Page 11

His instincts kicked in, and before he could think, he threw himself into the nearest cover—a hutch of gray shrubs that formed a tight, prickly refuge.

Lowering himself into a defensive crouch, Thorne steadied his breath and peered through the tangled branches, his eyes narrowed as he focused on the figures emerging from the maze.

It was the guards.

The same two from before.

Their armor glinted harshly under the moonlight, and the faint clinking of their movements made Thorne’s pulse quicken.

They spoke in hushed voices, the words drifting in and out of earshot as they passed by, unaware of his presence in the bushes.

“He gave us orders,”

one of them grumbled, the voice muffled by a helmet.

The tone was frustrated, tinged with something like annoyance.

A huff followed the words, the sound almost indignant.

Her companion, a man without a helmet, brushed his uneven silver bangs aside with one hand, revealing a freckled nose that crinkled when he grinned.

His expression was relaxed, even amused, a stark contrast to the tension in his voice.

“Best to prepare, anyways.

We’ve got to trust—”

He began to say, but his words faded as the pair continued down the path Thorne had just walked up.

Thorne remained perfectly still, watching them go, allowing them to disappear from sight before exhaling a long breath.

He waited a heartbeat longer, letting the silence settle, before emerging from his hiding place.

Fighting his way out of the thorny shrubbery, Thorne cursed under his breath, frustrated as he worked to pull his hair back into its ponytail—now half-disrupted by the wind and his hasty dive into the bushes.

What in the world was Kaelen doing? Why leave his own party, disappear into the garden, and dismiss his guards like that? Was the crown prince seeking his own death, or was he so disconnected from the reality of his own situation that he thought he could simply wander off into the cold night without any consequences? Kaelen had never struck Thorne as a fool, but was he really so reckless as to risk everything—his life, his kingdom—for the sake of whatever foolishness was driving him tonight?

Thorne glanced back at the entrance to the hedges, his mind racing.

There was no denying it.

Kaelen had sought him out throughout the evening, again and again, found him easily in the crowd when he’d made his toast, had watched him so closely when they danced, his gaze lingering with a mixture of curiosity and something else that Thorne couldn’t quite place.

Why had Kaelen relaxed when he found Thorne on the balcony earlier? Why had he wanted to dance with him in the first place? And more importantly, why had he looked at Thorne like that? With such intensity, as though there were some understanding between them, as though Thorne were the only person in the room who mattered.

Thorne huffed a breath, watching it coalesce in the cold night air before fading away like vapor.

The stars gleamed above, distant and pristine, silent witnesses to the turmoil that swirled below.

He couldn't help but feel as though the universe had placed him on some strange path—one he hadn't chosen, but one he was now bound to follow.

Even if Kaelen was intentionally leading him here, it still meant that Kaelen was out there, alone in the cold garden.

Thorne would have to go after him eventually.

It wasn’t as if Kaelen would simply wait forever.

He wasn’t the type.

A poison’s effects could take time, stretching out the death until long after its dealer had fled.

But a blade—well, a blade required a far more tactile approach, one that was direct and immediate.

His brother’s voice echoed in his mind, the rasp of Orion’s words cutting through the quiet: But poison can be caught far sooner than a blade’s plunge.

With that reminder, Thorne squared his shoulders, pushing away the distractions of the moment.

Whatever the prince’s intentions were, whatever had been simmering between them throughout the night, it didn’t matter now.

This was no longer about the games they’d played in the ballroom or the tension that had built between them.

This was about the task at hand.

The mission.

And that mission was clear.

Thorne stepped into the maze.

Almost immediately, the night dulled around Thorne as he entered the hedge maze, the concerted rustling of leaves consuming what little sound the season had left.

The once crisp air now felt muted, like a blanket of stillness had descended over the world.

For a while, Thorne simply walked where he was led, careful to keep his steps light and steady, mindful of the delicate stillness that surrounded him.

The path twisted and turned, curling and looping like a serpent in the dark, but it never split, never offered him another way.

