The Stray Awakens
Sunlight, golden and warm, streamed through the large, arched windows of the royal quarters. It was a beautiful contrast to the storm that had reigned hours earlier.
Hayate woke up slowly on the small sofa. His body ached from sleeping in a cramped position, and his mind immediately rushed back to the dark-haired stranger lying in his bed.
He walked over quickly. The young man was awake.
He was sitting up, leaning against the massive silk pillows. He was still wearing the clean linen shirt Hayate had put on him, which was too fine and large for his frame. His dark eyes were sharper in the daylight, moving around the room with quick, assessing movements. He looked less like a victim and more like a predator examining a cage.
When he saw Hayate, his expression went from guarded assessment to sheer confusion.
"Where... where am I?" the young man asked, his voice now stronger, but still rough.
"You're in the Aurekawa Citadel. My home," Hayate said gently. He walked over and poured a glass of water from a nearby carafe, offering it to the man.
The man took the water, his fingers brushing Hayate's. The contact made Hayate feel that strange, cold flutter in his chest again, stronger this time. He shook it off.
The man drank quickly, his eyes still darting around the ridiculously expensive room—the gilded furniture, the crystal chandeliers, the deep blue carpet.
"This is a palace," the stray stated, his voice flat with disbelief.
"Yes. You were injured, so I brought you here to recover," Hayate explained.
The man stared at Hayate, taking in the Prince's gentle features, his kind eyes. "And who are you? A servant? You look too rich to be a servant, but you're too soft to be a guard."
Hayate couldn't help but laugh. It was an honest, genuine sound. "I am Hayate. And I assure you, I am not a servant. I am the Prince."
The man's eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed suspiciously. He had no memory of the previous night, but he instantly recognized the grave risk the Prince had taken.
"A Prince carried a stray off a riverbank and into his personal room?" The man looked skeptical. "You must be very naive."
"Maybe," Hayate conceded with a smile. "But you were badly hurt. Who did this to you?"
The man shook his head, looking troubled. "I still don't remember. Anything before waking up here is gone. My name... everything."
Hayate sat on the edge of the bed. "Well, we can figure out your past later. For now, you need rest. And a name. If you don't have one, I can give you one."
The man's eyes met his. "You can't just give me a name."
"Watch me," Hayate teased. He thought for a moment, looking at the man's sharp, dark features. "How about... Neshuda?"
The name seemed to settle comfortably on the man. "Neshuda," he tested, a small, involuntary smile touching the corner of his lips. "It's better than nothing."
The First Laugh and the Seed of Bond
Neshuda tried to stand up, determined to leave, but his legs were too weak from the torture. He gritted his teeth, refusing to show pain.
Hayate immediately stood up, rushing to his side. "Stop! You are not recovered. You have deep wounds."
"I can't stay here," Neshuda insisted, leaning heavily against the wall. "I am an outsider. If the King finds out, you will be punished. I need to leave now before I ruin your life."
"You won't ruin anything," Hayate said firmly, placing a hand gently on Neshuda's shoulder to support him. "And the King can't punish me. He died three days ago. I am the King now."
The revelation stunned Neshuda into silence. He looked at Hayate—this charming, young man who was clearly struggling with his new role but still stopped to save a complete stranger.
"You... you are the King?" Neshuda finally asked.
"Yes," Hayate said, trying to look mature.
Neshuda looked from the gentle King to the massive, elaborate room, and back at the King again. The image was too ridiculous, too sweet.
"You brought me into your secret room after your father died?" Neshuda asked, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You really are an idiot, aren't you?"
Hayate tilted his head back and laughed—a beautiful, pure-hearted laugh. He laughed so hard his shoulder bumped Neshuda's.
Neshuda, despite himself, felt a genuine smile break through his guarded expression. It was the first time in what felt like forever that he had experienced something light and warm.
"Alright, Neshuda," Hayate said, wiping a tear from his eye. "I am an idiot. Now, please stay. I order you to recover."
Neshuda searched Hayate's eyes for any sign of deception or malice. He found none. He found only kindness and a strange sense of intense longing.
Neshuda finally gave in. He sank back onto the soft bed. The bond seed was planted.
The Offer and the Oath
Over the next few days, Neshuda recovered quickly. He was strong, and his wounds began to close. Hayate refused to leave his side for too long, often neglecting state duties to bring Neshuda food and change his bandages.
