Two days after Heimdall’s initial visit, he appeared again at Rory’s doorstep during family dinner, surprising both him and his mother, Ide.

“Good evening.” Heimdall in his regal blue robes and hat beamed down at mother and son. “My lady, I was wondering if I might have a word with you about your boy, young Rory here.”

Ide’s face paled. “I-I suppose.” She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, then moved aside to let the high priest in. She started to shut the door when a second, smaller figure stepped through just behind him. He was close to Rory’s age, off by just a year or two, and dressed in deep navy robes with silver embroidery that closely matched the high priest’s. His blond hair was neatly combed, and his expression was calm, assessing.

“Ah, yes,” Heimdall said, gesturing toward the boy. “I should introduce my apprentice. This is Desmond, Prince Kieran’s younger brother.”

Rory straightened at that, studying the boy with fresh curiosity. The resemblance was there—sharper cheekbones, the same gold-blond hair—but where Kieran had an undeniable, smoldering presence, Desmond carried himself with quiet intelligence.

“Rory, you two should talk,” Heimdall suggested, smiling between the two boys. “Desmond is well-versed in palace matters, and, as the prince’s brother, an expert on Prince Kieran himself.”

Desmond smirked slightly at the last part but said nothing.

Confused, Ide briefly met Rory’s eyes, then she spun around, waving a hand to send the dishes on the table flying to the sink. They stacked themselves in the basin with a clatter. “Uh, tea anyone?”

“I’ll take some,” Heimdall said cheerfully, then he squeezed Rory’s shoulder as he passed, following Ide to the table and taking a seat.

Rory was about to join the old priest—he already knew what this was about, but he figured seeing his mother’s reaction would make it all the more real. Then, he felt Desmond’s eyes on him. A bit nervous, he turned to meet his gaze.

Smiling faintly, Desmond jerked his head toward the ladder. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s talk upstairs.”

Rory hesitated, glancing at his mother, but she was too focused on making tea and listening to Heimdall’s low voice to notice. So, he wordlessly led the way up to his loft, the familiar creak of the ladder grounding him as he climbed.

Once they were settled—Rory on his bed and Desmond across from him, perched on the desk chair—Rory fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. “So… what should we talk about?”

Desmond studied him in silence for a moment and Rory continued to fidget, uncomfortable. Eventually, Desmond spoke. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, Rory. It’s alright.” His dark gaze was understanding and Rory relaxed a little, finally letting go of his sleeve. “You can ask me anything and I’ll try to answer to the best of my knowledge. I want you to know you have a friend in me. The castle can, at times, be a lonely place.”

“What is the palace like, anyway?” Rory asked, attempting to sound casual.

Desmond’s gaze flickered with amusement. “Big. Loud. Full of people who think they’re more important than they actually are.”

Rory blinked. “Sounds…overwhelming.”

Desmond shrugged. “It can be. But you’ll get used to it.”

Rory hesitated before lowering his voice. “And…Prince Kieran?”

Desmond sighed, tilting his head back. “You want the truth?”

Rory nodded.

“He’s a dick,” Desmond said bluntly. “Charming, when he wants to be, but mostly arrogant, reckless, and very, very unhappy about this marriage.”

Rory swallowed hard. He’d suspected as much, but hearing it outright still stung.

Desmond must have noticed, because his tone softened. “Look, it’s not personal. He just… doesn’t like being told what to do. Give him time. He might surprise you.”

Rory wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring or not, but it was better than nothing. Looking up shyly, he asked, “Do you live in the castle, too?”

“No, I don’t,” Desmond said gently, and Rory was instantly disappointed. “Heimdall and I share a flat in the Priesthood. It’s not far from the palace however and I’m allowed to entertain visitors when I don’t have other matters to attend to. You could stop by when time permits.”

Swallowing nervously, Rory nodded.

“Try not to look so glum,” Desmond said, and he leaned across the space between them and took one of Rory’s hands. He squeezed it warmly. “I’ll be by regularly to check on you and my asinine of a brother. Heimdall has requested it, and I’m in agreement. We aren’t going to just leave you totally on your own, Rory. I promise.”

Hesitantly, Rory squeezed Desmond’s hand in return. He was touched. Nobody had ever tried to befriend him before, and Desmond really seemed to be genuine. He actually cared. So, Rory cleared his throat and tried another question. “You’re parents…the king and queen… What are they like?”

“Stay away from my dad if you can help it,” Desmond said, his eyes narrowing. “He’s a cold, controlling man who cares more about power than family. My mom, on the other hand, she’s alright. She cares, though she’s incredibly burdened by everything. She could be an ally to you, as well.”

Rory worried his bottom lip. “Desmond, I’m really nervous about magic training. I’ve had so many problems in the past… I nearly decapitated a classmate once, and—”

Desmond caught Rory’s gaze and held it. “I know, Rory. But don’t worry. Croft, the man who will be training you, is highly experienced, and together with Kieran, who is quite powerful on his own right, they’ll come up with a schedule for you. You’ll learn to control it. Trust me.”

Rory managed a small, uncertain smile. “I hope so. It’s just hard not to doubt myself.”

Desmond’s expression grew serious as he leaned in closer. “There’s something else you should know,” he said quietly. “A girl has been chosen.”

Rory’s eyes widened. “A girl?”

“Not a real princess, mind you,” Desmond clarified. “You’re the real deal. She’s a stand-in—a fake princess to fool the villagers and the nobles. When we come back to take you to the castle, word of her selection will spread. There’ll be celebrations in the streets—a distraction so that you can move in without drawing too much attention.”

Rory’s face fell slightly. “So I have to be hidden away again? I’m already in hiding!”

Desmond’s tone was gentle but firm. “It’s not ideal, I know. You’re a part of this kingdom too, Rory. But sometimes the price of power is secrecy. And I’m sorry… I know it hurts.”

Rory’s eyes clouded with sadness as he nodded slowly. “I just wish I could be free to be who I am, without all this hiding and pretending.”

Desmond’s hand squeezed his gently. “I know, Rory. And maybe, in time, things will change. For now, just trust that you’re not alone in this. I’ll be here, Heimdall has your back, and maybe, one day, Kieran will come around, too.”

