Jayce was doing his rounds. All was well.

  The ceremony, by every report that reached him through stone and servant and whispered awe, had gone perfectly. He had made it a point not to go and see it.

  He told himself it was strategy. He told himself he didn’t need to add one more thing to the pile of images his mind would replay later.

  He also told himself, quietly, that it would have hurt. As much as he would deny it.

  He turned down the next corridor before anyone could notice the shift in his face. A pair of guards saluted. He saluted back, automatic and crisp, grateful for the simple geometry of duty.

  A couple more corridors. Then the outer wall. Then food. Then his room. Then silence.

  Then he was supposed to meet with Ryder and Rush.

  Jayce exhaled slowly through his nose. His schedule had filled to the breaking point. Everyone’s did. The gods had rewritten the palace’s calendar, and the people inside it were trying to pretend they could still command the pace.

  He stopped and leaned his shoulder against cold stone for a moment, letting it bite through his uniform like penance. A servant hesitated near a door, eyes darting as if unsure whether to pass him.

  Jayce lifted a hand in dismissal. “Go on.”

  They hurried away.

  He breathed in through his nose. Out through his mouth. Counted the beat like he’d been trained.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  Counting didn’t fix anything. He thought absently. It only gave his hands something to do that wasn’t reaching for a blade.

  He pushed off the wall and continued, boots measured on polished floor. He finished that section of the palace and headed for the stairs leading to the wall. As he climbed, the air cooled with every step, stone sweating winter.

  He welcomed it like a slap.

  Clarity.

  At the top, the wind hit him full in the face, sharp enough to make his eyes water. The city sprawled beyond the palace like something sleeping under a thin sheet of snow and smoke. The flag snapped above him, restless and loud.

  For a moment he simply watched it.

  Could walk off the edge.

  Jayce blinked.

  His eyes slid to the drop before he could stop them. It was far. Clean. Final.

  No surviving that.

  The thought didn’t arrive with panic. It arrived with that sick, calm practicality his mind used for everything. As if it were another route on a map.

  His throat was dry. He forced his boots to move. If he dwelled too long in this pit, he knew how far his mind would dive further. He walked the wall toward the next tower and stayed far from the edge, as if distance alone could make his brain behave.

  He needed rest. He needed sleep. He needed food. He needed a bottle. He needed someone to warm his bed and make his thoughts less sharp.

  He stopped again, fingers digging into the stone crenellation until his knuckles ached.

  What was wrong with him.

  Was it jealousy? Stress? The pressure of a palace that ate men alive with smiles?

  He pushed forward anyway and reached the next tower. He sat on the top step, shoulders hunched, wind clawing at the back of his neck.

  The guard posted there glanced down at him. “Captain Vale. You alright?”

  Jayce forced his face into something neutral. Something believable.

  “I think I may be getting sick,” he said, voice steady. “I’ll head to the healers. Then bed.”

  The guard nodded, relieved. “Rest up, sir.”

  That was it. He was getting sick. Or something.

  He did feel more tired than usual lately. Sleeping badly. Waking sharp and restless, like his mind never stopped pacing. Thoughts circling the same subjects until they grew teeth.

  He wondered, briefly, if this was how Kylar felt when he spiraled.

  He should ask him.

  Yes… ask the man who is about to be paraded as a holy story and can’t afford anyone else’s mess.

  Jayce sighed, but before he could get up, he saw Darius walking up the steps. He paused as they stared at each other. Then Kairi’s face showed around the curve of the wall.

  “Jayce.”

  He looked between them and wondered for just a moment why they were up there.

  Jayce’s fists clenched so tightly his gloves strained at the seams. Darius didn’t move. He just watched Jayce with that blunt honesty of soldier that made lying feel like an offense.

  “Are you okay?” Darius asked. Plain. Concerned.

  Jayce almost laughed. It came out as a tight breath instead.

  “No.” He scraped air into his lungs. “I think the stress is catching up to me. I just… need rest.”

