Page 7

The horse was gone, the spot where they had tied it up outside the cabaret now empty.

“Maybe you left it behind the cabaret?” Victor said although he didn”t sound convinced.

They made a full circle around the building just to check. Though he knew there was no hope, Benedict still felt disappointed when the horse was nowhere in sight. For a moment, they stood motionless, snow dusting their clothes as tension hung palpable between them.

“I”ll go ask the girls,” Victor said after a pause. “Maybe they saw it.”

Benedict nodded. The euphoria he’d felt after the show was now gone, dissipated like magic after midnight, leaving only desperation and regret.

He felt a knot of worry in the pit of his stomach. Walking back to Blackmoor by foot in this weather would take them three hours at the very least. By then, it would already be past five, with the servants undoubtedly up and about. How would they explain their return at such an hour? A morning stroll would be an obvious lie. And what about the disappearance of his horse Lucky?

A few minutes later, Victor returned, but his expression didn”t inspire optimism.

“So?” Benedict said impatiently.

Victor shook his head, frowning. “They haven’t seen it.”

“I can’t believe it.” Benedict”s head spun, panic washing over him. “How could someone just steal my horse?”

Victor frowned at him. “Well,” he said unenthusiastically, “it was a nice horse, and this is a bad part of town.”

“We need to call the police,” Benedict said angrily, kicking a wine bottle that stood against the building wall. The bottle rolled away with a clatter but did not break.

“The police?” Victor’s brows furrowed deeper. “You can”t.”

“Why on earth not? I won’t leave without my horse,” he said frustratedly. “It was incredibly valuable. And a gift from my father before he…” He trailed off, the thought painfully unfinished.

“You do realize how this is going to look?” Victor narrowed his eyes. “Someone like you in a place like this.” He left it at that, allowing Benedict to draw his own conclusions.

Benedict knew Victor was right. Involving the authorities under such circumstances, considering Benedict”s status and the dubious nature of the cabaret, would only lead to unwanted questions and scrutiny. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he tried to think of another solution, but nothing came to mind.

“There”s an inn nearby,” Victor said. “The girls usually stay there when the weather”s too bad to make it home. They have stables, so we can ask the owner for a ride back to Blackmoor, then return for your horse in the morning.”

Benedict sighed and nodded, lacking a better plan.

“How far is it?” he asked.

“Just around the corner.” Victor nodded towards the dark alleyway.

“Fine.”

The inn proved even closer than Benedict imagined. Its building faced a wide, grimy road where two homeless men puffed on a pipe, leaning against a brick wall. The snow blanketed the pavement, creating an illusion of cleanliness, but the street itself was so dirty that Benedict”s feet soon soaked in ankle-deep mud. His stomach twisted at the rancid smell wafting up from the sewers.

“Let”s go,” Victor said, nodding towards a large wooden door. The sign overhead read: “The Saucy Stag”.

“Are you sure this is a good…” Benedict began, but Victor had already pushed through the door. Left with no choice, Benedict followed him inside.

The inn”s vestibule was dimly lit by an orange glow from a crackling fireplace. Warmth enveloped Benedict as he removed his cold hands from his pockets, clenching and unclenching his fists to regain circulation. Victor approached a man dozing at the counter, his crooked nose nearly grazing the wooden surface.

“Hey, Mr. Dibby,” Victor called, rapping the palm of his hand on the countertop.

The man startled awake, fumbling for his glasses. When he had them on, he finally recognized the guest. “Ah, Victor. Sorry, I didn”t hear you come in. Unfortunately, with this dreadful weather, we”re fully booked, so your regular room has been taken. However, I do have another available that should be as good.” The innkeeper eyed Benedict briefly before returning his gaze to Victor. “How many hours will you be requiring it?”

For a moment, Victor seemed abashed by the question. He darted a quick glance at Benedict before saying, “No, actually, we don’t need a room. We need a favor.”

His use of ”we” finally caused the innkeeper to give Benedict a proper look, and the old man straightened up immediately. With his aristocratic demeanor and costly attire, Benedict must have looked decidedly out of place among the inn”s typical clientele.

“Oh!” Mr. Dibby”s voice carried a hint of concern. “What sort of favor?”

“You have a carriage, right? We need a ride to the city outskirts.”