The palace staff continued to whisper. "The young King can't govern, but he can nurse a stray," they muttered.
Neshuda heard the whispers. He hated that he was causing trouble for the one person who had shown him mercy.
One afternoon, Hayate walked in carrying two beautifully crafted swords.
"What are those?" Neshuda asked, his eyes immediately drawn to the blades. He felt an intense, primal familiarity with the weapons.
"I need a solution," Hayate said, sitting down. "The palace is buzzing. The nobles are suspicious. I can't keep you here as just 'a recovering stray.' I need to give you a purpose."
Hayate looked at Neshuda, his gaze serious and commanding, despite his gentle nature.
"I need a guard. Not one trained by the old captain, but one loyal only to me. I need someone who owes me nothing but is willing to give me everything." Hayate pushed the swords toward him.
"Become my blade. Serve me, and I will give you a place in this world."
Neshuda stared at the swords, then at Hayate. He was offering him protection, identity, and loyalty, all wrapped up in a life of service. The idea of dedicating his life to protecting this kind, pure-hearted King felt right. It felt like the purpose he couldn't remember but had always needed.
"I don't know my name, my past, or my strength," Neshuda said, his voice low.
"I know enough," Hayate replied, standing up. "I know you're fearless, and I know you look at me with loyalty."
Neshuda made his decision. He stood tall, the blood rushing through his recovering body.
"I accept, Your Majesty," Neshuda said, kneeling. "I will be your blade. I will be your shield."
"Good," Hayate said, pulling him up. "But first, you must prove yourself. The Guard Selection Trial is tomorrow."
The Guardian Selection Trial
The next morning, Neshuda participated in the Guardian Selection Trial. It was a grueling competition designed to test strength, agility, and ruthlessness—traits Hayate himself lacked.
Despite his recent injuries, Neshuda was a force of nature. He was a master of the sword and stealth. He moved with the deadly grace of a silent hunter. He dodged blows, turned his opponent's momentum against them, and finished the fights cleanly.
The Captain of the Royal Guard, an old, grizzled man who had scoffed at Neshuda's inclusion, watched in shock.
"He's too fast! Too precise!" the Captain muttered.
Neshuda won the final round easily, disarming his opponent with a move so quick it was barely visible. He stood victorious, slightly winded but utterly dominant.
Hayate, watching from the royal balcony, felt a swell of pride.
But as Neshuda stepped off the training grounds, he failed to notice a broken piece of wood.
CRACK!!!
Neshuda slipped and severely twisted his ankle. He bit his lip hard to stop the scream, collapsing onto the ground. He hid his face, trying desperately to mask the pain. He couldn't show weakness in front of the Prince.
The Curse Awakens
In that same moment, high above on the royal balcony, Hayate gasped.
A sharp, stabbing pain erupted in his left ankle, exactly where Neshuda had twisted his own. It was so intense, so unexpected, that Hayate cried out and collapsed to his knees.
He wasn't injured. He was bleeding from the mouth, and his vision swam. The pain was physical, but it had no physical cause on his body.
The royal physicians rushed to his side. They examined him, their faces pale with fear.
"Your Majesty! It's the curse! The Angel's Curse!" the head priest whispered, terrified.
Hayate struggled to speak. He looked down at the courtyard, where Neshuda was being rushed away, his face pale with pain and panic.
The priest continued, "The young Prince inherited the Angel's Curse! You feel the pain of those you emotionally bond with! Your soul is intertwined with his!"
Downstairs, Neshuda, now resting in the infirmary, heard the panicked whispers from the staff about the Prince's sudden collapse. He immediately connected the two events. His pain had hurt Hayate.
When Hayate finally recovered enough to walk, he rushed to the infirmary. He found Neshuda sitting up, his face set in a terrified, grim mask.
"Hayate, you shouldn't be here," Neshuda said, his voice hard. "You need to stay away from me."
"What are you talking about?" Hayate asked, still shaky.
Neshuda grabbed his hand, his eyes desperate. "You collapsed because of my ankle! I am dangerous to you. You can't let yourself get attached! You need to send me away!"
Hayate pulled his hand away and took a shaky breath. The truth was horrifying, but in a strange way, it confirmed the intense, immediate connection he had felt since the riverbank.
Hayate looked at Neshuda, then smiled—a soft, sincere, slightly melancholic smile.
"Too late," Hayate said. "We are already bound."