  Darius’s eyes narrowed, not unkind. Assessing.

  “Clearing your head up here?”

  Jayce’s stomach tightened. “Yeah.”

  Kairi pushed past Darius on the stairs and sat down next to Jayce. She reached over and grabbed his hand and squeezed.

  “Care to show me this great view I have heard about? Keep me company for a moment and let your mind wander to other things?” She said as if this was perfectly normal.

  Jayce took her in and squeezed her hand back. How easy it was for her to just be there. To just let him in and it drive away the darkness. Her light was always there, always pushing everything that lingered back into the box it all seemed to escape from eventually. He stood up and helped her to her feet.

  “The great view. You mean the lake?” He asked offering his arm to her.

  She smiled and took his arm. “You know me so well.”

  Her eyes were filled with a glow almost. He thought on that glow and wondered if it was part of that bond between the god beasts? He led her back out on to the wall walk, Darius following behind them. Jayce stopped and they looked out over Lake Aurelune. He watched as her face filled with wonder looking out over the lake. He shifted to look over the lake; it was black with the small ripples of light reflecting the moons back up into the sky. He noticed all the stars then. The hesitant tilt of his mouth came.

  She always brought peace and calm. She always has.

  He let that thought repeat a couple more times before he laughed softly. She looked at him then.

  “Do I look silly admiring the lake at night?” She tiled her head just so, that the moonlight silvered her hair and that glow in her eyes made her look ethereal.

  Jayce shrugged. “No, just thinking and realized something. Thank you though, for this.”

  Kairi watched him for a handful of heartbeats before she looked back over the lake. “Anytime Jayce.” She reached over and gave a short, small squeeze on his forearm before she turned to Darius. “Shall we?”

  Darius nodded once, glanced to Jayce and leaned in and whispered in her ear. She nodded and headed to the stairs. Darius looked at Jayce and once Kairi was far enough away, he spoke low.

  “You should get some sleep.” He stated simply.

  Jayce hesitated. Pride flared. Shame followed close behind. He hated being seen like this. Hated that Darius of all people could look at him and read the crack.

  “I said I’m fine,” Jayce tried. It came out flat and false.

  Darius’s brows lifted. “No,” he corrected, almost gently for him. “You said you needed rest. That’s not fine. That’s a man holding himself together with his teeth.”

  Jayce bristled.

  Darius stepped closer, not invading, just placing himself in Jayce’s line of movement like a quiet barricade.

  “Let’s do this the smart way,” Darius said. “Healers. Food. Sleep. And you don’t go anywhere alone tonight.”

  “I’m not a child,” Jayce snapped, weakly.

  “No,” Darius agreed, eyes steady. “You’re a captain. Which means if you break, other people pay for it. So, you don’t get to pretend this is only about you.”

  That landed. Hard.

  Jayce’s shoulders were lowered by a fraction, as if his body had decided it was allowed to stop pretending.

  Darius waited for the surrender to become real.

  Then he gestured. “Come on.”

  Jayce exhaled slowly. “Fine,” he muttered. “Escort me like I’m a drunk noble who lost his shoes.”

  Darius’s mouth twitched. “You do look like you’d lose a shoe.”

  Jayce almost smiled. Almost.

  Darius escorted Kairi to her rooms and promised to be back soon. A night guard was stationed and the other went to find Kurt. Once Darius knew all was well, he took Jayce to the healer’s wing without fanfare, like it was another patrol route that simply ended with medicine instead of steel.

  The healers didn’t ask unnecessary questions. They took one look at Jayce’s hollow-eyed tension, the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his hands couldn’t quite unclench, and exchanged that quiet glance healers shared when they’d seen the same wound a hundred times.

  A sleeping draught was mixed. Measured. Offered.

  Jayce drank it with grim obedience, because arguing felt like climbing a mountain with broken legs.

  Darius escorted him back to his rooms anyway.

