Darius was already moving before the carriage fully stopped. The moment Fenway cracked the door, Darius stepped down, boots hitting the ground with purpose. He didn’t glance back for permission. He didn’t need to. He’d been doing “make the world safe” his whole life, and now it simply had a new center.
“I’ll see to the stables and rooms,” he said, more statement than question.
Damon nodded once from inside. That was all Darius needed. He was gone in three strides, scanning the street, counting exits, clocking where a drunk might stumble and where a knife might hide.
Inside, the carriage felt suddenly quieter without his steady, watchful weight in it.
Damon stayed at the window, elbow braced against the frame, gaze tracking the movement outside like he was reading the town’s mood in the way people held their shoulders.
Kairi didn’t look out. She looked at him.
Not openly, not rudely. Just… noticing. The angle of his cheekbone. The line of his nose. The shape of his mouth when he went still and thoughtful. And because she’d spent years studying faces for pain and truth, her mind did what it always did: it compared, it catalogued.
Dato and Damon. The same family bones, worn differently. Dato was all restraint and quiet steel, a blade kept sheathed until needed. Damon was warmth, ease, the kind of smile that made rooms exhale.
And then she noticed the smallest thing. Their hands.
Damon’s hand was still holding hers, fingers relaxed but firm, as if he’d decided this was normal and would be treated as such until someone pried them apart. His thumb moved in a slow arc over the side of her hand, absent-minded, rhythmic.
Kairi logged it. Dato did that too.
Not always. But often enough that it had become one of those tiny anchors she didn’t realize she leaned on until she saw it somewhere else. The unconscious comfort of a familiar gesture.
Damon’s eyes stayed on the street, but his voice slid into the carriage like he’d been thinking aloud for a while and finally decided to include her.
“Jayce mentioned that Tessa will be staying in the same room as you,” he said. His tone remained light, conversational… but there was a question hiding underneath the words, like a blade tucked in a sleeve. “Assuming your brother will also stay with you.”
Kairi turned her head slightly, the movement small enough to be private. “Assuming,” she echoed, and the word carried a faint edge of amusement. “Is that what you’re worried about? That you will have to share a room with my brother?”
Damon’s mouth quirked as if he hadn’t meant to reveal worry at all and was mildly offended it had escaped anyway.
He finally looked at her. Really looked.
And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he leaned in close. The same easy, intimate closeness he’d used earlier that day. Not a lunge. Not a claim. Just a steady closing of distance, offered instead of taken.
He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. Polite, and she thought of how many other nobles would be kissing her knuckles in Carlbrin.
The town outside blurred into lanternlight and noise, suddenly irrelevant.
“Like what you see, Princess?” he murmured, voice soft enough that it belonged only to the space between them.
Kairi didn’t pull back.
She could have. She knew she should, by some invisible court rulebook she’d never quite finished reading. But she’d spent too long living by survival rules, not palace ones. And Damon was not pushing. He was waiting. Giving her the choice and letting it be hers.
She let her eyes search his face, not for charm this time, but for sincerity. For the man under the practiced smile. For the boy Ryder had once been, somewhere beneath all that polish.
“Maybe,” she said, and the word held a smile without fully becoming one. “I liked more of what I learned about you today. Thank you for that.”
Damon went very still.
If anyone had been watching closely, they might have seen the way his throat worked once, like he swallowed something that had surprised him. Or the way his hand tightened around hers just enough to confirm he’d heard her and didn’t want to let the moment drift away.
He stayed there a heartbeat longer than necessary. Not because he was trying to steal anything. Because he was, for once, taking something carefully. Then he pulled back, slow and controlled, like he was putting distance between them with the same deliberate care he’d used to close it. He turned his head back toward the window, resting his temple against his other hand as if he needed that casual posture to hide the fact that his mouth was trying to smile like an idiot.
Kairi watched the curve of it anyway.
And then, almost reluctantly, he replied, “Likewise.”
One word. Two syllables. No flourish. But it landed with weight.
