Chapter 29: Palace Summons

Amor remained awake long after the last person finally left his room.

The physician departed first, escaping with his medical case after Lanslet demanded a written schedule covering meals, cold treatments, pillow placement, bathing precautions, and the exact number of steps Amor might eventually take without worsening the sprain. Mary and Junia followed with the empty trays, though both glanced back repeatedly at the mountain-glass pendant resting against Amor’s chest. Elsie remained longest, adjusting blankets that required no adjustment until Amor threatened to throw a pillow at her. Lanslet left only after placing the call bell directly beside Amor’s hand.

"You are not to stand."

He reminded him for what felt like the twentieth time.

"I have understood since the sixth repetition."

"You also understood that you were not to enter alleys."

Amor looked toward the ceiling. Lanslet’s pleasant smile returned, and Amor wisely stopped arguing.

Once his father closed the door, the bedchamber settled into unfamiliar stillness. The lamps had been lowered, leaving only a warm pool of light around the bed and soft shadows near the curtained windows. Amor should have welcomed the peace after an exhausting day. Instead, the room felt empty.

His ankle rested upon two pillows beneath the blanket, wrapped securely enough that even the smallest careless movement reminded him of his punishment. The injury ached dully, but the discomfort was less irritating than the knowledge that he could not simply rise, cross the room, and seek entertainment elsewhere. Grounding an adult heir sounded absurd until the adult heir could not walk without assistance.

"One week, ugh."

Amor muttered. The ceiling offered no sympathy. He reached toward the pendant.

The purple mountain glass lay warm against his night robe, its uneven surface almost shockingly plain beside the polished moonstones and silver ornaments filling his room. Tiny scratches marked the bead where it had rubbed against Valdor’s hair, weapons, clothing, and skin for fourteen years. Amor traced each imperfection with the pad of his thumb.

Valdor had fled after Vervath recognized it. The memory drew a reluctant smile from him.

There had been something strangely adorable about watching an enormous man retreat from nothing more dangerous than his father’s knowing expression. Valdor could throw a duke, wrestle a ram, and chase Amor through a dark alley without hesitation, but being seen caring too deeply had stripped away his composure. Amor wished he had teased him before he escaped. The smile faded gradually.

Valdor had every right to leave. Amor had frightened him. The words returned with painful clarity.

"For making me watch you disappear."

Amor closed his fingers around the bead.

Throughout his previous life, disappearing had usually meant safety. Lovell survived by vanishing into ruined buildings, slipping away from infected creatures, and hiding food where his parents could not find it. Being unseen meant no one could use him, strike him, or place him between themselves and danger.

Valdor had turned disappearance into something else.

A wound.

Amor replayed the day from the beginning. Valdor’s hand reaching from inside the carriage had seemed like such a small choice. Amor could have accepted the footman’s gloved palm, entered according to custom, and sat at a polite distance. Instead, he chose the rough hand and never released it.

Then came the sweets, the tailor, and Alphonsins. Valdor had seen pain upon Amor’s face and stepped between them without knowing whether the man insulting him possessed enough power to ruin the treaty. That recklessness should have angered Amor more than it did. Instead, the memory of Valdor blocking his view brought relief.

Alphonsins had always stepped in front of Amor to prevent him from leaving or interfering. Valdor did it so Amor would not have to endure another blow. The difference mattered.

Amor remembered Valdor kneeling in the fitting room, undoing the bandage with hands capable of crushing bone but careful enough not to pull one delicate hair from his skin. He remembered the new clothing, the warrior’s hesitation as he waited for Amor’s opinion, and the way his entire posture relaxed when Amor called him magnificent. Valdor wanted admiration, but only from the person whose opinion mattered.

Then there was the restaurant. The rough little sweet made from honey, berries, and toasted grain remained more vivid than every jeweled dessert inside Madam Bellisa’s shop. Valdor had noticed Amor’s discomfort with waste, purchased meals for strangers, and created something from what remained because Amor once demanded that he make him feel better. The result had been uneven and imperfect.

