Chapter 47: A Room With A View

Amor noticed Valdor’s exhaustion before he noticed the full beauty of the carved support. That was not to say the support failed to deserve attention. It rested beneath his injured leg with such careful precision that the ache in his ankle had already softened, the smooth ash wood holding his calf at a gentle angle while the leather padding kept pressure away from the swollen joint. Two tiny moons curved along one side, and little northern flowers bloomed along the other, the two designs meeting without either swallowing the other.

But Valdor looked tired.

He stood beside the bed as though nothing in his body had changed from the day before, broad shoulders squared, dark eyes steady, hands resting calmly at his sides. Yet the shadows beneath his eyes were faintly darker than usual, and the set of his shoulders had slowed in a way Amor doubted anyone else would notice. Pale wood dust still clung near his hairline, trapped beneath one black braid like evidence he had forgotten to erase. Amor’s fingers lingered upon one carved moon.

"You did not sleep."

Valdor looked at him.

"I rested enough."

"That is not an answer."

"It is close."

"It is evasive."

Valdor’s expression remained stoic, but the silence that followed condemned him more thoroughly than confession might have. Amor’s chest tightened, touched by the gift and guilty in the same breath. The support was beautiful because it was useful first, and that somehow made it worse; Valdor had not stayed awake all night making some ornamental proof meant to impress a room full of nobles. He had deprived himself of sleep so Amor’s ankle would hurt less.

"You should have rested instead of making me this. It could have waited."

Amor said.

"You needed this."

"I could have used pillows for another day."

"They shift."

"So do people who have not slept."

Valdor looked down at the ankle support, as though the object itself might defend his decision.

"I am fine."

"You look terrible."

"You looked worse before I placed your foot properly."

"Humph! That is not how compliments work!"

"It was not a compliment..."

Amor narrowed his eyes. Valdor’s mouth almost moved, but fatigue kept even his near-smile restrained.

"I am a warrior..."

He said.

"Staying awake one night is not beyond me."

"You are not a ghost."

"No."

"Are you like one of your mountain trackers? Lying motionless in snow for three days while waiting for a monster to blink."

"Trackers do not wait for monsters to blink."

"That is not the point of my question."

Valdor considered.

"They do stay awake longer than I do."

"Aha! So even you admit you have limits."

"Yes."

The admission was plainly meant to end the subject. It did not.

Amor looked again at the dust near Valdor’s hairline, the faint drag in his voice, and the way his hands flexed once as though soreness remained beneath the skin. Valdor had limits, and he had reached toward them for Amor without complaint. The tenderness of it made Amor want to scold him and thank him and never let him out of sight again, which seemed unreasonable before breakfast. Instead, he asked.

"What do you usually do in the morning?"

Valdor blinked once, as though the question had shifted too far from the argument.

"Train."

Amor had expected washing, inspecting weapons, eating, or perhaps sharpening something dangerous while terrifying the household staff.

"Every morning?"

"Unless injured or forbidden."

"Before breakfast?"

"Yes."

Amor regretted the question almost immediately because his mind supplied the image with no regard for dignity.

Valdor in the morning light.

Valdor without the heavier furs, body moving with controlled strength beneath the pale gold sun.

Valdor’s arms, shoulders, back, and chest marked with Blackstone lines while sweat traced the deep cuts of muscle that had carried Amor through palace corridors and held him safely through sleep.

Amor’s face warmed. He looked toward the window as if checking the weather.

"Ah-ahem! S-since I am trapped in this room because everyone has conspired against my freedom while recovering, you may conduct your morning training where I can see it..."

Valdor’s gaze sharpened slightly.

"For-for my entertainment!"

Amor added quickly.

"N-not because I am interested or anything, dummy!"

A pause followed.

"You want to watch me train?"

"Uh—I-I want to watch something!"

Amor replied, immediately defensive.

"Un-unless you intend to provide theater, musicians, and dramatic storytelling before breakfast. Humph!"

Valdor studied him. Amor held the fan a little higher. The warrior understood enough to be amused, though not enough to turn the moment cruel.

"I can train in the courtyard below your window."

Amor had prepared several arguments in case Valdor refused. The immediate agreement left him with none.

"Oh."

"If you want."

"I said you may!"

Valdor inclined his head.

"Then I will..."

The simplicity of the response somehow made Amor more flustered. He had expected negotiation, teasing, or at least a raised brow. Instead, Valdor accepted the request as if entertaining Amor through disciplined physical exertion outside his window were an ordinary responsibility of courtship. Perhaps, Amor thought helplessly, Blackstone courtship was going to kill him in unexpected ways. Valdor checked the ankle support one more time before leaving.

