Chapter 54: Many Moons

Valdor moved toward Amor the moment the permission was granted, and Amor, without thinking, lifted his arms. There was no hesitation this time, no embarrassed pause while he pretended the gesture meant nothing, no last-second attempt to rely upon a servant simply because doing so appeared more proper. Before Valdor had even fully bent toward him, Amor had already looped both arms around the warrior’s neck and leaned forward enough to make the transfer easier. Valdor slid one arm beneath Amor’s knees and the other behind his back, lifting him from the bed with the same effortless care he had shown so many times that Amor barely registered being moved at all.

It was Elsie’s expression that exposed him. She had just been about to enter before stopping and stood just beyond the doorway, one hand resting upon the handle as she waited to guide them into the adjoining sitting room, and for several seconds she simply watched. Her mouth curved slowly. Not enough to qualify as open teasing, but enough to make Amor suspicious.

"What?"

"Nothing, my lord."

"That expression is not nothing."

Elsie looked toward his arms. Amor followed her gaze. His fingers were resting comfortably behind Valdor’s neck, one thumb absently near the edge of a dark braid, while his body had settled into the warrior’s hold as naturally as though this position had always been part of the household routine. He remembered, with painful clarity, the first few times Valdor carried him and how violently his face had burned merely because the man’s chest sat too close.

Now he had reached first. Again. And had not even noticed. Amor’s ears warmed. Valdor glanced down.

"Something wrong?"

"N-no!"

Elsie’s smile deepened.

"Absolutely nothing, my lord? Are you sure?"

Amor narrowed his eyes at her over Valdor’s shoulder.

"I can still dismiss you."

"You say that very often recently for someone who has never succeeded, my lord."

Valdor continued into the adjoining sitting room before Amor could find a sufficiently devastating reply. The space had once again been converted into a private dining area, though the servants had rearranged it slightly since lunch. Amor’s cushioned chaise had been moved closer to the circular table so he could participate without stretching, while Elsie placed Valdor’s carved ankle support at the proper angle beneath a folded blanket. Lamps burned warmly along the walls, reflecting against silver serving dishes and the glass doors overlooking the darkening garden.

Voices were already rising as they entered the room. Lanslet sat at the table with the posture of a man attempting to conduct a serious discussion. Vervath sat opposite him with the posture of a man determined to make seriousness impossible.

"One healthy child is enough."

Lanslet said. Vervath stared at him.

"One?"

"One."

"You are joking me. That is not a family!"

"That is absolutely a family."

"It is a beginning—"

"It is enough!"

Vervath looked genuinely troubled.

"My mother had thirteen children."

Lanslet’s fork paused halfway toward his plate.

"T-thirteen!?"

"Yup! I am one of twelve siblings. I am the second eldest in my family."

"That explains so much and yet... nothing at all. How are you like this?"

Vervath ignored the insult.

"I also have nine children of my own."

"I know."

"My brothers and sisters mostly have children in the double digits..."

Lanslet looked faint.

"Some households need two longhouses just for offspring. You see where I am going with this, yes?"

"That...that is not comforting at all! How... What?"

"Hmph! You kingdom men would never understand. It is normal. It is healthy! It is the Blackstone way!"

"It is chaos! And frankly, kind of insulting!"

"It is family. It has always been this way. How else would we become the best tribe this side of the kingdom? Remember, it was you, kingdom men, who came to us for help."

Lanslet placed the fork down with exquisite control.

"Amor is delicate..."

Vervath considered that. Lanslet continued before he could interrupt.

"He is not one of your mountain women who apparently gives birth before breakfast, butchers a beast by lunch, and becomes pregnant again before the following harvest."

Vervath frowned.

"That is dramatic."

"Is it?"

"My younger sister waited two days before returning to hunting after Keshen. And we have plenty of men who give birth as well as women. They bounce back in one day..."

Lanslet stared. Vervath realized the example had failed.

"Perhaps three? No...is four good?"

"Haah, that makes it worse, you fool."

Amor closed his eyes against Valdor’s shoulder. They had walked into a conversation about his hypothetical reproductive schedule. Valdor, thankfully, seemed too focused upon carrying him safely to react. Then Vervath stroked his beard.

"Hmm, I can see this will be an issue. If Amor is so delicate, then perhaps we should reconsider the marriage."

Lanslet’s entire demeanor changed.

"What?"

"I am not sure about yourself, but I want many grandchildren. Enough to form a hunting party at the very least. This just won’t do."

"You will not dismiss my son because he cannot satisfy your absurd breeding expectations!! The nerve! The-the-the audacity!! How dare you, sir!!"

Amor’s eyes opened. Valdor stopped walking. Vervath looked toward Lanslet with innocent surprise. The marquess had already leaned forward, outrage burning through every remnant of earlier caution.

"My son is intelligent, educated, graceful, beautiful, financially capable, socially accomplished, exceptionally well mannered when he chooses to be, deeply loyal, clever with household affairs, talented with fashion, knowledgeable about trade, and perfectly capable of creating a peaceful home..."

Amor’s face slowly changed. Lanslet continued.

"He knows how to host, manage servants, negotiate, entertain, select proper gifts, maintain noble correspondence, and—"

"Father."

"Has a refined palate, excellent taste, extraordinary patience with unreasonable people—"

"Father!"

"And he is affectionate, observant, generous—"

Amor covered his face with one hand. He sounded like the perfect housewife being advertised before a marriage market. Vervath’s eyes gleamed. Valdor’s chest moved faintly beneath Amor. Amor looked toward him.

