a small exhale, Sonic’s fingers dipped down between his legs to open himself barely by spreading his blue lips gently. “Look, Sir Knight~”

The sight… the dreamlike sight made Lancelot’s heart stop.

Sonic's watched Lancelot’s eyes dilate, how his chest rose and stilled, how his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Any relief he had from cumming twice was leaving, and his hunger was only beginning to grow again.

Sonic tilted his hips and the sunlight beaming through caught perfectly on the slickness between his thighs. His fingers never framed his pussy like a picture, like something sacred he was daring Lancelot to gaze upon.

Then with both hands he spreads his lips fully to show Lancelot everything.

“See what you’ve done to me?” Sonic purred. “Look how wet I am for you…”

Lancelot… stopped breathing. The sight before him was raw, beautiful, and utterly shameless. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Sonic’s folds were pink, wet, and glistening, there was cum that had travelled to his inner blue thighs and everything… looked otherworldly. His fur framed his cunt perfectly, and the way he opened himself, the way he invited his gaze, was both powerful and vulnerable at once...

It wasn’t just arousing, it was devastating. Lancelot had never seen anything so beautiful and erotic.

Sonic noticed. He could see it in Lancelot’s eyes, that reverence mixing with hunger. “You look like you're seeing something you shouldn't~ But you’re allowed. I want you to.”

Lancelot swallowed thickly. He wanted to speak, but no words came.

Sonic’s fingers finally moved, just a little, just enough to press in at the top, teasing his small, aching bud with the lightest touch. “This little thing right here,” Sonic whispered, rubbing slow, careful circles. “It’s so sensitive. Even the softest pressure makes me tremble… Do you see how swollen it is?” He demonstrated, drawing a soft whimper from his own lips. “And ever since I've met you… I've imagined what your tongue would feel like on it, Sir Knight… bet it would feel warm...”

Lancelot felt like he wasn’t even in Blackthorne anymore. This had to be heaven. He was utterly entranced as his eyes never left Sonic’s fingers.

“I couldn’t help but think about you,” Sonic continued, whining slightly now. “Your mouth. Right here. Your hands… holding me down. That handsome mouth of yours saying my name while you taste me.”

Lancelot visibly shivered.

Then Sonic slipped one finger inside his cunt, exhaling sharply at the sensation. His back arched just slightly, and he let out a faint, breathy moan. “Mmm… gods, I can't wait,” he said through gritted teeth. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me.”

Lancelot's hands gripped the edge of the bed so hard that he was clawing his own palms. Then, without thinking, he moved forward, and Sonic used his foot to lay him back down. “Not yet, handsome, I’m in control right now. You just watch.”

Lancelot obeyed and leaned back down, only getting more undone.

Sonic pulled his finger out and pressed two back in, biting his lip as he whispered, “You have no idea how long I've wanted to make you lose control. You’re always so… restrained. So knightly.” His hips rolled once in tandem while he finger fucked himself. “But I want the part of you that isn't trained. The part that desires. The part that aches.”

The jester wanted to push further. He had to and so, for the first time, Sonic said it, the nickname he always wanted to give him.

“Lance.”

The name left his lips like colorful fire. Lancelot flinched visibly. Like the word struck straight through his mind, body, and soul, his ears twitched. His eyes widened and then something shifted.

That name… but not just his real name… but a nickname spoken by Sonic for the first time, melted the rigid steel in his spine and replaced it with something else entirely. Lancelot's hands twitching as though physically resisting the urge to move.

Sonic caught that. “You really like it when I say your name, don’t you? Lance…”

Lancelot looked stricken, equal parts reverence and restraint. His voice finally returned, but it cracked. “Y-Yes…”

“I know you do,” Sonic moaned softly, keeping a steady rhythm inside while his fingers continued their pace, “And I know you want to help. Don't you?”

“I… I do.”

So... Sonic stopped and pulled his fingers out. He took off the purple tunic he should have known he didn’t need, and Lancelot’s eyes immediately fell to his chest. Sonic was so aroused that his pink nipples were very much out and perky, begging for the knight’s attention.

Then, before the knight could start drooling, the jester shifted with languid grace. “Open your legs,” Sonic ordered.

Lancelot obeyed, and Sonic twisted around so his body arched subtly as he leaned backwards until his spine was flush against Lancelot’s chest.

The knight’s chest was soft with fur but firm with strength, rose and fell unevenly, betraying his nerves. But Sonic didn’t mind. He liked that Lancelot trembled for him.

Their bodies molded together like puzzle pieces that had long been denied their match. Sonic could feel every breath Lancelot took, how it ghosted across the nape of his neck. He could even feel how the knight tried to calm himself but failed, his restraint continuing to slip away minute by minute.

Then, Sonic took off his gloves and reached down to peel away Lancelot’s gloves. They were the only clothing he had left. He took them off one at a time. His fingers moved unhurriedly, as though undressing something revered. He let the gloves drop to the side, then brought Lancelot’s bare hands up between them, lacing their fingers together so they could both see.

Despite being the one who was more composed during this time, Sonic’s breath caught.

Lancelot’s pads were dark grey, rougher than his own, marked by years of combat, but surprisingly tender. Sonic brought one hand to rest atop his own, pressing their palms together. The contrast was striking. Sonic’s pads were soft, flushed pink, and delicate compared to Lancelot’s more callused grip.

Sonic’s ears twitched with delight. He really liked holding his hand... “Our hands look good together,” he whispered, laced with heat and wonder.

Lancelot made a small, stunned sound. His entire body had gone stiff behind Sonic, blushing so fiercely he could barely breathe. “They… they do,” he managed to say.

Sonic tilted his head back, just enough for his lips to graze Lancelot’s jaw in a soft, teasing kiss. Then he took Lancelot’s right hand, guiding it carefully downward, until the knight’s palm pressed against his chest, right over his nipple.

“Touch me,” Sonic whispered.

Lancelot froze, and his breath stuttered. But Sonic stayed soft in his hands, patient. “Don’t be scared. Just follow me.”

He curled his fingers over Lancelot’s and helped him explore—grazing his nipple gently at first, then showing him how to press, how to knead, how to circle slowly with the pad of his thumb. Sonic’s body reacted immediately. He left out a soft moan, his spine curved in a delicious shiver, and Lancelot’s grip tightened just slightly.

“Yeah… that’s good,” Sonic praised. “You’re doing so well…”

Once the knight got the rhythm, Sonic let go—and brought his other hand to guide Lancelot’s left. He mirrored the motion, this time more confident, bolder, letting his hands explore Sonic’s chest with a slow, aching hunger.

“You like them?” Sonic asked.

“Yes, I do,” Lancelot breathed, as if he were in awe.

Sonics head fell back onto Lancelot’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted just barely as he drank in every sensation. His thighs pressed together, heat blooming hotter in his belly, pussy getting wetter with every passing movement.

While Lancelot—still blushing, still panting, still shaky started to slowly become surer. He cupped Sonic’s chest fully now, both hands kneading him in tandem, thumbs dragging over his nipples with sinful care. Sonic let out a more needy moan, tilting his hips slightly, grinding back just a little to feel more of him.

Gods, Sonic wanted more, but he really wanted to break him down slowly. “Mmm... I knew you’d be good with your hands…”

Lancelot was still nervous, but that didn't stop his lips from brushing, ever so gently, against the top of Sonic’s ear. “I… I want to make you feel good,” he whispered hoarsely.

“You are,” Sonic murmured, tilting his head until their cheeks brushed. “Lance, you are…” His voice trailed into louder moans as Lancelot's hands explored his chest, fingers getting bolder, tightening on his sensitive peaks. Sonic tilted his head back again, letting it rest in the crook of the knight’s neck, baring his throat as if in offering.

Lancelot kissed it softly. Then again and again. He was listening, learning and that alone sent a thrill through Sonic’s spine. “You’re so warm,” Lancelot murmured, sounding almost like he was in a dream. “So soft…”

Sonic laughed at his words, one of his hands trailing along Lancelot’s thigh, feeling the tension ripple beneath. “Chaos, listen to you… You still sound so sweet.”

Sonic turned his face just enough to see just how flushed the knight was. “Touch me more,” Sonic whispered, dragging Lancelot’s hand down again now. “Please, Lance… I need this. I need you.” He stopped at his belly. “You said I could have you but you never realized I was going to need you like this, did you?”

“No but,” Lancelot murmured, as he moved his hand away from his nipple to tighten one arm around Sonic’s waist, pulling him in closer into his chest and groin. “I don’t regret telling you so.”

Sonic body fell further into Lancelot’s embrace, he could feel his cock near his rear, but he would sadly have to ignore it for now. Though it was good to know he was still so hard. He tightened his grasp around Lancelot’s hand, and they both trailed downward again, brushing lightly across his belly, teasing at the sensitive spot between his hips, and then he paused again. “I showed you how earlier… Your turn.”

There was silence, thick and pulsing, Lancelot’s heart felt like it stopped again, but he didn’t pull back. He didn’t shy away. His hand slid slowly, carefully down Sonic’s body, shaking only slightly as it reached the same place Sonic had touched.

Lancelot’s fingers brushed over his folds, light at first, tentative. Sonic gasped and let his head fall back again, his ears twitching and drooping slightly in open surrender. The moment felt immeasurable.

“Lance…” Sonic breathed shakily. “That’s—keep going, just like that…”

The knight obeyed. His fingers moved, pushing inside his lips finding his clit and began to rub it in gentle circles. He made sure to listen to every gasp and moan, as if they were scripture.

He kept this up, pressing a little harder with every second that passed by, and enjoyed Sonic’s face getting redder and needier with every movement. And when Sonic’s hips rocked forward slightly, seeking more, Lancelot responded—not with words, but with action.

He pressed closer, chest to Sonic’s back, and slowly, carefully, slid one finger inside.

Sonic hands clutched at Lancelot’s arms, grounding himself in the heat and strength of him. “Yes,” Sonic moaned, “You’re doing so good, so good…”

Encouraged, Lancelot kissed the crook of Sonic’s neck. Just a brush. Then another. Then a lingering nibble just below his jaw. Sonic whimpered softly, arching back into him as the knight began to move his hand with more confidence. Each motion only feeling better and better. A second finger joined the first, stretching him more now.

Lancelot's fingers were bigger and thicker, and they made the jester melt like wax in his arms. His ears lowered completely now, limp with pleasure and submission, and Lancelot kept his mouth on his neck, sucking and nibbling him. The knight’s other arm remained wrapped around Sonic’s waist while his hand grazed and teased his nipples. He held him firm and close, anchoring him as if afraid Sonic might float away from how light he looked, how undone.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lancelot whispered.

Sonic’s reply was a high, breathy moan. One hand reached back blindly, curling behind Lancelot’s neck to draw him in closer.

“You like it when I praise you,” Lancelot said softly, gaining more confidence as he spoke.

Sonic nodded. “I do… Please don’t stop. Gods, Lance—just like that, keep going… faster…”

Lancelot didn’t stop. He moved inside him with a faster rhythm now, enjoying just how wet Sonic was getting. His arousal coated Lancelot’s fingers to the point it was leaking into his palm, making it so easy and slick to continue his movements. His mouth continued to kiss and lick Sonic’s neck, tracing lines of fervor and devotion. Each touch carved something new between them.

Sonic surrendered to it fully—his body rocking gently in time with Lancelot’s hand, his words dissolving into helpless sounds of pleasure. Sonic’s body trembled in his arms, pliant and warm, pressed so close that Lancelot could feel every twitch, every shallow breath. He couldn’t believe this, how Sonic trusted him, how his body responded to every touch with such desperate grace. It made Lancelot’s heart pound, made his hand move with more certainty as he curved his fingers just right, seeking out the rhythm Sonic had silently begged for.

Each stroke coaxed Sonic’s hips to rock instinctively, chasing the friction, the fullness, the passion building between them. Lancelot kept going with slow, deep thrusts of his fingers, curling ever so slightly on each pass to draw out those pretty little gasps. Each sound only added to his arousal. His cock was throbbing under Sonic's rear. 

“You’re hah—, you’re so good,” Sonic whimpered, his muzzle and ears were completely red. “You’re making me nnnh—Lance…”

The knight couldn’t help himself anymore. He leaned in, mouth hot on Sonic’s neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses that grew wetter, more urgent. His teeth grazed the soft curve of Sonic’s throat, then nibbled, earning a shaky cry that vibrated straight through them both.

“You’re so wet,” Lancelot whispered, sounding more rough now. “I love how you feel…”

His free hand pulled and twisted around Sonic’s nipples as he pushed his fingers deeper, stroking harder, even faster and harsher now. He kept his rhythm steady, exact, focused entirely on Sonic’s unraveling pleasure. He could feel it. The way Sonic’s walls pulsed and clenched around his fingers, the way his hips jolted with each pass. “Don’t stop… ah—!”

“I won’t,” Lancelot promised, teeth now biting softly on his ear.

Sonic cried out, his body arching as the climax hit him full-force—shuddering, burning, but sweet all at once. His thighs clenched, his hands grabbed onto the knight's thighs on either side, clawing them slightly, not that Lancelot even noticed, as he was too busy relishing in the sounds and movements Sonic was making during his orgasm.

Lancelot held him tightly through it, never pulling away. His fingers slowed, gentled, easing Sonic through the waves of pleasure until he fell against him. His chest heaved, his ears twitching weakly as he came down from the high.

“You’re alright,” Lancelot murmured, brushing a kiss to his temple. “I’ve got you…” Even with his hand slick and his own breath ragged, Lancelot held Sonic tightly against him.

Sonic was glowing from within. “Wow… for being a virgin, you sure learn quick.” He said, dazed, with a smile.

Lancelot couldn’t help the smile he gave back, but then was immediately surprised when Sonic turned quickly and climbed into his lap again.

“We still aren’t done yet,” Sonic rasped. He may have just come, but he needed more. He put his hands on Lancelot’s shoulders, straddling him. The moment their bodies met, he shifted his hips down, grinding slowly and purposefully against him, the slick heat of his pussy gliding along his cock.

Lancelot gasped at the sudden position change and sensation, his hands flew to Sonic’s thighs, gripping tightly. Despite his reservedness before pleasing Sonic, he wanted to be inside him already.

But Sonic didn’t lift himself to take him in.

He just rocked again and again. It was a torturous rhythm, making sure his soaked folds wrapped around his shaft but never allowed inside. Which made Lancelot’s arousal only get worse, leaking more with the intensity of his need and Sonic was milking it. Teasing every ounce of tension out of him with every roll of his hips.

“You like that?” Sonic purred sultrily. “You’ve been hard this entire time, Lance… You really need me, huh, baby?”

Lancelot let out a ragged breath, his hands shaking on Sonic’s thighs. He tried to lift his hips to thrust, but Sonic pressed him down, grounding him with a firm hand on his chest.

“No,” Sonic whispered. “You don’t get to enter me yet.”

Lancelot’s eyes snapped open to look at him while Sonic leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Not until you get rough with me.”

“What?” Lancelot swallowed hard, his control slipping fast.

Sonic moaned against his neck, his lips brushing the shell of his ear nibbling on it, hips grinding down harder now rubbing the head of Lancelot’s cock perfectly between his lips but never letting it slip in.

“You heard me. I need you inside me, Lance,” he moaned, fingers clutching Lancelot’s shoulders. “But I want you to lose it. I need you to break for me. No more control.”

Lancelot’s hands were fists now. His breath came in short, wild pants. The ache in his body had reached a fever pitch, and Sonic was only making it worse, smiling, moaning, grinding, dripping onto him, coating him with his arousal, and still not letting him in.

Sonic reached down and spread himself slightly, just enough to let the head of Lancelot’s cock brush against his entrance, but he still didn’t take him in. He kept himself just out of reach, slick and teasing.“You want to be my knight, right?” Sonic whispered, breath uneven.

Lancelot growled softly, surprised by the noise that left him. It rumbled up from deep in his chest, something gruff and more animalistic. His hands moved to Sonic’s hips, gripping them tightly, too tightly, and without realizing he was even about to.

Lancelot kissed him and it wasn’t careful this time or shy… it was desperate and needy.

Sonic melted into the kiss with a soft moan, letting his hands tangle into Lancelot’s quills as he rolled his hips down again, dragging his pussy now along the underside of Lancelot’s cock.

It was torture. It was heaven.

Lancelot's restraint had cracked exponentially, but it hadn’t completely broken.

Sonic could tell, and gods did he need it to break fully. He pulled back just slightly, his breath hot against Lancelot’s lips. “Don’t hold back,” he assured. “I want it.”

Lancelot’s eyes that had always simmered were now burning, but there was the faintest hesitation.

Hmmm… teasing is working, but maybe he needs me… to beg for him. Knight in shining armor, right? So… Sonic leaned in, resting his forehead against the knight’s, lips brushing just under his ear as he moaned again. “Don’t you want me to belong to you right now?” Sonic purred. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Lancelot swallowed hard. His hands clutched harder on Sonic’s hips, like he didn’t trust himself to move, like one wrong twitch would break whatever was left of his control.

Sonic leaned back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. “I know you’re strong,” he whispered. “I know you’re fast. You’re deadly, Lance. I’ve seen you fight. You’re so powerful. Why are you still holding back?”

He kept grinding, making Lancelot's cock throb painfully beneath him. “Use your strength,” Sonic whispered. “Use it on me.”

Lancelot’s eyes closed in hopes that not seeing the jester's pleading eyes could help, while his hands shook as they held him in place.

“And when I say that I know you’re not using me,” Sonic continued, “You’re worshipping me and I’m asking you to.” He leaned in again, mouth hot on Lancelot’s neck. “Lance. I want you. Didn’t you say you would take care of me?” He licked his throat sensually. “You want to, don’t you? So, no one else hurts me? So, only you touch me?”

Sonic bit the side of his throat. “Please…”Then he sucked, hard, enough to make Lancelot groan louder. “Please, Lance…” Sonic begged again, in that breathless, shattered way that shattered Lancelot with it. He moved back to meet his gaze. “Open your eyes, Lance, and look at me.”

Lancelot obeys and he could see how needy Sonic was. The jester’s ears were drooped, eyes and lips pouty.

Then with the most needy, sensual voice Sonic could muster, “Please… I need you. Please take care of me, Lance. Be my knight and fuck me.”

And that was it. He couldn't take it anymore. Lancelot’s hands snapped from his thighs to his waist, gripping him, lifting him, pulled him down in one smooth, powerful motion and pushed his cock inside him.

Sonic cried out, high and full of something like relief, because finally, finally, Lancelot had let go.

The knight was panting in Sonic’s ear as he held him there, deep, tight, claiming him with every quivering second. His grip on Sonic’s waist was iron-strong, fingers digging into his plush hips like he never wanted to let go. Then, he started moving. Sonic’s arms clung tight around Lancelot’s shoulders, face buried on his shoulder, moaning softly against him.

“Yes,” he gasped, hips rocking down. “Yes, Lance—just like that. Fuck you're so—!”

Lancelot didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He was too far gone, drunk on heat, on need, on the feel of how fucking good Sonic’s pussy wrapped around him. He moved now with powerful, remorseless thrusts, using his hands to slam Sonic’s body down into him with a pace that had no fear left, every time making the bells in Sonic's quills jingle, only spurring him on further. No second-guessing. Just instinct and need.

Sonic welcomed all of it. “Ah~ Good boy,” He lifted his head, grabbed Lancelot’s face, kissed him hard, tongue pushing into his mouth, biting at his lip, then dragging back with a whiny moan. “Just like that, baby… fuck.”

The praise made Lancelot growl again and didn’t notice it this time, hands tightening, shifting his grip so he could yank Sonic down harder with every motion. His rhythm grew faster, more frantic, flesh meeting flesh, the force echoing in the room, each motion rougher than the last.

Sonic cried out, mouth open, face flushed, “Harder,” he gasped, nails digging into Lancelot’s shoulders. “Lance, harder. Don’t hold back—I can take it.”

Lancelot obliged. He thrust up with brutal precision, using the strength in his arms to slam Sonic down over and over again, hips snapping into him with enough power to steal his breath and still Sonic kept praising him. “Ah~ fuck you feel so good Lance, you’re perfect, I’ve needed you—”

Lancelot kissed him again, and it was hot, messy, and greedy. Muffled moans escaped into Sonic’s mouth as he continued to drive into him like he’d never known pleasure before. His whole body pulsed around Lancelot’s cock, drawing him in deeper with every breath, every cry, every praise-drenched please.

Lancelot was lost to it now. To the wet heat, the tight grip, the way Sonic fit him, called to him. The way Sonic said his name was like a weapon and a gift all at once.

The knight groaned against Sonic’s throat. “You feel like heaven. Damn I could—, I could get addicted to this.”

Sonic’s back arched. “Then do it. Get addicted~ I’m yours.”

Lancelot kept moving with fire and fury, holding nothing back since he knew Sonic didn’t want him soft. Lancelot’s thrusts grew erratic and powerful. He wanted to consume Sonic, as his arms locked tight around his waist, dragging him down, pressing his lips against his nipples and biting on them one at a time, making the jester moan with every infliction.

Sonic was falling apart in his arms, and Lancelot loved it. Loved how Sonic moaned with every slam of their hips, loved the heat in his words, the way he praised him, whispered good boy, that’s it, harder, just like that. Every word made Lancelot nip and groan against his chest, made him thrust harder, deeper, rougher.

“You feel… so good…” Lancelot rasped, lips now dragging up along Sonic’s jaw, biting harshly at the flushed skin of his neck. “So perfect—”

Sonic cut him off with another kiss now full of something more than lust.

Eventually he broke the kiss just long enough to pant, “I’m close, Lance—don’t don’t you dare stop—”

Lancelot didn’t, and really, he couldn’t. His entire body was on fire and his mind was gone. All he knew was Sonic. All he wanted was Sonic. His hands tightened around Sonic’s lower back to slam him down, angling each thrust to reach just right, to give him everything.

Sonic was sobbing with pleasure now, close and clinging to Lancelot like he couldn’t breathe without him. His whole body tensed, then snapped. “Lance—fuck!”

He cried out, head thrown back, every muscle locking tight as release crashed through him like a blinding wave. He clenched down around Lancelot, shuddering, mouth open in a silent scream before it cracked into a whimper.

Lancelot lost it too. The moment he felt Sonic’s body seize with release, heard his cries, saw the tears of pleasure trailing down his cheeks… he groaned, deep and broken, and surged upward one last time.

His climax hit him hard in a way the other two didn’t. He buried his face in Sonic’s shoulder, muffling his ragged, gasping cries as his body pulsed with release, pouring everything he had into the lover falling apart in his arms. His arms held Sonic tighter, desperate to keep him there, trembling with the weight of everything he’d finally let himself feel.

They stayed like that, breathing hard, holding on to each other for a while.

Sonic slumped against him, panting, sweat-slicked, legs twitching, arms draped loosely around Lancelot’s neck. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t want to. “…Don’t move,” Sonic whined. “I want to stay like this…”

Lancelot nodded, chest still rising and falling.

“…You feel so good,” Sonic murmured. “So deep. I feel so full. Gods, I don’t want it to end.”

Lancelot kissed his muzzle more gently now. “Then it doesn’t have to.” He grabbed Sonic’s face with both hands and pulled him in for a kiss. He fell back into the bed, dragging Sonic with him. 

Sonic let himself collapse onto him, trusting his movements, flushed, body still feeling the aftershocks. The kiss deepened as their chests pressed together, hearts pounding in a rhythm that hadn’t yet slowed. Sonic melted into it, his hands sliding up Lancelot’s sides, fingers splaying across his scars.

Lancelot’s lips were soft now, slower, no longer claiming but holding, like he didn’t want to let go. His hands cradled Sonic’s cheeks and brushed his thumbs over the flushed fur beneath Sonic’s eyes.

Their noses bumped, breath mingled, and Sonic gave a small, content sound against his mouth—a sigh, or maybe a laugh, muffled by warmth and lingering bliss. Sonic dipped to nuzzle under the knights jaw where his pulse still fluttered.

This moment was a first for both of them.

Lancelot had let go in a way he never had before, and Sonic had never felt anything like this before.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The war room in Blackthorne was colder than usual.

Thick with tension, the air held still as four figures sat around a new stone-carved war table… since the last one was shattered.

Sonic sat beside Lancelot, his hands folded tightly in his lap. Shadow loomed at the head of the table, arms crossed. Arthur stood not far away, with an outfit Sonic was sure wasn’t his own… considering it was all black.

Heh… they must have been busy all night.

But either way… the chambers were quiet. Too quiet.

“What do you need from me?” Sonic finally asked, confused, why the hell they would need a jester here.

Arthur’s tone was even but very serious. “We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

Arthur spoke again, "We need to know if there was anyone else."

Sonic's brows drew together. "What?"

Arthur didn't look away. "Did anyone else—" he exhaled sharply through his nose because the words were hard to say, "—do what Thalor did?"

Sonic's face twisted, not in confusion this time, but in something much colder and bitter. "What does that matter?"

"It matters," Shadow said, stepping forward, "because we need to know what we're dealing with. We don't know if Thalor was acting alone. If he was sanctioned. If others... partook."

Sonic's spine straightened like a struck wire. "There's no proof," he said quickly, too quickly. "So what, you're going to start hunting every noble who looks at me the wrong way?"

"No," Arthur answered. "But Thalor is gone."

Sonic's heart dropped. "...G-gone?"

Shadow didn't flinch. "We made sure he'd never hurt anyone again."

Sonic's hands curled into fists against the table. "You... you killed him?"

Arthur didn't deny it. "We didn't give him a chance to talk. Didn't want to."

Sonic turned sharply, his breath shallow, searching the faces around him, and eventually his eyes landed on Lancelot. "Did you know?" he demanded. "And didn't tell me?"

"I... I planned to tell you," Lancelot said somberly, wishing he could explain more, but he didn't continue, considering Shadow and Arthur were there. He could only assume they didn't need to hear about their morning's... activities.

Sonic's ears flattened. "I see..."

Arthur stepped forward, tone still even but heavy. "No one should live after what he did to you."

"You don't get to decide that!" Sonic's words shattered the stillness like glass. He shoved back from the table, his chair scraping across the floor. "He was a High Councilor! He had power! He was dangerous—yes—but he was part of something bigger. Your kingdoms, both of them... Don't you need the Council's support? Food. Medicine. Trade. Do you have any idea what they'll do when they find out?"

"We don't care," Shadow said, arms folded. "We've endured without them before."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "They've been snakes since before either of us wore a crown."

Sonic's chest rose and fell rapidly. "What does this mean? What happens next?"

Arthur's jaw was tight. "It means we expect them to come here first to Blackthorne. They'll want answers. They'll sniff out weakness."

"Any time anything goes wrong," Shadow added with venom, "they blame me first."

"And you're just going to lie?" Sonic asked shakily. "Pretend nothing happened? That Thalor just vanished?"

Arthur nodded once. "Let them believe what they want. He was old, sick, or he resigned. Maybe he vanished. Let them squabble over theories."

"And if they don't believe it?"

"Then we fight," Shadow said bluntly. "With steel, or with strategy. Either way he deserved to die."

Sonic stared at him."I never asked...," he said, looking down in shame and guilt. "I never asked for revenge. I didn't want any of this. I didn't want Lancelot to see me like that. I didn't want to be the reason Camelot and Blackthorne are pushed into war. I just..."

"No one blames you," Lancelot said softly next to him.

"They should!" Sonic spun on him. "I blame me! If I'd told someone sooner... if I'd reported it the first time, maybe none of this would've happened!"

Arthur's voice gentled. "Sonic... we need to know. Was it just him?"

Sonic froze and a long, tense silence followed. His ears slowly lowered, and he looked down again, eyes no longer bright with anger, but dulled by something quieter. Something darker. "...Yes," he said at last as the lie slipped from his lips.

Shadow watched him, watched him too carefully, and Arthur didn't press further.

"It's done," Sonic added, more forcefully. "It's over. He's dead. There's nothing left to talk about."

Shadow opened his mouth, clearly unconvinced, but Sonic cut him off with a sharp glare. "I said it's done."

Arthur stepped back with a careful edge. "Then this meeting is adjourned." Sonic let out a shaky breath, grateful to hear that, but then Arthur's voice came again. "But, Sonic, you stay behind."

Which made Sonic freeze and tail bristle... He wasn't expecting that.

Lancelot hesitated, frowning. "My king—"

"It's fine," Arthur assured. "You and Shadow can go."

Lancelot's mouth pressed into a thin line. He turned to Sonic, gaze lingering apologetically, but Sonic didn't look at him, which didn't help how guilty he already felt. So the knight nodded once and turned, following Shadow out.

The heavy door closed behind them, and Sonic stood alone in the room, with the weight of a truth no one else would ever fully understand pressing like knives into his chest. He hadn't meant to start a war, but it had started all the same, and now Sonic stood awkwardly near the long table, arms folded tight across his chest, the silence gnawing at him. Arthur didn't return to his seat. Instead, he moved with purposeful steps that ended with him sitting in the chair beside Sonic.

Just them. King and jester.

He didn't have his armor, just a black tunic, and his crown had been left behind in Shadow's chamber. Without it, he looked less like a king and more like a man... But still a dangerous one. Arthur folded his hands together and spoke quietly with a slight gentleness that Sonic had never heard before. "You're lying."

Sonic's spine stiffened instantly. "Excuse me?"

Arthur turned his head, locking eyes with him. "It wasn't just Thalor."

Sonic's lips parted in an exhale. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're not fooling me. I've seen that look before. That fear."

Sonic's eyes narrowed. "And what, you're suddenly an expert on trauma?"

"I don't need to be." Arthur leaned forward, not backing down. "Tell me who else."

"There wasn't anyone else."

Arthur was unimpressed and now more annoyed. He didn't have time for this. "Was it Velaria?"

The name immediately made Sonic's fur stand on end. His eyes widened, and he choked out, "How... how could you know that?"

Arthur sat back, expression unreadable. "I always had a bad feeling about her."

Sonic stared at him, and this time really stared. Past his walls, regality and smirks. Past the layered lies. And what he saw made something twist deep inside him. "It happened to you, too, didn't it?"

Arthur immediately gave him a cold glare. "No. It didn't."

Sonic rose to meet him, stepping in close, ignoring decorum and every unspoken rule between them, considering their status. He jabbed a finger against Arthur's chest. "Liar. We're too alike. That's why I can see straight through you."

Arthur's jaw clenched. "You know nothing about me."

"Maybe," Sonic shot back. "But I know the look of someone who's carrying something they shouldn't have had to."

Arthur turned his face away, but Sonic saw the tightness in his eyes. "You're wrong..."

"Then why won't you look at me?" Sonic whispered.

A long silence fell between them, tense yet brittle. "Drop it," Arthur eventually muttered.

"You're totally trying to hide it!"

Arthur scoffed bitterly and looked back at him. "I swear, the Council must have a thing for blue hedgehogs." But the joke fell flat, and Sonic flinched from not just his words but what he had just confirmed. "Ah... apologies," He continued, regretting his words and rubbing his temple. "That was a terrible thing to say."

"No," Sonic looked down, arms tightening around himself. "It's just... you too. The great King Arthur."

"It was a long time ago," Arthur insisted, turning his head away. "It's nothing now."

"You're still haunted."

Arthur turned to look at him, emerald eyes seething. "Quiet, and don't even think of mentioning anything about what we spoke about to Shadow or Lancelot. I'm serious, jester."

Sonic didn't move. "They care about you."

"Either way, they can't know."

"Shadow," Sonic started. "Despite being an asshole, he would-."

That was too much. Arthur surged forward, hand gripping the table's edge, furious now. "Say another word and I swear I'll have you thrown into a dungeon myself."

But Sonic didn't budge. "You're angry because you know I'm right."

"This isn't your business."

"It became my business when you started trying to protect me by murdering my abuser," Sonic snapped. "Don't act like you did that for duty. You did it because you understood."

Arthur's shoulders, always straight, looked burdened now. "Don't mistake what I did for some noble gesture. I hated him."

"But now we're all in trouble."

"We will be fine." When he looked back at Sonic, the tension in his face had melted into something more tired. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, but before Arthur could continue-

“I gotta go…” Sonic said and turned to leave, unable to stand being there any longer.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The war room door creaked shut behind him, heavy and final.

Sonic didn't look back, and his steps were fast but hollow. His fists were clenched, and his emotions were high. That conversation with Arthur—everything—kept looping in his head. Thalor's name echoed like a curse. His shame, his fear, the horrible guilt clawing at his ribs like he was the one who'd set all of this into motion.

He hadn't expected to see Lancelot waiting in the corridor.

"Sonic," the knight said gently, stepping forward; his actions were warm and cautious, as if he were afraid to startle him. "Are you alright?"

Sonic just kept walking so Lancelot followed, quiet but determined. "I wanted to wait for you. I thought... You might need someone to speak with."

