Some stories are whispered in hushed voices through palace halls. Others are locked away in vaults, buried under the weight of crowns and centuries of tradition. The Royal Affair is one such story; a tale not of treaties and thrones, but of secrets, desire, and a dangerous bond forged in the shadows of power.
It begins with a prince, young and bound by duty, and the man assigned to guard him from the world. A man with a past, a man who swore never to bend to anyone until now. What was meant to be an arrangement of loyalty and protection begins to unravel into something far more perilous: temptation.
At its heart, The Royal Affair asks: what happens when devotion turns to longing, and loyalty becomes the very thing that threatens to undo them both?
Character Information
Damian Holt
Tall, magnetic, and dangerously unreadable, Damian is the outsider who carries himself like a man born to command. Beneath his calm restraint lies a storm: a past he never talks about, loyalties he can’t reveal, and desires he can no longer keep hidden. To those around him he’s just another shadow in the palace halls but for one prince, he is temptation personified.
Prince Elias
He is second in line to the throne; regal, poised, and yet undeniably human. His eyes betray him: light blue, restless, full of yearning for something beyond gilded walls. There is a quiet charm in him, a boyish warmth hidden under centuries of royal expectation. Elias is every bit the image of nobility, but beneath it lingers a spirit that aches to break free, to taste a freedom he has only dreamed of.
Two men bound by duty. One sworn to protect, the other destined to rule. But in the stillness of candlelit chambers and stolen glances across crowded rooms, something unspoken grows between them.
It is not simply loyalty.
It is not simply desire.
It is a secret they both know could shatter everything and yet neither can resist.
The Royal Affair is not just a story of power and passion. It is the story of the forbidden, of longing pressed too close, of hands brushing where they should not. And once the line is crossed, there is no turning back.
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The New Assignment
Author’s Note: This part of the story is written in 3rd person.
The car slowed as the palace gates came into view, iron wrought in curling patterns that seemed more like art than security. Beyond them, golden lamps cut through the early evening fog, casting long, regal shadows across stone courtyards that had seen centuries of secrets.
Damian Holt sat straight-backed in the rear seat, hands folded, his jaw locked in quiet readiness. Old habits never died, especially when they’d been drilled into you on battlefields far from marble halls like these. He wasn’t supposed to be here; not in this world of polished crowns and carefully staged smiles but then again, most of his life had been spent in places he didn’t belong.
The assignment had been clear, almost too clear: protect Prince Elias of Corwin, second in line to the throne. Officially, Damian was to serve as aide and secretary, the kind of figure who could slip unnoticed into photographs and press briefings. Unofficially, he was the shadow. The wall between the prince and anyone who might want to use him; politically, socially, or otherwise.
And yet as the car passed under the gates and deeper into the palace grounds, Damian felt an unease stir in his chest. He knew the kind of man he was here to protect: entitled, self-assured, used to a world bending for him. What he didn’t know was how long it would take before the prince tried to bend Damian too.
The vehicle rolled to a stop at the grand entrance. White stone steps rose like a small mountain toward heavy doors, and Damian pushed the thought away. He had work to do.
He stepped out into the cool night air. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired...he didn’t need the uniform anymore; his presence carried its own authority. The guards at the door stiffened automatically when his eyes flicked over them, trained instinct reading posture, discipline, gaps. They were ceremonial. Pretty, polished, and useless if real danger came.
Damian adjusted the cuff of his shirt, then climbed the steps into the palace.
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The corridors smelled faintly of candle wax and old paper, the weight of tradition pressed into every carved molding. A chamberlain led him through the main hall, speaking in clipped, hushed tones about duty, discretion, schedule. Damian half-listened, eyes scanning the environment. He could map a room in three seconds, find exits in two, identify threats in one. He’d survived this long because his mind never stopped working.
They stopped outside double doors of dark oak. The chamberlain hesitated, then gestured.
