If the wedding was the wound, the domestic life that followed was the salt. Kael's post had been moved. He was no longer just a guard of the palace; he was now the personal shadow of the royal couple. This was Theron's doing, a gesture of kindness to his new wife, ensuring she had a familiar face from her home guard to protect her.
Kael stood by the heavy oak doors of the dining hall, his body as rigid as the pike he held. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and vintage wine. The King and Queen sat at the head, their faces beaming with the success of the alliance.
"You look radiant, my daughter," the Queen remarked, her voice like velvet. "Marriage suits you. And Theron, we hear nothing but praise for your administration of the eastern border."
The Princess smiled, a perfect, practiced curve of the lips. "Theron is a patient teacher, Mother. He has made the transition… effortless."
Kael's grip tightened on his weapon. He watched her hand rest atop Theron's on the table. She looked every bit the devoted wife, her voice soft and compliant. Only Kael knew that just three hours prior, she had slipped a note into his glove during the afternoon walk, a single word scrawled in frantic ink, Tonight.
Theron turned to her, his honey colored eyes overflowing with a sincerity that made Kael want to retch. "It is easy to be patient with a heart as gentle as yours," Theron said. He then looked toward the door, his gaze landing on Kael. "Is that not right, Kael? You've known her longer than I. She has always been this remarkable, hasn't she?"
The room went quiet. It was a breach of etiquette to address a guard so casually during a formal dinner, but Theron was a man who believed in breaking barriers with kindness.
Kael didn't bow. He didn't soften his expression. His voice came out like grinding stones. "She is a Princess of the Realm. She is what she was bred to be."
The King frowned at the tone, but Theron only chuckled softly, unbothered. "Always the stoic professional. I admire that, Kael. We must find time for you to show me the training grounds properly. I value the input of a man with your… rugged experience."
"I am busy with my duties, Highness," Kael spat, the 'Highness' sounding more like an insult than a title.
"Of course," Theron replied, his smile never wavering, though a flicker of confusion crossed his brow at the sheer heat of the guard's gaze. "Perhaps another time, then."
The routine they established was a dance on the edge of a blade. Every second night, when the moon hit the crest of the west tower, the Princess would feign a headache or an early fatigue. Theron, ever the doting husband, would kiss her brow and remain in the study to finish his correspondences, trusting her safety to the man standing outside her door.
The moment the heavy doors clicked shut and the servants retreated, the mask fell.
Kael would slip into her chambers, the shadows swallowing his hulking frame. There, the Gentle Princess would collapse into his arms with a desperate sob, her fingers clawing at the leather of his spaulders.
"I can't stand his touch," she whispered one night, her face buried in Kael's chest. "Every time he speaks of our future, I feel like I'm choking."
Kael held her, his large hands nearly covering her entire back, but his eyes were fixed on the door. He wasn't just holding her, he was reclaiming what had been stolen. "He won't have you," Kael growled, his voice a low, masculine rumble. "Not in the ways that matter. He's a ghost in this room, even when he's in your bed."
But the jealousy was a living thing inside him. He hated that Theron saw her at breakfast. He hated that Theron had the legal right to her laughter. Most of all, he hated Theron's niceness. If the Prince had been a tyrant, Kael could justify a rebellion. But Theron was a good man, and that made Kael's hatred feel like a blackened rot.
A few days later, the Prince caught Kael alone in the armory. Theron had shed his royal surcoat, appearing in a simple linen shirt, looking younger and more vulnerable than usual.
"Kael, a moment?" Theron asked, picking up a practice sword.
Kael continued whetting his dagger, the rhythmic shink of stone on steel the only answer.
"I feel we started on the wrong foot," Theron continued, stepping closer. He was a head shorter than the guard, his frame elegant and lithe compared to Kael's raw mass. "I know it's difficult, moving to a new court, serving a new master. If there is anything I can do to make your station more comfortable—"
"You want to make me comfortable?" Kael stood up. He towered over the Prince, his physical presence intentional and aggressive. He stepped into Theron's personal space, smelling the expensive oils and clean linen of the man he despised. "You think you can buy my favor with a softer bed or a higher wage?"
Theron blinked, his honey eyes searching Kael's face with genuine concern. "Not buy, Kael. Earn. I want the men who guard my wife to feel valued."