That was the problem, wasn't it? Sonic stopped so abruptly that Lancelot nearly walked into him. The jester turned around quickly, green eyes shining with something fierce... anger, confusion, and hurt. "Why didn't you tell me?! Why didn't you tell me they killed Thalor?"

Lancelot froze and his ears shifted back slightly, posture rigid, as if bracing for impact. "I... intended to. Truly, I did."

Sonic stared at him, waiting. The silence pressed for more.

"I had planned to inform you," Lancelot continued. "But... the morning's events... took an unexpected turn. I became... distracted. I take full responsibility for that."

Sonic scoffed, though his heart wasn't in it. "So what—you got a kiss and forgot I might want to know the man who hurt me is dead?"

"No," Lancelot said, shaking his head slightly. "It wasn't forgetfulness. It was hesitation. I feared the news would upset you... I did not wish to upset you immediately when you woke up."

Sonic stepped back, lips pressing into a thin line. "Still, I was the last to know. Everyone else, Arthur, Shadow, they all knew. I felt like a fool in there."

"You are not a fool," Lancelot assured resolutely. "I did not mean to hurt you or make you feel excluded. That was never my intention."

Sonic let out a heavy breath, some of the anger draining from his frame. He rubbed at his temples and then looked away. Sonic knew the morning... was more his own fault, but he wasn't thinking straight, so he did what he could for now and was quieter, less angry, when he finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Sir Knight... I need some space."

Lancelot stilled, and his chin dipped slightly in acknowledgment, though his expression betrayed the ache beneath his calm. "As you wish. I won't trouble you, but should you need anything... I will be nearby." He bowed his head respectfully and stepped back, every inch the composed knight despite the quiet sorrow in his eyes.

Sonic didn't reply and couldn't meet his gaze, so he turned and left. By the time he reached his chamber and shut the door behind him, the weight in his chest had grown unbearable. He collapsed onto the bed, burying himself beneath the covers like they might shield him from the thoughts swarming his head. His breathing was shaky, and he curled up tightly almost into a ball, like he was trying to fold himself away from everything.

It's my fault, he thought. They killed Thalor. They're all in danger now. Camelot, Blackthorne, Lancelot... all of it because of what happened to him. Because he was weak, because he was— but then something distracted him. His bed... It smelled like him. It was warm and clean... A faint scent of steel and something soft beneath it, like lavender oil, perhaps knights used that after long training sessions?

It was Lancelot's smell, and Sonic's eyes closed shut. For a moment, his heart stopped hurting so much, and without thinking twice about it, he cuddled into the pillow, sniffing it again and enjoying his scent. He let out a frustrated exhale, rolling over and yanking the blanket over his head. "Why... do I... We're not even a thing. Technically. Whatever this is."

He hated how much he wanted comfort. How his body, despite everything, yearned to be held, to be soothed, to not be alone in this dark castle filled with ghosts and politics and bullshit. He hated how much Lancelot was comfort now.

When the hell did that happen? Why so fast?  This knight made him feel safe in a way Sonic didn't even know he needed.

He didn't know what to do with it.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The air inside the war room had grown thick with tension.

Maps were layered the table in a crisscross of parchment with nearby territories outlined in bold ink. They had annotations of known Council supporters and potential choke points. The meeting had already stretched late into the evening, but no one showed signs of leaving.

Arthur stood at the head of the table, one hand braced beside a circled mark labeled "Blackthorne Grounds." Beside him, Rouge leaned slightly over the parchment, fingers tapping a lightly drawn escape route toward the southern mountains.

"That's the fastest way out if things go bad," she said. "But it's narrow. You'd be gambling on speed over stealth."

Arthur didn't look up. "Galahad can lead a group of knights. He's the fastest of the Camelot outriders. If he signals red smoke, he would know to clear immediately."

The doors opened again and it was Shadow and Lancelot who returned. Their entrance didn't need announcement and the mood shifted immediately.

"Good," Arthur murmured. "We can begin."

Shadow stepped forward, arms crossed, expression granite-sharp. "The High Council will not stay civil for long. If they find anything, knowing one of their own was murdered, they will act."

Arthur's tone was steel. "If they decide to act against Blackthorne—if they so much as suggest it aloud—we won't hesitate." He looked at Shadow directly. "We tear them down."

Lancelot stiffened, his gaze narrowing. "We would engage them directly?"

"If they accuse Blackthorne of political murder, it's war," Arthur replied flatly. "Not tomorrow. Not immediately. But the moment they start seizing trade lines, we respond."

Shadow gave a slow nod. "We don't bluff."

Rouge's hand paused above the map. "Then we'll need contingencies. If the Council is that desperate, they may try to detain either of you. Or even Sonic."

Lancelot tensed. "I'll stay near Sonic during the summit. If anything happens, he'll be my priority."

Arthur nodded. "You and Percival will guard the jester directly. Galahad handles the outer perimeter with his scouts. If you see smoke—move."

"What about me?" Gawain asked from the corner, arms folded.

"You'll stay near me," Arthur said. "If anything happens to me, whether I'm detained or something else, you assume control of Camelot's retreat."

Shadow gave him a dark look. "You won't fall."

Arthur smirked faintly. "Optimistic of you."

Rouge turned to Shadow. "What about your side?"

Shadow tapped the map with one gloved finger. "I'll have Savion and Vox behind the northern wall. Camber will disguise herself among the crowd—if the Council makes a move, she'll slit their tongue before they raise it."

Lancelot looked between them. "So we're planning for full escalation?"

"We're planning not to be caught off-guard," Shadow corrected. "We'll give them a show with smiles and unity. But if they make one wrong move..."

Arthur finished, "Then we bring them to their knees."

Silence followed. Then Rouge muttered, "You two were made for each other."

Arthur gave her a look. "Heaven help us."

Shadow rolled his eyes. "Don't start."

Arthur turned back to the map, smoothing the creases. "All of this assumes we're the only ones they're watching. But Sonic's name is still on their tongues. He never admitted to anything, but I am forced to assume that they were aware of Thalor's actions to some extent. They may attempt to bait him."

"He shouldn't be left out of this," Shadow said.

Rouge glanced up. "He's not even in the room."

Arthur looked to Lancelot. "Where did he go?"

Lancelot hesitated. "He asked for space. I didn't want to push."

Shadow was already turning toward the door, and that made Lancelot move instinctively. "Wait. He was upset. I don't think now is the time—"

"I don't care," Shadow snapped. "If war breaks out during the summit, he needs to know."

"He needs rest," Lancelot retorted, stepping between him and the door.

Shadow's eyes narrowed. "And he needs to be alive. If any one of those nobles even looks at him with half the intentions Thalor had, what do you think will happen?"

"I'll be there to protect him." Lancelot immediately assured.

Shadow was about to reply when Arthur held up a hand. "Let him go."

Rouge folded her arms. "You think Sonic will listen to Shadow of all people?"

Arthur gave her a tired smirk. "Shadow may be blunt, but right now, that might be what Sonic needs."

Shadow was already out the door, and Arthur leaned forward, eyes lingering over the northern edge of the map. His expression had darkened again, lips pressed in a thin line. "This summit may decide the future of both our kingdoms."

"And what if it goes wrong?" Lancelot asked.

Arthur turned to look at him—his knight, his brother in arms, his closest. "Then we do what we always do." He placed a hand flat over Camelot's sigil. "We survive."

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Sonic's room had been cloaked in silence for hours. Even the soft wind through the cracked window had given up on coaxing Sonic out of bed. He hadn't moved much since that morning's meeting... just curled deeper under the blankets, shifting only to stare at the ceiling, at the wall, at nothing.

He'd thought of going out to find Lancelot. Of maybe apologizing, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. His heart wouldn't, either. So, when the door finally creaked open, he tensed and his ears twitched. Boots clicked against stone. He didn't need to lift the blanket to know who it was—he could feel the weight of that presence before he even heard the voice.

Sonic sat up, ears drooping with disappointment. "King Shadow..."

"Tch," came a scoff. "I guess I deserve that reaction." Shadow stood a few feet inside, arms crossed, cloak still wrapped around his shoulders. He looked like he didn't wish to be here. "Get up."

Sonic blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. You've been moping in here all day."

"I'm not moping," Sonic muttered, tugging the blanket higher. "I'm just... tired."

Shadow raised a brow. "Tired of feeling guilty, you mean."

Sonic looked away. "I feel bad about everything. I know I'm not responsible for what Thalor did, but if I'd just—"

"Quit that," Shadow said, walking closer. "Now." Sonic flinched, startled by the sudden edge in his tone. "He deserved to die. He deserved pain. Torture. Worse. You don't."

Then, a sharper note in Shadow's tone, even more angry now than distant. "Why did you never tell me?"

Sonic looked up, eyes wide.

"I wouldn't have made you go. If I had known—" Shadow's fists clenched at his sides. "I know you and I don't always see eye to eye, but I'm not evil, Sonic."

"I know that," Sonic whispered. "I just... I don't know. Call it shame. Call it me thinking it was part of the job."

Shadow's hand slammed lightly against the nearby table. "That was never part of the job, you imbecile." Shadow moved closer, face tight with unspoken emotion. "If anything like that ever happens again—if you ever stay quiet again—I swear—"

He didn't finish the threat. He didn't have to. Sonic looked back and saw the fire in his eyes. The worry behind the fury made his chest ache. He smiled faintly. "I'm okay now. Apparently... I have a knight."

Shadow's eyes narrowed. "Why does it sound like that bothers you?"

Sonic glanced away. "I don't know. It's odd, isn't it? I've never had one before."

Shadow sighed. "You deserve to be safe and happy." He turned slightly, looking away like the words cost him. "Don't push that away. Damn blue hedgehogs and their pride..."

Sonic tilted his head. "Wait... what does that mean?"

"Nothing," Shadow crossed his arms again, "I'm sorry. For what happened to you. No one should have to survive that."

Sonic's breath caught, and the room felt a little warmer, but Shadow, as always, didn't wait for a thank-you. He continued, "Either way, I need to relay to you what you will need to do for the summit."

Sonic nodded and listened while Shadow told him everything.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The dining chamber was hushed for a potential future war meal. The long stone table was lined with wooden platters stacked with simple but hearty fare. They had roasted lamb, herb-stuffed vegetables, thick brown loaves still steaming from the ovens, and small earthenware bowls filled with honeyed butter and cracked salt. It wasn't a feast, but it was good, honest food—the kind that grounded warriors before battle.

The knights of Camelot were seated together. Their swords, shields, and spears rested nearby against the stone walls, close enough to reach but far enough to signal a rare moment of peace.

Down the table, Galahad leaned back in his chair, diving into his second helping of lamb. His fork clinked noisily against his plate as he hummed a low note of appreciation. Percival sat beside him with the grace for which she was known, sipping from a carved wooden mug of thick broth.

Lancelot sat a few seats away, close enough to hear, far enough to feel removed. His posture was straight, rigid, even—as he carefully sliced into a piece of dark rye bread with unnecessary precision. He hadn't touched the lamb, and a bowl of stew sat near him, cooling slowly, untouched. His eyes were distant, unfocused, and of course, it was Gawain who broke the silence first.

"So," he said around a mouthful of lamb, swallowing audibly before jabbing his fork toward Lancelot with a devilish grin. "Is it true? You and the jester?"

Lancelot's knife halted mid-slice while Galahad almost choked on his drink. Percival raised a brow and took a slower sip, hiding a small, knowing smile behind her mug. Lancelot cleared his throat carefully, lifting his eyes just slightly toward the group. "That is... not public information."

"Oh-ho," Gawain said, leaning forward with a look of delighted mischief. "So it's private information."

Lancelot's gaze narrowed. "Gawain."

The red-furred knight just grinned wider, drumming his fingers on the wood. "Come on. Don't be shy. I thought you swore off anything that wasn't your blade and your solemn sense of duty. But here you are, giving a jester your undivided attention... I understand the desire for him. I have eyes and he's got legs for days—"

The screech of chair legs cut him off, and Lancelot was on his feet, his palm braced on the edge of the table, his eyes glowing like struck embers. "Do not speak of him like that."

Rouge, mid-discussion with Arthur at the head of the table, blinked and turned. Even she hadn't seen Lancelot's temper flare quite so visibly. Arthur, in contrast, chewed thoughtfully on a piece of roast carrot, one brow rising at his knight's action.

Gawain's hands rose in a mock-surrender gesture, but he was still grinning, unfazed. "Easy now, Sir Knight. I was teasing." Purposely using Sonic's nickname against him, which made Lancelot's eye twitch with irritation.

Arthur wiped his mouth with a napkin and studied Lancelot for a long moment with a glint of something amused in his eyes. "I've never seen you get possessive over anyone before," he mused aloud. "Interesting."

Percival chuckled softly. "It's rare. But... I think it's sweet."

"Classic romantic knight," Galahad added with a grin. "Stoic, loyal, secretly soft."

Lancelot's ears flicked in embarrassment as he sat back down with careful control, ignoring the warmth blooming at the tips. "It's nothing and besides... he's angry with me."

Arthur, who had been watching the knight like a hawk, tilted his head. "Sonic asked for space?"

Lancelot gave a slight nod. "Yes."

"I see," Arthur said simply. "He's been through more than we know. It's not about you."

Lancelot's mouth tightened. He didn't argue, but the tension returned to his shoulders. Then he excused himself under his breath as he made for the serving board at the far end of the table. The others resumed eating, though Gawain leaned over to whisper something to Galahad that made both of them snicker quietly.

Arthur stood after a moment, following Lancelot with the patience of someone not wanting to cause a stir. At least not yet. He approached quietly. "Anything else happen between you two?" Lancelot stiffened again, caught mid-reach for a small plate. He didn't answer. Arthur gave a faint hum and waited, observing him, and when Lancelot remained silent, the king's smirk returned with slow realization. "That's a yes."

"My king," Lancelot said tightly, "I do not think it's appropriate—"

"Oh, it's entirely inappropriate," Arthur replied with a grin. "But I ask because I care. I didn't think you'd ever... well. Take that step, especially not with a jester."

Lancelot turned to face him, cheeks flushed red all the way to the edges of his ears. "He is not just a jester."

Arthur's expression stayed playful, and he nodded slowly. "I know. That's why I'm asking." But unable to help himself, he leaned a little closer. "So? Was it good?"

Lancelot looked absolutely scandalized. "My liege."

Arthur's grin broke into a quiet laugh. "You don't have to say a word. Your face says it all."

Lancelot turned away, clutching the plate a little too tightly, clearly flustered.

"I'm glad it was you," Arthur said. Lancelot looked at him, caught off guard. "I mean it." Arthur's voice had lost all trace of teasing now. "He deserves someone kind and devoted. Someone who sees him." His tone turned pointed. "Not just someone who desires him."

Lancelot glanced over his shoulder, now whispering. "I've never... done that before."

Arthur's brow lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face. "Truly?"

Lancelot nodded. "With anyone."

Arthur's smirk returned, this time a little softer. "Then I imagine it meant even more."

"...It did."

Arthur reached out and gave him a light pat on the shoulder. "He'll come back to you when he's ready. Until then, do what you do best and keep showing up. You were always there for me. I know you're the perfect knight for him."

Lancelot nodded once, more confident now. "I will."

Arthur stepped back toward the table. "Good. And maybe next time Gawain mouths off, you should duel him over it."

"I'd win," Lancelot said calmly, which earned a bark of laughter from his king.

Back at the table, Rouge gave them both a look as they returned. "Should I be concerned about the hushed conversation and blushing knight?"

"Nothing scandalous," Arthur said breezily, sliding back into his seat. "Just knightly gossip."

Rouge's eyes glowed with mischief. "My favorite kind."

Lancelot looked at his food and thought of how hungry Sonic was at the last Blackthorne summit. Perhaps it could be a small offering of apology.... 

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The summit plans had left most of the castle filled with tension and speculation, but here, outside the jester's door, there was a stillness Lancelot wasn't sure he belonged in.

He stood there for a moment, a tray balanced carefully in his gauntlet-less hands. The food was still warm—roasted root vegetables, a small helping of buttery grains, and a soft honeyed roll, simple but comforting.

He hesitated before knocking, but then gave three gentle raps against the thick wood. No response. "...Sonic?" he called softly.

Still nothing... so Lancelot tried the handle only to find it unlocked. Slowly, quietly, he eased the door open a crack and peered inside. The room was dim, with the curtains half-drawn against the evening light. Sonic was curled tightly beneath a mess of blankets, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other clutching the edge of the covers. His ears drooped slightly in sleep, his brow furrowed even as he rested.

Peaceful... yet not, and it made Lancelot's heart ache at the sight. He stepped in with silent feet and gently shut the door behind him. Not even the clink of his armor echoed, he had shed it earlier in the evening. He walked to the table and quietly set the tray down, careful not to let the silverware clatter.

Then... he turned to look at Sonic again, and the morning played behind his eyes. The kiss. The warmth. The way Sonic had moved against him with such heat and... Lancelot shook his head, ridding himself of those thoughts because then, hours later, Sonic pulled away from him... his eyes stormy and hurt.

"I'm sorry, Sir Knight. I need some space." The words still rang in his ears. He hadn't meant to hurt him. Chaos, he hadn't. But maybe he should have told him about Thalor earlier, should have known Sonic needed that honesty, even if it meant starting the day with pain rather than... pleasure.

Lancelot's gaze dropped to the floor, guilt tugging at the edges of his thoughts like a frayed thread. He rubbed at the back of his neck, uncertain, but when he looked again, he noticed something else.

Sonic had curled toward the empty side of the bed, and it was the side Lancelot had taken that morning. The blanket was bunched faintly, and Sonic's nose was nearly buried in it.

He looked like he wanted comfort.

Lancelot stepped forward quietly, just to the side of the bed. His hand hovered for a moment, reaching, but too uncertain, so he pulled back. No. Let him rest. "I'll apologize properly next time you're awake. I promise."

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The fire crackled low in the hearth of the royal chamber. The scent of smoke mingled with musk and sweat in the still air. The sheets were rumpled, tangled across the lower half of the bed where Arthur now sat propped against the headboard, muzzle damp from exertion, and his chest rose and fell with steady, post-passion breaths.

Shadow sat beside him, leaning against the wooden headboard with his arms crossed, his red eyes narrowed as he watched the flames. He was silent and alert, even now. The sounds of their breathing, though calmer now, filled the quiet.

Arthur finally broke the silence, less commanding than usual, and edged with something softer. "You know they'll be overseeing us at the summit."

Shadow's ears twitched, but he didn't turn his head. "They always do."

Arthur turned to him slightly, studying his profile in the dim light. "But especially you... With Thalor gone, they'll look for cracks. Signs of dissent. They'll be wondering if you had a hand in it."

Shadow's jaw tightened. "Let them wonder. The High Council are cowards draped in silk. They're used to controlling weak kings. I'm not one of them."

Arthur chuckled faintly. "No. You're not... Why do you think they've always treated you harsher than the others?"

Shadow shifted slightly, his red eyes narrowing. "...Part of it is what I am. You know that. My chaotic energy unsettles them. I don't sleep like they do. I don't age the same. I don't need their approval to rule. That makes me dangerous."

Arthur watched him with more attention now. "And the rest of it?"

Shadow sighed. "The first King of Blackthorne wasn't born to the crown. He won it in blood and battle. He came from nothing. The Council never forgave that. They saw our line as an insult to the throne's legacy. An uprising they never quite crushed."

Arthur's gaze softened slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"I was... found," Shadow continued, his voice dropping. "No mother. No father. No origin that made sense. One day, I was just... here—a child with unnatural energy. The elders called me cursed and said I wasn't born, but manifested."

Arthur turned fully to him now, concern creasing his brow. "You never told me that."

Shadow gave him a flat look. "Would it have changed anything?"

Arthur's hand moved to rest lightly over Shadow's. "Probably not."

The air between them shifted, and Arthur exhaled, leaning back again. "You know," he said, half-smirking, "I was going to offer to help you host the summit."

Shadow scoffed. "You hate events."

"I hate boring events. I like ones I control."

"Control issues," Shadow said dryly.

Arthur smirked. "They've served you well enough, haven't they?"

Shadow muttered something unintelligible and looked away, though his lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.

"I'll help then," Arthur said more seriously now. "With the guards, the tone, the pacing. I even picked the wine already."

Shadow gave him a side glance. "Trying to seduce the Council?"

"I'd rather seduce a certain moody king again in his bed," Arthur murmured.

Shadow gave him a look, but Arthur just chuckled and leaned over, brushing his lips briefly across Shadow's muzzle in a rare kiss that wasn't mocking or just pure lust. It was real. It made Shadow's heart feel funny, but he didn't move away.

Arthur lingered a moment before pulling back with a distant gaze. "Once it's over... I'll return to Camelot."

Shadow nodded, eyes still lowered. "I'm aware."

Arthur nodded too and leaned back onto the pillows, folding one arm beneath his head. Shadow stayed sitting upright, but after a while, he leaned ever so slightly to the side, allowing their shoulders to brush.

"You know, I never imagined I'd be in your bed. Let alone like this."

"You say that like you're disappointed."

"Well..." Arthur shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, studying the other king's profile. "I just never figured the mighty King of Blackthorne would be so—"

"If you say soft," Shadow interrupted, "I'll shove you off the bed."

Arthur smirked. "I was going to say sentimental, but now I'm definitely going with soft."

Shadow finally rolled over, pinning him with a glare. "You've got nerve, saying that while you're still lying in my sheets."

"I could leave," Arthur offered dryly.

Shadow got on top of him. "You're not going anywhere."

Arthur looked up at him, surprised but more amused than he should be. "Staking your claim, are we?"

"Only because you're too arrogant to admit you like it here," Shadow shot back, leaning in closer, muzzle barely an inch from Arthur's lips.

"I'm tired of being here, actually." Arthur taunted with a smirk.

Shadow looked at Arthur, not with softness, but with fire, the kind only the battlefield or the bedroom ever pulled from him because of him. "You're infuriating."

"And you aren't?" Arthur shot back coolly.

There was a pause, then, without another word, Shadow surged forward and caught Arthur's face with one hand and kissed him fiercely, like a challenge. Their mouths clashed slightly in the urgency of it, their lips moving with too much force to be tender.

Arthur growled into the kiss, grabbing hold of Shadow and dragging him closer, until there was no space left between them. The kiss only deepened. Shadow bit at Arthur's bottom lip, and Arthur pulled his head back just slightly. "You love to kiss me now."

"So do you, stupid king."

"You're definitely getting soft."

"You're in my bed, aren't you?"

"I like sex," Arthur replied, and pulled him closer, lips finding Shadow's once more, rougher now, more commanding, but Shadow didn't just give in. He pressed back with equal force, their mouths colliding like a tug-of-war neither seemed willing to lose...

Neither of them said it aloud, but they both knew this wasn't just about desire.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The obsidian throne of Blackthorne was carved from the very mountain upon which the kingdom stood, dark, angular, and imposing.

The war room it sat in was no less daunting. There was a map of the nearby kingdoms stretched across the central table, glowing faintly with threads of ink.

Shadow sat on the throne, and his face was indecipherable. His cloak draped around him like smoke, and beside him in a second, plusher chair was occupied by King Arthur. He leaned lazily against one armrest, clad in a black frock with golden trim, expression nonchalant, but inside, he was anything but regal.

The High Council sat in semicircle formation across from them, cloaked in their various silks and crests. Their gazes were shrill, filled with disdain, while others were with veiled concern, and it was Velaria who spoke first.

“Has there been… any word from High Councilor Thalor?” Her words were sugar-laced malice. “His sudden disappearance is troubling.”

Shadow didn’t blink. “None.”

“Not a whisper. I presumed, given his age, he might have finally retired to his estate.” Arthur added smoothly.

Some of the council members murmured while others exchanged wary glances.

Velaria pressed, “So neither of you has heard or seen him since the Convergence?”

Arthur looked at them casually. “We have better things to do than keep track of old men.”

That earned a snort from Shadow, who didn’t otherwise move.

“And why,” another councilor cut in, Lord Serthis, “is the King of Camelot present at Blackthorne at all? Wouldn’t your own court suit your time better?”

Arthur smiled without shame. “Relations.”

Serthis blinked. “Pardon?”

“I am here visiting for a private matter, nothing to do with Thalor,” Arthur continued, folding his hands neatly.

Everyone gave a look of confusion, even Shadow tensed, but not from alarm, from amusement. Arthur’s eyes glinted like emerald fire as he stood and moved toward Shadow’s throne, each step confident, his smile coy as usual. Shadow turned slightly to watch him with curiosity.

Arthur paused beside him. “If you’re going to write your little conspiracies. I suppose I can provide a bit of proof.”

And before anyone could react, he sat right on Shadow’s lap, not on the armrest or the edge. Nope, King Arthur draped himself elegantly across him, legs to the side, one arm hooking around Shadow’s shoulders. His other hand came up to brush casually through his white fur that peeked out of his dark armor, as if he were posing for a royal portrait.

The war room erupted into stifled coughs, rustled papers, and scandalized gasps.

Shadow’s hand instinctively found Arthur’s hip and stayed. He didn’t push Arthur off, and if anything, he leaned into it.

“What is the meaning of this mockery?”

Arthur tilted his head. “Mockery? On the contrary. If I were conspiring with King Shadow, I’d hardly do it in his bed, would I?”

Velaria’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Is this meant to deter a confession?”

“No,” Arthur said, shifting so he faced them now but reclined back into Shadow’s shoulder. “It’s merely the truth, and perhaps you all should be honest too, because we both know you came here to stir commotion, not seek truth.”

Velaria rose sharply from her seat. “You’re disgraceful.”

“And you’re predictable,” Arthur replied without missing a beat. “Really, Velaria, must you be so… bitter? If you’re curious about our relationship, I could always prove it further.”

He shifted so he was sitting directly over his groin, Shadow’s lap, suggestive, tracing his jaw with one hand while the other rested on his thigh. That was when nearly every councilor suddenly found something very important to examine on the ceiling, scrolls, or fingernails. Anything but the scene unfolding before them.

Shadow chuckled under his breath and knew what Arthur was doing. Though it didn’t stop the slight arousal it gave him.

Before Velaria could spit another venom-laced retort, another voice cut clean through the air.

“Enough.”

Everyone stilled as Lady Virella had stood. She was Velaria’s twin in name and blood only. Though both were purple hedgehogs, Virella’s tone was lighter lavender brushed with lilac, her long quills pinned into an elegant twist, violet eyes sharp but rarely cruel. She wore simple robes of slate blue and soft silver, neither extravagant nor boastful. Where Velaria seethed with status, Virella carried herself with more grace.

“This discussion is derailing.” She shot Velaria a sharp glance. “The matter of Thalor’s whereabouts is still under review. We cannot make accusations based on gossip.”

Velaria’s lip curled, but she sat.

Arthur, meanwhile, tilted his head, assessing. “Ah. Lady Virella. I’d almost forgotten what competency looked like.”

She didn’t smile, but her eyes briefly softened. “Flattery is unnecessary, King Arthur.”

“I wasn’t,” Arthur said with a shrug.

That made several councilors bristle, but no one spoke up. With Virella’s intervention, the mood shifted, and the inquiry lost momentum. The accusations were pushed aside for now. Slowly and stiffly, the council began to rise, gathering their belongings and… modesty.

The summit was adjourned, and when the double doors of the war room finally groaned shut behind the last of the High Council, silence dropped, but not with complete peace.

Arthur was still on Shadow’s lap on the throne, with his spine resting against Shadow’s chest. His frock was slightly rumpled from the hours of tense diplomacy, but Arthur looked anything but composed now. He let out a long sigh against Shadow’s shoulder.

“Gods,” he said dryly. “What a performance.”

Shadow didn’t move at first, just leaned back into the carved black stone of the throne, with one gloved hand flexed against the king’s side like he had no intent of letting go. “You should be on my lap more often.”

Arthur cracked one eye open. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

Shadow looked at him with unrepentance. “What do you think?”

Arthur scoffed, but as he shifted, preparing to stand, Shadow’s hand tightened, not letting him up, and the stillness changed. Arthur paused, but then lowered himself, and that was when he felt it. Shadow was hard beneath him.

Ah.

Arthur let a smirk grow, the tension in his shoulders vanishing in favor of something far more to his liking. He ground down purposely, rolling his hips in a smooth circle right against the thick heat beneath him. Shadow let out a quiet hiss while his other hand moved to grip Arthur’s other side.

“So that’s what that smirk was about,” Arthur purred.

“Your majesty’s posture was inspiring,” Shadow replied, trying to be casual but sounding slightly raspy.

Arthur leaned forward just slightly, dragging his hips again with another cruel roll. “This must be some fantasy for you, hm? Having me like this? Riding you, on your throne.”

Shadow's hand slid up Arthur’s side. “You say that like it isn’t a fantasy for you, too.”

Arthur laughed. “Perhaps. Though I’ve always had a weakness for an audience.”

“We’ll save the main hall for next time,” Shadow said, and then with one swift motion, he moved Arthur’s pants down and shoved the coat to the side, baring the curve of his ass.

Arthur arched his back obligingly, still seated in his lap, legs spreading over Shadow’s thighs. “How generous of you.”

Shadow didn’t answer with words. Instead, he pressed his mouth against Arthur’s neck, biting hard just the way he always enjoyed, making him inhale sharply, but of course, he didn’t pull away. Then Shadow’s hand moved, and Arthur didn’t move to help him. He let Shadow explore, let him take his time for now, at least.

The moment Shadow’s palms grazed the stiff outline of Arthur’s arousal, the king’s hips moved with practiced grace, pressing himself more firmly into Shadow’s touch from either side. His eyes shone arrogantly as he looked over his shoulder.

“No prep?”

Shadow's response was a growl that only made Arthur more aroused. “You don’t need it. You’re always ready for me.”

One hand held Arthur’s still while the other tugged himself free, his cock hard between them, slick with earlier teasing. Arthur's weight pressed down in his lap, pushing his ass against him, tail flicking like a metronome of impatience. Shadow lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against Arthur’s entrance, and paused.

“You’re hesitating,” Arthur mock-scolded, nudging against him again. “Scared already?”

Shadow’s answer was a firm thrust, and it was just the tip, forcing the stretch open in a sharp burn that made Arthur hiss through his teeth. His hands curled into the ornate armrest of the throne beside him, but instead of freezing, Arthur exhaled and pushed down intentionally, forcing himself to take more.

Shadow groaned, head falling forward against Arthur’s back as he was drawn in inch by inch. “You—fuck—you like being filled like this.”

“I like using you,” Arthur growled back, shifting to ride the next inch down, his thighs tensing as he took control of the pace. “Your damn cock belongs to me, and I'll ride you until you forget your name.”

Arthur rolled his body in a deep motion until the full length of Shadow’s cock was completely buried inside of him, making them both groan in response. Then he began to move up and down.

Shadow leaned back slightly just to watch him, the way Arthur rode him, his crown shifted to one ear, ears were flushed but twitching in pain and pleasure, back bowed in a blatant arch. It was obscene how perfect he looked, and though he was the one taking it, he was always able to have a semblance of being in control.

“You look so fucking shameless,” Shadow rasped.

Arthur ground down harder, biting his lower lip. “You enjoy it, so sit still and let me work.”

“I’m still the one inside you.”

“And yet I’m the one dictating the pace,” Arthur shot back, moving with vicious rhythm now, bouncing in Shadow’s lap with rhythmic intent. “You love it.”

And he wasn’t wrong because every time Arthur moaned, every time his muscles clenched, his tail flicked from how much he was enjoying Shadow cock, and it pushed them both closer to the edge. Their bodies rocked together, hips slamming, groans tangled.

Arthur’s hands held the armrest tightly now, building a quicker, rougher pace.

“Damn, Arthur—”

“Close?” Arthur panted. “Hold it. I’m not finished.”

He slammed down again, faster now, breaking into a more desperate groan. Shadow’s hand slid forward to curl around Arthur’s cock, pumping in time with the steady pace. The dual stimulation made Arthur moan louder, pressing down even harder.  He no longer tried to hide how much he loved it. Their movements grew faster, less refined, but every thrust still hit its mark, Arthur’s ass clenched around him.

“I’m, Shad—” he gasped.

“I know,” Shadow said, teeth harsh and breaking flesh against his neck. With a sharp groan, Arthur came, the sensation washing over him in waves as his body trembled above Shadow’s lap, his cum dribbling down to his lap and Shadow’s hand.

 Shadow rode it out and pushed upwards a few more times, through each ripple until his own restraint snapped. With a growl, he followed, spilling inside with a final grind that had Arthur moan, feeling the fullness.

Shadow snarled at the sound and feeling, nearly undone, but still didn’t let go.

Arthur slumped slightly back against his chest, smiling. “Again?”