"Are you laughing right?"

"No."

"Liar! I felt you moved."

"I breathed."

Elsie appeared beside the chaise and arranged the ankle support.

"Your timing is fortunate, my lord."

Amor looked toward her.

"Why?"

"Another minute and your father might have begun advertising your embroidery skills."

"My-my embroidery skills are just so-so! There is nothing to advertise!"

"You could learn from me. I will make you become the best, my lord. As your ever faithful maid, it is my duty to make you the most refined bride there is to have in the kingdom."

"Haah, everyone in this house has betrayed me. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry...."

Valdor lowered him onto the chaise. Amor’s arms remained around his neck until the last moment. That realization embarrassed him only after Valdor had already transferred the injured leg onto the carved support and adjusted the leather padding beneath his calf. By then, the conversation had shifted again because Lanslet finally noticed them.

"Oh—You’re here!"

"Mm, I have been here for an entire discussion concerning my imagined children."

Lanslet became pale.

"Ah, you...heard all that, did you?"

"Hm, I’ve heard enough. Especially from you, Father."

Vervath grinned.

"So, how many do you want?"

"Humph! None of your business!"

"Hehe, none of my business yet, you mean."

Valdor looked toward his father and though his face remained neutral, his eyes held a dangerous glint. The same kind when Vervath kept placing Amor’s carrots back onto his plate, when he ripped the ribbon, requesting to spar and moments before tossing him out of the window. Vervath immediately reached for bread. Lanslet cleared his throat and attempted to return the conversation to safer territory. Dinner began. The food was simple but generous:

Roasted poultry glazed with herbs and citrus, a thick grain dish mixed with mushrooms, buttered roots, fresh greens, bread, cheese, and a clear soup carrying the delicate scent of ginger. Dessert waited beneath several covered trays at the far end, strategically hidden from Amor’s immediate reach.

Amor noticed. Valdor noticed him noticing. Neither commented. For the first several minutes, the meal settled into a calmer rhythm than lunch. Valdor served Amor without overloading his plate. Lanslet asked whether the ankle support remained comfortable. Vervath ate as though his earlier trip through a third-floor window had merely improved his appetite. Then the language lessons began leaking into conversation. Amor reached toward the bread.

"Ah—That’s...Kava."

He murmured. Valdor looked toward him.

"Food. You got it."

Amor smiled.

"Hehe, I remembered it right!"

"Yes."

Vervath immediately leaned forward.

"Oh! Oh! Ask me something! I can also teach you our Blackstone tongue."

Valdor’s expression hardened. Amor looked interested.

"Okay, um...What should I ask?"

"Anything. Anything at all. I will definitely teach you."

Valdor said.

"[Dad, do not.]"

That naturally made Amor more curious. He looked toward Vervath.

"What is the Blackstone word for... happy?"

Vervath considered. Then his eyes brightened mischievously. He pronounced a phrase.

"Va mora varuun."

"Va mora varuun?"

Amor repeated it automatically. Valdor froze.

"Do not say that."

Amor stopped. Vervath began choking on laughter.

"What does it mean?"

Valdor’s ears darkened.

"Not happy."

"Hm? Well judging by your reaction, that much is obvious..."

Amor looked toward Vervath. The chieftain was now openly delighted.

"What did I just say? Come on, tell me."

Valdor shook his head.

"Not...good...for your...age."

"Oh. It...it’s not age-appropriate? Ah, oh no! I’m sorry!"

Amor blinked. Then understanding arrived. His cheeks turned pink. Lanslet’s hand stopped above his soup. Unlike Amor, he possessed enough Blackstone vocabulary from decades of treaty work to understand the phrase. His smile became beautiful. Too beautiful. Vervath saw it and immediately stopped laughing. Lanslet folded his hands together.

"High Chieftain Vervath."

"Y-yes, Lord Lanslet?"

"If you teach my precious child another phrase meaning he wishes to mate for many moons—"

Amor nearly inhaled his water. Valdor looked toward his father with silent condemnation. Vervath lifted both palms.

"He asked?"

"He asked for the word for happy."

"The phrase implies happiness."

"It implies prolonged reproductive enthusiasm, you brute!"

"Mm. That can create happiness, no?"

Lanslet’s smile brightened. Vervath stopped speaking.

"If you teach him anything similar again..."

Lanslet continued calmly,

"I will grant Lord Valdor unrestricted use of the sparring grounds for the remainder of your stay..."

Vervath’s expression collapsed.

"At any hour..."

The chieftain stared.

"Any day..."

Valdor’s eyes sharpened with interest.

"With no expectation of restraint beyond avoiding permanent injury. I am trusting your son to teach Amor correctly. Otherwise, I will stop the lessons and teach Amor myself. Will you be able to handle it if Valdor cannot teach Amor because of your filthy mouth, Vath?"

Vervath shoved an enormous piece of bread into his mouth. Silence followed. Amor stared at his father. Valdor looked almost pleased. Lanslet sipped his tea. The matter was settled.

From that moment onward, Vervath was effectively forbidden from language instruction. The restriction lasted less than five minutes before he attempted to correct Amor’s pronunciation of the Blackstone word for "tea." Valdor said.

"No."

Vervath returned to his food. The meal became smoother after that. At one point, a new servant approached Valdor and asked whether the kitchens should continue preparing separate meals according to Blackstone preferences or begin incorporating more shared dishes now that the guests appeared comfortable with kingdom food. The question was longer and more complicated than the usual servant interactions.

