Chapter 42: Heartbeat

Valdor did not allow the newly agreed courtship to distract him from what he considered the more urgent matter. Amor still had half a plate of roasted vegetables, several pieces of poultry, and one thick slice of bread remaining before the honeyed fruit tart could be considered. The warrior returned the tray to its proper position across the bed and looked at the unfinished meal with the grave attention he might have given a poorly defended mountain pass. Amor followed his gaze and immediately understood that romance had not softened him enough to permit dessert without negotiation.

"I have eaten sufficiently and require my dessert, please..."

Amor said. Valdor looked toward the vegetables.

"I have eaten most of them."

"There are six pieces."

"There were considerably more before."

"Six remain."

Amor lifted his fan and pointed it toward him.

"A courteous suitor would not count."

"A careless suitor would let you grow weak."

"I am not going to grow weak because I declined six pieces of roasted root!"

Valdor picked up the fork. Amor stared. The warrior speared one glazed carrot and held it toward him with such calm certainty that resistance became less an argument and more an inefficient delay. Amor considered refusing on principle. Then he remembered that his first day of formal courtship had already involved a royal hearing, an injured ankle, an episode of panic, and enough emotional exhaustion to leave him asleep through an entire journey home.

He opened his mouth. Valdor fed him the carrot. Amor chewed with visible displeasure.

"I want it entered into the record that I accepted this under protest."

"There is no clerk."

"I will tell Elsie."

"She will side with me."

’That is probably true. Humph! Whatever, I’ll let it slide this once.’

The maids had already demonstrated a willingness to transform Valdor’s every practical gesture into evidence of an epic romance. If Amor complained that his new suitor ensured he finished his vegetables, Junia would likely describe it as a warrior nourishing his beloved after battle. Mary would sigh, and Elsie would ask whether Amor wanted the kitchen to prepare the same meal tomorrow.

Valdor offered another piece. Amor accepted it with less resistance.

By the fifth vegetable, he had begun eating from the fork without pretending each bite represented oppression. Valdor gave him bread between portions, then sliced the remaining poultry into smaller pieces and waited until Amor consumed those as well. His patience never appeared strained. Amor found that almost irritating.

"You enjoy this."

"Yes."

"You enjoy ordering me to eat?"

"I enjoy you eating."

"Humph! That distinction sounds convenient."

"It is true."

Amor studied him. Valdor had taken his conditions seriously only minutes earlier. He would not issue orders when he meant to express fear, and he would not decide what Amor wanted without asking. Yet food seemed to exist in a separate category within his mind, protected by some deeply Blackstone conviction that nourishment overruled flirtation, pride, and noble complaints. Amor finished the final piece of bread.

"There..."

Valdor examined the plate.

"That’s everything!"

The warrior nodded. Amor brightened and reached toward the tart. Valdor took it first. The movement was unremarkable.

A broad hand closed around the dessert plate and drew it beyond Amor’s reach before his fingers touched the edge. Valdor’s expression held no cruelty or hidden amusement. He simply moved the tart toward himself.

Amor’s body reacted before reason. His stomach tightened. For one sharp instant, he saw a different hand taking food from his plate.

His mother saying he had eaten enough while placing the final preserved fruit into her own mouth.

His father removing a ration because Lovell had failed to complete some task quickly enough.

The thin scrape of metal against a bowl as someone stronger decided hunger was a useful punishment.

Disappointment flooded him.

Not in Valdor. In himself.

He knew the warrior would not take food to control him. Valdor had given him the best meat, purchased meals for strangers because waste distressed him, and repeatedly made certain Amor ate before accepting rest. Nothing in the man’s conduct justified fear.

His body did not care. The old response had already formed. Amor looked away before it reached his face completely. Valdor noticed anyway. The fork in his hand paused above the tart.

"What happened?"

"Nothing!"

The answer came too quickly. Valdor studied him. Amor forced his fingers to relax upon the blanket.

