It was night.
The palace had finally gone still, the echoes of chaos momentarily quieted. After dealing with the Veylan situation, Aiden had returned to Elliott's quarters.
The chamber was dimly lit by silver beams of moonlight that filtered through the tall arched windows, spilling across the polished floors and the silken bedding. The stillness felt sacred—untouchable.
Aiden sat by Elliott's side.
He was watching. Simply watching. As Elliott's chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, each breath grounding Aiden in a way nothing else could.
Their hands were gently intertwined. Aiden held on like a lifeline.
Now that Elliott was stable, Aiden had dismissed the healer with a sharp warning: she was to remain nearby, ready to return at a moment's notice—if the emperor so much as took one breath wrong. The attendants had been sent away as well. Only the guards remained stationed outside, far from the sanctity of the emperor's chambers.
Inside, it was just them.
Aiden and Elliott.
The moonlight caressed Elliott's sleeping form like a gentle lover, making him look even more ethereal than usual. His delicate features were soft in repose, peaceful in a way that twisted something in Aiden's chest.
Freckles dotted his face like constellations. The stars had nothing on him.
His hair was still slightly damp, probably from the bath the attendants had given him earlier. The soft strands clung to his forehead, curling gently at the edges.
Aiden's other hand hovered over Elliott's face, hesitant. He meant to brush his cheek—but faltered at the last second. Instead, his fingers sank into the damp hair, combing gently through the golden strands.
"You would've been so annoyed if you were awake," he murmured, his voice quiet and fond. "You always hated sleeping with damp hair."
No reply. He hadn't expected one.
Still, he kept talking. "I kept my oath. I kept my oath to you, Elliott. I did."
His voice was almost a whisper now, barely above breath, as if saying the words too loudly might wake the dream and shatter it.
"I promised you," he repeated, voice steadier this time. "I promised not to kill him unfairly. A duel is honorable. And... I had proof too."
The fingers in Elliott's hair stilled, then drifted down slowly.
Finally, he let them rest on the older man's cheek.
It was soft. Warm. Like velvet and sunlight and safety.
His breath caught.
Leaning down, he pressed their foreheads together. The lingering warmth from Elliott's fever still clung to his skin, and Aiden could feel the gentle beat of his heart beneath his palm—reassuring and maddening all at once.
He inhaled deeply.
Elliott smelled like jasmine and rosemary—no doubt from the scented oils the attendants had used—but beneath it was something that was just Elliott. A scent Aiden couldn't name. One that lived in the back of his throat and in the hollow of his ribs and drove him just a little mad.
He buried his face in the crook of Elliott's neck.
"Elliott..." he breathed, reverent. "I did as you said. I kept my promise..."
A pause. The silence grew heavy.
"...Wake up soon," he added, voice cracking around the edges. "...Please."
This was the one moment of comfort he allowed himself.
Because he knew that from tomorrow onward, there would be choices to make. Hard ones. Unforgivable ones.
But for now?
He let himself breathe.
Let himself feel.
Just this once.
He held on. Fingers tangled with Elliott's, heart pressed to the skin still warm with life.
Because for now—however short it may be—this peace was his.