Slowly, Elliott pulled back from Aiden's shoulder. His eyes, bleary with tears, fluttered open, unfocused at first— then settling on his hands.
The raw, angry flesh was no longer there. The wounds had reformed, sealed by the aureleaf's harsh magic. But in their place were scars. Stark, silvery-white trails now marked his palms and the length of skin that had been burned. They were luminous against his dusky complexion— intricate and fine, like delicate lace or constellations carved into him. Beautiful, yes— but haunting. Too unnatural to ignore. Too permanent to forget.
The room was quiet, thick with a silence that pressed down on both of them. Elliott just stared, turning his hands over slowly, studying the scars from every angle as though he could will them away if he looked long enough. His lips parted once, as if to say something, but no words came.
Aiden, watching him, felt something burn in his own chest. His throat tightened, his eyes stung, and for a fleeting second he thought he might actually cry. He never cried. Not even when he'd been wounded himself, not even when he had stood over the bodies of comrades lost in war. But seeing Elliott's pain earlier, hearing the sounds dragged out of him during the treatment, and now this... the quiet heartbreak in those eyes, it was too much.
With one look, he dismissed the healers. They left in silence, closing the chamber doors behind them, leaving only the two of them in the stillness.
"Elliott," Aiden said at last. His voice was rough, uneven. He reached out and took Elliott's hands into his own. He didn't care that they still trembled faintly. He gripped them firmly, grounding him. "Elliott. Look at me."
But Elliott didn't. His gaze remained stubbornly fixed on the scars, as though transfixed by them, trapped in them. He turned his palms over again and again, almost in disbelief, tracing the raised patterns with his own eyes.
Aiden exhaled softly, his chest aching at the sight. He didn't try to force Elliott's chin up this time. Instead, he spoke into the silence.
"They're not scars," he said, his voice low, steady. "They're proof you survived. And—" his grip tightened, resolute, as though sheer force could crush away every ounce of doubt, "—they're beautiful."
At that, Elliott finally looked up. Tears clung stubbornly to his lashes, making his eyes glisten as he met Aiden's gaze. His mind told him the prince was only saying it to soothe him, that it was just words— gentle lies meant to ease his pride. But his heart... his heart wanted to believe. Gods, he wanted to believe.
And Aiden knew. He could see the conflict flickering in those eyes. He could sense the disbelief lingering, poisoning the moment. So, without another word, his hands moved with quiet certainty.
He brought Elliott's palms up, cradling them as though they were something sacred. His thumb traced along the silvery trails— slow, deliberate— like he was reading scripture etched into flesh. Reverence, nothing but reverence, shone in his gaze.
"They're not a disfigurement," he muttered, his voice hushed but firm, like a vow. "They're not something to hide."
Then he lifted one palm, then the other, pressing a kiss to each- chaste, deliberate, sealing every word he had spoken.
"They're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Aiden whispered against the scars, his lips lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. His tone carried no hesitation, no hollow reassurance—only truth, spoken with devotion so raw it made Elliott's chest tighten.
---
The silence between them stretched, thin and fragile. It was filled only with the soft rhythm of their breathing and the faint footsteps of guards patrolling outside. A quiet kind of peace lingered around them, moonlight pouring in through the windows, bathing their figures in an ethereal silver glow.
Elliott's gaze stayed fixed on his hands— hands still firmly held in Aiden's. But his thoughts had already strayed far from the scars themselves. They had gone elsewhere, into a tangle of guilt, realization, and something that burned too deep to voice easily.
"You..." Elliott finally broke the silence. His skin felt clammy, his throat raw. The words sounded hoarse, almost broken, as if dragged out of him. "You're always... there."
Aiden blinked, a little caught off guard by the sudden words. His brow furrowed, silent, waiting for more.