"I... I thought you were taking it away."

The warrior’s expression changed. He didn’t appear offense or confusion. He looked like Amor’s confession pained him.

"I would not."

"I know..."

Amor’s voice softened.

"That is why I am annoyed."

"With me?"

"With myself."

Valdor set the tart down immediately. He placed it close enough that Amor could reach without stretching, then withdrew his hand entirely.

"You can take it..."

Amor looked toward the plate. The gesture mattered.

Valdor did not insist that Amor’s fear was unreasonable or demand trust as proof of affection. He returned control before explaining himself. The tart remained within Amor’s reach, untouched.

"I did not mean to remove it."

Valdor said.

"What did you intend?"

"To feed you."

Amor blinked. Valdor picked up the small dessert fork only after Amor nodded. The warrior cut through the soft honeyed cake, gathering fruit, cream, and a thin layer of golden crust upon the fork. He lifted the bite toward Amor’s lips.

"You are tired."

Amor’s cheeks warmed.

"That does not prevent me from feeding myself."

"No."

"Then why?"

"I want to."

The direct answer disarmed him. Amor looked at the offered cake, then at Valdor’s face. The warrior waited without bringing the fork closer, allowing the young noble to decide whether the gesture was welcome. There was nothing parental, controlling, or humiliating within it.

It was courtship. Newly declared and still awkward but entirely sincere. Amor parted his lips. Valdor fed him the cake.

The honey melted first, followed by the warm spice of baked fruit and the softness of cream. Amor closed his mouth around the fork carefully before Valdor withdrew it. The entire gesture felt far too intimate for something as ordinary as dessert.

His blush deepened. Valdor prepared another bite. Amor looked toward the moonstone clasp fastened beside his shoulder.

"I suppose I should feel honored..."

The warrior paused.

"Royal hands are feeding me."

Valdor’s brows drew together.

"They are my hands."

"Your aunt is the queen."

"That does not change them."

"It changes how kingdom nobles would describe them."

Valdor brought the next bite toward him.

"I would feed you if I were a king."

Amor accepted the cake. He swallowed, then smiled behind the edge of his fan.

"Would that make me a queen?"

Valdor nodded. Then stopped.

"You are a man..."

Amor’s smile faltered.

"You would also be a king."

Valdor corrected. The young noble lowered his fan slowly. They looked at one another.

The conversation had drifted dangerously close to the treasonous territory established by the maids earlier. Amor imagined a palace clerk somehow overhearing that the Moons heir and the queen’s newly discovered nephew were assigning themselves matching crowns over dessert. Lanslet would not survive the political explanation. Amor pointed toward the tart.

"More cake."

Valdor understood the retreat. He fed him another bite. Neither mentioned crowns again.

...

By the time the final piece disappeared, Amor’s earlier tension had eased. Valdor allowed him to drink water, wiped a trace of cream from the corner of his mouth with a cloth only after asking, and arranged the empty dishes upon the tray. His movements remained efficient, though a quiet satisfaction rested beneath them. Amor leaned back against the pillows.

"You appear pleased."

"You ate."

"I usually eat, what’s different today?"

"You complained less near the end."

"That was exhaustion!"

Valdor lifted the tray.

"Rest."

Amor’s fingers tightened beneath the blanket. The word should have felt welcome. His body remained heavy, and the deep sleep during the carriage had not completely erased the strain of the hearing. Yet the thought of closing his eyes after Valdor left brought an unwelcome flicker of uncertainty.

What if the nightmares returned?

Valdor’s heartbeat had held them away twice. Once beside the bed. Once in the carriage.

Amor did not want to admit he had begun depending upon that comfort so quickly. Dependence resembled weakness, and weakness had always invited someone to decide how much safety he deserved. Still, the idea of sleeping alone felt less peaceful than it had before. Valdor moved toward the door.

"I will return before dinner."

Amor nodded. The warrior took one more step.

