Chapter 49: Bedroom Boundaries

The small body in Valdor’s arms grew warmer, longer, and familiar in an entirely different way.

Lavender curls lengthened beneath his cheek until they spread like silk across a pillow, while the silver blanket wrapped around the newborn darkened into the heavy folds of plush blankets. The tiny fist tangled in his hair became a slender adult hand curled loosely around his wrist. The nursery’s flower-scented air softened into lavender oil, banked fire, and the lingering warmth of a bedroom washed in morning light.

Valdor opened his eyes. For one disoriented moment, he remained five years old. He half expected the nursery maids to approach, expected Lanslet to appear at the door and demand the baby be returned, expected Vervath’s hand to descend upon his head because he had once again ignored every instruction given to him by refusing the marquess and hiding away in a cabinet with the baby. His body tensed around the precious cooling sensation beside him before the present settled slowly into place.

He was not lying upon a nursery carpet. No silver-wrapped infant rested inside a pile of cushions. Valdor lay partly above the blankets of Amor’s enormous bed, his shoulders angled awkwardly against the headboard while the grown man slept facing him. Amor’s cheek rested near his chest, close enough that every soft breath warmed Valdor’s skin. One pale hand remained loosely curled around his wrist, as though even sleep required confirmation that Valdor had stayed.

At the foot of the bed, the carved ankle support held Amor’s injured leg exactly where it should be. The moons and tiny northern flowers glowed warmly in the light passing through the curtains. No pillow had shifted during sleep, no pressure had settled against the swollen joint, and the leather-lined curve supported Amor’s calf without disturbing him. The practical success of the gift eased something within Valdor before emotion returned to complicate it. He looked down.

Lavender hair spread across the pillow in soft, disordered waves. Amor’s pink eyes remained closed. His lips were parted slightly, his face relaxed into an expression Valdor rarely saw while he was awake, free of calculated sharpness, fan-hidden embarrassment, or the alert tension that sometimes surfaced when food, touch, or sleep changed unexpectedly. His breathing remained deep, slow, and peaceful. The dream and the present overlapped so perfectly that Valdor’s chest tightened.

Twenty years had changed everything. Amor was no longer a newborn who could be placed inside a nest of cushions and guarded from dangers simple enough for a child to understand. Valdor was no longer five, convinced that wanting something precious meant he should carry it away and refuse to give it back. Their worlds had grown complicated with titles, treaties, former lovers, injuries, distance, and choices neither child could have imagined.

Yet almost nothing had changed.

Amor shifted closer in sleep. His forehead brushed Valdor’s chest, and the fingers around Valdor’s wrist tightened faintly before relaxing again. The movement carried no awareness, no attempt to seduce, and no fear. Amor merely followed warmth the way he once reached for dark braids inside the nursery. Valdor remained still. A fragment of childhood certainty returned.

"I will protect him."

The promise had been simple then because the world seemed simple. Protection meant supporting a baby’s head, collecting every fallen bead before it reached a curious mouth, building walls from wooden toys, and positioning one small body between the nursery door and the child sleeping behind it. A five-year-old could believe that safety depended only upon holding tightly enough.

Adult protection required more restraint.

It meant asking before touching. Speaking fear instead of disguising it as a command. Letting Amor choose roads Valdor disliked, relationships Valdor could not control, and a future that might not ultimately include him. It meant accepting that love could never be carried away in a basket or hidden beneath flowering hedges until everyone stopped trying to take it back.

Valdor’s thumb moved gently against Amor’s hand. He would not keep him. He would be chosen. The thought still frightened him.

Being chosen once did not guarantee being chosen tomorrow, as Vervath had explained while sharpening tools beneath the lamplight. Courtship meant showing up again, doing something worthy of another choice, and accepting that the answer might someday change. There was no fortress he could build around that uncertainty.

It was harder than possession.

It was also better.

Amor sighed against his chest. Valdor closed his eyes again. He did not intend to return fully to sleep. He meant only to remain within the quiet, listening to Amor breathe while allowing his sore body a few more moments of rest. The dream lingered warmly beneath his thoughts, carrying the memory of a newborn heir gripping his hair and a silent child suddenly discovering enough words to demand the entire world hand him something precious. Sleep found him again before he could resist it.