“Certainly,” Mr. Dibby nodded, and Benedict felt a flicker of hope—which the old man swiftly extinguished. “Will you gentlemen be requiring a room for the night while awaiting the coachman”s arrival?”

Benedict and Victor exchanged worried glances.

“At what time does he arrive?” Benedict asked, bracing himself for an answer he knew he wouldn”t like.

“Five o”clock in the morning,” the innkeeper said. “So how about that room then? I must warn you, though, we only have one left. But rest assured, the bed shall be large enough for you both.”

Benedict”s heart sank. He had suspected all along that this midnight adventure was a bad idea, and now his worst fears came true. He could already picture his family waking up in the morning and discovering his absence. And Vivienne’s, too. How scandalous it would be. What would the servants think? And the overnight guests?..

“We won”t find another carriage at this hour, not in this weather,” Victor said, taking Benedict by the elbow and pulling him back to reality. They stepped away from the counter for privacy. “And unless you plan to walk back, I suggest we stay a few hours and return at daybreak. I”m exhausted.”

Benedict scoffed. “I’m not staying in a place called “The Saucy Stag.” Can you imagine the sort of people who frequent it? I”ll be robbed blind overnight.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “I”ve stayed here many times, you”ll be fine. You”re more likely to get mugged out on the streets in the dead of night dressed like that…” He pointedly brushed Benedict”s coat collar with his index finger.

Victor”s proximity made Benedict”s breath hitch and his stomach flip, but he ignored the feeling. Stepping back, he tried to think clearly, then approached the counter again, where the innkeeper awaited their decision.

“How much for four hours?” Benedict asked.

“One shilling,” the innkeeper said.

“A shilling!” Benedict snorted and turned to Victor. “I told you I”d be robbed here!”

“After two hours, we charge for a full night,” the innkeeper said apologetically, glancing at Victor. “You know that, Victor…”

“I do,” Victor said. He gave Benedict a pointed look and hissed, “It does cost a shilling. And don”t pretend you know inn prices. You never even leave your house.”

“I”m not paying a penny for this cesspool of sin,” Benedict hissed back, feeling his face flush to his ears.

Victor huffed in annoyance, turning to the innkeeper. “I”ll pay for us, Mr. Dibby. Put it on my name.”

“No problem,” the old man”s voice still rang with offense. For seconds, he huddled behind the counter before reappearing, key in hand. “Room number twelve on the second floor.”

“Thanks,” Victor said, grabbing the key and calling over his shoulder to Benedict. “Let’s go, Fancy Fop.”

Their room was so cramped that the bed took up most of the space. It was cold and dimly lit by a single oil lamp on a dresser. While Benedict stood awkwardly in the center, Victor crouched by the fireplace, attempting to start a fire.

Benedict eyed the bed warily. He couldn’t decide what unsettled him more: the thought of sharing the bed with Victor or the bed bugs he was certain infested the place.

“You can sleep on the floor if you like,” Victor said, giving him a sidelong glance.

Benedict felt his face heat up again, thankful for the dimness of the light. “I’m fine, thank you very much,” he said, circling the bed. “I don’t plan to sleep anyway. Don’t want to miss the coachman.”

“Do you ever relax?” Victor snorted, and the fire in the fireplace flared up, briefly illuminating the entire room.

“Not in a place like this,” Benedict sighed, patting the bedcover. “It’s damp.”

“Of course it is, have you seen the weather outside?” Victor stood up from the floor, dusting off his hands. “It”ll warm up soon, so try to relax.” He removed his coat and then began to undress from his hunting clothes.

“What are you doing?” Benedict asked, his heart pounding noticeably.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Victor replied nonchalantly, folding his trousers and placing them on the dresser.

Benedict chose not to respond and took a seat on the chair by the dresser, crossing one leg over the other.

“You’re not getting into bed in those dirty trousers,” Victor cautioned, now only in his underpants, as he slid under the covers.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Benedict replied, stifling a yawn. The chair was extremely uncomfortable; its wooden seat was so small that he nearly slid off. He wondered if he could manage to nap there for a few hours.

Victor sat up abruptly and stared across the room at him. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have any problems.”

“Are you afraid of sharing a bed?”

“Of course not.” Benedict wasn’t about to admit the real reason—that he didn’t trust how his body would react to being so close to Victor, especially since it had already betrayed him in the past twenty-four hours.