Shadow’s hands moved again, gripping Arthur’s hips, and he shifted. “It’s never just once with us.”

Arthur barely had time to react before Shadow lifted him with practiced strength and turned him. Arthur was bent forward over the throne now, and before he could speak, his palms braced against the seat, the crown tilting slightly forward on his head. Shadow was surprised it was still on.

He looked over his shoulder, lips parted. “Oh? You gonna fuck me through your throne now?”

Shadow stepped forward, grinding his cock back inside in one thrust that made Arthur cry out.

“Yes.”

The throne groaned beneath them, creaking with the weight of their force and rhythm. Shadow pounded into him now, merciless with the angle giving him deeper access now. Arthur rocked back into every thrust like he couldn’t get enough, breathing raggedly, not caring how wrecked he probably sounded.

“Your ass is dripping,” Shadow snarled, watching the slick sheen coating his cock each time he drew back, “making a fucking mess.”

“That’s your fucking cum. Besides… you can’t get enough of me like this.

Shadow leaned over him, biting his ear. “Especially like this.”

Arthur let out a choked moan and ground his hips back harder, arching deep to take everything Shadow gave. “Don’t stop. Show me how rough you get when no one’s watching.”

But they weren’t alone because a sudden click echoed from the war room doors, making Arthur’s head snap up, as he looked over his shoulder, still bent over the throne like a sinful display. His lips parted to speak, but Shadow cut off the intruder with a seething command.

“Leave.”

It was one word, but enough because whoever had dared open the door stilled with a sharp intake of breath, and then the shuffle of boots scrambling backward. The door shut soon after.

Silence again, and Arthur couldn’t help it; he actually laughed. “Was that Galahad? Poor knight probably pissed himself—”

Shadow slammed into him again, making Arthur shout, mouth dropping open as his knees buckled slightly. He wasn’t given time to recover. Shadow’s hand slid down between his thighs, wrapping around his cock, still hard and slightly sensitive from earlier, and stroked.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Shadow growled against the back of his neck. “Unless you want the whole damn castle to hear you scream my name.”

Arthur’s head dropped, his moan strangled. “Then make me scream. I don’t care who hears.”

Shadow’s hand moved in slick, practiced pumps, perfectly synced with the renewed thrusting of his hips. His other hand gripped Arthur’s hip, forcing him still as he rutted into him hard and fast, his cock sliding in to the hilt and grinding against that spot inside that made Arthur curse with every thrust.

“You’re shaking,” Shadow whispered. “Fucked out already?”

Arthur glared back at him slightly. “Never. I could take you all day.”

Shadow chuckled darkly. “Good.”

So, he sped up, and the slap of their fucking was louder now. Arthur’s cries rose with it, open and unfiltered as his muscles tightened again, body threatening another climax as Shadow’s fingers tightened around his cock, stroking and squeezing harshly to make Arthur shudder.

Arthur was practically undone, overwhelmed, but refusing to yield. “You better come deep, Shadow… I want to feel you inside of me the rest of the day.”

Those words undid Shadow, and with one final thrust, he slammed deep as he came, pulsing hard and hot inside Arthur. He bent over him fully, mouth dragging along Arthur’s nape, mouthing at sweat-slicked fur before sinking his teeth on the same spot from earlier in a primal mark of claim. Arthur winced at the sensation, a low moan escaping him, half from the warmth flooding inside him, half from the way Shadow stayed inside, refusing to let go.

Arthur’s cock throbbed against the seat beneath him, spluttering the last of his release as his body pulsed with him, too overstimulated to register much more than the delicious ache that was satiated. They stayed like that for a while, Shadow still buried to the hilt, chest heaving against Arthur’s back, both of them sweaty, tangled, panting, and spent.

Eventually, Arthur gave a lazy groan and pushed himself upright, turning just enough to smirk at Shadow. “I think I left claw marks.”

Shadow’s hands slid up his waist, fingers smoothing over the messy fur as he dragged one hand along Arthur’s spine, admiring the curve of his back, the heat still radiating from where their bodies had joined.

“Doesn’t matter,” Shadow murmured. “I like the damage.”

Arthur gave a laugh, the sound almost giddy in its exhaustion. He turned fully, wobbling just slightly, and Shadow caught him by his hand to steady him. Their foreheads bumped together, and immediately after, Arthur caught Shadow’s lower lip between his teeth before leaning in for a kiss.

It started slow, soft lips pressing together, the kind of kiss that spoke more of desire remembered than reignited, but it deepened with a hunger neither of them could entirely suppress, nor have been able to since the moment they reconciled. Arthur cupped Shadow’s muzzle with both hands as he kissed him harder, his tongue sliding in with dominance. Shadow met it, fighting him still, until Arthur broke the kiss with a smirk and whispered hotly against his mouth, “I will fuck you next time.”

Shadow’s fingers flexed where they had moved to Arthur’s waist, and his smirk curled in return. “Sure you will.”

Arthur grinned then reached down to adjust himself first, tugging his clothes back into place, groaning softly at the sticky warmth between his legs. He didn’t bother trying to clean the mess, thankful his clothes were dark enough.

Shadow adjusted himself, straightening his crown first, then helping Arthur’s that had somehow stayed in place. His other hand pulled the fabric of Arthur’s collar back into place. Arthur returned the favor, adjusting the armor he had on into a more presentable state, dragging his thumb across the edge of his dark jaw where a bite mark bloomed red, though he knew there were blooming bruises on his own neck. They were far from polished, but there was something satisfying about being marked and undeniably touched.

Arthur turned to leave but paused at the door. He looked back over his shoulder, still glowing from exertion, his stride a little cocky despite how thoroughly he’d been ruined.

He winked. “Next time… we really should use your throne in the main hall. Maybe during a feast.”

Shadow arched a brow, arms folding. “That’s an idea.”

Arthur let the door swing open, letting light spill across his disheveled figure. “Then start planning the menu. I’ll bring the ruin.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The door behind him closed when Velaria emerged like a snake and her smile was deceptive as ever.

“King Arthur,” she purred.

Arthur didn’t flinch. “Velaria. Still wasting your breath on old enemies?”

“Oh, but you’re not old,” she said, circling him like a hawk. “Just tired. Cold. What happened to the boy who used to kneel when I walked past?”

Arthur didn’t move. “He got tired of pretending he didn’t see your claws.”

She moved in closer, trailing a gloved hand up his sleeve. “You used to be much more… agreeable. Eager to please. You were soft once.”

Arthur caught her wrist before she could touch his jaw, and his voice became lethal. “And you used to get away with things. Times change.”

Her smile didn’t waver. “Still pretending you weren’t grateful for my favor back then?”

“I wasn’t grateful,” Arthur said. “I was young. You were a predator.”

“But look at you now. A King with a sharp tongue… yet still pretending I didn’t shape you.”

Arthur released her wrist with a flick. “You didn’t shape me.”

“You play being king well, but I know what’s underneath.”

“I’m sure you think you do,” Arthur said coolly. “But I’m done pretending your opinion carries weight.”

Velaria leaned in once more. “We’ll see how long that spine holds, my king.”

And with that, she turned and swept from the room, vanishing into the day's activities as though they’d exchanged pleasantries instead of veiled knives.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The lower courtyard of Blackthorne had never seen such fanfare.

It wasn’t the tight, rigid discipline of Blackthorne’s usual war displays, nor the gallant flare of Camelot’s knightly tournaments. This was something stranger, like a carnival with a political edge. It was tension masked as celebration. Banners snapped from tall iron posts with a sea of red and charcoal, as soldiers stood along the perimeter in formal posture, but their eyes were anything but calm.

At the center of it all, there was a makeshift stage shimmering, encircled by enchanted lanterns glowing soft blue.

A flash of chaos energy cracked like thunder, and Sonic cartwheeled into the spotlight, dazzling in his jester attire, his layered blues and golds catching the light. Every step was calculated flair, and every jingle of his bells a challenge to fate. His gloves sparked with restrained chaos magic that fizzed between his fingertips, ready to become anything he wished.

“Place your bets, dear nobles!” Sonic declared, striking a pose with one foot kicked high behind him. “Winner gets a kiss from yours truly… or—” his eyes slid toward the edge of the stage. “—Sir Lancelot, if you’re feeling brave.”

His words made some laugh, some murmured, but all turned to look. Lancelot didn’t move from his post, standing rigid just beside the performance tent, sword at his side, posture disciplined, but his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, flexed once.

Sonic then started his show with chaos butterflies that burst into blue, pink, and gold colors. He twisted them midair into the shapes of plush creatures: a rabbit, a fox, a badger. They launched into a mock skirmish, making children squeal with delight and nobles chuckling.

Sonic spun, his smile still wide, but his mind wandered toward the serious knight near him. He hadn’t said anything to him since the meeting. Sonic had asked for space, and Lancelot, true to his vow, had honored it without question, but… he was still here.

Not just in the crowd or mingling like the others. No, the knight was still guarding him, watching everything, but especially watching him, making Sonic ache in ways he wasn’t sure what to do with. It was Sonic who snapped at him, knowing deep down it wasn’t the knight’s fault. None of it was his fault because he had done what no one else would. He'd protected him, without hesitation, asked what it meant, or demanded anything in return.

Sonic’s throat tightened, because now he didn’t know how to act. He didn’t know how to accept that kind of loyalty without feeling guilt crawl beneath his skin. Without remembering the cold in his voice when he’d asked for distance, and how Lancelot had respected it perfectly… Too perfectly.

“...idiot,” Sonic muttered under his breath as the rabbit exploded in sparkles mid-tackle.

He didn’t even realize a silver-furred dignitary had moved until a visceral feeling prickled down his spine. He was a tall, smug-looking noble, his speech slurred from wine, and he had leaned forward toward the stage, hand outstretched. His fingers hovered just over Sonic’s shoulder, literally one breath from touching, when a dark growl split the air.

Lancelot moved so fast that the noble couldn’t register. One gauntleted hand clamped around the man’s wrist with iron force. In a single, fluid motion, he yanked him away from Sonic, spun him around, and tossed him backwards roughly.

The noble landed several feet away in confusion and indignant squawks. The entire crowd froze, and Sonic’s ears flicked towards them, feeling his heart pick up pace. Lancelot stood at the edge of the stage like a wrathful statue, and though his eyes were hidden behind his mask, Sonic knew those crimson eyes were burning.

The knight’s eyes were locked on the fallen noble.

“No one touches him.” Lancelot commanded.

That spoken vow boomed in the air, and Sonic’s face warmed, and not just with shock.

He didn’t have time to pause, so he turned back to the crowd with a smirk.

“Apologies for the interruption, folks!” he assured, twirling dramatically. “Seems our dear Sir Knight is jealous of your affections.”

Laughter returned as if what he had none was nothing at all, but Sonic didn’t miss how many nobles now looked at Lancelot with a fresh layer of respect or fear.

Lancelot said nothing else, but his hand didn’t leave his sword. Sonic’s routine continued, more magic, more illusions, and when the performance ended in a glittering cascade, Sonic didn’t bask in the applause.

He bowed, gave a wink, but his eyes darted again to Lancelot.

He stayed, Sonic thought. Even after everything… he stayed.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Outside, the summit’s festivities had bloomed across the castle grounds, and Shadow stood near the edge of the archery range, arms crossed, silently judging a councilman who had just loosed an arrow directly into the dirt.

Gawain was laughing nearby, and Rouge lounged beside the wine stall, tossing grapes into her mouth with disinterest.

Then Shadow felt Arthur’s presence, and it was subtle, but he could sense the quiet pressure behind his shoulders as Arthur approached, eyes hooded in thought.

Shadow’s brow twitched. “You’re late.”

Arthur didn’t reply right away. He stopped a few paces away, looking out at the field of revelers.

“You missed the archery disaster,” Shadow continued. “One noble nearly shot a serving girl. He apologized by giving her a goose.”

“How charming.”

Shadow narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”

Arthur looked at him then, and for a moment, something darker passed behind those normally brighter eyes, but then his typical grin was back. “Oh, nothing. Just politics. Pretenders. Rats in gowns.”

Shadow wasn’t fooled and stepped closer. “Something’s off.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable when you care.”

Shadow didn’t move. “Did someone say something?”

Arthur shrugged. “No more than usual.” But then he jabbed a finger toward the game stalls. “Now. Why don’t we have a friendly game?”

Shadow gave him a long, flat look. “You want to duel me, with carnival games.”

Arthur stepped past him, already walking toward the archery stand. “What’s wrong? Afraid you’ll lose?”

Shadow muttered under his breath, falling into step behind him. “Not at all.”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “If I win, you sit on my lap next time.”

Shadow’s eye twitched. “If you win.”

They walked across the field, two kings, who also had their past filled with tension and pride pressing between them, but right now, the only war was in who could win at something a lot lighter than their previous battles.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The arena quieted as the bowmaster raised his hand, and all eyes turned to the two kings, standing at opposite sides of the archery field.

Arthur moved first, and with the fluid grace, he stepped forward into the marked circle. His frock billowed slightly as he stopped. Then, he removed it, folding the heavy black fabric over his arm and handing it to a nearby attendant. Beneath, he wore lighter battle leathers, fitted close, and his golden crown still rested upon his brow. Sunlight flashed against it like a flare of authority.

He selected a bow and raised his arm. The arrow was notched with the precision of a soldier and he released. The arrow flew in a clean arc and struck with a dull thunk, in the center, just brushing the painted inner edge of the bullseye.

The crowd gasped, then broke into polite but impressed applause.

Arthur stepped back, spinning the bow once in his hand before returning it to the stand. His expression barely shifted, save for the faintest curl at one corner of his mouth.

Shadow moved next and said nothing as he walked; his steps were quieter, more measured, and he didn’t bother to remove any dark armor. He selected his bow without even looking. He raised the bow with one arm, narrowed a single eye, and the arrow landed just outside Arthur’s, still inside the bullseye ring, but not quite as deep. It was close, but not close enough. The crowd gave another low cheer, but this time more mixed, divided between admiration and comparison.

Shadow tilted his head, clicking his tongue softly.

Arthur gave him a pointed look. “You’re welcome to try again.”

Shadow scoffed. “I always do better on the second round.”

The bowmaster gave the signal, and it was time for round two.

Arthur approached once more, and his second arrow flew just slightly off-center, still excellent, but this time, it clipped the edge of the bullseye, wobbling faintly. Thus, not quite perfect.

Shadow stepped forward again, and he looked more relaxed, which was always the dangerous part. With a small tilt of his wrist, he drew, and the arrow slammed into the target with surgical precision and it was dead center.

The crowd gasped, and even Gawain from the sideline muttered, “Well, damn.”

“Huh. Congratulations.”

Shadow smirked now. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” Arthur replied smoothly. “But you’re predictable. You always try harder when I’m watching.”

Shadow gave him a sideways glance. “So watch closer.”

Round three and now the final tie-breaker.

Arthur stepped forward, calm, regal, and still flawless in his form, shot another, and the arrow soared. It was perfectly centered this time, without any deviation, making the applause return, louder now.

Shadow approached his mark, took one breath, released, the arrow screamed through the air and literally split Arthur’s shaft clean down the middle.

The arena erupted with gasps, cheers, nobles standing in disbelief, and even one councilor choking on his wine.

Arthur stood still, then slowly, he lifted a single brow and turned to Shadow. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or offended.”

Shadow stepped back from the line with a faint shrug. “You should be both.”

The judge moved forward, inspecting the target. “…It appears the last arrow has split the previous one in half. Therefore… a tie.”

Arthur passed Shadow, giving him a brief, dry glance, and he tossed his head toward the next event station. “Swords next?”

Shadow was already walking. “Is that even a question?”

Arthur didn’t answer, but his stride quickened because this was what the people had truly come for. The archery was merely a warm-up.

The makeshift dueling circle had been cleared at the center of the courtyard, marked by runed chalk and enchantments to prevent serious injury, not that anyone truly believed they'd be obeyed.

A hush fell over the crowd as Arthur stepped forward first, a longsword already drawn. It gleamed beneath the highland sun, and his expression was calm, but his stance had lowered, ready to strike.

Across from him, Shadow grabbed his own weapon with a single motion. Obsidian-forged and deadly, it reflected no light but was one his knights regularly used. Neither used their real blade this time. Yet, that didn’t change the aura each king gave to their weapon. While Arthur’s aura was wicked yet charming, Shadow’s was silent and merciless.

They entered the arena and began to circle one another by calculating and then, without warning, Arthur struck first, his blade arcing down in a wide sweep designed to test Shadow’s footing.

Shadow parried cleanly, the force ringing up his arms but barely shifting his stance, as he responded with a thrust aimed low, trying to force Arthur off balance, but Arthur was already pivoting.

He spun, deflected, and launched into a bold sequence with three blows in rapid succession, each more decisive than the last. Sparks danced from the obsidian edge of Shadow’s sword, and the crowd gasped. Arthur fought with flourish, yes, but every swing was still practiced and intentional, honed from decades of royal drills.

Shadow, by contrast, fought like a shadow itself and was more elusive, fluid, precise. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground. He evaded, redirected, and struck only when it mattered. They didn’t speak at first, and everyone could only hear the sounds of grunts, breath, and blade.

Until Arthur muttered, through a tight grin, “Slower than last time. Growing soft?”

Shadow’s lips twitched. “You’re heavier on your feet. Growing old?”

Arthur scoffed, lunging, and Shadow met him halfway. Their swords locked, hilts pressed between them, eyes inches apart, but soon after, Arthur stepped back, swinging down while Shadow dodged and swung back. Arthur twisted sharply, blade sweeping around just in time to catch Shadow’s next strike mid-arc.

Crash! The sound rang through the courtyard, and they separated, circling again. Dust curled around their boots and neither smiled now. Arthur lunged again, and Shadow tried to sweep his legs, but Arthur jumped back, not letting him have further leverage. So, Shadow surged upward at the same time, both blades colliding again with such force that it flared a crackle of red and gold energy between them.

They froze as both swords locked at the other's throat. Arthur’s edge pressed under Shadow’s chin while Shadow’s tip hovered at Arthur’s exposed collarbone.

The crowd fell deathly silent, and for a long, loaded moment, neither moved. Then Arthur exhaled, Shadow smirked faintly, and they both stepped back at once—a simultaneous bow with mutual concession.

Cheers, whistles, applause, nobles and knights alike rising to their feet as one. Even some of the High Council members, watching from a private area, gave a respectful nod.

Arthur twirled his sword once and sheathed it with a practiced snap. “Still undefeated,” he quipped under his breath, just loud enough for Shadow to hear.

Shadow rolled his eyes. “In your dreams.”

Arthur smirked. “Often.”

They left the ring side by side, ignoring the awestruck crowd as murmurs trailed in their wake. Arthur’s flushed face, the small rise and fall of Shadow’s shoulders, and the glow of magic and chaos energy still crackling faintly around them both.

Neither could tell if they’d been fighting or flirting the entire time.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

They moved to a long table that was arranged with fruits native to Blackthorne’s cliffs and forests. They were wild, and often spiked with magical properties, the display was equal parts tasting event with public dare.

Arthur reached first and picked up a honeyed lime, bright green, crystal-glazed, and bit into it. The reaction was immediate as his muzzle twisted. “It’s… sweet and sour… Why does it taste like citrus and regret?”

Shadow, unmoved, took a wedge of black-peppered apple and chewed slowly, thoughtfully. “Acceptable,” he declared, licking juice from his thumb.

Arthur gave him a side-eye. “You would think of fruit here as a delicacy.”

“I think your palate is delicate,” Shadow replied.

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but then came the next tray, which seemed small, red, and innocent. A shallow wooden bowl held the infamous Inferno Berries, named for the burning magic sealed within their skin. They looked deceptively plain… almost like tiny cherries, if cherries were known to bring grown men to tears.

Arthur scoffed. “They don’t look like much.”

He picked one up and Shadow gave no warning while Arthur popped it into his mouth. For one glorious second, he thought he was fine… but then it hit.

Like liquid fire, the juice from it poured across his tongue and down his throat. His eyes widened as heat bloomed in every direction, spreading so violently his spine arched involuntarily. His hand shot up to cover his mouth, and a single, helpless wheeze escaped him. His face turned pink, then red, and then nearly purple.

He dropped the stem with a dramatic flick and waved his hand frantically in front of his mouth. “Wh—who serves this?! Is this sanctioned torture?!”

Shadow simply reached forward, selected an Inferno Berry, popped it into his mouth without hesitation, chewed, and swallowed. He actually looked… bored.

Arthur stared at him, eyes watery. “You’re not even sweating?!”

Shadow raised a smug brow. “Blackthorne doesn’t breed cowards.”

“You’re a demon,” Arthur croaked.

“Correct.”

Arthur scanned the table. “Where’s the damn water—?”

A servant approached with a carved obsidian goblet, and Shadow took it. “Here.”

Arthur reached for it, but then Shadow pulled it away. “Actually, no.”

Arthur’s eyes widened with betrayal. “You monster.”

Shadow sniffed the cup. “Mmm. Crisp glacier spring. Perfect for a sensitive Camelot throat.”

“Give it,” Arthur growled, lunging, making Shadow step back.

Arthur lunged again. “Shadow, I swear—”

Shadow danced backward, still holding the goblet up, grinning now, yes, actually grinning, as Arthur chased him around the barrel. “Say please.”

Arthur was red-faced, coughing, and now choking on pride. “Fuck no, give it to me now!”

When he still didn’t, Arthur tackled him, and the two kings went down in a heap of tangled limbs and thudding boots, rolling over the grass. The water spilled, soaking into the ground, but neither seemed to care.

Arthur ended up half-straddling Shadow, one knee in his ribs, one hand gripping his chest plate, and Shadow let out a very rare but genuine laugh.

Arthur looked down at him. The last time he had seen him laugh was back in Camelot over a year ago… things were much different then, and this time Arthur didn’t hate the feeling it gave him in his chest.

So, he laughed with him. It had to have been the first time they both laughed together, well ever. They had only shared smirks, cruel words during war councils, but never real, stupid, breath-stealing laughter.

Arthur let out a hoarse wheeze and collapsed backward onto the grass beside him, still coughing from the berry, but laughing too hard to care. Shadow covered his eyes with one hand and laughed until his stomach hurt.

Eventually, Arthur pushed himself up on his elbows, red in the face and quills more frenzied. “I hope you’re happy. I’m going to be tasting fire for a week.”

Shadow rolled his eyes and sat up beside him. “You needed humbling.”

Arthur grinned. “And you needed to be tackled.”

Shadow didn’t disagree. Their laughter faded into silence, but not a tense one. It was lighter now with the kind of silence left behind after something real.

Arthur looked sideways at him, chest still rising and falling. “...I suppose there truly is a fun side to you now.”

Shadow smirked again. “You don’t seem to hate it.”

Arthur looked at him, chest still rising and falling. “…That was the first time we ever laughed together.”

Shadow tilted his head slightly, glancing over with a raised brow.

Arthur’s smirk returned, smug. “You must be falling for me.”

Shadow scoffed, but there was a blush rising behind his ears. “You’re being ridiculous. Aren’t you the one who only wants me for sex?”

Arthur laughed again. “Maybe I said that, but” He shifted closer, resting one forearm over his knee. “Us being together worked surprisingly well. The Council thinks we’re bedding. Velaria certainly believes it.”

Shadow gave a short nod. “They looked away and dropped the topic.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, then exhaled slowly, feeling the same ache in his heart that he had been experiencing since they reunited. “We may have been spared this time, but a war could still be coming.”

“I’m aware.”

There was a pause, and then Arthur leaned in. He didn’t close the distance all at once. He let it draw tight first, let Shadow feel it. Let the tension bloom again as his mouth brushed against Shadow’s muzzle. Then, with the faintest smirk, Arthur dipped in and kissed him. Just enough to steal a breath and burn a little, making Shadow’s eyes flare slightly. He did not pull away when a sound caught in his throat, and Arthur lingered there for another moment, then pulled back, just enough for their noses to still brush.

“…You’ve always tasted like something I could never have.”

Shadow looked at him. “You’ve always seemed to enjoy that.”

Arthur looked away. “Too much.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The applause from the crowd had long faded, and Sonic lingered behind the performance tent, catching his breath as the last sparks of chaos magic still fizzled at his fingertips. His jingle bells jingled quietly as he paced, trying to gather his thoughts.

He wasn’t expecting to hear armor approach, but the sound of familiar footsteps made him turn.

Lancelot stood just a few feet away, still near the edge of the tent where he’d been stationed the whole time, but now he wasn’t guarding or standing rigid. His posture was different and tense in another way.

Their eyes met.

“I…” Lancelot started.

“I—” Sonic said at the same time.

They both stopped, and then Sonic huffed, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Seriously?”

“I… I have something to say,” Lancelot said quietly, eyes dropping.

Sonic stepped closer. “So do I.”

A pause, but then Lancelot, ever the gentleman, dipped his head slightly. “You may go first.”

“No, you,” Sonic countered. “You're taller, and you look like your brain will short out if I go first.”

Lancelot hesitated slightly. “I am unsure what height has to do with this… but very well.”

He looked down, guilt already surfacing in the way his fingers curled at his sides. “I’m sorry for everything. For not telling you about Thalor immediately. For staying silent. I… I became distracted that morning. By you. By… your affections, and I failed in that moment to remember what you needed first was truth.”

Sonic stared at him, immediately needing to wipe that look of guilt off his face, so he reached forward and grabbed Lancelot’s hand. “No. Stop… You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But—”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing.” Sonic’s ears drooped. “The moment I woke up, I had a plan. A plan… to seduce you. I didn’t want to feel what had happened the night before, and you were so warm and kind. You helped me forget about it. Then everything I said after the meeting was so wrong and selfish. I’m so sorry. I feel so… guilty about all of it.”

Lancelot immediately looked around, eyes checking toward the open space near the tents. “Not here. Come with me.”

He gently tugged Sonic to the side, behind a tall lattice wall, so they were away from the crowd. The scent of rosemary and dew clung to the shaded garden corner.

Sonic was breathing a little harder now, trying to keep it in. “I’ve been struggling with this guilt... I don’t know what to do about it. I can distract people, I can use magic to make people laugh or illusions to keep nobles quiet, but I… I…”

Lancelot stepped closer, concern washing over him. “You’re scared.”

Sonic’s throat bobbed. “It’s my fault… why we are in trouble…”

“No,” Lancelot said firmly, and suddenly pulled him into a hug.

Sonic stiffened, for a second, but he folded into it, appreciating the comfort too much to deny it.

“Nothing is your fault,” Lancelot murmured into his quills. “No one is angry with you. Arthur and Shadow, for as long as I can remember, have always hated the Council. They call them venomous snakes. Sonic… please stop blaming yourself. You were the victim, and we only wish to care for you now.”

Sonic clung to him, arms tight around his waist.

“You’re too nice to me, Lance,” he whispered against his chest.

That made Lancelot’s ears twitch. “You… You used my name again.”

Sonic pulled back just slightly, blinking up at him, cheeks flushed. “Oh. I did, didn’t I?”

“You rarely do,” Lancelot murmured, and he was flushed now too, red dusting his darker muzzle.

Sonic smiled through the dampness in his lashes. “You’re always so formal. I still don’t understand why you’re here for me so much…”

“Because I am your knight,” Lancelot said without hesitation. “You will always have my protection.”

Sonic’s heart twisted. Not painfully, but tightly, like something that had been broken slowly pulling back together. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.”

Lancelot gave a small, reverent smile. “That’s alright. I’m patient.”

Patient… as if that kind of devotion were normal and as if it didn’t tear down every wall Sonic had left. So he sniffled once, rubbed at his eyes, and abruptly grabbed Lancelot’s hand. “Well, if you’re patient,” he said with a grin beginning to form again, “then you won’t mind playing a few games with me. Arthur and Shadow skipped a bunch, and I intend to win at least something today.”

Lancelot looked at him, confused. “Games?”

“Yes,” Sonic said, dragging him out of the garden hideaway. “Festival games. You know, ring toss, enchanted darts, the balancing broomstick barrel-of-death.”

Lancelot stiffened. “That sounds structurally unsound.”

Sonic grinned at him sideways. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous.”

“I am not nervous,” Lancelot insisted.

“We’ll see.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Sonic was radiant again, flashing grins, bells jingling as he darted between booths, tugging Lancelot along with such enthusiasm, like a kid navigating a candy market.

Lancelot, for his part, looked like he’d been dragged out of a war strategy meeting and dropped in the middle of a prank war with one hand never far from his sword, posture alert and stiff… but not resisting.

Sonic glanced up at him with glittering chaos. “Relax,” he teased, squeezing his fingers. “You look like someone’s about to assassinate you with a lemon tart.”

“I do not,” Lancelot replied flatly. “And that’s a ridiculous premise.”

“Is it? Because there’s a ‘Tart Toss’ booth three stalls over, and I’m certain I saw Percival eyeing you.”

Lancelot visibly twitched, making Sonic laugh loudly.

The first game was a classic, with rows of thick glass bottles lined up on a raised platform, each one enchanted with varying degrees of resistance, and others shimmering with magical shields. Others simply vibrated when you looked at them funny.

The goal was to knock down three with magic-tipped rings.

“Seems easy enough,” Lancelot said, surveying the table.

Sonic smirked, arms folded. “Don’t get cocky, Sir Knight. These bottles are rigged.”

“I don’t rely on luck.”

Sonic leaned closer, lips brushing Lancelot’s ear. “Good because I’m cheating.”

Lancelot immediately blushed, but before he could retort, Sonic was already tossing his first ring. His fingers flared with a faint pulse of blue chaos energy, making the ring zip through the air, nudged slightly mid-flight by magic, and nailed a bottle directly on its neck. It toppled with a clean, satisfying clatter.

Lancelot gave him a look. “That’s against the rules.”

“Ah, they’ll allow it.”

“They shouldn’t.”

Sonic just smiled and tossed his second ring. This time, the bottle dodged mid-air with a little pop of magic and a rude raspberry sound, making him gasp theatrically. “I’ve been insulted!”

It was Lancelot’s turn, and his first throw was sturdy, completely non-magical, and yet he struck a bottle shielded by two layers of enchantment, shattering it on impact.

Sonic’s jaw dropped. “Did you just brute force that ward?”

“I did warn you.”

He won all three rounds, making Sonic pout the entire time, while Lancelot accepted the prize, a small stuffed dragon, with visible confusion. “What am I meant to do with this?”

Sonic took it and perched it on Lancelot’s shoulder. “It’s your new familiar. I’ve named him Sir Roasty.”

Lancelot gave Sir Roasty to the jester. “Then you may have it. You seem to enjoy it more.”

“Really?” Sonic asked as his muzzle flushed a rosy pink.

“Of course,” Lancelot replied and walked towards the next game, and Sonic forced himself to recover and follow.

The next game involved enchanted darts and an ill-tempered dartboard that shimmered with shifting runes. If you hit the wrong symbol, the dart transformed mid-flight, sometimes into butterflies, sometimes into bees. It was meant to cause disruption...

“Ready to humiliate yourself?” Sonic asked, spinning one of the darts between his fingers.

“I do not intend to lose,” Lancelot said, already taking aim.

Sonic leaned into his side, whispering sweetly, “I intend to distract you.”

He blew lightly on Lancelot’s cheek as he threw, and despite Lancelot faltering slightly, his dart hit dead center.

“What?! How!”

Lancelot cleared his throat, muzzle red again, but still composed. “I train under fire… a breeze will not deter me.”

Sonic smirked at him and hurled his own dart. It spun, sparkled, and turned into a neon pink bee halfway through. The bee hovered, buzzed insultingly, then zipped over and bonked Sonic in the nose.

“Ouch!” he yelped, stumbling back with a laugh. “You saw that, right? The game is rigged. It hates me.”

Lancelot couldn’t help himself, seeing that made him chuckle.

Sonic narrowed his eyes. “Oh, that made you laugh?”

“I’m selective with amusement.”

“Yeah, well, your ears twitch when you're flustered. So I win.” Lancelot looked away, and that made Sonic’s grin widen because he knew he won that game at least.

The final game was the one Sonic had been saving for last. They were at a winding stream that had been conjured with chaos magic, spiraling in gentle waves through a long, narrow track. Floating on it were slick, rotating barrels, each one spinning at a random speed.

As if that weren’t enough, glowing spheres floated above, launching soft pulses of chaos energy every few seconds meant to gently knock competitors off balance.

Sonic bounced on his heels with excitement. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Lancelot crossed his arms. “This seems unsafe.”

“Correct,” Sonic beamed. “Get on.”

“I—what?”

Sonic was already hopping onto the first barrel, balancing easily. “Come on, Sir Knight. For glory and honor!”

Lancelot hesitated, but with the resigned sigh of a man who knew he would be dragged either way, he stepped forward and mounted the first barrel. It spun immediately, but Sonic was able to hop over two barrels like it was nothing.

