The palace never truly slept. Even in the depths of night, shadows slithered along its marble corridors, guards changed shifts with the clatter of spears, and whispers carried further than they ought to.
Prince Aelion had learned this long ago. A palace was not simply a home—it was a cage filled with secrets, some harmless, some deadly. Tonight, he felt those secrets pressing in closer than ever.
---
Kealen stood at his side as they walked back from the Council Hall. The councilors had spoken in circles, their words wrapped in honey but dripping with poison. Every sentence reminded Aelion of the prophecy—of how "only one" could survive when the time came. And though no one dared speak it aloud, he could feel their calculating gazes upon him and Kealen, as though weighing which of them destiny would favor.
"They'll keep testing you," Kealen murmured, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. "And they'll test me too."
Aelion glanced at him, drawn to the quiet steel in his voice. "Do you think they already suspect? That we're… closer than a prince and guard should be?"
Kealen's eyes, usually so sharp and unreadable, softened briefly. "They suspect everything. That's their way. But let them. Our truth is ours alone."
The warmth of those words carried Aelion through the remainder of the hallways until they reached his chambers. But as the heavy doors shut behind them, a strange unease lingered.
---
That night, sleep refused to claim him. He tossed, his mind tangled with fragments of the prophecy. Only one. Only one. Only one.
He rose, pacing to the balcony. The moon hung swollen and bright above the kingdom, a silver eye watching him with cruel detachment.
"Aelion."
The voice startled him. Kealen emerged from the shadows of the chamber, hand resting lightly on his sword. He had not undressed, had not allowed himself even the pretense of rest.
"You're still awake," Aelion whispered.
"You were restless," Kealen said simply, stepping closer. "I couldn't—" His words faltered. He hesitated, as though caught between duty and something far deeper. "I couldn't ignore it."
For a long moment, neither spoke. Only the hush of night air filled the silence.
Then, softly, Aelion asked, "Kealen… if the prophecy is true, if fate demands one of us be lost, what will you choose?"
The bodyguard's jaw tightened. His hand clenched at his side. "I swore an oath to protect you. No prophecy will change that."
"But what of yourself?" Aelion pressed, his voice trembling. "What if saving me means destroying you?"
Kealen finally met his gaze, and something fierce, something almost desperate, burned in his eyes. "Then I'll gladly burn."
---
The words struck like an arrow to Aelion's heart. His breath shuddered, and before he could stop himself, he stepped forward—closing the distance between them.
"Don't say that," Aelion whispered, though his hand had already lifted, brushing against Kealen's cheek. The bodyguard stilled, as though every nerve in his body fought against moving, against betraying the line they had drawn so carefully for years.
But Aelion's resolve broke first. The truth had been buried too long.
"Kealen…"
The name left his lips like a prayer. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in.
Their lips met—hesitant at first, testing, then surging into something that burned like fire. Aelion's fingers tangled in Kealen's hair, pulling him closer, as though the space between them had always been unbearable. Kealen responded with a low, guttural sound that sent shivers racing through Aelion's body.
It was not gentle. It was not courtly. It was raw, passionate, the collision of years of silence breaking open at last.
And yet, when they finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, breaths ragged, there was no regret. Only certainty.
"I should not have—" Kealen began, voice hoarse.
"Yes, you should have," Aelion interrupted, gripping his tunic tightly. "I don't care about prophecy, or thrones, or the council. I care about you."
For once, Kealen did not argue. His silence spoke louder than any words.
---
But peace was a fragile thing.
The following morning, a scroll arrived at Aelion's door, sealed with black wax. No crest. No signature. Inside, in precise, cutting script, were the words:
The walls have ears. Lovers make easy targets. If you value his life, stay apart—or lose him.
Aelion's blood ran cold.
He crushed the parchment in his fist, fury and fear battling in his chest. Someone knew. Someone had seen.
And if the council caught wind of this, if they used Kealen against him…
No. He would not allow it.
---
That night, Aelion slipped from his chambers and sought out Kealen in the training yard. The moonlight gleamed across steel as Kealen moved through his drills, every motion precise, controlled, deadly.
"Kealen," Aelion called, breathless.
The bodyguard lowered his blade instantly. "Aelion? What's wrong?"
Aelion handed him the crumpled parchment. Kealen's expression darkened as he read, jaw hardening like stone.
"This is a threat," Kealen growled. "They mean to use me as your weakness. To break you."
"They can't," Aelion said fiercely, stepping closer. "I won't let them."
Kealen's eyes softened, but his grip on the parchment was crushing. "You don't understand. If they force you to choose between me and the throne—"
"I've already chosen," Aelion whispered, voice steady despite the storm in his chest. "I'll choose you. Every time."
---
The declaration hung between them like lightning. Dangerous. Beautiful.
But in the shadows of the courtyard, unseen eyes watched.
And whispered treachery had already begun its work.