He could see nothing over the tops of the hedges, nothing ahead but the winding route forward, the maze unfurling in front of him like a silent, enigmatic invitation.

Above, the white moon hung like a sentinel, shrouded in a veil of clouds that softened its light, turning it into a dim, mournful glow.

The labyrinth stretched on under its hazy light, soundless corridors formed by the towering hedges, and the only thing moving in the world was Thorne himself, the soft whisper of his footsteps the only sign of life in the quiet night.

And then, suddenly, the path ended, and the maze birthed a clearing.

It was a plaza of sorts, a forgotten space in the heart of the garden.

Wind-battered benches, half-rotted trellises, and a frozen fountain dominated the square.

The fountain stood in the center like a silent sentinel, its structure coated in a dazzling layer of ice, the sharp edges of the frozen water carving out the shape of a dark crown under the moonlight.

The scene was eerie, otherworldly, like a place that had been abandoned to time, untouched by the world beyond the garden’s walls.

Thorne stopped at the edge of the clearing, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

It was then that he heard it—the rustling sound from an alcove just off the plaza, the sudden presence of sound snapping his attention back to the moment.

He tensed, his body instinctively drawing into a low, quiet crouch as he peered through the darkness.

He caught sight of a large form moving about the shadowed alcove, partially shielded by the broken lace of a leafless tree that loomed over the space.

The figure moved heavily, almost clumsily, its footsteps muffled by the fallen leaves that crunched underfoot.

Thorne’s heart rate quickened.

He crept forward, stepping silently over the frozen ground, pressing himself against the hedge for cover, his body still as a shadow.

He inhaled slowly, trying to steady his breath, his senses straining to catch any movement, any clue to the figure’s intentions.

Another sound came from the alcove—a heavy thud, followed by a scraping noise that cut through the air, a sound that sent a chill down Thorne’s spine.

He dug his fingers into the thin branches of the hedge, his mind racing, calculating his next move.

His fingers brushed the familiar hilt of the dagger at his side, the cold metal a reminder of the grim task that lay ahead.

Saints and kings, what was this beast doing? Thorne wondered, the unease in his gut growing stronger.

There could be no one else out here at this hour.

He hadn’t seen anyone else in the maze or the garden, and yet here was this unexpected presence—this thing—lurking just beyond his reach.

What was Kaelen thinking, dismissing his guards and wandering out here alone? Thorne’s pulse raced as the situation spiraled into uncertainty.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

The plan hadn’t involved stabbing the prince outright—not yet, at least.

But now… now everything was thrown into chaos.

The plan.

The plan.

Thorne’s mind tried to anchor itself to the familiar routine of his thoughts—the strategy, the steps that had been so carefully laid out, the path that had been so clear before Kaelen’s unpredictable actions had thrown everything off course.

His grip tightened around the hilt of the dagger, but his resolve was faltering.

How could he carry out the plan now? What if this was the moment he’d been waiting for, or had he already missed it?

"You can come out now.

I’ve dismissed the guards."

The words, soft and deliberate, sliced through the tension like a blade.

Thorne froze, his body locking in place.

Shock lanced through him, a hot bolt of surprise and confusion.

He hadn’t been detected—not that he could tell—but there was no mistaking the clarity in Kaelen’s voice.

Thorne’s heart skipped a beat.

He stayed motionless for a breath, unsure of how to respond to this sudden revelation.

Kaelen knew he was there.

The shock faded quickly, leaving behind a dull, simmering sense of humility.

Thorne’s mind reeled, and for a moment, he stood still, processing the situation.

Had Kaelen known from the start? Had he been leading Thorne into this moment, testing him, or was this simply a game that Thorne hadn’t yet understood? Whatever it was, there was no going back now.

Thorne exhaled a slow, steady breath, letting it slip from his lungs as he slid away from his hiding spot.

The rustling of the leaves above him seemed deafening now, as if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for him to move.

He straightened, his posture still low, his body alert and ready for whatever Kaelen would throw at him.