Several days earlier, Valdor might have answered with a nod and one or two words. This time he listened fully. Then replied in common.

"You may combine them. Keep some meat prepared without sweet sauce for Father. I like the kingdom dishes, but if Cook Brenna wants Blackstone recipes, I can show her tomorrow."

The room became quiet. His grammar was not flawless. The accent remained heavy. But the sentence was clear, smooth, and noticeably more natural than before. The servant nodded.

"Of course, Lord Valdor."

Amor looked toward him. His face brightened.

"You remembered everything from this afternoon."

Valdor turned.

"Yes."

"That was an entire complicated sentence."

"Yes."

"Hehe, my student is the best. He can remember everything I taught him perfectly. I’m really the best teacher, huh?"

"Yes."

"Humph! Liar. Hehehe, but it’s okay, I’m just glad you can say more now."

Amor looked absurdly proud. The expression hit Valdor unexpectedly. No one had ever looked at his common speech like that. Most kingdom people only noticed when he failed. A merchant smirked when he searched too long for a number. A noble laughed when Valdor misunderstood some double-edged compliment. Servants sometimes over-enunciated as though volume could replace vocabulary.

Amor had spent an afternoon confusing himself over silent letters, admitting when he did not know an explanation, and correcting Valdor without once mocking the sound of his voice. Better still, he had told him not to erase the accent.

"Learn more."

"Remain himself."

The difference altered something deep. Valdor had learned common because ignorance was dangerous. It allowed him to recognize insults, avoid large scams, understand documents, and know when someone believed Blackstone people too stupid to hear what was being said directly in front of them.

For the first time, the language felt capable of giving something back. It could make Amor smile. Valdor looked toward his plate. His ears warmed. Amor noticed.

"Hm? What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Hah? It’s not nothing. You are blushing."

"No."

"Hehe, your ears say otherwise. You have been betrayed."

Vervath looked over. Valdor immediately turned his head. Amor smiled. Later, the roles reversed. Amor tried another Blackstone phrase from the afternoon. Valdor corrected one vowel. Vervath, still under threat of unrestricted sparring, physically covered his own mouth to prevent offering assistance. Lanslet watched him with satisfaction.

"The books make the Blackstone language sound..."

Amor searched for the correct wording.

"Simple."

Vervath’s hand lowered from his mouth. Valdor nodded.

"Kingdom books do."

"They describe it as mostly commands, hunting terms, trade language, and family titles."

"It has those."

"But it has so much more. It’s interesting, isn’t it?"

"Yes."

Amor looked toward Valdor.

"The word for choose alone carries more meaning than the common version."

Vervath’s expression softened. Valdor leaned slightly closer.

"Many Blackstone words change by who says them..."

He explained.

"Or where."

Amor listened.

"Hara means home, right?"

"Yes. If said to a traveler, it means the place they came from..."

Amor nodded.

"If said by family, it can mean the people..."

His attention sharpened.

"If said by someone welcoming another..."

Valdor paused.

"It can mean where you are allowed to belong."

Amor looked down. The language possessed layers the kingdom guides had reduced to rough translations. Words shaped by place, relationship, and intention rather than dictionary definition. It was not crude. It was intimate.

"Mm. I like learning it..."

Amor said. Vervath looked delighted. Valdor’s expression softened. Lanslet watched his son with complicated affection. Amor continued,

"It feels like every word is only half finished until you know who is saying it and why."

Valdor nodded.

"Yes."

"That makes it difficult to learn..."

"Yes."

"But it’s still very beautiful if you think about it."

The warrior became still. The compliment was directed at the language. It somehow felt directed at him too. Dinner eased gently toward dessert. Servants removed the main dishes and revealed pastries, baked fruit, custard, and small honey cakes. Amor immediately claimed his share before anyone could establish a vegetable requirement.

Valdor allowed it. He had already eaten all the greens without even realizing it. The room gradually quieted as everyone finished. Vervath stretched and stood first, apparently eager to escape before Lanslet remembered any additional punishments. Lanslet followed more gracefully, wiping his mouth with a napkin before wishing Amor good night.

Valdor rose beside the chaise. He bent toward Amor. Then stopped. His gaze shifted toward his father.

"[Tonight...]"

Vervath froze near the door. Valdor straightened.

"[We speak about Aunt Samara.]"

The chieftain’s shoulders tightened.

"[I-I remembered! Geez, can’t even trust your old man to keep a promise? Some son you are.]"

"[You tried to avoid it.]"

"[N-no I didn’t! It was a strategic retreat.]"

"[You did.]"

"[I merely prioritized your courtship schedule! And this is how I am being treated? Like some criminal. See if I try to help you again, you ungrateful brat.]"

Valdor’s eyes narrowed. Vervath looked toward Lanslet for help. The marquess had absolutely no intention of intervening.

"Good night [and good luck, mighty warrior Vervath.]"

Lanslet said as he walked out. Vervath remained behind. Valdor looked toward him. The chieftain followed Lanslet immediately.

"[Hmph! I will definately be there to talk. We will meet back in the room! Just you watch!]"

The words carried none of the confidence of someone who intended willingly to be available. Valdor watched him disappear. Then he turned back toward Amor.

"Now. May I put you to bed?"

He bent. Amor’s face warmed.

"Yes—wait. You are putting me to bed?"

"Yes."

"!! I am twenty years old!"

"Yes."

"I am not a child anymore! I don’t need to be put to bed by you!"

