ROYAL HIGHNESS

56. stages

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, but it wasn’t silence that hung heavy between them—it was something warmer, deeper, and altogether unspoken. Ovie rested her head lightly against the car window, the faint blur of night passing by, while Amyardh sat with his eyes forward.

Neither said a word as they entered the suite. The door clicked shut behind them. The world outside remained still, buried in snow and stars. Inside, a soft golden glow spilled from the wall sconces. The hush of the suite wrapped around them like velvet.

Amyardh moved first—slowly, without saying anything. He walked to where she stood, and his hand found her cheek, brushing it gently with his thumb. She looked up at him, eyes wide, lashes trembling. But she didn’t step back. Instead, she breathed in sharply, as though already knowing what this moment meant.

“Tum thak gayi ho?” he asked, voice low, hoarse, more vulnerable than usual.

Ovie shook her head slowly. “Nahi.”

He nodded once, as though granting her unspoken permission to cross the distance neither of them had dared to name before. But tonight, it was there. Crackling like the firelight behind them, warm like the skin beneath their clothes.

Amyardh leaned down, lips brushing her forehead first, then her temple. Reverent. Hesitant. She leaned into him like the final step in a dance they’d been circling for months. When their lips finally met, it was slow, aching, a meeting of storms long held back.

Ovie’s hands clutched the front of his coat, fingers curling into the fabric like she was trying to anchor herself. His arms encircled her waist, holding her close, as if something might steal her away if he let go.

They moved toward the bedroom without words. Clothes were discarded with trembling fingers and long pauses. Each touch was hesitant at first—like discovery, like poetry. His hands caressed her with quiet reverence, mapping the path from her shoulder to the small of her back as though committing her to memory. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulled him down to kiss her again and again—soft, then deeper, then aching.

The room filled with whispers and soft sighs. His name on her lips, breathless and broken. Her name in his voice, rough like it had been carved from within him.

.......

The bedroom was cloaked in a soft amber hue, the bedside lamp still glowing dimly. Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily past the frosted glass window. Inside, the world had shrunk to a quiet heartbeat and the warm cocoon of tangled sheets and shared breath.

Ovie lay tucked beneath Amyardh’s arm, her leg slung lightly over his, her cheek pressed to his bare chest. His fingers absentmindedly trailed along the curve of her shoulder, drawing slow, lazy circles. Her breath still hadn’t settled completely, but neither had the blush in her cheeks.

A long, contented silence stretched between them, broken only when Amyardh spoke—his voice low, tired, but laced with quiet amusement.

“You’re still blushing,” he murmured, brushing his lips to her temple. “Didn’t expect my fiancée to be this shy after all that.”

She groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. “Stop talking.”

He chuckled, tugging the blanket down just enough to uncover her eyes. “Why? I like this version of you. All quiet and cuddly.”

“I’m not cuddly,” she protested, face still half-buried in his chest.

“No?” he teased, tilting her chin up with his fingers. “Then who was the girl just now who kissed me like I hung the moon?”

“That was…” she trailed off, eyes darting away. “...heat of the moment.”

Amyardh laughed softly. “That so?”