The coronation feast stretched far into the night. Music swelled from the royal musicians, harps and flutes weaving songs of triumph. Laughter spilled across the Grand Hall, bright and boisterous. Nobles toasted to the heavens, jewels flashing on their wrists as goblets clinked together. Servants rushed between long tables, balancing trays piled with roasted meats and sweet fruits that glistened under golden candlelight.
But though the hall roared with life, Kaelen tasted none of it. He stood at his post behind the newly crowned king, silent and steady, his hand resting lightly against the hilt of his sword. His eyes never stopped moving. He scanned the rows of courtiers, measured the shifting patterns of guards, noted every flicker of movement in the sea of silks and brocades.
It should have been like every other night of duty. But tonight was different. Tonight the words of prophecy rang too sharply in his ears.
"When the kingdom bleeds, two souls shall stand as one. The Crowned Star, and the Shadow at his side. But only one shall shine."
Kaelen's jaw clenched. The court cheered and raised their goblets higher, oblivious, but those words—spoken in the holy tongue only hours ago—felt heavier than the armor across his chest. They clung to him like iron chains.
He knew what he was. He was the shadow. Always a step behind. Always unseen, except in danger. Shadows were meant to fade when the light demanded it. If fate truly decreed that only one could remain, it was not difficult to guess whose path would end.
Yet the thought of Aelion falling—the thought of that light being snuffed out—stabbed deeper than any blade.
Kaelen forced himself to remain still, his face unreadable.
The new king sat on the throne at the head of the table, his golden circlet catching the glow of countless candles. Aelion looked every bit the monarch he was now sworn to be—calm, commanding, untouchable. But Kaelen had watched him grow from boyhood, had seen the weight Aelion carried long before tonight. Behind that steady gaze was someone who had always known that the heavens had tied his life to something far greater than himself.
And behind that crown was still the boy Kaelen had once sworn to protect—not with words, but with his whole being.
Aelion turned his head suddenly, his amber eyes catching Kaelen's. His lips moved, just barely enough for his bodyguard to hear.
"You're restless."
Kaelen straightened. His reply came quickly, practiced. "Merely watchful, Your Majesty."
But Aelion's mouth curved into the faintest smile—not the polished smile he gave his people, but one softer, rare, reserved only for moments when formality slipped away.
"I told you once," Aelion murmured, "you don't have to call me that. Not when it's just us."
Kaelen's throat tightened. He should have looked away. He should have ignored it. But the words lingered like a flame in the darkness.
"Tonight," Kaelen said stiffly, "it is never just us, my prince."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Aelion's gaze lingered on him, searching, as if he could peel back the layers of steel Kaelen wrapped around himself. But then voices rose again, nobles crowding near, generals bowing low, and Aelion was swept back into his endless tide of duties.
Kaelen's hand brushed the cool steel of his sword's hilt. The blade was his anchor, a reminder of what he was. He was the shield. The wall. The shadow.
And shadows, he told himself, were not meant to shine.
---
Hours passed. The feast waned. Nobles stumbled away from tables, full of drink and celebration. The musicians packed their instruments, the once-roaring hall fading into quieter murmurs.
At last, Aelion rose from the throne. The crown weighed heavily on his brow, though he bore it with the dignity of kings. Kaelen fell into step behind him, as he always did, shadowing him through the echoing corridors of the palace until they reached the private royal chambers.
The golden doors shut, muffling the outside world. For the first time that night, the silence between them was complete.
Aelion removed the circlet and set it gently upon a carved table, his fingers lingering against the metal as if it might burn him. Without the crown, he seemed younger, more fragile, his shoulders no longer squared in front of the world.
For a moment, Kaelen almost forgot himself. He almost saw not the king, but the boy who had once laughed under starlit gardens, who had once slipped free of tutors to spar with him in the practice courts.
"A heavy weight for a single night," Aelion murmured, his voice low. He turned, his amber gaze steady but tinged with something more vulnerable. "Kaelen… do you believe it? What the priest spoke?"
The question cut sharper than any blade.
Kaelen's training demanded one answer: The heavens speak in riddles, my lord. Fate is never clear. He should have spoken that and nothing more.
But his heart betrayed him.
"I believe…" Kaelen said quietly, "…that I will not allow it to take you. Not while I live."
Aelion turned swiftly, surprise flickering across his face before something warmer, deeper, began to burn in his gaze.
"And if it falls upon you instead?" he asked, his voice rougher now, stripped of all the formality the court demanded. "If fate decides it must be you?"
Kaelen held his ground. He did not flinch. "Then I was born to guard you. That is the oath I swore."
Silence pressed in, thick and heavy.
Aelion stepped closer. The distance between them shrank, until Kaelen could feel the heat radiating from him, could hear the steady rhythm of his breath. His hand trembled, wanting to reach up, to brush against the king's cheek, to close the space between them that had never felt wider than it did now.
But before either could speak, before either could move further, the doors crashed open.
A young messenger stumbled inside, pale and breathless, words tumbling from his lips.
"Your Majesty! The northern watchtowers burn. The border has been crossed—enemy banners fly!"
The chamber seemed to freeze.
Aelion's amber eyes hardened, all traces of fragility vanishing. "Summon the generals. Ready the legions."
The boy bowed shakily and fled.
Kaelen's hand gripped the hilt of his sword once more. The prophecy's shadow had already begun to fall.