Rory let the warmth of Desmond’s grip seep into him. Despite the uncertainty, a fragile hope took root. “Okay,” he said softly, “I’ll do my best.”

“And that’s really all we can ask,” Desmond said, smiling. “We’ll be back the day after tomorrow to collect you. You’d best say your goodbyes. You won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

Rory nodded slowly as the conversation faded into thoughtful silence. He, lost in conflicted dreams of a future where secrets no longer weighed him down, and Desmond, silently vowing to help him navigate the storm that lay ahead. They continued to hold hands and Rory took strength from the other boy. In the midst of everything, he felt like maybe, he'd finally found a friend.

When Desmond left soon after, Rory didn’t even think about it, he immediately got ready for bed. One more day. While he was nervous, incredibly so, he was also eager to begin this new journey. It would be treacherous, yes, but he was ready for the challenge.

When Rory woke early the next morning, it was still dark and at first, he didn’t see Ide sitting beside his bed. But then he turned to get up and he spotted the dark-haired woman. He gasped. “Mother.”

“Rory,” Ide said somberly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No.” Rory pushed a hand through his messy hair. “I think I was having a nightmare.”

“Oh.”

“So…” Rory started. “How did your conversation go with the high priest?”

“That was most unusual having him come by,” Ide said wistfully. “I thought for sure you were going to be punished for your magical outburst the other day.”

Rory nodded in understanding.

“Instead, I find out you’ve been picked by Cian to marry Prince Kieran,” Ide said slowly. “Heimdall says he’ll be back to collect you in a day. Your training at the castle is to begin posthaste.”

Rory smiled a little. He couldn’t help it. “Desmond says I’ll finally learn to control my magic. Isn’t it exciting.”

“Yes, most exciting.” Ide’s expression became pained. “I’ve already written a letter to your father explaining that you’re leaving, but you’ll already be gone by the time he reads it.”

Rory sighed. “I know you didn’t want this to happen…”

Ide waved him off with a scowl. “What I want is irrelevant at this point. Cian already made his mind up years ago. I guess I’m just lucky I got to raise you and watch you grow into the lovely young man you are today.”

Rory blushed, but he was also beaming. “Thanks mom.”

Ide reached out and touched Rory’s cheek. She smiled gently. “I love you, Rory. I just want you to remember that.”

Rory placed a hand over his mother’s and sighed in contentment. “Love you too, mom.”

Once the conversation died down, the two of them went downstairs to start breakfast and a pot of tea. They worked together easily, and they chatted about various topics as they bustled about the kitchen. In twenty minutes time, they had prepared hearty bowls of porridge with cups of tea on the side.

They resumed talking amicably over breakfast. Both of them were in good moods despite everything and neither one of them wanted to ruin it.

Ide left promptly at 7 for the farms and Rory stayed behind to clean up. After the morning dishes were cleared and put away, he decided to sweep and mop the house. It was a task that took extra time and effort without magic, but Rory did the chore with a smile on his face. Only one more day of this. He figured he wouldn’t have to mop floors at the castle anyway.

Once he’d finished, he moved to the loom and began his weaving for the day. He was working on a beautiful blue fabric, and he enjoyed feeling the silk of it through his fingers. He was very proud of his work, and he knew Ide would be happy as well.

Around 4, Rory finished up with the loom and moved to the kitchen to start dinner. As he stood in front of a boiling pot of stew, he found his mind wandering.

Rory wondered what the inside of the castle would look like, and where he’d sleep and what he’d eat while he was there. He wondered about the new people he’d meet and especially, he wondered about Prince Kieran and what their relationship would be like. He’d only ever seen the prince from afar, so just being in his presence alone would be exciting enough for little Rory. He wondered what kind of magic they would learn together and what their training would look like. He was vibrating with excitement by the time dinner was finished and he was setting the table.

Ide came in the front door just as Rory was serving himself some dinner. She got herself a bowl of stew as well and sat tiredly at the head of the table. Rory wanted to talk about his new and exciting life with the royals, but he held off. Ide was in a somber mood and Rory had a feeling it was because of him, so he kept the conversation light.

After dinner, Ide jumped on sewing while Rory grabbed a book and curled up in front of the fire to read. They sat peacefully for a couple hours. It was nearly 8 o’clock when Ide finally said she was going to bed. She certainly looked tired enough, so Rory didn’t comment. While Ide slipped into the back to lay down, Rory finished his book. He wanted the other freshen up for the coming morning, so he took a quick bath, got into his nightgown, then combed out his hair.

For a long time, Rory stared up into the dark rafters of the straw ceiling above him. His mind started wandering again and finally he pulled up the last memory he had of Prince Kieran. Just months ago, at his crowning ceremony, Rory had caught a glimpse of the prince over the heads of the teeming crowd of villagers. He was so devastating handsome and even in the memory, Rory had been in awe of him.

Rory was still just as in awe of the older boy, but now he also had a healthy sense of curiosity. He wanted to know everything about the prince; he couldn’t wait to meet him. They were destined for each other. Surely, Cian knew what he was doing.

Settling comfortably into his pillow, Rory smiled softly to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

***

The midday sun hung high in the sky when Heimdall and Desmond arrived at Rory’s doorstep. Rory was already waiting, and he hurried to answer the door. His mother was at work, and though he’d known she wouldn’t be here to say goodbye, the realization still stung. But there was no turning back now.

“You’re ready?” Heimdall asked, studying Rory closely.

Rory nodded. “Yeah.”

Desmond arched a brow. “Is that all you’re bringing? Just the one bag.”

Rory nodded. “I don’t need much. Just some spare clothes.” He glanced back at the house one last time, his expression unreadable.

Desmond and Heimdall exchanged a look, but neither commented. Instead, Heimdall lifted his hand and muttered a spell under his breath. A faint shimmer passed over the three of them, like heat rising from a fire.

“A simple disguise,” Heimdall explained. “It won’t make us invisible, but it’ll keep people from staring too hard.”

Rory swallowed and fell into step beside them as they started toward the castle. It was a lengthy walk, and all the way, the streets were alive with celebration—streamers hung between buildings, and people gathered in clusters, talking excitedly. Laughter rang out from a group of children waving little banners, and as they passed, Rory caught snippets of conversation.

