Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being a Grand Knight in Fontaine didn’t mean glory. It meant you belonged to the crown.

People respected you. Some feared you. But only because you were theirs to command.

Alhaitham stood alone in the hallway outside the upper admin wing, between two smooth sandstone pillars and the loud ticking of a wall clock. He was used to silence. He even liked it. But this kind of silence made his sharp mind itch—like something was about to go wrong.

The sash over his shoulder marked his rank. A subtle thing, dull silver with one emerald stripe—but anyone who saw it stepped aside. In Fontaine’s rigid military structure, there were enforcers, there were marshals, and then there were knights—an elite division brought in for sensitive operations too delicate for the usual channels.

Alhaitham wasn’t born here. Sumeru bred him for logic, not ceremony—but Fontaine had a use for men like him: quiet, efficient, and loyal only to results.

And Alhaitham was the best of them.

Not because he chased power or praise but because he never wasted time wanting anything at all.

He didn’t grow up in the court, so no one taught him how to bow or flatter. He said what needed to be said, kept to logic, and held his scent in check so tightly that even other alphas avoided getting too close. That’s what made him useful—quiet, forgettable, and sharp enough to cut through anything.

A courier had found him that morning at the training grounds. No name. No insignia. Just a sealed message that said:
_____________________________

“Come to Chevalet . Private. No trail.”
_____________________________

Now he stood in front of an unmarked door deep within the Bureau of Internal Affairs, off-limits to most knights, especially those assigned to fieldwork. The clerk outside the room—an omega, judging by the subtle sweetness of his scent—barely looked him in the eye. “You can go in now, Alpha Grand Knight.”

Alhaitham stepped inside.

The office reeked of sterility—polished marble floors, faint cologne laced with hydro-oil, and the ever-present scent of ink and protocol. Alhaitham hated these places. Not because they were dangerous. Because they were fake.

Chevalet, a man who’d climbed through the cracks of every bureaucratic tier in Fontaine’s legal system, stood behind a pristine desk of pale lacquered wood. Not a single paper out of place. Not a fingerprint on the surface. Even his cuffs were sharp-pressed and stiff with starch.

The man didn’t bother with greetings.

“You’ve been briefed?” Chevalet asked, not looking up from his neatly stacked documents.

Alhaitham stood still just a few steps inside the office, hands clasped behind his back, boots silent on the marble. His scent was locked down, neutral, unreadable. A perfect Fontaine-trained alpha. “Only the assignment type.”

Chevalet finally glanced up, expression unreadable, and tapped the sealed folder in front of him with two fingers. “Then you’ll want to sit down for this.”

Alhaitham’s eyes flicked to the chair across the desk but didn’t move.

Chevalet gave a small, deliberate sigh and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together as if entertaining a child. His tone was flatter this time. “Prince Kaveh.”

The name dropped like a stone between them.

Chevalet waited, eyes scanning Alhaitham’s face for the smallest crack. When none came, he pushed the file across the desk just slightly—like bait.

A pause.

Alhaitham blinked slowly. “Omega prince?”

Chevalet gave a nod, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “The omega prince,” he echoed, with just enough dryness to suggest he didn’t think much of titles. “Your new protection assignment.”

Alhaitham’s brow lifted—not in surprise, but faint skepticism. “You’re assigning me to guard him?”

Chevalet leaned back in his chair, tilting his head just slightly. “On paper.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. The hum of the office lights sounded too loud. Then Chevalet’s tone dropped, casual and cold.

“In reality, your mission is to kill him.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Just the stillness of a man who weighed every word before reacting. Alhaitham didn’t move. His expression didn’t shift. But something in the air shifted around him—like the oxygen had been quietly siphoned out of the room.

“…Why?”

Chevalet didn’t blink. “Because he’s dangerous.”

Alhaitham’s expression didn’t shift, “The palace’s golden omega heir. Dangerous.”

The word felt… off.

Dangerous. It wasn’t that Alhaitham believed omegas were lesser, he didn’t. Biology wasn’t destiny, and he had no patience for people who thought otherwise. But omegas, specially royal ones were usually soft-spoken, ornamental, trained in diplomacy and deference. Coddled.

Alhaitham had guarded a few in Fontaine. Polite. Passive. Submitting with practiced smiles and eyes that flicked to their handlers before speaking.

He couldn’t picture one being a threat. 

So hearing Prince Kaveh’s name spoken with such weight, such finality—it didn’t align. The logic didn’t hold. He also didn’t know much. Just whispers. A few grainy reports passed around Fontaine’s internal files.

Golden hair—like a canary. Pretty, by some standard.

An omega heir with a reputation for being… visible. That was all.

He had never met the prince. Never seen him in person. And he didn’t need to. Pretty faces didn’t matter when the job was a kill order.

“Don’t let the hair and the pout fool you,” Chevalet said. “He’s already done damage. Leaked classified documents, approved access for foreign operatives, compromised two diplomatic missions. All without knowing what he was doing.”

Alhaitham’s voice was cool. “Then remove him from power. Strip his rights. Put someone else in charge.”

“He’s a prince, ” he said, deadpan. “You think it’s that easy?” There was no sarcasm in his voice. Just fact. Cold. Chevalet’s fingers tapped again. “He’s too visible, too adored. You exile him, he becomes a martyr. You imprison him, you spark civil unrest. And if he marries—”

“Dottore,” Alhaitham muttered.

The name tasted unpleasant in his mouth. He didn’t know the man personally— thankfully.

But even in Fontaine, Dottore was a name that came with weight. A former scholar, or so the records said. Brilliant. Reserved. The kind of mind you couldn’t quite read—just sharp enough to make people nervous.

Affiliated with the Fatui , maybe. Officially, he was a “diplomatic consultant” from a foreign delegation—polished, well-spoken, and never without something redacted in his files.

Chevalet nodded. “If the wedding goes through, he gains everything. The mate bond gives him access to royal assets, private diplomatic channels, even succession influence if the king steps down.”

He didn’t like it.

The logic was sound. Clean. And yet —something about it didn’t land right.

A royal omega, heir to a fragile court, too beloved to detain, too influential to exile. It didn’t sound like someone carving political strategy in the dark.

But Chevalet’s words painted Kaveh as careless, not calculating.

It didn’t quite match.

And Dottore… Alhaitham didn’t know much, but what little he’d read felt colder than anyone wanted to admit. Alhaitham’s voice was flat. “Then kill Dottore.”

Chevalet’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I understand the instinct. You see a threat, you cut it off at the head. Dottore looks like the head.” He gestured to the folder. “But you’re wrong.”

Alhaitham stayed silent.

“Dottore isn’t the problem,” Chevalet said calmly. “He’s the one we can’t touch. You think the political fallout from killing a Sumeru prince is bad?”

A pause.

“Trust me. Killing Dottore is worse. ”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. “The Fatui won’t say anything. Not at first. But they’ll respond. Quietly. Strategically. They’ll destabilize the region. Turn foreign trade against us. And we’ll never trace it back.”

Alhaitham frowned slightly. “Then cut the bond. Call off the wedding.”

Chevalet gave a slow, tired smile. “We’ve tried. Dottore won’t be reasoned with.”

He paused—just long enough to make the next words land heavier. “He’s already made it clear. He’s… taken a liking to the prince.”

A beat.

“An obsessive one.”

The silence that followed felt intentional. Heavy. Like a door shutting behind them.

His voice flattened, “We can’t trick him. We can’t redirect him. We’ve sent diplomats. Advisors. Subtle pressure. He doesn’t care. He wants him. ”

Chevalet folded his hands. “Kaveh is the only piece of leverage we have left. But he’s also the easiest to remove.”

Alhaitham’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “Do you really think the king will just let you kill his son?”

Chevalet smiled—thin, bloodless. “What do you think I’m hiring you for, then?”

Alhaitham’s jaw tightened. But he didn’t interrupt.

Chevalet leaned back slightly, as if the rest of it were just math. “The prince dies, and Dottore loses everything. No legal access. No bond. No position in court. It’s brutal, yes. But clean.”

A pause.

“This is not about mercy. It’s about containment.”

He sat back. “You’ll act as Kaveh’s personal guard. Blend in. Protect him until the moment you don’t. And you’ll keep your mouth shut. This stays off record.”

Alhaitham stayed still. His scent remained steady, his stance unchanged.

“You’re asking me to kill an innocent man.”

Chevalet’s brow lifted, unfazed. “I’m asking you to prevent the worst outcome.” He leaned back slightly, voice calm and steady. “You’re discreet. Efficient. And an alpha with no ties to this court. That makes you rare. That makes you useful.”

A pause.

“And,” he added, more pointedly, “you owe me.”

That part, Alhaitham didn’t argue with. His gaze dropped to the folder on the desk.

Prince Kaveh. Sumeru’s treasured omega heir.

He was said to be beautiful— breathtaking , even. Gold-threaded robes. Silken hair like a golden canary. A voice the nobles swore could charm the wind.

Loved by the people. Every noble’s dream match.

And Alhaitham was being sent to end him.

All because, apparently, the said prince was an idiot.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Alhaitham didn’t expect much from the palace courtyard.

He’d been in Sumeru less than six hours, and already he was tired of marble columns, ornamental fountains, and servants who looked terrified to speak too loudly. All of it felt curated. Ornate. Fake.

But beyond the main halls—down lesser-used corridors and sunlit walkways—he began to notice details that didn’t match the palace’s pageantry.

A small bridge tucked behind a colonnade, built in an unusual angle that mimicked desert wind lines.

A quiet garden layered with climbing flowers and open lattice shade, carefully arranged for airflow rather than aesthetic.

A carved stone seat, asymmetrical and unpolished, but positioned perfectly to catch the afternoon breeze.

They weren’t grand, but they were... intentional . Not designed to impress. Designed to function and to comfort. He found them almost by accident, scattered like forgotten thoughts. And though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, they intrigued him.

Whoever built these, he thought, understood more than symmetry.

He was early. The king had summoned him for a formal introduction—his “new personal guard.” Until then, he was free to wait.

And wait he did. Until—

“ You —you touched the archway?” a sharp voice rang out, incredulous and rising.

Alhaitham glanced toward the far end of the garden.

A man stood by the main colonnade, swathed in layers of silk and gold, a dupatta veiling his head and shoulders like something sacred. He didn’t walk—he moved like he belonged to the architecture. 

And then he turned.

Alhaitham’s gaze—sharp and clinical by nature—paused.

The man’s back was half-exposed, framed by a deep crimson capelet that dipped into a scandalously low V, secured by a gleaming gold filigree clasp just above his waist. Chains looped across the small of his back, swaying with every step, drawing the eye down.

The light caught on his skin—smooth, soft-looking, the kind of gold-tinged complexion that made Alhaitham’s fingers twitch against his will.

It was designed to distract. To display. To be noticed.

And it was working.

He tore his eyes away.

And then the scent hit him. Zaytun peaches . Sweet. Warm. Like sunlight through citrus trees and the skin of ripe fruit. Not overwhelming—just enough to linger at the edge of every breath.

This guy’s either a prince or a walking problem, Alhaitham thought.

Then the man opened his mouth, sharp and scathing, aimed at someone—

“I gave precise specifications,” the omega seethed. “The curvature of the arch was designed to mirror the geometry of pre-Eremite temples. It was historically accurate. And you flattened it.”

Definitely the second one.

The man he was berating stood several paces away. Taller. Pale. Long black coat buttoned to the throat, gloves immaculate. He looked like someone who belonged in a courtroom or a lab—or maybe a funeral home, officiating.

His voice was smooth. Too smooth.

“I adjusted the angle,” he said mildly, almost fondly. “The shadow line was interfering with the perimeter surveillance grid.”

The beautiful man snapped, “You adjusted it? Without consultation? Do you know what happens when you alter visual rhythm in sacred geometry? You’ve turned it into a laundry frame.”

The man tilted his head slightly. His smile was calm. Patient. Devoted in a way that made Alhaitham instinctively suspicious.

“It still functions,” he replied. “But if it bothers you that much, I’ll have it changed back. I like seeing you this passionate.”

The veiled man’s eyes narrowed, teeth bared. “Stop patronizing me.”

“Never,” the man murmured. “I find your anger beautiful. It makes the garden feel alive.”

Alhaitham’s brows lowered. Okay. That wasn’t normal.

Servants nearby pretended not to exist. One stared at a flower pot with religious devotion. Another visibly flinched when the veiled man raised his hand toward the column, gesturing wildly.

Alhaitham watched, unmoving.

Whoever that omega was, he had lungs. And a deep, disturbing passion for structural form.

The other man didn’t even blink.

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes at the man. Pale skin, sharp features. Silvery-blue hair tied back neatly, not a strand out of place. Even with the visor, his eyes gave off a strange, exact focus. Everything about him felt careful. Cold. Calculated.

What he was sure of: the man with the dupatta could not possibly be the prince.

No dignitary would waste their fury on a column.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The room they gave him was small—unexpectedly so for someone of his rank. No polished marble, no embroidered curtains. Just clean linen sheets, a single writing desk, and the faint scent of old books that clung to the corners like dust.

Alhaitham didn’t mind.

He sat cross-legged on the edge of the low bed, a book open in one hand, thumb pressed against the spine. The other hand rested idly in his lap, fingers tapping once every few lines. His cloak hung neatly over the back of the single wooden chair, folded with exacting care.

Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting long, rectangular bands across the polished stone floor. The room smelled faintly of old paper, pressed cotton, and the quiet trace of Padisarahs —his own scent, warm and dry, like petals ground into parchment. It clung to the linen, to the spine of the book in his hand. Modest. Efficient. Just the way he liked it.

Outside, the palace moved in muffled tones—heels clicking on tile, quiet voices, the distant rustle of fabric from a servant passing too quickly.

A knock came at the door. Sharp. Two taps.

Alhaitham didn’t look up. “Enter.”

The door creaked open. A young beta attendant stepped inside, posture tight, eyes not quite meeting his. “His Majesty will receive you now.” Alhaitham closed the book with a soft snap. No ribbon. No bookmark. He remembered the page.

He rose in a single fluid motion and reached for the cloak, sliding it over his shoulders without ceremony. The fabric settled into place, the weight familiar.

“Lead the way,” he said simply, adjusting the clasp at his throat.

The walk to the throne room was long. Ceremonial. Over-designed. Alhaitham kept his pace even, ignoring the sideways glances from lesser guards and court attendants who clearly hadn’t expected him—tall, silent, and unmistakably foreign yet familiar.

The throne room was grand but not overdone—dark green marble streaked with gold, sunlight spilling through stained glass in soft, natural colors. Every sound echoed a little, like the walls were made to hold onto voices.

Alhaitham stepped into the space with quiet steps, his cloak barely stirring behind him. He stopped at the appointed mark on the floor and bowed precisely, respectfully.

On the raised dais, the King of Sumeru sat beneath an intricate fan of carved stone and hanging ivy. He was robed in ceremonial jade, his crown modest on his blond hair but unmistakable. “The bodyguard from Fontaine?” the king asked, voice warm, almost pleased.

Alhaitham raised his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The king smiled. “Good. Good. I’ve heard you're sharp. Precise. And discreet.”

“I do what is required.”

The king chuckled lightly, resting one hand on the arm of the throne. “You’ll need all of that, I think. My son can be… spirited.”

He glanced off to the side with unmistakable fondness in his eyes. “He’s always had a flare for dramatics. And detail. He sees the world through beauty, through form and function intertwined. It’s a gift. And sometimes, a headache.”

There was laughter from a few nobles nearby.

“You’re not just a guard,” the king continued. “You’ll be a shadow. A shield. And if needed—a calming presence.” His eyes sharpened just slightly. “Can you do that?”

Alhaitham bowed again, crisp and unwavering. “Yes, Your Majesty. I understand.”

“Excellent.” The king’s expression softened again. “He’s our treasure. Treat him as such.”

But the words clung— our treasure —and before he could stop himself, his mind drifted.

To the veiled omega in the garden.

Silk trailing across the stone. Skin gleaming beneath gold chains. A glimpse of a jawline, the slope of a shoulder, and the scent—sweet and low and warm like Zaytun peaches.

He hadn’t even seen the man’s full face, and still—his memory lingered on it like a fingerprint on glass.

Could that have been the prince?

He doubted it.

Princes were meant to be refined. Poised. Serene. Not passionately yelling about sacred geometry with their backs half-bare in public gardens.

Still... if that wasn’t the prince, what did the real one look like?

Was he as gorgeous as the rumors claimed?

But for some reason, he felt relief.

Relief that the veiled omega with the biting voice wasn’t the prince. That he wouldn’t have to sink a blade into someone who looked like sunlight in silk, who smelled like peaches and trouble, who stood so proudly as if the world was beneath him—and dared to shout at men, alphas , when mostly no one else would.

“And here he is now,” the king added, voice tinged with unmistakable fondness. “Prince Kaveh.”

The soft rustle of fabric moved through the throne room—steps too fluid to be rehearsed, too elegant to be conscious. Alhaitham didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.

Someone came to stand beside him, just slightly to the left. Close enough that their sleeves nearly brushed. He could feel the difference in temperature, the hum of presence that set the air on edge.

And then came the scent. Zaytun peaches.

It was faint and warm, sweet like sun-softened fruit with a hint of something soft and expensive. The scent wrapped around him like a memory he didn’t have—strangely familiar, completely unfamiliar, and impossible to ignore.

His breath caught, not outwardly, but in the stillness of his chest. It was the same scent from the garden. The same figure draped in silk and gold, veiled like something sacred and volatile. The same omega with the cutting voice and the effortless grace that demanded attention without asking for it.

He hadn’t even seen his face. But everything in him recognized it now.

And then the king spoke again, proudly, without knowing how much weight his words would carry.

“Alhaitham of Fontaine, this is my son. Prince Kaveh of Sumeru.”

Alhaitham didn’t blink. Didn’t turn. His gaze remained fixed forward, unreadable. But something settled in his chest like a stone dropped into still water.

So it was him.

The omega from the garden.

Not a court decoration. Not some self-important noble.

The prince.

The one he was assigned to protect. The one he was meant to kill.

And somehow, without even seeing his face, Alhaitham already knew: he’d been hoping—quietly, foolishly—that it wasn’t.

Alhaitham turned.

Slowly. Like he didn’t already know.

And then he saw him.

Veil lifted. Face fully revealed. Not just glimpses of gold or stolen outlines—but all of it. Every line. Every impossibly perfect angle.

And for a breath—Alhaitham forgot how to think.

The rumors hadn't done him justice. None of them had mentioned the way his skin seemed to glow under the filtered palace light, or how his hair shimmered like crushed gold leaf, soft curls brushing the tops of his cheekbones as if painted there. His features were balanced with the kind of symmetry that would make a sculptor weep and an architect start over.

And his eyes—

Archons . His eyes.

Carmine, deep as spilled wine, rimmed with lashes so long and dense they cast shadows with every blink. They weren’t just beautiful, they stung to look at, because they held so much and gave away so little. If he let himself, he could drown in those eyes. Could lean in and never come back up. For a breath, they locked on Alhaitham’s, unblinking and wude. And in that second, the whole world quieted.

And then, just as quickly—it was gone.

Kaveh’s expression shifted back into something smooth and composed. Regal. Aloof. As if nothing had passed between them at all.

But Alhaitham had seen it.

And for some inexplicable reason, his pulse refused to return to normal.

Then Kaveh opened his mouth.

“So,” Kaveh said, voice light and polite, court-perfect, but there was a hint of irritation under it. “This is the new personal guard?”

The king nodded. “Yes, that’s him.”

Alhaitham didn’t say anything. He gave a brief glance in Kaveh’s direction, then offered a small nod—more out of obligation than interest.

Kaveh’s brow twitched. “Charming,” he muttered.

The king gave a mild chuckle. “He’s quiet, but reliable. One of the best Fontaine has to offer.”

Kaveh stood there, radiant and annoyed, eyes flicking toward him with a hint of expectation. His presence filled the room without effort—posture loose, chin tilted, waiting for something. Anything.

Alhaitham said nothing.

The silence stretched. Kaveh cleared his throat, clearly unimpressed. “Do you always stare like that, or am I just getting the special treatment?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer. His arms stayed at his back, his expression unmoving.

Kaveh tilted his head, lips curving slightly. Testing. “Seriously? Nothing?”

Still nothing. 

And then—because he had to say something, because the silence had started to feel too personal, he let his voice fall flat. “…This is just my face.”

Kaveh blinked.

Then exhaled through his nose in a single, quiet ha of disbelief. “Stars above,” he muttered, turning slightly like he needed the strength of the entire palace to resist throttling this man. “This is going to be fun.”

The king let out another amused hum, waving a hand. “Don’t take it personally, my son. He’s not one for conversation.”

Kaveh forced a smile, teeth clenched behind it. “Yeah. I’m starting to pick up on that. For a second, I was afraid they’d assign me someone with an actual personality.”

A few aides in the background shifted awkwardly. One of them coughed—quickly muffled.

Alhaitham didn’t move. He kept his arms behind his back, posture still, expression unreadable, the perfect picture of a man who absolutely wasn’t plotting violence. Or, at the very least, wasn’t actively imagining grabbing someone by the hair and shaking the smug out of them.

It was unsettling, really, how quickly this man had gotten under his skin. Alhaitham prided himself on being composed, calculated. Detached.

Now he was fantasizing about ruffling someone's hair like a petulant noble having a tantrum.

Excellent. Off to a great start.

It only made Kaveh more irritated. He stepped slightly closer, just enough to make a point, gaze trailing over the man’s face like he was trying to find signs of intelligent life behind those storm-colored eyes.

“Oh,” he said, tilting his head just slightly, eyes scanning Alhaitham with the kind of bored detachment one might use on a stone pillar. “You look like someone who’s never laughed in his life.”

Alhaitham’s gaze didn’t move. But something in his jaw locked, slow and silent.

Kaveh gave a pleasant smile, already turning toward the king. “Hopefully he has other talents. I’ve already got enough statues in the palace.”

Alhaitham blinked once. Slowly. The magic had long shattered.

Every poetic thought that had dared to take root was immediately strangled by irritation.

He looked at Kaveh’s perfectly sculpted mouth and, for one brief, traitorous moment, thought:

Maybe killing him wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

Chapter Text

The palace woke slowly, marble corridors still cold from the night, servants whispering through the halls with silken footsteps, the scent of morning spices clinging to the air. The Sumeru sun slanted through tall windows in clean lines, catching the dust motes in gold.

The security office was tucked behind a carved archway near the eastern wing—a shaded room filled with rolled maps, steel racks, and the quiet clatter of armor being adjusted. It smelled faintly of oil and parchment.

Alhaitham stood near the center table, hands behind his back, his presence so still it seemed to suck the noise out of the room. Before him, a color-coded map of the palace compound lay unrolled—entry points, fallback zones, blind spots. It was efficient. Detailed. Sumeru standard.

It wasn’t enough.

Captain Ranin of the Royal Guard, broad-shouldered and sunburned just above his collar, tapped a callused finger to the central corridor. “We station two guards here during public events,” the captain said. “They switch every hour. There’s an archer above the colonnade, just past the sundial. He can see the whole courtyard.”

Alhaitham glanced once. “There’s a blind spot behind the statue cluster. Left of the fountain.”

The captain frowned. “It’s there as a warning. No one would be stupid enough to try it.”

Alhaitham replied, “People do stupid things all the time.”

He didn’t look up from the map. His mind was already painting the courtyard in real time—footfalls, cover angles, fallback points. Every exit. Every path to the prince.

He shouldn’t care. This wasn’t about emotion. This wasn’t about Kaveh.

But still… He didn’t like that blind spot.

Didn’t like the thought of someone slipping through it while the prince was mid-speech, or smiling for a crowd that didn’t know better.

He pressed the thought down hard.

It’s just the act. Keeping the role tight. Nothing more.

Ranin blinked. “That area’s only for gardeners.”

“Then put someone undercover,” Alhaitham said. “It’s a weak spot.”

“We’ve never had any issues there,” the captain replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “And?”

The captain stiffened. A few guards shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re here to support us,” Ranin said with a tight smile. “Not tear down a system that’s worked since you wore the uniform.”

“I’m here to keep the prince alive,” Alhaitham said calmly. “If your system works, it shouldn’t need defending.”

A heavy silence bloomed across the room. One of the younger guards muttered something under his breath. Another one rolled his eyes.

Alhaitham didn’t react. 

He stepped closer to the table, tapping two spots on the map with the blunt end of a pen. “Second floor rotations have a thirty-second gap. Staff entrances aren’t covered properly. And if there’s a fire here, you lose three exits.”

Ranin crossed his arms. “Fantastic. Shall we wrap him in a tablecloth and roll him out with the dessert cart too?”

“If it keeps him alive,” Alhaitham said, “yes.”

A clock on the far wall ticked twice. He glanced up.

9:47

He straightened. “Briefing’s over.”

Ranin looked like he wanted to object, but said nothing.

Alhaitham rolled the map up neatly, handed it back, and turned to leave without further word.

Behind him, one of the guards whispered, “Arrogant bastard.”

Alhaitham didn’t stop walking.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Alhaitham stood outside the prince’s chambers, arms loosely crossed over his chest, posture as straight and still as the columns lining the corridor. The palace was quiet at this hour. Morning light filtering through the high stained-glass windows, casting slices of colored light across the polished stone floor. He'd been there for thirteen minutes.

Time passed differently for someone trained to track it with the same precision as breath. Seconds moved cleanly, evenly. Predictable things, like footwork and exits. Like routines.

Alhaitham arrived at the prince’s chambers at exactly 10:00.

Not a minute before. Not after.

He raised his hand, knocked once—sharp and efficient against the lacquered wood—and paused.

There was a beat of silence.

Then a muffled voice from within, delicate and airy like someone speaking around fabric,
“Coming!”

That had been thirteen minutes ago.

He hadn't knocked again. He hadn’t shifted, hadn’t sighed, hadn’t paced.

He simply waited.

The hallway outside the prince’s quarters was bathed in soft morning light from the high windows, casting faint amber patterns on the stone floor. A pair of servants passed once, moving quickly and not daring to meet his eye. Somewhere down the corridor, a fountain murmured behind carved latticework.

Still, Alhaitham remained motionless. Arms loosely crossed. Eyes focused on nothing and everything.

The delay didn’t surprise him. But it did annoy him.

He’d killed men with better timekeeping.

Then—finally—he heard the soft shift of sandals on tile a moment before the door opened.

For a prince known to be loud, theatrical, and spoiled, Alhaitham had braced for something excessive—perfumed attendants, fabric rustling like a storm cloud, demands about breakfast arrangements and which gold cup matched his mood.

But when the door finally swung open, none of that came.

Instead, Prince Kaveh stepped out alone.

His hair was damp, the loose strands near his temples curling slightly from the bath. Without any veil to hide behind, his features were fully visible—high cheekbones still touched with warmth, lashes darker from the water, and a few stray curls clinging to the slope of his jaw.

He smelled faintly of Zaytun peaches blended with something sharper and herbal. Shampoo, maybe. Clean, medicinal, with a citrus bite softened by floral undertones. Like something too expensive to name and too carefully chosen to be accidental.

It was the kind of scent designed to linger in the air.

And it did.

The scent lodged somewhere behind his thoughts.

Annoying.

He didn’t look composed so much as recently assembled—perfectly presentable, but still carrying the softness of someone who hadn’t yet re-armored for the day.

He wore a long, tailored robe in soft desert crimson, open slightly at the neck to reveal a delicate gold chain resting at his collarbone. The fabric framed his skin—a stretch of smooth, bare throat, unmarred. Unclaimed. No mark. No bond. No scent-gilded scar of a mate.

Unmated.

The realization wasn’t surprising. But it lingered. Just long enough for Alhaitham to tuck it away.

Matching gold cuffs caught the light with each movement—elegant, understated. No rings, no earrings, nothing flamboyant. Just an open collar, a glimpse of smooth skin at his throat. He wore no crown, arrived with no entourage, and yet still held the room. Composed, contained. The kind of beauty that didn't have to try. And somehow, that made it harder for Alhaitham to look away.

Standing there, bathed in morning light, skin still flushed from a warm bath, Kaveh didn’t look like a political threat.

Elegant.

And very, very killable.

Alhaitham’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Not because he was captivated—though there was something unnerving about how easily beauty settled on the prince—but because it complicated things.

It was always easier when the target was cruel. Obvious. Deserving.

But this?

This was just a man wrapped in silk and sunlight. A man who was about to become a corpse by Alhaitham’s hand. 

Focus.

Chevalet’s voice echoed in his mind.

Keep close. Smile if you must. And finish it on the day of the wedding.

Alhaitham said nothing. He merely inclined his head as the prince approached.

Kaveh glanced at him briefly, one brow raised in an expression that hovered somewhere between amused and politely tired.

“Oh,” Kaveh said, pausing in the doorway. His voice was casual, but a flicker of surprise crossed his face. “You're early.”

Alhaitham didn’t move. “You’re late.”

The prince blinked once. Then gave a small smile, like he was trying to reset the mood. He looked down and adjusted the gold cuff on his wrist—his movements smooth, practiced, and a little too graceful.

“Right,” Kaveh said, still not quite meeting his eyes. “Look... about yesterday.”

Alhaitham remained silent. Not out of malice, but because he didn’t trust what might come out if he responded with anything other than stillness.

Kaveh cleared his throat, his gaze drifting to the patterned mosaic beneath their feet. “I think we started off on the wrong foot. I—can be a little sharp sometimes.”

Alhaitham tilted his head slightly, studying him.

Oh? That wasn’t what he’d expected. Not from the prince described in the reports. Not from the omega who’d verbally undressed a diplomat in the middle of a garden without flinching. This version of Kaveh—soft-spoken, vaguely self-aware, vaguely apologetic—wasn’t in the report.

Still, he kept his voice flat. “Noted.”

Kaveh blinked. "I’m apologizing."

"Accepted."

There was a beat of silence.

“Stars, you’re really as warm as the rumors say,” Kaveh muttered, adjusting the fall of his sleeve with practiced grace. Then he turned slightly, one hand lifting in a half-gesture toward the room. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

His voice was a touch too bright. Carefully neutral. Like he was trying to pretend their first meeting hadn’t ended in mutual disdain.

Alhaitham didn’t speak. He simply fell into step beside him.

And yet the scent of Zaytun peaches, clinging to the air around Kaveh like warmth itself, made it feel like none of this would be simple at all.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The prince’s study was brighter than Alhaitham expected.

Sunlight spilled through tall arched windows, casting warm light across the tiled floor. The room smelled faintly of paper, ink, and fresh citrus. Shelves lined the walls—half scrolls, half models. A miniature replica of the palace courtyard sat mid-construction on the central table, its spires carved with obsessive detail.

Kaveh moved with ease through the space, tugging off his outer robe and tossing it over a chaise with theatrical grace. Underneath, he wore a relaxed cream-colored outfit—soft, light fabric that fit close to his frame. The shirt hung open slightly at the collar, and the sleeves hugged his arms just enough to show the lean muscle beneath. It was simple, but he made it look good without even trying.

“You can come in, you know,” he said over his shoulder. “I don’t bite. Not unless cornered.”

Alhaitham stepped inside without comment.

His own scent—cool and dry, like crushed pasidarahs and stone—barely mixed with Kaveh’s. Zaytun peaches and herbal shampoo, fresh from a bath. Together, it made something strangely pleasant. Soft and sharp. Like summer heat on polished marble.

The prince had turned to speak, then faltered—eyes unfocused, a slow breath caught in his chest. A dazed look flitted across his face, gone just as fast.

The prince cleared his throat.

Kaveh circled to the desk, gathering a few scattered pages before pausing, as if remembering something mid-motion. "You probably wondered what I do," Kaveh said suddenly, turning to face him without warning. "I mostly handle restoration and upkeep around the palace—ceremonial halls, gardens, things like that."

His fingers tapped lightly against the wood. “Nothing terribly exciting. Mostly making sure no one destroys anything symmetrical.”

Alhaitham studied the model. “You designed that?”

Kaveh followed his gaze. “Mm. Commissioned it for a redesign proposal. Never used.”

His voice was light, but his shoulders had stiffened—just slightly. He shrugged. “I’ve helped with a few things outside the palace. Nothing big. A well in Aaru Village, and some repair work after the storm last year.”

He trailed off. Then smiled faintly, almost to himself.

“There’s one I’ve been drafting for years,” he added, a touch quieter. “A residential compound—nothing official. Just an idea.”

Something in his voice had shifted. Calmer. Brighter. Unpracticed.

He seemed to catch himself.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, brushing past it, “it’s never going to happen. You know how these things are. Politics, funding, the usual hoops.”

Alhaitham didn’t reply immediately. His gaze lingered on Kaveh longer than necessary.

The prince wasn’t looking at him—he’d turned back to the model, adjusting a tiny sandstone spire that didn’t need adjusting.

Why stop talking about it?

He was animated for a breath. Then it vanished.

Curious.

But Alhaitham said nothing.

Instead, he stepped beside him and folded his arms. “Is the north elevation sloped incorrectly?” he asked, nodding toward the model.

Kaveh blinked. Then looked.

A pause.

“…No,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “It’s perfect.”

Alhaitham nodded. “Then stop fidgeting with it.”

Kaveh let out a quiet huff. “You really are impossible.”

“Noted.”

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Kaveh led the way into the palace gardens. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, and the soft scent of flowers hung in the air. Fountains murmured in the distance, and birds flitted between neatly trimmed hedges. It was calm. Even beautiful.

Kaveh walked ahead with a measured pace, hands clasped behind his back, speaking lightly.

“This garden was originally designed by a Liyue architect. You can see it in the curve of the bridge—it mirrors the arches used in Geo temples. When I worked on restoring it, I kept that influence but updated the structure. It needed more airflow and a clearer view of the central plaza.”

Alhaitham followed two paces behind, silent for a moment. Then,

“You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

Kaveh glanced over his shoulder. “I studied under Kshahrewar. Top of my cohort.” He paused, then added, “Though I left early. The Academy and I had… artistic differences.”

“Didn’t like being told no?”

Kaveh gave him a look. “Didn’t like being told wrong.”

Alhaitham said nothing.

Kaveh slowed near a flowering arbor, running his fingers along a low-hanging vine of pale blossoms. “Also replaced the irrigation channels here. The old ones leaked and were structurally unsound. But of course, no one noticed until I pointed it out.”

Alhaitham gave a noncommittal hum.

Kaveh sighed. Loudly. “Do you always talk this little, or is this a personal choice meant to drive me insane?”

You are insane.

“I talk when necessary.”

“Oh, how lucky I am,” Kaveh muttered. “I get the one who treats conversation like a security threat.”

They reached the koi pond. The sun filtered through the curved trellis, casting soft patterns over the stone path. Kaveh turned slightly, and the breeze caught the ends of his robe just enough to make them flutter.

Alhaitham’s gaze flicked up— briefly.

The omega stood there like he belonged in some mural: golden hair kissed by light, eyes sharp and irritated, the curve of his mouth softening only when he was talking about arches and bridge angles.

Annoying, Alhaitham thought. Annoying and… symmetrical.

“I can feel you judging me,” Kaveh said suddenly, not turning around.

“I’m just listening.”

“You do it like it’s a crime.”

Alhaitham stopped beside him. “Would you prefer I fake interest with exaggerated compliments and pretend I know less than you?”

Kaveh turned to face him, incredulous. “No. I’d prefer you not stand behind me like an emotionally constipated gargoyle while I talk about my life's work.”

Alhaitham stared at him.

Kaveh huffed. “And there it is again! That blank look! You might as well be a statue—you’ve got the expression for it.”

Alhaitham didn’t look away. “That’s the second time you’ve compared me to a statue.”

Kaveh crossed his arms. "It’s not my fault it’s accurate."

Alhaitham’s gaze lingered. Just a moment too long.

Kaveh’s cheeks were flushed—whether from the sun or frustration, Alhaitham didn’t care to guess. His lips parted like he was about to say something else, some biting quip—but it never came. The light framed his profile like a sculpture half-finished, brilliant and sharp in all the wrong places.

Alhaitham looked away first.

They continued walking in silence, the gravel path crunching underfoot, the wind stirring the edges of their robes. Then Kaveh muttered, just loud enough to hear, “You’re really not much for conversation, are you?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer.

Kaveh snorted. “Why did I even ask.”

The gates to the palace gardens came into view.

Alhaitham took a breath. “You talk enough for both of us.”

Kaveh glanced at him, brow raised. “Was that sarcasm?”

“Observation.”

“Hm,” Kaveh said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. “Rude either way.”

Chapter Text

The day passed without urgency.

Alhaitham was still learning the palace’s rhythm: polished corridors, calculated footsteps, and conversations muffled behind expensive doors. Kaveh typically broke through that quiet with ease. Louder than necessary, draped in silk, always saying more than what was spoken.

But today, he was quiet.

They walked through the east courtyard without guards or attendants. Morning light slanted over the stone in pale gold, catching on the dust gathered in corners no one had swept. Kaveh’s hands were clasped behind his back, shoulders just slightly tense beneath the folds of soft crimson fabric.

“I hate this wing,” he said at last, voice light but tired. “The proportions are wrong. No symmetry. The windows let in all the glare but none of the warmth. It’s practically offensive.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. Kaveh’s commentary had stopped expecting answers two days ago.

They walked under a crumbling archway, where the mosaic above was worn and faded. Kaveh slowed, reaching up to touch a chipped tile — blue and gold, its edge broken.

“I sketched a redesign for this whole section once,” Kaveh said, his voice light, almost offhand. His fingers trailed delicately along the curve of the stone as he walked, tracing imperfections no one else would have noticed. “Sent it to the royal architect. Never heard back.”

Alhaitham’s gaze followed the movement, but he didn’t respond immediately. He simply watched — steady, silent, unreadable as ever. Then, quietly, “Why not restore it yourself?”

Kaveh let out a soft, short laugh. It wasn’t bitter, exactly but there was something hollow at the edges. He withdrew his hand from the stone, flexing his fingers once before letting them drop to his side. “Because I have more important things to do, apparently,” he said, voice tinged with practiced humor. “Because that’s what I was told.”

His hand fell limp, curling slightly as it brushed the fabric of his robe. He didn’t look at Alhaitham when he added, softer, “I’ve been told a lot of things.”

The air between them stilled, the quiet settling heavier this time — as if the space itself was listening.

Kaveh’s steps slowed, and he came to a stop near one of the low arches, sunlight cutting clean lines across his face. He stood there a moment, unmoving, his eyes fixed on something distant and unseen. His lashes lowered faintly, and his lips tugged into a faint, almost tired smile — the kind people wear when they’ve accepted something they wish they hadn’t.

Then, after a beat too long, he spoke again, quieter, as though asking more to the air than to Alhaitham.

“Tell me something,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, eyes half-lidded as he glanced sideways, not quite meeting Alhaitham’s. “If someone asks you to fold yourself smaller….for peace, for politics, for your family… does that still count as your choice?”

His voice lingered at the edges, soft and weightless, but it carried. The kind of question that didn’t really expect an answer.

Alhaitham’s brow furrowed faintly, a rare crack in his usual impassiveness. He studied the prince for a moment longer as if weighing the meaning beneath the words, then spoke, low and sure,

“No.”

Kaveh hummed, noncommittal. He didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue either. He merely turned back toward the path ahead, his robe trailing softly behind him as he walked on without elaboration like the question hadn’t mattered in the first place.

For a few steps, neither of them spoke.

The sound of their footsteps filled the gap. Soft against the gravel path, the faint rustle of silk brushing stone. Somewhere nearby, a bird called, distant and high.

Then, Kaveh broke the silence, almost idly. “You’re quiet.”

Alhaitham didn’t reply.

Kaveh glanced sideways, his expression vaguely annoyed. “You know, for someone assigned to stay glued to my side, you don’t exactly make yourself pleasant company.”

Still, Alhaitham said nothing.

Kaveh made a face. “Seriously? Do you even talk outside of giving orders and shutting people down?”

A beat.

Then, flatly, “When necessary.”

Kaveh stopped walking, turning to face him fully with a look of theatrical disbelief. “Archons, you are insufferable.”

The prince had spent the better part of the morning filling every breath of air with words, complaints, and dramatic sighs — and he was the insufferable one?

He didn’t bother saying it aloud. Kaveh would just argue.

Alhaitham met his gaze evenly, unmoved. “You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who claims not to care.”

Kaveh threw up his hands, exasperated. “ Fine. Color me curious. If you’re going to be stuck following me around, I might as well know something about you.” He gestured vaguely at Alhaitham’s whole person. “So? Hobbies? Interests? What does the great and grim Fontaine knight do when he’s not glaring holes into walls?”

For a moment, Alhaitham didn’t answer. He started walking again, seemingly content to let Kaveh stew.

But after a few steps, he spoke, voice dry and unhurried.

“…I read.”

Kaveh blinked. Then barked a soft laugh, eyes lighting up with playful disbelief. “Of course you do. How terribly on brand.” He threw his hands up lightly. “Let me guess — dense historical records? Dry legal journals? Perhaps riveting material like ‘Fontaine Penal Codes: Revised Edition.’ ”

Alhaitham stared at him, resisting the urge to sigh. Irritating.

Of course the prince couldn’t leave it alone. He had the sort of personality that filled silence just to hear it break, poking and prodding like conversation was some mandatory sport. Dense historical records. Penal codes. As if Alhaitham spent his nights lovingly caressing court documents by candlelight.

He could practically feel the headache forming behind his eyes.

“Books,” he says flatly. “That’s all you need to know.”

Kaveh grinned, clearly enjoying himself now. “Stars, I bet your idea of a scandal is when a scholar misquotes a thesis.”

​​The prince talked like he was afraid silence might suffocate him. Every sentence came with an extra flourish, like words were decoration, not function.

Does he ever stop to breathe between jokes?

Alhaitham was already mentally cataloging the fastest routes out of the conversation when Kaveh kept going. “Do you always talk this much?” he asked, voice deliberately even but edged with faint exhaustion.

“Someone has to, clearly,” Kaveh retorted, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. His hands dropped as his gaze shifted forward again, the edge in his voice giving way to something more relaxed.

“…Jokes aside,” he added, voice lower now, “I get it. Books are... easy company.”

Alhaitham glanced at him again, the slight shift in tone not missed.

Kaveh gave a light shrug, eyes skimming over the garden path ahead, his voice softer now — almost like he was thinking aloud, but with that familiar, careless tilt to his words.
“Sometimes it’s easier, you know? Reading about people who mess up. Who lie, or fall apart, or do everything spectacularly wrong and still keep going.”

His fingers tugged absently at the edge of his sleeve, the gesture casual but restless. He huffed a faint laugh, the corners of his mouth tugging upward like he couldn’t quite help himself. “And even when they make fools of themselves, you still want them to figure it out somehow. You root for them. You think, ‘Come on, get it together already.’ ”

He paused, eyes narrowing faintly at something distant…or nothing at all. The smile faltered for half a second, quieter now, unguarded. 

But then, as if catching himself, he let out a breath and straightened his sleeves with an easy motion, voice flicking back to casual. “Anyway,” he added lightly, “fictional disasters are far more charming than the real kind.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond right away. But his gaze lingered, longer this time, before he faced forward again.

“…Fair enough,” he said simply.

Still, the words stuck with him more than they should have. He could have said more. Could have answered the unspoken question in kind. Told him what he actually read, what kinds of books held his attention on sleepless nights, what volumes were still stacked neatly by his bedside even now.

Kaveh clearly wanted to know. The prince talked too much, but not aimlessly. He fished, prodded. Tried.

But what was the point?

Sooner or later, Kaveh would be gone. Not by chance.

By his own hands.

Alhaitham’s fingers curled briefly at his side. On that day, a day meant for silk and vows and celebration. Kaveh would stand dressed in splendor, the court’s golden heir, radiant for the last time. And Alhaitham would be the one to end it. Not a stranger. Not an enemy. Him. Someone who is supposed to protect the omega’s life.

He would watch all that color spill red. Watch beauty unravel in seconds. Watch the prince fall, and know it had been his hand that hollowed the light from his eyes. And still, even then, he could imagine Kaveh looking stunning.

Draped in red, even in ruin. In his final breaths.

The silk would cling, the gold would gleam one last time beneath blood and moonlight. His hair would spill like molten metal, mouth parted in some half-finished breath or broken protest, eyes wide, not yet dulled, just caught in that fragile instant before the end.

Even death wouldn’t strip him of it. He would still look too lovely, too vivid.

There was no use offering pieces of himself. No logic in feeding ghosts before they were even made.

So instead, he said nothing.

Kaveh smiled faintly, but didn’t push the conversation further. He just kept walking, letting the quiet settle between them again. But somehow, it felt less sharp now.

They hadn’t made it far past the south atrium when a royal attendant approached, bowing low. “Your Highness,” the man said, “His Majesty requests your presence in the council chamber.”

Kaveh stilled.

For half a second, something flickered across his face. Not fear. Not anger. Something quieter.

Then it vanished.

He straightened, smoothing down his sleeve, and turned to Alhaitham with a small, practiced.

“Try not to miss me too much.”

Kaveh walked off without waiting for a reply that he knew wouldn’t come.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Twenty-four minutes later, he returned.

The door clicked softly behind him, and for a heartbeat, he just stood there. Nothing looked out of place. His robes were pristine, smooth where they draped over his shoulders. His earrings still caught the light with every small tilt of his head. Not a single strand of hair had fallen from its place.

Perfect. Composed. Unbothered.

He crossed the threshold with fluid, measured steps, as if rehearsing them. The kind of grace that didn’t feel natural — too exact, too restrained.

When he thanked the attendant on his way out, his voice was soft. Polite. It slipped through the air like it didn’t belong to him at all.

And when his eyes lifted, the mask was already set.

Bright smile. Casual tone. Carefully easy.

“Back in one piece,” Kaveh said, light like a throwaway joke. His eyes flicked to Alhaitham, and his mouth twitched into a smile just a little too fast. “Don’t look so disappointed.” 

Alhaitham said nothing. He just kept his eyes on Kaveh, silent and focused, picking up on every small movement Kaveh likely thought he was hiding.

Kaveh turned smoothly, adjusting the golden chain at his collar with a flick of his fingers as he started ahead, a prince through and through. Shoulders back, chin lifted. Grace in every step.

But beneath it, something was off.

He moved too evenly now, every shift of weight too deliberate, like leaning even slightly might make everything else crack.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Alhaitham arrived at the palace. And that was long enough to realize one irrefutable truth:

Prince Kaveh did not stop moving.

Today was no different.

“I want to go to the market,” the omega prince declared over breakfast, tearing into a cheese-filled pastry like he was preparing for battle. “I need fresh ink, and the court scribes always give me the boring black kind.”

He was dressed in soft pinks that morning. Layers of rose and blush draped elegantly over his frame. The fabric clung and shifted as he moved, catching the light in all the right places. Gold embroidery lined the cuffs and collar, subtle but expensive, and his sleeves, semi-sheer and delicate—fluttered slightly every time he reached for something. A single pearl earring swung at his ear, drawing the eye with every tilt of his head.

Alhaitham didn’t comment. But he noticed.

Unfortunately.

The way the pink made Kaveh’s skin look warmer. The way he moved without realizing the effect. The way his words were always ridiculous—but somehow, never forgettable.

It was too early in the day for this much trouble in silk.

Alhaitham blinked once. “Isn’t ink supposed to be black?”

Kaveh froze mid-bite.

He turned his head slowly, as if he’d just been personally insulted by a dictionary. “That is the saddest thing I’ve heard all morning.”

Drama queen.

Alhaitham fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Kaveh set the fork down with the precision of someone restraining themselves from throwing it. “Ink is more than legibility. Its character. Depth. Meaning. You write a poem in violet and it breathes. You sign a treaty in garnet and it bleeds.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “Or you could just say you like pretty colors.”

Kaveh let out a sharp breath. “Stars save me from practical men.”

Getting back to the topic of leaving the palace, Alhaitham said, deadpan, “The king doesn’t like it when you go out.”

Kaveh shrugged one shoulder, golden hair brushing his cheek. “Which is why you are coming with me.”

“Your father doesn’t like that either.”

“Not unless I call him papa in front of everyone and pretend I’m still ten. Which I’m prepared to do.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow.

Kaveh smiled, all teeth and charm. “Watch and learn.”

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The king had melted faster than butter in the desert sun.

One wide-eyed “ Papa~? ” from Kaveh, complete with an innocent blink and a tragic little sigh, and the rest was a performance for the ages.

He drifted across the throne room like a wilting flower, brushing his hand delicately across his father’s sleeve. “Just a short trip to the market,” he murmured. “I’ve been ever so good this week. Haven’t thrown a single vase.”

The king looked down at him with a soft smile, clearly enchanted. “You’ve always been good, my dear.”

Alhaitham blinked slowly, resisting the urge to glance up at the ceiling and beg for divine intervention.

“Only if your new guard Alhaitham goes with you,” the king added fondly. “And no wandering into apothecaries again.”

Kaveh lit up like the sun itself. “Thank you, Papa dearest! You’re the kindest. I shall return with ink and my virtue intact.”

Alhaitham coughed into his fist. “...Charming.”

Kaveh was already halfway out the throne room, robes flaring dramatically as he turned over his shoulder to shout, “Well? Come on, statue! You're on ink duty now!”

The king chuckled. “He’s not so difficult once you get used to him.”

Alhaitham gave a short nod and followed, thinking grimly:

I’ve only been here for a week.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

They walked through the stables in silence, their steps soft on the hay-covered stone floor. The air smelled of leather and warm fur, and the low sounds of horses echoed through the space.

Kaveh slowed near one of the stalls, his footsteps quieting as his expression softened. He rested his arms on the wooden rail, leaning in slightly with a peaceful look on his face.

Inside stood a tall black stallion, proud and striking. Its coat gleamed in the stable light, every muscle beneath it smooth and strong. The horse let out a low nicker, calm and steady, like it recognized Kaveh and didn’t mind the attention.

“You’re so beautiful,” The Prince whispered, mostly to himself. He reached out, fingertips brushing gently along the horse’s flank with quiet admiration, like he was handling something delicate.

Alhaitham stood a few paces behind him, arms crossed, watching silently with his usual unreadable expression.

Kaveh moved slowly along the stall, circling around to the front, his hand lifting to reach for the horse’s cheek. The animal didn’t flinch. Kaveh looked entirely at ease.

And just as Alhaitham took one step closer—

The horse gave a flick of its tail. Smooth. Swift. Perfectly timed.

SPLAT.

The tail whipped straight into Alhaitham’s face.

It left a streak of hay, fur, and whatever else the stall floor had to offer, right across his cheek and jaw.

Kaveh turned at the sound, eyes widening. Then slowly— too slowly—he raised a hand to cover the smile threatening to break across his face.

