The click of the door closing behind them echoed through the hotel room, but Oliver barely registered the sound before pushing Ian against the wood. However, before Ian could protest, their lips collided with an urgency that Oliver had no intention of disguising.

It had been almost a month since he last had his hands on Ian, and Oliver wasn't going to waste time on pleasantries.

His hands roamed Ian's body eagerly, memorizing every curve, every tense muscle under the thin shirt. He pressed his hips against Ian's, an exasperated groan escaping his throat as a wave of desire coursed through his veins.

Ian's hands tried to calm him, squeezing his back, shoulders, waist, and each light touch was enough to set Oliver ablaze.

"Hell," Oliver panted, pulling back briefly to suck the soft skin of Ian's neck, eliciting a breathy laugh from him. "I hate being so far away from you."

With trembling fingers, he grabbed the hem of Ian's shirt, pulling it up hastily, buttons popping and clattering to the wooden floor. The sight of Ian's bare torso, his defined muscles gleaming in the golden sunset light streaming through the curtains, only made Oliver hungrier.

"Oliver, slow down," Ian chuckled softly against his lips, though his eyes were dark with desire as Oliver slid his hands inside Ian's pants. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't ask me to," Oliver shot back with a defiant look, watching Ian close his eyes in delight as his fingers found warm skin. "I've missed you so much it hurts."

Oliver wanted everything at once. He wanted to strip Ian of those pants and kneel before him. He wanted to throw himself on the bed, on his hands and knees, and beg for Ian to touch him in a way no one else could. He wanted to take him right there against the door, wild and relentless.

He was on the verge of madness, and Ian seemed to sense it.

Ian grabbed his shoulders, holding him gently at a distance. He pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Oliver's nose, his eyes conveying a calm that contrasted sharply with Oliver's desperation.

"What's wrong?"

"At this rate, you're going to break one of my ribs," Ian teased, and Oliver sighed, frustrated.

"Sorry, it's just..." He tried to justify the longing he felt for Ian, but knew he understood, even if he didn't finish the sentence.

"I know," Ian interrupted him with boundless kindness, and Oliver calmed slightly. "We don't have to rush, Oliver. No one is going to find us here."

Indeed, they were hidden away in a charming inn south of Madrid, far from prying eyes. Outside, a beautiful garden stretched out, tree branches swaying gently in the breeze. The windows were open, and the warm sunset light bathed Ian's tanned skin in a golden glow that took Oliver's breath away.

Ian approached again, holding Oliver's face between his hands as he pressed their lips together. Oliver let Ian kiss him calmly, but in a completely sensual way. He could feel the soft touch of Ian's tongue seeking his own, and he surrendered to him, melting against his body, pressing against his firm chest. Desire consumed them, but Ian kept the moment tender, attentive to each of Oliver's reactions.

"Better?" Ian asked, separating their lips by a millimeter. Oliver nodded in response, allowing his hands to slide gently over Ian's body, no longer consumed by the frantic urgency of before. A soft smile curved Ian's lips as his fingers traced a warm line along Oliver's jaw. "I want you to feel good," Ian added, his voice husky with desire as he stepped back, giving Oliver space to breathe in his intoxicating scent.

"There's a way to make this even better," Oliver offered, seeing Ian's eyes light up with understanding.

Without hesitation, Oliver sank to his knees before Ian.

Ian's body revealed itself to him in the soft glow of late afternoon, a sight that made Oliver's heart race. He looked up to meet Ian's eyes, waiting for his signal of approval like a devotee awaiting a blessing.

Ian's dark, desire-filled eyes were all the permission he needed.

When he took Ian into his mouth, Ian couldn't contain a trembling sigh, his hips instinctively moving forward before pulling back again. A low laugh escaped his lips as one of his hands caressed Oliver's temple tenderly.

"Sorry," Ian murmured in a thread of a voice, his half-closed lashes partially hiding the fire burning in his gaze. "It's been so long..."

Strangely, the idea of Ian remaining untouched for weeks ignited a possessive flame within Oliver. It was as if he wanted to claim him as his own, remind him how intoxicating it could be to surrender to pleasure in his hands.

"God, I love you so much," Ian moaned in a husky prayer, his hips moving in a slow back and forth as Oliver followed. He felt Ian's fingers tangle in his hair, massaging his scalp in circular motions that sent shivers down his spine. "Every inch of you drives me crazy, but that mouth..."

