CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX #3
“I’ve tried to understand it,” I began, without preamble, once we were alone.
“Understand what?”
“I’ve never desired… a man before. And the weight of that realization…” I paused, exhaling. “It’s taken its toll. It continues to do so.”
Lioran's eyes widened slightly—clearly, he hadn’t expected such frankness.
“I’ve questioned myself,” I continued. “Reexamined everything. My past. My sense of self. And I can tell you without any doubt that there was never any sign of this in me. Nothing to suggest I could feel this way for another… for another… man. Yet here we are.”
Lioran looked up at me, his voice quiet. “Perhaps what you feel isn’t about appearance. Perhaps it’s… about something deeper.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He turned his attention to a budding rose beside us.
“I mean that sometimes connection goes beyond form. Beyond flesh. We recognize something in another that mirrors something in ourselves—a resonance. A knowing.” He paused.
"And it has nothing to do with our outside bodies and everything to do with what's in here. " Then he held his hand over his heart.
His words settled into me like a whisper as I considered them, turning them over in my mind.
“I’ve known many men in my life—brothers in arms, friends, rivals. Never have I felt for them what I feel for you.” I stepped closer, drawn by something I still couldn’t name. “There’s something about your essence, Lioran, that calls to me... despite every conviction I’ve held about myself.”
The vulnerability of my admission startled me, but it was true. What was more, I felt more exposed in this moment than ever before.
Lioran's gaze dropped to where my shadow fell across his boots. He stared at that patch of darkness as his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts—each breath a confession his words wouldn't make.
His face remained carved from stone. Perfect. Controlled. But I caught something flash behind his eyes—a spark of fear? Or something hungrier? Whatever it was disappeared beneath layers of carefully constructed walls.
I reached for his wrist before my mind could argue against it, and my fingers closed around the skin where his pulse hammered against my thumb.
What I felt beneath my grip stopped me. His wrist was slender, the bones fine and delicate.
His hands had always seemed small, but now.
.. the contrast between my own rough, weathered fingers and his narrow wrist struck me as somehow—off.
“There’s more to you than you reveal,” I said quietly, my voice low with certainty. “I can't explain it, but I feel it all the same.”
Beneath my hand, his pulse raced like a trapped bird’s. For a moment, I thought he might jerk it away. But instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting mine with something raw and unguarded.
We stood like that for a few seconds that felt much longer, his heartbeat fluttering beneath my fingertips.
“We all have secrets,” he said softly. “But some are too dangerous to share.”
The words hovered between us—neither confession nor denial, but something heavier than both.
I searched his face—those shifting, haunting features that had slipped beneath my skin in dreams and waking hours alike. “Your secret… does it explain this... whatever this is between us?”
His eyes met mine again. “I cannot say.”
But I could. I felt something shift inside me—something that had lived in confusion now resolving into clarity. Whatever he was hiding, it was the key to this connection. The answer to why I, a man who had never desired another man, found myself haunted by Lioran's every glance, every word.
“Is it something that puts you in danger?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “Something that would see you punished if discovered? Punished or… hurt?”
His answer was simple. Quiet. “Yes.”
I released his wrist slowly, the gesture deliberate, as the implications sank in. This wasn’t some matter of silly court games. I had a feeling this was much more. Perhaps survival. Perhaps life and death.
I exhaled, and with it came a decision I hadn’t known I was making until I spoke the words aloud.
“Then don’t tell me. Not yet.”
He blinked. “You would not wish to know?”
I shook my head. “If I don’t know the truth, I can't betray it. Even by accident. And I do not wish to betray you, nor your secret, whatever it may be.”
His eyes widened slightly—clearly not the response he’d expected. Perhaps he had braced for an ultimatum. Perhaps even rejection. But instead, I gave him what I could: protection, freely offered. No conditions. No demands.
Something softened in his face then. Just a little.
And though the silence that followed said more than any words, it was the first silence between us that didn’t feel like a wall—it felt like trust.
“Why would you protect me without knowing what you’re protecting?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
I turned my gaze away, toward the castle towers visible beyond the garden walls.
Arthur was there somewhere—my king, my oldest friend, the man to whom I’d pledged my life and loyalty.
What would he think of this moment? Of my choice to shield someone who freely admitted to carrying a secret?
In my experience, secrets were the currency of danger and devastation.
And yet...
“Because,” I said finally, turning back to Lioran, “some things transcend duty and oath. This connection between us—whatever its true nature—feels like one of them.” I took a deep breath as I asked myself if that was the full truth. "And… I trust you."
He immediately looked down at the cobblestones beneath our feet, the silence stretching between us heavy but not uncomfortable. I felt its weight, but I didn’t shy away from it.
“I would protect you,” I continued, swallowing hard, “because in our conversations, in training, in the Hunt Trial... I’ve come to know your character, even if I don’t know all your circumstances.
” He raised his eyes to meet mine, and they were shimmering with emotion.
“Whatever secret you carry, Lioran, I believe it doesn’t change the person I’ve come to.
..” I hesitated, then chose my words with care. “...value greatly.”
He was silent—stunned, perhaps. But I could not match his silence—not when I felt like I'd drown if I didn't get all of this off my chest. He needed to know how I felt—even if there was nothing we could do about it. I still needed him to know.
"Whatever this secret is, I want you to keep it to yourself. And know that I respect it, but… I cannot give in to my feelings toward you. Just as you cannot give in to yours for me."
He looked up at me and nodded. “Thank you."
We stood there a few heartbeats longer until the risk of discovery called us back.
Soon, we followed the winding path that had brought us here, walking side by side.
I felt... lighter. As though something had shifted—not clarity, exactly, but acceptance.
The weight of uncertainty, once unbearable, had eased into something I could now carry.
“The eastern wall was reinforced after the storm last winter,” I remarked as we passed the newer stonework, needing to diffuse some of the heaviness between us. “The masons kept the old designs. See how the carvings echo those on the original sections?”
Our conversation flowed easily now—observations, questions, even brief moments of laughter.
It surprised me how natural it felt. I hadn’t spoken this freely with anyone in years.
Not since... well, not since a time before the crown grew so heavy on Arthur’s head.
Not since the divorce from Merlin had turned us all into stone.
When we reached the garden’s outer edge—a rise that offered a sweeping view of the distant mountains—I stopped, drawn by memories I rarely allowed myself.
“My mother came from those highlands,” I said, gesturing toward the misty blue peaks on the horizon. “She used to tell stories of spirits that guided lost travelers through the fog. Quiet protectors.”
Lioran turned to look at the mountains, then back at me. “Do you believe them?”
“I believe something saved those who were lost. Whether spirits or something else—it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
He nodded thoughtfully, not dismissing the story, not demanding an explanation. Just listening. As he always did.
As we made our way toward the more crowded paths, I felt the shift again—that inevitable return to formality, to masks and expectation. When we reached the main courtyard, we paused, exchanging the polite nods required by our stations.
But just before we parted ways, I caught myself smiling.
Not a mask. Not a courtly gesture.
A real smile.
The first in longer than I cared to remember.