The clash of steel rang through the training courtyard.
Aiden stood in the middle — having shed his outer robes, dressed now in a simple white shirt and pants. He moved through drills with sharp, deliberate precision, each movement carrying a kind of ferocity that teetered on the edge of desperation.
He'd just come from a military-related meeting — and that, combined with the suffocating council session earlier, was still gnawing at his mind.
So now, he fought.
Blow after blow — his sword was a silver blur in the fading light. His muscles burned with exhaustion, but it was a welcome, familiar kind of ache. His wounds had healed enough for him to train — fortunately. Because today, he needed it. Training brought that clean, honest tiredness that chased away thoughts he didn't want lingering.
The training dummy had already splintered under his strikes, but Aiden didn't stop. He needed somewhere to put all this rage — rage at the enemy empire, at the situation, at the smug, empty words from certain people in those meetings today.
Elliott, after finishing his arrangement talks with the high priest, had retreated to his study. Several hours and an alarming number of reports later, his eyelids were drooping for real. His plan — truly, truly — had been to return to his chambers and rest.
But the path to his room happened to pass by a section of the training grounds, and... well.
He had meant to take the turn.
He didn't.
He wasn't exactly looking for Aiden, but his feet seemed to have ideas of their own. He just had a feeling. And when the rhythmic clang of steel reached his ears — followed by the sharp exhale of effort from a certain someone — and finally, the sight of two figures sparring... well. His feeling had been right.
Now he stood in the shade just inside the hallway, arms crossed, leaning casually against a marble pillar, watching.
Aiden was sparring with a seasoned knight — one of the veterans.
There was something... mesmerizing about it.
The way the two moved — precise, controlled, almost like a graceful dance. Every strike was matched, every pivot perfectly balanced. A rhythm. An unspoken understanding between fighters. It looked choreographed — but Elliott knew it wasn't.
He'd never been able to train like that himself — not with lungs that protested at the first hint of exertion, and a frail health that had stalked him since childhood. He'd never lifted a sword in combat, but he could certainly appreciate the art.
He was only staring because of the sparring. Because he admired the skill. At least, that's what he told himself.
It definitely wasn't the reason his breath caught when Aiden's shirt clung to his back with sweat. And Elliott, after all these years, had gotten very, very good at ignoring inconveniently clear thoughts like that.
Aiden, still focused on his opponent, hadn't noticed him yet. Sweat dripped from his brow as he struck again. The knight across from him was starting to slow, barely managing to parry the latest flurry of blows.
Aiden caught the weakness instantly.
"Yield," he said — not unkindly.
The knight grit his teeth. "Not yet," he groaned, forcing himself into a counterattack.
Aiden sidestepped easily, smirking. He had him now. One more feint and it would be over. He shifted his stance, ready to finish the match —
—and then caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye.
Before he could stop himself, his gaze slid sideways.
There, leaning against a marble pillar with the lazy elegance of a cat basking in the last light of the sun, was Elliott. His hair had started slipping loose from its ribbon, courtesy of the long day he'd had. He was smiling faintly, most of his weight on one leg, letting the pillar take the rest. The golden embroidery of his council robes caught the light, and a simple circlet of gold rested on his head — one of the understated crowns, not the heavy ceremonial monstrosity.
And then Aiden met his eyes.
Oh, those eyes. Curved into crescents as Elliott smiled. Dimples forming at the corners. Warm irises fixed on him — warm in a way that had no business being so distracting.
Elliott's smile widened. He even waved.
Aiden's footwork faltered. His hands stilled mid-strike — just for a second. But a second was all it took.
The knight seized the opening instantly, twisting his blade in a sharp disarming maneuver. Aiden's sword flew from his grip, clattering loudly against the stone.
Silence followed.
Before the Training Master could even announce the results, a sound cut through the air.
Laughter.
And the source was a certain blonde-haired emperor — who apparently found this hilarious.
That drew every eye to him. People hurriedly bowed, but Elliott waved the greetings away with an easy "don't mind me" sort of motion.
An almost smug smile curved over his lips.