“Did you hear? The princess—”

“—arrived this morning, they say she’s beautiful—”

“Finally, a true royal—”

Rory’s stomach twisted. His heart pounded as the reality of it all settled deeper into his bones. The fake princess was already at the castle. Whoever she was, she had the entire village enchanted. And he… he was nothing more than a secret.

Desmond must have sensed his unease, because he nudged Rory’s shoulder. “Almost there,” he murmured. “Deep breaths.”

The towering castle gates loomed ahead. As they passed through, the noise of the city celebrations faded, replaced by the heavy quiet of the palace courtyard. Servants bustled around, but no one paid them any mind.

Inside, the main hall was just as intimidating as Rory had imagined—high ceilings, marble floors, and a cold grandeur that sent a shiver down his spine. Standing at the center, waiting with obvious impatience, was a thin, sharp-faced man in deep green robes. His narrow eyes swept over them, barely concealing his distaste when they landed on Rory.

“Gavin,” Heimdall greeted smoothly.

“My Lord,” Gavin said stiffly, bowing his head to Heimdall before cutting his sharp gaze back to Rory. “So. This is him.”

Rory didn’t like the way he said it, like he was something unpleasant tracked in from the street.

“This is Prince Rory,” Heimdall corrected, his tone even but firm.

Gavin’s lips pressed together, but he only turned on his heel. “The King is waiting.”

Rory didn’t miss the way Gavin purposefully kept his pace quick, forcing him to hurry to keep up.

Desmond, at his side, muttered, “Try not to take it personally. He doesn’t like anyone who isn’t kissing my dad’s boots.”

Rory swallowed. “Comforting.”

They passed through grand corridors, each more lavish than the last. Servants scurried by, sparing Rory only quick glances before lowering their heads. The deeper they went, the heavier the air felt, and the knot in Rory’s stomach pulled tighter.

Eventually, Gavin came to a sharp stop before a set of towering doors. He turned, looking down his nose at Rory. “You will speak only when spoken to,” he instructed. “Do not waste His Majesty’s time with pointless questions. Do not—”

Desmond rolled his eyes. “We get it, Gavin. Can we just go in?”

Gavin scowled at being interrupted but turned sharply on his heel and pushed open the heavy doors.

The throne room stretched before them, grand and intimidating, bathed in golden light. And at the far end, draped lazily in his throne, was King Lachlan.

Rory inhaled sharply, straightening his shoulders.

No turning back now.

“My lord, this is the boy,” Gavin said, and Rory felt the heavy gaze of the king when it landed on him.

“Smaller than I thought he’d be,” Lachlan said dryly. “And with that hair, he almost looks like a girl.”

Rory flushed all over in embarrassment.

“Dad,” Desmond hissed, crossing his arms disapprovingly.

Lachlan waved him off then aggressively caught Rory’s eyes again. “A set of ground rules, boy… You are to remain inside the castle at all times,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with authority. “You are to attend all your lessons, promptly and without complaint. And above all, you will obey without question. Do you understand?”

Rory swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You will be marrying my son in two months,” Lachlan continued. “Directly after, I’ll want a full progress report on all your lessons to date and I’ll warn you now, I have exceedingly high expectations.”

“O-okay...”

Lachlan’s piercing gaze held him in place for another moment before flicking away, as if already losing interest. Then, the heavy doors behind them burst open.

A gust of cool air rushed in as a tall, blond, incredibly handsome young man strode into the room, his dark cloak billowing behind him. Rory turned instinctively, and the moment his gaze locked with the blond’s, everything changed.

A force slammed into his chest, and it was tangible, undeniable, excruciating, a literal stake being driven through his heart. His breath hitched, and his body tensed as the stake began to pull him, an incredibly painful sensation that made him whimper out loud, toward the other boy. Rory’s very soul seemed to lurch forward, desperate to bridge the sudden, agonizing distance between them and he didn’t know what to do.

Prince Kieran stopped short, eyes widening in alarm as he pressed a hand to his chest. “What the fuck.” He sucked in a sharp breath, his expression twisting with something between confusion and discomfort. “What the hell’s going on?”

Rory barely heard him. His hands trembled at his sides, his whole body aching with the need to be closer to him. It hurt to resist, deep in his chest a physical, searing pain ate away at him.

Heimdall, ever composed, sighed. “The bond has activated.”

Lachlan’s gaze sharpened, but he said nothing as he watched the two boys react.

“The connection will be painful at first,” Heimdall continued, directing his words at Kieran. “It will lessen in time, but for now, you’ll find it…difficult to be apart.”

Kieran sneered, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off the sensation, but his fingers trembled just the same. “That’s ridiculous.” His glare flicked back to Rory, whose eyes were welling up with tears from the intensity of it all and Kieran scoffed. “Are you crying? Gods, are you a child?”

Rory flinched, biting his lip to keep from outright sobbing. It was too much. The King’s scathing gaze, the painful tugging sensation in his chest, Kieran’s immediate disgust—he felt utterly helpless. A single tear rolled down his rounded cheek.

Desmond took a step forward, his expression hardening. “Lay off, Kieran,” he snapped. “It’s not like he asked for this.”

“Oh, and I did?” Kieran let out a humorless laugh. “Come on, Des. Look at him—he’s already a mess. How the hell is this supposed to be my future wife?”

Rory wanted to disappear. Beside him, Heimdall clasped his shoulder in support, but he had never felt so stupid before in his life.

The king’s voice cut through the tension. “Enough.”

Kieran huffed but said nothing.

Lachlan turned his attention back to Rory. “He needs to be fitted for new robes immediately.”

Gavin sniffed in agreement. “And he’ll need a haircut, Your Majesty. I’ll see to it myself.”

Wiping his tears away, Rory stiffened. His hair? Hesitantly, he touched the ends of his silky locks.

Heimdall nodded. “Then we should be on our way. Come along, Desmond.”

Rory looked toward the younger boy, who offered a reassuring nod. “I’ll see you soon, Rory.”

“Yeah…” Rory swallowed, forcing a smile. “See you.”