The stallion let out a quiet snort.

Alhaitham stood perfectly still. He didn’t move. He didn’t utter a single word.

But Kaveh could swear he saw one of his eyelids twitch.

Then absolutely lost it.

He doubled over, one hand gripping the stall rail for balance, the other clutching his stomach as laughter burst out of him like it had been waiting all day.

“Oh—” he wheezed between gasps, eyes already starting to water. “Oh my Stars , you—you took that like a soldier—”

Alhaitham exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenched. “I am a soldier.”

“You looked like a wall. A slightly stunned wall.”

Kaveh lost it completely. He bent over, hands on his knees now, shoulders trembling as the laughter kept coming in helpless waves. His face flushed a deep, glowing red, tears spilling down his cheeks without shame.

“I— pfft —your face didn’t even move! I thought you died! ”

He tried to straighten up, failed, and leaned fully into the rail for support, wheezing like he'd just sprinted across the desert. His voice cracked mid-laugh. One of his gold cuffs slipped down his wrist, catching the light as he wiped at his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand.

Alhaitham stood beside him, face unreadable, the faint imprint of a tail still damp across his cheek.

“Are you finished?”

Kaveh looked up, chest still heaving. He opened his mouth—then caught sight of Alhaitham’s unimpressed expression and wheezed again, nodding through another wave of stifled giggles.

Alhaitham, one brow arched, expression unreadable, save for the faint pink rising at the bridge of his nose—likely from the hit. Definitely…from the hit.

Kaveh, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “I’m— I’m done, I swear—” He hiccupped once, then clambered up onto the black stallion with all the grace of someone who very much did not look ready for silence.

With a swirl of red fabric and gold trim, he climbed onto the black horse like someone used to show, not practicality.

One stirrup caught. He cursed under his breath, adjusted, and finally swung himself into the saddle with a little bounce that nearly sent the horse snorting.

But by the time he sat upright, brushing windswept strands of hair from his flushed face, he looked—irritatingly regal.

The sunlight caught in his golden hair, and the dark silk of his sash shimmered like a painted stroke across the horse’s sleek hide. His cheeks were still pink from laughing. His mouth was parted slightly, like he was still catching his breath, but pretending not to care.

Alhaitham watched the entire thing in silence.

Only if the prince hadn’t been such a royal pain in the—

He forced the thought away with a breath.

He stepped forward, grabbed the reins of the white horse beside them, and swung up into the saddle with crisp, military ease.

Kaveh gave him a sidelong glance, smug. “Took you long enough.”

Alhaitham didn’t reply. But the tail-mark on his cheek felt warmer now, definitely from the sting.

Kaveh just smiled again—smaller this time. Warmer.

Then they rode into the sun, side by side, one laughing softly, the other pretending not to notice.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The market was alive in a way the palace never was.

Voices filled the air—people haggling, laughing, calling out prices—mixed with the scent of grilled meat, fresh bread, and perfume that was far too strong for the desert heat.

Kaveh practically shimmered under the midday sun, his crimson outer robe catching every shard of light, gold accents flashing with each dramatic step. Beneath it, glimpses of softer pink fabric peeked out—muted rose and blush tones that clung closer to his frame, a warmer, gentler contrast to the bold red he wore over it. The combination made him stand out even more, like a flame wrapped in flower petals, vibrant and impossible to ignore.

Alhaitham followed two steps behind, hood pulled low, already regretting his life.

They passed spice stalls, fabric vendors, stalls lined with handmade candles and sun-cured scrolls. Kaveh ignored them all.

Until he stopped dead.

“Oooh,” he said, eyes lighting up. “That looks promising.”

Alhaitham glanced up.

It was a small storefront tucked into the edge of a shaded alley, filled with intricately carved wood panels, lattice screens, painted pottery, and hanging lanterns shaped like architectural dreams. The air smelled of sandalwood and burnt citrus.

Kaveh pushed the curtain aside and stepped in.

Alhaitham followed without comment.

Inside, everything was dim and glowing—sunlight filtered through colored glass and fabric canopies, casting rainbow shadows across the floor. Shelves held delicate geometric sculptures, wall hangings, and carved panels covered in mosaic patterns. To most people, it was beautiful.

To Kaveh?

“Hm,” Kaveh hummed, hands behind his back as he walked down the narrow shop aisle. His eyes scanned the hanging latticework with the kind of judgment that said he could rebuild the whole display—and probably would, if given the chance. “These are trying way too hard.”

Alhaitham blinked, trailing two steps behind. “The wood?”

“No, the aesthetic ,” Kaveh said, gesturing vaguely at the panel like it had personally offended him. “Look at that carving. The motifs are confusing. There’s no cohesion. It’s like someone copied five different dynasties and jammed them into one frame hoping no one would notice.”

He moved on to a nearby shelf, fingers brushing over the edge of a glass lantern with disapproval radiating off him in waves.

“And this —Stars above—this isn’t sacred geometry, it’s just lazy symmetry . They mirrored the same pattern four times and called it divine balance. There’s no emotional progression. No rhythm. It’s like staring into a well of mediocrity.”

Alhaitham folded his arms. “You sound like a critic in a one-star gallery.”

Kaveh turned his head sharply, eyes bright. “ Thank you. ”

“Not a compliment.”

Kaveh beamed anyway, looking annoyingly pleased with himself , then pointed toward a hanging lamp shaped like a lotus that had somehow been stuffed with gilded tassels, fake crystals, and something that looked suspiciously like a pinecone.

“And that ,” he declared. “That is a crime.”

From the back room, the soft jingle of bells sounded—someone returning.

The shopkeeper—a stocky man in his fifties with oil-streaked hands, a tunic too tight around the middle, and a permanent frown carved into his face—stepped into view just in time to hear:

“—and don’t get me started on the color theory in this embroidery. If you’re going to use lapis and ochre, at least have the decency to balance it with— oh no, what is that, saffron thread? This is visual sabotage. ”

“ Hey! ” the man barked.

Kaveh paused mid-gesture, one hand frozen dramatically in the air.

“If you don’t like it,” the shopkeeper snapped, swatting the air like Kaveh was a mosquito, “then don’t buy it. I don’t remember asking for a free masterclass from someone who clearly isn’t planning to spend a single mora.”

Kaveh turned, slowly, offended by the concept of being questioned.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” The man strode forward, wiping his hands on a stained rag. “Get the hell out of my shop.”

Alhaitham took one slow step back.

Kaveh blinked, genuinely stunned. “I’m the prince. ”

The shopkeeper didn’t even blink. “Oh really? And I’m the King of Sumeru. You wanna swap titles or take your royal attitude somewhere else?”

Alhaitham didn’t sigh, but it was a near thing.

Kaveh gasped— actually gasped—like he’d been personally slapped with a discount tag. He straightened up as if summoned to court, one hand to his chest. “Do you speak to all royalty this way?”

“Only the ones who walk in here shouting like they’re on stage,” the man shot back, slamming a drawer shut hard enough to make the shelves rattle. “Last week, a curator from Mondstadt called my work brilliant. And then you show up, smelling like you bathed in fruit tea, acting like the whole place is beneath you—calling my lotus lamps a crime? Please. You don’t look like a prince. You look like someone who’s been telling people they are for so long, they still don’t believe you.”

For the first time that day, Alhaitham let out a quiet snicker, short, barely there, but unmistakably amused.

Kaveh caught it immediately.

He spun around, eyes sharp and murderous, and shot him a glare that could cut glass.

The look said, loud and clear: Laugh again and I’ll brick up your mouth like a cursed old window.

Alhaitham, wisely, stayed silent.

He turned back to the shopkeeper with a smile sharp enough to draw blood, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he tilted his head, "Apologies," Kaveh said, voice dripping with false sweetness, "for assuming basic craftsmanship wasn’t beneath someone too dense to recognize royalty standing in his flea market."

“ Tsk. ”

Alhaitham reached out, grabbed him by the arm, and turned him bodily toward the door like a very offended, very loud cat refusing to be picked up.

“Hey—let go—I’m making a point!”

“Yes,” Alhaitham said, voice flat as he guided Kaveh toward the door, “and he’s clearly so interested.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Kaveh muttered, trying to twist back around. “He said I smell like fruit tea .”

“You do,” Alhaitham replied. “And you insulted his lamps.” Oh how he sometimes wished he could tape Kaveh’s mouth shut—just for moments like this. Not out of irritation, really. Just… to save them both the trouble. Kaveh was brilliant, passionate, loud—and entirely incapable of backing down. And Alhaitham, for some reason, kept letting him talk.

“I was offering feedback.”

“You called them ‘a crime’”

“Well,” Kaveh huffed, “someone has to say it.”

Behind them, the shopkeeper shouted, “ And don’t come back unless you bring actual taste and a closed mouth! ”

Kaveh stopped mid-step like he’d been slapped with a glove. He whipped around so fast his hair nearly took flight. “Oh no he didn’t.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Alhaitham groaned, actually groaned —and rolled his eyes. “There we go again,” he muttered.

He lunged for the door, scandal and vengeance written in every step.

Alhaitham caught him by the back of the robe just before he could charge back inside.

“Let me go!” Kaveh snapped, heels slipping on the cobblestone as he tried to turn back, one hand already raised like he was about to deliver a dramatic speech to a shelf full of overpriced junk. “He insulted my taste! Mine! ”

“You insulted his entire inventory,” Alhaitham said calmly, dragging him backward with one arm like he’d practiced for this exact scenario.

“He called me loud! ”

“You are loud.”

“I’m a visionary! ”

“You’re in the middle of the street.”

Kaveh twisted in his grasp, robe catching slightly as he tried to turn back toward the door. “I will not be treated this way in a city that thinks pinecones belong in lanterns.”

Alhaitham reached out, caught the back of Kaveh’s robe, and steered him firmly down the steps.

“Consider it a cultural experience,” he said dryly.

Kaveh shot him a glare over his shoulder. “Next time I’m insulting someone’s shop, don’t stop me. ”

They stepped out into the sunlit market street as the door slammed shut behind them, rattling the glass with finality.

Kaveh yanked himself free with the full force of a royal temper tantrum and turned to glare up at him.

“I hope your horse bites you.”

Alhaitham didn’t even blink. “It already tried. You laughed.”

“I regret nothing.”

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

It had started raining.

By the time they were done buying the ink, the rain had already started—soft at first, barely more than a whisper against the stone. Then it grew heavier, each drop striking the road with purpose. There was no shelter—no cloak thick enough, no stable nearby. Just the long ride home, their robes growing damp as they rode, the world around them turning slick and silver.

Alhaitham nudged his mount into a quicker trot, eyes on the castle spires growing closer through the rain mist. Kaveh was just ahead on the black stallion, his hair damp and locks sticking lightly to the curve of his cheek.

They needed to get back fast.

Because if the dearest prince so much as sneezed, it would be Alhaitham’s fault.

That was how royalty worked—unfairly, irrationally. Someone would be blamed, and it would never be the heir who insisted on going to the market in ceremonial boots.

But even that thought—wry and practical—couldn’t hold his mind for long.

Alhaitham’s jaw tightened as rain slid down his temples, cold and sharp.

He had been trained for many missions.

Elimination. Infiltration. Extraction.

He knew how to shut off conscience, to carry out orders cleanly—detached. It was never personal. Never emotional. And until now, it had been easy. The people he dealt with had always deserved it. Corrupt officials. Traitors. War criminals.

But this one—this one was a prince.

And not the kind he’d expected. Not cruel. Not empty-headed. Not some cushioned fool who ruled through lineage alone.

Kaveh was brilliant. Articulate. Curious. Obnoxious , yes. Loud, double yes. Entitled, infuriating. But also…. alive. Vivid in a way few people ever were. And young.

So painfully young.

So many ideas. So many things left undone.

And one day soon, Alhaitham would have to watch the light drain from those expressive, carmine eyes.

By his own hands.

His fingers tightened on the reins. The horse shifted beneath him.

They rode in silence, hooves slick against stone, the castle now fully in view—its silhouette blurred by the rainfall. Beside him, Kaveh adjusted his grip on the reins, face lifted toward the sky, eyes narrowed but still… peaceful.

He looked soft in the rain. Unarmored. The droplets clung to his lashes, caught in his hair. His scent carried forward with the wind—warm, bright, tinged faintly with that creamy sweetness Alhaitham couldn’t name but already recognized.

Zaytun peaches, maybe. Or just happiness. Whatever that smelled like.

And something in Alhaitham’s chest responded. Alpha instinct, surely. A biological response. Protection, territory, preservation. Nothing else.

He looked at the omega again.

Kaveh was smiling faintly to himself. Rain soaked the collar of his robe. He didn't complain. He just blinked upward, as if memorizing the color of the clouds.

And then—abruptly—his scent turned.

It soured.

Alhaitham sat up straighter.

Kaveh’s smile faded. His shoulders stiffened, and his hand dropped from the reins like he’d suddenly forgotten what they were.

Ahead of them, near the castle’s eastern portico, a figure waited.

Tall. Pale. Dark coat streaked faintly with rain. Striped hair pressed neatly to the sides of his face. He stood with his arms folded, watching.

Alhaitham knew him in an instant.

Even without introduction. Even without confirmation.

That was the man Kaveh had argued with in the garden. The one who didn’t flinch under verbal assault.

Cold. Composed. Too calm for a storm.

Kaveh’s voice was quiet. Flat. Like a thread pulled too tight.

“Dottore.”

Chapter Text

Dottore

Alhaitham's gaze narrowed.

So that is him.

No mask this time. Sharp features, pale hair slicked back, and a mouth that looked like it smiled only when it could hurt something. Striking was the polite word. Unsettling was closer to the truth. The man barely glanced at Alhaitham. Acknowledging him only with a flicker of cold, disinterested amusement, before moving.

He walked straight to Prince Kaveh.

And Kaveh, normally so quick to bristle or snap, sat still without a word.

Dottore stepped forward through the rain, movements slow and deliberate, like someone approaching a delicate object he already intended to break. One gloved hand held the umbrella aloft, angled just so carefully shielding both himself and Kaveh.

Alhaitham’s grip on the reins tightened slightly. He stayed still, silent, but every instinct in him sharpened.

He came to the horse’s side and, without asking, placed a hand at Kaveh’s waist, steadying him. His touch was light, practiced, but too intimate for what it was meant to be. Not helpful. Not respectful. Just possessive in its precision.

Kaveh hesitated, just long enough for anyone watching to notice. Just long enough for Alhaitham’s pulse to spike. He sat still for a breath, rain trailing down the sharp line of his cheek as he stared ahead, as if weighing whether to move at all. Then, with the practiced grace of someone who had no other choice, he shifted, swung one leg over, and slid down into Dottore’s waiting hands.

There was no stumble. No flinch. Just a brief grimace. Quick and subtle.

A flicker of something raw crossed his face…maybe disgust, the urge to pull away. But it vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a smile too perfect to be real.

Maybe Alhaitham imagined it. The rain blurred everything.

Like how the sharp twist in Kaveh’s scent had been washed away, replaced once again by the ripe sweetness of Zaytun peaches. Familiar. Comforting. As if nothing had happened at all.

Dottore adjusted the umbrella with idle care, as though shielding Kaveh were a gesture of ownership. As if leading Kaveh forward had always been his role.

Then, with his other hand, gloved fingers reaching out to catch Kaveh’s. And then he lifted Kaveh’s hand to his mouth, lips brushing across his knuckles in a kiss far too lingering to be polite. “I wouldn’t want my future wife catching a cold,” he said softly, the words sliding from his tongue like a well-worn vow. Not offered. Claimed.

The way he said wife made Alhaitham’s hands tighten again at his sides, and it took a deliberate effort not to move.

Kaveh laughed lightly, though the sound was a little frayed. He pulled his hand back, pretending to fix his rain-soaked sleeve, and stepped just out of Dottore’s reach—close enough to seem polite, far enough to keep space. It was a performance, perfect down to the small curve of his mouth. Alhaitham noticed. He wondered if Dottore did too and just didn’t care.

Without missing a beat, Dottore stepped forward and slid an arm loosely around Kaveh’s waist, steering him toward the palace with a kind of easy, possessive pressure. He made it look effortless, natural, like Kaveh was something fragile and already his to claim.

Alhaitham watched. Things had shifted too fast. Just days ago, he could still hear Kaveh’s voice, sharp and unyielding, snapping at that very man. It felt recent. Immediate. What had changed? What had happened to that version of Kaveh?

Now, Kaveh didn’t resist. He didn’t lean in, either. He just moved forward, his posture held in a quiet, careful tension—subtle enough to miss if you weren’t paying attention. But Alhaitham was.

And even with the little he knew of the prince so far, something about it felt wrong.

Kaveh struck him as proud. Sharp-tongued. The kind of man who bristled at being handled like a possession, who would snap or claw back if anyone dared treat him like anything less than equal.

Of course, Alhaitham reminded himself, this wasn’t just anyone.

This was his fiancé.

As they moved, Dottore looked back over his shoulder at Alhaitham. It wasn’t a glare. It wasn’t suspicion.

It was a look of pure ownership. A look that said: He’s mine. He’s already chosen. And you’re just an extra piece standing in the rain.

Alhaitham’s hand twitched at his side before he could stop it—a brief, dangerous urge to step forward and rip Kaveh away, to shove Dottore off and wipe that smug look from his face. He shoved the instinct down, burying it under years of discipline. Forced himself to stay still, silent, rain dripping from his hood as he watched.

Kaveh glanced back once, a flicker of guilt behind his polite smile. Then it was gone, hidden as he let himself be guided up the steps and into the shadows of the palace.

The rain fell harder now, hammering against the stones like distant drums.

Alhaitham watched them go, a cold weight settling in his gut. He wiped his damp palm on the inside of his cloak — a quiet, restless gesture, like he was trying to get rid of something he couldn’t name. Then he followed, steady and silent.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

"AAACHOOO!"

The sneeze burst out of Kaveh like a cannonshot, echoing against the polished walls.

Alhaitham stood frozen for a moment, processing the absurd sight before him: the delicate, royal, dramatic Prince of Sumeru, wrapped in silk and gold, sneezing like a grumpy old man who'd lost his patience with the world.

He almost— almost —laughed.

A slight twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth before he crushed it into nothingness.

Kaveh wiped his nose with the back of his hand, Alhaitham grimaced at the sight. How comfortable could one man be? A part of him itched to smack some sense into that golden head.

Still muttering under his breath, Kaveh padded across the room. His hair, damp from a rushed shower, stuck to his temples and the back of his neck. A towel hung loosely around his shoulders, soaking into the thin silk of his inner robe.

Every few seconds, a stray droplet slid from the ends of his hair and splattered onto the polished floor. Alhaitham, already standing stiffly by the door, watched one of those droplets hit the marble with an audible tap .

His jaw tensed slightly.

Of course. Water everywhere. Wet floors. Disaster is imminent.

The prince’s quarters creaked open again.

“Stars, Kaveh, you’re going to drown in your own drama at this rate,” a bright voice called.

Dehya.

Knight. Alpha. Commander of the palace’s internal guard, overseeing the protection of its halls and royal quarters. Famous for two things: breaking jaws in the courtyard sparring pits and having impeccable taste in jewelry, tailored boots, and expensive flawless makeup.

She strolled in, armor half-unbuckled, casual as anything.

Her eyes swept over the scene—the damp prince sulking in the middle of the room, towel slipping off his shoulders—and without missing a beat, she grabbed the towel right off his neck with one hand, like she was yanking a misbehaving pet out of a puddle.

Kaveh made an indignant noise, half-sneeze, half-squawk, flailing uselessly at her. "Hey!" he protested, swiping at empty air as Dehya spun the towel expertly in her hands like she was winding up to do real damage.

“Stop whining.” She planted herself behind him and began aggressively towel-drying his dripping hair, fingers rough and businesslike. “If you’d stayed inside like a normal human being, you wouldn’t be sneezing yourself into an early grave.”

"You’re pulling too hard," Kaveh snapped, twisting away like a cat. "You’ll frizz it! This is royal hair, not stable straw!" 

"You’ll live," Dehya said breezily, tugging again, completely unimpressed. "A little rough treatment builds character."

Alhaitham stood silently near the door, watching the exchange unfold.

The way Kaveh protested but didn’t push her away. How he bared his throat and back to her without a second thought—instinctively trusting her hands near such vulnerable places.

That kind of casual closeness wasn’t something Kaveh gave freely. Alhaitham could tell even now, after only a few days of knowing him.

She can manhandle him like that, he thought, and he lets her.

They must be close. Very close.

Dehya caught Alhaitham’s stare over Kaveh’s head and smirked like she’d just found the punchline to a private joke. “He’s a menace when he’s sick,” she said, still wrangling Kaveh’s hair like it was a wild animal. “Think you’re ready for that?”

“I’m Dehya, by the way,” she added, tossing him a nod with the ease of someone completely at home in chaos.

Of course he knew who she was—her name came up in palace gossip more often than the soup of the day. Competent, respected, occasionally seen throwing diplomats out by the collar. Hard to miss.

Before he could speak, Kaveh spun dramatically and sniffled, “Honestly, bad manners statue. She walks in and you don’t even introduce yourself?”

Alhaitham blinked. Once. Slowly. Like his brain had briefly crashed.

A twitch tugged at his temple—probably his last surviving nerve giving up. This sun-drenched peacock, who’d just wiped his nose like an unruly child, was lecturing him about manners?

Alhaitham didn’t bother responding. The absurdity spoke for itself. He looked straight at Dehya instead, calmly offering, “Alhaitham,” as if Kaveh hadn’t spoken at all.

Kaveh, in response, yanked the towel free from Dehya’s hands with a dramatic huff—she’d been a little too rough, in his opinion and spun to glare at them both. His golden hair stuck up in damp, uneven tufts, like a ruffled fledgling freshly dunked in a fountain. His cheeks were flushed pink—not just from the cold, Alhaitham was sure of it.

"This is treason," Kaveh announced grandly, wrapping the towel around his shoulders like a cloak. "I demand reparations."

Dehya only laughed and tossed him a second dry cloth for his face.

Alhaitham said nothing. As usual. 

Dehya was the rarest thing in a palace like this: a friend.

"AAACHOOO!"

Kaveh sniffed indignantly, wiping his nose on an embroidered handkerchief (finally) that probably cost more than most people's salaries. He turned, scowling at Alhaitham like the whole thing was somehow his fault.

"This is all your fault," Kaveh said, voice thick and accusing.

Of course.

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the room, the scent of Zaytun peaches and rain growing stronger between them. "Last time I checked," Alhaitham said, voice flat with disbelief, "we came out for ink. Because you insisted. And now somehow it’s my fault the sky decided to collapse? Right. Of course. Silly me—forgot I double as a weather god in my spare time, Your Highness."

Kaveh blinked.

Just stared at him, wide-eyed.

"You—" he pointed dramatically, like Alhaitham had grown a second head. "That’s the first time you’ve said more than one sentence to me."

Alhaitham simply looked at him, unimpressed, hands loosely folded behind his back.

"And," Kaveh added, sniffling again with no dignity, "you could’ve stopped me."

Alhaitham gave him a deadpan stare.

Across the room, Dehya leaned casually over a low dressing table, flipping through a small collection of Kaveh’s cosmetics and jewelry with idle curiosity. A compact mirror glinted in her hand, turning lazily under her fingers as she inspected the painted compacts and delicate kohl pots lined neatly along the edge.

"You know," she said, voice amused, "for someone who sneezes like an old man, you sure keep a princely collection of powders and perfumes."

Kaveh sniffed, gathering his dignity along with his handkerchief. “Presentation matters. Unlike some people, I don’t go around looking like I lost a bar fight.”

Dehya raised an eyebrow, smirking as she reached for her compact. “Keep telling yourself that, Your High—”

HHHRNNKKK.

The sound was obscene. Wet. Thorough. The kind of nose-blow that made walls consider soundproofing.

Dehya froze mid-word, her lips parted, one brow lifting higher with visible effort not to react. She looked at Alhaitham as if to confirm this was, in fact, her life now.

Alhaitham didn’t blink.

Kaveh lowered the handkerchief like he’d just performed something grand. He tucked it away with a little flourish and looked at Dehya, calm and expectant like she should be impressed.

Dehya exhaled a breathy laugh through her nose and set the compact down with a soft click. “...Highness,” she finished dryly.

Theatrics over something minor… as always.

And yet… there was something oddly familiar in it. Loud, dramatic, wholly unnecessary — and somehow, unmistakably Kaveh.

He didn’t look away.

Alhaitham’s mouth twitched. Just barely. A hint of something almost fond.

"You’re supposed to be on my side," Kaveh muttered.

"I am," Dehya said cheerfully. "That’s why I’m making sure you don’t go down in palace history looking like a drowned cat and catching a fever." Kaveh huffed, but he was already starting to relax. His shoulders had dropped, and his scowl didn’t look real anymore. The tension from earlier from the market, from Dottore had faded into something quieter. Almost normal.

It made him look more at ease.

And he shouldn’t have.

Alhaitham watched from a quiet distance.

Because whatever promises Dottore had made, whatever golden future was being woven around Kaveh like a cage he couldn’t see yet, it wasn’t Dottore he needed to fear.

It was him — the man sworn to protect his life with one hand and take it with the other. The silent blade dressed as a shield. The lie standing at his side.

And still —

Alhaitham didn’t want him to marry Dottore.

Not just because of the mission. Not because it made things harder. But because something in him curled sharply at the thought, the idea of Kaveh bound to someone like that, touched and claimed by someone who saw him as a prize to own. A structure to redesign.

It was irrational. It didn’t matter.

None of it changed the truth:

One day, when the world shifted and all the careful lies fell away, it would be Alhaitham’s hand that ended him. And Kaveh — radiant, sharp-tongued, maddeningly alive — would never even know until it was too late.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

They were headed for dinner with the king, the corridors lit by warm sconces and the scent of polished wood and roasted spices drifting faintly through the air.

Alhaitham followed a step behind the prince, silent as a shadow. He didn't speak. Didn't offer comments or pleasantries. His place was simple: observe, protect, act if necessary.

That was all.

Kaveh swept ahead, robes trailing lightly behind him, head held high despite the fatigue that clung subtly to his frame. His hair, now dry and carefully combed back, caught just enough light to look deliberate, tousled in a way that could almost pass for styled. His ceremonial earrings glinted with each step. From a distance, he looked every bit the picture of a perfect prince, untouched, unbothered.

But Alhaitham had learned enough to know better by now.

He didn’t join them at the long dining table. He stood instead against the far wall of the grand hall, near a polished marble pillar, hands loosely folded behind his back, the sword at his side catching the flicker of candlelight.

Technically, he could have. His rank was high enough — a Grand Knight of Fontaine, trusted beyond the usual limits of guard work. The king, gracious as ever, allowed those in elevated service to dine when they chose.

But Alhaitham preferred distance. Observation. It was easier to think when he wasn’t being spoken to. Easier to breathe when Kaveh wasn’t sitting three seats away, lit by golden firelight and saying too much with a single glance.

He didn't need to be close.

His dinner, as per routine, would be sent to his quarters later.He preferred it that way. No need for useless conversation. No need to pretend he wanted to be part of the games the palace people played with their smiles and their silks and their soft, poisoned words.

At the head of the long table, the king laughed, his voice rising easily above the soft clatter of plates and muted conversation. His crown glinted each time he turned, catching the light as he chuckled at something Dottore had said — some polished joke about the unpredictability of palace architects and their flair for dramatic, unstable designs.

“You’ll find,” Dottore said with a calm smile, “that no matter how fine the materials, without constant control, even the strongest structure can fall apart.”

The king laughed, full and easy. “Ha! Spoken like someone who knows the value of a solid foundation. A lesson every household could stand to learn.”

He raised his goblet slightly toward Dottore in approval. “And it seems you have every intention of building a fine future yourself.”

The conversation slid, too smoothly, into dangerous territory.

"Of course," the king continued, his smile turning a shade too proud, "a strong house needs heirs to carry it forward. And with Kaveh’s bloodline and your discipline—" He chuckled, shaking his head fondly, "—I’ve no doubt you’ll give this kingdom a line of brilliant, beautiful children."

Several nobles around the table chuckled in polite agreement. The tension in the air tightened like a drawn bowstring.

Apparently, royal conversation now included casual remarks about state-sanctioned sex and selective breeding, all delivered with the same tone one might use to praise fine architecture.

Charming.

Alhaitham watched, unmoving from his place near the pillar, arms folded neatly behind his back.

Dottore turned his head slightly, giving Kaveh a slow, deliberate smile.

"It would be a pleasure," he said, voice low and smooth, almost a purr beneath the courtly decorum. "To see beauty like yours carried forward. Shaped. Perfected." He let the words linger a half-beat too long, his gaze sliding down Kaveh’s profile with thinly veiled hunger.

He added, almost thoughtfully, "my finest creation yet."

A few soft laughs answered—those close enough to hear thinking it a charming, flattering thing to say. But from across the room, Alhaitham heard it for what it was: not admiration, but ownership, coiled beneath velvet words.

A disgusting claim dressed up as a compliment.

Kaveh smiled, because he had no choice.

A bright, effortless smile that only someone truly watching could see for the shield it was. He raised his wine cup to his lips to hide it further, drinking too slowly, too carefully.

Alhaitham’s jaw tensed, a quick flash of irritation breaking through his calm. The man’s words were deliberate, smoothed out under layers of courtly polish but the meaning wasn’t subtle.

As though Kaveh wasn’t  there.

As though he was a project. A canvas to be painted over. Something pliant and convenient, waiting to be molded into someone else’s idea of beautiful. Alhaitham’s eyes darkened, the muscle along his temple ticking faintly as he stared the man down with growing disdain.

It wasn’t just crude. It wasn’t just disrespectful.

It was dehumanizing .

He knew Kaveh. For all his dramatics and sharp words, Kaveh wasn’t fragile glass waiting to be shaped. He was already whole. Too vivid, too infuriating, too alive to fit into anyone’s neat little frame. And hearing someone speak as if that could — or should — be carved away like excess marble made something cold and ugly stir beneath Alhaitham’s skin.

He didn’t say a word, but his stare was cold and sharp, anger clear in the way he held himself.

Say one more thing, he thought, jaw locked beneath a mask of calm, and I’ll crush your throat so cleanly you won’t even get to finish the sentence.

The king of course wasn’t finished.

"I expect the wedding to be just the beginning," he said, voice warm, oblivious or uncaring. "We’ll need heirs quickly—strong ones. You’ll have a whole nursery wing to fill, my dear."

He laughed at his own joke, and the court followed with polite, muted laughter.

Kaveh smiled—polished and distant—and took a longer sip of wine than needed. When he set the cup down, his grip tightened for a moment, fingers whitening against the glass before he caught himself and placed it down carefully.

Alhaitham saw it.

He also noticed how, a moment later, Kaveh’s hand went back to the cup—quick, almost automatic. Like drinking gave him something to hold onto, something he could control. Sip. Smile. Nod when needed. Hide the shaking behind glass and routine.

The scent that clung to Kaveh shifted—so faint no one else at the table would notice. Not fear.

Resignation.

Like a man who already knew the outcome of a game he had to keep playing anyway.

Dehya, seated a few places down, said nothing, her expression neutral as her gaze flickered once to Kaveh—and then, almost guiltily, away.

Dottore, still smiling, reached under the table and lightly brushed the back of Kaveh’s hand—a touch that, from afar, could’ve passed as polite. Kaveh didn’t flinch or move away. He just raised his cup again, taking another slow sip, covering it all with the practiced ease of someone who’d learned that sometimes surviving meant smiling through the pressure in your chest.

This wasn’t his place to interrupt.

Still, the words echoed.

Leaked documents. Foreign access. Diplomatic compromise.

By mistake, Chevalet had said — as if that made it any better. 

Alhaitham could believe the prince had made errors. He could believe Kaveh, with all his dramatics and naivety, had stumbled through something larger than himself.

But death ?

Kaveh was many things — difficult, loud, impractical. But what Alhaitham had seen so far didn’t point to someone dangerous. It pointed to someone unguarded. Someone unaware of how sharp the world really was.

Shouldn’t it be Dottore? Alhaitham thought. The one circling power like a vulture in red. The one with too many blank lines in his file and nothing left to guess.

But of course not.

Dottore was too powerful. Too protected. And this mission wasn’t about justice.

It was about containment. And Alhaitham had his orders.

The conversation rolled on—more wine, more laughter, servants weaving through the tables with careful smiles—and the moment, like so many others in the palace, was swallowed whole by ceremony and gold.

But Alhaitham didn’t forget it.

The way Kaveh’s hand kept returning to the wine. The way his smiles stretched thinner with every sip.

The way nobody else seemed to notice….or care.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The dinner was winding down. Servants cleared plates with careful hands, the heavy scent of wine and roasted meats still hanging thick in the air. Nobles rose one by one with murmured goodnights and small bows, slipping from the grand hall toward their chambers, their silks whispering against the stone floor.

Kaveh rose too, slowly, a little too slowly.

He swayed slightly where he stood, blinking as if surprised the ground wasn’t staying still. His cheeks were flushed a soft, pretty pink under the warm lights, and his wine cup sat forgotten on the table, drained to the dregs.

The king, noticing, chuckled warmly from his seat. "Ah, it seems my son’s had a bit too much celebration tonight," he said, voice indulgent. He turned toward Dottore with an approving smile.
"Take him to his chambers, would you? Make sure he gets there safely."

With all due respect… is this man stupid?

How naive did you have to be to hand your only heir to someone like that, with a smile and a blessing? Then again—some people see profit and mistake it for loyalty.

It wasn’t trust. It was blindness. The kind that comes easy when there’s something to gain.

Dottore rose immediately, dipping his head in a mock-bow. "Of course, Your Majesty. It would be my pleasure."

Alhaitham didn’t miss the enthusiasm. How c onvenient, he practically leapt at the chance to escort the heir to his chambers. How noble.

He crossed the space in a few easy strides, reaching for Kaveh with a hand that settled far too familiarly against his waist, steadying him, holding him. Kaveh laughed a little under his breath, shaking his head "I can walk," Kaveh mumbled, dragging the words out into a slurred protest. "M'fine. Can go by myself."

Dottore chuckled lowly, the sound scraping too smooth against the thick air.

He brushed his knuckles across Kaveh’s flushed cheek—casual, courtly, and just wrong enough to make Alhaitham’s jaw tighten. "Shhh," Dottore murmured, voice pitched like a lover’s whisper. "It’s alright, love. Let me take care of you."

The look he gave Kaveh was anything but gentle.

Hungry. Captivated. Possessive.

Like he was admiring something he already owned.

The king, distracted by a conversation with a visiting lord, waved them off without another glance. And so Dottore began steering Kaveh toward the exit, arm still locked firmly around the prince’s waist, fingers digging in a little tighter than necessary under the cover of assistance.

Incredible. He almost wanted to march over and shake the king himself—just a light reminder that he was handing off his only son like luggage to a man who looked like he’d dissect him for fun.

Alhaitham followed at a distance. Silent. Watching. Every step felt heavier. He used to move through life without all this noise in his head. Now he couldn’t seem to stop thinking . Every glance, every word, every touch. It was exhausting.

He was a logical man—always had been. He trusted facts, patterns, what could be proven and predicted. Feelings were variables, distractions at best, liabilities at worst. But lately, logic had taken a backseat to instinct. To impulse.

He had no right to intervene.

Kaveh was Dottore’s fiancé. This was the way things were supposed to go.

And yet—when they reached the prince’s chamber doors, when Dottore’s hand slid slowly into the pocket of Kaveh’s robes, fingers dragging along the curve of his hip with practiced ease, searching too deliberately for something he already knew was there. He retrieved the key like it was a ritual, not a necessity. Like feeling Kaveh up was part of the process.

The door clicked open.

He didn’t think.

His body moved before his mind could catch up.

He was there, hand landing lightly but firmly on Kaveh’s arm, halting his unsteady step before he could be guided inside.

Kaveh turned toward him with wide, slow-blinking eyes, golden hair tousled and clinging damply to his flushed cheeks. His smile broke across his face without hesitation—bright, open, utterly defenseless in a way Alhaitham wasn’t prepared for.

"Statue!" Kaveh declared with breathless delight, like a child greeting something beloved. He giggled, the sound high and unguarded, and stumbled a few steps toward him, trying to tug himself free from Dottore’s hold without a second thought.

Dottore’s hand tightened reflexively, but Kaveh, fueled by clumsy irritation, shoved at him with surprising force. Dottore let go with a sharp, silent flick of his wrist, stepping back with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

That’s the Kaveh he knows. 

Kaveh stumbled straight into Alhaitham’s chest, arms wrapping loosely around his waist like a child clinging to something solid. He smelled like wine and rain and faint traces of Zaytun peaches, sweet and dizzying in the quiet corridor.

Alhaitham froze.

He hadn’t expected the contact — the way Kaveh leaned in, arms slipping around his waist like it was second nature. The sudden warmth pressed against him, the soft mumble against his chest, the scent of wine and peaches clinging faintly to him — it all came at once.

Kaveh clung to him like he didn’t quite know what he was doing—but meant every bit of it. And Alhaitham, caught in the middle, stayed still. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more—the closeness or how natural it felt.

Kaveh buried his face against the cold fabric of Alhaitham’s uniform, giggling again. "S'too many stairs," he mumbled, words smearing together, "you're... you're so tall... s'a good statue... best one..."

Alhaitham caught him with one arm, steady and firm, gently pulling Kaveh’s hand off before they both toppled over. “There are no stairs,” Alhaitham said dryly, voice pitched low and calm. “You’ve been on flat ground the entire time.”

Kaveh only hummed in response, clearly unconvinced.

Alhaitham adjusted his grip, guiding him forward. “Your Highness,” he added, quieter now, “it’s been a long evening. Perhaps you should rest.” Kaveh nodded against him, sleepy and warm, too drunk to notice the careful way Alhaitham spoke, or the way his hands barely trembled where he held him.

Behind them, Dottore smiled. The kind of smile that didn’t belong anywhere near something soft.

"How dutiful," he said, voice light and mocking. "It’s almost sweet, seeing how devoted you are, guard." His scent curled faintly into the air—sharp, sterile, a chemical sweetness layered over something colder underneath. He took a step closer, lowering his voice so only Alhaitham could hear.

"But be careful," Dottore said lightly, voice dipped in amusement. "The palace has a habit of... misplacing its finest ornaments."

Alhaitham met his gaze, unimpressed.

His hand shifted slightly, steadying Kaveh without ceremony as he answered, voice cool and dry "Then perhaps the palace should stop leaving them in careless hands."

He simply gathered Kaveh a little closer, just enough to steady him as the prince blinked blearily up at him.

And when Dottore finally stepped back with a soft, humming chuckle, Alhaitham guided Kaveh carefully into his chambers, leaving the door to shut—firm, final—between them and the rest of the world.

The air inside was thick with the scent of parchment, rain-soaked fabrics, and the familiar soft sweetness of Zaytun peaches.

Kaveh clung to Alhaitham’s sleeve, giggling under his breath like he was hiding a great secret.

"Alright," Alhaitham said, already tired, "bed."

"Nooo," Kaveh whined, dragging his heels as Alhaitham tried to steer him. "M’not sleepy. M'full of...energy."

"You can expend it by sleeping."

Kaveh ignored him entirely. He wandered toward the corner of the room where a decorative stand of scrolls leaned against the wall. He poked at them with a finger. They promptly collapsed in a dramatic, clattering mess. "Oops."

Alhaitham closed his eyes for one long moment.

"I'll fix it later!" Kaveh chirped, utterly unbothered, already moving on to the next disaster.

Before Alhaitham could stop him, Kaveh tried to climb onto the narrow vanity chair — clearly aiming to stand on it for reasons only he understood.

Tried.

His foot wobbled the moment it met the too-small surface, and before he could balance properly, the chair shifted sharply beneath him.

Kaveh slipped, arms flailing briefly as he toppled straight off — landing in a heap on the carpet with all the grace of a toppled statue. He stayed there, sprawled dramatically, eyes fixed on the ceiling like a fallen martyr, as if the chair itself had committed a personal offense.

"I live here now," he declared.

"You live in your bed," Alhaitham corrected, reaching down and hauling him up under the arms Kaveh sagged heavily against him the moment he was upright, all silk and dead weight. His forehead bumped against Alhaitham’s shoulder and stayed there — not by accident. He nuzzled faintly, too lazy to hold himself up, his breath warm and slow against Alhaitham’s throat.

The scent of peaches was stronger now, mingling with wine and heat clinging to his skin. Alhaitham’s grip tightened reflexively, fingers curling briefly as they brushed against smooth silk and the subtle warmth underneath.

He could feel Kaveh — everywhere. The soft drag of fabric, the curve of his side yielding against his palm, the faint shift of Kaveh's chest as he breathed, easy and unguarded.

Too close. Too soft. Too much.

Kaveh clung lazily now, arms looped around his neck — but not in any neat or balanced way. His wrists crossed loosely behind Alhaitham’s head, fingertips skimming against the short hair at his nape in slow, absent motions.

"You’re so grumpy," Kaveh murmured, his voice slow and slurred with warmth, the kind that dragged at syllables and softened every word. His lips hovered dangerously close to Alhaitham’s jaw, the words brushing against skin more than the air.

His hand was still lazily looped around Alhaitham’s shoulders, fingers twitching once before poking—no, grazing—his cheek. The touch was unfocused. Intimate.

“Bet you never have any fun,” Kaveh whispered, almost like it was a secret.

Before Alhaitham could answer, Kaveh leaned in further, his nose brushing just under Alhaitham’s ear, breath hot against his neck. He inhaled—slow, unfiltered—and let out a soft, pleased hum that curled low in Alhaitham’s stomach.

“You smell...” Another breath. Closer this time. “Gods, you smell expensive.”

Alhaitham tensed. His pulse kicked, hard.

Kaveh’s lips were a breath away from his scent gland now, and he didn’t even seem to realize it—or worse, he did.

Kaveh mumbled something under his breath, voice low and heavy with sleep, fingers curling slightly at the back of Alhaitham’s neck like he could hold himself there. Then, softer—like a secret slipping out, “Delicious.”

He pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, lids low, gaze warm and lazy. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

Alhaitham’s composure strained.

Not like this.

His grip shifted more firmly, squeezing slightly at Kaveh’s sides — not quite enough to push him away, but enough to ground himself. The silk gave under his hands, soft and warm, clinging faintly as Kaveh shifted closer yet, letting his full weight melt against him.

“I seem to be your source of fun,” Alhaitham said dryly, though his voice came out lower than intended, rough around the edges.

Kaveh only hummed, he pressed in further — his entire body relaxed, pliant, resting against Alhaitham like he belonged there. "Carry me," Kaveh demanded suddenly, voice petulant and soft, arms tightening as he sagged fully, their bodies flush now from shoulder to knee.

Alhaitham’s throat worked, and his hands flexed once more at Kaveh’s waist, fingers digging in just enough to feel the heat of skin beneath silk.

He’s drunk, Alhaitham reminded himself coldly. Drunk and clueless.

But when Kaveh shifted again — silk brushing against him, lips grazing his neck just barely — Alhaitham’s grip tightened, his patience wearing thin.

"No."

"Pleaseeee," Kaveh whined, voice stretching into a whimper.

Alhaitham gave him a long, deadpan stare.

Kaveh responded by making the saddest, most pitiful face known to mankind. It would have been tragic if it weren’t so exaggerated. Without thinking, Alhaitham bent down slightly, sliding an arm behind Kaveh’s back and another behind his knees, scooping him up properly this time.

Like carrying something fragile. Or drunk. Or both.

Kaveh let out a delighted little gasp, arms immediately looping around Alhaitham’s shoulders. "Statue's so strong," Kaveh said dreamily, snuggling closer like dead weight.

Alhaitham walked the short distance to the bed with slow, careful steps, Kaveh warm and giggling softly against him.

Alhaitham leaned down, meaning only to set Kaveh onto the bed. But at the last second, Kaveh clung tighter, fists stubbornly grabbing his uniform and yanking.

Alhaitham lost his balance.

Kaveh hit the mattress with a soft, breathless thud, silk robes fanning out beneath him, his hair spilling messily across the pillows.

Alhaitham, still holding onto him, lost his balance and followed—momentum pulling him forward until he landed on top of Kaveh with a muffled whump .

Not hard—he caught himself just in time, arms snapping out to brace on either side of Kaveh’s head, hands sinking into the plush bedding.

For a moment, everything stilled. Too close. Too warm. Neither of them moved.

Kaveh lay beneath him, warm and flushed, golden hair spilling over the sheets like liquid sunlight. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, pressed close against Alhaitham’s — soft, yielding, so impossibly warm.

His robe had slipped open, the fabric clinging in places and falling loose in others, framing more than it concealed. Alhaitham’s gaze caught  helplessly  on the exposed curve of his chest. Smooth skin kissed with heat, the soft swell of one plump nipple visible beneath the silk, flushed a delicate pink.

It looked impossibly soft. Vulnerable. A detail meant to be private and untouched — and yet there it was, bared to him in the low light, quiet and devastating.

His throat tightened.

Heat crept up his spine, blooming across his face before he could will it back down. It wasn’t just desire — it was want, sharp and sudden and impossible to reason with.

It’s just his alpha nature.

And Kaveh, oblivious or not, remained there — breathing slow and sweet beneath him, unaware that he’d just stolen Alhaitham’s next thought.

Their faces were barely apart, breath mingling, the heat of Kaveh’s body bleeding through every layer of clinging silk between them. Alhaitham inhaled without meaning to — and the scent hit him all at once. Warmth. Rain. Softness. Sweet and dizzying, heavy with heat.

Kaveh’s eyes were half-lidded, gaze hazy but sharp in all the wrong ways — fixed on Alhaitham’s mouth with unsettling focus. Not purposeful. Not teasing.

Just… lingering.

The soft rise and fall of his chest pressed closer, and Alhaitham could feel each breath, could count the scant inches between them — how easily they could tip forward, how easily Kaveh’s lips could brush his if either of them moved even slightly.

Kaveh’s lashes lowered, long and feather-light, casting soft shadows across his cheekbones. His eyes were half-lidded, gaze slow but steady — flicking between Alhaitham’s mouth and eyes, like he was caught somewhere in the middle of a thought.

Each blink was slow, unhurried, his golden lashes brushing down with a softness that made the space between them feel too quiet, too close.  Alhaitham’s throat tightened, his grip steady but tense where his hands pressed against Kaveh’s sides. He held still — too still.

It would take nothing. A half-step, a tilt, even an accident.

Kaveh’s lashes lowered briefly, his voice barely above a breath when he spoke. "...You’re looking at me weird."

Alhaitham didn’t answer.

Not when Kaveh was right there, soft and golden, lips parted just enough to make ignoring it almost impossible.

Too close.

Kaveh shifted a little beneath him, a small, sleepy movement that pressed them even closer.

And then he moved.

A slow, desperate roll of Kaveh’s hips — not once, but again. The first real movement he made like that, and it hit Alhaitham like a punch to the gut.

Smooth, deliberate, and shamefully good.

The friction dragged heat low and fast through Alhaitham’s body — silk sliding between them, catching, clinging. And that’s when he saw it. Felt it.

The shape of Kaveh’s length, hard beneath the thin folds of his robe, dragging up against him with every grind. The fabric did nothing to hide it — the outline clear, flushed, the damp cling of silk pulling taut over where he was aching .

Alhaitham’s breath stalled.

His brain blanked — for just one second — body lighting up like it had never been touched before.

Kaveh pressed up again, rougher this time, less careful—and the heat that followed hit so fast, Alhaitham’s breath caught in his chest. The sound he made was soft, just a sharp exhale through his nose, but it felt like too much. Like a crack slipping through that he hadn’t meant to show.

Kaveh was so warm beneath him — all trembling thighs and flushed skin and heat that clung to Alhaitham’s uniform like sweat. His hand curled tighter behind Alhaitham’s neck, dragging him down as their hips ground together again, and Alhaitham moved . Not by choice but his body answered anyway, a slow rut forward, guided by instinct more than thought.

Their hips met again — rough, too fast — and Alhaitham rutted forward, harder this time. The drag of friction sent a jolt up his spine. Kaveh cried out — soft, high, a broken mewl that caught on the back of his tongue. “Nnh—ah—”

Alhaitham did it again. Slower. Deeper.

Kaveh gasped, hips jerking up to meet him, a soft string of sounds spilling from his lips—“Mmh—mm—hah—” breathy, broken, far too pretty. His plump chest arched, flushed and full, pressing against Alhaitham like he was begging to be touched.

It was unbearable. Alhaitham’s gaze dragged over him, and for a split second, he forgot how to think. How could anyone look like that and not know it? It was almost obscene. Almost cruel.

Another grind — sharper, unforgiving.

Kaveh mewled again, smaller this time, like he was unraveling under it. “Too much,” he whispered, but his thighs only tightened around Alhaitham’s hips, pulling him in closer, chasing the next thrust.

Alhaitham’s hips rolled forward — slower this time, heavier — and the drag of it made his breath catch.

He could feel it, clear and maddening: the soft press of Kaveh’s arousal beneath the thin silk, smaller and twitching against the hard, aching length straining in his own pants. The contrast — blunt heat against something delicate, needy — nearly broke his composure.

The friction was maddening. Not rough—measured. Just enough to tempt, just enough to threaten. Each slow drag pressed the damp shape of Kaveh’s arousal flush against his own, silk clinging and slipping with every movement, turning every inch of contact into something sharper, deeper, impossible to ignore.

And the scent..

Gods, the scent.

That sweet, ripe omega musk curling around him, thickening with every grind. It smelled like warmth. Like zaytun peaches overripe in the sun. Sweet, heady, dizzying. It filled his lungs and wrapped around his instincts, pulled something deep and territorial to the surface.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Only thrust again — slower, harder.

And Kaveh gasped, mewling helplessly as their cocks dragged together through soaked fabric, his whole body trembling under the weight of it.

Alhaitham’s breath slipped out, shaky and low. A sound escaped him, something half-strangled and deeply buried. Not a moan. Not quite. But close. He bit it back.

His eyes fell to Kaveh’s mouth.

It was pink, parted, damp with breath. His lips trembled slightly when he exhaled, his body twitching from the overstimulation, and the way he looked up — flushed, pupils blown wide, waiting for something , it undid Alhaitham in ways he couldn’t afford.

He wanted to kiss him. Desperately. Without thinking. Just slot their mouths together and take , feel Kaveh gasp into him, fall apart under him.

He was leaning in before he realized.

His nose brushed Kaveh’s cheek. Their foreheads nearly touched. All he had to do was tilt. Just slightly. A breath closer and their lips would meet.