Aiden scowled as he watched the emperor stroll toward him. He wasn't actually mad about the defeat itself — he was mad because it had been his round. He was winning. Until Elliott, entirely uninvited, decided to hit him with the eyes. And now here he was, laughing like he'd personally landed the final blow.
Aiden snatched his sword from the ground with a huff, refusing to look at the still-smiling emperor. Instead, he glared at the knight — who, unfortunately, looked victorious.
"...This one doesn't count."
"It absolutely does, Your Highness," the knight replied.
Aiden grit his teeth. "I was distracted. Because someone thought it would be a good idea to sneak in."
By now Elliott had sauntered right into the middle of the training ground, where the two stood. He looked smug — too smug. Like a cat who'd just spotted a ball of yarn and had every intention of playing with it.
"Sneak in? Hardly." His voice was smooth, almost purring. "I was merely here to observe the combat skills of our soldiers, dear prince."
Aiden scoffed. "Right. And you just happened to make a sound at the exact moment I was about to finish the match. And then you just happened to smile and wave. Sure. Very thorough inspection you're doing here. Clearly not meant to distract me at all."
Elliott smirked, eyes gleaming with amusement. "I didn't realize you found my presence so... disruptive."
Aiden's ears burned. "It wasn't," he grumbled, though his own earlier words betrayed him. "I was just... surprised. By the sudden appearance."
"Just surprised? Right." Elliott shrugged. "Well, you did lose."
Aiden shot him a glare, though it carried no real heat. "Because of you."
"Ah, ah—" Elliott interrupted, tutting lightly. "You know, taking defeat with grace is a skill in itself, Aiden."
He knew exactly what he was doing. Aiden had obviously been winning, and Elliott knew the defeat wasn't what bothered him. But that understanding didn't mean he couldn't twist the knife just a little.
Aiden opened his mouth to argue — but caught the glint in Elliott's eyes and shut it again. There was no winning against him when the older man knew the truth and chose to mess with him anyway.
The knight, wisely, excused himself.
Aiden glanced at Elliott, now leaning against the barely-intact training dummy he'd taken his earlier frustration out on.
"Why did you come here?" he asked, still wearing a faint frown. "I don't think the only reason was to make me lose."
Elliott chuckled. "Of course." His smile stayed, though the teasing softened. "I had a meeting with the high priest today. The date for the Ascension of Flame has been finalized."
Aiden blinked. "The what now?"
Elliott sighed, as if he'd been bracing for that exact response. "The Ascension of the Flame. The biggest solar festival. Yes — the one that happens during the eclipse every two decades." At Aiden's blank stare, he added, "Last time it happened, I was ten. You would have been one — so naturally, no memories. It's a grand affair — probably the most important religious event we have."
Aiden exhaled sharply. "You're telling me they want to host an empire-wide, fortnight-long festival now? When we're about to go to war?"
"It sounds worse when you put it like that," Elliott admitted. "But the disadvantages of not celebrating far outweigh those of going ahead with it. Holding it at full scale sends a message — that despite the political tension, the empire is still safe, still stable. Canceling it would damage public morale in a way no external threat could."
Aiden nodded slowly, understanding the logic. "I see."
Elliott noticed the shift in his tone. He clapped a hand on Aiden's shoulder. "Well — this will be your first Ascension, won't it? Consider it your official introduction to state-mandated piety."
Aiden's mouth tugged into a reluctant smirk. "Does it include gold robes? Because I do not look good in gold."
"Worse." Elliott leaned in, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "You get a crown. Of sunbeams."
Aiden looked genuinely pained. He could already picture it. The crown wasn't even the problem — on someone else, it would look impressive. On someone blonde, with that golden-to-darker gradient in their hair, warm skin, maybe a sprinkle of freckles. Not naming names, of course. Just... hypothetically.
On him — midnight blue hair, pale skin — it would look ridiculous.
"Do the sunbeams really have to stay?"
Elliott gasped theatrically. "Is the prince considering sacrificing the people's morale for his own aesthetic comfort?"
"...It's staying, then."