"Valdor..."

He stopped immediately. Amor looked toward the fan in his hand, tracing the painted edge with one finger. The request seemed stranger now that he needed to speak it directly. In the carriage, he had listened without asking, hidden beneath sleep and exhaustion. Now he wanted the comfort while awake.

"May I feel your heart again?"

Valdor became very still. Amor’s cheeks warmed.

"It’ll only be briefly quick!"

The tray remained balanced in the warrior’s hands.

"I thought perhaps..."

Amor looked toward the window.

"If I remember the rhythm, I will sleep more easily."

The explanation revealed more than he intended. Valdor heard it. He did not ask why sleep required protection or what waited when the rhythm disappeared. He merely turned back toward the bed and placed the tray carefully upon the waiting cart. Then he crossed the room. Amor watched him approach. The request suddenly felt far more intimate than it had when spoken.

Valdor sat beside the bed, not upon the low chair this time but along the edge of the mattress after checking that his weight would not disturb the injured ankle. He leaned toward Amor, bringing his chest close enough that the young noble would not need to stretch or shift from the pillows. Dark markings followed the movement of muscle beneath warm skin.

Amor’s hand remained in his lap. Valdor waited. No impatience entered his expression. That patience made the anticipation worse.

Amor could hear his own heartbeat now, embarrassingly quick compared with the steady rhythm he remembered. He wondered whether Valdor understood how strange the request appeared—a nobleman asking to place his hand upon another man’s bare chest simply because he found the heartbeat soothing. Perhaps it would be less awkward to withdraw.

He had already asked. Taking the request back would only make his embarrassment more obvious. Amor lifted his uninjured hand. His fingers touched Valdor’s chest.

Warmth met him first. Then the beat. Deep, strong, and steady beneath his palm. Amor’s breath softened.

The sensation was still so different while awake. He could feel the exact movement beneath skin and muscle, each contraction pressing faintly into his hand before receding. The sound existed beneath touch, a low, living rhythm more reliable than any clock.

He spread his fingers slightly. Valdor remained motionless.

Amor imagined the beat driving away danger, not through magic but certainty. Monsters could scrape against doors, ruins could collapse, and strangers could make promises with knives hidden behind them. This heart would remain.

The thought soothed him.

He became absorbed enough that he stopped noticing the silence around them. Valdor noticed everything. The delicate hand resting against his chest. The concentration upon Amor’s face. The slow movement of his thumb following the rhythm unconsciously.

Valdor had expected pleasure from the touch. He had not expected embarrassment. Heat gathered beneath his skin, rising into his ears and moving down the sides of his neck. Amor’s hand felt impossibly soft against the hardened chest, each fingertip placed over a part of him no leather armor protected. The trust within the gesture made it more intimate than any touch driven by desire alone.

His heart betrayed him. The rhythm quickened. Amor felt it. His brows drew together.

The beat struck harder against his palm, no longer the steady pattern he wanted to memorize. He waited several moments, wondering whether Valdor had moved or whether the warrior’s position had made his breathing difficult. The rhythm accelerated again. Amor lifted his head.

"Why is it—"

The question ended. Their faces were very close.

Valdor had leaned forward to make the touch easy, while Amor had raised himself without noticing. Only a small distance remained between them, close enough that Amor could see the darker ring around Valdor’s obsidian irises and a faint scar near his cheek. He could feel the warrior’s breath.

Valdor’s eyes had softened dangerously. Want lived there. Not hidden or demanding, simply waiting. Heat rushed through Amor’s body.

His pale complexion betrayed every degree of it, color beginning at the tips of his ears before spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. The blush continued beneath the collar of his night robe until the visible skin near his collarbones turned pink. He wanted to hide behind his fan, but one hand remained against Valdor’s heart and the other rested too far away.

Valdor’s ears had reddened as well. The deeper caramel tone of his skin concealed the color more easily, though Amor saw it beneath the braids near his jawline. His mouth parted slightly. The heartbeat beneath Amor’s palm continued racing.