Valdor paused. Amor immediately regretted sounding sharper than intended. The warrior looked toward the injured ankle.

"You cannot walk."

"I-I know that already."

"I carried you here."

"Yes, I know that too but—"

"I will carry you back."

"That is not the embarrassing part! Haah..."

Valdor waited. Amor looked toward the open doorway where both fathers had just disappeared.

"It’s just... You announced you were putting me to bed in front of them."

"Yes."

"As though I am five and incapable of going to bed myself."

Valdor considered.

"You were smaller at five."

Amor stared.

"That does not help your case!"

Valdor’s mouth moved slightly. Amor pointed a warning finger at him.

"You are enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"A little."

The admission surprised him enough to break the embarrassment. Amor sighed. Then, out of habit before thought, lifted both arms. Valdor looked at them. Amor realized. His face warmed again. Neither commented.

Valdor bent and lifted him. Amor’s arms went around his neck automatically. The warrior adjusted him securely against his chest and carried him toward the adjoining bedroom. His movement remained careful, though a faint amusement lingered in the softness around his eyes. Amor rested his cheek briefly against Valdor’s shoulder.

"Humph! I still object to being treated like a child."

"Okay."

"You are supposed to say you understand."

"I understand."

"And?"

"You still cannot walk."

Amor huffed. Valdor carried him through the doorway. Behind them, Elsie began overseeing the servants clearing dinner, watching the pair disappear into the bedroom with an expression halfway between amusement and tenderness.

’Some habits, my lord...’

She thought.

’Have stopped being embarrassing because they were becoming something else entirely. Don’t worry, Amor, this is a good sign. I promise.’

---

Valdor carried Amor through the adjoining doors and into the bedroom with the same practiced ease that had already begun to feel dangerously ordinary.

Amor did not think to loosen his arms from around Valdor’s neck until the warrior reached the bed, and even then his fingers lingered against the dark hair near the nape as Valdor bent carefully over the mattress. One broad arm remained behind Amor’s back while the other supported his knees, lowering him slowly enough that the injured ankle never jostled against the blankets. Only when Amor rested securely against the pillows did Valdor withdraw enough to retrieve the carved support and settle his calf into its padded curve.

"Comfortable?"

Valdor asked.

"Yes."

"The ankle?"

"It is still attached. Don’t worry."

Valdor looked toward it as though the clarification were medically useful.

"Good."

Amor smiled despite himself. Behind them, the bedroom door opened again and Elsie returned from helping the other servants organize the dinner service, followed closely by Mary and Junia. Mary carried a fresh nightgown over one arm, Junia had collected towels and a basin of warm water, while Elsie wore the expression of a senior maid arriving prepared to restore order after several hours of romantic distraction. The three women slowed briefly upon finding Amor already arranged in bed and Valdor standing beside him like an enormous additional piece of furniture the household had simply accepted.

"We will take over from here, Lord Valdor."

Elsie said. Valdor nodded, though he did not immediately move. His gaze returned to Amor.

"Good night."

Amor’s fingers tightened faintly over the blanket. The evening had been pleasant enough that the thought of darkness returned like a draft entering beneath a door. He could already imagine the room after everyone left, the fire settling low, the familiar spaces becoming too still, and sleep waiting with all the uncertainty he had managed to avoid during the shared nap. The memory of the deep, endless nightmares made the coming night feel more difficult rather than less. Valdor saw something shift behind the smile Amor gave him.

"If sleep is difficult..."

He said.

"I will come."

Amor blinked. The words landed somewhere between reassurance and intimacy.

For one reckless second, he almost asked what come meant—whether Valdor intended to sit beside the bed again, hold his hand, offer his heartbeat, or simply stand guard until morning. The thought of requesting any of those things made warmth crawl up Amor’s neck despite the nervousness beneath it. Asking directly still felt like exposing a need he had spent too many years training himself to hide.

So he chose humor.

"My, Lord Valdor..."

Amor murmured, lifting his fan just enough to hide the uncertain curve of his lips.

"You have only been courting me for a day and already you are promising to come to my bedroom at night."

Mary looked abruptly toward the floor. Junia’s shoulders trembled. Elsie closed her eyes. Valdor considered the sentence with complete seriousness.

"Yes."

Amor’s fan rose higher.

"Eh? That was not the correct response!"

"It is true."

"You-you-you were supposed to become embarrassed!"

Valdor’s ears reddened. Amor stared at them. The warrior had apparently become embarrassed after all, though his expression did not change enough to rescue Amor’s composure. The sight pleased him far more than it should have. He forced himself to smile again.

"Don’t worry, okay. I will be fine."

Valdor studied him. Amor’s expression held. The warrior did not challenge the statement.

"Sa vara en."

Amor said softly instead, using the Blackstone phrase they had practiced that afternoon.

[You may return.]

Valdor’s eyes warmed. He lifted one fist and tapped it once against the center of his chest, a gesture Amor had seen Blackstone warriors use when accepting a sincere promise or farewell.

"Allar."

[I will.]

Valdor turned toward the door. Before leaving, however, his gaze moved toward Elsie, then Mary and Junia. Nothing was said. Elsie gave the smallest nod. Mary followed. Junia, after glancing toward Amor to ensure he was not watching closely, nodded as well.

The agreement passed so quietly that Amor missed it entirely. If the young master woke frightened and called for anyone, even for just a glass of water, one of them would find Valdor. The warrior tapped his chest once more.

"Good night."

Amor shooed him toward the door with his fan.

