Chapter Nine #2
There was no grace in Kaelen’s attacks, no fluidity in his swordsmanship—but that didn’t matter.
What mattered was the raw power, the unrelenting force behind every blow.
What Kaelen lacked in finesse, he made up for with tenacity, and Thorne could feel the weight of that as he blocked and dodged, feeling the full brunt of Kaelen’s strength.
Each strike sent a thrill through his body.
The fight had become something personal, something that made Thorne’s blood burn with the need to keep up, to match Kaelen blow for blow.
They met again, swords clashing violently.
Thorne glanced the blow, managing to get close enough to Kaelen to break through his guard.
He slashed upward, and Kaelen barely brought his sword up in time to block.
Their swords locked, blades pressed together, face to face now, breathing hard, staring each other down over the steel between them.
Kaelen didn’t tilt his head, didn’t offer anything in that moment.
He simply looked down at Thorne, his eyes dark and unreadable, like the statues that stood guard in the garden, cold and calculating.
Thorne’s breath hitched, and he could see Kaelen’s lips, bitten red, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the exertion.
Thorne pulled back his fist, preparing to strike again, but Kaelen’s next move came quicker than he could react.
With a sudden, violent shift of his weight, Kaelen threw them both off balance.
Their swords, their centers of gravity, everything shifted, and Thorne fought to keep his footing.
He kicked Kaelen in the kneecap, bodychecking him with his thigh, but it wasn’t enough to throw the prince off.
Kaelen had them locked in each other’s guards.
His hands were on Thorne in moments—gripping his lacy sleeve, then his wrist.
Thorne cursed under his breath, cursing the tailor for the thousandth time as Kaelen’s grip shifted lower.
He could feel the power in Kaelen’s hold, the force pulling him closer, closer into range.
Thorne’s heart raced in his chest.
He could feel Kaelen’s hand raking over his side, his hip, finding purchase and tugging at him, pulling him into his grasp.
Thorne had a split second of clarity, an awareness that this could be the moment—this could be the moment where Kaelen killed him, or Thorne killed Kaelen—but that wasn’t what he was thinking about when Kaelen’s hand slid over his skin. No, it wasn’t the fear of death, not at all.
It was something else.
Thorne spun out of Kaelen’s grasp at the last moment, the ghost of his touch still lingering on his skin, hot and intimate.
When he looked at Kaelen’s face again, the prince’s expression was wild, uncontained, his grin wide with glee, like a wolf that had cornered its prey and was enjoying the chase more than the kill itself.
And Thorne felt his whole body shudder as his heart skipped a vital beat.
Thorne was the one hiding six knives in his damn clothes, and yet seemingly, he was the one being hunted.
Thorne surged forward across the plaza, his boots cutting through the snow with precision.
His body felt alive, charged with the fierce energy of the fight.
The fountain’s stone rim, slick with ice, loomed ahead, but Thorne was quicker, pivoting around it to avoid Kaelen’s advance.
Kaelen, quick as a wolf on the hunt, gave chase, his sword flashing with the intensity of a predator closing in on its prey.
Thorne felt the full weight of Kaelen’s pursuit, the air thickening with each step.
Their blades rose once more, weapons drawn, and they circled each other like fighters in a ring.
Thorne dodged Kaelen’s first thrust, but then, with a swift counterattack, he whacked Kaelen on the hip with the flat of his blade in retribution.
The force made Kaelen grunt in pain, but even as the blow landed, Kaelen didn’t flinch—didn’t hesitate for a moment.
Instead, his teeth bared in a vicious grin as he advanced, his next blow striking with a raw, terrifying power that sent Thorne’s pulse racing.
In that instant, something inside Thorne clicked—a revelation of a different sort.
Kaelen wasn’t just a prince, he wasn’t just a fighter with training and strength.
No, Kaelen was devastating when he fought.
He was raw, primal—force and predatory control, one with his blade and his killer instinct.
Kaelen moved like he was made for this, his body synchronized perfectly with the sword in his hand, and the violence of it all hit Thorne like a wave.
This wasn’t a spar, this wasn’t just a battle of skill.
This was something deeper.
This was Kaelen at his core—ruthless, untamed, and dangerous.
Thorne kicked up a wave of snow, sending it flying in Kaelen’s direction.
