Chapter 50: Carved Meaning

Lanslet refused to permit another meal inside Amor’s bedroom, especially near his bed.

"Bedroom meals have already encouraged enough dangerous familiarity for one day..."

He declared, standing beside the wheeled chair while three servants transformed the adjoining family sitting room into a private dining area. His voice remained perfectly composed, but his attention shifted toward Valdor every few moments, as though the warrior might seize Amor, climb through a window, and begin an unauthorized elopement if left unwatched for longer than a breath.

"Lunch will be taken here, with the doors open and the household fully aware of everyone’s location!"

Amor stared at him from beneath the edge of his fan.

"We only slept, Father."

"Mhm, I am aware."

"And nothing happened at all."

"Yes, I am also aware."

"Then what dangerous familiarity are you attempting to prevent?"

Lanslet looked toward Valdor, who was carefully transferring Amor’s carved ankle support from the bedroom to the end of the cushioned chaise inside the sitting room. The warrior carried the device with both hands despite its manageable weight, apparently unwilling to risk striking the wood against a doorframe. He inspected the position of the chaise, shifted a nearby table that might obstruct Amor’s leg, and then tested the cushion with his palm before allowing the servants to set the plates.

"That!"

Lanslet said. Amor followed his gaze.

"He is moving furniture?"

"He is becoming comfortable. Moving this and that like it’s his own home!"

"...In the house where he is expected to live for a month. Isn’t it good he is becoming comfortable?"

"But it’s... it’s too comfortable!"

Valdor looked up.

"The table was too close."

Lanslet’s expression tightened because the table had, in fact, been too close.

The smaller sitting room adjoined Amor’s bedchamber through a set of pale lavender doors and had been designed for intimate family gatherings rather than formal entertainment. Tall windows overlooked the eastern garden, while low couches and cushioned chairs surrounded a circular table carved with silver moons. A fireplace occupied one wall beneath a portrait of Lady Avamor, her light green hair captured in paint like fresh spring leaves and her yellow eyes softened by maternal warmth. Amor had always liked this room.

It lacked the ceremonial distance of the formal dining hall, and every piece of furniture appeared selected for comfort before grandeur. The servants had arranged lunch beside the chaise so Amor could eat without lowering his injured ankle, while Valdor’s support rested at the end beneath a folded cloth. Even Lanslet’s supervision felt less severe beneath the room’s familiar warmth. Valdor approached the wheeled chair.

"May I?"

Amor looked up at him.

"You have carried me enough today."

Valdor waited. Amor glanced toward the short distance between the chair and chaise, then toward his injured ankle. Pride suggested he could manage with assistance. Memory supplied the pain caused by his last attempt to take several steps. He sighed and lifted his arms.

Valdor’s face softened. Lanslet closed his eyes. Vervath, already seated at the table despite no one inviting him to begin, tore a piece from a soft roll and watched with profound satisfaction. Valdor slipped one arm behind Amor’s back and the other beneath his knees, lifting him with such effortless familiarity that the young noble barely needed to adjust his hold around the warrior’s shoulders.

"You reached first."

Valdor murmured. Amor’s face warmed as he mumbled.

"Do not make it significant every time."

"It is significant every time."

"Humph! That attitude will become intolerable."

Valdor carried him toward the chaise.

"You may stop reaching."

Amor’s arms tightened slightly around his neck.

"I didn’t say that!"

Vervath grinned into his roll. Lanslet saw and pointed toward him.

"Not. One. Word."

"Hm? I am eating. I am innocent."

"You are celebrating while chewing. Don’t think I don’t see that look in your eyes."

"That is not prohibited. I can look wherever I please."

"It may become prohibited should you keep using those eyes to look wherever you please."

Valdor lowered Amor onto the chaise, keeping one arm behind him until the pillows had been arranged properly. He then lifted the injured leg and placed it into the carved support, checking that the leather channel sat smoothly beneath the calf. Amor watched the solemn concentration with which he completed the task and felt the last of his embarrassment soften into affection.

Only after Amor was settled did Valdor take the chair beside him. Lanslet selected the opposite seat. Vervath remained where he was, now halfway through a second roll. Amor looked between both fathers.

