#trrsday

​Now, Drake lay flat on his stomach, his cheek pressed hard against the rigid, cold metal floorboards of the truck bed. He was wedged tightly in the centre, his arms tucked close to his chest. Zeke had meticulously packed the heavy, scratchy sacks of feed and grain around his sides and on top of him, layering them high until they formed a makeshift, claustrophobic fortress of burlap to shield him from view before throwing the thick, stiff canvas tarpaulin over the top and tying it down.

​It was pitch black beneath the tarp, and the air was suffocatingly hot, choked with the fine, powdery dust of milled oats and sweetfeed that tickled the raw back of his throat. Every single breath Drake took had to be an exercise in absolute control—shallow, agonisingly slow, and silent. He pressed his palms flat against the vibrating metal beneath him, feeling the fierce, rhythmic shudder of the diesel engine humming through his bones as the vehicle rolled forward.

​His heart was hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against his ribs, a wild, trapped animal screaming to break free. In the pitch darkness, his mind spun in an endless, agonising loop. Please let her still be breathing. Please just let me make it to her. Please let us make it across the border.

​Suddenly, the truck jolted sharply, the tyres shifting from the smooth asphalt of the main road onto the rougher, deeply rutted gravel leading up to the Cordonian border post. Drake’s entire body went rigid. His muscles locked, every tendon straining as he forced himself to become nothing more than a lifeless contour between the grain bags.

​The truck slowed, the gears grinding with a heavy, ominous clunk before the vehicle finally groaned to a stop. The engine dropped into a low, throaty, uneven idle.

​The silence that followed inside the truck bed was absolute, heavy, and terrifying.

​Through the thick layers of canvas and burlap, the outside world reached him in muffled, fragmented bursts of sound. The screech of a heavy iron gate swinging shut. The crisp, rhythmic crunch of military boots marching across the gravel yard—not one pair, but two. A cold sweat broke out across Drake’s forehead, running down his temple and tracking through the dust on his cheek. They were right outside.

​Then, the brutal, authoritative thud of a gloved fist striking the driver’s side door made Drake flinch in the dark.

​"Evening, Monsieur Theron," a muffled voice called out, the Cordonian accent sharp, carrying the cold weight of military authority. "Got a heavy load today?"

​"Evening, Officer," Zeke’s voice drifted back. Drake’s chest tightened as he heard the slight, unnatural stiffness in his friend’s tone. Zeke was trying to play it cool, forcing the easy, casual drawl of a routine farmer, but Drake knew him well enough to hear the underlying panic. "Just the usual. Grain and sweetfeed for the livestock markets down in Ramada. Got to keep the cattle fed."

​"A bit late in the evening for a run, isn't it?" a second guard chimed in, his voice closer to the back of the truck.

​"The old truck handles the hills better when the evening air cools the engine down," Zeke replied smoothly, though the tremor of the idling engine seemed to mirror the frantic beating of Drake's heart. "Don't want her overheating on those winding roads."

​There was an agonising pause. No one spoke. The only sound was the low, smoky rumble of the exhaust. Drake held his breath, his throat locking completely. The air in his lungs felt hot, heavy, and compressed like a ticking bomb. He didn't dare blink. His eyes stared wide into the absolute blackness of the canvas above him, his ears straining so hard they rang.

​Then, the truck bed groaned violently.

​The vehicle sagged heavily on its suspension as a massive weight stepped up onto the rear bumper. Drake’s stomach dropped into a cold, bottomless abyss.

​Directly above his ear, the rope cleats creaked. The stiff, heavy canvas was violently yanked backward, scraping against the rough burlap sacks with a loud, raspy hiss that sounded like a strike of lightning in the confined space.

​The twilight didn't fully illuminate the darkness, but the sharp beams of two high-powered tactical torches sliced through the gap in the tarpaulin. The bright, artificial white light swept aggressively across the interior, illuminating the floating dust motes mere inches above Drake’s head.

He buried his face lower into his crossed arms, squeezing his eyes shut so tight his jaw ached. He went entirely breathless, paralyzing every nerve in his body.

​The beam of the torch lingered. Through the canvas, Drake could hear the guard's heavy, rhythmic breathing, accompanied by the distinct, terrifying metallic click of a rifle sling shifting against body armour. The guard was searching. If he moved even one sack, if he reached just six inches deeper into the center of the bed, his hand would hit Drake’s shoulder.

Just let us go through, Drake screamed silently in his own mind, his knuckles turning white against the metal floor. Please, God, just let us through.

​A heavy boot shifted on the bumper, and then a hand patted the top of the grain sack right next to Drake’s ribs with a dull, booming thud that vibrated directly into his chest.

​"Everything looks in order," the guard finally muttered, his voice raspy.

​The canvas was thrown back down with a heavy, definitive slap, plunging Drake back into absolute, suffocating darkness. The truck frame groaned in relief as the guard’s heavy boots jumped down onto the gravel.

​"Have a safe drive, Zeke. Keep a sharp eye out on the road to Ramada. The fog comes in quickly this time of night," the officer shouted.

​"Will do. Take care, mate," Zeke called back, his voice sounding hollow with washed-out adrenaline.

​The gears ground together with a harsh, reassuring clunk, and the truck surged forward. Zeke hit the accelerator hard, the heavy diesel engine roaring to life with a fierce, smoky rumble as it tore away from the post.

​Only when the crunch of the border gravel faded into the smooth, rhythmic hum of the highway did Drake finally let out his breath. It tore out of him in a long, ragged, shuddering gasp. He let his forehead sink entirely against the cool, vibrating metal floorboards, his entire body trembling violently as the cold sweat on his skin began to cool in the darkness.

