Back in Edrath.
The sun had long since dipped below the jagged mountain horizon, casting the grand Imperial Palace into a cold, shadow-draped twilight.
Dinner had been served hours ago. The mountain berry tea Thoris usually brewed at precisely seven in the evening sat untouched on the silver tray, growing stone-cold.
Inside the grand entrance hall, the heavy oak doors remained firmly shut against the rising blizzard.
Adrian stood right near the threshold, pacing back and forth across the polished marble floor. His silk robes swished aggressively with every sharp turn he made. He was nearly six months along now, his stomach showing the delicate, clear curve of a big bump, but his usual calm, composed grace was completely shattered into pieces.
Emperor Cedric sat nearby on a velvet bench, flanked by Sir Phillip and two elite imperial guards. The Emperor's brow was furrowed with a heavy mixture of exasperation and deep, uneasy tension.
*STEP. STEP. STEP.*
"Where the hell is he?!"
Adrian snapped suddenly, stopping his pacing to glare directly at his father, his bright blue eyes burning with a wild, terrifying fury.
"Father, did you throw him out?! Did you have the guards drag him past the gates again?! If you did that, I won't forgive you!"
Cedric flinched, leaning back slightly in genuine shock at his son's sudden, fierce outburst.
"Adrian, calm yourself!"
Cedric pleaded, raising his hands defensively in the air.
"I did no such thing! I gave him free passage, remember?! Why would I order him removed when I know how much your... condition relies on his presence?!"
"Then where is he?!"
Adrian continued pacing around, his chest heaving up and down, his hands tightly clenching into fists at his sides, utterly seething for everyone in the hall to see.
"He knows I can't sleep without him checking up on my well-being! He knows I get sick if I don't eat his stupid broths! He was supposed to be back long before nightfall! If he ran away—if he dared to abandon me again—I swear to my own gods that I will—"
"You'll what, son?"
Chantella asked softly from the side corridor, crossing her arms over her fine dress, though her crimson eyes flickered with genuine concern for him.
"You will execute him?"
"I'll bring him back and lock him in chains myself!"
Adrian snarled out, tears of pure, furious frustration welling up in the corners of his eyes.
Just then, the heavy iron door handles suddenly rattled loudly from the outside.
*HEAVY THUD.*
The grand front doors were pushed open, letting in a bitter, icy blast of midnight wind and swirling white snow.
Every single head in the hall snapped toward the wide entrance. The guards instantly reached for their silver sword hilts, but Cedric quickly held up a hand to stop them.
Standing right in the doorway, soaked in melting snow and shivering violently from the cold, was Thoris.
He looked completely disheveled. His fine linen servant clothes were torn at the sleeves and caked in dark mountain mud and slushy ice. His broad face was flushed deep red from the biting frost, and his heavy breath came out in ragged, white clouds of steam.
Yet, despite his ragged appearance, his large, powerful arms were wrapped tightly around a heavy, frozen leather sack pressed securely against his broad chest, as if shielding it from the storm with his very life.
The moment Thoris stepped into the warm light of the entrance hall, his golden eyes scanned the room, instantly locking onto Adrian.
He slowly lowered his large body, dropping down onto one knee to greet the imperial family with a low bow.
"Your humble servant greets the Emperor and the royal family,"
Thoris rasped out, his deep voice hoarse, weak, and raw from the freezing mountain wind.
The entire hall held its breath in absolute silence.
Adrian froze right in the middle of the floor. For three long, agonizing seconds, a heavy, suffocating silence gripped the grand room.
Then, Adrian marched across the marble floor like a storm incarnate, stopping right in front of the towering, soaked warrior kneeling on the ground.
*SLAP!*
The sharp, stinging crack of Adrian's palm striking Thoris's cheek echoed deafeningly through the high stone arches of the entrance hall.
Cedric gasped slightly at the sight, and Chantella's eyes widened in sheer surprise.
Thoris's head snapped to the side from the force of the impact. He didn't raise a hand to touch his reddening cheek. He didn't even make a single sound or growl. He simply remained kneeling right there in the center of the hall, looking up at Adrian with hollow, deeply apologetic eyes.
"Where were you?!"
Adrian shrieked, his voice breaking with pure anger and distress.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?! I thought you left! I thought you realized you hated being a servant and went back to your stupid mountains and neglected your duties as my servant!"
"I would never leave you..."
Thoris whispered brokenly, his whole broad frame shaking uncontrollably from exhaustion and biting cold.