The spray froze the moment it hit, halting Kaelen’s blow mid-flight.
With a quick surge of power, Thorne launched at him, feeling the crackling heat of his magic course through his veins as he swung, taking a jagged piece of fur from Kaelen’s shoulder rather than the neck he had intended.
The fur blossomed into the air, falling to the snow like a hunted animal.
And then, to Thorne’s shock, Kaelen laughed.
It was not the joyful, soft laugh that Thorne had imagined it might be—it was bright-teethed, loud, and sharp.
It was the kind of laugh that belonged between the fangs of a beast, between clenched jaws, with a sword pointed at its throat.
The sound rang through the night, unsettling and wild, and Thorne felt it reverberate deep in his bones.
He grinned despite himself.
But as Kaelen pressed forward again, his determination was unmistakable.
Thorne knew he had found a worthy adversary.
He had found someone who could match him, push him, force him to fight like he never had before.
Kaelen’s blade cut through the air again, and Thorne was forced to fight with everything he had.
The air was thick with the clash of their weapons, the noise of their battle piercing the otherwise dead silence of the garden.
They met again and again, blow after blow, and Thorne was starting to realize that Kaelen was no longer just a prince to him.
No, Kaelen had become something more—a symbol of everything Thorne had been searching for in a fight.
A challenge unlike any other, a beast unlike any other.
Kaelen’s strikes were relentless, his movements devastatingly precise.
There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in his attacks.
Thorne was forced to block, to dodge, to counter at the last moment, just to avoid being skewered.
The sheer strength behind Kaelen’s blows sent shockwaves through him, and Thorne found himself being pushed closer and closer to the fountain’s edge, his space narrowing with every strike.
Thorne’s boots scraped against the fountain’s base, and he found himself trapped—backed into a corner.
But he wasn’t done.
With a surge of will, he lunged forward, pulling Kaelen off-balance for a moment before using the momentum to leap onto the fountain’s edge.
The sudden move took Kaelen by surprise, and for a heartbeat, Thorne felt an advantage.
But Kaelen wasn’t far behind.
He recovered in an instant, his sword arcing toward Thorne once more.
Thorne leaned away, narrowly avoiding the strike, and retaliated with a downward blow aimed directly at Kaelen’s chest.
But Kaelen was faster, pivoting out of the way and sweeping his blade toward Thorne’s knees.
Thorne jumped to clear the strike, his heart hammering in his chest as he landed hard on the ice beyond the fountain.
His boots slid, but he quickly found his balance, resuming his stance on the edge of the fountain, sword at the ready.
But Kaelen didn’t pursue him further.
He remained on the opposite side, watching Thorne with a strange, unreadable look in his eyes.
His sword was by his side, but he was no longer advancing.
He was just...
watching, like a wolf appraising its prey.
Thorne’s breath caught in his throat, but before he could move, Kaelen’s lips parted in a smile—one that was both mischievous and something else. Delight.
Thorne’s grip on his sword tightened, his breath quickening.
He realized, with an unsettling jolt, that Kaelen wasn’t fighting just to win.
No, Kaelen was fighting for the sheer joy of it.
The thrill of the battle, the thrill of matching strength against strength.
“You’re good,”
Kaelen said, his voice low, almost breathless from exertion.
“Very good.” He let the words hang between them, his chest rising and falling with each breath.
Thorne’s own heart was pounding, a blood-quickening rhythm in his ears.
He felt the heat of Kaelen’s gaze on him, the raw energy between them, and he couldn’t help but feel that this battle—this moment—was more than just a fight.
It was a culmination of everything that had led him here, everything that had brought him to this place in time.
Kaelen’s grin faded slightly as he straightened, his posture shifting, almost… thoughtful.
His sword was still in his hand, but his stance relaxed, just a fraction.
It was then that Thorne realized something.
There was something else Kaelen was offering in the midst of all this combat—something deeper, more complicated.
It was a challenge, yes, but it was also something else.
A question, perhaps, in the form of an invitation.
Kaelen took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the same intensity that filled the air between them.
“Did you ever find them?”
he asked softly, the words drifting between them like a whisper in the night.
Thorne’s brow furrowed as he processed the question. “Who?”
Kaelen’s gaze softened, just for a moment, before he spoke again, almost too quietly.
“The person you were looking for.
Before we danced.”
