The first two days on the road were a study in discomfort and subtle maneuvering. The pace was brisk, dictated by Riven's necessity to keep the supply wagons on schedule, and the accommodations were rough—a far cry from the Prince's silk sheets. Vaelorian, despite his official title, handled the inconvenience with surprising good humor, often helping Riven's men break camp.
Sir Eryndor, however, was not easily fooled.
He watched Vaelorian not as a bodyguard watches his charge, but as a skeptical older brother watches a lovesick sibling. He watched the way Vaelorian always rode slightly behind Riven, close enough for a private conversation but far enough to avoid suspicion. He watched the Prince's gaze constantly seek Riven out, whether Riven was barking orders at a mule driver or double-checking a ledger.
On the second night, while the logistical unit settled down around a crackling fire, Eryndor found Riven examining a map away from the main group.
Eryndor walked up, his steps silent, and stopped next to him, his arms crossed over his chest.
"A lot has changed while I was on the border, Lord Riven. The last time we saw each other you promised to castrate His Highness," he stated, his voice a low, steady rumble.
Riven didn't jump, but he did look up, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Welcome back, Sir Eryndor. Did you need to examine the route?"
"No," Eryndor said simply, his gaze direct and piercing. "I need to know why the Crown Prince is sleeping in a damp, linen tent instead of his luxurious chambers. And why he risked a shouting match with the Emperor just so he could inspect the Northern Regions."
Riven sighed, putting the map down. "I don't know what else you want me to say. I've already told you, he's here to inspect the supply lines. It's an Imperial decree."
Eryndor scoffed, the sound quiet but dismissive. "Don't insult my intelligence, Riven. Vaelorian knows nothing of the northern supply lines. He hasn't been concerned with a quartermaster's ledger or a treaty document since his engagement with princess Lyra. He's here because of you, isn't he?"
Riven leaned back against the wagon wheel, his arms crossed, his smile turning genuine.
"And if he is?"
Eryndor ran a hand over his face, a mixture of exasperation and grudging admiration in his expression.
"He's the Crown Prince, My Lord! His engagement was successfully torpedoed barely a month ago because of you, that could've ended badly, by the way. And now he's riding into the hostile Northern Region of the empire on a fake inspection so he can accompany you for six weeks." He shook his head. "The audacity is astounding. I've been on your side since this started between you two; I even helped ruin his reputation just to sabotage his engagement, but I think he has taken things too far this time. He has lost his head."
"He hasn't lost his head, Sir Eryndor," Riven countered, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "He's actually using it for the first time in his life. He's choosing happiness over perfection."
Sir Eryndor paused, his expression shifting from professional bodyguard to concerned friend.
"I never liked the arrangement with Princess Lyra. She's what some people consider a political weasel. And I always respected you, Riven. Vaelorian would have been miserable with her. I'm grateful that he can be himself with you but this...this is a dangerous mission, especially for Vaelorian. Does the Emperor and Empress know about you two?"
"Yes, they know. It wasn't easy to convince them." Riven admitted. "A lot has happened while you were away. But I'm sure you also know that, sabotaging engagement wasn't just Vaelorian's plan to save himself; it was his plan to save the empire."
Eryndor stared at Riven, absorbing his words. He was afraid that Vaelorian's impulsive decision to sabotage his engagement would cause a political scandal. What made things worse was that Eryndor was sent on a mission in the middle of all the drama, preventing him from helping Vaelorian to the end. Thankfully, everything worked out.
"Well, I'm here now," Eryndor finally said, his tone low and serious. "And I will guard him with my life, regardless of the reason for this mission. But Riven, since you've decided to be with him again, you are now officially a part of his world, the dangers and royal politics included. You are not just his lover; you are his weakness. Or perhaps," he amended, a rare, thoughtful look on his face, "his greatest strength. Just make sure you never forget what he's risking to be out here with you."
Riven offered a silent, solemn nod. "I won't."
He was glad Sir Eryndor knows the truth about them. There was no need for pretense with Vaelorian's most trusted friend and bodyguard. Now, with Eryndor's sharp eyes on both of them, the charade of the "Imperial Inspection" has become a team effort to maintain appearances and, more importantly, to keep the Crown Prince safe.
....
The Northern Region did not take kindly to Imperial visitors. The harsh terrain, the cold wind, and the knowledge that they were far from help seemed to prickle the air with constant animosity. The danger everyone spoke of came in form of an attack deep in the night, three days into their journey. They had chosen a defensible, rocky outcrop for their camp, but the surrounding shadows were deep and vast.
Riven, always a light sleeper, was the first to react. A sharp thud of an arrow hitting a nearby supply wagon, followed by the muffled cries of startled horses, brought him instantly awake.