“Then don’t be an idiot,” Victor huffed, collapsing back onto the pillows.

For about a quarter of an hour, Benedict just sat there, listening to the fire crackle in the otherwise silent room.

Slowly, the room grew warmer, and Benedict began to doze off, almost sliding off the chair again. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to get some sleep, he thought. They would have to fabricate a convincing story to explain Lucky”s disappearance, but fatigue had clouded his mind, making him incapable of concocting anything even slightly plausible.

He removed his coat, draping it over the dresser, then took off his shirt and trousers and hung them on the back of the chair to dry.

Victor lay silently in bed, facing the wall, and it was hard to tell whether he was asleep or not. Wearing only his underpants and an undershirt, Benedict pulled back a corner of the bedcover and slipped under it, the cool crispness of the sheets brushing against his skin.

Victor turned to look at him over his shoulder, shaking his head incredulously. So he wasn’t asleep then.

“What?” Benedict said, crossing his arms over his chest. He could already smell Victor’s familiar earthy scent, and it was making his head spin.

“Relax. I”m not going to deflower you,” Victor said with a smirk.

“I don’t—” Benedict huffed in annoyance, struggling to find the words.

Victor just rolled his eyes and turned away, facing the wall. After a few moments of tense silence, the room”s warmth began to envelop Benedict, and he felt himself drifting off again.

***

He wasn”t sure how much time had passed when he suddenly jolted awake. The room felt stiflingly warm, and Benedict”s nightclothes clung damply to his body. The fire had burned down to embers, but it was still dark outside.

Something had roused him, but he couldn”t pinpoint what. A sound, perhaps? Or had it been a dream? Benedict sat up, straining his ears. After a few tense minutes of silence, he heard it again—an unmistakable male scream coming from the room next door.

Benedict”s heart pounded in his chest. Was someone being robbed there? Or worse, murdered? He froze, debating whether to wake Victor, call for the innkeeper, or barricade the door with the dresser.

Victor lay sound asleep beside him. Benedict gently shook him awake, eyes fixed on the door.

“Hmm? What is it?” Victor mumbled, his eyes blinking open.

“I heard something,” Benedict whispered, trying to mask the panic gripping his chest. “Someone was screaming.”

Victor frowned, rubbing his eyes as he sat upright. “What? Where?”

“In the room next door.”

They sat motionless, straining to hear through the heavy silence. For several long seconds, the only sound was their own uneven breathing.

“Maybe it was a dream,” Victor said, his voice barely audible.

“No, I was already awake when I heard it,” Benedict whispered back urgently. “Shhh.”

They fell silent once more, ears pricked for any noise from the neighboring room.

And then it happened again, tearing through the silence of the night. It wasn”t really a scream, Benedict suddenly realized, but more of a moan that repeated itself, soon joined by another male moan. They were hoarse and lustful, and it quickly became clear that these were not screams of pain but rather sounds of immense pleasure.

Benedict felt his face flush with embarrassment as Victor looked at him with a smirk, clearly visible in the semi-darkness of the room.

“Oh, you sweet, innocent child,” Victor chuckled, settling back onto the pillows.

“Shut up,” Benedict muttered, though Victor continued to laugh softly beside him.

“Turns out there might be a gap in that vaunted high society education,” Victor said with a smirk. “You may want to study up if you plan on producing heirs.”

“Shut up,” Benedict repeated sharply, his cheeks burning.

Victor”s low, rumbling voice seemed to reverberate through the stillness of the room, sending a shiver down Benedict”s spine. Heat flooded his body as his heart hammered in his chest. Without a moment”s hesitation, he swiftly leaned over Victor, bracing himself on his elbows and pinning Victor’s wrists above his head. Victor”s breathing grew rapid, his cocky smile vanishing as his eyes widened, a flash of surprise flickering across his face.

Benedict could taste the sudden shift in the atmosphere as he hovered over Victor. For a long, drawn-out moment, neither of them moved.

“Shut up,” Benedict repeated once more, his voice barely a whisper. He could feel Victor”s pulse quicken against his grip. He lowered himself further, feeling the firmness of Victor’s muscled body beneath.

Victor bucked his hips defiantly, trying to throw Benedict off. The simple touch of their bodies ignited a fire within Benedict. A searing heat coursed through his veins, radiating from every point where their bodies met. He leaned in closer, their faces inches apart, their breaths mingling. Victor looked him in the eyes.

