chapter 31

Chapter 31

The chamber was dimly lit, the glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows against the silk-draped walls. Alistair sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, his thoughts tangled between duty and desire. Jasmine stood before him, her gaze steady, filled not with expectation but understanding.

"You are quiet," she said softly, stepping closer.

He exhaled slowly. "There is much to think about."

She tilted her head, studying him. "About me? About us?"

Alistair's jaw tensed. "Among other things."

Jasmine gave a small, knowing smile as she eased herself onto the bed beside him, her fingers tracing the fabric of his sleeve. "I must say, it was surprising at first... you and Elias," she said, watching him for a reaction. "But then, I have heard and read of men who love other men. It is not so foreign a thing."

Alistair turned his head toward her, searching for judgment in her tone, but there was none. Only curiosity.

"I want to know how it happened" she said with curiosity gleaming in her eyes

"You wish to know how it happened," he murmured.

She nodded, her eyes gleaming with intrigue.

For a moment, Alistair hesitated. This was not a story he had ever spoken aloud . But there was something about Jasmine's gaze, the way she listened-not as a wife seeking reassurance, but as a woman who simply wanted to understand.

He exhaled, leaning back slightly. "It was my first campaign as crown prince... I was seventeen, Elias sixteen. He had come with his father, Lord Everard, to accompany me. It was meant to be a test, to prove myself beyond the palace walls." A small smile ghosted his lips, lost in the memory. "After the task was done, we... slipped away to a tavern. A reckless thing, but we wanted to taste freedom."

Jasmine remained silent, waiting.

"We drank too much," Alistair admitted. "Talked too much. And then, at some point, it happened. The kiss. The first of many." He looked down at his hands. "That night, we..." He hesitated, then met her eyes. "Raventhorn is where it began."

She absorbed his words with quiet contemplation. Then, to his surprise, she smiled.

"You need not look at me like that, Alistair. I do not despise you for it."

"You should," he murmured.

Jasmine let out a breathy chuckle. "Why? Because you loved another before me?" She lifted a hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, her touch lingering. "I have been with other men before. That does not make this night any less ours."

Alistair turned to her fully, something shifting in his chest. She was unlike what he had expected-not a fragile, delicate bride, but a woman who met him as he was, without demand or illusion.

Jasmine leaned in, her lips brushing against his jaw, slow, unhurried. He let his eyes close for a brief moment, allowing himself to feel it, the warmth of her breath, the soft press of her fingers against his collar. She was beautiful, undeniably so, and for the first time, he allowed himself to acknowledge it.

When her hands moved to his tunic, loosening the fastenings, he didn't stop her. She was deliberate, taking her time, waiting for him to yield. And he did.

Their mouths met in a slow, deep kiss, one that sent heat curling through him. It was not urgent, not driven by reckless passion like with Elias, but something steadier. She undressed him with patience, her touch exploring him as if memorizing every inch.

Alistair let himself get lost in it, in the way her hands felt against his skin, in the way her body molded against his. He wanted to resist, to hold back-but as her lips trailed along his neck, as her fingers traced old scars, he found himself wanting her.

Not as a duty. Not as an obligation. But as a man who, for this moment, wished to forget everything else.

He reached for her then, pulling her closer, meeting her kiss with equal fervor. He let himself drown in her warmth, in the way she welcomed him without hesitation. And when she whispered his name against his lips, something in him wavered.

For tonight, he belonged to her.

---

Midnight Whispers

The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of the single candle casting shifting shadows along the stone walls. Alistair stood near the window, his hands gripping the cold edge of the sill. The air was thick with the remnants of his wedding night-Jasmine's scent still clinging to his skin, the warmth of her touch lingering. And yet, his mind had led him here. To Elias.

The door clicked shut behind him. He turned.

Elias stood there, barefoot, in nothing but his loose tunic and breeches. His eyes, dark and piercing, swept over Alistair with an intensity that sent a tremor through his chest. He stepped closer, the tension in the room sharpening like a blade.

"You reek of her," Elias said, voice barely above a whisper. His fingers ghosted over the collar of Alistair's tunic, tracing the place where Jasmine's hands had been.

Alistair remained silent.

Elias tilted his head, searching his face. "You did it, didn't you?" His voice wavered slightly, though he masked it with a smirk. He straightened, his expression hardening. "It's all for Valla, after all."

Alistair's jaw tightened. Something inside him twisted at those words, the stark acceptance in them. He wanted to deny it, to reassure Elias that it had meant nothing-but that would be a lie. He had enjoyed it. More than he thought he would. And Elias could see it in his silence.

Elias let out a quiet laugh, bitter and knowing. "Of course."

