It took about half an hour before Elliott was coherent enough to think—and Aiden calm enough to answer his questions. His voice was still hoarse, but steady enough when he finally asked the first, and most predictable, one:
"What... happened? With Veylan?"
Aiden, who had been straightening Elliott's pillow with careful hands, stilled. His fingers clenched slightly against the silken fabric.
Around them, the room changed.
The attendants and healers—who had been quietly tending to the emperor—froze. Their eyes shifted away, suddenly very focused on insignificant tasks. It was as if that one name had sucked the air from the room. A single question... and the tension was back.
Aiden slowly straightened.
He didn't meet Elliott's gaze as he sat down at the edge of the bed. His eyes remained fixed on the bedding, unreadable.
"Veylan poisoned you. With saffron," he said, voice measured. Steady. Almost too steady. "The last time you were awake... you asked me to be fair. And I was. We found proof."
Elliott nodded weakly. A sigh of relief slipped past his lips. "And... his punishment?"
"It was honorable. And fair," Aiden replied. His tone gave nothing away. He wasn't lying—not exactly. Just... crafting the truth carefully. "It was in the presence of the whole court. Everyone agreed with the verdict. No protests."
No one protested because Aiden held a bloodstained sword, and no one wanted to be the next red stain on the marble.
But Elliott didn't know that. He couldn't have.
Another sigh left him, a little lighter this time. His lips curved into a faint, relieved smile. "Good... good. I knew you could be fair. Level-headed."
Aiden didn't deserve that praise. He knew it.
But still... he looked up.
And when he did, there was no hesitation in his eyes. Just conviction. Calm and composed, like nothing had ever gone wrong. He reached forward, tucking a stray lock of hair away from Elliott's eyes. "Of course," he said softly. "I learned from the best."
The moment passed quietly between them.
But soon, that fragile smile on Elliott's lips dissolved into a slow, creeping frown.
"But... what about the southern empire?" he asked. His brows furrowed. "Surely they must've demanded an explanation..."
His face paled. He was beginning to realize the political implications. The relationship between the two empires had already been fragile—held together by strained diplomacy and politeness. This... this punishment, fair or not, could easily be seen as hostile. As an act of war.
"Aiden, we need to tread around that carefully. We don't want them to think this is a hostile move, or worse—"
Aiden reached for him gently.
His hands found Elliott's shoulders, not with force, but with firmness. He eased him back against the pillows, the soft sheets rustling beneath him. His voice, when it came, was calm. Steady. Almost soothing.
"Don't worry about that," he said, eyes never leaving Elliott's. "I handled it. They'll back off."
Elliott looked doubtful. "Just... like that?"
Aiden's lips twitched.
It wasn't quite a smile. Not fully. But the curve was there—something sly and knowing in his expression. A shadow of amusement flickered across his face, remembering the message. God, he was such a bastard.
"Not just like that," he replied casually. "There were... negotiations. Messages. Diplomacy. You know."
No.
Elliott did not know Aiden's version of diplomacy.
But he didn't know that.
"I... see." He nodded slowly, though the words hung heavy in the air. Aiden knew he was deceiving him. Elliott knew he wasn't being told the full truth. But neither of them acknowledged it. Not then.
The silence stretched, not quite uncomfortable—but not easy either.
Elliott's gaze wandered, tracing the planes of Aiden's face. The shadows under his eyes. The faint stubble along his jaw. The quiet tension in his jaw, even as his expression tried to appear calm.
"You look... tired," Elliott said softly. His voice was gentle, the kind that reached past skin and into bone. And though he wasn't touching Aiden, the younger man swore he could feel it. As if Elliott's words alone were cradling his face with invisible hands.
Aiden exhaled.
His shoulders slumped slightly, the illusion of strength briefly cracking. And for a moment, he didn't look like the cold, commanding regent who had sent a bloody message to an empire.
He just looked tired.
He gave a small shrug—pitiful, half-hearted. "Maybe. Regent's duties aren't exactly light."
The word dropped between them like a stone.
Regent.
Elliott hadn't known. The realization hit him like a slow-building tide. Aiden hadn't just waited beside him. He'd ruled in his place.
Guilt surged in Elliott's chest. Aiden hadn't just been scared. He'd also been burdened—thrust into power amidst chaos.
"Aiden..." Elliott's hand moved instinctively, brushing against Aiden's wrist. Hesitant. As if unsure whether he still had the right to reach for him. "You shouldn't have to—"
"It's fine. Everything's handled." Aiden cut in quickly. Too quickly. Too sharp.
He noticed the hesitation in Elliott's fingers. Did Elliott truly think he'd pull away from him? As if that was ever possible?
Instead of answering aloud, Aiden grasped Elliott's hand and intertwined their fingers tightly. Unyielding. Steady.
It eased some of Elliott's worry.
But not all.
Something wasn't right. Something about Aiden's behavior—about the way he smiled, the way he moved—felt familiar, and yet... not. He was still Aiden. But something had shifted. Something had changed.
But that couldn't be it... right?
Right?
Before Elliott could dwell on the unease, a sudden coughing fit tore through his chest. Pain bloomed like fire. He hunched forward instinctively, eyes screwing shut.
Aiden was by his side in an instant.
One hand supported Elliott's back, rubbing gentle circles. The other brought a cup to his lips, tilting it just enough to let him drink.
"Easy there," Aiden murmured. His voice was softer than Elliott had heard in a long time. Warm. Deep. Steady. "Just breathe. Don't think too much. Just trust me."
Elliott let himself lean into the touch. Into the care. Into the presence of the man who had been his sword, his shield, and now—his anchor.
He took small sips of the water, letting the pain fade to a manageable throb.
He still couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed.
But for now, that could wait.