Thorne’s pulse quickened as his mind raced, memories flooding back.
He swallowed hard. “I did,”
he murmured, voice barely a whisper.
Kaelen exhaled slowly, his breath clouding in the cold air.
A rueful smile touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
He sighed, his grip loosening on Thorne’s arm, as if the fight, the tension, was easing between them.
“I guess we both found something we didn’t expect.”
Thorne said nothing.
He only stared at Kaelen, his mind racing.
Kaelen’s expression shifted from fierce, predator-like intensity to something more human—more vulnerable.
And in that brief, fleeting moment, Thorne realized that he didn’t know anything about the man before him.
Not really.
He hadn’t the faintest idea what Kaelen was thinking or feeling, and that, more than anything, made him want to know.
To understand.
But as Kaelen straightened, pushing the vulnerability back beneath the surface, Thorne felt the sharp sting of frustration build within him.
Kaelen, standing there before him—barefaced, in the light of the silver moon—had all the power.
Thorne was standing on the edge of something, something he couldn’t quite understand, but the more he looked at Kaelen, the more it felt like a game—a mask that Thorne had to figure out, piece by piece.
He wanted to break through it.
He needed to break through it.
How dare Kaelen make him feel so unsure, so lost?
Thorne’s mind was consumed by the thought.
How dare he?
The thought exploded into being, soaking Thorne’s mind like a bloodstain, sharp and sudden.
Here he was, Kaelen, barefaced in the moonlight, standing before him, exposed for all the world to see.
And yet Thorne couldn’t fathom what this man was thinking—what he was feeling.
Thorne had been made to guess all night, forced to confront that mask, to peer through the aching skeletal hollows of his gaze, those frigid, glittering eyes that held secrets he couldn’t reach.
How dare Kaelen make him play this game, make him guess everything about him? Kaelen the prince, Kaelen the beast, Thorne knew so little about either, and Kaelen wasn’t giving him a damn thing.
Instead, Kaelen wore expressions like that—perfect, worn, weary resignation that could only be another mask.
It made Thorne want to bludgeon it until that mask shattered.
Time careened, spun out like a wheel on a carriage, falling into an abyss.
And then, Kaelen was there, pale and hollow and close, and suddenly, Thorne's body moved without his consent.
The pull between them was undeniable, like gravity drawing him in.
Their lips collided, Thorne tilting upward, pressing himself into Kaelen, rising on the balls of his feet.
The movement was blasphemous, urgent.
His body felt electric, his heartbeat a loud drum in his ears as they met, lips crashing together in a kiss that was hard, desperate, unrelenting.
In the far distance, the bells rang out—twelve strokes, resounding over the mountains, their deep, haunting tones marking the passing of midnight.
Thorne’s senses were overwhelmed, his breath lost in the moment, and as the revelation of this kiss swelled in him like the cold, clear air surrounding them, he kissed Kaelen a second time.
This time, his free hand lifted, fingers threading through Kaelen’s hair, drawing him closer.
Kaelen startled.
He jerked back, eyes wide with surprise, as if he hadn’t expected the intensity of it.
Thorne froze, panic rushing through him like wildfire.
The cool air pressed against his skin as he stood there, uncertain of what had just happened, his breath quickening.
"Did I—did you—?" Thorne stammered, unsure of how to ask the question, unsure if he could bear the answer.
Kaelen’s eyes softened.
He looked at Thorne for a moment, a flash of confusion across his face before he smiled, a rueful, warm thing, that made the pit of Thorne’s stomach flutter despite everything.
“No, no you didn’t—”
he began, but before he could finish, his chuckle, deep and soft, coiled through the air like a strange comfort.
“You just surprised me.
I had been…” Kaelen’s voice trailed off, and his forehead dropped to Thorne’s, their breaths mingling as he closed the distance between them, leaning in.
“I had hoped you would be receptive to…”
The rest of his words were lost when Thorne suddenly shoved their mouths together again, desperate to silence the hesitation that still clung to Kaelen’s voice.
Kaelen’s lips responded immediately, warm and open against Thorne’s, his grip loosening, releasing Thorne’s wrist to gently cup the back of his head and pull him closer.
The kiss deepened, soft and slow at first, but then, as their bodies met, the passion surged between them, breaking free of all restraint.
Kaelen kissed Thorne back, and for a moment, the world dissolved around them.