Before Alistair could say anything, Elias stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His hands pressed against Alistair's chest, fingers curling into the fabric. His breath was warm as he whispered, "But you're mine."

Alistair barely had time to react before Elias's lips brushed against his jaw, trailing down to his throat. A sharp inhale escaped him as Elias's fingers worked at the ties of his tunic, slipping beneath the fabric to touch the bare skin underneath.

"Let me remind you," Elias murmured. His hands slid lower, his lips hovering just above Alistair's. "Of what we are."

Alistair's breath hitched as Elias sank to his knees.

There was no hesitation in his touch, no second-guessing in the way his hands traced over familiar places, claiming what he had always considered his. Alistair's head fell back, a quiet curse slipping from his lips as he gave in-just for a moment-to the pull of what they had always been.

And in the flickering candlelight, Elias smiled.

As the air between them settled, Alistair ran a hand through Elias' hair, his breathing still uneven. Elias remained on his knees for a moment longer, his fingers grazing Alistair's thighs before he finally stood, his sharp eyes watching him closely.

"You do realize someone saw us that night?" Elias finally said, his voice calm but edged with something unreadable.

Alistair stiffened slightly. He knew exactly who Elias was referring to. "Adam."

Elias nodded, crossing his arms. "He was standing there, watching. Shocked beyond words. You saw him too."

"I did," Alistair admitted, adjusting his tunic. "But Adam won't say anything."

Elias let out a low chuckle. "And how can you be so sure of that?"

"Because I know him," Alistair said firmly. "He is loyal to the royal family, to Valla. He would not risk exposing something that could harm us."

Elias tilted his head, studying him. "That's a lot of trust to place in a man you barely acknowledge."

Alistair tightened his grip on Elias' wrist, his expression unwavering. "I have known Adam since he was a babe, Elias. He is not a man who would betray me."

Elias scoffed, but there was something bitter beneath it. "Knowing someone since childhood does not mean they are incapable of betrayal."

Alistair shook his head. "Not Adam. He is my sister's dearest companion, and his father is loyal to Valla. He would die before he utters a word."

Elias' gaze darkened slightly, his jaw tensing. "You trust him too much."

"I trust him enough." Alistair's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

Elias exhaled, dropping his hand from Alistair's chest. "Very well. But if he ever looks at you strangely, if he so much as hesitates in his loyalty, I will handle it."

Alistair studied Elias for a moment before nodding. "That will not be necessary."

Elias hummed as he took a step back, his expression unreadable. "We shall see."

Alistair didn't linger. He turned toward the door, his mind still replaying the shock in Adam's eyes from that night. But he knew-knew in his heart-that Adam would never speak of it.

Before he could leave, Elias caught his hand one last time, his fingers firm. "You're still mine," he murmured.

Alistair hesitated for the briefest moment, then pulled his hand free, stepping into the corridor without another word.

Aethelgar

The night was still, the only sound in the dimly lit chamber being the faint crackling of a dying hearth. Prince Hosea sat by the window, lost in thought, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the courtyard below. Shadows stretched across the stone walls, the flickering candlelight barely keeping them at bay.

A knock came at his door. Soft. Hesitant.

Hosea did not move.

Then the door creaked open, revealing a small figure in a silk night tunic, his dark curls slightly disheveled. Raymar, only five years old, stepped inside with cautious steps, clutching a wooden horse in his tiny hands.

Hosea exhaled sharply through his nose. "What are you doing here?"

Raymar hesitated, his large eyes scanning the room before landing on his half-brother. He took a small step forward, then another. "I wanted to see you."

Hosea's lips curled in disdain. He despised the boy's mother, and by extension, he found it difficult to tolerate the child. "Go back to your chambers," he said coldly, looking away.

The little boy's lips trembled, his fingers tightening around his toy. A tear rolled down his cheek, but he remained silent. Then another fell. Hosea frowned, irritated. He hated weeping-it reminded him of weakness.

Yet, as the child sniffled, something in Hosea clenched. Not out of pity, but out of annoyance. "Stop crying," he ordered sharply.

Raymar wiped his face with his sleeve, forcing himself to be quiet. Then, with small, determined hands, he tried to climb onto Hosea's bed. He struggled, his small limbs barely reaching the top. He did not ask for help.

Hosea watched with mild curiosity, his head tilting as he observed the boy's stubbornness. A scoff escaped his lips before he leaned forward, grasping Raymar by the waist and lifting him onto the bed with ease.

Raymar, now sitting beside him, grinned. A bright, innocent smile-one untouched by court politics and betrayal. Without hesitation, the child held out his wooden horse to Hosea.

Hosea narrowed his eyes. He did not move at first, merely staring at the toy in the small, outstretched hands. Why was he giving it to him?

