The political discussion regarding the Western grain tariffs was, to put it mildly, boring as hell.
Elian stood four meters away from the desk, squarely inside his magical 'WiFi Zone', watching his death timer hover at [Paused].
Rowena had been talking for forty minutes. She was articulate, intelligent, and clearly knew her fantasy-economics.
"And if we adjust the import tax on barley by 3%, we can undercut the southern duchies," Rowena said, pointing at a chart.
Cassian nodded, his face unreadable. "A sound strategy."
Elian stifled a yawn. He leaned against a bookshelf, his eyes drifting from the map to Cassian. Specifically, to Cassian's legs under the heavy oak desk.
The Prince was shifting. He crossed his left leg over his right. Then uncrossed it. Then tapped his boot against the floor. Then stretched.
'Restless leg syndrome?' Elian analyzed. 'Or just cramped? Those boots look heavy. And leather doesn't breathe. His royal feet must be suffocating.'
An idea sparked in Elian's brain. A terrible, wonderful, shameless idea.
Rowena was winning on the intellectual front. Cassian respected her brain. Elian couldn't compete with that; he didn't know a barley from a rye.
But Cassian was an Alpha. And Alphas were physical creatures. While his brain was engaged with Rowena, his body was being ignored.
'Split focus strategy,' Elian decided. 'She takes the high road. I'll take the low road.'
Elian pushed off the bookshelf. He didn't walk to the side of the desk where he had poured the coffee. He walked around to the front.
Rowena paused mid-sentence. "Valet? What are you doing?"
"A fly, Your Highness," Elian lied effortlessly. "I saw a fly go under the desk. Terrible pests. They bite."
Before Cassian could protest, Elian dropped to his knees.
He crawled under the massive oak desk.
It was dark and cramped down there. The smell of leather and Alpha scent was concentrated, heavy and musk-like. Elian found himself boxed in by the Prince's long, powerful legs clad in black trousers and knee-high riding boots.
'Okay, Elian,' he thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. 'This is it. The view from the bottom. Don't think about how weird this is. Think about the points.'
Above him, Cassian's voice wavered slightly. "Valet... get out from under there."
"Just one moment, Sire," Elian's voice came muffled from beneath the wood. "I think I see it."
Elian didn't look for a fly. He reached out and grabbed Cassian's right ankle.
Cassian's leg jerked.
"Your Highness?" Rowena asked, sounding confused. "Is everything alright?"
"Fine," Cassian said, his voice tight. "Continue. The... the barley tax."
Elian smirked in the darkness. He ran his hands up the leather of the boot, finding the laces. He began to undo them. His movements were slow, deliberate. He peeled the stiff leather away, loosening the constriction around the Prince's calf.
Then, he slipped his hands inside the top of the boot.
His fingers brushed against the trouser fabric and the warm muscle underneath. He began to massage.
'Oh yeah,' Elian thought, digging his thumbs into the calf muscle. 'That's tight. You've been stomping around the castle all day in these torture devices. Let Papa Elian fix it.'
Above the desk, Cassian stopped breathing.
[System Notification: Target Arousal... Error. Target Confusion increasing.][Contact: +5 Minutes.]
"The... the southern duchies," Cassian said, his voice cracking on the last word. He cleared his throat aggressively. "They will not be pleased."
"Are you sure you are well, Cassian?" Rowena asked. "You look flushed."
"It is warm in here," Cassian choked out.
Under the desk, Elian switched legs. He loosened the left boot. He didn't stop at the calf this time. He let his hand wander higher, just above the knee, squeezing the thick quadricep muscle.
It was a power move. A valet touching the royal thigh. It was treason. It was sexual harassment. It was survival.
'God, his legs are like tree trunks,' Elian thought, fighting the urge to rest his cheek against Cassian's knee. 'I bet he could crush a watermelon with these. I bet he could crush me.'
The thought sent a jolt of heat straight to Elian's groin.
'Stop it!' he scolded himself. 'You are a mechanic working on a car. A sexy, dangerous car.'
He squeezed harder, his thumb finding a pressure point on the inner thigh.
SLAM.
Cassian's fist hit the desktop.
"Enough!" Cassian roared.
Elian froze. 'Did I go too far?'
Rowena gasped. "Cassian? Is the tax plan that offensive?"
"No," Cassian said, standing up abruptly. His chair scraped back.
Elian was suddenly exposed as the chair moved, curled up at Cassian's feet like a dedicated pet. He looked up, wide-eyed and innocent, his hands still resting on the Prince's boots.
Rowena stared at him. She stared at his position—on his knees, between the Prince's legs.
Her face went from confused to scandalized in 0.5 seconds.
"You..." Rowena sputtered. "You shameles—"
"The fly!" Elian announced, holding up his empty hand and pretending to crush something invisible. "Got him. Nasty little bugger. He was going for the royal ankle."
He stood up, dusting off his knees. He bowed to Rowena. "You may continue your fascinating discussion about barley, Princess. I have ensured the area is secure."
Rowena looked like she wanted to scream. She looked at Cassian, expecting him to execute the servant for such bizarre behavior.
But Cassian wasn't looking at Rowena. He was looking at Elian. His chest was heaving slightly. His ears were bright red.
He looked... exhilarated.
[System Notification: Elian +2 Hearts.]
'Two hearts!' Elian mentally high-fived himself. 'The Kneel-and-Squeeze strat works!'
"Leave us, Rowena," Cassian said suddenly.
"What?" Rowena blinked. "But the treaty—"
"I cannot focus," Cassian said, his voice rough. He ran a hand through his hair. "The... fly was distracting. We will reconvene at dinner."
Rowena narrowed her eyes. She looked at Elian, then at Cassian. She sensed a shift in the atmosphere, something primal and heavy that her political acumen couldn't decode.
"Very well," she said icily. She gathered her papers. As she passed Elian, she hissed, "I don't know what game you are playing, Valet. But you will lose."
"I love games," Elian whispered back. "Especially the ones with joysticks."
Rowena stormed out.
The door clicked shut.
Silence descended on the study. Elian stood there, smiling professionally. Cassian stood by the window, his back turned.
"Valet," Cassian said.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"If you ever crawl under my desk while I am conducting state business again," Cassian said, turning around slowly. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide. "I will not let you leave until you finish what you started."
Elian's breath hitched. 'Finish what I... oh. Oh my.'
"Is that a threat, Sire?" Elian asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"It is a promise," Cassian growled. "Now get out. Before I change my mind about letting you leave."
Elian bowed and scrambled for the door.
He practically fell into the hallway, his heart racing faster than it had during the death countdown.
[System Notification: Target Arousal Detected. Intimacy Milestone Unlocked: 'Dirty Talk'. Reward: +20 LP.]
Elian leaned against the door, fanning himself. "Jesus Christ. He's huge. He's scary. And he just threatened to keep me under the desk."
He checked his status.
[Heart Meter: 3 / 1000][Time Until Death: 72 Hours, 20 Minutes.]
He had survived the afternoon. But as he looked out the window, he saw the sun setting.
Night was coming.
And with night came the hardest part of the game: Sleeping alone.
"I can't sleep in the servant's quarters," Elian realized, panic setting in as the adrenaline faded. "I'll bleed time all night. I need to get back in there."
He looked at the closed door.
"Operation Bed-Warmer starts tonight."