"Go before you make it sentimental."

Valdor left. The door closed. The smile remained upon Amor’s face for several seconds afterward.

---

Valdor carried that image down the corridor. He should have been pleased by it. Instead, Vervath’s voice returned from memory.

"Know when his smile lies."

The advice had been given lightly at first, one of many things his father told him while discussing courtship beneath the awkward safety of darkness. Now Valdor understood the weight of it more clearly.

Amor’s final smile had lied. Not completely. The warmth had been real. So had the affection. The lie existed beneath it, hidden inside the easy assurance that he would be fine.

Valdor sighed. Something uncomfortable settled inside his chest. Not anger. Not disappointment in Amor. A smaller, quieter hurt that came from recognizing there were still places Amor would not allow him to enter. He understood why.

Trust could not be demanded because courtship had begun, nor could a few meals, gifts, nights of peaceful sleep, and promises erase whatever history made Amor fear asking for comfort. Valdor had already learned enough to know that Amor’s past held wounds deeper than the ones visible upon his wrist and ankle. The strange name spoken in nightmares—Lovell—still waited unanswered between them.

Valdor did not resent the silence. He wanted to become worthy of breaking it. The thought steadied him.

If Amor could not yet say—

"Stay because I am afraid to sleep alone."

—then Valdor would not force those words from him. He would show up when called. He would ask, listen, and learn which smiles meant joy and which ones were walls. Still, another thought entered.

’What if Amor never calls?’

Valdor slowed. Perhaps waiting entirely upon a summons placed too much responsibility on someone whose instinct was to hide need.

Could he simply enter?

’No.’

The answer arrived immediately. Entering Amor’s bedroom at night without warning would violate precisely the kind of boundary Valdor had promised to respect. Even if his intention were protection, intention did not transform intrusion into permission. But he could ask in advance.

’Tomorrow, maybe. Or before dinner.’

’Something simple. If you cannot sleep and do not call, may I check once? That will be enough.’

’That would allow Amor to choose the boundary before fear messed with his choice.’

Valdor approved of the idea. He continued toward the guest wing.

By the time he reached the room he shared with Vervath, the manor had become quiet around him. Lamps burned low in wall sconces, most servants had disappeared into the service corridors, and the distant household sounds had softened into doors closing, water being carried away, and muted voices bidding one another good night. Valdor opened the guest-room door.

A thunderous snore greeted him. He stopped.

Vervath lay sprawled across his sleeping mat near the hearth, one arm thrown dramatically above his head, his massive body half covered by a wool blanket. His mouth hung slightly open, beard flattened against one cheek, while each exhale produced a deep rumbling sound impressive enough to suggest unconsciousness had claimed him hours ago.

Valdor stared. Another snore. His father had gone to bed suspiciously early. Valdor closed the door behind himself. He said nothing. Instead, he began his nighttime routine.

He removed the heavier furs first, folding them over a wooden chest rather than allowing them to gather on the floor. The lavender ribbon remained woven safely into the front braid, so he loosened the rest of his hair carefully around it rather than undoing that section. He washed his face, arms, chest, and feet with the heated water left in the tub, scrubbing away the last traces of ink scent and the days events.

Vervath snored throughout. Valdor changed into his sleeping clothes. Blackstone nightwear required little ceremony, particularly among warriors accustomed to crowded lodges, temporary hunting shelters, and fires too warm for heavy cloth. Valdor wrapped a fitted strip of softened skin-cloth around his hips, secured it firmly, and left the rest of his body bare. The cool room felt comfortable against skin still unreasonably warm from washing.

His father snored again. Valdor looked toward him. Then toward the leather boots lying beside Vervath’s mat. He picked one up. The boot was heavy as all Blackstone boots were.

’Good.’

Valdor threw it. The leather projectile crossed the room. Vervath rolled. One hand shot upward with startling speed. He caught the boot inches from his face. Silence followed.

Vervath remained on his side. The boot rested in his grip. His eyes slowly opened. Valdor’s thick brows drew together. The movement was slight. For anyone unfamiliar with him, it might have looked like mild curiosity.

Vervath knew better. His eldest son was furious. The chieftain cleared his throat. Then, with astonishing shamelessness, he stretched as though waking naturally.

"[Yaaahh! Oh wow!]"

Valdor stared.

"[What a refreshing sleep. I sure did need that nap.]"

"[You caught the boot.]"

"[Wha—! That-that was instincts. You know how quick we have to get up! It is only natural!]"

"[Mm, you’re right. But you were awake. I could tell.]"

"[What!? I-I mean—I became awake when something attempted to kill me! You have no proof—]"

"[You moved before it reached you. You were awake.]"

Vervath sat up. His expression searched for an escape and found none.

"[...My boy! I was waiting for you.]"

Valdor’s brows lowered another fraction. Vervath laughed weakly.

"[Waiting comfortably.]"

No reaction. The chieftain sighed. He looked toward the boot in his hands, then set it aside.

"[I thought perhaps you would be tired after your lessons and wouldn’t have the energy to talk.]"

"[I am not.]"

"[Ah, yes I can see that... But-but maybe Amor needs you to stay with him longer—]"

"[He did not.]"

"[Perhaps you wished to sleep before—]"

"[Aunt Samara.]"

The name ended every escape. Vervath closed his eyes. For several moments he remained seated on the mat, shoulders slightly bowed as though the weight of twenty-five years had suddenly settled across them. When he opened his eyes again, the comedy had mostly gone.

"[Alright. Come. Sit...]"

