The journey to House Ashbourne was the shortest on the tour, yet it carried the greatest emotional weight for Riven. He was returning to the ancestral seat of the house that had once made him feel like an outcast, now arriving as the future Imperial Consort, escorted by the Crown Prince.
When he arrived on this earth two years ago he never thought any of these was possible.
As the Imperial carriages crossed the threshold of Ashbourne lands, Riven felt a rush of conflicting emotions—the ghost of the anxious young man he once was, and the reality of the powerful man Vaelorian had helped him become.
"Nervous?" Vaelorian asked softly, covering Riven's hand with his own.
Riven squeezed his hand, staring out at the rolling hills. "No. Not nervous," he admitted. "I'm...reflective. The last time I was here, I was dying fighting to leave because my father was upset with me. Now I'm back here because I'm supposed to be. It's strange seeing the familiar view from such an unfamiliar position."
"You earned this position, my love," Vaelorian reminded him. "And I know your father is immensely proud of you. He's already sent three updates on the menu and the planned decorations. He wants this to be perfect."
Riven smiled, a genuine, warm expression. "That's Duke Ashbourne. Overcompensating for past mistakes with excessive planning. I wouldn't have it any other way."
The reception at House Ashbourne was warm, loud, and utterly without political pretense. Duke Ashbourne himself stood at the top of the grand steps, his face alight with pride. He bowed formally to Vaelorian, but his eyes were on Riven. When the formalities were done, the Duke bypassed the Prince and embraced his son tightly.
"Welcome home, son," the Duke muttered into his shoulder. "Welcome home."
"It's good to be back, Father," Riven replied, returning the hug with genuine affection, as this was, after all, a second chance for both of them.
The Duke then turned to Vaelorian, his manner shifting to that of a delighted, if slightly awkward, future in-law. "Your Highness! We have prepared everything. The West is overjoyed. We're holding a major feast tomorrow, but tonight, I want a quiet dinner. Just family. Just us."
That evening, the three men sat down to a relaxed, intimate meal. The tension was gone, replaced by a deep sense of connection. Riven recounted the saga of Lady Patricia with humorous precision, omitting none of the political stakes.
The Duke listened, roaring with laughter when Riven described Patricia's expression after he threatened her house. "That's my son! You used logic to win a battle of egos! I say Corvus Veridian got exactly what he deserved."
Vaelorian watched Riven and his father, a feeling of deep satisfaction washing over him. This was the final piece of Riven's healing—the mending of the familial bond.
Later, as Riven and Vaelorian retired to the magnificent guest suite reserved for the Crown Prince, Riven sat on the bed, feeling utterly relaxed.
"Thank you, Vaelorian." Riven said, looking up at the Prince. "I really mean it. If you hadn't suggested training me at camp I would have probably goofed around the whole year and still be fighting with my father. Everything turned out this way because you reached out first."
Vaelorian sat beside him, pulling him close. "There's no debt between us, my love. Besides, you mistake the matter. I may have extended a hand, but you were already waiting to grasp it. All I really did was see the potential that was already there." Vaelorian said, kissing Riven's head gently before pulling away to look him in the eyes with a smile as he added, "If you'd spent the year goofing around, I'd have been wasting my time, too. You proved to be a far better training partner than I could have asked for. We both gained something from this. It was meant to be."
Riven smirked, leaning back just enough to catch Vaelorian's eye. "A better training partner than you could have asked for, huh?
Well, of course I am!" He gave a playful shove. "Who do you think I was training so damn hard for?" His voice softened, losing its cocky edge. "I just... I couldn't accept the fact that the strongest instructor on camp was constantly kicking my ass." He paused, his gaze drifting reflectively to a point far away, a faint, vulnerable smile touching his lips. "And then, somewhere along the way, I fell completely in love with you."
Vaelorian didn't move, but the sudden stillness in his body was obvious. His eyes, usually sharp and assessing, softened into a dreamy, far-off focus.
"You love me," Vaelorian finally breathed out, the words less a question and more a wonderstruck observation, the richness of the emotion settling over them both like a warm blanket.