"Did you not already eat lunch?"

Lanslet’s hand paused near the soup ladle.

"Yes, it was quite good too. The cook, Brenna, did another great job with the food!"

Vervath answered before he could speak. Silence followed. Amor turned slowly toward his father. Lanslet straightened.

"Ahem—I remain hungry."

Vervath looked at him with genuine surprise.

"Oh? But you were chomping with impressive anger downstairs. Devouring everything in sight, I was afraid of losing a hand!"

Lanslet’s gaze sharpened.

"I was not chomping! Nobles do not chomp! Stop telling lies to my son."

"You ate two portions of fish—"

"I had a demanding morning."

"Three rolls—"

"W-well, they were small so—"

"A bowl of soup and even a glass of wine. Although it was fun not drinking alone—"

"Vervath."

The chieftain fell silent, though the expression upon his face made it obvious he understood precisely why Lanslet had developed a second appetite. The marquess had no intention of leaving Amor and Valdor alone after discovering them asleep together. He would consume an entire second lunch if necessary to supervise them without admitting that supervision was the only reason he remained. Amor understood as well.

He could have exposed the excuse, teased his father until the man admitted his fears, or insisted upon privacy with his new suitor. Instead, he reached for his soup and allowed Lanslet the fiction. His father had already surrendered more ground than anyone would have expected from a man whose only child had begun a serious courtship after ending a disastrous relationship. Valdor noticed none of it. His attention remained upon Amor’s position.

"Is the support too high?"

"No, it’s good."

"And the leather? How does it feel?"

"Mm, it’s soft."

"Does your knee pull?"

"No."

"Your ankle?"

Amor turned toward him.

"If you ask me whether every individual bone feels comfortable, lunch will become dinner."

Valdor considered the warning.

"Does every bone feel comfortable?"

Vervath laughed so hard he nearly inhaled his bread. Lanslet looked toward the ceiling as if asking Lady Avamor’s portrait for patience.

The meal had been chosen with recovery in mind but lacked the almost medicinal seriousness of Valdor’s previous dinner. Herb-roasted fish rested upon a bed of lemon leaves, accompanied by creamy vegetable soup, soft rolls brushed with butter, sliced fruit, mild cheeses, and several pastries glazed with honey. Amor immediately claimed three pastries and placed them upon his plate before anyone could impose conditions.

"These are medically necessary..."

He said. Valdor looked toward them.

"I endured emotional strain and need them to improve my mental health."

"You slept until noon."

"Recovery is also strenuous! My body needs energy to repair itself."

Lanslet placed a piece of roasted fish beside the pastries.

"Eat proper food first, Amor. After a few bites of real food can you then eat your dessert."

Amor looked toward his father.

"You have allied with him again. I feel betrayed."

"I have allied with common sense."

Vervath reached for another roll.

"Common sense rarely tastes as good as pastry. Let the boy enjoy his sugar, he is still young and can recover quickly."

Amor pointed toward him.

"Finally, someone reasonable!"

Valdor placed two pieces of roasted carrot upon Amor’s plate. The alliance ended. Amor stared at the vegetables. Then at Valdor.

"I ate vegetables last night."

"Today is another day."

"My body has not forgotten yesterday’s nutrients."

"It needs new ones."

"That sounds like an excuse to make me eat them."

Valdor began eating his own meal, apparently considering the matter decided. Amor narrowed his eyes. He waited until the warrior looked toward Vervath, then lifted one roasted carrot from his plate and placed it upon Valdor’s. The movement was delicate and nearly silent. Amor immediately returned his hand to his spoon and adopted an innocent expression.

Vervath saw everything. His obsidian eyes brightened. When Amor looked toward Lanslet, the chieftain reached across the table and moved the carrot back onto Amor’s plate. His large hand withdrew before either younger man noticed. Vervath returned to his meal with the serenity of someone who had just fulfilled an important ancestral duty.

Amor discovered the carrot several moments later. He frowned.

’Had there been two?’

’Maybe Valdor had given me three.’