"I will return after training."

"And washing!"

Amor said quickly. Valdor looked at him.

"Be-because you’ll be... um s-sweaty and stuff."

"Yes."

"N-not because I was imagining anything weird!"

"I said nothing."

"You thought!"

Valdor’s tired eyes warmed faintly.

"I will wash."

He left before Amor could recover properly. The room seemed too bright afterward. Elsie entered not long after with tea, fresh water, and the brisk expression of someone prepared to help Amor begin the day whether he wished to acknowledge the morning or not. She took one look at his face, then toward the open window, then back at his face. Suspicion bloomed immediately.

"What has happened?"

"N-nothing!"

"My lord?"

"I-um... Ahem! I require paper."

Elsie set the tea down.

"For correspondence?"

"Studying."

"Studying, my lord?"

She repeated.

"Yes."

"Of what?"

Amor lifted his chin.

"Blackstone customs."

Elsie turned slowly toward the window, where the courtyard below lay empty but clearly visible from the bed. Then she looked back at him with an expression so serene it became merciless.

"Of course, my lord. I shall bring ink for your scholarly appreciation of foreign musculature."

Amor pointed the fan at her.

"You are dismissed!"

"I have only just arrived."

"Then you are dismissed efficiently!"

Elsie poured tea.

"Shall I also provide a notebook labeled strict cultural observations of Lord Valdor’s shoulders?"

"I will reduce your wages! Don’t test me. Humph!"

"You increased them last week."

"Ah! Th-then... I will reduce them to their previous amount!"

"That would still be quite generous, my lord."

Amor made a frustrated sound and turned toward the window. Elsie smiled as she arranged the tea, then brought paper and ink anyway. She placed them beside the bed on the adjustable table with a solemnity completely undermined by the glitter in her eyes.

"For your research."

"I am going to write actual observations. I’m serious!"

"Certainly you will. I have full faith in you."

"I hate you."

"No, you do not."

"No..."

Amor admitted.

"But I am considering it."

Below the window, Valdor appeared. Amor forgot Elsie entirely.

The courtyard behind House Moons had been designed for polite exercise, garden walks, and perhaps the occasional practice of sword forms among young nobles more concerned with posture than survival. Valdor transformed it simply by entering. He had removed the heavier furs, keeping only dark fitted skin shorts that ended much too high upon his powerful thighs to be called courtly, tall boots, and leather wraps around his wrists and hands.

His chest was bare beneath the morning sun. The Blackstone markings across his skin looked sharper in the light, dark lines following muscle, scars, and old ritual patterns that made his body seem less decorated than recorded. His hair had been tied higher, several braids secured back from his face, revealing the strong line of his neck. Even from above, Amor could see the lingering signs of exhaustion in the set of his shoulders. Then Valdor began to move.

At first, it was only stretching. Slow, deliberate motions that looked almost gentle until Amor understood how much control they required. Valdor bent, twisted, lowered into deep stances, rolled his shoulders, and extended one leg behind him with the ease of a man whose body had been trained to obey under worse conditions than a sunny courtyard. Muscles shifted beneath his skin like something powerful waking carefully.

Amor dipped his pen into ink. He did not write. Elsie glanced at the blank page.

"Mm. Very scholarly, young master."

"Shh! Silence."

Valdor moved into weapon forms next. A practice pole rested against the courtyard wall, longer than a standard staff and weighted at both ends. He lifted it with one hand first, testing balance, then brought the other hand into place. The first swing cut through the morning air with enough force that Amor heard the low rush even through the open window on the third floor.

The forms began slowly. A downward strike. A turn. A sweep low enough to remove an enemy’s legs. A thrust that stopped precisely at chest height before pulling back into guard.

Valdor did not perform for prettiness. There was no exaggerated flourish meant to impress spectators, no wasted spin, no dramatic pause to show the strength of his arms. Every movement had a reason. That made it more captivating.

Amor watched the flex of Valdor’s shoulders as he shifted the pole behind his back and redirected its weight. Sunlight caught on the faint sheen of sweat beginning to form across his chest. The lines of his waist tightened when he turned, powerful and controlled, leading into thighs built by mountains rather than ballroom training.

Amor’s mouth had gone dry. He picked up the teacup and drank too quickly. Elsie very politely looked elsewhere.

"Not. One. Word."

Amor said.

"I would not dare to interrupt such scholarly work, hehe."

He considered throwing the pillow. Then remembered he had injured his ankle and needed all remaining dignity. Below, Valdor changed pace.

