Aiden had retreated to the edge of the ballroom. For a while, he lingered there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He didn't know where to go, who to talk to, or how to carry himself in this gilded, foreign world.
Then Elliott's gaze found him.
The young emperor hadn't left Aiden's side for most of the night, but a few minutes ago, he'd been pulled away to address some urgent matters of state. Even so, it was as if he could sense Aiden's discomfort from across the room—could read it in the boy's posture, in the way he shifted from foot to foot, shrinking into the shadows.
He excused himself and approached.
"Hey," Elliott greeted softly as he came to stand beside him. He didn't crouch or kneel, like so many adults did when talking to children. He didn't fill his voice with condescension or forced sweetness. He didn't pat Aiden on the head or speak slowly as if to someone who wouldn't understand.
He looked at Aiden like he was a person. An equal. Not an orphaned noble boy. Not a child in need of pity.
Just... someone worth listening to.
"How do you like the party?" he asked gently, brushing his fingers lightly through Aiden's hair to fix a wayward strand. His eyes were warm, framed by soft blonde curls that fell loose around his face. "I heard the chefs outdid themselves with the pastries tonight. Did you try any?"
Aiden shook his head. He hadn't left the sidelines. He didn't want to go where the people were. He didn't want to hear more of the things they were whispering.
"I'm not hungry, Your Majesty," he lied quietly.
Elliott sighed at the formality in the boy's tone. "You know," he said, amused, "you don't have to address me so formally. You can just call me Elliott." He paused then, visibly considering something. His next words were slower, gentler, almost hesitant. "Or even... father, if you'd like. The adoption process is complete, after all."
Aiden glanced away.
Father? That was ridiculous. Elliott was barely a decade older than him—how could he possibly call him that? Even though they'd only known each other for a few days, Aiden had already made up his mind. He didn't see Elliott as a father. He couldn't.
Elliott never talked to him like a parent. He talked to him like... like a friend. An equal. Someone he saw. Aiden liked that. He liked how Elliott listened to his thoughts, really listened. How he considered his ideas seriously, without brushing them off.
He didn't want to lose that. He didn't want that to change.
"No," Aiden shook his head, firm but not harsh. "I... I'll just stick with Elliott. In private."
Elliott nodded, accepting the decision easily. "Mhm," he hummed in agreement, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm not very fatherly, am I?"
Aiden glanced up. Something about Elliott's gentle smile—the sincerity in it—quieted the swirling noise in his head. He couldn't help but return it, a small grin escaping before he could stop it.
"...Not really," Aiden said, almost shyly.
His next words were softer still—so quiet he might not have meant to say them aloud.
"But I think I like it that way."
Elliott blinked. He hadn't quite caught the words, but something in the boy's expression made him pause. He didn't press.
"Back to the pastries," Elliott said instead, his tone light as he signaled to one of the attendants nearby. "You should try them. I had the chefs make lemon tarts. You liked those last time, didn't you?"
The attendant stepped forward, awaiting instructions.
"Fetch some pastries for us from the refreshment table," Elliott said. "More of the lemon ones. They're the prince's favorite."
The attendant bowed and moved off swiftly.
Elliott turned back to find Aiden's cheeks slightly pink.
Before he could ask why, Aiden mumbled, "You don't... have to do that."
"Do what?" Elliott asked, puzzled.
"...That. For me. You left your conversation in between to... entertain me..."
Elliott laughed softly. "You're worried about my conversation, huh?"
Aiden's cheeks turned redder. He stammered, "I–I mean, you were clearly talking about important things, and... you don't have to delay them just for me—"
Elliott's amusement faded into a soft, understanding smile. Gently, he took Aiden's hand and led him toward a plush chaise lounge in the corner of the ballroom. Once they were both seated, they were at eye level.
Elliott reached out and tapped Aiden's cheek lightly, guiding the boy to look at him.
"Aiden," he said, softly but firmly. "Look at me."
He tucked another loose strand of hair behind the boy's ear with quiet care.
"You're not delaying anything. They're not more important than you. You know what is important to me? Making sure you're comfortable. Making sure you're happy. You're my ward, Aiden. I took you in, and with that comes responsibility—for your well-being, your safety, your future. And I intend to fulfill every bit of it."
Aiden's breath hitched. His cheeks were warm again—but this time, he wasn't sure it was embarrassment.
He looked into Elliott's eyes—and saw no deception. No pity. Just sincerity. Just an earnest, unshakable promise.
He didn't say anything. He couldn't. He only nodded, silently, and let Elliott serve him the lemon pastries that had just arrived.
But inwardly, he made a promise of his own.
Not because he owed a debt. Not because he had to repay anything. But because he wanted to. He wanted to be someone Elliott could count on. He wanted to grow strong enough to say things like—
"Let me handle it."
"You don't have to worry."
"Just trust me."
And one day... he would.