Chapter 28: Courting 101

Valdor did not slow until the door of the guest chamber closed behind him.

The heavy wood settled into its frame with a muted click, cutting off the memory of laughter from Amor’s room and leaving him alone with the low crackle of the fireplace. He stood near the entrance for several breaths, one hand still resting upon the latch, as though Vervath’s knowing gaze might somehow follow him through the corridor and force its way beneath the door. His pulse had not raced so strangely even while chasing Amor through the alley.

He released the handle and crossed the room. The guest chamber looked much as they had left it that morning, broad and sparsely furnished despite the luxury of its materials. Two cushioned sleeping mats occupied the floor near the fireplace, their thick blankets folded with Blackstone efficiency, while a low table held a pitcher of water, several large wooden cups, and the remains of the honeyed medicine ingredients Valdor had used the previous night. Against the far wall, his cleaned furs had been arranged upon a wide cedar chest.

Valdor stopped before reaching them. The darkening window beside the chest reflected him. He had barely looked at himself inside Maison Reverie.

There had been mirrors everywhere, angled to reveal his front, sides, and back beneath bright crystal lamps, but Valdor’s attention remained fixed upon Amor throughout the fitting. He had watched every glance, blush, and carefully disguised moment of admiration rather than examining the body producing those reactions. The clothing mattered only because Amor liked him in it.

Now there was no Amor to watch. Valdor faced his own reflection.

The glass did not return the clear detail of Master Edric’s mirrors, but the fading evening light showed enough to make the difference unmistakable. The dark mantle broadened his shoulders while narrowing his waist, and the asymmetrical cloth crossed his torso in a way that framed rather than hid the black markings. Bronze thread caught the firelight, turning briefly to gold whenever he moved.

He looked unfamiliar. Not weaker nor disguised. But just... different. The man reflected in the window appeared capable of entering a noble court without surrendering the mountains from which he came. He looked like someone who might sit beside Amor at a banquet without servants mistaking him for an intruder or nobles treating his bare skin as an excuse for contempt. Master Edric had accomplished what Amor promised—camouflage rather than transformation.

Valdor touched the moonstone clasp. The pale gem glowed faintly beneath his thumb, still cool after its magic had been used against Amor’s swollen ankle. It belonged to the outfit so perfectly that Valdor could not easily imagine the mantle without it now. The thought brought Amor’s fingers back to him, pale and careful as they fastened the clasp beside his chest. Something warm moved through him.

Then he remembered Vervath following his gaze toward the pendant. Valdor’s hand dropped. He preferred his furs.

That preference had nothing to do with shame or dislike of the new clothing. The garments were well made, useful, and unexpectedly comfortable, but his furs required no thought. He understood every strap, fold, and weight before touching them, while the layered noble fabrics still felt like a language he had learned only enough to speak in public.

He began undressing. The first fastening resisted him. Valdor frowned and pulled at the bronze hook beneath his shoulder, but the clasp held because he had forgotten the small release Master Edric demonstrated. More force would have torn the hidden loop, and the memory of Amor’s warning about destroying the new clothes stopped him. He examined the construction rather than dragging it apart.

The hook released when pressed from beneath. Valdor grunted. The mantle came away from his shoulders, allowing the fur-lined cloth to fall heavily across one arm. He folded it with greater care than he usually gave ordinary clothing, preserving the moonstone clasp rather than removing it. Amor had chosen the piece for him, and damaging it would feel worse than ruining the expensive fabric.

The diagonal sash proved more difficult. It crossed his torso, wrapped beneath one arm, and passed through a narrow hidden loop behind his ribs before fastening at the belt. Valdor reached backward twice, found the wrong strap, and nearly tightened the garment instead of loosening it. The inconvenience helped distract him.

He focused upon each layer. Release the belt. Unwind the cloth. Fold rather than drop. Avoid catching the silver stitching upon the leather arm wraps.

By the time the upper garments lay across the chest, Valdor had learned enough of their construction to dress himself again without assistance. The reinforced trousers followed more easily, though the fitted shape required patience when drawing them over his calves. He removed them without tearing a single seam.

Master Edric would have considered that a triumph. Valdor considered it survival.

He stood bare in the firelit room for a moment, the markings across his skin returning to their familiar uninterrupted form now that no tailored openings framed them. The absence of cloth relieved him, though not completely. No garment had caused the pressure inside his chest. Amor had.