He ate more soup, waited for Valdor to cut his fish, then returned the offending vegetable to the warrior’s plate. Vervath allowed it to remain there until Amor reached for a roll. Then he transferred it back. The battle continued.

Amor moved the carrot.

Vervath returned it.

Amor hid it beneath a lettuce leaf upon Valdor’s plate.

Vervath retrieved it and placed it beside the pastries.

Valdor ate without noticing the repeated migration, too focused upon ensuring Amor consumed the fish and soup. Lanslet noticed neither, because he had begun questioning a servant regarding the exact amount of cream used in the soup and whether Doctor Haverin approved it.

Eventually, Amor looked down and found the same carrot resting upon his plate for what seemed like the fourth time. His eyes narrowed. He examined the table. Vervath looked deeply interested in his cheese. Amor waited.

The chieftain reached toward the carrot when Valdor lifted his cup. Amor caught his wrist.

"Traitor! Liar! Betrayer!"

Vervath froze. Valdor looked toward them. Lanslet stopped speaking to the servant. Amor pointed accusingly at the carrot.

"You have been conspiring against an injured man! I thought you were on my side! What happened to ’let the boy eat his sugar’? Humph!"

Vervath slowly withdrew his hand.

"Ah, caught. I was only assisting."

"With what, hmm? My Father and Valdor’s campaign on more vegetables?"

"My son’s courtship..."

Valdor’s expression changed. Vervath continued, unaware of danger.

"A father must support his child’s romantic efforts!"

"By sabotaging my lunch with greens and carrots?"

"By ensuring you remain healthy enough to marry him, of course."

Lanslet set down his spoon with controlled precision.

"Moving vegetables between plates is not courtship assistance, Vervath."

"What!? I thought we were allies! It preserved Valdor’s intention. Doesn’t that count for something?"

"It interfered with Amor’s food and eating, so no."

"What else could I do? He was trying to give it away—"

"Than that is his choice, Dad..."

Valdor placed his fork down.

"Do not do it again."

The words were quiet. Vervath looked toward his son. The chieftain’s amusement faltered.

Valdor’s face remained stoic, but something within it had hardened in a way Vervath had rarely seen directed toward him. The warning carried no childish irritation, no momentary embarrassment, and no indulgent resignation toward an overbearing father. It said plainly that another interference would not be tolerated simply because Vervath meant well.

"That is my responsibility..."

Valdor added. Amor turned toward him. Lanslet’s brows rose. Vervath stared. Valdor looked at the carrot.

"I placed it upon Amor’s plate. If he removes it, I will address it."

Amor’s expression sharpened.

"You will address it?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Valdor picked up the carrot and held it toward Amor’s lips. Amor stared. Vervath looked impressed. Lanslet looked betrayed by the success of the maneuver.

Amor considered refusing, but every eye at the table had turned toward him. His dignity could survive eating one carrot more easily than it could survive allowing three grown men to debate its future. He opened his mouth and bit the vegetable from Valdor’s fork.

Valdor looked satisfied. Vervath began smiling again. Valdor’s gaze shifted toward him. The smile disappeared.

Vervath had not seen his eldest son look at him that way since childhood, and even then the expression had never carried such adult warning. It clearly communicated that should the high chieftain interfere again, Valdor might abandon filial restraint and demonstrate why he remained the strongest warrior of his generation. Vervath cleared his throat and shoved an unnecessarily large piece of fish into his mouth.

Amor covered a smile with his cup. Lanslet looked toward Valdor with reluctant approval.

"At least one Rhazien understands boundaries."

Vervath attempted to respond through the fish. No one understood him. The door opened before he finished chewing.

Doctor Haverin entered carrying his medical case and the resigned expression of a physician summoned repeatedly into domestic situations no academy had prepared him to navigate. His gaze moved from the half-eaten meal to Amor’s elevated leg, then settled upon the carved support with professional interest.

"I was informed a new orthopedic rest had been constructed."

Valdor straightened. Amor gestured toward it.

"My suitor decided pillows were inadequate and remained awake throughout the night correcting their failures."

Haverin approached.

