Three days after Viktor's death, Adrian woke up screaming.
Kieran was there instantly, pulling him close, murmuring reassurances in languages Adrian didn't understand but somehow found comforting.
"I saw it," Adrian gasped, clutching Kieran's shirt. "I saw your father kill me. I felt the sword go through my chest. I felt myself dying."
"It was just a memory surfacing," Kieran said, but his voice was tight. "You're safe now. I've got you."
Adrian pulled back to look at him. In the pre-dawn light, Kieran looked almost human—worried, protective, heartbreakingly gentle.
"There's something else," Adrian said. "Something in the memory that doesn't make sense. Your father—he was wearing a crown. And the guards, they called him 'Your Majesty,' not 'My Lord.'"
Kieran went very still.
"Kieran?" Adrian's eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling me?"
For a long moment, Kieran said nothing. Then he stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the mountains.
"My father wasn't just a lord," he said finally. "He was a king. And I was his heir. The Crown Prince of the Northern Kingdom."
Adrian's mouth fell open. "You were a PRINCE?"
"Yes."
"A literal prince. Royalty. Heir to a throne."
"Yes."
"And you didn't think to mention this?!"
Kieran turned to face him. "Would it have changed anything?"
"I—" Adrian stopped. "No. But it's kind of a big detail to leave out! Were we committing like, super illegal treason by being together?"
"The most illegal treason," Kieran confirmed. "I wasn't just supposed to marry a woman. I was supposed to marry a princess and produce heirs to continue the bloodline. Instead, I fell in love with a blacksmith's nephew and planned to abandon my kingdom to run away with him."
Adrian processed this. "So when your father found us..."
"He wasn't just angry about the homosexuality, though that was certainly part of it. He was furious that I was throwing away my birthright, my duty, everything he'd groomed me for." Kieran's expression darkened. "He said I was choosing personal happiness over the welfare of thousands. That I was selfish, perverted, a disgrace to the crown."
"That's horrible."
"He wasn't entirely wrong. I was abandoning my responsibilities. People depended on me, and I was going to disappear in the night." Kieran's hands clenched. "After you died, after I became this, I went back. I tried to rule as a vampire, thinking I could honor your memory by being the king I was supposed to be."
"What happened?"
"I lasted three months before I massacred half the court in a blood frenzy. The witch had to intervene, fake my death, help me disappear before I killed everyone in the kingdom." Kieran's voice was hollow. "I failed as a prince, failed as a king, failed at everything except surviving."
Adrian got out of bed and walked over to him. He took Kieran's face in his hands, forcing the vampire to meet his eyes.
"You didn't fail. You survived an impossible situation. You waited a thousand years for a love that might never return. That's not failure—that's devotion."
"Adrian—"
"Show me," Adrian interrupted. "Show me what it was like. Show me the prince you were before everything went wrong."
FLASHBACK - 1,019 Years Ago
The Royal Palace, Spring
Sixteen-year-old Elias had never been to the palace before. His uncle had been commissioned to repair the ceremonial swords for the Spring Festival, and he'd brought Elias along to help.
The palace was enormous—all red walls and golden roofs, with gardens that seemed to stretch forever. Elias tried not to gape like a country fool, but it was hard when everything was so ridiculously ornate.
"Stay close," his uncle warned. "Don't touch anything, don't speak unless spoken to, and for heaven's sake, don't stare at the prince."
"Why would I stare at the—"
Then Elias saw him.
Prince Kieran stood in the courtyard, practicing sword forms with his instructor. He was seventeen now, taller than Elias remembered, his body lean and powerful. He wore fine silk robes in deep blue, his hair tied back in the style of royalty, and he moved with a grace that made Elias's breath catch.
He was beautiful.
"That's the Crown Prince," someone whispered nearby. "They say he's the most skilled swordsman in the kingdom. And the most beautiful."
Elias couldn't argue with that assessment.
As if sensing his gaze, Kieran turned. Their eyes met across the courtyard, and for a moment, everything else faded.
Then Kieran's face broke into a grin—the same grin he'd had when they were children climbing trees—and he abandoned his instructor to jog over.
"Elias! What are you doing here?"
"Your Highness," Elias's uncle bowed frantically. "We're here to repair the ceremonial weapons—"
"I know you," Kieran said, ignoring the formality. "You're Master Chen, the blacksmith. Your work is excellent." He turned to Elias. "And you brought your nephew. The one who's been teaching me metalwork in secret."
Elias's uncle paled. "In secret, Your Highness?"
"Elias has been sneaking into the forge once a month to give me lessons," Kieran said cheerfully. "I'm terrible at it, but he's very patient."
What Kieran didn't mention was that those "lessons" had become their excuse to spend time together away from prying eyes. That they'd spent more time talking and laughing than actually working metal.
That last month, Elias had kissed him for the first time, and Kieran had kissed back like a drowning man finding air.
"I didn't realize you two were acquainted," Master Chen said slowly.
"Old friends," Kieran said, and his eyes met Elias's with a heat that made the younger boy flush. "Very old friends."
Later, in the Royal Garden
Kieran had somehow convinced Elias's uncle to let Elias stay and "assist with evaluating the weapons." The moment they were alone in the secluded garden, Kieran pulled Elias behind a flowering hedge and kissed him breathless.
"I missed you," Kieran murmured against his lips. "It's been three weeks."
"You're a prince," Elias said, even as he kissed back. "You're not supposed to miss blacksmith's nephews."
"I'm not supposed to do a lot of things I do." Kieran's hands slid under Elias's simple tunic, tracing the muscles earned from years of forge work. "Like this."
Elias gasped as Kieran's cold fingers found warm skin. "Someone could see—"
"Let them." But Kieran pulled back anyway, his eyes dark with want. "Sorry. I know we need to be careful. It's just hard when you're here and you're real and I can touch you."
"We'll have time," Elias promised. "Once we run away—"
"Two more years," Kieran said. "When you turn eighteen. Then we disappear and never look back."
"What about your duties? Your father?"
Kieran's expression hardened. "My father wants me to marry Princess Mei from the Southern Kingdom. Wants me to produce heirs and rule with 'strength and tradition.' But I don't want any of that. I want you. Just you."
Elias touched his face gently. "You're giving up so much."
"I'm gaining everything that matters." Kieran caught his hand, pressing a kiss to the palm. "Besides, I'll make a terrible king. I'm too soft, too questioning. My father says I care too much about the common people."
"That would make you a wonderful king."
"Maybe. But I'd rather be a wonderful partner to you."
They kissed again, slower this time, savoring it. Around them, cherry blossoms fell like snow, and for a moment, they could pretend they were just two boys in love, with no crowns or duties or impossible futures hanging over them.
"I love you," Elias whispered.
"I love you too," Kieran said. "In this life and every one after."