Chapter 56: Shadow Knights

Valdor carried the breakfast tray himself, moving through the quiet morning corridors with more care than the weight required, only to find that by the time he reached Amor’s adjoining family sitting room, the others had already gathered. Lanslet sat near the window with tea in hand, Vervath had somehow acquired bread before the servants officially finished serving, and Amor rested upon the cushioned chaise with his ankle elevated, looking polished enough to fool someone who did not know him well. To Valdor, however, the faint sluggishness beneath Amor’s movements, the slight delay before each smile, and the dull softness around his pink eyes made the truth painfully obvious. Amor had not slept well.

Valdor wanted to ask immediately. He wanted to know how many times Amor had awakened, whether the nightmares had returned, whether he had considered calling, and why no maid had come to fetch him despite the silent agreement made the night before. Yet Lanslet and Vervath sat within hearing distance, and the questions felt too private to expose before either father, especially when Amor already seemed determined to pretend nothing had happened. Valdor swallowed the concern for later and concentrated upon what he could do now. He set the tray on the table.

"Good morning."

Valdor’s strained voice made Amor raise one brow.

"Good morning to you too, grumpy."

Valdor caught himself and immediately lightened his tone.

"May I?"

Amor’s expression softened slightly.

"You may."

Valdor adjusted the carved support beneath Amor’s calf, checked that the padding sat smoothly beneath the ankle, and shifted the nearby table closer so Amor would not need to lean forward while eating. Only after Amor was settled securely did he uncover the breakfast tray and begin portioning warm eggs, porridge, fruit, and bread onto his plate. Amor immediately reached for a honey biscuit. Valdor moved them farther away before he could get the chance to take one. Amor stared at him.

"Food first."

"Those are food. Very good [food] might I add."

"Sweet food. It’s not good."

"...Still [food.]"

"Later."

Amor’s eyes narrowed with tired indignation, which at least looked more like himself. Across the room, Vervath grinned.

"Already managing meals like a married pair. Soon, it will be managing a lodge together."

Lanslet’s teacup paused halfway toward his mouth.

"They are only courting, Vervath."

"Kehehe, for now."

"They have been courting for two days!"

"Strong beginnings create strong grandchildren."

Amor closed his eyes. Lanslet’s smile became dangerously pleasant.

"If you mention grandchildren before I finish tea, I will personally reconsider whether the third-floor window was severe enough."

Vervath reached for another piece of bread.

The servants finished placing breakfast before both fathers, and conversation settled into something that, by the standards of the past several days, qualified as completely ordinary. Vervath teased about courtship, marriage, northern households, and hypothetical children until Lanslet repeatedly threatened increasingly creative forms of removal, while Amor spent most of the meal attempting to acquire honey biscuits without completing the proper portions Valdor placed before him.

Valdor participated when required. He answered questions Amor had about his language. He ate. He corrected Vervath once when the chieftain tried to deliberately teach Amor another suspicious Blackstone phrase. But his attention never truly left Amor.

He noticed the way Amor blinked longer than usual. The way his shoulders occasionally sagged before he remembered to straighten them. The way one hand remained wrapped around his tea even after the cup had cooled, as though the warmth mattered more than drinking. No one commented.

Lanslet noticed too, Valdor was certain. The marquess asked twice whether Amor felt unwell, only to accept the predictable answer that he was merely tired. Vervath’s teasing also softened around the edges, his louder jokes gradually giving way to easier conversation once he recognized the same exhaustion. Breakfast ended without confrontation.

Lanslet rose first, reminding Amor that Doctor Haverin would examine the ankle later and that more language books were expected from the diplomatic library. Vervath followed, pausing long enough to make one final remark about how private study lessons were apparently an excellent courtship tradition before Lanslet caught the back of his fur and physically directed him toward the door.

"Study hard, you two."

Lanslet told them.

"Mm. We will, Father."

Amor promised.

"Only. Study."

Lanslet added. Vervath laughed from the corridor. The door closed. Silence settled over the sitting room.

Valdor looked toward Amor. The empty place of honey biscuits rested near his fingers. Several books waited upon the nearby table. Their lessons could begin whenever they wished. But now there were no fathers nearby, no servants within immediate hearing, and no reason left for Valdor to pretend he had forgotten the question that had followed him since dawn.

For the moment, however, he only reached across the table and slid the back of his hand toward Amor. Amor looked at it. Then at him. Valdor’s dark eyes remained steady. The difficult question could wait another few breaths. He wanted Amor comfortable before he asked it.

Knock, knock, knock—

A knock interrupted the quiet before Valdor could finally ask what had kept Amor awake.

Doctor Haverin entered with his medical satchel tucked beneath one arm and the mildly resigned expression of a man who had begun expecting every examination of Amor to include at least one Blackstone warrior standing nearby like an armed judgment. He greeted them, pulled a low stool beside the chaise, and carefully unwrapped the injured ankle, only for his brows to draw together when he noticed a small amount of renewed swelling along one side. Amor immediately looked elsewhere.

"Hm."

Valdor’s gaze sharpened. Doctor Haverin reached into his satchel and removed a smooth moonstone, activating the cooling enchantment until pale light gathered beneath its surface. He pressed it gently near the swollen area, and Amor exhaled as soothing cold spread through the aching joint. Valdor stared at the physician’s hand. Doctor Haverin felt it. He did not look up. Amor did.

"Valdor..."

The warrior’s eyes shifted toward him.

"One of your conditions for courting me..."

Amor reminded him,

"Was that you would not threaten every man who came near me."

"I have not threatened him."

Doctor Haverin silently disagreed. Amor raised one brow.

"Your face is doing it for you."

Valdor considered that.

"I am watching."

"Yes. Threateningly."

"I have said nothing."

"That somehow makes it worse."

Doctor Haverin continued holding the moonstone against Amor’s ankle while privately praying to every benevolent force he could name that the swelling disappeared quickly enough to end the examination before Valdor decided a physician’s fingers had lingered one second too long. He had treated soldiers with open fractures, noblewomen during difficult births, and children with dangerously high fevers, yet none of those situations had prepared him for being observed by a man built like a mountain predator deciding whether medical necessity excused touching his suitor. Valdor finally looked away.

The relief lasted approximately three seconds. Even without direct eye contact, the warrior’s entire body remained alert, shoulders relaxed only in appearance, posture balanced, attention clearly fixed upon every movement near Amor’s ankle. Doctor Haverin had the unpleasant impression of standing beside a sleeping wolf that had merely closed its eyes rather than stopped listening.

Amor noticed his discomfort and hid a smile behind his hand. Several minutes later, Haverin removed the moonstone and examined the joint again. The cooling magic had already reduced the irritation considerably, and after testing the surrounding tissue with careful pressure, he began rewrapping the ankle.

"The swelling has gone down significantly..."

He said.

"There is nothing here that concerns me at present."

Valdor looked back immediately. Doctor Haverin nearly sighed.

"It’s healing good enough..."

He added for the warrior’s benefit.

"Continue elevation, avoid unnecessary weight, and stop striking furniture with it. If you need to move somewhere, ask for assistance."

Amor looked offended.

"I did not do so intentionally."

Valdor’s eyes narrowed. Doctor Haverin closed his satchel. He decided that whatever conversation followed his departure was no longer a medical matter and therefore, mercifully, not his responsibility.

Finally alone, Valdor was just about to ask about Amor’s night before when Amor spoke first.

