The golden light of dawn stretched across the marble floors of the palace, spilling warmth into chambers that had grown cold overnight. Aelion stood by the balcony, crown in his hands, the metal heavier than it had ever felt before. He had worn it for ceremonies, for appearances, for the empty rituals of royalty—but today, it felt like chains forged around his future.
Behind him, Kealen stirred. He had fallen asleep in the chair by the door, refusing to leave his side after the events of the previous night—when whispers of betrayal reached them, and when the tension between the prince and his guard had nearly shattered into something more dangerous, more intimate.
"Your Highness," Kealen's voice was rough with sleep, yet steady. "You haven't rested."
Aelion did not turn. His eyes fixed on the horizon, where the sun rose with stubborn brilliance. "How could I? The Council demands my decision. If I agree to their alliance, I'll be nothing more than a pawn. If I refuse… they'll use the people's fear against me."
Kealen rose quietly, stepping to his side. He did not reach out, but his presence was enough to steady Aelion's trembling hands. "Then let them test you. You are not weak."
Aelion let out a humorless laugh. "You see strength where others see hesitation. Do you not understand? One wrong choice, Kealen, and it won't just be me who pays. It will be everyone."
The guard studied him carefully, as he always did. He had been trained to see threats before they emerged, but what he saw now was something far more fragile—a young man weighed down by a kingdom too heavy for one pair of shoulders.
"You don't have to bear it alone."
The words hung between them, charged with unspoken meaning. Aelion's grip on the crown tightened. He wanted desperately to believe him, but duty and desire warred within his chest. "You've already done too much. If they discover how close we've become—"
"They won't," Kealen cut in, sharp but not unkind. "And even if they did… I would stand by you."
Aelion turned then, his silver eyes meeting Kealen's resolute gaze. For a moment, the weight of the crown lessened, as though simply being seen eased the burden.
But the moment was short-lived. A knock came at the door.
"Your Highness, the Council awaits you." The voice of the chamberlain was muffled but firm.
Aelion's hand trembled. He set the crown on the table, turning once more to Kealen. His voice lowered, almost breaking. "If I walk into that chamber, everything changes. And I don't know if I'll be strong enough to hold to what I truly want."
Kealen stepped closer, daring this time to touch his hand—a fleeting brush of skin, but powerful enough to anchor him. "Then remember this: whatever decision you make, you are still Aelion. Not just a crown. Not just their puppet. You."
Aelion inhaled shakily, holding onto that truth. Then he straightened, shoulders squared, slipping the mask of the prince back into place. Yet beneath the mask, his heart beat with Kealen's strength.
As he walked toward the council chamber, Kealen followed, silent but unyielding, the shadow at his side.
Inside the vast room, nobles whispered, their jeweled robes gleaming. The Council rose, expectant. Aelion took his seat at the head, the crown upon his brow at last.
"My lords," he began, voice steady though his pulse raced, "today we decide not only the future of the crown, but the soul of our kingdom."
And as his words carried through the chamber, Kealen's gaze never left him—silent reminder, constant anchor.
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