The silence between them seemed to grow heavier as the night deepened. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its light dancing on the walls, but it did little to fill the growing distance that Eden felt inside. For the first time, he wasn't alone in this room. He wasn't isolated or invisible. But the truth of that realization twisted in his chest, making him unsure how to handle it.
Eden sat on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in his lap, trying to focus on the soft sounds around him—the warmth of the fire, the quiet hum of the palace at night. But it was hard to find peace in the stillness. His heart was racing, uncertain of what had transpired, of what this night meant.
Darian had left him here in the room, retreating to the far side of the chambers to give him space. But Eden could still feel the prince's presence in the room, a heavy weight that lingered in the air. The conversation they'd had earlier replayed in Eden's mind. Darian had spoken words that were foreign to him—words of kindness, of apology, of an earnest desire to change.
But Eden wasn't sure if he could believe it.
"I'm trying."
Those words echoed in his mind, and Eden found himself gripping the edge of the bed harder. The thought of trusting again, of allowing someone back in after all the pain he had endured… it felt impossible. And yet, Darian's actions tonight were so different from what Eden had experienced before. The prince had taken him away from the cruel mockery of the banquet and had guided him here without hesitation. There had been no demands, no forceful control. Just a quiet acceptance.
The door creaked open, and Eden's head snapped toward the sound. He didn't need to see Darian's face to know who it was. The air in the room shifted when Darian stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. The prince didn't say anything at first. Instead, he crossed the room quietly, as if giving Eden the space to process, to make up his mind.
Eden swallowed hard, trying to calm the rush of emotions that surged in him. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly despite his attempt to keep it steady. "Why are you being kind to me now?"
Darian stopped a few feet away, his hands clasped in front of him, his posture unusually open and vulnerable. "I don't expect you to understand, not right away," he said softly. "I don't expect forgiveness for everything I've done. But I owe you more than what I've given you, Eden. I owe you the truth and the respect you deserve."
Eden felt his breath hitch at those words. He wasn't used to this—this sincerity. He had never been treated as an equal, never shown kindness without strings attached. He didn't know what to do with it, how to accept it, and yet a part of him couldn't ignore how much he wanted to believe it.
"I'm not like them," Darian continued, his voice low, almost apologetic. "I won't mock you. I won't belittle you. I'll prove it to you, Eden. I want to show you that I can be better than what I was before."
Eden closed his eyes, trying to keep the flood of emotions at bay. The prince's words felt like a balm to his wounded heart, and yet there was a fear in him—a fear that this was all temporary, that once Darian got what he wanted, things would go back to the way they had been.
"I don't know how to trust you," Eden admitted, his voice shaking slightly. "I've been hurt too many times. And I don't know if I can just… forget what you've done."
Darian's gaze softened. He stepped closer, but he didn't touch him, respecting the distance Eden still needed. "You don't have to forget. I don't expect that. But I need you to know that I'm trying to change. I can't erase the past, but I can try to be a better person from this moment forward."
Eden remained quiet for a long moment, unsure of what to say. A part of him wanted to push Darian away, to demand that he leave him alone, to make the prince understand that Eden was no one's to control, no one's to manipulate anymore. But another part of him—a part he hadn't dared to acknowledge—longed for Darian to keep his promise. Longed for a chance at something… different.
Finally, Eden spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to be alone anymore." His words hung in the air, fragile and trembling. "But I don't know if I can trust you."
The vulnerability in Eden's voice caught Darian off guard. He had expected resistance and expected anger, but hearing Eden admit something so raw, so honest, made his chest tighten. Darian had no answer, no easy reassurance. There were no promises he could make that would erase the past. But there was something else, something deep within him, that made him certain of one thing.
"I won't hurt you," Darian said quietly. "Not anymore."
The words felt like a promise, and Eden wasn't sure if he was ready to believe them. But when Darian's hand reached out, hesitating for only a moment, and gently rested on his shoulder, something in Eden's chest fluttered. He could feel the warmth of Darian's touch, a quiet strength in the way the prince was standing there—patient, waiting.
Eden didn't pull away. For the first time, he didn't feel the need to.
They stood there for what felt like an eternity, the weight of their unspoken emotions between them, both of them unsure of what would come next, but for once not running from it.
Finally, Darian spoke again. "Would you like to stay here tonight? In my room? I won't ask anything of you. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Just… stay."
Eden didn't answer immediately. He wanted to say no, to refuse, to stay locked away in his loneliness. But the truth was, the silence was crushing him. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to believe that Darian could be something more than the prince who had broken him.
"Okay," Eden whispered, his voice soft and tentative.
Darian smiled, but it was a quiet, gentle smile that didn't carry the usual arrogance. "Thank you," he murmured, stepping back slightly, giving Eden space to breathe.
As they both settled into the room—Darian stood by the window, Eden sitting on the edge of the bed—neither of them spoke for a long time. The silence was comforting in its own way, a space where neither of them felt the pressure to say anything. Just the quiet and the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth.
For tonight, that was enough.