“Kiss me,” he whispered. The world seemed to grind to a halt around those heated words, the air growing thick and molten between them. For one agonizing moment, Benedict remained motionless, body thrumming with need, before finally giving in, crashing their lips together.

Their second kiss bore no resemblance to the first one at the hunting campsite. This one was desperate, primal with need. Benedict kept Victor”s hands pinned overhead as their tongues met in a hungry clash. Victor hissed with pleasure, the sound jolting arousal through Benedict’s body.

Their tongues stroked together in the velvet heat of their mouths. Benedict cupped Victor”s cheek, deepening the kiss. He felt Victor tremble against him, his body arching, craving to be touched.

“Touch me,” Victor pleaded, his voice rough with desire. The raw need in these words sent shivers down Benedict”s spine.

With a low growl, he ground their hips flush, feeling Victor”s hardened arousal against his own. Victor moaned at the friction, nearly shattering Benedict”s self-control.

The air thickened with tension as Victor suddenly freed his hands, sliding one down Benedict”s waistband. Benedict gasped as Victor”s fingers curled firmly around his aroused flesh. He couldn”t contain the moan that escaped his lips, desire pulsing between them.

With a low growl, Benedict nuzzled into the crook of Victor”s neck as Victor”s hand began stroking and teasing him with practiced precision.

“You wanted this,” Victor rasped, surprise laced through his voice. His hand quickened on Benedict”s hardened length, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps. “You wanted to fuck me.”

Benedict huffed in frustration, the sheer obscenity of these words sending a jolt of arousal through his body. He pried Victor”s hand away to pin it back on the bed, then brushed his free hand against the thin fabric of Victor”s underpants, feeling the rigid hardness of his matching arousal.

A moan tore from Victor”s lips as Benedict”s fingers finally slipped under the fabric and wrapped around his rigid length. The contact made them both gasp with pleasure. As Benedict began stroking in a torturous, languid rhythm, mirroring what Victor had done to him just seconds before, Victor moaned again and again, his whole body writhing in desperation.

The very sight of him—flushed, wanting, utterly undone—and the needy noises he made sent waves of desire crashing through Benedict. He froze there for a moment, drinking in the vision of Victor splayed out beneath him, quivering with need. Benedict traced hungry kisses along his jawline, down the column of his neck, relishing the taste of his heated skin.

Victor arched his back, pressing their arousals together again with a needy groan. He then wrapped his legs around Benedict”s torso, pulling their bodies flush. Benedict growled with desire and rocked into a slow grind against Victor.

Friction built between them with each roll of their hips, the rhythm becoming intoxicating. Unable to hold back any longer, Benedict growled, flipping Victor onto his stomach and wrapping one hand firmly around Victor”s cock.

As Benedict stroked Victor”s length from behind, he settled between Victor”s spread thighs, nestling the heated length of his cock against the cleft of Victor”s buttocks. Victor let out a deep moan at the contact.

Lost to instinct, Benedict moved faster, driving his hips in a frantic slide along the soft crevice again and again. Each hoarse moan from Victor”s lips sent shockwaves through Benedict’s body.

When Victor cried out in release, Benedict bit down on the nape of Victor”s neck, a groan rumbling from his chest. His thrusts turned erratic as he ruthlessly chased his own peak until the world shattered around him. With a final moan, Benedict released across the small of Victor”s back before collapsing, boneless, on top of him.

For several long seconds, he simply lay there atop Victor”s body, their heavy breathing mixed together. Finally, Benedict rolled over to his side of the bed, still trying to catch his breath. The sudden realization of what they’d just done and how he”d used Victor”s body for his own pleasure in some cheap roadside inn made him feel dirty and sinful.

“Don”t overthink it,” Victor said, gazing at him in the semi-darkness as though he could read Benedict”s mind. “It doesn”t have to mean anything if you don”t want it to.” Victor”s voice was emotionless, his breathing still ragged.

“Fine.” It was the only word Benedict could manage as he lay there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.

“Fine,” Victor echoed flatly.

***

He awoke at half-past five as blue light flooded the room. The fire in the fireplace had burnt out completely, and Benedict felt the cold on his bare skin. Turning, he expected to see Victor beside him, but the bed was empty. Suddenly fully awake, Benedict jolted upright.