Outside, the carriage came to a full stop. The inn’s sign creaked in the evening breeze. Somewhere nearby, a stable boy called out, and a horse answered with a tired snort.
Kairi’s fingers remained in his. His thumb continued its slow, unconscious arc, soothing as a tide.
And for that small stretch of time before doors opened and duty poured back in, the world felt less like a battlefield and more like… something that might be lived in.
Kylar didn’t notice his own hand had curled into a fist until the paper tore.
Not ripped, not destroyed. Just… creased and crumpled at the edge, the way parchment does when you’re holding too tightly while pretending you aren’t.
Below, in the inn’s common room, Damon’s laugh had landed too easily on Kairi’s shoulders. It wasn’t even the laugh that did it, not really. It was the way she’d turned toward it, polite and soft, and let Damon’s attention settle on her like a cloak she hadn’t asked for but also hadn’t pushed away. Because she was kind. Because she was trying. Because she was learning how to be in a world where everyone tried to claim pieces of her.
Kylar had sat there and done what he always did: watched, measured, swallowed it all.
Tessa had nudged him and signed
Almost.
Then Rush had started scratching names on the room assignment list like he was rearranging a battlefield. Jayce blinked. Darius didn’t. Shade looked over the assignment and chuckled a little. "Be kind my liege"
Rush just gave a quick glance to him and shrugged. “Damon, Fenway and I will share,” Rush said, as if he were discussing weather. “Jayce, you’re with Tessa and Kairi. Kylar, you’re with Darius and Shade.”
Kylar weighed how Rush split it, he placed someone he trusted in each room. Jayce to keep Kairi safe, Shade to watch him and Rush himself to watch Damon. He wondered if Damon’s thoughts were loud too. Or if this was just a him problem.
Damon stood immediately, offering his hand to Kairi with a flourish that belonged on a stage. “May I escort you to your room, my lady?”
Before Kairi could answer, Jayce shoved Kylar forward like he was pushing a reluctant dog into a bath. “Kylar will take you,” he said, too bright, too quick. “Damon and I need to speak.”
Kylar recovered in the same breath he lost. He offered his arm because it was the only thing his hands could do that didn’t look like a threat.
Kairi grinned up at him, took his arm, and the simple contact hit like an arrow in the ribs. Warm. Familiar. Infuriatingly steady. It had a way to clear his thoughts right then from where they were spiraling.
They climbed the stairs together. Tessa followed a step behind, boots quiet, gaze everywhere. The hallway was narrow and smelled like soap, smoke, and damp wool drying near the hearth downstairs. Someone laughed in a room to their left. Someone argued softly behind a door to the right. Life going on, indifferent to princes and vessels and all the sharp things a person could carry inside their chest.
Tessa reached their door first, opened it, and glanced between them with that sharp, unreadable expression that always made Kylar feel like she could weigh a soul with her eyes.
She signed Be quick.
Then she tugged them inside, stepped back out into the hall, and shut the door with a firm click that wasn’t quite gentle.
Kylar stood in the dim room, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. The beds. The washbasin. The single lamp making the corners of the walls look deeper than they were. Kairi’s breath. The way her fingers still rested lightly on his sleeve as if she hadn’t decided whether to let go.
He should speak first. He should say something calm. Something reasonable.
Kairi lifted her hand and cupped his cheek.
“Not too jealous?” she asked, like she was teasing him over a spilled cup of tea instead of dragging a blade across his ribs.
His throat worked once. “I’m being well-behaved,” he said. It came out rougher than he meant.
Her thumb brushed along his cheekbone, slow, thoughtful, like she was checking if he was real.
Kylar closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. He could still see Damon’s hand over hers in the carriage. Damon’s mouth on her knuckles. The way he’d leaned in with that practiced closeness, confident that the world belonged to him. Kylar didn’t think he was entitled to her. He didn’t think she was property to guard and hoard.
But he did think he’d earned the right to feel something when his brother smiled at her like she was a prize.