"May I examine it?"

Amor looked toward Valdor. The warrior nodded. Doctor Haverin crouched beside the chaise and inspected the support without moving Amor’s leg at first. He pressed lightly against the base to test stability, checked the angle of elevation, and examined where the leather channel supported the calf. His brows rose gradually.

"This is excellent work. It’s very impressive..."

Valdor remained still.

"The angle reduces swelling without overextending the knee..."

Haverin continued.

"The base is wide enough to prevent tipping, and the padding can be removed for cleaning. This is something I would have expected to come from a skilled royal craftsman..."

Lanslet looked toward Valdor.

"You designed it yourself?"

"Yes."

"Without any medical training?"

"Blackstone treat injuries."

Doctor Haverin unfastened one of the leather ties and inspected the recessed fastenings.

"Nothing here should catch the skin or bedding. I might have several similar supports commissioned for the estate infirmary. Would you mind if I bought the design patent from you, Lord Valdor?"

Valdor inclined his head.

"Ask Harrow for measurements. He helped."

Haverin looked impressed by the lack of possessiveness over the design. He lifted Amor’s leg carefully, allowing Valdor to support the ankle, then slid the wooden rest away for a fuller inspection. When he turned it over, the underside faced the room.

A tiny carved flower appeared beneath the base. Unlike the northern blooms along the visible side, this one possessed narrow, flame-shaped petals curling around a darkened center. The fireheart blossom had been hidden where only someone intentionally examining the object would discover it. Beneath it, four words had been carved into the ash.

"Hm? What’s this say? Sorry, my Blackstone is a bit rusty. Let’s see... Rest. I return.? Ah, I will return! ...Oh."

The room became silent. Doctor Haverin stared at the inscription. His expression shifted with the horrified realization of a man who had accidentally opened a private love letter before both families. He looked toward Valdor, then Amor, then the two fathers seated at the table. The silence grew more dangerous with every passing breath.

"Um... I have left my oven on."

He said. Amor blinked.

"You do not cook. As I recall, the kitchen staff makes your meals, Doctor."

"Erm... The-the healing gems may explode!"

Doctor Haverin placed the support down with extraordinary care.

"They are medical gems, I highly doubt they will explode."

Lanslet said slowly.

"But they could! And-and that would be even more dangerous."

"You brought them here. So tell me how can they possibly be dangerous?"

"I-um... I own other gems that can be just as dangerous..."

The physician gathered his case, backed toward the door, and offered a hurried bow.

"The craftsmanship is medically approved. Continue elevation. Avoid weight. I will return after preventing catastrophe!"

He turned. Then he fled The door closed behind him. No one spoke.

Vervath looked into his cup because he already knew the words existed and had enough survival instinct not to draw attention to that fact. Lanslet stared at the overturned support, his earlier suspicion complicated by an emotion he did not appear eager to reveal. Valdor’s gaze remained upon Amor. Amor looked at the words.

Rest. I will return.

Not wait for me. Not belong to me. Not choose me forever.

The promise asked for nothing.

It rested beneath a practical object where Amor might never have seen it, supporting him without requiring acknowledgment. Valdor had not presented the inscription dramatically or watched Amor’s face while unveiling it. The words existed even without an audience. That distinction reached somewhere tender.

Alphonsins had preserved Amor’s letters when they became useful, accepted gifts while resenting the affection attached to them, and allowed every gesture to become proof of how deeply someone desired him. His relationship with the original Amor had required witnesses only when those witnesses strengthened his position. Valdor carved care where no one was meant to applaud it. Amor’s cheeks warmed.

"Were you ever going to tell me that was there?"

Valdor looked toward the support.

"No."

The answer surprised everyone except Vervath. Amor’s fingers tightened around his napkin.

"Why carve it if you did not intend me to know?"

Valdor met his gaze.

"If you did not find it, it would still be true."

The room quieted in an entirely different way. Vervath lowered his head, smiling into his mug. Lanslet’s expression softened despite every defense he had prepared against his son’s courtship moving too quickly. The words were not possessive enough to challenge, extravagant enough to distrust, or conditional enough to reject. They promised the one thing Lanslet had always wanted for Amor after Avamor’s death.

