The road to the capital stretched long beneath the fading light, the last gold of the sun dissolving into a deepening blue. The horse's steady rhythm filled the quiet between them, hooves striking earth in a measured cadence that seemed almost lulling.
Darius sat behind Sion, one hand firm on the reins, the other unconsciously hovering near him. At first, he had kept a careful distance, mindful of propriety, of restraint.
But distance proved difficult.
Every now and then, as the horse shifted or the path grew uneven, Sion's back would brush lightly against his chest. It was fleeting, barely there. And yet...
Darius stilled.
There was a scent.
Soft. Subtle. Not overpowering, but distinct enough to linger. Something clean, faintly sweet, with an edge that he could not quite name. It settled into his senses before he could stop it.
He swallowed.
Is that… his scent? Or…
The thought of pheromones crossed his mind, unbidden. His grip tightened ever so slightly.
Each accidental brush only made it worse. Or perhaps… better.
Darius closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself. He told himself it was nothing. Just the closeness. Just the ride.
Still, he did not pull away.
They arrived at the capital well into the night.
Street lamps lit the streets, their glow flickering against stone walls and narrow alleys. The liveliness of the day had softened into something quieter, more subdued.
They slowed near a dimly lit alleyway, the kind used more for passing through than lingering.
"This is where we part," Sion said, slipping down from the horse with practiced ease.
Darius followed shortly after. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, before he could second-guess himself, Darius stepped forward and pulled Sion into a brief embrace.
It was sudden.
Sion stiffened, caught off guard for the span of a heartbeat.
Darius held him just a little tighter before letting go. "See you in a few days," he said, his voice softer than usual.
He stepped back.
Sion blinked, then tilted his head slightly, a familiar glint returning to his eyes.
"That's it?" he asked. "I was expecting at least a goodbye kiss."
Darius froze.
Color rose to his face so quickly it was almost comical.
"I—"
Sion let out a small laugh, waving a hand. "Relax. I'm joking. I'm still a bit upset, remember?"
But the moment lingered a second too long.
Because Darius, for just a fraction of it, looked… disappointed.
Sion noticed.
And for reasons he did not immediately care to examine, it made something twist in his chest.
"…Honestly," he muttered under his breath.
Before Darius could recover, Sion reached out, grabbed the front of his clothes, and pulled him forward.
Their lips met.
It was not tentative. Not quite gentle either. Brief, but deliberate.
Then Sion released him just as suddenly.
"Goodbye," he said lightly.
Darius stood there, stunned, his mind slow to catch up as Sion turned and disappeared into the dimly lit street.
That night, Darius did not sleep.
Or rather, he tried.
But every time he closed his eyes, the memory returned. The warmth. The closeness. The kiss.
He stared up at the ceiling, one hand pressed faintly against his lips, as though confirming it had truly happened.
Sleep never came.
Sion, however, did sleep.
And he dreamed.
The palace stood as it always had in memory. Vast. Silent. Oppressive.
The corridors were too long. The air too still.
He knew where he was before he even moved.
The queen's chambers.
The doors opened without resistance.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, shadows stretching long across polished floors. The scent of incense lingered, faint but unmistakable.
And there, seated before him, was a figure he knew all too well.
His mother,the queen consort.
Her posture was as elegant as ever, her presence commanding even in stillness. But it was her eyes that held him.
Pink.
No....more than that.
They shimmered like gemstones, unnatural, beautiful, and cold. They caught the dim light and reflected it back in a way that felt almost alive.
They glinted as she spoke.
"Do you really think you can be happy?"
Sion's breath hitched.
"…Mother?"
A soft, almost amused smile curved her lips.
"My, my… dear Caelum," she said, her voice echoing faintly, as though the room itself carried it. "Do you truly believe you are capable of loving someone?"
Sion's expression hardened.
"You don't know me," he said. "I'm living well now. Even after everything you did..after breaking me..I'm living peacefully. I won't follow your path. I won't become what you wanted."
Her laughter was soft, almost indulgent.
"But isn't that exactly what you're doing?"
Her gemstone eyes gleamed sharper.
"You wrap those around you so easily. Guide them. Bend them. Especially that knight." Her smile deepened. "He loves you so much. Enough to give up everything,Caelum."
Sion's jaw tightened. "Enough. Do not call me that."
