The morning of the departure was a blur of steel, leather, and official chaos in the palace courtyard. Vaelorian was already awake, looking every inch the determined—if slightly overdressed—military inspector, when Sir Eryndor rode in, dusty and relieved, just hours after completing his grueling eastern mission.
Sir Eryndor's gaze spotted the unusual gathering instantly: Riven's logistical unit ready to ride, and the Crown Prince—right in the middle of them.
What the hell was going on?
Sir Eryndor dismounted swiftly and strode toward his Prince, his movements fast and his relief for seeing his friend palpable.
"Your Highness," Eryndor greeted, dropping into a deep, formal bow despite the grime on his armor. "I have returned safely as promised and reporting for immediate duty. The eastern border is secured."
Vaelorian grinned, genuine warmth flooding his face. "Eryndor! You made it just in time. Welcome home. I must say, you're the most welcome sight I've seen all month."
"Thank you, Your Highness. Though I confess, I was expecting a few days of rest and warm baths, not... this," Sir Eryndor said, gesturing with confusion at the packed supply wagons. "What is the meaning of this mobilization? And with all due respect, why are you on a warhorse and dressed like you're going for patrol?"
Riven, standing nearby, offered a wry, knowing smile.
Vaelorian leaned down from his saddle, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "This, my friend, is a necessary political gesture. I am heading to the Northern Regions to personally inspect the supply routes and fortifications. A vital mission of Imperial interest."
Eryndor's brow furrowed. "The North? With only Lord Riven's unit for escort? Your Highness, this is highly irregular. With all the tension in the North, it's frankly too dangerous. I am your sworn bodyguard. Were you planning to leave the palace without me? I should be at your side in times like this." He looked at Riven, a flash of professional anxiety in his eyes. "No offense, Lord Riven, but your men are quartermasters, not shock cavalry."
Riven laughed easily, leaning slightly in his saddle. "None taken, Sir Eryndor. We packed food, not shields. Your Highness, he has a point. But he's fresh off a mission. He needs rest and warm baths. I suggest you let him stay here and guard the imperial Palace while we're away."
"Nonsense," Vaelorian declared, his decision made. He knew he was asking a lot, but he also knew Eryndor would rather be anywhere but in the imperial palace without Vaelorian. "Eryndor, you have always been my shadow. And right now, I will be riding beyond the safety of the capital for weeks, you can, of course, refuse to accompany me. But, know that your place is with me, always."
Eryndor straightened, the exhaustion of his previous mission instantly forgotten, replaced by his fierce sense of duty.
"Then I shall ride with you, Your Highness. I wouldn't have it any other way. Give me an hour to wash the eastern dust off and saddle a fresh horse." He glanced at Riven, his expression softening to something closer to approval. "Lord Riven, I trust you have packed adequate provisions for His Highness. I hold you personally responsible for his well-being, though I will ensure the actual fighting falls to me."
"We are provisioned for an army, Sir Eryndor," Riven assured him. "And I promise you will have plenty of fighting to keep you occupied. Now go, get clean. We ride at noon."
As Sir Eryndor hurried off, Vaelorian looked at Riven, a mixture of gratitude and triumph in his expression.
"You see? Everything is perfectly in place. I have the Empire's best logistics expert and the best bodyguard at my side. We are unstoppable."
Riven shook his head, a smile on his lips. "You are utterly impossible. I can't believe you just dragged your very tired friend straight from one duty into a far more dangerous one, all so you don't have to be alone."
"That is precisely the point of friends and lovers," Vaelorian murmured, leaning over to press a swift, hard kiss to Riven's cheek. "Now hurry up and get out of here before my father changes his mind."
And so, the unexpected trio—the Crown Prince, his lover-turned-logistics-expert, and his fiercely loyal bodyguard—rode out from the Imperial gates at the head of a small, heavily laden column, leaving the safety and comfort of the Capital behind for the harsh, open road of the North.