The teasing tone in Elliott's voice softened, dipping into something gentler. More sincere. A small, warm smile pulled at his lips.
"You really do wear power well, you know," he murmured, half-lidded eyes tracing Aiden's silhouette in the candlelight. "Better than me, maybe. It suits you."
Aiden's breath caught.
"That's not-" he began, voice tight.
But Elliott was already barreling forward, blissfully unaware of the psychological warfare he was waging against the young prince.
"You should keep the title," he continued, smiling sleepily. "Emperor Aiden Lancaster. Has a nice ring to it. Very broody. Very majestic."
Aiden was this close to combusting.
"Elliott," he choked out, panic flaring in his chest like a second heartbeat. "What-oh my god. Stop."
Elliott blinked at him, unfazed and infuriatingly calm.
"Look, I'm just saying-" he waved a lazy hand in the air, as if he were offering bread at breakfast instead of an empire. "What if I just... gave it to you? Like a gift. A 21st birthday present. The whole empire. Yours. You'd look better with it anyway."
Aiden's soul left his body.
Poppy was now officially his greatest enemy.
"You-you can't just-" he stammered, color flooding his face. Gods. Help him. "That's not how succession works!"
Elliott frowned, drug-hazed thoughts visibly tumbling behind his eyes. He pouted like a child denied dessert. "But why, though?"
Aiden would very much like to leave this mortal plane.
"Because it's the law!" he ground out, strangled.
"Laws are fake," Elliott declared, with the deep, deluded confidence of a man who had never once in his life questioned the foundation of monarchy until this exact moment. "We made them up. We can unmake them."
In the corner, the healer, who had long given up pretending to be invested in brewing the sleeping draught- as now staring at a tapestry like she hoped it would come to life and strangle her.
To be fair... she had warned the regent. No more poppy.
Aiden, meanwhile, was dying a slow and dignified death. "Elliott, please-"
"Hold on, but then what would I be?" Elliott mused aloud, entirely oblivious to Aiden's psychological breakdown. He leaned back further, eyes squinting thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I'm saying- if you're the emperor, and I'm not dead, then I'm just... some guy now? That would be strange. Do I have to move out too? Because I like my rooms."
Aiden had reached his limit.
"YOU WOULD STILL BE THE EMPEROR EMERITUS OR- OR WHATEVER," he nearly shouted, before catching himself and lowering his voice to a hissed whisper. "And none of this is happening because you're not abdicating!"
Elliott pouted. "You're so boring."
Aiden was fairly certain this conversation had cost him a full decade of his life.
The healer, sensing salvation was required, approached like a divine messenger sent straight from the gods.
"Your Majesty- umm, Regent- the draught is ready-"
Aiden didn't even let her finish. He snatched the cup of medicine from her hands, stormed over, and shoved a spoonful into Elliott's mouth.
"Swallow. Now."
Elliott tried to speak.
Another spoonful.
"No speaking. Only swallowing."
Elliott pouted, but obeyed, gulping down each spoonful until the cup was drained. Aiden dabbed the remnants from his lips with a silken handkerchief, sharp and efficient.
But then Elliott's grin returned, slow and mischievous.
"Mmh," he hummed, licking the faint trace of poppy from his lips. "Tastes like... like victory."
Aiden had officially lost.
The draught kicked in quickly, and soon, Elliott's eyes were drifting closed. His breathing evened. He was asleep.
Aiden carefully lowered him into a more comfortable position, gently pulled the blankets over him, and patted the covers flat. As he smoothed the fabric, he spoke-firm, low, and dangerous:
"All of you. If even one word of this gets out, I- You'll be assigned dungeon cleaning duty for a week. No, a month. No- three months."
The attendants nodded faster than humanly possible. After Aiden waved a hand in dismissal, they fled the room like their lives depended on it.
The healer muttered something about urgent supply checks and promptly disappeared, bless her.
And Aiden?
Aiden slumped into the nearest chair, face still burning red from a myriad of overlapping emotions: humiliation, longing, and sheer, unfiltered terror.