​They were through. He was a criminal in his own country now, a stowaway who had breached the King's decree. He had survived the border, but as the truck sped deeper into the Cordonian night toward Ramada, the relief in his chest was instantly crushed by a darker, heavier dread. The guards were behind him, but the true nightmare was still waiting for him inside his childhood home.

*****

A few miles past the checkpoint, the truck veered onto a narrow, unlit dirt track sheltered by an archway of dense pine trees. The moment the vehicle rolled to a stop, Zeke killed the headlights, plunging them into the soft, blue-black shadows of the Cordonian evening.

The heavy canvas tarp rasped as Zeke unhitched the rear ties. Drake pushed his way through the heavy, scratchy bags of sweetfeed, coughing quietly as the cool night air rushed into his lungs, cutting through the suffocating scent of burlap and dust. He swung his legs over the tailgate and dropped silently onto the gravel.

Before Zeke could even turn back toward the driver's cab, Drake closed the distance between them. He reached out and pulled Zeke into a fierce, tight hug. The fabric of their jackets bunched under the pressure, the sheer force of Drake's grip conveying everything his voice couldn't.

"Thank you," Drake muttered, his voice thick and gravelly with a raw, overwhelming gratitude. "You didn't have to risk yourself like that for me, Zeke. Breaking the law... facing the border guards. I don't know how I'll ever repay you for this."

Zeke gripped Drake's shoulder firmly, then gently pulled back, a faint, comforting smile touching his lips in the dim twilight. "I did it because it's the right thing to do, Drake. Banished or not, nobody should be kept from their family at a time like this." He clapped Drake's arm, his expression turning purposeful. "But don't thank me yet. We still need to get you to your mother. Come on."

They climbed into the high cab, the heavy metal doors shutting out the whispering wind of the pine woods. Zeke turned the key, and the truck roared back to life, its yellow headlights cutting a path through the gathering fog as they set off down the winding highway toward duchy Ramada.

For a long few minutes, the only sound was the low, steady rumble of the diesel engine and the rhythmic click of the indicator as they merged back onto the main road. The tension in the cab was palpable, Drake’s fingers tightly interlaced, his knuckles white as he stared straight ahead, his mind clearly racing ahead to the bedroom of his childhood home.

Zeke glanced over, shifting gears smoothly. "So," he began, his voice deliberately light, testing the waters. "A Princess, huh? I’m still trying to wrap my head around that one. How does a hay covered, sweat-soaked stable hand even end up romantically involved with royalty?"

Drake let out a breath that was half-sigh, half-laugh. He knew exactly what Zeke was doing. His friend was trying to build a wall of words between him and the terrifying reality of his mother's illness. Drake felt a profound wave of gratitude for the distraction, letting himself sink into the memory.

"She came to Applewood for the summer," Drake said, his voice instantly softening, the hard edges of his panic melting away at the mere thought of Emilia. "I met her the very day she arrived. She was... Zeke, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Just standing there in the sunshine. I was drawn to her immediately." A small, nostalgic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I thought she was part of the summer staff hired to help run the main house. She didn't correct me. She just let me believe it."

Zeke chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road as it began to curve downward into the valley. "No kidding? She just went along with it?"

"Yeah, she did," Drake replied, his eyes growing distant as he looked back at those golden weeks. "She didn't tell me who she really was. Not until we’d already spent weeks together. By the time she finally confessed who she was... it was too late. I had already fallen completely and utterly in love with her."

"That must’ve been one hell of a shock," Zeke said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"It was," Drake admitted, his chest expanding with a deep, aching reverence. "I didn't handle it very well to be honest. But then she made me see that titles didn't matter to her. It’s like... she and I are two halves of the same whole, Zeke. It sounds crazy given the vast class difference between us, but she saw me for exactly who I am as a man. Not my lack of a noble bloodline, not my empty pockets or my status. Just me. And I saw her for who she is as a woman. Not her crown, not the palace. Just… my Em."

Drake reached into his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing against the heavy, familiar weight of his latest unstamped letter. "That’s why I keep writing to her. Every single day. Because I truly believe, deep down in my soul, that one day she will come back to me. One day we'll find each other again, and we'll be together. We have to be."

Zeke smiled softly, the dashboard lights casting a warm glow over his rugged features. "If it's meant to be, mate, it will be."

Drake’s smile faded slightly, a heavy, realistic sorrow pulling at his features. He turned his head, leaning it against the cool glass of the passenger window. "I hope so," he whispered, his breath fogging the pane. "Though the longer I go without a single reply... the harder it is to cling to that dream."

"Don't lose hope, my friend," Zeke said firmly, his voice steady and unyielding. "If you truly believe you belong together, well... the universe has a funny way of making things happen when you least expect it."

Drake didn't reply, but a faint, appreciative smile touched his lips as he watched the passing landmarks of his youth. It had been ten months since he had been back on this side of the border, but nothing had changed. The old stone bridge over the river, the rusted sign for the Ramada county line, the familiar silhouettes of the jagged hills against the dark sky, they all looked the same. They drove onward in a comfortable silence, each mile bringing Drake closer to home.

"I bet it feels surreal being back on this side of the border," Zeke finally murmured, pulling Drake from his thoughts. 

Drake let out a low wistful sigh, his hands steady in his lap. "It does. But at least now we’re over the border, it should be a little easier to keep a low profile.”

“You think?” Zeke asked.