Outside Amor’s bedroom, House Moons continued waking. Breakfast passed. Morning tea was prepared, cooled, and replaced. Servants crossed the family corridor with increasingly curious glances toward the closed door, because the young master had not rung for anyone, complained about his confinement, requested pastries, or demanded that his father reconsider the grounding. The silence became more suspicious with every hour.

Elsie guarded the door. She stood beside it with the composure of a palace sentry protecting something sacred, arms folded neatly before her apron while Mary and Junia attempted to invent increasingly transparent reasons to enter. Mary arrived carrying fresh flowers that did not need immediate arranging. Junia brought a folded shawl despite the room already containing an entire adjacent room as a wardrobe inside.

"You may leave them here."

Elsie said. Mary looked toward the door.

"Oh, but the flowers should really be placed in water. I’ll just—"

"I will arrange them, Mary. You’re not the only one who can get a vase."

Junia lifted the shawl.

"The young master may be cold. I should really give this—"

"He is not. You know full well that the young master has a naturally cold constitution, and Lord Lanslet always keeps the manor warm."

"How do you know he’s not cold right now? Maybe the fire and heating gems aren’t enough today!"

Elsie stared at her. Junia’s eyes widened as understanding returned. Mary leaned forward.

"Okay, spill. Are they still sleeping in there?"

Elsie’s expression sharpened.

"Lower your voice, you blabbermouth. But yes, they are."

Both younger maids lowered their voices immediately.

"Together?"

Mary whispered.

"Only sleeping... but yes."

Elsie emphasized. Junia looked delighted.

"In the same bed?"

Elsie pointed toward the laundry stair.

"Romance is not a spectator sport to be watched. Anyone attempting to peek will spend the next three days washing guest linens by hand."

Mary straightened. Junia clutched the shawl protectively.

"Come on, El. We were only concerned. Don’t be so harsh, we all grew up together, training to be the best maids for our young master. We’re practically family, El."

"Humph! Family by butt. You were only curious so you can have some gossip before anyone else finds out."

"...Okay, that too. Teehee!"

Mary admitted. Elsie took the flowers and shawl from them.

"Go."

The younger maids retreated reluctantly, though both looked back twice before disappearing around the corridor corner. Elsie remained at her post, listening to the silence beyond the door with growing tenderness. Amor had not slept this deeply in longer than she cared to remember. She would not allow curiosity to interrupt it.

Unfortunately, silence from Amor eventually attracted someone far more difficult to dismiss.

Lanslet appeared shortly before noon. He crossed the corridor with controlled haste, followed by a servant carrying tea, two legal documents, a plate of sugared biscuits, and what appeared to be a written schedule for Amor’s recovery. Concern sharpened his beautiful face before he reached the door. Elsie immediately stepped into his path.

"My lord."

"Has Amor awakened yet? Breakfast will be over soon."

"No."

Lanslet stopped.

"He did not wake for breakfast?"

"No."

"He has not requested tea?"

"No."

"Sweets?"

"No."

His concern deepened.

"He has not complained about being grounded?"

"Not once."

The marquess’s face went pale.

"That is unnatural. Go get Doctor Haverin right away—no, this could be too serious. I shall request the king to send for the royal physician instead."

Elsie nearly smiled, though she understood his fear too well to indulge it.

"He is resting, my lord. There is no need to be alarm. I’ve been here the whole time and heard nothing that warrants distress or to disturb the king with the request."

"For this long has he been resting?"

"As you know, he has had several difficult nights since the fever. Right now, he’s been sleeping since seven chimes in the morning."

Lanslet looked toward the door.

"I should check his breathing—"

"Doctor Haverin checked him earlier."

"You allowed the physician inside but not me?"

"No. Doctor Haverin listened from the doorway and agreed the breathing sounded even."

Lanslet frowned.