"Well then, should we get to it? There’s a lot of work to get through if I am to become fluent enough to visit the north."

Seeing his chance once again stolen, Valdor couldn’t bring himself to disrupt Amor’s enthusiasm for learning his language and could only nod. With Amor’s permission, he carried him into the bedroom. Propped him against plush pillows and made sure his ankle was properly supported.

For Amor, boredom never had the opportunity to appear all morning. Books occupied one side of his bed, parchment and ink occupied the other, and the low table that servants had moved beside him carried enough language materials to make the bedroom resemble the private corner of a royal academy. Valdor took out a bundle of thin leather cords. The repaired lavender ribbon still woven securely through the braid beside his face. Amor noticed the ribbon immediately and pretended that he had not.

Valdor noticed him pretending. He said nothing. That, Amor was discovering, was one of the most dangerous things about courting a man who did not waste words:

Silence gave him far too much opportunity to observe.

"You brought work with you, I see."

Amor said, eyeing the leather cords.

"Mm. Knotwork."

"Oh! How interesting. Is it for me?"

"For my harness."

Amor looked offended.

"Humph! You came to my room to work on something that is not for me?"

Valdor paused. Then one corner of his mouth shifted.

"I can leave."

"No!"

The answer came too quickly. Amor reached for his fan with exaggerated elegance.

"You-you may remain. It would be wasteful to send away my language tutor merely because he has failed to center his entire morning around my entertainment."

Valdor sat beside the low table.

"I brought sweets."

Amor immediately forgave him. Valdor had already begun keeping treats on him whenever he visited the kitchen and found the results far too satisfying. He placed the bundle containing small honeyed oat cakes from the kitchen, though Valdor placed them deliberately on the far side of the bedside table where Amor could not casually eat through all of them while pretending not to notice. He then drew one of the leather cords across his thigh and began working it through a complicated series of loops, his large fingers moving with an ease that made the pattern appear deceptively simple. Amor watched for several moments before remembering they were supposedly there to study.

"Teach me something useful..."

Valdor glanced toward the stack of books.

"Not from those."

That pleased him. The diplomatic texts remained useful for identifying what not to say, but Amor had already decided he preferred learning Blackstone from someone who actually spoke it rather than from scholars responsible for greeting foreign dignitaries as well-fed hostages. He pulled a clean sheet of parchment closer and dipped his pen into the ink. Valdor leaned forward. He drew the first symbol.

It consisted of three strong lines intersected by a shorter hooked mark, angular enough that Amor understood immediately why Blackstone writing translated naturally into carving. There were few ornamental curves, no unnecessary flourishes, and almost every stroke could be reproduced with a knife against wood or bone.

"Tavar."

Valdor said. Amor repeated it.

"Ta-var."

Valdor shook his head.

"That sounded exactly like what you said."

"No."

Amor narrowed his eyes.

"Then your language is lying to me."

Valdor touched his throat.

"Back here."

Amor stared at the place beneath his jaw. Valdor repeated the word more slowly.

"Tavar."

The first sound seemed to form farther back than anything Amor regularly used in common speech, carrying a subtle roughness without becoming harsh. Amor attempted to imitate it and produced something halfway between a cough and an elegant noble choking on tea. Valdor’s mouth twitched.

"Do not laugh, you."

"I did not."

"You almost did! I saw it! Humph!"

"Yes."

"What does this impossible word even mean?"

Valdor looked toward the leather cord in his hands.

"Bind."

Amor stared at him.

"You chose bind as one of the first words to teach the man you are courting?"

Valdor considered the problem.

"It is knotwork."

"That does not improve the implication."

His ears reddened. Amor immediately felt better. They continued. The next symbol meant loop, another meant tighten, and a fourth could mean either hold or secure depending upon the object and purpose. Amor found that Blackstone vocabulary around tools contained fewer ambiguities than words concerning emotion, but pronunciation remained a personal attack against his dignity.

"Khar."

"Kar."

"Khar."

"That is what I said."

"No."

Amor placed the pen down.

"I am beginning to suspect you invented a sound solely because kingdom mouths cannot make it."

"Tharek learned common sounds."

"Your brother is irrelevant to my struggle."

"He was seven."

"I dislike him now..."

Valdor’s eyes warmed. Amor tried again. The sound came too far forward. Valdor shook his head. Amor slumped elegantly against the pillows.

"Perhaps Blackstone simply does not want me."

The warrior’s expression changed.

"It does."

The answer was so immediate that Amor looked up. Valdor had not meant anything beyond the language, most likely. Unfortunately, courtship had begun contaminating ordinary statements with additional meanings. Amor cleared his throat.

"Ahem—Then Blackstone should make itself easier. Humph!"

Valdor set the leather cord aside. He shifted closer. Amor noticed. The distance between them shortened until Valdor sat beside the headboard rather than mattress from it, broad shoulder almost brushing Amor’s smaller one. He leaned forward over the parchment and repeated the sound, deliberately exaggerating the motion of his mouth.

"Watch."

Amor looked toward him.

"Your mouth?"

Valdor nodded.

"Mm. Watch my mouth."

That was a mistake. Not Valdor’s. Amor’s.

The moment permission was explicitly given, his attention fixed upon Valdor’s lips with such disastrous thoroughness that language became irrelevant. Valdor’s mouth was not delicate. Nothing about him was.

His lower lip was slightly fuller than the upper, the shape firm without being severe, and Amor had somehow never properly appreciated the way the warrior’s mouth changed when Blackstone passed through it. The language made his lips move differently from common speech, shaping harder consonants and deeper sounds with a familiarity that transformed Valdor’s already unfair accent into something substantially worse for Amor’s composure.

"Khar."

Valdor repeated. Amor watched. Valdor waited.

"Again."

Amor said. Valdor repeated it. Amor learned nothing.

"Now you."

"Kar."

"No."

Amor’s gaze remained upon his mouth. Valdor tried once more.

"Khar."

"Kar."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Amor frowned, although his eyes had still not returned to the parchment. Valdor repeated the word more slowly. Amor watched his lips part. His own mind betrayed him.

He remembered Valdor’s mouth near his when he held him with shocking tenderness, remembered how close they had been when Amor woke against his heartbeat, remembered the deep voice speaking Sa vara en while leaning over the same page. None of those memories had anything to do with pronunciation.

"Try again."

Valdor said. Amor swallowed.

"Kar."

"No."

The warrior’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not in irritation but with realization. Valdor finally noticed where Amor had been looking. His voice stopped. Amor’s gaze remained upon his mouth for one unfortunate second too long before rising.

Their eyes met.

Neither acknowledged what had happened. Valdor’s ears slowly darkened. Amor reached for the pen.

"L-let’s try again. I can do it."

Valdor picked up the leather cord.

"Mm. Khar."

Amor mispronounced it three more times. The fourth was worse than the first. Valdor decided not to mention that either.

By the time Elsie brought in lunch and began pouring mid-morning tea, they had settled into a rhythm that appeared innocent from the doorway and felt considerably less so from inside it. Valdor continued his knotwork while Amor copied symbols, occasionally leaning over when a line angled incorrectly. Their elbows touched often enough that neither apologized after the fifth time. Elsie noticed that too. She placed Amor’s tea near his right hand. Valdor reached for it before Amor did.

"Too hot for you."

Amor blinked.

"You did not taste it."

Valdor touched the side of the cup.

"You wait until it cools."

"I do?"

"Yes."

