Riven woke slowly, not to the harsh, jarring reality of camp life, but to a deep, profound sense of well-being. He shifted against the warm, solid mass behind him, stretching his limbs. There was no pain, no stiffness, no lingering ache from Sir Eryndor's brutal drills. His muscles, which should have been screaming in protest, felt loose, recovered, and ready for more.
He smiled into the pillow. Vaelorian had healed him. This treatment was a luxury reserved for only him. Vaelorian almost never spoke about the times he'd healed him, and it always left Riven feeling like he'd slept for a week. He turned carefully in Vaelorian's arms until they were face to face. The morning light was still soft, barely a grey smudge filtering through the window, meaning they had precious time before the activities of the day began. Vaelorian was deep asleep, his long hair falling over his forehead, his expression unguarded and peaceful.
"He healed me, again." Riven thought, smiling. "This stubborn, strict, wonderful guy gave me a full reset. He made sure I paid for my disobedience, but he also made sure I was ready for the next day. A full night's sleep, no aches, no pains…that's a dangerous combination. It means I'm running on pure, fresh energy, and I know exactly what I want to use it for."
Riven's hand crept up to Vaelorian's jaw, tracing the clean, strong line. He leaned in and pressed a light, teasing kiss to the corner of his lover's mouth. Vaelorian didn't stir, only mumbled something indistinct. Riven pressed another, slightly more insistent kiss to his lips.
"Good morning, Your Highness," he whispered, his voice low and playful. "Don't you look handsome when you're not ordering me to analyze flanking maneuvers."
Vaelorian's eyes fluttered open slowly, amber eyes focusing on Riven. A slow, sleepy smile spread across his face, a smile that's just for Riven.
"Good morning, my love." he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. "I see my efforts were...successful."
"More than successful, babe." Riven purred, sliding his hand down Vaelorian's chest. "You've given me a fair advantage. I'm completely refreshed, full of energy, and ready for an unscheduled training session."
Vaelorian caught Riven's wrist, his expression shifting into mock seriousness.
"Riven, my love. We have a very full schedule today. You have an analysis class to make up for, and I have my duties. There is no time for 'unscheduled sessions' before breakfast."
"Oh, come on!" Riven teased, leaning closer so his breath ghosted over Vaelorian's ear. "Is there really a point to me going to my first class if I'm not properly…centered? Think of it as preventative measures. I need to clear my head before I can calculate the trajectory of an arrow aimed at me."
Vaelorian sighed, but Riven could feel the warmth spreading through his body, an undeniable response to the younger boy's provocative energy.
"You are insatiable," Vaelorian muttered, though he pulled Riven closer, trapping him in an embrace. "You use every tool at your disposal, don't you? Even me, healing you has become a weapon of seduction."
"Only for you, Your Highness." Riven replied mischievously, looking at him with hungrily. "One quick session. Just long enough to remind me that the strict Prince loves his reckless Lord. Then, I'll be good all day, I promise."
Vaelorian looked into Riven's bright, challenging eyes. He saw the sheer, joyful vitality he himself had restored, and the argument was lost. The day could wait a few more minutes.
"Alright, you get twenty minutes," Vaelorian conceded, his voice low and firm, but the command was already softening into a groan of surrender. "And then, you are on your best behavior for the rest of the week, I mean it."
Riven grinned, a triumphant, wicked flash of teeth. "Deal." He agreed before pouncing on him.
Riven kissed Vaelorian hungrily, like it's been months since they last had sex and the older boy found himself responding with equal hunger. Both boys were so consumed by each other as the kiss shifted to tearing each other's clothes off, allowing them to freely feel the fire in their skins. Riven was right, Vaelorian's healing had given him a very fair advantage.
After what felt like an eternity of being buried deep inside his lover, Vaelorian dropped beside Riven on the bed breathing heavily, Riven too was gasping for air, as Vaelorian reached out and kissed his forehead affectionately. The younger boy's cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining brightly.
"Are you okay!" Vaelorian asked gently and Riven chuckled patting his chest.
"I've never been better, Your Highness." he replied cheekily as they got ready for the day.
Feeling entirely satisfied and thoroughly energized after his 'preventative measures' session, Riven reported to the mess hall for breakfast. He felt untouchable, a stark contrast to the previous night's exhaustion. He knew he had extracted a small victory from Vaelorian—a twenty-minute reprieve from discipline—but he was now committed to upholding his end of the bargain. After a quick, protein-heavy meal, Riven headed, without complaint or detour, straight for the analysis hall.
"My mind is part of the weapon," Riven coached himself at the door. "The net first. Okay, I'm here. I'm early. Vaelorian would be proud. But he has no idea how much trouble I'm going to cause him later if he keeps making me sit through this. Still, after last night, I feel like I could calculate the angles of a fly's wing trajectory. Alright, let's fucking get this done."
His instructor, Eldrin glanced up as Riven entered the class. The older man's expression, usually one of dry disapproval, shifted to one of slight surprise at Riven's punctuality.
"Lord Riven," Eldrin acknowledged, "Prompt. An excellent habit. Please take your seat. Today, we will be analyzing the weaknesses inherent in relying on sheer force during battle."
Riven spent the next hour doing what he had resisted for weeks. He focused. He drew diagrams of defensive lines, he considered supply routes, and he applied Willow's lesson, looking for the "net"—the point of immobilization—in the enemy's structure. His success with Sir Eryndor the night before was a fresh validation that thinking was, in fact, an extension of fighting. The class, while still not his favorite, felt less like torture and more like necessary preparation.
The day progressed quickly. Riven moved through his classes to physical drills with a sharp focus he rarely demonstrated, executing moves with both power and precision. He was trying to prove to Vaelorian, and perhaps to himself, that the extra analysis time was already paying off.
Meanwhile, Vaelorian spent his day engaged in high-level camp administration. He was reviewing guard rotations when Sir Eryndor let himself into Vaelorian's private study after knocking lightly on the door. The knight presented Vaelorian with a heavy, wax-sealed letter.
Vaelorian broke the seal, recognizing the elaborate crest of the Emperor, his father. He quickly opened the letter and read the elegant script. The letter was brief, formal, and left no room for refusal.
The Emperor required Vaelorian's presence at the Imperial Palace by midday tomorrow. The stated purpose was "to discuss the logistics and security arrangements for the upcoming border negotiations," a task that was entirely in Vaelorian's purview as the Crown Prince. However, the unexpected and immediate nature of the summons raised an alarm Vaelorian was accustomed to recognizing. It suggested either a crisis or a personal matter disguised as imperial business.
Vaelorian sighed, closing the letter. He ran a hand over his face. A summon to the imperial Palace meant protocol, political maneuvering, and a necessary separation from the camp—and from Riven—for an unknown length of time.
He dismissed Sir Eryndor with a curt nod, his thoughts immediately turning to how Riven would take the news.