Four

“Caelian.”

The name hung in the corridor like a spell. Prince Caelian froze where he stood, one foot still half turned toward the servant stairs. His heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his throat. Four years had taught him exactly what usually followed when the king sought him out like this. A sharp word. A backhand. Public shame in front of whoever happened to be watching. He waited for it, shoulders tight, eyes fixed on the floor.

But the blow didn’t come.

Ravyn took another slow step closer. “I came to check on you.”

Caelian’s head snapped up. He stared at the king, searching his face for the trap. This had to be some new game. Ravyn never “checked on him.” The last time the king had shown up at his door unannounced, it was to drag him to dinner so Liora could sit on his lap and feed him grapes while the whole court watched Caelian’s humiliation.

“I… I’m okay, Your Majesty,” Caelian stuttered, taking a shaky step backward. His voice came out smaller than he wanted. “You don’t have to… I mean, there’s no need......”

He moved too fast. His boot caught on an uneven stone in the floor, the one he had complained about a dozen times to the stewards. His balance went. He flailed for a second, arms windmilling, before crashing down hard. His palm scraped across the rough edge of the wall as he tried to catch himself. A sharp sting bloomed across his hand. Blood welled up immediately, bright red against his skin.

“Damn it,” he hissed under his breath, more embarrassed than hurt.

Before he could push himself up, Ravyn was there.

The king moved quicker than Caelian expected, dropping to one knee beside him. Strong arms slid under his back and knees without asking. Ravyn lifted him like he weighed nothing.

Caelian went rigid in his hold. “Your Majesty......wait, you don’t have to......”

“Quiet,” Ravyn said, but there was no anger in it. Just something heavy and tired. He carried Caelian the short distance to his own chambers, shouldering the door open. The room smelled faintly of the herbs Caelian burned sometimes to help him sleep. Ravyn kicked the door shut behind them and laid the prince gently on the big bed.

Caelian sat up immediately, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. His back pressed against the headboard. “I can take care of it myself. Really. It’s nothing.”

Ravyn ignored him. He crossed to the door and yanked it open again. Two maids who had been hurrying past stopped dead at the sight of the king in the prince’s quarters.

“You,” Ravyn pointed at the older one. “Clean water, clean cloths, and the healing salve from the infirmary. The good one. Now.” The maids scurried off like startled rabbits.

Caelian watched all of this with wide eyes. This wasn’t happening. Kings didn’t carry injured princes to bed. Kings didn’t send maids running for salve. Not in his experience, anyway.

Ravyn came back to the bed and sat on the edge. He reached for Caelian’s injured hand with surprising gentleness. “Let me see.”

Caelian hesitated, then slowly extended his arm. The cut wasn’t deep, but it stung like fire and was already starting to swell. Ravyn’s thumb brushed lightly near the wound, careful not to press. The touch sent an unwanted shiver up Caelian’s arm.

The maids returned quickly, setting the supplies on the small table beside the bed before bowing and practically fleeing the room. They probably thought the king had lost his mind. Caelian didn’t blame them.

Ravyn dipped a clean cloth in the basin of water and started cleaning the cut. His movements were clumsy but focused, like he was trying hard to get it right. Caelian stared at the top of the king’s dark head, completely lost.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered.

Ravyn didn’t look up right away. “Because I should have done it years ago.”

The words landed heavy between them. Caelian’s breath caught. He wanted to pull away, but something kept him still. The warmth of Ravyn’s hands. The strange care in how he worked. The king wrapped the hand carefully after applying the salve, tying the bandage with a knot that was a little crooked but secure.

When it was done, Ravyn didn’t let go. He kept Caelian’s bandaged hand between both of his own, staring down at it. The silence stretched. Caelian could hear his own heartbeat loud in his ears.

Then Ravyn looked up.

Their eyes met, close enough that Caelian could see the faint lines at the corners of the king’s eyes. Something raw and desperate lived there. Before Caelian could ask another question, Ravyn leaned in.

The kiss was hesitant at first. Just a brush of lips, like Ravyn was testing whether Caelian would flinch away. When he didn’t immediately pull back, the king deepened it, one hand coming up to cup the side of Caelian’s face. It wasn’t demanding. It felt almost careful. Like an apology pressed into skin.

For a few stunned seconds, Caelian kissed him back. His free hand gripped the front of Ravyn’s tunic. Heat flooded through him, confusion and want and fear all tangled together. Four years of loneliness made him lean in despite himself.

Then reality crashed back.

Caelian pushed hard against Ravyn’s chest, breaking the kiss. He turned his face away, breathing fast. “Stop. Please.”

Ravyn pulled back immediately, hands raised. “Caelian....”

“I don’t understand what this is,” Caelian said, voice shaking. He scooted further back on the bed, clutching the bandaged hand to his stomach. “Yesterday you wouldn’t have looked at me twice. Now you’re… this? Is Liora busy today? Is this some new way to hurt me?”

The hurt that flashed across Ravyn’s face looked real. But Caelian had been fooled before. He knew better than to trust kindness from this man.

Ravyn sat there on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped. He looked like he wanted to say a thousand things but couldn’t find the right ones. Outside the window, the sounds of the castle continued, horses, servants calling to each other, the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. Normal life moving on while everything in this room felt broken and new at the same time.

Caelian waited, heart still racing, wondering what would happen next.