Oliver reached the middle of the grand lobby, his regal demeanor unwavering as he waited for K.J. to catch up. Together, they continued through a lavish corridor that led to a winding staircase, spiraling up one of the palace's tallest towers. The ascent was silent, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the stone walls as they climbed higher. After several moments, they reached the top, where two doors stood side by side.
Oliver led K.J. through the smaller, unassuming door, revealing a room elegantly furnished but modest by royal standards. Its decor was rich yet understated, in keeping with the Stark family's refined taste. "This will be your room. Mine is right next door," Oliver said, gesturing to the larger door beside it, adorned with gold filigree and a phoenix crest, the emblem of the Starks.
K.J. stepped inside, quietly taking in the room's details: polished wooden furniture, a sturdy desk, shelves lined with books, and a large bed, positioned near a wide window that offered a view of the western sky. The room felt inviting, almost surreal for someone of his background, accustomed to far simpler quarters. But this, he thought, was something else—a place where, for the first time, he might find a measure of belonging.
Oliver watched him from the doorway, a faint curiosity in his expression. "Are you alright with this?" he asked.
K.J. turned to him, nodding, and gave a small thumbs-up, silently expressing his gratitude. His gaze drifted back to the bed, noting the softness of its linens, the subtle scent of lavender drifting from them, and the calm view from the window, which would allow him to see the moonlit night sky before sleep. He'd never had anything like this before.
A gentle voice cut through the quiet. "Your Majesty." K.J. looked toward the door to find a woman in her thirties, her blonde hair partially pulled back with a cloth, loose strands framing her face. She wore simple clothing, though she carried herself with the confidence of someone who had long been at home within the palace walls.
"K.J., this is Fera," Oliver introduced with a nod. "She'll take your measurements for your new attire. It won't take long."
Draped with a measuring tape and a leather-bound notebook, Fera stepped forward, her eyes bright with friendly curiosity. With a warm smile, she began to inspect K.J., her hands adjusting his shoulders and gently turning him around. "Ah, a fine frame," she noted approvingly, her fingers brushing over his back. "Solid build."
She placed her hand against his stomach, assessing his muscle tone. "Lean," she commented with a chuckle, "but you'd do well with a bit more meat on your plate."
K.J. raised a hand, shaking his head, signaling that he didn't eat meat.
"Oh! No meat?" she responded with an amused smile. "Well, we'll find other ways to keep you strong." Her cheerful disposition put him at ease, though he noted her slightly eccentric energy.
Oliver leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips. "Fera's known for saying whatever comes to mind," he said, clearly entertained by her enthusiasm.
Fera continued her measurements, moving from his shoulders down his arms, her hands quick and methodical. "Strong back," she murmured, as she patted his shoulder approvingly. She measured his hips, legs, and thighs, noting his solid stance. With a grin, she lightly patted his arm. "You're certainly fit, K.J. It's not every day I get to dress someone with this kind of build."
K.J. raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by her candid remarks but appreciative of her kindness and the ease with which she worked.
After what felt like fifteen minutes, Fera stepped back, carefully tucking her notes into a worn leather book. "All done," she declared with satisfaction. "Measure twice, cut once, as we say!" She flashed a quick smile at K.J. before departing, leaving a warm energy lingering in the room.
As she left, Oliver straightened. "She's one of the finest designers in the kingdom. You'll be well-suited for your role here," he said.
K.J. nodded, a quiet gratitude reflected in his gaze.
Just then, a servant appeared in the doorway, bowing slightly. "Your Majesty, the King requests your presence in the throne room."
Oliver's expression turned serious, and he gave a small nod. "Come. Where I go, you go," he said to K.J., leading him down the hallway and heading downstairs.
At the foot of the grand doors of the throne room, Oliver paused, turning back to K.J. His voice dropped to a quieter, more reflective tone. "Once we're inside, observe but don't speak unless you're asked to," he cautioned, his eyes briefly revealing a hint of tension. "My father... he's been different since my mother passed. Just stay close."
K.J. nodded, sensing the weight of Oliver's words and the sorrow hidden beneath his firm expression.
With a push, Oliver opened the throne room doors, the creak of hinges giving way to an echo that filled the grand space. They strode across the marble floor, Oliver's footsteps steady and unhurried, each step resonating against the towering columns and stained-glass windows. K.J. took in the solemn splendor of the throne room, with its high arched ceiling and the imposing figure of King Stark seated at the end of the hall, radiating authority.
"Father, you summoned me?" Oliver said, his voice steady as he bowed halfway.
The King's gaze was cold, his expression stern. "Oliver, I've heard of the disturbance today. One of my knights had his sword broken."