  He didn’t leave until Jayce was seated, cloak off, boots removed, and the cup set aside like a finished duty. He watched the draught soften the sharp angles of Jayce’s face, the rigid line of his mouth finally easing.

  When Jayce’s breathing evened out and his eyelids fell closed, Darius finally stepped away.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Jayce mumbled something in his sleep. Not coherent. Just sound. A name Darius couldn’t catch.

  Darius stood there a second longer, listening, then forced himself to move.

  Jayce was out. Safe for tonight.

  Now the people who needed to know had to know.

  Ryder’s solar was lit with a low fire and too many papers.

  Ryder stood near the window when Darius was announced, posture loose, attention sharp. Serenity sat nearby, quiet and present, hands folded with the calm of a woman who never wasted movement.

  Darius bowed. “Your Highness.”

  Ryder waved it off. “Darius. Report.”

  “Captain Vale is unwell,” Darius said plainly. “Not wounded. Not poisoned. But he’s… frayed. He went up to the wall. Healers gave him a sleeping draught. He’s asleep now.”

  Ryder’s expression tightened, the smallest flicker of worry breaking through the king-mask. “Thank you.”

  Darius nodded. “I’ll check on him at dawn.”

  Ryder’s mouth softened by a fraction. “Good.”

  The door opened again.

  Rush entered like winter, all composed edges and quiet power. His gaze cut to Ryder, then to Serenity, then landed on Darius and stayed there.

  Not hostile.

  Assessing.

  Rush’s eyes held Darius for a long moment, the way a dragon might watch a new guard step too close to treasure.

  “Why aren’t you with my sister,” Rush asked, voice even.

  Darius didn’t flinch. “Kurt is with her right now,” he replied easily. “I escorted Captain Vale to the healers.”

  Rush’s stare held another heartbeat.

  Then he nodded once. Acceptance. Not approval, exactly. But enough.

  “Fine,” Rush said, and moved toward the fire like he owned the room by right of survival.

  Ryder exhaled, a quiet release. “Go,” he told Darius softly. “And… thank you.”

  Darius bowed again and left without lingering.

  By the time Darius reached the west wing, the corridor had settled into night.

  Kurt was outside Kairi’s door, posture straight, eyes alert. He looked relieved when he saw Darius.

  “You’re back,” Kurt said quietly.

  Darius nodded. “How was she?”

  “Fine,” Kurt replied. “Tired. Kylar came, stayed a while. Left earlier.” His expression twitched. “I think he was trying to give her space.”

  Darius huffed once, almost a laugh. “That sounds like him.”

  Kurt hesitated. “Anything I should know?”

  “Jayce is… off,” Darius said. “I got him to the healers. Ryder knows.”

  Kurt’s brows drew together. “I’ll keep an eye.”

  Darius nodded. “Go get sleep. You’ve earned it.”

  Kurt’s shoulders loosened a fraction. “Yes, sir.” Then, quickly, “Good night.”

  He headed off toward the barracks, footsteps fading into the corridor.

  Darius knocked softly.

  Kairi opened the door almost immediately, hair loose, a brush in her hand. The room behind her smelled faintly of soap and warmed herbs, the soft domestic scent of a person trying to make a palace feel survivable.

  Her face lit when she saw him.

  “Darius,” she said warmly. “You’re back.”

  Darius stepped inside and shut the door behind him with care.

  Kairi returned to the mirror, brushing through her hair in slow strokes that steadied her hands. “Is he okay?”

  Darius moved toward the guard room, then stopped himself and stayed in the main space instead. She deserved the truth face to face.

  “I think he will be,” he said. “Healers gave him a sleeping draught. He’s asleep now.”

  Kairi’s brush paused mid-stroke.

  “Up on the wall,” she said quietly. “He looked lost.”

  Darius nodded. “He looked like a man trying to get away from his own head.”

  Kairi set the brush down slowly, careful with the motion like she didn’t want to startle the truth into something worse.

  “Did he say anything?” she asked, voice softening into healer-focus.