Valdor reached for the clean furs. He wrapped a dark hide around his hips, securing it with his broad leather belt before adding a second layered strip that fell farther along one thigh. A softer fur crossed loosely beneath one arm, low on his ribs, and rested over his opposite shoulder, leaving most of his chest exposed while providing warmth against the evening chill. Bone fastenings, worn leather, and familiar knots returned his body to itself.

His fingers moved automatically. That was why it was odd how he still dressed slowly. Each action occupied his hands while his mind attempted to return to familiar ground. Valdor adjusted the belt twice despite knowing it was secure, checked the knife sheath though no blade currently rested inside it, and retied one arm wrapping that had not loosened. None of it prevented Amor’s face from returning.

The pendant resting against lavender-gray cloth. Amor’s fingers closing around the bead.

"I will protect it."

"I will return."

At the jeweler, giving the bead had felt simple. Not insignificant, but simple.

Valdor saw Amor surrounded by wealth, watched noblemen offer things purchased moments before, and understood that money could never make his intentions distinct. He wanted Amor to hold something no rival could imitate, not because it cost more but because it belonged to the life the kingdom knew nothing about. Giving the bead created that connection. It eased his jealousy immediately.

Other men might possess polished jewels, elaborate words, and years of familiarity with Amor’s habits. None of them carried Sarka’s carving, Valdor’s first hunt, or the beginning of his path toward leadership. Amor alone now held that history against his heart.

The choice felt right. Comfortable and necessary at the time it was given. Then Vervath looked at him.

His father had said nothing at first, which made the moment worse. Vervath understood what the bead meant without explanation and saw through every excuse Valdor might have used to reduce the gift into something ordinary. That silent recognition transformed instinct into confession.

Valdor had given Amor part of himself. The realization should not have been frightening.

Blackstone people gave meaningful objects during courtship, kinship oaths, battle promises, and mourning rites. A possession gathered worth by being carried into another life, not by remaining hidden in a chest until death. Valdor had witnessed such exchanges since childhood. This was different because the feeling beneath it was his.

He had never wanted someone this way. Desire itself was not unfamiliar. Valdor was an adult, not a sheltered boy, and Blackstone people did not pretend the body lacked hunger merely because no permanent bond existed. Yet physical interest had always eluded him and therefore was simple enough to ignore. Amor made nothing simple.

Valdor wanted his body, certainly. He remembered Amor’s robe slipping from one pale shoulder at the fountain, the soft waist beneath his arm, and the way silk followed the elegant shape of his hips while walking. He remembered pink lips closing around food Valdor offered and the warmth of a delicate hand exploring the roughness of his palm. Those memories returned often and without apology. But Valdor also wanted everything around them.

Breakfast irritation because his chair was empty. Carriage rides too brief despite lasting an hour. Arguments that ended in honesty instead of distance. The chance to learn why Amor cut vegetables like starvation once stood behind him.

He wanted Amor’s laughter after an ugly sweet, his fan strikes, his dramatic complaints, and the quiet expression that appeared whenever care reached somewhere no one else had touched. He wanted to know the person hidden beneath beauty without demanding that beauty disappear. He wanted to give Amor safety while respecting that Amor had survived long before Valdor arrived.

The wanting had spread. It reached into places Valdor had hoped to keep controlled until the envoy month revealed whether their differences could be crossed. He had intended to observe, learn, and avoid mistaking fascination for a bond capable of surviving distance. Instead, every hour beside Amor created another reason to remain.

Valdor sat upon the cedar chest. The emotion inside him felt both warm and terrifying.

Warm because Amor did not retreat from him.

Terrifying because Valdor no longer trusted himself to leave easily.

He had discovered jealousy only that afternoon, panic inside the alley, inadequacy within the jewelry shop, and embarrassment before his father. New feelings continued appearing faster than he could name them, each tied to Amor as though the young noble had opened doors Valdor never noticed inside himself. He disliked not knowing how to act.

A chief could not be ruled by unfamiliar emotion.

Valdor had been trained to pause before decisions, recognize instinct without obeying it blindly, and understand that fear became dangerous when mistaken for wisdom. Yet courtship followed rules he had never studied because he had never intended to pursue anyone seriously. Others had shown interest in him before, but Valdor’s responsibilities, training, and family left little space for promises he did not feel.