Amor had treasured every bite. He remembered the best piece of meat appearing upon his plate.

"You make little become enough."

The compliment still hurt. It also warmed something old and starved inside him.

People had praised Lovell only when his usefulness benefited them, treating competence as permission to demand more. Valdor had noticed the same instinct and responded by giving back. He had placed the finest portion before Amor and refused to let him return it.

Lanslet gave because Amor was his beloved son. The love was unconditional, overwhelming, and sometimes suffocating in the way only a doting parent could achieve. Amor no longer doubted that devotion, but part of him still felt guilty accepting it because Lanslet’s memories belonged to the original child he raised. Amor received the affection, yet some frightened place inside him wondered whether it would survive the truth.

Alphonsins had given when generosity preserved his authority. His gifts carried expectations, his protection required obedience, and his attention became cruel whenever Amor wanted something outside the duke’s control. Alphonsins did not fear for Amor’s safety as much as he feared losing possession of him. Even rejection became evidence of obsession because the duke could not imagine Amor choosing a life that excluded him.

Valdor cared differently. He warned, he argued, he became angry yet he still allowed Amor to choose, even when that choice terrified him.

Valdor could have stopped him at the alley entrance without effort. One arm around Amor’s waist would have ended the entire conflict, and no person nearby could have forced him to release his hold. Instead, he respected Amor’s freedom enough to let him make a foolish decision. Then he followed.

Amor stared into the dim room. He did not merely enjoy Valdor’s desire. That truth would have been easy enough to accept. The original Amor had always enjoyed attention, flirtation, gifts, and the knowledge that beautiful men found him irresistible and maybe some of those feelings had merged with Lovell when he took over because he was beginning to enjoy those privileges in only a few days of crossing over. Attraction was pleasant because it required nothing beyond a face, body, or manner Amor already possessed.

Trust demanded far more. Amor trusted Valdor’s hands. He trusted him with pain, food, movement, and silence. Most frighteningly, Amor believed that even when Valdor disagreed, he would not turn strength into punishment.

Lovell had survived by trusting no one. His parents lied before stealing supplies. Strangers offered shelter before demanding payment in blood, food, labor, or bodies. People promised cooperation until danger appeared and someone weaker became useful as a distraction. Trust had never been warmth. It had been the moment before betrayal.

Amor released the bead.

His heartbeat had quickened despite the quiet room. Attraction to Valdor felt exciting. Trusting him felt like standing at the edge of a height without knowing whether the ground below would rise to meet him. Amor could not decide whether the sensation resembled freedom or another kind of danger.

Knock, knock, knock—

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Amor looked toward the door.

"Come in."

The door opened. Valdor entered carrying a dinner tray. He had changed out of Master Edric’s clothing and returned to his familiar furs, dark layers wrapped around his hips and one shoulder while most of his chest and markings remained exposed. The sight should have made him appear exactly as he had that morning. It did not.

The moonstone clasp remained attached beside his shoulder. Pale purple fire moved within the stone where silver met black fur, refined magic resting naturally against rough hide. Valdor had not allowed Amor’s gift to replace his identity. He had simply made space for it inside what already belonged to him.

Amor’s fingers tightened over the mountain-glass pendant. Valdor noticed. His gaze moved from the bead to Amor’s face before he closed the door behind him.

"You should eat."

Amor examined the tray. Lanslet’s influence was obvious. A bowl of rich bone broth sat beside sliced vegetables, roasted poultry, dark bread, fresh fruit, and a small honey cake included despite the physician’s warning against excessive sugar. The meal had been arranged in portions large enough to nourish but not so large that Amor could accuse the kitchen of treating him like a recovering soldier.

"Did Father design this?"

Amor asked.

"He argued with the cook."

"That is not an answer."

"Yes."

Valdor crossed toward the bed. He placed the tray upon the rolling table servants had brought earlier, adjusting its height until Amor could reach everything without leaning toward the injured ankle. The movement remained practical and familiar, though an awkward restraint lingered beneath it. Neither man had fully recovered from the alley argument.