Elliott gave it to him. His lips trembled faintly as he pushed forward. "You do so much for me, Aiden. You fight my wars, you protect me, you're both my shield and my sword." He caught the younger's gaze then, eyes shimmering with tears and a pain that had nothing to do with his burned hands. His chest rose and fell with a shaky breath. "You did so much— protecting me at the ascension, before that during the poisoning, and now... staying with me through this. You've done so much for me, countless times."
He swallowed, weak and unsteady. His voice cracked. "...Why? Why, Aiden?"
Aiden's breath stilled, hitched. He glanced away, his chest tight, reaching for the safe answer. His voice was smooth, practiced, but a shade too quick. "It's my duty. I'm your—" He faltered. For a brief, stinging moment, he didn't know what to call himself. What was he to Elliott, really?
"...Adopted heir," he forced out at last, the words tasting like ash. He'd confessed once before, and Elliott had looked so... pained. He didn't want to force that look out of him again. Not now, not when Elliott had already endured so much tonight. So he shoved the boundary back into place, no matter how much it hurt.
But Elliott shook his head. His voice was quiet but firm. "I'm not some naïve child, Aiden. This...this is past any duty. Past any responsibility you think you owe me. I..." His voice broke, wavering on the edge of a sob. His next words came like a dagger to Aiden's chest. "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."
"Don't say that." Aiden's tone was steady, but his jaw was tight, his entire body tense as he fought to keep the storm inside from spilling out. "I'm just doing what I'm supposed to as your adopted son."
"No." Elliott's refusal was immediate, stubborn. His hands trembled in Aiden's hold, but he pressed on anyway, even as if he didn't quite know why he was clinging so tightly to this. His mind was a mess, frayed and exhausted, yet he wouldn't let the younger man close the subject. "No, no, no. You're not supposed to do any of this. That's not it, Aiden. It's not."
Aiden's heart thudded violently against his ribs. He felt cornered, pinned in place by those words. He'd already been struggling to enforce a boundary for Elliott's sake, but the older man's persistence made it impossible. His grip on Elliott's hands tightened, his voice dropping lower, stripped bare of its usual sharpness and calm.
"What do you want me to say to that?" he whispered, raw. His gaze bore into Elliott's, heavy, unflinching. "You already know why."
Elliott flinched at the words. A faint shiver passed through his body, a tremor that betrayed him—but he didn't look away. He couldn't.
And Aiden didn't stop. His words pressed forward, relentless. "You can ignore it if you want. You can pretend you didn't hear me, like you did that day. You can keep dancing around it, justify it in your head, tell yourself it's something else. But don't you dare pretend you don't know." His voice cracked with the force of it, his chest heaving. "You know, Elliott. You've known for a while. You're just refusing to face it."
The words hung between them, raw and exposed, too vulnerable to take back. He was talking about the confession. That day when the truth had slipped out of him, fierce and terrifying, born of fear and devotion too deep to bury.
This time, Elliott didn't play dumb. He didn't reach for excuses or false ignorance. He just looked... weary. His eyes heavy, like he had already fought this battle in his mind countless times and lost it every single time.
"It's wasted on me, Aiden. You know that." His voice was quiet, but the conviction in it twisted like a knife. "I'm a decade older than you. I'm frail. I can't return your feelings in the way you deserve."
Even now, he didn't lean on the hollow excuse of adoption. They both knew better. Everyone did. Their bond had never resembled father and son, nor mentor and student. They stood side by side, equals in everything. That unspoken truth flickered through Aiden, surprising him for just a moment.
But Elliott wasn't finished. "You should direct those feelings to someone else. Someone your own age. Someone healthy, someone who can stand beside you as a true partner. Someone who deserves you."
Aiden's chest twisted. His voice came softer now, but unyielding. "But what if that's not what I want? What if I don't care about 'someone else'—what if I only want you?"
Elliott let out a pained sigh, as if the words themselves hurt. "Aiden. You're... confused. You're young, too young. You feel too intensely, too irrationally. It's not your fault, it's the age you're at. With everything happening around us, all the pressure, the intensity, of course you're confused. This— it's just hormones and proximity—"
"Don't."
---