The council chamber was cloaked in tension. Torches flickered against stone walls, their flames restless, as though sensing the unease of the men seated within. Aelion stood at the head of the long table, his crown set upon the polished surface rather than on his head. His eyes were sharp, regal, yet weighed down by the burden of secrets.
Kealen stood behind him, silent as always, though every muscle was wound tight. He had been a bodyguard for years, but never before had the lines between loyalty, love, and duty blurred so dangerously.
The lords argued bitterly about alliances, their voices sharp, filling the chamber like swords clashing. One demanded Aelion's betrothal to a noble's daughter. Another pressed for war. Aelion listened, his jaw tight, while his heart hammered with one truth: he could not allow anyone to know what Kealen truly meant to him.
But shadows whispered louder than words. Rumors spread in the castle corridors, whispers that the prince's heart belonged not to a noble maiden but to his sworn protector.
When the meeting ended, Aelion dismissed the lords with measured composure, but as soon as the chamber doors shut, his façade cracked. He sank back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Kealen stepped closer.
"My prince," he murmured, voice low, "they are growing suspicious."
Aelion's lips curved into something bitter. "Let them suspect. What they will never understand is that I would rather lose a throne than lose you."
Kealen stiffened. His instincts screamed against such confessions in a palace where walls had ears. But his heart betrayed him—just as it always did—when Aelion reached up, his fingers brushing the back of Kealen's hand.
The touch was brief, stolen, dangerous. Yet it ignited more fire than a thousand torches.
Before Kealen could respond, a sharp knock echoed against the chamber door. A guard entered, kneeling.
"My prince—there has been an attack near the western gates. We believe it was an inside betrayal."
Aelion's body went rigid.
"Who?" he demanded.
The guard hesitated. His gaze flickered toward Kealen, just for an instant. That hesitation was enough to cut through the air like a blade.
Kealen's hand flew to the hilt of his sword, his stance defensive.
"You dare—"
But Aelion held up a hand, silencing him. His gaze darkened.
"Bring me the names," he ordered the guard. "Now."
The guard fled. Silence fell heavy.
Kealen turned to Aelion, eyes storming. "They doubt me."
"They always will," Aelion said softly, rising from his chair. He stepped closer until he was only a breath away. "But I don't."
For a moment, the crown prince and the bodyguard stood in the quiet, shadows dancing across their faces. Trust and suspicion battled in the world outside, but here—in this sliver of stolen time—there was only the unspoken vow between them.
Aelion's hand came to rest lightly against Kealen's cheek, his thumb brushing just enough to make Kealen close his eyes.
"No matter what they whisper, no matter what storm comes," Aelion whispered, "I will never turn against you."
And Kealen, despite the weight of betrayal looming in the halls, believed him.