Valdor did. He lowered himself onto the opposite mat, crossing his legs and resting his forearms upon his thighs. Even seated, he looked imposing in the dim room, bare chest marked with Blackstone symbols, hair loosened except for the single braid carrying Amor’s lavender ribbon. The ribbon caught faintly in the hearthlight.

Vervath noticed it. Something softened in his face. Then he looked away.

"[You deserve the full story.]"

"[Yes.]"

"[You may not like parts of it.]"

"[Tell me.]"

Vervath rubbed both hands over his face.

"[Samara was twenty-five when she first came south...]"

Valdor remained silent. The story began.

"[She was already impossible...]"

A flicker of irritation crossed Valdor’s eyes. Vervath raised one hand.

"[That is out of affectionate. She may torment me, but she is still my older sister who I love but...]"

The hand lowered.

"[Our father had begun preparing her for leadership because she was the eldest and strongest and, at the time, no one knew whether the treaty would ever exist. The border was worse then. Kingdom patrolling knights treated Blackstone hunters as raiders, Blackstone warriors treated kingdom patrolling kinghts as trespassers, and monsters cared nothing for either argument...]"

Valdor knew those histories. Not this part.

"[Samara hated the fighting...]"

Vervath continued.

"[Not because she feared it. She loved a good fight more than I did, which is saying something.]"

"[That explains the attack.]"

"[Yes, well...let’s not mention that to anyone. Anyway...]"

The chieftain rubbed his neck at the memory of being placed in a headlock by a queen wearing silk.

"[She believed both sides were wasting warriors while the mountains grew more dangerous. So when a kingdom caravan vanished near the eastern pass, she ignored our father’s order to remain home and took six hunters to search.]"

Valdor’s gaze sharpened.

"[Who was in the caravan?]"

Vervath smiled faintly.

"[You already know. Come on, take a guess. Who else could it have been?]"

Valdor became still.

"[King] Cassian."

The name settled between them.

"[He was not king yet...]"

Vervath said.

"[Only Crown Prince] Cassian Solaris, [arrogant enough to believe an escort of thirty kingdom soldiers made him safe in Blackstone winter territory.]"

Valdor almost understood the outcome immediately.

"[They became lost.]"

"[Ha! Lost? That is undermining the word! No, it was more like they became trapped...]"

Vervath’s eyes warmed with old amusement.

"[An avalanche sealed the main pass. Frost-jaws found them before our hunters did.]"

"[How many survived?]"

"[Eleven soldiers.] Cassian. [And one royal shaman, I believe...]"

Valdor frowned.

"[Samara found them while they were trying to barricade themselves inside a broken supply shelter. Cassian had a sword in one hand, blood on his face, and enough pride to refuse help from the ’barbarian woman’ who walked through the snow...]"

Valdor’s expression hardened. Vervath laughed.

"[Do not worry. She hit him. Hard.]"

That improved matters.

"[How hard?]"

"[She broke his nose...]"

Valdor nodded.

"[Then she saved him...]"

The fire cracked softly. Vervath looked toward it.

"[She led them through an old hunting route before the next storm closed the valley. Cassian argued almost the entire time. Samara threatened to leave him for the monsters twice. By the time they reached Blackstone territory, they hated each other.]"

Valdor understood enough about his family to hear what came next.

"[They fell in love.]"

Vervath grimaced.

"[Somehow, yeah. Eventually, I guess. Ugk, it still makes me sick remembering that time. She was so...ugh, happy.]"

"[How?]"

"[Hm? Oh, that I don’t know. And frankly I don’t want to know those details.]"

"[You are her brother.]"

"[I avoided them whenever they came to view. You think I wanted to talk to them? Ha!]"

Valdor stared.

"[Don’t look at me like that! It wasn’t just me, you know. The blame is partially on them too! They argued constantly...]"

Vervath defended.

"[No one wanted to stand nearby when they went at it. Then one day, they started acting all shy and—ugh, like a newly married couple. After I caught them kissing, I stayed in the forest for weeks to burn away the memory... It didn’t work...]"

He leaned back against the wall.

"Haah, Cassian [stayed three months while the pass remained closed. He learned our routes, ate our food, trained with our warriors, and complained that Samara cheated whenever she beat him.]"

"[Did she?]"

"[Hmph! Yes!...]"

Valdor’s face remained flat.

"[Okay, mostly...]"

The chieftain smiled.

"[But then spring came...]"

His voice changed.

"[And] Cassian [returned south...]"

Valdor waited.

"[Sammy went with him...]"

The simplicity of the statement carried something heavier beneath it.

"[Hoh, our father was furious. Everyone in the tribe was on edge. Mother had to try her best to stop him from kicking her out of the Blackstone record. She only just barely managed to calm him.]"

"[Why did he allow her to go then?]"

"[Hmph, he didn’t.]"

Valdor’s expression sharpened.

"[She left?]"

"[Yeah... She chose...]"

Vervath looked toward the floor. That word mattered.

"[She told our father that if the kingdom and Blackstone ever intended to stop killing one another over roads and pride, someone had to cross the distance first.] Cassian [had offered marriage.]"

Valdor’s brows rose.

"[Already? They had known each other for three months.]"

Valdor looked toward the lavender ribbon in his own braid. Vervath noticed and smiled.

"[Do not judge.]"

"[I am not.]"

"[You are. I’m your father, I can tell.]"

"[...A little.]"

The irony was not lost on either of them.

"Cassian’s [father opposed it, obviously...]"

