Gael smiled as Aryon’s home came into view, nestled among the trees like it had grown there. Stone paths curved through sweet flowering plants, and a gentle stream wove through the landscape like a silver ribbon.
The house was large but quiet in its majesty, made of warm natural wood and enormous windows that invited the forest in. When Gael stepped inside, morning light spilled through the glass in soft streaks, the place itself exhaling peace. He found Aryon in the greenhouse alcove off the main room, kneeling on the stone floor with his hands submerged in a wide ceramic basin. The water shimmered faintly, not just from the light but from the subtle ripple of magic running through it. Aryon moved with meditative intention, coaxing balance into the water, grounding himself in its rhythm. Tiny floating blossoms circled the surface like stars orbiting a gentle sun.
Elara was there too, sitting on a low armchair just beside the window, legs folded beneath her, sipping tea from a wide, chipped mug. She looked like she belonged to the stillness, as much a part of the space as the vines curling along the windowsill.
They each had their own homes, their own spaces, but of course she was here this morning.
Of course she knew.
Her presence wasn’t just casual, and this wasn’t just tea.
She had helped orchestrate the threads between he and Beth, yes, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be consequences. Even if she’d helped with the first sparkle, she was still going to ask what he meant to do about the blaze.
Gael moved to Aryon’s side, crouched, and dipped his own hands into the basin without needing to ask what was being done. The water was cool, and the gentle sway of energy helped settle the lingering hum still pulsing through him.
“If it were anyone else,” Aryon said quietly, not looking up, fingers still skimming the surface, “I’d say that’s a walk of shame right there.”
Gael chuckled, unrepentant. “No shame here.”
“I figured.”
Gael didn’t respond right away, but let the silence settle, the ripples of the basin slowly fading around their fingers until Aryon stilled his hands. The blossoms stopped circling. The water calmed. Then, with a tiny gesture, Aryon drew the remaining energy from the basin, letting the water evaporate into a warm mist that dissolved into the air. Without a word, they rose together and moved back into the house.
Aryon set water to boil and began steeping tea, plucking dried herbs from unlabeled jars. Gael retrieved the mugs without needing to be asked. Elara had already claimed a barstool at the kitchen island, her mug empty now but still clasped between her hands like she wasn’t ready to let go of the warmth.
He could feel their emotions: the quiet press of tension, the flicker of worry under Aryon’s calm and Elara’s cool. He’d never expected anything else.
When the tea was ready, they took it outside to the back terrace as the morning sun began gaining courage, burning offthe last of the dew. Gael took a slow sip, then set his cup down. “Let’s hear it, cousins,” he said. “Might as well get to it.”
Aryon sighed, long and weary. “I think you figure we need to talk about Beth.”
He’d known it was coming. Still, the words hit like a gust through the chest. His shoulders tensed despite himself. “Go ahead. Straight to the point, please.”
“She’s human,” Elara said, tone harder than her relaxed posture suggested.
“I noticed,” he said dryly. “I’m observant like that.”
The High Lord and Lady exchanged a glance. Then Aryon said, “We have to ask if you intend to keep pursuing her. A relationship with her.”
“You must know the answer to that.”
“We do.”
Gael wrapped his hands around the warm cup and steadied his voice. He knew—with absolute certainty—that his cousins would stand with him. He’d seen it in their auras, felt it in the comfort of their presence. But he also understood that the High Lord and Lady bore more than names; they bore duty. And duty had claws.
It was for the cousins, not for himself, that he kept his voice pleasant. “The rules that prohibit me from pursuing such a relationship are not absolute. It’s for the High Lords to decide where the line is drawn.”
Elara nodded, solemn. “Yes.”
“Are you going to enforce them? Because I will not give her up.” He set his cup gently on the table and leaned back in his chair, hands folded in his lap. “What I will give up, if that’s what will be asked of me, is my claim to the throne line. Strip the title. Erase the record. But I won’t be apart from her.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then both of them looked at him, Elara first, then Aryon, and in their faces was a mix of awe, happiness, and fear. Not for him. For what might come.
“Is she...” Elara began softly.
He nodded. “She’s mine.”
Aryon exhaled slowly, then took a sip of his tea. Maybe he just used the motion to stall, to let the moment breathe. Stars knew he needed to.