Amor watched him. The moonstone clasp gleamed.

"You kept it on your furs."

Valdor looked toward his shoulder.

"Yes."

"I thought Master Edric’s fastening might not fit the thicker material."

"I adjusted it."

"With force?"

"No."

Amor raised one brow. Valdor added.

"Little force."

"I will inspect the damage tomorrow."

"There is none."

The ordinary exchange eased some of the tension. Valdor moved toward the ankle. Amor saw the intention and drew back slightly.

"Doctor Haverin already examined it."

"I know."

"Father interrogated him for nearly an hour."

"I heard Vervath laughing through the corridor."

"He suggested amputating my foot!"

Valdor’s face became flat.

"He told me."

"Your family’s methods of comfort are alarming."

"Yes."

The agreement drew another reluctant smile from Amor.

Valdor sat upon the floor beside the bed, choosing the same position he had occupied within the carriage. He lifted the edge of the blanket only after Amor nodded, then examined the bandage and the height of the pillows. His hands remained gentle, but the hard line near his mouth had not entirely softened. Amor looked down at him.

"Are you still angry?"

Valdor’s fingers paused near the blanket.

"Less angry..."

He answered.

"Still frightened."

The honesty struck more deeply than reassurance would have. Amor’s gaze lowered toward the tray.

"Nothing happened in the alley though."

"I know."

"And the ankle will heal."

"Yes but..."

Valdor replaced the blanket.

"Fear does not leave because the ending is small."

Amor understood.

Lovell’s fear rarely ended when danger passed. It remained within his muscles, dreams, and instincts long after silence returned, as though the body refused to trust survival until days had proved it. Valdor had experienced only minutes of uncertainty, but those minutes had been enough to mark him.

"I did not consider what you would imagine..."

Amor said. Valdor looked up.

"I knew the alley..."

Amor continued.

"I knew I could run through it. In my mind, you were overreacting to a place I had crossed before."

"You moved like you had run through worse."

Amor became still. The observation entered quietly. Valdor did not ask for an explanation. He merely waited. Amor looked toward the curtains.

"There was a time..."

He began.

"When people decided everything for me."

The words felt dangerous. He had never spoken about Lovell’s life aloud in this world, not even while alone. The memories existed inside him like a sealed room he entered only through nightmares. Giving them language made them harder to deny.

"They decided where I stood..."

Amor said.

"What I ate. When I slept. Whether I was safe."

Valdor’s expression changed. No pity appeared. Only attention.

"They were stronger..."

Amor continued.

"Or they believed their needs mattered more. Obedience was never about protecting me. It was about making me useful..."

His fingers closed around the mountain-glass bead.

"Sometimes they called it care."

Valdor’s jaw hardened, though his anger turned toward people Amor had not named. Amor watched him carefully.

"When someone tells me where I may go, part of me hears them instead."

"The people from before?"

"Yes."

"Are they alive?"

The question carried quiet threat. Amor almost laughed despite the pain beneath the conversation.

"No."

Valdor accepted that answer. He did not ask how they died. He did not ask when the events occurred, why no one in House Moons knew, or how a noble heir had experienced such control. The contradictions must have been obvious, yet he allowed them to remain.

"I am not them."

Valdor said.

"I know!"

The immediacy surprised them both. Amor looked down at him.

"I... I know..."

He repeated more softly.

"That was why I apologized..."

Valdor’s shoulders eased. Amor took a slow breath.

"Knowing does not always stop the reaction."

"No."

"You understand that?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Valdor considered.

"A scar knows the blade is gone..."

He said.

"It still pulls when the body moves."

Amor’s throat tightened. The comparison required no explanation. He looked toward the dinner. Valdor reached for the bowl of broth and placed it carefully into Amor’s hands.

"Eat before it cools."

"That is a very transparent attempt to end an uncomfortable conversation."

"You need food."

"I have eaten an unreasonable amount today, according to you."

"You remain small."