Vervath continued.

"[So did half the royal council. A Blackstone woman marrying the crown prince threatened every noble family that had spent generations planning daughters for him...]"

Valdor’s jaw tightened.

"[They called her savage...]"

The word came colder now.

"[Uneducated. Dangerous. A northern whore who had enchanted the heir...]"

Valdor’s hands curled into fists. Vervath saw.

"[Heh, Sammy broke one lord’s jaw.]"

"[Good.]"

"Cassian [had to stop her from breaking another’s.]"

"[Less good.]"

Vervath laughed softly.

"[But] Cassian [did not send her away...]"

The laughter faded.

"[He told the council that Samara had saved his life, commanded warriors more effectively than half the men criticizing her, and understood the border better than anyone sitting in the capital. Then he announced that if he could not choose his own wife, he did not trust the same council to advise him on choosing anything else...]"

Valdor considered the king he had seen in the hearing. That sounded possible.

"[His father refused the marriage for nearly a year.]"

"[What changed?]"

"[War...]"

The answer quieted the room.

"[A border rebellion began in the east. Kingdom nobles who profited from raiding routes had been provoking Blackstone attacks, then blaming our people publicly. Samara discovered it while staying near the capital...]"

Valdor’s eyes narrowed.

"[She returned north with evidence.]"

"[To granddad?]"

"[Yes.]"

"[And] Cassian?"

"[Hmph, that crazed scoundrel followed...]"

Vervath’s mouth curved.

"[Not invited, obviously. You could hear them bickering before they even reached within a thousand steps of our territory...]"

The situation began sounding increasingly familiar.

"[When they arrived, Sammy brought ledgers, letters, names, supply records.] Cassian [brought soldiers willing to testify. Together they exposed the nobles supplying raiders and monsters with bait animals to destabilize the passes.]"

Valdor’s stomach turned. Baiting monsters toward settlements violated every code he understood.

"[What happened?]"

"[Bah! Those damn nobles who caused the mess were executed on the spot! Sammy took great pleasure in hand out that punishment.]"

The bluntness required no embellishment.

"[And the treaty?]"

"[It began from there...]"

Vervath leaned forward.

"[Our father agreed to formal negotiations because] Cassian [had risked his position exposing his own people.] Cassian’s [father agreed because the rebellion proved the kingdom could no longer pretend the border problem came only from Blackstone.]"

Valdor thought of the treaty he had carried through the palace. Twenty years old. Born partly because his aunt crossed a border first.

"[What about the marriage?]"

"Cassian’s [father died before negotiations ended.]"

The room became quieter.

"Cassian [became king then.]"

"[Yes and married Sammy three days after his coronation...]"

Valdor stared. Vervath smiled faintly.

"[What can I say? The crazed man refused to wait. I was proud.]"

That sounded familiar too.

"[Did the nobles protested?]"

"[Hmph! Of course they did. Those retched beasts in man skin and silk! The ungrateful bastards threatened to withhold support.]"

"[And?]"

"Cassian [married her anyway.]"

Vervath’s pride became visible now.

"[Sammy refused to become something decorative. She learned court law, kingdom history, formal speech, finance, diplomacy, everything they said she lacked. Then she made the court learn Blackstone customs in return.]"

Valdor looked toward him.

"[She forced them?]"

"[Heh, that’s Samara for you. She will never take no for an answer...]"

That answered enough.

"[She also insisted that her Rhazien name remain in the private royal registry even though publicly she became] Solaris. Cassian [agreed.]"

The hidden family connection became clearer.

"[Why hide her relationship to us?]"

Vervath’s expression sobered again.

"[The treaty was fragile. Even today, it still remains too uncertain...]"

Valdor waited.

"[Too many kingdom nobles believed Samara controlled] Cassian."

"[And Blackstone?]"

"[Some believed] Cassian [controlled her...]"

Vervath exhaled.

"[If the queen openly visited our settlements, sent money, brought royal guards, or allowed Rhazien relatives free access to palace halls, every political disagreement could be called corruption. Every trade decision would be blamed on family. Every Blackstone victory would be called royal favoritism.]"

"[So you separated.]"

"[Yes...]"

The answer hurt even without accusation.

"[Publicly at least...]"

Valdor looked at him.

"[Privately, letters continued. Gifts. News. Sammy knew every child born into our family, and we knew hers. Sarka wrote to her often.]"

The mention of his mother tightened Valdor’s chest.

"[She knew me through letters?]"

"[Yes. Sarka wrote about you often to her.]"

"[But not through me.]"

Vervath lowered his gaze.

"[Ah... No. She didn’t get to know you through your own words...]"

Valdor’s silence changed. This time, Vervath did not avoid it.

"[We thought we were protecting you.]"

The familiar justification returned. Valdor looked toward the hearth.

"[You decided what I should know.]"

"[Y-yeah.]"

"[Without asking.]"

"[Valdor, you were only a child then—]"

"[I stopped being one!]"

Vervath had no defense. The fire cracked.

"[...You’re right. I was wrong to keep it so long. I’m sorry, son...]"

Valdor’s eyes returned to him. His father’s expression held no joke. No excuse. Only regret.

"[I should have told you when you began envoy training.]"

"[Yes.]"

"[When Sarka died, I thought about it. Telling you everything.]"

Valdor became still.

"[Why did you not?]"

Vervath looked older.

"[Because losing her made every family secret feel dangerous...]"

Valdor’s anger softened at the edges.