Amor had experience.

The realization returned sharply. Valdor’s hands stopped upon his belt. The young noble had courted many men.

Former lovers appeared along the promenade in numbers large enough to become an obstacle, each carrying stories, familiarity, and some understanding of what Amor enjoyed. Amor dismissed them easily, but their existence proved he knew courtship rituals far better than Valdor. He knew how to flirt, receive gifts, recognize polished compliments, and move through romantic expectations without appearing uncertain.

Valdor had none of that skill.

He spoke too directly. Misunderstood ordinary customs. Threatened men by looking at them. Gave away his mother’s bead because it felt correct, then fled when his father understood.

In battle, in hunting, or in leadership, experience could be earned through discipline. Courtship seemed less predictable. A wrong cut could ruin meat, but a wrong word might wound something Valdor could not repair with salve or bandages. Inadequacy settled heavily within him.

It was not shame in his origin. Valdor did not wish to become a kingdom noble, exchange furs permanently for tailored robes, or learn empty flattery merely because Amor had once enjoyed it from other men. Blackstone ways possessed their own worth. Still, Amor understood an arena Valdor had barely entered, and that imbalance made him wonder whether sincerity alone could bridge the distance.

What could he offer that Amor had not received?

Safety?

Amor already possessed guards, wealth, and a father who would build walls around the entire kingdom if asked.

Food?

Amor had chefs, can purchase any meal outside and even some restaurants are owned under the House Moons name.

Clothing, jewelry, homes?

House Moons could purchase all of them before Valdor finished naming the price.

His mother’s bead had mattered precisely because it could not be replaced, but Valdor could not remove pieces of his history every time another man offered Amor something expensive. Courtship could not become a contest of sacrificing heirlooms until nothing remained in his braids. He needed to understand how bonds were built rather than merely declared.

The door opened.

Valdor looked up. Vervath entered carrying his wooden drinking mug, though the lack of beer within it suggested someone had removed him from Amor’s room before refreshments could be offered. His expression contained irritation beneath unmistakable amusement. He closed the door and leaned against it.

Valdor gave him a flat look. Vervath laughed immediately.

"[There!]"

The chieftain said.

"[That is the face!]"

Valdor said nothing.

"[Your Amor made it. The healer made it. Three maids made it.]"

"[He is not my Amor.]"

"[He may become family.]"

Valdor’s expression grew flatter. Vervath laughed harder, crossing the room before dropping onto his sleeping mat. The reinforced cushions compressed beneath him, and the wooden mug settled beside his knee. He appeared entirely untroubled by having been expelled from the young lord’s chamber. Valdor examined him.

"[Why were you told to leave?]"

Vervath scratched his beard.

"[Lanslet worried the foot would heal poorly...]"

Valdor waited.

"[I told him they could always chop it off.]"

Silence filled the room. Valdor looked at his father with profound lack of amusement. Vervath pointed toward him.

"[That face! He made that face too!]"

"[That was a foolish thing to say.]"

"[The foot is not broken, it’s not like it will fall off. I was merely joking.]"

"[That does not improve it.]"

"[I said we would replace it with a good wooden one...]"

Valdor closed his eyes briefly. His father continued, apparently determined to prove that exile had been deserved.

"[Blackstone craftsmen make strong replacement feet. Amor could choose silver decoration.]"

"[You threatened a frightened father with removing his only son’s foot.]"

"[Hey! When you say it like that, it makes me seem like the bad guy. I offered a solution!]"

"[No one needed that solution.]"

"[Well I’ll have you know Doctor Haverin agreed.]"

"[He did not.]"

"[He did not disagree aloud.]"

"[He was likely horrified.]"

Vervath shrugged. Valdor understood now why Lanslet had expelled him.

The chieftain leaned back upon one hand, his gaze traveling over the clean furs Valdor had put on and the carefully folded new clothing upon the cedar chest. His eyes paused upon the moonstone clasp still attached to the mantle. The earlier knowing expression threatened to return. Valdor spoke before it could.

"[The clothing is useful.]"

Vervath’s brows rose.

"[Mhm. I didn’t ask.]"

"[You were going to.]"

"[No.]"

"[You were looking.]"

Vervath’s mouth curved.

"[My face is honest.]"

Valdor regretted repeating Amor’s accusation earlier. He reached toward one leather strap and adjusted it unnecessarily. His father watched. The silence stretched.