Desmond briefly took Rory’s trembling hand as he passed, smiling one last time, then he and Heimdall swept from the room.

Forcing back his overwhelmed tears, Rory turned back to find Kieran staring at him, his jaw clenched. He felt his irritation through the bond, a sharp edge against his already raw emotions. But there was something else there, too. Possession.

His jaw working, Kieran let out an aggravated sigh and muttered, “Guess I’m tagging along then. Great. Let’s just get this over with….”

And then Kieran stepped closer, the distance between them closing—but not nearly fast enough. With his heart pounding, Rory watched, wide-eyed, as Kieran walked right up to him and stopped just inches away.

“Funny,” he muttered, looking down at Rory as the pain in his chest finally started to subside. “You’re exactly how I imagined you be.”

“You-you imagined me?” Rory whispered, and suddenly, his heart was all a flutter. It was a completely different feeling from the pain of the bond, but still very intense. Nervous, he licked his lips.

Kieran’s vibrant green eyes tracked the movement and Rory felt a confused rush of arousal flood through the bond. His own blue eyes widened dramatically in response, not sure he’d really just felt what he’d felt.

“I had a vision, too,” Kieran said in a low, intense voice, his eyes gleaming. “One where you were the cause of my death.”

Rory gasped.

Kieran looked him over slowly, a sneer curling his lips. But even as his expression outwardly showed disgust, another wave of arousal spiked through the bond. “I’ve got my eye on you, kid,” he said resentfully. “And I’m not going to let this stupid bond control me. I’m in charge of my own fate.”

Rory blinked back at him, totally overwhelmed, his heart flopping with all the confused emotions rushing through his little body. But before he could think of a response, Gavin loudly cleared his throat.

Both boys looked around to see the man standing at the door, impatiently tapping his foot.

“C’mon,” Kieran grumbled, then he closed a large hand around Rory’s bicep and yanked him out of the room.

Rory barely had time to process what was happening before Gavin was leading the way, briskly navigating the castle corridors. The halls were grand, lined with towering columns and elaborate tapestries, but Rory barely saw any of it—his entire body was focused on the force tethering him to Kieran. With the Prince’s hand around him, he felt warm and protected. It was strangely pleasant. He’d never felt connected to someone like this before.

Kieran must have felt it too because he firmed his grip on Rory’s arm and held on tightly as they walked behind Gavin. He didn’t say anything, but the bond bounced a faint contentment between them.

Soon, they reached a side hall, where a group of castle attendants waited outside a chamber. As soon as Gavin stopped, the servants bowed and rushed to open the doors.

“This will be your dressing chamber,” Gavin said, ushering Rory inside. Kieran seemed almost reluctant to do so, but he released Rory and nudged him inside. Immediately, the pain started again in Rory’s chest as he stepped further into the expansive room, lined with wardrobes and mirrors, a cushioned stool in the center. Kieran leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed. From the pinched look on his face, he felt the pain too, but he made no move to come closer.

“Get him measured, get him dressed, and get rid of that awful hair,” Gavin instructed the attendants with a wave of his hand.

Rory instinctively touched his glossy locks. He wanted to protest, but his throat closed up.

One of the attendants gestured for Rory to step forward. “We’ll begin with measurements, my lord.”

My lord. The title sounded so foreign that Rory almost didn’t react. Then he snapped to attention and stretched his arms out for the attendant.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the nearest mirror as he stood, getting measured—his simple tunic and tousled hair, the way he was standing there looking so lost—and panic started to rise in his belly.

The attendants moved quickly, taking Rory’s measurements with expert efficiency. He barely had time to process his feelings before they were draping fine fabrics over his shoulders, discussing colors and embroidery as if he wasn’t even there.

Through it all, the bond tugged mercilessly at his chest, each moment apart from Kieran an agonizing stretch of resistance. Rory tried not to fidget, but he could feel Kieran’s presence at the edge of the room, and worse—he could feel Kieran watching him.

It wasn’t just arousal and frustration anymore. It was curiosity mixed with uncertainty, pity, maybe the tiniest bit of fear—but also something warmer, something darker…

Every time Rory shifted, he felt Kieran’s gaze follow, and when one of the attendants brushed too close, straightening the fit of a robe over his shoulders, the bond tightened possessively.

Kieran made a sound as he watched from the door—an exhale, sharp and impatient—but he didn’t move. His eyes narrowed. The fierce emotion felt exactly like earlier when Desmond had touched Rory’s hand and a shiver ran through the terrified boy before he could stop it.

Rory wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not. The arousal. The possessiveness. The heat curling between them like an unspoken force. There were so many confusing emotions passing between them, he didn’t dare look at Kieran directly, afraid of what he’d see in his expression. He was scared and he didn’t know what to make of Kieran’s powerful reactions.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Gavin clapped his hands. “That’s enough of this nonsense. Just pick a robe and be done with it.” He waved a dismissive hand at Rory before turning to the attendants. “And shave his hair off while you’re at it.”

Rory went rigid, fingers clenching the fabric at his sides. But before he could even process the horror of that command, Kieran stepped forward.

“No.”

The word was sharp, final.

Gavin blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said no,” Kieran repeated, his voice colder. “We’re not shaving it off.”

The attendants hesitated, looking between them uncertainly.

Gavin scowled. “The king ordered him to be cleaned up. He’ll look more presentable with a clean shave—”

“I like it long,” Kieran interrupted smoothly. “Trim it. Make it look less like a rat’s nest, but we’re keeping the length.”

Rory’s breath hitched. He couldn’t believe it. Was Kieran standing up for him?

Gavin looked seconds away from arguing, but something in Kieran’s expression made him think better of it. Instead, he exhaled sharply and muttered, “Fine. Trim it, then. Just get on with it.”

Kieran’s eyes lingered on Rory for a moment before he turned away, as if bored with the whole affair. But there was a satisfaction there, subtle but unmistakable.

As the attendants led Rory to a chair and began their careful work, Rory couldn’t help but feel something strange bubbling in his chest.

Approval.

It was small, fleeting, but it was there.

And despite everything—he found himself grateful for it.

 

*~~KxR~~*

 

When the attendants finished with Rory, the little village boy stepped up shyly to the mirror to see the final results. Kieran loomed behind him, studying the boy’s reflection from just over his shoulder.