Amor struck him lightly with the edge of his fan. Valdor’s scarred mouth curved. The familiar habit returned warmth to the room.

Amor ate. The broth had been prepared from the bones returned by The Open Hearth, enriched with vegetables, herbs, and a small amount of grain. Recognizing the ingredients made the meal feel like a continuation of their lunch rather than a physician’s prescription. Nothing they carried home had been wasted.

Valdor remained beside the bed. He handed Amor bread, cut the poultry into smaller pieces when the rolling table shifted beneath the knife, and placed the honey cake beyond immediate reach until Amor finished the vegetables. Amor complained about this authoritarian control of dessert. Valdor remained unmoved.

"You said you did not want to order me!"

"I do not."

"You are withholding cake!"

"Until you eat the vegetables."

"That resembles tyranny!"

"You may choose not to eat either."

Amor narrowed his eyes. Valdor waited. Amor ate the vegetables. The cake was returned.

Their earlier awkwardness gradually softened beneath small arguments and practical care. Neither pretended the conflict had vanished, but it no longer controlled every silence. Amor found himself relaxing against the pillows while Valdor sat close enough that his shoulder touched the side of the mattress. When the tray was empty, Valdor covered it.

"You should sleep."

Amor’s body tensed before he could hide it. Valdor noticed. The lamps were low. The room remained safe. Nightmares would still come. Amor touched the pendant.

"Stay..."

The request emerged quietly. Valdor looked up. Amor’s cheeks warmed, but he did not withdraw the words.

"Until I fall asleep."

The warrior’s expression softened.

"Yes."

"You don’t need sit on the floor."

"It is comfortable."

"There is a chair."

"The floor is closer."

Amor looked toward the narrow space between the bed and his shoulder.

"That was my concern..."

Valdor waited. Amor extended one hand.

"Sit close enough to hold it."

The vulnerability within the request frightened him more than any flirtation that day.

Valdor rose only long enough to reposition himself, settling upon a thick floor cushion directly beside the bed with his chest against the carved frame. His shoulder rested near Amor’s hip while one arm lay along the mattress edge. He offered his hand. Amor placed his fingers into it.

The rough palm closed around him. Safety settled differently when chosen.

Amor lay back, allowing the pillows to support his head while his injured ankle remained elevated. Valdor’s hand stayed warm and steady around his own. The moonstone clasp glimmered beside the bed like a small piece of winter light.

"You may leave once I sleep."

Amor murmured.

"Yes."

The answer felt suspicious. Amor closed his eyes.

For several minutes, his thoughts continued moving through the entire day, returning to the alley, the pendant, and the conversation inside The Open Hearth. Each memory softened beneath the pressure of Valdor’s fingers. His breathing gradually slowed.

Valdor remained silent. He watched Amor’s face lose its guarded tension.

The elegant young noble looked younger in sleep, though not softer exactly like before. Even relaxed, faint strain remained near his eyes, evidence that rest rarely came without negotiation. Valdor wondered what people had once decided whether Amor deserved safety.

He did not ask. Amor’s fingers twitched. Valdor tightened his hold slightly. The young noble’s breathing became uneven.

A tremor moved through his shoulders beneath the blankets, followed by a quiet sound trapped behind closed lips. Valdor leaned closer, prepared to wake him if fear sharpened.

Amor murmured.

"Please... I carried it..."

Valdor became still. The voice did not sound like the elegant heir who commanded servants and argued about jewelry. It sounded stripped down, younger and desperate. Amor’s brows tightened.

"I did what you asked..."

His fingers clutched Valdor’s hand.

"Don’t leave me..."

Valdor’s chest ached. Then another word came.

"It’s Lovell..."

Valdor stared.

Lovell.

The name belonged to no person Amor had mentioned. It did not sound like a pet name, title, or kingdom relative. It appeared inside the nightmare as though Amor spoke about himself and someone else at once. The contradiction joined every unexplained skill and fragmented confession Valdor had collected.

