23. Rowan
The battlefield didn’t feel like victory.
It felt like noise slowly draining out of the world.
Smoke hung low over the broken ground, clinging to armour, hair, skin. The last echoes of steel had faded into distant groans and shouted orders that no longer mattered.
I stood still long enough for my breathing to catch up with me.
Long enough for my hands to stop shaking.
Long enough to realise...
we had won.
That should have meant something.
It didn’t feel like it did.
My blade was still in my hand when I turned.
Instinct more than thought.
Because I knew where he was before I even looked.
Caelum.
He was a few steps away, surrounded by remnants of chaos that still seemed to orbit him even in stillness.
Blood on his sleeve, not his. Dirt on his coat. The crown he never took off even in war slightly tilted now, like it had been disturbed by something heavier than impact.
His posture was perfect.
Too perfect.
Like nothing had happened.
Like everything had...
And that was when I realized...
he wasn’t breathing right.
It wasn’t obvious.
It never was with him.
But I saw it.
The slight tension in his jaw.
The way his fingers flexed once before stilling again.
The controlled pause between breaths like he was holding something in place internally.
I stepped closer without thinking.
“Caelum.”
His eyes shifted to me immediately.
Sharp.
Focused.
King first.
Everything else second.
“I’m fine,” he said before I could speak.
I frowned.
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Silence.
Just a second too long.
Then...
“I said I’m fine.”
It wasn’t convincing.
Not even slightly.
Something inside me tightened.
I didn’t like that.
Didn’t like how quickly I noticed it.
Didn’t like how automatic it was becoming to read him.
“You took the hit too late,” I said quietly.
His jaw ticked.
“I made the decision I needed to make.”
“That doesn’t mean you weren’t almost...”
I stopped.
Because finishing that sentence felt wrong.
His gaze flicked away for a fraction of a second.
Then back.
Controlled again.
“I said I’m fine,” he repeated.
But this time...
it sounded more like a wall than a statement.
I didn’t push further.
Not because I agreed.
Because I knew that tone.
So I stepped back.
Let the silence settle again.
Let the distance return.
That should have been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
Because something had shifted between us during the battle.
Not obvious.
Not visible.
But present.
Like pressure under the skin.
Like a wire pulled too tight.
And I didn’t know what to do with it.
Later, in the aftermath, when the wounded were being carried and the commanders were shouting orders that blurred together into nothing meaningful, I found him again.
He was alone.
Standing slightly away from everyone else like he always did when the world got too loud.
Except this time...
he didn’t look untouchable.
He looked… contained.
Like something inside him had been sealed too quickly.
I approached carefully.
Not like a soldier.
Not like a guard.
Just...
me.
“You should sit,” I said.
“I don’t need to.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s not mine.”
I exhaled slowly.
“That doesn’t matter.”
Silence.
Then...
“Neither does sitting.”
I paused.
Looked at him properly.
Really looked.
There it was again.
That strain.
That control holding something together that didn’t want to stay contained.
And I hated that I could see it.
Without thinking too much about it, I reached out and grabbed his arm gently, not forceful, just steady.
He stiffened immediately.
Not in resistance.
In awareness.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Making sure you don’t collapse after pretending you’re fine for too long.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“I don’t collapse.”
I almost smiled at that.
Almost.
“You nearly did earlier.”
Silence again.
Longer this time.
Then...
“…That’s not the same.”
I guided him toward a quieter area near the edge of the field where the noise dulled slightly.
He followed.
Not because he agreed.
Because he allowed it.
That was new.
We didn’t speak for a while after that.
Just stood there.
Letting the world settle into its aftermath.
And then...
I felt it before I saw it.
A presence approaching.
Familiar.
Not hostile.
But sharp.
My posture changed instinctively.
Caelum noticed immediately.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You were about to.”
I didn’t argue.
Because he was right.
The man who approached us looked older than most of the court advisors I was used to. Sharper eyes. Calm movements. The kind of presence that didn’t need volume to be noticed.
He stopped a few steps away.
Looked at Caelum first.
Then me.
Then back again.
“Interesting,” he said.
Caelum’s expression didn’t change.
“Uncle.”
So that was it.
The uncle tilted his head slightly.
“You look… unchanged.”
“I’m alive,” Caelum replied flatly. “That tends to help.”
A faint hum of amusement.
But his eyes stayed sharp.
Too sharp.
Then his gaze shifted to me.
And stayed there longer than comfortable.
“You,” he said.
I didn’t react.
“You’re the one they assigned to him.”
“That’s correct.”
A pause.
“No,” he said quietly. “That’s not all you are.”
Caelum’s attention shifted slightly.
I felt it immediately.
“What are you implying?” I asked.
The uncle smiled faintly.
“I’m not implying anything yet.”
That was worse.
He looked back at Caelum.
“You’re under strain.”
“I’m under responsibility,” Caelum corrected.
“Same thing, in different language.”
Silence.
The uncle stepped slightly closer.
Not threatening.
Observational.
“You’re hiding something,” he said finally.
Caelum didn’t move.
“I’m not.”
The uncle’s gaze flicked briefly to me again.
Like he was measuring something that didn’t have a clear shape yet.
“Yes,” he said softly. “You are.”
I felt something tighten in my chest.
Not fear.
Awareness.
Caelum’s voice dropped slightly.
“This conversation is over.”
The uncle didn’t argue.
But as he turned to leave, he spoke once more.
“Be careful what you bind yourself to, nephew.”
Then he was gone.
Silence returned.
But it wasn’t the same silence as before.
It was heavier.
More loaded.
Caelum didn’t look at me immediately.
That in itself was unusual.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
But he did.
I could feel it.
There was a pause.
Then...
“You should return to your position,” he said.
That wasn’t an answer.
It was avoidance.
I should have moved.
I did move.
But not far.
Because something else was coming.
I could feel it.
And I was right.
“Interesting choice of bodyguard,” came a voice from behind.
This time I turned fully.
Caelum’s brother.
He looked tired.
Livid.
Still holding onto something unresolved from before.
His gaze immediately landed on me.
And stayed there.
“Oh,” he said. “You’re still here.”
“I am assigned here.”
“Right,” he muttered. “Assigned.”
He stepped closer to Caelum instead.
“You’re making questionable decisions.”
Caelum didn’t respond.
His brother looked between us again.
Then smiled faintly.
Not amused.
Not kind.
“You know what people are saying, don’t you?”
“I don’t concern myself with rumours.”
“Of course you don’t.”
Then, finally...
his gaze sharpened.
Direct.
At me.
“They think you’re in love with him.”
The words landed heavy.
Not because they were true.
Because they were spoken aloud.
I exhaled slowly.
“That is incorrect.”
A short laugh.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Caelum finally spoke.
“Enough.”
But his voice...
wasn’t sharp enough.
Not entirely.
His brother looked between us again.
Then shrugged slightly.
“Just saying what people see.”
He turned away.
“Try not to let it become a problem.”
And then he was gone too.
Leaving only silence again.
I stood there for a long moment.
Feeling it.
All of it.
The shift.
The tension.
The accusation that lingered longer than it should have.
Then I looked at Caelum.
He wasn’t looking at me.
But I could see it in his expression.
Something unsettled.
Something he wasn’t saying.
“This is becoming complicated,” I said quietly.
“Yes,” he replied.
A pause.
“It already is,” I added.
He didn’t disagree.
And that...
was the first honest thing either of us had said all day.