Someone would return.

Amor looked away because his face had become unbearably warm. Valdor placed the support upright again. The hidden inscription disappeared beneath it, but Amor now felt its presence more strongly than the visible carvings. Every moment his ankle rested upon the wood, the promise would remain beneath him. He wondered whether Valdor understood how dangerous such quiet care could be to someone who had once survived by expecting abandonment.

The meal resumed slowly. Amor ate one pastry without argument, though he barely tasted it. Valdor returned his ankle to the support, asking permission before every adjustment as though the room had not just uncovered an intimate vow. Lanslet focused upon slicing cheese with more attention than the task deserved. Amor needed something ordinary to break the tension.

"The trial was extremely fast."

Lanslet looked toward him.

"Fast?"

"It lasted only half a day."

"Hm? That is normal..."

Amor paused. Lanslet spread a small amount of cheese upon bread.

"Most noble hearings last at least half a day. Complex disputes may continue into the next, but that is rare."

"The king decides immediately?"

"After hearing both households present evidence, questioning witnesses, and consulting the chancellor."

Amor considered the process. In Lovell’s world, legal disputes could continue for months or years, consuming money, time, and whatever remained of a family’s patience. His parents’ divorce had dragged through hearings, revisions, arguments over custody, and repeated returns to court whenever one decided vengeance mattered more than peace. The simplicity of this system still felt startling.

"Is that not too much authority placed in one person?"

Lanslet’s brows rose. Vervath stopped eating. Valdor listened. Amor realized the question could sound politically dangerous and adjusted it quickly.

"I-I mean the process. What if the king misunderstands?"

"The Lord Chancellor advises upon law, and the council may challenge errors in procedure..."

Lanslet explained.

"The system is relatively new. King Cassian introduced it because older noble disputes often continued for months while families purchased delays, exhausted witnesses, and ruined one another through cost."

"That sounds familiar."

Amor murmured. Lanslet did not hear.

"So far, the new hearings have been effective..."

He continued.

"Both sides present their cases directly. Evidence is reviewed. Judgment follows."

"Are the consequences usually as mild as Alphonsins’s?"

The marquess’s knife stopped.

"No..."

Anger returned immediately.

"In most cases, exaggerating a complaint before the crown would bring a substantial fine, loss of court privileges, or temporary restriction from royal proceedings. Witness payments could have justified a separate inquiry."

Vervath nodded.

"Royal blood softened the blow."

Lanslet’s beautiful face cooled.

"Military service, lack of prior censure, emotional misjudgment—Cassian used every permissible reason to spare his nephew greater humiliation."

"The verdict was still fair, Father."

Amor said.

"The finding was fair. The punishment was indulgent!"

Amor saw the anger building again and changed direction before Lanslet began calculating what an appropriate non-royal fine should have been.

"What happens if both sides are commoners?"

Lanslet blinked. The question clearly surprised him.

"The king does not ordinarily hear common disputes..."

He answered.

"Village chiefs resolve local matters. Larger towns employ magistrates under the chancellor’s authority."

"What if one commoner brings a complaint against a noble household?"

The room became quieter. Lanslet considered.

"I do not know of a recent case."

Amor frowned.

"None?"

"Not one presented before the crown."

"That does not mean none occurred."

"No..."

Lanslet looked troubled now. A commoner harmed by a noble might lack access to royal proceedings, resources to hire advocates, or confidence that testimony would matter against rank. The streamlined system Amor admired could remain fair within the chamber while excluding those unable to reach it. Lanslet appeared to recognize the possibility in real time.

"I will look into it."

He said. Amor studied him.

"You will?"

"Yes. House Moons maintains offices in several towns and villages. I can request records from the local magistrates, compare complaints involving nobles, and determine whether the absence is genuine or merely administrative."

"Then tell me what you find."

Lanslet’s expression warmed with surprise and pride.

"I will."

Valdor watched Amor. The young noble had asked the question casually, yet concern remained beneath it. He did not simply admire a system that treated him fairly; he wanted to know whether that fairness reached people without wealth. Another hidden part of Amor revealed itself through what disturbed him. Vervath tore another roll.

