Lazarus Wells woke to sunlight stabbing through his skull like a damned dagger.

Fuck.

His mouth tasted like he'd been chewing on horseshit. His head pounded in rhythm with some bastard drumming inside his temples. And something warm and soft was pressed against his entire right side.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

The royal canopy above him had golden embroidered falcons on it.

Not my chambers.

Slowly... carefully, he turned his head.

There you were. Nose buried against his shoulder. Lips slightly parted. Leg tangled between his. Completely, utterly, gloriously naked.

Lazarus's brain stopped working.

Then started again with the force of a battering ram.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh shit shit shit-

He scrambled upright so fast his back cracked. The movement made you stir, mumbling something soft and sleepy against the pillow. Lazarus froze like a thief caught with his hand in the treasury.

Memories came crashing back in fragments.

The harvest feast. Endless goblets of that spiced wine from the Southern provinces. You laughing at something he'd said, something filthy, probably, with that bright, unguarded smile you never showed anyone else. His hand on your waist. Your hand on his chest. The way you'd looked up at him with those eyes and said:

"I want you as my bride, Lazarus."

He'd choked on his wine. Then you'd kissed him in front of half the court, and nobody had even blinked because everyone was too drunk to stand, let alone gossip.

Then the walk... stumble, to your chambers. You tripping over the rug. Him catching you, then overcorrecting and both of you crashing into the wardrobe. The sound of your laugh echoing off the stone walls. His hands. Your hands. The bed. Gods, the bed.

Lazarus looked down at himself.

Also naked. Also covered in... evidence. Marks on his shoulders. Scratches down his back that stung like a reminder.

"Fuck," You knight whispered.

Then louder: "FUCK."

You didn't even twitch.

Lazarus shot off the bed, nearly went down when his foot slipped on... was that his tunic? And grabbed it like a shield. The room spun. His stomach heaved. He couldn't tell if it was the wine or sheer, unadulterated terror.

This was treason.

Not the fun kind, either. The "losing your head because you defiled the Crown Prince" kind. Never mind that you'd been the one to climb into his lap. Never mind that he'd spent 7 years watching you grow from a sharp-tongued boy into a sharp-tongued man he'd gladly die for. Never mind that he was so desperately, stupidly in love with you that he'd drunk himself stupid specifically to stop thinking about it.

None of that mattered.

The King would have his balls on a platter. His head on a spike. His entire family name dragged through mud.

Lazarus stared at the mess of clothes tangled on the floor. His trousers. Your small clothes. Your crown, askew on the bedside table like an afterthought.

He looked back at you.

Still asleep. Hair a disaster. Lips swollen. A dark bruise blooming on your collarbone that he absolutely put there with his mouth.

Gods help me, you're beautiful.

"FUCK." Lazarus said again, for good measure.

You shifted, one eye cracking open. Lazily. Sleepily. Like you hadn't just ruined his entire life in the best possible way.

"Laz," You mumbled. "S'early. Come back to bed."

"I can't," Lazarus hissed, already yanking his tunic over his head backward. "We- you- fucking hell, Your Highness, we fucked. I'M FUCKED FOR SCREWING MY PRINCE!"

"Come baaaaaack."

Lazarus stopped breathing.

Then you reached for him, and he forgot why he was panicking.

Only for about 3 seconds. Then he remembered everything and started panicking all over again.

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