The distance between them was short now—too short for an escape, too close for anything but confrontation.

Kaelen stood below the twisted tree, his midnight cloak rippling around him like a precocious shade, the dark fabric catching the wind in quiet flutters.

The moon and shadow made love over his features, casting them into shifting light and dark as the Erethosian winds danced through the night.

He turned his head slowly, glancing over his shoulder as Thorne revealed himself from the hedge, their eyes meeting in a moment that felt suspended between tension and something else, something far more subtle.

A tired smile stretched across Kaelen’s fine, pale face, his eyes softening with something almost… inviting.

"I hope that leading you out here wasn't too much trouble," Kaelen’s voice was low, smooth, almost amused, but there was an edge of something more personal beneath the words.

"I wanted a moment’s peace, away from it all." His soft chuckle followed, self-effacing and light, as if trying to make the situation feel less fraught.

The wind gusted through again, unsettling his lopsided bangs and sending them to splay over the side of his head, adding to the charm of his disheveled appearance.

"I noticed you were following me a bit of a ways back, and thought you might be wishing the same."

Thorne huffed, a half-skip heartbeat lodged uncomfortably in his ribs.

He had to look away—there was something in Kaelen’s voice, something in the air, that made the moment feel… wrong, in the most unexpected way.

"Hmph.

Clever beast."

Kaelen made a noise of confusion, his hand coming to his own cheek, almost absentmindedly.

“Beast? Ah, but I’m not wearing my mask anymore.”

"Your Highness.

Or, Your Majesty, then," Thorne responded quickly, the words clipped but still respectful, though his eyes flicked briefly to the ground.

"I would prefer just Kaelen, actually," Kaelen replied, his voice a soft invitation, his smile teasing yet warm.

"Kaelen..." Thorne muttered, the name foreign on his tongue but fitting in some strange way.

Kaelen’s smile grew, and his eyes sparkled with some private amusement.

“Come to think of it, you’ve yet to give me the honor of your own name.”

Thorne swallowed.

The idea of Kaelen knowing his name didn’t sit well—it would hurt no one except Thorne himself, he reminded himself.

"Thorne," he muttered reluctantly.

"Thorne." Kaelen repeated, his voice savoring the word.

His full lips and tongue moved carefully over each syllable, the sound lingering in the air.

Thorne could feel his cheeks flush beneath his mask, a sharp warmth spreading through him, as if Kaelen’s tone had touched something deeper than mere words.

He was smiling now, a self-satisfied expression on his face, like a child who had solved a particularly difficult arithmetic problem, and Thorne couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by the reaction.

Kaelen turned his attention back to the space before them, glancing down at the soil beneath a set of hedges. “Thorne,”

he said, his voice now taking on a more serious note, “I hope you will not think me dishonest, but I did have another reason for leading you all the way out here.

Would you please come closer?”

Thorne hesitated for just a moment, his instincts whispering caution.

Close quarters with this prince rarely ended well.

But Kaelen’s tone was sincere enough, and against his better judgment, Thorne found himself stepping forward carefully, shoulders squared, hands tucked close to his sides, ready for whatever might come next.

When he reached Kaelen’s side, the prince gave him a close-lipped smile, but there was something warm in it that Thorne couldn’t quite place.

Kaelen pointed to the ground with an idle gesture, his eyes glinting in the moonlight as he did.

Thorne followed the motion and saw, to his surprise, that the soil beneath the bushes had been disturbed—snow scraped away, raw roots exposed, as if something had been buried there.

"You seemed incredulous about my story," Kaelen said, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge.

"So, I’d like to introduce you to Evangeline, my beloved Azura."

Thorne squatted down, peering closer into the earth, his heart skipping a beat as he caught sight of something ornate and gleaming from within the shallow grave.

It was rusted and bent, but there was no mistaking the craftsmanship—gorgeously wrought, despite the wear and years.

The blade, or what remained of it, gleamed dully under the moonlight.