“Yeah. The King might be a tyrant, but he isn't stupid. He’s not going to put my face on a wanted poster. From what Bastien, Leo and Max have told me, no one seems to know the real reason I left. A King doesn't advertise that his daughter, the future Queen, was madly in love with a stable hand. It’s a stain on the crown.” Drake explained with a self-deprecating sigh. “To the rest of the kingdom, I wasn’t exiled by royal decree—I was just a servant who left Applewood at the end of the summer and moved away for work. My mum told the neighbours I found a new position in France, and that’s all there was to it. The only people who know the truth are the guards who dragged me to the border, my mum and the people who were actually there that night. And now you."

Zeke shifted gears, his expression turning thoughtful. "So the regular police won’t be looking for you? But if a royal official or the King’s Guard catches wind that you’re back in Ramada? That’s a different story.”

“Exactly,” Drake replied as he stared out into the dark. “I still need to be careful though. If Constantine even suspects I’m back in Cordonia, any chance I have of ever being with Emilia again will be lost forever, and we belong together. I'm sure of it.”

Zeke fell silent, his knuckles tightening slightly on the steering wheel. Drake’s words about Emilia echoed in his mind, and suddenly, Kiara’s frantic, angry face flashed vividly in his memory.

He's mine! she had shrieked back at the farm, her fingers clawing at the egg basket. I can make him happy if he just stays!

Zeke just shook his head in the darkness of the cab, a tight, sorrowful grimace crossing his face. Kiara was living in a dangerous, possessive fantasy world. Drake wasn't hers. He never had been, and he never would be. Looking at the raw, profound devotion etched into every line of Drake’s face right now, it was plain as day. Drake belonged entirely to Emilia, and his heart was anchored inside the palace walls, completely untouchable to anyone else.

The truck rounded a final, familiar bend, and the dim, scattered streetlights of Drake's hometown began to flicker through the settling night fog.

*****

The private dining room of the royal wing at the palace always felt too large, the vaulted ceilings echoing with a quiet that no amount of heavy drapery or crystal chandeliers could soften. For months, these weekly family dinners had been an exercise in endurance. Emilia sat perfectly upright, the silver fork in her hand heavy and cold. Across the long mahogany table sat her father, King Constantine, a stack of state documents resting casually beside his gold-rimmed plate. To her left was her mother, Queen Eleanor.

The distance between her parents was palpable, a frozen tundra that had settled over their marriage since the day Constantine had used his fists and his guards to shatter Emilia's life. Eleanor still refused to return to their marital bed, and though Constantine had ultimately bent to his wife’s furious demands after the autumn scandal—stripping Tariq of his title and watching as the disgraced noble’s own brother, Rashad, practically disowned him—the damage was permanent. Tariq had fled Cordonian society for Europe just after Christmas, powerless and hollowed out, but his absence couldn't heal the cracks in the royal family.

The tension in the room was a living thing, broken only by the rhythmic scrape of silver against porcelain.

"So, Emilia," Eleanor began gently, her voice a quiet lifeline in the suffocating space. "How are things between you and Liam?"

Emilia looked up, the rigid line of her shoulders softening slightly. A genuine warmth bloomed in her chest, and a soft blush touched her cheeks. "Really good, thank you. Actually..." She hesitated, a small, tentative smile gracing her lips. "We are now officially courting."

Across the table, Constantine’s head snapped up, his sharp eyes locking onto his daughter. "You are?"

Emilia completely ignored him. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on her mother, refusing to offer her father even a sliver of her attention.

Eleanor smiled warmly at her daughter, but beneath the happiness, a sharp, familiar pang of worry tightened her chest. She knew her daughter. She knew the fierce, untamable spirit Emilia possessed, and she knew the devastating grief she had been carrying. More than that, Eleanor knew about the silver chain hidden beneath Emilia’s high-collared gowns—the simple, cheap ring that still rested against her daughter's collarbone that was worth more to her than any crown jewel. Eleanor thought the world of Liam Rhys; he was sophisticated, kind, brilliantly intelligent, and a true gentleman. But as a mother, Eleanor feared that Emilia was settling—that she was choosing a safe, noble lifeline simply because she believed her true heart had been permanently exiled.

Still, seeing the genuine light in Emilia’s eyes as she recounted her and Liam's quiet walk through the palace orchards, Eleanor pushed her doubts aside. She focused entirely on her daughter's comfort, desperate for her to find any shred of peace.

As Emilia finished describing the falling blossoms, Constantine suddenly spoke up, his booming voice shattering the intimacy of the moment.

"Well, personally, I think this is excellent news," the King said, offering a tight, approving nod. "You have chosen well, Emilia. It has been a long time coming, but I am glad to see you have finally found someone worthy of the crown."

Emilia’s eyes dropped instantly to the table. Her jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in her cheek, her fingers tightening around her cutlery until her knuckles turned white.

"I am not with him because of his suitability to the crown, Father," she said, her voice dropping into a low, icy register. "I am with him because he is a good man, and he makes me happy."

"Right," Constantine dismissed with a wave of his hand, not even looking up from a report he was skimming. "Either way, this news has certainly come at a good time. The social season will be coming to a close soon to make way for the summer months. An announcement that the future Queen has chosen a suitor would certainly be a triumphant end to the season."

Emilia and Eleanor exchanged a brief, exhausted glance across the table, a shared look of profound exasperation. Constantine didn't notice—or simply didn't care.

"I believe a formal event in the city would be the proper way to announce your courtship to the public," the King continued thoughtfully. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose," Emilia muttered, her appetite entirely vanished.

"Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll have the ministers make the arrangements." Constantine paused, closing a leather-bound portfolio with a definitive thud. He looked at his daughter, his expression softening into what he likely thought was paternal pride. "I am just glad you have found someone worthy, Emilia. Someone from the nobility who can actually bring some joy into your life. And I am certainly glad that all that pathetic pining over worthless commoners is finally out of your system."

The air left the room.