Amor looked at Elsie. She looked back. Valdor shifted the cup farther from the edge and continued knotting. Amor watched him for several seconds. Apparently, Valdor had learned how he drank tea. That should not have felt intimate.

It did.

The truly alarming part was that Amor had begun learning things in return. He knew Valdor disliked excessive honey in tea but preferred it in food. He knew the warrior ate fruit last rather than first because Blackstone meals traditionally ended with something fresh when available. He knew Valdor loosened the leather wrap around his right wrist before writing because the strap interfered with the movement of his hand.

Amor also knew the bone fastening on Valdor’s shoulder fur required twisting before pulling. He discovered that accidentally after the clasp came loose during the afternoon lesson. Valdor looked down at it. Amor did too.

"Oh! I know how that works now..."

Valdor looked toward him.

"I have watched you fasten it. Hehe, aren’t I a genius? I didn’t even need to touch it to know."

A pause.

"You watch me dress?"

Amor’s face heated.

"I-I-I-I—I have eyes! You did it enough for me to learn and now it’s a problem? Next time, be more aware of what you do in front of me. Humph!"

Valdor’s ears reddened. Amor extended his hand.

"Come here, dummy."

The warrior obeyed. He leaned down enough for Amor to reach the fastening, bringing the heavy fur and warm scent of his skin close enough to make the simple task unnecessarily difficult. Amor turned the bone clasp, slipped it through the leather loop, and pressed it flat against Valdor’s shoulder. His fingertips brushed skin. Both men stilled. Amor withdrew his hand first.

"There."

Valdor straightened slowly.

"Thank you."

"Humph! You are welcome."

Neither looked at the other for several seconds. The sensuality of being carried had once seemed unbearable. Now Amor was beginning to suspect ordinary intimacy would kill him faster. At least being carried provided obvious reasons for closeness.

This was worse.

There was no necessity behind elbows touching above parchment. No medical justification for fingers brushing while exchanging books. No emergency requiring Amor to know how Valdor preferred his shoulder clasp fastened. Yet the small contacts accumulated.

By afternoon, Valdor had memorized exactly how much sugar Amor accepted in his tea. By late afternoon, Amor knew which palm Valdor unconsciously traced with one thumb when thinking. Neither discussed these discoveries. They simply continued making them. With their father’s having not joined them, it allowed the pair to remain in their own soft world while jumping right back into their studies without embarrassment making them clumsy.

Language became tangled into the process. Valdor taught Amor the Blackstone symbol for fire while repairing a leather strap. Amor explained why common had three different words for nobility depending upon whether one meant rank, behavior, or the collective class. Valdor declared the distinction unnecessarily complicated, and Amor retaliated by reminding him that Blackstone had four words for "return" depending upon whether a person returned from hunting, returned home, returned after estrangement, or returned because they had been invited.

"They are different."

Valdor said.

"So are the common words."

"No."

"Yes."

Valdor looked offended. Amor smiled triumphantly. Their language lessons became arguments. Their arguments became flirting without either intentionally creating it.

At one point, Amor tried to explain the difference between graceful and delicate, only for Valdor to look directly at him and say the first described how Amor moved while the second described how kingdom people incorrectly treated him. Amor forgot the rest of the explanation.

Valdor looked pleased with that result. Later, Amor asked about a Blackstone word he found in one of the diplomatic texts.

"Serath."

Valdor’s expression changed.

"The book says it means loyal."

"Not exactly."

"What does it mean?"

Valdor thought.

"Someone who returns even when leaving would be easier."

Amor stopped writing.

"That is much longer than loyal."

"It is more than loyal."

"How so?"

Valdor searched through common words.

"You can be loyal...because...of duty."

"Okay?"

"Serath means... you could leave. You still come back."

Amor looked at him. It was a choice again. Blackstone seemed obsessed with it. Not obedience or possession but repeated choosing through the other person’s own will. Amor wrote the meaning beside the word in his own handwriting rather than accepting the kingdom translation. Valdor watched him do it. Something warm entered his eyes.

"You like correcting the books."

"Humph! They deserve it. Those damn scholars are messing with another language’s meaning."

"Kingdom scholars will be angry."

"Then they should stop calling honored guests hostages."

Valdor’s quiet laugh rewarded him. Amor had become very fond of that sound. Valdor rarely laughed loudly. His amusement usually emerged as a low breath, a soft rumble beneath his chest, or the subtle upward movement of his mouth. It made every true laugh feel earned.

Amor started seeking them. He pronounced one word dramatically wrong on purpose. Valdor frowned.

"That was worse."

"Humph! I am injured."

"Your ankle does not speak."

"My body suffers as one. It is not my fault."

Valdor looked at the ankle support. Then at Amor.

"You are lying."

Amor gasped.

"Your understanding has improved!"

"That was simple."

"You understood the nuance, though. Hehe, soon you’ll have those cheating merchants and stuffy nobles tongue tied when they try to mess with you."

Valdor’s mouth curved. Amor counted that as victory. The day became an arrangement of ordinary moments neither would have considered important a week earlier.

Valdor helped move Amor from bed to chaise and back whenever Amor began to fidget without either acknowledging that Amor’s arms now settled around his neck before the request was completed. Amor retied the loose end of Valdor’s leather wrist wrap after it slipped during knotwork. Valdor began placing Amor’s ink on the left side because he had noticed Amor reached more comfortably from that direction while his right wrist healed.

At some point, their books stopped remaining neatly divided. Blackstone pages appeared beneath common primers. Amor’s notes filled margins beside Valdor’s corrections. Valdor’s angular handwriting began appearing beside Amor’s elegant script. Two languages started occupying the same space.

So did they.

By evening, Amor’s ankle ached less, his wrist felt stronger, and his pronunciation had improved enough that Valdor stopped correcting every second word. The final lesson took place over a light supper brought to the bedroom because Lanslet had reluctantly allowed it after extracting a promise that the door remain open and neither man "accidentally nap together until noon again."

Elsie, after relaying Lanslet’s request, explained that Vervath had wanted to join them but the marquess redirected him elsewhere as he profusely apologized they wouldn’t be joining him for dinner either. Amor considered that another successful development. They ate beside the low table, books remaining open between dishes. Valdor pointed toward a common sentence Amor had written earlier.

"I know this."

"Prove it."

Valdor read aloud. The sentence was simple but contained one of the troublesome grammatical forms they had fought over the previous day. His pronunciation carried the Blackstone rhythm Amor had already confessed to finding dangerously attractive, but every word came clearly. Amor smiled.

"Perfect."

Valdor looked at him. Amor’s approval still affected him. It probably always would. He read another sentence. Amor corrected only one word. Valdor repeated it.

"Better."

A quiet satisfaction settled over them. The house beyond the open door grew calmer as evening descended. Servants passed less frequently, lamps were lit with either candles or gems, and the sound of distant conversation softened beneath thick walls. Eventually, Valdor closed the common primer.

"You should rest..."

Amor glanced toward him. The words were familiar. This time, however, Valdor added something Amor had taught him that afternoon.

"We have worked hard today. Good job."

The sentence came smoothly. Not perfect. But deliberate. Amor’s expression softened. Valdor had remembered not merely vocabulary, but intention. Without thinking, Amor answered in Blackstone.

"Seth varen."

Valdor became still. Amor did too. The phrase was simple.

Safe return.

Blackstone used it between people expecting to see one another again after a separation, even a small one. Amor had practiced it several times that morning and apparently stored it somewhere deeper than conscious translation. For several seconds, they looked at one another.

