The morning after the celebration broke cold and bright over the Imperial Palace. The morning light spilled cold and bright over the Imperial Palace, casting stark shadows across the gilded halls. The atmosphere was tense, yet strangely subdued—like the calm before a storm. Riven surfaced slowly from a deep, profound sleep, the fading scent of their shared night clinging to him.
He was tangled in the thick sheets, his head nestled securely against the solid expanse of Vaelorian's shoulder. For a heartbeat, the world was perfect: just the heavy, rhythmic beat of a heart beneath his ear and the blissful weight of his lover's arm across his waist.
Then, the cold, accusatory light of dawn sliced through the room. Riven's eyes snapped open, his heart jolting into a frantic rhythm. He was in the guest suite in the imperial Palace, wrapped in the arms of the Crown Prince. Shit!
"Vaelorian," Riven whispered urgently, giving the Prince a sharp, silent shake. "Wake up. Now. You need to leave before they start looking for you."
Vaelorian groaned, a low, rumbling sound in his chest, and pulled Riven closer in a reflex of desperate affection. "Five more minutes, my love. Let them all wait."
"They can't," Riven hissed, pushing himself up on one elbow, his voice thick with a mix of sleep and dread. "The sun is up! You have to go. Immediately. Get dressed and leave before anyone—Barron, a guard—sees you here. If this gets out now, everything we just fixed will be ruined."
Vaelorian sighed, a long, deep sound of pure annoyance, and reluctantly opened his eyes. He looked at Riven, his gaze heavy with an almost painful longing. He understood the stakes, but the resistance was palpable. He moved with a heavy reluctance, pulling on his fine tunic and trousers.
Before leaving, Vaelorian turned to Riven with a look that spoke volumes of months of heartache and a night of reconciliation. He crossed the room in two strides, cupped Riven's face in his hands, and pressed a long, tender kiss to his lips—a promise and an oath sealed with fire.
"See you later, okay?" Vaelorian murmured against his mouth, his brow furrowed with reluctance.
Riven could only nod, a tight knot of emotion in his throat. Vaelorian gave his arm one last squeeze, and with a low whoosh of displaced air, the Prince was gone, leaving Riven alone in the sudden, echoing silence of the room.
Meanwhile, Barron already awake and dressed in his crisp formal attire, paced the Ashbourne guest suite with nervous energy, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against his thigh. He was awaiting the inevitable, preparing himself for what was to come.
Finally, the door swung open, and Riven stepped into the living room. He looked utterly unkempt—his hair damp and tousled, a faint flush still lingering on his cheeks. He wore only a pair of trousers, but his face bore a deeply satisfied, if slightly sheepish, expression. His eyes flicked toward Barron, and for a moment, he froze mid-step, caught off guard by the look on his friend's face.
Barron immediately stopped pacing. His sharp gaze swept over Riven's disheveled state—evidence of the night's chaos—and then shifted to the bedroom behind him, where the evidence of their night together was unmistakably clear. The rumpled sheets, the scattered clothing, the faint scent of lingering intimacy. His brow raised in a mix of skepticism and amusement.
"Don't!" Riven blurted out, running a hand through his messy hair in a frantic attempt to tame it. His voice was equal parts warning and plea. "Don't even start. I'm begging you."
Barron crossed his arms, a single, skeptical eyebrow arching high. "Don't start what, My Lord? Comment on the fact that I just heard two people scrambling to put on clothes like their lives depended on it? Or the fact that my best friend—who swore he'd castrate the Prince if he ever so much as looked at you funny—is glowing like a newly polished lantern because of that very Prince. What shouldn't I start?"
Riven looked down, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. "It's… complicated," he mumbled, reaching for a shirt from the wardrobe.
Barron's stern expression softened just enough to convey understanding, though his tone remained firm. "Complicated? How complicated, Riven? The Prince shows up here trying to talk to you. You leave looking like you're about to commit murder. You spent ten minutes trying not to set something ablaze, and then you have that talk with Princess Lyra. You and Vaelorian spent the rest of the night like you were trying to make up for lost months. What part is complicated—the part where he finally confesses his love again, or the part where you slept with him?"
Riven exhaled heavily, sinking onto the edge of the bed as he pulled on his shirt. "The part where I realized that his confession was genuine, and this entire disaster was his desperate attempt to protect the empire—and, ultimately, to get back to me. All of it. It could've been avoided if he'd just told me the truth from the beginning."
Barron nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of Riven's words. His expression shifted from guarded to relief, and he stepped closer, clapping Riven on the shoulder in a rare show of camaraderie. "Alright. I get it. You two talked. You've… reconciled. Honestly, I've never seen you look so hollow than you did these past months—like a shell of yourself. So, I'm glad you're finally seeing things clearer."
Barron leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "But you do realize what this means, right? You're now actively involved with a Prince who's engaged to a powerful Princess, while that same Prince is running a high-stakes, international sabotage campaign. Our lives just got a whole lot more dramatic."
Riven shot a pillow at him, which Barron caught with a smirk and tossed back. "Tell me something I don't know," Riven grumbled. "You think I wanted this chaos?"
Barron chuckled softly. "Fair point. But since you've accepted his apology, we need to figure out our next move. Are you still leaving after court today? Or are you planning to stay and… coordinate the sabotage?"
Riven's gaze drifted to the window, the morning sun casting a cold glow across his face. His expression shifted, from tentative to razor-sharp focus.
"I'm leaving after court, as planned," he said resolutely. "The Prince still needs to convince the Sorverigen delegation that he's a fool, unfit to marry their princess. If I suddenly stay back, it'll look suspicious. So, I'll go back to Aurelia, wait there, and let him finish this on his own. But," Riven's lips curled into a small, dangerous smile, "I'm not going to wait quietly. Not anymore. We have an empire to conquer, and a Prince to fight for."
Barron watched him for a moment, a mixture of pride and concern flickering across his face. Then he nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the storm they were about to unleash.
As Riven turned toward the door, determination etched into every line of his posture, Barron's voice softened. "Just… be careful. We're no longer kids messing with instructors. We're in the real world now and the war is real."
Riven paused, then shot Barron a grin that was both fierce and resolute. "Good. Because I intend to win—and I won't let anything stand in my way."