“Oh no,” the jester said in mock concern. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

“I do not fear barrels.”

“Then why are you gripping it like it’s a lifeline?”

Lancelot glared at him, jumped, and slipped. However, with surprising agility, he caught himself on the next barrel, one arm wrapped around it, but still… his legs were half in the water.

Nearby children burst into laughter.

“You did this on purpose,” Lancelot mumbled, trying to pull himself back upright.

Sonic, already cross-legged on the finish platform, winked. “You said you were patient.”

Lancelot climbed up, soaked from the knees down, and let out a soft grumble of complaint.

That made Sonic laugh again, and it was the kind of laugh that made anyone nearby smile. Thus, without meaning to, Lancelot, despite the mess, despite the wet boots, despite the unending teasing… he couldn’t help but smile too.

Because it was Sonic, and he was laughing again.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The High Council departed before sunset, slightly in disgrace and certainly not in triumph either. Their lips were thin, expressions pinched with dissatisfaction they dared not voice any longer.

Arthur stood at the gates with one arm folded behind his back, the other raised in a mock salute.

“Do ride safely,” he called with a pleasant smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “And do try not to trip over your own egos on the way home.”

Velaria shot him a final glance, bitter, full of warning, but Arthur didn’t blink and simply waved again. Shadow stood a few paces off, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the massive onyx pillars near the gate. He was silent, but the faint upturn of his lip said everything. When the last caravan vanished into the misty hills, Shadow exhaled.

“Good riddance,” he turned toward the grand doors of Blackthorne. “If they had stayed any longer, I’d have replaced their chairs with bear traps.”

Arthur smirked and followed, boots echoing on the stone. “Next time, I’ll bring wine to toast when they fall in.”

Shadow nodded. “Next time, bring a shovel.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Later that night, after the clamor had faded, Sonic found himself seated at a quiet balcony table. The wind was soft now, carrying the faint scent of the cold mountains. There was a simple spread of food, and this time it was just them.

Sonic was still in his colorful outfit but had put his hat on the table next to his food. He was a little tired, but his expression was more peaceful than it had been in days, as he picked at his roasted carrots.

Lancelot sat across from him, unarmored now, and his tunic was loose at the collar, though his posture was still knightly; the tension had drained from his shoulders. They ate in companionable silence for a while.

Then Sonic leaned back, one foot kicked over the other. “…So, you know a lot about me now… or at least, the messier parts.”

Lancelot set his fork down carefully. “I do not think of you as messy.”

Sonic smiled faintly, looking out past the balcony. “I’m chaos incarnate.”

“You’re other things too.”

Sonic turned his gaze towards the knight. “That’s kind, but I meant before all this, before Camelot, and well before I met you.”

Lancelot’s brows raised slightly. “You wish to speak of the past?”

“Well, yeah. If we’re gonna keep spending time together, might be nice to know who I’m dealing with.”

Lancelot nodded. “Then I’ll share if you will.”

 “Deal.” Sonic twirled his fork once, then rested his chin in one hand. “I was born nowhere important. Don’t even remember the name of the village. It was burned down in a raid when I was little.”

Lancelot’s expression shifted immediately, with concern blooming in his eyes.

Sonic shrugged. “No family that stuck around. I bounced between towns until I ended up in an orphanage, then ran from that too, but there was this old man. He ran a failing street troupe. He found me stealing bread and instead of turning me in, he gave me a bell and said, ‘Make me laugh and I won’t tell on you.’”

Sonic laughed softly, almost fondly. “Turns out, I could, and I kept doing it. He taught me tricks. Illusions. Sleight of hand. Some chaos channeling, he wasn’t very strong, but he knew enough to fake fireworks. I learned everything I could.”

Lancelot smiled faintly. “He sounds interesting.”

“He was,” Sonic agreed. “Old fool died with a pipe in one hand and a chicken in his lap. Don’t ask.”

“…I won’t.”

“After that, I wandered. Did some performances for coin, ended up in Blackthorne, and, well… King Shadow caught me showing off outside the gates. Said if I was going to use chaos magic on his guards, I better be prepared to do it for a purpose he could use.”

“And you stayed?”

Sonic nodded, poking at a piece of bread. “Yeah. We had our arguments and even moments... but in a way, Shadow helped me.” He glanced up. “What about you, Sir Knight?”

Lancelot leaned back slightly, eyes thoughtful. “I was born to a small noble family. Not very influential, but when I was old enough, they sent me to Camelot to gain favor. I was six when I arrived.”

“Six?” Sonic repeated, ears perking. “Damn, that is young.”

“I trained hard,” Lancelot said. “I wanted to be seen not just as a name on a ledger. Arthur asked me to spar when we grew older, we tied, and he enjoyed that.”

Sonic laughed. “Sounds about right.”

“We became friends, and he promoted me a year later. He always called me his 'shadow in armor' before I ever met yours.”

Sonic tilted his head. “So… why were you and Arthur never a thing? I mean, you two seem like some epic romance that never happened.”

Lancelot smiled softly. “We’re soulmates, but not that kind.”

“Huh?”

“There are different kinds of soulmates. Arthur and I… we’re bound by loyalty, not desire. I would die for him, but I do not ache for him.”

Sonic stared a moment, then nodded slowly. “I get that.”

Lancelot met Sonic’s gaze, and for a moment his expression was unreadable, then he blushed… Not just faintly and not the stoic pink of a knight caught off-guard, but a full-bodied, burning red that reached his ears and crawled down his neck, making his collar feel suddenly too tight.

Sonic’s grin widened like a cat who’d just caught a bird between its claws. “Oh? Thinking about the other morning, Sir Knight?”

Lancelot stiffened, which only made Sonic lean forward, elbows resting on the table, chin in his palm. “Tell me… how much did you enjoy it?”

“I—” Lancelot cleared his throat. “It is… not proper dinnertime conversation.”

Sonic chuckled very much unbothered. “So, you did enjoy it.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Didn’t say you didn’t, either.”

Lancelot looked away like he was trying to escape his fate. “You are… persistent.”

“Mmhm.” Sonic stood slowly, almost lazily, like he was transitioning into his next act. His fingers trailed lightly across the edge of the table as he circled around behind Lancelot.

“I’m a jester, remember?” Sonic murmured warmly behind his ear. “I live to entertain.”

Then, without asking or warning, Sonic grabbed his shoulder, shifted him to make room, and climbed on his lap. Lancelot’s hands jerked to the sides of his seat, his instinct screaming to move, retreat, or do something, but Sonic just settled. The jester’s legs hung comfortably over his thighs, and his arms rested gently around his shoulders.

“Shall we have another go, Lance?” Sonic asked, sultrily brushing his nose along Lancelot’s jaw, warm breath tickling sensitive fur, forcing a sound out of Lancelot. It was a helpless, little noise that sounded like the first note of a prayer or maybe a surrender.

“I—this is—” he stuttered. “You—you truly wish to...”

Sonic raised a brow. “You calling my bluff?”

Lancelot looked at him vulnerably, making Sonic laugh again, but then he leaned in to nuzzle against his neck. “You’re adorable when you’re overwhelmed… My cute knight, you really almost tricked me into thinking you weren’t a virgin.”

“Because I was trained not to… speak of such things,” Lancelot managed, very stiffly trying not to touch him. “And because you were extremely distracting before we were together.”

Sonic’s grin turned devilish. “You’re blaming me for your pent-up frustration?”

“No,” Lancelot said quickly. “But… you are very skilled.”

“Well, yeah.” Sonic nipped playfully at his throat. “You think I survived court politics by being boring in bed?”

Lancelot’s hands hovered uselessly in the air for a moment before they finally gave in and rested carefully on Sonic’s waist.

“But,” Sonic continued softly, shifting a little in his lap just to feel Lancelot’s suppress another sound, “you didn’t answer my question.”

Lancelot wavered as he stared at him, so colorful, and everything so bright, he always felt so drawn to him.

So, eventually, he whispered, “I don’t want you to climb down.”

“…Good.” Sonic’s grin softened, just a little, and he nuzzled into his neck. For a moment, they just stayed like that, two hearts pressed close together and not just by lust but by something real that was beginning to take root between the cracks.

Sonic closed his eyes. “Lance?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being there for me.”

Lancelot’s arms wrapped around him fully and finally. “Always.”

Chapter Text

The balcony air was cool, but Sonic was too busy trying to heat up the knight below him.

The jester leaned in close, and the first kiss to Lancelot’s collar was soft, like it was meant to trick him into relaxing, before he used his teeth to pull on a sensitive spot on his neck.

Lancelot immediately let out a soft groan. “S–Sonic…”

“Take me to your room,” Sonic murmured against him. “Now… or I’m going to do things right here that you’ll never live down.”

The threat, no, the promise, made Lancelot’s ears twitch and go scarlet. His arms were already around him from comforting him earlier, and now he felt like he was trapped between hesitation and temptation.

Before he could move or say anything, Sonic found the curve of his neck again and bit down harder, letting out a soft moan purposely. Lancelot felt like he was being hypnotized already, and so much sooner than last time.

He stood without another word, arms sliding beneath Sonic’s thighs with practiced strength. The jester clung to him easily, legs looping his waist, grinning like a fiend. Every step toward the chambers felt longer than the last, not because the halls were far, but because Sonic kept sucking lightly at his neck, dragging his mouth up to nip at his ear.

Lancelot’s pulse quickened, and the armor he’d left behind after the summit spared him some weight, but the warmth pressed against him was its own kind of burden and one that made his pants tighter with every step.

“You’re… persistent,” he said, trying to sound steady, but failing already.

“Perhaps, but you’re still carrying me to bed,” Sonic teased, nipping again just to feel the way Lancelot’s pace hitched.

When the door shut behind them, Sonic didn’t wait. He slid free of Lancelot’s arms only to push him back, the knight falling onto the bed in a surprised but graceful sprawl. Lancelot propped himself on his elbows, his tunic rumpled from the way Sonic had clung to him.

Then the jester stood at the edge of the bed, smirking down at the knight like a cat deciding how to play with its food.

Lancelot didn’t have long to recover before the jester’s fingers traced an invisible sigil in the air, a light flaring faintly between them. A shimmer of chaos magic rippled, and in his other hand, links of chainmail coiled like a summoned serpent.

The knight’s eyes widened. “What—?”

“Relax,” Sonic purred, climbing onto the bed with a predator’s grace. The chainmail wrapped around Lancelot’s wrists, and he guided them to the carved bedpost above his head. Sonic’s magic sealed it with a faint, glowing knot.

Lancelot swallowed hard with a hint of nervousness. “You… restrained me?”

Sonic tilted his head, trying to look innocent, but the smirk ruined it. “Mhm~”

The jester leaned back on his knees, beginning to peel off his clothes, bells on his hips jingling with every sway. He went slow on purpose, letting his hand guide along Lancelot's thighs… and by the time he was down to his last layers, the knight’s chest was rising faster, his hands already attempting to move against their restraints.

Sonic’s grin sharpened. “Interesting, you let me tie you up pretty easily… I hope you don’t think I’m going to go easy on you, Sir Knight.” He crawled forward, straddling Lancelot’s hips, leaned in to go back to what he was doing before, and wandered first to his jaw, his throat, down the firm line of his chest, biting every time, leaving marks. “Mm… don’t you want to taste me? You never got to last time…”

Lancelot looked up at him, “How am I—”

Sonic didn’t give him a chance to finish. Instead, he shifted forward until he was kneeling over Lancelot’s head, his thighs framing the knight’s face. “Let’s see if you can make me cum like this.”

Lancelot’s crimson eyes went wide at the position, the closeness, the sheer brazenness of it. He tilted his head and tried to move, but the chainmail stayed tight around his wrists, keeping him flat beneath the jester, but damn, it made the view above him even more unbearable.

Sonic’s cunt was exposed and glistening, the scent of him already pulling heat into Lancelot’s veins. The jester’s tail wagged lazily behind him, but the perceptiveness in his grin promised nothing lazy about what he expected from his newly appointed knight.

Lancelot leaned up just enough for his mouth to brush the inside of Sonic’s thigh, tasting the blue fur there, not even wondering when the hell he took off his pants because he was way too distracted now. He began to kiss and lick at the edges before he went to what he so desperately needed to taste.

Then, right before he delved in, he gave a strong inhale, making Sonic smile from above. “Like the way I smell, don’t you—”  

But a gasp escaped his lips as the knight finally pressed his mouth to the slick heat between them. The first stroke of his tongue was a broad, wet drag from the base of Sonic’s pussy all the way up to his clit. The taste bloomed immediately, sweet and heady, making his cock twitch uselessly below him.

Sonic inhaled sharply, and he moved one hand to grip the headboard. “Mm, yeah… just like that.”

Lancelot angled his head, tongue parting the soft folds to slip inside slightly, teasing, and before he delved too deeply, he lapped upward, circling the tip of his tongue around Sonic’s clit in small spirals.

“Ah~” Sonic faltered slightly against his mouth.

The knight groaned, and the vibration pulled another sound from Sonic’s throat. He worked his tongue back down towards his entrance and pushed deeper, curling it inside, savoring how the jester clenched around him, sweet slickness coating every pass. When he pulled back, his mouth closed around Sonic’s clit, sucking lightly, then harder, while his tongue flicked against it in rapid pulses.

Sonic laughed breathlessly, but there was an edge in it. “Mmm… good start,” he purred, pressing down until he was practically suffocating him. “But I’m not just gonna let you set the pace, Sir Knight… You want me, you better keep up.”

The bindings held Lancelot’s hands tight, but the tension in his shoulders told Sonic exactly how badly he wanted to grab him. Sonic liked that he was getting frustrated. He dragged his pussy over Lancelot’s mouth, forcing every movement to be on his terms.

Lancelot tried to push his tongue back inside his entrance, wanting to really taste and feel his walls around him, but Sonic kept the control, grinding into every stroke, keeping the motion focused on his clit. “Such a good knight aren’t you, Lance?”

Lancelot’s ears twitched at the praise and continued tracing tight, perfect rings on his swollen nub since Sonic didn’t let him so anywhere else.

The jester’s hips pressed down, pace quickening. “That right… hmm make me cum… and maybe I’ll let you breathe.”

The knight had no thought of doing anything else, and the magic bindings held firm, biting faintly into Lancelot’s wrists every time he strained. He may have been shy the first time but everything Sonic did was setting him up to get rougher with greedy intent.

Sonic slid a hand into his quills and gripped a small bunched of them until his hand ached. He kept the knight’s head exactly where he wanted it, dragging his slick heat over Lancelot’s lips and tongue.

“Look at you,” Sonic murmured, tilting his head as he glanced down, “Tied up, mouth full of me. Bet this isn’t how you pictured serving a jester.”

He pressed down even harder, a subtle challenge, rocking against Lancelot’s face from his pussy all the way near his ass and back again. Every shift made his own breath hitch and pussy grow with moisture. He was making a mess all over the knights face.

Lancelot’s muffled groan rumbled against him, and this time it sounded rougher. It startled a grin out of Sonic and not because it was resistance, but because it was a flash of fight in the knight’s usually reserved demeanor. That growl vibrated up through him, and Sonic gave a pleased, taunting hum. 

There it is. The shy knight wasn’t entirely shy when pushed the right way.

“Ohhh, you’ve got fight in you after all,” Sonic teased, hips rolling harder for a moment like a reward. “Maybe you can keep up.”

Maybe it was the praise from earlier, or maybe it was the provocation throughout, but Lancelot’s tongue pushed in again, firmer, moving along him with a more purposeful hunger. He let out a deeper growl this time, and his mouth worked in a way that was just a little more forceful, a little less yielding. Sonic drank in the change, keeping his grip locked in Lancelot’s quills, guiding him and letting that raw edge spark under the surface.

“Harder,” Sonic purred. “Faster...”

When Lancelot obeyed, the pressure was more insistent, his tongue stroking in perfect, demanding rings over Sonic’s clit. Sonic’s torso faltered once before he forced himself to keep upright.

“Yeah, right there, fuck—”

The knight let out another muffled growl, and Sonic’s grin widened, breath coming quicker. He liked that… liked the challenge simmering in the knight’s chest even while bound. It only made him wanna push him more, see what darkness lurks behind that sweet knightly resolve.

Lancelot kept up the pace, pushing harder now, and that was enough.

The moment snapped, and Sonic ground down hard, holding Lancelot's face flush to his cunt as his orgasm hit, shuddering through sweet pulses while the knight’s persistent worship carried him high, coating his mouth with a taste he wanted to drown in.

Lancelot kept going too, even after noticing Sonic’s climax. He kept licking and sucking everywhere and anywhere he could reach, not letting up until Sonic’s thighs shook and a final shiver rippled through him.

Sonic stayed there for a while, twitching through the aftershocks before finally loosening his grip just enough to let Lancelot breathe—though he didn’t pull far.

Sonic gave a flushed, satisfied smirk. “Fuck… you might be able to keep up with me, Sir Knight.”

He stayed perched another second, his weight perfectly settled by his chin so the knight could feel every residual pulse of heat from him but not a hint of the relief he wanted. The glow of the chainmail restraints overhead caught in Lancelot’s peripheral vision. He pulled again and harder this time, but they still didn’t yield.

He scowled, and his eyes remained dark because he was now extremely turned on, and he ached. “Release me.”

Sonic laughed. “Hmm, no, not yet.”

The jester instead moved to straddle his lap, facing away from him now, and he lifted so he could drag his pussy slowly along the length of Lancelot’s cock. The contact made the knight moan immediately, moving his hips upward, trying to enter already.

Sonic noticed that immediately because, of course, he did, and looked backward. “So needy aren’t you, I can feel you throbbing underneath me.”

Lancelot’s ears burned, crimson eyes darting away for a fraction of a second before snapping back to his face. But then he looked down at the image, which was cruel. Sonic's pretty pink pussy was gliding over his cock, and now Lancelot could see his pink puckered hole twitching like it needed him. 

Sonic laughed with mischief, sensing the battle Lancelot was having again, similar to their first time together. So… Sonic ground down harder, almost letting the tip inside before pulling away.

The knight bit back a needy whine. “You’re… a tease.”

Sonic rolled his hips in another slow circle, tail swaying lazily behind him, coaxing him to look at his ass more. “That’s my job, Sir Knight.”

Lancelot held his jaw tight. “Let. Me. Go”

Sonic just laughed again. “Say please.”

The knight’s breath shivered in his chest, too needy to even consider his pride. “…Please.”

Sonic tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Hm? Didn’t hear you.”

“Please… I need to feel you.”

Sonic giggled, then rocked forward, letting the head of Lancelot’s cock press against his entrance. The slide inward was agonizingly slow, just enough to push past the first tight resistance before pulling back again, refusing him depth, again.

Lancelot’s head tipped back. “You—”

Sonic cut him off with another measured grind, this one slower, wetter, his cunt parting just a bit more to coat him without taking him in fully. “You’ve been hard this entire time,” he cooed with mock sympathy. “You really need me, huh, baby?”

The knight tried to lift his hips, desperate to push deeper, but Sonic’s palm pressed firmly against his thighs and held him down. “Nope… You don’t get to enter me yet.”

A shiver of anger went through Lancelot at his words.

Sonic gave a small laugh, looking back at him. “Not until you really beg… and not until I decide you’ve earned it.”

Lancelot’s restraint was fraying fast. His fingers curled in the air above his head, wrists aching against the chainmail’s pull, his thighs tense under the jester’s weight, and still Sonic moved with slow, torturous intent, grinding the length of his slit along the full stretch of him, letting his clit drag over the sensitive head before sliding away again.

Sonic looked down at the knight’s cock and could literally see it throb and twitch, trying so hard to reach him, “You’re leaking so much for me… so needy.”

The knight’s voice finally sounded and came in darker. “You’re cruel.”

“Hmmm… yeah, but tell me… do you want me to yourself, my knight?” Sonic teased sweetly. “Think you’re enough to please me? Maybe I need someone less shy than you…”

Lancelot almost glared at him, but the jester didn't care and leaned backward, his back practically touching his belly… he was definitely flexible. “Maybe I should let Sir Gawain fuck me right… he did like me, didn’t he?”

The sound of Lancelot’s breath through his teeth was harsh, and this time close to Sonic’s ear, not only that, but the chainmail bindings creaked ominously.

Sonic wiggled his hips tauntingly, letting the slick drag torment him with every pass. “Maybe he’d be better at keeping me entertained.”

The restraints strained louder.

“I bet he’d like to have me bounce on him,” Sonic went on. “Maybe I should—”

The metallic snap was like thunder.  

In one swift, violent surge, the bindings shattered, and Lancelot’s freed arms shot forward. Sonic had only a heartbeat to smirk before the knight grabbed him, flipped him onto his hands and knees, and pinned him there.

A firm palm pressed the back of his head into the mattress, the other gripping his hip like iron. Lancelot’s next words were hot behind his ear. “You truly don’t wish to see me angry.”

The warning melted into a sharp yelp from Sonic as Lancelot thrust forward in one unyielding stroke, filling him completely to the brink. The jester’s tail wagged uncontrollably, his moan breaking into a more needy whimper at how full he felt. It was painful, but that only made it all the better.

Lancelot pulled back just enough to slam in again, teeth catching Sonic’s ear in a possessive bite. “Don’t fucking talk about another knight while I’m inside you.”

Sonic’s head tilted with a slight grin, keeping defiance in his tone even as it trembled. “Whatever…”

The growl that followed was much more primal now, and Lancelot’s answer was a slow, punishing grind before snapping forward into an even deeper thrust. Sonic’s tight heat clenching around him like it never wanted to let go.

“Ah, fuck,” Sonic whimpered. It hurt more now that he was really moving and not having time to adjust. Not only that, but Sonic hadn’t had his usual sex routine lately with everything going on, and the knight truly was blessed by the gods.

Despite the pain, Sonic couldn’t stop moaning with each push because the stretch felt too sinfully good.

He glanced to the side, and Lancelot's hand remained on his neck, pushing him down further, but the jester, on instinct, opened his mouth, tongue flicking out in invitation. Lancelot understood immediately, and he slid two fingers between Sonic’s lips.

The jester closed around them instantly, sucking with experienced pressure, his tongue curling around the digits like he wanted to taste every inch.

The knight’s cock throbbed inside him at the sight and feel, his breath coming harsher. “You really want to be stuffed everywhere.”

Sonic smirked around his fingers, sucking harder. “M-maybe” he managed, the word muffled but unmistakably still keeping his teasing nature.

Lancelot shifted forward, his chest pressing down between Sonic’s shoulder blades, caging him into the mattress in a dominant sprawl while his mouth found the side of Sonic’s neck, and biting down hard, breaking fur and skin with his fangs.

The jester gasped against his fingers, as Lancelot marked him, before dragging his tongue over the bite and tasting the copper bloom of blood. The sound he made was almost a purr, but far rougher.

His free hand slid down, fingers tracing the curve of Sonic’s ass until they brushed over the tight, pink ring just above his slick cunt. The jester twitched, and another muffled moan buzzed around the fingers in his mouth. Lancelot pressed the tip of two fingers inside slowly.

“I can do that,” he rasped against Sonic’s ear, pushing just enough to feel both entrances grip him at once.

The combination made Sonic’s moans pitch higher. His walls gripped around Lancelot’s cock and fingers with every motion, and the knight really was everywhere now.

Sonic sucked his fingers harder, muttering against them. “Keep g-going, fuck—more, yes, ahh—”

Lancelot’s pace didn’t falter, only sharper, like Sonic’s pleading was fuel. His mouth left another bite along the slope of Sonic’s neck, lower this time, then he licked over it slowly, savoring the mix of blood and sweat as he drove into him harder.

Lancelot’s movements never stopped. He slid two fingers in and out of his hole, while his other hand pushed two fingers deeper inside his mouth, practically hitting his throat. The combination of his hands and cock pounding into him made Sonic’s world narrow.

The jester could barely form words now, his body complying under the knight’s rough worship as every nerve lit up from the triple intrusion, and he loved every second of it.

“So quiet now,” Lancelot said, and Sonic couldn’t even question it, barely think about how the tables had turned. Well, he did ask for it.

The knight turned merciless, each snap of his hips driving so deep into him that the jester swore it felt like he was trying to break him and shove his dick inside his belly.

Sonic really couldn’t move, and not like he wanted to. Lancelot’s fingers stayed where they were, and he sucked around them greedily, the lewd, wet sounds only making the knight groan at how good the jester felt all around him.

”M-More, Lance, please.” Sonic whined.

And the knight listened because every thrust struck that spot inside him with punishing precision, the press of Lancelot’s pelvis grinding against his clit just enough to push the stimulation into something dizzying. His fingers were now deeper in his ass, teasing in and out faster, stretching him, burying him to the knuckle, making every movement of his cock feel even thicker, even fuller.

“L-Lance, fuck, your p-perfect—” Sonic whimpered around his hand, drool slipping past the corner of his mouth. He was so needy now and it made the knight’s tail wag with pride, knowing it was him making the jester so undone.

He was close, they both were. The heat in Sonic’s belly coiled tighter, the slick sound of his cunt taking every inch, and after a few more seconds, neither could hold back anymore.

“Yes… right there—ahh—” Sonic’s moans broke high as his climax hit much harder than last time, his walls wrapping tight around him, inviting him to join him with a desperate cry muffled by the knight’s fingers in his mouth.

Lancelot’s head dropped to Sonic’s ear, and he bit down, breaking the thin flesh without remorse. Sonic yelped at the sudden bite, but the shock only sent his orgasm crashing higher, his back arching into the thrust that followed.

Warmth welled down his ear, and Lancelot’s tongue immediately followed, with licks that drank the blood away. The metallic tang lit up his senses, feeding into the primal satisfaction of holding Sonic down.

Then, with one final, deep, grinding thrust, Lancelot came, his hips locking tight as hot spurts filled Sonic’s cunt and gave a deep growl. “…Mine.”

Sonic shivered with the aftershocks, his body twitching as each pulse of the knights’ release sent another faint wave of pleasure rippling through him. He didn’t think he would come another time, but the pain, pleasure, and even possessiveness were all too good. It was a lighter orgasm, but it still exhausted his body further.

When Lancelot finally eased away from him, Sonic turned his head just enough to smirk through his panting. “You got a blood kink, Sir Knight?”

Lancelot’s eyes softened slightly, but his hand on Sonic’s hip tightened possessively. “I-I wasn’t aware it was something I would be interested in…”

“Mmhm,” Sonic hummed skeptically, still smirking. “I enjoyed it.”

Instead of answering, Lancelot pulled out and the loss made Sonic whimper softly.

He guided the jester down into the mattress, then rolled them onto their sides, not letting go. The sheets were ruined, sticky with heat and sweat, but neither cared.

Sonic’s back was snug against the knight’s chest now, Lancelot’s arm wrapped tight around his waist like a lock. The low, steady purr that rumbled in his chest made Sonic blink in mild surprise until his own low purr slipped out in response. It was softer, but it made Lancelot hold him even closer.

“You’re happy,” Lancelot murmured into his fur.

Sonic snorted faintly. “Perhaps.” He curled in closer, head pillowed against the knight’s chest, studying him. “You’re different… You seem less reserved.”

The knight’s ears flushed red, his gaze flicking away before returning. “I… suppose so. You seem to have a way of forcing me to adapt.”

“Mmhm.” Sonic grinned, very much pleased with himself.

They stayed like that for a moment longer, the warmth settling their passion from earlier.

Then Lancelot’s voice took on that quieter, more serious tone he used for important things. “Tomorrow… we leave for Camelot.”

Sonic’s ears twitched, but he didn’t lose the smile. “Yeah… We will.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

They didn’t even make it halfway down the corridor before Arthur had Shadow pressed hard against the stone wall, mouths locked in their typical bruising kisses. Their crowns tilted, clinking faintly before Arthur’s hand braced against the wall beside Shadow’s head, his other curling into the fur at the back of his neck.

“You fucked me on your throne,” Arthur murmured between kisses, already dark with promise. “I think it’s my turn to fuck you somewhere else…”

Shadow grunted, his own hands already gripping Arthur’s coat and pulling him closer. “Anywhere, hm?”

Arthur confirmed with a smirk.

They broke apart just enough for Shadow to shove him toward a door, and the moment it swung open, Arthur stepped inside, eyes tracking the interior. “Your office… I’ve never been in here before.”

It was every bit the personality as its owner, with dark paneled walls, heavy shelves, a broad desk that dominated the space, and behind it, a black high-backed throne-like chair. Arthur’s grin deepened. “I love it.”

He moved toward Shadow and already had a plan. He pushed him back against the desk until the dark king's thighs met the edge. As they stripped each other down, Arthur’s hand slid lower, fingers brushing over his length peeking from his pouch. He teased him until he was unsheathed and watched Shadow’s expression as he wrapped his hand around him entirely.

Golden light curled in Arthur’s palm, and before Shadow could speak, a shimmering band of magic formed, tightening snugly around the base of his cock.

Shadow grunted and almost flinched from the sudden tightness. Arthur’s ears twitched excitedly as a second spell flared, and this one shaped into a golden flogging whip that coiled in his grip. He let the handle rest casually against his shoulder.

Shadow’s crimson eyes narrowed, though a flicker of something darker passed through them. “Fucking sadist.”

“You can take the pain, can’t you, my king?” Arthur purred.

Shadow’s answer was to summon his own chaos energy, but before he could get too amped, Arthur stopped him. He gave one decisive shove that sent the other king sprawling onto his back across the polished desk, the impact rattling through the wood. Papers fell to the floor as Arthur pinned him down, golden magic snapping into place with practiced ease. Gleaming bands locked Shadow’s wrists apart against the desk, snug and merciless.

Arthur stepped between his legs, looming, his expression a mixture of hunger and authority. “Perfect,” he rasped, pressing the flat of his palm against Shadow’s chest, then gliding lower to grip his hip. “Exactly where I want you.”

The bindings shimmered, pulsing faintly with each heartbeat as Arthur lined himself up and pushed inside Shadow slowly until he was seated fully inside with a groan. Shadow gave a slight growl of defiance, but Arthur could feel his tail wag slowly by his thighs.

Then, before Shadow could retort, Arthur’s free hand closed around his throat, keeping his head pinned to the desk, and began to move in shallow, unhurried thrusts, meant to bruise through pride as much as body.

“You look… so pretty like this,” Arthur leaned down, mouths almost brushing, though he denied the kiss. “Laid out before me, bound by my magic, your cock straining in my ring. Tell me, my king… does it humiliate you?”

Shadow’s teeth bared and strained against the hand pushing down on his windpipe. “You’re… f-filthy.”

Arthur chuckled, lips grazing the edge of his jaw now. “You enjoy how filthy I am.”

The grip at Shadow’s throat flexed tighter, and it was enough to make each inhale ache and each exhale scrape.

However, not wanting to give in so easily, one of Shadow’s hands finally clawed against the binds of magic and surged with Chaos energy. He seized Arthur’s throat in return, and fingers dug in hard, crushing back, forcing the king’s head to tilt.

Arthur winced, a sharp intake of breath slipping through his grin. For a heartbeat, the green fire in his eyes flashed, but his magic didn’t falter. No, if anything, it flared hotter, constricting Shadow’s still bound limbs tighter, bending his body further against the desk. Arthur wisped away the magical flogger for now to keep one hand on his hip and keep him still.

“You think choking me will stop me?” Arthur hissed and drove inside the king harder, making the desk groan, rattling under each strike. Shadow's grip faltered with the persistent rough pleasure of being fucked, and that only made Arthur laugh against him, noting the grip on his throat was barely there. “Mm… there it is. You feel how deep I am? How your hole clenches around me even while you fight? Your Chaos burns bright, but it won’t last. You’re wasting it choking me when you should be saving it for yourself.”

Shadow’s flush betrayed him, crimson crawling across his dark muzzle, his grip around Arthur’s throat was trembling now. His ruby eyes darted up, locking with his, and he could see them, emeralds blazing with cruel, unshakable resolve, his grin cut wicked across his face like a wound.

Arthur leaned into the hold at his throat, relishing the pressure. “No one else had ever been inside you, right?” His hips slammed forward again, making Shadow jerk against the desk. “Since last year’s convergence, you kept your tight hole untouchable… until me.”

Shadow meant to snarl, but instead, it was more of a moan caught halfway between fury and something else he didn’t want to name.

Arthur’s free hand slid from Shadow’s hip to grip his cock, squeezing hard at the base. “You let me be the first because you knew I’d ruin you,” Arthur mocked and awed all at once. “And you love that I’m the one who's always breaking you.”

The words hit like a brand, and Shadow’s glare faltered. His face burned even hotter, and his jaw tensed as if the very admission sat just beneath his tongue. He hated it, yet his body betrayed him because he only wanted more.