They moved together, breathed together—everything around them became a haze of pale light, sweat, and heat.
The silver moonlight gleamed off their bodies as they swayed on the edge of that frozen fountain, Thorne’s chest pressed against Kaelen’s, their breaths coming fast, frantic.
The scent of pine, of cedar, Kaelen’s cologne, and the bitter cold of the night clung to them like a forgotten memory, while the soft fur of Kaelen’s cloak brushed against Thorne’s chin, the heat between them growing.
His fingers slid through the damp strands of Kaelen’s hair, tugging at the wildness there.
The feathered mask pressed against his face, barely felt now as Kaelen’s hand, still firm on his head, brushed the hair away from his cheek, his thumb trailing over Thorne’s jaw.
The motion was tender, careful, and Thorne could feel the hesitation in Kaelen’s touch, the tension in his arms, the restraint in his shoulders.
Kaelen was careful, too careful, as if trying to control the moment, trying not to force Thorne into anything.
Thorne wasn’t having any of it.
He shoved into Kaelen harder, breaking the delicate tension, his fingers raking roughly through Kaelen’s hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss.
The urgency was undeniable now, the need for more, for something that neither of them had ever allowed themselves to feel before.
Kaelen’s breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t resist.
He melted into Thorne’s grip, his body softening as their mouths moved together, the kiss becoming more fierce, more desperate.
Thorne's heart raced, his blood pounding in his veins as he tore himself from Kaelen, spinning away for just a split second, pulling back to look at him.
His hand still held tightly to his sword, the blade cold in his fist, and it wasn’t until the clang of metal hitting the ground broke through the haze of the moment that Thorne remembered it was even there.
He had dropped it, left it in the snow, and before he could think of picking it back up, Kaelen had already closed the distance.
Kaelen’s arm wrapped around Thorne’s middle, strong and unyielding, pulling him in as he bent down, their mouths meeting again in a kiss that was brutal and consuming.
The heat of Kaelen’s body pressed against him, his chest solid and unmovable, and Thorne felt the weight of the moment, of everything he was trying to resist and everything he couldn’t help but want.
The sensation of Kaelen’s hand slipping through Thorne’s hair, cradling his skull with a delicate touch that contrasted the force with which Kaelen’s body molded against his, sent a tremor through him.
Thorne could feel the raw power in Kaelen’s grip, the way he was holding him—like a man who could shatter him with a single move.
It was a power Thorne didn’t know whether to fear or crave.
The kiss grew more urgent, more demanding, as their hands roamed over each other.
Thorne’s fingers trembled, the sensations of Kaelen’s touch, his warmth, his scent, consuming him.
Kaelen’s arm wrapped tighter around him, pulling him closer, forcing him into the kiss as though it was the only thing that mattered in that moment.
And Thorne kissed him back, hard and fast, letting go of every hesitation, every doubt.
He kissed Kaelen like he had waited his whole life to do so, letting the madness and the need of it consume him.
Thorne felt the world spin around them, the cold night, the snow, the fountain—everything blurring into the distance as he lost himself in the heat of Kaelen’s mouth.
They moved together, their bodies syncing in perfect harmony, the kiss deepening until nothing else existed but them.
After a moment, Kaelen pulled back again, but even as it sent Thorne’s stomach into a delirious swoop, he didn’t go far, resting his forehead against Thorne’s as he caught his breath.
The closeness, the heat between them, buzzed in the air like static.
"By the gods, is everything a competition with you?" Kaelen’s voice was a low rasp, teasing, yet edged with something deeper.
“Saints.”
Thorne hissed in frustration, the tight coil in his gut not loosening despite the sudden distance.
He chased those grinning lips, kissing him again, more urgently now, feeling the desperate need burn through him.
“No,” he muttered against Kaelen’s mouth, his hands tangling in the other’s cloak.
“It’s your fault.
You make no sense.”
Kaelen snorted, a sound filled with amusement and something far more dangerous.
He kissed Thorne on the bridge of his masked nose, light and teasing.
Thorne retaliated, sinking his teeth into Kaelen’s bottom lip, the action quick and sharp.
A soft moan slipped past Kaelen’s lips at the bite, and just like that, he offered Thorne the boon of better access, his hands coming to rest against the nape of Thorne’s neck, pulling him down.
