Daeron was sweating heavily, tightly gripping the pommel of his sword as if to steady himself. Standing at his side was his omega guard, one of the lucky few selected for such a position—and certainly the most competent. Against all expectations, this omega had proven skilled at something other than breeding and mothering. Daeron had grown quite close to this particular guard since they first joined his service.

They'd spent many days together, hours on end—not as Prince and Guard, but as companions. Daeron felt an odd attraction to his guard, though he could never properly identify its nature. It was a fascination that perplexed him from time to time, but one he never had to truly confront before that liquid he was told was wine entered his body. Then those damned thoughts wormed their way into his mind, burrowing deeper with each passing hour.

He could not escape them, no matter how hard he tried. They worsened when he was next to the other male—thoughts of how his guard's lips might feel against his own, how their hole would squeeze his cock and knot, milking him for all he was worth. It was agonizing to have these images running through his mind like repeated punches against his skull, dazing and fracturing his composure. Daeron hated them, hated how they made him desire someone he felt he could never have.

At the touch of a hand upon his arm, Daeron's body jerked in surprise, his gaze snapping toward his guard—the man who'd touched him. He realized he'd been so tense that he was shaking, and his guard was attempting to soothe him. The touch made his flesh burn as if scalded, but it singed his heart most of all. He could no longer look at his dear friend the same way.

"I am... fine, Ser."