Chapter 6: Frail Shield

Chapter 6: Frail Shield

The world didn’t stay dark for long, but Kael really wished it had. When his eyelids finally flickered open, the first thing he saw wasn’t the sky, but Julian’s face hovering inches from his own. The Prince looked like he was about to burst into tears or execute every guard on the field—possibly both.

“Kael? Speak to me. If you’re dead, I’m going to kill you,” Julian hissed, his voice a frantic whisper that barely carried over the wind. His hands were gripping Kael’s shoulders with enough force to bruise the leather of his spaulders.

Kael groaned, the sound grating in his throat. He could feel the eyes of the entire court on them. Especially Alex’s. The rival knight was standing two paces away, his practice sword lowered, looking between the Prince and his guard with an expression that shifted from confusion to a very sharp, very dangerous curiosity.

“I’m… I’m fine, Highness,” Kael managed to rasp, shoving Julian’s hands away with more force than was strictly polite for a subordinate. He needed distance. He needed Julian to stop looking at him like he was a fragile piece of porcelain. “Just a dizzy spell. The sun is… aggressive today.”

Alex let out a short, skeptical bark of laughter. “The sun? Kael, it’s overcast. You went down like a sack of wet grain before I even touched you. You’re sweating like you’ve been through a week-long siege.”

Kael forced himself to his feet, his knees wobbling like a newborn fawn’s. Julian reached out an instinctive hand to steady him, but Kael pointedly stepped back, nearly tripping over his own cape. “I spent the night investigating a lead in the slums. Picked up a stomach virus, most likely. It’s nothing a Knight of the Realm can’t handle.”

“A virus?” Alex moved closer, his eyes narrowing as he scanned Kael’s pale face. “You were fine this morning during the warm-ups. Then you suddenly look like you’ve seen a ghost—or like you’re about to lose your breakfast. Since when does the legendary Kael let a ‘stomach bug’ put him on his back?”

“Since the stomach bug started winning,” Kael snapped, trying to inject some of his usual bite into his voice. He glanced up at the balcony. Bernard was still there, a silent silhouette against the stone, watching the scene with the cold, calculating gaze of a hawk. Kael felt a shiver that had nothing to do with his nausea. “Highness, please. I just need a moment to catch my breath.”

Julian looked like he wanted to argue—likely wanted to carry Kael to the infirmary himself—but he caught the desperate warning in Kael’s eyes. If the Prince showed too much favor now, the rumors would move from ‘suspicious’ to ‘scandalous’ before sunset.

“Fine,” Julian said, his voice regaining its royal coldness, though his fingers were still twitching at his sides. “Alex, resume your drills with the second squad. Kael, go to the stables. Check the mounts for tomorrow’s hunt. If you’re going to be useless on the field, you can at least be useful with the horses.”

It was a dismissal—a mercy. Kael bowed, his head spinning so violently he almost headbutted the grass. “As you command.”

Walking away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Every step felt like he was balancing on a tightrope while people threw bricks at him. He could feel Alex’s gaze burning into his back, and Julian’s heavy, worried silence trailing behind him like a shadow.

By the time he reached the stables, the smell hit him.

Usually, Kael liked the stables. The scent of hay, old wood, and horses was a comfort—the smell of duty. But today, the aroma of manure and damp straw hit his nostrils like a physical blow. His stomach, already performing a chaotic gymnastic routine, decided it had finally had enough.

He dove into an empty stall, barely making it past the gate before he collapsed onto his knees and emptied his stomach into the straw.

“Rough night at the tavern, Sir Kael?”

Kael froze, his forehead resting against the cool wooden slats of the stall. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his heart hammering. Standing by the tack room was Joni, the young stable hand who usually spent more time eavesdropping than actually grooming the horses. He was holding a pitchfork, leaning on it with a cheeky, knowing grin.

“I don’t drink on duty, Joni,” Kael spat, trying to sound authoritative while his eyes were still watering.

“I didn't say it was drink,” Joni said, stepping closer, his eyes traveling down to Kael’s midsection before snapping back up. “But you’ve been heading to the Healer’s wing a lot lately. And you’ve got that look my sister had last spring. Pasty, grumpy, and throwing up at the smell of a breeze.”

Kael stood up slowly, drawing himself to his full height. He let his hand rest on the pommel of his sword—a subtle, silent threat. “Your sister had a fever, Joni. As do I. If I hear you spreading stories about my health, I’ll ensure your next duty shift involves cleaning the drainage pipes under the barracks. Understood?”

Joni’s grin vanished, replaced by a nervous gulp. “Understood, Sir. Just… joking. I’ll get back to the saddles.”