“You’re up,” Vivienne said, sitting in the chair by the dresser, her blonde wig brushed neatly into a ponytail. She had a bag on her lap and was wearing the same hunting attire she had on yesterday. Vivienne glanced at Benedict over the small mirror she had in her hand as she carefully applied a red lipstick. “Get dressed. The bathroom is at the end of the corridor if you need it.”

Her voice remained neutral and nonchalant, betraying nothing of what had transpired between them the previous night.

“Thanks,” Benedict muttered, finding his underpants tangled in the sheets. He quickly pulled them on before standing to grab his clothes from the chair. Vivienne paid him no attention as he hurriedly dressed.

The coachman arrived on time and gave them a pointed look when Benedict and Vivienne exited the inn. He asked where they needed to go and accepted their money.

“You don”t think he”ll spread gossip about…us now that he knows where I live?” Benedict asked grimly as they took seats across from each other in the carriage.

“What gossip is there to spread?” Vivienne replied dismissively.

Benedict felt a pang in his chest but said nothing else. An uncomfortable silence hung between them.

The carriage rattled and jolted along the uneven road, jostling them with each impact. Benedict stared rigidly out the window, trying to push away thoughts of what transpired between him and Victor in the darkness of the inn.

It doesn”t have to mean anything if you don”t want it to.

The words twisted his insides as he recalled them.

The way the innkeeper had addressed Victor made it obvious he was a regular. Did he bring others there, too? Benedict knew he wasn”t the first. And that Night guy clearly expected Victor to come with him. The mere idea made Benedict”s stomach churn, his heart sinking.

A heavy silence hung in the carriage, broken only by the rhythmic creaking of wood and the occasional crack of wheels over loose stones. Benedict tried not to dwell on flashes of tangled limbs and sweat-slicked skin that filled his mind, his face flushing. He tried not to think of Victor”s well-practiced hands that drove him wild with want. Instead, he turned his thoughts to the missing horse, trying to come up with a reason to return to the city later that day to search for it, though he knew the chances were slim after so many hours.

Last night”s snowstorm had passed, and their journey from the city to Blackmoor was across a serene landscape blanketed in white—trees and bushes wearing plump caps of snow, the roads covered knee-deep.

Benedict gazed out at the endless stretch of pristine white, his mind a whirlwind of worry and regret, while Vivienne sat across from him, unmoving as a statue.

They spent the entire journey in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. When the carriage finally approached the gates of the Blackmoor estate and rolled to a stop, the coachman tapped on the wooden wall and called for them to disembark.

As soon as they exited the carriage, the man gave them a curt nod before turning the horses around and clattering away at a gallop.

A biting morning chill hung in the air, the cold stinging their lungs with each breath. They passed through the gates and made their way silently towards the manor, the sky just beginning to lighten at the horizon.

Benedict felt unease stir in his chest at the sudden awkwardness between them. Was what happened last night no big deal for Victor? Or was he angry about how it went down and what Benedict did? Anxiety filled his belly as he watched Vivienne”s unreadable expression from the corner of his eye.

It”s fine, he told himself. If Victor decided to pretend nothing happened, maybe that was for the best. Maybe that way, it could remain between them and never come to light, allowing them to carry on as if it never transpired.

It doesn”t have to mean anything if you don”t want it to.

But the problem was, deep down, he did want it to be something. Although he knew it wasn”t possible. And he needed to stop dwelling on these thoughts before his mind ran away with them. They couldn”t be together. And even if they could, Victor was clearly uninterested, judging by how Vivienne could barely look at him today. It was just a one-time encounter, and Victor had probably already moved on.

Still, Benedict wondered if he could regain what they had before last night—the playful banter, jokes, flirting glances, and brief touches. He wished he hadn”t ruined everything by losing control of himself.

Benedict could envision this charade continuing endlessly: Vivienne visiting Blackmoor, hiding Victor”s true identity from the world. Sharing meals, playing chess, meeting in secret after midnight…No, nothing so scandalous. Just talking, going for walks, sneaking out to drag shows together. That”s what Benedict craved. To see Victor perform again and leave at his side afterwards. The mere thought of losing that forever, of never laying eyes on Victor once this ruse ended, made his heart painfully constrict.

