The next few weeks became a delicious, dangerous rhythm for Riven and Vaelorian. By day, the Palace buzzed with the stiff formality of court. Riven, the newly accepted Knight, was the picture of military competence, focusing his energy on making the Ashbourne Lordship an undeniable political asset. Vaelorian, meanwhile, continued his duties, maintaining a façade of cool princely grace—the man who had weathered a breakup and was now focusing on his succession.
But under the cover of night, or during stolen afternoons, Vaelorian, with his borrowed gift of teleportation, made short work of the distance, whisking Riven away from the Knights' Quarters with barely a breath's notice.
One afternoon, Vaelorian materialized in Riven's room, catching Riven as he was shedding his heavy uniform. Vaelorian closed the distance immediately, pressing Riven against the cold stone wall.
"You smell like polished steel and duty," Vaelorian murmured against Riven's neck, his hands already working at the silver fastenings of the uniform. "It's entirely too distracting."
"Your Highness," Riven managed, his breath catching. "Someone will notice my absence. I have an afternoon review scheduled."
"The review can wait," Vaelorian countered, pulling Riven's mouth down to his. "The stability of the Crown depends on the Prince maintaining his sanity, and my sanity depends entirely on this."
They tumbled onto the bed, their conversation punctuated by laughter and quick, hungry kisses.
"You can't get enough of me, can you, Your Highness?" Riven teased, running a hand through Vaelorian's long hair as they paused, breathless.
Vaelorian looked up, his eyes dark with devotion. "No, my love. I can't. I spent months trying to convincing myself I could live without you. Now I know the truth: I can't. I need you to breathe. Every moment we're apart is a risk I can barely tolerate. Do no, I cannot get enough of you." Vaelorian confessed before capturing Riven's lips again.
That afternoon, their lovemaking was intense, not just an expression of passion but a vital tether—a frantic, shared reminder that their love was real, a world away from the cold reality of the Emperor's court. It was their rebellion, their secret weapon against the loneliness of the Palace.
The emotional intensity of their private time, however, was immediately masked by flawless public behavior. When Riven appeared at the imperial hall or on the training grounds, he was focused, professional, and entirely detached. The change in behavior was astonishing.
Vaelorian, too, played his part. He would often pass Riven in the grand halls, offering a curt, formal nod. One evening, during a state dinner, Vaelorian even made a deliberately cutting comment about the "rather dull aesthetic" of the northern Lordship uniforms, ensuring all the right ears heard his 'polite' disdain for his newly reinstated Knight.
Later that night, Vaelorian was back in Riven's room, undoing the very uniform he had insulted.
"I hated saying that earlier, you know?" Vaelorian admitted, tracing the fine gold trim of the discarded uniform with a penitent finger.
"I know but It was effective," Riven replied, pulling Vaelorian down onto the sheets. "It keeps everyone thinking you're politically aloof. Besides," Riven grinned, kissing Vaelorian's shoulder, "I know what you really think of this uniform, Your Highness."
The days bled into this beautiful contradiction—a life of public denial and private nights of surrender. They were two warriors, fighting their campaign for the future, fueled entirely by the secret stolen moments of love they couldn't live without, but also waiting for the moment to show the world just how serious they are about each other..
Meanwhile, in the Emperor's private study, usually a cold arena of state business, was filled with a rare, measured satisfaction. The Emperor and Empress were reviewing reports on the Empire's northern territories, specifically focusing on the new supply chain efficiency.
The Emperor tapped a thick parchment detailing the logistics for the Northern Garrison. "Look at this, my dear. The expected delivery time for the winter timber and horse feed has been reduced by nearly twenty-five percent. And the costs? Surprisingly efficient."
The Empress leaned closer, reading the report, which bore the clear signature and seal of Lord Riven of Ashbourne, Emperor's Knight.
"The Ashbourne Lordship is driving this," the Emperor noted, a grudging respect in his tone. "He's barely been a Knight for a month, and he's already streamlined the entire quartermaster corps. He's securing contracts for the entire region and enforcing the supply routes himself. The boy is truly a genius."
The Empress smiled, a warm, knowing expression. "It's understandable, Husband. Younge Riven's late mother was much the same. Brilliant, strategic, and utterly dedicated to solving problems. She was always five steps ahead of everyone else."
A wave of nostalgia softened her features. "It's a shame she left us so soon. I miss my friend. Our relationship...it felt like it died when the late Duke's wife passed away. But watching young Riven work, seeing his loyalty to Vaelorian, I feel a strange echo of our connection."
She looked at her husband, a deeper thought forming in her mind. "I wonder...is this her way of ensuring our relationship continues? By ensuring our sons fell in love?" The thought was fanciful, but comforting—a flicker of destiny in the brutal world of politics.
The Emperor shook his head, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. "Magic or not, the boy is proving your assessment correct, my dear. He is making Vaelorian's choice look like a strategic alliance, not a romantic folly."
He placed the report aside, his decision made. "If he is to be the future consort, he needs to be integrated not just into the military, but into the family. And I need a closer measure of his influence."
The Emperor looked at his wife. "I suggest, my dear, that you invite Lord Riven for tea. He is the key to Vaelorian's stability, and it's time we treated him as such."
The Empress's eyes sparkled. "An excellent idea, husband. A private gathering. I think it is high time I properly welcomed my dear friend's son—and Vaelorian's potential future consort."