Kaedor's hands were still on Aurean's shoulders, his eyes scanning him quickly for injuries, but Aurean's gaze was fixed on the door Rythe had disappeared through. His mind replayed the last few minutes in sharp, jarring flashes—the heat in Rythe's eyes when he'd finally looked at him, the trembling restraint in his voice, the sharp scent of blood that now lingered like a ghost in the cramped space.
"Are you hurt?" Kaedor's voice broke through the haze, urgent but soft.
Aurean shook his head, though his throat was dry. "No." His voice came out hoarse, almost foreign to his own ears.
Kaedor glanced toward the trail of faint red smears outside the doorway and cursed under his breath. "What happened? Did he—?"
"He didn't touch me." Aurean's reply was immediate, sharper than he intended. "He was drugged."
Kaedor's eyes narrowed. "Drugged? By who?"
Aurean didn't answer—because saying Calien's name out loud meant acknowledging what he had seen at the festival table, and right now, the knot in his chest was wound too tight to unravel. His pulse still hammered with the image of Rythe slashing his own skin just to keep his promise not to cross the line. The memory wouldn't let go.
Kaedor studied him for a long moment, the alpha in him tense and simmering. "Aurean," he said quietly, "whatever happened in here, it's over. You're safe now."
Safe. The word rang hollow. Aurean wanted to agree, but his mind was still with Rythe—walking away with his hand bleeding, refusing to meet his eyes, carrying the weight of something Aurean could neither name nor shake off.
When Kaedor guided him out into the corridor, the sound of celebration from the festival felt miles away, muffled beneath the thrum of Aurean's thoughts. Every step away from that storage closet felt wrong, as though a tether had been left behind, fraying but unbroken.
And under it all—buried deep where he didn't dare examine it—was the ache of knowing Rythe had been hurting, and that even in that state, he'd chosen pain over breaking his word.
The corridor air felt cooler, but it did nothing to ease the burn under his skin.
Each step was measured, deliberate—because if he let himself falter, if he slowed even a fraction, the image of Aurean's wide eyes and Kaedor's hand on his shoulder would come rushing back.
He kept his gaze forward, ignoring the startled looks of servants who noticed the blood dripping from his fingers. His palm was slick, his sleeve heavy and clinging. The pain was a steady throb, an anchor holding him to the last shreds of reason.
When he reached the far wing, Rythe pushed into an unused chamber, the scent of dust and disuse greeting him. He braced himself against the wall, breathing hard, the adrenaline beginning to fade—leaving the ache of muscle, the hollow in his chest, and the ghost of a voice saying Don't worry, I won't touch you.
He stripped off his torn shirt, the buttons half-undone from earlier, and sat heavily on the edge of a table. The knife clattered to the floor.
His hands shook—not from the blood loss, but from the memory of the way Aurean had looked at him. Not in disgust this time. Not entirely. There had been something else. Something Rythe didn't dare name.
"Damn you, Calien," he muttered, tearing a strip from his shirt to bind the cuts. The fabric pressed against the wounds, and he winced, gritting his teeth. The bleeding slowed under the makeshift bandage, but the heat in his veins hadn't faded completely. It clung to him like a shadow, whispering of everything he could have done, everything he refused to do.
He leaned back, closing his eyes. His breathing evened, but the quiet only left him with thoughts he couldn't outrun.
Aurean was safe with Kaedor now.
That should have been enough.
It wasn't.
The night after the celebration, Aurean sat at the small table in his sitting room, the dim glow of the hearth barely pushing back the shadows. The music and laughter of the evening still clung faintly to the air, but the weight on his chest made it feel as though the celebration had been weeks ago.
Kaedor was across from him, nursing a cup of wine. Aurean had been turning the question over in his mind for days, swallowing it each time it rose to his lips. But tonight, the silence between them left no more room for delay.
"I've been meaning to ask you something," Aurean began, his tone quiet but steady. "Back in the alley way—days ago—why did you speak to Rythe like that? And yesterday as well, you spoke as though you expected him to hurt me."
Kaedor's expression shifted, not into surprise, but something colder—an old, buried anger rising to the surface. "You really want to know?"
"Yes."
Kaedor set his cup down and leaned back, his gaze unfocused as if seeing another place entirely. "Years ago, in Calatheas, I had someone. A lover. He was young—a beta. Gentle, but stubborn in his affections. One day, he saw Rythe in the market. And…" Kaedor's mouth twisted. "…he was drawn to him. No matter what I said or did, the infatuation didn't fade. It didn't matter that Rythe never looked at him—not once. Didn't matter that Rythe was dismissive at every turn. The pull was there."
Aurean's brows furrowed, but Kaedor's voice rolled on, gaining a harder edge.
"Then one day, assassins came for Rythe. They found him in the streets. He killed them all, as you'd expect of him… but my lover—he was there. Caught in the chaos. One of the assassins cut him down before Rythe could finish them."
He looked at Aurean now, eyes lit with a deep, simmering resentment. "I mourned him. But Rythe? He was unmoved. Cold. It was as though a human life—someone I loved—meant nothing. Since that day, I've hated him. And when I saw you in Virelia, I knew—knew—that he was the reason you were there. The nobles didn't tell me what exactly he did to you, but I've seen enough of him to know the truth: Rythe destroys everything he touches."
Kaedor reached across the table, taking Aurean's hand with a gentleness that didn't match the venom in his voice. "He's bad news, Aurean. It's okay to be afraid of him. He's frightening… inhuman."
Aurean's breath caught—not from Kaedor's grip, but from the bitter taste of his own shame.
He had let Kaedor speak those words into the air.
He had lied to Rythe's face about having a boyfriend.
He had let everyone believe Kaedor was that boyfriend.
And worst of all—Rythe believed it too.
Aurean pulled in a slow breath, steadying himself. "Kaedor… your anger is misplaced."
Kaedor's brows rose slightly.
"I'm sorry—truly—for the death of someone you loved. But it wasn't Rythe's fault. He never courted your lover. Never encouraged him. Your lover was… obsessed, despite Rythe turning him away. You should have cautioned him—not blamed Rythe for something he had no control over."
For a moment, Aurean wanted to say more—to tell Kaedor how cruel his words had been in that alley way—but then a faint, bitter smile touched his lips. He had said similar things to Rythe himself. Who was he to lecture?
Quietly, he withdrew his hand from Kaedor's and stood. Without another word, he left the table and walked to his room, the sound of the closing door swallowing the last of the conversation.