Valdor found himself confronting an opportunity he did not want and could not ignore.

Vervath had courted Sarka. Not merely successfully, though the nine children produced by their bond served as evidence of considerable devotion and enthusiasm, but deeply enough that grief still altered his voice whenever her name emerged. He had persuaded one of the strongest women in Blackstone to choose him, remain beside him, challenge him, and build a family large enough to fill an entire lodge. Whatever foolishness Vervath displayed in noble houses, he understood courtship that endured.

Valdor disliked the idea of asking. His father would tease. He would interpret every hesitation accurately, ask crude questions, and probably announce his conclusions over breakfast. Speaking vulnerably before Vervath felt more dangerous than entering a monster den because his father possessed no respect for dignified silence when affection was involved.

Yet losing Amor through ignorance would be worse.

Valdor looked toward the folded mantle. The moonstone clasp glimmered against the dark fabric. He thought of Amor saying he did not want this to be their only day.

Pride became less important.

"[How did you court Mother?]"

Vervath went still. The change was immediate enough that Valdor almost regretted asking.

His father’s amusement disappeared beneath surprise, while his hand froze halfway toward the empty mug and reached for his side where a faded mark was. For several breaths, Vervath simply stared. Valdor could not remember ever seeing him rendered speechless for so long. Then his eyes narrowed.

"[You’re asking for Amor?]"

Valdor’s jaw tightened.

"[I asked about Mother.]"

"[You’re asking about your Mother because of Amor.]"

Valdor said nothing. Vervath’s beard shifted around a slow, delighted smile. The expression promised suffering.

Valdor looked toward the door, briefly considering whether he could leave his own room and force his father to enjoy the victory alone. The thought of Amor’s former lovers stopped him. He remained seated. He took a deep breath.

"[Do not make me repeat the question.]"

Valdor said. Vervath leaned forward.

"[My eldest son asks his father for courtship advice.]"

"[Yes.]"

"[The boy who said he had no time for hearts.]"

"[I did not say that.]"

"[You said bonds distracted warriors from becoming leaders and went into the woods to train for a week.]"

"[I was seventeen.]"

"[You said you would choose a practical partner only if leadership required it then went into the forest to track for a month.]"

"[I was eighteen.]"

"[You rejected Ostra’s daughter by telling her she smelled of goat.]"

"[She worked with goats.]"

"[She cried for days after you told her that! We nearly lost our flock of goats because her eyes were so swollen from tears she couldn’t keep track of them!]"

"[I was letting her know. I didn’t know it was an insult.]"

"[Hohohahahaha!]"

Vervath’s laughter filled the chamber. Valdor endured it.

The chieftain wiped one eye and looked toward the ceiling as though asking Sarka’s spirit to witness the impossible scene.

"[Now you give her bead to a noble after two days.]"

Valdor’s embarrassment sharpened into irritation.

"[I will ask someone else.]"

"[There is no one else here to ask about our courtship customs.]"

"[I can wait until we return north.]"

"[You’ll waste a month? Hmph! You’ll ruin your shot before you’ve had the time to aim it.]"

That stopped him. Vervath’s amusement softened. Beneath the teasing, he understood the cost of Valdor asking at all. His eldest son had always carried burdens silently, preferring to learn through observation rather than admit uncertainty. For him to seek advice meant the situation had already become serious. The chieftain shifted until he sat more upright.

"[Alright, I’m done. What do you wish to know?]"

Valdor looked toward the fire. The question opened too much ground.

"[How to court...]"

Vervath waited. Valdor frowned.

"[You understand the words.]"

"[Mm, I do. I want the problem. Explain.]"

The warrior considered.

"[Amor has experience.]"

"[Okay?]"

"[I do not.]"

"[Obviously.]"

"[... You sound pleased.]"

"[I am.]"

Valdor gave him another unamused look. Vervath gestured for him to continue. Valdor drew one slow breath.

"[He knows kingdom courtship. Gifts. Words. Places men go. What gestures mean.]"

"[And you do not.]"

"[No.]"

"[Ah, I see. You fear he will find you clumsy.]"

Valdor’s silence confirmed it. The admission felt worse once another person named it. Vervath studied him without laughter now.

"[Has Amor complained?]"

"[No.]"

"[Has he rejected your gifts?]"

"[No.]"

