Chapter 11:[The Warmth Of The Enemy]

[Flashback to the day when Xavier take Raphael to his room]

Raphael's POV

The news of Raphael being sick was delivered in the grand hall, but the king barely lifted his head.

“His health’s deteriorating,” the physician murmured, wringing his hands, eyes flicking to Hael for support.

“He hasn’t eaten in days,” Hael added, voice low but firm. “The fever won’t break. If this continues…”

King Arthur didn’t even glance up from the scroll in his lap. “And?”

“And?” Hael echoed, barely hiding the disbelief in his tone. “He is your son even it's only in name.”

The king finally looked up, cold and bored. “He is also a drama-fed child with a habit of faking ailments for attention. Let him sleep it off.”

I wasn’t there for the words.

But I felt them.

Every day blurred into another—hazy, fever-thick, unbearable. No one visited. No one cared. Not even the king whose blood ran in my veins. After Mother died, I became something forgotten. A shadow in gold silk. A prince in name, but in treatment? A stray dog.

Only Hael remained. Faithful like an old book. And a few servants who dared pity me in silence.

Each breath burned. Each blink weighed like iron. But on that day… I found the strength.

To stand.

My legs shook. My throat parched, lips cracked. I shuffled toward the water jug, nearly tipping it, gasping for a single drop.

That’s when I noticed it.

A coat.

Still lying on the back of the chair in the corner. Black. Heavy. Dust-speckled.

His coat.

Xavier’s.

The one I wore the day I came back into my chambers—wild, furious, dangerous.

I had thrown it away in anger then. Like I did everything tied to him.

And yet… it remained.

Abandoned. Like me.

I stepped forward. Reached for it. My fingers trembled as they brushed the fabric. Rough, dark velvet, lined with the scent of leather and cold metal.

I brought it to my face.

And inhaled.

Gods.

Faint cologne. Ash. Steel. Something warm beneath it all. Something unbearably familiar.

My body sagged.

Why… why did it calm me?

I didn’t have the answer. I didn’t need it.

I carried the coat with me to bed like a child with a blanket and curled onto it, dragging the heavy fabric beneath me, breathing him in, cursing under my breath with every shake of my fevered limbs.

“You bastard,” I whispered, voice hoarse. “You poisoned me.”

And I meant it.

Because only Xavier could make me feel like I was dying and alive all at once.

—

Xavier’s POV

Seven days in the dungeon.

No food. No warmth. No kindness.

The shackles had been removed, but their marks clung to my skin like memories. My wounds had clotted. My rage had not.

They released me without ceremony. No apology. No sympathy.

Just the hiss of rusted gates and the indifferent nod of guards who once saluted with pride.

I walked through the palace like a wounded tiger—hair tangled, clothes ripped, blood still clinging to my wrists. I should’ve gone straight to my chambers. Sleep off the humiliation. Disappear until the fire cooled.

But then—

Whispers.

Low. Urgent.

From two maids scuttling across the corridor.

I stopped.

“Speak,” I ordered, voice hoarse but unyielding.

They froze. Faces draining.

Pr-ince?” one of them stammered.

“What’s happening?” I stepped closer. They smelled of panic.

“It’s… Prince Raphael. He’s—he’s unwell. No one’s—no one’s tending to him.”

My blood ran cold.

“What do you mean ‘no one’?”

“He’s been burning with fever for days. The king—he said to let him rest, but—he’s getting worse. He doesn’t even respond anymore.”

I didn’t wait.

I ran.

Torn boots slamming against the marble, wounds tearing open again as I bolted toward Raphael’s wing. My breath ragged. My heart hammering louder than the guards’ scabbards.

His door creaked open. And the moment I stepped in—

I was hit.

A scent.

Heavy. Rich. Unplaceable.

Like burning sugar and velvet sin.

It wrapped around me. It made my pulse slow.

And then I saw him.

Raphael.

Pale. Too pale. His lips cracked. Skin damp with sweat. His body curled like a dying bird. And beneath him—

My coat.

Clutched in his fingers like a lifeline. Like a secret.

I swallowed.

Hard.

“Look what they made you without me Again,

Mi amor…” I murmured, stepping closer, ignoring the burning in my limbs.

His body didn’t stir.

“Raphael?”

No answer.

I touched his forehead.

Scalding.

“Shit.” I grabbed his shoulder, shook him lightly. “Wake up. Look at me.”

Nothing.

Only his lashes fluttered. His breath—ragged, shallow.

I stared at the coat again. His clenched hands. Then at his fever-flushed face.

And I smirked.

“You say you hate me, yet you cling to my scent like it’s the only thing keeping you breathing.”

He murmured something incoherent.

I bent down.

Gently. Slowly.

Lifted him into my arms. like a damn Bride

His head rolled against my chest, fitting there too perfectly for my liking. My heart skipped and cursed me.

What the fuck was I doing?

After everything?

After the punishment?

After his betrayal?

But then… his lashes fluttered again. He whimpered softly in sleep.

His breath tickled my neck.

And I blushed.

Fuking Blushed.

“Devil,” I muttered, walking briskly through the corridor. “Who would believe this innocent-looking thing has a brain more devilish then a devil himself ?”

The guards froze at the sight of me carrying him. on my way to my room

I didn’t stop.

Let them look.

Let them know.

"He was mine to punish. Mine to carry. Mine to protect"

When I reached my room, I kicked the door open and placed him on my bed—not gently, not cruelly. Just… enough.

Then I turned to my men.

“Summon the physician. And the king,” I growled. “Now. Tell them it’s urgent.”

They ran.

And I stood there. Watching the boy who had cursed me. Betrayed me. Condemned me.

Now curled in my sheets.

Shivering with fever.

Breathing with my scent on his skin.

My hand reached out. Touched his cheek.

Still burning.

But softer now.

More human than he had ever seemed before.

More dangerous, too.

Because some devils don’t scream when they stab you.

They smile.

And wait for you to crawl back first.

—

Next chapter teaser:

Outside, the palace roared with news—Xavier was back.

Inside, I slept through it all.

With his scent in my lungs.

And the storm brewing in his eyes.

This was no longer just a game of hate.

This was war.

And I had no armor left but the warmth of the enemy.