Neither moved away. The air between them warmed.

Amor’s gaze dropped toward Valdor’s lips before he could prevent it. The warrior noticed.

His hand rose, then stopped near Amor’s wrist without touching. The restraint made the moment more intense, not less. Every motion waited for permission. Amor’s pulse quickened in answer. Valdor lowered his voice.

"Still soothing?"

Amor swallowed.

"Mm. Less steady, though."

"You caused that."

The admission sent another wave of heat through him. Amor looked into his eyes. For one dangerous moment, the distance between them felt ready to disappear.

The bedroom door flew open.

"Vervath, stop—"

Lanslet entered at speed. Vervath came through the doorway a step ahead of him, carrying nothing and wearing the pleased expression of a man who had ignored several direct instructions concerning Amor’s need for rest. Lanslet had apparently been chasing him through the corridor, one hand still extended as though prepared to seize the chieftain’s cloak. Both fathers stopped.

Amor remained half-reclined against the pillows. Valdor sat upon the bed, leaning close. Their joined hands rested over his heart.

The room became completely silent.

Vervath understood first. His gaze moved from Amor’s palm to Valdor’s red ears, then toward the unmistakable softness in his son’s eyes. Delight spread across his face with terrifying speed. He looked ready to shout loud enough for the entire estate to hear.

Lanslet understood something else. His expression turned dangerously calm.

"What..."

He asked.

"Is happening here, Amor Moons?"

Amor tried to withdraw his hand. Valdor covered it gently before thinking, not trapping but reassuring. That made the scene worse.

Lanslet’s gaze dropped toward the large hand holding Amor’s against the bare chest.

"Remove your hand from my son now."

Valdor did so immediately. Amor’s palm fell back into his lap. The loss of the heartbeat felt sudden. Lanslet crossed the room.

"I left him resting."

"He ate."

Valdor said.

"That does not explain... this!"

"I asked, Father!"

Amor replied. His father stopped. Vervath’s smile widened. Lanslet looked toward Amor.

"You asked to touch him?"

The question sounded less scandalized than confused.

"Ye-yes."

"Why?"

Amor’s blush deepened.

"That-that is private!"

Vervath made a delighted sound. Lanslet turned toward him.

"You! Do. Not. Even."

"What? I said nothing."

"You are thinking so loudly You don’t need words."

Vervath folded his arms, visibly struggling not to announce his conclusion. The struggle lasted approximately two seconds.

"Oh? So then you know they are courting then."

Lanslet froze. Valdor’s posture remained steady. Amor closed his eyes. His father looked between them.

"No."

The word emerged calmly. Too calmly. Amor opened his eyes again.

"Father—"

"You are exhausted and-and are merely confused."

"That doesn’t make me confused—"

"You experienced an extreme panic attack at the palace. We had to call for recess. It affected how you think."

"Yes and recovered just fine after the recess. Doctor Haverin said so."

"You were humiliated before the council. You’re clearly in shock and have no idea what you were agreeing to."

"I was also vindicated and that was hours ago."

"You are injured, confined to bed, and emotionally vulnerable..."

Amor’s expression sharpened. Lanslet turned toward Valdor.

"You chose this moment to pressure him?"

Valdor’s face hardened. Before he could answer, Amor spoke.

"He did not pressure me!"

The firmness in his voice stopped everyone. Amor sat straighter, ignoring the faint ache in his ankle.

"Valdor asked whether I would permit him to court me..."

Lanslet’s expression became unreadable.

"He explained what he meant..."

Amor continued.

"He told me there would be no assumption of engagement, marriage, ownership, or relocation. He said I could end the courtship whenever I chose..."

Vervath looked toward his son with visible pride. Valdor looked only at Amor.

"I gave conditions..."

Amor said.

"He accepted them."

"What conditions?"

