In that life, Aurelian (present: Cael) did not believe in God.
But the city believed in him.
When he rode down the cobbled street toward the church, the world stepped aside automatically. Merchants paused, citizens bowed, and children watched in awe. A prince, alone on horseback, accompanied by two silent guards, was not someone one ignored.
Aurelian dismounted at the edge of the square. One guard moved to take the reins.
"I'll walk from here," Aurelian said softly.
The guard inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Highness."
He handed over the horse and stepped back. Aurelian's boots touched the stones with quiet purpose. He was the crown prince. Everywhere he went, he was Aurelian—the future ruler, untouchable, seen but never truly known.
Except by him.
Inside the church, the sunlight poured through stained glass, throwing shards of red and gold across the floor. The faithful knelt, murmuring prayers. Aurelian walked slowly, keeping his head lowered, but his eyes searched for only one person.
Lioren (present: Illyen), the priest's son, stood near the altar. White robes, book in hand, brows slightly furrowed as he read along. Devout. Pure. Unaware of how much the prince's heart beat in secret for him.
To the world, Aurelian was a prince visiting a church.
To Lioren, he was nothing more.
Aurelian (Cael) watched anyway.
He watched the way Lioren held his book, how his fingers lingered over words, how he glanced up briefly at the sermon, eyes thoughtful and sincere. Every gesture, every breath, every small, human moment—Aurelian memorized them all, and every heartbeat whispered a love that could not yet be spoken.
Lioren's eyes lifted. He noticed the prince sitting in the back row, but only as Aurelian, the prince. Recognition, yes—but not the quiet adoration Aurelian bore. Lioren would never suspect the longing in those steady, pale eyes, the silent devotion that followed him like a shadow.
The service ended. The faithful departed. Lioren stepped down to help an elderly woman with care. Aurelian remained a moment longer, unwilling to move until Lioren was within sight.
Their eyes met.
"Your Highness," Lioren said politely, inclining his head.
"Aurelian," he whispered to himself, tasting the name as he always did.
That was all.
The single exchange of names. Lioren saw a prince. Aurelian saw everything else.
"Will you attend the sermon next week?" Lioren asked, unaware of the weight in Aurelian's heart.
"I—yes," Aurelian said softly. Not a lie, not entirely. But he meant more than attendance. He meant: I will come to see you again.
They spoke briefly about mundane things—the sermon, the weather, the care of the church grounds. Words that mattered little. Aurelian listened, memorizing the curve of Lioren's smile, the tilt of his head, the sound of his voice that no one else would hear quite the same way.
When it was time to leave, Lioren turned to go. "I should return inside," he said kindly.
"Yes," Aurelian said. His voice broke slightly, but only for himself.
Lioren paused, glancing back. "You'll come again?"
Aurelian's lips curved faintly, a secret smile. "I always do."
And then Lioren was gone.
Back into the faith of the world. Back into a life where he did not—and could not—see Aurelian as anything but a prince.
Aurelian mounted his horse. The guards fell into step behind him. The crown waited. Duty waited. The city waited.
But his heart did not leave the church.
Not for a single moment.
For in that past life, Aurelian loved Lioren quietly, wholly, and alone, and the prince would continue to watch, always, even when his love remained unseen.
And somewhere beyond that life, in the threads of memory yet to be reclaimed, Cael still remembered how to want Illyen quietly, across time, across lifetimes.