Kael leaned down, his voice a lethal whisper near Theron's ear. "You have no idea what I value, Prince. You spend your days reading scrolls and playing at being a husband. You wouldn't last a night in the world I come from. Don't try to be my friend. Just stay out of my fucking way."
He brushed past Theron, his shoulder slamming into the Prince's with enough force to make the younger man stumble.
Theron stayed there for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway. For the first time, the calm on his face wavered. He touched his shoulder where Kael had hit him, a look of profound hurt and bewilderment clouding his features. He truly didn't understand. He thought it was just a grumpy soldier.
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Kael's hatred had reached a state of cold, crystalline purity. It wasn't just about the Princess anymore; it was Theron's very existence. The Prince was twenty seven, a year younger than Kael, yet he carried himself with an effortless authority that Kael had spent a decade of blood and sweat trying to emulate, only to realize it was something one had to be born with.
One morning, the royal party gathered for a hunt. Kael was checking the cinches on the Princess's saddle, his large, scarred hands moving with a practiced tenderness he showed to no one else.
"Kael, look at this," Theron said, approaching with a bright expression. He was dressed in a hunting tunic of forest green that brought out the warmth in his eyes. He held out a beautifully crafted bow, its limbs inlaid with silver. "My father sent it. It's light, balanced. I thought you might appreciate the craftsmanship. You seem like a man who knows his weapons."
Kael didn't even look at the bow. He tightened the cinch with a brutal tug that made the horse shift. "A weapon is for killing, Highness. Not for looking at. Silver doesn't make an arrow fly straighter, a steady hand does."
Theron's smile faltered, just for a second, before he smoothed it over. "True. Perhaps you could give me some pointers later? My aim has always been... academic."
"I don't train children, and I don't train Princes," Kael rumbled, finally turning to face him. He loomed over Theron, his massive chest nearly brushing the Prince's shoulder. He enjoyed the way Theron had to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. "I train men who need to survive. You'll never have to worry about that."
The Princess stepped between them, her silk riding habit rustling. "Kael is merely protective of his time, Theron," she said, her voice a soothing balm, though her hand brushed Kael's arm in a way that was far from professional.
Theron sighed, a soft, melodic sound. "I suppose I keep overstepping. I only wish to be held in some regard by those I spend my days with." He reached out, intending to pat Kael's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, but Kael flinched away as if the Prince's hand were glowing coal.
Theron's hand stayed frozen in mid air. The confusion in his honey colored eyes was deepening into something sharper, a realization that this wasn't just soldier's gruffness. It was personal.
That night, the hate found its outlet in the shadows. The Princess had slipped into the guard's quarters, a dangerous move, but her desperation was peaking. Kael pinned her against the stone wall, his mouth crashing against hers with a hunger that was more about conquest than affection. Every time he kissed her, he imagined he was stealing the air right out of Theron's lungs.
"He tried to give me a bow today," Kael hissed against her neck, his hands gripping her waist so hard his fingers left imprints on the fine fabric of her nightgown. "As if we're friends. As if I'm his pet."
"He knows nothing, Kael," she whispered, her fingers tangling in his dark, messy hair. "He thinks you're just loyal. He trusts you."
Kael let out a dark, jagged laugh. "That's his first mistake. He's soft. He's a well bred lapdog who thinks the world is as kind as he is. I want to see that look on his face when he finally realizes he's been sharing his bed with a woman who belongs to another man."
He didn't mention that his hate for Theron was starting to keep him awake longer than his love for the Princess. He spent his off duty hours dwelling on Theron's polished speech, his perfect hair, his annoying habit of asking Kael if he had eaten enough at breakfast. It was an obsession of loathing.
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A week later, the Prince found Kael in the secluded rose gardens. Theron was sitting on a stone bench, looking uncharacteristically tired. He had been working on trade agreements all day, and his royal posture was slightly slumped.
"Kael," he called out softly. "Sit with me for a moment. Just as two men, not as Prince and Guard."
Kael stopped, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "We are never just 'two men,' Theron. There is a crown between us, and a wall of blood."
Theron looked up, his brow furrowed. "Why do you hate me so much? I have given you no cause. I have treated you with nothing but respect."