The slow forms became faster. The pole moved with brutal grace, striking, reversing, blocking, and circling in patterns that seemed too heavy for such speed. His breathing deepened, visible in the rise and fall of his chest, but remained controlled. Sweat darkened the skin near his collarbones and traced the edge of one scar across his ribs. Amor watched because Valdor was beautiful and captivating in a way Amor just couldn’t reach in a masculine sense. That was the first truth. The second arrived more slowly.

Every strike ended. That seemed obvious until he noticed how carefully it happened. Valdor carried enough force to break bone, yet each motion stopped exactly where he intended it to stop. Nothing continued simply because strength had begun moving. Nothing escaped him.

Power and restraint lived together in his body. The realization softened the heat in Amor’s face into something far more dangerous. Valdor was not safe because he lacked the capacity to hurt. He was safe because he controlled it.

He had thrown Alphonsins down without breaking him, held Amor without trapping him, and trained with a weapon as though every strike mattered most in the moment it stopped. The same restraint lived in his hands when he touched an injured ankle and in his voice when he asked permission before closeness.

Amor’s pen finally moved. He wrote one sentence without thinking.

>"He does not waste force."

Then he stared at the words. Elsie leaned subtly closer. Amor covered the page with his hand.

"Don’t look!"

"I saw nothing."

"You absolutely did, liar!"

"I saw academic insight."

"You saw treasonous ogling!"

"My lord, at no point did I say treasonous."

Amor groaned. Valdor moved from weapon forms to strength training.

He set the pole aside and lifted a pair of heavy practice stones from the courtyard edge, one in each hand. Amor had seen stable men struggle to move similar stones during construction work. Valdor raised them to shoulder height, lowered them with control, then repeated the motion as though the weights were merely stubborn baskets.

His muscles tightened under the sun. His breathing grew heavier. Sweat gathered more visibly now, sliding along the strong line of his back when he turned. The marks across his skin flexed with every movement, transforming from ornament into a map of living power. Amor forgot the page entirely again. Elsie poured more tea.

"For hydration, my lord. Perhaps it is you is is the one in danger now."

She said. Amor took it without looking away. Valdor continued until even from the window Amor could see fatigue trying to enter his limbs. He did not fight it with stubborn denial. He adjusted, slowed the final movements, and ended with stretches to release tension rather than pretending exhaustion did not exist. That restraint, too, mattered. At last, he stood in the center of the courtyard.

He looked up. Amor panicked. He seized the paper, dipped the pen, and made a frantic attempt to appear as if he had been recording something deeply intellectual rather than watching Valdor’s chest rise and fall beneath the morning sun. The ink splattered slightly across the page. Elsie covered her mouth with her sleeve.

Valdor’s gaze found him. Even from below, Amor could tell he knew. The warrior lifted one hand. Amor hesitated, then lifted his fan in return, as if granting royal approval to a passing guard. A few minutes later, Valdor entered the room.

He had bathed quickly. Clean water had dampened his hair near the temples, and he now wore fresh furs over his shoulders, though his chest remained partly visible beneath the open cut. The moonstone clasp gleamed beside the dark hide, catching the morning light with cool lavender flashes. He looked cleaner, but not less tired. Amor frowned immediately.

"You look terrible now."

Valdor stopped beside the bed.

"You still look tired."

"I was injured, it’s normal to be tired when injured."

"That is not a defense."

"It is an explanation."

"Then sleep."

"You sleep first."

Amor narrowed his eyes. Valdor stared back. Neither believed the other. Elsie, sensing an argument that would last until lunch if left alone, gathered the untouched study papers and the tea tray.

"I will return shortly to discuss breakfast."

"Breakfast already?"

Amor asked.

"It is morning, my lord."

"No vegetables, I had some at dinner recently already, okay."

"You slept poorly; you need them more than ever, young master. Plus I don’t think a certain foreign envoy will approve of that menu change."

Amor looked sharply at her. Elsie’s expression remained gentle, but she did not apologize for noticing. Valdor’s gaze shifted toward Amor. Amor lifted his fan.

"Leave, Elsie."

"Yes, my lord."

She departed without another teasing remark, which somehow made the silence heavier after she closed the door. Valdor looked toward him.

"You slept poorly."

"I slept."

"That is not an answer."

"It is close to one!"

He recognized his own phrasing thrown back at him. Valdor’s eyes narrowed faintly. Amor felt an absurd satisfaction. The warrior glanced toward the door.

"I will make breakfast."

"You just trained."

"Yes."

"And you were awake all night!"

"Yes."

"And you think preparing another meal is wise?"

"You need food."

"Yeah, and you need sleep."

"So do you."