He felt Kaveh suck in a breath — lips twitching like he knew , like he wanted it too — and Alhaitham froze .

His hand on Kaveh’s waist was trembling.

He couldn’t. He shouldn’t . This wasn’t what he was here for.

He needed to get closer.

He needed to pull away.

Kaveh lay beneath him, flushed and drowsy, golden hair spilling over the pillow. Arms curled lazily around Alhaitham’s shoulders. Not pulling, just… holding. Keeping him close.

Their faces were too close. Heat pulsed between them in slow, trembling waves—and still, Alhaitham didn’t move.

Then Kaveh shifted again—hips and chest pressing up with a lazy roll, breath warm against Alhaitham’s neck. His fingers twitched at his back, and he mumbled something soft, slurred, barely a word.

Alhaitham tensed, steadying himself.

And then—

Kaveh let out a loud, wet snore. Right into his cheek.

Alhaitham blinked. Once.

The tension snapped like a pulled wire, sharp and sudden.

For a moment, he just stayed there—half-buried in silk and heat and one completely unconscious, drooling prince.

Then, with a dry, almost disbelieving breath, he let out a soft laugh. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, glancing down at the very obvious tent in his lap—and the snoring disaster under him.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Chapter Text

For the first time in his life, Alhaitham felt… hesitant.

Not uncertain in the logical sense. Just …unprepared.

Awkward.

The previous night still clung to him like steam that hadn’t quite cleared. He’d taken a very cold shower afterward, standing in silence with the water pounding over his head, arms braced against the tile as if that could drown the memory of Kaveh — flushed, breathless, clinging.

And snoring.

Alhaitham’s jaw tightened at the memory. It meant nothing.

Kaveh had been drunk — foolish, flushed, and barely coherent. The kind of contact wasn’t unusual between alphas and omegas under the influence of too much wine and too little sense. Instinct, not intent.

That soft, breathless way Kaveh had clung to him, the heat of his voice, the way he’d moved — it wasn’t real. It was biology. A mess of pheromones and misplaced affection that meant less than nothing in the light of day.

He exhaled, forcing the tension out of his shoulders.

It didn’t matter.

He had a mission. A timeline. A clear end. And Kaveh — no matter how warm or bright or disarming he seemed, was the target. Soon, Alhaitham would end his life with the same clean precision he’d brought to every assignment before.

He was getting tired of reminding himself.

He was tired of reciting the same damn line every morning in his head—He’s the target. This is the job. Get it done. Every time Kaveh walked in with his ridiculously beautiful face and some new complaint about curtain fabric, Alhaitham had to remind himself.

Tired of the mental gymnastics. Of pretending it didn’t matter that Kaveh laughed too loudly, burned toast every other morning, and got under his skin like it was effortless.

He’d done it before.

Quiet. Clean. No mess, no hesitation. No guilt afterward. The people they sent him for always had it coming—war criminals, traitors, nobles who built their wealth on blood. The kind of names no one missed.

Still, Alhaitham always double-checked. Pulled the files himself. Looked deeper than the brief. Not because he didn’t trust the orders—he did. But if he was the one ending a life, he needed to be sure it was a life worth ending.

But Kaveh wasn’t like them.

He wasn’t dangerous. He wasn’t cruel. He was... infuriating. Vain. Soft-hearted to a fault. Someone who designed courtyards with perfect shadow angles and overwatered plants when no one was watching.

And that was the problem. Kaveh didn’t deserve this.

Alhaitham knew it. Every instinct told him so. Every background check came back with nothing but academic honors and budget overreach and one too many petitions about public gardens. The worst thing on Kaveh’s record was that he spent too much and argued with ministers over font choices.

“He’s already done damage. Leaked classified documents, approved access for foreign operatives, compromised two diplomatic missions. All without knowing what he was doing.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe it was possible. Kaveh had access. But Alhaitham didn’t believe it. Kaveh wasn’t reckless with information. He was reckless with himself .

And that was the difference.

He is sure Kaveh hadn’t leaked anything with intention. He hadn’t betrayed anyone. He’d probably trusted the wrong people. Signed what he was told to maybe. Smiled through too many briefings he hadn’t been invited to understand.

So yes, maybe the damage was done. But calling him the threat felt wrong. Like blaming the window for the storm.

But none of that mattered. Because this wasn’t about justice.

It was about debt.

He owed Chevalet. Owed him more than a career. The kind of favor you only get asked to repay once. And so Alhaitham was here. Shadowing a man who had done nothing wrong, waiting for the day he would put an end to him.

And if he couldn’t forget last night, he would bury it. Just another moment erased by duty.

Anyway, today, Alhaitham decided, none of what happened the night before would be mentioned. Not a word. Kaveh wouldn’t remember anyway—and if he did, it was better for both of them to pretend it hadn’t happened at all. He wasn’t about to hand that memory back on a silver platter.

He would do his job. Stand guard. Keep his distance. Pretend he hadn’t spent the rrest of the night painfully hard and embarrassed out of his mind.

At 9:30 AM sharp, he stood outside the prince’s chambers.

He was early. Kaveh, as always, was not. His Highness had a tendency to sleep like someone who believed time was optional. A luxury, not a structure. Alhaitham had made a point of showing up early, the entire morning had slipped by. If Kaveh thought he could lounge in bed until noon again, he had another thing coming. He was getting up — whether he liked it or not.

Alhaitham knocked once. 

No answer.

Sometimes, only sometimes, being near this golden peacock made Alhaitham want to throw a temper tantrum like a child.

He waited five seconds, then knocked again — a touch louder this time.

Still nothing.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and opened the door.

The room was dim, curtains pulled halfway shut, gold light filtering in across the floor. The air smelled faintly of Kaveh’s fruity scent. And in the middle of the vast bed — a pile of silken chaos — lay Kaveh.

Sprawled.

One arm flung over his head, the other across the sheets. Legs splayed in every direction like he was trying to claim all corners of the bed for himself. His hair was a mess of sunlit curls, half stuck to his cheek, half fanned over a pillow he’d nearly wrestled into submission. He looked like a  golden starfish draped in royal bedding.

Alhaitham’s heart squeezed. 

That’s strange…and annoying.

He shoved the feeling down and walked in, the soft soles of his boots brushing quietly over the carpet. He stopped beside the bed and stared.

“Prince Kaveh,” he said flatly.

No response.

He leaned closer, nudged his shoulder. “Your Highness. It’s late.”

Kaveh groaned faintly but didn’t stir. He rolled slightly, pressing his face deeper into the pillow. One hand reached out blindly and hugged it to his chest, mumbling something under his breath.

“…statue,” he mumbled. “Stupid… Always glaring. No fun.”

Alhaitham blinked. His face went hot — and then hotter, when Kaveh sighed contentedly and nuzzled the pillow like it had saved his life. Alhaitham stood straight, turned on his heel, and walked out. The door closed behind him with a click that sounded far too dignified for the ridiculous state he’d left behind.

He glanced at the hallway clock.

10:30..

He’d be back at 10:30.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

By 10:30, Alhaitham had lost his patience.

He marched down the hallway, jaw tight, knocking on the ornate door with the kind of force that suggested diplomacy had a limit. No answer. He exhaled sharply through his nose and leaned against the wall.

Two minutes later, the door cracked open.

Kaveh peeked out with one eye visible under a mess of tousled blond hair. He blinked once at Alhaitham, as if trying to determine if this was real. Then, almost comically, his face turned a soft shade of red.

Alhaitham arched a brow. “Hangover symptoms?” he said dryly. “You drank enough to knock out a herd of oxen.”

Kaveh gave a sheepish laugh, scratching his cheek with one finger. “Yeah… I have no recollection, honestly.”

Alhaitham felt something ease in his chest. Thank the stars.

“Well,” he said, folding his arms, “you were being very un-princely. You tripped over your own shoes, dropped—what was it—three things before passing out on the floor.”

Kaveh’s eyes widened for the briefest moment. Just a flicker. Then he smiled, wry and apologetic. “Ah… right. Of course. Didn’t mean to—uh, bother you or anything.”

Alhaitham opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He just looked at him.

Kaveh cleared his throat. “Give me five minutes to change. Let’s grab breakfast.”

And just like that, the door clicked shut again.

Alhaitham stared at it for a second longer, then muttered to himself,

“Ten. You’ll take ten.”

He took thirty minutes.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The courtyard was alive with movement.

Servants bustled past in quiet pairs, hauling flower crates and rolled silk banners. Tinkering jewelers crouched by fountain edges, laying out ceremonial accessories on sun-warmed stone. Everywhere, people spoke in hushed, excited tones—His Highness’s wedding, the binding ceremony, those Fatui boots at the east wing again, did you see the veil design—hand-stitched with six types of gold—

And in the middle of it all, Kaveh sat at a shaded table under the pergola, propping one leg over the other like the world should revolve around his posture. He reached for a small dish without looking up. “Sit.”

Alhaitham remained standing, arms loosely folded behind him. “No.”

Kaveh popped a pickled olive into his mouth and chewed with exaggerated slowness. “Do you ever follow basic social cues, or did you train to ignore them too?”

“I’m not here for breakfast. I’m here for your safety.”

“You could do both,” Kaveh muttered, then gestured with the edge of his fork. “There’s plenty. Unless your dignity forbids Pita Pockets .” Alhaitham’s eyes flicked toward the plate. Pita, warm and golden. Herb-flecked yogurt. Figs. Local nuts and a bunch of other things. Everything portioned neatly by someone with excellent kitchen discipline.

He said nothing.

Kaveh rolled his eyes so hard his head followed. “Fine. Stand there like a tragic statue. Might as well carve a plaque beneath your feet: Alhaitham of Fontaine, Slayer of Appetite. ”

Before he could stop himself, Alhaitham replied, voice low and flat,

“I’m originally from Sumeru.”

Kaveh blinked. Fork pausing mid-air. “…You are?”

Alhaitham said nothing, but the slight narrowing of his eyes suggested regret.

Kaveh set his fork down with a soft clink and leaned in, eyes bright with amusement. “I won’t lie, I had my doubts. The name, the way you analyze everyone like you're about to file a report, that perfectly starched cloak—you practically reeked of the Akademiya.”

Alhaitham stayed still, refusing to dignify that.

Kaveh grinned. “And now look at you. Opening up. Sharing. Being vulnerable. What’s next? You’re going to tell me your childhood crush?”

“I said one sentence.”

“Yes,” Kaveh said, placing a hand on his chest like he’d just survived a great ordeal. “And it was beautiful. A breakthrough.”

Alhaitham stared at him, unblinking.

Kaveh popped another olive into his mouth and chewed like he’d just won something. “I’m framing that moment in my mind. ‘The Day Alhaitham Spoke Voluntarily.’ I’ll write a sonnet.”

Alhaitham exhaled through his nose. “Please don’t.”

Kaveh smiled, quieter this time. Not mocking. Not biting.

Just… a little pleased.

“So...you’re really just going to stand there?” Kaveh asked, glancing over. “You look like you’re waiting to be framed and hung on a wall.”

“I’m not hungry,” Alhaitham replied evenly.

Kaveh sighed dramatically, then stood. Walked over. Grabbed his sleeve.

Alhaitham didn’t resist. That, apparently, was enough. “You are not looming through breakfast like a gargoyle,” Kaveh muttered, tugging him toward the table. “Sit. Eat. Pretend you’re human, statue.”

Rude.

Alhaitham allowed himself to be guided to the chair across from him. He didn’t touch the food, but he sat. He watched Kaveh butter a piece of toast, golden hair catching the morning sun, unaware—or uncaring—of the ripple he’d caused.

After a moment, Alhaitham said, “Why statue?”

Kaveh blinked, then grinned. “Because you just stand there. Tall, quiet, judgmental. Very carved-marble energy.”

Alhaitham considered that. “Accurate,” he said.

Kaveh looked amused. “You’re not offended?”

“No,” Alhaitham replied. “I’ve been called worse.”

Kaveh reached for the jam. “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m the only one allowed to call you that.”

Alhaitham raised a brow. “Possessive.”

Kaveh’s hand paused mid-spread. A faint flush crept up his neck. The butter knife scraped lightly against the toast. “I—what? No. I just—shut up. It’s a nickname .”

They stayed like that for a moment—Kaveh reached for his cup, now sipping the tea slowly, gaze lowered, and Alhaitham watching him in silence. Then, without warning, Kaveh asked, “So. Why Fontaine?”

Alhaitham didn’t look up. “Work.”

“Mmhm,” Kaveh said around his cup. 

There was a pause.

Then Alhaitham said, carefully, “I was hired through a central branch of the Council of Foreign Assignments. My name was submitted by a legal strategist who... owed me a favor.”

A lie, technically. Or a version of the truth too neat to bleed.

He didn’t let it show—kept his tone even, expression unreadable. Just another diplomat’s bodyguard on paper. Just another foreign knight passing through the palace halls.

Not someone sent to slit your throat, ,my dear prince. Not someone memorizing the layout of your bedroom in case the order ever came in the middle of the night.

And Alhaitham, despite himself, felt a dull throb of guilt settle behind his ribs.

Kaveh tilted his head. “And you accepted? Just like that?”

Alhaitham gave a vague shrug. “I go where I’m most useful.”

“Useful, huh?” Kaveh’s voice turned a shade sharper. “That wouldn’t happen to include a certain incident involving Fontaine’s Oratrice regulator going berserk last year?”

That made Alhaitham pause. His gaze flicked up.

“You were there,” Kaveh said, eyes narrowing slightly. “The report said it was handled by someone from the Hydro Crown’s judicial wing — methodical, unnamed. Silent blade.” A beat. “It was you.”

Of course he knew.

Of course this golden, infuriating prince who spent half his time whining about drafty corridors and toast too lightly browned could recall a classified detail buried in bureaucratic fog.

He hadn’t expected that.

He hadn’t expected anything beyond dramatics  and overly opinionated fruit critiques.  A prince with some power, Alhaitham had anticipated.

Alhaitham didn’t answer immediately. He should’ve been annoyed. Should’ve felt exposed. Instead, something else stirred.

Charmed.

There was no reason for it. No logic behind the flicker of warmth in his chest. But there it was—unexpected and stupid. The prince was clever. The prince paid attention. The prince saw him.

“I prefer ‘efficient. ’”

Kaveh leaned back, watching him now with something more than amusement. “I knew I recognized the name. You were the one who got a magistrate indicted just by pointing out the footnote errors in his defense.”

Alhaitham didn’t confirm it. But he didn’t deny it either.

Kaveh huffed a laugh and leaned his chin on one hand. “So what are you doing here? Babysitting a spoiled prince in a dying palace?”

Alhaitham met his gaze. “Someone thought I was suited for it.”

Kaveh stared at him a second longer, then said, voice quieter now, “I’m not as easy to babysit as you might think.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Another pause. This one longer. Softer.

Kaveh shifted slightly, eyes flicking away. “You know,” he said, a little too casually, “for someone who didn’t want to be here, you don’t completely suck.”

Alhaitham blinked. “Was that a compliment?”

Kaveh’s head snapped back toward him. “No. Absolutely not. Don’t get weird about it.”

“…It sounded like a compliment.”

“Well, then you’re hearing it wrong.” He busied himself with his toast again, ears visibly pink.

They didn’t speak for a while after that.

But Alhaitham stayed seated.

A servant approached, bowing low, and passed a new parchment scroll to Kaveh.

“Schedule,” she murmured.

Kaveh sighed as he unrolled the schedule scroll, skimming it like it personally insulted his existence. “Do you want to know something depressing?” he muttered. “Apparently I have ‘ spousal display duties ’ in a while.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow.

Kaveh scoffed and dropped the scroll on the table. “You know what that means, right? Veils. Perfume. Golden anklets. I’m the wife. ” He slumped into his chair dramatically, then added under his breath, “Why can’t I be the husband and Dottore be the wife for once?”

He paused, then muttered with a faint shrug, “Or, I don’t know… we both be husbands. Wouldn’t that be easier?”

Alhaitham, arms loosely crossed, replied without hesitation, “You don’t strike me as someone easy to cast in any single role.”

Kaveh blinked, caught off guard for half a second. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You clearly resent the title,” Alhaitham said, tilting his head slightly, “but not the presentation. So I assumed it’s not the clothes you dislike.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes. “Of course I like the clothes. I love the clothes. The embroidery on my wedding outfit makes grown artisans cry.”

He flicked a fig off his plate. “It’s not the style. It’s the meaning. They dress me up like a prize and expect me to smile quietly while some some consultant with blood on his hands signs ownership papers with a kiss.”

There was a pause. Alhaitham’s gaze lingered longer than it should’ve on the faint shimmer of powder at Kaveh’s collarbone, the gentle slope of his throat.

“I like looking beautiful,” Kaveh said plainly. “I just don’t like being treated like that’s all I’m allowed to be.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m oversharing.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I barely know you, and here I am complaining like we’ve had tea every afternoon for years.”

He glanced up, then hesitated.

“But…” His tone softened just a little, the sharp edge smoothed over. “For some reason, you seem… different. Than other alphas I’ve met.” He smiled—bright, almost boyish, a little too big for the moment.

“I feel safe around you.”

That hit harder than it had any right to.

Alhaitham didn’t react. Not visibly. But something beneath his skin shifted. A quiet press in his chest. Pressure with no name. Kaveh didn’t seem to notice—or pretended not to. He leaned back, smug again. “Don’t get a big head about it, though. It could just be because you never speak.”

Alhaitham’s voice was low. “Then I’ll make sure not to ruin it.”

Their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary.

Then Kaveh looked away, exhaling softly through his nose. “You’re hard to read, you know that?”

Alhaitham didn’t deny it.

“Everyone’s here for something,” Kaveh muttered. “Even you. Fine. Then let me ask something simple.”

He picked up a new piece of pita, loaded it, then paused halfway.

“What’s your favorite food? Mine is Cream Stew.”

Alhaitham blinked once.

Didn’t answer.

Kaveh squinted at him. “You look like someone who’s never tasted anything with actual flavor.”

Still, no answer.

“Oh, come on ,” Kaveh groaned. “There must be something. Sweet? Spicy? Bread? Even dogs have preferences.”

Alhaitham blinked again, slower this time. “I eat what’s available.”

“I knew it,” Kaveh said, looking personally offended, eyebrows drawn tight and lips parted in exaggerated disbelief. “That’s not a preference, that’s a survival mechanism.”

Alhaitham—stoic, composed—almost smirked. But didn’t.

Kaveh narrowed his eyes at him, stabbed a fig with unnecessary violence, and muttered, “I hope you choke on air.”

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The palace staff barely had time to finish announcing the names before Kaveh was already moving. Alhaitham followed silently behind him, observing the commotion with narrowed eyes. The doors of the grand entrance hall creaked open on polished hinges, and two figures stepped through — both immediately unfamiliar and impossible to ignore.

The first was shorter, dressed in dark green robes with gold trim. Fox-like ears flicked once, then stilled. His movements were sharp and precise, eyes scanning the room not for beauty, but for structure. He smelled faintly of herbs—earthy, calm, and unmistakably omega, though he carried himself with quiet confidence. A satchel hung from one shoulder, and his coat was still dusted with dirt, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it off.

The second was taller, broad-shouldered, and moved with the calm focus of someone trained to vanish or strike without warning. A red sash crossed over dark armor, and his silver hair was tied back neatly. His scent was sharp—cool, dry, with a hint of iron. Definitely an alpha. It lingered in the air like a warning.

And the way his eyes tracked the omega beside him—protective, constant—made it clear they were mated. No doubt about it.

They didn’t speak at first.

And neither did Alhaitham. He simply watched.

“Tighnari! Cyno!”

Kaveh’s voice rang out before the guards could even finish their introduction. His entire face lit up. The kind of brightness Alhaitham had only seen in rare flashes — reserved for familiar things. Safe things.

“You’re early!” Kaveh said, practically bounding forward. “You weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

The man with the forest robes — Tighnari, Alhaitham assumed — gave a polite smile as Kaveh reached them. “We made better time than expected. The council at Caravan Ribat postponed the inspection, so I figured we’d drop by.”

“Drop by,” echoed the other — Cyno — his tone dry, his arms crossed, his stare already pinned straight to Alhaitham. “What is this, a tea party?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Cyno added, completely deadpan:

“Though if it is a tea party, I hope someone brought mora-cakes. ”

Kaveh blinked.

Tighnari turned very slowly to look at Cyno, ears flattening just slightly.

“Mora-cakes,” Cyno repeated, as if clarification would help.

Tighnari forced a polite laugh through his teeth. “Ha. Ha.”

Kaveh made a strained sound that might have been a chuckle or a choke.

Alhaitham just blinked once. Slowly. As if the joke physically lowered his body temperature.

Kaveh turned and gestured breezily over his shoulder. “That’s Alhaitham, by the way. My bodyguard. Quiet. Stiff. Grumpy. Statue.”

Alhaitham’s jaw twitched. “I can hear you,” he said flatly.

“You were meant to,” Kaveh replied sweetly, eyes sparkling.

Tighnari gave a polite nod, his eyes scanning Alhaitham like a researcher deciding if he was useful, dangerous, or both. “You didn’t mention assigning a guard,” Tighnari said, glancing back at Kaveh.

Kaveh waved a hand dismissively. “Didn’t think I needed to. But the council insisted. Something about not letting the country’s most marriageable political asset wander around unguarded.”

“Terrifying,” Cyno deadpanned.

“Tell me about it,” Kaveh sighed dramatically.

Alhaitham said nothing. But he was already filing the names, the body language, the pecking order. Tighnari was clearly respected — probably held a senior academic or logistical role.

Cyno was different. Sharp. Tactical. The way he looked at Alhaitham wasn’t curiosity — it was assessment. Focused on posture, weight, footing. Like he was calculating something. The kind that made it obvious he’d noticed the sword strapped beneath Alhaitham’s coat before anyone else had.

Kaveh, of course, didn’t notice any of that.

He was already ushering them inside, practically glowing.

“Come on. We are all getting tea whether you want it or not. And I’m not letting you leave until you try the spiced fig pastries they’ve been hiding in the east kitchens.”

“I don’t eat sweets,” Tighnari said.

“I wasn’t asking,” Kaveh replied, smiling too brightly.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

They’d barely finished tea when Kaveh leaned across the table, eyes narrowing like he’d just spotted prey. Alhaitham followed his gaze—and found it fixed on the corner of a familiar, battered deck box sticking out of Cyno’s satchel. Kaveh’s smile spread like wildfire. “No way. Are you still carrying that thing around?”

Cyno looked up mid-sip. “It’s called being prepared.”

“It’s called being predictable,” Kaveh shot back, already rising from his seat. “Tighnari, you let him bring that? Again?”

Alhaitham glanced at him, unimpressed. What do you mean again? You were practically glowing with excitement

Tighnari sighed into his cup. “I tried to reason with him. He said if Sumeru were ever under siege, his deck would ‘raise morale.’ ”

“It would,” Cyno said seriously. “My Electro-Fischl combo short-circuits enemy morale.”

Alhaitham made a faint sound that might have been disbelief. Or resignation.

“Alhaitham,” Kaveh said, turning with deadly intent. “You’re playing.”

Alhaitham blinked. “No.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Kaveh tilted his head, stepping closer. “You don’t want to support local traditions?”

“I’ve never even seen the rulebook.”

“Even better.” Kaveh leaned across the armrest of Alhaitham’s chair, grinning like always, sunlight catching in his lashes. “You can’t lose what you never hoped to win.”

He was talking about the game. But the words hit harder than they should have, slipping past Alhaitham’s defenses with quiet precision.

You can’t lose what you never hoped to win.

It lodged in his chest before he could make sense of it.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like he’d lost something he was never meant to want. This was a job—observe, follow orders, stay detached.

Not notice how Kaveh’s smile started shy and bloomed into something rare. Not feel how his laughter softened even this cold, heavy place.

He wasn’t supposed to notice any of it. But he did. He noticed everything. And the worst part was, Kaveh didn’t know. Didn’t know who he was sitting beside. Didn’t know this table, this game, this warmth — it wasn’t meant to last. Wasn’t meant to matter.

The mission had been simple. It was still simple.

And yet, here he was, being far too close to the man he was meant to kill, a hand of unfamiliar cards in his grip, and thoughts in his head he was never supposed to have.

He couldn’t believe it. They had almost kissed.

It hadn’t been planned. Not even wanted — or so he’d told himself. Just instinct. A moment. One breath too close, one sound too soft. He was lucky Kaveh didn’t remember. And if he did …

Well. It didn’t matter.

It…couldn’t.

Because feelings weren’t part of the mission. And neither was mercy.

Kaveh looked at him again — smiling, open, unaware. And something in Alhaitham's chest clenched.

He wasn’t sure which part of him was lying more, the one that still claimed he could go through with it, or the one that ever truly believed he would. It was absurd. Embarrassingly so.

What was Kaveh doing to him?

This wasn’t a game. It never had been. And still, some ridiculous part of him already felt like he was losing. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” he said.

Because it didn’t.

Kaveh laughed, but the sound faltered slightly. Just for a second. His grin eased, eyes narrowing — not in amusement, but something quieter. A flicker of concern. He studied Alhaitham’s face like he was trying to read between the lines.

It was possible his scent had shifted—just slightly, unconsciously. That happened sometimes, under stress.

He didn’t like that Kaveh noticed. He liked even less that he couldn’t control it.

“Yeah,” the Prince said, more gently now. “Neither do you, most days.”

He paused. Then added, a little softer, “Play with us?”

“...Fine.”

“Victory!” Kaveh declared, eyes shining as he grabbed Alhaitham’s sleeve and tugged him toward the shaded game table like he’d just wrangled a particularly broody prize at auction. “Come on, statue.”

Alhaitham allowed it, though his posture remained rigid and his expression unreadable. Tighnari and Cyno, both still strangers to him, watched the interaction unfold with the wary interest of people witnessing a strange social experiment.

Alhaitham had noticed that in the palace, everything had its designated place—tea here, music there, games only in certain rooms. So if they were just having tea at that table, why couldn’t they lay the cards down and play there too?

He’d never understand the rich or more specifically, Kaveh’s need to make everything unnecessarily complicated.

Tighnari tilted his head slightly, arms folding across his chest. “Huh. That was easier than expected.”

“He pretends to resist, but give him a task and he’ll overcommit out of spite,” Kaveh said over his shoulder, spreading out the playmat with dramatic flair.

“I’m not overcommitting,” Alhaitham replied evenly. “I’m tolerating you.”

Kaveh glanced back with a faint scoff.

Cyno’s gaze settled on him the moment Kaveh began setting out the playmat — calm, unreadable, but unwavering. “You don’t say much,” Cyno remarked, tone flat.

Kaveh muttered, “He prefers to suffer in silence. It's his thing.”

He felt the weight of Cyno’s stare continue, like the other man was dissecting the shape of his silence. “Efficient,” Cyno said. “Or evasive.”

Alhaitham met his eyes now. “And you strike me as the type who talks when he wants to provoke a response, not contribute anything useful.”

Kaveh let out a low whistle. “Okay.”

Tighnari, already seated and laying out the elemental dice, didn’t look up. “And so it begins.”

Cyno didn’t blink. “You analyse people like they’re data points. No surprise there.”

“And you talk like you're testing boundaries just to see who reacts,” Alhaitham said. “It’s a pattern. And a predictable one.”

Kaveh, now leaning across the table, watched with wide eyes, holding a deck mid-shuffle. “Should I be worried you’re going to turn this into a courtroom or a duel?”

“I don’t start duels,” Alhaitham said without looking up. “But I don’t lose them either.”

“I do start them,” Cyno replied calmly. “And I don’t wait to finish them.”

Kaveh blinked. “Okay. I’ll just… stay over here with the cards.”

“You know,” Cyno continued, “I expected more from the prince’s appointed guard.”

Alhaitham’s jaw flexed. “I expected more from a General who can’t distinguish silence from surrender.”

Kaveh finally tossed the deck down with a thud. “Alright! I love the tension, it’s theatrical, but you’re both going to give Tighnari an aneurysm.”

Tighnari rubbed at his temple. “They already did.”

Alhaitham leaned back in his chair, one arm resting loosely along the edge. Cyno was still watching him — calm, unreadable, quiet in a way that pressed in rather than faded.

Alhaitham filed it away.

Cyno liked control.

So did he.

And that meant, inevitably, they wouldn’t get along. But fine. He wasn’t here to make allies. He was here to watch Kaveh.

Cyno stared at Kaveh. “Would you like a warm-up pun before we begin?”

“No.”

“What do you call a Pyro deck that loses every round?” Cyno asked, flipping a card.

Everyone braced.

“A fire hazard.”

Tighnari exhaled like he’d aged ten years and promptly smacked Cyno on the head with the rulebook.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Alhaitham said, frowning.

“It’s not supposed to,” Cyno replied, completely unfazed.

Alhaitham blinked once. “You’re all deeply unserious people.”

Kaveh laughed so hard he tipped against Alhaitham’s shoulder, still clutching his cards, completely unaware of how close he was. Alhaitham didn’t move, didn’t even glance at him. He kept his eyes on the board, but he felt the warmth pressed lightly against his arm and the way Kaveh’s laughter softened everything around them. He told himself he should be annoyed, maybe even bored, but the truth settled in quietly—he wasn’t. Somehow, without meaning to, without even knowing when it started, he was already losing.

And then Kaveh looked up.

Their eyes met, just for a second, and something shifted. Kaveh blinked, his smile faltering, and color rushed to his face all at once. He cleared his throat quickly and sat up straighter, suddenly far too interested in rearranging his cards like they’d betrayed him on purpose.

As he pulled away, his scent lingered — zaytun peaches, soft and subtle, like ripened fruit warmed by sunlight. It clung to the air between them, delicate but persistent, something far too gentle for the weight of what Alhaitham was supposed to do.

And worse — it was mixing.

Just barely. But enough. Alhaitham’s pasidarah , usually muted and sharp like cool stone after rain, edged into the space between them, curling around Kaveh’s warmth like a whisper.

He didn’t react. Not outwardly.

But his next breath caught slightly, slower than it should have, and he hated how familiar that scent was starting to feel.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The game table had descended into chaos.

Kaveh sat on one side of the board like it was a stage. Sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his face, narrating every move with theatrical urgency. He waved his cards dramatically, flipping them with flair, calling out plays like he was leading a war council.

“Okay—playing this now to set up synergy—yes, it works with the previous combo, just trust me—Alhaitham, don’t play that card yet, it’ll mess up the sequence—no, stop, don’t— ” Alhaitham ignored every word, placed a card down without hesitation, and followed it up with a swift move from another unit.

The board flared with a sudden, clean reaction.

Kaveh froze. “...Okay. Rude. But effective.”

Tighnari glanced up from the rulebook. “Is he always like this?”

“Worse,” Kaveh muttered, still fussing with their setup like he could undo what just happened.

But they were winning. Somehow.

Tighnari, sipping his tea with the kind of distant expression that said he regretted everything . Occasionally, he reached out to flick Kaveh’s hand away from an illegal placement or slap the instruction booklet across Cyno’s arm when he opened his mouth.

“I guess I’m a Cryo deck now,” Cyno said with eerie calm, “because I’m... cool.”

Thwap.

“Ow,”

Kaveh turned back to the board and immediately panicked.

“Okay,” Kaveh said, laying out his cards with intense focus, “listen Alhaitham—if we just stall one more round, I can chain our effects and set up a perfect burst. But you have to wait. Just don’t touch anything.”

Alhaitham glanced at the board. “We can win now.”

Kaveh’s head snapped up. “No, don’t—if you play that now, it’ll mess everything up—”

Too late. Alhaitham placed his card down with quiet finality.

Kaveh let out a strangled sound. “Alhaitham—what did I just say—”

Without answering, Alhaitham switched positions, played another card, and leaned back. A beat passed.

Then a chain of effects triggered. Fast. Unplanned. Devastating.

Tighnari and Cyno’s board took a heavy hit, two units thrown out of sync and one nearly down.

The table went silent.

Kaveh gaped at the board, then slowly turned toward him. “Do you have any idea how long I spent setting that up?!”

Alhaitham calmly drew his next card. “Yes. That’s why I corrected it.”

Kaveh chucked a cushion at him. “You are impossible. ”

Cyno, without looking up, “He’s efficient.”

Tighnari sighed. “We need to ban him.”

Alhaitham adjusted a support card. “You need a better plan.”

Kaveh looked at the board again, watching another round of passive damage tick away. He groaned, flopping forward. “Unbelievable. He ignores everything I say and we’re still somehow winning.”

“Exactly,” Alhaitham said.

Kaveh buried his face in his hands. “I hate how that actually works.”

He slumped over the board, trying to reorganize their setup mid-turn. “If we win this, it’s not strategy. It’s sheer chaos.”

Alhaitham rolled his dice again without comment and dropped another card into play. Something exploded. Cyno muttered something about divine judgment. Tighnari sat back, looking vaguely betrayed by the entire concept of card games. Kaveh groaned again, half-laughing. “I swear, you just vibe your way through the match and the universe rewards you for it.”

“It’s adaptive sequencing. You spend too fast and leave yourself wide open.”

“I what —?”

Alhaitham calmly reached across the board, hand brushing against Kaveh’s as he adjusted a support card. “You blow all your dice in the opening round without proper setup. Then you’ve got nothing left to finish.”

Kaveh froze.

Alhaitham continued, tone dry and academic. “You can’t just go in hard without buildup. You’ll peak too early, and then everything collapses.”

Kaveh’s ears went red.

“You need to hold back,” Alhaitham added. “Sustain pressure. Make it last long enough to be effective.”

Kaveh was staring at him now. Open-mouthed. Speechless.

Alhaitham played his next move. “See? Controlled release. Precise impact.”

Kaveh made a soft, horrified wheeze and looked away fast. “Why are you like this.”

“I’m explaining your mistake,” Alhaitham said, genuinely confused. “Would you prefer a visual breakdown?”

Kaveh slapped his hand over Alhaitham’s mouth. “ Please stop talking.”

Cyno didn’t even blink. “Please don’t.”

Kaveh looked like he was about to hurl a dice at him.

Instead, he leaned in, flustered, voice low. “Fine. But next game, I’m switching teams. You’re going to feel what it’s like to be micromanaged properly .”

Alhaitham, without looking up, replied evenly, “I already do.”

Kaveh blinked, thrown. “That’s not—” He cut himself off, flustered again, as his brain caught up with the layered implication.

He cleared his throat and sat back quickly, busying himself with adjusting his card lineup — cards that, irritatingly, Alhaitham reached over and straightened without comment.

“They were misaligned,” Alhaitham said quietly. “It was bothering me.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Kaveh muttered, ears pink.

“You don’t usually ask. You just talk.”

Kaveh’s hand froze mid-shuffle. “Is that your way of saying I talk too much?”

“No,” Alhaitham replied, finally glancing up at him. “It’s an observation. Not a complaint.”

Kaveh held his breath. Just for a second. Then looked away.

Cyno blinked. “I think I’m the third wheel.”

“You are,” Tighnari muttered. “Play your card.”

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The game had long ended, the courtyard growing quieter as evening pressed in. Most of the cards were packed away, though a few dice still lingered on the table. Kaveh was carefully stacking them into a pouch, but his focus was elsewhere—his fingers moved too slowly, his posture too still.

Tighnari stood and stretched. “Alright, that’s enough chaos for one visit. Cyno, we should get going.”

Cyno adjusted the strap on his satchel with unhurried calm. “That was a practice match.”

“You say that every time.”

“I’ll say it again next time.”

Alhaitham rose, straightening the edge of the game mat. He was ready to leave when Tighnari turned toward him. “Actually… would you mind helping me gather a few herbs from the greenhouse? Won’t take long.”

Weird.

Alhaitham hesitated, only briefly, and his eyes flicked to Kaveh, out of habit more than necessity.

Kaveh noticed. His fingers stilled on his cards. A flush crept faintly up his neck. “You don’t need permission from me,” he muttered, not quite meeting Alhaitham’s gaze. “Go. Cyno’s here anyway.”

Alhaitham gave a short nod. “Fine.”

They fell into step beside each other, walking down a shaded corridor toward the palace greenhouse. Behind them, Cyno’s voice echoed one last time:

“Technically, I didn’t lose. I strategically allowed you to win so the group wouldn’t fall apart emotionally.”

Tighnari sighed without looking back. “I should stop bringing him to things.”

“You won’t,” Alhaitham said.

“I really won’t,” Tighnari muttered.

The air grew quieter as they approached the greenhouse, warm with humidity and thick with the scent of soil and citrus. Tighnari crouched near a cluster of sprouting basil and began trimming the leaves with expert precision.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

Then, as Tighnari passed Alhaitham a small pouch to hold, he said evenly, “It’s strange being here.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “Because of the wedding?”

Tighnari nodded, eyes still on the plants. “Because of him .” A pause. “I’ve known Kaveh since he was barely taller than a desk. Always had more opinions than breath. But now… he’s quieter. Careful.” He trimmed a few more leaves in silence, then handed over another bundle. “He jokes like nothing’s wrong, but it’s performative. I’ve seen it before, how he gets when he’s cornered but refuses to admit it.”

His hands stilled.

“And Dottore…” Tighnari’s voice dropped slightly. “There’s something wrong with that man. The way he speaks to Kaveh. The way he looks at him. It’s like he sees a possession. Not a person.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

Alhaitham didn’t respond. But something in his grip on the pouch shifted — just slightly tighter.

Tighnari continued, quieter now. “I’ve studied predator behavior for years. And what I saw… I don’t think Kaveh will walk out of the palace the same. If he walks out at all.”

The greenhouse was suddenly too still. Too quiet.

Alhaitham kept his expression blank. But inside, something uncoiled — slow and cold. He told himself it was nothing. That it didn’t matter. That Tighnari was speculating. But that image — Kaveh, golden and reckless, bleeding out behind closed doors — landed like a fist to the chest.

He looked away. “Your hypothesis is dramatic.”

Tighnari didn’t look up. “Maybe. But if I’m wrong, I’ll live with it. If I’m right…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

And he didn’t have to.

Tighnari glanced up. “And I’ve also seen you . Watching him.”

Alhaitham finally looked at him.

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Tighnari continued. “Not yet. But I’m not blind. You’re not just a guard, and this isn’t just politics.” His voice stayed calm, but firm. “You look at him like someone holding their breath. Like you’re trying not to feel something you already do.”

Alhaitham said nothing.

Tighnari stood, brushing soil from his hands with more force than necessary. “Everyone around him is making decisions like he’s already theirs to divide. Like he’ll be fine, as long as he stays pretty, quiet and useful.”

He paused, gaze unfocused now, somewhere near the greenhouse door.

“But I’ve seen what happens when you put someone like him in a cage. He performs until he breaks. And when he breaks, no one notices until it’s already too late.”

His voice was low. Tired. But steady.

“I don’t know what you’re here for, Alhaitham. I’m not asking. Just…” He glanced over his shoulder, finally meeting his eyes.

“If he disappears under your watch, I’ll know exactly who to blame.”

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Later that evening, Alhaitham returned to his room, the soft weight of the dinner still lingering on his clothes and mind. Kaveh had insisted he stay— “You eat like a ghost, statue, you need a full meal to function properly.” That had earned him a long stare, to which he’d only grinned and piled more food onto Alhaitham’s plate like it was a declaration of war.

Alhaitham had argued. Mildly. Pointlessly.

And stayed.

Looking back on the day now, Alhaitham thought grimly that most of it had been spent chewing. Breakfast, lunch, a surprise tea tray, and then dinner — all under the watchful eye of a prince who apparently believed food solved everything from mood swings to foreign policy.

At this rate, he mused, Kaveh wouldn’t just seduce him — he’d fatten him into surrender.

He found himself chuckling under his breath now as he sat on the edge of his bed, tugging off his boots. Then,

There was a knock. Sharp. Once. Then again.

He stood, boots half-undone, and opened the door without much thought.

A courier bowed wordlessly, handed him a sealed envelope, and disappeared back into the shadows of the hall.

Inside: a single folded letter.

And a photo.

He didn’t need to ask what it meant. He knew the face on the photo.

And beneath it, scrawled in a hand he hadn’t seen in a while:

You are not buying her freedom.
You are renting her life.
—C

Chapter Text

She was seven when he found her.

Fontaine had been cold that year. Not just the weather, but the atmosphere. Everything in the air felt tense, like the city was holding its breath. The Court had just survived another scandal. Trust was scarce. So was mercy.

He hadn’t meant to notice her.

Just a slip of a girl tucked in the back corner of an unused reading room, legs swinging off the edge of a marble bench, quietly copying diagrams from a textbook far too advanced for her age. No supervision. No credentials. No clearance.

She didn’t even flinch when he walked in. Her braid was half-undone. Her sleeves pushed up. The textbook in her lap was classified. She was penciling something in the margins.

“That book is restricted,” he said, more out of instinct than intent.

She looked up at him. Not startled. Just vaguely amused. “Then you’d better take it away from me, sir.”

He didn’t move. She tilted her head. “Well? Are you going to?”

He should’ve said yes. He should’ve reported her. But instead, he asked, “Where did you even get it?”

She smiled, unbothered. “Wasn’t locked. Just shelved wrong. Not my fault.” He stared at her, unsure if she was lying. She stared back, legs still swinging.

The next day, she was there again. And the next.

Every time, she was a little bolder, correcting margins, scribbling notes in the corners of texts she had no access to on record. Her fingers were always ink-stained. Her braid, always crooked. Éliane Meraut. Too curious for her own good.

“You again,” he muttered one day.

She didn’t look up.  “Me again.”

She started calling him sir with a half-mocking grin. He never told her his name, but she seemed to know it anyway. He bought her hot bread once during a late shift. After that, she stuck to him like a shadow.

She was brilliant. Restless. Unregistered. He didn’t know who left her behind in Fontaine, but he’d seen enough bright minds get swallowed whole to know how it would end if someone else found her first.

He tried to keep her out of sight. It worked..only for a while.

Until her name surfaced on a clearance report it didn’t belong to. Something small. A slip. A favor granted by someone else, and suddenly she was a “security breach.”

Just like that. A child, security breach.

Utterly ridiculous. 

And by the time he realized how deep it went, it was too late. There was going to be a purge. Quiet. Legal. Fontaine didn’t kill people loudly — they erased them with law.

He tried to intervene. Used his clearance. His reputation.

It wasn’t enough.

And that’s when Chevalet stepped in.

“I covered it up,” Chevalet said, gloved hands folded neatly on the table. “Removed her from the system. Planted her in a new identity. Safe town, safe guardian. She’ll live.”

Alhaitham stared at him, unmoving.

“Solène Duvant,” Chevalet said, like the name itself was a pawn he could move at will. “That’s the name  she’ll go by now. And she’s breathing. For now. ”

Then the smile, measured, polite. Cruel.

“But you understand, of course. That comes with a price.” And it had. Every mission after that came with a name, a file, a deadline.

And the same warning:

She’s alive because of me. Disobey once, and she dies in silence.

Alhaitham never knew where she’d been sent. Not for lack of trying.

He’d searched. Quiet, careful, everywhere. Slipped coins to stewards and assistants, asked the right questions in the wrong corners of the palace. Bribed two Archivists, a travel clerk, and a courier with Fontaine papers.

None of it worked.

Every path turned cold. Every whisper cut short. The people he questioned were always polite, always vague, always unreachable the next day.

Chevalet had bought them all.

There was nothing. No record in the royal files, no medical reports, no supply logs with her name. Only the letters which passed through too many hands, stamped with seals Alhaitham couldn’t trace. She was ten now.

She liked seaweed crackers. She was still afraid of thunder.

She drew him clumsy little foxes in her letters — always with glasses. Her handwriting had improved. The sketches were a little neater now, the eyes more careful. But the foxes still looked up at him with the same wide expression, signed every letter with E.M.

And now... he was standing in the Sumeru palace, being told to kill a man whose greatest crime was being inconvenient.

A thought flickered, uninvited. She would’ve liked him.

Too stubborn. Too talkative. Too smart for their own good. They would’ve driven him insane together. And probably had the time of their lives doing it.

How was he supposed to choose?

How was anyone?

Two lives, both unbearably alive.

Kaveh stood on the edge of something he hadn’t chosen, dressed in gold like it was meant to distract from the cage. Every thread, every clasp, tailored not for him but for the image others wanted to see. For the man they wanted Dottore to claim.

The kind of person who should’ve had time.

Who deserved time.

And yet—Alhaitham was the one meant to end it. Without delay. That was the order. 

And maybe… maybe that would be kinder than what was coming for Kaveh.

And Éliane— She had never been allowed to keep a pet, or stay up past curfew, or fall asleep during a boring play and not be scolded for it. She didn’t know what falling in love felt like. Or heartbreak. Or the thousand little disappointments that make growing up feel real. Sure, she had a new name now. A new home. A carefully crafted life. On paper, she was safe but he knew better, she didn’t have freedom.

How do you weigh that? How do you pick?

Kaveh’s hands had built futures. Éliane’s hadn’t even gotten to hold one yet.

They both deserved better. A future. A life. Something that wasn’t just survival in someone else’s hands.

But none of them got to choose. And Alhaitham…he was the one who had to walk forward, eyes open, knowing one would be left behind.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Alhaitham didn’t like being summoned, but he liked it even less when Kaveh was.

The message had arrived mid-morning, an official request from Dottore himself, penned in silver ink:
________________________________________________________________________

“A morning stroll will do wonders for Your Highness’s nerves. The arboretum. Nine Thirty sharp.”
________________________________________________________________________

Alhaitham had knocked once at 8:30 a.m., then again five minutes later—just to be sure. He wasn’t sure why it felt awkward. Just yesterday, he’d been fully prepared to drag Kaveh out of bed before noon — kicking, screaming, or clinging to the sheets if necessary. But this morning…felt different.

The order had come from Dottore. And suddenly, the idea of waking Kaveh, of pulling him from warm sheets and quiet dreams just to satisfy that man felt wrong .　It felt too personal, like Alhaitham was intruding on something fragile. Like a dream Kaveh hadn’t wanted to wake up from yet.

There was a beat of silence. Then, from somewhere deep under the covers, a sleepy voice slurred, “What…”

Alhaitham kept his tone even. “Dottore has summoned you.”

A long, heavy pause followed. Sheets rustled. Then a soft groan. “I’m the prince,” Kaveh mumbled from behind the door, voice thick with sleep. “I should be the one summoning him …” His words faded into a small huff, almost a laugh. Then, quieter, barely above a whisper, “I’m an omega. That’s why.”

“Since when did you start measuring your worth by that?” he asked, voice low, quiet, but unyielding. 

Silence.

Then the door creaked open slightly, and Kaveh blinked up at him from behind the frame. His hair was a golden mess, flattened on one side. His face was flushed with sleep, his eyes still half-closed. He looked at Alhaitham for a long moment like he wasn’t entirely sure if he was real.

“Mm,” he murmured, voice still husky, ignoring Alhaitham’s question, “I was having a dream.”

He didn’t elaborate at first, just leaned his forehead briefly against the edge of the doorframe, eyes fluttering half-shut. Then, with a faint, almost amused smile, he added, “Think I was giving orders or something. Nice change of pace.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond.

But something in him reacted instantly. His alpha coiled tight in his chest, sharp and stupid, whispering things like kiss him, take him, he’s yours!! louder with every sleepy word Kaveh mumbled.

Not him. Definitely not him.

He wasn’t thinking about how soft Kaveh’s lips looked when he spoke, or how easy it would be to tilt his chin up and steal the warmth right off his mouth. He wasn’t standing there imagining how he’d taste—peaches, silk, and something unbearably sweet beneath.

No. That was the alpha.

Absolutely the alpha.

Not him. Never him.

Kaveh exhaled a slow breath and pulled back, rubbing the side of his face. “Figures the first time I get to boss people around is when I’m dreaming.”

His tone was light. Detached in the way people sound when they’ve already made peace with something a long time ago. He mumbled, “He always sends for me so early. You’d think being promised to a man earns you at least one sleep-in.”

Alhaitham didn’t mean to answer. But the words left him anyway. “He speaks to you like you’re a duty. Not a person.”

Kaveh paused. Blinking.

He gave him a long look, thoughtful. Eyes a little clearer now, gaze searching Alhaitham’s face like he was trying to figure something out but didn’t have the energy to follow it through.

Then, finally, he said softly, “Wait outside. I’ll get ready.”

He shut the door again. Gently.

And Alhaitham stood there, staring at it, wondering why it felt like something inside him had just shifted a little too far out of place.

The door opened again, Alhaitham glanced up—and stopped for a second too long.

Kaveh stepped out in pale ivory layered with soft green, the fabric catching the light in a way that made him look—calmer, somehow. Bare of ornaments, his hair slightly mussed from sleep, he looked less like a prince and more like a person. But still… striking.

Green suits him, Alhaitham thought — and then immediately frowned at himself. His eyes dropped to his own uniform. He had far too much green in his wardrobe.

Is it just me or is it way too warm today?

They didn’t speak as they walked through the corridor toward the garden. Their footsteps echoed softly between the arches, the silence not exactly comfortable but not strained, either. 

The garden loomed ahead like something out of a painting—overgrown yet carefully cultivated. The roses today were white, but tinged at the edges with red.  And at the heart of it, standing perfectly still among the vines, was Dottore.

He wore his usual smile, sharp and slanted. Something about him always looked too put-together, too still, like he belonged under glass instead of under sunlight.

“Alhaitham,” Dottore greeted, not bothering to hide his distaste. “How charming of you to escort him. We won’t be long.”

“Protocol requires—”

“You follow orders, I’m aware.” He smiled with all the warmth of a scalpel.

Kaveh hesitated. Only for a breath. Then he nodded once, turned to Alhaitham, and said quietly, “It’s fine. I’ll be alright, Statue.”

Alhaitham didn’t believe him.

He stepped aside just enough to be polite, then quietly moved toward the arch of vines. Half in shadow, he could still see Kaveh’s outline through the gaps in the trellis without drawing attention.

Dottore fell into step beside Kaveh, a breath too close. And then, loud enough to carry:

“Green isn’t your color,” Dottore said, dragging a gloved hand slowly along Kaveh’s spine. “It washes you out. I much prefer red or… blue on you.” He said it like a man making a public announcement, claiming something.

Alhaitham's gaze snapped toward them, the weight of Dottore’s voice too sharp, too clear to be casual. Kaveh didn’t respond. Not a glance. Just walked forward with practiced poise, like someone who had learned long ago how to become untouchable by standing still.

But Alhaitham could see the tension in his shoulders. The way his fists were too tightly curled at his sides.

And Dottore? He glanced back—just for a second. Straight at Alhaitham.

And smiled.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The garden meeting ended quietly, almost suspiciously so.