Kael stepped closer, the sunlight catching the harsh angles of his face. He looked down at the perfect Prince, the man who had everything handed to him. "You exist," Kael said, the words dripping with venom. "You walk around with your kindness and your mercy, thinking it makes you better. But you're just a thief in silk robes. You took a life that wasn't meant for you, and you expect me to smile while you do it?"
Theron stood up, his voice remaining calm, though his hands were trembling slightly at his sides. "If I have offended you by my station, I cannot apologize for my birth. But I am trying, Kael. I am trying to be a good husband, a good ruler, and a good friend to you."
"I don't want your friendship," Kael spat, leaning in until they were inches apart. "I want to see you break. I want to see what's under all that goodness when the world starts taking things back from you."
Kael turned and walked away, leaving Theron standing alone among the roses. He didn't see the way Theron's expression shifted from confusion to a strange, quiet hurt, and then to a flicker of something much more observant.
The Prince wasn't as blind as Kael hoped. He was starting to notice the way his wife smelled of the stables after her naps. He was starting to notice how Kael's eyes followed the Princess's every move.
The storm was no longer on the horizon. It was overhead.
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The shift was not a sudden explosion, but a slow, tectonic movement. One night when he was simply making his way to his chamber, he heard the slightest noise and so he pause, curiosity overcoming him. But when Theron stood in the shadows of the North Corridor and saw them, saw the Princess he had tried so hard to love pressed against the rough, scarred neck of her own guard.. something in his chest didn't just break, it crystallized. He watched Kael's massive hand cup the back of her head, saw the proprietary way the guard claimed her lips, and he understood every sneer, every accidental shoulder check, and every cold word Kael had ever thrown at him.
Theron didn't make a sound. He simply stepped back into the darkness, his face a mask of marble, and vanished into his study room instead.
For the first week, Theron was a ghost. He remained the perfect husband, but the warmth had been replaced by a chillingly precise politeness. He still held the Princess's hand at dinner, but his touch was as cold as a statue's. He watched her from across the room, noting the way she looked at Kael when she thought Theron wasn't looking that look of desperate, starving hunger.
It fed a new, dark garden in Theron's soul. He wasn't the weak boy Kael thought he was. He was a man trained to rule, and ruling meant knowing when to strike.
The first time the energy shifted was in the training courtyard. Kael was sparring with a younger recruit, his movements brutal and efficient. Theron stood on the balcony, watching. Usually, he would offer a word of encouragement. Today, he waited until Kael finished, then descended the stairs with a slow, rhythmic elegance.
"You're getting slower, Kael," Theron said, his voice smooth and cutting.
Kael stopped, wiping sweat from his brow with a thick forearm. He looked at Theron with his usual mask of bored contempt. "I'm fast enough to kill anything that gets in my way, Highness."
"Perhaps," Theron stepped closer. Instead of flinching or looking hurt, he held Kael's gaze. His honey colored eyes weren't warm anymore, they were amber hard. "But you're sloppy. You rely on your weight. You've become... distracted. Content."
Kael's eyes narrowed. The Prince had never insulted his skill before. "Content? I've never known a day of peace in this birdcage you call a palace."
Theron leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that only Kael could hear. "Then leave. Or perhaps you enjoy the scraps you've been given? There is nothing more pathetic than a man who thinks he's a wolf while he's eating from the floor."
Kael's jaw dropped for a split second before his face contorted in rage. He stepped toward the Prince, his massive chest heaving. "Watch your tongue, boy. You have no idea who you're talking to."
"I know exactly who you are," Theron replied, not backing down an inch. He actually smiled, but it was a jagged, cruel thing. "I'm just beginning to realize how little you actually matter."
And so.. As the days bled into weeks, the gentle Prince vanished whenever the Princess wasn't in the room. The conversations became a battlefield.
One afternoon, in the library, Kael was assigned to stand guard while Theron reviewed ledgers. The silence was thick, heavy with the weight of what went unsaid.
"She's been tired lately," Theron said suddenly, not looking up from his parchment. "My wife. She seems to be spending a lot of her energy... elsewhere."
Kael's hand drifted to his belt. "The Princess is adjusting to the stress of her new life. Perhaps if her husband were more of a man, she wouldn't be so drained."