“You, your-”

Thorne snorted in disbelief, pressing a fist to his mouth to stifle the laughter that threatened to spill out, the irony of the situation suddenly overwhelming him.

He was swamped with twining desires—to either sock the beast for what he’d done or laude him for it, for the audacity of it all.

“You damn wolf, you really tore through an Azura, didn’t you?” His voice was half-laugh, half-exasperation.

"I’d be disgusted if I wasn’t so impressed."

Kaelen laughed again, louder and deeper this time, the sound genuine and rich, and for the first time, Thorne didn’t see the prince as a foe, but as something far more human.

“At least you know me to be no liar.”

Thorne reached out, his fingers brushing against the blade fragment that was half-buried in the soil.

The patterned edge caught the light, and Thorne’s thoughts immediately snapped to the legends his mother had once read to him, the tales of powerful, mythical weapons that could change the course of kingdoms.

This sword, forged in sunbursts, angular and regal, was fit for a king.

He could see the remnants of its majesty even in its broken state.

"Evangeline, huh? Like the legends," Thorne muttered, his voice distant as he examined the fragment.

Kaelen made a curious sound, folding his hands together in front of him as he swayed gently in place, watching Thorne’s every movement.

“You know the story of the Sword of Eve? It’s somewhat fallen out of fashion in the Kingdom in decades past.

Oh, but you’re—”

"My mother," Thorne interrupted, cutting him off, his voice softer than he intended.

He squatted down again to get a closer look, running a hand through the upturned soil and touching the bare edge of the blade.

“She collects books.

She loves stories.

She’s got ones from all over the four kingdoms, ones about magic trees and vast caves of treasure hidden under the sand.

But the stories about mighty weapons were always my favorite.

I know them all, near word for word.”

Kaelen hummed, his voice thoughtful.

“I’ve just always liked the idea of the Evangeline, I suppose.

A sword which left no stroke or blow unfinished.

An unstoppable force.”

He fiddled with his fingers shyly, the gesture almost childlike.

“Cutting through, no matter the obstacle or circumstance.

My childhood friend, Eryndor, would always tease me, saying I was better at barreling through things than cutting them.

I’ve broken my fair share of training dummies and doors, so I don’t believe him to be wrong.”

Thorne, unable to help himself, drew out a fragment of the weapon, his fingers tracing the fraught bends in the steel.

There were two more parts of the blade still buried in the earth—sheets of the sword and the mangled hilt, evidence of a child’s overzealous grip forever scored into the metal.

He heard the heavy footfall behind him, and his senses prickled with the knowledge that Kaelen had drawn closer.

“I never told anyone else what I named the blade.

I didn’t want my father or my tutors to disapprove.

But then I broke the damn thing anyway, and never had much of a chance to brandish it.”

Kaelen’s voice grew quieter now, almost wistful.

“Hardly an unstoppable force.

I shattered it only two days after I received it.

One of the greatest tragedies of my life at the time.”

A gauntleted hand appeared at Thorne’s side, reaching out for the broken blade, the motion deliberate and calm.

Kaelen sank down to his knees beside him, the quiet of the night surrounding them as he carefully took the shattered weapon into his hands.

“It is strange, is it not?”

Kaelen mused softly, his voice tinged with something almost wistful.

“The things that break our hearts as children? Before we know any better.

Ruining a gift, a friend’s teasing...” His fingers brushed lightly against Thorne’s, the touch fleeting but electric, and Thorne’s mind momentarily drifted to the memory of those same hands on his neck earlier, a cold shiver running down his spine at the recollection.

Kaelen’s touch was gentle now, almost apologetic as he turned the broken sword over in his hands, inspecting it with a kind of reverence.

“Sometimes I think about how good it would be to go back to then, when the most pressing matter was hiding a broken sword, or finding the courage to confess to the girl I liked.”

The words hung in the air between them, soft and vulnerable, and Kaelen’s hands stilled, the blade resting flat across his palms.