“The Prince is expecting you.”
Damian nodded once.
The doors opened, and there; framed by light from tall arched windows… stood the prince.
Prince Elias.
The photographs hadn’t done him justice. He was younger than Damian anticipated, yet there was something old in his eyes; something caged. His hair was golden, wavy, falling just enough out of place to make him look effortlessly composed. His eyes; blue, clear, almost too sharp lifted from the paper in his hand and settled on Damian.
For a beat, neither spoke.
“Mr. Damian Holt,” the chamberlain announced stiffly. “Your new aide, Your Highness.”
Elias turned, his pale blue gaze sweeping over Damian with deliberate slowness. He didn’t bother to hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“Aide,” Elias repeated, as though tasting the word. Then he looked Damian square in the eyes. “You don’t look like an aide.”
Damian didn’t flinch. “And you don’t look like someone who needs one.” His voice was low, calm, with just enough edge to make the chamberlain shift nervously. “They send me a soldier dressed up as a secretary. How charming.”
Damian’s jaw tightened. He’d been called worse. “I go where I’m assigned.”
The prince’s brows lifted. For the briefest second, there was amusement in his expression ; quick, sharp, then hidden.
“You’ll find, Mr. Holt,” Elias said smoothly, “that I don’t require a shadow trailing behind me. Whatever reputation you carry, I assure you, my life is not nearly so dangerous as all that.”
Damian’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “And yet, here I am…” He paused for a brief second, “…your Royal Highness.”
Silence stretched between them. Servants exchanged uneasy glances. The prince held Damian’s gaze longer than was proper, his chin tilted, testing. Damian didn’t drop his eyes. He never did.
Finally Elias dismissed the chamberlain with a flick of his hand. The room emptied until only the two of them remained.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Elias said, stopping just shy of arm’s reach. His eyes flicked briefly over Damian’s shoulders, chest, stance, as though weighing him. “You look like you’d rather be breaking down doors than fetching schedules.”
“Try me,” Damian replied. His voice had a hint of dry steel, enough to draw Elias’s gaze sharply back to his face.
“You’re not like the others they’ve sent,” Elias said quietly.
“Is that a compliment, sir?” Damian asked.
“It’s merely an observation.” The prince crossed to the window, hands folded behind his back, his tone casual but edged with something else. “The others follow me like dogs. You… look at me as if you’re waiting for me to do something reckless.”
Damian leaned slightly against the mantel, folding his arms. “Am I wrong to?”
Elias glanced back, his lips twitching. “Depends how well you handle disappointment.”
The banter was subtle, but Damian recognized the game instantly. The prince was testing him… pushing at the boundaries, searching for weakness. Most guards bowed their heads, stumbled over formality. Damian gave him none of that.
“I’ve handled worse,” Damian said simply.
For the first time, the prince faltered. Just for a second. Then his mouth curved, the faintest smirk tugging at him. “Hm. Perhaps you’ll be less boring than the last one.”
The prince’s smirk faltered, just slightly. Then he laughed under his breath and turned back to the window, as though ending the conversation on his terms. But Damian didn’t miss the way his shoulders had loosened, the way the tension in his stance shifted.
It wasn’t trust. Not yet. But it was the first crack in the wall.
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That evening, Damian followed at a distance as Elias moved through the palace routine. He was present but unobtrusive, a shadow that never faltered. The prince went from meetings to dinner, charming and graceful before his family and advisors. But whenever his eyes drifted across the room, Damian caught them. The glances were fleeting, unreadable, but they were there.
At the long dinner table, Elias leaned sideways toward his elder brother, whispering something that made the prince laugh. But his gaze flicked to Damian at the edge of the room, lingering a beat too long. Testing again.
Later, as they walked back through a quiet corridor, Elias broke the silence. “Do you always stare so intently, Mr. Holt? Or am I simply that fascinating?”