Valdor had spoken common. Amor had answered Blackstone. Neither had planned it. They had met somewhere in the middle. The realization changed the quiet.

Valdor’s gaze moved briefly toward the papers scattered across the table, where angular Blackstone symbols sat beside flowing kingdom script. Amor followed the look and felt something inside him settle into place. Their worlds were not becoming one. Neither needed to disappear into the other. They were simply learning how to cross the distance between them. Valdor touched two fingers lightly against the lavender ribbon woven through his hair.

"Tomorrow?"

Amor smiled. This time the smile did not lie.

"Mm. Tomorrow. Have a good night...."

Valdor rose. He collected the last loose pages from the edge of the table and stacked them neatly beside Amor’s common-language primer, but rather than immediately moving toward the door, he remained standing there. His attention settled upon Amor’s face with an intensity that made the young noble instinctively wonder whether he had ink upon his cheek.

"Hm? What is it?"

Valdor did not answer immediately. He had noticed the shadows beneath Amor’s pink eyes when they first met at the beginning of the envoy visit, though at the time they had been faint enough to dismiss as the remnants of noble work, excitement, or poor rest. Over the following days, however, they had darkened little by little, sometimes concealed beneath carefully applied powder and the subtle cosmetics Elsie, Mary, or Junia helped Amor use each morning. Valdor had learned enough about Amor’s face to recognize what was natural and what had been deliberately hidden.

"You are tired."

Amor blinked.

"Well, we have spent the day studying."

"Before today..."

His smile weakened. Valdor looked at the faint shadows beneath his eyes.

"You cover them."

Amor’s fingers rose unconsciously toward one cheek.

"I—um...I only use a little powder."

"Yes."

"Humph! That is hardly a crime."

"No..."

Amor waited. Valdor’s expression remained careful rather than demanding.

"May I ask something?"

The formality immediately made Amor suspicious.

"You have been asking questions all day. Why ask for permission now?"

"This is different."

"Ooh, how ominous."

Valdor ignored the attempt at humor, though not unkindly.

"May I check on you tonight?"

Amor stopped. The request settled differently from call me if you need me. That had placed the next choice entirely upon Amor:

Admit weakness, pull the bell cord, send a servant through the manor, and consciously ask a man that was courting him to enter his bedroom because he could not manage sleep alone. This was smaller.

Valdor was not asking to stay. He was not asking to climb into the bed. He was asking permission to return once. Amor’s first instinct was still refusal.

"I hardly think that is neces—"

The words faltered. Memory arrived too quickly. That morning, before the sky had begun to lighten, Amor had awakened drenched in sweat. For several horrifying seconds, House Moons had not existed.

The carved bedposts had become the splintered remains of an overturned cabinet. The embroidered canopy had become smoke hanging beneath the ceiling of a ruined building. Somewhere beyond the walls, the groan of settling timber had merged with the wet, animalistic cries of infected creatures hunting through a dead city.

Amor had not been Amor. He had been Lovell again. Hungry, cornered and dying. He remembered last night jerking upright and not recognizing his own hands. He remembered nights staring toward the bedroom door, convinced something would break through it. He remembered other nights reaching beneath a pillow for a weapon that had not existed in this world. It was always the same before the nightmares and reality would slowly separate.

Lavender hair had fallen over his hands. Moonlight had touched silk instead of dried blood. There had been no monsters, no ruined street and no parents shouting for Lovell to stand between them and whatever had found them. Only House Moons. Only another morning.

He had washed away the sweat before anyone saw but that hardly stopped others from asking about his sleep. Mary had complained this morning that he looked tired while applying powder beneath his eyes. Amor had smiled. He had always smiled.

Now Valdor waited. He did not repeat the question. He did not use Amor’s hesitation as permission. That, more than anything, made refusing harder. Amor looked toward the carved ankle support.

Rest. I will return.

The hidden words remained beneath the wood even when no one saw them. Perhaps this could be another small thing. Not a confession or dependence. Not yet. Only permission for right now.

"Okay. One time, though."

Amor said. Relief entered Valdor’s face so subtly that someone unfamiliar with him might not have noticed. Amor did.

"Once."

Valdor agreed.

"You will not hover—"

"No."

"You will not wake me merely to ask whether I am sleeping—"

"No."

"And if everything appears perfectly normal, you will quietly leave rather than inventing some excuse to remain."

Valdor nodded.

"Yes."

Amor studied him. He was already hoping that would be exactly what happened. Valdor would open the door. Amor would be peacefully asleep. There would be no sweat. No muttered name that did not belong to this body. No fingers clawing at blankets while his mind trapped him between an apocalypse and a novel that had somehow become real.

Valdor would see nothing. Then he would leave. It would be simple...manageable. Amor lifted his chin, making the concession sound far less vulnerable than it felt.

"Then...I suppose an officially accepted suitor may be granted one inspection of my courters."

Valdor’s eyes warmed.

"In-spec-tion?"

"Yes."

"...Of you?"

Amor’s cheeks heated.

"Of the room."

"You are in the room."

"Do not become clever now!"

Valdor’s mouth curved. Amor immediately regretted teaching him enough common language to become more troublesome.

"When?"

Valdor asked. Amor considered.

"Later."

"That is not a time."

"It is sufficiently precise for courtship."

Valdor waited. Amor sighed.

"Haah—After the household has settled. Before midnight."

"Yes."

"And knock first."

Valdor’s expression became serious again.

"Always."

Something inside Amor loosened. Of course Valdor would knock. He had needed to say it anyway.

"Ahem—Then you may check once."

Valdor tapped his fist softly against his chest.

"Mm. I will."

The answer carried enough quiet satisfaction that Amor became self-conscious again.

"Do not look so pleased."

"I am."

"Humph! That much is obvious."

"You trusted me."

Amor’s breath caught. Valdor had said it without triumph. Without making the permission larger than it was. That somehow made it feel larger. Amor snapped open his fan and hid behind it so the warrior could not read too much in his face.

"Do-do not make me regret it, dummy."

"I will try not to."

The answer was imperfectly reassuring. It was also honest. Amor smiled. This one did not quite lie either. Valdor finally moved toward the doorway. At the threshold, he looked back.

"Good night, Amor."

The common words were perfectly pronounced. Amor answered before thinking again.

"Seth varen, Valdor."

Valdor’s ears darkened. Then his gaze lingered for one additional breath, not upon Amor’s lips or hair, but upon the shadows beneath his eyes that powder could soften without truly hiding.

"I will come once."

Amor understood the reminder for what it was. Not a threat or possession. A promise made within the exact boundary Amor had chosen.

"Mm. I know."

Valdor left. The door closed softly behind him. Amor remained beside the open books for several moments after the footsteps disappeared, staring at two alphabets sharing the same page. His gaze eventually drifted toward the clock, and despite himself, he began wondering how long remained before Valdor returned.

Today had taught them relatively little. A handful of symbols. Several sounds. A few grammatical rules neither fully trusted. Yet somewhere between Valdor telling Amor to watch his mouth, Amor fastening fur against Valdor’s shoulder, and permission quietly given for one nighttime return, language had stopped belonging solely to Blackstone or the kingdom.

Some of the words had begun belonging to them. And tonight, for the first time, returning and quiet protection has become something Amor had consciously allowed.