"I will never leave your side, Your Highness."
"Then why were you gone?!"
Adrian demanded, slamming his small, trembling fist against Thoris's broad, mud-caked chest.
"Why didn't you come back on time?!"
Thoris took a slow, heavy breath, his chest rising with difficulty. With trembling, frostbitten fingers, he slowly unwrapped the thick leather sack he had been protecting against his body the entire time.
Inside the thick leather, wrapped in several layers of warm wool, was a cluster of rare, glowing silver-blue roots—The Moon-Lily Root.
"The court physician mentioned it yesterday..."
Thoris rasped out softly, holding the package out in both hands like a sacred offering.
"He said... he said your magic energy was low, and that this root, found only on the peak of the Northern Ridge during a snowstorm, would stop your morning pain and keep the baby safe..."
Thoris lowered his head down, his voice thick with guilt and regret.
"The storm came early... the mountain pass caved in with snow. I had to climb the cliffside on foot and it took much longer than I planned... Forgive me, My Lord. I made you worry."
Adrian stared down at the glowing silver-blue roots resting inside the leather sack.
He looked at Thoris's hands—the thick skin raw, bleeding, and heavily bruised from climbing frozen, razor-sharp rocks with his bare fingers just to retrieve a medicinal herb for a minor morning ache.
He looked at the melting chunks of ice trapped in Thoris's dark hair, and the utter, self-sacrificing devotion burning bright in the man's golden eyes.
The fiery rage inside Adrian vanished instantly, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion that made his throat tighten painfully.
"You idiot..."
Adrian choked out,
"You absolute... foolish brute... You should have told me instead of abruptly disappearing like that. You worried me, you know?"
Thoris froze for a fraction of a second, completely stunned by the prince's sudden confession, before carefully dropping the leather sack onto a nearby wooden table.
"I am here,"
Thoris murmured quietly, looking up into Adrian's eyes.
"You need not worry anymore."
Behind them on the velvet bench, Emperor Cedric slowly let out a long, heavy breath.
He rested his head in his hand with a quiet sigh, shaking his head side to side as he signaled for the guards to stand down and close the heavy front doors against the howling blizzard outside.
*****
When dawn broke over Edrath, the pale morning light spilled gently through the tall velvet curtains of Prince Adrian's bedchamber.
The room was warm and quiet, filled with the soothing scent of herbal tea and fresh mountain wood.
Adrian stirred softly on the wide, silk-draped bed. He slowly opened his blue eyes, feeling remarkably light and rested. For the first time in weeks, the sharp, throbbing ache in his lower abdomen was completely gone—the silver-blue Moon-Lily roots Thoris had retrieved through the blizzard had done their work. Impeccably so.
Adrian sat up carefully, resting a hand over his prominent baby bump.
"Thoris...?"
he called out softly, his voice still thick with sleep.
The heavy oak door opened instantly, as if the man had been standing right outside waiting for his call.
Thoris stepped inside carrying a warm stone basin and a freshly folded linen towel. He was wearing a simple, clean servant tunic, though faint bruises were still visible on his knuckles from his trek up the icy cliffs.
He carefully set the basin on the bedside table and dropped down onto one knee, bowing his head low.
"Good morning, Your Highness,"
Thoris rasped out respectfully.
"I have brought warm water for your wash, and the herbal broth is simmering in the kitchen. How does your body feel today?"
Adrian looked down at the kneeling giant. The fiery anger from the previous night had entirely evaporated, leaving behind a quiet, tender warmth in his chest.
"The pain is gone,"
Adrian murmured softly.
He reached out his hand, resting his warm palm gently on top of Thoris's dark, neatly combed hair.
Thoris leaned his head slightly into the touch, letting out a soft, breathy sigh of relief.
"I am glad, My Lord,"
Thoris whispered, keeping his eyes downcast.
"I was terrified the cold root would not work on time."
"You silly brute,"
Adrian said, a tiny, genuine smile touching his lips.
"You nearly froze to death on that ridge for a handful of roots. If you ever do something so recklessly foolish again without my permission, I will personally strip you of your servant plaque and make you clean the stables for a year."
Thoris lifted his eyes, looking directly into Adrian's soft gaze. A faint, rare warmth flickered in his expression.
"If it is by your command, My Lord..."
Thoris murmured,
"...I would happily clean the stables for the rest of my life."
Adrian huffed out a quiet laugh, rolling his eyes as he pulled his hand back, though his cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink.