Kaveh walked back to Alhaitham without a word, his face carefully blank, hard to read. Whatever had happened with Dottore in the hedged paths of the arboretum, Alhaitham hadn’t been meant to see it.

And it unsettled him.

The walk back to the palace was quiet. Alhaitham remained a step behind, but every so often his eyes drifted toward the slight, unspoken tension in Kaveh’s posture, the kind only someone paying attention would notice. 

They reached the hallway outside Kaveh’s quarters. “I’ll escort him from here,” Alhaitham said, stepping front.

“Ah, but I’d like to accompany my fiancé,” Dottore said smoothly from behind, gloved hands folded, his ever-present smile brittle at the corners. “Surely you don’t mind, guard .”

Alhaitham didn’t look back. Didn’t respond. He simply moved another step forward, opened the door to Kaveh’s chambers and held it.

Not wide. Not inviting.

Just enough for Kaveh to pass through.

When Dottore made the slightest move to follow, Alhaitham shifted subtly into the doorway, shoulder angled, body firm in the space.

A silent blockade.

“Your request was to accompany him,” Alhaitham said, voice even. “You didn’t mention going inside his room.”

Dottore’s smile didn’t reach his eyes at all.

Kaveh walked in without protest, murmuring something soft about needing to rest. But before Alhaitham could follow, Dottore murmured a single word behind him. Soft. Casual.

“Stay.”

Kaveh paused mid-step. There was a breath. A flicker of hesitation. Then, without looking at him, his voice came quieter, a little rushed, a little tight. “Uh—statue. I… need your help with something.”

Alhaitham opened his mouth, “Of course”—

“It won’t take long, my prince,” Dottore said smoothly.

Kaveh’s posture shifted. His fingers twitched at his side. “Even so,” he said quietly, not quite meeting either of their eyes. “I asked of him.”

His tone wasn’t confrontational but it wasn’t yielding either. Just enough weight behind the words to make his meaning clear. Just enough defiance to taste.

Dottore’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it settled deeper, colder. “I’m sure your statue can wait a few minutes.” Then, softer,  “Unless you’ve developed an urgent need for company.”

Kaveh went still. Just for a moment.

Then, without another word, he glanced at Alhaitham, something behind his eyes unreadable, almost apologetic and gave a small, resigned nod.

He stepped into the room.

And the door closed behind him with a quiet, final click.

Dottore now stood beside Alhaitham. Too close. Still smiling. That same smile that never reached his eyes. “Walk with me.”

It wasn’t a request.

Alhaitham followed without a word. With each step, the halls grew quieter, the sounds of servants and guards fading away. They stopped in front of Dottore’s private wing. As the door shut behind them, Dottore’s smile slipped off like a mask.

What replaced it was... nothing. Just a blank, dead stare. Sharp as a scalpel. Cold as a tray of surgical steel.

“He really is something,” he murmured.

Alhaitham just stared.

Dottore turned slightly, his voice low and thoughtful, almost fond. “There’s a particular kind of beauty that begs to be kept. Not touched, necessarily, though that’s also very nice. Just… watched. Owned. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

No answer.

“I don’t mean delicate,” he added, waving a hand lazily. “Not the kind that shatters. No — I mean the kind that struggles . That shines brighter the more it is caged. Beauty with fire behind it. Something that looks you in the eye when it’s on its knees.”

He smiled faintly. “Kaveh’s exactly that type.”

Still, Alhaitham said nothing. But he did not like where this was going.

“He plays the part so well. The posture, the anger, the big speeches — archons, I love when he pretends he’s above it all. Like he isn’t built to fall apart in someone’s hands.”

Another pause.

“I wonder what it’s like,” Dottore said, stepping in with a quiet, almost conspiratorial tone. “Spending all day watching him. The way he moves — too graceful not to know it. The way his mouth tugs when he’s irritated. Always performing. Always tempting.”

He let out a soft breath, eyes gleaming.

“Standing just outside his door... knowing he’s inside, warm, half-naked, breath soft from dreams. Maybe tangled in silk sheets, or nothing at all. And you — out in the hall. Listening to every shift in the mattress like it’s a sin.”

He smiled faintly.

“So close. Always so close. And knowing none of it is yours to touch.”

Alhaitham’s stare could have cut stone.

“And yet…” Dottore’s gaze drifted lazily through the room, a cruel glint in his eye. “You say nothing. You move like a shadow. You don’t even look at him — not properly.”

A beat. Then, quieter.

“But I see it.”

He took a slow step forward. “The way your head turns when he laughs. The way you pause when he walks past. You think that’s control?” He gave a soft, humorless chuckle. “That’s biology.”

Another pause, heavier now.

“I am alpha, you are too. He’s an omega. We were made to notice him. To want. To claim. It’s instinct. You can bury it under silence and duty all you want, but it leaks through. In the way you breathe when he’s too close. In the way your scent flares just enough when he says your name…or nickname.”

Dottore tilted his head, then added with mock offense, “Oh dear. Statue. He never gave me a nickname.” He pouted, like it was some great injustice. A child denied a toy. 

Of course Dottore had noticed. That was the point of the comment. That silly nickname, meant nothing to anyone else. But it meant something to him. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t romantic. But it was Kaveh’s. A name he’d chosen without thinking. A name only he used.

And maybe that was why it stuck. Maybe that’s why Dottore brought it up. Because it wasn’t for him.

A small, quiet part of Alhaitham felt… smug and deeply satisfied. Dottore had everything else, status, control, the palace’s permission to stand too close but not that. Not the nickname. Not that tiny, stupid, private sliver of familiarity.

He could dress Kaveh in gold, parade him like a prize, stake every claim in public… but he would never have the version of Kaveh that muttered "Statue" at 8 a.m. with bed hair and half-lidded eyes.

Dottore’s voice dipped, indulgent. “You’re not resisting. You’re circling.” He leaned in, voice softer now, “I’d say you want him. But wanting implies you think he’s yours.”

And finally, with a bright, weightless tone, “I find it strange,” Dottore said softly, stepping closer, “that a knight of your caliber was sent all the way from Fontaine just to walk the prince to and from his appointments.”

He let his words linger, gaze drifting lazily over Alhaitham’s frame as if taking exact measure of him.

“Now, I understand the prince needs protection. He’s fragile. Prone to dramatics. But you ?” Dottore gave a short, breathy laugh, humorless. “You’re not just a bodyguard. You’re surgical. Precise. The kind of man they send when something needs to be dealt with quietly .”

His smile widened. “Which makes me wonder… what exactly are you doing here, Sir Alhaitham?”

He tilted his head then, smile tightening, almost brittle. “Then again… the king is a sentimental fool. Loves his son more than he understands him. Too blind to see when he's placing a wolf beside the lamb.”

Dottore let that hang, just long enough for it to sour the air. “But not me,” he murmured. “I see things for what they are.”

Alhaitham said nothing.

“You’re good,” Dottore continued, circling him slowly. “Too good. Too quiet. Too... observant. And our dear Kaveh, he’s not difficult to observe, is he?” He smiled again, mockingly. “So expressive. So easy to read.”

He stopped in front of Alhaitham, voice dropping to a low murmur.

“But I’ll tell you this only once, Fontaine dog. W hatever brought you here, whatever fantasy you’ve constructed about stepping between us, I won’t allow it.” His words were laced with venom, each one measured and cutting, like a knife held just under the surface.

Alhaitham’s gaze narrowed, but he stayed still.

Dottore leaned closer, lips curled. “He’s mine,” Dottore murmured, voice low and vile. “Every inch of him. Every shiver, every heat, every desperate little sound he makes in the dark. I’ll fuck him so thoroughly they’ll still catch my scent on his bones long after he’s rotted.”

That was it. Alhaitham’s voice dropped, sharp and lethal. “I suggest you shut the fuck up. Right this second.”

The words were steady, but tension burned under Alhaitham’s skin. He didn’t reach for his weapon, but the urge was there, right under the surface. Not because it was duty.

But because of Kaveh.

Because the image Dottore had just painted wouldn’t leave his head, no matter how fast he tried to shut it out. Every word had been crafted to provoke, to stain, to dig in like a thorn and rot. And it worked. It worked too well.

He wanted to break something. Crush the smug curl of that mouth. Make Dottore regret saying anything at all.

He smiled then—slow, satisfied. “I wonder,” he said, tilting his head slightly, voice lazy with cruelty.

As he spoke, he leaned back against the doorframe, one leg propped behind him, arms crossing over his chest like he had all the time in the world. “When you look at him,” he went on, voice low and deliberate, “do you ever imagine what he’ll look like when I finally take him?”

Alhaitham didn’t move at first. But something inside him shifted, cold and violent. It wasn’t rage that hit him first. It was nausea. Revulsion. Followed quickly by blind rage. Because this man—this thing —had just spoken about Kaveh like he was property. Like he was flesh waiting to be consumed. Like he was already ruined, and Alhaitham should simply get used to it.

Alhaitham wanted to crush his throat. Drive him into the wall until his bones cracked and shattered, turned into dust.

Watch the smile fall off his face with blood.

He didn’t need a reason. He just needed Dottore to stop breathing.

To hell with protocol.

To hell with the fucking mission. 

Alhaitham’s hand shot out without thinking—fist clenched in Dottore’s collar, slamming him back against the door with a thud that echoed through the polished walls.

The smile didn’t fade. Dottore just laughed—quietly, low in his throat. “Ah. There it is.”

His voice turned sharper. Poisoned. “If you so much as breathe the wrong way around him—if anything happens to Kaveh, if he so much as sheds a tear you cause —I will cut you apart. Slowly. Delicately. One inch at a time. I know how to make a heart beat for twenty minutes after removal. Want to find out?”

Alhaitham’s grip tightened—but only for a moment. Then he released him, chest rising once in a measured breath.

He was a logical man. He had to be. Acting out now wouldn’t help Kaveh. It would only make things worse, draw attention, shift power, put him exactly where Dottore wanted him.

Kaveh might die by his hands. That was the assignment. But Dottore?

Dottore would not touch him. Not once. Not ever.

If it came to that, if fate demanded an end, which definitely will, then Alhaitham would rather be the one to do it. Not out of cruelty. Not out of obedience. But because at least in his hands, Kaveh would still be seen as a person. Still be Kaveh. Loud, infuriating, brilliant. Still precious.

He wouldn’t be reduced to something to own. Something to use. He wouldn’t be broken into silence by someone who saw his worth only in how easily he could be ruined.

If Kaveh was going to fall, it would be gently.

With dignity.

Dottore smoothed his coat as he moved aside from the door, slow and unbothered — like he hadn’t just said something worth killing over.

“Kaveh belongs to me,” he said quietly, eyes glittering. “Mind, body, scent, and soul. There’s no room for a knight playing at restraint.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. Because he didn’t trust what might leave his mouth if he did. But as Alhaitham turned to leave, Dottore added one final warning,

“You should pray I never catch you wanting him.”

Chapter Text

The soft click of the door echoed faintly as Alhaitham stepped inside the omega prince’s chambers, sunlight spilling across the marble floor in golden streaks. The heavy curtains hadn’t been drawn properly, allowing a single, stubborn beam of morning light to stab directly into the middle of the bed  where a very unamused prince lay burrowed in a mountain of silks and quilts.

“Prince Kaveh,” Alhaitham said crisply, arms crossed, voice cutting through the quiet. “It’s 9:45.”

A groggy, almost pitiful whine answered him from beneath a velvet pillow. “Five more minutes…”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

A tuft of golden hair peeked out from the covers, then immediately ducked back in. Then in a muffled voice,  “I meant it then too.”

Alhaitham’s jaw ticked. He took a step forward, shoes soundless against the plush carpet, and reached out to pull back the blanket but Kaveh rolled violently to the edge of the bed like a cocooned caterpillar, nearly toppling off.

“Touch the blanket and I will scream,” Kaveh warned, voice muffled under layers of silk.

Alhaitham’s hand paused mid-air. Childish, he thought flatly. Utterly childish.

He stared down at the dramatic mass of limbs and expensive fabric squirming away from him and resisted the urge to sigh. This is the man I’m supposed to escort through state negotiations and royal ceremonies.

“You’re dramatic,” Alhaitham muttered. “And late.”

“I don’t want to be a prince today,” came the muffled reply, drenched in sleepy defiance. “I want to rot. Right here. In my bed. Where I belong.”

Alhaitham paused. He could’ve snapped back, listed everything on the schedule, and reminded Kaveh the council was already waiting. But he didn’t. Something about that quiet complaint stuck with him.

What does it feel like, he wondered, to wake up each day knowing your choices are already made? That every glance, every breath, every step is a performance for others?

Walking to the side of the bed, Alhaitham let out a short exhale, half frustration, half resignation and crouched slightly, just enough to meet the lump of pillows that was speaking to him.

“If you’re going to throw a tantrum,” he said evenly, “at least make it productive.”

The mound of blankets shifted, revealing a glimpse of tousled gold hair, flushed cheeks, and a pouty mouth smushed into the pillow. He looked ridiculous. Regal and soft. And so warm it made something in Alhaitham’s chest ache.

He wanted to kiss his entire face. Every inch of it. His forehead, his cheeks, that ridiculous mouth. He wanted to press his lips to Kaveh’s sleep-flushed skin and stay there, memorizing the way he looked when he wasn’t performing for anyone. Just like this..quiet, safe, his.

Control yourself, Alhaitham.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Don’t be a prince today. But sulking in bed is a waste of oxygen. Pick something else. I’ll accompany you.” The words came out dry. Dismissive. But his chest felt... feathery and tight at the same time.

Why are you offering? You’re getting too close.

Kaveh shifted again, a sleepy sound escaping his throat as he peeked up at him with glassy carmine eyes.

There was a beat of silence.

Then the pillows shifted,gaze fixing on him with the dazed disbelief of someone still halfway in a dream. “You?” Kaveh croaked, voice rough. “You’re going to lie for me?”

A blink. Then another.

“You, Statue ,” he added, lips tugging into the faintest, incredulous smirk. “You’d combust if someone asked you to smile.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I’ll lie. For you.” He let the words settle, then added with dry finality, “For your sanity, and mine.”

Kaveh blinked again, this time slower. A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “...Fine,” he mumbled, voice heavy with drowsy warmth. “But five more minutes.”

Alhaitham stood and turned toward the door. “You get three minutes,” he said over his shoulder, tone clipped. “If you’re not up by then, I’ll have someone drag you out by your title.”

From the bed, Kaveh groaned. “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you…?”

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The sun covered the city in soft, golden light, touching every rooftop and mosaic tile. Sumeru City buzzed with life—saffron smoke rising from food carts, petals drifting on the wind, and music from street performers echoing through the alleys, never fully settling.

Kaveh walked ahead of him, the sheer rosewater dupatta catching on the breeze, delicate as breath. It draped softly around his shoulders and trailed faintly behind, edged with the barest shimmer of embroidery that caught the light like dew. His dress matched—simple and flowing, rose-pink in tone, with layers of soft fabric that moved like water around him. Nothing showy. The sleeves were loose, brushing his wrists, and a narrow sash cinched the waist, tied lazily to the side like he hadn’t tried too hard.

He looked warm and weightless like someone meant to exist in places soft with sunlight.

Alhaitham followed, silent, watching how the veil kept catching at Kaveh’s cheek, how the fabric glowed faintly in the light. That was the third pink outfit this week.

He must really like pink.

He remembered the first time he saw Kaveh. There was a dupatta , but nothing about him was gentle. No smile, no softness.He’d been furious, standing under a colonnade as he argued with Dottore, each word sharp and cutting. His voice had echoed off the stone. His eyes had burned.

Alhaitham hadn’t been able to look away then either.

“You really think anyone would recognize me?” Kaveh asked, glancing over his shoulder with a small smirk. “Not a lot of people know what the prince looks like. My father made sure of that.”

“You’re still drawing attention,” Alhaitham replied, eyes scanning the street. “That doesn’t mean you’re invisible.”

“I don’t want to be invisible,” Kaveh said lightly. “I just want a day where I can breathe without being asked to perform.”

He drifted toward a stall selling tiny glass perfume bottles shaped like zaytun fruit, eyes lighting up as he leaned in to examine each one. After asking the vendor too many questions about their scent, he picked out two bottles—one zaytun, one something else—and paid without a second thought.

Alhaitham almost asked, Why do you need a perfume that already smells like you? Kaveh was far beyond anything he could hope to understand.

He didn’t notice, the way Kaveh’s hand hesitated over a third bottle. A softer scent. Padisarah. His face flushed faintly as he tucked it quietly into the fold of his sleeve, not saying a word.

Alhaitham watched as the prince continued through the stalls like a magpie, collecting little things that caught the light: hand-painted tiles, a miniature brass sundial, a carved stone fox with a chipped ear. Trinkets with no purpose. Objects to line his shelves and make his room feel like it belonged to him. A hoarder. 

And always, he was snacking.

Spiced nut fritters, lotus crisps drizzled in honey and lemon, sweet tofu cakes with rose sugar, chewy dumplings wrapped in banana leaf. He bit, chewed, sighed in delight, and moved on before finishing anything.

“You’re going to get sick,” Alhaitham warned, for the third time.

“No,” Kaveh said, licking his thumb clean. “I’m building immunity. If I can survive street food and sorbet before noon, I can survive a banquet with seven courses and ten egos.”

He shot Alhaitham a look. “It’s strategy, not indulgence. Try to keep up, Statue.”

They ended up at a quiet café tucked between a dye merchant and a bookstore. Wooden lattice shaded the patio, and tiny wind chimes tinkled above every table. Kaveh ordered more food, of course—a plate of lentil pastries with fig chutney, skewered mushrooms roasted in sweet spice, a chilled fruit sorbet he claimed was “for hydration,” and a cappuccino.

Alhaitham ordered tea. Strong, dark, with just a curl of citrus rind.

They sat across from each other while the market hummed behind them. Kaveh propped his chin on one hand, spooning sorbet into his mouth between complaints about textile regulations and the state of the palace’s guest wing.

“You should eat real food,” Alhaitham said, glancing at the sorbet. “You can’t subsist on sugar and complaints.”

Kaveh raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward Alhaitham’s untouched tea. “Look who’s talking. You live on tea and silence. I’ve never seen anyone eat less and somehow be built like a marble statue.”

Alhaitham finally looked up, eyes steady over the rim of his glass. His mouth quirked. The faintest smirk. “Oh?”

Kaveh froze, spoon halfway to his lips. He blinked once, then twice, like he could rewind the moment. A slow flush began to creep up his neck. “Objectively,” he said quickly. “That was an observation. Not a compliment.”

Alhaitham didn’t press. The smirk stayed, barely there, tucked at the corner of his mouth like he was filing the moment away for later use.

Kaveh stabbed his spoon at his sorbet like it had personally offended him. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m drinking my tea.”

“You’re gloating.”

“I’m existing.”

“Obnoxiously.”

The veil had slipped a little again. Sunlight kissed the edge of Kaveh’s cheek, turning the blush there golden.

“Mm.”

“I mean it.”

“Of course.”

Kaveh held his gaze for a second too long, then looked away, skin flushed “Remind me to replace the curtains in the north chambers,” he muttered. “If I have to host foreign ministers in pink-striped satin I will dissolve into the carpet and die.”

“Duly noted,” Alhaitham replied, not looking up from his tea.

“I’m being serious.”

“I’m pretending to listen. It’s close enough.”

Kaveh kicked him lightly under the table.

Did he just-

Alhaitham blinked, brow barely twitching. “Did you just kick me?”

Kaveh gave a careless shrug “I don’t know, did I?.”

“You’re a child.”

Kaveh, now took a dainty sip of his cappuccino, pinky raised in exaggerated poise. “Petty tyrant.”

Alhaitham then arched a brow. “Delusional.”

“You have no appreciation for aesthetic suffering,” Kaveh replied, setting his cup down with a sigh. 

Alhaitham sipped his tea. “I have no appreciation for dramatics disguised as interior design.”

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. “You say that now, but wait until you're hosting seven diplomats and the drapes behind you clash so offensively with their coats that half of them walk out on principle.”

That earned him a glance. Dry. Unimpressed. “Remind me again—which coat was offended last week? The red one, or the slightly redder one?”

Before Alhaitham could so much as blink, Kaveh kicked his shin again—harder this time. Kaveh gasped “That was crimson and garnet , you uncultured wall.”

Alhaitham didn’t flinch. Just stared at him, deadpan, while mentally adding uncultured wall to the ever-growing list.

How many nicknames am I going to get? he wondered grimly. At this rate, he’d need an appendix just to keep track. He set his cup down with care, glanced at him once, slow and unimpressed. “Keep that up and I’ll confiscate your legs.”

Kaveh grinned and did it again, nudging pointedly at the same spot.

Without a word, Alhaitham reached down under the table and grabbed his ankle firmly. His fingers wrapped around the bare skin just above Kaveh’s shoe. Then he tugged, just enough.

Kaveh let out a startled yelp as he slid half an inch down his seat, his back bumping the cushion awkwardly, his spine went rigid. He spluttered, eyes going wide. “ What— what are you—!”

“Detaining a repeat offender,” Alhaitham said mildly, not letting go. “This is law enforcement.”

“You’re a menace,” Kaveh snapped, face going pink.

“I’m a babysitter,” Alhaitham corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“You can’t just—” Kaveh tried to tug his leg back, but Alhaitham held him easily in place, thumb brushing along the inside of his ankle like it was nothing, like they were alone.

“Keep kicking me and I’ll toss you over my shoulder next,” Alhaitham said, voice flat as ever. “And dip you in your cappuccino for good measure.”

Kaveh’s entire face flushed, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

Alhaitham exhaled and let go, his fingers slipping from Kaveh’s skin. Then, as if nothing had happened, he straightened and took a sip of his tea. Across from him, Kaveh clutched his cup like a shield, flushed, muttering, “Tyrant,” under his breath.

A tense silence bloomed, heavy with unspoken things. Their eyes locked across the narrow table, the air between them warmer than it had any right to be.

Alhaitham straightened slightly, then spoke like it was just another fact. “New fabric samples arrived this morning.”

Kaveh blinked, thrown. “You… already—?”

“They’re on your desk.”

The blush returned, high across his cheeks and ears. “Oh.”

Alhaitham sipped his tea, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re welcome.”

Kaveh didn’t respond right away. Just let the moment settle as he traced a lazy finger around the rim of his cup, the clink of porcelain soft against the background hum of the café.

Then Kaveh cleared his throat and broke it, shifting topics like he always did when the air got too still. “It’s soon, you know.”

Alhaitham looked up. “What is?”

“The engagement party.” He said it lightly, like it was just another line on a schedule. But the words landed like a rock in Alhaitham’s chest.

The engagement party. The beginning of the end. Kaveh’s semi-final performance before being handed off, locked down, claimed. And then Alhaitham would have to do what he was sent here to do.

He reached for his tea, fingers steady, though his stomach had gone cold. It was getting closer. Every day, every conversation, every quiet breath they shared like it meant nothing. Kaveh was walking toward the edge without even looking down.

Sometimes Alhaitham found himself wondering if it would be simpler to be the one who left first, without warning. A morning where he didn’t wake. Where the day began without him, and no one had to say anything at all.

No one would ask questions. Nothing would pause. The world wouldn’t stop for him—it never had. It would all keep turning, slipping further downhill, dressed up in silk and ceremony while everything rotted beneath. And Kaveh would keep walking, smiling for the crowd, stepping where he was told, never knowing how close Alhaitham had been. How many steps behind. How many times he almost reached out and didn’t.

He wouldn’t have to see any of it. No final fittings. No crowded ceremonies. No pretending to be unaffected while it all slowly wore him down.

What’s unfortunate is that—yes, death would be an escape. A selfish one. He knew that. But even in death, there’d be no peace. Not while the two people who mattered most were still out there, forced to survive without him.

No.

Taking the easy way out would be a betrayal. And Alhaitham—he could carry a thousand burdens, but not that.

You owe me, Chevalet had said. A promise he couldn’t outrun, couldn’t forget. And so, even dying wasn’t an option. Not with both their lives still tethered to his.

Across the table, Kaveh swirled the last of his sorbet with the spoon, lost in thought. His cappuccino sat beside it, half-finished and already cooling, the foam deflating in uneven swirls. Alhaitham stared at the pairing—creamy, bitter espresso and citrus-sweet sorbet—an illogical combination that somehow suited him perfectly. Nothing about it made sense. Just like the man eating it with such absent grace, veil slipping down one shoulder, lashes casting faint shadows across cheeks still flushed from the sun. He looked like someone who belonged only in golden hours, soft light, warm breeze, and a plate of contradictions.

“…I know,” he said quietly. And said nothing else.

What kind of future waited for Kaveh, really? A palace with no doors, a name with no freedom. A life spent beside a man who’d never asked if he wanted any of it. A touch he’d never crave, a bed that never felt safe. Years of being expected to smile when it hurt, to open his legs like duty demanded it, to carry heirs because tradition said he must. And the worst part—no one would call it what it was. No one would say cruelty. They’d call it honor. Devotion. The price of being born important.

Would that… really be living?

No.

It would be survival hollowed out from the inside. A sentence served in silence. Breath without freedom. Flesh without choice.

A life endured, not lived.

Alhaitham hated himself for the thought. Hated the part of him that watched Kaveh laugh with such careless joy, fingers dusted with sugar, head tilted back toward the sun—and thought, he won’t make it through this.

And maybe, in some twisted way, it would be kinder if he didn’t have to.

Because when Kaveh was gone…

Alhaitham wouldn’t stay long after.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The shop was luxurious from top to bottom, gold-trimmed ceilings, silk in every rich color draped over dark wooden racks, and a group of nobles lounging nearby like perfectly placed decorations.

Alhaitham stood near the entrance, arms crossed, gaze flat.

"This was supposed to be a ten-minute stop," he said flatly, watching Kaveh flutter toward a display like a magpie spotting jewels. "You have a closet that could swallow a wing of the palace."

"And yet," Kaveh replied, flipping through swatches of embroidered linen with obvious delight, "none of those clothes are violet dusk trimmed with storm-thread. "

Alhaitham blinked. "That’s not a real phrase."

The attendant nodded gravely, already leading them to a private wing of the boutique. “The storm-thread collection is just this way, Your Highness.”

Of course.

The dressing stalls were curtained alcoves, lined with velvet and just tall enough to give a sense of privacy. Inside, three mirrors caught every detail. Gilded hooks held silk and linen outfits, some still half-hung, waiting to be tried on. The air held a faint trace of perfume—something light and floral, blended with the warmer scent of Kaveh’s omegan scent.

Alhaitham leaned against the nearest wall, arms crossed, the polished marble cool against his shoulder.

“I’ll be done in ten minutes,” Kaveh called behind the curtain, voice light and almost musical.

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” Alhaitham replied, unmoved.

Alhaitham realized this was becoming his slogan. 

There was the sound of rustling fabric, a muffled thump, then Kaveh’s voice again: “You’re welcome to leave if you hate fun.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t leaving. Not while Kaveh was half-undressed behind a thin curtain. “Fortunately for you, I’ve developed a tolerance.”

A muffled scoff. “You wouldn’t know elegance if it slapped you in the face.”

“I understand you’ve tried on twelve outfits and rejected eleven.”

Then Kaveh extended his leg in a lazy stretch, toes flexing, and gave a flippant shooing motion through the gap in the fabric. Dismissive. Like Alhaitham was some stray dog where he didn’t belong.

Alhaitham’s jaw locked.

Did this golden peacock just—

He bristled. The audacity . The sheer disrespect of being waved off like a nuisance— with a foot , no less. Not even the dignity of eye contact. Just one smug leg and a silent command to leave.

Unbelievable.

Alhaitham was about to say something else, some insult, maybe actually call him a sun drenched peacock, when the attendant returned, stepping lightly between racks with a faint bow. Her smile was composed, but her eyes were tight with strain.

“Forgive the intrusion, Lord Alhaitham,” she said delicately. “We’re… a little understaffed today. His Highness has requested a number of fittings, and the other nobles are requiring attention. If it’s not too much trouble…” She hesitated.

Alhaitham stared at her flatly. More fittings? Has he gone mad? He has tried twelve already?!

“…Would you mind assisting him?” she finished. “Just to hand garments into the stall. It would greatly ease the process.”

He didn’t move. For a long second, he just blinked at her, silent. “Am I employed here now?”

The attendant’s smile faltered.

“I was under the impression I was a knight,” he added, voice dry. “Not palace-assigned retail staff.”

“No job is any less important,” the attendant replied,almost instantly. “Just for a few minutes,” she added quickly. “He’s… very specific with his layers.”

Alhaitham didn’t argue. Because she was right.  He sighed, said nothing, and held out his hand for the items.

The attendant handed the items, bowed and fled.

He glanced at the curtain.

Ten minutes, he’d told himself. Twenty tops.

It had been forty-two.

He looked down at the folded ensemble in his hands—more storm-thread, something violet with dangerous side slits and sighed. “First I’m an escort. Now I’m a retail assistant. What’s next, shall I take inventory?”

The curtain rustled. “Statue?”

Alhaitham sighed again. “Still here.”

“Where’s the attendant?”

Is he deaf too now?

“Busy,” he said, dry. “The other nobles require all five of her senses.”

Silence.

Then Kaveh swore. “Fuck it. Help me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t do retail assistance.”

“You’ve done everything but retail assistance,” Kaveh snapped from behind the curtain. “You’ve guarded me, judged my wardrobe, glared at me through breakfast—and now you’re standing there like a hat rack with muscles. Just— get in here.”

Before Alhaitham could reply or flatly decline, which had been his intention, the curtain peeled back. And then he saw him.

Kaveh stood in the center of the fitting stall like a question no one sane should be expected to answer.

His skin was flushed, soft pink rising down his throat and spreading across his chest. A light sheen of sweat clung to his collarbones. Damp strands of golden hair curled against the back of his neck, and his lips were slightly parted, breath unsteady—like simply trying on clothes had somehow left him breathless.

And the outfit was barely on.

Tight storm-violet fabric, f rankly, a stupid name , clung high on his hips—so tight Alhaitham could see the twitch of muscle when Kaveh shifted his weight. One sleeve was twisted halfway up his arm, caught awkwardly, while the other slipped off entirely, baring one shoulder and leaving the neckline scandalously low. It exposed the upper swell of his chest, flushed and gleaming.

And Alhaitham’s reaction was immediate. “What the hell are you thinking,” he hissed, stepping in and yanking the curtain shut behind him in one swift motion, “opening it like that in public?”

“I didn’t think—!”

“Clearly.”

They both stopped.

They were alone.

The curtain sealed out the world with a quiet snap, and suddenly the stall felt too small, barely enough space for two people to stand without brushing. And Kaveh, half-naked and flushed, suddenly realized it.

He turned even redder. Glanced up at Alhaitham then quickly looked away, yanking at the stuck sleeve. “Can you not just stand there like a statue?” he muttered, clearly flustered. “At least pretend to be helpful.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond at first. He looked at Kaveh, briefly, then shifted his eyes back to his face with practiced control. “You dragged me into this,” he said, calm and flat.

Kaveh huffed. “Yes, well..clearly a mistake.” His fingers fumbled again at the twisted fabric, movements more desperate than annoyed now. “I didn’t think I’d get stuck in the damn thing—just—can you please help me before I start screaming?”

He was more agitated than usual. Flushed to his ears, breathing too fast. Sweat clung to his hairline, trailing down his neck. The sharp, sweet edge of his scent hung heavy in the air now, too strong, too concentrated. It hit Alhaitham like a wave, made his throat tighten and his chest heat. His pupils dilated.

No way.

“Heat?” Alhaitham said, alarm sparking.

Kaveh’s eyes flicked toward him. “No,” he said too quickly. “Yes. Maybe. Shut up. ”

He clutched at the clothes like it might hide the truth leaking off his skin. “I haven’t had one in ages,” he muttered, voice low and frustrated. “Why now? This is so— stupid. I’ll take suppressants the second we get back to the palace.”

Alhaitham stepped in without thinking, drawing the curtain behind him. “You shouldn’t be out if you’re—”

“I didn’t know, ” Kaveh hissed, twisting in place, trying to unhook his elbow from the tangled fabric. “I just thought I was warm! And now this fucking sleeve won’t— ngh —get—off—”

Alhaitham’s breath hitched. Just slightly.

The air inside felt heavier, warmer. Kaveh’s scent clung to the space—sweet and overripe, like sun-softened Zaytun peaches. He let out a shaky breath, trying to pull himself together, but his eyes were glassy now. The panic was starting to show. “I can’t—this stupid fabric— help me, damn it!”

For one second, Alhaitham didn’t move. “I’ll help,” he said, voice unreadable. “Just tell me what to do.” And Kaveh, red-faced and stuck halfway in a blouse too tight to breathe in, looked like he might either cry or combust.

His pupils were blown wide. His lips slightly parted, breath catching just barely against Alhaitham’s jaw. His scent was stronger now—ripe, sweet, delicate . It flooded Alhaitham’s head like warm static.

“I can’t get it off,” Kaveh whispered the same thing again.

Alhaitham’s brain short-circuited.

Kaveh moved closer, drifting rather than walking. The space between them vanished in a breath. His fingers brushed Alhaitham’s chest, then curled into the fabric of his shirt—barely holding on, more dazed than deliberate.

“You—your shirt,” he said, voice low, almost breathless. His eyes flicked upward, glassy and half-lidded. “I mean—mine. I can’t… this sleeve…”

The words tangled, slipping away.

“Shut up,” he whispered, though Alhaitham hadn’t spoken.

His body leaned forward, just slightly. Enough that Alhaitham could feel the heat of him, the way Kaveh’s breath hitched in the silence. Everything about him felt too warm, too close

Alhaitham’s hands moved before his thoughts did.

He found the back seam of the tangled fabric and, carefully—too carefully—slid it down Kaveh’s arm, trying not to touch bare skin.

Trying.

And failing.

His knuckles grazed flushed skin, warm and damp. His fingers bumped the slope of Kaveh’s bare shoulder, and even that light contact made Kaveh flinch — a full-body twitch, like his nerves were on fire from the inside out.

The fabric slipped further.

Kaveh’s chest was bare now, flushed and rising unevenly with each breath. Up close, he looked more defined—soft and full, almost indulgent, each curve touched with a faint sheen of sweat. His skin caught the light, warm and golden, like he belonged in the sun.

His eyes lingered for a moment on the soft lines of muscle under Kaveh’s skin, the way they shifted with each shallow breath. The slow rise and fall of his plump chest only made it harder to look away. His nipples were a darker pink, drawn tight from the cool air or maybe the tension threading through him. They stood out against the smooth warmth of his golden skin, flushed and sensitive, trembling.

They looked unbearably soft. Like they’d react to the lightest touch, a thumb, a mouth. Like they were meant to be kissed. Licked. Gently bitten, just to see how Kaveh would react.

Alhaitham knew he should look away. Knew he should focus on the clothes, the task, the exit.

But instead, he watched as a drop of sweat curved from Kaveh’s collarbone and slipped lower down the center of his chest, disappearing into the folds of silk that still clung stubbornly at his waist.

Kaveh’s chest rose and fell in quick, uneven rhythm, flushed and trembling with each breath. His lips were parted, skin damp with heat, nipples taut from the air. He looked wrecked—aroused and barely holding it together.

“This is... this is so embarrassing,” Kaveh gasped, his voice breaking under the weight of it. His eyes squeezed shut as he turned away, covering his face with his hands like he could hide from it all. A single tear slipped out.

“I didn’t think—” he hiccuped on the words, the tremble in his voice betraying everything his posture tried to hide. “I thought it was too early. Fuck, why now—”

His thighs tensed, knees drawing inward, breath catching again in a soft, choked moan. Every part of him looked lit from within, drenched in heat, overwhelmed, humiliated by the way his body wanted despite everything else.

His legs shifted, thighs rubbing together, slick and heat and scent bleeding into the space between them.

Alhaitham didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

His pulse pounded in his neck. Breathing was a struggle—each inhale thick with heat and scent, pressing in until his skin prickled and his muscles tensed, restless. 

This is biological, he told himself. It’s his stupid Alpha.

Kaveh, meanwhile, was curling in on himself. “You weren’t even supposed to be here—I just needed to try on a few things—now I—I can’t— ugh —”

“Hey,” Alhaitham said quietly, stepping back without thinking. “I won’t look.”

What am I saying? What am i offering?

Kaveh blinked up at him from his hands, wide-eyed, still tangled in the half-undone sleeves of the outfit, the silk bunched around his hips. His cheeks were burning red, sweat clinging to his hairline, and his pupils were blown wide, dazed. “Wh— what?”

Alhaitham stared, and for a moment, the scene blurred with memory—Kaveh, flushed and clinging to him in the dark, voice slurred and unsteady, letting out soft, broken sounds against his collar. Drunk. Vulnerable. 

And now..this.

This heat-soaked version of him, dazed in silk and bare skin, eyes wide and voice small. The same sounds threatening to spill from his lips again.

How am I supposed to survive this? Alhaitham thought, jaw tightening.

“I’m turning around,” Alhaitham repeated, more calmly than he felt. “Just… take care of it. I’ll stay close.”

He turned sharply on his heel, steps clipped and precise, and planted himself in the far corner of the fitting room—deliberately facing the plain wall, the only one without a mirror. No reflections. No glass.

His pulse pounded. His jaw clenched. But he didn’t turn. Behind him, there was a stretch of silence. And then, “You’re not… you’re not going to see anything?” Kaveh’s voice cracked, frayed with disbelief, with mortification.

“I said I wouldn’t look.” Alhaitham’s voice was quieter now, strained. “And I meant it.”

Another silence.

“But you can hear,” Kaveh said, even softer.

Alhaitham exhaled slowly. “Then I’ll pretend I didn’t.”

Then, “…Thank you.” Soft. It lodged like a splinter behind Alhaitham’s ribs.

He shut his eyes.

And he willed himself, truly willed himself not to think. Not to imagine. Not to hear. But it was impossible.

The air behind him felt thick and warm, filled with the rustle of silk and shaky breathing. Kaveh was right there. His scent hung heavy, sweet like overripe peaches and fading flowers. There was no getting away from it.

A rustle. Then a whisper, sharp and panicked,

“Oh my archons, I can’t— how the fuck am I supposed to—Alhaitham, you’re right there —!”

A choked sound followed. Maybe a sob. Maybe a laugh. Alhaitham couldn’t tell. His fists tightened behind his back. “I can’t do this,” Kaveh said again, more desperately. “I can’t. Not while you’re, this is humiliating. This is so fucking humiliating.”

Alhaitham didn’t move or breathe. Because if he did, he’d smell it deeper. Feel it more.

“You’re not even saying anything,” Kaveh went on, voice rising with each word. “You’re just standing there like—like some kind of statue, and I’m— fuck , I’m going to lose my mind—”

“Your Highness.” Alhaitham’s voice cut through the spiral, low and flat, just enough to anchor. “You’re not going to lose your mind.”

“You don’t know that,” Kaveh snapped back, but it lacked venom. He sounded too close to tears. “You don’t—why aren’t you disgusted?”

“I’m not,” Alhaitham said simply.

“Why not?”

Alhaitham hesitated. “Because it’s you,” he said. Then, quieter, “How could I be?”

There was no answer—only a soft, broken sound behind him. A whimper, almost a moan, slipping from Kaveh’s throat before he could hold it in. It hit Alhaitham hard, heat rushing through his chest before he could push it down.

There was a rustle of fabric, a soft grunt, the weight shifting the air. Then — a tug. Fingers curled into the hem of his coat, lightly gripping.

“Don’t turn around,” Kaveh whispered, voice cracking at the edges. “Just… sit with me. Please.” Alhaitham hesitated for half a second before sinking to the floor, posture rigid, gaze locked on the far wall. He sat like a statue, carved in restraint.

He could hear Kaveh’s breathing—shaky, too quick. The air in the stall had turned warm again, thick with that same scent, sweet and heavy, clinging to every surface. Then came a sound.

Quiet. Wet. Barely there at first. Just the faintest shift, then a soft, slick sound—unsteady—as fingers brushed over warmth, finding where the heat pooled.

Kaveh let out a sharp, startled breath. “Ah—”

It slipped out before he could stop it, a shaky whimper caught in his throat as he realized how sensitive he already was, his hand moving again, slower now, dragging out a wet sound that only grew louder in the quiet.

“Stars—” he whispered, breath stuttering.

Alhaitham’s breath faltered. His spine went rigid.

His hands flexed on his knees, knuckles white. His mind flared with warnings, alarms, commands to move — to stop this. To say something. But he couldn’t. Because Kaveh was touching himself just behind him. And the sounds..archons , the sounds were impossible to ignore.

There was a shaky breath. Then a whisper. “Please… don’t look.”

“I won’t,” Alhaitham said, low and rough.

Kaveh’s breath hitched again. He was trying to be quiet, but it wasn’t working. “I—I just… I needed—” His words dissolved into a helpless and needy sounbd. “Feels better like this,” he whispered, like he was admitting a sin.

Alhaitham’s heart feels like it will come out any second. 

He couldn’t see him. But his mind filled in the rest far too easily.

Kaveh’s hand, moving between his legs. Hips shifting with each stroke, slow at first, then quicker, less controlled. The faint squelch of slick against skin, growing louder in the quiet. A muffled whimper followed, like he’d bitten his lip too hard or turned his face into his arm to hide it.

Alhaitham stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the wall, but the sounds painted everything in vivid detail—Kaveh’s chest rising fast, his thighs probably shaking, fingers soaked and desperate, breath catching.

“Ah… ngh… archons—” he breathed, barely above a whisper.

His voice trembled. “Feels…” Kaveh choked, followed by a soft, muffled mmh . Another moan slipped out—higher, shakier, not meant for anyone to hear. But Alhaitham heard it. 

Don’t imagine. But he could hear it. He could feel it.

The slide of skin on skin, wet and desperate. The hitch in Kaveh’s breath when he stroked too hard or too slow. The faint rustle of silk bunched in his lap. The nearly-silent tremor in his next gasp, like he was trying and failing  to keep quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Kaveh breathed, voice shaking. “I’m so— ngh —so sorry…”

Another sob escaped him, muffled against the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean for this to happen… I didn’t think—archons—”

Kaveh’s voice shook, thick with tears. The more he apologized, the faster he fell apart.

And Alhaitham, still facing the corner with fists clenched, felt something crack quietly inside. Every sound Kaveh made sank deeper, heat dragging down his spine, coiling tight in his gut. His pants were too tight now, the ache impossible to ignore. His body moved ahead of reason, instinct pounding through his veins, screaming what he refused to admit.

That he should be the one touching him. That his omega should not be left begging alone.

That he should be doing his duty. Satisfying his mate. His Kaveh.

Alhaitham could see it in his mind: flushed thighs trembling, fingers wrapped tight around his cock, gliding through the slick. The subtle lift of his hips with each stroke. The pink tip glistening. Kaveh panting softly through parted lips, eyes shut, lashes damp.

His other hand would be reaching back, fingers slick, slipping between his thighs to press against his rim. Hesitant at first, then circling, seeking, teasing, desperate. The curve of his spine would bow, hips twitching forward involuntarily as his breath caught in his throat. A soft sound, half gasp, half whimper ripped from him as he found the spot he needed.

Every part of him would be shaking, helpless under his own touch, overwhelmed by the ache, the friction, the growing heat building beneath his navel.

Every breath behind him scraped along raw nerve, every slick sound and stifled gasp pulling taut across Alhaitham’s spine like a live wire. He stared straight ahead, unblinking, jaw locked, hand twitching where it rested on his thigh—edging closer to the heat straining against his pants.

And then—movement.

A shift of weight behind him. A rustle of fabric. Before Alhaitham could speak, he felt him close.

Kaveh’s forehead pressed gently between Alhaitham’s shoulder blades, the heat of his skin radiating straight through the fabric. His breath hit the back of Alhaitham’s neck.

Alhaitham’s entire body tensed.

“ Kaveh, ” he said, barely above a whisper,a warning edged in tension.

But Kaveh didn’t pull away.

He stayed there, body curled just behind Alhaitham, breath fanning against his spine, one hand still working himself with quickening strokes. Desperate. Needy.

“Alpha…” Kaveh murmured against his back, voice dazed. “You smell so good…”

Alhaitham’s hands curled into fists at his sides, every muscle drawn taut.

“You shouldn’t—” he managed, but the words barely held. Not when Kaveh let out a soft, choked moan against him. Not when he could feel the rhythm of Kaveh’s hand in every trembling breath. Not when the scent of heat and slick and Kaveh clung to him like silk.

Kaveh's other hand clutched at the back of Alhaitham’s coat, knuckles white, using him as an anchor, as excuse. His strokes sped up, breath catching hard.

“Mmh—archons—” Kaveh whimpered. “I can’t—I need —”

The scent was thicker now. Intoxicating.

A low, stuttered moan slipped out before Kaveh could stop it.  Then came the words, barely audible, falling from his lips without warning.

“Need you to—” Kaveh gasped, voice catching. “Want your knot—inside— please, please, please, please —”

The air left Alhaitham’s lungs in one slow, burning exhale.

The image hit him hard. Kaveh, sprawled beneath him, flushed and slick, legs trembling as he arched up, begging to be knotted. His body clenching tight around him, wet and desperate, taking every inch until there was nowhere else to go. Until the knot caught, thick and deep, locking them together. Until Kaveh moaned through the stretch, voice breaking as he came around it, shuddering with every pulse.

“I’ll take it,” Kaveh whispered again, breathless. “I can… I want to feel it—feel you.”

Then another moan—sharp, high, helpless—as his hips rolled forward, rutting lightly against Alhaitham’s back in search of pressure.

The scent of slick and heat wrapped around him, thick and ripe, and all he could think about was burying himself in Kaveh until nothing could separate them. Not even air.

“Fuck,” Alhaitham sighed, eyes shutting tight. His cock throbbed, heavy and aching, straining against the front of his pants with no relief.

And still, he didn’t move. Didn’t touch. But every nerve screamed to—grab Kaveh’s wrist, replace his hand, press him down and fill the space Kaveh was trying to soothe on his own.

Because that hand didn’t belong to him. It should’ve been Alhaitham’s .

"Alhaitham... I'm... I'm going to..." Kaveh's voice was barely a whisper, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. "I'm going to..."

A sharp inhale. A trembling sound half-swallowed.

Then he came with a stifled cry, muffled into his shoulders — as if ashamed of even the sound of it. And in the rush of it, broken and breathless

“Alhaitham—”

Alhaitham’s eyes squeezed shut.

Don’t turn around. Don’t breathe too loud. Don’t think about the way he said your name like that. Don’t imagine the look on his face. Don’t.

Alhaitham’s heart beat too hard. Too fast. His breath came tight. 

Then he felt it, pulling a sharp gasp from Alhaitham’s lips before he could stop it.

Arms, loose at first, then tightening with sudden urgency, slipped around his waist. Kaveh clung to him with the kind of grip that said he didn’t know how else to stay upright. His fingers curled into the fabric of Alhaitham's coat.

He pressed himself close, no distance left between them now. His chest hitched with uneven breaths against Alhaitham’s back, every exhale shuddering like it cost something to let go. And then his cheek. Damp, flushed, and warm—nestled between Alhaitham’s shoulder blades, like he wanted to melt into him, vanish inside him where it was safe.

Kaveh whimpered softly, the sound barely audible. “Please… just let me stay like this. Just for a bit…”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. He couldn’t trust himself to speak.

And then,

A knock. The voice of the attendant, cheerful and oblivious, filtered through the wooden panel of the fitting room door. “Is everything okay in there? Apologies, I stepped out for a bit. Are the clothes to His Highness’s liking?”

Kaveh flinched.

Alhaitham felt it the way the prince’s body curled tighter against him, trembling with each breath, the way his fingers clutched at the hem of Alhaitham’s coat like a lifeline, shielding himself, like letting go would undo him completely. And then… the unmistakable warmth of tears, soaking slowly into the back of his uniform.

He closed his eyes.

Without a word, Alhaitham reached down and found Kaveh’s hands, still knotted in the fabric. His grip was tight—panicked. So Alhaitham covered them with his own, firm but steady, lacing their fingers together, grounding them both.

“We…” Alhaitham swallowed the knot in his throat, forced his voice even. “We’ll be out soon.”

And he sat still, jaw clenched, heart pounding, as Kaveh broke piece by piece behind him.

Chapter Text

It had been a week.

Seven days. No arguments. No bickering. No remarks about Alhaitham’s silence, his posture, or his peculiar knack for steering conversations into the driest possible routes.

Prince Kaveh hadn’t met his eyes since the dressing room incident.

The unusual quiet was getting to Alhaitham. So, he went to the training room early, when the corridors were still dim and the guards hadn't fully woken up yet.

The wooden floor thrummed with activity. Grunts, the quick shuffle of feet, and the sharp crack of wooden blades meeting filled the air. Dehya moved with unusual speed today, her strikes precise and economical. She was pushing him, clearly aiming to make him earn every point.

“You’re tense,” she said, circling. Her eyes glinted as her blade smacked hard against his with a loud crack. “Thinking about your pretty little prince again?”

Alhaitham grunted, blocking the next strike. “He’s your prince too.”

Dehya laughed. “Not like that.”

“And I’m thinking about not getting hit,” he muttered, resetting his stance.

She smirked. “Sure you are.” She lunged. He blocked, side-stepped, countered.

"I heard he's been quiet lately," she added, her voice light and teasing. "Strange for someone who can't go five minutes without a speech on arches or clothes."

"He's not avoiding me," Alhaitham stated flatly, as their swords locked together again.

Dehya raised a brow. "Are you sure? He looked like a man haunted when I saw him near the greenhouse yesterday. Staring at the thyme as if it had personally offended him."

Alhaitham offered no response. He simply pushed forward, breaking the lock and angling his blade low.

“You know,” Dehya said, dodging neatly, “some people resolve tension with words. Others with swords.” She leaned in, grin sharp. “But you two seem more the push-me-into-a-wall-and-kiss-me-mid-argument type.”

Alhaitham nearly slipped.

Dehya laughed. “Ah. So it was something.”

He didn't respond immediately, lowering his weapon. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. "How are you fine with this?"

Dehya tilted her head, crossing her arms. "With what?"

"This... us." Alhaitham's gaze flickered towards the palace grounds beyond the window. "A guard and a prince shouldn't get close." The words hung in the air, flat and heavy with an unspoken weight.

Dehya let out a short, incredulous laugh, a quick shake of her head. "That's absurd." Her gaze softened, warm and direct. "I'm quite close to Kaveh myself, you know. Been around since he was practically knee-high." She stepped a little closer, a reassuring presence. "We're all family here, Alhaitham. That's how it's always been."