SMACK!

Emilia slammed her palm flat against the mahogany table, the force of it rattling the crystal wine glasses. “What did you just say?” She hissed before she stood up so fast her heavy velvet chair scraped violently against the marble floor. For the first time in months, she looked directly at her father, her eyes blazing with a fierce, white-hot fury.

"Don't you dare talk about Drake like that!" she spat, her voice trembling with the sheer volume of her rage. "He might be nothing more than a commoner to you, but he is... he was everything to me."

Eleanor caught the slip immediately, her heart breaking for the raw vulnerability exposed in that single, corrected tense.

Emilia pressed on, her chest heaving as she stared down the King of Cordonia. "Liam is incredible, and he makes me happy. But that does not mean I have forgotten what you did, Father. You destroyed me when you banished Drake from my life. I will never forgive you, and I certainly will never forget how it felt to love him and to be loved by him."

She took a sharp, steadying breath, her chin lifting with royal defiance. "I can only hope that he is happy wherever he is now. I hope he has found peace, and love... and the further he is from you, the better."

Turning away from her father, Emilia looked down at her mother, her expression softening into a tragic, weary smile. "I've lost my appetite. I'm going to retire for the evening. Goodnight, Mother."

She bent down, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to Eleanor’s cheek, before turning on her heel and sweeping out of the dining room. The heavy oak doors clicked shut behind her.

Constantine let out a heavy, irritated sigh, muttering something under his breath before pulling his documents back into his focus, completely dismissive to the emotional wreckage he had caused.

But Eleanor didn't move. She sat in the ringing silence, her eyes fixed on the door her daughter had just vanished through. The chilling truth settled deep into her chest, confirming her worst, most profound fears.

Emilia loved Liam Rhys; he made her feel happy, safe, and secure. But Eleanor couldn't help but wonder if that gentle warmth would ever be enough compared to the roaring, unquenchable wildfire her daughter still harboured for Drake Walker.

*****

The truck rolled slowly down the narrow, unlit lane on the outskirts of the village where Drake had spent his childhood, its yellow headlights cutting through the thick, creeping river fog. It was utterly silent. The small terraced houses that lined the road stood dark against the bruised night sky, the quiet village completely oblivious to the frantic, law-breaking journey that had brought Drake back to its borders.

As Zeke brought the vehicle to a halt outside the familiar address, Drake looked out the passenger window, and his heart plummeted into a cold, hollow abyss.

Directly in front of him lay the small front garden. To anyone else, it was just a patch of earth, but to Drake, it was a museum of his mother’s love. Bianca had always been fiercely houseproud. In his mind's eye, the dark twilight melted away into a sun-drenched memory of a hot summer afternoon, so vibrant and gold it made his chest ache. He could see her so clearly—the bright crimson of her perfectly tended geraniums blooming against the crisp white fence, the sweet, heavy scent of damp soil and lavender hanging in the warm air. She would be kneeling in the dirt, her blouse sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a faded straw sunhat shading her face as she meticulously deadheaded the roses and coaxed life out of the small plot of land. To her, that garden was a sanctuary, a beautiful, flawless piece of the world she could control and gift to her son. He remembered how he and Leo would come tearing down this very lane, laughing and covered in dirt and sweat after a long day of climbing trees and building forts in the nearby fields. Bianca would always look up from her flowerbeds, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, a proud, loving smile playing on her lips the second she laid eyes on him. She would drop her trowel and be ready on the porch, a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade—condensation-heavy and ice-cold—in her hands.

But now, the memory shattered against the cold glass of the truck window.

The reality before him was a devastating, jarring contrast that made him physically sick. The garden she had poured her soul into for decades was completely overgrown, choked by an aggressive, suffocating wilderness of briars and stinging nettles. The vibrant colors were gone, replaced by a dull, dead brown. The wooden fence was in a state of utter neglect, its once-proud white paint peeling away in brittle, skeletal flakes, while thick, knotty weeds forced their way ruthlessly through the rotting slats. The small, beautiful sanctuary she had taken so much pride in now looked completely abandoned, ruined, and heartbreakingly forgotten.

Drake let out a long, ragged sigh, the sound heavy with a sorrow that threatened to crush him before he even stepped out of the cab. Zeke killed the engine, the sudden silence in the cab pressing down on them like a weight. Without a word, both men exited the truck, their boots crunching quietly against the damp gravel as they walked toward the front door.

Drake froze on the top step, his hand hovering inches from the handle, his chest heaving as panic flared in his throat. Sensing his friend’s paralysis, Zeke stepped up beside him, placing a firm, grounding hand on Drake’s shoulder. The silent pressure of Zeke’s grip was the only thing holding him together. Taking a deep, trembling breath, Drake pushed the door open.

Stepping inside, the layout of the home was exactly as he remembered—lived-in, homely, and neat. But the soul of the house was gone, stolen by a scent that made Drake’s stomach violently turn. The comforting, familiar aroma of freshly baked bread and lavender soap had vanished. In its place hung the heavy, suffocating smell of illness—a sharp, clinical mix of antiseptic and bitter medicine that clung to the back of his throat.

"Drake?"

The low, cracked voice broke the quiet from the dimly lit living room. Leo and Max were sitting together in the shadows, but the moment Drake entered, they stood up in unison.

Leo took two steps toward his best friend, and Drake’s chest seized at the sight of him. The boy he had grown up with, the man who had shared all his childhood adventures, looked completely hollowed out. Grief was written into every deep line of Leo’s face. He didn't say another word before he closed the distance and pulled Drake into a fierce, desperate hug.

"I'm so sorry, Drake," Leo sobbed, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he buried his face into Drake’s shoulder.

