Not Enough 

Ashur stirred awake to the sensation of soft lips brushing against his neck. At first, he thought it was a dream—the warmth of the kisses, the faint tickle of breath against his skin. But then he felt the press of hands along his shoulders, the unmistakable mass of someone beside him. 

"What time is it?" Ashur murmured, his voice thick with sleep. 

"The sun has not yet touched the horizon," came the quiet reply. 

Ashur opened his eyes slowly, turning his head to find Caelan lying beside him, his expression soft and unreadable in the faint glow of the single candle burning in the far corner of the room. Caelan's dark hair fell in loose strands over his forehead, his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. 

"Good morning, my love," he said.

"I must leave," Ashur replied, though the words felt like a lie even as they left his mouth. 

Caelan's arms tightened around him, pulling him closer. "Stay just a moment more," he murmured, his voice low and tender. He buried his face in the crook of Ashur's neck, his nose and eyelashes brushing along Ashur's cheek. "You are too warm to release." 

Ashur let out a soft groan, torn between common sense and the quiet comfort of Caelan's embrace. "Caelan…" 

"That's Prince Caelan to you," Caelan teased, his lips brushing against Ashur's ear. 

Ashur didn't laugh. He couldn't. The humor in Caelan's tone only made the ache in his chest worse. "I cannot stay," he said, more firmly this time. "What if someone sees me leave here?" 

"I have paid off the guards," Caelan replied smoothly. "And I have it on good authority that their bellies are full of rum and their balls empty. They will not disturb us." 

"And what about a maid? Your adviser? Your father?" Ashur asked, his voice rising slightly. 

Caelan's smile faltered, but his grip didn't loosen. "He will not come here." 

"You don't know that!" Ashur hissed. "You are to be wed!" 

The room fell into silence. It was an unspoken rule between them never to mention the wedding. But Ashur couldn't keep the words inside any longer. Every kiss, every whispered promise, felt like a lie when he thought about Caelan standing beside her. Kissing her. Holding her. 

Raising children with her while he tended to Kinnarion's in the stable and pretended like he didn't know the feeling of those kisses, that touch.

Ashur's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat at the thought. 

Caelan finally released him, sitting up in bed. The furs slipped down his chest, revealing the sharp lines of his body in the candlelight. He stood, bare and beautiful, his skin glowing softly under the dim light. 

Ashur wanted to reach out, to pull him back down and lose himself in the warmth of his touch. But instead, he gripped the furs tighter around himself, his nails digging into the soft fabric. 

"Princess Alethea and I are not yet betrothed," Caelan said quietly, his back to Ashur. 

"But you will be," Ashur pressed, his voice trembling. 

"In two moons," Caelan confirmed. "During the Feast of the Golden Petal." 

Ashur's heart sank. The first day of spring. The festival he loved most. He loved the scent of flowers, wine, and roasted meat in the air. He loved to hear the laughter of villagers dancing to the beat of the drums and singing along to the bards' lilting tunes. 

And he loved the moments when Caelan, always Caelan, pulled him away from the crowd to somewhere quiet at the end of the night, twined blossoms into his hair and calling him 'beloved.'

This year, there would be no flowers. No secret dances. No whispered promises in the dark. 

"I must leave," Ashur said abruptly, pushing the fur coverlets off his body and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. 

"Ashur, please," Caelan said, his voice breaking. 

"We cannot keep doing this," Ashur replied, standing and pulling on his discareded pants. 

"Why not?" Caelan asked, his voice filled with quiet desperation. "You are the one I love." 

Ashur froze, his hands clenched at his sides. "But it is not enough." He turned to face Caelan, his expression crumbling. "Our love is not enough." 

Caelan's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. 

Ashur sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I cannot keep pretending that this… that we are something we can hold onto." 

Caelan crossed the room slowly, his steps cautious, as if approaching a wounded animal. "My marriage to Alethea is not required for an alliance with Calonia," he said softly. 

"But the marriage is necessary," Ashur countered. 

Caelan hesitated, then said, "I could push forward the engagement. I'm sure she will not fret." 

"The king is desperate for grandchildren," Ashur said bitterly. "Your union with Alethea will strengthen both our kingdoms, bring heirs, and secure your father's throne. Everyone knows it."

Caelan finally reached him, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his bare feet. His hands hovered just shy of touching Ashur's face, the faint scent of cedarwood clinging to his skin. "My heart belongs to you," he whispered. 

Ashur's throat tightened, his voice breaking as he replied, "Until she steals it away." 

"She will never have what you do," Caelan said fiercely. "I do not want you to leave. I want to spend as much time with you as I can until I become a slave to my duties." 

Ashur shook his head, his chest aching. He took Caelan's hand and placed it against his cheek, leaning into the touch despite himself. "Don't you see, my prince?" he said quietly, his voice filled with sorrow. "You have been a slave to your duties since the day you were born. And I… I was the distraction." 

"You are not a mere distraction," Caelan said firmly. 

Ashur's heart clenched. He wanted nothing more than to believe Caelan, to lose himself in the fantasy they'd created. But reality was a cruel mistress. Their sun would set soon. Caelan would eventually move on and he… he would be the only one left with a bleeding heart.

"Then what am I?" Ashur asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Caelan didn't answer with words. Instead, his hand slid from Ashur's cheek down to his chest, trailing lower. "You are mine," he murmured. "As I am yours." 

Ashur's breath hitched as Caelan's hand continued its path, the heat of his touch sending a shiver down Ashur's spine. 

"Let me show you," Caelan whispered, his voice thick with emotion. 

Ashur's heart pounded in his chest as Caelan's fingers brushed against the waistband of his trousers, his touch slow and deliberate. 

"Please, Callum," Ashur begged, his voice trembling. "Don't make me wait." 

Caelan froze. His eyes, filled with both amusement and confusion, met Ashur's. "Callum?" he repeated, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. 

The word sent a jolt of confusion through Ashur. Something about it felt wrong, out of place. The edges of the room began to blur, the warmth of Caelan's touch fading like smoke. 

"Callum…"