Their return to the camp was just as swift as their departure. One moment, Riven was standing in the marble elegance of Vaelorian's quarters; the next, a dizzying breeze of Sir Eryndor's teleportation gift deposited them just outside the familiar large gates of the campgrounds. Gone were the fragrant oils and polished surfaces, replaced instantly by the scent of dry grass, sweat, and the energetic hum of hundreds of teenagers.
Riven adjusted his clothes as he glanced at the complex—a mixture of practical barracks, geodesic domes for focused training, and sprawling athletic fields.
"No matter how many times he does that, I'll never get used to the teleporting feeling, it makes me wanna barf every time." Riven muttered, rubbing his temples. The physical shock never got easier.
Vaelorian, whose demeanour has instantly shifted into the composed role of the Prince with a thousand responsibilities on his shoulders offered a brief, understanding smile.
"It's efficient, love. Not comfortable. It's good to be back." Vaelorian said glancing around with a funny expression which made Riven chuckle.
As they approached the main area, Riven felt a complex rush of relief and nervous anticipation. This was his real life, the only place he truly knows since his arrival on this earth. This is where he met Vaelorian and his friends. This is home.
"Alright," Riven coached himself, gripping the strap of his pack. "No more silks. No more marble or servants waiting on you. Just dirt, sweat, and a few very angry friends. They don't know where we've been for three months. Prepare for the full spectrum of emotions."
Vaelorian was noticed first, immediately enveloped by fellow instructors. Riven gave a quick wave and headed straight for the small infirmary annex where he knew he'd find the girls would be volunteering.
He found them outside the infirmary bay, organizing supplies. Mira Lune, focused and efficient; Anya, calmly stacking crates; and Willow, twisting a piece of gauze. The moment they saw Riven, their work stopped.
Mira Lune dropped a roll of bandages, her eyes wide with shock, then relief. "Riven! You beautiful idiot! You're finally back!"
Anya let out a loud shriek and sprinted over, wrapping him in a fierce hug. "We were going crazy! No one would tell us a thing!"
Willow walked over, slower, her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Where. The. Hell. Were. You? You fools vanished off the face of the earth, Riven. We even asked if it had something to do with Vaelorian not being around and they just said 'Imperial business.' and we're hearing all these talks about you guys taking down a human trafficking organization? What the heck?"
Riven held up his hands in surrender. "Look, I know. I am so sorry. It was a sudden, top-secret directive from the Emperor himself—no one knew about our mission. It was entirely needed-to-know basis."
"A need-to-know basis means we get a note! Or a hint!" Anya cut him off, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Do you know how terrifying it is when the Crown Prince and your two best friends suddenly disappear for three months? We thought you'd run off to join the Imperial Guard or, even worse, been captured or killed!"
Just then, Barron, who'd taken a quick detour to empty his bowels, appeared and looked entirely too pleased with himself. He swaggered up, still carrying the distinct, almost pompous air of a young man newly elevated in status.
"Greetings, esteemed colleagues!" Barron announced, puffing out his chest. "Fear not, the mission was a complete success, and the heroes have returned!"
Mira Lune's anger instantly evaporated, replaced by a delighted smile as she took in Barron's new attitude. "Ooh, listen to this fancy idiot talk! It's true then, isn't it? The Emperor really gave him a title?"
"He gave him a position and a title!" Riven interjected, grinning at Barron's smug expression. "He's now officially Lord Barron, of house Durnhall. The imperial decree came through before we left the capital."
Mira Lune clapped her hands, genuinely thrilled. "Lord Barron! That's amazing! Congratulations!"
Anya, however, focused on the underlying issue. She glanced pointedly at Riven. "So you guys were being addressed as 'My Lord' in the imperial palace while we were here doing extra endurance training? And you couldn't send a single letter? The silence felt like crap, guys."
"Hey," Riven countered, meeting her gaze, his voice softening. "That wasn't intentional. But I'm back now. We're all back. We made it, and we finished the mission. I swear, we'll make it up to you guys, and we'll tell you everything about the imperial palace, too, later. But right now, I'm just really happy to see you guys. I've missed you so much!"
The girls went from angry to curious, then to crying tears of joy very fast, followed by a lot of hugging. The tension finally broke, dissolving into a flurry of questions, genuine congratulations for Barron, and shared laughter—the comforting sound of their friendship wholly restored.
A short distance away, Vaelorian was subjected to a very different kind of reunion. He went to his private quarters after consulting with his fellow instructors, and an older woman with an expression of fierce, maternal worry pushed past the staff. This woman was Elera, one of his long-time caretakers and the head of his personal staff.
"My Prince!" Elera exclaimed, practically seizing his arm. "Why did you leave your security details behind? Why were the reports so vague? You didn't send word of what you were eating! Do you know the state of your nutritional intake after three months of unknown travel? It is criminal! I have prepared a restorative broth that will settle your constitution immediately!"
Vaelorian, used to command but helpless against genuine affection, looked strained.
"I've missed you too, Elera. And I assure you, the palace food was exemplary. I ate perfectly well."
"Nonsense! No one at the imperial Palace knows what your body needs more than Elera, Your Highness. I fear what you've been eating lacks the necessary nutrients for your focused training!" a tall, severe man named Torin, his personal tailor and physical trainer, chimed in, already inspecting the creases in Vaelorian's clothes. "And your posture! You look stiff! You were away from your proper conditioning routine for months!"
Vaelorian managed a strained smile. "Thank you, Elera. Thank you, Torin. I am well. I am fine. Please, both of you, resume your duties. I have to see the rest of the camp."
His devoted caretakers retreated, grumbling about the Prince's clothes and insufficient broth, but their genuine, devoted relief was obvious.
Riven, who'd snuck back to see the older boy watched the scene unfold from a distance, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. "Even the Prince gets bossed around," he thought. "It's good to know some things are universal, no matter how high your position."
Over the next few days, life in the training camp quickly resumed its pace. The initial excitement over the mission's success faded beneath the daily grind of skill development, physical conditioning, and strategy lessons.
Vaelorian threw himself back into his oversight duties with tireless energy. The small honeymoon Riven had shared with Vaelorian in the imperial palace was now carefully compartmentalized to their private hours. Their relationship in the camp became one of discreet nods, winks, and stolen moments in the quiet darkness of the night.
Barron embodied his new title, was now annoyingly organized and relentlessly formal, much to Riven's annoyance and the amusement of the others.
"I simply must review the inventory list for my new Lordly quarters, Riven," he declared one morning on their way to class. "A man of my new standing must maintain a proper record of his belongings. After all, one can never be too prepared for a sudden Imperial decree!"
Riven just shook his head, laughing as he adjusted the collar of Barron's new jacket. "He's incorrigible. But he's happy. Barron, a Lord, who would've thought?" he thought with a smile.
The group of friends, now fully reunited, became the steady core of Riven's world again. They spent their lunch breaks in the communal hall, sharing stories—Riven carefully leaving out the gruesome parts of his mission and censoring the kisses and the sex part of his alone time with Vaelorian as well, while Barron hilariously exaggerating the parts about his time as a pet mouse—their laughter and companionship serving as the true antidote to the palace's gilded, stifling grandeur.
Life in the camp had returned to its routine, but Riven knew it was only "normal" in appearance. He had secured a black card of wishes, has a Prince who cares about him, and, for the first time, his future on this earth was somewhat certain. He had made the Duke proud, on a grand scale. Now, only one hurdle remained: the secret crush. Finding them was going to be much harder, but Riven wouldn't give up without a fight.