---

Midnight found Valdor awake. He lay flat upon his back on the thick sleeping mat in the guest room, one arm resting over his stomach while his eyes remained fixed with almost predatory concentration upon the dark wooden beams crossing the ceiling. The fire had dwindled to embers nearly an hour earlier, leaving the room cool enough that most kingdom men would have reached for another blanket, but Valdor barely noticed the temperature. Across the room, Vervath slept with all the subtlety of a wounded mountain beast, each snore vibrating through the silence before momentarily fading into blessed quiet. Valdor had not slept at all.

He had tried. He had closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and reminded himself repeatedly that Amor had given permission for only a check rather than a vigil. He had even repeated the boundary exactly as Amor had spoken it:

Once, later in the night, after the household settled, with a knock first and no hovering if everything appeared normal.

Then he had imagined the shadows beneath Amor’s pink eyes. Sleep became impossible. The grandfather clock farther down the guest corridor began to chime. Valdor’s eyes shifted toward the door. One resonant strike traveled through the manor, followed by another and another, each measured sound marking the arrival of midnight. By the twelfth, Valdor was already sitting upright.

He moved without unnecessary noise. His heavier leather boots remained beside his traveling chest, but Valdor ignored them in favor of the softer pair made from layered skin-cloth, the soles flexible and nearly silent against polished floors. He pulled them on, secured the ties around his ankles, and carefully checked the lavender ribbon woven into the braid near his temple before glancing toward his father.

Vervath snored. Valdor narrowed his eyes. After the boot incident, he no longer trusted Vervath’s sleeping performances. He stood over his father for several seconds.

Nothing.

Vervath’s beard shifted with every heavy breath, one hand hanging uselessly from the side of the mat while his other remained beneath the blanket. Valdor reached toward the discarded boot nearby, lifted it just enough to test temptation, then decided against creating another family dispute after midnight.

His father continued snoring. Apparently genuine this time. Valdor set the boot down. He slipped out. The manor at midnight felt fundamentally different from House Moons during the day.

Without servants moving through the corridors, Lanslet appearing wherever Amor happened to be, or Vervath loudly turning every private conversation into a public event, the enormous estate seemed to breathe more slowly. Moonlight crossed the floors through tall windows in pale rectangles, while the few enchanted lamps left burning overnight cast dim golden pools between stretches of shadow. Valdor moved through them almost soundlessly.

He knew the route now. Past the portrait gallery. Across the smaller eastern hall. Beyond the staircase overlooking the gardens. Then down the private family corridor where Amor’s rooms waited behind carved lavender doors. The closer he came, the more alert he became.

It was not fear. He had survived mountain nights where frost-jaws circled beyond firelight and trackers slept with knives beneath their palms. Walking through a noble manor posed no physical danger he considered meaningful. This was different.

He was nervous. That realization annoyed him.

He had faced monsters with less difficulty than approaching a closed bedroom door after being explicitly invited to do exactly that. Valdor stopped outside Amor’s room. Silence greeted him. He lifted his hand and knocked gently. Once.

Knock—

Then twice.

Knock—

No answer came. Valdor waited. He frowned.

’Of course. If Amor was peacefully asleep, he would not answer.’

Valdor had somehow constructed an arrangement requiring a sleeping person to confirm the arrival of someone checking whether he was sleeping. The flaw irritated him immediately. He knocked again, slightly louder.

Knock. Knock.—

Still nothing. Valdor placed one hand against the door. Amor had given him permission to check. He had also asked that Valdor knock. He had knocked. That should be enough to crack the door open and look inside without disturbing him. Valdor eased the handle downward.

The door opened perhaps the width of his hand. Then he heard it. A strangled sound came from the bed. Valdor froze. Another followed. These were not ordinary sleeping sounds. A broken whimper, low and breathless, carrying enough pain that every thoughtful consideration about privacy disappeared beneath instinct.

"Amor?"

No answer. Instead came another muffled cry. Valdor pushed through the door. Whatever restraint he had proudly cultivated over the last several days shattered beneath the sound.

He crossed the room quickly, barely registering the furniture around him or the moonlight touching the bed. Amor twisted beneath tangled sheets, lavender hair plastered against his forehead and cheeks while his breathing came in short, uneven gasps. His hands clawed weakly against the blankets as though attempting to escape something no one else could see. Valdor moved closer.

Cold metal pressed firmly against his throat. He stopped.

The edge rested precisely beneath his jaw, placed with enough skill that a fraction more pressure would open skin. Valdor felt the blade without looking toward it. His attention remained entirely upon Amor. A voice came from directly behind him. Low and controlled.

"What purpose do you have disturbing the young master at this hour?"

Valdor did not move.

"Checking on him..."

The blade remained. Valdor’s eyes stayed upon Amor.

"We agreed I would come tonight..."

The unseen man said nothing. Valdor continued, voice becoming colder.

"Clearly he is not well."

Amor whimpered again. The blade shifted slightly. Not closer this time but away. A quiet sigh came from behind Valdor.

"Haah, he has been like this for days."

Valdor’s jaw tightened. The weapon finally withdrew. He turned his head only slightly, enough to catch the shadowed outline of the man standing behind him. The stranger wore fitted black clothing without identifying marks, his face partially concealed beneath a dark cloth, while the narrow blade in his hand caught only the faintest streak of moonlight.

"Days?"

"Since the fever."

Valdor remembered hearing from Lanslet when they first arrived to stay the month that his son had just recently recovered from a fever that nearly took his life. It was partially why he had been so concerned when Amor had sneezed when they were outside. He was afraid Amor would catch another fever and this time not recover. The man lowered the knife but did not sheath it.

"The young master has not slept properly since approximately a week ago. Some nights are quieter. Others are worse."

Valdor looked toward Amor.

"Lanslet knows?"

"Lord Lanslet knows he has nightmares."

"Not what they are?"

"No..."

The guard’s voice changed, becoming less suspicious and more resigned.

"The young master will not tell him."

Valdor understood that.

"Lord Lanslet has asked..."

The guard continued.

"But he will not force his son to answer questions he does not wish to answer. The physician has found no illness sufficient to explain it."

Valdor’s gaze settled upon Amor’s face. The logic was clear. Lanslet protected Amor by refusing to turn concern into interrogation. Valdor respected that. He intended to do the same. Still, another question had become substantially more urgent. His gaze shifted toward the dark figure.

"Who are you?"

The atmosphere changed. The hidden guard went very still. Valdor had not raised his voice. He had not stepped toward him. He merely tilted his head slightly, allowing peripheral vision to assess the stranger’s position, stance, weapon hand, balance, and probable escape route the man could take. Somehow that was worse.

The guard understood immediately that the question had not been casual. He stepped backward. His blade came up again. Not toward Valdor’s throat this time but in a defensive position.

Valdor remained where he was. The man had threatened him with a knife. That mattered less than the fact that he had apparently been standing unseen inside Amor’s room.

"I serve House Moons."

"That is not an answer."

"It is the answer you are receiving..."

Valdor’s eyes narrowed. The guard swallowed. Then evidently decided honesty was safer than forcing a Blackstone warrior to determine the truth himself.

"House Moons maintains private guards..."

Valdor said nothing.

"Not the visible estate soldiers."

"I understood that part."

The guard hesitated.

"We are secret ones. Shadow Knights..."

Valdor looked around the room. The stranger noticed.

"You were not supposed to know."

"You placed a blade against my neck."

"You entered the young master’s room at midnight."

"With permission."

"Hmm. So you claim..."

Valdor’s gaze sharpened. The guard wisely reconsidered the phrasing.

"Tsk. I heard of your agreed arrangement earlier."