"That is not an examination. That hardly counts as even checking up. What am I paying him for if he isn’t even going to do the minimum of his job. The nerve of that quack!"

"It was sufficient to avoid waking him. Doctor Haverin is the second most skilled doctor in the kingdom, my lord, and he has been at the estate since long before the young master was born. I am sure he knows what he is doing."

His hand moved toward the door handle. Elsie stepped closer.

"Please, my lord. I humbly request you don’t..."

The quiet firmness stopped him more effectively than an order would have.

"Your son is sleeping well..."

She said.

"Truly well. No crying, no sudden waking, no sweating, and no restless movement. Please, I beg of you. Let him rest."

Lanslet studied her. Elsie had helped care for Amor since birth. She had seen every childhood illness, fever, nightmare, and heartbreak. If she stood between Lanslet and his sleeping son, it was not through carelessness. His hand lowered.

"Haah... Very well."

Relief softened Elsie’s shoulders. Lanslet adjusted his coat and turned down the corridor.

"I will find Valdor then. He should be at breakfast by now, and I want to discuss his decision to remain awake all night without consulting anyone. What will happen if Amor sees and worries to the point of falling ill? He is far too soft-hearted and fragile so I must warn Valdor properly."

Elsie inhaled.

"Umm... My lord..."

He looked back. She hesitated only because there was no graceful way to phrase the information.

"Lord Valdor is... also inside."

Silence.

Lanslet looked toward the door.

Then toward Elsie.

"Inside... the room?"

"Yes."

"... With Amor?"

"Yes."

"... While he sleeps?"

Elsie folded her hands.

"They... are both asleep."

The marquess’s expression passed through concern, disbelief, alarm, paternal outrage, and an effort to remember that his son had publicly defended the right to choose his own courtship. None of those emotions won completely. The result was a terrifying stillness.

"In. The. Bed?"

"Ah-L-Lord Valdor was seated beside it last I checked, my lord."

"That was not my question, Elsie."

"Umm... S-sleep appears... to have... maybe altered... the arrangement?"

Lanslet’s eyes closed. His voice became dangerously calm.

"Open the door..."

Elsie did not move.

"Haah, quietly. Now."

He added. Before she decided whether obedience would destroy the peaceful scene, heavy footsteps approached from the opposite end of the corridor. Vervath appeared carrying a large wooden mug and half a loaf of bread, evidently unconcerned by the household’s delayed breakfast or the formal expectations of a noble manor. He saw Lanslet, Elsie, and the closed bedroom door. His gaze sharpened immediately.

"What happened?"

"Your son is inside my son’s bedchamber!"

Vervath took a bite of bread.

"Okay."

"Asleep!"

The chieftain stopped chewing. Then delight began spreading across his face. Lanslet pointed at him.

"You. Do. Not. Even."

Vervath swallowed with impressive speed and lowered his voice, surprising everyone.

"Together?"

Elsie nodded. His expression softened rather than erupting into laughter. The change quieted Lanslet’s anger by a fraction. Vervath moved closer to the door and listened. No movement came from within, only the faint rhythm of deep sleep too soft for ordinary ears but recognizable to someone accustomed to listening for children inside crowded lodges. He looked toward Lanslet.

"If the boy sleeps beside him..."

Vervath said quietly,

"Perhaps part of Amor knows he is safe..."

Lanslet’s face tightened.

"It was the same when they were children..."

Vervath continued.

"Valdor would not sleep until Amor slept. Amor cried when we separated them. Remember? When we first arrived and Valdor tricked your wife, we found them napping together after. The maids couldn’t get Amor away without making Valdor growl like a beast cub and when they finally did... well, you remember, hahaho!"

"Yes I remember. I remember I had to send two maids to Doctor Haverin. Also Amor was an infant back then. He didn’t know any better."

"Infants know warmth."

"They do not understand courtship!"

"Mm, neither does Valdor, most days..."

Elsie covered a smile. Vervath’s expression remained unexpectedly serious.

"I know they are grown. I know the courtship is new. But you said Amor has not truly rested. This is a good sign."

