Unchosen Crown

FOREVER AND A DAY (BONUS CHAPTER - IAN'S P.O.V)

Looking at him was like peering through a window on an autumn day: magnificent, with its warm colors.

His eyes were a rare fusion of hazel tones — like dried leaves — with hints of amber and antique gold blending in imprecise proportions before spreading like watercolor into moss green across his iris. Full and expressive eyebrows intensified his striking gaze. Subtle dimples adorned his smile, perfectly complementing his impeccable bone structure and dazzling lips. Strands intertwined with burnt gold, sun rays carefully woven, falling softly in a caress.

The final ornament of nature.

His fair skin subtly displayed small freckles on the bridge of his nose, delicate marks of summer, contrasting with the natural signs dotting his face. Broad shoulders, full chest, strong and erect neck. A masterpiece, a sculpted body, divine in its beauty. Every curve and contour, a delight to the eyes, a vision of perfection untouched by time.

He possessed a charming voice, with a husky softness present in some notes. Not to mention his irresistible British accent. He had a witty and light humor, he was sweet and kind.

He was an unequivocally free soul.

Terribly attractive.

Ian knew him like the back of his hand — the lines and curves of his body etched in his memory. Every laugh, every moan, every sigh of discontent, all crystallized in the form of a deep, unwavering, unquestionable love. He understood the nuances of his mood as if they were songs, the different personalities he assumed in each situation were verses of a love song that played throughout the day, and Ian was the composer, the musician, the singer, and the listener of his soul.

Sometimes, he was the proud and strong king, with a firm voice, and the dust of state affairs marked on his clothes, but when he slept or laughed joyfully with Ian, he saw him as a pure and gentle man, a man who loved his family tenderly and who loved him deeply, with a love that melted him to the bone and made him soar high, very high, like a lonely bird in search of the sun.

The words of love he spoke were like manna from heaven, so sweet, so true, so necessary, that Ian carefully stored them in his mind and heart, precious as a lost treasure rediscovered in every moment of affection. He was lucky to have such an intense and true love, he knew that, and expressed it in every possible way, with every kiss, every touch, every look, every word, even with the silences shared between them.

With every glimpse of vulnerability he allowed Ian to see beneath the shell of determination, he felt a wave of warmth and happiness fill him from head to toe, his entire being transformed into a river of passion and tenderness, a tribute to this wonderful man he called his love. Therefore, even after so many years together, Ian watched him sleep with tenderness and gratitude, and the smile still reached him when his phone vibrated with a message from him, and he still melted with love when he said he loved him, because he knew there was nothing but truth in those words.

And every morning, Ian had the privilege of waking up beside Oliver — not the majesty, nor the prince, but just the man he loved with all his being — and felt ready to save the world.

"What are you doing?" His voice came, low like a heavy whisper interrupted by recent sleep. The soft and hoarse tone, laden with drowsiness, sent waves of warmth through Ian's body. Oliver then brought his hand toward him, and Ian reached out over his chest before letting his thumb delicately trace the prominent vein in his forearm, following in a slow and intimate caress up to his shoulder, collarbones, throat, jaw, lips... Oliver laughed softly, holding his finger between his teeth with a lightness that made Ian smile. "Love, I've told you this is weird," he joked, keeping his eyes closed but with an open and inviting smile on his lips.