Amor carried a hidden past. Perhaps a hidden identity. Valdor did not wake him. He moved closer instead. His free hand rested upon the blanket near Amor’s waist, applying enough weight to reassure without trapping him. The young noble shifted instinctively toward the warmth.

"No one will leave you."

Valdor said softly. He did not know whether sleeping Amor heard. The tension in Amor’s face eased.

The nightmare changed. Smoke, claws, and collapsing streets receded beneath something solid gathering around him. In their place came warmth broad enough to shield without crushing, like a wall built with an open doorway. Amor no longer ran alone.

For the first time since entering this world, the nightmare did not force him awake. His breathing steadied completely.

Valdor remained beside him.

...

Hours passed.

The fire sank lower, the room cooled, and the lamps burned down to faint enchanted embers. Valdor intended to leave once Amor’s hand relaxed. It never did.

Whenever he shifted, Amor’s fingers tightened. Eventually, Valdor lowered his head against the side of the mattress. Still holding Amor’s hand, he slept.

---

Morning arrived through pale light spreading between the curtains.

Amor woke slowly. No gasp tore from his lungs. No sweat chilled his skin. For several peaceful seconds, he did not understand what was missing.

Then he realized he had slept through the entire night. The discovery felt impossible.

His dreams had contained shadows, but none reached him. Whenever something monstrous approached, warmth surrounded him and held firm until the shape dissolved. He remembered no final scream, no teeth, and no parents disappearing through a gate.

Amor turned his head. Valdor remained beside the bed. The warrior slept upon the floor cushion, head lowered near their joined hands and dark braids falling across one broad shoulder. His furs had shifted slightly during the night, exposing more of his chest, while the moonstone clasp rested against the bedframe. Even asleep, his fingers remained closed firmly around Amor’s.

Warmth filled Amor’s chest. He lifted his free hand toward Valdor’s hair. His fingertips had barely touched one braid when a hard knock sounded at the door.

Knock, knock—

Valdor woke instantly.

One moment he slept; the next, his head lifted, body tense, and gaze fixed upon the entrance with enough alertness to suggest he expected an attacker. Amor pulled his hand back in surprise. Valdor’s grip never loosened.

"Who is it?"

Amor called. The door opened before an answer came. Lanslet entered carrying a sealed parchment. Vervath followed.

Neither man looked amused. Amor’s peaceful warmth chilled. The seal upon the letter bore the royal crest. Valdor rose.

He released Amor’s hand only after ensuring the young noble was fully awake, then positioned himself near the bed. Vervath’s gaze flickered toward the floor cushion and joined hands, but the seriousness of the summons prevented teasing. Lanslet closed the door.

"A royal messenger arrived at dawn."

Amor looked toward the parchment.

"Duke Alphonsins?"

"Yes."

The marquess’s voice hardened around the name. He broke the seal completely and unfolded the formal notice.

"Duke Alphonsins Solaris has submitted a complaint accusing Valdor of assaulting a member of the royal family within Maison Reverie..."

Valdor’s expression remained still. Amor sat straighter.

"He also claims House Moons deliberately used a foreign envoy to humiliate him publicly..."

Lanslet continued.

"According to the complaint, Valdor acted under your encouragement because you wished to punish Alphonsins for ending your relationship."

"That is absurd!"

"Yes I know."

"He did not even end it!"

"I know, I know..."

Lanslet looked toward Valdor.

"The duke requests that you be removed from the capital, formally disciplined by your father, and barred from future participation in the envoy tradition."

Vervath’s face became dangerous.

"He asks much for a man who fell."

Lanslet gave him a warning glance.

"This is not the time."

"It is always the time."

Amor looked toward the summons.

"What does the king require?"

"All four of us are commanded to appear before the royal council by mid-morning."

The room became quiet. The king could not ignore the accusation. Alphonsins was his nephew and a duke of the realm, while Valdor remained the eldest son of the Blackstone high chieftain. Treating the incident as an ordinary fight would suggest weakness toward either the royal family or the treaty. A formal hearing allowed the crown to examine witnesses without immediately choosing a side.