"A chief who refuses a fair hearing can be challenged in Blackstone."

"How?"

Amor asked.

"Before the elders."

"And if the elders protect the chief?"

"Then the people remove both."

Lanslet looked toward him.

"Remove... as in politically?"

Vervath bit the roll.

"Mm, usually."

The qualification did not reassure anyone. Amor glanced toward the carved support again, then toward Valdor’s hands.

"I want to learn."

Valdor looked at him.

"What?"

"I don’t know. I’m going to be stuck inside for a week. I don’t want to be stuck and bored. Hey, can you teach me Blackstone carving?"

The warrior’s expression changed immediately.

"No—"

Amor became still. The refusal came too quickly and too absolutely. A small tension entered his shoulders. Valdor saw it. He remembered the condition before the old instinct could harden further.

"I mean... I... am afraid... the knife will worsen your wrist..."

He corrected, slower now.

"Will you wait until the shaman approves?"

Amor looked at him. The difference mattered. Valdor had not disguised fear as authority or treated Amor’s body as something he controlled. He named the concern and turned the decision into a request with a clear condition. The lesson from the alley had not been forgotten. Amor’s stiffness eased.

"Hmm... I dislike waiting."

"I know."

"My wrist is nearly healed though."

"It was hurt again yesterday."

"Mm, because a certain someone grabbed it. But I told you, he didn’t grab me hard. I’m fine."

"Yes."

Valdor’s eyes darkened. Amor lifted one finger.

"You promised to try not threatening every man who looks at me."

"He touched you."

"Ah, well... yeah. That is technically not looking."

"It is different."

Vervath nodded solemnly as he added.

"Much different. And a loophole, so threaten away son."

Lanslet looked toward him.

"Do not contribute, you."

Amor sighed.

"Very well. I will wait for Haverin’s approval..."

Valdor relaxed.

"On one condition..."

The warrior’s gaze sharpened again.

"You teach me something else now."

"What?"

"Something I can do without knives, standing, or being treated like decorative glass."

Valdor considered.

"Language."

Amor tilted his head.

"Oh? Your Blackstone tongue?"

"Yes."

"That is one option. Give me another."

"...Light leather braiding."

"Mm, good. Another."

"Writing carving symbols without carving."

Amor looked interested.

"Oh? How does one write carved symbols without carving it?"

Valdor reached toward one of the soft leather ties securing the removable padding upon the ankle support. He held the spare length and examined it.

"I can show symbols on paper. You can learn a basic braid with this. I will teach you our native tongue."

Amor smiled.

"Mhm, I like all three, we will do them. Let’s start now."

Vervath looked toward Lanslet.

"He negotiates well."

"He is my son."

"Mm, but he gets his persistence from Avamor."

Lanslet’s expression softened briefly at his wife’s name. Valdor placed three thin leather strips upon the table after obtaining them from Amor’s personal accessories he hardly ever used with approval from Lanslet, who insisted the ankle support remain fully functional. He arranged the strips before Amor but did not take the young noble’s hands. Instead, he demonstrated upon a separate set.

"Left over center..."

He said. Amor copied him.

"Right over center."

The strips twisted awkwardly. Amor frowned.

"Mine looks wrong."

"It is loose."

"So fix it."

Valdor looked at his hands. Then at Amor.

"May I guide you?"

The question made Amor smile.

"Yes."

Valdor moved his chair closer but still resisted immediately covering Amor’s hands. He placed one finger beside the correct strip, indicating direction rather than taking control. Amor followed, tightening the braid himself. Vervath watched with increasing impatience.

"You could simply move his fingers. Come on, you two have already slept together. Holding hands seems like a step backwards."

Valdor did not look up.

"He is learning. I am teaching."

Amor’s smile warmed. Lanslet watched the exchange with a complicated expression. The impromptu braiding lesson looked too intimate after the carved message was revealed, but Amor looked engaged, alert, and deeply happy. He had spent much of his relationship with Alphonsins reshaping himself around the duke’s silences. Here, he learned another person’s world because that person was offering it openly.