The damn cock ring was also getting tighter, and not only did it hurt, but it also wasn’t letting him find his typical release. With Arthur fucking him and jerking him off, he felt his mind getting dizzy with the sensations that were building into nothing. It was confusing and made his situation all the more frustrating.

Arthur’s smirk turned feral. “Oh, Shadow... You like the way I make you my rival, my equal, and my prize all at once. Don’t you?”

Shadow’s hand around his throat finally dropped, and Arthur immediately bound it down to the desk again, because despite it all, despite the pride Shadow had always had before they were finally together, all the moments they had already let each other in… everything Arthur said was right. Shadow did like that he was a challenge. He liked the fire, the cruelty, the sheer insanity in Arthur’s smile as he broke him apart.

“I could keep you like this all night,” Arthur taunted, his lips brushing Shadow’s ear as he pressed his chest down flush against him. “My cock inside you, my magic wrapped around you, until there’s nothing left in your mind but me.”

A growl rumbled in Shadow’s chest, breaking into a ragged exhale when Arthur’s thrusts deepened at the same time his grip on his throat held him tighter. The magical ring pulsed with a cruel rhythm, squeezing, making the ache in his cock grow with need. Shadow’s hands strained against the golden restraints, but they didn’t give, and though he was strong, his mind felt like it was only getting weaker and weaker. In that damn same headspace, Arthur knew how to put him in time and time again.

Arthur shifted back just enough to watch him, to savor the sight of the normally more dangerous and imposing king lying out beneath him, muscles taut, eye glaring in furious silence. “You can plead for me. There’s no one here to hear it but me, and I want to hear it.”

When Shadow refused, Arthur’s magic flared, the cock ring lessening its pressure for a heartbeat, easing just enough to let him feel the cruel edge of release. Shadow’s chest rose sharply, breath catching against the orgasm that almost came, but Arthur knew and tightened it even harsher this time, leaving Shadow’s climax in a chokehold.

“Arthur...” Shadow growled, “Release your m-magic.”

Arthur simply laughed. “Still resisting when I know you must be aching? Hmmm, I have an idea.” He stopped pushing inside of him and let go of his cock and pulled away slightly. Magical rings were still restraining him, and then the flogger from earlier bloomed into his hand again. He let the tails drag lazily over Shadow’s thigh, across his chest, letting him anticipate the sting before the first strike cracked across his hip.

Shadow’s hip stung, and a desperate groan escaped him despite the way his teeth clenched down trying to hold back the sound.

Arthur’s eyes gleamed. “What a pretty sound... I knew you’d like it.” He rolled his hips forward hard, punctuating the words with another deep thrust. “My Shadow, who hides behind pride, melting from a little pain.”

The possession behind his name landed heavily, sending an unwanted throb down Shadow’s cock that was still being restrained and now neglected. He hated it… hated how Arthur's words and punishment stoked the fire instead of making him question it.

Arthur felt the twitch against the magical ring and laughed low. “Mmm… yes. I knew it. You’d take a thousand lashes from me if I gave them.” The flogger snapped down again, this time across his chest, leaving an angry welt blooming behind his fur. Arthur trailed the tails down after, soothing in contrast.

Shadow’s composure frayed, chaos energy sparking faintly against his restraints, but Arthur’s bindings held firm. He leaned closer, gripping his neck again, harsher than before, staring him down. “Say it. Say please, and I’ll give you what you’re begging for without words.”

Shadow’s pride warred visibly as his throat worked beneath Arthur’s grip, his chest heaving. Silence stretched until the next lash landed across his thigh, drawing a guttural sound out of him that betrayed him again.

“…Please,” Shadow ground out, losing this fight much quicker than in previous sessions.

Arthur’s tail wagged furiously. “Louder.”

This time, Shadow practically whined. “Please, A-Arthur.”

The cock ring dissolved with a flicker of light, and Arthur didn’t waste a second; he withdrew, only to slam back in with a brutal force that made Shadow’s body arch against the desk, a cry spilling past his lips despite himself.

The flogger struck again, falling into rhythm with each thrust, pain carving its way into pleasure until the sound of the slaps vanished into moans and gasps.

Arthur's hand never left his throat. "Fuck, Shads— you're so perfect like this."

Shadow almost registered the nickname, but he was too muddled from pain, meeting pleasure and Arthur's filthy words and motions. His body also began to meet with Arthur's thrusts, and not against anymore.

The flogger dissolved into light, freeing Arthur’s hand to curl around Shadow’s cock again, stroking with cruelty. Sparks leapt between their bodies, gold flaring against red. Arthur bit down on his lip to keep his control as his pace grew erratic, hips snapping deep, grinding inside him until Shadow’s composure shattered completely.

Then, finally, Arthur whispered the following command. “Come for me.”

Shadow’s next sounds tore raw from his chest, as his release struck hard. Heat spilled across both of them in thick streaks, his entire frame wracked with the force of it from being held back for so long.

At the same instant, Arthur drove in entirely, the molten rush of climax breaking through him with a strangled moan. He buried himself deep, groaning as he spilled inside him, hand tightening on his throat while his own lip bled from the bite he’d given it.

Their shared panting filled the space, and Arthur finally eased his hand from Shadow’s throat.

Shadow couldn’t believe it. He really fucking loved that, and chaos did everything just make him want to return the favor. He was still aroused and looking up at Arthur’s face, he knew he would keep him here, so he had to intervene. Now.

Arthur hadn’t even caught his breath when Shadow’s hand shot forward, shoving him off the desk with violence that knocked the wind from his chest. Arthur hit the floor with a grunt, palms scraping against it as his body was forced down. He barely had time to twist before Shadow’s weight came down over him, all hard, dark, furred muscle and barely restrained arousal mixed with fury.

Arthur's head turned just enough to look up at him with that insufferable grin. “Even after I broke you down like that? You’re still—”

“Still a king,” Shadow’s snarl cut him off, pushing his back against the floor with one hand, groin grinding him against the floor, while his other hand held one of Arthur’s thighs outward, spreading him wide.

Arthur smirked up at him, defiant, even pinned. “Oh, I never doubted you, Shadow… but—”

His words strangled into silence as Shadow’s hand closed around something he must have gotten without Arthur noticing. It was a thick strip of leather, a leash?

Arthur’s eyes flickered wide in genuine surprise. “You—”

The sentence ended in a choke as Shadow looped the leash with quick precision, chaos energy sparking to bind it, slipping it around Arthur’s throat and tugging until the collar bit snug against him. Shadow’s lips curved in a cruel smirk as he leaned down, taking the length of leather between his teeth.

Arthur quirked a brow, and a shiver of excitement showed how much he liked the idea. “So the serious king does know how to have fun...”

“Shut up.” Shadow’s free hand slid lower, gripping Arthur’s cock in a rough stroke that had Arthur already craving more. Shadow’s palm pressed down harder on Arthur’s thigh, keeping him pinned while his legs kept him open.

Arthur’s chuckle broke into a moan, his head tipping back against the floor. “You’re, might just—”

Shadow jerked the leash tight, silencing him mid-taunt, and Arthur’s smirk faltered, replaced with a bitten-off moan as Shadow’s hand pumped him harder. He strained against the leash, against Shadow’s weight, somewhat fighting, but definitely giving in, and fuck, Arthur wanted him inside him already. “Ngh, damn you—”

“Want me to fuck you, don’t you?” Shadow taunted, dominance absolute as he ground Arthur deeper into the floor. “Say you’re mine and I will.”

Arthur’s laugh was ragged. “Fuck you—”

Shadow cut him off with a sharp tug of the leash, again tight between his fangs, forcing his neck forward, as his head tilted back. It was a different kind of pain in this position. Shadow’s hand twisted hard on Arthur’s cock, sending white-hot sparks through him. “Say it,” he snarled, ruby eyes dark and wild.

“I belong to no one,” Arthur hissed, choking against the pull.

Shadow lined his cock with one hand and teased Arthur’s entrance, and all while his other hand was twisting Arthur’s cock even more cruelly, making his body buck without permission.

“Fucking liar…” he bit the words out, pushing inside the golden king’s tight warmth slightly, “you’re mine, so say it.”

Arthur’s fists clawed uselessly at the floor, trying to ground himself, but he was unraveling, and a needy groan broke free, no matter how sharp he bit down. “I, ah, fucking h-hell—” His chest heaved, veins standing out against his neck as the leash never relented.

“Say it,” Shadow hissed.

Arthur’s pride finally warring with the need radiating through him. “…Fuck fine… I’m yours. So—fuck me already,” he panted raggedly.

Shadow smirked and didn’t hold back. He pushed inside all the way and started to fuck him hard, chaos energy sparking off his body, the floor rattling with the force of his rhythm.

Arthur let out a strangled cry as his body convulsed under the king’s relentless assault. He tried to hold it back, tried to cling to the last scraps of control, but Shadow wasn’t letting him.

Not only that, but getting the idea from the golden king, Shadow purposely wrapped his hand around Arthur’s length like iron. He squeezed it so tightly now that every stroke, every movement sent fire through him, denying release unless he willed it. He continued to fuck Arthur, bruising him inside, using the leash, pulling tight and snapping him toward obedience with every ragged jerk.

“I—ahh, fucking h-hell—” Arthur rasped.

“Beg for me, Arthur,” Shadow grunted.

Arthur looked up at him, pride under the pressure, as Shadow remained punishing, teasing the edge of climax but holding him just away from the abyss. Arthur’s body trembled with frustration as he realized he might not be allowed to come until he gave in fully.

Shadow really did learn from the best.

“Say it.”

Arthur’s chest heaved, and he gave up. F-fuck… please.”

“Again.”

“Please… S-Shadow.” Arthur said, not caring anymore.

Shadow’s grip loosened slightly on his cock, just enough to let the taut, agonized tension slip, and after a few more thrusts and ministrations, Arthur’s body seized violently, spilling against Shadow’s hand, his pride crumbling from satisfaction. Shadow didn’t relent and fucked him through every shudder and came with him, filling him completely.

After another moment of quiet, Shadow finally let the leash fall from his mouth, and he went to the side on the floor next to him. Arthur lay sprawled, chest heaving, throat raw, lips twisted into a grin that was equal parts defiance, surrender, and mockery bleeding into need.

“Not bad,” he rasped. “We truly are… a match made in hell.”

“That we are,” Shadow murmured, letting them have another moment before they continued.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Morning

The sunlight was far too bright when Arthur stirred, the heavy scent of their night still lingering in the room. His head rested on the edge of Shadow’s shoulder, who was lying next to him.

Arthur blinked slowly, letting the sight of the king next to him linger, even as a weight pressed hard against his chest.

He was leaving today. The thought sat like a nauseating feeling in his gut. Neither of them had ever been the sort to wallow, as sadness did not suit kings, or perhaps they never learned how to wear it without looking weak.

So instead of silence or sorrow, they filled the air with what they knew best.

“You were clingy this time,” Shadow muttered without opening his eyes.

Arthur scoffed. “You were the one who dragged me onto the floor like some brute.”

Shadow cracked one eye open. “You liked it.”

“That’s not the point.” Arthur shot back, though his mouth twitched in the faintest betrayal of a smirk.

“Oh, so there was a point?” Shadow sat up. “Or are you just picking a fight because you don’t want to say goodbye?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, and he sat up as well. “You think I’d waste my breath on something so sentimental?”

“I think,” Shadow said, “that you’re just as bad at goodbyes as I am.”

Arthur’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then it’s a good thing we’re better at fighting than talking.”

Then he got up, and his hands moved with uncharacteristic haste as he began pulling on his clothes.

Shadow scowled slightly. “Be careful on your way back to Camelot.”

Arthur froze for half a second too long, then gave a curt nod without looking at him. He despised that pang in his chest, that treacherous pull toward the man still sitting on the floor.

He hated that the halls of Blackthorne, dark and dangerous as they were, felt less like an enemy’s fortress and more like a gilded snare the longer he lingered here. Camelot needed him. His duty required him. He shouldn’t be thinking this way.

But Shadow saw it, the oddity in Arthur’s gaze, the brief faltering of his usual iron-clad composure, so before Arthur could turn away, a hand shot out. Shadow’s fingers closed around his wrist, like a king refusing to let go of something he had no right to claim.

Arthur looked down at him, snappy words ready on his tongue, but Shadow didn’t give him the chance. The moment Arthur leaned in the slightest, perhaps unconsciously, Shadow pulled him closer with a sudden, decisive tug.

Their mouths collided in a kiss that wasn’t tender, wasn’t brutal, but something heavier. It was a seal, a demand, a farewell no words could carry, and when they finally broke apart, their foreheads lingered slightly against each other.

“See you another time,” Shadow said, unexpectedly soft.

Arthur swallowed hard and forced his head away, hiding the storm behind his eyes. “…Yes.”

That was all. No more words, no more weakness. He pulled free of Shadow’s grasp and turned on his heel, walking away with practiced grace.

But… as he crossed the threshold, the phantom burn of Shadow’s grip still lingered hot around his wrist, like a brand he knew he could never shake away again.

Chapter Text

The carriage rocked gently as it rolled over the worn path back toward Camelot. The interior was finely crafted with polished wood and plush red seating, but it might as well have been its own battlefield… because two blue hedgehogs still had a hard time getting along.

Sonic lounged lazily across one bench, legs casually sprawled, and every movement from him was loaded with teasing intent. King Arthur was seated stiffly across from him, looking as though he was barely containing himself from how annoying the jester had been over the past 30 minutes. Then beside Sonic, sat Lancelot, composed, but also failing to hide the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth from seeing his king so irked.

“So serious,” Sonic purred, eyes mischievous as they stayed on Arthur. “You always like this after diplomatic summits, or is it just me that puts a stick up your royal ass?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed at him. “Careful, jester. Words like that tend to have consequences, and you're under my rule now.”

“Ooh, is that a threat?” Sonic gasped dramatically, leaning in closer, elbow propped on his knee, chin resting in his hand. “You’re so fun to mess with, Your Majesty. No wonder King Shadow seemed so angry for years… you must have talked his ears off.”

Arthur’s lip twitched with even more irritation. The jester wasn’t necessarily wrong, but the king wasn’t about to admit that. “Unlike some colorful fool, I can control my mouth.”

“Hmmm,” Sonic teased, “Then maybe you’re upset because you’re leaving your lover~”

Arthur’s eyes shot to him, dangerously, fists clenching in his lap. “You’ll stop at nothing, won’t you?”

Sonic leaned back, sighing exaggeratedly. “Why should I stop? When I’m right… Aren’t I?”

The king conjured a golden fire in his hand, which made Lancelot give him a warning glance as if saying, “Please do not set this carriage on fire.”

But Arthur ignored his gaze. “Perhaps I should set you on fire for your incessant jabbering.”

Sonic’s grin widened, unfazed. “A little fire between us might be fun, though. Don’t you think? Sparks, smoke… drama? We have so much to learn about each other now!”

Arthur’s fire grew. “Are you always this infuriating? Or is it just a personal mission against me?”

“Hmm, I suppose both,” Sonic said without shame. “But I know you secretly enjoy it. Don’t you love to argue?”

“Perhaps, however, with you it would be a waste of my time.”

Lancelot shifted slightly beside Sonic, “My king, please suppress—”

“Oh come on,” Sonic interrupted mockingly innocent. “In another life, maybe you and I are lovers. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Arthur scoffed. It was such a ridiculous claim that it almost got a laugh out of him. “That could never happen.”

The jester’s tail flicked with mischief. “Never say never.”

“You are nothing but an irritation,” Arthur said with the precise calm of a man clinging to his patience, but before he got more heated, he put the fire out, knowing he would likely ruin their transport, and instead turned to the knight. “Lancelot, tame the jester before I do.”

Before Sonic could fire back a retort, one of Lancelot’s hands grabbed his. His touch was warm despite the metal, and his thumb brushed across the jester’s knuckles in an attempt to calm him down.

Sonic looked at him, caught off guard, watching as Lancelot held his hand and then, with the faintest smile, he brought Sonic’s knuckles to his lips. The kiss was soft, and his eyes held Sonic’s the entire time.

“Please… stop,” he requested quietly.

Sonic’s heart raced from that, despite everything they had done before.

It was so simple yet straightforward, likely because Lancelot rarely asked anything of him. It was true that Arthur had told him to stop, but Sonic wasn’t expecting that, and well… the knight’s request worked. Sonic’s smirk faltered, and he quickly looked away, with a pout, as his muzzle flushed pink.

Arthur rolled his eyes, though seeing them didn’t help the faint longing in his chest. It was the kind of new bittersweet pain that had begun to settle since the convergence, and not only did he not know what to do with it, but he didn’t have time for it.

The rest of the ride continued in a stunned silence… at least for five minutes, before Sonic inevitably started up again, but for that moment, for that quiet, hand-held breath in time, the jester had been disarmed in a way he was still scared to admit.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The carriage wheels slowed as the towering gates of Camelot came into view, sunlight glinting off the white stone walls. The scent of the town with warm bread, horses, and steel drifted in as the gates opened and the guards saluted.

It was so different from Blackthorne, and Sonic couldn’t believe it. He actually got to stay here now, and he began to wonder what it all really meant. He would be under King Arthur’s rule, and in a way, he was easier yet more challenging to work with.

King Shadow was quiet and ruthless, but Sonic had come to know somewhat how to be around him. Whereas King Arthur and he shared a… secret, and he still hadn’t told Lancelot about it. He honestly didn’t want to betray the king’s wishes, but… wasn’t sure if keeping the secret was a good idea either.

He took a glance at the king and saw there was a heaviness in his eyes he hadn’t noticed before. Arthur had his own dark past, and though he was somewhat terrifying, Sonic still couldn’t believe they had something in common. He wasn’t sure how to navigate it, but perhaps they could become friendlier towards one another… eventually.

His thoughts were interrupted when they finally rolled to a stop in the castle courtyard, and the other carriage, which had the other knights, arrived at the same time. They began to leave their transport, and once most were out, the three knights’ eyes lingered on the new ‘couple’.

Percival’s brow arched subtly at them, Galahad’s gaze traced him with quiet interest, and Gawain’s grin widened, eyes lingering on Sonic specifically, perhaps as a challenge or something else entirely.

Sonic caught it instantly, with faint mischief sparking in his eyes. “What is it, Sir Flirty?”

“Wondering about something,” Gawain said, looking at Sonic up and down.

Beside him, Lancelot caught that look and hated it. “Eyes elsewhere,” he said flatly, and his tone made all three knights straighten slightly.

Sonic raised a brow and leaned closer to him to murmur, “What’s wrong, Sir Knight?”

“Nothing,” Lancelot replied without looking at him, his tone clipped but undeniably protective.

Sonic gave a small laugh. “You’re cute when you’re territorial.”

Arthur, who had descended from the carriage last, only gave the scene a passing glance before turning toward the great doors. “Lancelot, see to your… jester. I have matters to attend to. Lancelot, you will meet me in an hour.” Then he left.

Lancelot nodded and, ignoring the other knights, he led Sonic through the castle’s halls until they reached a guest chamber. It was spacious, with high windows draped in while silks and a bed large enough to swallow him whole. Lancelot moved with quiet efficiency, removing Sonic’s small travel pack from his shoulder and placing it neatly on a stand.

“So this is my chambers, huh? It is so bright… much brighter than Blackthorne’s.”

“Do you like it?” Lancelot inquired, worried it may not be to his liking.

Sonic removed his hat and set it on a wooden desk. He looked back at him and smiled. “Yeah, I really do.”

Then they started to set everything up. Sonic unpacked, and Lancelot didn’t simply just help unpack, he moved about the space with methodical precision, inspecting every corner as though an enemy might be hiding behind the drapes. He checked the locks on the windows, adjusted the heavy curtains to block the afternoon glare, and tested the latch on the adjoining door twice before he seemed satisfied.

After a while, Sonic finished unpacking and sprawled on the bed, hands folded behind his head, watching with faint amusement. “Y’know, most knights just dump your bags and say ‘good luck.’ You’re over here looking like you're preparing for an attack or something.”

“I am not most knights,” Lancelot said without glancing back, carrying a weight Sonic was still learning to read.

It had been over a week since the assault in Eloria and he was still trying to navigate a new kind of closeness with Lancelot. The reserved knight, who once seemed bound to Arthur alone, had made a quiet, unwavering vow to be his knight too.

It was still odd, feeling someone’s constant presence shadowing him, not as a ruler or someone who wanted to use, but as a shield, and well, lately as a lover. It was still all strange… but not unwelcome. It was nice, really, but there was still this lingering doubt.

Sonic wasn’t sure if he even deserved him.

He sighed, and Lancelot’s ears twitched towards him. “Is something wrong with the room?”

Sonic shook his head, forgetting how perceptible the knight can be, and he still struggled to admit his true feelings, so instead he said, “Guess I should get used to you fussing over me, huh?”

Lancelot turned towards him fully now. “If it bothers you—”

“It doesn’t,” Sonic interrupted, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Kinda nice, I just... guess I'm still getting used to it.”

Lancelot’s muzzle flushed slightly. “I see… I will continue nonetheless. I wanted to mention that I will have to aid King Arthur more than usual for a while since we were Blackthorne for so long.” He walks over to the bed. “If you need anything, anything at all, you will send for me. Understood?”

Sonic looked up at him and nodded. “Got it, Sir Overprotective. I get it, we are back in Camelot. I'm sure you have lots to catch up on.”

Lancelot gave a short nod, his eyes serious for a brief moment. “Yes, we need to make sure everything is… in order.”

Sonic’s heart clenched at that. They were spared in Blackthorne, but from what he was told, Camelot would have to hold its own summit, and the council would come here to interrogate them all. “Right… yeah, I get that.”

Lancelot noticed his somber tone and placed a hand over his shoulder, saying, “Nothing is your fault.”

Sonic gave a small laugh and waved him off, “I'm fine… You go do what you have to.”

Lancelot hesitated but nodded and decided to go before Arthur reprimanded him for taking so long.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Lancelot’s words were very true because for the next few days, Camelot was busy.

So busy that Lancelot had barely had time to see Sonic. They would occasionally catch up, but Sonic spent most of his time exploring Camelot, the library, the garden, and getting to know the workers there. He hadn’t even seen Percival Galahad or Gawain as much because they were occupied, too.

Arthur had to double his meetings since word of Thalor’s disappearance spread, and emissaries from neighboring kingdoms came and went in restless waves. The air in the Round Table felt thick with strategy, maps sprawled across polished wood, wax seals pressed and broken again and again as messages from the border arrived.

Arthur stood like a stone at the head of the table, cloak heavy on his shoulders, tone firm as he directed his knights. “We cannot appear weak or have any stories that do not align,” he said, his gauntleted hand pressing flat against a map. “If the High Council suspects disarray at our summit next week, they will strike.”

Percival Galahad and Gawain were on one side of the table, and all had conflicting thoughts.

“Do we truly think we are still a threat?” Percival asked.

“At Blackthorne, they seemed to give us no trouble,” Galahad added.

“Perhaps they will give up this pursuit?” Gawain said with more carelessness.

Arthur shook his head. “It doesn’t matter that we were let go at Blackthorne; they will not rest. I know them better than anyone, so listen to me when I say do not get lax and focus.”

Lancelot was beside him, quiet as always, his eyes following the lines of the map but his mind flickering elsewhere. He was always a sword in Arthur’s hand during these councils, his words surfacing when precision demanded it.

Yet lately, now that a whole week had passed since their return, he couldn’t help but think of Sonic mostly… the way he smirked, teased him, his kisses, everything else. They had barely been able to really connect, and he missed him.

Arthur noticed the knight’s lack of focus, and when a long silence passed and he had yet to reply to his question, he snapped his fingers. “Lancelot. Are you with me?”

Lancelot's ears perked at the command, and he looked at his king and saw his annoyance. “Apologies, my liege, I am here.” He answered, though guilt threaded beneath his words.

His duty to Arthur remained unbroken, despite his claim to be Sonic's knight, but the king… has been more demanding lately. Lancelot didn’t blame him. He knew Arthur was used to having his second in command, and though Lancelot didn’t bring it up, he knew he had a shorter fuse because of being away from King Shadow. But that didn’t mean he could help the ever-growing feelings of his heart because it wasn’t just Arthur who claimed his loyalty anymore.

Balancing the two of them has proven to be more complicated than he thought. He told himself that once they caught up and the summit was over, Arthur would probably relax, and he would be able to spend more time with Sonic.

The meeting dragged until sundown, and by the time Arthur dismissed the three knights and the chamber emptied, his shoulders sagged beneath a weight only Lancelot saw. They lingered together at the table, the map left unrolled between them.

“You’ve been unfocused,” Arthur said, eyes narrowing slightly. “I thought it was Blackthorne weighing on you, but it is him, isn’t it?”

Lancelot hesitated, his hands clasped before him. “I apologize for appearing unfocused. I suppose I feel guilty for not spending more time with him since we have arrived.”

Arthur’s expression softened; he knew he was taking up the knight’s time more than usual. “Then go. You’ve given me enough of your hours for one day.”

Lancelot got up from his seat. “Are you certain?”

Arthur looked at him briefly, and he felt exhausted. He hadn’t been able to get much sleep due to being so busy and other factors. “I will be fine, so leave.”

Lancelot sighed but nodded. “Yes, my king.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Sonic was glad to be in Camelot, truly. The castle was grand, its walls strong, and the people bustling with life in a way he hadn’t seen before. Yet, a week had passed, and Sonic had barely seen Lancelot. The longer it went on, the heavier the silence grew.

At first, Sonic told himself he didn’t care. That he had lived most of his life without anyone to cling to, and he could keep doing that, but each night, when the halls grew quiet and the castle torches burned low, there was a truth he’d been avoiding: his relationship with the knight wasn’t just about sex or physical attraction.

He really liked Lancelot, and though he didn’t understand his feelings fully yet, since the night he had saved him from Thalor, Sonic’s heart had only fallen deeper into that emotion. The idea of… liking someone scared him, because Sonic couldn’t remember the last time his heart ached like this. If it ever did at all for anyone.

It was evening now, and Sonic hadn’t seen him all day, so he decided to sleep, not wanting to think about it anymore… but it was this night when a dream came uninvited.

He was small again. No longer the quick-witted, magical jester who had faced kings or council members who were worse than monsters, but a child crouched in a muddy alley. The fists of thugs rained down, bruises blooming like fire beneath his blue and peach fur. Their laughter was cruel, and it somehow cut deeper than their physical blows.

Then there was a light. A hand pulling him from the dirt. It was the old man he had told Lancelot about that one night. The stranger who would become his teacher. He wasn’t warm, not truly, but he saved Sonic. Bandaged his wounds, put food in his hands, and with his care came words that carved themselves deep into Sonic’s heart.

“Don’t trust another so easily, boy. The world isn’t kind to those born with nothing. Be clever and be mischievous. Use what you must to survive and stay ahead. It’s the only way.”

Sonic had listened, taken it to heart, and when the world showed him that sex was easy, that desire was a currency as much as coin, he used that too. First to survive, then to thrive, and later, in King Shadow’s castle, it became a weapon he knew how to wield.

The dream twisted.

The old man’s face melted, and in its place came Thalor’s. The cruel sneer, the mocking laugh. Hands that pinned him down as he hissed in his ears. “You think you’re more now?” Every word was dipped in smothering poison. “You think a knight could love you? You’re just a toy, a whore. That’s all you’ve ever been good for. Who could ever want you beyond that?”

Sonic’s body trembled in his sleep, ears pressed flat, tail curling in on itself. “Stop…” he whimpered, though no one was there to hear it, and the nightmare closed in tighter, suffocating him.

“You’re not worthy of love.”

Sonic jolted awake with a sharp cry, chest heaving, and his muzzle was damp with tears. He curled forward on the massive bed, clutching at the cream sheets as though they might anchor him.

“Damn it,” he rasped, swiping furiously at his face, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “Get it together, Sonic. It’s over. He can’t touch you anymore…” But the words rang hollow in the empty chamber, and the silence pressed in too close; the fear was still there despite him knowing he was dead.

"If you need anything, anything at all, you will send for me. Understood?"

Lancelot's words from days ago resounded in his head, so, before he could talk himself out of it, his body moved. He walked across the room, past the dying fire, as his hand found the latch and slipped into the corridor. He was actually going to try and find his knight, because Sonic didn’t want to fight this alone. Not again, not like last time. He didn’t want to wear the mask of laughter or lust or mischief or... push the knight away again.

The corridors of Camelot stretched long around him. His soft footsteps resonated against the stone, and for a while, he thought everyone was asleep… until his ears twitched at the faint voices up ahead. He slowed down, curious to see who it was.

“Why the face? Angry about our king overworking us? Or are you sulking again?” Galahad asked with faint amusement.

“I am not sulking, and I couldn’t care less about the king right now,” Gawain snapped back, too quickly to be convincing. His words dripped with irritation, the kind that came from something gnawing deeper.

Sonic’s brows knit. He shouldn’t eavesdrop, but his body betrayed him, and he stayed put listening to them.

“Well then, why the face? Ah, maybe because you didn’t get a chance with the jester?” Galahad shook his head, “Should have taken your chance before Lancelot, he seems quite smitten with him, and he did get mad at you earlier for mentioning him again.”

Gawain scoffed. “Tch. It angers me how Lancelot thinks he is above us, especially me. I doubt he truly even cares for the jester. Please. The virgin is probably just grateful he got laid.”

The words struck like a dagger to Sonic’s gut, and every muscle in his body stiffened, as his ears rang with the ugly echo. Just grateful he got laid…?

His heart plummeted, cracking under the meaning of those words. He wanted to laugh it off, say Gawain was just jealous, bored, frustrated… but the nightmare from earlier still clung to him, and chaos it… was still hurting him. He not only wasn’t thinking clearly because of it, but he couldn’t shove the pain down this time.

His mind spun, snaring on every fear he’d tried to bury. So that’s it? Just happy I gave him what he wanted? Just lust. Just guilt. Nothing real. Like everyone else in my life. Is that why… Lancelot had barely given me any time lately? Was I really just a toy?

He shook his head, attempting to shoo away the thoughts. He should leave, or better yet, waltz in, throw a barb back at Gawain, and pretend the sting didn’t cut deep. That’s what the jester in him would do before.

But Sonic wasn’t the jester right now. He was just Sonic, and he felt too small, too hurt.

His vision blurred with tears as he turned away, bolting down the corridor he had just come from before Galahad could answer.

After a while, he came across an empty hall, letting the tears spill freely as he tried to calm himself down. He didn’t even realize where he was until a door suddenly opened, and Lancelot emerged, helm above his brows.

Sonic stopped dead at the sight of him. “Sir Knight?”

Lancelot’s eyes found him and immediately widened at the sight. Sonic was in simple, colorful sleepwear, no hat, no bells, but he was crying. “Sonic? What’s wrong? Why are you… Why are you crying?”

“I-I uh…” Sonic stepped back as Lancelot stepped forward.

The knight reached him and grabbed his hand before he could bolt. “Wait, don’t leave.” He grabbed his muzzle with his other hand, brushing away his tears, but more kept falling, Sonic wasn’t settling, and the knight's actions were only making his heart ache more.

He needed to know.

“Okay, Sir Knight,” Sonic blurted, as the dam burst. “I need to know. You say you’re my knight and we’ve… we’ve slept together, but… I-I need to know… Is it just me? Are these feelings I’m starting to have just mine? Because I can’t—” a sob broke free. “I can’t think you’re good for me if you’re only doing this out of guilt, or lust, and maybe that’s my fault, because I never gave a chance for… just feelings, but—I’m scared and I don’t think I—”

“Stop.” Lancelot said and grabbed his muzzle with both hands before the hedgehog could completely crumple. “What’s going on?” His soft crimson eyes searched Sonic’s tear-streaked face.

Sonic blinked up at him. “I-I heard Gawain say… that you’re only kind to me because we had sex.”

“What?!” Lancelot’s anger immediately spiked, and his grip tightened on his face, not painfully, but in a way to try and reassure Sonic more. “What you overheard is not true at all.”

“But it feels true!” Sonic cried, shaking his head free from Lancelot’s grasp. “It’s not like we’ve been able to spend much time together since coming here. You’ve been so busy and I—”

Lancelot immediately went to touch him again, one hand more gentle on his cheek while the other held his shoulder. “Sonic. Listen to me. This is real. I would never toy with you. Not out of guilt, and not out of lust.”

Sonic’s breath hitched, disbelief tangled in hope. “Then why…?”

Lancelot inhaled slowly and then, simply, without hesitation, said, “Because I like you.”

The words landed like a shockwave, and even though Lancelot’s muzzle bloomed red from his confession, he didn’t falter. His gaze held Sonic’s eyes, unwavering, and he meant every word.