The argument circled uselessly. Valdor moved toward the ankle support, checking the position of Amor’s leg as though practicality might settle what words could not. The carved ash had held perfectly through the morning, keeping his ankle lifted without the shifting discomfort of pillows. Amor had to admit the support felt wonderful. Unfortunately, he did not intend to say so while Valdor looked close to collapsing from devotion. Valdor adjusted the leather padding by a finger’s width.

"There. Better."

Amor watched his hand. The same hand that had carved moons and flowers into wood while Amor tried not to call for him. The bed suddenly seemed much too large. And cold. The thought slipped into words before pride could stop it.

"The support is comfortable..."

Amor said.

"But the bed feels too large after being awake half the night..."

Valdor’s hand stilled. Amor stared at the blanket. He had not exactly asked. His fingers drifted toward Valdor’s wrist, stopping just short of touching. Valdor noticed. He did not call attention to it.

Instead, he sat beside Amor on the bed, close enough that Amor could reach him without stretching, far enough that no one could claim he had assumed too much. He rested one arm near Amor’s hand, not touching. Waiting. Amor exhaled quietly.

"You may sit there until I fall asleep..."

He said.

"Since you are responsible for making me tired by training in view of my window."

Valdor looked at him.

"I was training because you ordered it."

"I requested it."

"You ordered politely."

"That is called nobility!"

Valdor’s mouth curved faintly.

"Then I obeyed nobility."

Amor looked away before the warmth in his face became obvious.

"Humph! As you should."

Valdor stayed. For a while, he sat properly on the edge of the bed, one hand resting near Amor’s without taking it. Amor closed his eyes and focused on the warmth beside him. The room was brighter now, morning spreading across the curtains and floor, but exhaustion made the light soft around the edges. Valdor intended to remain awake.

He did not succeed.

First, his shoulders settled more heavily against the headboard. Then his head tipped back for a moment before he corrected it. Amor’s breathing evened, but instead of sleeping straight beneath the blankets, he turned gradually toward the warmth at his side. Valdor looked down when Amor’s hand found his wrist. He should have moved away.

He did not.

Amor’s fingers curled loosely around him, not gripping, merely resting as though confirming he remained there. Valdor adjusted his arm so the position would not strain Amor’s hand. His own eyes grew heavier. He was only sitting. Only staying until Amor slept. Only keeping company. The next time his head lowered, he did not lift it again.

Sleep took him quietly. Amor drifted closer in his own sleep, following warmth and the remembered rhythm his waking pride could not fully request. Valdor shifted without waking, turning slightly so the young noble could rest more comfortably without pressing against the injured ankle. The large bed gave them space enough to remain proper, and yet the space slowly narrowed through instinct rather than decision.

By the end, Valdor lay partly above the blankets and partly against the headboard, one arm bent protectively near Amor’s shoulder. His hand rested in Amor’s. Not gripping or claiming, just simply there. Amor curled toward him, cheek angled close enough to hear the heartbeat again through the quiet of the room. His face softened in sleep. The carved support held his injured foot perfectly, steady and gentle beneath the morning light.

The door opened some time later. Elsie entered with the breakfast menu in mind and stopped before taking her second step. Both men slept. For once, she did not smile immediately. The sight struck an older memory buried beneath twenty years of service.

A panicked household. A missing infant heir. Servants running through the gardens while Lanslet’s voice broke with terror. Then the discovery beneath the flowering hedge: baby Amor asleep in a nest of uprooted blossoms, lavender curls bright against white blankets, and a solemn Blackstone child curled beside him with one arm awkwardly near the cradle-small body as if guarding against the entire world. Little Valdor had been half-asleep even then, stubbornly refusing to leave the baby alone.

Elsie had been young. She had remembered the terror more clearly than the tenderness for many years. Now, looking at them grown, the old scene changed.

Amor slept peacefully, turned toward Valdor’s heartbeat. Valdor slept awkwardly, as if proper intention had surrendered only because exhaustion finally defeated him. The new ankle support held Amor safely, carved moons and northern flowers glowing softly in the morning sun. Their hands rested together above the blankets. Neither looked trapped. Neither looked afraid or shy; it was almost natural how well they fit side by side, perfectly with one another.

Elsie remained still for several breaths. Then she quietly withdrew. The breakfast tray could wait. She closed the door without waking them.

Some courtship gifts were carved from wood. Others were given by simply staying close enough for sleep to find them both.

Twenty years ago, a Blackstone child had crawled beside a sleeping baby and refused to leave him alone. Now, in a room full of morning light, the grown man slept beside Amor again—and this time, no one came to take him away.