She exhaled slowly, her expression turning somber. "I don't know what's going on between you two, but Kaveh seems more free, really. And I want him to have that fun, that lightness, before he's bound to Dottore for life." A melancholic pause settled between her words, heavy and quiet. "Though I wish there was a way to stop this." Her eyes, sharp and knowing, landed squarely on Alhaitham.

Dehya then dropped to the polished wooden floor, a soft thud. She tapped the spot beside her, a silent invitation. After a beat of hesitation, Alhaitham followed, sinking onto the cool wood. He didn't slouch, but the rigid tension in his shoulders eased.

"He's not himself," Dehya began, her voice low, a contrast to the usual clatter of the training room. "Not since... well, not for a long time. This arrangement with Dottore just solidified it. Like it's cemented the life they want for him, not the one he deserves."

Alhaitham stared at his hands, clasped loosely in his lap. "He's always felt the weight of expectation. The King's particular brand of affection."

"Affection?" Dehya snorted, a soft, bitter sound. "It's possession. And Kaveh, bless his heart, tries to fit himself into whatever mold they hand him. He thinks that's how he earns his place."

"He believes his worth is tied to his compliance," Alhaitham murmured, the words tight. 

"Exactly." Dehya leaned back on her hands, studying him. "But around you, he lets it go. I see him. He argues. He laughs. He's himself . And that's... rare these days. He needs that. We all need that."

A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by their even breaths. The stark reality of Kaveh's situation, the gilded cage awaiting him, hung in the air. "There's no easy way out," Alhaitham finally said, his gaze distant, seeing not the empty training room but the impossible choices laid before him. 

Dehya sighed, a long, weary sound. "I know." She nudged his arm gently with her elbow. "But you're the one who sees him, Alhaitham. Really sees him. Don't forget that."

A heavy silence followed, thick with the weight of unspoken burdens. The cool morning air of the training room seemed to press in on them, highlighting the quiet intensity of their shared worry.

"The King is so blind," Alhaitham muttered, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, laced with a contempt he rarely let show. "So consumed by his own greed for power and legacy that he can't see past his own nose. He loves Kaveh, in his own twisted way, but he looks down on him. Because of his omega nature."

Dehya nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. "Yeah. He thinks it makes him... less. Weaker." Her eyes drifted, perhaps remembering something far away. "My omega, Nilou... she's a dancer. The most graceful person I know. Yet some still try to dismiss her as 'just an omega,' no matter her talent or her spirit."

She turned, her eyes now locking with Alhaitham's, her stance firm. "We don't choose how we're born, Alhaitham. Not our designations, not our families, not the gifts or the burdens we inherit. But we do choose how we live. How we fight. And how we protect the people who truly matter, no matter what's expected of them." She held his gaze, a challenge simmering in her eyes. "Kaveh, he knows his own worth, deep down. It's etched into his very bones, woven into every impossible design he dreams up. But the crushing weight of their expectations, his constant need to prove himself—it's got him so burdened, he can barely see straight anymore." Her voice lowered, intensity deepening. "Don't let them tell him who he is. Not the King. Not Dottore. And certainly not the world's tired, old expectations."

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Was it only instinct? the flush on Kaveh's skin, the unconscious lean into his touch? Or was it something else entirely, a deeper tremor he couldn't name?

Kaveh had simply reached for him. Began to find comfort in Alhaitham's presence as if it were the most natural thing. That simple fact terrified Alhaitham more than any other thought. It meant they were already too close. Closer than either could possibly afford.

His mind, against his will, dreamt of holding him: pulling Kaveh close, arms wrapped around his waist, fingers tangling in silk. Letting him tremble, letting him weep if he needed to, whispering into his hair that everything would be alright.

But these tender visions instantly broke. Orders, cold and sharp, blurred with imagined touches. Dreams faded into heat-slicked memories of Kaveh gasping behind him, all colliding with the chilling image of the blade in his own hand, Kaveh’s blood spreading across royal linens. His mind, a tangled knot, couldn’t separate them anymore.

He couldn’t think. Could barely breathe when Kaveh entered the room.

The only clean, logical solution he saw now… was to end it. But every time he pictured it, Kaveh falling, breathless, eyes wide in betrayal—something deep inside him utterly recoiled.

Was there truly no other way?

He gritted his teeth, pacing hard across the stone floor, the frustration a bitter taste in his mouth.

Why couldn't he think? Why wouldn't the answer just click into place, clear as it always had? He had always been decisive. Sharp. Unshakable. But now—now all he could see were two faces. Both too dear. Both undeniably doomed if he chose wrong.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Despite the incident, their paths still crossed in the palace halls; they attended the same briefings, stood side by side when protocol demanded. Yet, the change was undeniable. Kaveh no longer extended invitations to share meals, the casual request, the simple act of setting out two plates instead of one, now a relic of the past. He ate alone these days, in his study, sometimes the garden, or occasionally not at all. 

The very air between them had gone flat, stripped of the contentious, familiar rhythm they'd so accidentally formed. And Alhaitham despised it. This wasn't the silence of peace, he knew. It was the chilling quiet of an imposed exile.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The dining hall shimmered under an oppressive excess of light. Gilded fixtures reflected off every polished surface—the walls, the plates, even the domed ceiling overhead that seemed to press down with its weight. At the far end of the long table, the King was already seated beside Dottore, both leaning slightly inward, engrossed in what appeared to be a casual conversation. 

Kaveh paused briefly in the doorway before moving forward without a word. Alhaitham followed, silent and ramrod-straight, his expression utterly unreadable. He took his usual place against the far wall.

The King looked up with a warm smile, his eyes softening. "There's my boy."

Kaveh dipped his head, a gesture of quiet deference. "Evening, Father."

His father's gaze then flickered, just for a moment, to the silent figure behind Kaveh. "And you, Alhaitham. Still keeping him safe, I hope?"

Alhaitham gave a single, slight incline of his head. "Always, Your Majesty."

Before the King could reply, Dottore's voice cut in, smooth but unmistakably sharp. "You're in the presence of a king, you know. A nod feels a bit… casual, doesn't it?"

The room didn't physically shift, but the pause that followed was acutely felt. Alhaitham remained silent.

The King, however, gave a soft laugh, completely unbothered. "He's never been one for ceremony," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Besides, I trust a man more when he doesn't flatter."

Dottore only offered a lazy, unreadable smile in return. Kaveh said nothing, not even looking up from the table.

The King's voice boomed with easy cheer, "You're glowing, my boy. Good. You should. Omegas in bloom ought to show it, it puts guests at ease."

Kaveh's smile didn't falter. "Of course."

He moved toward the table, steps slow and graceful. Alhaitham watched from his post along the wall, eyes sharp, arms folded behind his back. Kaveh settled into the seat beside Dottore, posture perfectly straight, his sleeves falling just enough to bare the skin of his forearm as the silk shifted.

Alhaitham's gaze followed Kaveh's every movement, only the faintest hint of interest tugging at the corner of his mouth. As Kaveh sat down, Dottore reached out, one finger dragging slowly along the inside of his arm. Bare skin to bare skin.

Kaveh kept his gaze fixed forward, his face an unreadable mask. But for just a fleeting moment, long enough for Alhaitham to catch it, a flicker crossed Kaveh's expression, a look as if he might vomit if the touch lingered even a second longer. And then, Dottore withdrew his hand.

"You wore the cream," the King went on, nodding with approval. "It brings out your skin. Makes you look gentle. That's what people expect of our house, you know. Grace. Softness. You carry it well."

"Thank you, Father." Kaveh's voice remained even.

"You used to fight me on that, remember?" The King chuckled fondly. "Kicking and crying when the tailors tried to fit you for your first gala."

Kaveh laughed softly. "I was six."

"You were always spirited. That's why it matters that you learn balance." The King's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Soft on the outside. Steel within. That's the mark of a true heir."

Across from him, Dottore finally spoke, his voice a low purr. "I like the softness."

Of course you do. You like pretty things that don't talk back.

Servants entered with the meal—soup first, then roasted skewers, a mountain of pickled greens, and rich flatbreads in spiced butter. No one so much as glanced at Alhaitham.

Kaveh rose without being asked, reaching for the wine. He poured the red first, the King's glass catching the deep color as it filled.

"Always so well-mannered," the King said fondly. "You've truly grown into yourself, son. I used to worry you'd never get there. But look at you now—knowing when to serve, when to speak. It suits you."

Before Kaveh could pour for the other, Dottore's voice cut in, smooth and casual. "I'll have the white."

Kaveh didn't flinch. He simply switched bottles without comment, tipping the pale liquid into Dottore's glass. Dottore took the glass, but didn't lift it. "So obedient," he murmured, almost amused. "I can see why His Majesty is so proud. You've learned restraint… it suits you."

Kaveh offered no response.

Already ordering him around, Alhaitham thought bitterly. He's going to expect a maid, not a partner.

Kaveh returned to his seat without a word, his movements precise, spine still held perfectly straight. His bowl of soup sat untouched, steam curling faintly above the surface. The aroma barely registered.

"Are you eating enough?" the King asked, his tone shifting, becoming softer. "You've looked slimmer these days."

"I've been busy," Kaveh replied, his voice even, almost distant.

"Busy is fine. But no more missing meals, understood?" The King's concern wrapped itself in practiced warmth. "You'll need your strength soon. I remember—your mother fainted on the day we first tried—well." He chuckled lightly. "You'll see."

Are we seriously talking about the King's sex life?

"Yes, Father."

"You know I only want what's best for you," the King added gently, like it was a blessing. "You're beautiful. You're educated. You're obedient when it matters. You'll make a fine partner."

Dottore cleared his throat lightly as he swirled the wine in his glass, eyes never leaving Kaveh. He took a slow sip, letting the silence stretch, then spoke behind the rim, voice smooth. “What was she like? Your mother.”

The question hung there for a moment. 

Kaveh didn’t answer at first. His eyes lowered, lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones. Something shifted in his face. Then, calmly, he said, “Shouldn’t you refer to her as Her Majesty ? Dead or not, she was still a queen.”

Across the room, Alhaitham felt pride bloom in his chest. A flicker of a smile tugged at his mouth, small and unseen.

The pause was sharp. But the King only smiled, shaking his head like he was indulging a child “That’s no way to speak to your future husband,” he chided gently. “Especially an alpha, my son.”

Kaveh didn’t look at either of them. He stared straight ahead, jaw set, eyes fixed on a point somewhere past the table’s edge.

The King leaned back in his chair, oblivious to the undercurrent. “Faranak was lovely, though,” He added, “Kind-hearted. Always knew what to say. And stubborn, Saints help us. So hot-headed I nearly called off the courtship three times.”

He laughed, quiet and full of affection. “Just like our Kaveh here,” he added, eyes crinkling as he turned to look at his son. “Always quick to speak his mind. She’d be so proud of you right now.”

Kaveh swallowed. His gaze stayed on his plate.

The King kept smiling. “And now the wedding’s nearly upon us. Just four days and you are engaged. It all goes so quickly, doesn’t it?” He swirled his wine, the glass catching the light. “I saw one of your tailors in the corridor this morning. Said something about delays.”

Kaveh offered a quiet nod. “It’s under control.”

The King waved a hand, already distracted. “It’s only natural to be nervous. But I know you’ll shine.” He took another sip of wine, longer this time. “What a beautiful pair you’ll make. The court will talk for months. I can already hear it.”

Dottore said nothing, only smiled.

Then the King set his glass down. Slowly. Carefully. And when he looked back up, his eyes shimmered faintly, glossed with red wine and sentiment, a faraway look in his gaze. “I’m so happy,” he said, voice lower now. Slurred just faintly at the edges. “Truly. I look at you, and I see everything your mother and I dreamed of. You’ve grown into everything we hoped. Everything we worked for.”

He let out a soft breath, laughter tangled in something too fragile. “A proper heir. A good son. A future worth watching.”

Kaveh didn’t speak. His posture was perfect. His smile, faint and practiced. But the silverware in his hand trembled slightly when he picked it up.

Alhaitham watched. And something in him burned. Because the King didn’t see the way Kaveh flinched. He didn’t hear the weight in Kaveh’s silence. Didn’t understand the difference between being loved and being owned.

And Alhaitham had never hated tradition more.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

They were alone again now. Kaveh was reviewing design notes in his room, sprawled out on the carpet near the low table. Moonlight filtered through the windows, casting soft patterns across the floor. He kept his head down, hair falling into his face.

He was avoiding him—but not by staying away. Just through silence. As if being near didn’t ache as much as being acknowledged. Alhaitham stood a few feet off, a closed book in his hand, long forgotten. He cleared his throat once, quietly.

No response.

“You were in the council wing garden this morning,” Alhaitham said, tone carefully casual. He hadn’t planned to bring up the dinner—there was no point in dragging it out, not when Kaveh had already endured enough.

Kaveh, still focused on his notes, replied without looking up. “Yeah.”

“I heard you spent over an hour there.”

“So?” Kaveh flipped a page a little too fast. “Is that a crime?”

“No,” Alhaitham said. “Just unusual. You don’t usually get dirt under your nails unless something’s bothering you.”

That made Kaveh pause. His hand stilled over the page. Then, quietly, “Maybe I just like planting things that don’t talk back.”

Alhaitham didn’t miss a beat. “You can barely handle silence.”

Kaveh huffed a faint breath, not quite a laugh. “People change.”

He turned to another page, his fingers ran over the corner of the parchment, smoothing it even though it was already flat.

Alhaitham stayed where he was. “You’ve reworked that design four times.”

Another shrug. “I get bored.”

Silence followed. Kaveh shifted papers around. His movements were unnecessarily fussy, as if he were trying to stay busy just for the sake of it. Alhaitham sat down on the edge of the couch behind him. Not close. But not far either. “You haven’t been sleeping well,” he said quietly.

“I’ve been fine.”

“You’ve been dosing yourself with suppressants twice a day.”

At that, Kaveh paused. His fingers stilled on the scroll. “So you’re counting now?”

Alhaitham didn’t flinch. “It’s hard not to notice when your scent has all but vanished.”

Kaveh’s head snapped up. “Why do you care about my scent anyway?”

His voice came out sharper than he meant. Louder than the moment called for. For a second, the quiet between them shifted. Kaveh exhaled, the edge in him already fading. “Sorry,” he said softly, eyes dropping. “That was...uh… sorry.”

He stood up abruptly, grabbing the scrolls from the table with more force than necessary. “I have work to do in the archives,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “The engagement party’s in four days, and I have to sign off on a dozen seating charts before someone lets my father pair me with the diplomatic envoy from Inazuma again.”

Alhaitham stood too. “You’re avoiding me.”

That stopped Kaveh mid-step. His spine went still. The scroll in his hand sagged slightly, forgotten. Then he faced Alhaitham slowly. His expression tired. Resigned. Almost… embarrassed. “What else did you expect?” he said, voice thin, almost casual. “I lost control. Let my biology get the better of me. Showed exactly what I am.”

His fingers dug into the edge of the parchment.

“I mean, let’s be honest,” he continued, forcing a weak laugh. “If I have a talent for anything in this palace, it’s being… decorative. Warm. Compliant. Pretty enough to dress up and be placedbeside powerful men. I’m sure someone will put that on my statue after I die.”

Alhaitham’s eyes narrowed. “Prince Kaveh—”

“I mean, I’m clearly not much of a diplomat. Or a designer, apparently, since none of my proposals make it past the second round. But heat? Oh, now that gets attention.” Kaveh let out a short, bitter laugh. “Figures the one thing I’m good at is something I can’t even control.”

“ Stop. ”

Kaveh blinked. “What?”

“Stop talking like that.” His voice came out low, firmer than he meant, but he didn’t take it back. “Right now. ”

Alhaitham didn't realize it until the words were already out: he'd used that voice. The deep, resonant tone alphas carried without thinking, born of instinct and old habits. He hadn't meant to; it simply emerged, clear and final, leaving no room to argue or avoid.

The air in the room thickened, Alhaitham took another step closer. Kaveh froze, utterly still, then a slow blush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. His lashes flickered, and his breath hitched, a soft, startled sound. Just as suddenly, his scent shifted. The subtle sweetness Kaveh always carried.zaytun peaches and warm summer air began to deepen, spilling into the space between them. It was slow, unfiltered, unmistakably omegan.

"You don't get to say that," Alhaitham stated, the words tumbling out too fast, too urgent. "You're not decoration. And if any of them actually paid attention, they'd know that."

Kaveh swallowed hard, his gaze fixed, as if bracing himself for what came next. Alhaitham's jaw tightened. He should have stopped there. But he didn't.

"You're the one holding this place together," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, intense murmur. "Half the designs in this palace have your name buried under someone else's signature. You think being looked at is the only thing you're good for, but you've been building things no one else even bothers to understand." He didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to. He simply stepped closer still, his gaze unwavering. "I notice," he said, softer now, the words a quiet revelation. "Even if no one else does."

Kaveh offered no answer. His tongue slowly traced his lower lip, and Alhaitham's eyes followed the small, nervous movement. Then, hesitant and searching, Kaveh's gaze finally met his.

And that was when Alhaitham moved.

His hands found Kaveh's arms—firm, an almost desperate hold. His grip landed harder than intended, fingers digging into silk before easing, softening, holding Kaveh steady. It wasn't to restrain, but to confirm, to feel he was real.

And for the first time, Alhaitham noticed the difference in their height. Kaveh had always carried himself with such sharpness, such brightness, that he’d seemed larger than life, impossible to overlook. But up close like this, with bare inches between them, Alhaitham couldn’t unsee it. How small he was in his hands. How easily he fit there. The way his head tilted just slightly to meet Alhaitham’s gaze. The way his shoulders barely reached the line of Alhaitham’s chest.

Kaveh didn't pull away. Alhaitham's touch lingered, thumbs brushing fabric, smoothing over the faint tremble beneath. Kaveh felt profoundly warm in his grasp, fragile and flushed, a perfect fit. Alhaitham let out a slow breath. His gaze dipped briefly, drawn to Kaveh's mouth—parted slightly, too pink, too soft.

Kaveh remained still, breath shallow, a soft heat radiating from beneath his sleeves. Without a word or hesitation, Alhaitham drew him in, a quiet, inevitable movement closing the distance. His jaw was tight with powerful restraint, his gaze fixed on Kaveh's face, steady and focused.

“Don’t say demeaning things about yourself.”

Kaveh blinked, startled, his body tense under Alhaitham’s grip. His wide eyes searched his face, unsure. Alhaitham’s hands didn’t drop. He held him there, steady, like letting go would undo something.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was low, rough at the edges. “The way you carry everything like it’s nothing. Like you’re fine.”

He drew in a breath, steadying himself. “I’ve spent weeks trying not to care. Telling myself it’s not my place, that it doesn’t matter, that I should stay out of it.” His eyes dropped, just for a moment, then found Kaveh’s again. “But I do.”

The next words came quieter, the edge of his voice starting to crack. “I hate this place. But when you’re in the room… I can bear it.”

He let out a sharp breath, jaw clenched. “You drive me insane ,” he said, voice low. “You talk too much. You overthink everything, then pretend you don’t. You argue when you’re right, specially when you’re right,” Alhaitham muttered, then scoffed under his breath. “And when you’re wrong, you just argue louder. You’re reckless. You make it impossible to breathe around you.”

He didn't move. He simply held Kaveh steady in his grip, a silent anchor, close enough to feel every tremor, every caught breath, yet utterly still. “And still… it’s your voice I hear when the room goes quiet. It’s your face I look for the second I walk in. It’s always been you, even when I didn’t want it to be. Specially then.”

His eyes fell to Kaveh’s mouth, stayingthere for a beat too long. When they finally lifted, his usual guard had visibly slipped, and his voice held a raw edge.

“I don’t know how you do that to me. I don’t know why it has to be you.”

Kaveh’s lips parted..just slightly. His eyes searched Alhaitham’s, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or lean in. Then his gaze flicked, quick, unsteady to Alhaitham’s mouth.

“You…” Kaveh started, his voice barely a whisper. “You can’t say things like that.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer right away. His hands remained on Kaveh’s arms, thumbs unconsciously smoothing over the fabric. When he finally spoke, his voice came quieter this time.

“I know,” Alhaitham said softly. His hands moved without rush or hesitation, one settling gently along Kaveh’s jaw, the other slipping behind his neck, fingers sliding into warm, slightly tousled hair.

Their foreheads met a moment later, a movement both easy and instinctive. Skin against skin. Their breaths synchronized. Kaveh drew in a shaky gasp but didn't pull away, didn't even blink. 

"Don't look at me like I matter." Kaveh's gaze remained low, lashes trembling, as if meeting Alhaitham's eyes would utterly undo him.

Alhaitham let out a slow shaky breath, his hand steady, thumb gently tracing the curve of Kaveh's cheek. "I don't know how to look at you any other way."

Their mouths didn't meet, only hovered. Close enough for Alhaitham to taste Kaveh's breath, to feel the radiating warmth of his skin. Kaveh's lashes fluttered once, a feather-light brush against Alhaitham's cheek. In the quiet that enveloped them, Kaveh's scent began to rise—soft, clinging, achingly familiar. It wove through the air, folding into Alhaitham's sharper padisarah, the two fragrances mingling as if they simply belonged.

"You... you shouldn't care," Kaveh whispered, the words brushing against Alhaitham's lips.

Light caught in the deep carmine of his eyes. For a moment, there was only Kaveh's warmth, his breath, and the taut tension of something about to break. Alhaitham didn't move. Neither did Kaveh.

They stayed, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling, too close for words. Kaveh's lips hovered just shy of Alhaitham's, close enough for unspoken tension to hum.

"I know," Alhaitham replied, his thumbs brushing faintly against Kaveh's cheekbones.

His lips brushed Alhaitham's, a feather-light touch. More like a question posed against skin. A fragile longing pressed into place.

It was nothing Alhaitham had imagined. He'd considered it, quietly, guiltily, in the liminal space between duty and sleep. He hadn't braced for the sudden heat that flared, his pulse leaping at the faintest pressure. 

He wanted more. So he held still.

Kaveh leaned in again.

This time deeper, surer, mouth parting against his. Their lips slid together, warm and damp. Kaveh pressed in, his nose brushing Alhaitham’s cheek as their lips caught, soft but insistent, his lower lip dragging slow against Alhaitham’s, then catching between them — slick, trembling, tasting faintly of peaches and breathlessness.

Alhaitham froze. His heart thudded hard, too fast and loud, like it didn’t know what to do with itself. His chest ached with it, something sharp and thick rising in his throat, and for a second, he thought he might cry.

They pulled apart, enough to breathe, to feel the rush of air between them. Kaveh’s lips were red, parted, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. His eyes were wide, glassy, searching Alhaitham’s face. Alhaitham met his gaze, chest rising hard with each breath, and the moment stretched. It felt like something could break if either of them moved.

Kaveh tilted his head and kissed him again, messier this time. The restraint was gone, replaced by want. Their lips met and parted with a soft, unsteady sound—wet and imperfect, the kiss slipping just a little. 

A low mmf escaped Kaveh as his tongue traced the seam of Alhaitham’s mouth, hesitant, then surer. He pressed in, a slow, seeking pressure.  He tilted his head, aligning their mouths. Kaveh parted his lips, catching Alhaitham’s lower lip between his own, eyes steady. The pull was gentle but firm, Kaveh's mouth a warm, welcoming heat. Alhaitham’s breath hitched. Heat rushed up his neck, across his cheeks as they held eye contact. Then Kaveh released his lip, the tension easing as he leaned in again. This kiss was softer, slower, lingering. A faint smile touched Kaveh’s lips as he kissed, warm and certain.

As they kissed, Kaveh’s hands slid over Alhaitham’s, still resting against his face. Fingers curled lightly over Alhaitham’s knuckles, warm and shaking. Kaveh leaned into the touch, his mouth moving.

Alhaitham’s breath stuttered. He felt its tremor pass into Kaveh’s mouth, felt Kaveh swallow, felt his fingers grip the fabric of Alhaitham’s clothes. Their mouths moved together now—rhythm faltering, picking up, open-mouthed and slick.

Alhaitham had kissed before.

But never like this.

Never with someone who kissed like they felt too much. Like they needed it to mean something. Like the taste of him might be the only thing anchoring them to the present.

The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was messy, unpracticed. Kaveh tilted his head, but the angle was off. Their noses bumped, their mouths slipped. But neither pulled away. Alhaitham’s hands slid from Kaveh’s cheeks, trailing down along the curve of his neck before settling at his waist. Kaveh’s hands, which had been lightly curled over Alhaitham’s, fell too—loose and breathless, like he didn’t know where to put them now.

Then Alhaitham pulled back—just enough to breathe, to look. Without a word, he dipped his head, mouth finding the side of Kaveh’s throat. He kissed beneath Kaveh's ear, then moved lower, lips dragging slow and warm along the curve of his neck. Alhaitham mouthed at the spot, lingering, his breath a soft caress, letting the heat build. As he did, Kaveh’s head tilted back further, arching his throat, a soft, helpless mewl catching. His fingers, already on Alhaitham's shoulders, tightened, nails digging faintly into the fabric, a desperate, unsteady grip. A tremor ran through Kaveh’s body, his breath hitched, a sharp, strangled sound in his throat.

He wanted to bite down. To feel Kaveh shudder. To mark him, claim him. Make it undeniable. His.

But he didn't.

He just kept kissing, again and again, as if that would be enough.

Alhaitham’s hands slid further down, tightening at Kaveh’s waist. He pulled him in, erasing the last whisper of space between them. Their bodies met, soft against hard, chest to chest, the answering hum of Kaveh's heartbeat vibrating against his own. Alhaitham felt the warm, pliant give of Kaveh’s torso against him, the sudden, undeniable press of their hips, groins meeting with hot friction. 

And then their mouths found each other again.

This time, there was no hesitation. Their lips collided with force, the kiss hot and urgent. Kaveh surged into it, kissing harder, mouth parting as Alhaitham met him with equal pressure. Their lips moved fast—sliding, catching, opening. Tongues met, wet and slick, breaths heavy and hot between each desperate pass. Teeth knocked, a stumble of rhythm, yet neither pulled back.

Kaveh whimpered into the kiss, his hips jerking forward to press against Alhaitham’s, the sound muffled between their mouths.

“Ah—stars…” he gasped, voice ragged, barely more than a breath against Alhaitham’s lips.

Alhaitham exhaled shakily through his nose, then bent low. His arms slipped beneath Kaveh’s thighs in one smooth motion, the thin fabric of the nightgown bunching up under his hands. His fingers brushed warm skin where the silk parted, feeling the soft give of Kaveh’s inner thighs.  Kaveh gasped as he was lifted, arms instinctively curling around Alhaitham’s broad shoulders. He couldn’t help but squeeze his thighs gently, relishing the heat and the faint tremble that ran through Kaveh at the touch.

Alhaitham carried him across the room without a word, gaze fixed on kaveh’s. The air felt thick with everything they hadn’t said. When his knees hit the edge of the bed, he knelt to lay Kaveh down carefully, he wasn’t sure this was real.

Kaveh’s back met the sheets with a soft thud. He blinked up at Alhaitham, lips swollen, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Before he could speak, Alhaitham leaned in  slow, steady and caged him in with one hand pressed into the mattress beside his head, the other resting lightly at his waist.

The kiss deepened, slow and heavy. Alhaitham’s mouth moved against Kaveh’s with steady pressure, lips parting wider as his tongue slid in, hot and wet. He traced the inside of Kaveh’s mouth, dragging along the roof, brushing against his tongue, tasting every inch with precision.

Kaveh tilted his head, lips slick and parted, letting Alhaitham press closer. Their mouths fit messily, teeth grazing, breath hot and damp between them. Alhaitham sucked gently on Kaveh’s lower lip, pulling it between his teeth before releasing it with a soft, wet sound.

Alhaitham murmured against his lips, voice low and thick, “You are so perfect,” 

Kaveh’s breath hitched, his fingers gripping Alhaitham’s shirt tight, trying to pull him closer. But Alhaitham stayed just out of reach, holding him there, kissing him slow.

Lips dragged slow, parted fast, slick with heat, their breaths spilling out warm and shallow. At one point, a thin strand of saliva stretched between their mouths, trembling before it snapped, catching wet and glinting on Kaveh’s lower lip.

Alhaitham reached up, thumb pressing to that lip in a slow, deliberate stroke, wiping the gloss away.

Kaveh’s lips parted under the touch, and without pause, he took Alhaitham’s thumb into his mouth, tongue slick against the pad, lips closing gently around it with a soft pull. Alhaitham’s breath hitched hard. His eyes darkened, a flush blooming high on his cheekbones, spreading down his neck.

Alhaitham exhaled sharply, thumb still damp where Kaveh had just let go. His voice came low, almost hoarse. “You’ll be the death of me.” And he meant it. Figuratively and literally. 

The sheets rustled beneath them. Kaveh's hips rolled upward in response, slow and searching, chasing contact without thinking. Then their kiss came back harder. More heat, more urgency.  Kaveh let out a soft, trembling whimper, high and aching in the back of his throat. Another followed, when Alhaitham deepened the kiss, tongue moving slow and deliberate, coaxing more of those helpless sounds from him.

Alhaitham pulled back just slightly, just enough to breathe against his lips. “Shh,” he whispered, brushing his thumb gently across Kaveh’s cheek. “It’s alright.”

Then he kissed him again, slower this time. Softer. His mouth moved with such care it almost hurt, lips sliding tenderly over Kaveh’s, warm and steady.

“Mmnh… ah— ” Kaveh’s hips shifted beneath him again, seeking friction, his breath hitching with each lazy pass of Alhaitham’s lips. Another whine spilled out, raw and breathless, swallowed into the kiss.

Alhaitham shivered.

His fingers paused at the edge of Kaveh’s nightgown. The fabric was soft under his touch, almost weightless. He looked up, and Kaveh met his eyes — flushed, hesitant, but nodding once.

With care, Alhaitham pushed the silk up, sliding easily and bunching just above his chest. The fabric gathered at his collarbones, exposing everything below.  He didn’t rush. His eyes trailed downward slowly, memorizing each line, each shift of breath that made Kaveh’s skin rise and fall.

Kaveh’s stomach was warm and soft under the dim light, not flat but smooth in a way that made Alhaitham’s hands twitch with want. His skin shimmered faintly under the moonlight filtering through the room, pale silver catching on the subtle curve of his waist and the sharp lines of his hips.

He wore white sheer underwear, delicate and nearly translucent, clinging to him with little left to the imagination. Along the sides, thin pink satin laces tied the fabric together, forming small bows that felt sweet, almost mocking in their innocence.

His arousal pressed against the thin fabric, the outline clear, the material stretched taut and damp in places. With every shallow breath, the bow shifted faintly, rising and falling with the tremble in Kaveh’s body.

Alhaitham’s gaze drifted upward and stilled.

Kaveh’s chest, full and flushed, pulled every thought from his mind. His nipples were already peaked, a deeper pink. They looked sensitive, soft, like the slightest touch would draw a gasp. Like they were meant to be kissed, licked, grazed with teeth until he writhed.

Then Kaveh’s eyes met his. His cheeks were already pink, but now the flush deepened—spreading across his face, down his throat. His lips parted slightly, breath catching. He didn’t look away.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered, voice unsteady.

“Like what?” Alhaitham asked, tone flat.

“Like I’ll break,” Kaveh said, trying to laugh, but it caught in his throat.

Alhaitham leaned in, voice even, low. “You won’t.” His eyes dragged over Kaveh’s face, then lower. “You’re not delicate.”

Kaveh’s lips parted, the silence stretching.

“But even steel deserves to be handled like glass sometimes,” Alhaitham murmured. “Not because it’s weak. Because it’s worth something.”

He reached up, brushing a thumb across Kaveh’s cheek. “And I don’t waste what’s rare.”

Kaveh’s stomach fluttered. His mouth opened, then closed. The room felt hotter. And Alhaitham’s gaze never left him.

He shifted and bent down slowly and pressed his lips to the dip just below Kaveh’s navel. The skin was warm and quivering softly beneath his mouth, and Kaveh let out a soft, shuddering breath, his fingers tangling in the sheets as his body arched into the touch without thought. Alhaitham kissed him there again, slower this time, lips parting against his skin. Kaveh’s scent drifted up, warm and inviting, making something deep in Alhaitham ache to press closer, taste the soft skin, hold him so tight he couldn't slip away.

Then he moved upward, mouth tracing a path along Kaveh’s stomach, open-mouthed kisses dragging wet heat across every inch of exposed skin.  By the time he reached Kaveh’s chest, his breath had gone shallow. His pecks were full and sensitive, flushed a deeper shade, nipples peaked from cool air and tension. Alhaitham kissed one gently, then the other, lips soft and deliberate. The weight of them under his mouth, the way they twitched when he kissed too close—he could’ve stayed there forever.

Alhaitham finally reached his mouth again, and their lips met with a heat that hit deep. Kaveh kissed him back right away, eager and breathless, his lips parting as Alhaitham’s tongue slipped in.

Their mouths collided with no pause, tongues sliding deep, lips parting wide, each pass louder, slicker, more frantic. When they broke for air, it was barely a breath before they came crashing back together, mouths crashing, teeth grazing, breath caught between the wet smack of lips meeting again and again.

Kaveh’s lips were flushed and puffy. They moved with raw need, chasing every kiss like he couldn’t bear the space between them. Alhaitham gave it to him. Harder. Deeper. Rougher. His hands stayed firm on Kaveh’s waist, pulling him close, holding him in place.

Then Alhaitham dipped low, mouth dragging to Kaveh’s throat. He bit lightly first. Then he sucked hard just under the curve of his jaw. His tongue slid over the spot before he latched on, drawing the skin between his teeth.

If he couldn’t give him a mating bite, then at least he could leave this, something to claim him in the only way he was allowed. A bruise bloomed there, dark and enticing. 

Kaveh gasped, the sound sharp, spine arching as a moan broke free from his throat—loud, helpless. His fingers curled in Alhaitham’s hair, nails digging in, breath shaking. Alhaitham kissed lower, slow and firm against the line of Kaveh’s neck, each mark darker than the last.

They were already aligned too perfectly — every inch of Kaveh’s body pressed to Alhaitham’s, heat pooling between them, nowhere left to hide. Kaveh’s thigh shifted, opening slightly, and Alhaitham’s hips fell flush against his.

The contact dragged a gasp from both of them.

He was in thin underwear—soft, clinging, and already damp. There was barely anything between them. When their groins met, Alhaitham felt it. The shape of Kaveh’s cock strained against the fabric, hot and flushed, pressed directly against the front of his trousers.

Kaveh gasped into his mouth as their bodies rocked together. His hips moved again, slower this time, grinding up against Alhaitham’s length. Another gasp slipped from him, breathy and sharp, followed by a quiet moan as the friction built. The drag of fabric against fabric, the hot, insistent meeting of their centers, was too much and not enough all at once.

It was dizzying. Kaveh beneath him, flushed and panting, hair clinging to his temples, golden skin damp with heat. His lashes fluttered with each gasp, lips red and swollen from kissing, parted in breathless moans.

Their hips moved together in a slow, grinding rhythm—Kaveh’s legs parted, thighs tense and trembling as he pushed up against Alhaitham’s cock through the thin layers of fabric. The soft friction sent jolts up his spine, their lengths rubbing through the strained press of silk and linen, damp spots blooming where their arousals met.

Each grind made Kaveh’s stomach tense, the muscles shifting with every roll of his hips. His hands clutched at Alhaitham’s arms, needing something to hold on to. And his eyes—half-lidded, glassy kept flicking down to Alhaitham’s mouth, like he was still chasing another kiss, even through the haze.

Another slow roll of Kaveh’s hips, firmer this time, and Alhaitham groaned, low in his throat, control slipping. His hands gripped Kaveh’s waist tighter, fingers pressing into warm skin as he pushed down, grinding into him with purpose.

That was all it took.

Alhaitham started to move—slow, steady thrusts that pressed their cocks together through the thin layers between them. The friction hit just right. Kaveh let out a soft, broken sound, breath catching as his body rocked with each movement. His underwear clung to him, soaked and sticky, dragging hot between them.

“ Ah— Haitham,” he gasped, voice shaking.

Haitham. Too endearing. Too soft. It made something in Alhaitham’s chest tighten painfully, heat rushing up his throat. He didn’t trust himself to answer. Instead, he kissed him, deep, slow, tongue brushing past Kaveh’s lips with a quiet wet sound. Kaveh gasped into it, the noise swallowed as Alhaitham rolled his hip smoothly.

“I—” Kaveh tried again, but another grind pushed the air from his lungs. His head tipped back, lips parting. “ Hah —gods, I was— mmh— ”

Another kiss. Open-mouthed. Their lips slid, caught, then parted with a soft nhk before Alhaitham pressed in again, stealing whatever Kaveh had tried to say.

“Feels… too good,” Kaveh breathed against his mouth, voice breaking. “I can’t—Haitham, I—”

His words dissolved into a moan as Alhaitham sucked on his lower lip, slow and purposeful. Kaveh shivered, his hands fisting in the sheets, hips jerking up to meet him.

“Say it,” Alhaitham murmured, voice rough against his skin. “Whatever you were going to say.”

“I— fuck —wait—” Another grind. Another kiss. Kaveh gasped. “You’re not playing fair— mmf — please —” His eyes fluttered shut as their mouths met again, messier now. Alhaitham didn’t stop kissing him. He didn’t give him room to think. Only enough to feel.

Kaveh was gasping now, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back as Alhaitham moved above him. His fingers gripped Alhaitham’s shoulders, body arching with every grind, thighs spread wide and trembling. His underwear clung to him, soaked through and through, every breath coming short and shaky.

Alhaitham didn’t stop. He moved harder now, faster, dragging their cocks together with each grind. The friction was slick and hot, overwhelming. Kaveh twisted beneath him, moaning, his hands clutching at anything he could reach. Alhaitham’s shoulders, the sheets, his own thigh. Anything to ground himself.

A choked gasp slipped out. “H-Haitham—”

Alhaitham groaned softly, breath ragged against Kaveh’s skin. His cock throbbed inside his pants, every roll of his hips sending a sharp pulse straight through him.

“Ah—” Kaveh’s voice cracked as his back arched. “Nnh—”

He wanted Kaveh bare. Every inch. He wanted to strip away the silk, the layers, the titles, until there was nothing left but heat and skin. Until he could feel the full weight of him—flushed and trembling—under his hands. He wanted to pull those soft sounds from Kaveh’s mouth over and over, to steal every gasp and moan like they were owed to him.

He wanted to be inside him.

Slow at first. Deep. He wanted to ease into him, feel every inch of Kaveh give way around him, tight and warm and trembling. To stretch him open with care, with pressure, until Kaveh was gasping, clinging to him, breath stuttering against his neck. He wanted to hear him whisper his name in that broken, breathless voice again and again as he rocked into him, deeper, slower, until there was nothing left between them. No fabric, no formality. Just skin. Heat. Slick friction and the heady rhythm of Kaveh falling apart beneath him—body arching, voice cracking, begging without words for more. For him .

He wanted to ruin him gently. And be ruined in return.

Alhaitham leaned in, lips at Kaveh’s jaw, his breath hot.  “...Kaveh”

Kaveh was a mess, his body trembling, flushed to the ears, lips wet and parted as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes were wide. Pupils blown so dark they almost eclipsed the color of his irises. Every moan was half-broken, his voice struggling to keep up with what his body felt.

His back arched with every grind of Alhaitham’s hips, the friction overwhelming, relentless. Kaveh’s hands gripped the sheets, then Alhaitham’s shoulders, slipping down again, restless, unsure where to land.

Then suddenly, he moved.

One hand reached down, grabbing Alhaitham’s wrist urgently and pulled it between them. He shoved it against his soaked underwear, the heat undeniable. The fabric clung, damp and swollen, sticking to the pulsing skin beneath.

A sharp, desperate sound tore from Kaveh’s throat.

“Ah—!”

He bit down hard on his lower lip, eyes fluttering shut, the moan too loud to contain. His whole body shuddered, hips jerking up as if chasing the touch even through the thin barrier. The sound alone left Alhaitham reeling.

Heat crawled up Alhaitham’s throat, blooming across his cheeks and ears. His hand stayed where Kaveh had pressed it, fingers splayed over the damp fabric, feeling the heat radiating through it. 

Slowly, his grip shifted, fingers easing their tension. His hand began to move, settling, a deliberate weight shaping itself to Kaveh. His thumb traced slow circles over the soaked fabric. The wetness had already permeated, gluing the cloth to sensitive skin.

I could have only dreamed of this.

Kaveh was flushed all over, lips parted, eyes half-lidded and shining wetly. Every shaky breath spilled from his mouth like a confession he couldn't stop. His thighs trembled, trying to close around Alhaitham’s hand but failing, leaving himself open, vulnerable. He’s so beautiful like this.

Alhaitham’s gaze roamed over him, drinking in every twitch and gasp. No prince. No titles. Just Kaveh.

This is what I wanted. What I was never supposed to have.

His thumb pressed a little harder, savoring the way Kaveh jerked and whimpered.

He could feel everything—how hard Kaveh was under his palm, how each throb pulsed hot against the slick fabric, the way his hips jolted at every stroke like he couldn’t control it. His cock twitched with every pass, leaking through the soaked front of his underwear, the head swollen, straining, leaving damp smears against Alhaitham’s hand.

Alhaitham kept his grip firm but careful, dragging his hand in slow, steady circles over the wet heat, pressing down just enough to feel every twitch, every helpless jerk. His thumb swept over the tip, gathering the slick and smearing it down the length, the fabric sticking to his hand, clinging with each motion.

Kaveh was a mess beneath him, breath coming in high, broken gasps.

“ Ah—Alhai… tha–hah —mm, wait, I can’t—” His head tossed back against the sheets, neck arching, hips stuttering forward into every stroke.

The words blurred together, half-moan, half-whimper, caught between pleasure and overwhelm. His thighs trembled, the tension winding tight in his stomach, legs trying to close around Alhaitham’s hand and failing.

Alhaitham just watched, lips parted, breath heavy, every movement controlled as his hand worked Kaveh closer, dragging him down into it one trembling gasp at a time.

Alhaitham’s fingers curled at the waistband, slow and deliberate. He paused, his gaze lifting to Kaveh’s, a silent question passing between them. With Kaveh’s answering tremor, his fingers curled at the waistband, slow and deliberate, then slipped beneath the sheer fabric. The heat inside was immediate, wet and throbbing, Kaveh’s cock flushed and slick against his palm. The skin was soft, stretched tight with need, twitching at the first bare touch.

Kaveh whimpered, sharp and breathless. The sound splintered in his throat as Alhaitham finally wrapped his fingers around him—flesh to flesh. His cock jumped in response. Hot and slick in Alhaitham’s grip. The tip already wet and dripping. The glide down was slow, his hand tightening slightly as he reached the base, drawing a thick line of slick along the shaft.

“Haitham—ah—please,” he choked out, voice shaking, eyes wide and wet. “Please… I need you—need you so bad. Don’t stop. Don’t—don’t leave.”

Alhaitham’s breath hitched, his grip tightening protectively. “I won’t,” he rasped, voice low and sure. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

The rhythm stayed slow, steady—long strokes from base to tip, the wet sound of skin on skin growing louder in the still air. Kaveh’s body moved with it, back arching, thighs twitching, breath catching in broken gasps.

“I want to ruin you so bad,” Alhaitham whispered, voice low, almost reverent.

Kaveh let out a sharp, broken moan, fingers curling hard into his arms. His head tipped back as a flush bloomed across his chest, neck, all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Haitham—ah—” Kaveh gasped, nearly breathless. “Don’t say things like that—”

His thighs shifted open, trembling as he moved closer. One hand traced up Alhaitham’s collarbone, settling flat over his heart. “I want to feel you too… it can’t be just me.”

Alhaitham’s breath caught. He lowered his gaze to where Kaveh’s hand rested, then back to those flushed, demanding eyes. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to—”

Kaveh shook his head, red climbing high on his cheeks. His fingers curled a little against Alhaitham’s chest, pressing more firmly, voice cracking with urgency. “No—I want to. I want to see you. Don’t... don’t hide from me.”

Alhaitham’s mouth twitched, a small, helpless smile breaking through despite the heat between them. He huffed a soft, almost amused breath. “Alright. Alright... princess.”

Kaveh’s face went even redder, but he didn’t look away.

Alhaitham didn’t speak again. Just exhaled once—shallow, restrained—and released his grip on Kaveh. His palm trailed downward in one unhurried sweep, brushing over warm skin before reaching the front of his trousers.

The sound of the zipper parting cut through the quiet.

Kaveh stared, lips slightly parted.

Alhaitham's movements stayed smooth. He shifted, hands strong and sure as he drew Kaveh forward and up. A sharp gasp escaped Kaveh as he was maneuvered, his legs folding awkwardly at first until Alhaitham adjusted them with a quiet touch to the inside of his thigh. Kaveh settled, straddling him, his slender frame pressing intimately against Alhaitham’s broader chest, skin warm and flushed from the contact.

Then, slow, without pause Alhaitham's fingers found the tiny pink satin laces. He untied them, one by agonizing one, feeling the delicate knots give beneath his precise touch. The sheer fabric eased open, a whisper of nothing against Kaveh's skin, before he slid it down Kaveh's thighs. He felt the intimate drag of the damp material over Kaveh's inner thighs, past the heated curve of his ass, where it briefly clung with a soft, warm resistance. Then it slipped lower, a crumpled heap at his knees, leaving him utterly, breathtakingly bare. His arousal, thick and heavily flushed, sprang free in the sudden cool air, a dark, prominent line against pale skin, glistening, hot and eager in the stark exposure.

The nightgown bunched awkwardly at his waist, scrunched and twisted from their movements, leaving his chest partially hidden in folds of silk—but exposing everything below. 

The cool air hit Kaveh’s skin; he shivered.

Then the heat returned tenfold—their arousals aligning, pressed skin to skin. Kaveh looked down, breath catching as he saw it: the stark contrast. Alhaitham, thick and dark, flush against his own. The size difference alone made his stomach twist with want.

Alhaitham's hand slid to the small of his back, fingers splayed and warm, anchoring him there. "Enjoying the show?" he murmured, voice dry—but something in his eyes burned.

Kaveh didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His breath came faster, fingers tightening on Alhaitham’s shoulders as if he might fall apart if he let go.

Alhaitham’s free hand descended, a deliberate journey down Kaveh’s side, settling low between them. His palm cradled their joined arousal, the soft heat of Kaveh’s against the hard length of his own. He could see the flush deepen on Kaveh’s face, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. With a slow, considered pressure, Alhaitham began to move. Their shafts, slick with their own eagerness, slid against each other, the intimate friction visible even in the dim light.

"Too much?" Alhaitham's voice was a low rumble against Kaveh’s ear, his gaze intent on the tightening of Kaveh’s jaw.

Kaveh’s head lolled back, a soft, involuntary sound escaping his lips, his hips already beginning to mimic Alhaitham’s subtle movements. "No… gods, no," he gasped, eyes squeezed shut, his body arching almost imperceptibly.

Alhaitham’s thumb, now intimately positioned, brushed the slick, engorged tip of Kaveh’s cock. A raw moan tore from Kaveh’s throat, his breath hitching, a desperate sound that was half gasp, half plea. His back arched further, hips grinding down instinctively against Alhaitham's cupping hand, a visible tremor ripping through his slender frame as raw, undeniable pleasure surged.

Alhaitham watched, his gaze hot and possessive, as Kaveh’s face flushed a deeper crimson, eyes squeezed shut. He saw the play of light on Kaveh’s slick, aroused skin, the stark, breathtaking contrast of their joined bodies, glistening faintly in the dimness. He could feel the mounting heat radiating from Kaveh, the wetness intensifying with every desperate movement, their combined arousal a palpable, throbbing entity pressed against his palm. The wet, rhythmic friction of their flesh against each other was a symphony of building desire.

The air thickened, heady with their mingled scents. Alhaitham’s sharp padisarah tangled with Kaveh’s sweeter peach musk. It was intoxicating. Primal. It clawed at his control.

"Archons, Alhaitham—" Kaveh whimpered, his voice strained, almost unrecognizable.

With a slight shift, Alhaitham increased the pressure, his fingers subtly adjusting, finding the perfect, agonizing grip. He began to stroke faster, a controlled, deliberate rhythm, each pump of his hand driving Kaveh higher. Kaveh cried out, a broken sound of pure pleasure, his hips bucking in response, chasing the friction. Their bodies moved in a more pronounced, insistent rhythm.

"Like that, Kaveh?" Alhaitham murmured, his voice a low rasp against Kaveh’s ear, his own body thrumming with same intensity, driving Kaveh deeper into sensation.

“Haitham—ah—please—” Kaveh sobbed the word, voice dissolving. He leaned in suddenly, their foreheads pressing together hard enough to almost hurt. His mouth found Alhaitham’s, kissing him in soft, desperate bursts—one, then another, then another—like he couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe without it. His eyes were shut tight, wet lashes brushing Alhaitham’s skin, tears slipping down his flushed cheeks to mingle with the kiss.

Alhaitham’s arm locked around his back, pressing their chests flush, his other hand slipping down between them. His fingers wrapped around both of them, he squeezed, stroking them together in tight, controlled pulls that forced their cocks to slide and catch, slick with shared heat.

Kaveh shuddered violently in his hold, voice breaking on a sob as his hips jerked helplessly into Alhaitham’s fist. Their kisses fell apart into frantic, messy presses of lips, wet gasps and breath hitching with every stroke.

And then they both broke.

Kaveh let out a raw, strangled cry, hips bucking as he came hard, spilling hot and wet over Alhaitham’s hand, the slick mess smearing across both their bellies. Alhaitham groaned low, the sound guttural, teeth catching on Kaveh’s shoulder as he followed, stroking them both through it in tight, shuddering motions until he emptied himself over their joined skin.

For a moment, the world narrowed to nothing but heat and breath and the wet glide of their spent cocks in his hand. Kaveh sagged forward against him, trembling violently, forehead pressing to Alhaitham’s, tears still spilling quietly to dampen the space where their mouths met in shuddering, broken kisses.

His eyes were shut, lashes damp, as he pressed soft, breathless kisses to Alhaitham’s lips, to his jaw, over and over, like he couldn’t stop. His fingers came up, cupping Alhaitham’s face, thumbs stroking gentle lines across his flushed cheeks.

And then—

Kaveh’s eyes fluttered open.

Wide. Too clear.

"Wha—" Kaveh uttered it so softly, it barely registered at first.

Alhaitham’s body froze. His heart was pounding. He blinked, the haze clearing just enough to focus and really see Kaveh. Flushed. Sweat-damp. Breathing hard. Eyes glassy and wet at the corners, lips parted, chest rising in quick, shallow bursts. Still trembling. Still close to him, still straddling Alhaitham's lap.

