King ~ A Troyler Story.

Chapter 8

Another chapter (: We are really getting into the plot line now and I am so excited about it. Tyler is a very dark character whereas Troye is very childlike and young which balances them both out lovely. However Troye also has a lot of problems to face and his sexuality is only one of them. 

Enjoy darlings (:

Prince Troye's POV

Troye certainly wouldn't admit that he felt a small tug in his stomach as he watched Ingrid fold his last jumper and place it in the trunk at the end of his bed. He certainly wouldn't admit that he dragged his feet behind himself as he followed his family to the docks, the people of Eleanora waving at the ruling families that were boarding their ships, each flashier than the next. As a Prince he would certainly not admit that he wished to say just a few more days so he could figure out the weird feeling in his head that was making his mind fuzzy. The whole leaving part had been set up in the most organised manner, each family having a certain time to depart so the docks wouldn't be ridiculously busy. Some of the monarchies chose to stroll through the town to get to their ships whereas others opted for horse and carriage so they could be gone as soon as possible.

Troye let out a sigh as he saw his own family's ship, a large light oak one with the title 'Cecilia' written in calligraphy at the side. It was nothing if not impressive but it did not spike that feeling of pride in him that it usually did. Usually he would have smirked at the looks of awe in others eyes but now he wanted to burn the bloody wood into the sea. He averted his gaze to the ship exiting the dock now, his own would be next. Ingrid was rushing ahead with the rest of the maids, trying to make sure everything was prepared well enough for his father- a perfectionist if anything.

As he looked closer however he noticed an unfamiliar blonde woman helping Ingrid with the boxes and he was sure she would deny the blush on her cheeks as they brushed fingers when lifting the boxes. Interesting.

"I'll be glad to get of this godforsaken island. That awful man deserves to be alone." The bitter voice of his father resonated through Troye's mind and he turned to look at him. His father's eyes were narrowed, cheeks a furious red as he muttered under his breath while Troye's mother shot him disapproving looks before plastering another smile on her face. King Shaun had not yet forgiven the King of Eleanora for his actions of banishing him from meetings and embarrassing him. He had been all King Shaun had talked about every evening and it always ended with Laurelle slapping him round the back of the head and calling him an embarrassment.

Troye wondered how angry his father would be if he had seen him and the King interacting under the balcony that night.

The thought caused a flash of heat to dash through Troye's stomach at the memory of the King's burning touches on his cheek and the curl of his fingers through the hair at Troye's neck. He had no clue what happened that night, one minute he was telling him not to jump and the next he was trying to control his hormones. He almost launched himself at the King that night and snogged him silly. Troye hadn't even kissed a boy before. A boy. There it was, the thought that he tried so hard to push out of his mind whenever he thought of King's dark eyes or thunderous smirk.

He knew there probably wouldn't be anything from it; he blamed it on the darkness and the storm clouding his thoughts. Yes, he would clear the King from his thoughts and when he returned home he would forget all this boy nonsense. In fact there was no boy nonsense, they didn't even do anything. The King's touches simply made him do that because he was still young with hormones, any boy would react to touches like that. Right? He was jolted out of his thoughts as he heard the very voice that had made his knees go weak- with horror! Yes with horror, certainly not lust.

"Yes thank you, it has been a pleasure to have your family attend." The bored tone drawled on, the roughness sending a shiver through Troye that he refused to acknowledge. He knew that the polite words were nothing but a front, an improvement to the name of Eleanora. Troye screwed his eyes shut, trying to discipline himself. He should not turn around but the thoughts of those eyes looking into his won were all too much to handle and he wished in that moment to feel that burning touch again. His logic dived into the stormy waters of his emotions, drowning in the fiery response he had towards the man standing not so far away from him. Morals be damned, he wanted nothing more than to-