Theron finally looked up. He didn't look offended, he looked amused. He stood up and walked around the desk, his silk robes whispering against the floor. He stopped directly in front of Kael. The height difference was still there, but the power dynamic had warped. Theron looked like he was dissecting a specimen.
"You speak of manhood," Theron said, his voice a low, lethal purr. "Tell me, Kael. Is it 'manly' to hide in the dark? To take what belongs to another because you're too low born to ever earn it yourself? You're a thief. And like all thieves, you're eventually caught."
Kael snarled, grabbing Theron by the collar of his fine tunic, bunching the expensive fabric in his scarred fist. He slammed the Prince back against the mahogany bookshelf. The books rattled, the air left Theron's lungs.
"You think your titles protect you?" Kael hissed, his face inches from Theron's. "I could snap your neck right here. I could take her and be gone before your father's guards even knew you were cold."
Theron didn't struggle. He didn't even look afraid. He looked down at Kael's hand on his throat with a terrifyingly calm disdain. "Do it then," Theron whispered calmly, nonchalantly even. "Show the world you're the animal I know you are. But you won't. Because you're addicted to her. And she... belongs to me by law, by blood, and by name. Every time you touch her, you're just holding my property. Does that burn, Kael? Does it rot your insides to know that no matter how hard you scream, the world will only ever see you as my shadow?"
Kael's grip tightened until Theron's face began to flush, but the Prince just stared at him with those hateful, knowing eyes. Kael realized with a jolt of horror that he didn't just hate Theron anymore, he was becoming obsessed with breaking that calm. He wanted to see the Prince cry out, to see him crawl.
"You're a dead man," Kael rasped, shoving him away aggressively.
Theron straightened his collar with trembling fingers, his breathing jagged, but his eyes were victorious and his smile creeped in onto his face, mocking the man standing in front of him. "No, Kael. I'm the King you never were. And I think it's time I started acting like it."
From that day on, the interactions became more frequent and more violent. In the hallways, they would pass each other, shoulders slamming together with enough force to bruise. In front of the King and Queen, they would trade barbs disguised as courtly advice.
The Princess was terrified. She saw the way they looked at each other, not with the simple jealousy of two men over a woman, but with a pure, concentrated loathing that seemed to vibrate in the air.
"Kael, please," she whispered one night in the stables, her voice shaking. "He's changed. Theron... he looks at me like he knows. We have to stop."
"I'm not stopping," Kael growled, his eyes fixed on the palace lights. "I'm going to break him. I'm going to take everything he has until he has nothing left but his title and his empty bed."
But Kael didn't realize that Theron had already finished building the trap. The Prince wasn't waiting for a confession anymore. He was waiting for the perfect moment to erase Kael from the world, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.
The hate was no longer one sided. It was a bridge they had both built, and they were about to burn it down with each other on it.
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The atmosphere in the palace had become a pressurized chamber, the air so thick with tension that the flickers of the torches seemed to choke on it. Theron had spent days perfecting his silence, a cold, clinical stillness that unnerved the Princess and drove Kael into a frenzy of reckless aggression.
Theron chose a night when the moon was swallowed by heavy, charcoal clouds. He had played the part of the tired husband perfectly, retiring early and making sure Kael heard him dismiss the auxiliary guards for the night, claiming he wanted "absolute peace."
It was a lure so simple it was insulting.
Kael, blinded by his own arrogance and the desperate need to reclaim his dominance, didn't question why the North Wing was so empty. He slipped into the Princess's chambers, his heart thumping a heavy, violent rhythm against his ribs. But when he stepped inside, the room was cold. The Princess wasn't there.
In her place, sitting in a high backed velvet chair by the dying embers of the hearth, was Theron.
He looked elegant even in the dim light, a glass of dark wine in his hand. He didn't look up as Kael froze in the doorway. "She's in the West Tower, Kael. Under lock and key. She'll be staying there until she remembers what it means to be a wife."
Kael's hand flew to his sword, his face contorting into a mask of feral rage. "You touch her, and I'll—"
"You'll do nothing," Theron interrupted, his voice a sharp, icy blade. "Because you aren't leaving this wing."
