It was before the sky fell.
Before silence swallowed corridors.
Before love became something forbidden.
Lioren (Illyen) was twenty-two years old.
Aurelian (Cael) was twenty-three.
And neither of them yet understood how fragile their world truly was.
⸻
The palace then was brighter.
Colder.
More controlled.
The Emperor still ruled.
The court still whispered.
And alliances were currency.
Lioren had learned early how to stand one step behind Aurelian.
Not because he was lesser.
Because that was the only place he was allowed.
⸻
The rumor reached him during an afternoon audience.
"The Marquess of Valenne's daughter will formally propose to His Highness tonight."
The words were spoken with admiration.
"She is of higher standing than most duchies. The Emperor favors the match."
Higher standing.
Favored.
Appropriate.
Lioren kept his expression neutral.
He had trained himself well.
He did not look at Aurelian across the hall.
He did not allow his hand to tremble.
Because loving the Crown Prince was already dangerous.
Competing with a noblewoman backed by the Emperor?
Impossible.
⸻
That evening, candles burned brighter than usual.
The Marquess's daughter stood radiant in silk and gold.
She bowed before Aurelian.
"Your Highness," she said gently, "our houses would be stronger united."
Her voice carried clearly.
"My father supports this proposal. The Emperor does as well."
The hall quieted.
All eyes were on Aurelian.
Lioren stood to the side.
Still.
Duke's son.
Friend.
Nothing more.
"Affection grows with time," she continued softly. "Position ensures stability."
Position.
Lioren felt something twist inside him.
He had no higher position to offer.
No imperial blood.
No political leverage powerful enough to protect Aurelian from scrutiny.
Only himself.
And that had never felt like enough.
⸻
He left before Aurelian could answer.
The gardens were dark, the air sharp with approaching winter.
He stood beneath the fig tree they used to climb as children.
Back when love had no title.
Back when it was just laughter and shared secrets.
Footsteps approached.
He knew them without turning.
"You should not leave before an answer is given," Aurelian said quietly.
Lioren bowed.
Not casually.
Formally.
"My apologies, Your Highness."
The distance in the title did not go unnoticed.
"You heard," Aurelian said.
"It is not my place to listen."
"And yet you did."
Silence stretched.
"You should accept," Lioren said at last.
The words felt like swallowing glass.
Aurelian went still.
"Should I?"
"The Emperor approves. The Marquess holds influence. The match would strengthen your claim."
Lioren kept his gaze lowered.
"You deserve someone equal to your rank."
There.
He had said it.
The truth he had always believed.
Aurelian stepped closer.
"And you are not?"
Lioren's breath caught.
"I am a duke's son," he said softly. "You are the Crown Prince."
The difference was everything.
⸻
The wind shifted.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then something reckless overtook him.
Perhaps it was jealousy.
Perhaps it was fear.
Perhaps it was knowing that if he said nothing tonight, he would lose the only chance he would ever have.
He turned.
And before courage could abandon him—
He knelt.
Aurelian's eyes widened.
"Lioren—"
"Forgive me," Lioren said quietly.
He did not tremble outwardly.
Inside, he was shattering.
"I have no greater title to offer you. No provinces. No political advantage."
His voice softened.
"I have only loyalty."
He lifted his head just enough to meet Aurelian's eyes.
"And love."
The word fell between them like something sacred and forbidden.
"I respect you too much to stand in your way," Lioren continued.
"If you choose her, I will not question it."
That was the cruelest truth.
He would endure it.
He would remain at Aurelian's side.
Even if it destroyed him.
"But before you decide," he said quietly, "I cannot remain silent."
The air felt thin.
"I propose to you, Aurelian."
Not as emperor.
Not as Crown Prince.
As the boy who once swore under this same tree that they would never let court politics change them.
"I cannot promise stability," Lioren whispered.
"I can only promise that my heart has already chosen."
The confession hung fragile in the cold night.
⸻
Aurelian did not laugh.
He did not scold.
He did not remind Lioren of his place.
Instead—
He stepped forward.
And knelt too.
Bringing them level.
"You speak of rank," Aurelian said softly.
"As if it decides worth."
His hand lifted, hesitated only briefly, then brushed Lioren's cheek.
"You think I do not see how you look at me?"
Lioren's breath faltered.
"You think I have not chosen already?"
The world seemed to narrow to the space between them.
"I have no interest in a proposal backed by pressure," Aurelian continued.
"I have no interest in affection that grows from convenience."
His voice lowered.
"I want the man who would kneel even knowing he may be refused."
Lioren's eyes burned.
"You accept?" he asked, barely audible.
Aurelian's forehead rested gently against his.
"I choose you," he whispered.
Not because it was wise.
Not because it was safe.
But because it was true.
Above them, the fig leaves trembled softly.
They did not know then—
That the Emperor would disapprove.
That the court would fracture.
That love would soon be tested beyond endurance.
In that moment, they were only twenty-two and twenty-three.
Two young men choosing each other beneath a sky that had not yet fallen.
Before the crown broke.
Before the Veil demanded sacrifice.
Before love became tragedy.
And that is what made it beautiful.
And unbearable.