[BL] Rules Of Desire: His Majesty's Secret-Chapter 43 - 41: Zarethrone Under Spell [18+]

The boy straddled Nigel again, but this time, the knight moved behind him, kissing down his back, hands gripping his hips with firm pressure. The boy gasped, caught between pleasure from both sides, Nigel’s lips on his chest, the knight’s mouth exploring every dip of his spine.

The rhythm started slow, teasing. The three of them shifted together, grinding, stroking. Moans filled the air like music. Mouths kissed anything they could reach. Hands gripped thighs, hair, and shoulders. The boy leaned down and kissed Nigel again, while the knight pressed kisses to the back of his neck, growling softly.

Heat built between them like lightning gathering in a storm cloud.

"Nigel," the boy whispered, voice broken, don’t stop... gods, don’t stop...

The knight’s voice followed, thick with arousal. Take it. Both of you. I want to feel everything.

They moved in sync. Pleasure mounting. Friction is unbearable. Sweat dripping. Bodies slamming in a rhythm that grew faster, harder. The sound of their skin meeting echoed in the chamber. Whimpers. Moans. Gasped names.

Nigel’s back arched as the boy rode him, his hands gripping the boy’s hips tightly. Behind him, the knight thrust against both their bodies, his voice a deep growl in his throat.

It was too much.

Too good.

Too hot.

All three of them tumbled over the edge together, moaning, shuddering, clinging to one another like they were drowning in each other’s heat.

They collapsed into a tangled, breathless heap.

For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of their gasps and the faint humming of the enchanted chamber.

No words.

Just sweat, release, and the knowledge that nothing in the kingdom would ever feel the same again.

The moon hung low over Zarethrone, its silver glow washed out by the dull red hue that had hovered ever since the Judgment. The sky seemed heavier. The air is thicker. Every breath drawn into the lungs felt like it carried something invisible... and dangerous.

Kaelith and Hale stood with his back to the temple gate, arms crossed, jaw tight. He had been waiting.

The sound of footsteps on the marble drew his attention.

"Elion," he called out.

The shadows emerged with two familiar figures, Elion and Lysaro. They looked winded, not from running but from something deeper. Something that clung to them since the judgment.

"You feel it too," Kaelith said without greeting.

Yes, Your Highness, Elion nodded, eyes dark with something between fear and hunger. It’s like a fire inside. Like something’s scratching at the edge of my skin.

Lysaro rubbed his arms as if cold. It’s not just in the head, Your Highness. People are losing control. I passed a girl crying in the square. She was sobbing into her palms, saying she couldn’t stop touching herself, even in front of her brother.

Kaelith’s lips pressed into a grim line. "The whisperer."

Hale frowned. "What whisperer?"

They were there during the judgment, Kaelith explained. Soft, like breath against your neck. I didn’t hear words, but... I felt them. Like they slithered inside me.

"The Kingdom is under something," Elion said. "It’s like... lust itself has become law. Every person I passed was either trembling, panting, or hiding an erection. I saw a guard jerking off behind a shrine pillar."

Kaelith sighed through his nose. Then it’s worse than I thought.

Lysaro’s voice shook. "Is it a curse?"

Kaelith turned to face them fully. No. It’s enchantment, but not from a spellcaster. This... "this is the Whisperer. The old ones. Desire incarnate. They were called centuries ago but locked away. But something during the judgment must have released them.

Hale’s voice cracked. Then what do we do?

"We leave tomorrow night," Kaelith said firmly. We ride to the Priestess in the South. She’s the only one who knows the rituals that could protect us or counter this. If we delay any longer...

He paused.

If we delay, we may not want to be saved.

No one spoke for a moment. Even the crackle of torchlight felt distant, swallowed by the weight of uncertainty that pressed down on them.

Kaelith finally broke the silence, voice low and steady.

"We don’t really know what’s going on," he said, his gaze sweeping over the room. From the sudden wave of night killings to this... spell of desire infecting the kingdom, nothing adds up.

Elion shifted uneasily. "You think it’s connected?"

Perhaps... Then everyone silences.

The Kingdom of Zarethrone boiled under moonlight.

Desire crawled through windows. It slithered under robes. It pulsed in veins like wildfire. And no one, not man, not a woman, not a child of blood or honor, was spared.

In one corner of the inner courtyard, two young stable boys pressed together against the haystack wall. One was panting, his shirt pulled up to his chest, sweat beading down his abs, while the other was on his knees, mouth wet and moving. The air filled with wet sucking sounds, interrupted by gasps.

"F-fuck, don’t stop..." The older boy moaned, hand tangled in his friend’s hair. "I-I can’t... yes, don’t stop...

The other moaned in return, sucking deeper, eyes glazed, possessed by hunger that wasn’t his own.

In the temple gardens, two priestesses lay naked among crushed flowers. Their robes had been discarded long ago. One straddled the other, riding her thigh slowly, back arched, breasts bouncing with every grind. Fingers dipped between the other’s legs, both of them moaning shamelessly under the moonlight.

"I’m sorry," one whispered breathlessly, I couldn’t stop... I need this... gods, I need you.

And the other pulled her closer, locking their mouths together in a desperate, wet kiss.

Near the royal bathhouses, a trio of bodies writhed in the steam.

A noble son grunted as he pushed into the warm embrace of a kitchen boy, both of them gripping each other’s hips hard. Behind them, a young maid stroked herself with trembling fingers, moaning to the rhythm of their bodies slapping together.

