Chapter 38: Uppies

Valdor reached Amor so quickly that the wheels of the chair shifted beneath the force of his arrival.

He dropped into a crouch before him, the rage that had driven Alphonsins from the gallery immediately turning inward and reshaping itself into fear. His gaze moved over Amor’s face, shoulders, hands, and injured ankle with the frantic precision of someone searching for blood that might be hidden beneath silk and fur. The sight of the tear still glistening upon Amor’s cheek made his chest tighten until breathing felt difficult.

"Are you hurt?"

Amor shook his head. Valdor did not appear convinced. His large hands rose toward Amor’s face, then stopped a breath away from touching him. Even in anger, even while every instinct urged him to confirm with his own hands that Amor remained unharmed, he remembered to ask.

"May I?"

Amor looked into his dark eyes. The violence that had briefly sharpened them toward Alphonsins was gone, replaced by something rawer and far more vulnerable. He nodded. Valdor cupped his cheeks.

His palms nearly engulfed Amor’s entire face, rough warmth spreading from his jaw to his temples while broad thumbs rested carefully beneath his eyes. The contrast should have felt absurd, those hands built for axes and hunting cradling him as though he were something delicate enough to break beneath a careless breath. Instead, Amor leaned into them without thinking. Valdor brushed away the tear.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing."

"He made you cry."

"He didn’t hurt me."

Valdor’s eyes moved toward Amor’s hands.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Nowhere."

"Your wrist?"

"No."

"Your ankle?"

"My ankle has nothing to do with him, Valdor."

Valdor’s jaw tightened as he searched Amor’s expression for some concealed pain.

"Should I chase after him?"

Amor blinked.

"And beat him."

Valdor added. Vervath, still approaching from the far end of the gallery, made an approving sound. Amor shook his head more quickly.

"No, don’t."

"I would stop before permanent injury."

"That is not reassuring."

"It is restraint."

"You have already been through one royal hearing today!"

Valdor’s thumbs remained beneath Amor’s eyes.

"We would not need another if no one saw."

Vervath stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"The western garden has tall hedges."

Amor stared past Valdor toward the chieftain.

"You are both terrible influences."

Vervath appeared pleased. Valdor did not smile. He remained focused upon Amor, searching for the answer he had not received. The young noble’s cheeks were warm now, but the dampness around his eyes and the torn pieces of parchment circling the chair made it obvious something had occurred. Valdor disliked mysteries when they left Amor crying.

"What did he say?"

Amor looked down. The gesture caused Valdor’s hands to shift with him, still holding his face gently rather than forcing it upward. Amor could feel the unspoken questions gathering behind the warrior’s silence. For a moment, he considered explaining the letter and the strange grief that did not entirely belong to him.

He could not. Not here. Not while palace servants crossed nearby corridors and Alphonsins might still be lingering close enough to hear.

"Nothing that matters now..."

Amor said.

"I do not want to return to court or turn this into another accusation. Let it end."

Valdor’s expression remained hard.

"He touched you."

"Briefly."

"The king forbade it."

"He was gentle..."

The answer did not improve Valdor’s mood. Amor recognized that immediately and reached up to touch one of the hands holding his face.

"I pulled away. He let me."

Valdor’s gaze sharpened.

"You should not have needed to pull away."

"No..."

The agreement softened something between them. Amor gave him a tired smile.

"But I am all right."

Valdor did not believe the matter was harmless. He could see the tear, the shredded parchment, and the way Amor’s fingers trembled slightly beneath the mantle. Yet Amor had asked him to leave the situation alone. Respecting that choice was part of the promise Valdor kept making, even when obedience to it hurt.

His thumbs moved once more beneath Amor’s eyes. Then he lowered his hands. A strip of parchment had caught between the wheel and the side of the chair. Valdor noticed the lavender ink. Only a few words remained intact.

"...first time I have loved..."

The pain in his chest changed. He recognized the handwriting from the letters read inside the council chamber. This had been another confession from Amor to Alphonsins, though unlike the desperate fragments presented as evidence, the sentence appeared softer. More personal.

Jealousy returned. So did anger. Neither emotion fully explained the heaviness beneath them.

Valdor did not know whether he was angry at Alphonsins for preserving the letter, at the former Amor for loving a man who made him beg, or at himself for arriving too late to prevent the tears. Perhaps he was angry at the words themselves for proving a depth of feeling Amor had once given someone else. Beneath all of it lay something almost like grief for a wound Valdor had not caused and could not repair.