  Darius’s throat tightened. He didn’t like saying it aloud. Saying it aloud made it real.

  “Not directly,” he admitted. “But I don’t like how close he felt to bad thoughts.”

  Kairi closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again with resolve.

  “Thank you for not leaving him,” she said.

  Darius’s mouth twitched. “I wasn’t going to.”

  Kairi’s gaze lifted to him, steadily. “Tomorrow, we check on him together.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  Darius nodded once. “Okay Kairi”

  She exhaled slowly, then forced a small smile as if to keep herself from sinking into fear.

  “Alright,” she said, voice quieter now. “You should sleep too.”

  Darius nodded and moved toward the guard room.

  But before he reached the door, Kairi spoke again, soft enough to be honest.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For… being here. For all of this.”

  Darius paused.

  He didn’t trust himself to answer with anything clever.

  So he chose the truth.

  “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “It’s my job.”

  Kairi’s eyes warmed. “No,” she replied, gentle but certain. “It’s more than that.”

  Darius didn’t respond. He just nodded once and disappeared into the guard room before his face could betray him.

  He lay down fully dressed except for boots and belt, letting exhaustion finally crawl into his bones.

  Jayce woke to gray light and the taste of iron in his mouth.

  For a moment he lay still, listening.

  No bells. No boots in the hall. No servants calling for the day to begin. Just that early-palace hush that always felt like the building was holding its breath before it started eating people.

  He sat up anyway.

  His limbs were heavy, the way they got after forced sleep. He swung his feet to the floor and did what he always did when his mind was loud.

  Routine.

  Cloak. Belt. Gloves. Buckle. Tighten. Set.

  The washbasin water was cold enough to sting his hands. Good. He wanted the sting. He splashed his face, watched it drip down his jaw, watched himself in the mirror with the mild contempt of a man who never quite trusted his own eyes.

  You’re late.

  His stomach tightened. He moved faster.

  Out into the corridor. Quiet. Too quiet. A guard at the far end saluted. Jayce returned it, crisp and automatic. A servant passed with linens, eyes down.

  Normal.

  He walked. Turned. Took the short route toward the training wing because he didn’t have time to waste and because a map was easier than a feeling.

  His boots sounded wrong on the stone.

  Too loud. Too hollow.

  He ignored it.

  Kylar was at the end of the corridor as if he’d been waiting.

  Not in armor. Not in uniform. Just a clean shirt, dark trousers, hair damp like he’d washed and left it at that. He looked… rested. Not soft. Not careless. Just rested in a way Jayce wasn’t used to seeing on him.

  “Morning,” Jayce said, voice rough.

  Kylar glanced up and smiled.

  A real one.

  It hit Jayce harder than it should have.

  “Morning,” Kylar replied. His gaze flicked over Jayce with that quiet assessment he always did. “You look like death.”

  “I feel like it,” Jayce muttered.

  Kylar’s expression softened. “You slept?”

  “Enough,” Jayce lied.

  Kylar held the lie in his gaze for a heartbeat, then let it go like he always did when Jayce didn’t want his pain handled.

  Jayce stared at him. He couldn’t stop staring. Kylar didn’t look hollow today. He looked… full.

  “How are you,” Jayce asked finally.

  Kylar’s mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say it.

  “Happy,” he admitted, and the word sounded strange on his tongue, like a language he’d never been taught. Then, quieter: “I didn’t think I’d ever get to be.”

  Something in Jayce’s chest tightened. Pressure, not pain. Like a door he’d kept braced shut was starting to tremble.

  “You,” Jayce said carefully, “don’t look anxious.”

  Kylar let out a small, breathy laugh. “I still am.”

  Jayce blinked.

  Kylar shrugged, but his eyes stayed gentle. “No,” he said, honest. “It’s not gone. It’s not… fixed.” His gaze drifted, as if he could see a meadow through stone walls. “But Kairi always helped.”

  The words landed soft. They did not feel soft.

