- Warning! Major depictions of PTSD -

.·。.·゜·༺♥༻ ·゜·。.

CAL LEROY SR.

"Your bathwater is prepared, Your Majesty." The Valet informed as he slipped Cal's suit off and put it on the hanger. Loosening the Emperor's tie, he folded it neatly before helping him get out of his shirt. "Shall I bring you anything?"

Changing into his bathrobe, Cal tied up the sash around his waist. "No, thank you."

"Well then, enjoy your bath, Sire." He gave him a deep bow.

Cal stepped into his bathroom before disrobing himself. The heady scent of birch and white musk hit his nostrils. Turning on the radio, he walked over to the bathtub, slipping his remaining clothes off.

Tomorrow would be the first night of his birthday celebration thus he planned on replenishing himself tonight. Setting his foot into the water, he made sure of the temperature before dipping himself in. His muscles relaxed from the Epsom salt, relieving him of the tension and stress caused by the pressure of his royal duties.

He sat there with his legs stretched out, the music from the radio played along with the subtle metronome of water dripping from the faucet. The servants had dimmed the light bulbs, giving him a perfect ambience to ease down, staring up at the ceiling while resting his back on the side of the tub. Such a blissful, quiet, time alone.

To think about things!

Such as, how exciting his birthday celebrations would be after eight years. To throw a massive birthday party with Junior for the first time! And Gigi.

Gigi.

Cal could not deny that his wife had been the epicentre of his thoughts lately. Especially, when he was like this, alone and naked...

Thinking about her eyes—the way she looked at him fueled with fire, and her smile, and her breasts. Then her hair, and her breasts. And her lips, and her breasts, and her waist, and also her breasts.

Blood rushed south toward his groin, bringing about the stiffening of his length. Shutting his eyes, he slipped deeper into the water, entertaining himself with these thoughts.

Behind his lids, she appeared in front of him— just as she was; beautiful, clever, and so good to him.

Sire...

He could almost hear her voice, calling out to him, longing for him. How her palms would seize every inch of his body, his ass even. How he ached for that; becoming hers.

Sire...

Gi...

Trembling, a hot pool of desire curled in his gut as he got closer, lips chanting her name. With the glorious picture of Gigi in his mind, he finished and drifted off.

"My Prince..."

Another feminine voice reappeared out of the darkness. A flash of recollection, disrupting Gigi's perfect imagery and turned her into a ghostly manifestation of that atrocious witch.

"You're going to be mine forever, my Prince. We are a part of you now..."

The brunette simpered, caressing her rounded stomach.

"I have a part of you..."

Emerging out of the water in haste, Cal coughed out some that got into his throat and nose. His heart pounded against his ribs, panting hard as he clutched onto the edge of the tub for his dear life. Before he could realize it, tears were streaming down his cheeks.

***

The next morning, Cal jumped out of his bed and promptly got dressed, heading to the room which he had been using for private shooting practice.

At least, that was what he told the servants. The room was meant for something more. He had not used this room for years, but it had been cleaned regularly, freeing it of any dust.

Retrieving his gun, he loaded it with a series of bullets. Convincing himself that it wasn't selfish, nor destructive. After his experience last night, he needed something for himself.

Unlocking the drawers, he grabbed one of her photographs—the remaining ones existing solely for this purpose—and pinned it on the target spot. Taking a deep breath, he armed the firearm straight at her face.

Then he shot her in the face. Once. Twice, three, four, five times. He found himself frantically shooting at it till the photograph was ruined, leaving her dark hair framing a large burning hole.

When it did not fulfil him in the least, he grabbed a chair and hurled it at the target. He continued to violently trash it till the chair was ruined.

Turning to the drawers, he ransacked them, throwing out every single piece of the remaining photographs. He cursed in every possible crude word known to him—that he could never dream of saying in public—while tearing them all to pieces, found himself a match and lit them all on fire.

Just as he thought he could have a different life. Perhaps he was meant to be this way, impaired and broken. Even after years, he was still a damaged good.

Cal sat there trembling, his eyes dripping tears as he watched them burn.

***

It was amusing how Junior was referring to Olivia with such a weird Prajan name, though Cal wasn't that interested in asking further. He was having an internal conflict with himself.

Now that the guests are coming, would it be too late to cancel the party?

The sight of his wife emerging in that pink dress robbed him of any doubts. He wouldn't lie—from all those months they had spent as a married couple, this was his favourite. She had put a little more rouge on her cheeks and made her lips glossy for tonight's occasion; that he couldn't resist the temptation to press his lips on her cheek.

And he felt magnificent in a set of a champagne suit she designed for him weeks ago. The thought of her choosing this specific colour, design and shape meticulously for him warmed his chest. It provided him with a boost of confidence, as though he'd be reborn as a new person on his twenty-eighth birthday.

Rebirth; if only it was that easy.

