Riven stood in the drawing room, the silence of the large space pressing in on him. He could still feel the phantom weight of Vaelorian's hands on his arms and the heat of his departing kiss.
"I love you."
The words echoed in his head, a beautiful sound that was also a crushing burden. He hadn't said it back. He couldn't say it back! Why couldn't he say it back?
Riven took a slow, deep breath. His panic, which always rose when Vaelorian was out of sight, was now replaced by a cold, sharp determination. Vaelorian would be back, but when he returned, Riven had to be ready. He had to honor the deal between him and the real Riven and deliver that confession.
But how could he confess feelings that weren't all his? He likes Vaelorian—more than just a friend, certainly—but he couldn't just speak the words; he needs to mean them and by doing so he needs to understand why the real Riven loved Vaelorian so much.
His gaze swept over the now empty room. This manor, which feels like some strange museum to him, was now a crucial source of information. Riven walked swiftly toward the massive staircase. He has just decided on two urgent tasks before Vaelorian's return.
The first task is to investigate the "other" him. Riven made his way to what was supposed to be the real Riven's study. The room was neat, formal, and sterile—nothing like the messy, comfortable spaces Riven was used to in his previous life.
He ignored the books and the maps, focusing instead on the small, private desk tucked away near a window. He ran his hand over the polished wood, searching for anything hidden. And he found it: A locked bottom drawer. Riven used a simple hair clip to pick the lock, his hands surprisingly steady. Inside, there was only one thing: a simple, leather-bound journal. It was a small, unassuming book filled with familiar writings like the one he read last night.
He opened the journal, his eyes scanning the pages to the last entry. The page was torn in half. This must be where the piece he read last came from. Riven read the intimate thoughts of the person whose life he was now living. The feelings poured out of the ink: the admiration, the fear of confessing, and the intense, hopeless devotion to the Crown Prince. Well, fuck! The kid literally lived for him.
The words gave him more than just feelings; they gave him a voice. They revealed the context, the depths of the younger boy's feelings, and his longing. It wasn't just a crush; it was a profound, life-altering love caused by that one meeting. Riven absorbed the words, letting them sink in, trying to map them onto his own feelings for Vaelorian.
He decided on his second task then: Rehearsing his confession to Vaelorian. Riven closed the journal, placing it carefully in his inner jacket pocket. He understood everything now. This was beyond him; this is about honoring the feelings that had been too large for one person to carry. He moved to the center of the large, empty study. He needed to find the right words, the right delivery, so that when Vaelorian looked into his eyes, he would feel his and the other Riven's feelings.
He tried the simple, direct approach: "I love you." It felt awkward and...cold. He thought about what the real Riven would say, he would probably go with a dramatic approach like: "My heart has been yours since the day we met!" It felt cringe and...fake. That might've been the case for the real Riven but it wasn't for him. He has to think about something that works for both of them. Riven paused his pacing for a moment, thinking of Vaelorian's face just before the teleportation—the look of pure love...the look of regret? What was that about anyway? Deciding to focus on his feelings for now, he thought of the desperation he had felt when he pulled the Prince into that last kiss.
He began to speak out loud, "I know you have your own secrets, and I know you keep them to protect me. I have my own secrets too," his voice was soft at first, then growing stronger, "But I don't want to keep anything from you anymore, so I need you to know my secret." Riven took a moment to channel the earnest thoughts and yearning of the other boy who wrote the journal and his own feelings. "Meeting you gave me purpose, a reason to keep holding on when things were hard. I don't know when it started but I've fallen for you. I am in love with you, Vaelorian."
The moment those words left his lips, a warm and fuzzy feeling evaporated throughout his body and that brought a huge smile to his face, the other Riven approves this line of confession too. He practiced the phrase again and again, letting the weight of the words settle on his tongue. He was merging two truths: the one written in the journal, and other, the honest feeling that has bloomed in his own chest.
With the love confession practiced, Riven decided to do something to keep busy till Vaelorian gets back tomorrow. Vaelorian had told him to 'be good' which means he shouldn't cause trouble, but he also left him in a manor with endless wine and zero duties. So, Riven allowed himself to surrender to the luxury his predecessor had been born into. He'd earned that much break. He faced the puzzle of the net, faced Sir Eryndor, and he'd endured his father's ridiculous attempt at playing the perfect host. For a single day, he's going to enjoy what it's like to be Duke Ashbourne's son.
The camp can wait. Riven let the servants take over. He allowed the head butler to usher him into the private sauna, where the humid air eased the lingering tension from his muscles. He spent an hour soaking in a massive marble tub filled with scented oils, letting a servant wash the dirt of the training yard from his hair. He indulged in a long, leisurely lunch of impossibly rich food, savoring every complex flavour that the camp mess hall couldn't replicate.
In the afternoon, he wore a tailored black jacket and spent time in the conservatory, lounging on a silk chaise while a young maid told him everything that has happened while he was away. When he was bored, he gave simple instructions to the servants and watched them scurry to carry them out. He felt a giddy, almost shameful pleasure in the zero-effort existence. It was good to be a Lord. No worries, no exhaustion, no fear of where his next meal will come from —just pure comfort.
As evening fell, Riven settled by the huge fireplace in the main lounge, a rare, expensive liquor in his hand. He found himself chuckling at the memory of his friends, imagining their disapproval of his current idleness.
After a while, he finally reached into his jacket retrieving the journal and running his fingers over the old journal belonging to the original Riven. The feeling of the paper brought him back to reality—the tragedy beneath his current luxury. The real Riven gave up everything for him to have this life. He's not going to waste it on clothes and expensive wine. He placed the liquor glass down. The time to lounge around was over.
Riven stood up, the luxurious fabric of his jacket suddenly feeling stifling. He walked back upstairs to the study and went through the bookshelf, and pulled down the heaviest one on Imperial Law and Political Treaties he could find. He has a long night of studying ahead if he was going to be the mind Vaelorian needs. He carried the book to his room, determined to spend the rest of the night preparing for Vaelorian's return, and the important conversation that was sure to follow.