The light sound of Ian's head hitting the doorframe indicated he was completely lost in the moment.

Oliver imagined biting the soft skin of Ian's exposed neck, leaving his mark for him to remember in the days to come. But he contented himself with tasting him meticulously, determined to make that suffocating longing disappear once and for all.

"Wait, wait..." Ian panted between shaky laughs, barely controlling his shallow breaths. Holding Oliver's shoulders firmly yet gently, he stopped him, his eyes meeting Oliver's with a warning. Tracing Oliver's jaw with his thumb in a delicate caress, Ian caught a drop of saliva on his lower lip. "If you keep going, this will end too quickly"

His words warmed Oliver as he stood up once more, pressing their lips in a frantic and impatient kiss. Ian rarely opposed whatever Oliver was doing, but today, his golden eyes shone with a hungry, insatiable lust, begging for more of him.

The warm caramel tone glittered intensely, and the possessive strength with which Ian's long fingers wove through his hair was unmistakable evidence of what he desperately craved. Using that grip, Ian pulled Oliver closer, his tense body vibrating with the need to feel him fully.

Once on the bed, they were a whirlwind of sheets and bare skin. Ian knelt between Oliver's spread legs, his sculpted muscles tense like a predator on the prowl. His darkened eyes roamed every inch of Oliver's exposed body, burning his skin with his gaze of pure lust.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Ian sighed, his voice heavy and deep, sending delicious chills down his spine.

Ian tasted Oliver slowly, teasingly, as if he wanted to unravel him, and like he knew exactly what to do for it . His eyes met Oliver's from beneath thick lashes, shining with mischief as he endeavored to leave him breathless.

"God, Ian," Oliver panted, his hands tangling possessively in the dark curls. Ian responded with a satisfied purr, the vibrations driving Oliver to the edge of madness. Pulling him up, Oliver captured his lips in a voracious kiss, reversing their positions once again until he was on top. "If only you could see yourself through my eyes."

"I'd have the same opinion," Ian retorted, though his expression said he barely knew what he was arguing about.

"Just learn to take a compliment," Oliver sighed against Ian's ear, setting a rhythm that made Ian's hips undulate against his.

Ian arched his back, his long fingers squeezing Oliver's thighs tightly.

In ecstasy, Oliver moved without haste. Under him, it was impossible to look away from Ian. The perfect arch of his eyebrows, the tempting parting of his lips as he moaned softly — all of it made Oliver's blood boil.

With feline languor, Ian captured Oliver's lower lip between his teeth in a light bite, sucking the sensitive flesh between breathy gasps, half-closed eyes staring at him with intensity.

Ian's hands roamed the curve of Oliver's thighs in a burning caress, tracing his hips along the way. They then settled on his waist, pulling him down with a voracious urge, until a satisfied gasp escaped Oliver's lips in response, his body lifting slightly in counteraction.

"You are... perfect," Ian moaned in a daze, finally closing his eyes as he let himself be enveloped by Oliver's warmth.

Oliver understood what Ian wanted, but he wouldn't miss the chance to hear him beg.

"Don't say nonsense, love," Oliver briefly gave in to Ian's urge, but then his only movement was to lean over his body until their noses touched.

Oliver captured Ian's lips in a slow, deep kiss, sucking his lower lip between his own. Ian gasped against Oliver's mouth, his hips undulating in a silent plea.

Oliver lifted his body just enough to break the kiss, leaving Ian panting in delicious frustration.

"Tell me what you want," Oliver commanded with a voice thick with desire, staring at Ian closely.

Ian gifted Oliver with a pleading look, dimples forming as an irresistible smile curved his reddened lips.

"You love making me beg, don't you?" Ian whispered, and Oliver shivered at the palpable desire in his words.

Without breaking eye contact, Oliver captured Ian's hands, intertwining their fingers above his head, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Ian bit his own lip as Oliver leaned in a little more to kiss the subtle dimple in his chin.

"I love hearing your voice," Oliver admitted with raw sincerity, watching Ian's eyes open slowly. "You begging is just an extra reward."

The playful groan that escaped Ian's lips was a silent confession of how much Oliver's words affected him — no different from what Ian's words did to him.

Their bodies moved slowly, the tension building with each touch.

"I can feel what this does to you," Ian teased, his voice deep like velvet against Oliver's skin. His eyes gleamed with lust as he arched against Oliver. "Did you know?"

