It was the evening of the next day.
After the argument, they had gone their separate ways—without looking back. Not another word was spoken. Not another glance exchanged. Just silence. And now, nearly twenty-four hours later, the sun was slipping past the horizon, bleeding amber and rose-gold across the sky. The corridors of the palace were quiet. Still. Like the breath held before something breaks.
Aiden stood outside Elliott's chambers, frozen in place. He'd been standing there for quite some time now, staring at the door like it might open on its own, or maybe swallow him whole. His hand hovered in the air, trembling slightly. He hadn't even knocked yet.
His chest ached.
Yesterday's argument played in his mind on an endless loop—the bitterness, the yelling, the fury in his voice. Elliott's tears. The way his voice had cracked. The way his eyes had welled up—and even then, Aiden hadn't stopped. He had kept yelling. Kept pressing, stabbing deeper into wounds he knew existed. He had aimed for them.
And worst of all—the confession.
The words had slipped out before he could stop them. Words he'd sworn to himself he would never say out loud. Not even under duress. Not even in dreams. Words he was supposed to carry to his grave. And Elliott... had heard them. Had registered them. Aiden had seen it—right in that split-second change in expression. The breath caught in his throat. The silence that followed.
Aiden swallowed hard. His palm finally landed on the handle. He pushed the gilded doors open.
The room was quiet, painted in soft tones of twilight and gold. Elliott sat by the window, his body propped up by pillows. He was staring out through the glass panes, eyes trained on the gardens below. But he wasn't really looking. His gaze was glazed over, vacant. A tray of untouched food sat abandoned on the nearby table, cold now.
The healer stood by the side, worry clouding her face. She noticed Aiden but didn't say anything. She didn't need to.
He'd already heard—of course he had. That Elliott wasn't eating. That he hadn't moved much. That he hadn't spoken all day. Just sat by the window, unmoving, unreachable. Every gentle reminder from the healer about his health, his medicines, the need for food—ignored. Brushed aside.
Aiden's gaze dropped to Elliott's face. Pale. Shadowed. The fatigue was visible even from across the room. His fingers clutched absently at the silk blanket covering his lap, fiddling with the tasseled edge like he didn't even notice he was doing it.
He didn't look up as Aiden entered. Not even when the prince cleared his throat, subtle and quiet, just in case the footsteps weren't enough of a warning.
Aiden's throat tightened.
Guilt bloomed inside him like rot. His heart thudded dully. A quiet voice in his mind whispered, You did that. Your words did that.
He crossed the room in quick strides, the carpet muffling the sound of his boots. Without waiting for permission, he dropped into the chair across from Elliott.
Only then did Elliott finally look at him.
His eyes were red-rimmed. Swollen at the edges. He'd been crying.
"You're not eating," Aiden said bluntly, though his voice lacked sharpness. It sounded... tired. Like he didn't want to say it but needed to.
Elliott's fingers tightened around the blanket. He turned his head slightly, gaze slipping back to the window. "I'm not hungry," he murmured.
Aiden exhaled sharply through his nose. A part of him burned with frustration—at Elliott, for refusing to eat like a child in protest, and at himself, for being the reason behind it all. He forced himself to stay calm. To not raise his voice again. Not this time.
"That's not true," he said, quieter now. "You haven't eaten anything since yesterday. You need to take your medicine."
Elliott didn't reply. He wasn't even looking at him anymore.
Aiden glanced at the healer, who had just entered again with a steaming bowl of porridge in hand, her expression quietly hopeful. He beckoned her over and took the bowl from her gently.
The porridge was still hot. Steam curled upward in ghostly tendrils. Aiden stirred it a little, then brought a spoonful up to his mouth and blew on it. When he was sure it wasn't too hot, he held it up to Elliott's lips.
Elliott didn't open his mouth.
"Eat," Aiden said again, his tone edging on a plea.
Elliott finally turned back to him. His gaze was guarded, weary. "I'm not hungry," he repeated, stubborn but quiet.
Aiden didn't move the spoon away.
He nudged it forward again. "I was wrong," he said, voice softer now. "About what I said. About you lying. About pretending. I was insensitive. And inconsiderate."
Elliott blinked. He hadn't expected that. Aiden could see it—the surprise flickering through the exhaustion.
