The Prince's quarters were a study in contradictions. The walls were hung with gold brocade tapestries, and the air was scented with ambergris. Soft down pillows, embroidered silk throw cushions… Caelan tried hard not to roll his eyes.
Adrien perched on a velvet couch, his pale face framed by moonlight. He was slender but not frail — his hands slender, fingers long and thin. His mouth was a perfect bow, his hair sleek and dark. Even sick, he was annoyingly pretty.
Caelan leaned against the wall, arms folded. The only sound was the ticking of a crystal clock.
Adrien leaned back, resting his chin on one hand. "You're not what I imagined."
Caelan raised an eyebrow. "What did you imagine?"
"A mindless soldier. Less..." His gaze traveled lazily over Caelan's dusty leathers. "Personality."
Caelan resisted the urge to scowl at the insult. "You mean I'm not the obedient puppy you expected."
Adrien's mouth twitched. "Precisely."
Caelan pushed off the wall, prowling towards him. "I'm not your lapdog, Your Highness. I'm a warrior, not a nursemaid."
Adrien's eyes glinted in the dim light. "Yet, here you are."
Caelan stopped at the side of the couch. He was close enough to smell the prince's cologne — woodsy, elegant. "By the King's order."
"And you always do as you're told?"
Caelan's jaw clenched. He was starting to get the distinct impression that the prince was mocking him. "When it's my job," he gritted out.
"Hm." Adrien's gaze was shrewd, like he was trying to read something deeper than Caelan's expression. "So if the King ordered you to sit..."
Caelan narrowed his eyes, already knowing what was coming.
"You would sit."
The corner of Caelan's mouth twitched. "You're enjoying this a little too much, aren't you?"
Adrien shrugged, unrepentant. "I like seeing how far I can push you."
Caelan forced himself to remain calm. This wasn't about winning a battle of wits. It was about protecting the prince. Even if the prince was a spoiled brat.
"You know," he said, trying a different tack. "You could make this easier on both of us."
Adrien raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How's that?"
"You could cooperate. Accept my protection without the attitude."
Adrien let out a scoff. "And what fun would that be?"
Caelan sighed. This was going to be a long assignment. "It's not about fun. It's about you staying alive."
Adrien rolled his eyes. "I can take care of myself."
Caelan snorted. "Really? From what I hear, you're in bed half the day, puking your guts out."
Adrien's face darkened. "And here I thought you were a knight with some tact."
Caelan held his gaze. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it, Your Highness. You're ill. Weak. You need me."
"I do not—"
Caelan crouched in front of him, bracing his hands on the couch. "You do."
Adrien's defiance faltered. He was suddenly aware of how close they were, the heat of Caelan's body radiating through his clothes. He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
Caelan held his gaze, feeling an unfamiliar tug of satisfaction at the speechless prince. He leaned even closer, his voice low. "You think you're untouchable. But you're not. You're human. Fragile. Just like the rest of us."
Adrien swallowed, the pulse in his throat quickening. He'd never been this close to anyone before — certainly not a rough-edged knight. The silence felt heavy, electric.
Caelan's gaze flickered to those full lips, still parted in a silent protest. God, he shouldn't be thinking like that. This was the Prince — his charge, the very one he was supposed to be protecting. He should get up, maintain a professional distance. But as Adrien's breath ghosted soft and warm across his cheek, his willpower started to unravel.
"You're stubborn." Caelan murmured.
Adrien's eyelashes fluttered, his cheeks flushing the faintest pink. "And you're... annoyingly attractive, for a barbarian."
Caelan's eyes widened a fraction. Had the prince just... called him attractive?
He could blame exhaustion. He could blame the heat. He could blame the fact that it had been a damn long time since he'd seen anything but battlefields and corpses.
Continue chapter 3