"Oh? How?" Oliver challenged, sliding his fingertips along Ian's side in a ghostly caress, watching the tan skin shiver under his touch.

Ian let out a strangled moan. "I feel you tremble around me," he confessed with a crooked smile. "That's how I know what you like."

Ian's words hit Oliver like a cascade of light, igniting every nerve ending. Oliver pressed his lips to Ian's almost desperately, moving briefly and shallowly, which elicited another dissatisfied sigh from Ian.

When they separated, Ian's lips were red and swollen.

"Well, you're good at reading me," Oliver retorted, his voice barely above a whisper as he rolled his hips against Ian's in a subtle motion. "But if you keep talking to me like this, I won't last another minute."

Ian's eyes rolled back as a shiver ran through his body. "I don't care if you finish first," he challenged, the anguished lust shining in his gaze. "In fact, I plan to make you do it over and over again today."

"Now you're overestimating yourself," Oliver exhaled with a restrained laugh, provoking him in a game he knew he would lose.

And then, well, Ian made sure to prove his point without saying a word.

Ian began to lift his hips, making Oliver melt into loud gasps and broken moans that echoed through the room, dragging him into delirium.

Until his voice whispered plaintively in Oliver's ear:

"Do you need me to say please, Your Highness?" It sounded more like a disjointed phrase, because it was all Oliver could comprehend.

Even if Ian didn't say anything else, Oliver didn't intend to let him stay in control for long. So, it was easy to plant his feet on the mattress behind Ian and, with Ian's hands supporting him, respond in kind.

It was impossible to resist the uncontrollable desire to kiss him, even though his state of arousal made him unable to reciprocate properly. Ian dodged Oliver's lips with breathless grunts — whiny curses amid desperate prayers, and Oliver realized that Ian was much closer to climax than he had imagined.

However, it was Oliver who moaned uncontrollably, his fingers tangled in Ian's hair as his entire body convulsed over Ian, without any contact.

"So good..." Oliver murmured into Ian's neck, his words muffled by the intense sensations coursing through his body.

Ian responded with a low laugh, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on Oliver's back.

"Still amazes me, every time." Ian replied, his voice thick with satisfaction and a slight smile.

The world beyond the walls of Oliver and Ian's small oasis disappeared, leaving only the two of them, connected in so many ways.

For Oliver, everything with Ian made the rest irrelevant. He was the only certainty in his life.

◃───────────▹

Oliver took a deep breath, letting himself be enveloped by the enchanting atmosphere of the Spanish inn where they were that night. The whitewashed walls and rustic charm of the wooden shutters seemed to transport them to an isolated planet. The terraced gardens showcased a burst of vibrant colors and intoxicating scents, while the constant sound of fountains created a delightful soundtrack for their pre-dinner nap.

As they walked along the cobblestone paths, a sweet floral fragrance surrounded them, drawing them to the multicolored carpet of the garden. Exquisite architectural details punctuated the landscape, from finely sculpted columns to statues that evoked the Spanish essence.

With the arrival of dusk, a welcoming twilight enveloped the island, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating the path to the restaurant.

"I liked your speech in Westminster last week," Ian commented casually, his carefree smile rivaling the brightness of the full moon. "If you decide to pursue a career in politics, you'll have my full support. You can count on my vote."

He then served them both a rich ruby wine. The velvety liquid slid down their throats, warming them from within as they exchanged knowing laughs, nestled on the terrace under a sky sprinkled with twinkling stars.

A soft laugh escaped Oliver before he responded: "Politics is far from my plans, but your support means a lot."

"Any events planned for the next week?" Ian inquired, his hand extended in an implicit invitation for Oliver to reach it.

"I'll be at the Edinburgh Festival," Oliver replied casually, letting a hint of boredom show that Ian didn't catch. Seeing his interest, he added, "My grandmother thinks it's a good opportunity for us to establish a sense of belonging."

"We?" An eyebrow raised at Oliver's subtle revelation. "You and Sofia will be representing the family?"

"She's quite nice," Oliver mentioned, adjusting his position to meet Ian's gaze. "And she's much better at these events than I am."

"I can imagine," Ian replied, with a slight trace of bitterness in his voice. Oliver tilted his head, curious.

"Why do you sound so negative?" He asked gently, as Ian composed himself, placing the glass on the richly embroidered tablecloth.

"Because she's your wife," Ian stated matter-of-factly. "It's natural that I hate her."

"But you barely know her," Oliver retorted, laughing softly. "How can you hate her?"

