—Present Day—

Morning light spilled across Nathan’s room in quiet gold, brushing over dark sheets, the polished edge of the desk, the open curtains that breathed with the faintest breeze.

Nathan was already awake.

He sat at the desk in a loose shirt, sleeves rolled, hair still slightly undone in a way that made him look less like the cold heir the world feared—and more like a man who had slept in peace for once. The diary lay closed beside his hand like a heart he’d set down carefully. The room was silent, but not lonely.

It never was.

The door opened without a knock.

Footsteps—unhurried, confident—crossed the floor like the owner of the room had arrived.

Knight Lang entered with coffee in one hand, looking effortlessly dangerous even in the calm morning—dark hair falling in soft, messy waves across his forehead, sharp jawline catching the light, lips curled with a half-smile that promised trouble. A small hoop earring glinted when he tilted his head, eyes warm and wicked at once—like he knew exactly what kind of damage he could do with a single look.

He was dressed simply, black shirt open at the collar, sleeves pushed up, skin still kissed by sleep and heat.

Fire walking into Ice.

Without hesitation, Knight leaned down and set the cup beside Nathan’s hand. Not politely. Not carefully. Like it was an offering.

Then he leaned closer—too close.

“Honey,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, mouth brushing the edge of Nathan’s ear like he enjoyed the privilege. “You’re up early.”

Nathan didn’t look startled.

He didn’t look annoyed.

He only glanced sideways, calm as a blade. “You’re late.”

Knight’s grin widened, offended in the most amused way. “Late?” He scoffed softly. “I brought you coffee. Like a devoted—”

Nathan cut him off without lifting his voice. “Like a menace.”

Knight laughed under his breath and stepped in further, closing the space between them. He braced one hand on the desk beside Nathan, caging him in with practiced ease. The scent of coffee & clean cologne and heat surrounded Nathan, and the way Knight looked at him—lazy, possessive, openly pleased—would’ve ruined reputations if anyone else had been allowed to witness it.

“I missed you,” Knight said, like it was casual.

Nathan’s eyes flicked up.

Knight’s gaze didn’t flinch.

The air shifted—something warm and sharp underneath the teasing. Something real.

Nathan set his pen down slowly. “You were here last night.”

Knight hummed. “Still missed you.”

He leaned closer, head tilting, lips almost brushing Nathan’s.

Almost.

Nathan’s gaze dropped to his mouth for half a second—barely a movement, but it was enough.

Knight’s voice dipped lower, dangerously soft. “You were writing again.”

Nathan didn’t deny it.

Knight’s fingers traced lightly along Nathan’s jaw—not sweet, not hesitant—like he was reminding Nathan who he belonged to in the present. “I swear,” Knight murmured, “you spend too much time with ghosts.”

Nathan’s grip closed around the edge of the desk—steady, controlled.

Knight smiled like he could taste the reaction. “Look at you,” he teased. “So calm. So composed. Acting like you don’t want me.”

Nathan finally turned his head fully, eyes sharp. “You’re in my room.”

Knight’s smile turned brighter—predatory. “Exactly.”

And that was his mistake.

In one smooth motion, Nathan caught Knight by the collar and twisted positions so fast it felt like the room blinked. Knight’s back hit the desk with a soft thud—no pain, only surprise. Nathan leaned in, braced between Knight’s legs, one hand pinning him there, the other resting on the desk beside his head.

Ice didn’t chase.

Ice claimed.

Knight blinked once.

Then he laughed, breathless, eyes gleaming. “Oh. So you do want me.”

Nathan leaned closer until their noses almost touched. “You talk too much.”

“Then shut me up,” Knight whispered, shameless.

Nathan’s mouth hovered near his—

Close enough for heat to spark. Close enough for the world to disappear.

Knight’s eyes half-lidded.

Nathan moved in.

And—

Knight shoved something between their faces.

Nathan stopped instantly.

A familiar cover. Worn edges. Heavy weight.

The diary.

Knight held it up like a shield, grinning like a devil. “No.”

Nathan stared at it, deadpan. “Knight.”

Knight’s grin widened. “You don’t get to kiss me when you’re still thinking about yesterday.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed, dangerously amused. “Put that down.”

Knight’s voice turned sweet. “Make me.”

Nathan leaned in again, but Knight pushed the diary higher, blocking him completely.

Nathan exhaled slowly—control returning like ice settling over a flame.

Knight took advantage of the pause.

He slipped out from under Nathan with infuriating ease, snatched the coffee cup back, and backed away with a victorious smirk like he’d just won a war.

Nathan straightened, unbothered. “Give it back.”

Knight sipped the coffee calmly. “No.”

Nathan stepped forward.

Knight’s grin turned feral. “If you come any closer, I’ll spill it.”

Nathan stopped—because the coffee was on his desk and he cared about his desk more than his pride.

Knight’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.”

He turned like he was leaving.

Then—halfway to the door—he pivoted back.

Nathan barely had time to lift his gaze when Knight crossed the room in two strides and pressed a quick kiss to Nathan’s cheek—soft, fast, intimate.

A theft.

A promise.

Knight pulled away instantly, already moving backward as if he’d never been there.

Nathan’s eyes sharpened, a rare softness flickering behind them like sunlight on ice. “Coward.”

Knight pointed at him like he’d been praised. “I prefer ‘strategic.’”

Then he grinned wider. “Finish your writing, Honey.”

Knight slipped out the door, shutting it behind him with the kind of smug finality only he could manage.

Silence returned.

But it was a different silence now—alive, warm, filled with the ghost of laughter.

Nathan touched his cheek once, as if confirming it had happened.

Then he looked at the diary.

Still on the desk. Still heavy.

Nathan sat down slowly and opened it again, the spine familiar beneath his hands.

His pen hovered.

For a long moment, he didn’t write.

He simply stared at the page, breath steady, heart quieter than it had been last night.

Then ink touched paper.

“Knight doesn’t know how to exist gently.

He arrives like fire—too bright, too close, impossible to ignore.

He says he is my present like it is a command.

And maybe he is.

There are people you love like breath—silent, constant, necessary.

And there are people you love like a blade pressed against your pulse—dangerous, certain, unforgettable.

I still remember the first day I found him.

The day my life caught fire.”

Nathan closed his eyes once, as if bracing for the memory.

Then he turned the page—

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Next in The Prince and His Knight

Every present has a beginning.

His began the day he met a boy who burned,

and decided—without knowing why—

to stand between him and the world.

Next Stop: The Day Ice Found His Fire

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───