Rory looked… good.

More than good, actually.

The deep crimson robes clung to his small frame, the embroidered gold threading along the edges catching the dim candlelight. The newly trimmed hair, neatly styled about his face, framed his delicate features in a way that made Kieran's stomach clench for an entirely different reason than irritation. The blue of Rory’s eyes—Cian’s mercy, they were so blue—stood out starkly against the regal colors, wide and uncertain as he assessed himself.

Kieran swallowed, barely restraining the frustrated sound threatening to claw its way out of his throat.

Fuck. This was bad.

It wasn’t just attraction, though that was bad enough. It was a suffocating need, an ache that had been gnawing at him since the second their bond had activated. Every fiber of his being wanted to claim Rory, to touch him, to make sure no one else dared look at him this way.

Kieran clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t some lovesick idiot, drawn to a boy he was meant to dispose of. And yet, his fingers twitched with the desire to bury themselves in Rory’s newly trimmed hair, to feel its softness for himself. His gaze dipped lower—to the elegant fit of the robes, to the exposed curve of Rory’s throat where the fabric folded just right. He imagined leaving a mark there, just to see how Rory would react.

No. No, no, no. He wasn’t doing this. This was the bond talking. Not him. He was stronger than this.

He’d already decided what would happen. The kid was going to die. That was the plan. And yet—why did it feel like someone was flaying his fucking skin off every time they were separated?

Rory shifted, adjusting the hem of his sleeve, and Kieran felt it through the bond—his nerves, his quiet hope for approval. He should have let the silence linger, let Rory squirm. Instead, his treacherous mouth betrayed him.

"It’s better," Kieran muttered.

Rory startled slightly, looking at Kieran through the mirror, his eyes so innocently alluring. His fingers stilled against the fabric, his small mouth parting slightly in surprise.

And for a moment, Kieran just… stared. Then realized what he’d just said.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Gavin’s sharp voice cut through the thick, suffocating tension. “Finally. We’re done here. Let’s get moving.”

Kieran jerked himself back to reality, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth ached. He had to put distance between them before this got worse. Before he said more things he shouldn’t. Before he revealed even more of his vulnerable emotions. He turned sharply on his heel, ignoring the vicious pull in his chest as he stepped away. “Gavin,” he gritted out. “Take him to his chambers.”

Rory flinched at the sudden coldness in Kieran’s voice.

Gavin, looking equally surprised, blinked. “Aren’t you escorting him yourself?”

Kieran was already striding toward the door. “No.”

The pain was immediate.

A spear of pure agony slammed through his ribcage, the magic of the bond twisting, pulling, demanding. Kieran clenched his fists, barely swallowing down a curse as the pain intensified with every step away from Rory.

"K-Kieran—" Rory gasped behind him, voice small and trembling.

Kieran stopped short in the doorway, his entire body rigid with pain, his breathing uneven. The bond wasn't letting up. If anything, it was getting worse the further he moved.

Cian’s mercy, he was going to lose his fucking mind…

With a violent growl of frustration, Kieran whirled around—his furious green eyes slamming into Rory’s stunned blue ones.

The room went dead silent.

For several unbearable seconds, Kieran did nothing but glare at the helpless boy before him, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“My prince, the king expects you at family dinner tonight,” Gavin said into the awkward silence. “Do try to be on time. Your father is expecting you.”

Kieran’s lip curled. His father would be testing him, of course. Wanting to see him resist the bond. He’d planned on Lachlan keeping an eye on him, but the bond, the utter and devastating strength of it, hadn’t been planned for. Nobody had mentioned how fucking painful it was going to be.

Without another word, he stormed out of the room. Frustrated, angry, betrayed in a weird way, just a whole slew of ugly, bitter emotions.

Back in his own chambers, he slammed the door shut behind him and leaned against it, his breath coming much faster than it should. His skin felt too tight, his thoughts running in circles. The moment he’d put distance between himself and Rory, the pain had sharpened and now it twisted through his chest, an unbearable pull that made him restless, irritable. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal.

Two hours passed like that. Two hours of fighting, of trying to distract himself, of pretending he wasn’t coming undone over some pathetic village boy. But it was useless. He could still feel Rory—his presence in the castle, his absence at his side. The bond was winning.

“Fuck this,” Kieran muttered under his breath. He checked the time before deciding he’d head down to the dining hall. He shoved open his door then stormed down the corridor.

Halfway to the dining hall, he ran into Scarlet.

Scarlet’s perfectly glossed lips curled into a smirk the moment she spotted him. "There you are," she purred, pushing off the stone wall like she’d been waiting for him. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me, darling."

Kieran barely heard her. He was too caught up in the sharp relief he’d felt the moment he stepped out of his chambers. The pain in his was slowly chest lessening—it wasn’t vanishing completely, but it was bearable again. He gritted his teeth.

It was because he was closer to Rory now…

Scarlet took his distraction as an opening, sidling up to him and draping herself against his arm like they were old lovers. "You missed me, didn’t you?" Her nails scraped lightly over the sleeve of his tunic. "We should make up for lost time tonight."

Kieran clenched his jaw, feeling nothing from the girl’s closeness.

Before—before the bond, before Rory—Scarlet had been something, even if only for a minute. A welcome distraction, a way to vent his frustrations. He hadn’t cared much for her beyond that, but at least she’d been entertaining.

Now, she was just in the way.

Still, he knew better than to shove her off. His father was already watching him closely. The last thing he needed was for Lachlan taking note of any hesitation on his part. He’d think Kieran was weak and he’d be so, so disappointed.

So, with every ounce of patience he didn’t have, Kieran exhaled sharply and let Scarlet cling to him.

Scarlet preened at his lack of resistance, her fingers skimming down his arm as they walked down the wide corridor. "I’ll be joining you for dinner tonight," she announced, her voice laced with amusement. "I assume that’s not a problem?"

Kieran didn’t answer.

Because the moment they stepped into the dining hall, he forgot she even existed.

The dining hall was exactly as he remembered it. Cold. Suffocating. A place he actively avoided unless summoned.