When Leo finally pulled back, Drake felt a painful lump form in his own throat. Tears were streaming freely down Leo’s face, tracking through the stubble on his jaw. He had never seen his best friend look so utterly deflated, so entirely broken by reality.

Max approached next, his steps uncharacteristically slow. The boisterous, energetic, and playful persona that usually defined him was completely gone, extinguished by the heavy atmosphere of the house. Only a profound, aching sadness remained in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Drake in a tight, grounding embrace. "She will be glad to have you home, mate," Max whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

The click of a ceramic cup broke the silence as Bastien walked out of the small kitchen, carrying a wooden tray with a pot of tea. The head groom stopped in his tracks, his rugged features tightening as he saw Drake standing in the hallway. Bastien had known the Walker family for decades; his wife had been Bianca's dearest friend since long before Drake was even born. And looking at him now, Drake couldn't help but feel the heavy, silent history between them. After Jackson had died, there had been long, agonising years of absence—stretches of time where Bianca had become withdrawn, had made sacrifices as she tried to keep herself and Drake from drowning in poverty. She was ashamed of what she had been forced to do, she wouldn't see anyone, and as a result she had struggled through the darkness entirely alone. Yet, despite the lost years, Bastien was the closest thing to a father Drake had left.

Seeing the boy he had watched grow up from afar, Bastien set the tray down on the coffee table with trembling hands. He stepped forward, his eyes thick with a protective, sorrowful grief as he pulled Drake into a heavy embrace.

"Welcome home, son," Bastien said softly, his voice thick and rough. He pulled back, keeping his large hands firmly on Drake's arms to steady him. "She's upstairs resting. Leona is up there with her now. She's comfortable, Drake. We've made sure of it."

Drake couldn't speak. His throat felt as though it were lined with glass. He simply gave a tight, jerky nod, his eyes automatically darting toward the narrow, creaking staircase at the end of the hall. Every nerve in his body was screaming with fear of what he would find at the top of those stairs, but the magnetic pull of his mother was stronger.

Holding his breath, Drake took a final, bracing look at Zeke, Leo, Max, and Bastien. They all stepped back, their expressions filled with a quiet reverence, silently agreeing to give him the absolute privacy he needed.

With a heavy heart, Drake placed his hand on the wooden banister and began his slow, agonising ascent into the quiet shadows of the upper floor.

Standing outside his mother’s bedroom door, Drake felt a crushing weight in his chest, far heavier than the fear of the guards or the law he had broken to get here. He stood in the narrow, dim hallway of the upper floor, his fingers hovering over the worn brass handle. His chest heaved as he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to force the terror down before he finally knocked and pushed the door open.

Inside, the clinical, bitter scent of illness was a suffocating physical wall. The room was cast in the low, heavy orange glow of a single bedside lamp, throwing long, fragile shadows across the faded wallpaper. Sitting on the edge of the bed was Leona, her dark hair pulled back into a neat, practical bun, her shoulders tense with a quiet exhaustion as she gently wiped a damp washcloth across Bianca’s forehead.

Leona was Bastien’s wife—a nurse by trade, and a woman who had known Bianca since they were schoolgirls. Aside from those painful, dark years where poverty and shame had caused them to drift apart, Leona had always been the sister Bianca never had.

As the floorboards groaned under Drake's weight, Leona turned. A soft, deeply sad smile touched her lips. She didn't question how he had bypassed the King's decree to get here; she simply stood up, squeezing his arm as she approached. "She’s been waiting for you, sweetheart," Leona whispered, her voice a soothing balm in the quiet room. "I’ll give you some space. I’ll be right outside if you need anything."

Drake managed a tight, choked nod of thanks, his eyes already pulling past her toward the bed. The moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind Leona, the true, brutal shock of his mother’s reality hit him, and his breath hitched violently in his throat.

She looked entirely unrecognisable. The illness was eating her away from the inside out. Her skin was paper-thin and translucent, stretched so tight over her cheekbones that it looked like brittle parchment under the amber lamplight. Her eyes were deeply sunken, framed by dark, bruised hollows, and her once-capable hands lay atop the quilt, frail and trembling, her joints stiffened by the decline that was slowly shutting down her body. It was a terrifying, heart-wrenching sight that made Drake’s knees feel weak.

He crossed the small bedroom in three agonising steps, his heavy boots feeling clumsy in the sacred quiet of the space. Sinking onto the edge of the mattress, he carefully, reverently placed his large, calloused hand over his mother's frail fingers on the blanket.

Bianca’s eyelids fluttered. For a terrifying, breathless second, her sunken eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, unfocused and lost in the fog of the pain medication. Then, she turned her head. Her gaze locked onto his face, and a flicker of pure, unmistakable maternal recognition flared in her eyes. A soft, beautiful smile played on her pale lips.

"Drake..." she whispered, her voice nothing more than a raspy, breathless sigh.

"I'm here, Mum," Drake said quietly, the dam finally breaking as hot tears rolled freely down his cheeks, tracking through the dust of the border crossing. He leaned further towards her, his voice cracking with the sheer weight of his grief. "It’s okay. I’m home now."

With an immense, visible effort that made Drake's heart shatter, Bianca lifted her trembling hand from the bed. Drake instantly leaned closer into her touch, closing his eyes tight as her cool, frail palm brushed against his cheek. His other hand kept holding hers lightly against the quilt, terrified that if he held too tight, she might break.

"I've missed you... my sweet boy," she breathed, her thumb weakly brushing away one of his tears.

"I'm so sorry, Mum," Drake choked out, the words tearing from his throat in a raw, ragged sob. He bowed his head, pressing his forehead against their joined hands on the quilt, the guilt consuming him. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I wish I could’ve been close to you for all these months... I should've been here. I could have done something. If I hadn't been banished, if I had just stayed, I could have saved you..."