"[I had already lost your mother. Sammy lived far away inside a court that had once hated her. They both insisted I be the one to tell you, but after her death and Sammy’s letters stopped coming, I kept thinking another day would make the truth easier.]"

"[It did not.]"

"[No...]"

Vervath gave a tired smile.

"[If you learn anything from this, boy, it must be this. Secrets age badly. They are invisible poisons that will eat away at you and only the truth is the cure.]"

Valdor looked down at his hands. He understood more than he wanted to. Amor had secrets too. Different ones. Painful ones.

He had just spent the walk from Amor’s room deciding he would not force them open simply because trust existed between them. Yet here he sat angry that his father had done exactly what Amor feared—decided silence was protection and allowed years to build around it. The comparison humbled him.

"[Aunt Samara wanted to tell me?]"

"[Yes.]"

"[How often?]"

Vervath looked uncomfortable. Valdor’s brows lowered.

"[Every month. She would mention it in a letter. Even threatening to send royal guards to force me to confess once.]"

Silence.

"[Dad.]"

"[...Sometimes twice a month. And more than ten times with the same threat...]"

Valdor inhaled slowly. His father lifted both hands.

"[She is a relentless older sister. Thank your blessings for being born eldest, boy.]"

"[She is right.]"

"[...Yes. She was. Tsk, how annoying. Even my son, who I helped raise for twenty-five years, now sides with my older sister. It’s like when I was a child all over again!]"

The admission saved him from another boot. Valdor looked toward the lavender ribbon near his shoulder.

"[You said she has children?]"

Vervath hesitated.

"[Yes. Oh, she’d brag and brag about them in her letters. She’s quite proud of those brats she popped out.]"

Valdor’s eyes sharpened.

"[How many?]"

"[If I remember correctly, I believe it was twelve.]"

The answer rearranged another part of the royal family inside his mind.

"[They are my cousins?]"

"[Yes, obviously. They are my nephews and nieces so of course they would be your cousins. Why? Are you questioning if you are my son now?]"

"[Do they know?]"

"[...]"

Vervath looked away.

"[Dad.]"

"[Y-yes, my dear son who I helped make and raise for over two decades and whom I love very much?]"

The younger warrior’s expression became dangerously still.

"[They all know me?]"

"[...Through stories. Don’t be mad. Sarka wrote about you so much and Sammy said she showed her letters to her kids. It was bound to happen anyway, we were just preparing them to meet your...unqiue personality. She thought you and your eldest cousin could become close someday.]"

Valdor closed his eyes. This family possessed an alarming dedication to knowing him without allowing him to know them.

"[It is late. You will explain them tomorrow.]"

Vervath nodded rapidly.

"[Yes. Yes. Of course.]"

"[All of them.]"

"[Yes. Definitely.]"

"[No pretending to sleep.]"

"[Wha—I was not—]"

Valdor looked toward the boot. Vervath reconsidered.

"[Alright, alright, I got it. No pretending next time. Geez, I take one measly nap, and suddenly I am not to be trusted anymore. Hmph!]"

Valdor leaned back slightly onto his mat. The anger had not vanished. Neither had the hurt. But the story had given shape to the secrecy, enough to distinguish flawed protection from deliberate rejection. Samara had not abandoned the family. She had crossed into another world and been forced to build a careful bridge between both.

Valdor understood that more now. Perhaps someday Amor might face something similar. House Moons and Blackstone. Capital and north. Two worlds with expectations strong enough to pull at the same person. Valdor did not want courtship to demand that Amor choose one identity at the expense of the other. That thought would require more planning.

’Later...we will have to choose. But that can happen much later.’

Vervath watched him.

"[You are thinking.]"

"[Yes.]"

"[About Samara?]"

"[Amor.]"

The chieftain’s face collapsed into disbelief.

"[I have just revealed twenty-five years of royal family secrets and you are thinking about your Little Wife?]"

"[Yes.]"

Vervath sighed. Then he smiled.

"[Good...]"

Valdor frowned.

"[It means you are normal.]"

"[I threw you through a window today. I don’t think Lanslet thought that was normal.]"

"[Normal for us at least.]"

Valdor accepted that. The room quieted. Somewhere beyond the guest wing, a distant clock marked the late hour. Valdor looked toward the door. He wondered whether Amor had fallen asleep. Whether the smile had remained after Valdor left. Whether the maids would come if it failed. The urge to check tightened his chest. He resisted.

He had not asked permission yet. Tomorrow, he would ask. Tonight, he would trust the agreement made with the maids and give Amor the space he had chosen. Vervath noticed his attention drifting toward the door.

"[Go if you need to. I would not tell...]"

Valdor looked at him.

"[Hmph, you brat. I keep telling you, I can tell because I helped raise you. With me, you are terrible at hiding it.]"

"[I am staying.]"

"[Because you were not called to go and stay?]"

"[Yes.]"

Vervath studied his son. Then nodded.

"[That may be harder than going. I’m proud of you, Valdor. Try to get some sleep.]"

Valdor knew. He lay down on his mat. The lavender ribbon remained carefully positioned beside his face. Vervath dimmed the lamp.

As darkness settled around them, Valdor thought of his aunt crossing a border for a man she chose, of his dad carrying the marriage mark after his wife’s death, and of Amor smiling too brightly because asking someone to stay remained harder than pretending he needed no one. Valdor closed his eyes.

He would not sneak into Amor’s room. He would not decide for him. He would ask tomorrow what kind of protection Amor could welcome. And until then, he would listen for footsteps in the corridor.