Chapter 57
The hall was dim, lit only by the fire crackling in the stone hearth. Mathias stood by the window, the Aethelgar seal already broken in his hand, the parchment heavy with words that twisted his thoughts. When Alistair entered, he did not speak at first. He simply watched his father, noting the weight that had settled over him.
"You sent for me."
Mathias turned. "An invitation came."
Mathias continued. "A grand banquet. And a trial. They invite noble maidens from across the realms to stand before Prince Hosea. A chance to claim the favor of the future king. Alissa is among those summoned."
Alistair's jaw tightened, but his voice was steady. "So you mean to cast her into the lion's den."
"It's not a request," Mathias said. "We must comply, or risk far worse."
Alistair walked further into the chamber. "You know as well as I do—Tommen hates witches. If he even suspects what Alissa might be… ."
Mathias did not speak.
"You truly mean to send her there?" Alistair asked, quieter now.
"I do," Mathias said. "But not alone."
Mathias gave a small nod. "I will not let her face them alone. But I need someone to remain here. Valla must not appear exposed. If things go ill… someone must hold the kingdom."
Alistair looked at his father, torn between duty and dread. "I don't like it."
"Neither do I."
"She is not safe there," Alistair said. "Not with people like them."
"I know," Mathias said softly. "But if we refuse, we invite war. If we go, we may yet find another path. I would rather stand beside her in danger than wait helplessly behind."
Alistair sighed." And who will tell her about this?" he asked."I will." Mathias replied.
Alistair's breath was heavy. Then he stepped forward and clasped his father's arm. "Then let me prepare things here. And if you send word, I'll ride to you without hesitation."
Mathias smiled faintly. "That's all I could ask of you."
As Alistair turned to leave, Mathias watched him—his tall frame, his careful restraint, the storm always beneath his skin. He would make a fine king, Mathias thought. But only if he learned to temper fire with wisdom.
And in the silence that followed, he whispered to himself, "May the gods walk with us."
---
The corridor was silent, moonlight slanting through the narrow windows, silvering the stone beneath their feet. Elias leaned against the archway, arms folded, lost in thought—until the soft fall of footsteps drew his eyes upward.
Caven stood before him, his face unreadable at first.
"I came to speak," he said quietly. "About the other night. I should not have stormed off. I was—"
"Angry," Elias finished for him, voice low.
Caven gave a slight nod. "And hurt."
Elias let out a breath, shoulders sinking. "Then I owe you more than you owe me," he murmured. "I spoke without thought… cruel words I had no right to say. I—" He faltered, gaze dropping to the floor. "I am sorry."
But before his apology could find its end, Caven moved. In a sudden, wordless motion, he stepped forward and pressed his lips to Elias'. The kiss was urgent, unspoken things poured into touch. Elias gasped against him, stumbling back till his spine met cold stone. His hands, as though moved by their own will, found Caven's tunic, gripping tight as he drew him closer.
Their mouths parted only when breath demanded it. Caven rested his forehead against Elias', dark eyes searching his.
"No matter what may come," he said softly, "promise me you will not turn from me again. Do not stop speaking to me… not even in anger."
Elias held his gaze, heart thrumming beneath his ribs. "I will not," he whispered, and nodded.
A slow, relieved smile spread across Caven's lips—then he kissed him once more, deeper this time, no hesitation in it. Elias returned it with equal fervor, letting the silence bear witness to the truth they'd long carried in secret.
---
Caven had long vanished into the night, his shadow swallowed by the darkened corridor. Elias remained by the stone wall, where the weight of emotion still clung to him like a second skin. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the stillness settle. Then came footsteps.
At first, he turned with a small smile, expecting Caven's return.
But it wasn't Caven.
It was him.
Prince Alistair.
The man who once meant everything—and then vanished from his life without a word.
Elias felt the air catch in his chest. His limbs froze, and all the memories, raw and buried deep, rushed back like a tide. Alistair came to a halt before him. For the first time in years, they stood face to face. The space between them felt unbearably heavy.
Alistair's lips parted, and he offered a nervous smile. "How are you?" he asked, voice gentler than Elias remembered. "It's… been a while," he added, a shaky laugh escaping him.
Elias did not answer. He only looked at him, his eyes hard, unreadable.
Silence stretched.
Then at last, Elias spoke, his voice firm. "Your Highness, forgive me for neglecting my post. I will return to my duties at once." He turned, ready to walk away, but Alistair caught his hand.
