The palace gardens were silent, save for the whisper of the wind stirring the white blossoms of the moonlit trees. Aelion had slipped out from the grand hall, where nobles feasted and plotted, his golden crown heavy upon his head. He needed air, needed silence, needed escape from the suffocating weight of being the chosen prince in a prophecy that demanded sacrifice.
And as always, Kealen was there.
The bodyguard walked just a step behind, silent yet unshakable, a shadow carved in steel. His dark hair gleamed faintly silver under the moonlight, and his eyes—stormy, unreadable—never once strayed from his prince.
"You don't have to follow me everywhere," Aelion muttered, though his voice was softer than he intended.
Kealen didn't falter. "It's my duty, Your Highness."
Aelion turned, his silken cloak brushing against the grass. "Is it only duty, Kealen? Only obligation?"
The question hung in the air like a blade. For weeks, months, Aelion had felt it—the pull between them. The stolen glances, the way Kealen's hand lingered a moment too long when helping him dismount his horse, the way his breath caught whenever their eyes met.
Kealen stiffened, as if struck by the weight of those words. "You should not ask me that, Aelion."
"You should not call me that when we're alone," Aelion whispered. "Say my name."
The bodyguard's jaw clenched. He looked away, as though the moonlight itself might betray him. "Aelion."
The sound of his name on Kealen's lips sent a shiver down the prince's spine. He stepped closer, closing the space that protocol had always demanded remain between them.
"I don't want to be a prophecy. I don't want to be a symbol. I only want to be…" His voice faltered. "…yours."
Kealen's eyes finally snapped to his, storm and fire colliding in a gaze that burned hotter than any crown. "You cannot say that. If anyone heard you—"
"No one will hear us," Aelion cut in, his voice trembling yet fierce. "No one but the moon and the stars. Tell me, Kealen… is it only duty that keeps you at my side? Or is it something more?"
Kealen's breath hitched. His hands, always steady upon a sword, shook faintly at his sides. For a heartbeat, he said nothing. And then—
His hand rose, hesitated, then finally cupped Aelion's cheek. The prince leaned into the touch like a man starved.
"I tried," Kealen whispered, voice raw. "Gods, I tried to bury it. To protect you without wanting more. But I failed. Every time you smile, every time you look at me—I lose myself. I cannot… I cannot pretend anymore."
Aelion's heart pounded as he pressed closer, their foreheads nearly touching. "Then don't."
The moment broke like a dam. Kealen's lips found Aelion's with the force of years of restraint shattering in an instant. It wasn't gentle—it was desperate, aching, the clash of two souls who had been circling each other in silence far too long.
Aelion's hands clutched at Kealen's cloak, pulling him closer, refusing to let him go. Kealen's arms wrapped around him with equal desperation, one hand splayed against the small of his back as if to anchor him to the earth.
The kiss deepened, fierce yet reverent, a confession without words. Their breaths tangled, their hearts beat in unison, and for the first time since the prophecy was spoken, Aelion felt alive—not as a prince, not as a savior, but as a man who loved and was loved in return.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Aelion whispered against Kealen's lips, "Promise me… no matter what the prophecy demands, you'll stay by my side."
Kealen rested his forehead against his. "Even if it damns me. Even if it destroys us both—I swear, Aelion, I will never leave you."
The moon bathed them in silver, silent witness to the vow that would bind them tighter than fate ever could.
And somewhere in the shadows, unseen eyes watched, whispering to the darkness—
"The prophecy begins."