"You're not wrong for wanting peace," Aiden continued. "For trying not to reopen wounds. You're not a bad person, or a pretender, or... any of the things I said. I was just—"
He stopped. The rest of the words jammed in his throat.
What could he even say? I was angry? I was desperate? I wanted you to see me?
No. Not again. He wouldn't slip again.
"I was... unfair," he finished quietly.
There was a pause. Long. Drawn out.
Then Elliott finally spoke. "You weren't entirely wrong," he said softly. "Your anger... it was justified."
Aiden stiffened.
"I have buried things," Elliott continued, his voice low and resigned. "That's the truth. I've hidden things. Left them in the dark. Because it was easier. Because I was afraid."
Aiden's chest ached again. Even with everything said and done—he didn't want to hear Elliott talk like that. Didn't want to see him turn blame inward when he'd spent so long blaming himself.
"You didn't do it out of malice," Aiden mumbled. "And you tried your best to make things better."
"Maybe," Elliott said with a tired hum. "But I still omitted the truth. I've lied to you. That's just... the truth. It was hypocritical of me to be angry with you. And- I won't try to lie. The decision to adopt you- part of it was guilt. Part of it was I never planned on marrying." He took a deep breath. He didn't know if he should say it. He's never even thought about confessing that to anyone- much less to Aiden. But for once, he wanted to be truthful. Because Aiden deserved the truth. "Because...I've never really..felt interested in a women."
Aiden's breath hitched. The words didn't register at first- and when they did, he didn't know what to think- or say, in response. After his slip up yesterday- This was dangerous information. And he wasn't sure either of them was ready for the consequences yet. So he did what Elliott always did- he ignored it. Instead, he dropped his gaze, talking about the border. "Whatever all you did may be- that doesn't excuse what I did. At the border. It was necessary, but... I shouldn't have deceived you. I'm sorry."
Aiden would be lying if he said if the way elliott's shoulders, which had tightened when he'd confessed, relaxed after Aiden changed the topic, didn't physically pain him. But he didn't say anything.
A long silence followed.
Finally, Elliott murmured, "Apology accepted. I'm sorry too. About everything."
Aiden nodded.
The air between them shifted slightly—no longer sharp, no longer thick with unspoken accusations. Just quiet. Tired, vulnerable quiet.
It was then that Aiden realized he was still holding the spoon up. He gave a gentle nudge again.
And this time, Elliott didn't resist.
He opened his mouth. Ate a spoonful. Then another. Slowly, silently, he finished the entire bowl, mouthful by mouthful.
Aiden's chest loosened. He felt like he could breathe again.
He set the bowl aside.
Elliott had a tiny bit of porridge on the corner of his mouth, sticking to the edge of his lower lip. Aiden's eyes caught on it.
"You have... a little something there," he said quietly, gesturing to his own mouth.
Elliott blinked, confused, and reached up, fingers fumbling vaguely around his lips. He missed it.
"Not there—wait, just let me," Aiden murmured, leaning in.
He lifted his hand, gently cupping Elliott's jaw. His thumb brushed over the spot, wiping away the fleck of porridge in a single stroke.
But he didn't pull away.
For a heartbeat—or maybe two—his hand lingered. His gaze locked with Elliott's. There was something fragile and tense in the space between them now. Something raw. Something waiting to spill over.
Elliott didn't move.
He didn't flinch, didn't pull back, didn't even blink. He leaned into the touch, just slightly.
And that small motion—so subtle—made Aiden's pulse stutter.
He pulled his hand back like he'd been burned.
Not by the touch. But by what it meant.
Because this was how it always was with them, wasn't it?
Arguing. Making up. Apologizing. Pretending.
But never saying the things that mattered. Never naming the things that hurt. Even now- they didn't talk about that confession. The one that had threatened to shatter the fragile, unspoken balance they kept tiptoeing around, all this time.
Even now, as they sat in the quiet aftermath—Aiden didn't bring it up. Elliott didn't acknowledge it either. They pretended. Like it never happened. Like those words didn't still echo in both of their minds.
They only talked about the things that were easier.
The safer things.
The ones that didn't set fire to everything.
Aiden picked up the tray and stood.
The room was quiet again.