The banners of House Varrow fluttered in the palace courtyard, dark blue silk rippling in the late spring breeze. Elias tightened his grip on the reins as he dismounted, boots striking the cobblestones with a confidence he did not feel. He had ridden hard from his family’s estate, each mile carrying him closer to a fate he could neither refuse nor predict.

The royal palace loomed before him—white marble towers etched with gold filigree, windows glinting in the sun like watchful eyes. It was a place of history, of power, and of silent judgment. He could feel it pressing down on him already.

As the second son of Lord Varrow, Elias had always known his path led not to inheritance but to service. Still, even he understood the weight of this appointment. To become the personal aide of Crown Prince Adrian was to stand at the center of the kingdom’s future. One misstep, and he would not only ruin himself but stain his family’s honor.

He straightened his shoulders as a steward approached, bowing with the precise formality drilled into every servant of the crown.

“Lord Elias Varrow?” the man asked, his voice echoing faintly in the wide courtyard.

“Yes.” Elias returned the bow with one of his own.

“The Crown Prince awaits you in the solar.”

Awaited. The word caught in his chest. Princes did not wait for men like him. They summoned. They commanded. Yet the steward had said it without hesitation, and Elias could not stop the strange, unsettling spark it ignited.

The steward led him through long corridors lined with frescoes of past kings—grim faces carved in stone, immortalized victories painted in bold strokes. Elias kept his steps measured, though his pulse raced. The scent of polished wood and beeswax candles clung to the air, a reminder that even the walls were cared for with devotion.

At last they stopped before a set of carved double doors. The steward bowed low. “The Crown Prince is within.”

Elias swallowed, then pushed the doors open.

The solar was flooded with golden light, its high windows thrown wide to the spring air. Tables were scattered with scrolls, maps, and books; a chessboard sat half-played upon a side table. And there, standing before a spread of parchment, was Adrian.

The prince was not clad in heavy regalia but in a simple tunic of white and silver, a thin circlet resting lightly on his brow. His dark hair caught the sunlight, a faint halo against the window behind him. When he looked up, his eyes were sharp, intelligent, and unflinching—eyes that seemed to see far more than they revealed.

For one breathless moment, Elias forgot to bow.

“Lord Varrow,” Adrian said, his voice smooth, steady, carrying authority without needing to raise it. “So you are the one they have sent me.”

Heat rose to Elias’s face. He bent low, his words too quick. “Your Highness. I am honored.”

A faint curve touched the prince’s mouth—something between amusement and curiosity. “Honored?” Adrian repeated softly. “We shall see if you still think so after a month in my service.”

Their gazes met again, unguarded, and for the briefest instant the room seemed to shrink to just the two of them. Elias felt the weight of that stare like a touch, lingering, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.

Outside, the bells tolled noon. Inside, silence stretched between them—thick with unspoken things Elias could not yet name.

He had come to serve. He did not yet realize he had stepped into a bond that would test every vow of loyalty, every oath of duty, and every guarded corner of his heart.

---

The morning bells rang through the palace, deep and resonant, carrying across the courtyards and echoing down stone corridors. Elias rose from the narrow bed in his assigned chamber, the events of the previous day still fresh in his mind. The memory of the prince’s gaze lingered like an ember pressed into his chest, though he tried to smother it beneath a layer of discipline.

He dressed in the livery of his station—dark blue trimmed with silver, the colors of his family as much as his new role. The fabric was crisp, the boots polished until they reflected the lantern light. He checked himself twice in the mirror, reminding himself that he was no longer simply Lord Varrow’s second son. He was now part of the Crown Prince’s household. Every eye would be upon him, weighing his worth.

The solar was already alive with activity when he arrived. Scribes hunched over parchment, guards stood posted with the rigidity of statues, and servants moved swiftly with trays of bread, fruit, and steaming tea. Yet all of it fell into stillness when Adrian entered.

The prince did not stride so much as glide into the chamber, each movement measured, graceful. His presence shifted the air; voices dropped, quills stilled. Adrian acknowledged no one at first, only moved toward the table stacked with correspondence.

“Lord Varrow,” Adrian said at last, without looking up.

Elias bowed deeply. “Your Highness.”

“You will read these letters.” The prince gestured to a stack of parchment sealed with various noble crests. “Summarize the contents, mark those that require reply, and bring them to me by the hour after noon.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Elias took the letters, careful not to let the weight of them show in his hands. They bore the symbols of powerful families—alliances, requests, and schemes pressed into wax. As he broke the first seal, he could not help but glance at the man across from him.

Adrian stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, gazing over the palace gardens. The light played against his profile—strong, thoughtful, touched with a solemnity that made him seem older than his years. He looked every inch the prince, yet there was something restless beneath the stillness, as though he longed to escape the very walls that enclosed him.

