chapter 43

Chapter 43

The sunlight spilled gently over the stone courtyards of Aethelgar, bathing the trimmed gardens in gold and green. Prince Hosea stood beside the old marble fountain, posture straight, face unreadable, a scroll clutched in one hand though his eyes barely moved across its words.

Then came the quick patter of footsteps and the sound of a familiar little voice.

"Hosea! Hosea!"

Raymar came bounding toward him, curls dancing, cheeks flushed with joy, holding a parchment above his head like a prized banner.

"I made a drawing!"

Hosea turned slowly, gaze settling on the boy, unreadable. Raymar, only five, beamed up at him and stretched out the wrinkled paper.

"It's you! See? I made you smile in this one."

The drawing was childish, a stick-figure prince with a lopsided crown and a too-big smile. Hosea looked at it for a moment without expression.

Hosea gave a slight nod and rolled the scroll in his hands. He said nothing more. The silence didn't bother Raymar, who stood proudly by his side.

"Mama says you never smile," Raymar added, bouncing a little. "But I think you do. Just not with your mouth."

Hosea blinked, slowly.

"She says you don't like talking to me."

"She says many things," Hosea replied.

Raymar tilted his head. "Is it true?"

Hosea knelt then, not close, but enough to meet the child's gaze. His eyes were the same pale blue, though Raymar's were filled with warmth, where his own held frost.

"There are truths," Hosea said at last, "and then there are things that don't need saying."

Raymar furrowed his brow, confused, then reached out and took Hosea's hand with his smaller one.

"When I grow up, I want to be just like you."

A shadow passed over Hosea's face.

"No," he murmured. "Don't."

"But you're strong and smart and brave."

"There are better things to be."

Raymar didn't understand. He smiled anyway and leaned against Hosea's side. Hosea allowed it, neither returning nor rejecting the gesture.

Up above, Esmeralda stood upon her terrace, her silken gown swaying in the breeze, eyes fixed on the scene below. Hosea's gaze flicked to her—just once—and turned to ice.

The boy beside him tugged gently at his sleeve. "Will you keep the drawing?"

Hosea looked at it again. "If you must give it to someone," he said, "I suppose I'll take it."

Raymar beamed, content.

And for just a moment, Hosea's fingers closed carefully around the child's drawing, as though it were something fragile.

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Nightfall cloaked the courtyard in stillness, the only sound was the slow, deliberate rasp of steel against stone. Elias sat beneath the half-crumbled archway of the old wall—their place—sharpening his blade with rhythmic strokes. The moon cast a silver halo on his dark hair, but his mind was elsewhere.

He didn't flinch when he heard the footsteps behind him—he only smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tugging as he whispered, "You're late."

But it wasn't Alistair.

Caven stood at the edge of the clearing, his armor half-fastened, his hands uncertain. "I— I heard noise, Sir Elias… I didn't mean to intrude." His voice was small, like a page, not a knight.

Elias didn't answer right away. He stared.

Long enough for Caven to shift on his feet, flustered. "I'll leave—"

"Stay." The command was quiet but absolute.

Caven blinked. He hesitated, then obeyed.

Elias tapped the stone bench beside him. Caven sat, slowly, awkwardly.

For a time, neither spoke. The scraping of the whetstone resumed. Finally, Caven cleared his throat. "You come here often?"

Elias raised a brow. "Since before you were a knight."

"It's peaceful. I didn't think you liked peace."

Elias chuckled—low and humorless. "I don't. But he does."

Caven knew who he was. He glanced sideways at Elias, who wasn't looking at him.

"You loved him?"

Elias's hand paused. His eyes flicked toward the stars. "I still do."

That silence stretched again—heavy, but not uncomfortable.

"Is it foolish," Caven murmured, "to want to feel something like that, even once?"

Elias turned to him fully this time. "You've never felt it?"

"Not with anyone… not the way you look at him."

The torchlight caught the edge of Elias's blade as he set it down. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from Caven's eyes. The gesture was soft. Testing.

"Be careful, Caven," Elias said. "The heart is a weapon. Once drawn, it always wounds."

Caven didn't pull away.

And for a brief second, Elias let the silence linger between them—not out of longing, but out of loneliness.

He didn't kiss him.

But he could have.

And Caven would have let him.

Elias rose from the bench, sheathing his sword. "Get some rest, Caven. And keep your mouth shut about this place."

He turned, ready to walk into the night.

But a hand caught his wrist.

Before Elias could speak, Caven pulled him back—and kissed him.

The touch was clumsy at first. Desperate. Warm.

For a heartbeat, Elias didn't move. Then he shoved him back, hard enough to make Caven stumble and fall onto the grass.

"What do you think you're doing?" Elias snapped, his voice like the snap of a drawn bowstring.

Caven's breath was ragged, his eyes wide. "I— I don't know," he whispered. "I just… wanted to know what it felt like."

Elias stared down at him.

Then he knelt.

His hand cupped Caven's face, firm and trembling.

He should walk away. He should curse him. He should laugh.

But he didn't.

Instead, he leaned down, eyes flicking over Caven's parted lips, and with a sharp breath—he kissed him back.

This time it wasn't clumsy. It was rough, aching, filled with all the things Elias didn't say aloud. The weight of longing. The fury of loneliness.

Caven's hands gripped his shoulders, but Elias pushed him flat onto the ground, lips trailing along his jaw, biting softly at his throat. Caven gasped, his back arching.

Elias's hand found his wrist and pinned it to the earth. His breath was hot against Caven's ear as he whispered, "You don't know what you're playing with, little knight."

Caven shivered beneath him. "Then teach me."

They moved like fire—fast and consuming.

But just as quickly, Elias pulled back, breathing hard. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

He stood, brushing off the grass from his knees.

"This didn't happen," he said coldly.

Caven sat up, chest rising and falling. "And if I wished it to happen again?"

Elias didn't answer. He turned and walked away into the shadows, leaving Caven with his pulse still racing.

"Ser?" Caven called after Elias but got no response.