The late afternoon sun bled gold across the polished floors of Prince Rythe's private quarters. Aurean moved with practiced ease—quiet, swift, unseen. A fresh tray of fruit and wine stood ready near the hearth. The hounds, Mael and Varnak, were sprawled lazily nearby, their amber eyes half-lidded as they watched him work.
He had just finished folding Rythe's formal cloak over the back of the carved oak chair when the door swung open without warning.
Aurean froze.
Booted footsteps echoed against stone, crisp and familiar, though not Rythe's.
Then a voice—refined, smooth, laced with subtle amusement.
"Well… it still smells like him in here."
Aurean straightened and turned, schooling his features into neutrality.
Calien.
The man walked in like he owned the air around him, his traveling cloak barely dusted from the road. The son of House Marvane—one of the founding bloodlines. Noble-born. Imperial diplomat. And Rythe's past.
His cool gaze flicked to Aurean without pause or recognition. "And you are?"
Aurean inclined his head. "I serve the prince."
"Hm," Calien said, drifting further into the room, letting his fingers graze Rythe's desk. "Another servant. I remember when Rythe kept his own chambers in near chaos. You've certainly tidied things up."
Aurean offered no answer.
Calien circled him once—like an appraiser inspecting an object—and clicked his tongue softly. "You're rather pretty, for palace help. Is that why you're stationed here? Or are you one of the lucky few who earned his good graces with warm wine and soft hands?"
Aurean flinched—but barely.
"I am under orders," he said evenly. "As are the hounds. Nothing more."
Calien's smile didn't touch his eyes. "Of course. Forgive my curiosity. You'll find people tend to ask when there's an unknown face lingering in the quarters of a prince."
He strolled to the edge of the table and plucked a grape from the bowl Aurean had arranged. "Tell me, servant… do you eavesdrop too? Or do you just stand there looking decorative while the prince bathes?"
Aurean's fists tightened at his sides. His voice remained level. "I attend my duties with respect and discretion."
"How admirable." Calien turned back toward the door just as it opened again.
Rythe walked in, still dressed in his dark training gear, the edge of a blade strapped to his thigh.
He stopped short at the sight. His gaze snapped from Calien to Aurean—who had bowed his head—and then back.
"What are you doing here?" Rythe asked.
Calien smiled. "Is that how you greet me after all these months?"
Rythe's jaw tightened. "You came unannounced."
Calien shrugged. "Would you have answered if I hadn't?"
Rythe's eyes flicked to Aurean briefly. The omega was silent, still, standing near the wall like he belonged to the architecture.
Calien followed his gaze and gave a light laugh. "Oh, don't worry. Your servant was very polite. Reserved. Almost… too careful. You've trained him well."
Rythe's face darkened. "Aurean is not—"
Calien raised a hand lazily. "Spare me the lecture. I know how things appear."
Without waiting for a reply, he brushed past Rythe and out the door with a casual, "We'll talk later."
The door clicked shut.
Silence fell like a blade between them.
Aurean slowly turned toward Rythe, and—without being asked—lowered himself to his knees.
"My prince," he said softly, not looking up. "He entered without warning. I would have left if I'd known."
Rythe stood stiff, his breath caught somewhere between apology and anger.
"I said nothing inappropriate. He assumed what he wished. I gave him no cause." Aurean's voice remained composed, though something inside him shivered.
Rythe crossed the room in two steps, grabbing his cloak and tossing it aside with uncharacteristic force. "You shouldn't have to explain yourself."
"But I do," Aurean said, lifting his eyes at last. "Because I know what people will think. And I won't let it fall back on you."
Rythe's throat worked, but no words came.
Aurean rose slowly, hands clasped in front of him, calm even as humiliation smoldered beneath his skin.
"I'll be more careful in the future, my prince. If you wish me reassigned, I will obey."
"No," Rythe said immediately. Then, quieter: "No, Aurean. You stay."
They looked at each other for a long moment. And then Rythe turned away—grabbing a goblet of wine, his movements sharp.
Aurean bowed. "I'll resume my duties."
And he did—moving through the chambers like a shadow once more. A servant in truth, even if every heartbeat screamed of the indignity left behind by the man Rythe once loved.
The training yard had emptied hours ago. A light rain had fallen, leaving the cobblestones slick, the air sharp with petrichor. Torches flickered along the outer walls, casting long, dancing shadows.
Calien moved with the quiet ease of someone who believed the world would always make way for him. He had exchanged his diplomatic robes for the sleek black attire of the palace elite—fitted, precise, meant to signal prestige and restrained power. His pale hair was tied at the nape of his neck, and his gloves were spotless.
Lareth stood waiting beneath the overhang outside the armory, arms crossed, gaze sharp as a blade.
"Calien," he said without warmth.
The beta stopped, surprised but not unsettled. "Lareth," he replied, offering a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Still lingering at Rythe's heel like a loyal dog?"
"Still walking through other men's homes as if they were yours?" Lareth asked flatly.
Calien's smile grew, amused now. "I see the years haven't dulled your charm. Or your unfounded suspicion."
"I don't care what you do with your charm," Lareth said. "I care what you think gives you the right to speak to anyone in Rythe's household the way you did earlier."
A slight lift of Calien's brow. "Ah. The little omega. I see now."
Lareth pushed off the wall and took a step forward, his voice low and precise. "That 'little omega' has done more for Rythe than you ever did. And unlike you, he didn't have the luxury of being welcomed."
"I was never unwelcome," Calien said coolly. "I chose duty."
"No," Lareth snapped, "you chose the safe path. You left when Rythe needed someone who would stay. Now you waltz back in and insult the one who didn't run."
There was a beat of silence between them, heavy and electric.
"You think I see him as a threat?" Calien asked, soft and dangerous now. "He's nothing to me, Lareth. A servant at best. A burden Rythe hasn't yet discarded."
Lareth's hand dropped to the dagger at his belt—not drawn, but resting there in clear warning.
"Then maybe it's time someone reminded you," he said, voice like steel, "that burdens don't bleed for kingdoms. And if you ever speak to Aurean like that again—if you humiliate him, unprovoked, in the house he serves—I will make sure you regret it."
Calien studied him, the mask slipping just a little. "Still playing the righteous soldier," he said. "But careful, Lareth. You're protecting something that doesn't belong to you."
"I'm protecting something Rythe is too tangled to defend properly," Lareth replied. "And I won't apologize for that."
Calien turned then, boots clicking on the wet stone as he walked away.
But just before he disappeared into the corridor, he paused and glanced over his shoulder.
"You think he's different," Calien said, almost gently. "But soon you'll see. Even the purest things break when they're not wanted."
And with that, he vanished into the night.
Lareth stood in the darkened yard, pulse still sharp, jaw tight.
He didn't fear Calien.
But what Calien represented—the storm still brewing between duty, desire, and denial—was another matter entirely.