"Get up and hand me the towel,"
Adrian commanded lightly, though there was no bite in his tone.
"And make sure you eat breakfast yourself. You look like a ghost."
"Yes, Your Highness,"
Thoris replied softly, standing up gracefully to attend to his prince
Getting back to his duties, Thoris moved with a remarkable, quiet grace that seemed entirely unfitting for a man of his imposing, broad-shouldered frame.
Yet, as Thoris knelt beside the low table to arrange the porcelain dishes, Adrian kept a deliberate distance.
Sitting on the edge of his wide velvet divan, he rested a protective hand over his swollen bump, watching Thoris's deft, efficient fingers work.
Thoris was attentive—almost obsessively so. When he noticed Adrian shifting slightly to ease the ache in his lower back, Thoris would immediately reach for a silk-stuffed cushion, placing it carefully behind the prince's waist without prompting.
"Is the temperature in the room to your liking, Your Highness?" Thoris often asked softly, keeping his eyes respectfully downcast.
"I can add more sweet-wood to the hearth if you feel a draft."
"No... the temperature is fine," Adrian replied, his voice calm, measured, and carefully guarded.
"And the broth?" Thoris inquired, gently lifting the lid of the porcelain bowl. "I added a pinch of dried ginger root today to help with your afternoon nausea."
Adrian looked at the steaming broth, then down at Thoris's large, scarred hands. Those were the same hands that had once led war bands across the rugged Steppes. The same hands that had once inflicted deep, bitter wounds on Adrian's pride, dragging him through political humiliation and heartbreak.
Every time Adrian felt a sudden surge of warmth toward the former warrior—every time his heart softened at the sight of Thoris's humble, unwavering devotion—a sharp, defensive alarm rang inside his mind.
'Can I truly trust him?' Adrian thought quietly to himself, his fingers tightening against the silk fabric of his robes.
'Or is this merely another performance? A warrior adapting to survival after losing his title?'
He wanted to reach out. He wanted to melt into the comfort Thoris so desperately offered every single hour of the day. But the lingering scars of their painful past acted like an invisible, icy shield, keeping Adrian from taking that final step forward.
"The broth is good," Adrian murmured softly, picking up the silver spoon.
"You may leave now, Thoris. I wish to read in quiet for a while."
Thoris bowed his head low, hiding the faint flicker of sorrow in his eyes.
"As you wish, My Lord. I will be right outside the chamber doors if you require anything."
Adrian nodded, excusing him entirely from the room.
*****
While Thoris maintained a strict, respectful distance from Adrian, his presence elsewhere in the Imperial Palace had begun to cause an entirely different kind of disruption.
No longer wearing heavy iron chains, top-less furs, or carrying bloodstained battle-axes, Thoris looked striking. His tailored dark servant tunics framed his broad chest and narrow waist impeccably. His long, dark hair was neatly combed, tied back with a simple leather strap, highlighting his sharp, foreign jawline and warm amber eyes.
To the young maidservants and noble ladies-in-waiting who frequented the central palace wings, Thoris was nothing short of a walking fantasy—a mysterious, quiet, and dangerously handsome former prince serving in silence.
Later that afternoon, Adrian was walking slowly down the open marble gallery overlooking the inner courtyard, accompanied by Sevval. He was taking his daily prescribed walk to keep his blood circulating properly.
As they approached the central garden fountain, Adrian stopped in his tracks.
And standing near the rosebushes was Thoris, holding a heavy basket of fresh linen towels meant for the bathhouses. But he was not alone.
Three young maidservants from the western wing had surrounded him. One of them, a pretty blonde girl holding a small basket of sweet pastries, was giggling softly while looking up into Thoris's tall face.
"Sir Thoris," the girl giggled, reaching out to playfully brush an invisible piece of lint off his dark sleeve. "You work far too hard for Prince Adrian's estate! You should take a short break. We brought some honeyed plum cakes from the kitchen... won't you try one?"
Another maid leaned in closer, fluttering her eyelashes. "Yes, Sir Thoris! Your shoulders look so tense today. If you come by the lower laundry room later, I could help massage them for you..."
Thoris looked completely stiff, shifting his broad weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. He kept both hands firmly clamped onto his heavy linen basket, taking a small, polite step backward.
"I thank you for your kind offer," Thoris said in his deep, raspy voice, his tone entirely formal and flat. "However, I am currently on duty for His Highness Prince Adrian. I do not require pastries or rest."
