The dawn crept into the prince's chambers like a hesitant intruder, painting the walls in soft hues of amber. Aelion stirred, his thoughts still wrapped in the warmth of last night—the kiss, the admission, the unspoken tether that had finally found its voice. His chest felt both light and heavy; light with love, heavy with consequence.
Kealen stood at the balcony, as he often did, though today he lingered longer than usual. The golden strands of morning tangled with his dark hair, and his posture was taut, as though his body resisted the comfort of stillness.
"You've been awake all night?" Aelion's voice was hoarse with sleep, yet filled with concern.
Kealen turned, his amber eyes softening when they landed on the prince. "I don't need sleep when you're at risk."
The words should have been simple, duty-bound, but the faint tremor beneath them carried something far more personal. Aelion sat up, his fingers tightening on the edge of the sheets. His heart whispered, not just duty… never just duty.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint chirping of birds beyond the balcony. Then Aelion forced a small smile. "You sound as though you swore an oath to me, not the crown."
"I did," Kealen replied quietly, his gaze unflinching. "Long before last night."
The air thickened. Aelion's throat tightened, and he rose, padding barefoot across the chamber until he stood before his protector. The world outside might not yet know what had bloomed between them, but in this space, it was undeniable.
"Kealen…" The prince's hand lifted, hovering inches from his knight's chest, uncertain if he had the right to bridge the distance.
Kealen caught it gently, pressing the prince's palm against the steady beat of his heart. "This belongs to you, whether you want it or not."
Aelion closed his eyes, letting the warmth seep into him, daring himself to believe.
---
The day, however, had no patience for tenderness. By the time the prince entered the council chamber, whispers were already rustling like dry leaves. Lords and advisors bowed, but their eyes—sharp, darting, suspicious—betrayed unease.
"The prophecy speaks of one bound by destiny," murmured Lord Dareth, one of the elder advisors, his words meant for another yet deliberately loud enough for Aelion to hear. "But does it not also speak of sacrifice? Perhaps the kingdom will be spared… but at the cost of one life."
The words stung. Aelion stiffened in his seat, forcing composure into his posture.
Another advisor leaned forward, voice hushed but urgent. "If 'only one' must stand at the end, who decides which one? The heir or his protector?"
Aelion's jaw clenched. His gaze flicked briefly to Kealen, who stood at the chamber's edge like a shadow carved of steel. The knight's expression was unreadable, but his hand rested ever so slightly on the hilt of his blade—as though daring anyone to question his role aloud.
The council's murmurs swirled on, their faith cracking under the weight of prophecy and fear. Aelion forced the session closed sooner than usual, retreating with his dignity intact but his heart storming.
---
Later that afternoon, Aelion wandered the garden to breathe. The roses were in bloom, their fragrance soft, their petals bright against the creeping heaviness of court politics. Kealen followed at a measured distance, his presence steady as ever.
But something shifted. Aelion's eyes narrowed when he noticed his cousin, Lady Seliora, lingering near the far hedge. Her gaze darted too quickly away when it met his. For years, she had been warm, supportive—yet today, her smile seemed fragile, forced.
She curtsied and departed without a word. Aelion's skin prickled with unease.
"You saw it too," Kealen murmured when they were alone again.
"She's never avoided my gaze before," Aelion replied, worry threading through his tone.
Kealen scanned the garden, every sense alert. "We may not have been alone last night. Someone could have seen."
Aelion's heart lurched. His confession, their kiss—it had felt like freedom, but now, chains of dread coiled tighter. "If the court suspects… if anyone believes I…" His voice trailed off, fear gripping him.
Kealen stepped closer, his tone steady, grounding. "Let them suspect. They can strip me of title, of honor, even of breath—but they will never take from me what I feel for you."
The prince's breath caught. For a fleeting moment, fear yielded to comfort, to the warmth of loyalty wrapped in love.
---
That night, shadows thickened in the halls of the palace. Aelion sat by candlelight, his hand trembling slightly as he traced lines of an old prophecy scroll. The words mocked him, their ambiguity gnawing: One shall rise, and one shall fall, yet only one shall remain.
A soft knock interrupted his spiraling thoughts. Kealen entered, his expression grim.
"What is it?" Aelion asked.
The knight set a folded piece of parchment on the desk. "I intercepted this."
The prince unfolded it with care, his heart pounding. The message was scrawled hastily, unsigned:
Beware, Your Highness. Betrayal grows within your walls. Trust not even those closest to you. The prophecy demands blood—and whispers already choose yours.
The candlelight flickered, shadows dancing across the words. Aelion's hand shook as he set the letter down. "So it begins."
Kealen knelt beside him, his hand covering the prince's. "Then let them whisper. We'll face it together."
Their eyes locked, a silent vow sealed in firelight. Yet outside the chamber, unseen, a shadow lingered… listening.