His emotions must have shown on his face as Vivienne spoke up. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Benedict glanced over at her as they made their way down the tree-lined drive towards the manor, snow crunching underfoot.

“Oh, these thoughts are worth far more than a penny,” he attempted a lighthearted tone, though his heart gave a dull ache.

Vivienne shot him an unreadable look. “We”ll find your missing horse if that”s troubling you.”

“It”s not that.”

Their eyes met fleetingly before Vivienne averted her gaze.

As the manor”s windows came into view up ahead, Benedict knew they needed to veer off the path before being spotted. He took Vivienne”s elbow, guiding her under the cover of snow-laden trees.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they trudged through knee-deep drifts.

“The back entrance,” Benedict said.

“Is that code for something?” Vivienne replied nonchalantly.

Benedict chuckled, his cheeks burning. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

It took them nearly a quarter of an hour to reach the gardens to the left of the manor, their feet damp, their faces bitten by frost and wind.

“Won”t the servants be up already?” Vivienne said, carefully watching her steps. The snow deepened even further as they navigated past the naked trees and bushes, and the marble fountain basins brimming with undisturbed snowdrifts.

“This entrance is rarely used,” Benedict said. “But we”ll have a bit farther to walk.”

“What if somebody still sees us?”

“We”ll think of something.”

He felt Vivienne”s gaze on him again.

“What?” he said, throwing her a quick look.

“Nothing.”

And silence fell between them once more.

It was just a few hundred feet from the manor when Benedict heard Vivienne”s loud curse behind him, followed by shuffling sounds. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her lying in the thick snow, struggling to get up.

“Are you—”

“I”m fine,” she muttered irritably, but Benedict grasped her forearm and swiftly pulled her upright. Vivienne brushed off the snow now coating her to the chest. But it was futile—after two more steps, she cursed again as she tumbled back down.

“Are you sure you”re all right?” Benedict said with a trace of a smile on his lips. “Weak in the legs or something?”

“Shut it,” Vivienne grumbled. “I can’t feel my toes. And my shoes aren’t made for this.” She was sitting in the snow, frowning, her cheeks flushed and wig askew. Benedict held out his hand, but she slapped it away. “I”m not going. Tell Charlotte I”m here, and we”ll leave.”

Benedict snorted, amused that a little snow could so thoroughly fluster her.

“Fine,” Benedict said, and in one swift motion, he scooped Vivienne up and threw her over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” she hissed, panic in her voice. “Put me down, Benedict!”

“What”s the magic word?” Benedict quipped, heading for the back entrance.

Vivienne pounded on his back. “I swear you”ll regret this.”

Benedict laughed, his morning anxiety dissipating completely. “I”m sure I will.”

But he set Vivienne back to her feet only when they reached the manor. However, before he opened the back door, Vivienne lunged at him and shoved him backward into a deep snowbank. They tumbled together, Benedict landing on his back with Vivienne atop him in the thick blanket of snow.

“Shit,” Benedict muttered, his ears ringing. For a few seconds, they just huffed breaths, lying in the snow. Then Benedict glanced up and realized Victor had lost his wig, looking silly with his smudged makeup and tousled black hair.

“You look nice,” Benedict teased, ruffling Victor”s hair. Victor swatted his hand away. Benedict knew their commotion could easily draw the servants” attention, but for some reason, he didn”t care anymore. And not caring never felt so good.

For a second, their eyes met, and Benedict saw a fleeting vulnerability in Victor”s gaze, a vulnerability he longed to explore. But then Victor cursed and scrambled off him. With nothing else to do, Benedict followed.

Luckily, they made their way up the back staircase to the second floor without encountering anyone. At the dimly lit landing, they had to part ways, but before Vivienne could leave, Benedict caught her wrist and gently pulled her back.

She froze, hesitation and an unspoken question in her eyes.

“What?” she asked with a frown.

Benedict”s chest ached as he longed to remove Victor”s wig again, to pin him against the wall and kiss him. But instead, he simply said, “Get some sleep. I”ll see you at breakfast.”

Vivienne nodded and walked away.

Benedict felt exhaustion weighing on him as he climbed the stairs to the third floor and made his way down the corridor towards his room. All he wanted was to soak in a hot bath and then collapse onto his bed, burying himself in the fresh, crisp sheets.

But when he entered his room and closed the door behind him, he came to an abrupt halt. There was someone waiting for him.

Percy.