The daylight sun had barely crested over the hills when the royal envoy began its slow descent into the valley paths that led toward Darwisha. Dew clung to the grass like glass, the wind soft but sharp as it rushed between the trees. Prince Kaelith rode at the front, his cloak fluttering behind him, the crest of Zarethrone sewn proudly into his shoulder.
Behind him rode Hale, Elion, Lysaro, Rellan, and the knights, a stoic figure with a war-scarred face and eyes that rarely blinked.
None of them spoke much.
The silence between Kaelith and Hale still hung in the air like storm clouds waiting to break. Elion kept watch with quiet attentiveness, one hand near his sword, the other occasionally brushing over the runes stitched into his glove.
Kaelith's gaze scanned the woods as he rode. Something was off.
"Stay alert," he murmured to the group, his tone calm but firm.
Elion had already sensed it. His hand moved to the hilt of his slender blade, eyes flicking from shadow to shadow. Lysaro tensed in his saddle, every movement coiled like a spring.
Then.
A sudden hiss.
The whistle of an arrow.
"Down!" Lysaro shouted, yanking the reins hard as the first shaft flew past Prince Kaelith's shoulder.
From the trees, they came.
Bandits. faces masked, movements trained. They surrounded the road like wolves circling prey.
Horses reared. Steel unsheathed.
Kaelith drew his blade, back straight, his presence regal even under threat.
But before the nearest raider could reach him Hale was there.
He moved like instinct, stepping between Kaelith and the oncoming blade. His sword met the attackers with a fierce clang, pushing him back with surprising strength.
"Stay behind me," Hale barked, eyes flashing.
Kaelith hesitated. "I can fight."
"I know," Hale growled, spinning and parrying another blow. He reached out with one hand, his fingers curling around Kaelith's wrist for the briefest second firm, guiding.
"But I'm not letting anything touch you. Not while I still breathe."
That moment one heartbeat too long for battle passed between them like lightning.
Kaelith didn't answer.
All around them, chaos bloomed.
Elion moved like a whisper fast, fluid, silent. His blade shimmered with magical energy, his strikes swift and lethal. Each enemy that approached him fell with barely a gasp.
Lysaro fought with brutal efficiency, his shield deflecting arrows, his sword cleaving through bodies. Rellan let out a war cry, reckless and fearless, driving his blade through two at once.
But Hale never left Kaelith's side.
Each time an attacker came too close, Hale was there, deflecting, slashing, and shielding the prince like a wall of steel and sweat.
Blood slicked his arm. A cut along his bicep burned hot. He didn't flinch.
Only when the last bandit fell did the silence return heavy, panting, raw.
Kaelith turned to him, voice low. "I wouldn't have believed you were this skilled… Hale silent.
Then Kaelith's eyes dropped and widened. Blood trickled down Hale's arm, staining his glove.
"You're hurt."
It's nothing.
Kaelith stepped closer, his brows furrowed, hands already reaching for the injury. He peeled back the leather, his fingers brushing Hale's skin.
"Don't say that," he murmured. "It's not nothing."
The tenderness in his voice silenced Hale more than the battlefield had.
Their faces were close.
Kaelith wrapped a cloth around Hale's arm with surprising gentleness, his touch lingering, his jaw tense. The air between them shifted charged with something unspoken.
Lysaro and Elion watched quietly, exchanging a glance. Rellan, bloody and grinning, raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Because it was obvious.
The prince cared for Hale with all his sharp tongue and careless smirks and had just risked everything for him.
Kaelith tied the cloth tighter, then met Hale's gaze. "Thank you."
Hale gave a crooked smile. "You're welcome, Your Highness. Despite the blood and pain, he felt something deeper stir in his chest.
The campfire crackled softly as night fell across the worn path to Darwisha. Only one more day's ride remained, but the group had agreed to rest beneath the trees after the ambush they had survived. Tents were pitched in a loose circle. Horses tethered. Swords close at hand.
Prince Kaelith stood by the fire, wiping his blade clean. The heat of the battle had faded, but not the heat under his skin not since Hale had reached for him on the field, not since that blood-stained hand curled around his wrist and swore to protect him.
"Your Highness," a voice said behind him.
Kaelith turned to find Elion approaching, his expression unreadable but his tone slightly too careful.
"Yes?"
Elion folded his arms. "Forgive me for speaking plainly… but your concern for Hale today was noticeable."
Kaelith arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
Elion's eyes darkened. "He's just a servant, Kaelith. You shouldn't care so much. People notice. I noticed."
There was something sharp under his words. Jealousy.
Kaelith stiffened. That's enough, Elion.
But Elion only bowed slightly and walked away, his face hidden by the flickering firelight.
What neither of them saw was the figure in the shadows Hale standing just beyond the tent, silent, unmoving.
He'd heard every word.
That night, after the food had been shared and quietly fallen across the camp, Kaelith waited in his tent.
He waited for Hale.
But he didn't come.
Normally, Hale never left his side. He'd bring wine or water, and sit near his bedroll, even if they didn't speak. But now nothing.
Kaelith stood and stepped outside, his eyes scanning the darkness. Hale sat near the horses, sharpening a blade that was already clean.
"Hale," Kaelith called softly.
Hale turned but didn't rise. "You should rest, Your Highness."
"You're not sleeping?"
"I'll stay here tonight."
Kaelith frowned. "You're always in my tent."
Hale's jaw tensed. I think… I should stop that.
Kaelith took a step forward. "You think?"
"I heard what Sir Elion said," Hale said, still not looking at him. I don't want people to think your kindness means something it doesn't. It could harm your reputation.
Kaelith exhaled sharply. "I command you to come to my tent and sleep."
That caught Hale's attention.
Slowly, he stood. Elion watched from the corner of his eye, bitterness written across his face as Hale obeyed.
Inside the tent, the space felt smaller than ever. The silence between them sat thick and charged.
Hale lay down slowly, keeping distance. Kaelith noticed the tension in his shoulders.
"Your hand," Kaelith said. "Is it still bleeding?"
"No. It's fine," Hale murmured, shifting to his side directly onto the injured arm.
Kaelith's brows pulled together. Turn. You'll hurt it more.
Hale hesitated.
"I said turn," Kaelith added gently.
When Hale obeyed, their faces met. Eyes locked.
For a long moment, they simply stared.
Kaelith's breath caught. Hale's lips parted slightly.
Then Kaelith turned quickly, facing away, pretending to adjust his blanket. His pulse was thundering.
Hale's voice came, low, uncertain. Why are you forbidden to love a man?
Kaelith didn't respond.
"…Have you ever had feelings for a man before?" Hale asked.
Silence again.
"I wish there weren't such rules," Hale whispered into the quiet. "If there weren't…"
Kaelith turned back toward him, their faces only inches apart. His voice was quiet, tender. "What would have happened?"
They stared.
Kaelith leaned closer not a kiss, but his lips brushed Hale's softly, a breath of contact. Not claiming, not daring. Just feeling.
Both of them exhaled sharply, eyes closing, foreheads almost touching.
Hale moved just enough to lean in, about to kiss him.
Kaelith pulled back, enough. "I'm sorry," he whispered. I can't. I'm forbidden too.
He turned his back once more.
Hale didn't say a word. He only shifted closer, quietly, pressing his chest to Kaelith's back, burying his face there in silence.
The warmth between them remained, pulsing. Unspoken.