Valdor used the small little lesson to distract him from a fourth pastry. Amor noticed only after completing trying to fix his small braid by himself.

"Huh? Hey! You moved the plate."

"Yes."

"Just yesterday you manipulated me too."

"No. You accused me."

"Humph! This proves I was correct."

"You were busy braiding."

"I can braid and eat."

"You used the injured hand twice."

Amor looked at his wrist. Valdor had caught him. He sighed and continued the braid. Vervath appeared proud of the strategy. Valdor gave him another warning look before he could participate.

As the meal neared its end, Amor examined the short brown leather braid he had produced; he added a lavender ribbon he requested from Elsie to give it his own style. It was uneven in two places, tight in others, and nowhere near as refined as the cords Valdor wore around his belt. Still, he had made it himself. Valdor accepted it when Amor offered it for inspection.

"Good."

"You’re lying."

Amor pouted out, disappointed he didn’t get it perfect the first time.

"No."

"The middle is crooked."

"You corrected it."

"The end is still uneven though."

"You will learn."

Amor looked at him. Praise for effort still affected him differently from praise for beauty. He lowered his gaze, hiding the warmth behind his fan for a moment before remembering he needed both hands for the braid. Vervath swallowed a piece of cheese.

"Hmm, the carving on the ankle thing reminds me. Valdor asked about wedding rings. Is that where you got the idea to carve a vow on the wood?"

Valdor became motionless. Amor slowly turned toward the chieftain. Lanslet stopped drinking. Vervath looked pleased with the silence he had created.

"Cook Brenna showed him hers. A kitchen girl told one maid, who told a footman, who told one of the stable workers, who told me."

Valdor’s ears darkened. Amor’s eyes brightened with immediate mischief.

"Wedding rings, hmm?"

"It was... information."

Valdor said.

"About marriage customs?"

"Kingdom customs."

"Mm. Specifically marriage kingdom customs. Very necessary information..."

Valdor looked toward his father. Vervath ate more cheese, protected temporarily by the presence of Lanslet and Amor. Amor leaned back against the chaise.

"We have been courting for one day."

"Yes."

"And you are already researching wedding bands? Aren’t you moving too fast, we only just slept in the same bed."

"I asked what was on her finger."

"Then remained to learn about vows carved inside them? How interesting."

The darkening color spread from Valdor’s ears toward his neck. Amor had rarely seen him so visibly trapped. It was delightful. Lanslet, however, looked alarmed.

"There will be no wedding bands!"

"I did not make one."

Valdor said.

"No marriage marks either!"

Vervath touched his ribs unconsciously.

"Those come during the ceremony."

"There will be no ceremony!"

Amor sighed.

"Father, relax. No one proposed anything. I was only teasing him."

"Valdor spent the night carving promises. Don’t think I don’t know what that means. First it’s carvings and promises, then engagment and then before you know it, you’re moving north to wed!"

The warrior looked toward the ankle support.

"That was not marriage."

"Then preserve that distinction, young man!"

"I am."

Amor watched Valdor’s embarrassed stillness and felt an unexpected tenderness replace teasing. The man had given him food, protection, an heirloom, a carved support, and a promise hidden beneath it. Every act traveled in one direction. Toward Amor.

Courtship should not make him a passive object receiving devotion while offering only permission in return. He wanted Valdor to carry proof that he had been chosen too.

Amor lifted both hands toward his hair. A narrow lavender ribbon bound one sectioned braid starting near his temple down to a bow that rested by his collarbone, woven through the loose style Elsie had arranged after the bath. He pulled gently until the ribbon slipped free, releasing a soft strand of lavender hair against his cheek. Lanslet immediately noticed.

"What are you doing?"

Amor ignored him. He held the ribbon toward Valdor.

"Give me your wrist."

Valdor obeyed without asking why. His forearm extended across the table, enormous beside Amor’s pale hands. Scars crossed the dark skin near his wrist, joined by leather wraps and the edges of tribal markings. Amor loosened one wrap enough to reveal bare skin. Then he tied the ribbon around it.

