His father's embrace, this brief show of affection, cracked through the armor he had so carefully built. His hardened gaze, the brutal mask of a warrior, faltered. The familiar coldness in his eyes softened, and for the first time, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable glistened in his pupils, bright as burning steel.
And as he closed his eyes, he felt a warmth that had been foreign to him all his life, a warmth that made his heart ache even as it healed.
For beneath the prince's cold precision, beneath the strategist's cunning, was a son who, for the first time since he could remember, was held not as a warrior, not as a pawn—nor a king he fought so hard to be, but simply as a son.
A son who made his father proud.
______
Xavier held Aric close for a moment longer, the silence between them heavy with years of unspoken truths. Finally, he let go, stepping back slowly, his hand lingering on Aric's shoulder.
