A Name in the Shadows

The room was bathed in the soft glow of morning light, filtering through the half-open window. Elyon sat on the floor, folding a soft blanket, his gentle hands working with care. Zephriel, still bound by chains, sat against the wall, his head bowed and his long white hair spilling over his shoulders. His breathing was steady, but there was a tension in the air, like a storm waiting to break.

After a long silence, Zephriel finally spoke, his voice low and rough. "It's been two days since our marriage, and I still don't know my bride's name."

Elyon's hands froze. His heart skipped a beat, and warmth rushed to his cheeks. He quickly turned and knelt on the cold stone floor, bowing his head so low that his hair brushed the ground. "I am so sorry, my lord. Please forgive me."

Zephriel remained still, only the soft clink of his chains breaking the silence.

"My name is Elyon," he continued, his voice trembling. "I am from the family of Ravenshade. I... I was an abandoned child. I am 19 years old."

Zephriel's lips pressed into a thin line. "Elyon," he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like a forgotten memory. "You may rise."

Elyon sat back on his knees, his small form seeming even smaller under Zephriel's gaze. He swallowed hard, his fingers twisting in his lap. "Would you like to know more about me, my lord?"

Zephriel didn't respond, but he didn't tell him to stop either. Taking this as permission, Elyon continued, his voice soft but steady.

"I like simple things," he began. "I love the sound of rain and the smell of fresh bread. I enjoy reading, though I haven't had many books to read. I like the warmth of the sun and the way flowers open in the morning."

Zephriel's head tilted slightly, a sign he was listening.

"I don't like loud noises," Elyon admitted. "Or being in big crowds. It makes me nervous. I prefer quiet places where I can think."

He hesitated, his eyes darting to Zephriel's face, but his husband's expression remained unreadable beneath the black cloth over his eyes.

"My favorite color is blue," Elyon said, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "Like the sky when it's clear and bright. I like sweet things, too. Cakes and fruits, especially berries."

Zephriel's fingers twitched, but he said nothing.

"What I hate most..." Elyon's voice grew quieter. "I hate seeing others in pain. It makes my heart ache. I wish I could help, but I am not strong."

Zephriel's lips parted, his breath a soft sigh. "Enough."

Elyon flinched, his body tensing as if expecting punishment. But Zephriel's voice wasn't harsh—just tired.

"I understand," Zephriel said, his head turning slightly in Elyon's direction. "You are... different."

Elyon's shoulders relaxed a little. "Different, my lord?"

"You are not afraid of me," Zephriel said, his voice a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Why?"

Elyon bit his lip, his hands clutching the edge of his shirt. "Because... I don't believe you are truly a monster. I think... you are more than the chains and the darkness."

Zephriel fell silent. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with unspoken words.

Elyon shifted, drawing his knees to his chest. "If... if you ever want to know more, I am here. I will listen."

Zephriel didn't respond, but the faintest softening of his posture suggested that perhaps, for the first time in a long time, he was considering the possibility.

The morning light continued to drift across the floor, chasing away the shadows. And for a moment, in the quiet space between their words, a fragile understanding began to bloom.