A Royal Pain in the Ethics

The sunrise spilled in through the fogged windows like molten gold, sliding over her bare shoulders and igniting tiny sparks of guilt across her skin. Elorae winced as she shifted, every muscle aching from the night's relentless rhythm. She'd lost herself, over and over again, as the night had progressed. Now, in the cool of the morning, her body hummed with the echo of pleasure, but beneath it, something colder coiled: shame.

She dragged her gaze sideways. Steve slept beside her in the passenger seat, his head tilted slightly, lips parted in a peaceful smile. Not the Steve she'd first ensnared—a graying, soft-edged man worn by decades of mediocrity. No, this Steve was something else entirely, something she had wrought with her own hands and her own power, unrestrained in this world that seemed to amplify everything she was. His jaw was sharp now, cheekbones cut from marble, chest sculpted with impossible precision. His breath fogged the glass in slow, even waves, his body a quiet testament to what she had done.

Her fingers curled against her thigh. She shouldn't have pushed so far. She'd always known her gift, her power, was dangerous, but here… here it was feral. Potent. Overwhelmed as she was by her accidental connection to Joey, Elorae had once again reached deep into Steve's essence. She had only meant to stroke his affection, to push him from the blind loyalty she had **** on him to something more, something warmer, something that fit the scene that she was unfolding in the car.

But she hadn't just touched Steve's desire. Once her power hit Steve, pushed by the onslaught of sensation from Joey, she had reshaped him, remade him into the man her fevered impulses demanded. The memory of him above her, filling her perfectly after she'd willed it so, sent a shudder through her sore frame.

Elorae pressed her forehead to the cool glass, trying to focus on the world beyond. Dawn was a living thing, painting the horizon in strokes of rose and fire. She hadn't believed beauty like this could exist—a sky that bled colour, clouds like drifting silk. For a moment, it stole her breath. For a moment, she could almost forget what tethered her here.

She could still feel him. Joey. That thread of power still pulsed in her veins, alien and intimate all at once. The night had been a torrent, his pleasure bleeding into her through that bond until it drowned her judgment. She had tried to sever it afterward, had clawed at the connection in every way she knew, but it held fast. It was wrong. It was dangerous. It had already led her to remake Steve, an innocent man, sculpted by her most base desires. Should she be overwhelmed again, how would Elorae react? What was she truly capable of?

She closed her eyes, summoning fragments of purpose like a dying fire. She hadn't come here to drown in lust or lose herself in the strange heat of this reality. She'd come to save her people. And now… now she would have to save his people too. Because soon, the ether would find a way in.

A soft sound broke her reverie. Steve stirred, stretching like a great cat, then turned his perfect face toward her with a smile so warm it almost undid her resolve. "Morning, Your Highness," he murmured, voice a deep, velvety rumble that still startled her.

Her throat tightened. She should tell him last night was a mistake. "Steve," she whispered, her voice rough, "about what happened… I need to apologize..."

He frowned, head tilting, utterly lost. "Apologize?" The question was innocent, but confusion shadowed his eyes, as though the concept of her being wrong simply didn't fit anywhere in his mind.

"I… I shouldn't have—"

"Your Majesty," he interrupted, bewildered, "why would you ever apologize? You're… perfect." The sincerity in his tone hit her like a blade.

Her breath faltered. Shame twisted tighter, but beneath it—Gods help her—something like hunger stirred again.

Enough. She tore her gaze away, fixing it on the house at the end of the driveway, its windows gleaming in the newborn light. Joey was in there. The boy who could doom or save them all.

She shoved the door open, letting the crisp morning air bite at her skin. Gravel crunched under her boots as she stepped out, squaring her shoulders against exhaustion, against doubt. Behind her, Steve climbed out too, every inch the flawless knight she'd made him.

It was time. Time to face Joey. Time to end this. Time to save a world that didn't even know it was in peril.