“I was told stories of a boy I was close with when we were younger,”

Kaelen continued, his voice growing quieter, as though the memories were personal, fragile things.

“He used to cry over everything, but especially would cry over me.

He was so often seen sobbing, and yet his heart was stronger than any I’d ever heard of.

Tenacious, stubborn, and yet still capable of breaking over any little thing.” A light chuckle escaped Kaelen, though it lacked its usual mirth.

“I’ve wondered what sort of person he might be now, after all these years.

If he shares my feelings, or if he forges on, unhindered by his past.”

Kaelen fell silent, his gaze distant, as though he were lost in some private reverie.

He cleared his throat after a moment, his demeanor shifting slightly as he seemed to snap back to the present.

He handed the sword fragment back to Thorne, his eyes searching Thorne’s face with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry.

I’m probably boring you,”

he said, his voice a little quieter now, self-conscious.

Thorne turned to face him, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions.

“You’re not… You’re telling me about yourself,”

Thorne said, the words coming more easily than he expected.

“You’re not boring me.”

Kaelen didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, they were both silent, the wind rustling through the trees above them.

Thorne felt the weight of Kaelen’s presence beside him, the prince looming quietly, solemn as snowfall, his eyes downturned, his lashes pale against the soft flush of moonlight that touched his face.

After a few seconds, Kaelen lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Thorne, and the intensity of it caught Thorne off guard.

At the first brush of frost, Thorne felt his breath catch, the sudden coldness that seemed to emanate from Kaelen’s stare making his heart race.

He quickly looked down, his hands retreating to the soil, the sword and dirt grounding him in the moment, trying to distance himself from the weight of Kaelen’s attention.

After a beat, Kaelen spoke again, his voice quieter now, tinged with something that was almost regret.

"Do I frighten you?"

Thorne’s back stiffened instinctively.

He opened his mouth, ready to retort, to brush the question away, but Kaelen continued before he could speak.

"It is simply," Kaelen paused, his voice thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

He took a breath, the heat spilling from his lips, only to be swept away by the wind.

"You avoid my gaze at every opportunity.

You confess how uncomfortable dancing and being in close contact with another is, and...

I know my reputation leaves something to be desired, but," Kaelen trailed off, brushing his fingers over the stones between them as though searching for something.

Then, seeming to think better of it, he folded his hands away and looked at Thorne.

"Why does it seem so very difficult to reach you?"

Thorne felt the weight of Kaelen’s gaze settle on him once more, the intensity unmistakable.

There was nothing quite like it—the pressure of it, the way it seemed to peel away layers and see straight through him.

Thorne, for the briefest moment, almost felt like he was exposed.

He was very nearly getting used to it.

With deliberate care, Thorne took the broken shard of the Azura and gently pressed it back into place with its missing parts.

The weight of the sword in his hands seemed to anchor him, providing a strange comfort.

He sat back on the cold ground, his posture stiff but resolute.

"It’s not that hard," Thorne grumbled dismissively, as though trying to shrug off the sudden vulnerability that had settled around them like a fog.

He waved a filthy hand in Kaelen’s direction, brushing aside the questions and emotions that had arisen in the space between them.

"I would have left already.

If you had not." After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for Kaelen’s cloak, using the hem to wipe the dirt from his gloves, the motion automatic as if he was trying to regain some semblance of control.

"And I would have said something.

If I was uncomfortable."

Kaelen watched him, wide-eyed at first, his expression slowly breaking into a surprised laugh that bubbled up from deep within him.

It was an unguarded sound, almost clumsy, as though it had tripped off his tongue without warning.

"Yes, you would have, wouldn’t you?" he said with a grin, leaning forward, his eyes alight with mischief.

Kaelen reached out, his fingers brushing over the edge of Thorne’s mask, his black-clad fingers tracing through the white feathers adorning it.

In one swift motion, Kaelen withdrew a dark leaf from the plumage, holding it out for Thorne to see.

