Miles returned at dawn.
Dust still clung to his boots. His coat bore the faint tear of blade-work. A shallow cut marked his jaw.
He looked like a man who had ridden through the night and barely stopped to breathe.
He expected debriefing.
Expected strategy.
Expected cold, efficient Sebastian.
Instead—
He found the Crown Prince standing alone in the war chamber, staring at nothing.
Sebastian did not turn when Miles entered.
"You're late."
Miles smirked faintly. "I was tracking smugglers across three provinces. Forgive me."
Silence.
Miles studied him more closely.
Something was off.
Sebastian was too still.
"What happened while I was gone?" Miles asked.
A long pause.
Then—
"I kissed her."
Miles blinked.
"…You what?"
Sebastian finally turned.
No arrogance. No smug satisfaction.
Just fact.
"In the throne hall."
Miles stared.
"In front of the nobles?"
"Yes."
"In front of the King?"
"Yes."
Miles let out a low whistle.
