The sun lingered longer in Darwisha now, as if the village itself had begun to breathe again.
For days, Prince Kaelith and his companions remained in the mountain-border village. After the first night of attack, the truth unraveled easily those raiders were no mere thieves. They were organized. Strategic. Ruthless. And Darwisha had been an easy target, its men either old, injured, or long gone to war.
"They were trying to take it piece by piece," Elion said one evening, his brow furrowed over a map of the area. "Waiting for the village to collapse from fear."
"They didn't expect us," Hale muttered beside him, still favoring the arm that had been wounded during the fight.
Kaelith's gaze flickered to Hale, quietly watching as he shifted in discomfort. The wrapping on his hand had soaked through again. And though he said nothing, Kaelith noticed every flinch, every time he tried to hide the pain.
That night, after another small victory chasing the last group of raiders into the forest Kaelith entered his tent and found Hale seated alone, trying to rewrap the bandage with one hand.
"You should have asked someone to help," Kaelith said softly, kneeling in front of him.
"I didn't want to trouble anyone, Your Highness," Hale replied.
Kaelith didn't answer. He simply took Hale's hand gently, cradling it between his fingers, unwrapping the bandage and cleaning the wound with careful ease.
Hale looked at him, eyes slightly wide. "You don't have to."
"I want to," Kaelith cut in quietly.
The silence grew warm. Thicker than before. Kaelith's fingers brushed the inside of Hale's wrist, slow and gentle, longer than necessary. His touch lingered.
"You always hide your pain," Kaelith said, his voice low.
"I've had to," Hale admitted, barely a whisper. "Most of my life."
Their eyes met, closer than they'd been since that night. The unspoken thing between them pulsed like a quiet drumbeat.
"You don't have to, with me," Kaelith said.
Neither moved, neither dared more but the air around them felt heavier. Brighter.
The morning they left Darwisha, the villagers lined the paths, offering flowers, dried fruit, and bows of gratitude. Kaelith rode at the front, flanked by Elion and Lysaro, with Hale not far behind, always watching.
Peace had returned to the village for now. But the deeper unease had only just begun.
Because Zarethrone was preparing.
ZARETHRONE PALACE
Banners fluttered high above the gates. Musicians practiced in courtyards. Servants scrubbed the marble steps until they gleamed.
Zarethrone kingdom steeped in tradition and the court was preparing to celebrate the return of its crown prince.
And more importantly…
To announce his betrothal.
Inside the main hall, nobles bustled in and out with swatches of silk and golden trims. Advisors whispered behind scrolls. But none of them dared speak louder than Lord Dairius who stood beside King Aldric with narrowed eyes.
"Princess Lysandra will arrive tonight," He said, folding his gloved hands. "Her chamber must be arranged precisely as requested. Rose petals on the pillows. Veilmar honey tea. She prefers lavender oil, not rose."
"She'll be presented publicly three days after Kaelith returns, "King Aldric confirmed. "That gives him time to adjust… and no time to refuse."
"Has he even met her?" asked Lady Rhosyn, one of the younger court ladies.
"He will," Lord Darius said flatly. "And he will marry her."
"And what if he doesn't agree?" someone dared ask.
King Aldric didn't blink.
"Then he will learn that duty comes before the heart."
The doors opened with a flourish.
"Her Highness, Princess Lysandra of Veilmar!"
She entered with grace and confidence, dressed in ocean-blue silk, her sharp eyes already assessing the room like a queen-in-waiting.
Back in the west, Kaelith rode closer to home.
He had no idea what waited behind Zarethrone's golden gates.
After days of hard travel, Prince Kaelith and his companions finally reached the gates of Zarethrone.
But something was different.
Bright banners fluttered across the castle walls white and gold, woven with symbols of unity and house sigils rarely displayed.
Kaelith frowned from atop his steed, slowing as they entered the inner court. "What is all this?"
Elion rode closer, eyes narrowing as he studied the decorative silks. Strange… This kind of display is usually reserved for engagement ceremonies.
Kaelith turned his sharp gaze toward him, and Elion immediately bit his tongue, bowing his head slightly in apology.
The prince looked to Hale, who rode quietly at his side. But Hale said nothing. His expression is unreadable. Still. Guarded.
The grand courtyard filled with applause and cheers as the people welcomed them home celebrating the prince's safe return and the peace restored in Darwisha.
King Aldric stood at the top of the palace steps, arms wide, face proud.
"You've done well," the king declared, his voice ringing over the courtyard. "Rest, all of you. In three days, there will be an announcement."
His eyes settled on Kaelith with warmth. "Rest tonight, my son. You've made me proud."
Kaelith bowed stiffly, then moved wordlessly toward his chambers. Hale followed behind, silent as ever.
Inside Kaelith's chamber, the soft glow of lanterns lit the room. Hale moved to unpack their gear, his hands careful, movements quiet.
"It looks like they're planning a marriage," Hale said softly, not looking up. "For you."
Kaelith said nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Hale.
Hale tried to keep his voice light. "It makes sense. You're the prince. All you need now is a beautiful princess at your side."
Still, no reply.
Hale gave a faint, dry chuckle as he folded a cloak. "I'm jealous… of the lucky princess."
He didn't expect Kaelith to move. But suddenly, the prince was behind him not embracing him, not touching but resting his forehead gently against Hale's back.
The contact was quiet. Intimate. Ache-filled.
"I'm tired," Kaelith murmured.
Hale didn't turn. His voice was flat. Tired? You're royalty. You have everything. You should be happy.
"That's what makes it tiring," Kaelith whispered. "They've already decided my life for me. All I'm meant to do is obey. No one ever asks what I want."
Hale slowly turned, facing him. His eyes searched Kaelith's.
"And if you could choose just one thing for yourself… what would it be?"
Kaelith's gaze drifted down to Hale's lips.
The air thickened.
He stared. So did Hale.
Both of them are too close. Too quiet. Hearts pounding in the stillness.
Kaelith leaned in, breath shallow, longing to flash in his eyes.
But just before their lips could meet, Kaelith stopped.
The weight of the crown… the kingdom… the unspoken law.
He drew back.
"You should go," he said softly. "Rest well."
Hale didn't speak. He only bowed.
"Goodnight… Your Highness."
And as Hale slipped away into the corridor's shadows, Kaelith stood alone in the silence, fighting the desire that had nearly betrayed him.
MEETING THE PRINCESS
The courtyard echoed with the sharp rhythm of swords clashing and boots shifting over stone.
Prince Kaelith moved with quiet precision, beads of sweat running down his temple as he struck the wooden post again and again. Morning drills had always been his escape a place where he wasn't a prince, just a man with a blade and breath.
"Your Highness," came a voice from behind him. Hale approached, holding a cloth and a goblet of water.
Kaelith wiped his brow, nodding his thanks. He turned toward the city beyond the gates, just as his guards shifted into a looser formation.
And then he saw her.
A woman, walking along the garden path that bordered the training yard. Her gown flowed behind her like lilac smoke, and her golden hair caught the morning sun as if it were made of light itself. She moved with calm, noble grace, speaking gently to one of the handmaidens beside her.
Kaelith stilled.
He didn't even blink.
"Who is she?" he asked one of the nearby guards, his voice quiet but firm.
The guard leaned closer. "That is Princess Lysandra of Veilmar, Your Highness. She arrived just before dawn."
Lysandra.