The name lingered in the air anyway.
Caelum.
His hand moved before thought could catch it. A sword lay nearby, as though waiting.
He grabbed it.
And struck.
The blade pierced through her abdomen.
Blood spilled instantly, dark against her pale garments, dripping, spreading.
"You're dead," Sion said, his voice low, unsteady despite himself. "So stop disturbing me."
The queen consort laughed.
Even as blood filled her mouth, even as it trailed down her chin, she laughed.
"See?" she whispered, her voice curling around him like smoke. "You are exactly as I made you."
Her breath brushed against his ear, though she had not moved.
"You are not capable of loving anyone… Caelum."
Her laughter echoed.
And echoed.
And echoed...
Sion woke with a sharp inhale.
Sweat clung to his skin. His chest rose and fell too quickly.
"…Damn it," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. "What a way to start the day."
Morning came regardless.
The orphanage was already stirring by the time he joined them.
Children filled the space with noise and movement, their laughter cutting through the remnants of the dream. Sion helped prepare breakfast, moving through the routine with practiced ease.
Plates were set. Food was served.
Soon enough, he found himself surrounded.
Small hands tugged at his sleeves. Voices called for his attention. Laughter bubbled freely.
He let himself be pulled into it.
For a while, the dream faded.
Watching them healthy, cared for, free in ways he had never been brought a quiet sense of satisfaction.
Perhaps… this was his way of healing something long broken.
His alpha mother watched from nearby.
She noticed.
Later, as the children played, she approached him, standing beside him in quiet observation.
"You've been a bit off today," she said gently. "Since this morning."
Sion exhaled slowly. "I'm fine."
A pause.
"…I dreamed of her," he admitted. "The queen consort."
His mother's expression softened immediately.
"Whatever she said," she replied, "whatever happened… it was only a dream. Don't let it weigh on you."
Sion gave a faint nod. "I know. It's just… every time I dream of her, something bad follows."
His mother rested a hand briefly on his shoulder.
"Then we face it when it comes," she said. "Not before."
There was steadiness in her voice. Grounding.
Sion nodded again, more firmly this time.
"Thank you....mom."
By midday, the children had eaten and been guided to rest.
The quiet that followed was softer, gentler.
Sion lay among them, allowing himself a brief rest as well.
For once, his mind was still.
Elsewhere, Darius had no such peace.
He went straight to the king's office upon arrival.
King Alaric greeted him with a slight nod. "My apologies for interrupting your leave."
"It's no trouble, Your Majesty," Darius replied. "It sounded urgent."
"It is."
They did not linger.
The air shifted as they entered the chamber where the bodies were kept.
The air inside the chamber was cold and Heavy.
Alaric spoke as they walked. "During the main festival celebration, a murder occurred. At first, it seemed ordinary. A grudge. Theft, perhaps."
They stopped.
"But as you can see…"
The cloth was pulled back.
Darius's expression darkened.
The body was dismembered.
Clean cuts. Deliberate.
"And not just one," Alaric continued. "Five victims. All the same. And all missing the same parts."
Darius's gaze sharpened.
"The eyes… and the tongue."
"Yes."
Silence stretched.
"That is not random," Darius said.
"No."
"Could it be one of the envoys?"
Alaric shook his head. "They were all under watch."
Darius leaned closer, studying the faces.
Recognition struck.
"…These are the sons of former nobles," he said slowly. "An earl. A count. A baron… all of whom served the queen consort."
Alaric observed him carefully. "You noticed."
But something else lingered in Darius's mind.
A face of a man.
The one who had delivered suppressants to Sion's house months ago.
A marquis' son,and also tied to the queen consort.
Darius said nothing.
"Another detail," Alaric added, producing a weapon. "We recovered this."
Darius froze.
Recognition flashed across his face before he could stop it.
"Do you know it?" Alaric asked.
Darius hesitated.
"…I'm not certain," he said at last. "I'll need to confirm."
Alaric's gaze lingered, suspicious, but he nodded.
"Do so."
By late afternoon, Darius found himself at the orphanage.
Just in time to see Sion preparing to leave.
"Sion," he called.
Sion turned, brows lifting slightly.
"Can we talk?" Darius asked.
And just like that, the calm of the day shifted, something heavier settling quietly between them.