“I am quite sure I liked you from the start,” he continued, softer now, more vulnerable. “Back when you first teased me, I was drawn to you. I never intended to, I wasn’t sure what to believe or think, and yes, later on when we did have intimacy—it was… incredible.” His ears twitched with a shyness, but he kept going. “But even without it, my desire to know you is much greater. I wish to learn what makes you smile. I wish to be there for you always, not just because it's a role for me. I told you before at Eloria… I care for you and want to take care of you, and now my feelings for you have only grown since then. It was never just physical for me.”

Sonic stared at him, wide-eyed, heart pounding so loud he swore it would echo through the halls. “You… really like me?”

“Yes, I truly do,” Lancelot whispered, and pulled Sonic completely into his arms.

“I-I like you too Lance… I just… I don’t know how to act with these feelings… I-I have never felt like this before.” Sonic said, burying his face against the steel of his chest plate, still shaky, feeling all sorts of nerves. Sure, they may have had sex before and learned each other physically, but it was the emotional weight Sonic had never really tried before.

Lancelot tilted his head down, whispering softly against his ears. “We should slow down. Less of the bed, more of the heart. Let me court you properly, as I should have from the beginning.”

Sonic pulled back just enough to look up at him through glassy eyes. “Court me? W-What does that even look like? Flowers and serenades?”

“If that is what you want,” Lancelot said with a genuine smile.

Sonic’s lips wobbled into a smile as well, disbelief mingling with fragile joy. “You’re serious…?”

“I am.”

Everything Lancelot was doing, every word, every touch, caused an ever deeper warmth inside Sonic. More so than whatever he was feeling before, breaking apart the remnants of fear that still clung to him. He reached up, trembling just slightly, and cupped Lancelot’s cheek. His fingers brushed the knight’s dark muzzle, the steel of his helm cool under his thumb. “Okay,” Sonic whispered with certainty. “I would like that.”

Lancelot covered Sonic’s hand with his own, bent low, eyes half-shut, and kissed him. Sonic tilted his chin and leaned into it, wrapping both arms around him as the contact only helped keep the doubts at bay. The kiss was not heated or rushed like previous times, it was sweet and felt like the beginning of something more intense for them. When they pulled apart, Sonic’s smile had softened.

“Come,” Lancelot murmured. “Let me walk you to your room.” He didn’t release Sonic’s hand, and they walked together down the torchlit corridor.

When they reached Sonic’s chamber, the knight surprised him as he began removing the gauntlets from his hands, setting them carefully aside, then unfastening the clasps of his armor piece by piece.

Sonic quirked a brow. “Are you… planning to spend the night?”

“If that is alright with you,” Lancelot said gently. “I do not wish to leave you tonight, not after seeing you so upset.”

Sonic’s lips parted, then curved into something small and vulnerable. “We’re just sleeping?”

Lancelot nodded. “Yes, I would like that.” He finished setting aside the last of his armor, then joined Sonic beneath the covers. Lancelot settled onto his back and drew Sonic close. The jester didn’t resist at all and curled into him, chest pressed to chest, one ear pressed against the steady beat of Lancelot’s heart.

They lay like that for a long moment in silence before Sonic spoke again. “You’re… really good at this, you know. Being here for me.”

“I am still learning how to navigate this,” Lancelot admitted, one hand stroking gently between Sonic’s quills. “But I will always be here for you. Never forget that.”

The words sank deep into Sonic’s chest, but he nodded against the knight’s chest, his grip on him just a little firmer.

“Was there anything else troubling you? You seemed… more than shaken about Gawian's words.” Lancelot couldn’t help but ask, wanting to make sure.

Sonic hesitated, his ears drooping. “Well… Before I heard Gawain, I had a dream… about Thalor and he was… mean to me.”

Lancelot’s entire frame went still. Then his arms tightened around him, shifting Sonic until he lay directly against his chest. “You have nightmares about him…?”

Sonic nodded once. “Sometimes…”

The knight tilted Sonic’s chin upward, crimson eyes searching him, and his tone dropped to sound more serious. “Was there ever anyone else?”

Sonic gulped, remembering what Arthur had told him before. He wasn’t allowed to tell Lancelot, but Sonic knew he could trust him. Maybe he didn’t have to reveal to the knight what happened to the king, but he could share some of the truth.

“It was also…” Sonic swallowed hard, then forced out the word before he could stop himself. “Velaria.”

Lancelot’s crimson eyes burned with fury. “Velaria.” He had seen her at Blackthorne’s summit, seen the way her presence darkened the room, seen even the way Arthur seemed to hate her more than the others... His grip around Sonic grew tight, protective, and he practically growled, “I will kill her.”

Sonic pressed closer, burying his muzzle into Lancelot’s neck. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea considering what we are going through with Thalor… besides, I have you and even your king’s protection now. She can’t touch me.”

Lancelot huffed in anger, though the sound was softened by the way he pressed his face into Sonic’s quills. His hand slid slowly up and down Sonic’s back in soothing strokes. “Yes, you do, but if she ever attempts anything, if she even looks at you, I still plan to end her.”

A small smile tugged at Sonic’s lips, even though he was weary about that idea. “I suppose I cannot help that… Thank you, Lance.”

The knight exhaled slowly and pressed a kiss to the top of Sonic’s head. After being comforted so long, Sonic could not help but instinctively purr, ears twitching contentedly with every stroke on the knight’s hand on his back.

“You do not need to thank me,” Lancelot whispered, softer now. He had never spoken so softly with anyone before; it was a realization that dawned on him just now, the way even his speech changed meant for Sonic alone. “I care deeply for you and will make sure no one will reach you again.”

With him being there and his words Sonic felt safe, and he let the affection wash over him, sweeter than fear. His breaths slowed, evened, and soon enough, he was asleep.

Lancelot lingered awake a little longer, listening to the quiet purr that rumbled from Sonic’s chest, letting it soothe the fury burning in his own heart. Only when the sound steadied into the rhythm of deep sleep did he finally allow his own eyes to close.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Later that night, Arthur had gone to bed later than he should have. Camelot’s paperwork and Council reports still lay in neat stacks on the Round Table, but he left them there.

He went to his room and couldn’t help but search for any odd spots of magical interference. As King Shadow learned once they returned to Blackthorne, King Arthur had had a golden magic he rarely wielded.

It was the same magic he used to heal Shadow when he was asleep in Arthur’s chambers after he had burned his chaos reserves, saving him. The magic wasn’t too special; it was something nobles could do, and everyone’s way of using it was different.

Sonic had his jester magic, which he learned from another, but Arthur’s was specific to his family’s. It was only ever taught to his bloodline, and ever since he had returned to Camelot, the king felt like something was off… He had yet to find the source and told himself perhaps it was his mind playing tricks on him from his exhaustion, so he went to bed.

However, sleep only lasted maybe another hour because he awoke to a chill in the air that wasn’t the usual draft. This felt… methodical.

His eyes cracked open, and he saw nothing at first. The room was still, but the silence had changed. He moved a hand slowly toward the side table where Excalibur usually rested, but his fingers brushed only air.

Then the attack came like lightning. Two white blurs erupted from the shadows, cat-like mobians, but they weren’t ordinary ones. Their fur glowed faintly under the moonlight, red eyes gleaming with murderous focus.

Arthur was already moving, rolling off the bed before they landed where his head had been. One claw caught his arm mid-roll, scoring a deep line of red into his flesh. He gritted his teeth, hitting the floor in a crouch, gold light sparking at his fingertips.

The first cat lunged, and Arthur’s hand shot out, grabbing it mid-air. With a twist of strength and magic, he slammed it against the stone wall hard enough to hear the snap of bone, and it crumpled instantly. Or so he thought. That attack should have killed her, but instead her body contorted and her bones snapped back into place.

“What the hell?” Arthur said in surprise.

The second was on him before he could say more, and its claws raked for his throat. Arthur caught its foreleg, magic surging from his grip and forcing it back, but the creature was unnaturally fast, its tail lashing and attacks finding gaps in his defense.

It hissed and leapt again. This time, Arthur met it with a blade made of pure magic, a flash of golden steel manifesting from his palm. He slashed across its side, drawing a shriek, and the cat crumpled like the first one. The slash was deep and bleeding, but just like the first, the wound began to close, and the bleeding stopped quickly after.

“You… both are not…” He started until the window creaked, and Arthur’s gaze flicked up, and there she was. Velaria stepped into the room with unhurried grace, like a predator certain of her kill.

Arthur shoved both cats back using his magic like two golden swords, sending them skidding across the floor. “Velaria, what dark magic have you used on them?”

“Still sharp, as ever,” she said, stepping forward as her hands wove glowing golden threads in the air. Binding shackles took form between her fingers, pulsing with enchantment.

Arthur’s magic flared hotter, and before he could attack her, he had to turn his focus to the cats already recovering from the previous swing. Again, both cats were slashed, but that was enough time to give Velaria the opening she wanted. The shackles shot forward like striking serpents, clamping around his wrists in a vicious lock.

Arthur yanked back, golden light bursting from his arms, straining the chains with raw power. Sparks flew, but the shackles tightened, their magic draining his strength with every pulse.

Fuck fuck fuck. Now he knew what he had felt before. Why he felt more exhausted than just from lack of sleep. There was a hidden spell she must have crafted in his room, and it had been draining his magic the past week.

“You were here… you planted a spell while we were in Blackthorne, didn’t you?” Arthur seethed with anger.

“Clever,” Velaria purred, circling him as the injured cats took to her side, “but not clever enough, not with the magic I taught you.”

Arthur bared his teeth. “This was your plan all along… why nothing happened back in Blackthorne. You never cared who truly killed Thalor.”

Her eyes glinted like wet glass. “You are again correct, but despite what you said before, I will prove it was you, for it is about time you remember your place.”

She closed the distance, seizing his chin in a firm grip and before he could spit a retort, she conjured another strip of magic, this one shaping into a muzzle that clamped over his mouth, sealing his words behind it.

Arthur’s growl rumbled deep in his chest, his muscles straining against the bindings, but every pull only made the shackles burn hotter against his wrists.

Velaria leaned close enough that her breath ghosted his ear. “You’ve ruled long enough without consequence, my precious boy. That ends tonight.”

With a yank on the chain, she dragged him toward the window, and just like that, Camelot’s ruler was stolen into the night.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Arthur’s world blurred between pain and clarity. The shackles burned against his wrists, golden light flickering weakly each time he tried to summon strength, but every attempt to break free only ended in another pulse of draining heat that crawled into his veins.

When his vision steadied, he realized where he was, and he knew it wasn’t Camelot. The chamber was carved from dark stone, its walls covered in runes that glowed faintly with shifting light, pulsing like a heartbeat, and a circle of sigils beneath him throbbed with power, forcing him to face Velaria, who had waited for him to awake fully.

She walked over to him slowly, removing his magical muzzle, and he noticed her usually violet eyes glowed like corrupted obsidian. “You’ve grown since the last time I held you like this,” she mused with cruel affection. “You are stronger, wiser, but much too defiant...”

Arthur lifted his head, blood dripping from a cut along his temple, and smirked through the pain. “Still not strong enough to keep me down forever.”

Her lips curved in a predator’s smile. With a flick of her hand, golden threads burst from the shackles, tightening around his body. They pinned him to his knees, locking him in place as the sigils beneath flared brighter.

“You think your strength is your own?” she asked, crouching in front of him. “Don’t you remember, my boy, who first taught you to summon that golden fire you wield?”

Arthur’s body hurt from the restraints and sigils, and his breath was coming out harsher. “I would’ve mastered it without you. It’s in my blood. My family’s gift, you just took advantage of them, of us. You may be a council member, but it is only to hide the fact you’re actually a fucking witch.”

Her hand shot forward, seizing his jaw, forcing his face upward. The light around her fingers shimmered gold, but dark veins of shadow laced through it, twisting it into something fouler, hungrier. It crawled across his dark blue fur like oil.

“You only harnessed it because of me,” she hissed, “Because I took a desperate boy who couldn’t wield anything and forged him into someone who could conjure fire without burning himself alive.” Her smile returned, nastier than before. “Don’t forget how you begged for my help.”

Arthur laughed bitterly, even as blood stained his teeth. “You think you can break me with old memories? You’ll have to do better. I’ll never bow to you, Velaria. Never again.”

Her eyes narrowed, but amusement shimmered beneath the anger. She rose and circled him, fingers trailing through the air, weaving threads of corrupted gold that latched tighter around his body. His muscles trembled as the magic pressed him back, forcing him down until he sat back, unwilling, on a magically crafted throne she fabricated behind him.

“There, I made you a throne so that you can be my king again,” Velaria approached, never letting up on her poisoned light. She straddled his lap as if it were a throne of her own, and her breath brushed against his ear as she leaned close.

“You will remember your place,” she whispered, pressing her fingers against his chest as her magic sank in, the gold turning black where it spread. “Without me, you are nothing.”

Arthur snarled, and he tried to thrash his body against the restraints, but the corrupted magic was binding, pressing him down like molten chains. Her lips curled in satisfaction as she poured more of it into him, and he shuddered, his body jerking under the invasive burn.

He almost passed out from the pain, but just before he succumbed fully, he willed some of his remaining strength and snapped his head forward, teeth sinking hard into her shoulder, making her wince and get off of him. “Do not fucking touch me.”

Velaria glared at him and grabbed her shoulder, but nothing stopped the laugh bubbling darkly as the blood soiled her white robe. “Still a beast,” she purred. “Good, because that will only make this more fun.”

Her laughter rattled against the stone walls, and this was when Arthur realized, truly realized, that for the first time in years, he might be in real trouble.

Chapter Text

Morning broke in thin bands across Sonic’s chambers. It was a sweet, soft gold that seeped through white curtains and spilled over the bed. The fire had died sometime in the night, leaving only a low hush to the chamber with the quiet weight of someone staying.

Sonic woke first and realized the warmth next to him. He moved his head to look at the knight who’d refused to leave him. Lancelot’s arm was still around him, where it had been all night. His hand curved at Sonic’s waist like an oath had learned to hold a shape. The knight’s dark quills were a little messy against the pillow, and his helm was set aside on the nightstand.

Close up, the harsh lines of duty were gone. What remained was warmth and the faint thrum of his heartbeat under Sonic’s cheek. It felt so odd waking up next to someone after a night of just sleeping with nothing sexual. It was so surreal that awe crept up quietly.

The jester had hands on him before. Plenty. Hands that wanted, hands that took, hands that lingered long enough to make a point and leave a bruise, but never this. Never a hand that stayed for no reason other than to comfort. Never a body that made the dark smaller just by breathing next to him.

Sonic swallowed, feeling foolish for how full it made his chest. Lancelot had never given him a reason to feel like he was taken advantage of. Since their beginning the knight told him he would never use him.

At first, he didn’t believe him, but Sonic felt the truth of his words even more now. He felt it deeply. The only reason they ever did anything was because he wanted to, and Lancelot, being such a giver, followed.

Then last night happened.

Lancelot confirmed he liked Sonic. It made him feel so happy, content, and safe. Honestly, words weren’t enough to express what he was feeling.

Sonic let his palm drift to smooth over Lancelot’s chest on top of the dark grey fabric beneath where his armor had been shed. He traced reverent paths, not to wake him, or to take anything. He just wanted to learn the shape of comfort in a way he had never let himself before.

But the motion stirred Lancelot. His breath deepened, and his eyelashes twitched. The knight wasn’t startled. His body simply chose to wake up because Sonic was touching him. “I can feel you staring.”

Sonic snorted and tipped his head up to look at him. “Maybe I am. Got a problem with it, Sir Knight?”

Lancelot turned his face on the pillow to meet Sonic’s eyes. He was less shy now, still quieter than most would be with a jester wrapped around them, but the hesitance had shifted to something decided. “No,” he replied with a small smile. “I like being looked at by you.”

Heat climbed Sonic’s muzzle before he could armor it in a joke. “Bold this morning, aren’t we?”

“Only honest.” Lancelot’s fingers found Sonic’s and laced them, thumb brushing the back of his knuckles like he meant to memorize the pattern. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept well, actually,” Sonic admitted. “Because of you.”

Then the jester moved up, closing the inch that felt like a mile last night before their confession, and kissed him. Sonic was sweet about it and didn’t push for anything more right now.

Lancelot answered with the same intention he’d promised in the corridor. This kiss was no frenzied claim, no rush to turn softness into heat, just a kiss built to last. Sonic felt the way the knight held him through it, the way even his thoughts stabilized around the press of their mouths. It stitched something in him he hadn’t realized was still open. Suppose it would take him a while for his body to heal what it had always known.

They lingered until needing to catch their breath made them part. Sonic stayed close, while Lancelot watched him with the kind of attention that showed how much he felt. It wasn’t hunger nor pity.

The intensity of the knight’s gaze made Sonic’s throat ache with emotion, but didn’t stop him from asking, “You really like me, huh?”

Lancelot let his head rest back into the pillow and breathed out, “Yes… I do. I have never felt this way about anyone before.” The realization of that came to him, startling him slightly. That this, the weight of another body warm against his own without armor between, was…nice. Not as a prelude to anything. Not as a debt. Not as a guard post. It was so incredibly different, like sunlight soaking into cold stone. He had not known there was a part of him that needed this.

He turned back to Sonic. “My feelings for you have been more than just mere affection for a while now. I don’t believe I even know what they were, but seeing you last night so distraught… I…” He grabbed Sonic and pulled him into him fully. They were both on their sides, and he tucked Sonic’s head under his chin. Before he said more, he let himself register it fully. The curve of Sonic’s blue ear against his jaw, the way he felt so small around his arms, the peace that had settled in the room, knowing they both felt the same.

Lancelot had never done this before. He’d fought battles, held lines, and taken orders. No one had ever been this way with him before. No one had taught him how to enjoy another’s company as something more than friendship or duty. “I believe I am falling more for you, Sonic…”

Sonic pulled away to meet his eyes. There was a shimmer in his eyes that made them look even greener, like little gems. “I am, too, Lance. I don’t know exactly how to do this, but I do think we can learn together.”

They both smiled and gave a quick kiss, but not as long as before, because they both could feel it. There was a duty that tugged at their moment.

“I should check on affairs with the king,” Lancelot said at last with a gentle regret.

“I’m coming with,” Sonic answered, rolling from the bed to snag his colorful clothes. He grinned over his shoulder as he dragged the fabric down. “I owe the king a little mischief.”

“Hmm.” Lancelot sat up, reaching for his gauntlets. “He will pretend to hate it.”

“I know! That is exactly why it’s fun.” Sonic crossed back to him before Lancelot could stand, catching his wrist. “Hey.” The knight looked up. “Thank you again,” Sonic said without his usual smirk or flourish. “I really appreciate you.”

Lancelot smiled at him and turned his hand, so their fingers met again. “You’re welcome.”

They stepped into the corridor together. Sonic matched Lancelot’s stride easily, hands tucked behind his head in an exaggerated stretch. “So what will he ask for?”

“He will want the overnight reports,” Lancelot said.

Sonic hummed. “Perfect. I’ll deliver the most important report.”

Lancelot’s ear tipped toward him. “Which is?”

“That he looks like a grouch when he wakes up.” Sonic wrinkled his nose. “Someone has to keep him humble.”

“Good luck,” Lancelot said dryly, but with warmth. He glanced once more at Sonic, and there was a contentment clinging to him that hadn’t been there a week ago. The sight settled something protective in Lancelot’s chest.

They turned down the last hall toward the king’s chambers, and something was off.

Lancelot felt it first, and whatever happiness the morning brought was gone. Instincts grabbed hold of his body, and his gut dropped. He was moving before a thought even began.

The door was unbarred, and he shoved it open. That was when they saw the destruction. There were bedclothes hung in ragged strips. The citrus oil from Arthur’s desk couldn’t even hide the smell of blood. A window latch lay twisted, and its curtains dragged faint trails along the stone, resembling claw marks.

“Arthur?” Lancelot called once, and crossed the room in long, fluid motions, gauntleted hands hovering over the table as if reading the grain of the air. “Magic was used, and it is not ours.”

Sonic’s ears flattened. “I feel it.” He stepped in, carefully, letting the room touch his fingertips. Threads prickled, and the magic he felt was a wrong flavor, invasive, not like his jester magic and not Arthur’s golden magic, which he had only seen briefly. “It’s… magic that had been messed with.”

Lancelot dropped to a knee. On the splintered edge of the stool, he saw a single hair that was white and faintly luminous. He held it up to the light, trying to decipher who it could belong to, but no one in the castle had such pale fur.

Sonic noticed and held his hand out. He had an idea to use his power to conjure an image. It was something he only started doing in the past year or so, as it took a lot out of him. “Give it to me, please. I might be able to see what happened here.”

Lancelot set it into his palms. “How so?”

“Just watch.” Sonic’s hand closed around it, shut his eyes, and let his chaos magic seep out of him. It was glittery with pops of color, and after a minute of concentration, he was able to coax a memory.

The chamber dimmed at the edges as light gathered into a small circle, and then the scene unfurled as if the room itself confessed: the projection of magic showed Arthur asleep one moment, then him waking up to two white felines emerging from the shadows. Their eyes were red and wrong. Arthur’s immediately struck with a flare of gold, but their bodies snapped back instead of staying broken.

Then Sonic’s entire body felt a chill when he saw Velaria on the windowsill. Her hands were weaving shackles that glowed like sunlight yet bled like night. Arthur fought her too, but then the chains bound his wrists, and a muzzle slammed over his mouth, the drag toward the black square of sky. The image tore itself apart and was gone.

“He was taken,” Lancelot seethed with barely contained rage. “In his own bed.”

Sonic swayed, feeling so uneasy. “It’s my—” He shook his head hard, eyes already brimming with tears. “If this is because of Thalor… because of what I—”

“No.” Lancelot stopped him immediately. “This was her. Velaria.”

That was precisely the issue. It was fucking Velaria, and Sonic felt his heart shatter. “Exactly... It was her, Velaria, she… she took him, and I know I told you about what happened between us last night, but… You don’t… you don’t...” The words came rough, and by this point, his chest was shuddering from not being able to breathe correctly. “She didn’t just hurt me, Lance… she hurt him. Your king… He never told you. He never told anyone. I only… I figured it out when we were in Blackthorne.” Tears fell, hot and furious, down his muzzle. “If she has him, then that means—”

Lancelot felt his vision go red. He registered Sonic’s words and went to the wall, punching it hard. So hard it cracked the stone and shook dust from the ceiling. The action did nothing to lift the weight in his chest. He pulled his fist from the wall, and his breathing was ragged as he felt dread spread through his body. Velaria… hurt Arthur?! It was a part of his past he had never seen. The king never told him.

Sonic’s knees went weak as the panic inside of him started to spiral. “Lance…”

Lancelot went to him and caught him. He wrapped his arms around him in an instant, pulling him in hard enough to anchor. “Hey.” His lips pressed to Sonic’s temple. “We are going to save him. Do you hear me? She will not keep him.”

Sonic nodded, still feeling broken. “O-okay.”

Lancelot eased him back just enough to see his face, using his thumbs to wipe at the mess the tears had made. “Breathe love.”

Sonic’s ears twitched at the nickname. It was so sweet-sounding and natural that it actually steadied him enough. “Okay… but we need to go to Blackthorne. We need to tell… him.”

Lancelot’s jaw clenched at who Sonic was referring to. Call it the old war between the kingdoms, or old habit towards the king he never got along with. But he knew the dark king would be a powerful ally.

Despite all their idiotic hatred, Lancelot also knew deep down that Shadow cared for Arthur. He deserved to know. So, the hesitance cracked and fell away under the urgency ripping through him. “Yes… we will go to King Shadow. Tell him we must save him”.

“Okay then,” Sonic replied. “Let’s go.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Arthur’s head lolled forward, blood dripping from his split lip onto the carved runes beneath him. His wrists burned where Velaria’s shackles cut and burned off his fur, hitting flesh. Every pulse of her corrupted magic sapped at his strength and slowed the golden light that usually knits his wounds closed. The bruises across his ribs throbbed, his arm ached from the claw marks raked into it, but the worst pain was quieter, coiled deep inside.

He should have seen this coming. He should have been ready. He was a king. Kings were not supposed to be dragged from their own halls like prey. He cursed her name under his breath, but more than that, he cursed himself.

The room was thankfully silent now. Velaria had left after snapping at some shimmering interface of golden-dark magic, summoned by unseen allies. Her cats lingered just outside, with red eyes pacing the threshold, but the witch was gone. It allowed Arthur one small reprieve and one chance to breathe without her breath in his ear.

He sagged back, shoulders heavy, eyes tracing the glowing circle of runes at his feet. He tried to see if he could decipher them at all, but it was a language he didn’t know at all. One he had never been taught.

Suppose that was the point. It was a perfect trap for him, and Velaria knew that. The runes kept his magic weak, suppressed his family’s flame, and dulled his body’s ability to heal. He tested his bindings again and hissed when the flare of golden light inside him fizzled against the corruption.

“Damn you fucking witch.” He tried to ease his breath because even panting hurt. Exhaustion pressed deep inside of him, but so did the shame. He had sworn after his coronation that he would never let anyone see him so vulnerable again. He had promised Camelot that their king would always be the strongest, yet here he was… bound and broken.

The weight pressed heavier with each breath, until his eyes slid shut despite his will. Sleep crept in against his better judgment, and with it, a haunted memory.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Arthur was small then. Just ten years old, his frame wiry from training, his fur still lacking the royal blue bearing of adulthood. Camelot had sent him away to Eloria, to the great academy where young royals were forged into rulers. His parents had stayed behind to assist with Camelot’s court. His knights, his friends, including the young Lancelot, had also remained. He remembered gripping Lancelot’s arm before leaving, swearing they’d see each other soon, though neither had believed it.

Eloria was nothing like Camelot. Its towers gleamed pale blue stone, its halls filled with boys and girls who all carried crowns or the promise of one. Princes, princesses, heirs from kingdoms he had only heard of in whispers. There was Silas, the tiger cub with fiery eyes, who would one day become the Tiger Lord. There was Jazmyn, the fox princess of Misty Waters. Even then, her ambition was too high, which would lead to her downfall later as a Queen.

Then there was her… Velaria. She wasn’t a student. She was a teacher. She was known as the mistress of golden magic. It was similar to Arthur’s but still different. Where his was more flame-like hers was used by a different energy.

At first, she was kind. She had gentle hands correcting the angle of his wrist when he tried to summon flame, soft words telling him not to be ashamed when sparks sputtered uselessly in his palm. She told him stories of his ancestors, of how the golden flame only revealed itself to the strongest in his bloodline. “You are lucky,” she had said with a smile. “Not every child born to your family is chosen.”

But Arthur hadn’t felt lucky. The flame burned inside him, but when he called for it, it was never enough… never the roaring inferno it should have been. His frustration grew with every failed attempt. He clenched his fists until his pink pads under his white gloves bled from his claws. He even muttered apologies to his tutors and tried his best to swallow the shame of being less than what Camelot deserved.

Velaria was always there for him. She would lean in and whisper what he longed to hear: “You are not weak. Your powers are merely waiting to be sharpened, and I will help you.”

He remembered nights in her chambers, long hours where she pressed him to focus, where her voice was the only tether he had to cling to when the golden fire threatened to sear him from the inside. She guided him, calmed him, and slowly, painfully, the sparks grew into flames. The first time he summoned a stable blaze in his palm, she had cupped his cheek and said, “See? You needed me. You always will.”

Arthur had wanted to believe it. At ten years old, desperate and far from home, he had let himself trust her, needing the support.

The memory twisted, darker because it was the one night he could never forget. She had kept him past curfew, her touch lingering too long, her praise tinged something inappropriate. He hadn’t understood all of it then, only that her closeness felt wrong, that her words pressed him into silence. He remembered her hand on his shoulder, her lips close to his ear, the faint curl of her smile as she murmured, “You will learn your place, my boy, and I will help you remember that.”

Before the memory could stretch further, Arthur’s eyes opened.

There was a cold gust that whistled through the chamber, unnatural, like a storm pressing against the walls. Arthur blinked hard, blood still stinging his vision, and his head was still throbbing from Velaria’s restraints. He could feel something, too.

The ground underneath him shook violently for a moment, then stopped. “What the hell is going on…” he muttered, straining against the chains, his pulse spiking from an instinct that something was very wrong. There was another sinister aura in the air that wasn’t just Velaria’s corruption. It was something bigger, like something was coming.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Back in Camelot, word had already spread that Arthur was gone, taken in the night. The knights gathered at the Round Table to discuss strategy and their subsequent plans.

Lancelot stood before them, still very angry but doing his best to deliver orders. While Sonic lingered a step behind him, ears low, the jingle of his bells muted, watching the storm simmering beneath the knight’s composed exterior.

“You three will remain here,” Lancelot demanded, looking at Percival, Galahad, and finally Gawain. “The castle must not fall vulnerable. If Camelot’s king is gone, then it is the duty of those left behind to guard its heart.”

Percival’s brows furrowed. “But… Sir Lancelot, we should ride with you. If King Arthur—”

“You will not.” Lancelot’s tone left no room for argument. “Our king entrusted this kingdom to us. To you. I will not risk Camelot being left bare.”

Galahad exhaled, shoulders tight. “You ask us to sit idle while you march to war?”

Lancelot’s eyes were burning hotter. “I do not ask for you all to listen. I command.”

With that, Gawain’s jaw clenched, and his hand flexed over his sword hilt. “Hmph. What gives you the right to be the martyr?”

Considering everything from the night before, and even more so from this morning, Lancelot’s patience snapped. He strode forward, and his gauntleted hand seized Gawain by the collar. Before Percival or Galahad could react, Lancelot shoved him back, hard, against the stone wall of the room.

“We may share the Round Table, but do not think that gives you license to spit venom in my presence.” Lancelot seethed.

Gawain’s lip curled from surprise. “This is quite unlike you… Even with the king missing, what’s got you so riled up, eh? Why are you—”

“You know why.” Lancelot’s grip tightened as he glared at him. “Do not think I didn’t hear you last night. Badmouthing Sonic with Galahad, mocking him like some tavern wench.”

Gawain scoffed, rolling his eyes. “So that’s it. You really are smitten. Don’t tell me you think he—”

But he never got the chance to finish because Lancelot’s fist connected with his cheek in a brutal arc, the crack making the other knights flinch from surprise. Gawain staggered, stunned, as he lifted his hand to touch the blossoming bruise. He stared at Lancelot like he’d never seen him before.

Lancelot shook out his hand once, then pointed his blade down at the ground between them. “Do not mistake my quiet nature for weakness. I may be reserved, but I have never been timid, and I will not tolerate disrespect. Not to me, and never to Sonic.” Gawain’s chest heaved, but any response he wanted to say died in his throat. “I would do worse to you,” Lancelot went on, “but I have a king to save. So, hold your tongue, and remember among us, I have always been above you. Speak ill again, and you will regret it.” He turned sharply. “Sonic.”

The jester was still wide-eyed, and his heart was hammering in his chest. He bit back the dizzy rush in his veins because chaos, he was panicked from this morning, yes, but the way Lancelot handled Gawain... well, it was really attractive.

He hurried after the knight, and when he reached his side, he couldn’t resist. He grabbed Lancelot’s arm lightly, tugging at the plates of his armor until the knight looked down at him. “Guess you really are my knight…”

Lancelot’s anger left just a tad, and he bent down to say, “Always.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

The gates of Blackthorne loomed tall against the slate sky, its walls jagged with obsidian stone. The moment Lancelot and Sonic passed through, the tension grew. Guards stiffened, eyes looking toward them with suspicion, but before anyone could raise a word, Rouge appeared with her wings folded neatly behind her. “Well, well,” she drawled. “What is it this time? You both look like you’re about to bite through your tongues.”

Lancelot had no time for jokes. “We need to see King Shadow. Now.”

Rouge’s eyes narrowed at the demand. “Interesting. I don’t see King Arthur with you. That’s… odd.” The weight of her words only stabbed them, but neither knight nor jester lingered on it, and Rouge noticed that. “Very well, come with me.”

They pressed on through the fortress, their boots striking the stone halls until they reached the war room. Shadow sat upon his throne of obsidian, arms resting on its carved edges. The glow of the chaos torch painted him in harsh light.

Before Lancelot could speak, Sonic darted ahead and grabbed Shadow’s gloved hand in both of his, tugging urgently. “King Shadow! We gotta go!”

Shadow’s dark ears flattened back, and his hand jerked free with a sharp tug, “Do not touch me.”

“Ugh!!! King Arthur’s in trouble!” Sonic blurted, “We do not have time for you to argue!”

Shadow’s ears shot upright, and every line of his body drew tight. “What?”

Lancelot stepped forward. “He has been taken. We discovered the signs in his chamber. There was an attack in the middle of the night that was carefully prepared. He’s gone.”

Shadow stood, and the room felt smaller. “Give me the details. Now.”

