The royal palace gleamed with opulence that night, its grand ballroom lit by thousands of candles and jeweled chandeliers that threw rainbows across the marble floor. Nobles moved like silken currents, their gowns sweeping, their masks glittering, their laughter sharp with secrets. Music filled the air — violins and flutes weaving a melody of elegance and deception.
The ball was not just a celebration. It was a political weapon. Aelion knew this the moment he stepped down the staircase, clad in white and silver that caught the firelight like a fallen star. Every gaze turned to him, some filled with admiration, others with envy, but all with expectation.
Beside him, in the shadows, Kealen moved silently. Though dressed in formal attire, he still bore the edge of steel in his presence — the vigilant bodyguard hidden behind charm. His eyes never stopped scanning the crowd, his hand never straying far from the hilt concealed at his side.
But Aelion noticed something else. When their gazes met across the mask of civility, Kealen's amber eyes softened. Just for a moment, the prince saw the man beneath the duty — the one who had kissed him under the stars, who had whispered his name with trembling devotion.
The memory burned like fire in Aelion's chest.
---
"Your Highness," the Duke of Larest approached, bowing low, his jeweled mask catching the candlelight. "A pleasure to see you tonight. May I present my daughter?"
The young lady stepped forward, curtsying with perfect grace. Her eyes lingered on Aelion, hopeful, ambitious.
Aelion smiled politely, but his heart was not his own to give. Still, he played the part. "An honor, Lady Marisse."
As the nobles continued their parade of greetings, Aelion's thoughts wandered. Behind him, Kealen was a steady shadow, and every time Aelion's shoulders stiffened under the weight of expectation, he found comfort in the knowledge that Kealen was there.
But not everyone at the ball was here to dance.
---
Halfway through the evening, Kealen felt it — the prickle of danger. A gaze too sharp, lingering too long from across the ballroom. He turned subtly, eyes narrowing beneath the glittering masks. A tall man stood in the corner, dressed in black and silver, a mask shaped like a raven.
Something about him was wrong.
Kealen moved closer to Aelion, lowering his voice. "Stay near the center of the crowd. Don't stray."
Aelion tilted his head slightly, lips barely moving. "You see something."
"I feel something," Kealen replied, scanning the room.
And then, it happened.
The music swelled, dancers spun, and in the chaos, the man in the raven mask slipped through the crowd, his hand hidden beneath his cloak.
---
Kealen reacted before thought.
Steel flashed. Guests screamed.
The assassin lunged, blade aimed for Aelion's heart — but Kealen intercepted, swords clashing in a shower of sparks. The ballroom erupted in panic, nobles scattering as guards rushed forward.
"Aelion, move!" Kealen barked, forcing the prince back with one arm while parrying a deadly strike with the other.
Aelion refused to retreat. Instead, he seized a fallen guard's dagger, his pulse racing, but his eyes sharp. "Kealen!"
The assassin struck hard, knocking Kealen back a step. For a heartbeat, Aelion thought he would fall — but then Kealen roared, twisting, driving his blade deep into the attacker's side.
The raven-masked man gasped, stumbling, then crumpled to the marble floor, crimson staining the pristine white.
The ballroom was silent, save for the ragged breathing of the prince and his bodyguard.
---
"Are you hurt?" Aelion demanded, rushing to Kealen's side, his hand trembling as it hovered over him.
Kealen shook his head, though his arm bore a shallow cut. "It's nothing. You—" His eyes darted over Aelion, scanning for wounds. "You're safe. That's all that matters."
Guards seized the dying assassin, dragging him away for interrogation. The nobles whispered behind fans and masks, scandal mixing with fear.
But Aelion saw none of them.
His entire world was narrowed to the man before him, the one who had once again placed his life between danger and the throne.
---
Later that night, after the chaos had subsided, Aelion stood in the quiet of his chambers. The moonlight streamed through the tall windows, painting silver over silk and marble.
Kealen stood at the door, still tense, still on guard.
"Close the door," Aelion said softly.
Kealen hesitated. "Your Highness—"
"Please."
The word broke something inside him. Slowly, Kealen obeyed, shutting out the world, leaving only the two of them.
For a moment, silence stretched. Aelion moved toward him, his hands trembling, his chest tight with everything he could no longer hold back.
"You could have died tonight." His voice cracked. "For me. Again."
Kealen's eyes softened. "That is my duty."
"No." Aelion shook his head fiercely, tears glimmering in his eyes. "It's not just duty. Don't you dare tell me it is."
Kealen swallowed hard, his composure fracturing. "Aelion—"
The prince stepped closer, his hand rising to rest against Kealen's chest, feeling the steady, strong heartbeat beneath. "Tell me it's not just duty. Tell me you feel it too."
For the first time in years, Kealen's mask shattered. His hand closed over Aelion's, holding it to his heart.
"I feel it," he whispered hoarsely. "Gods, I feel it more than I should. You are my prince. I am your guard. But every time I look at you, every time you smile at me, it becomes harder to remember the lines I swore never to cross."
Aelion's breath caught, his heart surging. "Then cross them."
And before Kealen could protest, before he could pull away into silence and duty again, Aelion closed the space between them and kissed him.
It was desperate, trembling, filled with everything they had buried under years of restraint. Kealen froze, then melted into it, his hands rising to cradle Aelion's face as if he were something sacred, something forbidden yet irresistible.
The kiss deepened, fierce and aching, until they broke apart only to breathe.
"You'll ruin me," Kealen whispered against his lips.
Aelion smiled through tears. "Then let's be ruined together."