Nobody looked away.

Nobody cared.

Because everyone wanted.

On the palace balcony, two female guards who’d once trained with cold discipline now clung to each other, armour half-removed, legs tangled. One whispered, "You were always watching me, weren’t you?" Before she kissed her partner’s neck and slid her hand into the soaked cloth between her thighs.

They gasped and thrust, breath fogging the glass.

In the market square, vendors abandoned their stalls. Lovers who’d never dared speak of it kissed in alleyways. Enemies groaned into each other’s mouths, hands exploring places they once swore they’d never touch.

Desire made slaves of them all.

Even the most pious couldn’t escape.

Inside the Sanctum, a High Priest fell to his knees before his apprentice, sucking him feverishly while muttering, Forgive me, I’m weak, so weak... but your body is divine...

And the boy only moaned, bucking deeper into his mouth.

The city moaned, writhed, and echoed with pleasure.

Behind closed doors, hands slid into pants. Fingers pushed into wetness. Moans became prayers. Lust became language. Everyone was naked, even beneath their clothes.

A boy leaned over his sister’s friend, panting as he licked sweat off her throat. "Can’t stop thinking about you. Your scent, it’s driving me mad. Her hands grabbed his back, pulling him closer as her thighs parted.

Behind the western wall, a blacksmith and his apprentice grunted into each other, one thrusting hard, the other arching back with a cry.

All of Zarethrone was trembling under the weight of it.

Touch, moan, grind, and cry.

Desire reigned.

A Royal Summons

The high court chamber of Zarethrone was silent as the guards swung open the bronze double doors.

Kaelith stepped inside, followed closely by Elion, Lysaro. Behind them came a group of armoured knights and council members, each of them summoned in haste, their faces drawn tight with unease. The scent of incense clung to the air, but it could not cover the underlying stench of fear.

King Aldric sat atop the obsidian throne, his face grave, his crown resting slightly crooked on his silvering hair, as if he had put it on in a rush. His robes were half-fastened, and his eyes, usually cold and commanding, were wild with something between fury and confusion.

He stood as they approached. "We just ended Lost Shame Night not too long ago," he began, his voice low but heavy with restrained power. "And now I hear rumours spreading across the city like wildfire. Rumours I should have dismissed."

He stepped down from the throne slowly. His boots echoed on the polished marble.

"But I didn’t," he said quietly. "Because I didn’t just hear it... I saw it."

The room shifted. No one spoke. The councillors glanced at one another nervously.

King Aldric looked at them all. "I saw people, my people... in the streets, rutting like beasts. Public. Unashamed. Some were crying because they couldn’t stop. Others laugh while sobbing.

He looked to Kaelith.

"I want answers," the King said. What is going on in my Kingdom?

Kaelith stepped forward without hesitation. He dropped to one knee respectfully, then raised his voice loud enough for all to hear.

"Your Majesty’s people are under a spell."

Gasps echoed through the chamber.

They don’t know what they’re doing. They can’t control what’s happening to them right now.

The court was silent.

But King Aldric did not argue. For once, the proud lion of Zarethrone said nothing. He only nodded slowly.

"I feared it," the King murmured. It’s the work of magic. I can feel it in the walls.

His gaze lingered on his son.

You’ve always been the careful one, Kaelith. Quiet, but precise. If anyone would already be searching for a solution, it would be you.

Kaelith hesitated for the first time. His hands clenched behind his back.

"There is a scroll," he said slowly. A forbidden text that mentioned a prophecy tied to Desire and Death itself. It was buried in the archives beneath the Third Library. And... it led us to believe the Priestess in the South may hold the knowledge we need to break this enchantment.

King Aldric’s brows furrowed. The South Priestess? That old mystic who speaks in riddles and visions?

"She may be our only chance," Kaelith said.

The King exhaled, eyes heavy with the weight of a kingdom on the edge of madness.

"I don’t like it," he admitted. But we have no other choice. Things can not continue like this. My people are slipping away from me.

He turned to one of his generals. Assign knights to accompany them.

Then to Kaelith: "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow at nightfall," Kaelith answered. I’ll be travelling with my servant Hale, Sir Elion, and Sir Lysaro. With the knights you appoint, that makes the number that followed.

The King gave a firm nod. Fine. Take provisions. Travel under cloak. I want no word of this mission leaving the court. If the spell deepens... the people may become hostile.

The meeting came to a quiet end.

One by one, the councillors left. The knights bowed and exited. Hale, Elion, and Lysaro waited at the door.

Only Kaelith remained.

King Aldric looked at him long and hard.

He stepped down and placed a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. "Be careful, son."

Kaelith met his father’s eyes and gave a steady nod. "I will, Father."

And without another word, he turned and left the hall, cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

The King remained still, alone in the silent court, staring at the empty throne.

He whispered under his breath, "May the gods guard you,"Kaelith."

The corridor leading to Kaelith’s chamber shimmered with low torchlight, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. But it wasn’t the light that made the air feel heavy, it was the pulse of something unseen. Something thick and intimate, like breath against skin.

Kaelith and Hale walked side by side, their steps slow, though neither of them spoke.

The Whisperer’s magic lingered here.

Hale was already burning from the inside, desire clawing at his restraint, threatening to consume him the moment Kaelith stepped closer...

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