Because Elliott had just casually offered him the throne.
Called him Your Majesty. Said he looked majestic.
Like it was nothing.
What the actual fuck.
Aiden stayed in that chair long after the attendants had gone. After the candles burned lower. After the room sank into a thick, golden hush. The only sound was the soft, steady breathing of the man asleep in the bed before him- peaceful, finally.
He looked at Elliott. Really looked at him.
The delicate curve of his brow, the way the flickering candlelight caught on his lashes. The strands of golden hair tousled against the pillows, the faint smile still lingering on his lips, like a dream he didn't want to let go of.
Aiden's heart twisted in his chest.
It wasn't the first time he'd admired Elliott like this- when he thought the other wasn't looking, when the quiet stretched long and there was no one around to catch the softness in his gaze. But this time... this time it was different.
He wasn't just overwhelmed with affection or fondness or loyalty.
He felt like he couldn't breathe.
Because he knew.
He knew exactly what this was.
It wasn't loyalty. Not just loyalty. It wasn't just gratitude, or devotion, or the instinct to protect what he cherished. It was all of that- but deeper. Older. Something that had lived in his bones far longer than he had admitted.
It was love.
Gods.
He loved him.
And not in the way Elliott thought. Not in the way of a mentor and ward, or a ruler and subject, or whatever neat little box the man had carved for them in his mind to make sense of the world.
No, Aiden loved him in the way that made his chest hurt.
He loved him in the way a man loves a star he cannot reach- something brilliant, warm, untouchable. Something that made everything else feel dim in comparison.
He loved the way Elliott smiled when he was being impossible. The way his voice softened when he said Aiden's name. The way he giggled- actually giggled- like a delighted child when Aiden got flustered. The way he always knew when Aiden was hurting, even when Aiden didn't.
He loved the way Elliott trusted him.
The way Elliott looked at him- like he believed in him. Like he was safe in Aiden's hands. Like he was someone worth depending on.
And that was the cruelest part.
Because Elliott didn't know.
Didn't know that Aiden had lied. Had kept secrets. Had blood on his hands- some of it metaphorical, some of it not.
Didn't know that every time he praised Aiden for being steady, dependable, worthy-he was doing so without the whole truth. Without knowing the shadows Aiden carried. The truths buried beneath his tongue. The guilt that curled in his stomach every time Elliott smiled at him like that.
He didn't deserve it.
He didn't deserve him.
And yet- gods help him- he wanted him anyway.
He wanted to reach out and touch his cheek. He wanted to brush the golden strands of hair from his forehead. He wanted to kiss that stupid little smile and tell him that no, the poppy hadn't made him say foolish things. That he was majestic. That he would be a good emperor, if he wanted. That Aiden would follow him to the ends of the world and back if only he asked.
But he didn't.
Because this wasn't his to want.
Elliott didn't love him like that. Elliott didn't see him like that.
And maybe it was better that way.
Because the truth was- Elliott was the light. The kind that healed. The kind that ruled. The kind that lit up every dark corner of the palace, every broken part of Aiden's soul.
And Aiden?
Aiden was shadows. He was secrets. He was sharp edges and dirty hands. He was the knife hidden in the folds of the empire's cloak, the one who did the necessary things- the things Elliott never could, or never should.
It was better, wasn't it? If Elliott never knew?
If Aiden stayed his ever loyal prince, his steady right hand, his closest confidant... and nothing more.
He would live with it. He had to.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.
The silence in the room felt heavier now. Like it knew. Like it was pressing down on him, whispering what he didn't want to hear.
"I love you," he murmured. Too soft for anyone but the shadows to hear. "And I'm lying to you."
He looked up again. Watched as Elliott shifted slightly in his sleep, eyelashes fluttering, the soft rise and fall of his chest.
Aiden stared.
And then, quietly, like a prayer, or maybe a punishment, he whispered:
"I'll protect you. Even from me."
And then, he returned to his chair.
And said nothing at all.
----