The Brewing Storm

Carl stormed into his chambers, rage simmering beneath his skin as he paced back and forth, clenching his fists. His father's slap still echoed in his mind, the sting on his cheek a painful reminder of the humiliation.

"How dare he?" His eyes burned with fury as he replayed the scene in the throne room.

"How dare he lay a hand on me," Carl hissed under his breath. He stopped pacing and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

He couldn't let his anger consume him, not yet.

Revenge would come, but it had to be calculated. His father would pay for this affront, but only when the timing was right. Carl smirked, imagining the day he would make his father kneel before him.

But for now, his mind wandered to other thoughts.

Thoughts of him - Eirik.

His beautiful face, the way his slender body moved with such grace, the soft curve of his lips.