"[That’s right. He wears Sarka’s bead proudly doesn’t he?]"

"[Yes.]"

"And he’s bought you the moonstone.]"

"[Yes.]"

"[He’s even held your hand for an hour on the way to your capital date.]"

Valdor’s gaze sharpened.

"[How do you know?]"

"[The footman told a servant. The servant told a maid. The maid told another maid. And you told me how long just now. House Moons leaks words like a split water skin.]"

Valdor considered finding every person involved. Vervath raised one hand.

"[Do not frighten them. They are useful...]"

The chieftain leaned back again.

"[Amor has experience with men who failed...]"

The statement settled differently. Valdor looked toward him.

"[If they had succeeded...]"

Vervath continued.

"[He wouldn’t be seen or walking with you.]"

Valdor had not considered the advantage in those terms.

The former lovers knew how to court Amor according to kingdom standards, yet none remained beside him. Their familiarity had not created endurance. Alphonsins possessed rank, wealth, and every courtly advantage, but Amor had left him publicly. Experience did not equal understanding. Vervath’s gaze grew serious.

"[Do not compete with dead bonds.]"

"[They are alive.]"

"[The bonds are dead!]"

Valdor absorbed the distinction.

"[You cannot erase that Amor knew others...]"

His father said.

"[You cannot become first in what has already passed. Be first in what comes next.]"

The advice lacked Vervath’s usual crude humor. Valdor listened more closely.

"[How?]"

"[Learn him.]"

"[I am.]"

"[Then continue...]"

Vervath picked up the empty mug, turning it between his hands.

"[Courtship is not one hunt. You do not kill the largest beast and expect a household to appear.]"

Valdor looked toward the mountain-glass absence in his braid.

"[I gave too much too soon.]"

"[No...]"

The certainty surprised him. Vervath’s eyes moved toward the folded mantle and moonstone clasp.

"[You gave what was true when you wished to give it. That is not too soon unless you expect payment.]"

"[I do not.]"

"[Then it is a gift. Your first step has been taken. Go forward from there and it will work out fine.]"

Valdor’s shoulders eased slightly.

"[What did you give Mom for your first courting gift?]"

He asked. Vervath smiled at the memory.

"[Ooh that was many years ago. Let’s see... Ah, that’s right! It was a knife.]"

Valdor waited.

"[That is all?]"

"[It was a good knife.]"

"[How did it court her?]"

"[She put it to my throat.]"

Valdor stared. His father laughed beneath his breath.

"[Sarka believed I was mocking her because the handle was carved with flowers. I told her flowers suited her.]"

"[That was foolish.]"

"[Heheh, she... she also agreed.]"

"[How did you survive long enough to have children?]"

"[I told her the blade also suited her, brat.]"

Valdor’s expression remained doubtful. Vervath continued.

He had first seen Sarka during a winter training gathering between settlements, when she defeated three older hunters in succession and split the haft of Vervath’s practice axe. He admired her immediately. She disliked him immediately.

"[She thought I laughed at her! I spent weeks trying to clear up the misunderstanding even after returning!]"

Vervath said.

"[You probably did laugh.]"

"[Hey! Okay I did. But I only laughed because she broke my axe!]"

"[That supports her belief.]"

"[Pah! What do you know? You weren’t even born yet! Anyway, I made myself another ax.]"

Vervath carved the replacement himself, then crafted the flower-handled knife because he had noticed Sarka collecting tiny alpine blooms whenever she believed no one watched. She interpreted the floral carving as an accusation of softness and threatened him with his own gift. Vervath responded by asking whether she wished to test the edge.

"[She did. Ho boy did she test it.]"

He said.

"[On you?]"

"[Yup.]"

Valdor looked toward the fire.

"[This advice is poor.]"

"[Huh! It worked, didn’t it? I got your mother and here you are.]"

"[Through luck.]"

"[Most good courtship includes luck.]"

Vervath’s expression softened as memories continued.

"[I hunted with her. Cooked when she was tired. Listened when she spoke, even when she spoke loudly.]"

"[Mom often spoke loudly.]"

"[She had much worth hearing.]"

The warmth in his voice changed the room. Valdor remembered Sarka’s laughter filling winter lodges, her large hands braiding children’s hair, and the way Vervath always shifted closer when she entered a gathering even after decades together. Their bond had never looked gentle from outside. They argued fiercely, trained together, challenged decisions, and occasionally she threw objects until Vervath was thoroughly across the settlement running for dear life. But they chose one another every day.