Lanslet asked immediately.

"That is between us."

"I am your father!"

"You are not my courtship negotiator!"

"I could be—"

"No!"

The answer came quickly enough to surprise him. Amor’s hands tightened over the blanket, but he continued.

"He asked. I answered. The choice was mine."

The words held more than this room. Lanslet heard it. So did Valdor.

Amor had spent years allowing other people to define what his affection meant, what relationships he should endure, and whether refusal counted as final. His parents used his want for parental affection to use him however they wished. Alphonsins ignored his breakup. The original story treated his devotion as a role rather than a decision. Even Lanslet’s protection could become another voice speaking before Amor had the opportunity.

Not now.

"He may court me."

Amor said. Lanslet’s expression became dangerously calm.

"May he?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

Amor blinked.

"That is not how courtship works."

"Tsk, then kingdom courtship requires improvement. I’ll bring it up with the king at my next audience with him."

Vervath nodded.

"A fixed hunting season is practical."

Lanslet looked toward him.

"Do not agree with me on this. If you hadn’t brought your son, none of this would have happened."

"What? It is my fault I agree with good ideas? You were the one who wrote to bring him."

"You believe they should marry after three days. Do you honestly think I would have agreed if I knew they would become like this after only three days"

"They met twenty years ago. You must admit that counts for something."

"They were only children!"

"Eh, really, one was a child. One was a baby."

"That makes it worse then!"

Vervath considered.

"The baby appeared pleased."

Amor raised his fan.

"I will throw both of you out."

The fathers quieted. Only briefly. Vervath stepped farther into the room.

"Courtship is nearly engagement. We should continue our talks, now Valdor can speak to us about it."

"No!"

Lanslet said immediately.

"No? Is courtship in the kingdom different? In Blackstone, it often becomes engagement—"

"That does not make them the same. Amor can always refuse the engagement."

"Then engagement becomes marriage—"

"Not automatically!"

"And marriage may bring Amor north!"

Lanslet turned slowly.

"Absolutely not."

Vervath’s brows rose.

"He may choose any lodge he wishes! Better still, my son can just build a new one for the bride. Valdor is going to need to move out if he is to start his own family."

"He is not moving north! End of discussion."

Amor stared at his father.

"You just defended my right to choose through the entire hearing! Why is dating Valdor off the table but it was fine with other noblemen and prince’s? Father, you’re being a hypocrite!"

"I defended your right to choose a future within reasonable distance of me. Those men are within the kingdom’s walls and the second prince was willing to defect to the Asterian Empire. This is different, not hypocrisy, young man."

"That is not a right! That is supervised geography over my living. I’m not a child anymore, Father. Trust me."

Lanslet ignored him and looked toward Valdor.

"Courtship is not engagement."

Valdor nodded.

"Yes."

"Engagement is not marriage."

"Yes."

"Marriage does not mean Amor moves north."

"Yes..."

Lanslet paused. Some of the hostility left his expression. Valdor continued.

"Nothing happens unless Amor chooses."

The agreement was so immediate and qualified that Lanslet found no obvious point to attack. He had expected the warrior to defend Blackstone custom, claim marital authority, or imply that Amor would eventually belong to the north. Instead, Valdor supported every boundary. Lanslet looked suspiciously toward his pleased expression.

"You are... smiling?"

Valdor’s mouth was barely curved.

"Yes."

"Stop it."

"No."

Vervath laughed. Amor lifted his fan to hide his own smile. Lanslet saw that too.

The marquess exhaled and sat upon the chair beside the bed as though the day had finally become too exhausting to remain standing. He looked at his son for several quiet seconds. Beneath the frustration, fear, and protective instinct, he saw something he could not dismiss.

Amor looked happy. Obviously embarrassed and flustered but happy.

The last relationship had made him chase, plead, and exhaust himself trying to earn moments of warmth. This one had begun with Valdor asking permission and Amor setting terms. Lanslet disliked how quickly it developed, how far north it might lead, and how pleased Vervath already appeared. He did not dislike the choice itself.

