In the gleaming kingdom of Auranis which also the Cherry Throne , where the skies stretched wide and the throne sat beneath a stained-glass sun, two knights stood at the height of valor: Sir haskib , stoic and storm-eyed, born of the northern borderlands; and Sir haska , fiery and quick-witted, raised in the southern coasts.
Both had climbed the ranks with blade and honor, each earning the favor of King Nareech— the young ruler known for his golden voice, his wisdom beyond his years, and the quiet melancholy that lingered in his gaze.
When the time came to name a new Right Hand — the highest title a knight could bear, protector of both crown and soul — King nareech called upon Haskib and Haska to face each other in a final duel, a test not only of strength, but of heart.
But what neither knight knew — not even whispered in old scrolls or servant gossip — was that they were brothers. Born of the same blood, torn apart as infants when a traitor within the palace sought to destroy their family. Haskib was hidden in the cold north, haska in the sunlit south, each unaware the other even existed.
Fate, ever a cruel playwright, brought them back not only to the same kingdom… but to the same man they would both love.
Haskib's heart belonged to Nareech the moment he saw him standing alone in the garden at dusk, crown off, talking to flowers. Haska's heart surrendered when Nareech defended a village with no army, wielding only a torch and his words. Neither knight knew of the other's secret yearning. Neither dared speak it aloud.
The day of the duel came. Armor gleamed. The crowd held its breath.
Steel clashed. Dust rose. Neither knight held back.
But as they fought, strange familiarity flickered — mirrored footwork, matching scars, the same stubborn jaw. A slash sent Haskib's shoulder bleeding; Haska faltered at the sight, panic sparking where hatred should have burned.
Then King Nareech stood.
"Stop!" he cried, voice echoing.
They froze, blades trembling.
"I cannot watch brothers shed blood for my sake," he said.
Silence rippled through the court.
Haskib stepped back. "Brothers…?"
Haska's eyes widened. "That's not possible."
Nareech descended from his throne. "You were born of the same mother, twin sons of Lady Sarah, torn from each other in the shadow of betrayal. I have known… either of your name familiarity proven. but I feared revealing the truth before you were ready."
Haskib dropped his sword. Haska stared at his own reflection in his brother's eyes.
"And yet," Haskib whispered, "we both love you."
Haska turned to the king. "You knew."
Nareech's expression softened with pain. "I did. And I… I care for you both. More than I ever should have allowed."
For a long time, none spoke. The court watched, the air thick with grief and wonder.
Then Nareech breathed, "I cannot ask you to be Right Hand, nor to bury your hearts. But I ask you this — serve this kingdom. Together. Not as rivals. But as brothers."
Haskib and Haska turned to each other, and slowly, solemnly, they nodded.
From that day forward, they stood beside the king not as contenders for his heart, but as guardians of his reign — bound by blood, love unspoken, and a promise stronger than any sword.
And though the king's heart would remain a crown neither could wear, they learned that some love is not meant to be possessed… only honored.
what will happens if one of them confesses to the king later in secret?