Damian’s reply was immediate. “I stare where danger might come from, Your Highness. Tonight, it happened to be you.”
Elias stopped mid-step, turning with wide-eyed mock offense. “Danger? Me?”
Damian tilted his head, voice calm. “You underestimate how easily a reckless prince can start wars or end them.”
For a moment, Elias just studied him, lips parted as though caught between retort and silence. Then, to Damian’s surprise, he laughed. A real laugh this time, unguarded and warm.
“You’re insufferable,” Elias said, but there was no heat in it. If anything, his eyes shone brighter.
“And yet,” Damian said, stepping past him to open the door to his chambers, “you’re still standing here…. Your royal highness”
The prince lingered in the doorway, looking at Damian with a mixture of curiosity and irritation; the kind reserved for puzzles that refuse to be solved. Finally, he shook his head, that faint smirk returning.
“Goodnight, Damian.”
Damian inclined his head. “Goodnight, Your Highness.”
The door closed between them. But Damian knew, with the certainty of a man who had survived wars, that this was no ordinary assignment.
The prince had looked back once more before the door shut completely. A fleeting glance, quick but weighted. The kind of look men weren’t supposed to give other men.
Damian stood alone in the corridor, jaw set, pulse steady, but deep inside he felt the shift.
The first crack.
And he knew this assignment would test far more than his loyalty.
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The Prince Tests His Shadow
Author’s Note: This part of the story is written in 3rd person.
The marble floors of the east wing caught the light of the chandeliers overhead, spilling golden patterns across the hall as Damian Holt kept a steady pace behind Prince Elias. He’d been doing this long enough to know the rhythm: the slight forward lean when Elias was annoyed, the sharp lift of his chin when he wanted to appear untouchable, the restless flick of his hand when courtiers and dignitaries approached.
To anyone else, Elias looked calm, collected, the embodiment of royal poise. To Damian, he looked like a man barely tolerating his own life.
Damian was used to this type; the stubborn ones. He’d guarded politicians in war zones, arrogant billionaires in hostile countries, actors who thought bodyguards were accessories. But Elias was different. It wasn’t arrogance. It was… something quieter. A closed door, locked tight, with glimpses of charm spilling through the cracks. Enough to make him unpredictable.
And Damian hated unpredictable.
Tonight was a gala. Another one. Long tables, chandeliers, laughter that didn’t quite reach the eyes of the guests. Damian was positioned just off Elias’s shoulder, always close enough to intervene, far enough to be invisible. He wore his suit like armor, crisp and dark, the faint bulge of his shoulder holster a secret no one was meant to notice.
Elias gave a polite smile to the French ambassador, laughed at some tedious joke about trade agreements, and then…just as suddenly….he was gone.
Damian caught the flicker of his movement instantly. Elias had slipped between two towering vases of roses and disappeared toward the service corridor.
“Christ,” Damian muttered under his breath, already moving.
He intercepted him near the kitchen doors. Elias had his jacket half-unbuttoned, mischief tugging at his mouth.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Damian said flatly.
Elias arched a brow. “Neither are you, apparently.”
Damian stepped closer, his voice low, commanding. “Back to the gala, Your Highness.”
Elias tilted his head, smirking, but there was a flash in his eyes; something sharp, testing. “Do you follow me into the bathroom too, or just everywhere else?”
Damian’s lips barely twitched. “If you keep wandering off like this, I might start.”
That earned a soft laugh from the prince. A laugh that was much warmer than it had any right to be. “You make it sound like I’m in danger walking down a hallway.”
“You are,” Damian said, serious, steady. “Every time you step away from protocol, you’re a risk. You think no one notices, but someone always does.”
For the first time, Elias faltered. His smirk thinned, then returned like a mask. He stepped closer, close enough that Damian could catch a faint whiff of expensive cologne. “Maybe I like seeing if you’ll follow me.”