He stepped closer before he could talk himself out of it, not fast, not forceful, just… inevitable. The space between them vanished in a way that made his body feel like it had finally exhaled after holding its breath all evening. He opened his eyes and looked to her through his lashes.
Kairi’s eyes flicked down to his mouth. Then back up to his eyes
“You were clenching your jaw,” she murmured.
“I didn't” he lied.
Her smile went crooked. “You did.”
He made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. It didn’t have room to be, not with everything pressing against his ribs.
“You didn’t reach for him,” he said, and hated that the words were there at all.
Kairi blinked, surprised, then softened. “No,” she said simply. “I didn’t.”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Kylar’s hands hovered at her waist like he was afraid of taking too much. Like he still didn’t trust the world to let him have anything without demanding payment.
Kairi answered the hesitation by taking his hands and placing them on her waist. She watched his eyes to see his reactions.
“I can talk to Damon,” she said, voice quieter. “If you want me to set boundaries. If you want me to tell him—”
“No,” Kylar cut in, sharper than he meant. He took a breath and lowered his tone. “No. Don’t make this your job. You’ve had enough people making you manage their feelings.”
Her gaze held his, steady as a drawn bow. “Then what do you want?”
The honesty of the question pinned him. No teasing now. No soft escape.
Kylar’s mouth opened and closed once. His fingers tightened just a little on her waist and then his thumb stroked a small arc.
He wanted to say I want you to stop smiling at him.
He wanted to say I want to be the only one you look at like that.
He wanted to say a thousand selfish things and then apologize for them.
Instead he said, “I want… five minutes where I don’t have to watch you be brave for everyone.”
Kairi’s expression softened in a way that felt like a hand on the back of his neck.
“Then take it,” she whispered.
Kylar leaned down, and he didn’t kiss her.
Not because he didn’t want to. He wanted to so badly it made his hands shake.
He didn’t because he couldn’t. Not like that. Not with her still carrying so much, still learning what her life was going to look like under other people’s eyes. The line mattered, even when his body didn’t want it to.
So he pressed his forehead to hers instead, held her face with both hands like she was something holy and fragile and stubbornly alive.
Kairi’s hands slid up into his hair, fingers combing through it, tugging just enough to tell him she was real, she was here, she wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
“You’re shaking,” she murmured, more observation than accusation.
He let out a breath that sounded like surrender. “I’m fine.”
“Liar,” she said, and it came with affection, not anger.
Kylar closed his eyes.
In the dark behind his lids, he saw Damon’s smile again. Rush’s warning. The mayor’s eager voice calling him my dear prince. The way the day had changed shape the moment the world started using his title out loud.
He opened his eyes and found Kairi still there, still looking at him like he was exactly who she expected.
Like she’d been waiting. Always waiting.
The thought landed hard enough to bruise. He had let her wait in a hundred small ways without meaning to. With hesitation. With caution. With fear that if he stepped forward, the world would punish her for it.
He couldn’t undo the past. But he could stop adding to it.
Kylar’s voice dropped. “I don’t want you waiting on me anymore.”
Kairi went very still. “Kylar…”
He swallowed, forced the words out like they were a blade he had to lift even when his arms trembled.
“I’m not asking you to stop being kind,” he said. “Or stop being… you. I’m asking you to remember I’m allowed to want things too. And I want—” He cut himself off, jaw tight. “I want to be the one you come to when the room is loud.”
Kairi’s eyes shone in the lamplight.
“You are,” she said, and it sounded like she meant it. “You’ve been that for longer than you think.”
Kylar’s hands slid down from her face to her shoulders, then to her arms, as if he needed the anchor of her in more places to convince himself he wasn’t dreaming.
He looked at her wrist which lead to her hand, where Damon had held her hand earlier and the jealousy flared again, quick and ugly.
Kairi noticed his gaze and took a moment to consider his thoughts.
“That’s not yours,” she said softly. “And it’s not his, either. It’s just… a hand. A moment. Nothing that gets to live in me.”
