Behind Closed Doors
The war tent was dim, lit only by a single brazier. Aelion sat at the edge of the cot, his crown abandoned on the table, his hands trembling as he traced the glowing sigil on his chest. The mark pulsed faintly, echoing in rhythm with Kaelen's heartbeat.
Every pain, every emotion—he could feel it.
Kaelen stood at the opposite side of the tent, stripped of his armor, his shirt open to reveal the identical mark burned across his heart. He clenched his fists as though willing the gods' touch to vanish, but it only glowed brighter.
"They bound us," Kaelen said, his voice low. "Not just with love. With chains."
Aelion's eyes lifted to him, shimmering with grief and wonder all at once. "Chains that tether us as one. If you fall, I fall. If I bleed, you bleed."
Silence stretched between them, heavy as iron.
Then Aelion whispered, "Would you have chosen differently? If you had known?"
Kaelen crossed the space in two strides, his hand cupping the prince's face. The mark flared where their bodies touched, heat coursing between them.
"No," he breathed. "Even if this is curse, I would bear it. I would bear anything—so long as it is with you."
Aelion's chest shuddered, his forehead pressing against Kaelen's. Their lips hovered close, but neither dared close the distance—not yet. The bond pulsed between them, demanding more than desire. It demanded surrender.
Varros's Council
Far beyond the safety of their tent, Varros sat with his generals, a glass of dark wine in his hand. He had witnessed the gods' judgment and read it for what it was—opportunity.
"So it is true," he murmured, tracing the rim of his cup. "The bond ties their lives. Two hearts, one fate."
One general shifted uneasily. "But… does that not make them stronger? Together they fight as one soul."
Varros's thin smile spread. "Stronger, yes. But also fragile. A single blade in one will kill the other. Why fight an army, when the gods themselves have given us a weapon?"
He rose, spreading a map across the table. His finger tapped the royal crest.
"Tomorrow, we strike not at the kingdom, but at the bond. Break one—watch the other crumble."
His laughter filled the chamber, cold and certain.
In the Quiet of Night
Back in the tent, Aelion finally let his guard fall. He pressed Kaelen's hand against the mark on his chest, letting him feel the echoing thrum of their shared heartbeat.
"I fear what this means," Aelion whispered. "Not just for us—for the throne, for the prophecy. They will come for you, Kaelen. They will come for me. But more than that… they will come for this bond."
Kaelen's jaw tightened, but his grip on Aelion only grew firmer. "Then let them come. Let them test the strength of what they think is a chain. We will show them it is not chains at all… but wings."
For the first time since the gods marked them, Aelion smiled. It was fragile, fleeting—but it was hope.
The bond pulsed again, steady, unyielding.
And outside, beneath the watchful stars, shadows gathered for war.