“Velaria came with white feline assassins who regenerated. She used a magic that overpowered his own and dragged him out of his bedroom window.”

The rage that hit King Shadow was insurmountable. He crossed the space in three strides, seized Lancelot by the throat, and drove him into the stone hard enough to rattle the war table. “WHAT?! What kind of knight are you? After the bullshit you gave me about failing Sonic. You couldn’t protect your king in your own kingdom?!”

Sonic lunged and tried to pry Shadow’s wrist away while Lancelot’s gauntlets clamped around his forearm. “I am aware of my failure,” he rasped through the grip. “But if you tear my throat out, he still isn’t saved. You care for him, so don’t waste his time.”  Lancelot shoved off the wall and broke the dark king’s hold on him. They squared a breath apart. “I could have gone without you. I chose courtesy since you and he have an odd… history.”

Lethal chaos energy came out of Shadow in waves, and it was enough to sting. It made Sonic flinch, and Lancelot shifted between them to shield his jester.

Rouge hadn’t moved before, but now she did. “Playtime’s cute. Are we riding or not?”

Shadow didn’t look at her. “No. You hold Blackthorne together while I am gone. Lock the gates. No one in or out without my mark. If the Council sniffs, you feed them fire.”

“I understand. The castle’s mine then.” She vanished to resound the orders to the other knights.

Shadow turned back to the map slab on his war table. “Where?”

Lancelot opened his mouth, but Sonic beat him to it. “It has to be Eloria.” Both sets of red eyes swung to him. Sonic swallowed, realizing he had answered that a little too fast. “I-If I’m right… my last run-in with her… There are tunnels under Eloria. Not on any map. They were these old service arteries, council routes, places they use when they don’t want to be seen. She liked them… and most likely has him down there.”

Shadow’s head tipped towards him. “How do you know the routes?”

Sonic looked at Lancelot, and the knight shook his head as if saying, “Do not tell him everything, because that is between the kings.”

Sonic nodded. “I had to learn to survive there long before coming to Blackthorne. I can get us in through the lower quarter. There’s a grated shaft that feeds the undercorridor where they… where they keep things quiet.”

Shadow’s jaw set so hard the tendons stood in his dark, furred neck. “What the hell did she do to you? What the hell is she doing to him?”

Sonic’s hands balled. “I don’t know everything, but I know she hurt him a long time ago… That’s enough.”

The table under Shadow’s hand cracked, as his chaos energy prickled the room, hotter and meaner than before. It was taking everything in him not to unleash a full chaos blast and destroy his own war room.

Lancelot stepped closer to him, needing to calm him slightly. “We take the ridge road to the west gate and cut down to the lower quarter like Sonic said.”

Shadow tore his gaze from the map and pinned them both. “Fine. We ride for Eloria now.”

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Eloria’s inner sanctum had its own war brewing.

Virella stood with both hands on the council table, eyes bright with a fury that looked too much like grief. “You’ve gone too far,” she hissed. “You betrayed Eloria. You’re using dark magic, and the Council forbids such acts.”

Velaria’s smile was a thin line. “Dark magic? You are too old-fashioned, dear sister.”

“You fed Avalon to chaos for politics,” Virella spat. “For leverage—”

Velaria closed the distance and slapped her across the face. The sound cracked through the chamber.

Virella staggered, and Velaria followed, heel driving into her throat, pinning her to the mosaic. “Quiet,” she said, weight shifting until Virella’s breath hitched and blood touched her lips. “I did what was needed to make our kingdom prosperous. You were always too gentle. Too kind. Under your rule, Eloria would lose its grip on the other kingdoms.”

“Eloria will not stomach this,” Elric snapped from his chair, robes flaring as he thrust out a seal-bearing hand.

Penelope, who was Thalor’s sister, stepped with him, eyes rimmed red from grief. “Stand down, Velaria! This is madness! By authority of the Council—”

Corrupted gold hissed along Velaria’s fingers. Threads shot out and struck them mid-syllable, slamming both of them into the wall hard enough to rattle the torchlights. Elric’s ward-sigil flared and vanquished in the same breath. While Penelope’s gasp choked off. Velaria’s bindings cinched their chests, pinning arms and throats. Their feet kicked uselessly inches above the floor.

“Authority?” Velaria didn’t look at them and pressed her heel harder into her sister's neck. “Authority is whatever lives when the candles go out.”

Virella’s fingers clawed at the ankle braced on her. “What… do you mean to do?”

Velaria tilted her head as if considering embroidery thread, not policy. “I am choosing to control the other kingdoms my way.”

Penelope strained against the bands, fury cracking through grief. “Thalor would have never wanted this. You are murdering my brother’s years to serve yourself… You monster—”

Another flick of Velaria’s hand tightened the gold across Penelope’s collarbone, and any other attempt at discussion died in a strangled rasp. Meanwhile, Elric’s eyes bulged, and his seal slid from numb fingers and clattered across the stone.

“Mm.” Velaria’s eyes slipped sideways, the way a predator’s do when it remembers its prey caught in a trap. “I need to check on him.” Corrupted gold ignited along her hands, making the air fold.

Virella coughed blood under her heel, but by the time she could catch her breath, she was too late.

Velaria was gone.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Arthur felt the room prickle before she appeared.

Velaria stepped through the tear in the air with the effortless grace of someone entering her own parlor. The king lifted his head and still managed a growl.

“Sweet,” the witch murmured, and with a flick of her fingers, a leash of twisted gold snapped from the shackles to her palm. Another twitch and the same muzzle she used the night before re-formed over his mouth, sealing defiance behind teeth. She watched the way his body bucked once, then sagged as the runes bit deeper. “Ah, perfect, you are so much weaker now. My rune circle works better than yours ever did.”

He tried to surge despite the drain, but the bindings stung him numb. Velaria leaned close, breath warm against the blue tip of his ear. “I believe it is time for us to see someone~”

Arthur didn’t even get a chance to question what she meant because the floor answered her. The runes beneath him flashed, lines split, and the stone tore away. The ground cracked under them and fell, the world jerking out from beneath Arthur’s knees. They dropped through a throat of broken rock into cold, open black.

They hit a ledge hard, and though Velaria used her magic to float down gracefully, she left Arthur to fall harshly. The impact was enough to steal his breath. Dust erupted, and when the grit settled, the cavern opened around them like a cathedral carved for something that hated gods.

Arthur blinked the dust out of his eyes, and that was when he saw veins of amethyst light pulsing through the stone. He knew this cavern well. It was near Avalon’s heart, close enough to taste the iron in the air.

The last time he was here was when Shadow had healed him so much that he passed out.

Velaria yanked the leash. “Up.”

Arthur stumbled up, vision swimming, but cleared again, and he saw something he never expected.

The beast coiled there made the monster he and Shadow had gutted last time look like nothing.

”Meet my dragon,” Velaria purred.

Dragon?! The beast unfurled, and now Arthur could see it more clearly.

The dragon had scales as black as night, drinking light away. Between the plates, purple fire ran in hair-thin seams. The eyes were cut gemstones, faceted and amethyst, throwing back the cavern’s glow in cruel shards. When it breathed, the air said yes, and the soil seemed to crawl.

Its name rose from somewhere older than his crown. It was a name he had learned years ago, during his studies.

“Rhazakar,” he would have said… Rhazakar the Dragon Demon if the muzzle hadn’t locked his jaw. The dragon was one of legend, but he was seeing it right before him. He couldn’t believe it.

Velaria felt him name it anyway. “Do you finally understand?” She dragged him closer until the purple heat of the demon slicked under his fur and the rune-burn on his wrists screamed. The beast stirred, rising more, and each part of its twisted energy seemed to capture the king's mind like a hundred knives.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the haze, and when he tried to speak, Velaria sighed and stripped the barrier away. “It was you,” Arthur rasped, staring past her at the living catastrophe she courted. “You were the reason Avalon bled monsters for months, no... for years… You—”

“—kept the borders obedient and the courts afraid,” Velaria finished, delighted. “Yes. For years, my king.” The title turned to mockery in her mouth. “But now you need a better power source.” Her palm caught his jaw, and her nails dimpled his muzzle. Up close, her eyes held the same purple sheen, but were clouded with dark, twisting swirls. “Time for you to be the beast you should have been. A golden heart lashed to a proper throne.”

She flicked her fingers and corrupted threads spilled from the shackles into the stone, snaking toward the pulsing nexus at the cavern’s core, toward Rhazakar, stitching his bloodline magic to the circle she’d etched into bedrock.

Fury spiked through his exhausted form. “No… stop,” he tried to twist away, and managed to growl, “I will burn you down to ash.”

Velaria laughed maniacally, seizing him once again. “Then light the match and let us see if your fire belongs to you… or to me.”

Chapter Text

They decided to travel on horseback. 

The three of them debated on the idea that Shadow could use chaos control, as he had enough energy to transport two other hedgehogs, but the issue was distance. Eloria and Blackthorne were not close to each other at all, and to navigate the distance with the three of them was too risky.

Lancelot rode with Sonic in front of him on a shared black horse and saddle. The knight had one arm wrapped around the jester's torso while the other held the leather reins and guided the sway.

Sonic was literally tucked into the knight perfectly. He would have felt comfortable and safe if it weren't for the impending anxiety of what was to come. 

Plus, he felt guilty, his eyes drooped, and his chin dipped. "I'm... sorry," he quietly said, so only the knight could hear. "If you hadn't stayed with me last night... if you'd been outside Arthur's door, maybe he... wouldn't have—"

"Do not finish that sentence," Lancelot said softly behind Sonic's ear. "Do not take fault meant for me, love."

That word again...

Sonic blushed and tried to tuck his face away, but Lancelot didn't let him hide fully. He nuzzled his lips into Sonic's neck from behind and placed a small kiss. "If Velaria wanted him, she would have timed it to have her way. She prepared this since Blackthorne. Nothing is your fault. You hear me?"

Sonic swallowed and nodded against the side of his face. "I hear you."

"Besides," Lancelot added, placing another kiss on Sonic's cheek, "... I would choose to comfort you again and again."

Sonic gripped the knight's arm that was around his waist, and he turned to look behind him and gave him a small kiss on his lips before turning forward again quickly.

They pushed the horses harder. Lancelot scanned the tree lines with extreme care, and despite what he told Sonic, the guilt kept pace with him anyway. He had guarded Arthur since he was a boy... He had always been there, his knight for years and years. Yet he missed this one night. Not only that, but he had missed the king’s dark past. It made him tense with anger and worry.

Up ahead, Shadow rode alone. He didn't look back often, only twice to measure distance and speed, but the air around him carried the thrum of barely leashed power. Shadow wanted to rip the miles in half, bend space by using his power, but even he knew it would take too much energy, and he couldn't be useless to Arthur when it mattered.

That didn't stop his anger, though. He literally had chaotic energy radiating from his body, like heat emanating from forged steel. The stallion beneath him felt his rage rise with every passing minute and chose obedience over fear.

He was mad at Sonic and Lancelot for not helping Arthur. But it didn't compare to how he felt about her: that damn witch Velaria. Just thinking about her name caused a bit of his chaos power to leak out too much and sting his horse, making it buck in response. The king immediately soothed it with a pass over his head.

But... there was an even worse target of his wrath, and that was himself. For believing the quiet days in between seeing Arthur meant peace. For letting the ache in his chest be a private thing instead of a call to move.

This wasn't like the golden king at all. Arthur was never one to be taken. Arthur broke sieges. Arthur set traps. Arthur smiled like a knife and made any room his before anyone knew it was gone. This was never supposed to happen.

The only time Shadow had truly seen him close to the edge was when they fought together at Avalon's heart. When the beast came, Arthur stepped in front to protect Lancelot and Sonic. Shadow had poured so much of his healing energy over him that his world went dark. 

That was a battle. That was his choice. This was theft.

Shadow tasted wrongness in the way even the wind up ahead moved. It made his every sense know something was eerily in the works. Someone who knew Arthur had threaded this needle by using his castle, correct timing, and then for them to know his weakness. That meant history. That meant hands that had been allowed to get too close once.

Sonic's fear over who Velaria was in his war room replayed and made his teeth grind. The way he said she hurt him, and the way he wouldn't say how. Shadow's resentment didn't just burn; it split into two terrible emotions, one-part hot rage, one-part cold dread if she knew where to press on Arthur, if she had touched the king then, back when he had so much to prove.

Shadow growled and pressed his heels to make his horse surge. Lancelot matched the pace. 

Shadow needed to hurry. He needed to save Arthur... his king.

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Once they were there, Sonic led them past the market near Eloria's rear entrance. He found the rusted gate that would lead them to the underground tunnel system. The jester picked at the lock with some of his magic, making it break. He sadly had to learn that years ago, but he didn't dwell on it.

They entered one by one. The underground system of Eloria was odd, so Sonic explained it as they walked. "This place... has a lot of different pathways. There were definitely secrets here."

"What do you mean?" Lancelot asked, his hand staying on the hilt of his blade.

"Well, it's not just these tunnels made of rock, there are chambers... yes, chambers for torture but also chambers for learning...?"

"Learning?"

"Yes, I recall once seeing a weird, ominous library, but I ended up getting in trouble."

"How did you even end up here?" Shadow spoke for the first time in hours.

Sonic's ears drooped, "I had a teacher... an old man who took care of me. Once he died, though, I tried to find a better place, because the village I was from was never going to get me anywhere. So, I may have thought Eloria, the kingdom of peace, could help? Boy, was I wrong... let's say I learned a little magic and more about the truth of who the monsters were in the council. I had no one to help me then."

Lancelot's anger grew, and he grabbed Sonic's hand and rubbed his gloved knuckles. "I'm so sorry."

Sonic smiled up at him, "It's okay, I haven't felt fear like that, especially since meeting you."

Lancelot gave the tiniest smile while looking down at him, "Good."

Shadow gritted his teeth because everything Sonic was saying was only making him more pissed off. He needed to kill Velaria. Hell, he would kill all the council people to rid them of their power and filth.

They got to the library chamber Sonic mentioned, and Shadow, upon entering, felt the oddest sensation. His head pulsed with pain, and he staggered slightly. 

Sonic noticed, "King Shadow, are you okay?"

Shadow pushed some chaos energy within his body to regulate himself. What the hell was that? The pain subsided, so he nodded at the jester. "I'm fine."

Sonic and Lancelot glanced at each other and chalked it up to the fact that perhaps Shadow was just worried. Rightfully so.

They continued through the tunnel and finally reached a room that looked like someone had been shackled there. 

Shadow immediately growled because he could tell that Arthur had been there. He sniffed the air and caught a faint whiff of his golden magic. Over his magic, though, he smelled another, stronger, filthy trace. It was like a layer of soot on top of his scent. Shadow noted the runes, and from what he recalled learning when he was young, runes like that were used to suppress magic. He connected the dots.

"Velaria used runes to suppress his magic..." Shadow knelt, fingers dragging through the soot-scored sigil. The residue crawled up his arm like static. "He was here. I can smell his magic."

Sonic's ear cocked. "You know what King Arthur smells like? You really are obsessed."

Shadow shot a glare at him. "You are aware I have enhanced senses. Use your brain." He stood and pointed at the hole in the ground of the chamber. "He went down, but she moved him again. His trail ends."

"Then we keep moving forward," Lancelot said. "During Sonic's vision, she kept saying something like 'her king.' Perhaps she will want a stage beneath them. We may just need to go to the grand hall."

Sonic took a breath and pointed left. "Grand hall's that way. If she's trying to prove her power—"

"—she'll want an audience," Shadow finished, already moving.

They slid through more underground corridors until they found a set of stairs that opened into the ceiling. Once they breached the door, they found themselves in the hallway, with chambers for guests and servants.

The grand hall that held so many King's Convergences was just up ahead. The moment they got to the doors, the three of them could feel their fur rise from an ominous feeling. 

Shadow couldn't wait another second. He slammed the door open.

The second they entered, there was an amethyst light bleeding from Eloria's silver throne, and that's when he saw him. Arthur's head hung, and he had chains threaded through the throne arms that bit into his wrists. Velaria stood to his right, white robes spotless. At her feet, two cats prowled, their fur too pure to be natural, eyes bright garnet coins.

"Oh, King Shadow," Velaria sang, delight slipping like oil. "You're too late."

Shadow didn't even hesitate; he immediately sent a chaos spear that cracked out of his palm and screamed across the hall. Velaria moved her hand, and a bundle of corrupted gold unfurled and batted it aside. Sparks hissed against a marble pillar and died.

"You really thought you could attack me so easily," she went on smugly. "When I've built a perfect empire and quite the weapon."

"You're a witch," Sonic snapped, stepping out from behind Lancelot. "We'll kill you and take him back."

Velaria's smile curled. "You can certainly try."

Then, just like before, Shadow teleported to her and his hand closed around her throat. 

She only laughed while being choked slightly, already leaving his grasp. "Oh my, I almost forgot how fast you were... but I'm not your opponent, dark king." Her body folded into light, and she was gone, leaving Shadow with a fist full of heatless air and a snarl on his muzzle.

"Then who—" Sonic began.

Velaria's voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere. "He is."

Arthur moved, and it was not a mortal rise. Chains fell slack and slid like water as he stood. When he lifted his head, his eyes were wrong.... His usual proud emeralds were drowned in amethysts. Armor rippled over him in plates of black and violet seams. He looked like a king forged from nocturne. The air around him bent, not to heat, but to pressure. It was the heavy hush before the sea breaks.

Shadow was stunned by what he was seeing. 

Arthur didn't blur with speed. He simply arrived with a hand around Shadow's neck. "Perish."

Rage bit through shock. Shadow drove a knee up, twisted and broke the hold with a pivot that shaved fur and shoved his forearm under Arthur's to wrench free. A lash of purple fire answered, grazing Shadow's shoulder and charring his black cloak to cinders. He rolled, came up in a slide, and hurled another spear. Arthur parried it with a palm, the energy cracking off his corrupted armor in a burst that lifted dust.

"Arthur," Shadow barked without caring about who heard because he never said his name in public, only on fields and in doorways you didn't forget. "Look at me."

Arthur didn't, and instead, a blade of light grew out of his hand. It looked like Excalibur's sin-eater twin, purple instead of golden, and he lunged to make a cut for Shadow's ribs.

Shadow dodged just in time and teleported to reappear to Arthur's left, boot already swinging. It connected, but the corrupted king took the force like stone takes rain and countered with a backhand that split Shadow's lip.

Meanwhile, Lancelot and Sonic moved as one to help, but the two white cats slid between them with their tails lashing, and those wrong, dead smiles stretched across their muzzles.

Lancelot stepped forward first, placing himself squarely in front of Sonic. He unsheathed Arondight quickly, and when he fed a thread of his own chaos into the steel, the sword answered with a faint, dark-red glow.

The nearer cat sprang, and Lancelot met it in the air with his body turning in a single clean line as his blade cut the cat from shoulder to hip. He landed, already pivoting for the follow-through, but then he saw it. The nauseating sight of the feline’s flesh knitting itself with a wormlike determination, bone crawling toward bone as if drawn by magnets buried under the skin.

"They truly do regenerate," he ground out, resetting his stance recalling the vision Sonic conjured and seeing it now, he knew this would be a challenge.

Sonic's hands moved, and he made a magical bow out of colorful light. He drew smoothly and loosed; the arrow flew with a bright confetti pop that would have been cheerful anywhere else, but right now, he used it to hit the second cat's foreleg and pinned it to the floor. 

But Lancelot was right, the torn flesh of the cat just molded itself back together. Sonic's mouth slanted. "Oh, that's even more disgusting up close..."

The other cat went for Sonic's throat, but Lancelot was there before the breath left the jester's chest. His gauntleted hand wedged under the creature's jaw to hold it still while with his other hand, he used Arondight to cleave the cat in half at its torso. It was efficient violence, making the feline's body sag and split, but then she writhed toward wholeness again.

"Damn it... normal attacks won't do. Okay, Lance, buy me some time!" Sonic called, backing off.

Lancelot didn't bother to answer. He put his body between the cats' incoming attacks and his lover behind him.

Sonic tried to think about the few things he had learned while he was here. He didn't always get a chance to study, but he did recall reading some books on spells in Eloria's libraries. "There was a matrix... wind first, then negation, and ugh, why was everything in Latin???" 

Then he remembered a spell for a bomb... Yes, a bomb! He snapped his fingers as three small ornaments formed. They were shy little bombs dressed like carnival sweets, and he spun them into his palm. "This might be enough to hurt them so they can't regenerate."

He tossed them to one of the cats Lancelot wasn't fighting, and they popped like glittery champagne. The nearest cat swelled, her muscle ballooning, and for a second Sonic thought she would explode, but she didn’t.

Sonic may have used the wrong spell, and the cat only got larger with a muscle mass that made her three times larger than she already was. "Oh, chaos... that was not supposed to happen."

The larger feline immediately clawed its way towards the jester, making Lancelot turn his head and send a dagger to its face, making it stumble and needing time to recover.

"Sonic..." Lancelot glanced at him, panting slightly with irritation, "Perhaps try a different spell that doesn't help these monsters."

"Yeahh... my bad!!!" Sonic winced, offering a guilty smile as he moved away to think of another idea.

The larger cat recovered and hit the knight with the weight of a thrown boulder. Lancelot didn't yield; he redirected and slid past the counterstrike with a precision born from a thousand drills on cold mornings. Behind him, the smaller one reformed again, and he spun on his heel. His sword flashed as he fought with an agility so fast, they couldn't touch his jester.

"Right," Sonic whispered to himself, eyes narrowing as he chased the exact lines he read in one of the books years ago. "Something about 'Wind to divide, word to deny.'" He evened his breath and raised his voice just enough for Lancelot to catch it. "Okay, I have an idea! Hold one still for me!"

Lancelot slammed the bigger cat into a shattered pillar and used his forearm across its throat to keep it in place. With his other hand, he threw Arondight at the other cat, impaling it to the wall. "Sonic, now's your chance!"

Sonic decided to ditch the bomb idea and remanifested his bow and arrow. Then his fingers traced quick glyphs along one of the magical arrows. The symbols adhered like ink to parchment, and when he released, he whispered, "ventus secet.”

The shot left the string with a bright chime similar to one of the bells on his quills. Thankfully, the arrow struck true. The large cat Lancelot held still, was pierced right in the heart, and her body fell sagging. The arrow wasn't enough, though, because Sonic could see it trying to bind its chest again, but this time, the jester was ready.

Sonic lifted his other hand, while he uttered the second phrase he'd been clawing for through panic and glitter,"regeneratio—nega." Colorful glittery mist left his palm and went to the cat. He pushed the magic inside her heart, and... he noticed the flesh wasn't repairing itself like before. It worked!

Sonic grinned and re-strung his bow. "One down," he said, giving Lancelot a quick wink. "One more to go."

Meanwhile, across the hall, Arthur came for Shadow like a dark purple gem. Shadow answered with speed and cruelty learned over a hundred campaigns. Chaos burst against the amethyst plate, but it only made the demonic power answer, hungry for it, drinking what it could. They traded ground from walls to columns to the dais edge, and each impact carved new chips into Eloria's marble structures.

"Fight me," Arthur said, blank and beautiful and not there.

"I am," Shadow snarled, and then under his breath, "And I will drag you back from whatever hell is inside of you."

Arthur pressed and pressed on the offensive. Shadow fought back too, but was more restrained, and he gave ground not because he couldn't hold it, but because the thought of cracking through his armored plates with anything that could actually harm Arthur made his gut riot.

"Arthur! Listen to me, you can fight this! Stand down," Shadow bit out, parrying a slash that wanted his ribs.

"Die," Arthur returned with a flat, empty expression. He went for another deep cut at Shadow's shoulder again. "You must die."

The cadence. The emptiness. It pierced something inside Shadow. The way Arthur looked at him, the way his eyes glowed in a way so unlike him. Even the way he was fighting was unfamiliar. He was like a puppet.

But the distraction cost him.

Arthur got worse. His body bowed like the change inside him finally demanded space, and something tore open behind his shoulders. Wings unfurled, black as ruin, and the edges were knife-edged in amethyst seam-fire. He disappeared and reappeared through Shadow's guard on a diagonal, hand spearing forward. Too fast and fast enough that even Shadow couldn't steal the moment. Claws raked across his torso, burning like molten wire.

Shadow faltered, and he coughed up blood, and he leaned over to grab his stomach. He looked up just in time for Arthur to backhand him and send him flying to a side of the great hall. The visual was so insane, Lancelot and Sonic stopped briefly, thinking they should help, but Shadow shook his head at them. "Take care of the feline, Arthur's mine." He got up, forced his chaos energy to heal him, and the fight continued.

Shadow met the next charge head-on and didn't give ground this time. He couldn't afford to. He bent space, reappeared at Arthur's flank, and struck him open-handed across the jaw, a crack that snapped the king's head sideways and flared amethyst fire along the seams of that cursed armor. 

Arthur snarled and answered with a purple lash. Shadow folded out of its path, seized him by the neck, and chaos-controlled again. They were short, brutal hops that turned momentum into punishment. They slammed through a pillar, making the stone burst. Shadow rode the collapse and drove Arthur down, spine to marble. The floor cracked underneath their impact.

"Stop," Shadow barked and drove a fist into his cheek.

Corrupted magic crawled over the bruise like living mercury and sealed in a breath. Arthur's lip split, healed, split again when Shadow hit him a second time. Arthur bucked with wing and knee, forcing Shadow to roll off of him.

Arthur rose with him quickly, and he conjured another magical blade blooming in his palm. Shadow parried with a spear of chaos and shoved him back, boots carving twin grooves across the cracked floor. He vanished, reappeared above, then hammered Arthur down by the shoulders, and felt the marble stone give a second time. The hit made dust leap, and the great hall coughed grit.

Arthur's head snapped up, and he snarled at him. Then he launched into a straight line of murder. Shadow met him mid-air with elbows, knees, and forearms. Every moment was precise, honed by years of training and spite. He hooked behind Arthur's ankle, flipped him, and used gravity like a weapon, spiking him into the shattered dais. The impact boomed. 

Shadow followed with a knee to the sternum and a cross to the mouth. "Stay down!"

"Perish," Arthur spat, and his voice still sounded warped around someone else's will. He tore free, wings beating so fast they looked blurred, which threw Shadow back a step. The edges were so sharp that they sliced Shadow's shoulder, making him bleed. 

Shadow growled, then blinked behind Arthur. He grabbed the base of a wing where the dark feathers met bone, and he wrenched. The joint tore under his hands, and it made Arthur screech out in pain.

It wasn't a sound he had ever made before, even from past battles or skirmishes. Hearing Arthur's shriek from the pain was heartwrenching. It ripped straight through Shadow's ribs and left him colder for hearing it. 

Arthur's corrupted light tried to knit the wings back to his back, but the angle was wrong now, and his ability for flight was ruined. Shadow almost let go of the wing, and Arthur felt that. So, he whirled on instinct and raked a claw across Shadow's cheek. 

The sting snapped sense back into him. 

Shadow shoved him, heel to chest, and drove him sliding across stone, then chased him and planted a boot beside his ribs to keep him there. He lifted a hand crackling with chaos, and it was enough to end him, but he hesitated... His teeth bared at the sight of the injured wing trembling, blood bright against midnight.

"I don't...." he ground out, honest in a way war never asked of him. "I... I don't want to fight you when you're like this."

Arthur's reply was a surge, as he tried to get up through pain no magic should have asked him to bear. Shadow slammed him down once more, but he still couldn't make himself aim to kill.

Shadow had fought Arthur plenty of times. 

Bloody, mercilessly, since the moment they met at the Kings Convergence in Eloria years ago, they have been immediate rivals. Their kingdoms did not get along, and back then, before Arthur kissed him that fateful night in his castle. Shadow had only ever known Arthur to be a golden thorn in his side.

Whether it was the council that needed aid in battle, Avalon's monsters bursting out, or political bullshit during the council meeting. They exchanged blows so many times they couldn't even keep track. 

But right now, this was a fight unlike anything Shadow and Arthur had ever gone through. Arthur had become this... thing. This wasn't the same fight, and after hearing him cry out, Shadow wasn't angry. He wasn't annoyed. He wasn't even numb. He was sad... so sad to see Arthur like this.

It broke his heart. Shadow didn't want to fight him. Not like this. Not when it wasn't fair.

Arthur didn't let him think further. He grabbed Shadow, spun him, and threw him into another pillar, making the ceiling above them shake. 

Shadow looked at him and knew... fighting wasn't going to solve this. That was what Velaria wanted, and he wasn't going to continue. She may have Arthur under her control right now, but Shadow knew him differently: mind, body, and soul.

Arthur always hated to talk about his feelings, and Shadow was the same, but right now... he needed to try.

Arthur flew fast and struck his jaw, but Shadow didn't strike back and instead pinned him down on the floor. Arthur's wings flapped behind him, trying to push him up, but Shadow pushed him right back down. "Arthur, enough!"

"Why?! Fight me," Arthur snarled, looking up at him. He twisted, reversed the pin, and drove Shadow down hard, while his hands pushed him down at his shoulders. "Fight me or die."

"No." Space bent and Shadow teleported out from under him and slid to a crouch ten paces away. They circled for a while with Arthur breathing hard, wings half-spread and shivering. Shadow didn't attack him again and chose words instead. "You don't want me dead."

"I do," Arthur said, and launched.

Shadow caught him mid-lunge, making them tumble, and roll. Stone gashed through their armored gauntlets, and they both grit their teeth from the pain. Shadow pinned both wrists and wrenched Arthur to the flagstones again, and his knees braced to cage his hips. "Damn it, Arthur! Look at me!"

Arthur's breath came in ragged bursts, hot against Shadow's cheek. He bucked viciously, testing every angle all at once while his wings flapped harshly underneath him again, trying to gain ground.

"This isn't you," Shadow ground out, forearms shaking as he fought to keep his leverage. "Listen to me."

Arthur's head snapped, and he bit down hard on the slope of Shadow's neck. He pierced the dark fur and flesh, tasting iron on his fangs. He growled out, "It is me."

Shadow hissed, then forced his weight higher, dragging Arthur's wrists above his head, locking them with one hand. "Then prove it. Prove you can choose because the Arthur I know wouldn't let some damn bitch control him." His other palm pressed flat to Arthur's sternum, chaos heat pooling there. It wasn't the chaos energy he used to hurt... he was trying to anchor him. "Come back."

Arthur roared as his wings detonated open, stopping Shadow's healing, and the shockwave blew dust in concentric rings. He threw Shadow off of him. Then he launched into him and they collided with a broken column. This time, Arthur was on him in a heartbeat, talons raking grooves on either side of Shadow's head as they skidded. 

"Damn it, stop!" Shadow caught a wrist that tried to claw at his face. "Fucking hell! I'm not your enemy."

Arthur thrashed. "Liar, we always fight." 

Shadow rode it out, on hand sliding to Arthur's jaw, forcing the wild gaze to him. "Look. At. Me. We aren't just rivals... that isn't us anymore."

For a splintered second, the barest ghost of the king he was tried to surface, but then the corruption surged again. Arthur shoved Shadow upright in a violent burst and drove him backward across the hall. 

They crashed into the dead throne Arthur had slumped on minutes ago, making Shadow's spine hit the silver throne hard enough to crack it.

Arthur's claws curved for the kill, arcing at Shadow's throat. "Silence."

Shadow exhaled slowly, and still, he didn't fight. "If you wanted me quiet, you would have never kissed me in Blackthorne... But you didn't, didn't you? We haven't been the same since then, and I—" He swallowed, grimaced at the sting in his neck. "When you left this time, it angered me, but I detested myself more for letting you."

Arthur's claws pushed past dark fur and hit flesh, making blood travel down the dark king's neck. The pain sent a small tremor through him. "You feel that?" Shadow whispered, holding Arthur's wrist to prevent him from going too deep. "That's not fear. That's air in my lungs because you're here."

One of the corrupted king's wings twitched, as if some invisible chain yanked it taut.

"Arthur," Shadow pressed, softer. "Your knights. Your kingdom. The way Camelot looks at dawn. You want to go home, don't you? I'm not your enemy... say my name, tell me you're still in there."

Arthur's jaw clenched hard, but the claws on Shadow's throat didn't bite deeper. 

Eventually, after a minute of Arthur just panting, a strained sound came out of him like it was being dragged over gravel. "Shad—" His gaze skittered off, but Shadow grabbed his chin to make him look back at him. "I can't—"

"Yes, you can." Shadow tilted his chin. "If you truly wanted me dead, you'd have already taken my throat, but you haven't yet."

Arthur's eyes widened on reflex, but again the witch's corruption surged with purple flecks boiling to the surface, like a mist surrounding him, pushing him to finish it, to make the shape of the monster match the story woven in his skull. He snarled and slammed Shadow's head into the throne, splintering it further. "Quiet."

