After the meal was dismissed, Kaelen slipped away from the noise of the hall and descended the narrow corridor toward the kitchen. The air was rich with the scent of baked bread and simmering broth, but the usual warmth he felt upon stepping inside was absent.
His eyes scanned the room, searching for the one face he wished to see. Ael was nowhere.
The kitchen staff bustled around—chopping, stirring, carrying trays—but none seemed to notice the Prince standing in their midst until Kaelen cleared his throat. One of the younger kitchen hands turned, bowing awkwardly.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," the boy stammered, wiping flour from his hands.
"Where is Ael?" Kaelen asked, his voice low but firm.
The boy hesitated, eyes flicking nervously toward the others before answering. "He… he went to the market, my lord. Said we were short on certain spices and fish for tonight's meal. He left early."
Kaelen's jaw tightened, though he gave no outward sign of displeasure. He simply nodded once, then turned toward the open doorway.
The market. He should have expected it. If Ael wished to avoid him, slipping into the busy streets was the easiest escape. Still, Kaelen could not shake the frustration curling in his chest. He had come only to see if the boy was well—and Ael had vanished like mist again.
With a measured breath, Kaelen straightened his shoulders. Duty still waited. His father's command lingered, and Serene's shadow was not far behind.
The stables were alive with the soft shuffle of hooves and the earthy scent of hay. Rows of horses stood, sleek and tall, their coats polished to a gleam under the morning light. Serene's eyes danced with excitement as she glanced from one majestic creature to another before finally settling on a dapple-gray mare.
Prince Kaelen, already prepared in his riding attire, approached with an air of calm authority. He wore a fitted dark tunic of deep navy, its silver embroidery catching the light, paired with tall leather riding boots that gleamed like obsidian. A belt at his waist held polished riding gloves, and his cloak—fastened with a steel clasp—was set aside for freedom of movement. His posture, upright and assured, carried the aura of someone well accustomed to commanding both people and beasts.
Serene, in contrast, looked delicate yet elegant. Her gown had been exchanged for a riding dress of soft cream fabric, light enough to allow movement, cinched at the waist with a slender belt. A long veil-like scarf framed her hair, pinned so it would not trouble her eyes in the wind.
"You've chosen well," Kaelen said, his voice smooth but edged with formality as he nodded toward the mare. "She's spirited, but steady. You'll need a firm hand."
He moved closer, taking the reins in one hand, the leather strap gliding easily between his fingers. Then, without waiting for a stable hand, he stepped toward Serene. With practiced ease, Kaelen slipped his arm around her waist, the unexpected closeness drawing a faint breath from her lips. His strength was effortless, yet deliberate, as he lifted her upward.
For a moment, her hands gripped his shoulder for balance, the warmth of his presence impossible to ignore. Then he set her lightly upon the saddle, adjusting her posture with precise care. Kneeling slightly, he placed her foot neatly into the stirrup, ensuring it rested correctly before tightening the strap.
"You must keep your balance through your core, not just your hands," he instructed, his tone calm yet carrying the faint weight of command.
Once satisfied, Kaelen grasped the horse's reins, walking alongside as the mare began to pace. He kept his stride even, guiding both horse and rider with steady control, his sharp eyes occasionally lifting to Serene as if to measure her composure.
The ride ended in the palace gardens, where the horses slowed to a gentle halt.
With a firm grip, Kaelen placed his hands around Serene's waist and lifted her gently from the saddle.
Her gown brushed lightly against him as her feet touched the ground, though his expression remained calm, guarded.
"Careful," he murmured, steadying her before stepping back, allowing distance once more.
Serene smiled faintly, as if hoping the moment meant more than it did.
Together they walked side by side toward the palace gates, the clatter of hooves fading behind them.
--
Kaelen stood upon the rooftop terrace, a steaming cup of tea resting lightly in his hand. His gaze, however, was fixed on the palace gates below, watching—waiting—for only one figure to emerge. The cool morning breeze carried no comfort; his thoughts were restless, circling back to the boy who had occupied his mind since yesterday.
And then—there he was. Ael stepped out into the courtyard, his sleeves rolled slightly, his posture relaxed, walking beside one of the kitchen mates. Kaelen's grip on his cup tightened almost imperceptibly as he noticed the ease of Ael's laughter, the way his face lit up in unguarded joy. The kitchen mate leaned closer, clearly admiring him, clearly savoring that smile as though it belonged to him.
A flare of something sharp and unwelcome burned in Kaelen's chest. Jealousy. He hated the word, yet there was no denying it. The sound of Ael's laughter, free and shared with someone else, struck him harder than he expected. For a fleeting moment, Kaelen wished he had been the one to earn that smile, the one to stand at Ael's side in such effortless closeness.
Kaelen's eyes followed Ael for as long as he could see him, that laughter echoing faintly even after the boy and his companion disappeared back inside the palace. He forced himself to look away, lifting his teacup again, telling himself it was nothing. He is just a servant. He will be in the kitchens, preparing lunch, as always.
But when the bell rang and the household gathered at the dining hall, Kaelen waited for the familiar sight of Ael bringing in dishes, silent and composed. He expected the taste of something prepared by Ael's careful hands. Yet as the food was laid out before him, none of it carried that touch he had learned to recognize—no quiet precision, no subtle flavors that only Ael crafted.
"Where is he?" Kaelen muttered under his breath, pushing his plate away after only a few bites. His eyes flickered toward the kitchen doors, half-expecting Ael to appear, to at least linger in the shadows as he often did. But the doors never opened.
Dinner came, and still, no sign of him.
That night, Kaelen could not rest. He paced the length of his chamber, the echo of Ael's laughter—shared with someone else—still burning in his mind. Every moment Ael avoided him only twisted the knot tighter in his chest. Finally, when the palace halls had grown quiet, Kaelen left his room and made his way down to the servants' quarters.
He found Ael outside near the well, rinsing his hands under the cold water, as though he had just returned from some task. The moonlight spilled across his face, making him look softer, almost untouchable.
"Ael," Kaelen's voice was low, but it carried a sharpness that froze the air.
Ael flinched, his back stiffening before he slowly turned. "Your Highness…" He bowed his head, but didn't move closer.
Kaelen stepped forward, each stride heavy with the weight of unspoken frustration. "You weren't at lunch. Nor at dinner. Not once did you step into the hall."
"I had other duties," Ael answered carefully, not daring to meet his eyes.
"Duties?" Kaelen's voice rose, his composure cracking. "You laugh in the courtyard, you walk with others, yet you cannot bring yourself to stand in the same room as me?"
Silence.
Kaelen's chest heaved. He reached out suddenly, his hand gripping Ael's wrist before the boy could step back. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice trembling with the force of restrained emotion. "Why is it that you can give your smiles—your laughter—to someone else, but when it comes to me, you vanish?"
Ael's eyes finally met his, wide and uncertain. For a heartbeat, the world around them stilled—the night, the silence, even the cold air.
Kaelen's grip tightened, his anger masking something far more fragile underneath. "Tell me, Ael," he whispered, his voice breaking between fury and desperation, "what is it that you are running from? Me—or yourself?"
"Kaelen's breath caught as he reached for Ael—only to jolt awake in his bed, sweat dampening his skin, the moonlight filtering through the curtains reminding him it had all been nothing but a dream."
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