  “In the dreams,” Kylar continued, warmth leaking into his voice without him meaning to. “And now. Even here. It’s like… she steadies me. Like she pulls me back into my own skin.”

  Jayce’s hands went cold inside his gloves. It was almost like his own thoughts were coming out of Kylar’s mouth. The memory of standing on that wall overlooking lake Aurelune.

  He heard himself breathe. Too loud. Too shallow.

  Kylar tilted his head. “Jayce?”

  Jayce’s fingers moved before his mind finished forming a reason.

  Steel was in his hand without him remembering having drawn it.

  Kylar froze. “What are you doing,” Kylar asked, confused more than afraid.

  Jayce’s arm jerked. The knife drove forward. Not a clean strike. Not precise. Not controlled.

  Just impulse.

  Kylar’s eyes went wide.

  He made a sound, small and disbelieving, like the world had suddenly betrayed its own rules.

  Jayce stumbled back a step as if the act had shocked him too. His breath came in harsh pulls. His hand shook. The blade looked wrong in his grip. Too real.

  Kylar sagged, one hand instinctively pressing at his middle. Red bloomed fast.

  Jayce stared at it. At his own hand. At the impossible truth of what he’d done.

  No. Jayce thought. No, no—

  Kylar’s mouth parted like he wanted to speak and couldn’t find air. His knees bent slightly as if his body didn’t know how to hold him up anymore.

  Jayce’s throat closed.

  He heard himself speak, but the words didn’t feel like they belonged to him.

  “I love her, Ky,” Jayce said, voice shaking. “I can’t give her up.”

  Kylar stared at him, shock and pain and something like heartbreak all at once.

  Jayce backed away, panic swallowing everything. “I didn’t mean to,” he tried to say. “I didn’t—” But none of his words made it out of his mouth.

  The corridor tilted. The light went too bright. The red spread. And then the world tore.

  Jayce jolted upright with a raw, torn shout, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out.

  Hands seized his shoulders.

  “J… Jayce—”

  The voice was wrong. Rough. Scraped raw. Like it had to fight its way past a ruined throat.

  “Ja—ce.”

  He swung, wild, half reaching for a blade that wasn’t there.

  “Jayce.” Again. Closer. Not quite clean, but more certain.

  His breath hitched. His eyes snapped to the shape above him.

  Tessa.

  Hair loose. Scar visible in the low light. Her eyes sharp and anchored and furious with worry.

  The room was his. His bed. His walls. The fire low. No corridor. No blood. No Kylar bleeding out on stone.

  Just his own sweat and the violent hammering of his heart.

  Jayce blinked once. Then again. Reality settled like a weight.

  His hands shook so hard he couldn’t make them stop.

  Tessa didn’t sign. Not at first.

  She pulled him forward, firm and uncompromising, and pressed his head against her shoulder like she was pinning him to the world by force. Jayce made a broken sound and clutched at the blanket with one hand like it was the only thing keeping him from falling through.

  Tessa’s arm stayed around him, solid as armor.

  Her other hand tapped his back in slow, steady beats.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  Breathe.

  Jayce’s lungs caught the rhythm like a lifeline. He dragged air in. Let it out. Again. Again.

  The shaking eased by inches.

  Tessa didn’t loosen her hold until his breathing did.

  When he finally managed a full inhale, Jayce’s voice came out wrecked and hoarse.

  “I—” He swallowed. The nightmare clung like soot. “I hurt him.”

  Tessa’s hand paused.

  Jayce’s throat worked hard. “I hurt Kylar.”

  Tessa made a sound in the back of her throat, a rough, helpless noise that wasn’t words. Her hand resumed its steady tap, firmer now, as if she could pound the truth into his spine.

  Not real.

  Here.

  Now.

  Jayce worked to breathe again, eyes burning.

  His hands curled into her sleeve like a man who didn’t trust himself not to disappear.

  After a while, when the room stopped spinning and his heart stopped trying to climb out of his ribs, Tessa shifted just enough to look at him.