"[You see my boy, I did not win her once...]"

Vervath said.

"[That is the part young men misunderstand...]"

Valdor looked at him.

"[She chose me many times. I gave her reason to choose me again and again...]"

The words remained. Vervath set the mug aside.

"[Courtship begins before a bond, but it should teach you how to live after one. Anyone can act perfect for a season. Show Amor what you are when tired, angry, afraid, and wrong.]"

Valdor thought of the alley.

"[I failed.]"

"[Oh?]"

"[I spoke like an order.]"

"[And then?]"

"[I apologized.]"

"[Did he?]"

"[Yes.]"

"[Then he saw how you repair.]"

Valdor became quiet. The conflict had felt dangerous while unfolding, proof that their differences might injure one another. Vervath treated it as information. Amor had seen Valdor become frightened, controlling in language, and angry—then watched him accept correction rather than turn strength into force.

Valdor had seen Amor become reckless, defensive, and proud—then watched him protect Valdor from blame before Lanslet.

Neither behaved perfectly. Both returned.

"[What if kingdom courtship requires more?]"

Valdor asked.

"[Ah, I only know about Blackstone courtship. For that advice, ask Amor.]"

The answer seemed too simple.

"[He may think I should know.]"

"[He knows you don’t. And even if he did, explain you don’t and you two can figure it out together.]"

Valdor recalled Amor explaining restaurants, jewelry, carriages, and social customs without mocking his ignorance beyond harmless teasing. Perhaps pretending experience would insult the trust between them more than admitting none. Amor valued honesty even when it embarrassed him. Vervath examined his son.

"[Do not copy the men who failed him.]"

"[I would not.]"

"[You’ve already tried...]"

Valdor frowned.

"[You worry about their gifts, their words, their years...]"

The chieftain tapped one finger against his knee.

"[You ask how to become better at being them.]"

Valdor considered the accusation. He had wondered what expensive object could compete, what polished skill he lacked, and how to bridge a gap created by Amor’s former courtships. In doing so, he had begun measuring himself according to men Amor no longer wanted. The realization felt obvious once exposed.

"[What should I do instead?]"

Vervath smiled.

"[Become difficult to replace like your old man.]"

Valdor’s brows lowered.

"[That is not instruction.]"

"[Okay, you want step by step instructions? Cook what he likes. Learn what frightens him. Know when his smile lies. Give what only you can give...]"

Vervath pointed toward the empty place in Valdor’s braid.

"[You’ve already began...]"

Valdor touched it. The bead no longer felt like an impulsive surrender of something irreplaceable. It represented precisely what his father described—a connection that could not be duplicated through greater wealth. Amor’s former lovers might know which flowers he preferred at court, but Valdor knew how he looked after a ram frightened him and food preparation made him unusually nervous. He didn’t know how badly it affected him. Not yet. But he sensed the survival beneath him.

He wanted to understand it. Vervath continued more quietly.

"[Do not turn care into a contest. If Amor chooses you, it should not be because every other man was frightened away.]"

Valdor looked toward him.

"[I could frighten them.]"

"[Oh trust me, boy, I know.]"

"[It would be easy.]"

"[Yes, far too easy. I know.]"

"[Some deserve it.]"

Vervath smiled.

"[Mm, probably I’m sure...]"

Valdor waited.

"[But Amor must choose with doors open.]"

The advice aligned painfully with what Valdor already believed.

Possession gained through removing every alternative was not choice. Alphonsins seemed to want Amor most when faced with losing him, yet still refused to listen to what Amor wanted. Valdor would not repeat that pattern through more honorable methods. He could protect. He could court. He could not decide.

"[What if he chooses another?]"

Valdor asked. The question emerged reluctantly. Vervath’s expression changed.

The chieftain did not offer false reassurance or insist fate guaranteed a bond because of childhood memories. He understood that Valdor required truth more than comfort.

"[Then it will hurt...]"

Valdor’s chest tightened.

"[You will survive...]"

Vervath added.

"[You will honor what he chooses if he chose freely.]"

"[And if the man harms him?]"

"[Then we kill him obviously...]"

Valdor looked at his father. Vervath lifted one shoulder.

"[Respecting choice does not require tolerating abuse.]"