Lanslet looked toward the closed door. His son had suffered nightmares for days, perhaps longer than he admitted. Lanslet knew because of the reports from his secret guards, the night servants reported lamps lit at impossible hours, baths requested before dawn, and bedsheets damp with sweat despite cool nightly weather. Amor always dismissed concern with a smile, claiming the dreams were nothing worth discussing.

Now he had slept through breakfast. Through tea. Through nearly the entire morning.

The instinct to protect him from intimacy collided painfully with the duty to protect his rest. Valdor was large, foreign, newly accepted as a suitor, and far too comfortable carrying Amor as though Lanslet’s permission were optional. Yet Amor had chosen him repeatedly.

Waking them might satisfy paternal nerves. It might also steal the first peaceful sleep Amor had known in days. Lanslet released a slow breath.

"No one enters..."

Vervath looked pleased.

"That includes you."

The pleasure vanished.

"I only wished to look. Maybe take a photo. Can I borrow a blue gem?"

"No."

"I would be quiet. I won’t even use a flash. Wait, no to the blue gem or no to going inside?"

"No to both, Vervath."

"Hmph! I saw them sleep together twenty years ago. I changed that boy’s linens and watched as you and Avamor changed Amor. There is nothing on either child I haven’t seen before."

"That does not grant permanent viewing privileges. My son deserves at least this much privacy... for now. As for your son? Why don’t we talk about his behavior over breakfast?"

Vervath frowned. Elsie resumed her position beside the door.

"I will inform you when they wake, my lords."

Lanslet handed the recovery schedule to the servant and instructed that fresh tea, warm breakfast, and Doctor Haverin be kept ready. He hesitated before leaving, eyes returning once more to the door. Then he turned away. Vervath remained. Lanslet looked back.

"Come."

"I am guarding—"

"Elsie is guarding."

"... Two guards are stronger!"

"She has the authority to threaten punishment while you have a spotty record already for leaving your post last time you ’guarded’. She is sufficient and more than capable."

Elsie inclined her head. Vervath reluctantly followed the marquess down the corridor, though he glanced backward until the staircase removed the door from sight.

---

Inside the room, noon light climbed across the bed. Amor woke first. Warmth surrounded him. Not the heavy, artificial warmth of too many blankets or a fevered room, but the living heat of another body resting close. A deep heartbeat moved beneath his ear, slower in sleep than he remembered while awake. For several peaceful seconds, he listened without questioning where he was.

Then awareness returned.

Amor opened his eyes. Valdor lay beside him. The warrior remained partly above the covers, his body angled awkwardly as though he had fought sleep until the final moment. One shoulder pressed against the headboard while the rest of him had gradually settled toward the pillows. His eyes were closed, his expression unexpectedly softened by exhaustion. Amor stared.

He remembered asking Valdor to sit until sleep came. He did not remember Valdor lying down. Worse, he did not remember himself moving closer.

His cheek rested near the warrior’s chest, one hand curled loosely around Valdor’s wrist while their fingers touched above the blankets. Amor’s body had turned completely toward him. Only the carved support prevented his injured leg from following. This made them look scandalously intimate.

Amor’s face warmed. He glanced toward the door, imagining Elsie, Mary, Junia, or the entire household standing beyond it with their ears pressed to the wood. He needed to move before anyone entered and transformed an innocent nap into a wedding announcement.

Carefully, Amor began withdrawing his hand. Valdor moved in his sleep. His fingers followed Amor’s. They closed slightly around him. Not gripping or trapping exactly. The hold was loose enough that Amor could have pulled free without effort. Yet the warmth remained, adjusting to his movement as though Valdor’s sleeping body merely sought to preserve contact rather than prevent departure. Amor froze.

Even asleep, Valdor did not restrain him. The realization softened something dangerously fragile inside his chest.

Valdor’s hand did not tighten when Amor shifted. It waited around him, open enough for choice and warm enough to encourage staying. The same discipline governing his waking touch seemed embedded within instinct. Amor stopped trying to move.

