The air in the Prince's chambers was thick with the scent of fine cologne, silks, and barely suppressed hysteria. Today was Vaelorian's twenty-first birthday, and the Grand Celebration was mere hours away. He stood stiffly as his valets fussed over the final details of his attire—a silver-and-white tunic so heavily embroidered with gold thread it felt like armor.
Vaelorian was internally freaking out.
He shifted restlessly, nearly knocking over the young valet trying to adjust his cuff.
"Must this be so tight? It feels like it's choking me."
"It is the fashion, Your Highness," the valet replied nervously.
Suddenly, a steady, calming presence entered the room. It was Elera, Vaelorian's head caregiver since he was a child—a woman who held a unique position of trusted authority in the imperial Palace. She dismissed the valets with a quiet gesture, and the room instantly felt less crowded.
Vaelorian was a spectacle of high anxiety and Imperial silk. He stood rigid in his gold-threaded coat, the very picture of princely glamour, while his nerves threatened to unravel the elaborate façade. The Grand Celebration was looming, and with it, the terrifying prospect of seeing Riven face-to-face.
Elera approached him, her gaze gentle but probing. "You look magnificent, Your Highness. But you are vibrating like a plucked lute string. What troubles you? The Princess is hardly frightening."
Vaelorian sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He could never truly lie to Elera. "It's not Princess Lyra, Elera. I barely notice her. It's...the guest list."
"Ah, the guest list. A tedious formality," she said dismissively, beginning to adjust the heavy velvet drape of his mantle herself. "Is it some particularly unpleasant Ambassador?"
Vaelorian took a deep breath, the name a painful weight in his mouth. "I wish it was just some unpleasant Ambassador but no, Riven is coming. The Ashbourne family is sending him to represent the Duke."
Elera paused, her hands resting on his shoulder. Her expression became genuinely confused. "Lord Riven? That sweet boy from camp? But why the anxiety, Your Highness? I know you spent a great deal of time with him. I thought you two were more than—" she broke off delicately. "Friends?"
Vaelorian shook his head, a grim, self-pitying look crossing his face. "We were. I ruined it. And now I have to face him, knowing what I did. I'm going to walk into that room, and he's going to be there, looking all beautiful and furious, and I won't be able to breathe. What am I going to do?"
Elera watched him with a mixture of exasperation and deep affection. She was calmly folding his discarded dressing robe. "I'm trying to understand your troubles, My Prince, but this is unlike you. You manage diplomats and soldiers daily. Why this sudden fear of Lord Riven? He's a sweet boy."
"Because diplomats don't look at me like I'm a traitor who deserves to be drawn and quartered!" he burst out. "I told you, he's not here for me. He's here for the Ashbourne family, that's even worse."
"But, my prince, you went back to camp when your father forbade it. Surely, that bond counts for something?"
Vaelorian shook his head miserably. "It counts for his desire for revenge. He hates me now because of what I did. Elera, the last time we spoke, he made a direct threat. A very specific, very graphic threat."
"And what was this threat, Your Highness?" Elera asked, trying to remain patient.
"He said he'd cut my royal jewel and set it on fire if I ever show up in front of him again," Vaelorian told the older woman, his voice dropping to a theatrical, terrified tone.
Elera's eyes widened, and the hand resting on his shoulder twitched. "I beg your pardon? Your royal what?"
Vaelorian could only look down between his legs with a profound grimace of distress and fear. The visual confirmation made Elera gasp, her hand flying to cover her mouth in shock.
"Oh my gosh, that's very specific and creative!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled by her hand.
Vaelorian blinked, a small, wry chuckle escaping him despite his nerves. "Yes, he's always been creative, and now he's very upset with me, so let's not tempt him."
Elera recovered quickly, though a slight tremor remained in her posture. She adjusted his collar one last time, her expression softening. "He is hurt, Vaelorian, not a savage. And he is in a ballroom full of witnesses. But perhaps this is the best moment. Go talk to him. Maybe you can explain things."
Vaelorian looked skeptical, running a nervous hand over his perfectly sculpted hair. "And risk upsetting him in the middle of my birthday waltz? Have you ever seen him angry?"
"No, I've never seen him angry before, but you have judging by your expression." Elera said firmly. "But you have to risk giving the man you obviously care for an explanation as to why you did whatever you did. He deserves that much, don't you think? Now, go. The clock is ticking, and Princess Lyra will expect her Prince."
Vaelorian took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and put on the flawless, composed mask of the frivolous Prince. He was heading into the lions' den, and he was terrified, but he was prepared to face the music.