"[That is closer to useful advice.]"

"[Mm, I thought so. But when I told your sister that, you mother got so mad she ran me out with the dusting club again haha.]"

Silence returned, easier now. Valdor looked toward the window again.

His reflection had changed once more. The furs returned him to something familiar, yet the moonstone clasp remained upon the folded mantle, proof that another life had begun touching his own without replacing it. Amor’s pendant existed elsewhere in the house, carrying a piece of Blackstone through rooms of silk and silver.

"[How do I ask to court him?]"

Valdor said. Vervath’s grin returned. Valdor immediately regretted the question.

"[You open your mouth and work your throat to make noise then turn that noise into the common language of the kingdom.]"

"[I know how speech works.]"

"[Do you? You know when you were four the first thing you said was hunt. You were asking for food and wanted to go out and hunt it yourself!]"

Valdor’s expression hardened. Vervath laughed.

"[Tell him your intention. Ask whether he welcomes it. Blackstone courtship requires no riddles.]"

"[He is a kingdom noble.]"

"[Yes I’ve gathered that but he likes your directness. I can tell you that much.]"

"[He becomes embarrassed.]"

"[Mhm, and I should hope he likes that too. It’s really all you’ve got going for a personality so he’s going to get embarrassed a lot.]"

Valdor remembered the fan strikes.

’Possibly.’

Vervath leaned closer.

"[Do not ask yet because jealousy frightens you...]"

Valdor looked at him.

"[Ask when you know what you can offer.]"

"[I offer myself.]"

"[Which self?]"

The question demanded more than expected. Valdor thought of the envoy month, Blackstone leadership, House Moons, northern winters, court expectations, and Amor’s freedom. Wanting Amor did not automatically resolve where they might live, how duties would be divided, or whether each could thrive within the other’s world. Courtship could explore those questions, but Valdor should not enter it pretending desire had already solved them.

"[All.]"

He answered eventually. Vervath nodded.

"[That is the correct answer.]"

Valdor adjusted his belt again, though this time the movement carried less agitation. His father rose from the sleeping mat and retrieved the mug. The conversation appeared finished, or at least paused before Vervath’s restraint failed and teasing resumed. He headed toward the washstand.

"[Dad...]"

Vervath looked back.

"[Don’t tell Lanslet I asked.]"

The chieftain’s face became innocent. Valdor stared.

"[I will not tell him, you can trust in me.]"

Vervath promised.

"[Or Amor.]"

"[Yup, I will not tell Amor.]"

"[Or the maids.]"

Vervath hesitated.

"[Father.]"

"[Fine! Fine! Hah, I will tell no one!]"

Valdor remained suspicious. Vervath crossed one hand over his chest, though his smile undermined the solemn gesture.

"[Your vulnerability is safe with me.]"

"[That sentence makes it feel less safe.]"

"[You should trust your father! I am also the High Chieftain of our tribe! Give your old man some credit.]"

"[You told an entire communal dinner Tharek peed the bed and tried to blame it on the twins when he was eight.]"

"[It was a good story and in my defense, I was drunk and never promised to keep it a secret. I said I wouldn’t tell the twins when they grew up to understand what hs tried to do. Hmph, I swear, who thinks two newborns could produce that much pee and one night! How did he think we would believe that nonsense?]"

Valdor closed his eyes. Vervath laughed and turned away. Despite himself, Valdor felt lighter.

The feelings remained unfamiliar—jealousy, inadequacy, fear, warmth, and a longing that grew more complicated whenever he attempted to simplify it. He still did not know exactly how to court Amor, what future could hold both House Moons and Blackstone, or whether Amor’s interest would survive the full month. Yet uncertainty no longer felt like failure.

He could learn. Not by becoming the men Amor left. By becoming someone Amor could choose again. Valdor looked toward the folded noble clothing.

After a moment, he crossed the room and removed the moonstone clasp from the mantle. He considered attaching it to the clean furs, testing whether the silver fastening could hold the thicker material without damage. The pale stone rested against his palm like captured winter light.

Amor had wanted him to carry something from House Moons. Valdor fastened it beside his shoulder. The silver and moonstone looked unusual against rough black fur, but not wrong.

Two worlds did not need to erase one another to share the same body.

Behind him, Vervath noticed. The chieftain said nothing.

This time, his silence felt like approval rather than exposure.