Kylar’s throat tightened.
He nodded once, slow. “I’m trying,” he admitted.
Kairi’s smile came, gentle and wicked at the edges. “I know.”
“Tell me the truth,” she whispered.
Kylar’s eyes flicked up. “Which truth?”
“The one you’re pretending you don’t have,” she said, voice almost amused. “How jealous are you?”
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half defeat.
“Enough that I wanted to pull him out of the carriage by his pretty hair,” he said flatly.
Kairi snorted, delighted. “Damon would die dramatically.”
“He would,” Kylar agreed, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Probably in silk.”
“And then Fenway would sigh at his corpse,” Kairi added.
Kylar’s shoulders loosened a fraction. “And then Rush would threaten to melt someone’s face off again.”
Kairi’s grin widened. “He was serious.”
“I know,” Kylar said, and he did. Rush’s threats always wore humor like a thin cloak. Under it was a dragon’s promise.
Kairi’s hands slid down Kylar’s arms, finding his wrists, holding him there as if she was keeping him from bolting out of himself.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, firm now. Not defensive. Just stating a fact.
Kylar nodded, immediate. “I know.”
“And you’re allowed to feel what you feel,” she continued, gaze steady. “But you don’t get to punish me for being polite.”
He swallowed. “I wouldn’t.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” she said, softer. “But you can tell me it hurts, without blaming.”
Kylar let out a slow breath and dipped his head, resting his forehead briefly against her shoulder. The scent of herbs clung to her hair. Smoke and festival spice and something clean beneath it that always made his chest ache.
He spoke into her shawl, voice low. “I hate sharing you.”
Kairi’s fingers threaded into his hair again, holding him close.
“I’m not being shared,” she murmured. “I’m being… seen. By the world.”
Kylar’s hands tightened at her waist, not hard, just enough to say mine without words.
Kairi stroked the back of his head and neck lightly. “And you’re part of that world now, too,” she whispered. “You don’t get to stand outside and suffer alone. If you’re jealous, say it. If you’re afraid, say it. If you want me, say it.”
Kylar pulled back enough to stare at her like she’d just handed him permission and dared him to use it.
His voice came out hoarse. “I want you.”
Kairi’s smile softened, satisfied in the quietest way. “Good.”
A muffled sound came from the hallway. Tessa shifting her stance. A step, then stillness again.
They both froze for a heartbeat, listening.
Kylar huffed a short breath. “She’s going to murder me if we take too long.”
Kairi’s eyes glittered. “Then we’ll be quick.”
Kylar didn’t have to ask what she meant.
He pulled her into a tight hug instead, full-body, no space left between them. Her arms wrapped around him immediately, like she’d been waiting to be held that way all day.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, brief and fierce and careful.
“That’s all I get?” she murmured, mock-offended, voice warm against his throat.
Kylar’s breath caught. His hands flexed at her back. “Tonight,” he said, choosing each word like a vow, “you get my restraint. Because I respect you too much to take what my jealousy wants.”
Kairi went quiet, and when she lifted her head, her expression wasn’t teasing at all.
“Thank you,” she said.
Kylar’s chest hurt again. He nodded once, unable to say more without cracking open.
Kairi leaned in and brushed her nose against his, a tiny, playful bump that made his heart stutter.
“Still,” she whispered, eyes smiling, “you’re allowed to look a little ruined over me. It’s flattering.”
Kylar’s laugh came out soft and helpless.
“You are dangerous,” he muttered.
“Mm,” she agreed. “And you love it.”
He did. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, hands lingering there as if he could memorize the shape of her face by touch.
“Tomorrow,” he said, voice low, “the world gets loud again.”
Kairi nodded, serious now. “Tomorrow.”
“And tonight,” he added, “you don’t have to be anyone’s princess. Not for Rush. Not for Damon. Not for a crowd.”
Her eyes softened.
“Just Kairi,” he finished.
Kairi’s breath shook as she exhaled. She rested her forehead against his again.