He admitted. Valdor’s brows lowered further.

"You listened?"

"It is my work..."

Valdor disliked him instantly. The guard apparently sensed that. His grip tightened around the knife.

"I am telling you because I have watched how the young master behaves around you..."

Valdor’s attention sharpened.

"He trusts you more than most people outside this household..."

The statement eased nothing.

"If word leaves this estate that Lord Lanslet maintains concealed guards within the family wing..."

The man continued.

"I will know where it came from..."

Valdor stared. The guard drew himself straighter.

"And I will take your head as compensation..."

Silence. Valdor nodded once. The man faltered. He had clearly expected resistance, threat, perhaps mockery. Valdor offered none. The guard stepped backward.

"One more thing..."

Valdor waited.

"Do nothing indecent to the young master while he cannot defend his dignity."

Something dark moved through Valdor. Not because the warning offended him. Because another man had appointed himself the person permitted to issue it. Valdor’s first irrational thought was that he could make this particular guard disappear very quietly.

The second was that Lanslet would probably be angry. The third restored reason. The man was protecting him. That mattered more than jealousy. Barely. Valdor looked toward the guard.

"I will not."

The answer apparently satisfied him. The dark figure withdrew. He did not use the door. One moment he stood near the curtain-darkened wall. The next, he shifted backward into a recess Valdor had assumed decorative and seemed to disappear into shadow.

Valdor stared at the empty space. Then his warrior instincts recalibrated. Now that he knew what he was searching for, the room changed. One presence rested near the balcony doors. Another occupied a shadowed position beyond a carved screen near the far wall. A third was concealed somewhere above or behind the heavy window drapery, positioned with an unobstructed view of the bed and exterior glass. Three.

Four if he counted the man who had just threatened him.

Valdor’s eyes narrowed. Their positions were excellent. No assassin could use the balcony without crossing at least two lines of sight. Anyone entering through the door would expose their back to one guard and their flank to another. Even the blind spots around the canopy and sitting area had been intentionally covered. It was professional, careful and incredibly invasive.

Valdor had contradictory feelings. He respected the arrangement. He also hated it. Three men—and possibly more—were permitted to spend their nights watching over Amor while Valdor had needed to negotiate for one check. Jealousy struck with embarrassing force. So did envy.

They possessed an excuse he wanted. They were given a duty to protect. No one questioned a guard who watched throughout the night. No one accused him of overstepping intimacy if his purpose was assassination prevention. Valdor briefly imagined presenting himself to Lanslet tomorrow and requesting appointment as an additional secret guard. The idea was absurd. He considered it anyway. Then Amor cried out.

Every other thought vanished.

Valdor crossed the remaining distance to the bed. Moonlight touched Amor’s face. He looked wrong. Too pale.

His skin had lost the soft warmth Valdor associated with him, damp enough that strands of lavender hair stuck against his temples. Sweat glistened along his throat despite the cool night air, and his lips were swollen where he had apparently bitten them during sleep, the lower one reddened beneath the faint imprint of teeth. Valdor’s chest hurt.

"Amor."

No response. The young noble turned his head sharply.

"No—"

The word escaped hoarsely. His fingers clutched the sheets.

"Please, haah—haah..."

Valdor stopped breathing for a moment. Amor’s expression twisted.

"Don’t—"

His next words dissolved into something too faint to understand. Valdor wished desperately for a skill he did not possess. Blackstone had spirit speakers.

Rare people said to walk close enough to dreams that they could guide lost minds and souls back toward waking, ease haunted sleep, or carry messages through fever visions. Valdor had once considered the ability impractical compared with tracking and medicine. Tonight he would have traded almost any skill for it.

He wanted to enter the nightmare. Find whatever hunted Amor. And kill it.

If it wore a face, Valdor would remember it.

If it had a body, he would break it.

If it were something without flesh, he would learn how to destroy that too.

Instead, he stood helpless beside a bed. That helplessness hurt more than wounds. He could not fight memory. He could not track fear. He could not cut open a dream and drag Amor out of it. His hands, so useful for hunting, carving, healing, building, carrying, and killing, possessed no skill capable of reaching the place where Amor currently suffered. All Valdor could do was remain.

He looked toward Amor’s hand. Even asleep, the fingers were clenched hard enough to whiten at the joints. Valdor reached. Then stopped. Permission still mattered. Amor could not give it now. But he had permitted Valdor to check.

He had held Valdor’s hand during nightmares before. He had reached for him blindly during the palace panic. The memory helped Valdor choose the smallest comfort rather than the largest. He placed his hand near Amor’s. Not over it but near enough for contact if Amor sought it. For several breaths, nothing happened.

Then Amor’s fingers moved. They dragged weakly across the sheet blindly. Finally, they found Valdor’s and closed. Valdor exhaled. He turned his hand beneath Amor’s and allowed the cold fingers to curl around two of his.

No grip beyond what Amor chose. No pulling him closer. Only something warm and solid waiting where his sleeping hand had searched. Amor’s breathing hitched. Valdor leaned slightly nearer.

"I am here."

The words came quietly. Amor did not wake. His grip tightened. Valdor’s heart twisted. He settled carefully beside the mattress, remaining seated rather than climbing onto the bed. One forearm rested along the edge while Amor held his hand, leaving enough distance that no one—hidden guard or otherwise—could mistake what he intended.

The nightmare continued but it had lessened significantly as they began to stop. Amor whispered fragments. Some were common words. Some made no sense. Then one arrived clearly.

"It’s...Lovell...my"

Valdor’s gaze sharpened. He had heard the name before. The first time, he had wondered whether it belonged to someone Amor once knew. Now the way Amor said it felt different. Not calling another person. Being called.

"Lovell...it’s...."

His face twisted. Valdor said nothing. He would not question a sleeping man. That would be another kind of theft. Instead, he tightened his fingers only enough for Amor to feel resistance when his hand trembled. The hidden guard near the balcony shifted almost imperceptibly. Valdor ignored him. Another whimper escaped Amor. His head moved restlessly against the pillow. Valdor reached with his free hand toward the edge of the blanket, pulling it higher only after checking that Amor’s body felt cold rather than fever-hot. He did not touch skin unnecessarily.

"Safe..."

Valdor murmured. Amor’s breathing remained uneven. Valdor tried Blackstone.

"Seth..."

Safe.

The word sounded deeper at night. Amor’s fingers flexed. Valdor repeated it.

"Seth..."

No response. He continued anyway.

"Hara..."

Home.

"Ruun..."

Rest.

His own language became prayer. Not because Amor could consciously understand. Because Valdor needed something to offer.

"Seth..."

Safe.

"Hara..."

Home.

"Ruun..."

Rest.

Amor’s breathing slowly changed. Enough to let his gasps lengthen. His shoulders stopped jerking with every breath. The tension in his fingers loosened by a fraction. Valdor watched closely. Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps the nightmare was simply passing. He did not care. He continued speaking.

"Vara."

Return.

Amor’s lips moved. Valdor leaned closer. A faint sound escaped. Not in the common tongue but in Blackstone. Badly pronounced but it was still there.

"...vah-ra..."

Valdor’s throat tightened. He closed his eyes briefly.

"I am here."

Amor shifted toward the sound. His face remained pale. Sweat still dampened his skin. But the terror began receding from his expression. Valdor watched it go with a mixture of relief and fury toward something he could not name. The guard nearest the balcony finally relaxed enough that Valdor sensed the shift. Valdor still disliked him. Perhaps slightly less. He remained beside the bed.

