The throne room was silent.
Elliott had just broken the news of Sydney's poisoning— and her passing in the early hours of the morning— to the council. He sat on the Sun Throne, the crown on his head feeling heavier than ever. The air itself felt suffocating, frigid, like the very walls were closing in.
Aiden stood behind him. So did Commander Lira.
The prince's body was wound tight, like a leopard ready to spring at prey. He hadn't slept a single moment, working through the night, digging tirelessly into the matter. Yet nothing concrete had been found. Nothing worth mentioning. Nothing they could throw on the table to silence the whispers already stirring.
The gathered nobles and council members were a sea of grim faces. Some looked genuinely grieved, but others only appeared so for the sake of appearance. Their eyes gleamed like venomous snakes, already seeing the opportunity to profit from tragedy. And when the whispers rose, it was only one name that passed between their lips—Gabriella.
Elliott's voice cut through the air, low and steady. "In the end, Empress Dowager Sydney has left us, despite the best efforts of the healers. Her passing was peaceful, in the end. We pray the gods grant peace to her soul."
It was a lie. Her passing had not been peaceful. She had been writhing in agony, her voice hoarse from the screaming. But the lie was necessary.
"Prince Aiden and Commander Lira began investigating during the night itself. I assure you; we will leave no stone unturned. The guilty will be found and brought to justice."
Murmurs stirred again, rippling through the chamber. For a moment, no one spoke aloud, but the thought was written plainly on their faces. The absence. The glaring absence of one figure who had been present at every council meeting in recent days.
The one to finally voice it was Lord Williams, a conservative noble, his mask barely hiding disdain. "Your Majesty... I could not help but notice. For such an important announcement, Lady Gabriella is not here this morning. Her absence is... rather notable. One cannot help but wonder why."
"My mother is under the weather," Elliott lied smoothly.
He had been the one to ask Gabriella to sit this meeting out. He had known it was inevitable— that suspicion would fall on her no matter what— but at the very least, he could spare her from having to sit in this chamber while the whispers cut her apart. Gabriella had thought it unnecessary, had said she would not be bothered, but when she looked into Elliott's eyes, she agreed. If only for his peace of mind.
Lord Williams clearly wasn't satisfied. His expression was calm, but his eyes accused, and others followed.
Another voice rose. Lady Hawthorne. She fanned herself daintily, the curve of her mouth hidden beneath the black lace fan, though everyone knew there was a smirk beneath it. "Under the weather? What a convenient illness the Queen Mother has, Your Majesty."
"My mother is grieving in her own way. That is a completely baseless accusation," Elliott replied sharply, his eyes narrowing.
"Is it really baseless, Emperor?" another voice chimed in. "The history between the two women is no secret. Lady Gabriella returned only recently, and now—the Empress Dowager is assassinated. Who else would benefit from such a removal?"
Behind Elliott, Aiden's jaw clenched tight. His restrained fury radiated through the air like heat off metal. Elliott did not turn to look, but he felt it, as if the tension were vibrating through the floor itself. Quietly, he set a hand on Aiden's, a silent plea for restraint.
To the council, Elliott's voice came again, harder. "The investigation is ongoing, as I said. Any suspected party will have no window to meddle in it. It is led by Prince Aiden and overseen by Commander Lira as a third party. We will soon have answers. Until then—I will not tolerate accusations flying around this hall."
His words fell into the chamber like iron, and for a moment, there was silence. Dissatisfied silence, but silence nonetheless. The nobles began to disperse, their faces stiff, their whispers still crawling like shadows behind their lips.
Lady Hawthorne, however, lingered. She paused in the aisle, fan closing with a soft snap. The smile on her face was faint, but her eyes glimmered with predatory delight.
"I can only hope the investigation produces results soon, Your Majesty," she said sweetly, her smirk unmistakable now. "Lest rumours and discourse spiral. After all... it is well known that you have always been a son before an emperor."
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Aiden's fist clenched. Before he—or Elliott—could reply, the woman swept away. When the last of the courtiers had filed out and Commander Lira had been dismissed, only Elliott and Aiden remained in the otherwise empty throne room.
Once they were alone, Aiden finally spoke. He hadn't said a word about the investigation while the courtiers were present, particularly because the findings weren't good.
"...The servant who brought the tea is missing. We checked— no servant is unaccounted for. Which means it's plausible the one who served the tea wasn't registered at all. Just someone in uniform who managed to sneak into her room. The security around her wasn't tight. Neither was she vigilant. She gave a description before passing, but it's too vague. There's nothing to follow."
Aiden's voice carried frustration. Elliott didn't answer. His fists clenched hard against the armrests of the throne. He gave Aiden only a stiff nod, a noncommittal hum, his gaze distant.
Aiden glanced at him. He could see Elliott wasn't listening. He didn't call him out for it.
Elliott suddenly rose to his feet and began pacing around the dais. His movements were jerky, restless, though his breathing looked deceptively calm. He had been trapped in his own thoughts for far too long, spiraling deeper by the second.