The night turned out even better than he had expected, by and large, because Gigi was a part of it. Even when Olivia tried to tear him down and sour his mood, his wife had stepped in and stood up for him.

It almost drove him crazy just by her brushing her body against his as they danced. Did she do it on purpose? That was not fair! She got to squeeze his ass for crying out loud, and he did not get to do anything.

Though most of it was his fault.

Cal was having a chatter with his friend Oscar and his lover Miss Valentina, discussing her new breakthrough film as his wife came to approach him with wobbly steps.

"Your Majesty..." She gave him a deep curtsy. "May I sit with you?"

"Of course," Cal let down his drink onto a table as he noticed that his wife looked a little intoxicated. "Are you alright?"

"I am fine, Sire, perfectly. I am just entertaining some thoughts..." Her legs grew shaky, and Cal rose from his seat in haste, even though she managed to straighten herself before he could catch her. "You have received a lot of gifts tonight, Sire, meeting your friends... You have gotten everything you want, but can I ask you when I will ever get what I want?"

Was she... drunk?

"What do you want?"

Giggling, Gigi waddled over to reach him, pointing at his chest. "I want you, Sire." Hugging him and kissing his chest, she nuzzled her face into it.

"I see." Cal smiled, fully aware of the situation, placing a hand over her back. His wife was evidently very drunk.

"I want you so very much," she reached behind to palm his ass, making some of his friends snicker in amusement. "Can you feel it? Didn't you like it when I was grabbing your butt?"

"Ooh, so interesting here in the imperial palace," Valentina tittered.

"Get a room!" Adejola shouted from across the ballroom.

"They've got the entire palace!" added Oscar.

Cal made a sheepish grin. "Alright, darling, I think we're done here."

"Done? But I thought you wanted to throw a huuuge party." Extending her arms to describe how huge it was, Gigi lost her balance. Fortunately, this time Cal was close enough to collect her in his arms.

"That's it, let me take you to bed." Cal tried to walk her upstairs, but as she failed to even stand on both feet he picked her up bridal style, driving the cheers to go even louder.

Philippe whistled.

"Don't you carry me, Sire, I'm not Junior!" Gigi flailed around, though having her face stuck in his chest.

"I'm gonna get you up safely," Cal muttered. The entire hall continued chanting for them to do the birthday business.

***

As they reached her bedroom, he then laid her down and slipping off her shoes. He was about to go and tell her handmaidens to change her clothes as she was grabbing his sleeve.

"Don't leave," she pleaded, shifting to make more space for him. "I want you here, Sire, in my bed," she giggled.

"Not when you're drunk, no," Cal replied as he seated down by the bedside.

"But that's not true, I want you all the time!" And with that, she pulled him into bed with her, and he stared at her astounded for a moment.

Gigi propped herself on her elbows. "I was so confused about what to get you for your birthday, Sire. You already have everything," she huffed. "I was thinking really hard, what don't you have? But then my ladies told me, a daughter. I told them it's too late for that but then they suggested that we still can make a daughter on your birthday," she admitted coyly.

Cal chuckled, and a hand rose up to caress her face. "Would you like that?"

A tinge of red splashed across her already flustered cheeks. Gigi nodded, taking a hold of his hand, pressing it onto her cheek.

A daughter with Gigi... A daughter; a princess!

Gigi had brought nothing but happiness and joy to him and his son since she arrived, accepted him for better or worse, respecting his boundaries. She had never hurt him. He knew for sure, that unlike them, Gigi would never wound him.

The look in her eyes as she smiled at him, she could kill him with that. How he loathed himself each time he had to keep pulling back—to keep hurting her.

"Gi, come over, darling."

At his invitation, she snuggled into his chest. "So warm. Sire, you are so warm. I like you warm."

Eyeing her with such tenderness, his lips brushed against her brow. "You might not remember this tomorrow, Gi... But I'm really sorry. I'm so sorry, darling. So sorry."

Cal knew he was not a good husband. He had never been, and was perhaps the worst husband she could possibly end up with. Someone as pure as Gigi should have a person who'd give themselves to her wholly; mind, body and soul. All the things he couldn't give her because they've been wrenched away from him long ago.

It was foolish to think he was brave enough to start anew, but he wasn't.

He was but a sullied, torn-down remnants of what he used to; and he was not brave. He was a coward. A coward.

His wife looked up at him, beaming. "What are you sorry for? I like it when you kiss me. We should have kissed more."

Cal scattered more kisses over her face, fighting back the tears that were seeping from under his lids.

"Stay with me, Sire... Even if it's just for tonight."

"I will."

Her doe-like eyes widened. "Can you stay every night?" He laughed.

His heart was swelling in his chest so much it hurt. "Oh Gi," he kissed her on her brow. "My Gigi..."

"My... husband..." she whispered, drifting off to sleep.

.·。.·゜·༺♥༻ ·゜·。.