Alhaitham slowly and carefully pulled back, his fingers slipping away from Kaveh’s wet heat, every motion gentle, hesitant. "...Kaveh?" he said, voice low, uncertain. His brows drew together as he searched the other’s face. "Talk to me."

But Kaveh pushed too quickly. He twisted hard, trying to scramble off Alhaitham's lap, his nightgown slipping down and covering him again. Panic made his movements sharp and uncoordinated, and with a sudden jolt, he lost his balance, tumbling sideways.

There was a soft thud as Kaveh hit the floor beside the bed, landing awkwardly amidst crumpled silk and shadowed sheets.

"Kaveh!" Alhaitham reacted instantly, adrenaline seizing him. He surged forward, pushing himself off the bed, already reaching out, his hand instinctively going for Kaveh’s arm to help him up.

"Don't! Don't come near me!" Kaveh's voice cracked, sharp and immediate, a sudden flare of raw fear and anger. He recoiled from Alhaitham's outstretched hand, scrambling back a few inches, eyes wide and fixed, like a cornered animal.

Alhaitham froze, his hand suspended in the air. The sting settled deep anyway. He stood, moving with a practiced, almost detached efficiency, and the low, coarse sound of his zipper filled the sudden quiet as he covered himself.

Kaveh’s lips were still swollen from the kiss. Everything about him screamed conflict—like he didn’t know whether to fall apart in Alhaitham’s arms or bolt.

"This is just biology," he snapped, voice rising with panic. "It doesn’t mean anything. It’s hormones and instincts and—"

He broke off mid-breath, hands flying to his hair, yanking through it like he could rip the shame out by force. His fingers shook, dragging through the strands, pushing them back and forth—frantic, uneven. His chest heaved, ribs straining, shoulders curling in. The flush from earlier clung to his cheeks, stark against the sudden pallor. His lips parted, slick and trembling, eyes wide and glassy, too bright, too full.

Then the scream came—ripped straight from his throat. Raw. Cracked. His entire body jolted with it, as if something inside had snapped. His back arched, hands still tangled in his hair, elbows trembling as the sound tore through the air like something wounded and cornered. It left him shuddering, breath catching, mouth twitching with the aftermath of a cry too big for his frame.

Alhaitham flinched. The sound slammed into him. His hand twitched, reaching forward on instinct—toward Kaveh but froze halfway. He couldn’t bring himself to touch him.

“Look at me,” he said, almost laughing, almost crying, voice thick and shaking. “Hah—fuck—look at me.” He motioned at himself—at the soaked front of his arousal from the nightgown, at the flush burning high on his cheeks, the way his thighs trembled. “I’m reacting like a damn animal.” 

His breathing was uneven now, eyes wide and glassy, voice catching somewhere between shame and helplessness. “What the hell is wrong with me? I am getting married”

“Kaveh—”

But he was already scrambling off the floor, movements clumsy, unsteady. His legs nearly gave out, and he grabbed blindly for his robe, the silk catching on his fingers as he tried to pull it around himself. “I—I can’t do this,” he stammered, voice thin and cracking as he backed away, almost tripping over the edge of the carpet. “I won’t do this.”

Alhaitham moved without thinking, reaching out—just to steady, just to soothe—but Kaveh slapped his hand away, hard.

“Don’t touch me!”

Alhaitham stilled, breath catching in his throat, hand half-raised. He didn’t lower it right away. Didn’t know how to.

Kaveh’s eyes didn’t meet his. They darted wildly—window, floor, wall—anywhere but him. His chest heaved, hair clinging to his damp forehead, lips parted around ragged breaths as he backed toward the door and turned.

His fingers hovered at the handle. Just for a second.

And then, without turning, he spoke—voice low, flat, practiced.

“It’s Prince Kaveh for you. Know your place, Sir Alhaitham.”

He hesitated, fingers still on the handle, knuckles white. Then, almost involuntarily, he turned his head just enough—just a glance over his shoulder. His eyes met Alhaitham’s for the briefest moment. Lips trembling.

‘Please say something.’

‘Please stop me.’

‘I didn’t mean a word I just said.’

Kaveh’s eyes dropped, breaking the glance as quickly as it came. He turned away, shoulders tense, the fabric of his robe slipping down one arm as he gripped the handle.

He didn’t look back.

The door shut with a soft, final click.

And in the quiet that followed, Alhaitham’s heart broke clean through.

Chapter Text

The quiet in the empty hall was a fragile shield, and it just shattered. It had been a day, the palace had felt like a suffocating cage, with every moment a countdown to a future Alhaitham couldn't stand to face. He had been pacing, the tightness in his chest so severe each breath was a shallow, painful gasp. He'd fought, futilely, to remove the image of Kaveh’s face when he’d stormed out, eyes wet and blazing with fury. 

How can I keep lying to myself and wishing for his happiness when I can see, with my own eyes, that he is utterly miserable? How can I hold onto that hope when his pain is so raw, and I am the one who is responsible for it? Alhaitham wished, with an ache that hollowed him out, that they could just have a moment, a real conversation, to clear the air. He had been looking for Kaveh, needing to see him again, to just talk.

Then, through the quiet, voices cut through—ragged, low, and too close. A thin slice of light bled from the half-cracked door ahead.

Dottore’s voice drifted out into the hall, slurred and ugly. “Look at you. Robe half-open. Neck marked up like a common whore.” Alhaitham froze, breath catching. He hadn’t expected to hear that tone—smeared and uneven. So even the great Doctor can’t hold his liquor.

How dare this filth talk to kaveh like that?

But worse was the scent that hit him a heartbeat later. Sharp, and sour, tinged with fear and anger. The unmistakable, distressing scent of an omega pushed too far. It leaked through the crack in the door, and Alhaitham felt something go cold and furious in his chest.

Inside, Kaveh  barked out a brittle laugh that didn’t sound amused at all. “Watch your mouth,” he snapped, voice raw with disgust. “There’s nothing wrong with my robe. You’re just too drunk to see straight.”

Silence followed. You could almost hear the cold calculation settling behind Dottore’s teeth.

Then the sound of scuffling. A chair leg scraping, the dull thud of something bumping the wall. A muffled grunt, like someone being shoved back.

Kaveh’s voice sliced through it, strained but unbending, hoarse with fury. “Get. Off. Me.”

Alhaitham froze. Every muscle locked, his blood turning to ice.

Dottore let out a laugh that held no amusement, just a broken, jagged edge. “So who was it? Hm? Which dog in this palace decided they could claim you before I did?”

Silence again. Alhaitham's heartbeat hammered, a frantic drum against his ribs. The world narrowed to the sudden, suffocating roar in his ears, blocking out all else.

Then Dottore’s voice dropped, lower now, the casual threat replaced by something cold and precise. “Was it him? Your dear statue Alhaitham?” Alhaitham felt his stomach plummet, a lead weight dragging him down. 

Kaveh’s answer came immediately. Loud. Furious. A desperate roar. “NO!”

Silence for half a heartbeat. A breath held, then shattered.

Dottore’s voice was razor-thin, cutting through the stillness. “Don’t you lie to me. I know you both make bedroom eyes at each other.”

Kaveh was panting now, the sound ragged, his next words choked. “I said—it wasn’t him. It wasn’t anyone. Now get your hands.off.me.”

A pause. A drawn-out second that stretched into an eternity.

Then, an ugly, wet sound— crack .

Alhaitham heard the slap. Heard Kaveh’s strangled breath, cut short, like a broken string. The muffled impact of something heavy falling—a chair, perhaps, followed by the sickening thud of someone hitting a table.

Dottore’s voice, when it came, was cold. Dead. Utterly devoid of warmth. “Ungrateful little omega. I’m trying to be patient. Don’t test me tonight.”

Kaveh’s voice, raw and hoarse with undisguised hate, tore through the space. “I’d rather die.”

Alhaitham didn’t remember moving. His body simply propelled itself forward. The half-cracked door didn’t just open; it exploded inward, slamming against the wall with a deafening crash that echoed through the otherwise quiet hall.

He took in the scene in one agonizing breath:

Dottore stood over Kaveh, a dark, looming silhouette, pinning him against the heavy table. One gloved hand was fisted in Kaveh’s golden hair, forcing his head down in a cruel angle. The other gripped his shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to leave immediate, angry bruises.

Twisted halfway around, Kaveh’s fine robe had slipped precariously from one shoulder, baring the smooth skin beneath. A brutal, furious red handprint marred his cheek. His hair hung in a wild, tangled curtain across his face, yet through the tears and pain, his eyes blazed with defiant fury. He snarled, teeth bared, a wild and desperate animal, his nails tearing uselessly at Dottore’s wrist.

Dottore turned slowly, his head snapping up at the sound of the door. His gaze, still clouded with residual anger, found Alhaitham. His voice was breathless, ugly with leftover rage, a faint sneer twisting his lips.

“Sir Alhaitham. How predictable.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. He felt everything in him narrow, stiffen. The world went hot and bright and terrifyingly simple. All thought vanished, replaced by a singular, burning purpose.

He crossed the room in three blurring strides, a predator closing the distance.

Dottore didn’t even have time to release his grip on Kaveh before Alhaitham’s fist, a tightly coiled knot of pure, unadulterated fury, smashed into his face.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Alhaitham slammed the door behind them so hard the frame rattled. He didn’t let go of Kaveh’s wrist until they were halfway down the narrow servants’ empty corridor, the cold marble biting through thin slippers, the walls close enough to feel suffocating. Dottore had dropped with just one punch, sprawled gracelessly on the floor, wine-heavy and unconscious. Alhaitham had actually drawn back his fist again, planning to add a little more to the design , but Kaveh had grabbed his arm hard, voice shaking as he told him to stop , to just leave , his fingers digging in.

A frantic, high-pitched ringing filled Alhaitham's ears, drowning out the frantic scramble of his own breathing. A distant voice, thin and strained, was trying to break through the static.

"Let go, Alhaitham," it pleaded. The words were faint, echoing in the ringing in his head. "Haitham... just let go."

Kaveh yanked his arm free, stumbling back a step. His hair was wild, his face flushed with rage and humiliation. A bright red handprint still burned on his cheek.

Alhaitham’s chest heaved. Everything felt loud, his own breathing too harsh, too quick. His fist still throbbed from where it had connected with Dottore’s jaw.

Kaveh’s voice broke the silence, low and shaking. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Alhaitham’s eyes flashed. “He was about to—”

“I know what he was about to do!” Kaveh snapped, voice cracking, tears shimmering unshed in his eyes. “I know what he is .”

Alhaitham’s mouth twisted. He took a single, measured step forward, the movement slow and deadly. “That was a fraction of what he deserved, You shouldn’t have stopped me.” he snarled, his voice low.

“You… you had no right to do that,” Kaveh snapped, voice shaking with fury. He stumbled back, robe askew, cheeks flushed red. “Don’t you dare—don’t you ever touch him. You don’t get to intervene. You’re not my Alpha. You’re nothing to me.”

The words hit the corridor like a slap. The silence between them seethed, their breathing harsh and ragged.

Alhaitham took one deliberate step forward, voice low but deadly. “Say that again.”

Kaveh bared his teeth. “ Nothing. That’s what you are to me.”

Alhaitham took one slow, deliberate step forward, eyes locked on Kaveh. His voice was low but unsteady, cracking at the edges. “We both know that’s not true.”

Kaveh’s breath hitched, eyes going glassy with unshed tears, anger and shame battling in every line of his face. “Don’t. Don’t you dare —”

Alhaitham shook his head, voice rough, urgent. “Don’t do this. Don’t stand there and lie to me. Not when I know you better than anyone .”

Kaveh let out a short, sharp breath that sounded too close to breaking. His hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles blanched. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

Alhaitham’s jaw worked, his eyes darkening, and his voice dropped to something hoarse and raw. "You think I wanted to see it? To watch him touch you like that?"

He dragged in a shaky breath, struggling for air. "I couldn't do anything. I just—I heard you tell him no, and he didn't care. And I—" His voice cracked, lower still. "Kaveh, I can't stand that. I can't stand that you have to go through it, that anyone thinks they can treat you like that, that he can." His throat bobbed as he swallowed, words thick with anguish. "I hate that I'm part of a world that lets it happen. That all I could do was hit him once. That it doesn't fix any of it." His voice faltered, dropping to a choked whisper. "I hate that I can't protect you the way you deserve."

Alhaitham inhaled, unsteady, catching the shift in Kaveh’s scent even through the hurt and anger, pleased, wanting, but laced with deep, aching sorrow.  Kaveh turned away sharply, palms slamming over his ears as if to physically block the words. “Stop—stop saying things like that!”

Alhaitham moved closer despite himself, hand half-reaching out. “Kaveh, listen to me—”

Kaveh shook his head violently, shoulders hunched, voice trembling so badly it was barely a whisper at first. “Don’t. Don’t say it. Don’t make it real.”

His breathing was ragged, every inhale hitching like he was fighting tears. He turned back on Alhaitham with a glare that was wet and furious. “We’re being too loud,” he rasped finally, voice cracking. “Someone will hear. Just—stop.”

Without another word, he yanked the door to a small, empty service room open and practically shoved Alhaitham inside after him. The door slammed behind them with a hollow thud, plunging them into tight, stale darkness lit only by a barred window high on the wall.

“You want to do this?” Kaveh spat, voice rising. “ Fine. Let’s do this. What the fuck do you want from me?”

Alhaitham’s voice was low, shaking despite how hard he tried to steady it. “I want you safe. I want you free of him. You don’t deserve what he does to you.”

Kaveh’s laugh cracked apart, ragged and ugly, too close to a sob. “Safe? Free? Do you think I don’t want that?” His voice broke as he shook his head, hair falling loose around his face. “Archons, Alhaitham—tell me how . Tell me how I’m supposed to be safe from him, from all of this.”

His fists trembled at his sides. “What do you want me to do, huh? Just decide I’m free and be done ? If I had any choice— any power—I’d take it. But I don’t. I never did. I’d hold more power if I was an Alpha, but life doomed me the moment I was born and decided to make me an Omega .”

Alhaitham flinched at the word, at the venom dripping from it. Kaveh’s shoulders heaved as he raked a shaking hand through his hair. The decorative pins caught and scattered onto the floor, metal clinking, forgotten.

His voice broke then, softer but no less raw. “You think I don’t know what he is? What he wants from me? You think I don’t fucking feel it every time he looks at me?”

Alhaitham clenched his fists at his sides, knuckles white. “You deserve better.”

Kaveh’s breath shuddered. “Yeah? Too bad I don’t get that option.”

Alhaitham’s voice dropped. “Kaveh—”

Kaveh’s chest heaved. He pressed his back to the wall as if it could hold him up. “I hate this. I hate all of it.” His voice cracked. “I hate him. I hate you. I hate me .”

Alhaitham felt something in his chest rupture at that. He moved before he could even think.

He closed the space in a blurring stride, his hands finding Kaveh’s face. His fingers dug into tear-warm cheeks with a grip that was far from gentle, tilting Kaveh's head back as he claimed his mouth.

It wasn't sweet. It was all teeth and desperate, gasping breath. Alhaitham’s mouth crashed against his, clumsy and hot, biting at his lower lip until a sharp hiss tore from Kaveh. Kaveh’s hands came up, palms pressing hard against Alhaitham’s chest, a raw, primal instinct to shove him away. His body arched, straining to pull back, but then his fingers betrayed him. Instead of pushing, they twisted in the heavy fabric of Alhaitham’s coat, dragging him closer instead, as if Kaveh couldn't decide whether to fight or hold on. His grip was frantic, white-knuckled, pulling at seams, bunching fabric, as their hips collided with a desperate thud.

Their mouths dragged apart for a split second, breath mixing in harsh, uneven pants. "No... don't..." Kaveh's ragged whisper tore through the scant space between them, but Alhaitham surged back in, swallowing the words, silencing them with a desperate, crushing pressure that left Kaveh breathless and dizzy.

Kaveh made a low, broken sound into Alhaitham’s mouth—half a sob, half a desperate groan—his lips parting in surrender even as his body trembled with resistance.

He angled Kaveh harder against the wall, mouth slanting deep, demanding, devouring. Kaveh's lips parted on a shuddering gasp, and Alhaitham took it, his tongue pressing past, a searing invasion that stole his breath.

A high, broken whimper caught in Kaveh's throat as his fingers fisted tighter in Alhaitham's coat. His hips jerked once, a clumsy, uncoordinated movement, a futile attempt to twist away. Yet, even in that struggle, his body betrayed him, arching closer, kissing back like he was drowning, like Alhaitham's mouth was the only air left to breathe.

Alhaitham felt the frantic tremors coursing through Kaveh and a desperate need seized him. He didn't just want a kiss; he needed to absorb him, to anchor himself to this warmth, to this raw life. He pulled his hands from Kaveh's tear-streaked cheeks and dragged them down, one to the small of his back and the other to his waist. His fingers splayed, roaming over the thin fabric of Kaveh's robe, pulling him impossibly closer.

It was a fierce, possessive embrace. He held Kaveh so tightly he feared he might bruise him, but he couldn't stop. His arms wrapped around him like an iron band, pulling him in until there was no space left between them, only heat and the frantic pounding of two hearts. He devoured Kaveh's mouth, deepening the kiss, a desperate confirmation that this was real, that he was here, that he was holding him, and he wasn't going to let go.

Kaveh broke the kiss first with a ragged gasp, turning his head away, panting. Alhaitham didn’t let go. He pressed their foreheads together, both of them shuddering.

For a moment, neither spoke. Their breathing was hot and uneven, the hall too small to hold it.

Then Alhaitham’s voice came low, wrecked. “It’s wrong.”

Kaveh let out a choked laugh. “I know.”

Alhaitham’s fingers brushedat his waist, voice breaking on the next words. “But we can pretend. We can pretend it’s okay.”

Kaveh’s whole body went tight under his hands. He shook his head once, then twice, the wild strands of his hair brushing Alhaitham’s cheek. His whispered voice was utterly shredded.

“Pretend, huh.” He pressed his forehead against Alhaitham’s shoulder, a shuddering breath rattling in his chest. "What do I do, Alhaitham? Tell me what to do. I can't... I don't know what to do ."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Alhaitham, his face a mask of grief and confusion. His voice dropped to a raw, barely audible whisper. "I don't get it. I don't get you. What do you even see in me?"

Kaveh's hand trembled as it rose, not to touch, but to gesture weakly between them, a desperate tremor in his fingers. "You messed me up," he whispered, his voice cracking with a helpless anger that bled into yearning. "Ever since the day you laid eyes on me.’’ His breath hitched, chest shaking as he tried and failed to hold it in. “You made me want things I was never meant to have. Things I don’t deserve .” His fingers clawed at the air between them, as if he could tear the words back. “You made me feel everything I spent years learning how to kill inside me.”

He laughed then—a sharp, broken sound that cut itself off with a sob. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I can’t think straight(a/n : all the pun intended). I don’t know what’s real or what’s safe. I can’t stop wanting something that’s going to destroy me.”

His voice fell to a hoarse, empty whisper. “So tell me. What do you see when you look at me Alhaitham? Because I see nothing but a wreck. A pathetic, ruined mess. And I hate that I can’t even hate you for it.”

His grip tightened at Kaveh’s waist, steady and unyielding. His voice was low, gravel-rough. “I don’t see that.” He paused, breathing hard. “I see you. That’s all.”

He pulled him impossibly closer, burying his face in his hair, as if breathing him in could somehow put the pieces back together. 

Kaveh forced himself to look up, eyes wet, mouth trembling. For a second, he looked like he might kiss him again. A flicker of pure, desperate wanting in his gaze.

Then, his expression softened, twisting into a painful, sorrowful smile. He reached up, his hand trembling as he gently placed his palm on Alhaitham’s cheek. The touch was feather-light, a tender caress that belied the words that followed.

“This could never work, Haitham,” he whispered, his voice a raw, heartbreaking thread of sound. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Alhaitham’s cheek. Then, with a quiet finality, he tore himself free, turned, and walked away.

Alhaitham didn’t follow. He stood there in the half-dark, chest heaving, the ghost of Kaveh’s touch a searing brand on his skin and the taste of his tears and anger still hot on his tongue.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The music was beautiful. That was the worst part.

Music played softly through the ballroom, smooth and steady. Guests clapped between songs, their silk clothes catching the chandelier light as they smiled, all too perfectly. The palace had gone all out—gold in the corners, champagne in tall glasses, phoenix-shaped decorations rising from shiny black stone.

Kaveh stood in the center, smiling like it didn’t ache.

Alhaitham stood off to the side, tucked beneath one of the gold-trimmed arches lining the ballroom. He kept to the shadows, close enough to hear. Far enough not to be noticed.

And every time his eyes found him, something cracked a little deeper inside.

Because all he could see was that night—quiet and breathless, skin on skin, the way Kaveh had gasped his name like it meant everything. The way they’d moved together, desperate and slow, like they were trying to memorize each other before it all fell apart.

He remembered how Kaveh trembled under his hands. How their mouths had met over and over, stealing breath, swallowing sound. How Kaveh had looked at him afterward—wide-eyed, open, like maybe there could be more.

But there wouldn’t be. They were already doomed. Tied to things bigger than them, older, heavier. So Alhaitham stayed where he was, watching the light catch in Kaveh’s hair, watching that perfect, practiced smile.

And wondering how someone could look so radiant while slowly being taken apart.

Dottore's touch was a possessive weight at the small of Kaveh's back. His smile, though artfully placed, held no warmth, only the glint of satisfaction…not for the grand celebration unfolding around them, but for the prize he held. And Kaveh? Kaveh was a ghost in plain sight. He offered no response to the touch, neither leaning into it nor recoiling. He simply stood, a living statue, perfecting the art of vanishing without ever truly leaving the room.

Alhaitham watched them with narrowed eyes, noting the careful sweep of color along Dottore’s jaw—just enough makeup to hide the deepening bruise. He wondered at the silence about it. No grand threats, no official complaint, nothing. Maybe Dottore was too arrogant to admit he’d been struck down in a drunken stupor. Or maybe he was simply embarrassed. Hard to tell with someone so practiced at pretending control was effortless.

The moment came as expected. The music slowed.

Then the king raised his glass, expression warm but faintly tight at the corners. He cleared his throat, and the room hushed with automatic precision. “To peace,” he began, “and to the binding of two great minds, two great nations, and a future forged in harmony.”

A few guests tilted their heads, murmuring politely. The king’s gaze shifted to the center of the ballroom. “To the formal engagement of Prince Kaveh of Sumeru,” the king declared, voice rich with emotion, “and diplomatic consultant Doctor Il Dottore.”

He raised his glass higher, the smile on his face wide now full of pride, as if he truly believed this was a celebration and not a sentence. “The future of our nation,” he said, voice clear and full of purpose, “depends not only on diplomacy, but on unity. And tonight, we take the first step toward that unity and not through war, not through silence, but through alliance, brilliance, and love.”

The king turned toward the couple at the center of the ballroom, his eyes shining with emotion that felt just a little too practiced.  “My son, my pride and joy, stands here tonight not as a child of the court, but as a foundation for Sumeru’s future. And I could not have chosen a more worthy partner to guide him than the esteemed Doctor Dottore.”

There was a pause before the applause started. It swelled slowly, echoing through the hall like a wav.

Alhaitham’s jaw tensed.

Beside Kaveh, Dottore leaned in, his smile all teeth and no warmth. “Smile for them, my prince,” he murmured, his lips brushing far too close to Kaveh’s temple.

And Kaveh did. Only barely. A curl of the lips.

“As tradition dictates,” the king said, voice calm and even, “the betrothed will now open the floor with the first royal dance.”

Chairs scraped. Murmurs rippled. It was the expected prelude, a hushed acknowledgment of the next act. As musicians raised their instruments, the first smooth, composed notes filled the air. The dance began.

Kaveh stepped forward with the practiced grace of someone who had done this before, who had learned that sometimes, silence and show were all you had. He let Dottore take his hand without protest. Let him place a hand on his waist. Let him lead without a word.

Alhaitham couldn’t look away.

Kaveh was dressed in gold. His outfit was high-collared, lined with silk, and layered with sheer mesh stitched through with metallic thread. Thin chains shimmered in his hair, woven through curls pinned so tightly they didn’t move. Garnet earrings caught the light like drops of blood, and cuffs circled his wrists—delicate in design, but impossible to miss.

It was beautiful. Masterfully tailored. Unforgiving.

But it wasn’t Kaveh.

The outfit had been styled the way they always dressed those labeled “hard to flatter” , meant to pull attention away from the face, tailored to fake grace, adorned with enough jewelry to distract rather than enhance. Every detail is carefully chosen. Polished. Controlled. As if to declare: look, now he’s acceptable.

But Kaveh had never needed that kind of help. He was striking by nature—radiant in the way he moved, in the way he spoke, in the way he refused to yield. There was nothing that needed fixing.

And yet, they’d softened him. Smoothed the edges. Dimmed the light.

Everything about how he looked tonight said one thing clearly: here is something precious that no longer belongs to itself.

Ease defined his steps as he moved through the dance, each one smooth, meticulously measured. But the life had drained from it. His expression was a blank slate, too perfectly still. Though the rhythm and posture seemed flawless, an unsettling wrongness permeated his every action. This wasn't his movement. It was a careful ghost of himself, too hushed, eyes fixed downwards, never searching, never connecting.

You were so much more alive four nights ago, Alhaitham thought, the memory settling in his chest like a bruise. Breathless. Shaking. When you were beneath me, whispering my name like it was the only thing you had left.

And Dottore, beside him now, hadn’t moved his hand from Kaveh’s waist. His grip was just tight enough to command, just loose enough to go unnoticed. He said nothing. His presence alone was a claim: mine.

But you were never mine or his to begin with, you are your own.

“I think you’ll kill him with your eyes if you keep staring like that,” Dehya murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth. “Though personally, I wouldn’t mind.”

She stepped up beside him, and even without looking, Alhaitham felt her presence—warm and hard to ignore. She wore deep red and black, an off-shoulder dress that clung to her waist before spilling into sweeping folds that shifted like fire when she moved. Gold circled her neck and wrists, and a thin chain crossed her collarbone, catching the light just enough to draw the eye lower. She was striking. Effortless. The kind of beauty that pulled attention without needing to ask.

And everyone noticed. Men. Women. Foreign officials. Courtiers and diplomats and guests who should’ve known better. All of them stole glances — some bold, others hungry — but none of them got so much as a glance back.

Because Dehya was watching the same thing Alhaitham was. The dance.

A new presence broke through the murmuring crowd, subtly shifting the currents of scent around them. Sharp desert sage. Then, something softer, more complex, damp earth and a faint, agitated floral. Cyno and Tighnari. Cyno, clad in formal cream and black, moved with an easy, silent grace that belied the tension in his shoulders. Tighnari, a step behind him, wore dark, understated formal wear cut to flatter his slim frame, the fabric catching just enough light to hint at green undertones, a silver necklace at his throat subtle but precise. His hands were clasped loosely in front of him, his usual composure warring with a worried flicker in his emerald eyes. They stopped near Alhaitham, their gazes, like everyone else's, drawn to the dancing pair.

"He looks miserable," Tighnari said, a quiet, almost choked sound. His eyes, fixed on Kaveh, were wide with pain, the kind of knowing agony only an Omega could feel for another. "He's fading."

And I'm doing nothing.  

Cyno didn't speak. He simply met Alhaitham's gaze. There was no outright challenge, just a heavy, appraising look that spoke volumes of his judgment. The question hung in the air between them, unspoken but clear: Are you truly going to let this happen?

As if I haven't been asking myself that very question for weeks. He already was looking, didn’t need to be told because how do you look away from someone like Kaveh? When he moves like light through stained glass, when every glance feels like something half-remembered in a dream?

No. Some people, you don’t look away from.

Even when you should. Specially when you should.

But they were right. Kaveh’s smile, the one that always came too easily, too brightly — was nowhere to be seen. His lips were parted, slightly, as if he was trying to breathe through it. His eyes didn’t focus on anything. Even when Dottore turned him with a graceful flourish, Kaveh didn’t meet his gaze. He just followed. Like a doll wound up and set on display.

Dehya exhaled, the sound soft—closer to a sigh than anything else. “I used to envy him, you know,” she said, eyes still on the couple in the center of the room. “The way he could walk into a space and shift the whole atmosphere without even meaning to. That light in him… it was impossible to ignore.”

She paused, the words catching in her throat.

“But now,” she went on, quieter, “it feels like we’re watching a candle burn down to the wick. And the worst part? He’s letting it happen. Like he’s already decided there’s nothing left to save.”

Alhaitham’s hands curled slowly at his sides, his fists tightening against the uselessness of it all. The logical part of his mind presented options, cold and sterile, none of them good, all of them costing more than he dared to tally. The parameters were set. The variables accounted for. There was no solution. 

"You've been analyzing this," Tighnari's voice was quieter, his hand flexed at his side, subtle but restless. "Running every angle. But what about him , Alhaitham? How long do you think he can hold on like this?"

"And what exactly do you propose?" Alhaitham's voice was low, brittle. He finally tore his gaze from Kaveh to Tighnari, sharper than he meant.  "A grand rescue? A diplomatic incident that sparks a war and brings Sumeru’s wrath down on this entire nation? You think I haven't run those scenarios a hundred times? Tell me the alternative, then. Give me the option that doesn't end with more blood on the ledger, or his head, or... that doesn't lead us to the same damned conclusion."

Tighnari flinched, but his eyes hardened. "So that's the only cost you calculate? Blood, war, and political fallout?" He gestured sharply back towards Kaveh with his chin. "He's already losing himself! What about that cost, Alhaitham? What is 'everything' to you? A few treaties? Your reputation? Your life ?"

"My life is irrelevant!" Alhaitham cut him off, the word a dangerous rumble, barely contained fury in his eyes, fury at his own helplessness. "You don't understand the complexities here. The... leverage involved. The impossibility of it." He could feel the bitter truth burning his tongue, the hypocrisy choking him. He doesn't need to understand. He can't. Not if I want to spare them the horror of my true purpose.

The wedding was too close. Every day had passed like sand through cracked fingers, and now they stood here, Kaveh, radiant and silent; Dottore, grinning like the crown was already on his hand and Alhaitham just… watching. Useless.

A beat passed. "He knows," Dehya stated, her tone firm, catching his eye. "Maybe not fully, not out loud, but he knows what's happening to him. We can't just stand here. There has to be something ."

His jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Something. Yes. Something impossible. Something that defies every calculation.

Cyno finally broke his silence, his voice flat, low, and utterly certain. "Say the word. Any word. We're ready."

The music continued, soft and elegant, a cruel contrast to the weight in his chest.

Alhaitham turned to them, his expression unreadable, a carefully constructed mask over the chaos inside. “There’s nothing we can do,” he said, quietly, like he wasn’t just saying it to them but to himself, too. He’d gone over it a hundred times and hated the answer every single time. It was the only logical conclusion, the only one that preserved any semblance of their world. But Archons, how he loathed it.

"Nothing?" Tighnari’s voice was sharp with disbelief, a desperate edge to it. "We could run . All of us. Disappear. The desert is vast, the borders are porous, and we have enough connections to vanish if we work together."

"Run where?" Alhaitham’s reply was quiet but firm, the edge dulled by exhaustion. "And for how long? Do you think Sumeru’s reach doesn't extend beyond these borders? Do you think they wouldn't simply replace Kaveh with another puppet, leaving him hunted, us fugitives, and this nation vulnerable?"

"We'd be alive," Dehya interjected, her gaze unwavering. "Kaveh would be alive. And free."

"You're awfully sure it won't work out," Cyno finally spoke, his voice low, a challenge rather than a question. 

"Because there isn't one that doesn't lead to a worse outcome," Alhaitham countered, his eyes flickering for the barest fraction of a second to a distant point beyond the hall, a thought he kept locked tight. He bit back the rest, the unspoken truth a bitter pill in his throat. Because there are certain... obligations. Certain lives intertwined. Too vulnerable to expose to this kind of chaos. Too precious to risk. It was a variable they couldn't know, a secret he couldn't expose.

Unless Eliane dies.

No.

Dehya stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. Tighnari looked away, a pained expression crossing his face, his lower lip trembling, his gaze drawn back to the dance with a renewed, desperate ache. Cyno, however, held Alhaitham’s gaze, his jaw tight, refusing to yield.

“So that’s it?” Dehya said, the words barely above a whisper. “You’re saying the only way Kaveh gets out of this… is death?”

Her eyes were glassy, and for a second it looked like she might say more, might fight it but her voice faltered at the edge, trembling just enough to betray her.

He didn’t respond. Just…silence. A silence that stretched too long, that confirmed what he wouldn’t admit out loud.

Because in the back of his mind, where logic lived alongside things he didn’t want to feel, the truth had been there for weeks now. A single, impossible conclusion.

Yes.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The applause faded gradually, replaced by the soft clinking of glass and the low murmur of conversation threading through the room. The orchestra shifted, their melody deepening into something slower, more solemn—the kind of music meant to signal the start of something important.

The king stepped forward with practiced ease, lifting one hand to quiet the room. He didn’t need to speak loudly as his presence alone pulled the air taut. “As is our custom,” he began, “we now begin the ceremony that shall bind not only two names, but the hopes of nations. A union of legacy, intellect, and blood.”

The words settled heavily across the hall, measured and final. Then slowly he turned his head to  the pair at the center of the room.

To Kaveh and Dottore.

And he nodded.

Dottore gave a slight bow, smooth and practiced, then reached for Kaveh’s hand and took it again. His touch looked gentle to the crowd, but there was pressure behind it—just enough to make it clear who was in control. Kaveh didn’t pull away.

There… was a detail he hadn’t noticed before.

The collar.

No silk or lace here. Only metal—darkened steel, smooth and tight against Kaveh's throat, snatching cold glints from the chandelier with unnerving precision. It bore no ornaments, no softening edges, nothing to disguise its intent. Just a single clasp at the back, undeniably a lock.

Alhaitham's breath hitched, sharp and uneven. A bitter heat, like bile, flooded his throat. His gaze locked onto the steel, impossible to tear away even as the room hummed around them. Laughter rippled. Glasses chimed. Conversations flowed as if the very air hadn't just turned to ice. No one flinched. No one turned. No one dared to truly see.

But he did. He saw it.

Dottore's gloved hand moved, turning Kaveh to fasten the collar. Kaveh's body yielded, and his eyes, wide and raw with barely contained terror, snapped to Alhaitham's. For a second, a desperate understanding surged between them. Their gaze held, fierce and aching; Kaveh's eyes clung to his, Alhaitham's stare his only anchor in a world without footing.

Dottore then slowly turned Kaveh beneath the chandelier light, one hand firm at the small of his back, guiding him like he owned the floor. With practiced showmanship, Dottore lifted Kaveh's hand as if displaying a treasure to the room. Kaveh followed, fluid and precise, moving like someone desperately trying not to fall apart.

And then, as they passed near the king’s dais, Alhaitham heard it—low and measured, wrapped in the same polished tone Dottore used for speeches.

“My prince,” Dottore murmured, just loud enough for those watching to hear. “Must be protected.” His hand slid lightly across the back of Kaveh’s collar, fingers brushing the metal like it was familiar.

“To protect what’s mine.”

Kaveh didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look up. But Alhaitham saw the way his throat moved, like he’d swallowed something sharp.

A cold, sickening twist seized Alhaitham's chest. Something inside him simply snapped. He stumbled back, a step and then another, his shoulder scraping against a startled guest.

“Watch it,” a voice hissed, followed by the rustle of a fan.

“Smells… off in here,” a woman murmured nearby, her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Rotten, almost.” The air was suddenly thick with it—the sour, metallic stench of his own unravelling panic. It bled from him, rank and undeniable.

The party’s noise pressed in from all sides, a deafening cacophony of clinking glasses, shrill laughter, and polite applause that blurred into meaningless static. The world narrowed to a single, horrifying focus: the polished metal of that collar. The glint of a lock. The frozen, unmoving smile on Kaveh’s face.

Another voice, a woman sighing dreamily, cut through the blur like a razor. “Beautiful, isn’t he?”

Alhaitham didn’t speak. He couldn’t blink. His breath sawed in his lungs, his world shrinking down to that terrible sight.

Because everyone saw the metal.

They just refused to see the chain.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

He found him on the balcony.

The stars were out — pale, distant, disinterested things. Their light touched the marble but offered no warmth. The wind moved lazily, tugging at the ends of Kaveh’s hair as he leaned against the railing, elbows pressed to cold stone, head slightly bowed.

A half-full glass dangled from his fingers, the wine inside as dark as blood.

“You’re here,” Kaveh said without turning. “Was I followed,” he murmured, “or was I generously granted an hour of supervised freedom to pretend I still have thoughts of my own?”

He lifted the glass slightly, watching the liquid sway.

“Should I be grateful? They even let me keep the collar on. Lovely touch, don’t you think? Really completes the look.” He laughed under his breath, short and flat. “All that silk and gold, and they still thought I’d look best in steel.”

Alhaitham stepped closer, but not too close. “You’re drunk.”

There was no reprimand in it. Just observation.

Kaveh gave a crooked smile, glass tilting slightly in his hand. “Of course I am. It’s the only thing they didn’t tighten around my throat.”

He turned slightly, just enough for Alhaitham to see the edge of his face. The kohl around his eyes had begun to smudge — not from tears, but from time. From exhaustion. His smile when it came was crooked, real, and already unraveling.

He swirled the wine, watching it cling to the glass before glancing down at the collar. “Everything else was arranged. The clothes, the choreography, the smile. Even how obedient I’m supposed to look while being paraded around like a well-kept pet.”

His voice dropped, quieter now, but sharper, like he wanted the words to cut. “They want me to be pliant. Pretty. Slicked down and spread the moment someone crooks a finger. I’m not a person to them tonight, Alhaitham. I’m a hole with a crown. And this—” he tapped the collar, metal clicking under his nail, “—just makes it official. Easier to drag me where they want me. Easier to fuck something when it already knows its place.”

The glass tilted lazily in his hand, lips curving in a bitter, mocking smile. “Isn’t that what an omega is for?”

He took a drink, then looked over, eyes sharp under the lashes. “They dressed me like a prince. Collared me like a whore.”

The words hadn’t even finished leaving his mouth before Alhaitham closed the distance.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice low and furious. “Don’t you dare say that again.”

Kaveh turned, blinking slowly, but Alhaitham wasn’t done. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides like they were the only things keeping him from tearing something apart.

“I don’t care what they dressed you in, what collar they put on you, or what roles they want you to play. But if you ever talk about yourself like that again like you’re nothing, I will tear this entire place down and make every bastard in that room choke on their titles.”

He stepped in, closer than he should’ve, voice a breath away from breaking. “Let them think about what they want. But you don’t get to believe it. You don’t get to help them destroy you .”

Kaveh scoffed, a sharp, tired sound that barely passed for laughter. Kaveh’s fingers loosened around the glass, the wind tugged at strands of his hair, pulling them from behind his ear. The stars above shimmered faintly in the wine at the bottom of the glass, forming a dark, still shape in his hand.

Kaveh’s gaze dropped to the courtyard. The hedges and marble paths were perfectly trimmed, laid out in neat, decorative patterns that led nowhere.

“Did you know,” he murmured, “if you fall from the second spire, your body won’t be found for days?”

Alhaitham’s pulse stopped short.

Kaveh didn’t look at him. His voice remained level — soft and strange, like he was reading blueprints instead of talking about his own death.

“It’s the way the structure’s built. Decorative recesses, closed garden walls, sealed stairwells beneath the east wing. No patrols. No sightlines. If you land right… you just vanish into design flaws.”

Alhaitham stepped closer. His voice was low. Steady. “That’s not funny. ”

“It’s not a joke,” Kaveh replied. He blinked once, slowly. “Just… geometry.”

Then he laughed. Quietly. A breathless sound, almost too light to register.

There was a pause. And then:

“Do you think I’ll still be pretty in death?”

He turned his head just enough to glance at Alhaitham. His eyes glassy. Looking at it made Alhaitham angry.

No, furious.

He moved before he thought, closing the space between them in a few quick steps. His hand caught Kaveh’s shoulder, firm and unthinking, and he turned him around with a force that startled even himself.

Kaveh blinked, still holding the glass, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he let out a soft, almost dazed laugh.

Alhaitham didn’t speak. His hands were already at Kaveh’s neck, working blindly.

He searched for the clasp, the edge, anything that might give. His fingers moved fast, rough with urgency, breath coming hard. But there was no release. No latch. Just a lock at the back, sunk deep into the metal, smooth and silent.

Kaveh tilted his head a little, like a puppet offering its throat.

“My fiancé has the key,” he said. His voice was soft. Light. Detached. Kaveh’s eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, there was no performance. No smile. Just a quiet, brittle understanding between them.

“You can’t undo what you don’t own,” he added. “But thanks for trying.”

‘’You are not something to be owned’’ Alhaitham hisses, wide eyed.

Kaveh flinched, breath catching audibly. His eyes shone wet in the moonlight but he didn’t look away. His lips parted, working soundlessly before pressing into a tight line.

Alhaitham’s voice dropped, low and rough. “You don’t deserve that. Any of it.” He swallowed hard. “Tell me you know that.”

Kaveh let out a sound—half-laugh, half-sob. His fingers trembled as he wiped at his face. “Does it matter if I do?”

Alhaitham’s jaw clenched. His own hands shook before he forced them still. “It matters to me.”

Kaveh’s gaze dropped to the floor between them. He didn’t answer. His breath was uneven, shoulders hitching like he was fighting something in his chest.

They stood in silence for a beat, the wind cold against damp lashes.

Then Kaveh pushed away from the railing, voice too bright, breaking around the edges. “Come on. Dance with me.”

“What?”

“Practice,” Kaveh said, stepping closer. “For the wedding. Just once.”

Alhaitham didn’t move at first. Then, because something in him refused to stay still, he reached out and held out his hand.

Kaveh took it.

He stepped forward, unsteady, his grip loose, the other hand resting lightly at Alhaitham’s shoulder. There was no grace in the way he moved. His body felt disconnected, like he was following steps he no longer remembered. Silk brushed against wool, breath coming out of rhythm, each movement slightly off.

The music from the ballroom drifted through the stone, faint and distant. It wasn’t the right song for this. Too polished. Too composed.

Still, Kaveh kept going.

He turned under Alhaitham’s hand, feet dragging just enough to throw them off. His shoulder bumped clumsily against Alhaitham’s chest. The steps were uneven, his balance slipping. Silk caught at Alhaitham’s boots, and for a moment, it felt like Kaveh didn’t know where he ended or where the rest of the world began.

Then he laughed.

Not light, not warm. Just a sharp sound pushed out on uneven breath. He stumbled again, and the laugh came louder, brittle at the edges. It didn’t stop. Short, clipped bursts followed one after the other, rising too fast, too high. His chest shook with it, each breath thinner than the last.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Alhaitham’s collarbone. The laughter spilled against his neck, too fast, too forced. “Stars,” Kaveh gasped between laughs, his voice shaking. “Can you believe—can you believe they clapped?”

Alhaitham said nothing, his arms tense.

Another laugh tore out of Kaveh, sharper now. “Like I was lucky. Like I should thank them.”

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham said quietly, his hand rising, unsure where to rest it. “Hey—look at me. Are you—”

Kaveh let out another breathless burst of laughter, this one almost a cough. “Do I look grateful enough now?”

The sound faltered. Caught in his throat. His body went rigid.

“Kaveh?” Alhaitham tried again, firmer this time.

But the laughter twisted, broke, and slipped into something else entirely—a quiet, cracked sob against Alhaitham’s shoulder.

He clung to Alhaitham’s coat like it was the last solid thing in the world, fists curled tight, knuckles white, shaking with every breath. A sob ripped out of him, then another, louder, harsher, until he folded forward, burying himself against Alhaitham’s chest as if he could vanish inside it. His body trembled violently, breath coming in sharp, broken pulls that barely made it past his teeth.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he gasped, voice cracking. “I don’t want to wake up.”

Another sob, strangled and raw, tore through him. “I don’t care if I die. I’d rather it. Anything’s better than this.”

The words fell heavy, too honest, too final.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered. “I just want it to stop. I want to stop.”

He tried to say something — a half-formed word, a whisper, maybe a name — but it dissolved into another sob, messier than the last. His knees buckled with it, and that was all it took.

Alhaitham caught him before he could fall.

One arm wrapped tight around Kaveh’s waist, hauling him in with more force than grace. The other pressed firm between his shoulder blades, palm spread wide, anchoring him like he could physically hold the pieces together just by touch alone. Kaveh’s forehead dropped against his collarbone, face turned in, tears soaking into the seam of his coat.

He felt Kaveh claw once at his chest — a clumsy, frantic movement, like he couldn’t see, like he was reaching for a railing in the dark — before his fingers curled into the fabric again and held on. Tight. Desperate.

He was still crying.

Loud, shuddering sobs that ripped through him, the kind that didn’t care who heard. His whole body shook with it, shoulders jerking, chest heaving against Alhaitham’s. There was nothing dignified left in it. Nothing royal. Only a person—wrecked, unraveling, and real.

And Alhaitham held him.

Tighter.

Kaveh looked up, face blotched with tears, eyes wide and pleading through the blur. His lips parted, voice raw and broken.

“Please…” he breathed. “Just kill me.”

Alhaitham froze.

“Please, Statue,” Kaveh whispered again, quieter now, like saying the name might soften the weight of what he was asking. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be this.”

His forehead dropped against Alhaitham’s collarbone again, the words trembling on his breath.

“Break me. Make it stop.”

Alhaitham bowed his head slightly, letting his forehead rest against the top of Kaveh’s. His hand slid slowly up and down his spine, not soothing exactly — just there . Present. As if his body had decided to stay before his mind could.

Alhaitham blinked once.

And realized his own face was wet.

He didn’t notice the tears until they slid down his face, catching at his jaw, warm against skin that had gone numb. That’s when he felt it fully—the burn in his throat, the weight in his chest, the ache he hadn’t been able to name until now.

And when it hit, it wasn’t slow.

It tore clean through him.

Like something tearing loose inside his ribs. Like the air leaving his lungs all at once. Like falling, and knowing you’d jumped willingly.

He loved Kaveh.

Madly.

Not in the way you write poetry about.  But in the way that consumes . In the way that claws at your insides and doesn’t let go.

To the point of ruin. To the point where he would burn for it, bleed for it. To the point of ruin. To the point of death.

His. Or Kaveh’s.

He couldn’t tell the difference anymore. 

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since the engagement party.

Alhaitham felt drained. He sat in his room, the dim lamplight casting long, tired shadows across the walls. A book lay open in his hands, the words blurring and sliding off the page no matter how many times he forced himself to focus. He realized, with a hollow sort of resignation, that he’d read the same paragraph four times over without grasping a single line.

He let the book fall shut with a dull thud, exhaling slowly through his nose. He wished there were answers hidden in those pages, some precise, elegant solution that would make sense of this nightmare. He wished selfishly, desperately that it was all just a bad dream, that he would wake in his own bed in Fontaine, with no blood debts, no impossible choices, no Kaveh.

Kaveh.

He should stay away. That would be the logical thing to do. Distance would protect them both—minimize the risk, the collateral damage. But he couldn’t.

Because nothing had changed. Nothing he’d done had made this better. The order still hung over him like a guillotine’s blade, waiting for the quiet moment to fall. He hadn’t saved anyone. He hadn’t bought them time. All he’d done was build a fragile little lie they could both hide inside.

And wasn’t that the cruelest part?

He, the man who prided himself on clarity, on reason, on cutting through illusion like a blade—now living in one of his own making. Pretending that if he didn’t speak the words, they wouldn’t come true. That if he held Kaveh close enough, long enough, the world would forget to take him away.

Since when did delusion become his reality?

A knight, reduced to superstition. A blade sworn to duty, pretending at comfort with the very life he was meant to end.

He had done nothing. Changed nothing .

And every breath they shared felt like theft from a future that would never arrive. This wasn’t a fairytale—it was reality. Sometimes there was nothing you could do, no matter how desperately you wished otherwise. How easy it would be, he thought, to be a character in one of his books: bound by plot, promised an ending. But here, there were no such assurances. Only choices. Only consequences .

He thought of the way Kaveh’s voice had broken in the dark. The way he’d looked at him, raw, ruined, eyes shimmering with the kind of pleading that carved itself into memory. Begging not for mercy or love, but for release. For death. A request Alhaitham had been ready to grant, his own hand prepared to become the final kindness in a world that had offered none.

Maybe—for both their sakes—it would be kinder to lie. To pretend. To let themselves believe, just for a moment, that they could be happy. That false hope might be cruel, but it was softer than the truth.

He kept running calculations in his mind, restless. Every plan collapsed under its own weight. Every route out ended in cost he wasn’t willing to tally.

He hated that.

Solutions were meant to be clear. Precise. But this was a mess that defied reason, all sharp edges and tangled motives. He pressed his fingers to his temple. There had to be an answer somewhere in the wreckage. Even if it wasn’t pretty. Even if it meant changing the shape of the problem itself.

He would think of something. He always did.

He sighed.

Thinking of Éliane was even worse.

He realized with a dull ache that he hadn’t written to her since he’d arrived in Sumeru. Too busy, too compromised, too ashamed to face the lie he lived every day. She deserved better than that.

He pushed away from the sofa, moved to his desk. The polished wood was scratched in places, ink-stained in one corner—proof that even here, he never truly escaped his work. He sat heavily, fingers brushing over the old fountain pen he always used for her letters.

He uncapped it, set a blank sheet of paper before him, and paused.

The words wouldn’t come.

For a long moment, he just sat there, pen hovering, eyes blank. Then he drew in a slow, steadying breath and began to write.
___________________________

Éliane,

It’s been too long since I last wrote. I expect you’ll have something smug to say about that. Don’t. I’m busy.

You’d be annoyed at this place. Too many useless formalities. Ceremonies for everything. Even eating is a performance. You’d ask too many questions, and they’d probably toss you in a locked library wing just to shut you up.

I hope you’re still reading. Don’t waste your time on easy books. Challenge yourself. I sent another list last time—at least try the geometry proofs. If you have questions, write them clearly. Your last letter looked like it was written by a spider.

Have you been practicing your drawings? You always said foxes were clever. The glasses were unnecessary, by the way. I don’t need your mockery in art form.

Eat properly. Don’t skip meals because you’re distracted. Don’t stay up so late you fall asleep on your notes. Tell your guardian you need more seaweed crackers if they’re rationing them like gold. I hope the weather’s tolerable.

I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.

Write back when you can. Don’t make me wait too long.