Amor pushed the blankets aside. Lanslet’s eyes sharpened.

"No."

"I haven’t said anything!"

"You were preparing to stand."

"I am going to court."

"You’re not going anywhere. You’re injured and grounded."

"I possess one damaged ankle, not a missing head."

Vervath opened his mouth. Three people looked at him. He closed it.

Lanslet approached the bed.

"You will remain here. Vervath and I can explain what occurred, and the shop contained enough witnesses to confirm Alphonsins reached for you first."

"He did not merely reach..."

Amor pulled back his sleeve, exposing the healing wrist.

"He seized an existing injury after I told him my company was none of his concern."

Lanslet’s expression tightened.

"Then I will state that."

"You did not witness it!"

"I am your father!"

"You are still not a witness!"

Amor’s voice remained calm, but the tight tone and determination beneath it hardened.

"Alphonsins has already constructed a story in which I remain obsessed, manipulative, and vindictive. If I stay hidden while everyone else speaks for me, he will use my absence as proof! I need to go..."

Lanslet hesitated. Amor continued.

"I will testify that Valdor acted only after Alphonsins grabbed me. He separated us with one controlled movement and released him immediately."

"Really? Because I had heard he threw him."

Lanslet said.

"He... redirected him."

Vervath nodded in agreement to what Amor said.

"The floor caught him. I see no problem with that."

Lanslet closed his eyes at Vervath’s assessment. Amor almost smiled, but the seriousness of the summons prevented it.

"Anyway, I will not allow Alphonsins to turn this into a story about wounded pride and foreign aggression..."

Amor said.

"He insulted me publicly, ignored repeated requests to leave, and used physical force. Valdor stopped him."

Valdor looked toward the summons.

"I can accept the discipline..."

Amor turned sharply. Valdor’s expression remained composed.

"If punishment prevents damage to the treaty—"

"No!"

The force of Amor’s answer silenced him. Vervath’s gaze shifted between them. Valdor continued more carefully.

"The villages matter more than one insult."

"This is not about the insult!"

"I placed a royal duke on the floor."

"After he hurt me!!"

Amor’s eyes flashed.

"You will not protect me by allowing them to turn your protection into a crime!!"

The words struck every person in the room. Valdor looked at him. Amor’s anger sharpened because he understood the impulse. Valdor would sacrifice pride, freedom, or position if doing so preserved the treaty and spared Amor further conflict. To the warrior, accepting punishment might seem like another form of protection.

Amor refused it.

"If you accept guilt for something you didn’t do..."

He said.

"Alphonsins wins twice. He harms me, then punishes you for stopping him."

Valdor’s jaw tightened.

"The force was proportionate..."

Amor continued.

"You did not strike him, break his arm, draw a weapon, or continue after he fell. You removed his hand."

"He landed on his face."

"That was gravity’s decision!"

Vervath coughed into his fist. Lanslet gave him another warning look. Amor pushed the blanket farther aside.

"I am going."

His father’s expression became pained.

"You cannot walk, my moonlight."

"I don’t need to."

"Not necessarily but—"

"Valdor can carry me."

Lanslet looked toward the warrior. Valdor looked toward Amor. The young noble lifted one brow as though the solution should have been obvious. Vervath smiled slowly.

"He carries him well."

"This is not helping!"

Lanslet said. Amor touched the pendant.

"I spent too long allowing other people to decide the truth around me..."

He said before realizing the phrase that escaped. The room stilled.

Too long.

Valdor’s eyes sharpened. Amor recovered too late. He lowered his gaze briefly, then continued without correcting the strange wording.

"I will not remain in bed while Alphonsins decides what my silence means."

Lanslet studied him. The marquess had watched Amor transform over the past several days, abandoning the obsession that ruled him for months and displaying a strength that felt both new and ancient. Some statements raised questions Lanslet had not yet chosen to ask. This was not the moment.

"You will use a wheeled chair inside the palace."

He said at last. Amor’s posture eased.

"Fine."

"You will not stand."