"Let's call it irrational jealousy and immediate rivalry," Ian replied, trying to mask the truth with humor.

"There's no reason for that," Oliver consoled him, his calm voice dissipating any tension in the air, softening Ian's expression. "You know I love you and only you."

"I know," Ian finally agreed, the gentler tone bringing a sense of relief to Oliver. "They're unfounded feelings."

"She understands us so well," Oliver commented, his gaze locked with Ian's. "Today, she even agreed to cover for me so I could be here with you."

Ian grumbled in response, his eyes fixed on Oliver's, but a hint of doubt lingered in them. Oliver could feel it, evident in the way Ian's fingers tightened around the wine glass.

"You really have reservations about her, don't you?" Oliver said, sliding his hand down Ian's arm in an affectionate gesture, feeling the texture of the soft skin under his touch.

"Yes, I do," Ian admitted hesitantly. "Part of me suspects she's trying to earn your trust in a very calculated way."

Ian's confession made Oliver's heart sink, but he tried to keep a light tone as he said:

"Why would you say that, Ian?"

"I'm a lawyer. I've seen this kind of behavior before," Ian explained, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. "People trying to get close with ulterior motives."

"But we shouldn't assume the worst in people, don't you think?" Oliver argued gently, almost as if he were explaining the principle to a child. "Let's give her the benefit of the doubt."

"I'm not accusing her of anything," Ian clarified, the professionalism surfacing as he intertwined his fingers with Oliver's across the table. "It's just a behavior I recognize, of someone trying to get close to possibly achieve something more... I fear that, with your generous nature, you might be easily deceived. Not because I specifically distrust her, but because you are, without a doubt, the purest soul I know. And it's prudent to be cautious."

"I can take care of myself, my love," Oliver reassured him, squeezing his hand lightly. "Don't worry so much."

Ian sighed softly, bringing Oliver's hand to his lips and sealing the back with a kiss.

"It's just... my instinct to protect you," he admitted, looking at Oliver with an adorable expression of vulnerability and protective affection.

"That's very, very sweet," Oliver leaned over the table, releasing his hand to trace the angle of Ian's jaw with his thumb, feeling the roughness against his skin. With a suggestive smile, Oliver continued:  "Maybe you should focus on taking care of yourself, because I'm pretty sure I won't be able to resist attacking you right here and now."

"Better not draw so much attention," Ian teased, the seriousness belied by his tempting smile. "Didn't Stockholm teach you anything?"

Oliver laughed softly, watching him suggestively. "I think you're right. What a shame... We would put on a great show."

Ian's eyes widened for a moment before a mischievous gleam took over, highlighted by the slightly reddened lips from the wine. Oliver's daring insinuation made Ian swallow hard, though his smile only grew with anticipation.

"You watched it, didn't you?" Ian whispered, his voice husky with barely contained desire. His eyes scanned Oliver's face for a silent confession. "The video. You saw it."

Oliver looked away for a brief second, feeling his cheeks heat up under Ian's scrutiny. "Maybe..."

"Oliver," Ian clicked his tongue lightly, risking a false reprimand that couldn't hide the growing excitement. "I didn't expect this kind of behavior from a prince."

Oliver rolled his eyes, yet a mischievous smile curved his lips. "Are you going to tell me you weren't curious too?"

"Me? Never," Ian lied blatantly, which drew another ironic laugh from Oliver. "As your former advisor, I only have one thing to say about your shameful inclination towards homemade pornography, Your Highness," He leaned towards Oliver, his eyes darkened with desire as he devoured him with an intense look. His expression was impassive, almost authoritative, just for a fleeting moment before he winked provocatively. "We really do look incredibly good together."

Oliver felt the warmth spread across his face at Ian's blatant teasing, but he couldn't contain the mischievous smile forming. The atmosphere around them seemed electrifying, the sexual tension in the air suddenly suffocating.

"You know..." Oliver began slowly, adjusting himself in the chair as if nothing could shake him, despite the fire burning in his veins. "I heard Spanish cuisine is incredible. But I think I'll skip dinner this time."

Ian's eyes sparkled with the veiled suggestion, the corner of his mouth lifting in a tempting smile.

"We can order room service," Ian proposed casually, his eyes sweeping the intimate restaurant setting. "I'm sure they offer that here."

"Always insightful," Oliver agreed without hesitation, hardly caring if his weekend diet was reduced to water and Ian. The hunger consuming him was of another nature, and much more urgent. "Let's get out of here."