- A
___________________________

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The palace hadn’t slowed. If anything, it had only grown more frantic. Rooms filled with the scent of fresh-cut florals and the rustle of new silk, walls stripped and redraped, floors polished until they shone like water. Servants moved in practiced silence, some carrying scrolls or dishes, others bent over embroidery frames or crates of imported wine. The corridors buzzed with constant motion—too many voices, too many footsteps, and never enough rest. Messengers came and went at all hours, sleeves stained with ink, boots tracked with dust from the outer courts. The wedding was no longer on the horizon. It was closing in.

But the king was unsettled.

He wasn’t angry, atleast not openly. His voice remained soft. He still smiled at the right moments, nodded with the same deliberate calm. But the shift was there. Visible in the pauses that stretched too long, in the laughter that stopped short, in the quiet way he sometimes stared through a conversation without seeming to hear it. He spent more time alone. Stopped asking for his lute to be brought in the evenings. His attendants noticed. So did the guards.

And the palace staff had started whispering.

In kitchens and corners, behind garden walls and through half-closed doors. Because when even the kindest man in the empire begins to look haunted, people pay attention.

They spoke of late-night arguments and doors slammed shut. Of missing letters. Of someone overheard saying the wrong name at the wrong time. There were murmurs about lineage, too, something old and buried. Something not quite right. But no one dared to ask directly.

He remembered once the king had stopped mid-sentence to glance at him—just a flick of the eyes, but sharp enough to draw blood. The conversation had been about security measures, some idle politicking over wine. Alhaitham hadn’t even spoken, merely shifted in his position at a poorly veiled threat about “loyal service.” The king’s mouth had curved, not quite a smile. “Your opinion is noted, Sir Alhaitham,” he’d said, even though Alhaitham hadn’t given one.

The room had gone quiet in that careful, brittle way, courtiers hiding their discomfort behind goblets and folded fans. It had been enough of a warning without needing to be repeated.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Kaveh stood by the window, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a brush held loosely in one hand. The easel was set at an angle to catch the soft morning light, which stretched across the floor and into the quiet of the room. A tray of watercolors rested nearby, the cup beside it already tinged green.

He painted slowly, each stroke calm and focused. His back was straight but not stiff, his movements precise without feeling forced. His hair was loosely pinned, a few strands slipping free to brush against his cheek, catching the light as they moved.

He hadn’t said much all morning.

And Alhaitham hadn’t left.

They spoke, now and then. Brief, quiet conversations about paper stock, delivery schedules, a guard who misquoted a line in an official notice. Mundane things. Safe things. Never about the engagement party. Never about that night. And never about the collar—cold, unyielding, locked tight around Kaveh’s throat.

Alhaitham hadn’t asked.

Every time he saw it, something pulled hard in his chest. It wasn't just its meaning; it was the way it looked. The way it rested against Kaveh’s skin with such purpose, such undeniable weight. Smooth, polished, and impossible to ignore.

It made his hands itch, his chest tighten. He wanted it gone —wanted to tear it off, throw it into the sea, and forget it had ever existed.

He will find a way to unlock that wretched thing.

So he stayed quiet. Turned his head when the light hit the clasp just right. And hated that someone had looked at Kaveh and decided he was more beautiful restrained.

But still, they spoke.

That was something.

Alhaitham kept his eyes on the pages in his lap, but he hadn’t read a single line in ages, this was becoming an everyday thing now. The words had blurred, meaningless, every time Kaveh moved in the light. His brush swept in slow, careful strokes across the paper on the easel. Sunlight stretched across the floor and up his arms, catching in the loose strands of his hair like thread, gold where it touched. His fingers were stained green at the tips, lips parted slightly in concentration, brow furrowed just enough to show he was deep in thought, chasing something only he could see. And Alhaitham kept watching.

He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to. But he looked anyway. Again and again, drawn in by the quiet of him, the focus, the stillness that made everything else feel distant. Even now, subdued and silent, Kaveh carried a kind of light that seemed to pull the whole room toward him. He probably didn’t realize it. Didn’t know how hard it was to look away. Didn’t know he was so beautiful. Or maybe he did. Either way, it didn’t matter. Because Alhaitham couldn’t stop watching. 

He was all color and light and motion and stillness at once, and Alhaitham hated how familiar it felt now — how the room seemed to anchor around him, how everything else faded to the edges, how unbearable it was becoming to pretend he wasn’t the only thing Alhaitham saw when he looked toward the sun.

Even hollowed out by exhaustion, even with that tightness around his eyes and the quiet collapse he tried to hide behind perfect posture—he still drew Alhaitham in like gravity.

It wasn’t just the way his beauty lingered, unintentional and careless. It was his soul. The parts of him no one else seemed to notice lately.

The stubborn idealism. The unspoken ache. The way he still tried—less and less, but tried all the same.

Alhaitham had learned the shape of that soul by watching it slowly dim, and it broke something in him every time. And yet, pretending not to see it—not to feel it—had become the most unbearable thing of all.

Kaveh wasn’t just the brightest thing in the room anymore.

He was the one thing Alhaitham couldn’t stop looking for in the dark.

“What are you drawing?” Alhaitham asked quietly, eyes still on him.

Kaveh didn’t look up. His brush moved steadily, but a faint flush had crept into his cheeks. “Just something I’d like to build,” he said, voice low. “If I ever get the chance. Probably in a dream.”

The sketch was of a house. Not grand or ornate, but warm and welcoming, settled gently into a bed of green. Its roof sloped with age, the lines soft and natural, while ivy and pale Padisarah vines climbed the walls. A small stone path led to the front door, winding through leafy clusters that seemed to invite you in.

Peach trees flanked the walkway, their branches heavy with fruit and scattered petals. Green flowers, thick-petaled and calm in color, lined the edges of the house as if they belonged there, framing windows and railings in quiet harmony.

Alhaitham stepped closer, eyes scanning the lines of the sketch. “Where would it be?” he asked. “Somewhere in the city?”

Kaveh shook his head, not slowing his strokes. “No. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere no one knows anything.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer, watching as Kaveh added detail to the padisarah curling along the windowsill. Alhaitham felt his heart beating faster. 

“And the flowers?” he asked after a moment. “They’re not native. They’d never survive the climate.”

“They’d grow,” Kaveh said, voice steady. “If they had space. Sunlight. The right hands.”

“That’s not how soil works,” Alhaitham said, brow furrowing.

Kaveh finally looked up, eyes meeting his for a beat too long, the faintest smile at his lips—tired, a little sad. “It will,” he said. “If I built it right. If it worked out.”

Alhaitham noticed.

He saw the second chair on the porch, pushed just so it faced the view Kaveh liked best. He noticed the extra plate left out on the small table by the window, the gentle care in its arrangement despite being unused. He took in every quiet mark of intention—of hope.

It struck him like a blade.

He could see it then. Too easily. A life Kaveh was trying to sketch in faint lines, warm nights with both of them reading in silence, Kaveh’s laughter coming from the garden, their shoes tangled by the door. He pictured children, though he’d never dared before—small hands tugging at Kaveh’s robes, Kaveh kneeling to smooth their hair, eyes bright with that fierce, exasperated love he gave so freely to everything he built.

And he’d be there too, if Kaveh wanted it. If Kaveh chose. Alhaitham would carry them both if he had to, because it would be their family. If Kaveh wanted. It was his body, his life to decide. Alhaitham would never demand it—but he’d give anything just to be allowed to hope.

His chest tightened painfully.

Because he understood now, in the quiet of this room, that Kaveh had imagined it. Even knowing it would possibly never come true, Kaveh had let himself dream. He’d set a second chair, left an extra plate, built that small fantasy in a corner of a house that wasn’t really theirs.

Alhaitham felt the break start slow and deep in his heart. He’d given Kaveh that false hope. He’d been selfish enough to encourage it with touches, with glances, with all the words he refused to speak out loud. He’d carved out this space between them where a future could live, even as he knew it would die.

Because he was only human. He didn’t know how to stay away. He dragged in a quiet breath, eyes fixed on that empty chair. It was such a simple thing. Such a devastating thing.

Kaveh deserved so much better.

Alhaitham’s fingers flexed helplessly at his sides. I would have given you everything, he thought, savage with grief he’d never show. If there was time. If we’d had time.

But there wasn’t.

But we can pretend.

“Why is the king upset?”

Kaveh shrugged.

Alhaitham’s mouth opened again, hesitation flickering at the edge of his voice. “The king’s been… off.” Kaveh didn’t respond, just dipped his brush into a muted green and dragged it gently along the curve of a flower stem.

“He’s usually so content,” Alhaitham went on. “Smiling at every diplomat. Handing out blessings like sweets. Now he barely finishes his sentences.”

Kaveh shrugged, not looking up. “Maybe he’s just tired.”

“He’s never tired,” Alhaitham said, a little sharper than intended. “He’s always humming. Always finding something to praise, even if it’s just the way someone pours his tea. And now he looks like someone stole the sun out of the sky.” He exhaled through his nose, “The king used to say he liked that I was quiet. Called it refreshing.” He paused, then added flatly, “Now he’s mad I don’t talk enough.”

Kaveh’s brush paused mid-stroke. He didn’t look up right away, just tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on the canvas like it held the last of his patience. “Oh, stars,” he muttered. “The statue speaks—and about feelings, no less. Should I alert the palace? Start a parade?”

Alhaitham rolled his eyes, already turning away, but before he could reply, a knock sounded at the door. 

The door cracked open.

A beta staffer peeked in, nervous, with the look of someone sent to deliver a message they didn’t understand. “Forgive the intrusion,” he said with a bow, “but… Prince Kavi has arrived.”

Alhaitham blinked. Slowly. His mind, usually a fortress of logic, stuttered.

“Prince Kavi?”

Prince?

Alhaitham blinked. Slowly. Again, then, as if hoping the words might rearrange themselves into something sensible.

“Prince Kavi?” he repeated flatly. “I’m sorry— Prince ?”

Kaveh’s eyes widened, just for a moment — a flash of surprise. Then, almost casually, he said, “Ah. Right.”

He set the water brush down gently, then reached for the others and placed them aside with the same quiet care. His hands moved with practiced calm, but his voice was flat. “I forgot to mention. My father has a bastard son.”

Alhaitham stared at him like he’d just announced the moon had collapsed. “What.”

The beta cleared his throat, voice smaller now. “The king has summoned you, your Highness.”

Kaveh stood with a sigh, brushing black powder from his fingers. “Of course he has.”

What.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The corridor outside the royal chambers was quiet, lined with guards who straightened slightly at the sight of Alhaitham and Kaveh approaching. The scent of zaytun peach clung faintly to Kaveh, soft and familiar, and his collar caught the light with every step—barely visible beneath the high fold of his robe, but Alhaitham saw it. He always saw it.

They stopped at the door. Kaveh didn’t knock. He simply exhaled and pushed it open.

Inside, the air felt tight.

The king was pacing—slow, sharp turns like a man trying not to shout. His hands were clasped behind his back, but his shoulders were tense, his mouth already mid-sentence.

“—and I don’t know who the hell told you this was appropriate. You think showing up here makes you wanted? Needed?” The words lashed through the air with no restraint. “You’re not part of this. You never were.” He sounded irritated rather than menacing—like a man inconvenienced at being forced to acknowledge something he’d rather ignore.

Pathetic.

The young man standing near the window flinched. He looked like he’d been trying to make himself smaller—shoulders pulled in, eyes down. His clothes were well-fitted, plain but expensive. His face… familiar in a way that felt wrong. A neutral, subdued scent lingered around him, the kind that marked him unmistakably as a Beta.

Good genes, Alhaitham thought absently. Strong jaw. Clean posture, brown long hair. But that’s all it was. The resemblance to the king was shallow.

He wasn’t Kaveh.

Kaveh, who walked like light bent towards him. Kaveh, whose presence felt like architecture and sunlight. Kaveh, who was too still now.

The man— Kavi , Alhaitham guessed—opened his mouth to speak, something quiet and uncertain already forming, but the king cut him off without looking. “You weren’t summoned. You weren’t wanted.”

It felt absurd, almost comical in its pettiness. The king, perched on his oversized chair like it conferred wisdom, scolding a child for having the audacity to exist.

Why even have an affair at all, Alhaitham thought flatly. Why bother if you’re going to throw such a tantrum about the consequences?

Kaveh stepped forward, voice gentle but clear. “You called for me, Papa?”

The king turned, and everything about him changed. His face softened, his posture eased. “Kaveh,” he said, warm now, almost relieved. “My son.” He crossed the room in a few steps and took Kaveh’s hand briefly, as though everything behind him hadn’t just happened.

“I called you because… I thought you should see your brother,” he said. “You haven’t spoken in some time.”

Kaveh didn’t react right away, but something in him went still. His gaze lowered for half a second, the corners of his mouth too neutral to be natural. It wasn’t confusion or discomfort—just a heaviness that settled in quiet, practiced silence.

Alhaitham noticed, even if no one else did.

Kavi straightened a little, as if trying to find footing. “I came for the wedding,” he said quietly. “I thought… I should be here.”

The king sighed, long and weary, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “We have to keep up appearances. I didn’t invite him, but he’s here now, and we can’t afford the whispers it would stir if we turned him away.”

Kaveh looked at his father, then at Kavi. “He’s not a scandal,” he said gently. “You don’t have to talk about him like he’s a mistake standing in the hall.”

The king shot him a glance, jaw tightening. “You don’t understand the pressure this family is under.”

“I understand enough,” Kaveh replied, still calm.

Kavi stepped forward, cautious, careful. “I’m not here to interfere. I didn’t come for politics. I just… I thought maybe I could watch from a distance. That would be enough.”

His voice didn’t waver, but there was something raw in it, something fragile.

“I never said you could stay,” the king snapped, voice sharp again. “You’ve had your quiet little life elsewhere—why now?”

Kaveh cut in before Kavi could respond. “Because it’s my wedding. And maybe he thought it mattered.”

The silence that followed wasn’t tense, but brittle.

The king looked like an idiot. Ranting red-faced about propriety while ignoring the fact he’d made the mess himself. Shouting about who belonged while refusing to admit he was the reason the man was even there.

Alhaitham stood off to the side, trying to follow the lines being drawn in front of him. He didn’t know this version of the king—cold, short-tempered, wound tight like a string pulled too far. He didn’t know this brother either, this quiet man with familiar eyes who looked like he was always preparing to be dismissed.

What the hell was going on?

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The room was quiet, late afternoon light slanting across the floor and pooling over soft cushions and scattered papers. Kaveh sat cross-legged in front of the low table, his robe slipping slightly off one shoulder, hair unpinned and tumbling over his back. Dehya was behind him, absently combing through the waves with slow, uneven strokes.

Dehya looked soft, but distant—brows drawn, eyes unfocused, her fingers fidgeting at the handle of the comb even as they moved through Kaveh’s hair with mechanical care.

“You know, I was thinking of adding a terrace to the east side,” Kaveh said lightly, trying to fill the silence. “Something with columns, maybe draped ivy. What do you think?”

“Mmhmm,” Dehya murmured, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

“Ivy, though. Not wisteria. I’d rather not spend my mornings sweeping petals.”

“Right, yeah. Petals,” she said vaguely, comb snagging on a knot.

Kaveh flinched. “ Ow— hey!” He twisted around, scowling at her. “Are you combing or skinning me alive?”

Dehya blinked, like she’d just realized where she was. “Sorry. Sorry.” She eased her grip, finally registering the death glare aimed her way. “I was thinking.”

“Oh? About flowers or my sudden scalp exfoliation?”

She ignored that, brushing more gently now, though her fingers still twitched at her sides. Her mind was clearly somewhere else. Probably plotting something. Which, knowing Dehya, was either a rescue mission or a minor coup.

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. “You're being weird,” he muttered, dragging his fingers up to his neck and scratching absently at the skin beneath the collar.

Alhaitham, seated across from them with a book open in his lap, had been half-listening, half-reading. But his attention sharpened the moment he saw Kaveh do it again. The same gesture. Fingernails against skin, just under the edge of metal.

When Kaveh shifted slightly, the collar caught the light—and Alhaitham saw it. Just a glimpse, but enough. A strip of irritated skin, red and raw, disappearing under the polished steel.

His hand stilled on the page.

“Stop that,” Dehya said suddenly, reaching out to bat his hand away. She caught a clearer glimpse of his neck and hissed. “Shit.”

He set the book aside. “That looks painful,” he said flatly. “Stop touching it.”

Kaveh shot him a sharp look. “It itches,” he snapped. “What do you want me to do, ignore it until it bleeds?”

Alhaitham didn’t even blink. “Yes. Because scratching it will definitely make it bleed faster, you genius.”

Kaveh scoffed, fingers still hovering near the mark. “Oh, fantastic medical advice. What’s next, Doctor? Amputate my neck?”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow, dry as dust. “If it stops you from scratching your neck, I’ll consider it.”

Kaveh huffed. “Great. Brilliant. At least we both agree I’m a genius.”

“Misapplied genius,” Alhaitham corrected immediately. “You’re demonstrating it beautifully right now.”

Kaveh muttered something that sounded suspiciously like condescending bastard under his breath.

Dehya froze behind him. Just for a second. Her hands stilled mid-motion, comb hovering in the air, and her eyes flicked quickly between the two of them. Then she said it—too fast, too loud, voice pushed out in a rush like it had been waiting too long.

“I might have stolen the key,” she blurted. “And made a copy.”

Kaveh choked on his breath, coughing hard, one hand flying to his chest, his whole body jerking forward. His eyes watered as he wheezed out, “You what—? ”

Alhaitham could have kissed her. She had done more than he ever could, which, he admitted with a bitter twist, amounted to nothing.

He was already up. “Give it to me.”

She didn’t hesitate. From a pouch at her belt, Dehya pulled out a small, delicate key and dropped it into Alhaitham’s outstretched hand.

He didn’t thank her. Didn’t speak. He was already moving—crossing the space in two strides and dropping hard to one knee beside Kaveh, who was still doubled forward, coughing into his sleeve, breath shallow and ragged. His eyes were glassy from the strain, lips parted like he couldn’t catch his breath.

Alhaitham’s hands were anything but calm.

He reached for the collar with barely contained urgency, fingers fumbling for the seam at the back, tracing the edge until he found the lock. His breath hitched—just once—before he jammed the key into place, his grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white. The metal resisted for a fraction of a second. Then there was a faint click.

It loosened.

The collar gave with a slow release, the pressure finally gone. Alhaitham pulled it away and set it aside like it burned. He pulled it off gently. And froze. The skin beneath was angry, raw and red, a thin line of irritation running all around Kaveh’s neck.

Alhaitham flinched. Actually flinched.

So did Kaveh, as the first rush of cool air hit his skin. He shivered, breath catching, eyes wide and dazed as he looked at Alhaitham. His cheeks were flushed red—not from heat. 

Dehya stepped forward, her voice softer than it had been all day. “Help him.” She pressed a small tin into Alhaitham’s hand—light, cool, the metal smooth beneath his fingers. “Ointment,” she said. “I got it just in case.”

She hesitated for only a second before glancing at Kaveh, then at Alhaitham. “I’ve got… other things to take care of.”

And then she winked. A flicker of motion. She slipped out the door before either of them could speak.

The room quieted.

Kaveh was still watching him. Lips parted. Eyes too bright. Collarless.

Alhaitham looked down at the tin in his hand as if it had appeared there without warning. The lid was already turning under his fingers. Slowly, without thought. His body moved before his mind could catch up. There was a faint scent from the ointment—herbs, something sharp and clean—but his focus stayed locked on the lines of red against Kaveh’s neck.

Alhaitham’s fingers were careful, slower than they needed to be, as he smoothed the ointment across the angry red skin at Kaveh’s neck. The balm was cool, and Kaveh shivered again—not from the temperature, but from the touch. His breath hitched, barely audible, and Alhaitham paused just long enough to meet his eyes.

They didn’t look away.

Their faces were too close now. Alhaitham’s hand lingered near Kaveh’s collarbone, still lightly cupping his neck, and Kaveh’s gaze dropped to his lips, slow, uncertain. When he looked up again, his voice was soft, barely a question.

“…What are we doing?”

Alhaitham didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

Kaveh’s lips parted. His throat moved once, slow and deliberate, before he whispered, “It hurts.”

“Mm,” Alhaitham replied. And when Kaveh’s hand gently brushed his wrist, his voice dropped lower. “I know.”

“Everywhere,” Kaveh breathed, eyes fluttering shut.

Alhaitham set the tin aside without a word. His hand moved to Kaveh’s jaw, thumb brushing just beneath it, and he leaned in—forehead resting against Kaveh’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between.

“I know,” he said again, softer than before. As if saying it might make it bearable.

His gaze dropped to Kaveh’s lips and held there. Slowly, he reached up and tilted Kaveh’s chin with his fingers, careful not to brush the rash still raw around his neck. His touch was light, reverent, like he was afraid Kaveh might shatter if he pressed too hard.

Then Kaveh leaned in.

Kaveh’s fingers hovered at Alhaitham’s collar, trembling faintly before curling into the fabric. He drew a shallow breath, eyes locked onto Alhaitham’s with something raw and unguarded shining there. Then, deliberately, he closed the last inch between them and pressed his lips to Alhaitham’s, slowly and carefully.

Alhaitham froze for half a breath, startled by the softness of it. But Kaveh didn’t pull away. He shifted closer, mouth moving in gentle, patient drags against Alhaitham’s, coaxing rather than taking, as if he wanted this moment to last forever. One hand rose to cup Alhaitham’s jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone in a quiet plea to stay still.

Then, gently, Alhaitham shifted. One arm slipped around Kaveh’s waist, the other behind his knees. In a quiet motion, he pulled him onto his lap—sideways, cradled almost bridal-style. Kaveh let himself be moved without resistance, his legs curling slightly over Alhaitham’s thighs as if the position had always been meant for him.

They kissed in quiet repetition—no rush, no fear.

A sigh escaped Kaveh’s throat—quiet, fragile, the sound of something letting go. His fingers curled into the front of Alhaitham’s shirt, holding him close.

Alhaitham kissed him again.

And again.

And again.

The kiss didn't so much end as it dissolved, a slow, mutual easing. They broke apart only when the need for air became impossible to ignore.

When Alhaitham finally drew back, their mouths parted with a soft, wet sound, the only noise in the sudden stillness. They didn't move far. Their foreheads met again, Kaveh’s brow resting against his with a small, shuddering exhale. They hovered there, a palm's width between them, breaths mingling and faces flushed. Kaveh's lips were slightly swollen and glistening, his cheeks hot with a flush.

“Are we having an affair, statue?” Kaveh breathed, voice unsteady, the words teetering between humor and heartbreak.

Alhaitham’s eyes roamed his face, taking in the flushed cheeks, parted lips, the fragile way Kaveh’s breathing hitched. 

“No,” he whispered, fingers brushing Kaveh’s jaw, gentle despite their tension. “We’re just… failing to stay apart.”

Kaveh let out a thin, broken laugh that trembled. “You make that sound so noble.”

Alhaitham’s thumb stroked his cheek, eyes steady. “It’s not. It’s selfish.”

Kaveh swallowed hard, a soft look on his face. “Mm. I’m selfish too.”

Alhaitham let out a long, shaky breath. He lowered his head, his lips finding Kaveh's again. This kiss was soft. It was slow. His mouth was a careful, gentle weight against Kaveh's, a sharp contrast to the desperate crash before.

Kaveh's fingers dug into his shoulders. He murmured against Alhaitham's lips, breath hot, "Don't stop."

Alhaitham tightened his hold on Kaveh's waist. His own voice was a low rasp, words melting between them. "I wasn't planning to."

Kaveh let out a small, huffed breath against his mouth. "Statue..."

Alhaitham pulled back just enough for their foreheads to meet, noses brushing as he tried to catch his breath. He blinked once, his voice low and utterly flat. "I do have an actual name, you know."

Kaveh let out a wet, shaky laugh that vibrated against his lips. "Oh? You sure?"

Alhaitham's mouth twitched, dead serious. "Reasonably."

Kaveh pressed closer, whispering, "Alhaitham."

Alhaitham exhaled slowly, his eyes fluttering shut, "Thank you," he muttered, deadpan. "Thought I'd have to introduce myself again."

Kaveh huffed an unsteady laugh, his breath warm against Alhaitham's skin. "You're insufferable."

Alhaitham's hand on Kaveh's waist tightened further, pulling him securely against him. "And yet you're still here," he replied. Alhaitham kissed him once more, slow and careful, like he was memorizing the shape of his mouth. Kaveh made a choked sound that might have been a laugh—and kissed him back like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Their mouths parted on a shared, unsteady breath. Kaveh’s eyes fluttered open—glassy, unfocused, his lips flushed. He shifted in Alhaitham’s lap, exhaling shakily. One hand pressed to Alhaitham’s chest like he needed it to anchor himself, the other resting lightly on his shoulder for balance.

Alhaitham watched him, thumb brushing the warm skin at Kaveh’s waist before settling in a steadying grip. He drew a breath,  “You never mentioned you had a brother.”

Kaveh blinked, slowly focusing on him. Alhaitham’s fingers lifted, the pad of his index finger tracing along the heated line of Kaveh’s cheekbone.

Kaveh huffed out a laugh that didn’t sound amused. “It didn’t exactly come up.” His gaze dropped. “I’ve had a wedding to plan.”

Alhaitham’s expression stilled. The humor drained from his face, leaving only quiet tension behind.

Kaveh felt the change immediately. His fingers curled at Alhaitham’s collar, and then he slumped forward, pressing close, arms loose around Alhaitham’s neck. He rested his forehead against Alhaitham’s temple.

In a low voice, barely more than breath, he said, “I don’t want to marry him.”

Alhaitham’s arms tightened around him. His hand pressed firmly to Kaveh’s back, rubbing slow, grounding circles. His voice was rough, close to Kaveh’s ear.

“I know,” he murmured. “I wish you didn’t have to.”

Kaveh went quiet, breathing unsteady. Then he shifted back just enough to meet Alhaitham’s eyes. There was something raw and unguarded in them.

“Should we just go?” he asked, voice careful but serious. “Run?”

Alhaitham let out a short breath, almost a laugh but too resigned to hold any real humor. “You know that wouldn’t work.”

Kaveh didn’t answer at first. Then his mouth curved, tired but wry. “You don’t want to give me false hope.”

Alhaitham’s jaw tightened slightly. “No.”

Kaveh’s breath hitched, but he smiled anyway—small, worn around the edges. “We’re terrible at staying away from each other.”

Alhaitham’s fingers flexed at his waist but didn’t let go.

Kaveh leaned in, pressing a soft, unhurried kiss to Alhaitham’s lips. When he pulled back, his voice was low, steady, tinged with a quiet finality.

“It’s all right. At least I get to have this before the wedding.”

Alhaitham didn’t speak. He just watched him, eyes dark, thoughtful, his grip stubbornly sure around Kaveh’s back.

I’ll find a way, he promised himself in silence. There has to be a way.

Alhaitham watched him for a moment, fingers flexing at Kaveh’s waist before settling in a firm, grounding hold. He let out a slow breath,  “You’re not leaving this room,” Alhaitham said. “Not until your neck heals. You’re sick for the next few days. To hell with princely duties.”

Kaveh blinked, a slow breath slipping out of him—and then, just barely, he smiled. “Bring me dinner?” A pause. Then, “Yours too?”

Alhaitham stared for a second, processing the softness in Kaveh’s voice, the lightness that hadn’t been there in weeks. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled back—small, crooked, but real. He leaned in and pressed a soft peck to Kaveh’s lips.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Chapter Text

The room was cool and bright with late-afternoon sun slanting in through tall windows, catching on polished floors and the gilded arms of chairs. The king sat in a high-backed seat that wasn't quite a throne but made the hierarchy clear. He was relaxed, expression mild, fingers tapping idly on the armrest as he watched his sons.

Kaveh stood straight, formal but composed. His robe was understated today, cream and bronze instead of gold. Beside him, Kavi looked smaller than ever in muted gray, shoulders drawn in, gaze on the floor.

Alhaitham remained a step back, arms folded, face unreadable.

The king’s eyes flicked between them, pale and assessing. “We’re here to finalize the announcements and the guest list for the wedding,” he said evenly, his voice giving nothing away. “Dottore, you had recommendations for the seating?”

Dottore, standing at a careful, polite angle to the throne, smiled thinly. “A few. I’d rather not see half the diplomatic corps stabbing each other with salad forks over precedence. They’ll fight over anything, and I’d prefer not to mop blood off my shoes.”

A muted laugh drifted from the king. “Yes. Let’s avoid the spectacle.”

Dottore’s gaze slid smoothly to Kaveh. It lingered, just a moment too long to be polite, his eyes drifting down the prince’s silhouette before returning lazily to his face. “Besides,” he added, voice light, “I’d like the best view of the prince himself. He’ll be the centerpiece, after all. It’s only fair to seat him where everyone can...appreciate his qualities.”

Kaveh’s fingers curled in the folds of his robe, knuckles white for an instant before smoothing out. “How generous of you,” he said, voice even, if tight around the edges.

Dottore offered a mild tilt of his head, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “I’m nothing if not an appreciative man.”

With all due respect, Your Majesty, your son’s fiancé is verbally molesting him. Remarkable. Is your judgment on holiday?

The king’s gaze flicked to Kaveh’s brother. “Kavi, you’ll attend as well. Don’t lurk in corners or vanish halfway through like last time.”

Kavi startled, eyes dropping instantly. “Yes, Father.”

“Try to smile,” the king added, voice calm but pointed. “People are already wary enough of our family. Let’s not confirm the rumors we can’t get along.”

Kavi swallowed visibly. “I’ll try.”

The king gave Kaveh a polite nod. “Your outfit for the ceremony has been approved, I hear?”

Kaveh inclined his head. “Yes, Father.”

“Good. Simple. Regal.”

Dottore’s smile curved sharper. He gave Kavi a quick glance—faintly pitying, faintly mocking and then returned his gaze to Kaveh. “Not everyone can hold the room quite like you do, my prince,” he mused. “Some people just...fade into the background. A pity, but perhaps it makes you shine all the brighter.”

Kavi flinched, shoulders hunching in on themselves just slightly.

Kaveh’s jaw tensed, but his expression remained carefully blank, eyes steady on Dottore.

Dottore went on, unhurried, voice low and silky, as if he were sharing confidences. “Truly. It’s remarkable how well you wear the role. All that light, all those eyes on you. I’ve always believed some people are simply meant to be...admired. To be seen.”

His gaze dragged deliberately over Kaveh’s face, lingering at his collared throat for the barest second before meeting his eyes with unsettling steadiness. “And you’re exquisite at it. Don’t mistake that for flattery…it’s fact. You command attention even when you’re silent. Even when you’re trying not to.”

Kaveh’s fingers twitched against his robe.

Dottore’s voice softened, turning almost fond in its chill. “I imagine it’s exhausting, though. Always being the center. Always forced to perform. But you do it so...beautifully. That kind of discipline is rare. Precious.”

Kavi’s eyes dropped to the floor, throat bobbing as he swallowed, clearly uncomfortable.

Dottore barely spared him a glance. “Not that it’s a failing to lack that quality,” he added, as if graciously clarifying. “It’s simply...not something you can teach. Or expect from everyone.” His tone was breezy, and dismissive.

Alhaitham watched Dottore’s mouth curl around those lazy justifications and felt a dark, sharp certainty settle in his chest. Obsessed. That was the word for it.

The man couldn't help circling Kaveh like a scholar hovering over an exquisite specimen. So eager to dissect the brilliance he claimed to admire. It was....a kind of adoration , Alhaitham supposed, but cold and ruinous. He didn’t love Kaveh’s soul. He loved the way Kaveh shone, the soft gleam of something fragile he could press his fingers into until it cracked. All surface beauty, something Dottore itched to spoil just to prove he understood it better than anyone else.

Alhaitham’s arms tensed over his chest. “Charming,” he muttered under his breath, voice tight.

Dottore’s eyes slid lazily over to him, glinting with amusement, sharp as glass. “Ah, Sir Alhaitham. Always so direct. I trust your hand is healing? I’ve heard you pack quite the punch.”

Kaveh’s gaze snapped to Alhaitham for a heartbeat, eyes sharp—warning him not to rise to it.

Alhaitham didn’t move, but his stare was glacial, the muscle in his jaw ticking once before settling.

Dottore’s lips twitched, barely hiding his satisfaction. Then he sighed, feigning civility as he turned back to the king. “But forgive me—I’m derailing our meeting. I just feel strongly that the banquet should highlight the prince’s...exceptional qualities. It’s only fitting. We wouldn’t want the most valuable thing in the room to go unappreciated.”

Kaveh’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He inhaled slowly through his nose but said nothing.

Kavi glanced at his brother, eyes flickering with something pained, but he stayed silent too.

The king cleared his throat, voice level, though his gaze briefly flicked to Kavi with clear, silent instruction to hold himself together. “Enough distractions. We have details to confirm. The guest list. The announcements. Let’s get on with it.”

Dottore inclined his head with exaggerated patience. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’m happy to assist however you see fit.” He didn’t look away from Kaveh as he said it,.

The king hummed in approval and turned a page in the ledger resting on his knee, eyes flicking over the lines with bored authority. They spent a few more minutes finalizing details in clipped, formal tones—seating charts, order of service, confirmation of the musicians. Dottore offered polished suggestions, voice smooth as lacquer, never missing a chance to remind them he wanted Kaveh “displayed appropriately” or “centered to command the room.”

Kaveh answered mechanically, fingers tapping once on the arm of his chair before going still. Kavi mumbled an agreement to whatever was asked of him, eyes low, folding and refolding the edge of his sleeve. Alhaitham said nothing, arms crossed tight over his chest, tracking every word with narrowed eyes.

When the king finally looked up, he didn’t bother to hide the weariness in his voice. “Enough. I trust you all to follow through. Dismissed.” He didn’t even glance at them again, already turning the page as if they’d vanished.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The hush of the palace library was almost sacred—thousands of spines lined in precise rows, the smell of old ink and paper clinging to the cool air. Light fell in long, quiet bars across the floor.

Kaveh sat slouched in a window seat, one leg drawn up, fingers drumming against his knee. He didn’t look at either of them at first.

Alhaitham leaned against a nearby shelf, arms folded, watching him.

Kavi hovered at the edge of the room, twisting his fingers, shoulders drawn in. He cleared his throat softly. “I, um... I just wanted to check on you.”

Kaveh didn’t look up. He turned a page in the book on his lap without reading it. His voice, when it came, was quiet—cool, but not cruel. “I’m alive. Congratulations.”

Rude, but not entirely unwarranted.

Kavi winced. “That’s...not what I meant.”

From the side, Alhaitham let out a sharp breath—almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. The sound sliced clean through the quiet of the library.

Kaveh’s head turned sharply. “Do you mind?” His voice was low, clipped, threaded with irritation.

Alhaitham didn’t flinch. He lifted an eyebrow, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Kaveh’s eyes narrowed, but he let it drop. His shoulders sagged slightly as he turned back to Kavi, voice softening. “Sorry. I’m just tired. It’s not your fault.”

Kavi’s hands fidgeted in his lap. He didn’t lift his head. “I know you don’t need me here. I just... didn’t want you to think I was ignoring it. The, um... the wedding.”

Kaveh stilled. His back straightened, and the warmth in his expression dimmed, replaced by something tighter, more careful. “What about it?”

Kavi shifted on the seat beside him, the wooden legs creaking faintly. “I’m happy for you,” he said quietly.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Alhaitham laughed—short, cold, entirely unkind. “You’re joking.”

Kaveh’s head snapped toward him. His eyes flared, sharp with anger. “Enough.”

But Alhaitham didn’t back down. He rolled his eyes, the gesture slow and deliberate, like he’d already written off the entire conversation.

Kavi flinched, shoulders curling in on themselves. He swallowed visibly. “I just—” His voice cracked, high and small. He drew in a shaky breath, trying to hold himself steady, but his eyes were shining. “I just wanted you to know...I’m sorry. For all of it. For being born. For making it harder.”

Kaveh’s fingers flexed on his knee. He was silent for a moment, gaze pinned to the floor between them. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before, but no less sharp. “Don’t apologize for existing. That’s not yours to answer for.”

Kavi sniffed, brushing at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “It feels like it is.”

“No.” Kaveh’s voice was firmer now—still soft, but steady, anchored by something deeper. “You’re human. You’re still family. You didn’t ask to be part of this.”

He looked up at Kavi then, and something in his face shifted—an exhausted kind of gentleness that didn’t come easy, not anymore.

“You were thrown into this mess same as I was. You didn’t choose the bloodline. Or the expectations. Or the way they look at you like a shadow of someone else’s failure.” Kaveh continued, quieter now. “You didn’t make it harder. The people who made the rules did. The ones who turned you into a symbol before you were even old enough to understand what that meant.”

Alhaitham watched him as he spoke. The way his anger faded into grief, then settled into something quieter. A resignation that felt like it had taken years to shape.

And still, he was trying. Still reaching out. Even to someone he could’ve resented.

Kavi nodded, barely. He didn’t speak, but his shoulders dropped just slightly, like the worst of the guilt had passed.

Alhaitham exhaled, a soundless breath through his nose. He didn’t speak either. There was nothing he could add that wouldn’t ruin it.

Kaveh let out a long breath, the heat of his earlier glare dimming into something resigned. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers before dropping his hand to his knee. His voice was steady, but edged with fatigue.

“Why are you even here, Kavi?” he asked quietly, looking at his brother. “You know Papa doesn’t hold you in the highest regard. He’s made that perfectly clear.”

Kavi shifted in his seat, shoulders tightening. He looked down at his hands twisting in his lap. “I know,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’m the unwanted child. But I’m still part of the family, like you said..” He swallowed, blinking hard. “I wanted to be here. It’s...an important day.”

Kaveh’s lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze dropped to the floor between them. For a moment, he didn’t speak at all. The room felt heavier for it.

Alhaitham watched the quiet exchange, eyes hooded, saying nothing.

Kavi cleared his throat, the sound small and strangled. He shifted again, glancing at Alhaitham as if desperate to change the subject. “Um. Where are you from?”

Alhaitham blinked once, the question so mundane it felt surreal in the thick silence. He didn’t bother uncrossing his arms. “Fontaine,” he said flatly.

Kavi nodded too quickly. “Ah. I see.”

Nothing followed.

He shifted in his chair again, fingers drumming nervously against his knee before blurting, “It’s just—you don’t really look...Fontainian?”

Alhaitham’s eyebrow arched slowly. The pause that followed was long enough to make Kavi squirm.

“I didn’t realize there was a memo,” Alhaitham drawled finally, voice dry as dust. “You know—the one that says only Fontainians are allowed to live in Fontaine.”

Kavi’s mouth fell open for a second. His cheeks flushed deep pink, creeping all the way up to his ears. “I—I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered. His scent twisted suddenly, going embarrassingly sweet in the air between them.

Alhaitham blinked, nose wrinkling slightly in confusion. What.

Next to him, Kaveh shifted too, his head turning just enough that Alhaitham caught the way he sniffed once, brows twitching together like he was trying not to react. His mouth twitched at the corner, fighting a smirk.

Alhaitham’s eyes narrowed at him immediately.

Kaveh’s lips pressed tight, but a thin tremor of laughter threatened anyway.

Not. Funny.

The silence that followed was somehow even more uncomfortable, the charged awkwardness broken only by Kaveh’s slow, deliberate breathing as he refocused on a spot on the floor, now with suspiciously glassy eyes.

Kavi, red-faced and mortified, fidgeted before darting another glance between them. He swallowed, voice cracking slightly as he forced it out. “Um. Thank you. For taking care of my brother.”

kaveh’s eyes met Alhaitham’s instantly, searching, sharp.

Alhaitham held his gaze without blinking. For a heartbeat he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. He felt something twist painfully in his chest.

Taking care of him? He almost snorted but didn’t. I’m not doing shit, he thought, the words acidic in his head. I wish I could take care of him.

But he said nothing.

Silence stretched.

Kavi cleared his throat, clearly desperate to fill the gap. “I, um. I’ve heard a lot about you from the palace staff.”

Alhaitham tilted his head slightly, expression blank. “Congratulations.”

Kavi blinked. “Ah—no, I mean—I mean they said you’re...very capable. And, um. Efficient. And...scary.”

Alhaitham’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”

Kavi went even redder but pushed on bravely. “Also tall.”

Alhaitham stared at him. “Yes. That’s often how height works.”

Kaveh made a choked sound.

Kavi’s face went crimson. “I mean—they said you’re...imposing? But also—I just noticed you’re, uh, quite—” He gestured helplessly up and down at Alhaitham like he was an architectural column. “Tall.”

Kaveh made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, shoulders shaking faintly.

Alhaitham turned his head slightly to glare at him.

Kaveh cleared his throat theatrically. “Don’t mind me.” 

Kavi, fully mortified now, ducked his head. “I just—I thought it was nice? That they said you’re...um. Dependable. Even if you’re scary. I didn’t mean to insult you. Or call you...a building.”

Alhaitham blinked again, entirely deadpan. “...A building.”

A wheeze. 

Kavi stammered, “I didn’t mean it badly! It’s—um. Admirable? That you’re so...stoic. And tall. It’s. Good.”

Kaveh lost it, a huff of laughter escaping him before he clamped down on it, coughing to hide it. His eyes were bright with mirth as he watched the exchange.

Kavi squeaked. “Sorry. I’m just—I’m bad at this. Talking.”

Alhaitham nodded, face unreadable. “Yes. I can tell.”

Kaveh let out another laugh that he tried and failed to smother.

Alhaitham scowled at him, feeling absurdly like the butt of some private joke. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Kavi risked one last peek up, cheeks still red but eyes hopeful. “But. Thank you. Really.”

Not interested.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

“You have a lot of admirers, Sir Alhaitham,” Kaveh said, voice low, the words practically purring with amusement. He leaned back against the table behind him, crossing one ankle over the other in deliberate, lazy arrogance. A smirk curved at his mouth as his eyes flicked over Alhaitham’s face, clearly enjoying himself.

Alhaitham didn’t even blink. His gaze was flat, unimpressed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Kaveh’s smirk turned sharp. “Oh, come on. Even Kavi can’t stop singing your praises. ‘So capable. So efficient. So…tall.’” He dropped his voice a full octave, affecting a hushed, adoring tone that was pure mockery, eyes gleaming as he watched for Alhaitham’s reaction.

Alhaitham’s eyelid twitched once, betraying irritation he otherwise refused to show. “You sound unwell, your majesty.”

Kaveh let out a short, delighted laugh, pushing off the table just slightly, enough to shift his weight. He spread his hands wide in a faux-innocent gesture. “What? I’m just repeating the facts.”

Alhaitham’s eyes narrowed slightly. He moved then, his arms uncrossed as he stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like he was approaching a target rather than indulging in an argument.

“Your ‘facts’ are irrelevant.”

Kaveh’s brows rose, the smile curling even wider, dangerous and knowing. He didn’t retreat. He stayed leaning, watching Alhaitham close the distance with that same maddening smirk. “Mm. Defensive, are we? Touchy subject?”

Alhaitham stopped just short of him, close enough that their boots nearly touched. “No.”

Kaveh leaned in just enough that their noses nearly brushed. “Maybe you like the attention,” he murmured, voice dropping, the words curling around them like smoke.

Alhaitham’s jaw flexed once. Then, with mechanical calm, he stepped even closer, until Kaveh had nowhere left to lean but the edge of the table behind him.

“Stop talking,” he said, voice low and even, but the threat was unmistakable.

Kaveh didn’t so much as flinch. He tilted his chin up, carmine eyes dancing with challenge and heat. He licked his bottom lip once, slow and deliberate. “Or what?”

Alhaitham’s pupils narrowed.

His fingers twitched at his sides once, resisting the urge to grab. The room seemed to shrink, air thickening around them, so silent that even their breathing felt loud.

Kaveh’s breath ghosted over his mouth when he spoke again, softer now but no less mocking. “Go on. Show me.”

And that was it. Alhaitham’s composure cracked. He moved in a heartbeat—one hand seizing Kaveh’s wrist, the other instantly spanning his waist. Before Kaveh could even register the intent, Alhaitham hauled him into his space, bodies colliding with a gasp of impact.

Kaveh let out a startled gasp, eyes flashing, fingers grabbing at Alhaitham’s collar instinctively.

“Alhaitham,” he warned, voice softer now, a tremor underlying the word.

Alhaitham’s gaze swept over Kaveh’s face—his flushed cheeks, parted lips. There was no anger in his eyes now, only a raw, desperate intensity.

Kaveh’s fingers curled in the front of Alhaitham’s coat. “What are you—”

Alhaitham cut him off with a hard kiss. Kaveh let out a muffled gasp, frozen for a heartbeat before he melted into it, hands fisting in Alhaitham’s clothes, dragging him closer. The kiss turned hot fast, teeth clashing, breaths loud in the quiet room.

“I don’t see anyone else,” he murmured, low and certain. “Only you, my golden prince.”

Kaveh’s breath shuddered out. “Haitham—”

Alhaitham didn’t wait. He kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the way Kaveh trembled. His mouth drifted lower, pressing to the sharp line of Kaveh’s jaw, then trailing heat down his throat.

Kaveh’s breath hitched, his back arching slightly against the table behind him as Alhaitham followed, step by step, until there was nowhere left to go. The edge of the table dug into Kaveh’s lower back, but he barely noticed, not with Alhaitham’s hands finding his waist, not with that mouth claiming every inch of exposed skin it could reach.

Alhaitham leaned in fully then, body flush against his. His arms lifted, bracing on the table to either side of Kaveh’s hips, caging him in. The wood was cold. Alhaitham was anything but.

Kaveh’s fingers tangled in his hair. “Alhaitham—”

He didn't listen. Instead, Alhaitham groaned, a desperate, guttural sound, and swept one arm beneath Kaveh’s thighs. With a swift, powerful lift, he hoisted Kaveh onto the polished wood, sending books and quills scattering with a soft clatter. Kaveh sprawled back, a gasp tearing from his throat, his legs instinctively parting.

Alhaitham caged him in, his body an urgent, crushing weight as he leaned over, his lips crashing down on Kaveh’s. This kiss was harder now, no longer a desperate plea but a demanding possession. He moved his hands to Kaveh’s thighs, forcing them apart, the harsh rub of his trousers against Kaveh’s silk robe an excruciating friction.

Their breaths were ragged, mingling in the quiet room. Alhaitham’s body was tight, the insistent press of his hardness against Kaveh’s thigh a sharp, undeniable need. Kaveh’s hips arched up in a desperate, wordless answer. Alhaitham broke the kiss, chest heaving. His voice was a low rasp, thick with need.

“You need help with that?”

Kaveh’s eyes were wide, glazed, his face flushed a beautiful, brilliant red. He could only nod—a single, trembling jerk of his head.

But a second later, his lips parted. “Wait,” he breathed, voice shaky. “What if someone comes in—?”

Alhaitham didn’t pause. His mouth brushed Kaveh’s ear as he murmured, “I locked the door, Your Majesty.”

That earned a faint, breathless sound from Kaveh—half disbelief, half want.

With a final, guttural growl, Alhaitham pulled back just enough to free one hand, the other still braced on the table beside Kaveh’s hip. His palm slid downward, dragging along the front of Kaveh’s robe, bunching the silk upward until it was pooled around his waist. The fabric gave easily, revealing smooth skin, the taut line of his abdomen, and the soft dip of his hips.

Alhaitham’s hand moved lower, fingers skimming over the curve of Kaveh’s upper thigh, brushing just beneath the hem of his underwear.

In one fluid motion, he hooked his thumb into the waistband and tugged it down.

Kaveh’s hips arched instinctively, a quiet, choked “Ngh…” breaking from him. His head tipped back against the table with a soft thud, golden hair spilling like liquid light over the polished wood. His throat was bared, his pulse fluttering there wildly—offering everything without a single word.

Alhaitham’s gaze roamed slowly over him, dark and hungry, drinking in every inch of flushed, exposed skin. His eyes lingered on the taut line of Kaveh’s throat, the quick, shallow rise of his chest, and finally—unapologetically—on the hard, leaking tip of his cock, flushed dark and glistening with arousal.

“Look at you,” Alhaitham murmured, his voice low, reverent. “You’re dripping.”

His hand moved between them, fingers curling around Kaveh’s length with a firm, steady grip. Kaveh gasped—a sharp, startled sound that cut through the room as his hips jolted forward into the touch.

“Haitham—” he choked out, his knees nearly giving, one hand flying up to grip Alhaitham’s shoulder for balance.

Alhaitham didn’t rush. He started slow, deliberate strokes, his palm sliding over heated skin, thumb brushing the sensitive head just enough to make Kaveh whimper. His other hand came to rest lightly on Kaveh’s hip, anchoring him.

The silence between them pulsed with heat, broken only by the soft, wet sounds of movement and Kaveh’s stuttering breaths.

“You’re so—” Kaveh’s voice cracked, breathless, eyes fluttering shut. “So good at this, I—” His head fell back, hitting the edge of the table with a soft thud. “Please don’t stop.”

Alhaitham exhaled through his nose, jaw tight, restraint visible in every line of his body. “I wasn’t planning to.”

He adjusted his grip, picking up the pace slightly, and the reaction was immediate—Kaveh’s whole body shuddered, a quiet moan catching in his throat.

“You’re always running your mouth,” Alhaitham said, breath fanning warm over Kaveh’s cheek, “but now you can barely speak.”

“Shut up,” Kaveh tried to bite back, but it was ruined by the whimper that slipped through right after. “I— ngh— archons—”

Alhaitham leaned in, pressing a soft kiss just below Kaveh’s jaw. “Sensitive,” he murmured. “You always get like this?”

Kaveh couldn’t answer. His legs were trembling, every nerve alight. He clung to Alhaitham’s coat, helpless as the strokes quickened—each one coaxing him closer, unraveling him inch by inch.

His voice was wrecked when he finally managed, “I’m— I’m not going to last—”

“I know.” Alhaitham’s thumb brushed over the head again, this time with precision. “That’s the point.”

Kaveh’s whole body trembled. His hips strained into Alhaitham’s touch, no longer shy, no longer trying to hide the way he needed it—only soft, breathy whimpers of “Yes… yes…” spilling from his lips like prayer. He was flushed down to his chest, trembling, his thighs starting to twitch with every stroke.

“Breathe,” Alhaitham murmured, almost gently, his hand never stopping. “You’re close.”

And Kaveh was. Barely holding on. One hand gripped the edge of the table like it might anchor him, the other curled into Alhaitham’s coat. His voice was ragged. “I—Haitham, wait—don’t stop, don’t—”

But then Alhaitham moved.

His hand slowed, then stilled, and a deep sound rumbled from his chest as he eased Kaveh back slightly—hands slipping to his hips, adjusting him higher on the table with effortless strength. The table creaked faintly under the shift, cool wood pressing firm beneath Kaveh’s back as his robe rode up further around his waist, baring him completely.