Minutes passed. Amor never woke. His grip loosened but did not release Valdor’s fingers. The young noble’s breathing became slow enough that the room finally stopped feeling like a battlefield. Valdor looked down at their hands.

He had promised one check. He had intended to open the door, find Amor asleep, and leave. That possibility was gone. Leaving now felt impossible. Yet staying all night would violate the spirit of what Amor had agreed to. Valdor struggled with the boundary.

He had permission to check. He had discovered distress. Amor had reached for his hand. Did that mean staying until the nightmare passed was reasonable?

’Yes.’

Staying until morning?

’No.’

Valdor disliked the answer. He accepted it. He would remain until Amor’s sleep became peaceful. Then he would leave. And tomorrow, when Amor was awake enough to choose clearly, Valdor would ask for more precise permission. Not because Valdor wanted fewer boundaries. Because he wanted ones broad enough to protect Amor without stealing decisions from him. The thought steadied him. He looked toward the shadows.

"I know you are there..."

No one answered.

"Three..."

Still nothing. Valdor’s mouth flattened.

"No, four..."

A faint sound came from the curtain. Annoyance, perhaps.

’Good.’

Valdor returned his attention to Amor.

"I will not tell..."

The shadows remained silent. He added.

"Unless you fail him."

The air changed. The nearest guard did not respond verbally. Valdor did not need him to. The warning had been received.

For the next several minutes, two very different kinds of protectors occupied the same room in uneasy peace. One served House Moons through secrecy, steel, and unseen vigilance. The other sat beside Amor’s bed holding two cold fingers as though they were the most important thing he had ever been entrusted with.

Valdor looked at Amor’s face. The shadows beneath his eyes seemed darker without the makeup hiding them. No cosmetic could disguise exhaustion forever. Neither could smiles.

Valdor had been right. The realization brought no satisfaction. Only sadness. He brushed his thumb once against the side of Amor’s finger.

The nightmare had passed. Amor’s face softened. Then, with the strange trust of someone who did not know he was being watched, he turned his hand fully and threaded his fingers between Valdor’s.

Valdor became very still. The intimacy was small while unconscious yet that made it all the more devastating. He did not squeeze. He simply allowed Amor to hold him.

"Rest."

Valdor whispered. The hidden carving beneath the ankle support came back to him.

Rest. I will return.

Tonight, returning had not been symbolic. Amor had allowed him through the door. Valdor had returned to check. And for the first time, he understood just how much pain had been waiting on the other side.

...

Hours passed quietly around them. The nightmare had long since loosened its grip on Amor, and the terrible tension that had twisted his face beneath the moonlight gradually faded until his features settled into something soft and almost peaceful. His breathing became smooth, his skin lost some of its clammy chill, and the fingers threaded through Valdor’s hand no longer trembled. By every visible measure, Amor was resting well again. Valdor should have left. He knew that. The agreement had been simple enough:

One visit in the night, only checking, no lingering if everything appeared normal. He had already stretched that permission by remaining until the nightmare passed, and although he believed Amor would understand why, Valdor did not want—

"He would probably understand."

—to become an excuse for deciding boundaries on Amor’s behalf.

So, after nearly an hour of watching the steady rise and fall of Amor’s chest, Valdor carefully began loosening his hand. Amor whimpered. Valdor froze.

The sound was small, barely more than an unhappy breath, yet Amor’s fingers immediately tightened around his as though something terrible had moved closer the instant warmth began slipping away. His brow furrowed, the calm expression tightening at the edges while his shoulders shifted restlessly beneath the blankets. Valdor stopped withdrawing.

"I am here."

He whispered. He returned his hand fully. Amor settled almost immediately. Valdor stared. Several minutes passed. He tried again.

This time he moved even more slowly, easing one finger at a time from Amor’s loose grip until only their fingertips touched. Amor’s breathing changed before Valdor had fully pulled away, becoming shallower while his lips parted around another quiet sound of distress. His hand reached blindly. Valdor caught it. Amor relaxed again. The warrior looked toward the ceiling.

’This is becoming a problem.’

He waited longer.

’Maybe Amor needs deeper sleep.’

Half an hour later, Valdor attempted a third retreat. Amor’s face tightened. His fingers searched. Valdor returned. The pattern repeated so many times that even the hidden men stationed around the room gradually stopped finding it concerning and began finding it absurd. From somewhere above the heavy curtain near the far window came a low voice.

"You could simply stay."

Valdor’s head turned. The room became very quiet. Another voice, this one from behind the carved screen, answered sharply,

"Idiot. We are not meant to speak."

The first speaker sighed.

"Our cover was ruined when First put a blade against the barbarian’s throat."

Valdor’s eyes narrowed slightly at the word. A rustle came from somewhere near the balcony.

"Lower your voice."

"He already knows we are here."

"Yes. He does not need our names, habits, positions, childhoods, and favorite soups as well."

Valdor looked toward the shadowed corners. Apparently House Moons employed secret guards with personalities. That made them substantially more irritating. The one above the curtain spoke again.

"If he keeps trying to leave, the young master will keep waking."

"I am not waking him."

Valdor said. Four concealed presences shifted at once. The guard behind the screen muttered.

"He can hear us very well."

Valdor returned his attention to Amor.

"You are loud."

"We are trained to whisper as lightly as a breeze."

"You are bad at it."

A faint offended noise came from the curtains. The third guard, positioned somewhere near the balcony, finally joined the conversation.

"He is correct about one thing."

The second guard groaned.

"Not you too, Third."

"Lord Amor has slept more peacefully since the barbarian sat beside him..."

Valdor’s gaze narrowed sharply again. The third guard corrected himself immediately.

"I mean, Lord Valdor."

"Mm."

Silence followed. Then the fourth guard spoke with exasperated practicality.

"Stay until morning."

Valdor looked down at Amor’s hand.

"No."

The refusal surprised them. The hidden men went still. The third guard asked.

"Why?"

"I was not given permission."

A pause. The fourth guard answered.

"He is holding your hand."

"He is asleep."

"That appears like permission enough though."

"It is not the same..."

The reply came without hesitation. Valdor looked toward Amor’s face, now peaceful again because his hand remained warm inside Valdor’s.

"He agreed I could check once. He did not agree I could sleep here."

The second guard became quiet for several moments. Then he said.

"That is... unexpectedly honorable."

Valdor’s brows tightened.

"Unexpected?"

"You are a Blackstone. I just assumed—"

The third guard hissed.

"Do you want him to find where you are standing, Second?"

The second became silent. Valdor allowed the insult to pass only because Amor’s fingers moved faintly in his. The fourth guard continued, apparently determined to solve the practical problem regardless of anyone’s dignity.

"If you leave, he becomes distressed. If you stay awake all night, you will be useless tomorrow. If you sleep here, he rests..."

Valdor disliked how reasonable that sounded.

"It benefits him and you. It’s a win-win situation."

The guard added.

"That does not make it mine to decide."

The room quieted again. Even the guards seemed to understand that distinction. Valdor’s eyelids had begun growing heavy despite himself.

He had trained that morning, studied most of the day, eaten, sparred, listened to Vervath reveal a royal family secret, then spent hours sitting upright beside Amor’s bed while repeatedly attempting to leave and being dragged back by a sleeping hand. His body had endured harsher circumstances, but exhaustion remained exhaustion. He blinked slowly. The fourth guard noticed.