His gaze returned to Valdor’s face. The warrior looked younger in sleep, though no less powerful. Dark lashes rested against his cheeks, and the faint shadows beneath his eyes remained only slightly visible from the night spent carving. His mouth, so often set in stern lines, had relaxed. Amor’s heart ached.

He had exhausted himself making the support, trained because Amor wanted entertainment, then remained beside the bed because Amor feared sleep without saying so plainly. Valdor gave until his own body finally forced rest upon him. The care was excessive. Amor did not want less of it.

That frightened him.

Valdor’s breathing changed. His eyes opened slowly. For once, confusion crossed his face without being immediately hidden. He looked toward the ceiling, then Amor, then their joined hands, as if assembling the last several hours from physical evidence. The disorientation lasted only a moment. Concern replaced it.

His gaze dropped to Amor’s ankle. The support remained aligned. He touched the edge of the leather padding, checking that nothing had shifted.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, it actually feels a lot better. Thank you."

Valdor looked toward their position. His expression changed.

"I slept."

Amor almost laughed.

"Yes, that is generally what happens during a nap."

"I meant to sit."

"You failed beautifully."

Valdor released Amor’s hand at once and began pushing himself upright.

"I am sorry."

Amor caught his wrist before he moved far.

"You were exhausted."

Valdor looked down at the hand stopping him.

"You were cold."

He replied. Amor blinked.

"That is not an apology. Is it supposed to be a compliment?"

"No, not an apology..."

The warrior remained still. Then, with complete seriousness, he added.

"I like cold. It reminds me of home."

Amor stared at him. The statement made no logical contribution to the conversation, yet it sounded so earnest that amusement broke through embarrassment. A laugh escaped him, quiet at first and then warmer when Valdor’s confused expression suggested he did not understand why the answer was funny.

"You are terrible at this."

"At apologies or com-pil-ments?"

"At pretending the situation was practical."

"You were cold."

"And you were tired."

"Yes."

"So we accidentally solved both problems? No apologies needed but I will take the com-pli-ment."

Valdor considered.

"Yes."

Amor’s smile softened. No seduction had placed them together, no manipulation, only two exhausted men, each pretending not to need what the other offered until sleep removed the performance.

Knock, knock, knock—

A knock sounded. Amor’s entire body stiffened. Elsie’s voice came sweetly through the door.

"My lord, it is a chime past noon. Shall I inform your father that you and Lord Valdor survived the morning nap with honor intact?"

Amor’s face burned. He turned toward the door in horror. Before he could invent an answer, Valdor replied.

"Yes."

Amor swung back toward him.

"What have you done!?"

Valdor looked genuinely puzzled.

"It is true."

"That is not the point! She’s gonna think the most indecent of things had happened now!"

"She asked."

"You were supposed to deny everything!"

"Why?"

"Because now she knows we are awake. Here. Together. Alone. Do you really not understand what this will imply to the rest of the world!?"

"She already knew we were asleep. Nothing happened."

Amor lifted both hands toward his face and remembered too late that one remained near Valdor. He grabbed his fan from the bedside table instead and opened it across his burning cheeks. Outside, Elsie’s voice remained perfectly composed.

"I will inform him immediately."

"No!!"

Her footsteps retreated. Amor stared at the closed door as though considering whether his injured ankle could survive an escape through the window. Valdor sat properly beside him now, furs rumpled from sleep and hair slightly disordered. He looked far too calm.

"My father is coming."

"Yes."

"He will assume the worst. Are you going to be okay?"

"We slept. Nothing happened."

"That is the worst available possibility to him. You poor soul have no idea what’s coming. I will pray for you."

"No. It is not the worst."

Amor lowered the fan cautiously. Valdor’s dark eyes remained serious. Understanding what the warrior considered worse made the blush spread down Amor’s neck again.

"Do-do-do-do not tell me!"

"I did not."

"You were about to! I can see it in your eyes!"

"No."

"You thought it, didn’t you! I mean—I wasn’t also—"

Valdor’s mouth curved faintly. The bedroom door opened before Amor could defend himself. Lanslet entered.