Damian didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just held his gaze. “Then you’ll be disappointed if I ever stop.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. Then Elias exhaled, shook his head as if brushing it all away, and pushed past Damian back toward the hall.
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The next test came two nights later. A diplomatic dinner with half the parliament in attendance. Elias slipped away again, this time onto the terrace, where the cold night air swirled around him like a cloak. Damian followed, his shoes silent against the stone.
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Elias said without turning around.
Damian stood a measured distance away. “And yet here I am.”
“Exactly.” Elias pivoted sharply, his jacket catching the moonlight. “Do you think I need a shadow breathing down my neck every time I exhale? I’ve managed twenty-five years without being kidnapped or assassinated. I think I can handle walking outside alone.”
Damian’s jaw ticked. “You underestimate how many people want to see you fall.”
Elias scoffed. “You make it sound like I’m some fragile thing that needs constant guarding.”
“No,” Damian said, his voice firm. “You’re not fragile. You’re reckless.”
That stopped Elias cold. He blinked, clearly unused to being spoken to that way. Everyone else bowed, scraped, deferred. Damian cut through him like steel. And it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
After a long silence, Elias smirked again, though his voice was softer now. “You don’t even try to flatter me, do you?”
“Not my job,” Damian said simply.
For some reason, that answer landed heavier than Elias expected.
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They fell into a rhythm after that. Elias slipping, Damian catching. Elias testing, Damian steady.
At the art exhibit, Elias purposely lingered behind the delegation, slipping into a quieter gallery just to see how quickly Damian would find him. He found him in less than two minutes.
“At least pretend you’re admiring the painting,” Elias teased, standing in front of a massive canvas of abstract blues.
Damian glanced once. “It looks like someone drowned in oil paint.”
Elias barked out a laugh, genuine and surprised. He wasn’t sure what to do with the warmth that rushed into his chest.
At the theater, Elias leaned back in his seat, whispering during intermission, “Do you watch me the entire time? Or do you actually look at the play?”
“Both,” Damian murmured, eyes still scanning the crowd.
“Of course,” Elias muttered, smirking. “So thorough.”
The sarcasm was his shield. But every time Damian answered with cool authority or, worse, with that dry wit of his; Elias felt something twist in his stomach. Something unfamiliar.
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It all came to a head at the charity ball.
The ballroom was crowded, cameras flashing outside, nobles and donors mingling inside. Elias wore a tailored black jacket, silk lapel catching the light. Damian hovered near, his presence sharp, unyielding.
Halfway through the night, Elias made his move. He slipped toward the grand staircase, pretending to be interested in the architecture. Damian, as always, shadowed him.
“You really don’t leave me, do you?” Elias asked, voice low, almost amused.
“No Sir.”
The simplicity of it rattled him more than it should.
At the top of the staircase, a cluster of photographers shouted his name, and Elias prepared to descend for the staged photo opportunity. But as he turned, Damian stepped in, quick and efficient, and adjusted the collar of his jacket. Just a simple movement…precise fingers straightening the lapel.
But Elias froze.
His breath caught, a shiver racing through him at the unexpected intimacy of the touch. Damian’s hands were steady, professional. But Elias couldn’t stop staring at the line of his jaw, the calm intensity of his eyes, the way his body radiated control without saying a word.
For a fraction of a second, Damian’s thumb brushed the fabric near Elias’s throat. A subtle drag of skin against skin.
Elias’s pulse leapt.
He looked up, eyes locking with Damian’s. The ballroom noise seemed to fade, the crowd below blurring out of focus. There was nothing but that touch. That maddeningly restrained touch.
And then Damian withdrew, stepping back as if nothing had happened.
“Go,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only Elias could hear.
Elias swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He descended the stairs to the blinding flashes of cameras, but his mind wasn’t on the crowd anymore.
It was on the heat that still lingered at his collar.
On the ghost of a touch that shouldn’t have meant anything.
And on the dangerous, undeniable truth that it meant everything.
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