He was out of his bedroll in a flash, pulling his sword. "We're under attack! Perimeter!" he roared, his voice cutting through the startled silence.
Vaelorian was right behind him, surprisingly fast. "Eryndor!" he yelled, grabbing his twin sword.
"Already moving, Your Highness!" Sir Eryndor's voice bellowed from the edge of the camp, immediately followed by the clang of steel.
Riven didn't hesitate. He thrust Vaelorian toward the center of the camp, where the supply wagons and the few armed logistical men were forming a defensive knot. "Stay with the men! Let Eryndor protect you!"
"I will not hide while you're fighting!" Vaelorian retorted, his voice sharp with adrenaline. He moved like a frustrated hawk, sidestepping Riven and plunging into the skirmish near the perimeter.
Riven swore under his breath—Vaelorian's a good fighter, better than him, but he's also the crown prince. If anyone needs to walk out of this alive, it has to be him. Riven met the nearest attackers, the shadowy figures armed with rough blades and an instinct for violence. Riven's sword flashed, precise and deadly, driven by instinct honed over the months of hardcore training.
He glanced over, seeing Vaelorian fighting with a ferocious intensity. The Prince fought not with the practiced, sterile grace of the training yard, but with a desperate, wild fury. He dispatched one attacker with a swift thrust, only to be flanked by another.
"Behind you!" Riven shouted, shoving past a supply wagon.
Vaelorian didn't look. He spun, blocking the blow, and delivered a powerful kick that sent the attacker stumbling. It was a brutal, ugly fight, fueled by survival, not ceremony.
Riven reached Vaelorian's side, their backs meeting briefly. "I told you to stay with the men, Your Highness!"
"I'm not leaving you," Vaelorian gasped, his breath ragged, his eyes shining in the moonlight. "I told you before. Whatever danger you're rushing into, we're going together!"
For a few minutes, they moved as a single, powerful unit—Riven's defensive blocks and swift counters balancing Vaelorian's aggressive thrusts. Sir Eryndor, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of violent steel on the far side, scattering the remaining attackers with a horrifying speed.
The assault was over almost as quickly as it began. The raiders, realizing they were met with overwhelming, unexpected resistance—and the sheer danger of crossing the Crown Prince's Calvary—faded back into the darkness, dragging their wounded with them.
Riven, panting, lowered his bloodied sword. He looked at Vaelorian, who was leaning on his own sword, his chest heaving. A nasty gash ran along Vaelorian's forearm, staining his white shirt red.
"Are you fucking mad?" Riven hissed, grabbing the Prince's arm, his voice tight with fear. "You should have stayed back!"
Vaelorian just shook his head, looking more exhilarated than wounded. "If I'm riding with you, my love, I'm fighting with you. Don't worry about my arm, it'll heal."
"Can't you heal it now?" Riven asked, looking at the open wound and Vaelorian shook his head.
"Too many eyes." The older boy simply said.
They spent the remainder of the night tending to the few minor casualties, bandaging Vaelorian's arm, and cleaning their weapons. Sir Eryndor watched the two of them—Vaelorian accepting Riven's meticulous bandaging with quiet obedience, and Riven meeting Eryndor's gaze with a look that dared him to speak. Eryndor simply nodded and left them alone. He didn't need any more proof of their bond, or of Vaelorian's commitment to the younger boy. By the time the thin, grey light of morning broke over the Northern peaks, the camp looked almost undisturbed.
By mid-morning, they arrived at Fort Bastion, their first major destination. It was a sprawling, stone fortress, the very heart of the Northern Imperial presence. Riven rode ahead, his posture straight, his face grim but composed. Vaelorian followed, his armor clean, the bandage on his arm neatly tucked beneath his sleeve.
The Fort Commander, a grizzled old General named Korvan, rushed out to meet them, his face pale with the honor of greeting the Crown Prince.
Vaelorian dismounted, offering a curt nod. He looked tired, his eyes perhaps a shade too intense, but otherwise perfectly composed.
"General Korvan," Vaelorian spoke, his voice carrying the authority of the Imperial Court. "I am here to conduct a thorough inspection of the fortifications and supply stores, as per my father's decree. Lord Riven of House Ashbourne will begin assessing your logistical readiness immediately."
He paused, offering a faint smile. "It's been a long, hard ride, General We encountered no trouble, but the roads are rough. Let us begin our inspection."
As Vaelorian smoothly deflected any mention of the night's violence, Riven met his eye across the courtyard and immediately understood his intentions. Too much information about their journey will only cause unnecessary disturbance. They have a clear goal for this mission. Getting the job done quickly and leaving the North without causing a scandal.