"Courtship only within the limits of dating. Not marriage or engagement."

Lanslet said. Amor lowered the fan.

"You do not get to approve it, Father."

"I do get to acknowledge it though as my right as a concerned father who knows about your spotty dating life and pick of men."

"That sounds almost political."

"Haaah, I have had a political day."

Vervath moved toward Valdor and struck one heavy hand against his shoulder.

"You succeeded my boy. I knew you could do it! [The Peaks have blessed your hunt.]"

Valdor gave him a flat look.

"[It is not a hunt.]"

"Hehe, not yet."

Amor frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing."

Valdor replied. Vervath grinned. Lanslet pointed toward the chieftain.

"You will not begin planning a wedding without me."

"Me? I have planned nothing."

"You are already imagining it! I can tell and I say it will be spring, Amor is too fragile for a winter wedding and the pastel colors will look perfect surrounding my moonlight."

"The north has excellent winter ceremonies though. How about two weddings?"

Amor threw a pillow. Vervath caught it.

The motion disturbed the carefully arranged bed enough that Doctor Haverin would likely sense it from another floor. Lanslet immediately stood and replaced the remaining pillow behind Amor’s back, muttering about reckless chieftains, premature weddings, and the impossibility of maintaining medical order in his own home. Valdor rose from the mattress.

The intimacy of the moment had broken, but its warmth remained. Amor’s hand still tingled where it rested upon Valdor’s heart. The rhythm lingered in his memory, no longer entirely steady because Amor knew he could change it. Vervath looked toward the empty meal tray.

"Oh? He ate lunch already?"

"All of it."

Valdor said.

"You even got him to eat the vegetables, boy?"

"Yes."

Amor glared at both of them.

"I am present."

Vervath nodded approvingly.

"Then it has already become a successful courtship!"

"It has existed for less than an hour, Vervath."

"It is a strong beginning!"

Lanslet looked toward Valdor again.

"Did you feed him?"

"Yes."

The marquess’s expression became complicated. Amor opened his fan.

"Do not ask for details, Father. You already know you will disagree with them."

"I... I was not going to. I was just concerned if he did it right."

"You were, I can tell."

"I was maybe thinking."

"You think loudly too."

Vervath laughed hard enough to return the pillow to Amor. Valdor lifted the empty tray from the cart.

"I will bring it downstairs."

Amor looked toward him.

"You said you will return before dinner?"

"I will."

The assurance came simply. Amor felt the familiar reluctance at the thought of him leaving, though the room now contained both fathers and enough noise to prevent any immediate sleep. He nodded. Valdor crossed toward the door.

Vervath moved to follow, likely intending to extract every detail of the proposal before they reached the stairs. Lanslet stood and blocked him with one arm.

"You remain here."

Vervath frowned.

"What? Why?"

"We need to discuss what you consider courtship."

"I consider it the path before engagement."

"No! See this is why we need to keep discussing this matter."

Valdor escaped before the argument began. At the doorway, he looked back.

Amor still sat wrapped in the blankets, pale hair spilling over his shoulders and blush lingering near his collarbones. Their eyes met across the room. Valdor’s expression softened.

Amor placed his hand over his own chest. A small imitation of the earlier gesture. Valdor understood. His slight smile returned. Then he left with the tray.

Vervath watched the exchange. Lanslet followed his gaze and sighed with the exhaustion of a man realizing that courtship permission had been granted before he had the opportunity to establish a questionnaire, background investigation, and formal review period he often did with Amor’s past suitors in secret. Amor lifted the fan before either father could comment.

"No one speaks."

Vervath opened his mouth. Amor pointed the fan toward the door. The chieftain closed it again. For three entire seconds.

Then he looked toward Lanslet.

"We should also discuss grandchildren."

Amor threw the second pillow.