Chapter 5: [Sweet Revenge:The Fall Of The General]

Raphael vs Xavier: Full Daylight Showdown

[Before the King summons Xavier]

The sun hung high above the palace yard, casting a ruthless blaze across the cracked training grounds. The scent of sweat and scorched earth filled the air, thick and punishing. Xavier’s boots struck the ground in rhythmic, unforgiving precision, each thud a command, each move deliberate. His wooden sword collided with his opponent’s shield, sending a harsh crack echoing through the yard. But his eyes.....sharp, steel gray.....weren’t on the man before him.

They were somewhere else entirely.

Back in that cursed room.

Back in that silken bed where sunlight had slipped between bare bodies and unspoken sins.

Raphael’s trembling form haunted him like a ghost. His pale fingers gripping Xavier’s shoulder. The faint warmth of his breath against his chest, and the rasped whisper of his name—broken, fevered, drugged or not, real or not, Xavier didn’t know anymore. He’d left him there. Still gasping. Still clinging. Still echoing his name like a wound.

He’d walked out like a coward. Fled like a man on fire. And now, as his sword clattered in his hands, he couldn’t stop the memory from bleeding into his bones.

He tried to bury it. Under blood. Under duty. Under drills. Again.

Until a voice pierced the morning haze.

“The King… has summoned you immediately, Commander.”

The words struck harder than any blade. Xavier paused mid strike, eyes narrowing as sweat dripped from his brow. His chest tightened, and a low knot of dread twisted in his gut.

Still, he obeyed.

He entered the throne room as he was....sweat..soaked, shirt half-unbuttoned from training, boots stained with dust. His presence stirred no warmth in the room. Only silence. Judgment.

And betrayal.

The throne gleamed in sunlight. Upon it sat the King Arthur Valerian—cold, unmoved. Beside him, stiff and distant, the Queen Rosha. Xavier’s mother, the royal concubine, sat as if turned to stone. Pale. Stricken. Powerless.

Rows of generals, ministers, nobles, and elite guards filled the court like statues, their eyes sharp and unreadable. The air was charged with something unsaid, something heavy.

Xavier’s eyes scanned the room. He sensed it then. The storm.

It had begun the moment he touched Raphael.

And then just as his instincts screamed.

The great doors groaned open behind him.

All heads turned.

A ripple spread through the court like a dropped stone.

Whispers.

Gasps.

He turned.

And everything stopped.

Raphael stepped into the court like a blade unsheathed.

He wore nothing but sheer white shorts that clung to his hips, and a translucent shirt that barely veiled the bruises marring his pale skin. Bite marks. Hickeys. Streaks of flushed red where hands had once gripped too tight.

And over his shoulders—

Xavier’s coat.

Still damp. Still soiled with the memory of what they’d done. Still scented with desire, ruin, and him.

Xavier’s heart slammed against his ribs. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between fury and disbelief.

"Fuck…" he breathed under his breath, jaw clenching. "This little tiger… what the hell are you planning now?"

The court recoiled. Even seasoned warriors averted their gazes. The Queen’s lips curled into revulsion. The concubine looked like she might faint.

But Raphael?

He walked as if the throne were his.

Bruised.

Limping.

Victorious.

Every step was a statement. Every sway of his hips was a weapon.

Xavier moved before he could think.

In a flash, he was in front of Raphael, shielding his body from the room’s prying eyes. Rage burned in his chest as his hands gripped the edges of his soiled coat, yanking it off the prince’s shoulders like it was a sickness to be removed.

But in truth, he was stripping away his own shame.

Wordlessly, he shed his own clean coat—pressed, regal, spotless—and wrapped it over Raphael’s frame. He buttoned it slowly. His fingers trembled, but his face remained carved from stone.

The touch lingered.

Too long.

His hands settled on Raphael’s shoulders. The grip bruising. Desperate. Possessive.

His voice dropped—quiet, deadly.

What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed, each word trembling with betrayal. "You’d go this far? Parade yourself half...naked? Just to humiliate me?"

He shook him once rough, sharp.