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors behind Kael slammed shut. Four elite guards, men Kael had trained alongside but who owed their primary coin to the Prince's house, stepped from behind the tapestries. They held heavy crossbows, all leveled at Kael's massive chest.
"You coward," Kael spat, his eyes burning with a lethal fire. "You have to hide behind your toys because you're too much of a girl to face me yourself."
Theron stood up, setting his wine down with a steady hand. "I'm not a fucking girl, Kael. I'm a strategist. And you? You're a dog who's lost his leash." He gestured to the guards. "Take him. To the lower cells. The ones they stopped using a century ago."
Kael didn't go quietly. He was a whirlwind of raw, masculine violence. Even with the crossbows trained on him, he lunged. He broke the nose of the first guard with a sickening crack, threw another across the room like a sack of grain, and was only brought down when a heavy mace caught him in the back of the knee and a third guard drove the butt of a spear into his gut.
They dragged him, bloodied and snarling, down the winding stone stairs. The air grew colder, smelling of damp earth and ancient rot. The Lower Cells were a tomb, windowless, dripping with saltpeter, and forgotten by the light.
They threw him inside, and Theron followed, dismissing the guards to wait outside the iron bar door.
Kael scrambled to his feet, despite the blood dripping from his temple. He was a mess, his tunic torn, his knuckles shredded. Theron stood before him, his royal surcoat slightly dusty, his face pale but determined.
Kael lunged again, but his legs gave out, and he ended up pinned against the stone wall as Theron stepped into his space, grabbing a set of heavy, rusted chains from the wall. With a strength born of pure, adrenaline fueled spite, Theron managed to loop the iron around Kael's wrists, which were already being forced back by the guards who had rushed back in to assist.
Once he was secured with his arms spread wide, chained to the damp stone, the guards retreated again, leaving the two men alone in the flickering light of a single torch.
For several minutes, there was only the sound of jagged, labored breathing. Kael's chest, broad and muscular, heaved with effort. Blood ran down his cheek, staining his collar. Theron stood a few feet away, his chest also rising and falling rapidly, his polished hair finally disarrayed, a dark bruise blooming along his jaw where Kael had clipped him during the struggle.
They stared at each other. It wasn't just a look, it was a collision of souls. The silence stretched, vibrating with the sheer volume of their shared loathing.
Kael's eyes, stormy and dark, fixed on Theron's honey colored ones, which were now hard as amber. The hate was a physical weight between them, more real than the stone walls.
In perfect, horrifying synchronicity, they both spoke at the exact same time.
"I hate you."
The words echoed off the damp stone, identical in their intensity.
They both froze. The realization that they had shared the same thought, the same visceral impulse, sparked a new level of fury. It was as if by speaking together, they had admitted a connection they both found repulsive.
"Don't you ever," Kael rasped, his voice a low, dangerous growl, "Ever think you know what I feel. You're a parasite, Theron. You're a pampered, weak little boy playing at being a man."
"And you're a failure!" Theron shouted back, his voice cracking with a rare loss of composure. He stepped forward, grabbing Kael's jaw, forcing the guard to look at him. "You had her heart, and you were too stupid to keep it safe. You're nothing but muscle and ego. You think you're so masculine? So strong? You're a prisoner in a hole, and I'm the one who put you there."
"You put me here with help!" Kael laughed, a bloody, jagged sound. "Unchain me. Let's see how royal you feel when my hands are around your throat. You're terrified of me. You've always been terrified of me."
"I am disgusted by you!" Theron hissed, his face inches from Kael's. "I hate the way you look at her. I hate the way you look at me. I hate that I have to breathe the same air as a gutter born animal like you."
"Good," Kael sneered, spit flying from his lips. "Keep hating me. Let it rot you. Because every time you look in the mirror, you'll see the bruise I gave you, and you'll know that I'm the only thing in your perfect little life that you can't control."
Theron's grip on Kael's jaw tightened, his fingernails digging into the guard's skin. "Control? You think this is about control? This is about erasure, Kael. You don't exist anymore. To the world, you've deserted. To her, you're a coward who ran. Here, in the dark, you're just a piece of meat I haven't decided what to do with yet."
They glared at each other, their faces so close they could feel the heat radiating off one another's skin. The hate was so thick it felt like it was beginning to warp into something else… a dark, obsessive fixation that neither was ready to name.