A physical injury would have been easier. He could clean and bind it. Cool swelling. Set bone. Emotional pain resisted every skill he possessed.

There was no medical pouch for memories, no herb he could crush into a paste and spread over a heart until the ache faded. Valdor had never been skilled at speaking comfort. His family offered affection through food, labor, protection, and direct truth, but none of those seemed sufficient for tears caused by an old love letter.

He became flustered. The feeling had been rare since childhood.

Valdor could remember standing beside Sarka’s funeral pyre and not knowing how to help his younger siblings, though his own grief had nearly split him open. He could vaguely remember being five years old, trying to stop adults from taking infant Amor from the flower nest because the baby looked peaceful and Valdor believed peace meant he belonged there. In both memories, the desire to help had exceeded his understanding of how.

Now Amor sat before him again. Beautiful, sad and waiting. Valdor’s hands hovered uselessly near his knees.

Vervath watched the struggle as he came closer. His son looked capable of tearing apart the palace stones, yet entirely defeated by one tear. Amor, meanwhile, watched Valdor’s uncertainty with an expression that was tired but softened by recognition. The two appeared impossibly different from the outside, one delicate and adorned while the other looked carved from mountain rock.

Vervath saw similarity beneath it. Both hid fear behind competence. Both gave care more easily than they accepted it. Both became reckless when they believed freedom or someone precious might be taken.

They were a better match than he had expected. That realization pleased him. It also made watching Valdor suffer in silence unbearably amusing. Vervath decided to help.

"Humph! The moment we leave..."

He announced.

"The duke appears from the shadows..."

Valdor looked toward him with warning. Vervath continued.

"Then the moment we return, he runs like a mouse that has discovered a panther behind the grain sack."

Amor’s lips twitched.

"He did not run..."

Valdor said.

"He fled with dignity."

"That is still running..."

Vervath demonstrated by lifting the edge of his fur cloak and taking two exaggerated, swift steps across the marble.

"Like this. Very noble. Very fast."

A small chuckle escaped Amor. The sound was quiet, but it changed Valdor immediately.

Amor’s eyes remained damp, making the pink irises appear luminous beneath the palace sunlight. His smile carried lingering sadness, yet it softened his face into something so ethereal that Valdor forgot his father was speaking. He stared as though discovering Amor’s beauty again for the first time.

Warmth climbed into his ears. The dark skin near their tips reddened visibly. His heart felt strange. Not painful now. Ticklish.

Amor saw the change and smiled a little more. Valdor’s chest eased. He still did not know how to mend the hidden hurt, but Amor could laugh. For the moment, that was enough.

"Where did you go?"

Amor asked. Vervath answered before Valdor could form a response.

"Signing papers!"

Valdor looked toward his father.

"And seeing family."

He added. Vervath’s expression froze. Amor’s curiosity sharpened immediately.

"Family?"

The chieftain recovered poorly.

"Not important family!"

Valdor frowned.

"All family is important."

Vervath gave him a look containing several unspoken threats. Amor looked between them.

"You have relatives inside the palace?"

"Near the palace!"

Vervath corrected. Valdor said nothing. Vervath changed it again.

"Actually, more like connected to the palace."

"That sounds more interesting."

"It is not!"

"You became silent for nearly four seconds when the servant whispered to you."

"Wha! I was thinking!"

"That is why it was alarming."

Vervath’s eyes narrowed. Amor leaned slightly forward beneath the mantle, his tears nearly forgotten.

"Who are they?"

The chieftain glanced toward Valdor. The warrior remained focused upon Amor’s face rather than rescuing him from questioning. His silence did not confirm anything, but it also lacked the casual denial that might have ended the matter. Amor’s interest deepened.

He searched his memory of the novel. No Blackstone relatives within the palace came immediately to mind. In truth, the tribe received almost no development in the original story beyond several scattered mentions of northern monsters, trade routes, and the treaty. The abandoned envoy subplot had existed primarily as background before disappearing entirely from the romantic conflict.

No named Blackstone family member had served at court. No royal relation had been mentioned. If this person existed outside the novel’s major narrative, perhaps they were unimportant to the plot. That should have reassured Amor.

Instead, it made him curious. The story had already ignored people, histories, and entire relationships waiting beyond its central romance. Valdor himself had once been little more than an abandoned side character. A family member hidden within the palace could possess a life completely untouched by what Lovell had read.

"May I meet them?"

Vervath looked genuinely caught off guard.

"Someday."