The contrast of the leaf against the stark white feathers felt symbolic in some strange way, and Thorne’s breath hitched as he watched it.

Kaelen’s touch lingered just long enough for Thorne to feel the pressure of it, the intimacy of it.

"For all you have been elusive about," Kaelen said, his voice soft yet firm, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

"You have not shied away from voicing your displeasure about anything, have you, Thorne?"

Kaelen released the leaf, and Thorne watched it drift away, carried by the night air, his mind spinning with the absurdity of it all.

Here he was, in the dead of night, in the heart of the castle’s labyrinthine garden, kneeling beside the crown prince of Erethos.

They were like children, huddled together in the dirt, sharing secrets and stolen moments in the shadow of their responsibilities.

No.

Not a maze, Thorne corrected himself in a flicker of realization.

These were the rose gardens.

He had been mistaken about the place he had thought they were in.

Thorne spread his fingers through the fallen foliage around them, feeling the brittle, faded rose petals crumble easily in his palm.

He had come here for a purpose—to end this madness, to carry out the mission, to go home.

Yet now, in the face of Kaelen’s unexpected vulnerability, his own purpose seemed to blur at the edges.

What was this? What game were they playing? And why did he feel like he was losing his grip on everything?

"Wolf."

"Kaelen."

"Kaelen." Thorne’s voice was tight, a subtle tremor betraying the storm of thoughts churning in his mind.

He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but the words felt heavier with every passing second.

There was a precipice before him, a plunging crevasse, and he wasn’t sure whether it would be better to leap over it, to escape the tension and uncertainty, or to leap in, to risk everything and face whatever lay on the other side.

The choice seemed impossible, yet the ledge was crumbling beneath him.

He would have to act regardless.

The wind howled through the trees, a cold reminder of the world they were both still part of, but Thorne couldn’t seem to shake the strange sense of being caught in a moment that neither of them had planned for.

He gathered himself, pushing aside his hesitation, and started again.

His words came more slowly this time, almost reluctantly.

"If I were not...

interested, we would not be having this conversation.

I would have left you out here, expectant and cold, with nothing but your broken sword for company."

Kaelen’s eyes seemed to light up at that, a glimmer of something unmistakable flickering across his face.

And then, without missing a beat, Kaelen let out a laugh—low, warm, and whole—one that resonated through the air, filling the space between them with a surprising ease.

"Perhaps it was presumptuous of me," Kaelen mused, his voice teasing yet sincere, "but..." He straightened, rising to his full height, his hand tucking into the depths of his cloak with a certain eagerness that was hard to ignore.

"I did, in fact, bring another sword.

Because, I was hoping—you do have your Azura after all, and I—"

"Kaelen." Thorne’s voice was more exasperated now, and his patience was beginning to fray at the edges.

Kaelen’s eyes flicked to him, sparkling in the moonlight, and for a brief moment, there was something playful in his expression—like a hound reminded to heel, his enthusiasm momentarily tempered.

Thorne rolled his eyes, feeling both amused and frustrated in equal measure.

"Just ask already," Thorne muttered, pushing himself to his feet in a fluid motion.

He was too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions and strange pull between them to remain on the ground any longer.

Standing up felt like a necessary grounding, a reminder that this wasn’t some dream, some mirage where everything could be ignored.

Kaelen’s gaze softened as he took in Thorne’s words, and a small, almost knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Thorne," he said again, but this time, it wasn’t just a name—it was a declaration, full of delight and gravitas, as it had been the first time he had spoken it.

As if he was still savoring the sound of it, holding it close in a way that Thorne couldn’t quite decipher.

Then, with a fluid motion that made the moment seem almost surreal, Kaelen drew the new sword from his side—a grand, silver blade, gleaming under the pale moonlight.

It was beautiful, a stark contrast to the broken fragments of the Azura still resting in Thorne’s hands.

Kaelen held it out toward him, the hilt extended with the same elegance and gravity he seemed to carry with him at all times.

"May I have this dance, Thorne?"