"Oh, come on!" the third girl teased, stepping right into his space and smiling brightly. "Prince Adrian is resting in his chambers right now anyway! Just one small bite won't hurt—"
Above them on the garden gallery, Adrian's blue eyes narrowed into sharp, icy slits.
He stood motionless by the marble balustrade, his gaze locked onto the maid currently reaching out toward Thoris's arm.
His right eye twitched violently.
A strange, hot coil of raw possessiveness and sudden, terrifying jealousy surged through Adrian's chest, instantly burning away his usual cool composure.
'He is kneeling at my feet every morning asking for my forgiveness... and yet he stands there letting palace maids pamper him with sweet cakes?!'
Something inside Adrian's mind snapped cleanly in two.
*STEP. STEP. STEP.*
Without a word to Sevval, Adrian turned and marched down the grand stone staircase, his long silk robes sweeping across the steps like a gathering storm. His breathing was heavy, his cheeks flushed with a mixture of pregnancy warmth and pure, unadulterated fury.
The maids were still giggling around Thoris when a crisp, sharp voice sliced through the garden air.
"Is this where my personal servant slacks off during his official duties?"
The three maidservants froze instantly, turning around to see Prince Adrian standing a few paces away. His arms were folded tightly beneath his heavy bump, his blue eyes burning with an intense, lethal glare that could freeze a volcano.
"Y-your Highness!" the maidservants squeaked out in unison, their faces draining of color as they bowed frantically low.
"We... we were just—"
"I do not care what you were doing," Adrian snapped, his voice cold enough to cut through glass.
"Does the western wing have so little work today that its staff has time to cluster around my servants like flies over sugar?"
"Forgive us, My Lord!" the blonde maid stammered out, backing away in sheer terror. "We were just leaving!"
"Leave immediately," Adrian commanded coldly.
"Before I inform the Chief Steward that you require extra duties in the stables."
The three maids didn't wait a second longer. They picked up their skirts and scurried down the garden path as fast as their feet could carry them, leaving a heavy, tense silence in the courtyard.
Thoris remained standing by the rosebushes, his amber eyes wide with quiet astonishment as he watched Adrian approach.
Adrian marched right up to the towering warrior, stopping mere inches from his broad chest. He was breathing heavily, his small fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned stark white.
"Your Highness..." Thoris began softly, his deep voice cautious. "I did not mean to cause a distraction. I was merely delivering the linens when—"
"Shut up," Adrian growled out, glaring up into Thoris's eyes.
Thoris instantly clamped his mouth shut.
Adrian looked at Thoris's dark tunic—specifically at the sleeve the maid had touched just moments ago. A sudden, overwhelming impulse seized him. Reaching out with both hands, Adrian grabbed the front collar of Thoris's tunic, tugging the massive man downward so they were eye-to-eye.
"You are my servant," Adrian hissed out softly, his blue eyes flashing with fierce possessiveness. "I gave you your freedom! I gave you your identity plaque! Your leash belongs at my feet, Thoris—not in the hands of palace maids offering you honeyed cakes!"
Thoris's breath hitched in his throat. He didn't pull away. He didn't even try to stand up straight. Instead, he let Adrian hold him by the collar, his own eyes glowing with a sudden, deep intensity.
"My leash has never strayed, My Lord," Thoris whispered raspily, his chest rising heavily against Adrian's hands. "I have no interest in those women. I have no interest in anyone in this palace... or in this continent as a whole."
"Then stop standing around looking like an open invitation!" Adrian snapped back, though his voice shook slightly as he felt the intense, burning heat radiating from Thoris's body.
Adrian's hands slowly loosened on the tunic, but he didn't pull away completely. His gaze dropped down to Thoris's lips, then back up to his sharp amber eyes. All the fear, all the painful hesitation from their past was suddenly overshadowed by a raw, undeniable truth: no matter how much he tried to deny it, Adrian wanted this man. He wanted his protection, his devotion, and his warmth.
"If you ever let another woman touch your clothes again–..." Adrian murmured softly, his voice dropping into a dangerous, intimate whisper, "...—I will personally lock you back in my bedchamber and never let you leave."
A slow, breathless smile—the first real smile in months—spread across Thoris's scarred, handsome face.
He carefully lifted his massive, warm hands, gently resting them over Adrian's small hands still clutching his collar.
"Then lock me away, My Lord," Thoris murmured back with absolute, unwavering devotion. "I am already your willing prisoner."
*****