"Tch. Still a disgusting whore."

Raphael didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

His smirk remained. Cool. Controlled.

But Xavier saw it.

Behind the smirk—the tremor. The ache.

Before he could speak again, a thunderous crack broke the tension.

The King slammed his scepter to the marble floor.

"Commander Xavier!" his voice thundered. "Step away from your BROTHER!"

Xavier froze. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding. But he obeyed.

He stepped back. Silent. Tense. Burning.

"You are the future king," the King boomed. "The sword and shield of our empire. Then explain—what happened last night?"

Xavier drew breath. Opened his mouth.

"He was d—"

But Raphael’s voice shattered the world.

"He raped me."

The silence that followed was apocalyptic.

The concubine gasped..loud, broken. The court went still.

Xavier blinked.

"What the fuck did you just say?!" he shouted, voice ragged with disbelief.

"I was drugged," Raphael whispered, eyes wide, tears catching the light. He stepped forward, voice trembling with practiced ache. "I couldn’t move. H-He drugged me. I tried to fight, but he dragged me to a room. He didn’t stop."

"You’re lying!" Xavier snarled, stepping forward, raw fury in his eyes. "IT’S NOTHING LIKE THAT, FATHER—!"

"Enough!" the King bellowed. "Let the guards explain."

Two guards approached, nervous, visibly shaken.

"We saw the prince," one stammered. "He was… disoriented. We thought he’d drunk too much, Your Majesty."

“But I didn’t!” Raphael cried, pain lacing his voice. “He took advantage. Ask them!”

The whispers returned.

This time, louder. Vicious.

“He defiled the royal heir…”

“His own stepbrother…”

“This is treason.”

“Strip him of his rank!”

“Punish him!”

The King rose to his feet, gaze sharp as steel. He pointed at Xavier.

"Kneel. Right now."

Xavier didn’t move.

His silence was thunder.

He was shocked. Or was he?

"Kneel," the King repeated, voice a hammer. “Or I’ll consider it treason.”

Xavier’s eyes snapped to Raphael.

Still shaking. Still cloaked in his coat. Still playing the perfect victim.

He clenched his teeth.

And he knelt.

The entire court held its breath.

“You are hereby stripped of command,” the King thundered. “And punished for your vile actions against the crown. One thousand lashes.”

A ripple of horror.

Gasps broke through the chamber like waves crashing.

Even the guards hesitated.

He was their general.

Their leader.

And now…

“Do it,” the King commanded. “Let the world see.”

Two elite soldiers stepped forward.

They stripped Xavier’s upper body with ritualistic force. Tied his wrists high against the pillar. His muscles flexed under old scars—scars of war, of honor.

But this?

This was spectacle.

The first lash cracked through the air.

Xavier’s body jerked. But he didn’t scream.

CRACK.

Skin split. Blood welled.

By the tenth, his back was a canvas of red.

By the thirtieth, he coughed blood.

By the fiftieth, flesh tore with every breath.

But his eyes—

They never left Raphael.

Raphael stared back.

Unmoving. Unblinking.

Each lash was a verse in a song only he could hear. A song of power. Of punishment. Of pride.

By the hundredth, Xavier collapsed forward. Blood and vomit pooled beneath him.

Still he said nothing.

Still he glared.

The concubine turned to the King, voice breaking.

“He’ll die before the thousand are finished… please stop…”

But Xavier didn’t beg.

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t plead.

Another lash tore through his back.

This time—a sound escaped.

A gasp.

Guttural. Shattering.

Even the cruelest generals looked away.

Xavier’s lips parted. Blood dripped from his chin. His body convulsed with pain.

And still—

He looked at Raphael.

Not with rage.

With ownership.

And Raphael?

Something twisted in his chest.

His fingers gripped the coat tighter. Knuckles white. Throat burning.

Was this what he wanted?

Revenge?

Retribution?

But then…

His lips curled.

Because pain?

Pain was the price of pride.

And vengeance?

Vengeance was finally, exquisitely sweet.

But the next words he would hear, Will completely Shattered him.