He had clearly spent the walk from the lower floor preparing a calm response. His clothing remained immaculate, his expression controlled, and his hands folded neatly before him. Only the unnatural smoothness of his smile revealed the effort required. His gaze swept across the room.

Amor sat upright against the pillows, fan covering half his face. Valdor sat beside him, now properly separated and not touching without permission. The ankle remained secure within the carved support. Most importantly, Amor looked rested.

The shadows beneath his eyes had faded some. Color had returned to his cheeks, though some of that undoubtedly came from embarrassment. His breathing was even, and the tension that had followed him from the palace no longer tightened his shoulders.

Lanslet’s prepared anger weakened. Not enough to disappear. Enough to become a lecture rather than an execution.

"It is noon."

Amor lowered the fan slightly.

"So Elsie mentioned."

"You missed breakfast."

"I... was asleep."

"With your suitor?"

"Y-yes."

Valdor looked toward him. Amor realized he had admitted it far too plainly. Lanslet drew a slow breath.

"Bedroom courtship requires boundaries. I can’t believe we are going to have to have this talk already. I thought their would still be more time."

Vervath attempted to enter behind him. Lanslet extended one arm and blocked the doorway without looking. The chieftain leaned around him.

"Hmm? They look rested. So nothing happened?"

"You are not part of this discussion. Leave."

"I am Valdor’s father! I have every right to be here when the two join as one."

"That is why you are excluded. You and that filthy mouth of yours! Out! The two have not become one! There is no two! There is only my baby and your scoundrel of a son!"

Vervath appeared offended. Lanslet stepped farther into the room and pointed toward the door.

"It should remain open during daytime visits. No matter who, what, when, where or why, it will be opened and if I find out you closed it for any reason, I will be removing it and placing two additional guards outside."

Amor looked toward the closed door.

"It was closed because I was sleeping."

"With Valdor. A man. In your bed!"

"He was sitting, Father."

"I fell."

Valdor clarified. Lanslet looked toward him.

"You... fell... into the bed? With my son?"

"...Gradually."

Amor covered his mouth with the fan. The marquess’s expression tightened.

"Okay, I can’t believe I have to say it. No sleeping in Amor’s bed without prior agreement."

Valdor nodded.

"Yes."

Amor lowered the fan.

"Oh? Whose agreement?"

"Yours, obviously..."

Lanslet said immediately. The answer surprised him. Lanslet continued before anyone could misunderstand.

"And notification to the household so no one believes you have collapsed, vanished, or been kidnapped for a third time."

Vervath raised one finger.

"Well, the second kidnapping was disputed."

"Not now, Vervath."

Valdor looked toward Amor.

"Would you have agreed?"

The question entered the room with dangerous sincerity. Amor’s face warmed. Lanslet closed his eyes.

"Not during the boundary lecture, you—"

"I might have..."

Amor admitted. His father looked at him. Amor lifted his chin, refusing to retreat beneath embarrassment.

"Father, I asked him to remain until I slept."

"You... you did?"

"Yes."

"My moonlight, why? Are you okay? Are you feeling any pain or dizziness? Are... are you dreaming okay?"

Amor’s fingers tightened around the fan. The nightmares remained too private. He chose a partial truth.

"I just thought the bed felt cold and Valdor is very warm, that’s all."

Lanslet’s expression softened despite himself. Valdor said nothing. He understood the words meant more. The marquess looked between them again. His son had slept until noon. No nightmare had driven maids into the room. No bath had been requested before dawn. No pale, trembling figure had pretended the night was harmless. Lanslet sighed.

"... Alright. The door remains open next time..."

Amor opened his mouth but Lanslet added quickly.

"Partially at the very least."

"That is... marginally less unreasonable. Thank you, Father."

"Mm. And no concealed sleeping together."

"How does someone conceal sleep?"

"I umm... you know what I mean, young man! Your courtship has existed one day and already requires new household rules. I will never survive this. Avamor, please grant me just a sliver of your patience. What did you even see in this brute?"

Vervath leaned farther into the room.

