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Chapter 24 - TWENTY FOUR

The summons came just before dawn.

Rythe read the seal in silence beneath the flicker of torchlight, the Emperor's script unmistakable. It was a diplomatic errand to a borderland province—simple in theory, but carried the weight of a veiled message. Deliver this missive. See what else you discover. Trust no one.

"I'll go alone," Rythe told the court messenger. "With the hounds. And my aide."

His tone brokered no discussion.

When the castle gates opened at sunrise, Rythe rode at the head of a small, silent company. Aurean followed behind him on a black mare, dressed in practical travel leathers, expression carefully impassive. The hounds, Mael and Varnak, trailed at a smooth lope—silent sentinels, tails low, muscles coiled.

They made camp in the woods after two days' ride.

The province was unstable—no attacks, but enough tension in the air to keep hands near sword hilts. The message was delivered in person to the local baron, whose eyes lingered too long on Aurean and whose smile never quite reached his eyes. Rythe spoke little during the exchange. He took note of everything.

They left at dusk the following day, riding hard into the woods until the stars emerged.

By the time they made camp again, a hush had fallen.

Aurean crouched by the fire, feeding it dry kindling as Mael settled by his feet and Varnak kept patrol along the treeline. Rythe paced the edge of the camp. He hadn't spoken in hours. His body hummed with heat—the early edge of rut, familiar and hated.

Aurean glanced toward him. "You're pacing."

Rythe stilled. "It's nothing."

"You've barely eaten."

"I said it's nothing."

Aurean didn't press. He simply returned to his task, breaking dried meat into portions and feeding the hounds, his movements precise, effortless.

But Rythe felt it now—the draw.

His skin was burning. Every breath tasted like iron and pine and him.

By nightfall, Rythe could barely see straight.

He stumbled into the woods alone, breath ragged, vision darkening with need. He had never been careless with his ruts. He trained. He fasted. He took himself far from temptation. But not this time.

Not after weeks of denying what he couldn't name.

Not with Aurean so close.

The snapping of a twig behind him made him freeze.

He turned—and Aurean stood there, a cloak wrapped over his shoulders, eyes unreadable.

"Don't," Rythe rasped. "Go back."

But Aurean took a step forward.

"I said—"

"You're in pain," Aurean said softly. "I can smell it."

Rythe's voice was raw. "I don't want to hurt you."

Aurean stopped a few paces away, watching him with a calm that burned hotter than flame.

"You won't."

The silence stretched.

Then Rythe broke.

In a rush of movement, he closed the distance between them and slammed his mouth to Aurean's. It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, burning, months of restraint breaking in the curve of teeth and salt and groan.

Aurean didn't flinch. He pulled Rythe down with him to the forest floor, cloak falling away, the air thick with scent and breath.

Clothes were stripped with frantic hands. Rythe hovered over him only briefly, searching his face with a gaze that trembled with conflict.

"You can still walk away."

Aurean reached for him. "You won't let me."

They met again—this time with no hesitation.

The rut hit full force.

It was brutal and consuming, bodies tangling in pine needles and damp moss, Aurean's thighs wrapped tight around Rythe's waist, his back arching, gasps swallowed in kisses that tasted of war and hunger and something neither of them dared to name.

Rythe held him through it, every thrust driven by instinct and ache. He marked him—bit down hard where the shoulder met the neck. Aurean bled, but didn't cry out. He only held Rythe closer.

And when it ended, long after both were spent and trembling in the cold under a ruined sky, they didn't speak.

Rythe's face was buried in Aurean's throat, his hand still fisted in his hair, chest heaving.

Aurean's fingers curled loosely against Rythe's back, nails grazing scar tissue.

Nothing was fixed.

Dawn broke too cleanly.

The forest was cold and quiet when Rythe and Aurean saddled their horses in silence. The air between them was stiff—not angry, not remorseful, simply... fractured. As if something delicate had been broken in the night, and neither of them dared look at the pieces.

Mael and Varnak were unusually alert, padding around them with ears perked, sniffing too often in Aurean's direction. Mael even gave a low, questioning growl when Rythe adjusted his saddle too close to Aurean's mount.

"They know," Aurean murmured under his breath.

Rythe didn't answer. His jaw clenched, his eyes set straight ahead.

The ride back to the capital was silent. No questions. No words. No eye contact. Only the steady beat of hooves and the looming shadow of the Imperial Palace growing on the horizon.

By the time they arrived at the stables, word had already spread.

The guards bowed, the handlers greeted them with tight smiles, but whispers clung to the corridors like mildew.

"The Beta is back—Calien, the one from House Seravesh. Returned from his diplomatic tour…"

"…They say the prince loved him once. Might still."

"Did you see the way he entered the court? Straight to the Emperor."

Aurean pretended not to hear. He was good at pretending.

Back in the prince's wing, Aurean went about his duties with practiced efficiency. He unpacked Rythe's satchel, set his armor aside for cleaning, and drew hot water for a bath. He lit the lanterns and trimmed the wicks.

Rythe hadn't spoken since they dismounted. He sat on the edge of his cot, rubbing his temples, as if trying to erase the last twenty-four hours from his memory.

It was night when Aurean finally stepped forward, pausing just beyond the firelight. His voice was low, calm.

"Your Highness."

Rythe looked up sharply, his expression unreadable.

"You don't have to… feel guilty," Aurean said, hands folded before him. "About what happened in the woods."

Rythe's silence stretched, heavy and brittle.

"I pushed you," Aurean continued. "You were in rut. I knew that. And I stayed. You warned me."

"That doesn't make it right," Rythe muttered.

"I didn't say it was right." Aurean met his eyes, calm. "I said you're not to blame."

Rythe stood abruptly, pacing toward the window, back turned. "This was a mistake."

Aurean's jaw tightened, but his tone remained even. "No one will ever know. I would never shame you like that."

Rythe stiffened, but didn't turn.

"I heard the soldiers speaking," Aurean said softly, gaze lowered. "The Beta is back. The one from your past. The one you… once loved."

Rythe exhaled sharply, but still didn't speak.

"I'll keep my distance," Aurean added. "I know my place. I'll be scarce when he visits. I won't embarrass you or… or get in the way. You don't owe me anything. I don't expect anything."

He turned to leave, but paused at the door.

"I'm sorry for making things more difficult for you."

Just then, a sharp knock rattled the outer chamber. A palace messenger stepped in, bowing deeply.

"Your Highness. The Emperor requests your presence. Immediately."

Rythe turned from the window, his expression unreadable. The fire cast long shadows across his face, but Aurean could see it—the mask settling back in place.

"Tell him I'll be there."

The messenger bowed and left.

Aurean stepped aside for Rythe to pass.

Their eyes met, only briefly—too many things unsaid between them.

Then Rythe walked past, cloak swirling behind him, already slipping back into the role of prince, of warrior, of future heir.

And Aurean—left in the quiet—stood alone in a room that never felt colder.

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