"Shh... no, son," Bianca interrupted softly, her fingers weakly sliding from his cheek to curl into his hair. "There was nothing anyone could have done. Don't you dare blame yourself." Drake shook his head against the quilt, but she gently nudged his chin, urging him to look up at her. He sat back slightly, meeting her gaze as she let out a shallow, rattling breath, her eyes filled with a profound, peaceful clarity. "Death is just a path we all must take... and it’s my time now. But my journey doesn't end here, Drake. Soon... soon I’ll be with your dad again. And I’ll finally be free of this suffering."

"I'm sorry my actions caused so many problems," Drake whispered, looking down at her frail form, the agony of his choices written across his face. "Losing my job at the stables, getting banished, leaving you alone to face this..."

"Don't be, my love," Bianca said firmly, a sudden, fierce strength returning to her faded voice as she kept her eyes locked onto his. "You followed your heart. You fell in love, and love is more important than anything else in this world. You should never, ever regret that."

She reached up again, her weak fingers tracing his jawline. "I am so proud of you, Drake. Proud of the boy you were, and so fiercely proud of the man you have become. You are the greatest thing I have ever done with my life."

A tear slipped from the corner of her sunken eye, lost in the wrinkles of her temple. "There have been hard times for us, my sweet boy... and I have many, many regrets about the past and the choices I had to make. But you? You could never be one of them. You have been the absolute love of my life, Drake, and I'll be forever proud to call you my son."

Drake couldn't take the pain anymore. He let out a broken, shuddering cry, leaning forward to gently rest his heavy head against her frail shoulder. He buried his face in the familiar scent of her skin, beneath the sharp smell of medicine, weeping silently as his shoulders shook. Bianca wrapped her weak arms around his neck as best she could, holding her boy tight against her chest, letting him feel her heartbeat for what they both knew would be one of the very last times.

They held each other in that quiet, amber-lit room as the minutes bled together, the silence outside the door stretching long and heavy. Drake kept his head buried against her shoulder, his massive frame trembling with a desperate, silent weeping. He inhaled deeply, trying to memorise the faint, fading scent of lavender soap that still clung desperately beneath the bitter, suffocating smell of the medicine.

Bianca’s weak arms stayed draped over his neck, her fingers loosely tangled in his hair. Her breathing grew progressively slower, each inhalation a shallow, rattling struggle that tore at Drake’s chest. Every ragged rise and fall of her ribs against his cheek felt like a ticking clock, counting down the last precious seconds he would ever have with her.

"Mum," he whispered into her skin, his voice cracked and entirely broken. "Don't leave me. Please."

She didn't have the strength to speak anymore. She simply squeezed her fingers in his hair—a tiny, feeble pressure that meant I’m here. I love you. I'll never truly leave you.

Slowly, the weak embrace around his neck began to loosen. Her arms slid down his back, her hands falling heavily onto the quilt. Drake froze, his heart stopping in his chest. He lifted his head from her shoulder, his tear-blinded eyes searching her face.

Bianca’s eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. The fog of the disease and the medication seemed to clear for one final, beautiful moment, leaving her expression completely serene, completely free of pain. The tight, strained lines of suffering that had carved themselves into her face over the last few months suddenly smoothed out. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of her lips.

She let out one last, long, sighing breath. It sounded like relief.

And then, she didn't take another.

"Mum?" Drake’s voice was a tiny, childlike whimper.

He waited. He stared at her chest, praying, begging the universe to let it rise just one more time. The silence in the room became absolute, so deafeningly loud it made his ears ring. The small bedside lamp hummed.

But nothing moved.

"Mum, please," he choked out, his hand shaking violently as he pressed two fingers against the side of her neck. There was nothing. The faint, rhythmic thrumming that had been his comfort since before he was even born was completely gone. Her skin was already beginning to lose the last of its warmth.

The reality hit him like a physical blow to the sternum, knocking the breath clean out of him.

Drake dropped his head onto her chest, his forehead pressing against her still heart. A sound tore from his throat—a raw, guttural, animalistic scream of pure agony that he couldn't hold back anymore. It was a suffocating sob that shook his entire body, tearing his throat to pieces as he clutched her frail, lifeless hand and pressed it to his wet face.

"I'm sorry," he wept, his voice dissolving into jagged, breathless gasps against her night gown. "I'm so sorry, Mum. I love you. I love you so much."

Downstairs, the muffled sound of his heartbreak echoed through the floorboards. In the hallway just outside, the soft, devastating sound of Leona breaking down into quiet, stifled tears filtered through the door.

But inside the room, Drake was entirely alone in the dark. He held his mother’s cold hand against his cheek, weeping into the heavy silence, wishing with everything inside him that he could pull her back from the path she had taken.

Drake tried desperately to keep from speeding all the way home after leaving the airport.  He had been in Athens for just over two weeks working on several deals to bring three more horses back to Cordonia; one horse for his own stables and two more champion horses for the palace stables now that Marabelle’s Dream and Twilight Dash had been retired after Liam’s social season.  Two weeks...shit, that’s too fucking long, he thought to himself, I need to feel her so bad.  He was supposed to be in Athens another week, but he’d worked hard to finish ahead of schedule so that he could get home early and surprise Evelyn, his Evie - his love.  

Two weeks, two days, fourteen hours, twenty-eight minutes, and forty-six seconds.

Evelyn couldn't believe she was actually counting down to the second how long it had been since Drake left on his latest business venture. His last message to Evelyn promised that he would be home in another week, longing to show her just how much he missed her. That was a little over three days ago.  Normally, she would be going out of her mind with worry at not hearing from him in so long, but something deep within her heart assured her that he was alright.