Lachlan sat at the head of the long, polished table, his expression unreadable as he cut neatly into his meal. Across from him, Queen Gemma sat poised and quiet, her calculating eyes flickering to Kieran the second he entered.

Kieran strode across the room and took the seat nearest his father. Scarlet wasted no time, sliding into the chair right beside him, leaving no space for Rory.

Kieran stiffened, frustrated.

Scarlet, oblivious—or worse, pleased—pressed closer, the warmth of her body against his side unwelcome. She poured herself a glass of wine, her fingers lingering on his forearm as she did.

Kieran felt nothing. Nothing except for the gnawing awareness that Rory was missing.

As the meal began, conversation remained surface-level. Lachlan asked about Kieran’s training, about palace security, about the upcoming military campaigns. Kieran answered mechanically, his thoughts elsewhere. The pain wasn’t unbearable yet, but it was making it hard to concentrate, making hard to chew and eat. It was nagging. An ever-present pressure in his chest, a dull, insistent ache that was only grow stronger the longer he was apart from—

The doors creaked open.

Kieran didn’t even pretend not to care. His head snapped up the second Rory stepped into the room and the effect was instant.

The dull ache in his chest started to fade and finally, his breath evened out.

Rory entered hesitantly, his small hands clutching at his sleeves, his gaze flickering across the room, taking everything in. His posture was stiff, his nerves obvious—but what stood out most was the way his bright blue eyes landed on Scarlet.

More specifically—the way Scarlet was pressed up against Kieran’s side.

A flicker of hurt crossed Rory’s expression. He quickly masked it, lowering his gaze, but Kieran felt it through the bond. The sharp, stinging ache of jealousy, of quiet betrayal.

And for some reason, that fucking bothered Kieran.

Scarlet, ever the opportunist, noticed. She smiled sweetly at Rory. "Oh, look at you," she mused. "Finally looking somewhat presentable."

Rory flushed red, and Kieran felt a fresh wave of anger rise.

Then, Rory, his adorable, flustered little bride, tilted his head, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile, he said lightly. “You look nice, too, Scarlet. The new wig suits you.”

The entire room fell silent. Kieran choked on his drink while beside him Scarlet went rigid, her face draining of color. Lachlan paused mid-bite, his brows raising slightly. Gemma stifled a smirk.

Scarlet, her fingers curling into fists against the table, snapped: "Excuse me?"

Rory’s expression remained polite. "Your wig," he repeated, batting his lashes. "It almost looks better than the real thing.”

Kieran bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep from grinning.

Scarlet’s entire face flushed a deep, furious red. Kieran wasn’t exactly sure what she and Rory were talking about, but Rory had obviously got Scarlet in a soft spot and from the way Scarlet’s eyes blazed, she knew it too.

"Little wretch," she hissed under her breath, so quiet only Kieran could hear.

Rory simply turned to Gemma, ignoring the girl completely. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice soft but steady. "Thank you for having me."

Gemma gave him a kind smile, one of genuine warmth, and Kieran felt something in his chest unclench. Rory was relieved.

Lachlan, however, was watching Kieran closely.

As if he’d been waiting for the perfect moment, the king casually commented, "You look uncomfortable, Kieran."

Kieran’s teeth ground together.

Lachlan smirked. "The pain must be unbearable, hmm?"

Kieran’s temper spiked.

"Yeah, actually!" he barked, slamming his goblet onto the table. "Thanks for the fucking warning!"

Gemma sighed heavily. "Lachlan…"

But Lachlan, completely unbothered, calmly sliced into his meat. "It wouldn’t have been so painful if it had activated at the proper age," he drawled. "But now, well. It’s all… backed up."

Kieran’s entire body went rigid. "Backed up?" What the fuck did that even mean? Either way, he’d never wanted to strangle his father more.

But the worst part?

The worst fucking part?

Rory was far away. Sitting at the end of the table near Gemma, too far to dull the bond’s ache completely.

It wasn’t agonizing. But it was there. A slow, itching need under his skin. A pull that made his fingers twitch.

And Lachlan was enjoying every second of it. He took another calm sip of wine. "Perhaps we should do something about it," he mused. "Speed up the settling process."

Kieran’s stomach sank. "What the hell does that mean?"

Lachlan’s eyes gleamed. "You’ll be sharing quarters tonight."

Silence.

Rory visibly froze. Scarlet’s head snapped up in horror. Even Gemma looked a little uneasy. But before anyone could protest—

"Sounds good," Kieran cut in sharply, shoving back his chair.

Everyone stilled.

Scarlet sputtered. "Kieran—"

But Kieran was already on his feet, striding around the table toward Rory. He grabbed the smaller boy’s wrist firmly, pulling him up.

Rory squeaked in surprise.

Kieran turned to Lachlan, his emerald eyes flashing. "Anything else?"

Lachlan smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "No. That will be all."

"Good," Kieran growled.

And without another word, he yanked Rory out of the room.

Scarlet’s stunned silence followed them. Gemma’s hidden smirk lingered. And Lachlan, with cold amusement, simply watched them go.

Kieran didn’t stop walking until they were deep in the East Wing, Rory’s soft pants the only sound besides their hurried footsteps against the stone floor. He barely noticed when they reached his chambers—he just pushed the door open and yanked Rory inside after him before slamming it shut.

The silence was immediate.

The pain was gone.

For the first time since their bond had activated, the relentless ache, the constant pressure gnawing at his chest, vanished.

Kieran exhaled sharply, his grip on Rory loosening just slightly. He felt good, like he could finally breathe properly again.

Rory, still caught in his grasp, looked completely lost.

“U-um…” he hesitated, glancing around the room, his free hand fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe. “S-so, we really have to sleep together?”

Kieran let go of him instantly, taking a quick step back. “You’re the one who wouldn’t stop crying over the pain,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “I figured this was the best way to shut you up.”

Rory flushed red, his mouth opening, then snapping shut. He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he bit his lip and looked away.

Kieran’s eyes zeroed in on the way his pink lips plumped under his white teeth.

Fuck.

Clearing his throat, he turned sharply toward the fireplace. “Just… get comfortable or something.”

Rory hesitated but eventually shuffled toward one of the chairs by the fire. Kieran could feel his hesitation through the bond, the way he was still so unsure, still wary of him.