"You need sleep."

"Yes."

"Then sleep."

"No."

"Why are you making this so difficult?"

Valdor looked toward the darkness.

"Because Amor would be angry if he woke and found me here after I promised only a check."

The third guard answered.

"He might not."

"He might."

"You could explain the reason."

"That would happen after crossing the boundary."

The guards fell quiet again. Valdor’s logic was difficult to argue with. The second guard, who had previously insulted him, sounded almost impressed now.

"I thought Blackstone courtship meant stealing someone into the mountains."

Valdor’s eyes narrowed.

"That only almost happened once."

The fourth guard sounded delighted.

"Once?"

Valdor did not answer. He regretted confirming anything. Then the first guard finally spoke. His voice came from the same shadowed recess near the wall where he had disappeared earlier, calm and controlled enough that the other three immediately stopped whispering.

"Stay..."

Valdor turned his head slightly. The first guard stepped partially into view. He kept his face concealed, though his blade was now sheathed.

"I am giving permission on behalf of the household watch."

Valdor’s expression remained skeptical.

"You cannot give Amor’s permission."

"No..."

The guard agreed.

"But I can give you permission to remain in this room while he is vulnerable, under our supervision."

"That is different."

"Yes..."

The guard looked toward the bed.

"If you leave, his sleep worsens..."

Valdor knew.

"If you remain, he rests..."

Valdor knew that too.

"We will wake you before sunrise..."

The warrior’s gaze sharpened. The guard continued.

"You leave before the young master wakes. He does not need to know you stayed."

Valdor disliked that immediately.

"That is deception."

"It is discretion."

"No."

The fourth guard muttered.

"Seriously? He is being very difficult. I thought he’d jump at the chance to be close to his beloved in bed."

The first ignored him.

"Tomorrow you can ask explicitly for permission to remain at night..."

Valdor’s ears warmed. The guard’s eyes seemed to notice.

"Only to sleep in the same room."

He clarified. The heat spread deeper. The third guard sounded amused.

"First, I think he thought something else, hehe."

Valdor’s stare moved toward the balcony. Silence returned instantly. The first guard continued as though nothing happened.

"You can ask Lord Amor whether he wishes you to stay when nightmares worsen. Whether you may sit beside him. Whether you may sleep nearby if he keeps reaching for you..."

Valdor’s ears burned. The phrasing made the future arrangement sound far more intimate when spoken aloud.

"He may say no."

The guard added.

"Yes."

"And you will accept it."

"Yes."

The answer came immediately. That, more than anything, seemed to settle the hidden men. The first guard stepped back toward the shadows.

"Then tonight is temporary."

Valdor looked at Amor. The sleeping man’s face had finally regained some color. His fingers remained curled around Valdor’s hand. Warm now and not desperately searching or clenching until his knuckles ached. The choice weighed heavily.

He wanted to help Amor. He wanted to respect Amor. He wanted to sleep. Those desires did not fit together neatly. Valdor’s eyes closed for one second. Then opened.

"No. I should leave."

Amor whimpered. Valdor looked down. The fourth guard made an exasperated sound from above the curtain.

"See? Just give in and sleep. You know you want to."

Valdor ignored him. He shifted in the chair, intending to straighten his back and gather enough energy for one final attempt. His body disagreed. Exhaustion struck without ceremony. His shoulders lowered. His head dipped. The hand not holding Amor’s slipped from the edge of the mattress. Valdor tried to correct his posture.

He failed.

Within seconds, his forehead rested against the side of the bed near Amor’s arm, one broad shoulder leaning against the mattress while his fingers remained safely intertwined with Amor’s. His breathing deepened almost immediately. The hidden guards stared. The fourth spoke first.

"Well... He fell asleep fast."

The second answered.

"Mm. Very quickly."

The third shifted behind the balcony curtain.

"That’s kinda impressive."

The first remained silent. Valdor slept as though someone had struck him unconscious. His face relaxed against the edge of the bed, the usual sternness disappearing beneath exhaustion. Even the slight tension between his brows faded, leaving him looking younger and far less intimidating than a man capable of throwing his own father from a third-story window had any right to appear.

Amor remained peaceful. His hand stayed threaded through Valdor’s. Neither moved. The fourth guard whispered.

"Are we certain these two are adults?"

The second replied.

"Technically they are."

The third added.

"Emotionally, I have questions."

A faint sound resembling a suppressed laugh came from somewhere near the wall. The first guard finally spoke.

"Quiet."

All three became silent. For several minutes, the room returned to stillness. Moonlight shifted across the floor. Amor breathed easier as Valdor slept beside him. The fourth guard eventually whispered again, because apparently silence remained beyond his abilities.

"This courtship is exhausting."

The third guard answered.

"We are not the ones courting."

"We are watching them court."

"That is worse, Fourth. You need to get a life."

The second murmured.

"At least the young master is sleeping."

That ended the joking. The first guard looked toward Amor. He had watched the Moons heir for years. Long before Valdor entered the manor.

Recently, he had seen Amor pacing after midnight when everyone believed him asleep, seen him wake drenched in sweat, seen him sit beside windows until dawn rather than risk returning to bed. He had watched makeup gradually begin hiding shadows beneath pink eyes and watched servants exchange worried glances whenever their young master dismissed exhaustion with a smile. He had reported everything he believed necessary to Lanslet.

Still, nothing changed. Amor would not explain. Lanslet would not force him. Then Blackstone arrived.

The first guard had disliked Valdor immediately. He is too large, too direct and far too capable of reaching Amor before concealed protection could intervene. The warrior had carried him, touched him, shared meals, entered family spaces, and somehow gained access to emotional territory House Moons itself could not fully enter. That remained suspicious.

It also appeared to be helping.

Amor smiled more. Not every smile was real. The guards knew that too. But more of them were. The young master laughed during meals. He argued about vegetables. He asked questions about another culture. He fell asleep against a heartbeat instead of waking from distress over a nightmare. The first guard watched Valdor sleeping awkwardly beside the bed.

He still did not approve. Not completely. Courtship created vulnerabilities. Foreign alliances created dangers. Men promising affection could become men demanding ownership. House Moons had learned that lesson already.

But Valdor had just spent hours refusing to remain beside Amor without explicit permission even when every practical argument told him to stay. That mattered. The first guard folded his arms.

"He makes the young master happier."

The other three became quiet. The admission carried more weight coming from him than anyone else. The fourth guard finally whispered.

"First, I thought you hated him."

"I distrust him."

"That is different?"

"Yes."

The second guard looked toward Valdor.

"You threatened to take his head."

"I may still."

The third sounded amused.

"If he hurts Lord Amor, you mean?"

"Yes."

The fourth asked.

"Wait, what if he marries him?"

The first guard went silent. The other three waited. Finally, he muttered.

"Then surveillance becomes complicated."

The fourth guard nearly laughed aloud. The first shifted sharply. Silence returned. On the bed, Amor stirred. Every guard became alert. Valdor did not wake. Amor’s fingers tightened around his. His body shifted toward the edge of the mattress as though following the warmth even without consciousness. Then he settled. Valdor’s breathing remained deep. The fourth guard whispered.

"There. I was waiting for that to happen. Remember how they were when they were napping?"

The third answered.

"Mm. Again, the young master moved closer first."

The first looked away.

"Let them sleep."

No one argued. For the rest of the night, House Moons remained guarded by men hidden in shadow. But the person Amor held onto was not one of them. And for once, the nightmares did not return.