"You know, marriage simplifies rules—"

Lanslet pushed him back into the corridor and closed the door against him. A muffled complaint followed. Amor laughed.

The sound finished what sleep had begun, easing the last worry from Lanslet’s face. He crossed toward the bed, checked the carved support, and inspected the ankle without moving it. Doctor Haverin would still need to examine the swelling, but the support had performed beautifully.

"This is well made..."

Lanslet admitted. Valdor inclined his head.

"You worked all night on it? I heard from Vervath in between his bragging and yawning all through breakfast."

"Yes."

"Mm. That was incredibly irresponsible. Amor needs you rested to fulfill any request he desires. I do hope, if you should continue this courtship, that you take your health more seriously for the sake of my beloved son."

"Yes..."

Amor looked toward him in surprise. Valdor continued.

"I will sleep tonight."

Lanslet’s expression eased slightly. Amor pointed his fan.

"You will?"

"Yes."

"And no secretly carving."

"If nothing requires carving."

"Nothing requires carving! If I need something carved I can send word to my father and get one of the woodwokers to do it for me. I need you well rested. If you must carve, at least wait until morning, okay?"

Valdor looked around the room as though several objects could be improved. Amor narrowed his eyes. Lanslet noticed and nearly smiled.

"I will send breakfast..."

He said.

"Or lunch, since the day has apparently abandoned ordinary structure."

"Something sweet! I want cake and cream puffs and those little pastries with the berry preserves on top!"

Amor requested.

"After proper food."

Valdor nodded in agreement. Amor looked between them.

"I regret allowing either of you authority near my meals. Humph!"

Lanslet touched his head in a doting pat, then headed toward the door. Before leaving, he paused and looked back at Valdor.

"Thank you..."

The warrior became still.

"For the support..."

Lanslet clarified.

"... And the sleep."

Valdor nodded once. The marquess opened the door. Vervath nearly fell inward, having apparently been leaning against it. Lanslet caught him by the front of his fur and dragged him away before the chieftain could inspect the bed. Their argument resumed down the corridor, this time concerning privacy, marriage, and whether a father could reasonably demand grandchildren before the first full day of courtship ended.

The room grew quiet again. Amor looked toward Valdor.

"You heard him."

"Yes."

"No sleeping beside me tonight."

Valdor’s expression remained neutral.

"Unless agreed."

Amor’s fan paused.

"Ah, you remembered the wording, you sneaky fox."

"Yes."

He looked toward the carved ankle support to hide his face. The moons shone softly along the side. A thought returned with sudden force.

’I slept until noon?’

No monsters. No ruined streets. No hunger tightening his stomach while someone removed food from reach. No mother demanding lies. No father deciding usefulness. No voices from a dead world demanding he do this or that for scraps of affection or food only for them to turn to lies and chains.

Only warmth and a heartbeat. And the strange safety of waking beside someone who had not taken anything from him while he remained vulnerable. The realization frightened him more than desire had.

Attraction could be dismissed as novelty, beauty, gratitude, or the thrill of being pursued by someone overwhelmingly different from Alphonsins. Trust was harder. Trust entered beneath defenses and convinced the body to sleep. This was becoming need.

Amor looked toward Valdor’s hand resting upon the blanket between them. He did not take it immediately. Then, fully awake and aware, he placed his fingers over it. Valdor looked down.

"May I?"

He asked. The question was unnecessary for the contact Amor had initiated. It mattered anyway. Amor nodded, giving more permission to an action he started. Valdor turned his hand and held his, loosely, warmly. Enough to stay and enough to leave. Amor looked toward the bright curtains, evidence that noon had already passed.

"I slept well."

"I know."

"How?"

"You did not reach for a weapon."

Amor blinked.

"I do not sleep with a weapon."

Valdor looked toward the fan.

"That is not a weapon."

"It has struck me many times."

"Humph! You survived."

"Barely."

Amor laughed again. Valdor’s thumb moved once over his fingers. The fear remained beneath the warmth, but it no longer ruled the moment. Trust becoming need might be dangerous.

For now, Amor allowed it to feel like rest.