  She didn’t ask if he was alright. She could see he wasn’t.

  Her fingers lifted and signed, slow and deliberate so he couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand.

  [Talk.]

  Jayce’s mouth opened. Nothing came. He let out a breath that shook.

  “I’m falling apart,” he managed finally, the words ugly and honest. “I can’t—” He swallowed hard. “I can’t keep my head quiet.”

  Tessa’s gaze didn’t flinch away.

  She signed again.

  [Not alone.]

  Jayce gave a humorless laugh that cracked halfway. “Feels like it.”

  Tessa’s hand rose and cupped the back of his head again, not gentle exactly, but steady. The way she always was.

  Jayce stared at the edge of the blanket, shame hot under his skin.

  “I don’t even know why I did it,” he whispered. “In the dream. I just… I did.” He shut his eyes hard. “And it felt like me. That’s the worst part.”

  Tessa’s fingers moved.

  [Dreams lie.]

  Jayce opened his eyes. “Do they,” he rasped.

  Tessa held his gaze like a guard holding a line.

  Then she signed, slower.

  [You would die before you hurt him.]

  Jayce’s read each movement of her hands and looked to her eyes.

  He wanted to believe her. He wanted to climb inside the certainty of it and stay there.

  Tessa’s hand slid down to his shoulder, squeezing once. A small, simple pressure that said: I’m here. I’ve been here. I will keep being here.

  Jayce breathed. The nightmare’s images still hovered at the edges of his mind like ash that wouldn’t wash off.

  But Tessa’s steady presence was heavier.

  Real.

  When his breathing finally stopped shaking, Jayce whispered, raw and ashamed, “How many times have you had to do this.”

  Tessa’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile.

  She signed without hesitation.

  [As many as it takes.]

  And Jayce, exhausted and still trembling, let his forehead rest against her shoulder again.

  Because for years Tessa had been the quiet constant at his side. Not asking for explanations he couldn’t give. Just staying.

  And tonight, when his mind tried to become a knife, she was the hand that kept it from turning outward.

  Until the tremor in his hands eased from violent to merely there.

  Until he could speak without sounding like he was falling. He let his thoughts drift away from the nightmare finally.

  “Have you had enough time,” Jayce rasped, “to think about what we talked about?”

  Tessa didn’t shift right away.

  She stayed with his head pressed against her shoulder, kept her arm around him like a brace, and let the question settle in her chest where old choices lived.

  A stray memory rose, uninvited. Not the balcony. Not the banquet. Something quieter.

  The night he’d asked, voice careful, if they could try again.

  Not as a promise. Not as a courtship. Just… a hand offered back into familiar territory.

  Tessa closed her eyes.

  She felt Jayce move, just slightly, probably trying to see her face. Even half-wrecked, he still had that instinct. Read. Assess. Confirm.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  His face was a ruin of restraint. His eyes, that sharp, striking green, looked dulled around the edges like they’d been dragged through smoke. Desperation sat in the lines of his brows and mouth, not dramatic, just raw. The kind of need men tried to starve until it turned feral.

  Tessa lifted her hands.

  She signed slowly so he couldn’t miss a single word.

  [we can be what we were before.]

  [no expectations.]

  [open.]

  She held his gaze and waited.

  Jayce stared at her hands first, because reading was safer than hope. Then his eyes lifted, searching her face like he didn’t trust the offer until he saw it living there.

  For a heartbeat he didn’t move at all, like his body had forgotten what to do with gentleness.

  Then he moved fast enough to startle her.

  He wrapped his arms around her tight and buried his face into her neck like it was the only place left in the world that didn’t cut him.

  “Okay,” he whispered, voice breaking on the edges. “I can accept that.”

  Tessa’s breath left her slow.

  She didn’t sign anything back.

  She just tightened her hold a fraction, pressed her cheek to his hair, and let the answer be what it was.

  Not a vow.

  Not a rescue.

  A familiar shape to stand inside while the rest of his mind tried to tear itself apart.