"Of course I do," Riven replied instantly, the certainty in his voice a rock.
Vaelorian's smile widened, lighting up his face. He tightened his arm around Riven, but then his brow furrowed playfully.
"But you've never actually said it to me before." He tilted his head, feigning wounded innocence. "Not once."
"I haven't?" Riven sounded genuinely surprised, blinking in disbelief.
Vaelorian shook his head slowly, confirming the fact. "Not out loud. Not in these three words."
Riven's cheeks flushed a bright pink. "Well, just—just take that as me saying it! Now!" He tried to scramble to his feet, hoping to escape the sudden spotlight, but Vaelorian's arm shot out, holding him captive.
"Nope, not so fast, tiger." Vaelorian murmured, his voice a low rumble of amusement. He held Riven firmly, making any escape impossible. "I want to hear you say it. To me. Right now." Vaelorian pulled a truly ridiculous, utterly effective puppy-eye pout, his lower lip jutting out just slightly. "Come on, just say the words. Out loud."
Riven groaned, running a hand over his face. He sighed dramatically, giving up the struggle, and mumbled the three words into Vaelorian's chest, his voice barely a breath.
"What was that?" Vaelorian teased, leaning in. "I didn't quite catch that, my love. Speak up!"
Riven's face felt like it was on fire. He let out another, deeper groan, but this time, he finally mustered the courage. He pulled back, looked Vaelorian square in his beautiful eyes, and with a rush of adrenaline that made his heart pound, he said, "I love you."
Vaelorian's hold instantly softened, his expression melting into one of pure satisfaction. He brought his hand up to cup Riven's cheek, his thumb brushing gently. "I love you too," he replied, his voice husky with honest emotion. "And I always will."
Vaelorian's warm hands were still on Riven's cheek, his gaze holding steady—deep, honest, and utterly mesmerizing. The simple, satisfied sincerity of his "I love you too," stripped away Riven's last defenses, replacing his embarrassment with a strong sense of rightness.
Riven leaned into the touch, a shaky breath escaping him. The world around them—the cooling air, the distant sounds from the manor all faded away, leaving only them in the moment.
"You know," Riven managed, his voice still slightly breathless, "I always thought if I said it first, it meant I cared more. I wanted you to cave first." He tried to inject a bit of his usual playfulness, but it dissolved under Vaelorian's intense stare.
Vaelorian chuckled, a low, husky sound that vibrated against Riven's ear as he leaned closer. "Oh, my oblivious, sweet, beautiful Riven. I caved a long time ago. I was just giving you the space to catch up." He ran his thumb tenderly along Riven's jawline. "You're terrible at hiding how you feel, by the way. Every time you beat me in a spar, that mischievous, cheeky grin was practically a confession."
Riven's heart hammered against his ribs. He felt Vaelorian's head lower, the heat of his breath mixing with his own. Time seemed to slow down, stretching the final inches between them into an agonizing eternity. Riven didn't want to rush the moment, didn't want to break the spell of quiet certainty that had settled over them.
But then, the anticipation became unbearable. With a tiny, involuntary whimper, Riven closed the remaining gap. Their lips met—not in the fiery, challenging clash of sparring, but in a kiss that was slow, deep, and utterly intoxicating. It was the answer to every unasked question Riven had ever wanted to ask. Vaelorian tasted of sweat, mint, and something utterly him. He tilted Riven's head gently, deepening the kiss, his other arm wrapping securely around his back, pulling him flush against his chest.
Riven felt himself melt, his hands threading up and tangling in the hair at the nape of Vaelorian's neck, clinging to him as if gravity itself had momentarily ceased to exist outside this moment.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were slightly breathless, their foreheads resting against each other.
"So," Riven murmured, eyes still closed, a laugh bubbling up from his chest, "is this the part where I pretend I don't want you because we're in my family home and then politely leave, or should we continue, your highness?"
Vaelorian smiled, his eyes twinkling down at him. "I don't think I'm capable of pretending I don't want you, my love." He kissed him once more, slowly, before pulling back and towering over Riven as he gently pressed him deeper into the bed.