"No, you need to listen to me," Shadow whispered. "Hit me again if you have to. Break the stone around me. Rip the hall down. But you will look at me while you do it."

But that was the thing... Arthur didn't and instead gave out a snarled, "I... hate you."

"No, you don't, and even if you did, it wouldn't matter to me. I'll keep fighting for you."

"Why..." Arthur rasped, his claws digging into him again.

"Because I..." Shadow groaned from the pain, "I need you, and I won't let you stay like this."

The words hit like thrown knives and like balm. Arthur's breath hitched, and a flicker of green appeared in his eyes. But the monster in him panicked at losing ground, so it made him bang Shadow's head against the throne again, and more brutally than last time, splintering it further. It was barely holding them up by now.

Shadow still didn't strike. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving you." He decided to move his hands away from Arthur's wrists and, instead, cupped his face. "Arthur... come back, come back to me."

Arthur faltered barely, and he was already growling out another "no," but the dark king had had enough.

Shadow grabbed his muzzle more harshly now and pulled him in until their foreheads met. "Please," he whispered, a word that rarely lived in his mouth. A word only Arthur could get out of him and one he always loved to hear. "Please come back, my king. I don't want to hurt you."

Another surge of emotion disrupted the corrupted king more than before. Emerald broke through his amethyst eyes like a breath under ice. But still Arthur's body acted without him, and his fingers closed around Shadow's throat, even his wings flared as if preparing for another strike. "I-I can't stop," Arthur forced out, and there it was. 

"Yes, you can." Shadow managed to say each word, sounding strained. He refused to look at the claws around his throat. He stared at the eyes that were trying to come back. He hauled Arthur's face even closer to him.

Arthur couldn't stop the tears that slipped from his eyes, flashing violently between violet and emerald back and forth, then settling again on amethyst. Arthur's body began to tremble, not from effort, but from the horror dawning in him. "S-Stop me," he said, breaking on the words. "K-kill me. I don't want to hurt you...."

"No." Shadow pressed his brow more into Arthur's, let the world narrow and fall away. Chaos rose, hot and bright and disobedient to anything but will. He shoved it outward and in—first to his own torn gut, knitting flesh in a painful rush, then into the threads Velaria had hooked through the king's magic, pouring his chaos energy into knots until the corruption smoked. "I will not kill you. I could never kill you."

Though Arthur's hands didn't press deeper, they grew without permission with a sound like glass scraping. They curved deeper inside of Shadow's throat with the certainty of an executioner's stroke that was merciless and inevitable. Shadow choked, with blood blooming on his tongue. 

"I hate you..." Arthur ground out, the words scraped thin by a voice that wasn't wholly his.

"No, you d-don't." Shadow swallowed. "Even if you did hate me... it wouldn't matter anymore because I..."

The words he held back for so long finally came forth, for there was no pride here, there was barely even a fight. Shadow had felt it for so long, he didn't care about what or who they were supposed to be to each other, not anymore.

"I love you, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes snapped to meet his, and everything inside him stopped. His breath was locked. His pulse missed, and his heart felt an ache so strong it bypassed the witch's control over her. The purple crawling in his veins went out as if a fist had closed over every torch in the room. His black wings froze mid-flare, and the killing hands at Shadow's throat halted a hair from the artery. 

The word had found a place that Velaria's corruption couldn't reach and shattered it.

Love.

The emerald in his eyes surged up through the dark and became ringed in gold, and right now, Arthur looked like himself again, stunned and bare. The leash on him slackened with an audible crackle. His mouth parted, but no sound came as if even the demonic aura had forgotten how to move.

Shadow didn't wait for the moment to die. He lifted into the danger and kissed him, turning that stunned stillness into an opening. The kiss was more of a vow than skill, and this was when he poured so much of his chaos healing into Arthur that he prayed it was enough to cleanse him of the corruption. Arthur felt his breath leave him, and he closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss. 

Shadow's energy felt so light and ethereal... it was cleansing every part of him. The wings behind him fell, and the grip on Shadows' throat finally faltered.

The moment Arthur closed his eyes and fell into it, they both felt it.

A stolen memory came to both of them.

❥༺ ─── ♕♛ ─── ༻❥

Years Ago

Shadow didn't remember much from his childhood, but what he did remember was bitter.

Eloria's Academy was a place where royalty came to learn and gain, but not for Prince Shadow. Everywhere he went, eyes followed like prying knives because nobody liked him.

Teachers clipped their words when he entered a room. Princes and princesses stared too long, then looked away with the kind of curl that wasn't a smile. He heard the rumors anyway, even when mouths pretended to whisper: born from a falling star, wrong-blood, not real. The "Blackthorne prince" with no mother, no father. He was just a creature King Noctis had lifted out of nothing and set beside a crown.

King Noctis had been neither warm nor cruel—stone and oath, the kind of man who taught him how to hold a blade and a promise but without warmth. Shadow was grateful, yes, but gratitude didn't soften how the world stared.

So, he kept to himself. He woke before the bells and ran the inner walls. He ate fast. He spoke rarely. When training began, he paired with the posts rather than the boys who smirked when wood struck wood.

A week passed like that.

Then a boy with summer in his eyes and trouble in his grin wandered into his corner of the courtyard and poked him in the midsection with a wooden stick as if prodding a sleeping wolf. "Prince Shadow, right? I don't think I've ever heard you speak!"

Shadow glared and didn't bother answering. This was how it started with the others: first the poke, then the names, then the laughter that stayed on your fur after you rinsed it.

The boy didn't go away. He just smiled instead, intrigued by the refusal. "Huh. All right." He turned, plucked two practice blades from the rack, and tossed one. "Well, Prince Shadow... if you want to be like that, perhaps we should duel."

Shadow shook his head once. 

"Guess you're scared of losing," the boy sing-songed, and blew a raspberry at him.

The curse slid out before he could stop it, and Shadow snatched the sword.

They circled each other in the practice yard while the heat of the summer day warmed them both. Arthur moved first and he was quick and showy, grinning, always edging one step too close as if daring Shadow to flinch. Shadow didn't. He fought like a held breath, every shift measured, every swing exact.

The wooden blades met with a clean crack. Then another. The rhythm was built with a tap, turn, then counter. Arthur was constantly testing angles, while Shadow was shutting doors. Around them, the other students' lessons stalled, and heads turned, because a good duel always stole a class. 

Arthur feinted high and spun, but Shadow read it, slid a half step inside, and caught the strike on his guard. Arthur laughed brightly, enjoying the challenge no other prince or princess had given. Shadow's response was simple and clean. He chose to parry an incoming eager blow that snapped Arthur's balance and a straight drive that put the tip of his practice sword to the hollow of Arthur's throat.

One of the other students muttered, "There he is... mean little Blackthorne." While another child chimed, "Just look at him, what a show off."

Shadow's ears pinned back, but he didn't look away from his opponent. He braced for the next part. This was where the mask always dropped, and the boy would look up and call him a monster, or shove him off, or spit.

But none of that happened.

Instead, the boy blinked up at him, quills squished on top of the packed sand, and his eyes lit up greener than before, like he'd found out a secret. He grinned wider. "Wow, Shads, that was amazing!"

Shadow flinched from not just the reaction he never expected but the... nickname. "Shads?"

"Oh! So, you can talk!" The boy popped up fast and dusted off his tunic. "I like that sound."

"No matter." Shadow turned to leave before the heat on his muzzle became something anyone else could see.

"Hey! If you ever wanna duel again, find me! My name is Prince Arthur," the boy called over his shoulder. "From Camelot!"

Shadow didn't say yes, but he also didn't say no. He walked away with the sword still humming in his hand and the nickname lodged under his ribs like a warm splinter.

It went like that for a while.

❥༺ ─── ♕♛ ─── ༻❥

Magister Corin's class smelled of chalk and old magic. A circle of students stood at the conjuration dais while Corin tapped his cane against the stone. "Again," he said, the word with irritation. "This time, use proper form, Blackthorne."

Shadow lifted his palm, drew the measure, and bled a thread of red-black chaos light into the glyph. It held clean and contained until Corin snapped, "Too volatile, your chaos energy is too much, always has been," and swept his cane through it, scattering embers like he was swatting flies.

"Told you," someone muttered. "He can't control it, damn monster from the sky."

But that was the thing, Shadow was controlling it just fine. Just like the empire he came from, Blackthorne. Fortress from the northern lands, which were typically cold and dark. He, too, was calm and quiet like snow. He couldn't help that his chaos energy wasn't like their magic, fluid and with pretty colors. Shadow's powers were dark and red, but he had better control over them than any prince or princess there. His chaos energy was different, and not just because it wasn't the same as magic. There were others who had chaos energy too, so Shadow knew it had more to do with his 'unknown origin.' 

Eloria didn't like that. He could have retorted, but what was the point? When no one ever listened.

That was when Arthur stepped out of line. "With respect, Magister, he did control it quite well. There wasn't even a flicker of disruption, and you broke the energy signature mid-spiral."

Corin's brows pitched. "Return to your mark, Camelot."

Arthur didn't. "If he's being tested, test him correctly! You seem quite harsh on him every time we have class. If you really want to test someone, then let me stand in his place, and you can try it on me." He held out his hand, gold not yet fire but ready. "I could always use the practice."

Corin's mouth tightened, and he tapped his cane toward the dais in a grudging little gesture: proceed.

Shadow reset the chaos energy ball. Arthur watched the lines with a fighter's patience, and when Corin twitched to interrupt again, Arthur spoke first. "See?" He pointed to the ring where Shadow's light nested perfectly inside the constraints. "He is doing it perfectly, and it's tighter than mine."

Corin's cane did not swing. The lesson moved on. The titter died out. Shadow didn't thank Arthur, and well, he couldn't. Not right now... not with all the eyes around him. He felt that if he were to even interact with him, Arthur would only end up being bullied like he was.

However, that didn't stop him completely because on the way out, a gloved knuckle brushed Arthur's wrist. It was meant to be a small thank you, nothing really. But for Arthur, who had struggled to get much of a response from Prince Shadow... the past few weeks, it was significant progress.

❥༺ ─── ♕♛ ─── ༻❥

Eloria's library was quite extravagant. There were tall ladders, lamplights, and the faint smell of ink. Shadow took the back table nearest the astronomy stacks, a fort of books built up around him: treatises on siege forms, star-charts annotated in a neat, hard hand, a book on channeling through bone rather than blood. He never knew where he came from, but just a mention of a meteor... so when he had free time, he attempted to learn more about astrology.

Arthur found him quickly and slid into the chair opposite, upside-down at first, chin on the rail, legs hooked over the back... because of course he did. "Studying or hiding?" he asked, flipping right-side with a grin. "Both?"

Shadow didn't look up. "If you speak, do it quietly."

"Ah! A request. Progress." Arthur leaned in, eyes skimming a diagram of meridians. "Why are you learning about space? Seems... boring."

"I do not have to answer your incessant questions."

Arthur gave a smirk and decided to try a different tactic. "Fine... how about... you help me with something? I noticed in class you seem to have perfect capabilities over your chaos energy."

"I do not wield magic like you. How would I be of use?" Shadow asked, giving in for whatever reason.

"Magic and chaos energy are somewhat alike! I... I can't get the golden flame to behave, no matter what I try. It either sputters out of control or it sulks and does nothing at all."

"You're pushing from the wrong place," Shadow said before he could stop himself. He tapped a line on his chest, then sternum to throat. "It comes from your core, then you let it climb up slowly. Try anchoring low and drawing up. Make sure you breathe first, then think after."

Arthur considered his words. "You know, for someone born from the sky—"

Shadow's eyes met him, and though they were ruby red, they were cold as ice. If it were anyone else, they would have flinched in fear, but Arthur didn't even miss a beat.

"—I think your biology is brilliant," Arthur finished easily. "Everyone else acts like it's a crime. I think it's... I don't know... interesting. Lucky, even."

Something unwound a single knot under Shadow's ribs. He set his quill down. "It isn't luck."

"No," Arthur said, softer. "It's work. Despite everything you have gone through, you are still strong, calm... and that is why I asked you."

Shadow nudged the book across the table with two fingers. "Page thirty-two. Then breathe like I said."

Arthur's grin was less smug and more real. "Thanks, Shads."

There it was again—the nickname that shouldn't have fit and somehow did. Shadow pretended the rustle of pages was loud enough to hide the way his pulse skipped.

Arthur found the page, read it, then, after five minutes, he closed the book and stood. "I'm not a fan of reading. Why don't you show me?" He was already rolling his shoulders back.

Shadow rose a bit slower. "Fine." He stepped close enough that the lamplight placed them in one pool. "Anchor low," he murmured, tapping the line he'd marked before—lower ribs to sternum to throat. "Breathe first, then think after. You yank at your power like a door; you're supposed to invite it like a guest."

Arthur huffed. "But I'm a future king, I don't have to invite things, they should just come."

"Well, that pride won't get you anywhere... so do what I say."

Arthur inhaled, and the first pull made the flame spit in his palm, but it was hot, bright, and wrong. Shadow's hand came up without touching, steadying in the air over Arthur's sternum. "Too fast, you're too eager to get results, so try again."

The prince gave another breath. The gold answered more softly, puddling rather than lashing. Arthur grimaced. "It’s sulking...."

"Because you are. Here." Shadow shifted behind him. One gloved palm hovered at Arthur's lower back, the other near his shoulder, not quite touching. "Breathe down," Shadow said quietly enough that Arthur felt it in his spine. "Let your light climb, not leap. Count four breaths in. Hold. Then two out."

Arthur followed, and something threaded true. The heat rose and it felt clean, even. Gold gathered in his palm like a sunrise learning itself, no sputter or wilt this time. Shadow's breath matched his without meaning to.

"Good," Shadow praised. Arthur turned his head slightly, and they almost brushed. "Again," he said, softer now, and Arthur listened. He tried to anchor the energy draw, releasing it until the light in his hand held like a candle. It was a calm fire, but then it wavered. Shadow noticed and didn't want him to falter and get frustrated. He just needed a little extra guidance.

"Keep your shoulder loose," Shadow added. "...May I?"

Arthur nodded and Shadow's hands moved. One hand brushed softly at the notch of Arthur's throat with two fingers while the other went in between his shoulder blades to guide. Arthur's body listened. The flame steadied further and became a perfect coin of gold hovering above his palm. It was enough to cast a rim of light on Shadow's white, gloved hands.

"See?" Shadow murmured. "You were wrestling it before. It only needed room to grow."

Arthur let the glow brighten, then dim at will, wonder loosening his mouth into something unguarded. "You make it sound so... easy."

"It is not supposed to be easy," Shadow said. "You were just too stubborn and prideful. You need to calm your breathing down enough to learn it."

Arthur let the flame settle back into his palm. He turned fully, and the space between them vanished to the width of a breath. "Thank you," he said, earnest for once. "I've never... felt my flame listen."

Shadow's eyes met Arthur's, then away, feeling shy suddenly. "You made it listen."

"Only because you showed me how." Arthur leaned a fraction, and it was enough that his shoulder brushed Shadow's chest. The contact felt like a fragile touch. It was a shared warmth they were too young to understand fully. Shadow surprisingly did not step back. His mind said to run, but his heart didn't.

"Mmmm, let go of my pride, huh? Thanks, Shads." Arthur's lashes lowered like he felt completely safe, and then, without even realizing it, he leaned even closer into him that the side of his head rested, briefly, against Shadow's shoulder.

But it didn't last long because it was enough to send heat up Arthur's neck and a quiet shock through Shadow's chest.

They sprang apart at the same time. Arthur cleared his throat, and Shadow adjusted a book that didn't need adjusting.

"Again tomorrow?" Arthur asked with a slight pink on his muzzle.

Shadow nodded with reddened ears. "Tomorrow."

❥༺ ─── ♕♛ ─── ༻❥

The academy's outer lawn sloped down a hill, with silver-leaf trees where the wind always smelled of rain. The trees were magical too and meant for decoration purposes, but for Shadow, it was his favorite place to get away from everyone.

The prince sat with his back against a tree, and his lunch was untouched beside him: dark bread, a wedge of hard cheese, and an apple.

Arthur arrived with two meat pies and the sort of confidence that ignored "occupied." He dropped one into Shadow's lap and bit the other, juice running down his thumb. "Trade you," he said around a mouthful. "Yours looks sad."

Shadow arched a brow but swapped the bread for the pie. They ate without filling the air with anything unnecessary. It was easy. Easier than most things.

After a month and a half of spending time together, they had grown into a routine. Mostly Shadow helping Arthur understand his power and how to wield it properly. In turn, though Arthur didn't even realize what he was doing, he was slowly warming up Shadow's ice-cold walls he had spent years crafting.

After a while, Arthur set his half-finished pie on the grass and stared up through the silver leaves. "What if all this training I’m undergoing still isn't enough?" he asked suddenly. "As a king, I mean... years into the future. Camelot expects a sun and some days I feel like the candle I am able to conjure could be gone so quickly with the wind."

"You will be," Shadow said after a pause. "Not because you were born to it. Because you choose it even though it's hard."

Arthur huffed a laugh that wasn't really a laugh. "I'll hold you to that when I trip on my own cape."

Shadow glanced down at his gloved hands. "They'll hate me," he said, not as a complaint but just a fact offered to the day. "When Noctis is gone. When I am king, everyone who already hates me will continue to do so...”

Arthur's ears twitched. It was rare for Shadow to talk about his feelings without prompting, but he supposed they had gotten close. "Not everyone will. I'm sure you will find some knights or friends you can trust."

Shadow looked down somberly. "I do not believe companionship is for me. Everyone only ever wishes to run away from me or fight me."

"Then be strong enough to bring anyone down," Arthur said, rolling to an elbow to look up at him. "Even me if you ever have to."

Shadow looked down at him, perplexed. "You say that as if you understand. Everyone loves you. You come from Camelot, the golden empire. Despite your worries about your powers, no one could ever loathe you."

Arthur mused. "Even if others did hate me, I don't think I would care... I only need a few whom I trust, and I have that back at home. I have knights who care, and I call friends."

"I do not believe I will ever achieve such a thing."

"Well, that's a lie, because you already have with me." Arthur puts his hand over Shadow's, "I think you are amazing, and I'm glad we met this summer. You've helped me grow so much... I consider us friends, Shads."

Shadow turned, startled despite himself. The corner of his mouth moved before he could fix it, and it was a small, unpracticed smile, like a secret he hadn't meant to show.

Arthur lit up as if he'd found treasure. This was the first time he had ever seen him smile. Shadow had spoken with him more, shared a bit about himself, but he had never smiled. Not once, no matter how much Arthur tried. "Wow... You have a beautiful smile..."

Shadow looked away so quickly that his quills brushed the bark. Heat climbed his ears, and Arthur, despite the pink blooming on his lighter muzzle, laughed, because he was pleased he could see it.

The sun slipped lower, turning the grass to copper. For a long minute, neither spoke, because the quiet felt good and earned.

"We should head back," Arthur said at last with reluctance. "Just one more week, and then we return to our kingdoms."

Shadow nodded. "Yes. We will."

"You won't forget me, right?" Arthur's eyes searched him. "When we have our crowns, I mean..."

Shadow met his eyes and saw a sliver of vulnerability that Arthur rarely let anyone see. "How could I? You said we are friends."

"Good, then..." Arthur pushed to his feet all at once, scattering a few leaves. "Oh!"

"What?" Shadow sat up, confused by the sudden spark.

"It's a surprise! Later, Shads!" Arthur called, already backing away with that same grin. He turned and jogged off.

Shadow watched the empty path a moment longer than was sensible. Then he gathered his books and walked back through the halls that didn't feel as cold.

❥༺ ─── ♕♛ ─── ༻❥

Later that night, at his door, Shadow paused because he saw something thin had been slid beneath the door gap. He crouched, fingers brushing the cream-colored parchment. It had been folded twice, the crease pressed neatly with care. It had no seal. Just his name, written in a hand trying hard to be regal but failing on the loops.

He unfolded it.

To Prince Shadow,

When the years make us kings and strangers,
If halls swallow our names,
Remember this: I will meet your quiet with fire,
And remember the boy of winter
Who tempered me and kept me entire.

Your friend,
Arthur 
- excuse my handwriting, I'm still learning

The room held its breath.

Something in Shadow's chest gave way without breaking. He didn't sob. He didn't make a sound at all. Instead, a single tear slid warm through fur and salted the corner of his mouth. 

It was from surprise rather than grief. He pressed the note flat to his chest the way you press a wound... or a vow. Eyes closed, he stood there a long time, breathing around a feeling too new to name and too simple to distrust.

It was the first gift he had ever been given.

He was about to set the parchment on the desk, then changed his mind and slid it into the lining of his glove. He wanted to keep it close. He flexed his hands once and found, to his quiet shock, that the future no longer looked like an empty road he would walk alone.

Shadow turned out the lamp and lay awake with the note against his wrist, listening to the way night sounded different when someone had chosen you.

❥༺ ─── ♕♛ ─── ༻❥

But then Shadow's worries came to light.

Arthur didn't come to class the next day. Or the next. Shadow checked the courtyard benches, the sparring yard, and the alcove behind the library stairs where Arthur liked to gloat over small victories. Nothing. He told himself it was scheduling —perhaps the prince had gone to see private tutors, court letters, or be part of a noble's errands —but a dull ache still took root under his ribs and pretended it wasn't there until night.

On the fourth night, sleep would not come. The dorm's wooden floor creaked once, then again, and somewhere below the academy a hum began. It was wrong in pitch, like a string tuned too tight, and then a moment later came a sound that could only be a bitten-off sob.

He was on his feet before the thought formed. He didn't even bother lighting a lamp. If the sound was coming from underneath him, it meant it was coming from the academy's basement. Students were never allowed here, as only mentors kept the keys. 

He walked fast, and he knew he was right in his assumption because the closer he got to the stairs, the louder the hum grew, braided with murmured words that made his dark fur puff up.

He made it down to the basement door, and another sob formed, and Shadow's eyes grew, because he knew for a fact that it was Arthur. He could even smell his magic from underneath the door gap. He tried the handle, but of course, it was locked, so he used a concentrated amount of chaos energy and broke it.

The moment he opened the door, the chamber felt so wrong. There were runes crawling over the floor like thorn-vines. They looked like gold lines, veined with a sick, purple rot. 

His heart dropped when he saw Arthur kneeling at the center, small on his knees, palms strapped to a low stand, cheek streaked with ash and tears. He looked younger than he was. He looked like he had tried to hold a sun, and it had bitten him.

"Arthur!" Shadow called out.

"It... hurts... please stop—" he gasped, but it was not to Shadow, but to the woman leaning over him.

Velaria's hands moved with patience, like she was finishing a doll. Incantations slid from her mouth and each phrase pressed deeper, making Arthur's green eyes flash violet and back again—there and gone.

Shadow didn't let another second pass. He didn't know much about Velaria, just that she was Arthur's mentor, but the prince never mentioned her, and anytime Shadow asked, he would change the subject. He thought it was odd then, and now he saw why, and the rage that filled every inch of him was unbearable. 

He didn't care if she was some powerful councilwoman because right now... instinct did not ask permission. Shadow stepped into the circle and threw a bolt of chaos so tight it sang. It hit Velaria's shoulder and spun her into the wall; red-black power sputtered across the stone. He was already moving, putting himself in between her and Arthur, one arm bracing the boy's ribs while the other tore the leather straps with a twist and a snarl.

"Arthur, are you—?"

Arthur's eyes stuttered from purple to green and found him. His fingers caught Shadow's muzzle like he needed the anchor. "Shads?" He was shaking, tear-bright, and still somehow himself. "You found me..."

Shadow hauled him up and ran, but they did not make the stairs.

Light hissed behind them, and there were two cords of corrupted gold that split the air and looped around their throats. The yank slammed them backward, making their heels scrape the wooden floorboards, while their breath snatched like ribbon. Runes flared under their ankles and slid upward. Gold, magical hands hardened into cuffs around their wrists, binding them airborne, and it bit past their fur into flesh. Shadow did his best to claw at the bindings, but even his power hit a wall and came back empty.

"Oh... no, you don't," Velaria cooed with evil intent.

"Velaria," Shadow growled, "what were you doing to him, you witch…" 

Shadow tried to reach for Arthur, but she used her magic to separate them further. Blood slicked her sleeve where his chaos bolt had grazed her, but still she smiled. She reeled them in close and grabbed their temples. "You two together," she crooned, sweet gone sour, "is something I won't allow. I'll help you forget this moment ever happened, Prince Shadow."

Arthur thrashed, desperation cracking through pain. "Don't... touch him... leave him alone Vel—"

"Oh, don't worry, my golden prince, I'll make you forget too." Velaria soothed, patting his head gently, making him flinch.

Shadow spat at her face, but she didn't even blink, so he turned until Arthur was the only thing in his sight. "We won't forget each other," he said, certain, "even if she erases our memories, we will come back to each other."

Arthur looked at him weakly, giving a slight nod.

Velaria had had enough of that, so she pressed down. Flame and ice flooded both directions. It felt like threads pulled clean from a tapestry. With her hands still on their foreheads, she began her magical interference: names snipped, places unhooked. The first meeting that started their bond dulled; the library ladder slid away; a meat pie cooled on grass neither of them sat on. 

The look of Arthur's face, so precise and cheerful, blurred at the edges of Shadow's mind while Shadow's smile, which he only gave once, grew hazy in Arthur's. 

"Stop," Arthur begged, while Shadow continued to growl and strain, but the runes tightened, the cords sang, and Velaria did not relent.

The moment Velaria finished her spell, someone's footsteps broke the dark. The witch only picked her head up when she heard a gasp. Immediately, her magical whip-cords shivered and vanished while the runes underneath the boys went away. 

Virella stood in the archway, council cloak thrown over a nightdress, quills messy, and lavender eyes huge. "Velaria," she said, and the image of the princes sent a panic of rage inside of her. "What have you done?!"

Velaria looked from the boys, whom she let fall to the floor, both unconscious, then back to her sister as if weighing the cost. "Nothing important."

Virella didn't believe her for a second. She ran down the hall and grabbed both of the princes in her arms. She could feel their pulse was weakened. "You... hurt them! Why would you do such a thing?!

"They simply weren't listening." Velaria offered without any remorse. "They know better than to oppose a mentor. I only hurt them a tad as punishment."

"Leave," Virella demanded in rage. "Now! What you did is unforgivable... no matter what they did... You are never to hurt a student! You are no mentor."

Virella gave a smirk and a faint tilt of the head, a parody of courtesy. "Very well, sister." Corrupted gold winked along Velaria's fingers, and within the second, the space around her folded and she was gone.

"Oh dear..." Virella knelt between the boys. She helped Arthur first. She placed her hand carefully over his burned wrist, and her other palm pressed to his cheek until his breathing evened. She gave him a whisper of clean magic to help with whatever pain her sister caused. The color came back to his face, and she gave a sigh of relief.

Then, with Shadow, she hesitated a fraction. She knew of his origin, but right now her own fears didn't matter, so she did the same for him. She checked his pupils, counted his heartbeats, and with another whisper of magic, she was able to calm the tremor that ran through him. She held them both to her chest. 

Then, when she put their foreheads on either side of her muzzle, she could feel the turmoil inside their thoughts. She tried to use her magic to undo whatever had happened, but their minds had been fractured. 

"I'm so sorry you two. I don't believe I can undo whatever spell she put on you," she whispered with remorse, though neither of them could hear it.

❥༺ ─── ♕♛ ─── ༻❥

By the end of the academy's summer program, trunks thumped down the dorm stairs, banners were folded, and couriers ferried sanitized notices to distant courts. "Malpractice" was the word in the letters. "Reorganization." "New safety protocols." 

The academy was no longer continued but the towers of Eloria gleamed as if nothing had happened at all.

Shadow rode out with the Blackthorne delegation on the last day's morning, the academy shrinking behind him. He felt a small, precise hunger he couldn't name, like a missing tooth his tongue kept finding. When Noctis asked, "Did you learn anything useful?" he said, "Yes," because it seemed true.

Across another road in another carriage, Arthur had his own luggage, watched the same towers recede, and pressed a palm to a place on his chest that ached without reason.

It wouldn't be until the King's Convergence, years later, when the two kings would meet again 'for the first time.'

⋆༺ ─── ♕✮✮♛ ─── ༻⋆

Present

Chaos washed through King Arthur like dawn through a wound. Shadow's burst of energy had been more than mending. It tore the corruption inside loose. The amethyst sheen bled out of Arthur's armor in streams, dripping away. His eyes were a full, brilliant emerald, wet with tears he hadn't meant to show. The black wings behind him shivered, lost their shape, and dissolved into thin air, leaving only the ragged quake of breath and the raw red prints of shackles at his wrists.

Arthur sagged forward. Shadow caught him with both arms, one around his waist, one at the nape, pulling him in like a man who'd been underwater too long and finally found air. Arthur's forehead pressed to Shadow's jaw.

"Did you... also remember everything?" Arthur whispered against him, words rasped thin.

Shadow nodded, cheek brushing blue quills. "We met long before any summit. Before, crowns felt heavy. We were... friends first. Before all of it."

Arthur pulled back enough to see him, lashes clumped with tears. "After the King’s Convergence… I recall thinking you seemed familiar, but no matter how hard I thought about it... I never came to a logical conclusion. But that was a lie because Velaria stole that from us. It was never her who helped me figure out my powers... like her magic made me believe it was," Arthur looked at him, "it was you... It was always you."

Shadow attempted to gulp down his emotions, but he couldn't and also had tears in his eyes, "Back then... during my youth I remembered some things but for so many years there had always been this strange gap. When we first met... I found you incredibly infuriating, but it would be a lie if I also didn't say, you were magnetic in every way," he looked down but then back up, "and now I see... before we were ever enemies or rivals, we were friends." Shadow let his head fall on Arthur's shoulder, "I can't believe our first meeting, that summer was taken from us."

"Not anymore... we remember it now just like we promised." Arthur leaned his cheek against him.

"We did... we came back to each other," Shadow said, and both of them couldn't stop their embrace turning tighter or more tears fresh on their cheeks.

After another long pause, Shadow's words from before dawned on Arthur. "You said you... love me?" 

Heat climbed Shadow's face immediately. He had almost forgotten, but now there was no point in denying. He would have if this were him years ago, but right now... after seeing Arthur so hurt, after remembering everything, he didn't care that his eyes were wet or that he was flushed. 

"Yes, I did..." then Shadow continued without flinching, "because I do... I love you, Arthur."

Something in Arthur unknotted so fast it hurt, making his heart ache but in the most perfect way. He met Shadow’s eyes, and he smiled, because it didn't matter right now that he was so unbelievably vulnerable. The awe he felt in his heart was impossible to deny.

"I love you too, Shads..."

Shadow dragged him close, and Arthur went willingly, arms wrapping around black pauldrons, both of them shaking in their embrace but wanting to hold on to the other so tightly they never ever wanted to let go. 

Pride didn't live here. Rivalry didn't. Only grief for stolen memories and a love so deep.

After a breath that might as well have been a lifetime, Shadow exhaled a crooked sound. "So, I'm 'Shads' again? I recall you letting that slip when you were... busy being insufferable on my desk."

Arthur's ears flushed. "Guess a part of me was always going to get there." His thumb brushed the edge of Shadow's jaw, then he leaned in. The kiss wasn't violent at all, it was just theirs. It tasted like copper and salt and years rediscovered.

Metal skittered across stone, and a white cat's head rolled, smoking at the neck. The feline’s body burst into strings of light and fizzed out. Lancelot appeared through the kill, with bloodied Arondight in hand. Sonic was at his flank, and he still had his bow of swirling color unstringing itself in his hands.

"Lancelot?" Arthur blinked, still in Shadow's arms.

"We can discuss more later," Lancelot said, chest heaving. "We still have the main enemy to deal with."

With perfect timing, the floor answered him. 

The great hall tremored, and the marble stone crumpled beneath them. A slab of ceiling ripped free and caved in, pillars coughing dust and sunlight. Through the breach, something vast uncoiled. It was a black shape rimmed in violet, wingbeats that made whatever was left of Eloria's banners snap. 

Rhazakar tore out of the caverns, every dark scale drinking light. Its amethyst eyes cut the ruin in cruel facets. On his spine, elegant as a blasphemy, stood Velaria, while robes wind-lashed, looking like a white flag for a war only she wanted.

Shadow and Arthur were already moving, pushing up in the same motion, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder. They looked up together.

Velaria's laugh slid down the dragon's neck. "Hello, my kings~"

Arthur's hand slid to Shadow's forearm, squeezing once, a pact spoken without words. Shadow's eyes had gone murder-dark, for he wanted Velaria not to have another second of breath knowing what he knew now, while Arthur had the same murderous look and intent.

They nodded at each other with no mercy.

They would end her.