The world narrowed to nothing but the press of their lips, the heat of their bodies, the rush of air between them.
Thorne’s mouth roved, tasting and claiming the beast’s kiss, even as Kaelen found him there and met him, blow for blow, relentless, eager.
Kissing Kaelen was not like fighting with him or dancing with him, though it shared elements of both.
It was something like both, and neither.
A slow, clumsy meeting of lips, a wild tangle of tongues.
Had Kaelen done this before? Had he ever had the opportunity, the desire? Was he as unsure as Thorne, or was it all just a game to him? Yet still, there was the daring swipe of his tongue, the excitement in the way he met Thorne’s kiss, eager, hungry.
How he bowed to meet him, how he chased him, desperate, wild.
Willing prey, unaware of the trap.
Thorne’s pulse raced.
He could do it.
He could kill him right now.
If he wanted to.
Kaelen was so close, his hands in Thorne’s hair, his body pressed against Thorne’s, and everything felt as though it were vibrating at the edge of something dangerous.
He could reach down, slip a hand beneath his cloak, grab a knife, and end it.
The horror of the woods, the wolf king’s reign, cut short, leaving Kaelen to bleed out in the very spot where they kissed. The thrill of victory, so close Thorne could almost taste it.
Kaelen’s hands moved restlessly, caught in Thorne’s cloak, bunching the fabric, sliding over his back, pressing carefully.
Thorne didn’t care if Kaelen tore it, didn’t care if it was ripped to shreds by claws or frantic hands.
Even if it meant freezing in a snowstorm, even if the storm raged and tore at them both, he would wear Kaelen’s marks proudly.
Each bruise, each scratch, every sign of their battle, their victory.
He’d arrive at Palea’s gates, marked by Kaelen’s touch, by his scent.
His cloak in tatters, his face scratched, but alive.
He’d wear it like a badge of honor, as though it were Kaelen’s head hanging from the spikes atop the gates.
There were advantages to killing him here.
The guards knew where Kaelen was, but they weren’t here now.
If Thorne could slip out of these gardens, he could make his way to the stables with little resistance, steal a horse, and be gone.
The plan would still be in motion.
No one would know until it was too late.
But if the guards were close—if they were nearby and saw him leaving… there would be questions.
He could kill them too, but that would blow his cover.
Someone would connect the dots, someone would search for the crown prince.
The last place anyone had seen him was here, with the guards.
It was too risky.
But if they left the gardens, went somewhere darker, somewhere quieter, away from prying eyes…
Their bodies knocked together again, a harsh collision that sent a moan from Kaelen’s throat and straight into Thorne’s mouth.
Thorne caught it with his tongue, meeting Kaelen’s hunger with his own, and Kaelen’s hand pressed against the small of his back, holding him close as he slipped a knee between Thorne’s legs, deepening the contact.
Thorne’s thoughts scattered.
Could he get Kaelen to take him to his chambers? Did Kaelen want him enough? Did Thorne want him? Was he willing to risk everything—his cover, his mission—for this?
No.
He had to focus.
He couldn’t let himself get lost in this moment.
He had to push on.
With a great gasp, Thorne pried himself away, and in a voice rasping with desire, he snapped, “Do you intend to maul me in the rosebushes all night, or will you put that beastly strength of yours to better use?”
Kaelen grunted, using his fingers to slide over Thorne’s jaw, his touch cold through the gauntlet as he tilted Thorne’s head aside, pressing a soft, searing kiss to the pale curve of Thorne’s neck.
“Mmm, we could stay here,”
Kaelen murmured, his breath hot against Thorne’s skin.
“I’ve sent my guards away.
Under the moonlight, no one will disturb us.”
The kiss was a wicked thing, and as Kaelen nipped at Thorne’s jaw, kissed his ear, he could feel the pull of it. “Kaelen,”
Thorne gasped, indignation and something darker twisting through him.
“But you’re right,”
Kaelen said with a lazy, almost predatory smile.
He pressed one last heated kiss to Thorne’s throat before rising to meet him, his cool eyes now heavy-lidded, full of intention.
“If I may, I’d have you properly.
Elsewhere.”
Thorne’s breath hitched, smoldering beneath that gaze.
He leaned closer, close enough that their lips brushed.
His voice was low, rough.
“Take me.”