Chapter 29: An Empty Night

Aaron hit the reinforced post hard enough that the impact traveled up his arm and into his shoulder.

A sharp pain shot through his arm, but that was exactly what the prince wanted, it distracted him monetarily from the thoughts that wouldn’t leave his head. He reset his stance and drove another strike into the scarred wood, then another, the rhythm building until his breath came rough and the cool night air began to feel insufficient.

He had told himself he would not go to Levi’s room tonight.

The decision had been made earlier, sometime between the late minutes of dinner, and the moment he found himself standing in his own chambers with his boots still on, staring at the wall like it might offer better instructions than the ones currently failing him.

He hated to admit it, but Levi was slowly driving him insane.Every time he tried to put his mind elsewhere, it drifted back to the omega. He was even beginning to overthink every little movement, every smile he had ever witnessed, and that feeling wouldn’t just leave.

Aaron snarled and hit the post again.

Stop it! He screamed at himself inwardly.

The order had no effect. His mind had never been particularly obedient, and it was even less so now. He had tried the usual methods first, pacing the length of his rooms, pouring a drink he didn’t want, standing at the window and cataloging every reason that going downstairs would be stupid. All of it should have been enough to keep Aaron in place, but It hadn’t been.

So he had come down to the training yard instead, stripped off his shirt, and set about trying to exhaust the wanting the old-fashioned way. He would not have called it training. Training had form and purpose and an end point that left the body tired but the mind clearer. This was just violence with better posture.

He drove his fist into the post hard enough to make the wood shudder. He reset his feet and continued.

Strike. Reset. Strike. The muscles in his shoulders and back began to burn in earnest. Sweat cooled on his skin in the night air. For brief stretches the physical effort almost worked; the pain was building, his mind was occupied with his next strike, and everything was going well until he felt the presence.

It was dull, muted in a way that made it hard to pin down, but definite. Someone was watching him from the direction of the arched servants’ exit that opened onto the far side of the yard. Not close enough to be an immediate threat, and not heavy enough to register as one of his brothers or a senior enforcer. Just a quiet, stationary attention at the edge of the light.

Aaron’s rhythm faltered for half a second.

He did not turn fully. Years of unsettled instincts had taught him that the fastest way to make a watcher retreat was sometimes to pretend you hadn’t noticed them at all. He drove another strike into the post, then another, while the back of his awareness catalogued what little information the night air was willing to give. The presence did not feel like a guard on ordinary patrol; those usually moved in predictable circuits and carried the flat, bored scent of routine. This was stiller, and it seemed to just be focused on him.

Probably nothing, he told himself. It’s probably a servant taking a late shortcut, or a guard who paused too long. The house was full of people who know better than to announce themselves to the mad prince when he’s trying to punch a post into submission.

Still, the awareness of being observed sat poorly on top of everything else already crowding his head. Aaron stopped.

He braced one hand against the scarred post and let his head drop forward for a moment, breath coming hard, sweat cooling along his spine. The presence at the edge of the yard did not move. He rolled his shoulders, straightened, and turned just enough to let the moonlight catch his profile, a silent acknowledgment that he knew he was not alone. For a second he considered walking toward the archway and putting a face to the attention, then decided against it.

If it was a guard, confrontation would only create a report. If it was a servant, frightening some half-asleep staff member out of their wits would accomplish nothing except adding another layer of household gossip to an already complicated night. And if it was something else, something related to Elvis, or to the growing fractures in the family, he was in no state to handle it cleanly.

Enough.

He needed sleep more than he needed another fight, even one as one-sided as arguing with wood. He collected his discarded shirt from the bench near the post and dragged it over his head with short, impatient motions, and then started toward the family wing entrance with long strides that dared the watcher to follow.

The presence did not follow.

By the time Aaron reached the arched doorway that led back toward the residential halls, the dull sense of being observed had faded into the ordinary night sounds of the grounds. He did not look back. Looking back would have turned a dismissed distraction into a problem that required action, and he already had more problems than he could usefully hit.

The corridors of the family wing were quiet and dimly lit. His own rooms, when he reached them, felt too still after the cold air and physical effort of the yard. He stripped the sweat-damp shirt off again, washed the blood from his knuckles at the basin, and stood for a long moment in the center of the chamber.

Sleep, he ordered himself. Enough of this already! Just sleep.

He lay down with the lights still low and one arm thrown across his eyes. His body was tired enough that it should have surrendered quickly. His mind, true to form, did not cooperate.

He turned onto his side and willed the thoughts away with the same lack of success he had been experiencing all night.

Just don’t dream about him, he thought, the request directed at whatever part of himself was responsible for such things. Give me that much. Let the night be empty, please.

After what felt like an eternity, sleep finally came, and when it did, it was not empty.