Elias forced his eyes back to the parchment. The first letter was a thinly veiled demand for favor; the second, a marriage proposal from a distant duchess. His stomach tightened as he read it, though he told himself it was only the politics that troubled him.

By the time he laid the summarized notes before Adrian, the prince had returned to the table. Their fingers brushed as Elias set the papers down, a fleeting touch that sent an unbidden shiver through him. He withdrew his hand quickly, hoping the prince had not noticed.

But Adrian’s eyes lingered on him a heartbeat too long.

“You write with clarity,” the prince remarked, his tone neutral but his gaze sharp. “It is… refreshing.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Elias said, bowing again to hide the warmth rising to his face.

The prince leaned back in his chair, studying him. “Tell me, Lord Varrow—do you serve because duty demands it, or because you desire to?”

Elias blinked. “I—” The question caught him off guard. “It is both, I think. Duty brought me here. But desire… may yet keep me.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. He cursed himself silently, but Adrian’s lips curved, almost imperceptibly.

“Interesting,” the prince murmured, returning his gaze to the letters.

Elias lowered his eyes, heart pounding. He had spoken too boldly, too recklessly. And yet, for reasons he could not explain, he did not regret it.

Outside, the bells marked another hour. Inside, the quiet game between them had begun.

---

The day’s duties stretched longer than Elias had expected. By the time he left the solar, his head ached from transcribing endless decrees and summarizing letters laced with veiled threats. He longed for quiet, for fresh air, for anything beyond the ink and wax of politics.

He found himself wandering into the palace gardens. The sun had already begun its descent, painting the sky in washes of gold and violet. Lanterns flickered to life along the pathways, casting pools of soft light among the hedges. Roses climbed trellises, heavy with fragrance, their blooms just beginning to open in the warm evening air.

Elias drew a slow breath, letting the stillness wash over him. For a rare moment, he felt free of watchful eyes.

“Lord Varrow.”

The voice startled him. He turned sharply to see Adrian standing at the garden’s edge, a cloak draped over his shoulders, his expression unreadable in the fading light.

“Your Highness,” Elias said quickly, bowing. “Forgive me, I did not know—”

“The gardens are not mine alone.” Adrian stepped closer, his boots soundless against the gravel. “They are meant to be walked in. To remind us that there is beauty beyond stone walls and endless parchment.”

Elias hesitated, unsure if he was being dismissed or invited. The prince’s gaze held his, steady and searching, until finally Adrian gestured toward the path.

“Walk with me.”

It was not a request.

They moved side by side through the lantern-lit paths. For a while, neither spoke. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the soft splash of a fountain nearby. Adrian’s silence was not oppressive, but contemplative, as though he measured each thought before granting it voice.

At last, the prince said, “You read quickly. You understood more than I expected.”

“I try to be thorough,” Elias replied carefully.

“You are more than thorough.” Adrian’s eyes flicked to him, glinting in the lantern light. “You saw the meaning beneath the words. That is rare.”

The praise stirred something warm in Elias’s chest, though he fought to keep his tone even. “I only serve as best I can.”

Adrian stopped before the fountain, its water catching the fading sunlight. He rested his hand against the stone rim, his profile caught in the glow of the lantern.

“Tell me, Lord Varrow,” the prince said quietly. “Do you believe loyalty is always a virtue?”

Elias blinked. “I… would hope so. Without loyalty, what binds men to their oaths? To their king?”

Adrian’s lips curved faintly, though it was not quite a smile. “And yet, loyalty can chain as much as it frees. One may be loyal to tradition, to duty, even when it crushes the heart beneath it.”

The words hung in the air between them, weighted, dangerous. Elias felt them as if they were meant not for some abstract truth but for him alone.

“I think,” Elias said slowly, “that loyalty is noble… but it should never blind a man to his own soul.”

For a moment, silence reigned. Adrian’s gaze lingered on him, intent, unreadable, before shifting back to the fountain.

“You speak boldly,” the prince murmured. “Few would dare.”

“Perhaps I should not,” Elias admitted.

“Perhaps,” Adrian said, and this time there was a flicker of something like amusement in his eyes. “Or perhaps that is why you are here.”

The lanterns sputtered as a breeze stirred the roses. The distance between them felt suddenly fragile, a thread stretched taut, ready to snap—or to bind.

But then footsteps approached: a guard, bowing low. “Your Highness. The council requests your presence.”

Adrian straightened, his princely mask sliding into place with practiced ease. “Very well.” He glanced once more at Elias, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. “Walk me back.”

Elias followed, his heart still pounding, knowing the garden would linger in his memory long after the night swallowed its colors.

---