It was soon morning in the Vellurian palace, after the rather... eventful night yesterday.
Aiden had not slept. Not for a single, goddamned second. Not after Elliott had slid into his chambers looking— and acting — like temptation wrapped in silk and arrogance. A particularly cruel divine trial with golden hair and the gall to act like he was doing Aiden a favor just by existing there.
Elliott, on the other hand, had slept like a baby. Of course he had. He looked obscenely well-rested, wearing the sort of satisfied air you'd expect from some smug, hedonistic spirit who had just drained a man's will to live for breakfast.
His face was the picture of angelic innocence, like someone who had never committed a single questionable act in his entire life— which Aiden knew was absolute slander against the truth.
Half-sprawled across Aiden, Elliott's hair was a tousled halo of gold, his breathing slow, deep, infuriatingly peaceful. He radiated comfort — the kind that said I belong here and have always belonged here.
Aiden could not relate. At all.
He lay stiff as a marble statue, his breathing deliberate, controlled — the kind of breathing that required focus because every cell in his body was on high alert. He hadn't moved all night. Couldn't.
He'd spent hours frozen in place like an obedient log while Elliott, in his sleep, moved around like a restless earthworm who thought every inch of the bed was public property.
It was early. Dawn's light slipped through the curtains, casting both of them in soft gold. It would have been a painting — at least Elliott could have been — if not for the fact that Aiden's face screamed more "suffering tax audit" than "romantic serenity."
The fragile stillness broke with soft, persistent knocks at the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Aiden went even stiffer. Of course. Of course someone would choose this exact moment.
Before he could react, a servant's voice filtered through.
"Prince? Your Highness?" A young woman's tone, polite and tentative. "The council awaits your arrival. I have brought you tea—"
Aiden's brain blanked. No plan. No coherent thought. Only panic.
Elliott, however, stirred. His nose wrinkled adorably, like a cat who had been woken from a sunbeam and was already planning vengeance.
"Mmh... five more minutes..." he mumbled, burrowing further into Aiden's shoulder.
He didn't seem to process where he was. And, because habit was apparently stronger than situational awareness, he started to say it— the two words that would ruin everything.
"Come i—"
Aiden's entire soul left his body. In less than a heartbeat, his hand was over Elliott's mouth, silencing him like a man stopping the detonation of a live explosive.
"No." Aiden's voice was low, urgent. "Do not say 'come in.' Do not."
Elliott blinked at him, bleary-eyed and deeply unimpressed at having his morning routine interrupted. "Mmh?" The sound was probably Why?, but it came out muffled under Aiden's iron grip.
"Because—" Aiden forced himself to breathe slowly. He could do this. Calmly. Rationally. "You're in my bed. In sleep clothes. At dawn. Me and you. Bed. Sleep clothes. Night. Sleep together. Together."
He hit each word like it was a bullet point in a very obvious report.
Elliott's brow furrowed, not with shame or realization, but with the kind of mild confusion reserved for when someone tells you water is wet. "...So?"
"SO PEOPLE WOULD TALK, DO YOU NOT GET THAT—"
Aiden whisper-yelled the words just as the doorknob rattled.
Oh. No.
Years of training told him this was a critical moment. A situation requiring swift, decisive action. And his brain delivered the only available solution.
In one fluid movement, Elliott, who was still blinking slowly in his half-asleep haze, found himself shoved unceremoniously under the blankets. He let out an affronted oof, but before he could fully process the indignity, the covers were yanked over his head, leaving behind a suspiciously human-shaped lump.
The maid entered with the tea. She froze.
Aiden sat bolt upright, posture so stiff it could be measured with a ruler. His "nothing to see here" smile was... not convincing. It looked more like "I've just hidden a corpse and am trying to look casual about it."
"Good morning," he said with artificial brightness. "Nice morning, isn't it? Very... sunny. Mornings. You know."
The maid blinked.
Aiden pressed on. "So. What brings you here? This very sunny morning? To my chambers?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "...I bring you tea every morning, Your Highness."
"Ah," Aiden said as though struck by a great revelation. "Do you. Excellent work. Please set it down. And tell the council I will be there shortly."
The maid obeyed, but her gaze drifted to the lump on the bed. The lump wiggled.
Her eyes widened.
Aiden's narrowed. He kicked the lump. Gently.
The lump let out a muffled, indignant hmph.
The maid clearly decided this was far above her pay grade. She set the tray down and hurried out.
The instant the door clicked shut, Elliott emerged from the blanket like a scandalized cat, hair sticking up at wild angles. He had the exact expression of someone who'd just been accused of a crime they absolutely committed, but was personally offended at the accusation.
"What," Elliott began, hands on hips now, "in the gods' name was that? I wake up, you're being all weird, and then—" He gestured broadly at the bed. "Oh for gods' sake, is this about the propriety thing again?"
Aiden buried his face in his hands. "...Damage control."
"Damage?" Elliott repeated, as though testing a foreign word. "What damage? I just slept here."
"You slept here."
"That's exactly what I said," Elliott replied smugly, as if Aiden had just confirmed his airtight logic.
When Aiden failed to respond, Elliott sighed — deeply, theatrically — and patted his shoulder in the kind of patronizingly gentle way reserved for calming overreacting children. "You're still hung up on that propriety nonsense, aren't you?"
Aiden groaned into his palms. "No— yes— agh. Do you really not see it?? You're the Emperor! I'm your— your—"
He stopped short. What was he, exactly? Adopted heir? Political pawn? The man who spent half the night trying not to think about Elliott's lace sleeve sliding off his shoulder and failed spectacularly?
Elliott waited. Patiently. Smugly. Radiating the quiet certainty of a man who knew he was correct and was merely being gracious enough to give Aiden time to catch up.
Aiden caved first. "...Never mind. Forget it."
Elliott shrugged in the easy way of someone accepting a victory they always knew they'd get.
He yawned and stretched like a cat basking in his own victory. Aiden absolutely did not notice the nightshirt riding up to expose a strip of warm, honey-brown waist. Baseless accusation.
"Ahhh..." Elliott sighed, a small pleased sound escaping him. Then, as though nothing had happened, he strolled over to the table.
The tea had been set for one, but there were extra cups. Elliott poured himself some with all the quiet assurance of a man entirely at home in a place he had barged into uninvited.
He took a slow sip. Smiled faintly. "Oh, come on. You're overreacting."
Aiden stared at him. Just. Stared.
Overreacting.
As if on cue, Elliott's sleeve slipped from his shoulder again, baring just enough skin to qualify as a war crime.
And Aiden decided, very calmly, that he was going to hunt down the designer of Elliott's nightclothes. And end them. Slowly.
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AN: soooo a lil spoiler. or maybe it's a sneak peek? idk. all in all- no more pining. Aiden and Elliott finally kiss in chapter... not gonna tell you right now. hint: it's before chapter 100.