The soft lavender silk looked impossibly delicate against the warrior’s large, scarred wrist. Amor wrapped it twice and secured it with a careful knot, leaving the ends short enough that they would not interfere with training. Valdor watched every movement without breathing.

"In certain kingdom courtships..."

Amor explained.

"A noble may give a personal color to someone whose attention has been accepted..."

Lanslet’s brows rose. Vervath stopped chewing.

"It does not indicate engagement..."

Amor added pointedly.

"It does not promise marriage, relocation, marks, rings, children, or whatever else either father is imagining..."

Vervath closed his mouth.

"It means only that the person may continue courting."

Valdor looked down at the ribbon. His wrist remained unusually still.

The silk carried the same lavender shade as Amor’s hair and House Moons’s private colors, visible against furs, scars, and dark markings. It was worth almost nothing compared to the moonstone clasp or tailored kingdom clothes, maybe it was wirth more than the carved mountain glass. The meaning made it more precious than either. Vervath leaned forward.

"Does this mean the courtship is formally witnessed?"

"It was witnessed yesterday..."

Lanslet said.

"By the entire bedroom."

"That was spoken permission. This is a token. Big difference, Lans."

"Hmph! It remains only courtship in my eyes."

"Courtship leads toward—"

Lanslet lifted one hand.

"Before Amor considers marrying anywhere, several matters must be settled first..."

Amor closed his eyes.

"The distance to Blackstone..."

Lanslet continued, beginning to count upon his fingers.

"Inheritance of House Moons, seasonal residence, medical access, winter travel, court obligations, property rights, household staffing—"

"We are not getting engaged, Father."

Amor reminded him.

"Which gives us time to prepare ahead of time, my moonlight."

"No one asked you to prepare. There is nothing to prepare. We are only one day in."

"I am your father."

Vervath nodded and added on.

"Fathers prepare. It is in our nature."

"I don’t want to hear that from you, Vervath. You attempted to help transport him in a basket!"

"It was Valdor’s plan! When I found out, I was going to stop him before you stormed over. You made such a scene, we had to flee in a hurry! We even left some of our chests behind. I say that is fair compen-tation enough."

"Compensation. And so what if he was five. He was a child who should have known a baby can’t ride north in a basket."

"Mm. But you must admit, it showed initiative."

Amor turned toward Valdor.

"Please say something before they draft a marriage treaty over the remaining pastries."

Valdor did not immediately answer. He continued looking at the ribbon. His thumb hovered near it but did not touch, as though careless contact might loosen the knot. The visible sign of Amor’s welcome seemed to demand the same seriousness as an oath made before elders.

Finally, he lifted his eyes.

"...Then I will."

The simple promise silenced every other voice for one breath.

He would continue. Continue returning. Continue learning. Continue asking. Continue making himself worthy of another choice without treating today’s acceptance as ownership of tomorrow.

Amor smiled. Valdor looked back at the ribbon. He held his marked wrist with extraordinary stillness for the remainder of lunch, barely bending it when he lifted his cup and refusing to allow the loose edge of his fur to brush against the silk. When Vervath reached over to inspect the knot, Valdor moved his arm out of reach with a speed that made the chieftain withdraw his hand.

"I want to see."

"You can see from there."

"It may loosen during training."

"It will not."

"You should remove it before washing."

"No."

"The dye may—"

"No."

Amor hid a pleased smile behind his fan. Lanslet noticed. His paternal concerns remained, but he looked from the carved support beneath Amor’s leg to the lavender ribbon around Valdor’s wrist and seemed to understand the balance forming between them. Valdor’s gift promised that he would return. Amor’s token answered that the return was welcome.

Neither gesture demanded forever. Both made tomorrow more likely.

The afternoon light shifted across the sitting room, touching Lady Avamor’s portrait, the unfinished leather braid, and the last abandoned pastry upon Amor’s plate. Valdor sat beside the chaise with one wrist held unusually still, guarding a narrow strip of lavender silk as though it were the most fragile treasure he had ever been trusted to carry.

Perhaps, to him, it was.