“Just Kairi,” she echoed.
A sharp knock came at the door. Once.
Kairi stifled a laugh against Kylar’s shoulder. Kylar closed his eyes, breathed her in one more time, then stepped back before his restraint could turn into regret.
And when he opened the door and Tessa’s eyes flicked over them like a blade checking for blood, Kylar kept his posture steady and his hands respectful.
But inside, under the calm, he was still burning.
Not with anger.
With want, and the decision to carry it.
And he nodded to them both and made his way to his own room for the night.
Darius came in later than the others.
The hall outside was finally quiet, the inn settling into that late-night hush where even drunk laughter turned soft and distant, muffled by doors and tired walls. When Darius eased their room door open, the hinges complained anyway. He paused, listening for a reprimand from someone more awake than him.
None came.
Inside, the room was dim except for the thin ribbon of moonlight leaking through the shutters. Shade had placed himself in the hallway for first watch.
Kylar was on the nearest bed, sprawled on top of the blankets like he’d been dropped there and forgotten. Arms folded behind his head. Eyes open. Staring at the ceiling with the blank focus of a man replaying a battle he’d technically survived.
Darius shut the door as quietly as he could and leaned his shoulder to it for a second. His body wanted to melt. His brain refused.
He crossed the room and stopped at the foot of Kylar’s bed.
“That bad, huh?”
Kylar didn’t move. Didn’t look down. Just blinked once, slow.
“I have discovered a part of me gets jealous,” he said, like he was reporting weather.
Darius snorted, the sound sharp in the stillness. “Congratulations. You’re alive.”
Kylar exhaled a humorless breath that almost qualified as a laugh. “It’s inconvenient.”
Darius dropped onto the other bed with a groan, boots still on because everything had become temporary in the last two days. He leaned back and stared at the same ceiling Kylar had been interrogating, as if it might answer better from a different angle.
“For what it’s worth,” Darius said after a moment, “she seems more invested in you than Damon. Seeing how she acted with both of you.”
That got Kylar’s eyes to shift, finally, the smallest tilt toward him. “You were watching.”
“I was assigned,” Darius said dryly. “Also, it’s hard not to watch when your princess keeps collecting princes like she’s shopping for apples.”
Kylar’s mouth twitched at that, a reluctant crack in the brooding. “She’s not collecting him.”
“She’s letting him try,” Darius corrected. “Which is different. And if it makes you feel any better, she didn’t reach for him first. Not once.”
Kylar’s gaze drifted back to the ceiling, but his shoulders eased by a fraction, like a knot had loosened without him meaning it to. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t have to. His silence did it for him.
Darius lay there and let the day pour out of his head in little pieces: the gorge, the bridge, the way Damon’s charm never turned off even when his hands were white-knuckled at the window, the way Rush watched everyone like he was counting exits. The way Kairi laughed anyway. Like laughter was a weapon she refused to put down.
“You know,” Darius said, “I thought escort duty would be boring. Ride. Watch. Sleep. Repeat.”
Kylar made a quiet sound of agreement.
Darius turned his head slightly. “Instead I’m learning your horse has better manners than half the court.”
Kylar’s lips lifted. “He likes her.”
“He likes attention,” Darius said. “And she gives it like it’s a law of nature.”
Kylar’s eyes went soft for half a heartbeat. “Yes.”
Darius watched that softness appear and vanish. The jealousy was still there, but it wasn’t ugly. It was just… human. It sat on Kylar the way bruises did: proof something had landed and he’d stayed standing anyway.
“So,” Darius said, shifting gears because if he didn’t, the room would fill with thoughts neither of them wanted to speak aloud. “Zen asked me a question earlier.”
Kylar’s brows lifted, faintly wary. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It was,” Darius said. “He wanted to know if you were going to survive courtship.”
Kylar let out a breath through his nose. “Define survive.”
Darius grinned into the ceiling. “I told him yes. Probably. With supervision.”
Kylar huffed a quiet laugh, then sobered again. “Rush is… enjoying this.”
