The corridors were empty when Caelum slipped out of his mother's chambers.
His vision still blurred from the aftershock of her pheromones, his lungs heavy with the scent of dominance she'd unleashed in anger. He didn't stop until he reached the gardens, where the moon poured silver over the marble fountains and the air finally smelled clean again.
He stumbled toward the nearest fountain and sank onto the cold stone edge. From his sleeve, he drew a small silver flask—stolen from the banquet table—and uncorked it.
The wine burned his throat, but at least it drowned the echo of her voice.
He tilted his head back and stared at the moon, pale and indifferent above the towers. The sound of water trickling was the only thing that listened.
"Always the same," he murmured, laughter brittle at the edges. "Always him."
The words were swallowed by the night.
He took another sip. The bitterness reminded him of childhood—of training yards, of polished swords and instructors who praised Alaric's form while correcting his. Of court tutors who whispered that His Majesty's eldest is destined for greatness while he sat in silence beside them.
He'd long since learned to wear a smile when he wanted to scream.
The wine swirled again in the flask, dark as blood. "They all chose him," he whispered. "Even you."
He didn't notice the shadow behind him until a voice called softly:
"Your Highness?"
The flask froze midair.
Caelum turned sharply, eyes widening, to find Sir Darius standing just beyond the fountain's glow—armor muted under moonlight, expression caught between duty and concern.
Caelum's jaw tightened. "Sir Darius," he said coolly. "Why are you here? Come to shadow me again? Or perhaps sent to make sure I haven't done anything… regrettable?"
Darius stepped forward. "No, Your Highness. I was—"
"Worried?" Caelum cut in, the word like a blade. He rose abruptly, the flask slipping from his hand and clattering onto the stone. "Why now? You weren't worried before, when no one looked at me unless it was to compare me to him!"
"Your Highness, that's not—"
"Then what is it?" Caelum's voice cracked. "Tell me!"
He moved before he realized it—his hand fisting into Darius's collar, dragging him forward. The knight stumbled, losing his footing as Caelum's weight pressed against him, and the two of them fell to the ground.
Darius's back hit the marble, the air leaving his lungs in a startled gasp.
Caelum hovered above him, trembling. Moonlight caught on the wet gleam of his eyes.
"Are you here to see how pathetic I've become?" he demanded hoarsely. "Are you here to mock me, too?"
His grip tightened. His voice wavered. "Even you chose him, Darius. Even you left me—"
He stopped. A drop of something warm fell against Darius's cheek. Then another.
Tears.
Darius froze, his breath shallow as Caelum's tears slid down onto his face—silent, unguarded, unbearably human.
The prince's anger trembled into exhaustion. His voice grew smaller. "Why… why is it always him?"
Darius reached up slowly, his calloused hand rising halfway before stopping, uncertain whether he had the right to touch him. "Your Highness…"
But Caelum didn't answer. His body suddenly slackened, his head dropping forward until his forehead rested against Darius's chest. The tension drained from his fingers; his hand slipped from the knight's collar.
"Your Highness?" Darius whispered again, but the only reply was the faint, even sound of breathing.
Caelum had fallen asleep.
The wine's warmth, the exhaustion from his mother's pheromones, the weight of years he'd never allowed himself to carry—all of it had pulled him under.
Darius lay still for a long moment, staring up at the stars through the lattice of the trees, Caelum's head heavy against his chest. The prince's hair brushed against his chin, soft and warm despite the night air.
The knight swallowed hard, a quiet ache rising in his throat.
He remembered this, too—the boy who used to fall asleep in the stables after training until Darius carried him back to his chambers. Back then, Caelum had laughed in his sleep, murmuring nonsense about sword fights and fireflies. Now, his face was lined with exhaustion and unspoken pain.
Darius finally exhaled and reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from the prince's face.
"I never left you," he murmured, voice barely audible. "You just stopped looking back."
The words hung in the night, too soft for Caelum to hear.
He stayed like that for a while—listening to the fountain's murmur, the slow heartbeat beneath the prince's ribs, and the faint echo of music from the distant banquet hall.
When he finally moved, it was only to shift carefully, so Caelum's head rested more comfortably against his shoulder. He didn't wake him.
Darius stared out toward the palace lights, the faint hum of duty and guilt twining in his chest.
For all his oaths and all his armor, there was nothing heavier than the warmth of the man asleep against him.
And for the first time since swearing his loyalty, he wasn't sure whether it belonged to the crown… or to the broken heart of the boy he once promised to protect.