She looked at the clock once again and closed her eyes. "Stop it," she chided herself. "Looking at the clock won't bring him home any faster."  She rose from the couch and strolled into their bedroom to change. Standing in the closet she let her fingers slide across the neatly hung clothes and paused at one item in particular. "God, I miss him so much," she sighed and pulled a black and purple babydoll nightie from its padded hanger.

Smiling, Evelyn recalled the day he left for Athens - when Drake presented the silver box to her with a promise to put it to good use when he returned. Upon opening it she found a stunning piece of lingerie. It was the most beautiful babydoll nightie she had ever seen. The bust was adorned with a sexy purple ruffle detail; the thin ribbon straps tied at the shoulder, making for easy removal. The rest of the nightie was black and very sheer, with a purple hem. There was also a pair of matching sheer string-tie panties.  She couldn’t wait to wear it for him, but he’d had to leave right away.

"Why not?" she said to herself, and put the nightie on.  Pulling her hair up in a ponytail she walked back into the living room and turned on the stereo. She grinned as she checked which discs were loaded in the CD player and found the one she was looking for. Pressing PLAY, she grabbed the remote, turned the volume up, and sauntered back to the couch as the pulsating music began. Leaning back with her head resting on the back of the couch, she closed her eyes and thought of Drake as the song played. Damn, this song is definitely about him, she thought to herself.

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

You make me feel like a sticky pistil leaning into her stamen.

You make me feel like Mr. Sunshine himself.

You make me feel like splendor in the grass where we're rolling, damn skippy baby!

You make me feel like the Amazon's running between my thighs.

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

At this last line, Evelyn let out a soft "Mmmmmm" and began to slowly caress her thighs. She spread her legs apart and slowly rubbed her hands over the tops of her thighs, then inward and back up, teasing herself slightly as her thumbs brushed softly against the thin panties. Eyes still closed, she bit her lower lip and thought, God, I want him so bad.

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

You make me feel love, love, love, love, love.

Love, love, love, love, love.

You make me feel love, love, love, love, love.

Love, love, love.

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

Drake pulled up to the cabin and couldn’t get out of his truck fast enough.  He sprinted towards the door but abruptly stopped at the porch steps when he heard the sultry song playing.  He grinned when he recognized the song, remembering his birthday present from Evelyn.  He walked up the porch steps, ready to open the door and surprise her when his breath hitched as he caught a glimpse of her through the window.  She was wearing the nightie he gave to her before he left and she was lying on the couch masturbating to the song.

Drake couldn’t stop staring at her, mesmerized by her moaning and writhing.  His heart began to race and he could feel his cock growing harder the longer he watched her.  “Γαμώτο” (Gamóto [holy shit]), he whispered to himself.  He backed off the porch and went around to sneak in the back door of the cabin.  Making sure Evelyn didn’t hear him, Drake crept up the stairs to their bedroom; he found several candles and arranged them around the room.  He undressed down to his boxers and went back downstairs to watch Evelyn some more before letting her know he was home.  Unable to wait any longer, Drake stripped off his boxers and slowly, quietly crawled to the couch and settled himself between Evelyn’s legs without alerting her to his presence.

The music continued its pulsating rhythm and Evelyn filled her mind with images of Drake and herself engaged in the most sinful of acts. She continued her slow caress and moved one hand up to her abdomen while she slid the other one under her nightie and grabbed her breast, sliding her thumb back and forth across her nipple. She slid a finger under her panties and gently caressed the aching nub, imagining him standing over her in all his beautiful nakedness, ready to devour her like a hungry predator.

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

You make me feel like a candy apple, all red and horny.

You make me feel like I wanna be a dumb blonde, in a centerfold, the girl next door.

And I would open the door and I'd be all wet with my tits soaking thru this tiny little T-shirt that I'm wearing,

And you would open the door and tie me up to the bed.

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

Evelyn rubbed her fingers against her swollen clit as she writhed in time with the music. Moaning, she pinched a nipple and imagined his soft, velvety tongue swirling circles over it. She envisioned him kissing her down her body, pausing at her navel to flick his tongue over it a few times. He continued kissing her, kneeling between her legs and kissing the inside of one thigh, then the other, slowly making his way to her center. She could feel his calloused hands slide over the barely-there panties and his hot breath just over her swollen nub. Mon Dieu, c'est si réel! (My God, it feels so real!) she moaned to herself.

“Starting without me, κούκλα μωρού (koúkla moroú [baby doll])?” 

His voice penetrated her mind like a bright ray of sunshine invading a sound slumber, as she felt the soft, hot kisses on her center.  She opened her eyes to see him staring into hers. Evelyn drew in a sharp breath, startled to see him actually there, planted between her legs.  Her heart pounded with excitement.

"I...you...what are you doing here?? I thought you were gonna be in Athens for another week?"

"I missed the fuck outta you.  I finished early and wanted to surprise you, but this," Drake eyed her hungrily, “this is so much better.” 

"I...uh..." she blushed momentarily before flashing him her best what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it grin and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him to her.

He grabbed the stereo remote and pressed the REPEAT button so that the song would play in a continuous loop. He rose and stood above her, just as she imagined, in all his naked glory. Directly in front of her his glorious cock pointed and bobbed at her, letting her know just how much he missed her. Licking her lips, she sat up and moved toward him...eager to taste the bit of pre-cum that glistened at the head. He moved back before she could taste him and she pouted slightly. He undid her ponytail, letting her hair flow around her shoulders, and holding up a black silk sash, gave her a wicked grin.