After a long pause, Hosea finally took it. He turned the wooden horse over in his palm, feeling the rough carvings under his fingertips.

Just then, the door burst open.

"Raymar!" Esmeralda's sharp voice filled the chamber as she strode in, her emerald gown trailing behind her. Two maids followed closely, their faces tense.

Raymar flinched but did not move from his spot beside Hosea.

Esmeralda rushed forward, scooping him up in her arms. "Are you alright, my love?" she cooed, pressing frantic kisses to his forehead.

Raymar squirmed, his small hands reaching back for Hosea. "No! I want to stay!"

Esmeralda held him tighter, refusing to let him go. Her brown eyes flicked toward Hosea, sharp with suspicion. "Are you trying to kill him because you're afraid he'll take what's yours?"

Hosea did not move, his expression impassive. Then, he smiled.

"You have your son now," he said, his tone smooth, lazy. "You may leave, Esmeralda."

Her eyes widened slightly at the disrespect-he had always called her 'Your Grace' before.

A slow smirk spread across her lips. "Oh? Your father isn't here, and now you dare show your true colors?"

Hosea leaned back against the headboard, exuding the quiet arrogance of a prince who had already calculated every move before playing his hand. He gave her a charming, insincere smile.

"I no longer need to hide anything," he said simply.

Esmeralda's smile faltered. Then, with a sharp glare, she turned on her heel, storming out of the room with Raymar still struggling in her arms. The boy reached out one last time for Hosea, his cries echoing down the hallway until the heavy door shut behind them.

Silence settled once more.

Hosea slumped back into his pillows, the wooden horse still in his grasp. He turned it over in his hands once more, his smirk deepening into something darker.

"Interesting," he murmured.

The Morning After

The sun had barely risen, yet the chamber was already filled with the soft rustling of fabric and the distant hum of servants moving about the castle. Prince Alistair stood before the large mirror, dressed in only his breeches, as Jasmine tightened the clasps of his tunic behind him.

Her fingers worked with ease, pulling the dark fabric into place as she focused on fastening the intricate golden buttons. She had always been graceful, composed-but there was something intimate about the way she stood behind him, her reflection in the mirror watching him with quiet amusement.

"You're tense," she murmured, smoothing out the shoulders of his tunic.

Alistair met her gaze in the glass, his face unreadable. "It's nothing."

Jasmine arched a brow, her hands lingering just a second longer before stepping away. "If you say so." She moved to the side, picking up his belt from the chair and handing it to him.

"You should rest more," she added. "You barely slept."

Alistair fastened the belt around his waist, not answering her. His mind was elsewhere-on the council meeting, the responsibilities that awaited him, and the lingering heat of last night still fresh in his memory.

Before either of them could speak again, a knock echoed against the heavy wooden door.

Alistair didn't need to ask who it was.

"Enter."

The door opened, and Elias stepped inside.

Dressed in full knight regalia, his black armor polished and gleaming in the morning light, he looked every bit the loyal knight-a role he had played well for years. Yet, Alistair knew better than anyone what lay beneath that duty.

Jasmine turned, acknowledging Elias with a soft, polite smile. "Sir Elias," she greeted, her tone pleasant yet cool.

Elias bowed his head slightly. "Your Highness."

His gaze barely flickered toward her before settling on Alistair. There was an unspoken understanding in his eyes-something that only the two of them could grasp.

"I'm here to escort you to the council chamber," Elias said, his voice steady.

Alistair finished securing his belt, his hands moving with practiced ease. "Give me a moment."

Jasmine watched them both for a beat, then stepped away, retrieving Alistair's outer cloak. She walked toward him, draping the heavy garment over his shoulders. As she adjusted it, her fingers brushed against the nape of his neck-light, deliberate.

Elias's jaw tensed.

Alistair felt it-the shift in the air, the silent tension lingering between them. For years, Elias had been the one helping him dress for battle, fastening his armor, ensuring he was ready for war. Now, it was Jasmine who played that role.

Jasmine smoothed the fabric over his chest and finally stepped back, looking satisfied. "You're ready."

Alistair exhaled, nodding. "Then let's go."

Elias turned on his heel, leading the way. Alistair followed without hesitation, leaving Jasmine standing by the window, watching them disappear beyond the door.

As the footsteps echoed down the corridor, she whispered, "We'll see, won't we?" and turned away.

The Court of Valla

The grand hall of Valla's court was filled with murmurs, the sound of nobles shifting in their seats, the rustling of scrolls, and the faint clinking of armor as guards stood at attention. At the head of the long table sat King Mathias, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered lords.