Kael watched him scurry away, but the victory felt hollow. If a stable boy was noticing things, he was in deep trouble.

He spent the next hour pretending to inspect the leather cinches, mostly just leaning against the stone walls and trying to convince his body to stop being an enemy. He felt heavy—not just tired, but a strange, dense weight in his lower abdomen that seemed to pulse with a low, golden heat whenever he thought about Julian. It was the magic, the ‘Living Vessel’ rite, settling into his marrow. It felt like a secret he was carrying in his very bones, one that was getting heavier by the second.

“You’re still here.”

Kael didn’t need to turn around to know it was Julian. The Prince’s footsteps were distinctive—firm, but with a slight elegance that even the heavy boots of a royal couldn't hide.

“Checking the equipment, as ordered,” Kael said, not turning back. He didn't want Julian to see how much he was trembling.

Suddenly, a warm weight settled on his shoulders. Julian had stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around Kael’s cloak and pulling him back against his chest. It was a wildly inappropriate gesture for the stables, but the Prince didn't seem to care. He buried his face in the crook of Kael’s neck, breathing in deeply.

“You smell like horses and sick,” Julian whispered, his voice thick with an emotion Kael couldn't quite name. “And I’ve never been more terrified in my life. What have you done to yourself, Kael? This ‘cure’… it’s eating you alive.”

“It’s working, isn’t it?” Kael murmured, leaning back just an inch, allowing himself a second of the warmth. “The curse mark is gone. You’re free. The Council can’t touch you now.”

“I don’t care about the Council!” Julian spun Kael around, his hands gripping his waist. His eyes were wide, searching Kael’s. “I care that my best friend—the man I… the man who has stood by me for ten years—is falling apart. You’re staying behind tomorrow. I’ll tell my father you’re on a special assignment. You aren't coming on the hunt.”

Kael’s pride flared, sharp and stinging. “I am your Primary Guard. If I stay behind while you’re out in the woods with Alex and the others, it looks like I’ve been demoted. Or worse, it looks like I’m weak. I won’t give them that satisfaction, Julian. I’m going.”

“Kael, you can barely stand!”

“I will stand until I am dead,” Kael said, his voice dropping to a low, fierce growl. He stepped into Julian’s space, his chest brushing the Prince’s tunic. “Do not treat me like a mistress to be hidden away. I am a knight. Your knight. I will be by your side tomorrow.”

Julian stared at him, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with a mix of fury and agonizing devotion. For a moment, it looked like he might order Kael to his room under lock and key. Instead, he reached up, his thumb brushing Kael’s cheekbone.

“You are the most stubborn, infuriating man in this kingdom,” Julian whispered. “If you fall off your horse, I’m leaving you in the mud.”

“No, you won't,” Kael said, a tiny, tired smirk playing on his lips. “You’d jump down to save me and ruin your expensive boots.”

Julian let out a dry, pained chuckle and leaned his forehead against Kael’s. “Probably. Get some rest, Kael. That’s an order.”

*

The next morning was a disaster before it even began.

The royal court had gathered in the Great Throne Room for the traditional blessing before the hunt. The air was thick with the scent of pine branches, roasted meats for the coming feast, and—most devastatingly—heavy, cloying ceremonial incense.

Kael stood at his post behind Julian, dressed in his full ceremonial plate. The metal was heavy, pressing against his midsection in a way that made him feel faint. Every time the priest swung the thurible, a fresh cloud of sweet, spicy smoke drifted toward Kael’s face.

His vision began to swim. The King was speaking, something about the strength of the lineage and the favor of the gods, but the words were just a dull buzz in Kael’s ears.

Don’t throw up. Not in front of the King. Not in front of Bernard, Kael pleaded with himself.

He looked over Julian’s shoulder, seeing the back of the Prince’s neck. He tried to focus on that—on the man he had sacrificed everything for. But then, the head priest walked directly past him, the silver censer swinging inches from Kael’s nose.

The scent of concentrated myrrh and sandalwood hit him like a physical punch to the gut.

Kael’s stomach lurched violently. A cold sweat broke out across his brow, and he felt the color drain from his face until he was the color of bleached bone. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening in pure horror as his knees buckled.

Julian, sensing the shift, half-turned his head, his eyes widening as he saw Kael’s state.

Kael didn’t see the Prince’s reaction. He only saw the King looking directly at him, his brow furrowing in confusion. Kael knew, with a terrifying, absolute certainty, that if he didn't move in the next three seconds, he was going to decorate the roya

l carpet in a way that no one would ever forget.