Amor raised one brow.

"Why not now?"

"Uh-well... You need rest!"

"That does not answer the question."

"Um... Your foot needs el-or-va-ion!"

"It is elevated."

"Ah but it needs to keep the elevated! Also... You need food!"

"Hmm, that is probably true."

Vervath seized upon the admission.

"That’s right! It is nearly lunch. [You have to eat and can’t leave.]"

Amor continued watching him. The chieftain shifted tactics.

"Unless you truly wish the foot removed."

Valdor turned his head slowly. Vervath saw the expression.

"What?"

"..."

Valdor considered striking his father. The thought appeared so plainly upon his face that Amor almost laughed again. Vervath lifted both hands.

"I know, I know, the shaman said no."

"You continue saying it."

"What can I say? It motivates rest! You cannot fault me on that."

"It also motivates violence, [Dad.]"

Valdor replied. The chieftain appeared to accept that distinction. Amor tugged lightly at Valdor’s sleeve.

"He is right about one thing..."

Valdor looked toward him.

"We shouldn’t remain here much longer. Once Father comes back, we’ll go."

The warrior’s attention returned immediately to the practical details. Amor had experienced panic, sat through a lengthy hearing, been confronted by Alphonsins again, and had not eaten since early morning beyond the restorative tea. The hidden family member could wait. Valdor nodded.

"Food first."

"And rest, right?"

"Yes."

"Gosh, you sound like Father."

"Lanslet is correct sometimes."

"Pfft, do not let him hear that."

Approaching footsteps saved Vervath from further questions revolving around this mysterious relative. Lanslet crossed into the gallery with two palace servants behind him, his expression irritated enough that the axle problem had clearly failed to meet House Moons standards. The moment he saw Amor’s damp cheeks, every thought concerning carriages disappeared. He accelerated toward the chair.

"What happened!?"

Amor barely had time to answer. Lanslet reached him, bent close, and examined his face with the same frantic thoroughness Valdor had displayed moments earlier. His gaze caught upon the redness around Amor’s eyes, then the shredded parchment scattered across the marble. The softness in his expression vanished.

"Alphonsins?"

"It’s already over, Father."

"Was he here?"

Amor hesitated. That was answer enough. Lanslet turned toward Valdor.

"You allowed him to approach?"

Valdor’s face hardened.

"I was taken away."

"By whom?"

Vervath took one careful step backward. Lanslet looked toward him. Recognition arrived.

"You both left?"

"The palace required our treaty marks. We had no choice in the matter, Lanslet."

Vervath said.

"You left my injured son alone for papers?"

"No. We left your son alone with guards for the treaty."

"That is still paper."

"It prevents wars, Lanslet! It is necessary. You sound like Valdor now."

"My son was crying! Tell me how else I am supposed to react!"

"... That occurred after we left so really, we are not at fault for that."

Lanslet’s smile became polite. Every person present recognized the danger. Amor immediately became silent. Valdor straightened. Vervath, who faced monsters with enthusiasm and noble fury with amusement, looked almost cautious. Lanslet turned toward his son.

"Did Alphonsins touch you?"

Amor considered lying. The formal order, shredded letter, and Valdor’s expression made that impossible.

"He held my hand briefly."

The polite smile brightened yet the air around him chilled. Vervath looked toward the corridor where Alphonsins fled and seemed to reconsider whether calling him back for Valdor might simplify matters.

"Father..."

Amor said carefully.

"I’m unharmed."

"You were left alone with that... brute! Defiler! Scoundrel!"

"For only a few minutes."

"That is a few minutes too long. A second would be enough."

"He apologized!"

"He... He did what?"

"Ah, poorly..."

Amor admitted. Lanslet looked toward the paper fragments.

"What did he want?"

Amor touched the mantle around his shoulders.

"To ask about an old letter."

"And that made you cry?"

"It was not because I want him back!"

The answer emerged more urgently than intended. Lanslet’s expression softened for only a moment.

"I know..."

Amor looked at him.

"I watched you testify before the king that you no longer loved him..."

Lanslet said.

"I believe you, my moonlight..."

The certainty warmed him. Then Lanslet turned back toward the Blackstone men, and the warmth vanished beneath renewed paternal fury.

"I left Amor with two guards, the so-called ’best’ and yet they still failed."

Vervath looked around the gallery.

"There are royal guards all around and he is not bleeding. I call that a success."

"I meant for you two to guard him physically and emotionally."

"Well, we did return before you."

"Yes, after Alphonsins made my Amor shed tears."

"The timing was... unlucky."

"The timing was negligent!"

Valdor accepted the rebuke more seriously than his father.

"I should not have left."

Amor immediately objected.

"I told you to go, Valdor."

"I still chose."

"You had business you neede to do. It couldn’t be helped!"

"You were vulnerable."

"You cannot stand beside me every moment!"

Valdor looked at him with such quiet determination that Amor suspected the warrior might attempt exactly that. Lanslet opened his mouth.

The arrival of the carriages interrupted him. A footman hurried through the arched doors and announced that both vehicles had been inspected and brought to the palace entrance. The damaged axle belonged to a luggage cart mistakenly identified as the Moons carriage, meaning Lanslet’s entire detour had been unnecessary. His polite smile became almost transcendent.

The servant bowed lower. Amor tactically avoided speaking. They moved toward the palace steps.

Valdor took control of the chair again, pushing Amor through the open doors while Lanslet continued describing every failure that had occurred during his fifteen-minute absence. Vervath listened with the patient expression of a chieftain enduring a long negotiation, occasionally offering explanations that only worsened matters. Doctor Haverin rejoined them near the drive and immediately recommended food, rest, and reduced excitement.

Amor looked toward the waiting carriages. Without thinking, he lifted both arms toward Valdor. The movement was simple almost natural. An expectation formed through repeated care.

Every person stopped.

Lanslet’s unfinished sentence disappeared. Vervath’s brows rose. Doctor Haverin looked from Amor’s raised arms to Valdor with professional neutrality that fooled no one. Even Amor remained unaware of what he had done for the first second. Valdor stared at him.

A memory flashed through the warrior’s mind with startling clarity. Lavender curls and bright pink eyes. A tiny infant wrapped in white and silver, sitting inside a flower-lined hollow with both arms reaching upward toward him.

Five-year-old Valdor had stood before that same gesture and felt something fierce and immediate awaken inside him. He had not understood responsibility, courtship, or the difference between wanting to protect and wanting to keep. He knew only that the baby reached for him. So he picked him up.

The memory overlapped perfectly with the present. Amor was grown now, elegant rather than tiny, his long hair spilling over the dark mantle while his injured ankle rested upon the chair support. Yet his arms remained lifted toward Valdor with the same unconscious certainty. He expected to be caught. Valdor could not imagine refusing.

He moved before Lanslet recovered. One arm slid behind Amor’s back. The other passed beneath his knees, careful of the injured ankle. Valdor lifted him effortlessly from the chair.

Amor settled against his chest as though they had performed the motion hundreds of times rather than several. Valdor’s expression softened in a way the others rarely saw, the severe lines of his face easing beneath open fondness. The smallest curve touched his mouth.

"You reached for me."

He said. Amor blinked. He looked down at his own arms, now resting naturally around Valdor’s neck. Realization struck. Heat flooded his face.

"I-I-I needed to be carried!"

"You chose me."

"You were closest!"

Lanslet stood closer to the other side of the chair. Everyone noticed. Amor noticed them noticing. His face became hotter.

"I... I didn’t think about it."

Valdor’s smile deepened by barely a fraction.

"I know."

That somehow made the moment more intimate. Amor buried his face inside the fur of Valdor’s mantle. Only the tips of his pink ears remained visible beneath lavender hair. The gesture looked so innocent that Vervath, who ordinarily would have seized the opportunity for merciless teasing, found himself unable to speak. Lanslet’s expression softened despite his desire to reclaim carrying rights.

Valdor looked down at the hidden face. The childhood image remained overlaid upon the man in his arms.

Baby Amor would have smelled like milk, flowers, and expensive soap. The current Amor smelled like lavender, honey, and the faint medicinal herbs used on his wrist and ankle. Both had reached for Valdor without hesitation. His feelings did not become childish through the memory.

They deepened.

The protective instinct from long ago had grown into something warmer, more complicated, and unmistakably adult. Valdor wanted to hold Amor because he was injured, because he trusted him, because he was beautiful, and because every time Amor chose his arms it felt like being given something sacred. The fact that those arms had once reached for him before either could remember only made the connection feel older than understanding.

Amor eventually peeked out from the mantle. Valdor’s expression remained soft. There was no teasing or triumph. Only warmth. Amor’s heart stumbled.

He hid again. Vervath looked away toward the horses, granting them privacy more tactfully than anyone expected. Lanslet did not.

"Ahem! Lord Valdor, I can carry him..."

Valdor looked toward him.

"You have carried him enough times today..."

Lanslet continued.

"I am, after all, his father. It’s only natural family be the one to handle him."

Amor’s arms tightened unconsciously around Valdor’s neck. The gesture answered before words did. Lanslet stared. Amor slowly realized what he had done and loosened his grip, though not completely.

"You should not strain your back, Father."

"I am not elderly yet!"

"I did not say you were."

"You implied it!"

Vervath stepped beside him.

"It is true you are older than before."

Lanslet turned.

"So are you!"

"Hahaho! Yes!"

"That was not meant for agreement!"

The argument resumed. Valdor carried Amor toward the first carriage while their fathers followed. The wheeled chair was folded and secured to the rear of Lanslet’s vehicle, leaving the larger carriage free for Valdor to settle inside with Amor. The arrangement repeated their arrival almost exactly. Lanslet noticed.

"This was not how I planned it."

Amor looked toward him from Valdor’s arms.

"There are two carriages, right?"

"Well... yes, of course, my moonlight."

"And both need passengers, don’t they?"

"Then Valdor and Vervath can travel together."

Vervath climbed into the second carriage without waiting.

"I will ride with Lanslet!"

The marquess stared at him.

"You said I must pay attention..."

Vervath reminded him.

"I will pay attention to you."

"That is not what I meant!"

"Hohohaha! It is too late for that my friend!"

Valdor entered the first carriage with Amor. The door remained open while Lanslet stood outside, visibly debating whether to remove his son from the warrior’s arms and reorganize the entire departure. Amor looked exhausted beneath the mantle. The pale skin around his eyes still carried traces of the morning’s strain.

Lanslet’s resistance faded. His poor child had been through enough.

"Alright! But only for one ride."

He said. Amor’s lips curved.

"Of course."

"No additional kidnapping."

Valdor settled onto the reinforced seat.

"He is already with me."

"That is exactly my concern."

Vervath leaned from the second carriage.

"The basket plan may work this time, huh Valdor!"

Lanslet turned toward him with horror. Valdor closed the door. The coachman needed no further instruction. The first carriage began moving.

Through the window, Amor saw his father point toward Vervath while delivering what appeared to be a detailed prohibition against baskets of every kind. The chieftain climbed back into the second vehicle still laughing. Moments later, their carriage followed.

Inside the first coach, Valdor adjusted Amor carefully upon his lap. This time, neither pretended the position had occurred by accident.

Amor rested his injured leg across the warrior’s thighs while Valdor secured one arm around his waist. The mantle remained wrapped around them both now, creating a shared pocket of warmth. Neither spoke immediately. The palace gates approached beyond the window. Amor looked down at Valdor’s hand resting over his waist.

"Did you truly see family?"

Valdor became still. Amor smiled faintly.

"You are worse at hiding things than your father."

"He spoke too quickly."

"He always speaks too quickly though?"

"Yes."

"So... Who were they?"

Valdor considered.

"Family."

He repeated.

"That is not an answer."

"It is the only answer I can give for now."

Amor looked toward him, surprised by the boundary. Valdor did not appear evasive out of distrust. Something more complicated rested beneath his silence, connected to Vervath’s sudden departure and the diplomatic office’s secrecy. Amor could have pressed. He chose not to.

"Okay... Then when can I meet them?"

Valdor’s arm tightened around him.

"Soon."

Amor accepted that for the moment. The carriage passed through the palace gates and turned toward House Moons. Behind them, Lanslet and Vervath followed in the second vehicle, undoubtedly arguing over kidnapping, treaty papers, and whether hiding an infant inside a traveling basket constituted a diplomatic incident. Ahead waited lunch, bed rest, and a week of grounding. Amor rested his head against Valdor’s chest. The warrior looked down.

"You reached for me."

He said again. Amor lifted the edge of the mantle over his face.

"Do not become arrogant."

"I am not."

"You sound pleased!"

"I am."

Amor’s cheeks warmed beneath the fur. Valdor’s slight smile returned. Outside, the capital rolled past in sunlight and rumor, carrying news of the dismissed complaint and the royal censure into every noble drawing room. Inside the carriage, Amor remained held against the man he had chosen without thinking. The gesture frightened him less than it should have.

Perhaps because it had not truly been the first time. Once, long ago, a lavender-haired baby had reached toward a solemn Blackstone child and been carried into a nest of flowers.

Twenty years later, a new Amor reached for Valdor again.

Valdor still picked him up.