Good. He should be.

The bond might be twisting him inside out, but Kieran was still dangerous. Still Kieran.

The kid would do well to remember that.

A few moments passed in silence before Rory suddenly mumbled, “I didn’t even get to eat dinner…”

Kieran stiffened.

Rory wasn’t looking at him when he said it—just absently rubbing at his arms, staring down at the rug beneath his feet like he regretted saying anything at all.

Kieran clenched his jaw.

He hated this. Hated feeling anything about it. He should’ve ignored it. Should’ve let him starve.

Instead, before he could stop himself, he turned toward the door and barked, “You. Get in here.”

The door cracked open immediately, and one of his personal attendants, a middle-aged man named Henrik, stepped inside, bowing deeply. “Your Highness.”

“Bring food,” Kieran ordered curtly. “Something light.”

Henrik glanced at Rory—who was very obviously not supposed to be in the East Wing—but didn’t question it. “At once, Your Highness.”

As soon as the door shut behind him, Kieran regretted it.

Rory looked at him with wide, stupidly grateful eyes. “Oh,” he said softly. “Um… thank you.”

Kieran rolled his eyes, turning back toward the fire. “Don’t get used to it.”

But despite his sharp tone, something about it felt good.

The fact that Rory had no one else to rely on. The fact that Kieran was the one taking care of him now. The fact that Rory was his.

He didn’t understand it. Didn’t like it. And yet, when Henrik returned moments later, setting down a plate of roasted meat, bread, and cheese in front of Rory, Kieran felt satisfied. Like he’d just claimed something.

Fuck… he was fucking losing it.

Rory wasted no time, reaching eagerly for the food. Kieran took the seat across from him, watching in tense silence as the boy picked apart the meat first, chewing thoughtfully.

He shouldn’t have been watching him like this. Shouldn’t have been taking in every detail—the way Rory’s lips parted slightly when he chewed, the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the way he sat with his legs tucked beneath him, so soft, so fucking delicate.

He was beautiful.

The bond had already been driving him insane, making him obsess over Rory for days before they’d even met, making him dream up images and weird visions. And now that he was actually here?

Kieran felt like he was being consumed. A slow smirk curled at the edges of his lips. Untouched. That was the word that stuck in his mind. Rory was completely untouched. He could tell. Not just from the innocent way Rory carried himself, but from the way the bond whispered it to him. He knew, instinctively, that no one had ever had him. No one had ever touched him. And that… That did something to Kieran. He felt powerful.

It wasn’t just the bond making Rory his. It was the fact that Kieran would be the first. If he wanted to be. If he gave in.

His hands twitched against his knees.

Fuck.

He had to stop this.

Kieran tore his gaze away, dragging a hand down his face. This was the bond talking. Not him. Not his real desires.

He needed to fight this.

“Are you done yet?” he asked gruffly, eyes locked firmly on the fire.

Rory blinked, chewing the last bit of bread. “Um, yeah. Thank you again.”

Kieran grunted in response, then abruptly stood, shrugging his outer robe off as an afterthought. “We’ve got an early morning tomorrow. Training with Croft. We’re going to sleep now.”

Rory’s face burned red. “T-together?”

Kicking off his boots, Kieran shot him a withering look. “Obviously.”

Rory fidgeted, eyes darting to the massive bed across the room. “…Where do I—?”

Kieran rolled his eyes. “The bed, idiot.”

Rory turned scarlet.

Kieran ignored him, stalking toward the bed and collapsing onto the mattress without another word. He turned his back to Rory, pulling the covers up roughly. “Hurry up and get in before I change my mind.”

A long pause.

Then the sound of hesitant shuffling as the other boy got similarly undressed.

Suddenly, the bed dipped slightly as Rory climbed in, moving cautiously, like Kieran was some kind of beast that would snap at him if he got too close. He settled about two feet away then mercifully, fell still.

Kieran didn’t move. Neither did Rory.

Neither of them spoke.

It was awkward.

Painfully so.

But Kieran shut his eyes and forced his breathing to even and beside him, Rory did the same.

And after a while, despite everything—despite how fucking weird this was—Kieran fell asleep easier than he had in years.

***

Kieran woke up warm.

Comfortable.

Which was wrong.

He never woke up feeling this rested. Never woke up feeling this at peace.

Something was off.

His eyes flickered open, the early morning light barely filtering through the heavy curtains.

And then he realized.

Rory was curled against him.

Right up against him.

His small frame was pressed into Kieran’s side, his face buried in the crook of Kieran’s shoulder. His arms were tucked between them, soft breaths ghosting over Kieran’s skin.

Kieran’s heart nearly stopped.

His entire body went still.

For a long moment, he did nothing.

Just… lay there.

Just felt.

Rory was so small. So soft. His body molded perfectly against Kieran’s like he belonged there.

Something tightened in Kieran’s chest. For just a second, he let himself enjoy it. For just a second, he let himself imagine what it would be like if he wasn’t fighting this.

If he gave in.

If he kept Rory.

His fingers twitched against the sheets, tempted to move. To touch. To claim.

He looked down at Rory’s plump red lips, his green eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he imagined kissing—

Then Rory stirred.

Kieran snapped out of it immediately.

The moment Rory shifted, blinking up at him sleepily, Kieran jerked away like he’d been burned. His pulse was racing. His breathing too quick. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I—” Kieran stumbled out of bed. “We should order breakfast. Then we need to get to the training room.”

Rory, still half-asleep, blinked in confusion, sitting up in a pool of blankets. “W-what?”

“Breakfast,” Kieran repeated, forcing himself to sound normal. “Croft is waiting.”

Rory yawned, rubbing at his eyes. “Oh. Okay.”

Kieran nodded sharply, refusing to look at him.

Because if he did—if he let himself think about Rory’s lips for even one more second—

He might not be able to keep fighting this.

Breakfast arrived in a hurry and Rory took his plate by the fireplace, munching on his toast while Kieran sat across from him on the bed, arms crossed as he nursed his mug of coffee, watching the other boy carefully through lidded eyes.

He still didn’t know what to do with him.

The bond was making one thing excruciatingly clear though—Rory was his.

