All Chapters of His Royal Slut: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The formal sitting room in the east wing had been prepared with careful neutrality. No excessive displays of power, no cold distance that might be read as hostility, but also no false warmth. The former king and queen sat on one side of the low table. Daniel and Raine sat on the other. The space between them felt wider than the furniture arrangement suggested. Raine’s posture was composed but watchful. He still carried the quiet caution of a man who had spent five years without a past and only recently begun collecting dangerous pieces of one. Daniel sat close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, a silent line of support and warning. He had not wanted this meeting. He had agreed only because refusing would have prolonged the inevitable confrontation and given his mother more time to shape the narrative in the shadows. Queen Eleanor folded her hands in her lap and drew a slow breath, as if steadying herself for a difficult performance. When she spoke, her voice was measured, s

One week had passed since the fall on the marble stairs. In that time the palace had settled into a brittle kind of quiet. Officially, the incident was recorded as an unfortunate accident, a misstep on polished stone, a concussion, a few days of required rest. Unofficially, the corridors whispered. Guards had been reassigned. Certain staff members found themselves under quiet observation. Daniel had made no public accusations, but the temperature around anyone who approached Raine without clear purpose had dropped several degrees. Raine’s memories had returned in full the night he woke in the medical suite, and the weight of them had not lessened with the days. Everything was there again: the contract years, the secret apartment, the way Daniel used to leave before dawn, the slow, disastrous fall into love, the queen’s cold threats, the knife in the dark, the sea. The memories sat alongside the five years of village life without erasing them. He was both men now, the Raine who had

The question lingered in the air like the last note of a song that refused to fade. Daniel’s gaze moved slowly between Nathan and Raine, tracing the same lines over and over as if repetition might force the similarity to collapse into coincidence. The shape of the eyes. The angle of the jaw. The particular way both mouths rested when neither man was speaking. It was not perfect. Nathan carried a harder edge, a polish that came from a different kind of life, while Raine’s features held the quieter marks of the years he had spent in the village. Still, the resemblance was strong enough to be undeniable once it had been seen. Ninety percent of the same architecture, altered by time and circumstance, but drawn from a source that felt suddenly, dangerously close. Raine felt the weight of that stare. He turned his head toward Nathan almost against his will, and for the first time that evening truly looked at him, not as a hostile presence in Daniel’s space, but as a collection of features

Silence held the private room in a grip so complete that even the faint city noise beyond the thick glass seemed to vanish. Daniel and Raine sat frozen on their side of the table. The DNA result still hung in the air between them like a physical object, ninety nine percent, a near perfect match, a blood verdict that rewrote the shape of the world in a single sentence. Raine’s fingers had gone cold around the stem of his untouched glass. Daniel’s arm remained locked around his shoulders, but the gesture had shifted from possessive to protective, as if his body had decided on its own that the man beside him needed anchoring. Raine was the first to find his voice. It came out thinner than he expected. “But I don’t remember you at all,” he said. “And I grew up in the orphanage. Before the village. Before everything. There was no brother. No grandparents. Just… the home, and then later the contract years.” Nathan’s face crumpled. The careful composure he had maintained through most of

Late afternoon light slanted through the tall windows of the king’s private office, cutting long gold rectangles across the dark wood floor and the edge of the heavy desk. Outside, the palace moved through its usual rhythms, distant footsteps, the occasional murmur of staff, the low mechanical hum of a building that never fully slept. Inside the office, the world had narrowed to a much smaller, quieter shape. Daniel sat in the large leather chair behind the desk, a stack of documents open in front of him, pen moving in steady, precise strokes. Most of the work was routine: trade adjustments, security reports, a revised schedule for the following week’s council session. He had learned long ago how to keep the machinery of the kingdom turning even when the rest of his life felt unstable. Today the instability sat literally in his lap. Raine was curled sideways across Daniel’s thighs, one arm draped loosely around his neck, cheek resting against the solid line of his shoulder. He had s