"Wait… please."
Elias's jaw tightened. He turned slowly, blinking back the sting behind his eyes. "Is there something you need, Your Highness?"
Alistair didn't answer. He simply stepped forward and embraced him.
The grip was sudden, fierce—like a man desperate not to lose something again. Elias stiffened, hands pressed to Alistair's chest as if to push him away, but his strength faltered. Tears slipped from his eyes, unbidden, silent. He buried his face in Alistair's shoulder, and Alistair only held him tighter.
"I'm sorry," the prince whispered into his hair. "I never stopped thinking of you."
They stayed like that, pressed close, the night wrapping around them.
When Alistair finally pulled back, his hand rose and gently brushed the tears from Elias's cheek. Elias closed his eyes, leaning into the touch—into the warmth he had ached for so long. And when his gaze met Alistair's again—green eyes filled with longing—he leaned in.
Their lips met.
Soft, at first—like a question.
Then deeper.
Years of silence, longing, and unspoken words spilled into that kiss, their lips moving slowly, then more hungrily, until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.
Alistair took his hand, and Elias followed him through the quiet halls, down the paths they once knew so well, until they reached the hidden chamber they used to call their own—a quiet place, forgotten by most, remembered only by them.
There, in the quiet glow of a single flame, Alistair pulled him close once more. Their mouths found each other again—this time with no restraint. Elias's fingers tangled in his hair, while Alistair's hands roamed his back, pulling him flush to his chest.
Robes slipped from shoulders.
Breath mingled.
Every touch felt like a memory rekindled—every kiss, a plea not to be forgotten again.
Alistair laid him down with reverence, eyes never leaving Elias's as he whispered his name like a vow. Theirs was not a hurried passion, but a reunion carved from heartache and longing. Each sigh, each moan, was laced with the ache of what had been lost… and the hope of what could still be.
In that hidden chamber, time stilled.
And for the first time in years, they were not prince and knight… but simply two souls who had once belonged to each other—and perhaps still did.
Alistair's fingers lingered at Elias's waist, reverent and slow, like he feared the moment would vanish if he rushed. Their mouths moved against each other's with growing need—years of longing unspoken, wounds unhealed, and words buried between duty and silence.
Elias gasped as Alistair's lips trailed down his neck, slow and warm, pausing just above his heartbeat.
"Still the same," Alistair whispered, voice hushed and trembling. "Still beautiful."
Elias's breath caught as nimble fingers slipped beneath fabric. Robes fell away, one layer at a time, until they were bare to each other in the candlelight—nothing left to shield them. Alistair's eyes roamed over him, not with lust, but with awe, as if Elias were something sacred he was only now being allowed to touch again.
Elias reached up, drawing Alistair down to him, their chests pressing together, skin meeting skin—warm, electric. His hands mapped familiar terrain across Alistair's back, fingers trembling with memory.
They kissed again—deeper now. Slow. Savoring. Mouths parting only for breath, then meeting once more. Alistair whispered his name into the crook of Elias's neck, and Elias curled his fingers into Alistair's hair, holding him close.
Each touch was deliberate—soft at first, exploring old ground, then deeper, firmer, as passion overtook restraint. Elias arched beneath him, breath shaky, every nerve lit with fire. Alistair kissed down his chest, lips brushing sensitive skin, leaving trails of warmth in his wake. Elias's hands never left him, fingers clutching at shoulders, guiding, needing.
When Alistair finally entered him, it was slow and careful—like a promise being made in silence.
Their bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, breath syncing, hands holding tight like they feared they might lose each other again. There were no words—just soft gasps, quiet moans, and the sound of skin meeting skin beneath the low crackle of the fire.
Time blurred. All that existed was this—the warmth, the weight, the closeness. Alistair pressed his forehead to Elias's, whispering things he hadn't said in years.
"I never stopped loving you."
Elias's reply was in his kiss, in the way he held him, in the tears that slipped quietly down his cheek as pleasure crested—raw and overwhelming. Alistair followed soon after, breathless and undone, burying his face in Elias's shoulder.
They lay entangled afterward, bodies spent but hearts still racing.
Alistair wrapped himself around Elias, his lips pressing a tender kiss to his temple. Elias held his hand against his chest, feeling the strong beat beneath his fingers.
No words were needed.
For the first time in years, they had found their way back to each other—if only for a night.
And in that quiet afterglow, with limbs twined and breath shared, it felt—for a moment—like the world outside didn't exist.