But what the fuck did that mean?

For the first time in years, Kieran didn’t have all the answers.

“I—I don’t know if I’m ready,” Rory suddenly murmured, breaking the silence. He set the last of his toast aside and pushed it away with a somber look on his little face.

Kieran arched a brow. “Ready for what?”

Rory shifted, his fingers twisting in his robe. “Magic training.”

Kieran frowned. “Why wouldn’t you be? You need it.”

“I know,” Rory admitted. “But… I’ve had problems before. Bad ones.”

Kieran leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “Like what?”

“I mean, besides the time when I was eleven and almost decapitated my classmate?” Rory laughed nervously and Kieran gave him a blank look, waiting for him to continue. Rory hesitated, then sighed, staring at his hands as he spoke. “I started a fire once,” he said quietly. “At the tailor’s shop in the village. I was a kid—six, maybe seven. It was winter, and I was cold. I just… thought about warmth. And then the next thing I knew, the curtains were on fire. The whole shop nearly burned down before the villagers got to it.”

Kieran studied him, intrigued. “What else?”

Rory bit his lip, clearly reluctant. But after a moment, he continued. “Another time, I was maybe eight? There was a drought,” he admitted. “We had no rain for nearly two months. The crops were dying, and the livestock were struggling. My father was worried. He told me not to use magic, but I thought—” He swallowed. “I thought I could help.”

Kieran smirked. “Let me guess. You overdid it?”

Rory winced. “Yeah. A lot.”

Kieran’s brows rose. “What happened?”

Rory huffed out a breath. “It rained. But it wouldn’t stop. The clouds wouldn’t go away, no matter what I did. The river flooded, and some of the crops got washed away. The farmers had to do extra work just to save what they could.”

Kieran whistled low. “Damn.”

Rory hid his face in his hands. “I know. It was awful.”

“Anything else?” Kieran asked boredly.

“I nearly killed an entire flock of sheep and a group of working boys when I was doing chores in the barns. I was around ten,” Rory said in a little voice, his head hanging. “The other boys were teasing me, as usual, and I was just trying to speed up my cleaning duties with one of my mom’s handy spells. Unfortunately, I overdid it again, and brought half the roof crashing down in the process, sending everyone inside, boys and sheep alike, screaming, bleating, and running for their lives.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I finally decided to stop using my magic completely,” Rory said, and there was a sorrow in his voice that made Kieran’s smirk fade away. “I’ve been hiding my magic for the past three years. Last week was the first time I’d used in in a long time, and I hurt people.” He shook his head. “The villagers already hated me. But after last week, I was banned from school, my parents were punished with extra work and I was forced to stay hidden in my house… I was a prisoner. Locked away because of what I freak of nature I am. A spawn of Oeus.”

Kieran didn’t know why, but hearing about Rory’s struggles—his fear of his own power, the hatred of the other villagers, the helplessness in his voice—something about it rubbed him the wrong way. Rory was indeed strong. Kieran could feel it. There was raw potential inside him, burning just beneath the surface, like a wildfire waiting for direction. And no one had taught him how to control it?

The fuck had Heimdall been doing all these years? Letting him flounder like this?

“Alright,” Kieran said finally, stretching his legs out in front of him. “So you’ve fucked up before. Big deal.”

Rory gaped at him. “Big deal?”

Kieran shrugged. “Magic isn’t easy. And if you’re strong—and you are—it’s going to be even harder to control. But that’s the whole reason we’re training you. You’re not some idiot peasant flinging power around anymore. You’re mine now.”

Rory flushed at that.

Kieran ignored the way the bond thrummed with satisfaction at his choice of words. He pushed on. “Croft and I will figure it out,” he said, watching Rory’s reaction closely. “We’ll train you the way we train warriors—methodically. No more accidents, no more guessing. You’ll learn discipline. Control. And when we’re done, you’ll be stronger than you’ve ever been.”

Rory stared at him, his blue eyes wide. “You think so?”

Kieran scoffed. “I know so.”

Rory looked down, his fingers curling in the soft folds of his robe. “Nobody’s ever really trained me before,” he admitted. “I mean, my mom taught me a little magic for weaving and sewing. She’s a seamstress.”

Kieran’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t like that.

Didn’t like the thought of Rory, left fumbling for control over something that should have been honed years ago. Didn’t like the idea that no one had properly stepped up to take responsibility for him.

It made Kieran feel deeply possessive. Like it was his job to fix things. Like Rory wasn’t just his betrothed, but his responsibility now.

It was infuriating.

And yet—he didn’t fight it.

Rory was his. Whether they fell desperately in love or not was irrelevant. And even if Kieran was still planning Rory’s demise, the boy was his property. Til death.

And that meant training him, shaping him into something stronger—something better.

It wasn’t like Kieran was going to let anyone else do it.

“Look,” Kieran said, voice low, certain. “You’ve never had a proper mentor before. You’ve never had someone who actually knew what the fuck they were doing. But you do now.” His eyes locked onto Rory’s, something dark and unshakable behind them. “I don’t care what kind of magic you have. We’ll figure it out.”

Rory blinked up at him, his throat working as he swallowed. Something unspoken passed between them, something neither of them knew how to name.

Trust.

It was quiet, fragile, but it was there.

For the first time, Rory actually believed Kieran.

A slow, shy smile spread across his lips. “Okay.”

Kieran held his gaze for a long moment. Then—abruptly—he pushed off the bed, standing in one swift movement.

“Enough of this sentimental bullshit,” he muttered, roughly setting his mug aside. “We’re training. Now.”

Rory startled. “What—now?”

Kieran shot him an unimpressed look. “What, do you need me to carry you?”

Rory scrambled from his chair. “No! I’m coming!”

Kieran rolled his eyes but turned for the door, motioning for Rory to follow.

And even though he refused to acknowledge it—there was something oddly satisfying about Rory hurrying after him. Kieran felt a deep arousal stir in his loins, but he shoved it away as soon as it started.

He couldn’t give in to that feeling. No matter what. But he could definitely get away with the training. Lachlan was demanding it, after all.

Conflicted about everything, Kieran led Rory briskly through the long, stone corridors and down a level to reach the training hall.