The carriage stood ready in the courtyard. Servants hurried with Serene's trunks while the family gathered to bid her farewell.
The king spoke warmly, her cousins gave their polite smiles, and even the servants bowed.
But Kaelen stood apart, silent, his eyes cold and unreadable.
Serene's gaze lingered on him, searching for a sign, but he gave none.
At last, she stepped into the carriage, and it rolled away through the gates.
From the shadows, Ael watched quietly, his heart still tangled in the memory of last night—the warmth of Kaelen's arms, the beat of his heart, and words he could not forget.
The lunch table was filled with roasted chicken, warm bread, fresh salad, fruits, and bowls of stew. In the middle sat a dish of fish—Ael's careful work that morning.
Everyone took their share, chatting lightly, until Kaelen surprised them. He never touched fish before, but this time, he placed it on his plate. He tasted it once, then quietly kept eating, more than anyone had expected.
The king looked up in surprise, one of the brothers laughed under his breath, and the head chef almost dropped his spoon. "Strange," someone muttered, "he never eats fish."
At the back of the hall, Ael froze. His chest tightened as he watched the prince eat what he thought would be ignored. A warmth spread through him—confusion, disbelief, and something he couldn't name—as Kaelen continued until his plate was clean.
When lunch ended, everyone drifted back to their work. Kaelen remained at the table, slowly finishing a bowl of yogurt with honey, a few slices of fruit, and a bit of jelly topped with blueberries and strawberries.
Ael came in quietly to collect the trays. His hands moved quickly, stacking plates and utensils with practiced ease.
For a moment, their eyes met across the table—just a flicker, just long enough to feel something stir inside both of them.
But neither spoke. Neither lingered. With a small, quiet breath, they turned away, pretending nothing had happened.
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The training yard rang with the sound of discipline. Kaelen moved from the sword arena to the line of horses tied near the stables. His warhorse, a black stallion with a white blaze down its nose, pawed at the ground, eager to run. Kaelen tightened the reins, vaulted onto the saddle with practiced ease, and drove the horse forward into a gallop. Dust rose behind them, the prince leaning low, his coat snapping in the wind. Soldiers on the sidelines watched in silence; no one doubted his strength, but his intensity today was sharper, heavier.
After riding, Kaelen dismounted and strode toward the archery posts. He lifted the bow, drew the string, and released. The arrow cut through the air and struck dead center. Another followed. And another. Each shot quicker, harder—like he was fighting something inside rather than aiming at a target.
Finally, he returned to the sparring ring. Sword in hand again, he faced two soldiers at once. His strikes were swift, his blocks precise, and when he disarmed both in a blur of motion, the yard fell silent. Kaelen's chest heaved, sweat running down his jaw, but his expression stayed cold.
The dining hall was quiet, only the soft tick of the tall clock filling the stillness. Kaelen sat at the long table, his posture relaxed yet his eyes distant, as though carrying the weight of thoughts he couldn't share.
The doors creaked open, and Ael stepped inside, balancing a tray of tea with steady hands. His steps were careful, almost too careful, as if he was aware of every sound his shoes made against the polished floor.
When he reached the table, Ael lowered the tray and gently lifted a teacup to place it before Kaelen. But before he could let go, Kaelen's hand came forward—not just to take the cup, but to catch his hand underneath.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled.
Ael froze, his breath caught in his throat, his pulse loud in his ears. The warmth of Kaelen's fingers around his own sent a shiver through him, confusing yet undeniable. He dared not look up, yet he could feel Kaelen's gaze burning softly into him.
Kaelen, too, felt the jolt—an unfamiliar tightness in his chest, as if his heart had stumbled. His hand lingered longer than it should, his thumb brushing ever so slightly against Ael's knuckles, as though testing the truth of what he was feeling.
Then, almost reluctantly, Kaelen released his hand and murmured, low and steady,
"Careful… it's hot."
But the heat he spoke of wasn't the tea. Both of them knew it.
The moment Ael stepped out of the dining hall and the heavy door closed behind him, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His hand — the one Kaelen had touched — still tingled as if the prince's warmth clung stubbornly to his skin.
He walked quickly down the corridor, tray pressed to his chest, heart beating faster than it should over something so small. Why did he hold my hand? Why did he say that? The words replayed over and over in his mind.
By the time Ael pushed through the kitchen doors, his face was hot. He set the tray down with more force than necessary, earning a quick glance from one of the other boys. Ael quickly turned away, pretending to busy himself with rinsing cups.
But inside, he was a storm.
Part of him wanted to smile, to let that strange warmth spread. Another part warned him not to—reminding him that Kaelen was a prince, and he was… nobody.
Still, as he rubbed his wrist absentmindedly, Ael couldn't stop thinking: Why did it feel so right, just for that moment?
Dinner that night felt a little heavier than usual. The long table was filled with food—roast duck, warm bread, bowls of stew, and sweet carrots glazed in honey. The servants moved around quietly, placing dishes, but Ael stayed in the kitchen, never stepping into the hall.
Halfway through the meal, the king put down his cup and looked at Kaelen.
"Son, I have something for you. The city of Varinth is asking for a new trade agreement. Their silver mines and spice routes are too important to ignore. I want you to go there and handle it."
Kaelen stopped eating, lifting his eyes. Varinth was almost two days' ride east, known for its markets and bargaining, not battles.
"When do you want me to leave?" he asked.
"In two days," the king replied. "Take only a small escort. This is about trade, not war."
Then, after a pause, he added, "You should take one of the chefs with you. On such a journey, proper food matters more than you'd think."
At that, Kaelen's mind flickered immediately to Ael. The thought of leaving him behind tightened something in his chest. Could he really ride two days away and not see him, not hear his quiet steps in the kitchen halls? He kept his face calm, but the weight of it pressed in.
He answered carefully, "If you think it necessary, Father, I will take a chef along."
The king seemed satisfied and moved on to lighter talk, leaving Kaelen quiet in his chair, turning the thought of Ael over and over in his mind.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Ael cleared dishes with the others, the muffled hum of voices from the hall reaching his ears. He didn't know every word, but enough to guess: the prince was leaving, the city of Varinth, trade. His hands slowed on the plates as he imagined Kaelen far away. Why did it make his chest feel heavy? Why did the thought of not seeing him twist something inside?
He shook the feeling off, lowering his eyes back to his work, though Kaelen's face stayed at the edge of his thoughts, stubborn and unshakable.
Later that night, the palace had fallen silent. The halls that bustled with footsteps and clinking trays were now still, the only sound the faint whisper of wind against the windows.
Ael lay on his small bed in the servants' quarters, staring up at the dark ceiling. He had finished his chores, washed his hands until the smell of food faded, yet he couldn't wash away the thoughts of the dining hall.
The prince is leaving… two days' ride to Varinth…
He turned onto his side, pulling the thin blanket tighter around himself. His heart beat heavier than it should have. Why did it matter to him so much? Kaelen was the prince. Princes came and went. Princes had duties that had nothing to do with boys in kitchens.
And yet—Ael could still see him in his mind, the way he sat so straight at the table, the way his eyes searched the hall like they were waiting for someone.
Ael pressed his face into the pillow. Why am I thinking like this?
But even as sleep finally crept in, he felt it: the weight of Kaelen's presence lingering, the ache of knowing he might not see him for days, maybe longer. His last thought before slipping into dreams was simple, unshaped, but true—
I don't want him to go.
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