"I believe that last line said something about me tying you up to the bed."

Evelyn wrapped the sash around her wrist and took his hand as he led her upstairs to the bedroom. "But I'm not wearing a tiny little T-shirt for my wet tits to soak through," she reminded him, smirking.

"It doesn't matter, baby doll...soon you won't be wearing anything at all,” Drake winked at her and her heart fluttered.

Once inside their bedroom she paused, taking in the candles that were lit throughout the room. Before she could ask him how he managed to do them so quickly, he kissed her softly and passionately. Gently squeezing her bound hand, he released her wrist and pulled her close to him.

"I've been away too long, Evie.  I don't ever want to be without you," he whispered in her ear with immense passion and love.  At these words, Evelyn’s knees turned to jelly and Drake caught her before she fell and swept her into his strong arms. She looked into his gorgeous chocolate eyes and ran her fingers through his silky brown mane, longer now since he'd been away. She had no doubt in her mind that he meant every word.

Drake carried Evelyn to the bed and gently laid her down. He propped a pillow under her for comfort, before he slowly took her right hand in his. He placed a gentle kiss on her palm, then slowly tied her wrist to the headboard with one end of the sash. Taking her left hand, he did the same...kissing her palm before tying both wrists to the headboard.

He hovered over her, his eyes never leaving hers.  Slowly he pulled at the ties on her straps and they fell away from her shoulders. As Drake gently traced the bustline of the nightie back and forth across her sensitive skin, Evelyn shuddered at the sensation, goosebumps rising all over her body. With each back and forth sweep of his finger, he lowered the nightie until her breasts were bared to him. 

"Christ, Evie, you’re so fucking beautiful.  Η δική μου Ελληνίδα Θεά (I dikí mou Ellinída Theá [my own Greek goddess])," he whispered as he cupped her right breast before taking the nipple in his mouth. He nipped and suckled her, while he pinched and caressed her other breast. Evelyn arched her back into him and he suckled harder, giving each breast equal treatment.

"Ohhh, fuck yesssssss...Draaaaake," she moaned. He slid the nightie down her body, leaving a trail of kisses as he went. Evelyn lifted her hips and he slid her panties and nightie off her body.   Positioning himself between her legs, he gently placed them over his shoulders. Turning his head slightly, he planted a kiss on her inner thigh while his fingers lightly traced their way up her center.

Drake shifted his body slightly and Evelyn gasped as she felt a soft, hot kiss at her core. She let out a soft moan, and he responded by gently flicking his tongue over her now-throbbing clit. He glided his tongue in tiny little circles, his hot breath driving her mad with ecstasy. Soon he began to gently suckle her swollen nub and Evelyn strained against her binds, wanting desperately to run her hands through his hair.

Drake pulled his mouth away and before Evelyn could protest, he slid a finger inside, then another. "Amazon indeed, θεά μου (theá mou [my goddess])," he smirked. He slowly began to piston his fingers, curling them to caress her g-spot, while he rubbed circles over her clit with his thumb. In and out, faster and faster, he would bring her just close enough to orgasm but wouldn’t let her fall over the edge.

Whimpering, Evelyn begged for him to be inside her, "It's been so long, please, Drake..."

Crawling up the bed until he was positioned directly over her, he leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Patience, κούκλα μωρού (koúkla moroú [baby doll]), you’ll have me. But first, I want you to taste..."

Drake slid his fingers in her mouth. The taste of Evelyn’s own juices drove her into a wanton frenzy. She sucked his fingers hard and he let out a feral growl. He pulled his fingers from her mouth and she flashed an evil grin. "Wanna taste?" she teased as she stuck out her tongue.

Fire burned in his eyes as he descended upon her mouth and began to suck the essence from her tongue. Their tongues danced around each other madly before they settled into a long, passionate kiss. Using her bindings as leverage, Evelyn raised her hips to find his cock...desperately wanting to feel him fill every inch of her.

Taking her cue, Drake positioned his cock at her opening, coating the tip with her flowing juices. In one deft move he released her bindings and buried himself deep within her. Evelyn tightly wrapped her legs around his waist and held him to her. He enveloped her in his arms completely and they just lay there for a moment, feeling each other breathe...not ever wanting to let go. With a tender kiss to her neck Drake rose up on his elbows and gazed lovingly into her green eyes.  Never breaking eye contact he began a slow, steady rhythm...sliding in and out of her, rotating his hips so that he hit her sweet spot with every thrust.

"So...wet..." he rasped as his breathing became ragged. Evelyn knew he wouldn’t be able to contain himself much longer.  Lightly scraping her fingernails down his back, she cupped his sac in her hand and lovingly began to fondle him. With her other hand she gave his firm ass a gentle smack, which caused him to growl and  slam his hips into hers, harder and faster. With each thrust he rubbed against her throbbing clit and he could feel her body tense as she reached her climax.  “Draaaaake!!  I’m so close….s'il...te...plait...mon...amour (please, my love)....I….need…to…..” she gasped between breaths.  

“Yes, Evie, come….for…..me……έλα...για...μένα...μωρό...μου.... (éla gia ména moró mou [come for me baby])” Drake rasped.  With one final, hard thrust Drake and Evelyn climaxed together, simultaneously calling each other's name.

They collapsed in each other's arms, breathing heavily. He wiped a sweat-soaked lock of hair from her forehead and kissed her.  "I've missed you so much, Evie, I love you forever," he whispered. "This was the best welcome home."

"Je t'aime tellement, ma guimauve (I love you so much, my marshmallow)," she whispered as she held the man she loved.  “You are my dream come true.”  Drake’s heart fluttered at her declaration.  They held each other close as they drifted to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Not quite, but similar nightie: