Chapter 40: Equal Ground

The memory of the queen’s sitting room receded beneath the slow rhythm of the carriage wheels.

Valdor looked down at the man sleeping in his arms.

Amor had not intended to fall asleep. He had been questioning Valdor about another scar crossing his chest only moments earlier, his voice soft but persistent as he tried to keep the conversation from ending in silence. Somewhere between one answered question and the next, his words had become slower, his lashes had lowered, and the tension holding his body upright had quietly disappeared.

Now his head rested directly over Valdor’s heart. The position had happened naturally as the carriage swayed through the capital streets, Amor shifting until his cheek found the broadest part of Valdor’s chest. Valdor’s arm supported his waist while the other remained beneath his injured leg, keeping the ankle elevated across his thighs. The dark mantle wrapped around them both, trapping their shared warmth inside a private shelter of fur and heavy cloth.

Amor’s breathing had become deep and even. Valdor could feel every exhale against his skin through the opening in the formal garment, a faint warmth that returned at regular intervals. The carriage rocked gently around them, its reinforced cabin absorbing most imperfections in the road, while the steady beat beneath Amor’s ear continued without interruption. Heartbeat, movement, warmth, and exhaustion had gathered together until sleep became unavoidable.

Valdor adjusted him carefully. He shifted one hand higher along Amor’s back, supporting the delicate curve of his shoulders so the young noble’s neck would not ache upon waking. Then he drew the mantle more securely around Amor’s side and checked that no pressure rested upon the healing wrist. Only after confirming the injured ankle remained stable did he allow his body to relax against the seat. Amor did not wake.

One hand lay loosely upon Valdor’s chest, fingers curled near the moonstone clasp as though he had fallen asleep while still intending to hold on. The other rested between them, hidden beneath the mantle. Valdor enclosed it carefully within his palm. The peaceful expression upon Amor’s face should have quieted every thought.

Instead, it gave Valdor enough silence to confront everything that had happened inside the palace.

His aunt was the queen.

The fact remained difficult to place within his understanding of himself. Queen Samara Solaris had introduced herself as Samara Rhazien, Vervath’s elder sister, a woman who knew Sarka, remembered Valdor as a baby, and carried years of family history that had been deliberately kept from him. She possessed Blackstone eyes, Blackstone skin, and Blackstone instincts despite wearing the crown and silk of the kingdom. If the clothing vanished, no one in the northern settlements would have mistaken her blood. Valdor’s blood.

He looked toward the carriage window, though the passing streets offered no answer.

What did that make him?

The king was his uncle by marriage. The queen was his father’s sister. Kingdom law placed enormous importance upon royal blood, marriage, legitimacy, inheritance, and every complicated branch spreading from the crown. Valdor did not yet understand whether being the queen’s nephew granted him a formal title, a distant place within succession, or merely an invitation to royal family dinners he had never attended. By Blackstone standards, the matter was simpler.

Samara was his aunt. Cassian was the man she chose.

That made the king family unless conduct proved otherwise. The simplicity would not satisfy the nobles. Valdor thought of Alphonsins.

He had heard the stories in passing during his second envoy visit. The duke’s entire place within the kingdom had transformed when his steel-blue eyes revealed royal ancestry. He went from orphaned soldier to the king’s nephew, received a ducal title, and entered society with blood powerful enough to outweigh his lack of upbringing. His military achievements had earned respect before the discovery, but royal recognition gave him a position no ordinary commander could claim.

Valdor was also the monarch’s nephew. Not by blood through Cassian, but directly through the queen.

Their positions were not so identical but close enough. Valdor did not belong to House Solaris, had no desire to inherit its crown, and would never surrender his identity for a kingdom title. Yet the distance between an orphaned royal duke and a Blackstone chieftain’s son suddenly appeared much smaller than the court pretended. That fact irritated him.

It irritated him because Alphonsins had used noble rank like a weapon, behaving as though title granted him greater claim over Amor, greater credibility before the court, and greater worth beside a wealthy heir. Valdor had disliked the assumption from the beginning. Learning that the same kingdom would likely consider him royal-adjacent enough for court if the truth became public made the hierarchy feel even more absurd.

Blood had not changed overnight. Valdor remained the same man he had been before entering Samara’s room. He could hunt, cook, build shelters capable of surviving northern storms, craft weapons, medicine, tools, and furniture.

He could lead people through dangerous land, recognize monster trails, preserve food through winter, and provide enough meat for a settlement after a successful hunt. He knew the responsibilities expected of a warrior and had trained since childhood to assume the position of high chieftain if the elders and people chose him after Vervath. Those abilities had always been enough.

More than enough. Valdor knew that. His mind knew it with the same certainty that knew fire burned and winter killed the unprepared. His heart had not listened.

Inside the capital, surrounded by polished men carrying old titles, tailored clothing, estates, jewels, and courtly education, something uncomfortable had grown beneath his pride. Amor belonged effortlessly among them. He understood their language, customs, gifts, hidden insults, and social games.

Valdor could learn those things. Yet part of him feared learning would only make him an imitation of men already better suited to Amor’s world.

He had told himself the feeling was caution. It was partly inadequacy. Worse, somewhere deep and difficult to admit, it had carried shame.

Not shame in being Blackstone. Never that.

Valdor would choose furs over silk, mountain wind over perfume, and a firelit lodge over a ballroom without hesitation. He considered many kingdom nobles helpless beneath their wealth, unable to feed themselves if servants disappeared for a day. Their contempt did not make him question Blackstone worth. The shame lived elsewhere.

It came from imagining Amor beside someone the kingdom considered his equal and wondering whether their love would be forced to defend Valdor before it could simply them enjoy it. Amor had already endured ridicule, rumors, and a relationship built upon secrecy. Would choosing a so-called barbarian create another life in which every public room demanded explanation?

Valdor hated that the question mattered. He hated more that discovering royal family beneath his blood made the pressure ease. Nothing about him had changed.

Yet knowing the queen was his aunt placed him upon ground kingdom nobles understood. If they measured worth by proximity to a crown, then Valdor could meet them within their own foolish system and still surpass them through everything he possessed independently. He no longer felt as though he stood outside Amor’s world asking permission to enter. He stood beside it.

Equal. Perhaps above many within it.

The realization loosened something in his chest. He did not need to hold himself back while trying to determine whether Amor deserved someone more polished, titled, or socially acceptable. Valdor could court him honestly. He could offer Blackstone and kingdom both, not because he intended to become royal, but because no one could credibly treat him as unworthy of a noble heir while the queen herself carried Rhazien blood.

He could pursue Amor without feeling that irritating tightness beneath his ribs. Without confusion, without measuring himself against men like Alphonsins, without the hidden shame he had refused to name. Valdor looked down again.

Amor shifted in his sleep. The movement happened gradually, his body turning more fully toward Valdor while one knee drew inward beneath the mantle. Valdor responded at once, adjusting the injured leg and repositioning his arm before the ankle could twist. His hand spread across Amor’s back to support him through the motion. The adjustment drew Amor closer.

His cheek slid against Valdor’s chest. Then he nuzzled into him. The gesture was unconscious, soft, and devastating.

Amor’s nose brushed the exposed skin near Valdor’s collarbone before he settled with a quiet sigh of contentment. His fingers moved weakly near the moonstone clasp, then relaxed again. The expression upon his sleeping face became even more peaceful.

Heat rushed into Valdor’s ears. It moved down the back of his neck and beneath the collar of the tailored garment. He remained motionless, afraid that any unnecessary breath might disturb Amor. His heart, unfortunately, refused the same restraint.

It began beating faster. Amor rested directly above it. Valdor wondered whether the changing rhythm would wake him. It did not.

The young noble only pressed closer, as though the stronger beat offered additional comfort. His lips parted slightly against Valdor’s chest. The warmth of his breath touched sensitive skin. Valdor stared. Amor looked impossibly innocent in sleep.

The sharp wit, dramatic complaints, fan strikes, and calculated social expressions had disappeared. Without them, he seemed soft enough to belong to the flower nest of Valdor’s childhood memory, though nothing about the feeling awakening inside Valdor remained childish. He was painfully aware of Amor as an adult man held across his lap, beautiful and trusting, with his body warm against Valdor’s own.

Valdor lowered his face. The movement happened before intention became decision. He leaned closer until lavender hair filled his vision and Amor’s sleeping face rested only a breath away. The carriage continued swaying, creating the illusion that the world itself encouraged the distance to close. No one else occupied the cabin.

The coachman faced forward. The curtains obscured the windows. Amor would not know. Valdor’s gaze settled upon his lips.

’I could kiss him...’

The realization came with a force that frightened him.

’One small touch. Gentle enough not to wake him...’

His thoughts tried to reason the action into logic.

’It would be brief enough to disappear before the coach arrives at House Moons...’

’No witness would see, no servants would gossip, and Amor might sleep through the entire theft.’

Valdor wanted it.

For once, desire pressed hard enough to challenge the discipline beneath it. He imagined how soft Amor’s lips would feel, whether they would carry the taste of restorative tea, and whether the sleeping man might turn instinctively toward the warmth. The thought sent another rush of heat through him. He lowered himself another fraction.

Then stopped.

’Amor trusts me.’

The truth stood between desire and action.

Amor had placed himself in Valdor’s arms, fallen asleep over his heart, and remained vulnerable because he believed those arms would protect rather than take. He valued consent not as a polite custom but as proof that care did not become control. Every confession about his past made that distinction clearer. Valdor could not betray it.

Even for one kiss. Especially for one kiss.

The temptation frightened him because it revealed how far he might go for Amor. Valdor would fight nobles, challenge royal authority, cross dangerous roads, and endure every fatherly look Vervath could produce. He would learn kingdom customs, build a life between north and capital, or carry Amor through every palace corridor if asked. There were few things he could imagine refusing the young noble.

Practically nothing.

That willingness could become dangerous if it convinced Valdor that love excused violating the principles he expected from others. Alphonsins justified his grip through concern, history, and emotional certainty. Valdor would not become the same kind of man with gentler hands. He lifted his head. The denied kiss remained between them as a vow rather than a loss.

"I will make you choose me."

He whispered. Amor slept on. Valdor’s expression softened. He would not stoop so low as to follow Alphonsins’s example. He would not use force, manipulation or try to frighten rivals away until no alternative remained... Partially.

He wanted Amor awake, aware, and entirely free when the distance between them finally closed. He wanted those pink eyes looking at him before a kiss, not closed in sleep. He wanted a decision Amor could remember and claim.

Valdor bent again, but changed the path. He pressed his cheek gently against the top of Amor’s head. Lavender hair brushed his skin, soft enough to make his chest ache. He inhaled the familiar scent and allowed his eyes to close briefly. The gesture gave him closeness without taking anything Amor had not already offered.

Amor sighed again. His fingers curled faintly into Valdor’s clothing. The warrior held him more securely.

Outside, the capital gradually gave way to the quieter roads surrounding House Moons. The clatter of crowded streets softened, and the carriage settled into the smoother rhythm of the estate approach. Valdor opened his eyes when the horses began slowing.

Through the window, he recognized the wrought silver gates. They were home.

The word returned with unexpected warmth. Amor had used it casually earlier.

"The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back and we can all go home."

Valdor had spent only a few nights at House Moons. It was not his lodge, his settlement, or the northern land where his family’s fires burned. Yet Amor waited there. That made the place feel temporarily like home.

The carriage passed through the gates. Valdor looked toward the sleeping man in his arms and considered waking him. Amor needed to know they had arrived, and Lanslet would undoubtedly be waiting to examine him again. Still, the peaceful expression made interruption feel cruel.

The carriage rolled toward the front steps. Amor’s head rose and fell slightly with every breath over Valdor’s heart. Valdor decided he could carry him inside asleep. The vehicle slowed. Then stopped.

Voices sounded outside as servants hurried forward to receive them. The second carriage pulled in behind, bringing Vervath, Lanslet, and likely another argument about how the return journey should have been arranged. Valdor ignored them for one final moment. He looked down at Amor.

The man had reached for him. Trusted him. Slept in his arms.

Valdor touched his cheek lightly to lavender hair once more. The newly discovered royal connection might ease his doubts before kingdom society, but it did not make him worthy of Amor. No title could accomplish that. Worth would be proven through choices, particularly when Amor was too vulnerable to see them.

Valdor had been tempted. He had stopped. That mattered more than royal blood. The carriage door opened.

Morning light entered the cabin, followed by Lanslet’s worried voice.

"Oh. Is he asleep?"

Valdor looked toward the marquess.

"Yes."

Lanslet’s expression softened instantly.

"Did he wake during the ride?"

"No."

"Did his ankle move from the carriage ride? I made sure to et new ones that were especially smooth on the rode."

"No."

"Did he ask to eat anything? I will have th kitchen collaborate with Doctor Haverin to make him lunch."

"He will when he wakes."

Lanslet stepped closer to the doorway, clearly considering taking Amor into his own arms. The sleeping young noble shifted at the sound of voices and tightened his fingers in Valdor’s coat. His face turned farther into the warrior’s chest. Lanslet saw. He sighed.

"Don’t think this means I approve of you as my son-in-law just yet. Carry him carefully into his room. If he so much as winces I will take him back in a heartbeat."

Valdor nodded. He rose from the reinforced seat with Amor secure against him, ducking beneath the carriage frame before stepping onto the estate drive. The young noble did not wake. His head remained over Valdor’s heart, protected from the sunlight by the edge of the mantle.

Vervath emerged from the second carriage. His gaze moved toward his sleeping son-in-law candidate—though no one had granted him permission to use such a description—and then toward Valdor’s unusually softened expression. Something knowing began gathering upon his face.

Valdor looked at him. Vervath wisely said nothing. For three full seconds. Then he glanced toward Lanslet.

"He carries him like he carried baby as a Amor. Remember? You made such a scene but then he pulled that trick on Lady Moons!"

Valdor continued walking. Lanslet closed his eyes in exasperation.

"Sshh! Do not wake my son with another kidnapping story. Especially that horrendous first meeting. That will live in my nightmares for years to come."

"Why? It comforts him and makes for a good bedtime story. Well, it makes for a good story anyway."

"He is asleep right now. Can you please stay quiet."

"Then it worked! The story helped him sleep."

"Shush!"

Valdor carried Amor up the front steps. Servants opened the doors before him, lowering their voices the moment they saw the sleeping heir. Elsie pressed both hands to her chest, while Mary hurried ahead to prepare the bed and Junia whispered instructions concerning lunch trays. Doctor Haverin, who had arrived in another vehicle, followed while insisting Amor should be examined once awake.

Valdor entered the familiar halls. The palace, queen, hidden bloodline, and royal questions remained behind him for now. They would require answers soon. Samara wished to meet Amor, Vervath owed his son twenty-five years of explanation, and the kingdom’s understanding of the Blackstone treaty might be far more personal than anyone knew.

None of it demanded this moment. Amor slept safely in his arms. Valdor carried him toward the stairs.

He would place him in bed, keep the ankle elevated, make certain food waited when he woke, and remain nearby unless asked to leave. Courtship could begin with grand gifts, formal declarations, or rituals from either culture later.

For now, it began with restraint. With carrying rather than claiming. With choosing not to steal a kiss because Valdor wanted something far greater than a secret moment Amor could never remember.

He wanted Amor to reach for him while awake.

And when he did, Valdor intended to be there.