◃───────────▹

When they returned to the room, everything was meticulously restored, as if the previous chaos had never existed.

A smile curved Oliver's lips when Ian, with a gentle gesture, pushed the door open, inviting him in first — a courtesy that warmed him inside.

Oliver watched Ian over his shoulder as he carefully locked the door, the key turning silently. Then, with graceful movements, Ian removed his linen blazer, placing it on the chair in an almost ceremonial act.

Ian's eyes, serene as deep wells, met Oliver's, radiating a tranquility that seemed to purify his soul.

"What is it?" Oliver broke the comfortable silence, curious and enchanted in almost equal measures.

Ian shrugged, a sly smile lighting up his face, as if they shared a secret.

"Nothing," he murmured, extending his hand to Oliver. Oliver didn't need an invitation, but he gave one anyway: "Dance with me?"

"We don't have music," Oliver argued, but Ian's hands were already holding his, pulling him firmly against his chest in a steady movement that made him stumble. Ian's strong arms supported him as they laughed, the sound warm and contagious.

They began to sway to unheard melodies, and Oliver nestled closer, preferring the symphony of their intertwined breaths to any other music. The murmur of Ian's voice in his ear was the only melody Oliver wanted to preserve.

"Do you remember when we met?" Ian began.

As they danced slowly, Ian's hands roamed Oliver's back in a delicate caress, tracing paths of comforting warmth with each movement.

Ian's embrace seemed to weave a protective dome around Oliver.

"How could I forget?" Oliver responded with a light tone of teasing. "You and those tight pants, defying all standards of decency."

"I would never do such a thing!" Ian protested amidst laughter, the memories seemingly transporting him back to that moment.

Ian's light and relaxed humor drew another genuine laugh from Oliver that seemed to float in the air, filling every corner of the room.

"Anyway..." Ian continued after a few moments, his speech acquiring a slight touch of seriousness. "Back then, Laura... she advised me to decline the offer to work with you."

"Why?" Oliver inquired, his curiosity piqued despite the suspicion already hovering in his mind.

"She had the foresight to see something that took me longer to recognize," Ian explained, his eyes meeting Oliver's with a transparency that seemed unprecedented. "Laura knew it would only be a matter of time before I fell hopelessly in love with you."

That confession, so sweet and sincere, made Oliver's heart race.

"Would you have liked to listen to her?" The question escaped Oliver's lips before he could ponder, a part of him desperate to hear the answer.

"I'm not much of a fan of obstacles, Oliver, don't get me wrong," Ian clarified. "Every second away from you is torture, an eternity," he confessed. A nostalgic sigh escaped him, his breath sweet against Oliver's lips. "However, there's not a single day I don't feel grateful you awakened these feelings in me."

"I feel the same," Oliver confessed — a raw and painfully beautiful truth that seemed to pave the way for an understanding that the existence of any reality where their souls weren't eternally connected was simply impossible.

The room was bathed in warm, flickering light from the lanterns suspended outside the inn with an almost ethereal gentleness. Shadows moved across the walls, forming ephemeral constellations in Ian's brown eyes. The scent of burnt wax mixed with the woody perfume he always wore — an olfactory memory that Oliver associated with the true definition of home.

"I was living on autopilot for so long. Doing what needed to be done. But when I met you, everything changed in ways I never imagined," Ian's voice was almost reverent, sliding through the tense and expectant air. "I never imagined I would feel attracted to a man, much less love one in such a... visceral, primal way." Each emphasized word was a whisper laden with emotions, vibrating in the space between them. "What I'm trying to say, Oliver, is that saying I love you is an understatement, it's not enough, it's almost futile. I wish I could keep you by my side forever."

The determination in Ian's voice rose above the silence, breaking any doubts that might exist, filling the room with an unbreakable truth.

"Ian..." Oliver's nervous laugh was an automatic response, not just to the charming absurdity of the situation, but also to the raw beauty of his words, a unique contrast that only Ian could evoke. "If I didn't know you, I could swear you're—"

"Asking you to marry me?" Ian completed in a playful tone, but the intensity of his gaze and the seriousness of his expression diluted the lightness of the joke, alternating with the intensity of its meaning. "I know. It's exactly what I'd like to be doing right now."