"...They're going to demand it, aren't they?" The words came out rushed, sharp.
Aiden blinked, confused at first. Then he understood. "You mean accusing her?"
Elliott let out a tense breath. "No. They've accused her enough. Even now—even with how firm I was—they're still like... that. They're going to make me admit she's a suspect. They're going to make me imprison her. She said it would happen—"
Aiden crossed the space and caught his arm, gentle but firm. "Elliott." His voice was quiet, steady. "You're spiraling."
Elliott looked like he wanted to argue. Before he could, Aiden tugged him back down onto the throne, forcing him to sit.
"Deep breaths," Aiden murmured in his ear, his voice low, resonant, thrumming through Elliott's bones.
Elliott obeyed half-heartedly. He dragged in a few shaky breaths, but they weren't steady. His mind was still spiraling, dragging him deeper. "I'm fine," he insisted, when it was obvious he wasn't. In his head, he wasn't spiraling—he was thinking about valid worries, about things that could not be ignored.
"It's just—" He tried to force his scattered thoughts into words, but there were too many, all tangled. What came out was a fractured, frantic mess. "They're— I— it's not just the act of accusing her, it's like— I'm handing Cyrus a victory. It proves I can be manipulated, that he can make me do whatever he wants. This is what he wanted anyway, isn't it? And without her here, without her mind, without her presence I feel—"
The words tumbled out, breathless and raw. His hand raked through his hair, ripping apart the neat ponytail the servants had tied earlier. The silk ribbon slipped to the floor, golden strands falling loose around his face, messy, disordered. "I feel exposed without her. And if I imprison my own mother— even falsely— what does it make me? What does it say about my control? It says I have no control, that I can be easily played by Cyrus's moves—"
"Elliott." Aiden's voice was calm but edged with command.
Elliott didn't stop. His words kept spilling, frantic. His head dropped into his hands. Stress had finally caught him, tearing through his composure. His eyes were wide, panicked, his hands clutching his hair so tightly strands slipped between his fingers. "It says I'm weak, Aiden! And Cyrus sees that— I know he does. Sacrifice a pawn to save the king, Mother says. but she's not a pawn, Aiden. She's my mother! I can't just— I won't agree to be played like a marionette with Cyrus holding the strings—"
"Elliott."
This time, Elliott looked up. His face was pale, his eyes wild and frazzled. But when he looked into Aiden's midnight-blue eyes, he didn't see disdain. He didn't see superiority or dismissal. All he saw there was certainty. Steadiness. Reassurance.
Aiden crossed the distance in a single step. He didn't waste words. He didn't reason.
He kissed him.
His hands cupped Elliott's face, warm and firm, and then his lips claimed the emperor's. It was nothing like their hesitant kisses before. This was fierce, desperate, passionate. A kiss to silence chaos, to burn away fear, to anchor a drowning man.
For a heartbeat, Elliott froze. A thousand thoughts flared in his mind— this is the throne room, what if someone comes in, what if someone sees— but none of them reached his tongue. Not when Aiden's lips pressed harder against his, not when his hand slid into Elliott's loosened hair and tangled there.
The younger deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing at Elliott's lips, asking and demanding entry at once. Elliott parted his mouth, granting it. Aiden took the chance without hesitation, his tongue sweeping in, claiming every corner, as though he could silence all of Elliott's fears with touch alone.
Elliott melted into it. His hands clutched at Aiden's clothes, pulling him closer, pouring all of his frantic energy into kissing back. Their lips moved with urgency, messy, desperate.
When Aiden finally broke away, both of them were flushed, breaths ragged, faces pressed close, foreheads nearly touching.
"Breathe," Aiden whispered, his voice low, carrying that same undercurrent of command. "Just... breathe."
Elliott obeyed. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes hazy, cheeks flushed red.
Aiden didn't give him room to spiral again. "You prosecuting Gabriella, serving this so-called fair justice—it doesn't mean Cyrus is winning." His words were deliberate, each one steady, unshakable. "This indecision is what he wants. He wants you conflicted. And you're right, your mother isn't a pawn. Sacrificing a pawn- That's not what we're doing. We're taking a step back to survey the board. Nothing will happen to her. I swear it. We're playing the long game."
His palm brushed Elliott's cheek again, thumb stroking the flushed skin with tenderness.
"You are not weak. You are not alone. You have me, and her, and others by your side. Always. And more than that—you're right. You are doing the right thing. Evil like Cyrus might win for some time, but the consequences of his actions will catch up to him. They always do."
They stayed like that for a long time, in the silence of the throne room, the only sound their mingled breathing. Foreheads pressed together.
Elliott didn't spiral anymore. Aiden didn't give speeches beyond what was needed. He just held him—strong, steady, grounding. And for once, Elliott allowed himself to simply be held.
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AN: Really feeling Elizabeth Taylor vibes from this chapter or maybe I'm just obsessed with the song