"Father, about Piercy—" Oliver began, but the King cut him off, his voice echoing through the hall. "Silence! If your commoner can't hold his own in a fight, he has no place here. Especially one who can't even speak!" The King's tone was laced with scorn, his gaze lingering on K.J. with a mixture of disapproval and disdain.
Oliver's face tightened. "It's my right to choose who serves me," he replied, his voice rising slightly. "You're too concerned with your grief to see the kingdom as it is."
The King's voice darkened, his eyes narrowing. "You know nothing of grief, my boy," he snapped, each word carrying a bitterness that seemed to cut through the air.
"Then teach me, Father!" Oliver's voice wavered but did not falter. "Because I know the grief of losing mother. Of losing the only person who ever truly saw me." His words hung heavily in the air, unfiltered and raw.
K.J. remained silent, recalling Oliver's instruction, though he felt the intensity building between father and son.
Oliver continued, his tone a blend of hurt and defiance. "She cared. She listened. She was everything you aren't!" He took a step forward, meeting his father's glare. "You've been too absorbed in yourself to see anything but your throne!"
The King's face contorted in rage, and with a swift movement, he hurled a fireball directly at Oliver. Instinctively, Oliver deflected it, dispersing the flames in a crackling burst before they could touch him. "Is that all you have left, Father? Anger?" he challenged, his voice echoing in the grand hall.
The flames grew along Oliver's arms, reflecting his own mounting fury. The heat radiated outward, filling the room, and K.J. stepped back, feeling the intensity.
"You should be more concerned with choosing knights who can control their temper," Oliver continued, his voice sharp as a blade. "Yet here you are, obsessing over my choice of courier while ignoring your own goddamn failures!"
For a moment, the King's expression softened, perhaps from sorrow or understanding, but he said nothing, simply watching the fire in his son's eyes.
Oliver's flames receded as he took a breath, the fire fading from his arms. His voice calmed, though it held a finality that left no room for argument. "I don't need your approval, Father. Not anymore."
Without another word, Oliver turned, his coat trailing as he strode out of the throne room. K.J. quickly followed, his mind racing with the weight of what he'd witnessed.
When they reached Oliver's room, the Prince shed his coat and vest, tossing them onto his bed. His breaths were heavy, his face flushed with residual anger. As K.J. watched him, Oliver turned suddenly, his gaze fierce. In a swift movement, he gripped K.J.'s shoulder, pulling him close, his voice low and commanding. "What happened in there stays between us," he said, his eyes locked on K.J.'s, a silent demand for loyalty. "Understand?"
K.J. nodded, holding Oliver's gaze with an expression of solemn respect.
Oliver released him, exhaling heavily as he turned away. "Go," he said curtly.
K.J. left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, the weight of the day settling over him. Alone in his own room, he sat on the bed, reflecting on the storm of emotions he had just witnessed. He knew now that serving Oliver would demand much of him—strength, loyalty, and a silent understanding of the Prince's deeper struggles.
A seductive figure entered the room, her blue dress hugging every curve and showcasing her long legs in white leather heels. Her golden hair cascaded down her nearly-white skin, drawing attention to her piercing blue eyes. "Oh, Oliver," she purred, her voice carrying across the room.
"Mara..." he spoke softly, trying to control his desire. But Mara had come into the room for a reason, and now she was teasing him with a striptease.
With grace and finesse, Mara unbuttoned her shirt and revealed her supple breasts in a lacy white bra. Oliver couldn't tear his gaze away as she stripped down to her matching lingerie.
"Baby, I heard about the commotion in the throne room," Mara whispered, pressing herself against Oliver's hard chest. "I thought maybe you could use some distraction." She ran her hands over his body, teasingly squeezing his cock through his pants.
"I don't want to talk about it. Just let me fuck you," Oliver growled.
Mara chuckled softly.
With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she leaned in and whispered, "Feeling daring today, my love?" before capturing one of Oliver's nipples between her teeth and giving it a gentle nibble.
Mara's lips traced a path down his body as she unbuckled his belt and freed his erect well endowed shaft from its confines. The air was filled with their mingling moans as she stroked him with one hand while exploring his body with her tongue.
With a primal growl, Oliver carried Mara to the bed and positioned her on top of the soft sheets. His lips trailed down her body, leaving a trail of fiery kisses that ignited her skin. He expertly teased her throbbing core with his thumb before plunging his tongue deep inside her, causing her to arch off the bed in pleasure-filled surrender.
The intense heat between them only intensified as they moved in perfect sync, their bodies writhing and melding together in a frenzy of raw passion. They were lost in each other's touch, consumed by an insatiable lust for one another.