"Unless I’m required—"

"You will not stand!"

"... We can negotiate that later..."

Lanslet’s polite smile returned. Amor reconsidered.

"I will not stand."

Vervath laughed. Valdor remained serious. He looked toward Amor’s injured ankle, then toward the royal summons.

"If attending worsens the injury—"

"It will not."

"You ran yesterday because you feared this might be our only outing..."

Amor’s cheeks warmed at the reminder. Valdor’s voice softened.

"Do not harm yourself again because you fear others will close a door."

"This is different."

"Yes."

Amor watched him.

"I’m not running from a decision..."

He said.

"I am making one."

The distinction reached Valdor. He inclined his head. Lanslet began issuing instructions immediately.

While Amor ate a swift breakfast, Elsie would prepare formal clothing suitable for court but loose enough to accommodate the ankle bandage. Doctor Haverin would examine Amor before departure, and a reinforced chair would be placed inside the carriage. House Moons legal advisers would gather statements from Maison Reverie while servants contacted Master Edric, Madam Bellisa, The Open Hearth staff, and every patron willing to testify regarding Amor and Valdor’s movements before the confrontation.

Vervath would send for the Blackstone treaty documents. Valdor would dress formally. Amor looked toward his furs.

"The Master Edric outfit."

He said. Valdor touched the moonstone clasp.

"You prefer it?"

"For court, yes."

The warrior nodded. The readiness to wear unfamiliar clothing because Amor chose it sent another wave of warmth through him. Amor touched the purple pendant in response. Their exchanged pieces would enter the royal palace together. Lanslet moved toward the door.

"We leave in two hours."

Amor nodded. Vervath followed, though he paused beside Valdor long enough to place one heavy hand upon his shoulder.

"[Do not offer your neck before the council asks for it.]"

Valdor looked toward him.

"[The treaty survives truth...]"

Vervath said.

"[If it does not, it was already dead.]"

The chieftain left. Lanslet stopped at the threshold and looked back toward Amor. The anger from the previous night remained, but pride had begun competing with it.

"You will tell the truth."

"Yes."

"Even if it embarrasses you."

Amor remembered Alphonsins’s hand around his wrist and the reason behind it.

"Yes."

Lanslet nodded and closed the door behind him. Silence returned. Valdor remained near the bed. Amor looked toward the hand that had held his through the entire night.

"Did you... hear something while I slept?"

The warrior became still. Amor had not remembered the nightmare clearly anymore, but Valdor’s expression answered.

"What did I say?"

Valdor considered the question.

"You were afraid."

"That is not all."

"No..."

Amor waited. Valdor did not repeat the name. Not yet.

"When you tell me..."

He said.

"I will listen."

The same promise returned. Amor’s throat tightened. He reached out. Valdor took his hand.

"Then listen now..."

Amor said.

"I am going to court with you."

The warrior’s fingers closed around his.

"You do not have to."

"I know."

That was precisely why it mattered.

Amor looked toward the royal summons left upon the table. Alphonsins expected the old pattern:

Amor pleading to be believed, chasing after him, or remaining silent while others defined his intentions. The duke still imagined himself at the center of every decision Amor made. By midday, he would learn otherwise.

Amor would enter the royal court injured but not helpless, carried if necessary but speaking for himself. He would tell the king exactly whose hand caused the bruises and why Valdor intervened. He would protect the man who had remained beside his bed through a nightmare without demanding answers. Valdor had taught him that care did not need to become control.

Now Amor would teach the court that protection did not become assault merely because the protected person had finally chosen someone other than Alphonsins. He tightened his hold upon Valdor’s hand.

"Help me get Mary and Junia to get me prepared."

Valdor looked down at him.

"Alright."

Outside, House Moons awakened into frantic motion beneath the weight of the royal summons.

Inside the room, Amor sat with his injured ankle elevated, his mountain-glass pendant resting against his heart and Valdor’s hand firm around his own. For the first time, the political machinery of the original story had begun turning against him again.

This time, Amor would not face it alone.