Suddenly, the air became thick, almost tangible, charged with a myriad of possible futures and the monumental weight of the here and now. Oliver's heart raced with a mix of shock, joy, and a bittersweet mourning for what couldn't be.

"Ian, wait," Oliver's voice trembled, faltered, almost unrecognizable, fractured by surprise. "What are you doing? What does all this mean? How can we—"

"I just wanted our day to end like I feel, Oliver," Ian continued, and with each pause, Oliver sought to control the fire Ian had ignited within him. "This is how I imagined it, not waiting for the perfect moment, away from the banal and cliché prescriptions everyone seems to follow." His declaration so direct, so stripped of adornments, yet it was of stunning beauty — a love in its truest form. "I know none of this can truly be ours, and strangely, I don't care. I needed you to know that in any other reality, it would be you, and only you, whom I'd make this proposal to."

Oliver was engulfed by a devastating torrent of feelings — desire, guilt, an irrepressible need to hold him close and never let go.

Their lips met in hungry and desperate kisses, casting veiled promises they knew they couldn't keep. Oliver pulled Ian against him tightly, emulating the frantic tumult of their hearts in a desperate search for anchorage in this storm of passion.

And in the gap between this overwhelming love and a silent yet eternal commitment, all Oliver could do was whisper with reproach and devotion:

"You motherfucker."

Oliver interrupted Ian's enchanting laugh with another deep kiss, his tongue invading his mouth with an undue gentleness. Ian guided them to the bed in blind movements, where they collapsed in a tangle of limbs.

Ian knelt between Oliver's open legs, and he watched him shed the last remnants of clothing. Ian's tanned skin glowed golden in the dim lamp light, his defined abs rippling fluidly, a trail of dark hair descending from his navel to the waistband of his pants.

"I knew you'd be the death of me, Harrison-Jones," Oliver whispered nervously, his eyes roaming Ian's naked body with intense desire.

Ian kissed him again tenderly, fitting his hips between Oliver's knees with delicacy as he shed the remaining clothes.

It didn't take long for Ian to position Oliver exactly where he wanted. His firm hands held Oliver's lower back, pinning him to the mattress while lifting his hips with confidence and apparent experience, having full access to his body.

A barely perceptible whisper escaped Ian's lips: "God, I wish I had a ring."

Ian moved his hips in a way that made Oliver's entire body tremble with anticipation.

"That would be kind of..." Oliver tried to say between gasps, but his reasoning was interrupted by an off-angle thrust that ignited every nerve ending, making him arch off the mattress, "...out of order."

Ian smiled, that open smile that always left Oliver captivated. He leaned down, exploring Oliver's skin with a trail of languid kisses and light bites — starting at the neck, nibbling along Oliver's jawline, down to his earlobe.

"Too late to worry about order, don't you think?" Ian teased with a muffled laugh, the warm breath tickling.

Without giving Oliver a chance to respond, Ian increased the rhythm, making Oliver's mind spin.

Eventually, Oliver managed to articulate Ian's name at the height of his pleasure, feeling the rollercoaster of sensations making him float out of his own body. Then, he felt the heat consume him, surprising him with a sudden orgasm that made him tremble and writhe beneath Ian.

After long minutes trying to catch his breath, Oliver opened his eyes to find Ian watching him with an expression of reverence, as if he were the most beautiful thing Ian had ever seen.

And Oliver knew that's exactly how Ian saw him.

Oliver slowly raised his hand to brush a stray lock of hair from Ian's face, a delicate touch as if he were fragile. Then, with a seriousness meant to emphasize the sincerity of his words, Oliver said:

"Just so you know... I would have said yes."

◃───────────▹

Oliver smiled the whole flight back to England, settled in the back of a crowded commercial plane.

From the airport, a taxi took him back to Windsor, where Oliver walked calmly through the castle gates. The colors of the garden flowers seemed more vivid, the aromas of the newly bloomed trees, sweeter.

Everything was as it should be.

However, Oliver's smile vanished when he entered the foyer and heard hurried footsteps. Alice's curls bounced in the air as she ran towards him, her cheeks flushed and tears welling in her eyes.

She grabbed Oliver's arms tightly, her fingers digging in like claws.

"Where the hell have you been?" Alice's voice pierced the air, wavering on the edge of panic.

Oliver's heart raced, stumbling over itself.

What could have happened to upset her so much? His stomach twisted with a dark foreboding.

Surprised, Oliver only blinked. "What happened, Alice?"

With a sob, she managed to say: "It's Grandma."