Prince Alistair stood beside his father's chair, silent but alert, clad in his dark ceremonial attire. At the far end of the hall, near the stone pillars, Elias stood in his polished armor, hands resting on his sword hilt, his gaze watchful.

The discussion had been focused on trade agreements until Lord Everald, a noble well past his prime but still influential, cleared his throat and leaned forward.

"There is another matter that must be addressed," he said, his voice heavy with authority. "The Princess of Valla-Alissa. She has reached an age where arrangements for her future should be secured. It is time we consider her betrothal."

A thick silence fell over the court.

King Mathias' expression darkened, and he opened his mouth, ready to shut the matter down.

But Alistair spoke first.

"The princess is not a piece to be bartered, Lord Everald," he said, his voice calm yet edged with steel. His gaze, cold and unyielding, locked onto the older noble.

Lord Everald, though taken aback by Alistair's swift response, did not back down. "Your Highness, this is not merely about preference-it is about securing Valla's future. Aethelgar may not wait much longer."

Alistair took a step forward. Every noble present knew that look-the quiet but undeniable warning in his eyes.

"Valla's future is secured by strength, not by forcing my sister into a marriage before it is necessary," he stated. "Or are we so desperate that we would rush to place her in Aethelgar's hands?"

Murmurs spread through the court. Some nodded in agreement, while others exchanged uncertain glances.

Everald's lips pressed into a thin line. "With respect, Your Highness, the alliance-"

"-is still upheld," Mathias cut in, his voice firm. "We will not speak of this again."

Lord Everald exhaled sharply, but he inclined his head, knowing he had lost the argument-for now.

From the corner of the hall, Elias watched in silence, his gaze flickering between Alistair and the old lord. He could tell from the way Alistair stood-his jaw clenched just slightly-that he was angry.

But more than that, he was protective.

And that made Elias smirk ever so slightly.

The Letter from the Citadel

The stone halls of the palace echoed with the hurried steps of Princess Alissa as she paced back and forth, her hands twisting in front of her. The dim glow of torches flickered against the walls, casting long shadows as she murmured anxiously to herself.

Seated on a wooden bench nearby, Adam watched her with a look of exasperated fondness. His arms were crossed over his chest, one leg propped against the other.

"You will wear the floor thin if you continue," he said, his voice steady. "Nothing will change, no matter how many times you walk the same path."

Alissa shot him a glare but said nothing.

Before Adam could speak again, the sound of soft steps echoed down the corridor. A maid approached, her hands neatly folded in front of her, head bowed in respect.

"A letter has arrived from the Citadel, my lady."

Alissa froze.

For a heartbeat, all was still-then, without a word, she bolted past the maid, her gown billowing behind her as she rushed down the stairs.

"Alissa!" Adam called, jumping to his feet and sprinting after her. "At least slow down before you fall and break your neck!"

But Alissa was already at the foot of the staircase.

In the grand hall, standing beneath the great chandelier, was her brother, Prince Alistair. A small sealed scroll rested between his fingers, its wax emblem unmistakable. He turned toward her as she approached, lifting the letter with a knowing smile.

"Have you opened it?" she asked, breathless.

Alistair shook his head. "Not yet."

From his place a few steps behind, Elias watched the exchange in silence. He leaned slightly against the stone pillar, arms crossed, his keen gaze observing. He knew how much Alistair loved his sister. There was something so unguarded in the way Alistair regarded her-a softness rarely seen elsewhere.

Alissa turned back to her brother, her hands clutching Adam's tightly.

"Open it!" she demanded, her voice trembling.

Alistair did as she asked, breaking the seal with his thumb. The parchment unfurled in his hands, his sharp eyes scanning the contents.

Then he stilled.

The shift in the air was immediate.

Alissa's breath caught in her throat. She knew this silence-this dreadful, stretching silence.

Her fingers tightened around Adam's.

And then-

Alistair laughed.

The deep, booming sound of his laughter filled the great hall, echoing off the high ceilings, startling even the guards standing at their posts.

Adam blinked in confusion. Elias lifted an eyebrow, his lips curving ever so slightly in amusement.

"Brother?" Alissa whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Alistair turned to her, grinning from ear to ear. "You have been accepted, Alissa!"

For a moment, she simply stared. The words took a moment to settle, to truly sink in. Then-

A sharp gasp escaped her lips.

She nearly collapsed where she stood, but Adam caught her, holding her steady.

"I-" she struggled to find the words, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "I-"

Alistair stepped forward and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "You did it, little sister."

Her eyes-wide, bright, disbelieving-filled with tears.

Then, in an instant, she threw herself into his arms.

Alistair staggered slightly at the force of her embrace but held her close.

From the back of the room, Elias smiled, just a little.