Darius’s grin faded into something more thoughtful. “Rush is enjoying making you earn it. There’s a difference.”
Kylar didn’t deny that. His hand shifted behind his head, fingers flexing like he wanted to grip something and couldn’t decide what.
Darius watched him for a second, then offered the only thing he could that didn’t feel like pity.
“You held your ground,” he said. “All week. With Tessa. With the town. With Rush. With Damon showing up like a peacock.”
Kylar’s mouth twisted. “Peacocks are colorful.”
“Exactly.”
That got another small huff of laughter, and Darius took it as victory.
They fell quiet again. The inn creaked. Somewhere below, someone coughed. A floorboard sighed with the weight of a late-night barmaid. After a while, Darius spoke, voice lower.
“Zen said something else,” he added.
Kylar’s eyes flicked toward him again. “What now.”
“He said if you don’t watch yourself, she’ll bite your neck and you’ll forget your own name.”
Kylar stared at the ceiling for a heartbeat too long.
Then, very calmly, he said, “She has bitten my neck.”
Darius choked. It was an undignified sound. Half laugh, half cough, half the noise of a man trying to swallow his own tongue. He rolled onto his side, eyes wide in the dim.
“She what?”
Kylar finally looked at him fully, expression dead serious and completely unhelpful. “She did.”
Darius sat up on one elbow, scandalized on principle and also, against his will, impressed. “Kylar.”
Kylar blinked. “What.”
“That’s… that’s not a normal sentence.”
Kylar’s gaze drifted away, ears turning faintly pink. “It was training.”
Darius stared harder. “Explain.”
Kylar sighed, the long-suffering sigh of a man who realized he’d said too much and now had to build a bridge back across it. “Pin-and-hold drills,” he said. “Tessa was overseeing. Kairi wanted to learn how to break out of restraints. She asked me to demonstrate. I pinned her. She couldn’t get leverage. She couldn’t shift her hips enough. So she… improvised.”
Darius’s mouth opened, then closed. “She improvised by biting you.”
“She sure did,” Kylar confirmed. “Right here.” He lifted a hand and tapped the side of his neck like he was identifying a bruise in a report. “Not hard. Just enough to startle me. I loosened instinctively. She got an elbow in. Twisted. Reversed the pin.”
Darius stared at him, then looked at the ceiling like it might provide a prayer.
“You let her bite you,” he said, voice faint.
Kylar’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t let her. I was winning. I honestly didn't think she's bite me."
“That’s not what I’m hearing,” Darius muttered.
Kylar gave him a look that said don’t you start, then, softer, “She was trying to learn. It worked. I… adjusted.”
Darius fell back onto the bed, one arm over his eyes. “This assignment.”
Kylar’s voice went dry. “You love this assignment.”
Darius made a noise that was not agreement and also not denial.
They lay there, letting the quiet settle again, each of them replaying different pieces of the same day. Darius thought about Kairi’s laugh in the carriage, the way she’d leaned toward the window like she owned the sky, the way she’d treated him like a person and not a weapon. He thought about Kylar on horseback with her, how his whole body changed when she rode with him, as if the road was less sharp when she was near.
Eventually, Kylar’s voice came low and practical again, like he was pulling himself back into the uniform.
“Shade's taking first watch,” he said. “I’ll do second.”
Darius lowered his arm and nodded once. “Better get some sleep then, Highness.”
Kylar’s mouth twitched. “Don’t.”
Darius smiled anyway. “Habit.”
Kylar turned his head slightly toward him, expression tired but real. “Thanks, Dare.”
Darius’s chest tightened in that quiet way it always did when Kylar let something honest slip past his guard. He covered it with a shrug.
“Anytime, Ky.”
They shifted under the covers, boots finally kicked off like surrender. The room warmed with shared breath and exhaustion. Kylar’s eyes closed.
For a few precious minutes, jealousy, duty, fear, and want all went quiet together.
And sleep, at last, won the argument.