“Haitham?” Kaveh gasped, breath catching, his eyes glassy, confused. “W-What are you—”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. He sank to his knees.

Kaveh barely had time to register the motion before heat engulfed him—wet, soft, overwhelming. Alhaitham’s mouth closed around him in one fluid, confident motion, his lips sealing at the base, tongue already working.

Kaveh cried out, loud and broken, the sound ripping from him without restraint. “Ah—!, stars—!”

His back arched, fingers flying to tangle in Alhaitham’s hair, clutching desperately. The heat, the suction, the way Alhaitham’s tongue traced the underside of his cock with slow, deliberate strokes—it was too much.

Every pull of Alhaitham’s mouth sent sparks behind Kaveh’s eyes, his hips twitching uncontrollably despite himself.

“P-please,” he choked out, breathless. “Please don’t stop—don’t stop—oh, archons, I cant—”

Alhaitham didn’t. He hummed low around him, the vibration sending Kaveh spiraling. His hands pressed gently to Kaveh’s hips, steadying him, guiding each buck of his body with infuriating ease as his mouth worked him over and over, tongue teasing, lips dragging wetly along every inch.

Kaveh’s voice was wrecked, nothing but sobs and shattered gasps now, his whole body coiled tight, teetering on the edge.

Alhaitham’s head moved in with steady rhythm, relentless and focused, his attention entirely consumed by Kaveh—by the taste of him, the heat, the sounds that spilled from his lips like confessions. Salt. Desire. The faint sweetness of slick, edged with the warm, unmistakable scent of zaytun peaches, heady and ripe, blooming stronger the closer Kaveh came undone.

His hands gripped Kaveh’s thighs, spreading him wider, pressing them gently down against the table’s edge. It opened Kaveh up completely to him, letting Alhaitham take him deeper with each pass of his mouth, his throat flexing as he swallowed around him with practiced ease.

The sensation hit Kaveh like lightning.

“Ah—Alhaitham!!” he cried, voice breaking.

His hips jolted off the table, body straining and trembling. Fingers clawed into Alhaitham’s hair, holding on like he’d fall apart without it. Every part of him was trembling, overwhelmed, lost in the heat and the wet and the pressure.

Alhaitham didn’t falter.

His lips moved lower, then up again, drawing slow, torturous circles with his tongue, teasing just under the crown, pulling soft, broken whimpers from Kaveh’s lips. Kaveh was flushed, sweating, hair clinging to his face, the scent of peaches clinging thick to the air—sweet, dizzying, curling into every breath.

He let out a choked, breathless laugh, nearly delirious. “This is insane—this is unfair—you’re unfair—fuck, I think I’m going to—!”

Alhaitham hummed around him in reply, the sound deep and low, sending a fresh jolt through Kaveh’s core.

The pressure was unbearable now—tight and sharp and right there, his thighs trembling violently. Kaveh’s voice broke into a desperate, strangled cry. “Haitham—I—!”

His whole body locked, a high, shuddering gasp escaping him as release tore through him like a wave.

His orgasm hit hard—sudden and blinding—his hips bucking helplessly into Alhaitham’s mouth. His cock pulsed, thick and hot, spilling into the heat of Alhaitham’s throat. Kaveh sobbed through it, breath shattered, voice reduced to choked whimpers as he convulsed, overwhelmed by the sheer force of it.

Alhaitham held him steady, swallowing every drop, his hands firm on Kaveh’s thighs to keep him from collapsing clean off the table.

Even after, he didn’t pull away immediately, he milked the last tremors from Kaveh’s twitching body with a final slow pass of his tongue, drawing out one more sharp, broken cry from him before finally releasing him.

Kaveh collapsed back against the polished wood, boneless and dazed. A soft, breathless “Ah… ngh…” slipped from his parted lips, cheeks flushed deep pink, skin glowing with sweat. His chest heaved, his body trembling with aftershocks, his scent thick now—sweet, cloying peaches warming the air around them.

Alhaitham rose slowly, licking the taste from his lips as he took in the sight.

Kaveh was wrecked—beautifully so. Splayed out, his robe bunched at his waist, his legs spread open, his expression distant and bliss-drunk. His golden hair was tousled, damp, sticking to his temple. His mouth, red and swollen, parted slightly as he caught his breath.

Alhaitham leaned down, pressing a slow, quiet kiss to Kaveh’s temple. A silent claim.

Kaveh blinked up at him, eyes glassy, then slowly focused. “Alhaitham…” he whispered, a smile curling faintly at the corner of his lips. “You’re… so good at this.”

Alhaitham’s gaze softened, his hand rising to brush lightly along Kaveh’s jaw. “You say that like I don’t already know.”

Kaveh huffed a laugh, weakly, his hand drifting downward—his fingertips brushing the noticeable strain beneath Alhaitham’s waistband. His eyes flicked lower, then back up to meet his.

“I want to touch you,” he murmured, voice low, hoarse with afterglow. “I want to feel you.”

Alhaitham leaned in again, kissing him gently—slow and unhurried, letting their mouths linger. When he pulled back, his voice was quiet.

“Not now,” he said. “You need to rest.”

Kaveh frowned slightly, but Alhaitham smoothed it away with a thumb across his cheek.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Alhaitham added, tone quieter now.

Kaveh exhaled slowly, a quiet, satisfied sound slipping from his lips as he let his body melt further into the table. The tension had drained from his limbs, leaving only warmth and the faintest aftershocks still fluttering through his nerves.

“Mm,” he murmured, lips curving lazily. “We definitely need to do this again, Statue.”

There was a smile on his mouth now and it reached his eyes, softening the sharpness there into something far more dangerous: fondness.

Alhaitham studied him for a long moment, then leaned down, brushing a slow kiss to the corner of that smile.

“You’re insatiable,” he murmured, low against Kaveh’s skin.

Kaveh let out a breathless laugh, one hand dragging lazily up to touch Alhaitham’s jaw. “Bold of you to assume I won’t just seduce you into submission.”

Alhaitham met his gaze, slow and unblinking. “I’d let you.” he said quietly, voice like silk.

Kaveh froze. The smile faltered just slightly. His pupils dilated so fast Alhaitham saw it happen.

“I’d get on my knees for you,” he murmured, “if you told me to.”

His fingers dug into Alhaitham’s jaw, nails biting lightly into skin, as if to ground himself.

Alhaitham didn’t stop.

His lips brushed the shell of Kaveh’s ear as he added, quieter this time—intimate, assured,  “I’d let you touch me. Use me. Make me beg, if that’s what you wanted.”

He pulled back, just enough to see Kaveh’s face—flushed to the ears, eyes blown dark, mouth parted in stunned silence.

The scent hit him then—peaches, spiked and heady, sweeter than before, almost dizzying in how fast it filled the air. It wrapped around them, clung to Alhaitham’s skin like invisible fingers.

He didn’t smile fully. Just the faintest curve at the corner of his lips, knowing and slow.

For once, Kaveh had no words.

And gods, he looked beautiful like that.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The long-awaited—though perhaps not awaited, for that matter, spousal etiquette lessons had begun.

Kaveh hadn’t been told the exact date. He hadn’t needed to be. The palace always found a way to make sure unpleasant things announced themselves without warning, like a splinter just under the skin.

That morning, Alhaitham was the one to break the news.

He entered the prince’s chambers at the usual time, quiet and composed, bearing two cups of tea. It had become something of a routine—unspoken, but deeply entrenched. Mornings had turned gentler lately. Alhaitham would sit beside him, sometimes press a kiss to his forehead or shoulder if Kaveh was slow to wake. They didn’t talk about what any of it meant. But it was something.

And then came the envelope.

Thin. Cream-colored. Stamped with the official seal of the Court of Royal Domestic Affairs.

Alhaitham had set it down beside the tea with a level gaze and no words.

Kaveh didn’t touch it at first. He simply stared, the slope of his shoulders stiffening as the room seemed to frost over. The kiss never came that morning.

Because some things, no matter how careful the silence, were impossible to ignore.

Now, the room smelled like control.

Rosewater, pressed linen, and that particular sterile scent that always clung to tradition. Five attendants hovered around Kaveh, tucking, straightening, smoothing — as if polishing him into something digestible. On the far end, a court etiquette official flipped through a scroll with the bored precision of someone who’d done this dozens of times.

And Alhaitham—assigned to stand watch in the corner, silent and armed—could do nothing but look on as Kaveh was prepared, again, to be someone else.

“You’ll walk two steps behind the doctor-consort at all public appearances,” the advisor recited, eyes trained on the ceremonial scroll. “Do not initiate contact. Speak only when acknowledged. Do not rise without permission. Your gaze should remain lowered unless addressed by a councilor or your intended.”

Kaveh sat silently on the cushioned bench, arms folded loosely over his lap, expression unreadable. He wasn’t wearing any of his usual jewelry. No rings. No chains. His hair hung loose over his shoulders, unstyled.

He looked less like a prince. More like someone waiting to be sentenced.

He looked calm.

Too calm.

Kaveh had been strangely docile ever since the engagement was announced. Not by nature—never by nature—but in the way someone might be after a deep wound: quiet, withdrawn, too agreeable in places where he once would've pushed back. He spoke when spoken to. Smiled when expected. And when Dottore’s name was mentioned, he lowered his eyes and answered with the kind of polite stillness that made Alhaitham's gut twist.

It wasn’t his usual restraint. It was survival.

But lately… something had shifted.

The change wasn’t dramatic—Kaveh didn’t snap or raise his voice—but it was there. In the way he sat straighter during court meetings. In the subtle challenge behind his gaze. In the return of his sidelong comments, softer-edged but unmistakably him.

And today, it came to the surface.

“I understand the need for etiquette,” Kaveh said evenly, his voice cool but anchored with something firmer underneath. “But I would like to remind the court that I’m still the crown prince. I might be an omega, but I was raised to represent the realm — not just accompany it.”

The room stilled for a moment. The advisor blinked.

Alhaitham didn’t look at him right away. He didn’t need to. He could feel the old spark. The same one that had drawn his attention the moment they met. It hadn’t vanished. Just dulled, buried under the pressure, the loneliness, the weight of choices made without his consent.

And maybe, just maybe, everything between them lately—the shared nights, the whispered words, the way Kaveh unraveled only in his arms—had given him something to hold onto again. Something real, in a world that demanded he wear a mask.

“Of course, Your Highness,” he replied carefully. “No one questions your position. These guidelines are meant to ensure harmony between your public image and... the role expected of you.”

“Expected,” Kaveh repeated under his breath. He exhaled slowly. “I just don’t want to be reduced to the part of me you’ve all decided matters most.” His tone wasn’t harsh. There was no anger in it — just something weary, something still fighting to stay upright under the weight of it all.

One of the attendants paused in adjusting his sleeve, then continued quietly. A few others averted their eyes, suddenly very interested in the floor.

Alhaitham watched him.

And Kaveh, for all his quiet dignity, wasn’t glowing like usual. He looked like someone preserving something fragile by pretending it wasn’t breaking.

“We know it’s difficult,” the advisor added after a beat, voice gentle now. “But appearances matter. Especially with a consort as... visible as the doctor.”

Kaveh gave a small, polite nod. “Of course.”

“As for spousal etiquette—” the advisor continued.

“Oh, I can't fucking wait for this part,” Kaveh muttered under his breath.

Alhaitham, standing by the far wall, glanced toward him.

The advisor carried on, ignoring the interruption. “Physical displays will begin upon announcement of engagement. A light hand at the doctor’s arm, or head bowed at his side, will be rehearsed daily. You are expected to demonstrate affection without assertiveness.”

“Affection,” Kaveh scoffed. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

For the first time in days, Alhaitham saw something flicker behind those golden eyes again.

Something raw. Something alive. The mask wasn’t falling all at once. But it was shifting.

Sliding.

And Alhaitham, against his better judgment, found himself hoping it would break completely.

The advisor hesitated. “It’s important the public sees you as agreeable. Accessible. Not… difficult.”

Accessible...?

“Heard loud and clear,” Kaveh said with a tight smile. “Smile pretty and keep my mouth shut. Very royal.”

A few staff chuckled, nervously. One of the maids gave him a look of fond pity — like he was a little tragic, but still charming. Alhaitham said nothing. 

“A brief note on scenting,” the advisor added, shifting the scroll. “You will begin neutralizing treatments shortly before the bonding ceremony. The doctor may apply light scent-marking during formal events. Typically at the nape. You will remain still during this process. Recoil is not appropriate.”

Kaveh’s hand twitched where it rested on his thigh.

He said nothing.

“As you’re aware,” the advisor continued, “the role of an omega heir is delicate but essential. It is a duty of lineage — to carry legacy, preserve political bonds, and represent unity between bloodlines. Though you are of royal status, Your Highness, it is important to remember that marriage is a union. You must come to terms with your alpha as well.”

That last line settled like ash in the air.

Kaveh didn’t move for a moment. Then he tilted his head slightly, voice still even. “That makes him sound more like the prince than me.”

The advisor blinked, caught off-guard. “Not what I meant, of course.”

“No?” Kaveh’s lips curved — not in amusement, but in something harder to name. “Because it certainly feels like I’m being folded into someone else’s future. Not the other way around.”

There was a murmur of nervous shifting behind him. One attendant dropped a clasp. No one spoke up.

Alhaitham watched carefully.

Kaveh’s tone wasn’t loud. It wasn’t emotional. But there was something in it — too sharp for resignation, too quiet for rebellion. Like someone forcing their dignity to hold shape beneath glass.

The advisor, still smiling politely, pressed on. “No one is questioning your place, Your Highness. But a consort such as the doctor holds significant influence. For the public to trust this union, it must reflect mutual understanding.”

Alhaitham’s gaze flicked briefly toward the advisor, then back to Kaveh.

Mutual understanding? he thought, jaw tightening. Is that what they’re calling submission now?

“Mutual,” Kaveh echoed. “Of course.” He said it like it tasted strange in his mouth. “Then I assume he’s being instructed how to understand me as well?”

The room fell silent.

Kaveh’s eyes didn’t leave the floor, but the weight in his voice lingered, like smoke after a spark.

The advisor said nothing.

Neither did the attendants.

The scroll was lowered slightly, but not closed.

And for a moment, everything hung in the air — still, suspended — as if the entire room was holding its breath to see if Kaveh would correct himself.

He didn’t.

Instead, he drew in a slow, measured breath and adjusted the sleeve that had already been straightened twice.

“I’m only asking,” he said, quieter now, “because I haven’t seen anyone telling him how to soften his tone. Or lower his gaze. Or behave as though he’s lucky to be chosen.”

No one replied.

He gave a faint smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Strange how that part of the rehearsal only ever seems to apply to me.”

Alhaitham watched him—watched the shape of his shoulders, how carefully they held. Watched the mask slip again, not shattered, but worn. He was folding under a weight that never stopped adjusting itself.

And yet, he stayed upright.

Kaveh shifted slightly on the bench, fingers loosening, voice calm again. Too calm. “My apologies,” he said after a pause, as if remembering himself. “I know everyone here is just doing their job.”

The room remained still. Tense. Professional. Then Kaveh smiled — soft, practiced, hollow at the edges.

“I’m just tired,” he added, almost lightly. “That’s all. It’s a long list of duties, and I haven’t quite memorized who I’m supposed to be yet.” He looked down at his lap, adjusting a nonexistent wrinkle in the silk.

“Of course I’ll follow it,” he said. “That’s the role. Isn’t it?” There was no bitterness in his voice. No heat.

The advisor cleared his throat, shifting the scroll slightly in his hands. “And… finally,” he said, voice lowering like that could soften the blow, “as part of the public ritual, the marriage will be consummated per council tradition. Three seated members of the king’s inner circle will be present to confirm the bond.”

The room fell silent.

Utterly, viscerally silent.

Kaveh didn’t move at first. Didn’t breathe. He simply blinked—once, then again, slower—as if the words hadn’t quite reached him properly. As if his ears had betrayed him.

Then he laughed.

Just once. Sharp. Disbelieving.

“I’m sorry,” Kaveh said, voice cutting the air like broken glass. “What the fuck did you just say?”

The advisor flinched, eyes darting briefly toward the guards lining the room, then back down at the scroll. “It’s an old rite, Your Highness,” he offered, meek now. “Merely symbolic. They will not interfere. Just observe. It confirms the legitimacy of—”

But the words died as the air shifted.

Alhaitham moved.

A single step forward—slow, deliberate—but it carried the force of a man about to break something in half. His scent hit like a warning—alpha pheromones pouring into the room, heavy and enraged, turning the air thick enough to choke on. One of the attendants backed away. The guards stiffened.

But Kaveh didn’t.

He didn’t speak or flinch. He just turned his head—met Alhaitham’s gaze with steel in his eyes—and raised one hand.

Just that.

A silent, unmistakable command.

Stop.

Alhaitham froze mid-step. Chest heaving. Eyes burning. Every line of him radiating fury barely restrained.

But he didn’t move another inch.

“Symbolic?” Kaveh turned, barked a short, stunned laugh. “You want me to let that man fuck me while a bunch of wrinkled old men take notes like I’m a research paper?”

A sharp gasp from the corner. Someone dropped a hairpin.

“Your Highness,” the advisor said tightly, “please—”

Kaveh stood abruptly, color draining from his face.

And that’s when it happened.

He looked up — and made eye contact with Alhaitham, again. Just for a second. Neither of them meant to. But neither looked away.

Kaveh’s expression was raw. Horrified . And for the first time since he'd walked out of the king’s council, Alhaitham felt something twist in his chest in response.

Because he looked almost the same.

The golden canary, gilded and perched so carefully in his cage, had finally stopped singing. Not with noise, but with silence, like something too tired to keep pretending it loved the view from behind the bars. And Alhaitham, who had never cared for beauty, found himself wishing he hadn’t seen it go dim.

“I—” Kaveh swallowed. His voice cracked slightly. “Get me the fuck out of this room.”

Alhaitham didn’t wait for permission. He stepped forward, cutting through the stunned silence, and held the door open without a word.

Kaveh stormed out, robes swishing behind him, his fists clenched at his sides.

Alhaitham followed.

And not once did he look back at the people who had sat so comfortably in that room, discussing his prince like he was a fucking object.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The sound of Kaveh’s boots echoed sharply against the marble floor — too fast, too loud, like each step was running from something. His clipped strides bounced off the stone, hard and uneven, robes trailing behind him like they were trying to hold him back.

Alhaitham followed, two steps behind.

His heart was pounding.

I don’t want to kill him.

Kaveh’s shoulders were tight. His hands, balled into fists. He didn’t look back.

I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to kill him.

The words kept looping, louder each time. He didn’t know when they’d started. Maybe after that morning briefing. Maybe after the first time Kaveh smiled at him without meaning to. Or maybe it was now — with Kaveh walking ahead like something inside him had just snapped, and Alhaitham didn’t know how to put it back.

He’s the prince. He’s your mission. He’s—

Sunlight.

He’s warmth. He’s golden mornings and stubborn fire, sharp words wrapped in softness. Eyes that burn even when they’re tired. He’s real. He’s alive. He’s infuriating, brilliant, impossible to ignore. He’s everything that breathes color into quiet places. He’s not something you destroy. He’s something you hold with both hands and pray you’re good enough not to lose.

You don’t destroy someone like Kaveh.

I don’t want to kill him.

“Your Majesty,” Alhaitham called, his voice trembling.

No response.

I don’t want to fucking kill him.

“Your Majesty.”

If anything, Dottore should fucking die.

Still nothing.

Please. I love you.

Kaveh’s steps were relentless, like he could walk himself out of his body.

“Kaveh.”

That did it.

He stopped. Not slowly. Just—stopped.

His shoulders hunched up, stiff, like he’d been struck between the blades. He didn’t turn. He didn’t speak.

Alhaitham approached cautiously, something in his chest pulling tighter with each step. He reached out, then slowly laid a hand on Kaveh’s shoulder. The fabric was warm. But Kaveh wasn’t.

He was still. Not with control — but with nothing. When he finally turned, Alhaitham felt something sink deep and painful in his chest. Kaveh’s face was… wrong. Not angry. Not upset. Just hollow . Lips parted, eyes distant. Like he’d walked all this way without realizing it. “Please,” Kaveh said, and his voice was too soft. Too small.  “Take me somewhere. Anywhere but here.”

Then quieter.

“Please? …Statue?”

Chapter Text

They had been on the road for five days.

It wasn’t framed as an escape.

The request was formal, logged with the court. A wellness retreat, they called it. Time away to soothe the prince’s nerves after an “overwhelming” etiquette session. No one argued. No one dared. After all, he had said please.

They left the next morning.

Kaveh hadn’t said much that morning. He wore no jewelry. No hairpiece. Just simple travel robes. Unadorned, unpressed, still creased where he’d curled up the night before and not slept. His neck was bare. He had still been wearing the collar when they departed the palace, the material catching faint morning light, but sometime after the city had fallen behind them, after the noise and eyes and suffocating weight of court faded, he’d slipped it off. Now with only Alhaitham beside him, he let his throat remain uncovered, pale skin unmarked by anything but the brush of the wind.

They left Sumeru behind, following one of the old trade roads that wound eastward through forests and hills. The first night was spent beneath thick canopies, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and leaves. On the second day, warm rain fell in sheets, and Kaveh insisted on riding without his cloak until he was dripping, hair plastered to his temples and laughter spilling out unrestrained. Alhaitham eventually handed him a scarf, watching with quiet satisfaction when he sneezed through the rest of the afternoon.

The route carried them through villages and valleys, each place marked by its own rhythm of life. Kaveh paused often to sketch, to complain about carvings weathered unevenly or railings that didn’t match their foundations, details everyone else had long stopped noticing.

“I mean, look at this curve,” Kaveh said, half-dangling his pencil in midair as they crossed. “The base is clearly Sumeru-style, but then they’ve just... glued on Liyue designs like stickers. No sense of flow. No scale harmony. It’s jarring.”

Alhaitham didn’t look up. “It’s a bridge. It gets you from one side to the other.”

“So would a plank,” Kaveh shot back. “We don’t celebrate those.”

“Liyue might,” Alhaitham mused. “They do like to make monuments out of stones.”

Kaveh groaned. “Yes, but they usually know what they’re doing. Their stuff has… intent. Rhythm. This? This looks like someone said ‘just make it pretty’ and hoped no one would notice.”

“You noticed.”

“Exactly,” he sniffed. “And now I’m the one who has to live with it.” He gave the bridge one last mournful look before continuing forward. “My eyes are suffering.”

“I’ll alert the architects.”

“You joke, but I might actually draft a redesign.”

In Qingce, they spent a night in a traveler’s inn tucked behind a terrace field. The walls were thin, the pillows stuffed unevenly, and the lanterns flickered like they were one breeze away from going out. The moment they stepped inside the room, Kaveh stared at the lone, narrow bed in the middle of it.

“…There’s only one.”

“Yes,” Alhaitham said blandly, setting down their bags. “Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me.”

Kaveh scowled. “You could’ve asked for another.”

“Yes,” Alhaitham said, setting his sword down with zero ceremony. “Again, shocking revelation, considering the innkeeper said ‘we have only one room left’ three times.”

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. “You’re not getting it.”

“No,” Alhaitham said flatly, turning back toward him. “You’re not getting it. Specifically, the bed.”

“I am the prince.”

“And I am the one who booked the room. With my name.”

“You booked a single bed?”

“Perhaps you’re blind too now? Since you were deaf earlier. ” Alhaitham replied. 

Kaveh groaned and dropped his satchel to the floor. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“There is no sofa.”

“There’s a bench in the front hall.”

“That’s not a sleeping surface. It’s barely a sitting one.”

Kaveh flung out an arm. “Then you sleep there!”

“I’m not the one throwing a tantrum over shared bedding.”

Kaveh blinked like he’d been slapped. “Tantrum?”

Alhaitham arched a brow, voice cool as stone. “We’ve done far more than just lie side by side, Kaveh. Surely a bed isn’t where you decide to draw the line.”

The color rose fast in Kaveh’s cheeks, climbing all the way to his ears. He opened his mouth, closed it, then sputtered, “Th-that’s completely different!”

“Is it?” Alhaitham asked mildly, stepping closer.

Kaveh jabbed a finger at the mattress like it had insulted him personally. “Do you know how many people would trade a year’s worth of court gossip just to see us in one bed? I have a reputation to—put me down!”

Too late.

In the middle of his protest, Alhaitham stepped forward, slid an arm behind Kaveh’s knees, and swept him up in one motion. Bridal-style. Kaveh gasped.

“Are you insane—”

“You’re small enough to fit,” Alhaitham said evenly, ignoring his squirming. “Stop kicking.”

“Put me down this instant, you statue-brained lunatic!”

Alhaitham didn’t. He walked to the bed, dropped Kaveh gently onto the mattress like a bag of overly perfumed rice, then yanked the blanket up to his chin in one brisk motion.

“There,” he said, tucking in the sides like he was restraining a particularly angry pillow. “Now you’re warm. And annoying. But at least horizontal.”

“I hate you,” Kaveh muttered, muffled by the blanket.

“Poor me.”

Alhaitham slid in beside him without fanfare, shifting so their shoulders just brushed under the thin quilt. Kaveh glared at the ceiling for a while, lips pressed into a thin line, before sighing and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “You’re warm, at least.”

A few moments passed in silence. Then Kaveh shifted. Once. Twice. The blanket rustled with every fidget until Alhaitham’s patience thinned.

“What,” Alhaitham said flatly into the dark.

“I’m getting comfortable,” Kaveh muttered, voice small but defensive.

“You’ve been trying for the last five minutes.”

Kaveh huffed, indignant. “Well, excuse me for not being blessed with your ability to fall asleep like a rock. Some of us are sensitive.”

Alhaitham didn’t reply, just let the silence hang. Then—hesitant, testing—Kaveh scooted closer. A little more. He stopped, lingered, then with all the reluctance of someone swallowing his pride, tucked himself softly against Alhaitham’s side, cheek brushing his shoulder.

“…Don’t make a comment,” Kaveh warned quickly, his voice muffled against fabric.

Alhaitham lifted his arm without hesitation, sliding it around Kaveh’s waist and drawing him in. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Kaveh grumbled, though his hand found Alhaitham’s shirt and curled there. “Good. Because this is purely for warmth.”

“Of course.”

“And because the mattress is uneven on that side.”

“Mm.”

“And—”

“Kaveh.”

“…What?”

“Be quiet.”

Kaveh was about to retort but felt a faint press of lips against the top of his hair, startling him into silence. His face heated instantly. He exhaled, body loosening against Alhaitham despite himself.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “But only because you’re tolerable like this.”

Alhaitham’s arm tightened slightly around him. “Sleep.”

And with nothing left to say, tangled up in warmth and the faintest hint of smugness, they finally drifted off.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The next day he insisted they try local walnut noodles at dinner, dragging Alhaitham by the wrist to a tiny outdoor stall with a single red lantern and an auntie who cooked with no measurements and too much heart. Kaveh slurped a mouthful confidently—then immediately went red.

“Oh archons,” he choked. “Why is it spicy? Why didn’t you warn me?!”

Alhaitham blinked. “I assumed you read the menu.”

“You know I don’t read Liyuean!” Kaveh rasped, gulping from a tea cup.

“You said you did when we passed the border.”

Kaveh glared at him over the rim. “That was pride, not fact.”

Alhaitham took a sip of his own tea, unbothered. “You’ll live.”

“I hope not,” Kaveh muttered, fanning his mouth. “Let me perish dramatically in this courtyard so they carve a poem about my foolish, beautiful death.”

“I’m not carrying your body home.”

“You’d leave me?” Kaveh gasped, dramatic hand on his chest.

“Immediately,” Alhaitham said without missing a beat.

Kaveh snorted mid-cough, then burst into a laugh that caught in his throat. “You’re such a bastard. Pass the pickled turnips.”

“You just said that.”

“I’ll say it again. Bastard.”

“Drama queen.”

“Walking statue.”

“Architect of chaos.”

“Emotionless lizard.”

Alhaitham finally gave him a long look, one of those drawn-out, slow sweeps of the eyes that held the weight of a full-body sigh. Entirely unimpressed. “Peacock.”

Kaveh made a sound between a cough and a choke, hand jerking up mid-bite. “What did you just call me?”

Alhaitham reached for another slice of pickled turnip and bit into it with maddening calm. “Peacock,” he repeated, voice annoyingly smooth. “Flashy. Loud. A bit territorial.”

Kaveh looked like he’d just been slapped with a velvet glove. “You—! You’re sleeping outside tonight.”

Alhaitham didn’t flinch. “I’ll just manhandle you so we sleep together anyway.”

The silence that followed cracked with tension. Kaveh froze mid-indignation, lips parted in disbelief. The words had landed too easily—casual, almost lazy—but the implication dragged heat up from his spine. His mouth opened again, as if to argue, but no sound came out. Then his face turned pink. Then red. And then the color bloomed down—past his ears, creeping to the base of his neck, flushing beneath the edge of his collar like spilled wine.

His scent betrayed him, too, ripe zaytun peaches spilling into the air, sweet and heady, curling through the small space between them. It thickened, sharpened with the rush of his embarrassment, and Alhaitham felt his own body react before he could stop it. Something low and instinctive stirred, a pull he wrestled down with the same stubborn control he always wielded, though his gaze lingered on Kaveh a moment too long.

Alhaitham didn’t move, but his gaze flicked down, just slightly, as if cataloging the shift. And Kaveh knew it, too, he saw the twitch at the corner of Alhaitham’s mouth, the smallest curve of satisfaction.

Kaveh grabbed the nearest thing on the table—a napkin, a spoon, it didn’t matter—and pointed it at him with a trembling hand. “You—! You’re incorrigible!”

“Big word for someone blushing like that.”

“I’m not blushing, you beast! It’s the lighting!”

“Of course,” Alhaitham murmured, voice rich with amusement. “It’s always the lighting.”

Kaveh’s scent betrayed him, regardless. It was shifting fast—heady and sweet, threaded with something volatile. Like overripe fruit at the edge of splitting. His fingers curled around the edge of the table as he turned away slightly, flustered beyond repair.

“I hate you.”

“You’ve said that quite a few times this week.”

Kaveh groaned and buried his face in his arms. “And I meant it every single time.”

Alhaitham leaned back, thoroughly unbothered. “Peacocks are loyal, you know.”

“…You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” Alhaitham added with a glance toward the flushed omega half-hiding behind his sleeves, “you’re still here.”

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

No one spoke of etiquette. Not the lessons. Not the marriage. Not the collar still lying folded in the bottom of Kaveh’s satchel like something venomous.

By the fourth day, they took a hike.

Kaveh had spotted a narrow stone trail climbing the ridges between Guili Plains and Dihua Marsh and decided, “We’re going up. I want to see it.”

Alhaitham had protested once, then relented. The horse was tied to a tree below, grazing, as they picked their way along the overgrown path. The higher they climbed, the quieter it became. Birdsong replaced market noise. Wind replaced the dull roar of expectations.

And when they reached the top, the view opened.

Terraces stretched far below in neat, glimmering steps. Lanterns bobbed in the wind from a nearby village, and across the marsh, the water gleamed gold in the sun. There were no walls here. No curtsies. No rehearsed greetings or ceremonial scripts.

Kaveh stared for a long time, hair caught in the breeze, cheeks warm from the sun. “There are no kings or queens here,” he said softly. “No crown on a throne. And still, look. Everything moves. Everything works. They don’t wait to be told.”

Alhaitham stood beside him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the shoreline where fishermen hauled in nets and gulls wheeled overhead. Children tore through the alleys laughing, merchants bartered in steady rhythm, the harbor pulsed with its own quiet order.

“Yet they do have Ningguang,” Alhaitham said at last. “The Tianquan sets policy, oversees trade. And still no one here seems to be waiting for her permission to live.”

Kaveh tilted his head, considering that, a small smile tugging faintly at his lips. “Exactly.”

He crouched by the stone edge of the little hill they stood on, fingertips brushing the flowers that had pushed up between the cracks. Yellow, white, a single violet one tangled in his hand. His voice dipped, quieter this time, shaded with something unsure. “When I was younger, I used to think we needed someone at the top. That…without a crown, the whole thing would collapse. But here… they’re fine. They build their own houses. Make their own rules. Eat together. Sleep when they want. Laugh.”

Alhaitham’s eyes lingered on him. “To you it feels extraordinary,” he said at last, voice low. “But that’s only because you’ve been bound your whole life by palace rules. For most people… this is simply living.”

There was a long pause.

Then Alhaitham asked, “Does it make you want it?”

Kaveh glanced up, lips twitching into a tired smile. “Freedom?”

Alhaitham’s gaze stayed on him, steady. “Yes, but I guess that is a stupid question.”

Kaveh didn’t answer at first. Just scoffed softly. He looked back at the horizon, at the little houses with mismatched roofs, at the sea glinting gold. The wind pushed through his hair again, gentler this time, like it was waiting too.

“I think,” Kaveh said slowly, “I just want to be somewhere no one owns me. Not by blood. Not by duty. Not by anyone’s name but mine.”

The words settled between them, steady and unshaken, like something that had taken years to form.

Alhaitham didn’t hesitate. “That makes sense.”

Kaveh blinked, surprised by how easily the agreement came—no retort, no scrutiny, no analytical breakdown. Just quiet acceptance.

“I’m tired,” Kaveh said, voice dropping low, stripped bare of performance. “Of being a prince. Everyone thinks it means power, but it doesn’t. Not for me. The moment they see omega beside my name, that’s all I am. A body to be managed. A bond to be signed. A womb to be filled. My crown doesn’t matter. My blood doesn’t matter. I could scream in the middle of the throne room and yet they wouldn’t care.”

A pause.  “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a prince at all. That I could just… be a person, a commoner. Plain. Ordinary. Allowed to want, to love, to bend or break without the entire court weighing it against politics. Allowed to be soft without it being a weakness.”

He swallowed, eyes glassy, but his voice held steady, quieter than before. “They talk about me like I’m a jewel, polished and priceless. But most days I don’t feel like royalty. I don’t even feel like a man. Just...an object they pass between themselves, as if I don’t belong to myself at all.”

Alhaitham glanced at him, expression unreadable. “That’s the cost of being born into a gilded cage.”

“I didn’t choose the cage,” Kaveh said, picking at the petals of a small white flower blooming by his foot. “But everyone still acts like I should be grateful for the gold.”

“Mm.”

Kaveh let out a breath, half a laugh, eyes on the sea again. “You’re making it really hard to argue with you today.”

“I didn’t come here to argue.”

“No?” Kaveh turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Alhaitham’s profile—sharp jaw, composed eyes, the subtle crease of thought between his brows.

Alhaitham shrugged. “I came to listen.”

Kaveh’s throat tightened unexpectedly, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do with the sudden, simple sincerity of that. So he looked away again, letting the wind fill the silence.

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The air in Mondstadt was different.

It smelled of blossoms and sweet cider, laughter and fresh bread. The wind carried ribbons through the streets, fluttering overhead in arcs of green, blue, and pink. Every stall overflowed with flowers, daisies, windwheel asters, roses tied into bouquets and crowns. Couples exchanged blooms shyly or boldly, musicians played on every corner, and the whole city moved like one long, joyful breath.

Kaveh was spellbound.

He drifted from stall to stall, golden hair catching the sunlight, eyes brigh as though he’d stepped into another world. Every time something new caught his attention, an elaborate arch of woven flowers, a garland strung between windows, a merchant laughing freely with strangers, he stopped, marveling like a child. His scent carried sweetly through the air, peach-warm and dizzying, unguarded in his wonder.

Alhaitham himself had never seen a place that exuded freedom. 

It wasn’t in the streets or the windblown banners, it was in Kaveh’s eyes as he looked at it, wide and shining, as though the city had given him back a piece of himself.

He walked a step behind, arms folded as always, but his gaze betrayed him. Again and again, it returned to Kaveh, flushed in the spring air, lips parted in awe, radiant in a way Alhaitham seldom saw. Not the polished elegance forced on him at court, but something freer, untouched. For once, Kaveh looked unburdened, his soul laid bare in its happiness, unguarded, alive. And Alhaitham found it more beautiful than anything else.

At one flower stall, Kaveh hesitated too long. The vendor, smiling indulgently, lifted a crown of white and violet blossoms and settled it carefully onto his head before he could protest.

Kaveh froze. “Ah—wait, I didn’t—”

But the crowd had already cheered softly, the vendor calling him handsome prince with a wink.

Kaveh’s cheeks went scarlet. He reached up as if to remove it, but Alhaitham caught his wrist.

“Leave it,” he said, voice low, unexpectedly firm.

Kaveh blinked up at him, startled. “Why?”

Alhaitham’s eyes lingered on the flowers tangled in gold, the crown framing his flushed face, his scent thick with shy pleasure. He swallowed once, too tightly. “Because it suits you.”

The thought struck him, that this was the crown Kaveh should have been born with. Not cold metal hammered into shape by duty, but petals and stems woven by gentle hands. A crown that asked nothing of him except to simply just exist, be seen and be loved.

Kaveh’s breath caught. He turned away quickly, muttering something about nonsense, but he didn’t remove it.

They left the stall together, Alhaitham’s stare still heavy on him.

The plaza was alive with sound. Beneath the towering statue of Barbatos, a bard sat cross-legged with a lyre in his hands, voice rising bright and clear into the spring air. The melody carried like sunlight across the square—playful, teasing, threaded with longing.

It sang of petals on the wind, of love fleeting and found, of freedom’s joy and ache. The refrain was plain: as long as flowers bloomed, no one was truly alone.

People clapped along, laughing, tossing flowers at the bard’s feet. Couples leaned close, children danced, the city itself seemed to sway to the tune.

Kaveh stood transfixed. His flower crown shifted slightly in the breeze, his carmine eyes wide as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His lips parted, breath catching, his entire body caught in the spell of it.

Alhaitham’s gaze lingered, steady, soft. Then he remembered about a sign swinging lazily over a nearby street, a carved wooden cat, painted bright. “The Cat’s Tail,” he murmured. “I heard they host card games inside. The festival-goers won’t stop bragging about it.”

Kaveh followed his gaze, curiosity sparking. “…Mm. That does sound fun. We should go sometime. Play a few rounds. Drink a little.”

Alhaitham’s mouth curved faintly, the edges softening in a way Kaveh wasn’t used to. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sounds good.”

For a moment, they only looked at each other. Just a smile—small, unguarded, shared.

A voice piped up beside them. “You look like you’ve never been to a festival before!”

For some reason, the shrill little voice irritated Alhaitham instantly. He didn’t know what this floating…thing was, but he already disliked it on principle.

Kaveh startled, whipping his head toward the sound and blinked down at the floating creature hovering at eye level. “What—by the Seven—” His voice cracked. “Is that—?”

“Paimon!” the little being huffed indignantly, putting her fists on her tiny hips. “Not that! Paimon’s name is Paimon! Honestly, travelers these days—”

Kaveh could only stare, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing. “You—you’re… floating.”

“Yes,” Paimon said proudly, as though that explained everything.

A girl with golden hair stepped forward then, smiling warmly. “Don’t mind her. She likes making dramatic entrances.” She extended a hand in easy greeting. “I’m Lumine. And you two are?”

Alhaitham’s gaze flicked to Kaveh—waiting, weighing whether he’d speak.

Kaveh cleared his throat, dragging his eyes from Paimon. “Ah—I’m… Kaveh. And this is Alhaitham—” His voice dipped, awkward. “—my companion. We’re just passing through.”

“Passing through at the right time,” Lumine said with a grin, gesturing toward the square. “Windblume is the best Mondstadt has to offer. A celebration of freedom, of love, of giving thanks. Everyone has someone or something they want to honor.”

Kaveh’s expression softened, carmine eyes turning back to the bard as music carried on the breeze. “Freedom,” he murmured, almost to himself. 

Paimon tilted her head curiously. “You sound like you’ve never had it before.”

A nerve twitched on Alhaitham's temple.

Alhaitham’s gaze slid to her, unimpressed. “What a tactful thing to say.”

Kaveh blinked, startled—then his lips curved, a flicker of warmth breaking through. He didn’t look at Alhaitham, but the small smile lingered all the same.

Paimon floated back a little, arms crossed, squinting at Alhaitham. “You, mister—do you have a problem with me? You’ve been looking at me like you wanna cook me alive!”

Before the tension could build, Lumine’s voice came in mild, almost distracted as she glanced toward another stall. “You are emergency food.”

Paimon whipped around, scandalized. “Hey!!”

The bard’s refrain soared higher, and the crowd cheered. Lumine didn’t press, only nodded toward the statue’s base, where flowers piled thick as offerings. “If it’s your first Windblume, you should leave one too. It doesn’t have to mean anything complicated. Just something that matters to you.”

Kaveh hesitated. Then he lowered his gaze to the violet bloom still tangled between his fingers. Slowly, carefully, he stepped forward and placed it among the rest.

The wind tugged at his robe, caught the crown in his hair, and carried the scent of peaches into the spring air.

The last note of the lyre hadn’t even faded when a voice rang out, loud and sour. “Sing something worth drinking to, bard! All this flower nonsense is for lovesick brats.”

The cheer cracked in the square. Some laughed too loudly, others frowned and shuffled, but the mood faltered.

From the stage, the bard only tilted his head, fingers dancing lazily over the strings. “Ah, a critic,” he said, voice warm with mischief. “Don’t worry, friend, I’ve written songs for your type too—though most of them rhyme with off-key braying.”

‘’Brayingー’’

Kaveh spun around instantly, interrupting, flower crown tilting. “A critic? That’s not criticism, that’s an insult.” His voice was sharp, incredulous. “Did you really just insult music at the Windblume Festival of all places?”

The drunk sneered, swaying on his feet. “And who are you supposed to be? Pretty boy with flowers in his hair?”

Kaveh’s mouth dropped open. His hand flew to the crown, scandalized. “Pretty—?” He took a heated step forward. “I’ll have you know this crown was a gift from people who actually understand beauty. Unlike you, drowning yourself in cheap wine and calling it taste.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. The bard plucked a quick, teasing chord. “Careful,” he sang over the noise, “beauty cuts sharper than any blade.”

The heckler barked a laugh, but Kaveh only grew louder. “What kind of joyless existence insults a bard in Mondstadt? Have you no shame?”

Lumine’s lips parted slightly in surprise at the stranger’s vehemence. Beside her, Paimon whispered, “Whoa… he’s really going for it.”

The drunk shoved forward with a scowl. “Say that again, flower boy, and I’ll—”

He stopped cold.

Because Alhaitham had stepped forward, slow, deliberate. His eyes fixed on the man with quiet, merciless precision. Arms loose at his sides, shoulders squared, gaze like a blade unsheathed.

The heckler faltered instantly. He blanched, stammered, then stumbled back into the crowd, vanishing without another word.

For a moment, the square was silent. Then applause broke out, louder than before.

Kaveh stood, chest rising with indignation, clearly about to launch into more words—but Paimon zipped forward first, eyes wide. “That was amazing! You— you just shut him down with one look!”

Alhaitham didn’t answer.

Lumine’s gaze shifted between them, thoughtful. “And you—” She nodded at Kaveh. “That was brave. Risky, but… brave.”

Kaveh’s flush deepened, half pride, half embarrassment. “Someone had to say it,” he muttered, still bristling.

That was when the bard laughed. A bright, lilting sound, far too amused.

“Well, well,” he sang, strumming a quick playful chord, “our golden friend defends with fire, and the statue silences with a stare. Mondstadt owes you both.”

Kaveh froze, ears pink at “golden friend.” “I wasn’t— I mean, I just—”

The bard leaned in a little, eyes glinting, voice playful “You defended art. You defended joy. That’s no small thing. In Mondstadt, we call that freedom—the courage to speak when silence is easier.”

He let the words hang a moment, then tipped his lyre like a hat, a grin curling across his mouth. “Ah, but where are my manners? I’m Venti. Bard, drinker, occasional troublemaker.”

Kaveh blinked, caught off guard. His mouth opened, then shut, words tangled somewhere between protest and agreement. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Kaveh,” he said, gesturing faintly to himself before flicking his hand toward the man behind him. “And that’s Alhaitham.”

Paimon floated closer, tilting her head. “Freedom, huh? Sounds like you’re making a bigger deal out of it than it was.”

“Is it a big deal to breathe?” Venti countered lightly, plucking another quick riff on his lyre. “Not until someone tries to take the air from your lungs.” His gaze flicked back to Kaveh, smile sly but warm. “The same goes for song. For beauty. For the right to laugh without asking permission. You protected that today.”

Kaveh swallowed, shifting faintly under the weight of those words. His shoulders softened, though his cheeks stayed pink. “I only said what anyone would.”

“Ah,” Venti said with a grin. “But the trick is, most people don’t.”

For a moment, even the wind seemed to hush around them. Alhaitham caught the faint scent of peaches—sharper, sweeter now, betraying what Kaveh wouldn’t say aloud.

Lumine’s eyes lingered on the bard, thoughtful. She didn’t speak, but Alhaitham noticed the way she seemed to file the words away.

Then Venti clapped his hands once, breaking the spell. “But enough heavy thoughts!” His grin widened as he tucked the lyre under one arm. “Festival air makes mouths dry, doesn’t it? Let’s share a drink. I know a spot—up by the cliff overlooking the city. Best cider, best view. What do you say?”

Paimon perked immediately, eyes sparkling. “Free cider and a view? Paimon says yes!”

Lumine gave a small nod. “It sounds… nice.”

Kaveh glanced sidelong at Alhaitham, uncertain, but his lips curved, almost despite himself. “A drink after defending art,” he murmured, faint amusement slipping through. “Seems appropriate.”

·· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

They spread out on the grassy cliff, the city sprawled beneath them in the spring haze. Kaveh insisted on arranging the blanket just so, flattening creases, tucking stray flowers around the edges. Paimon complained about starving while he fussed, but as soon as the food was set out she dove headfirst into a honey roast like it was her last meal. Lumine sat more quietly, sipping juice and keeping a steady eye on her companion’s antics.

The spread was eclectic, half from festival stalls, half pressed into their hands by cheerful vendors on the way up. Still-warm sweet rolls, soft cheese, glazed apples. A small barrel of cider rolled to rest at the corner of the blanket. Beside it, green bottles of wine clinked faintly in the breeze, their labels worn from years of travel. And nestled among them, a darker glass flask that smelled sharper than the rest when Kaveh pulled it free.

“Dandelion wine,” he murmured, curious. “I’ve heard of it. Didn’t think I’d ever taste it here.”

Paimon floated closer, nose twitching. “It smells way too strong for you. Better let Alhaitham have it!”

Alhaitham’s brow arched. “You assume I want it.”

Venti laughed from where he lounged on the grass, plucking at his lyre. “Oh, everyone wants it. The question is whether they can handle it.”

Kaveh poured himself a cup, ignoring Alhaitham’s unimpressed look. He swirled the wine once, watching the light catch in the glass. “Trust me,” he said, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “I know a lot about alcohol. More than I’d like to admit.”

Paimon blinked at him, mouth full of honey roast. “Eh? You don’t look like someone who drinks a lot.”

Alhaitham had taken one look at the scene and drifted to the far edge of the cliff. He sat apart on a flat stone, arms folded, gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the wind tangled with the clouds. He wasn’t sulking—at least not in the way Kaveh accused him of sometimes. But the laughter and chatter grated in his ears, too loud, too free. He preferred the silence.

And in that silence, the reality crashed to him, that, after the music, the petals, the fragile laughter Kaveh allowed himself, he would be marched back to Sumeru. Back to the palace. To the wedding. 

He swallowed hard, eyes narrowing at the city below.

What would it have been like, if they were normal? Just men. No titles, no cages. No king pulling strings, no court watching every breath. Would Kaveh have laughed more? Would he have argued less, or more still, simply because it didn’t cost him anything? Would they have lived here, perhaps on these windblown cliffs, in streets that didn’t know his name?

Mondstadt was not their home. He was Sumerian by birth, though even that word felt thin on his tongue. His family had left the city when he was still young; by the time he returned as a man, it was no longer the same place. Too rigid. Too strange. And for all that Kaveh had lived in Sumeru his entire life, it never felt like home to him either. 

But here… here, freedom clung to the air itself. It sank into stone and song alike. And Alhaitham, who had never trusted poetry, found himself thinking that Mondstadt smelled like a home he’d never had.

A pathetic thought.

He wondered what kind of way out there could possibly be. He always did. The question coiled endlessly in his head like a riddle with no answer. Was there any path where Kaveh wasn’t crushed by duty and he wasn’t forced into betrayal? Was there a world where the golden light beside him wasn’t already marked for ruin?

The answer, as always, was silence.

And still, Alhaitham sat there, staring into the horizon like it might offer one anyway.

A soft hum threaded into the storm that is his mind, low and easy, followed by the faint pluck of strings. Alhaitham didn’t have to turn his head to know who it was.

“You’ve abandoned your flock,” he said dryly.

“They’ll survive.” Venti dropped onto the stone beside him without asking, legs swinging over the edge. He held a bottle loosely in one hand, the glass catching the sun. “Besides, you looked like a man who could use company. Even if you won’t admit it.”

“I came here for silence.”

“Mm.” Venti tipped the bottle back, then let the wind catch his words. “And yet you came to Mondstadt during Windblume. Terrible planning.”

Alhaitham’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on the city below—streets alive with music, petals scattering, people laughing with no thought of who might be listening. It made something in his chest ache.

Venti watched him for a while, then held the bottle out, pressing it into Alhaitham’s hand. “Here. Dandelion wine. Not as sweet as cider,” he said, grin tilting, “but the burn goes down clean.”

Alhaitham glanced down at it. The glass was cool, heavy. “I don’t drink much.”

“Then consider this practice.” Venti smiled, faintly sly. 

Alhaitham rolled his eyes, tipping the bottle anyway. “I am surrounded by drunkards.”

The grass rustled behind him. “Speaking of drunkards,” came Kaveh’s voice, just a touch too bright, a touch too loose. He wobbled into view, flower crown sliding half off his head, cheeks flushed from cider.

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes. “You’re tipsy.”

“I’m relaxed,” Kaveh corrected primly, though the way he promptly leaned against Alhaitham’s shoulder betrayed him. His hair tickled Alhaitham’s jaw as he settled there with a content sigh. “Much better.”

Alhaitham stiffened. His stomach turned over—an odd, low pull he wasn’t prepared for. He stared forward at the horizon as though it might offer an escape. “You’re heavy.”

Kaveh huffed a quiet laugh, eyes closed. “Bold of you to assume I care.”

Alhaitham exhaled through his nose, one arm adjusting minutely to keep him from sliding off the stone. “You’ll regret this in the morning.”

“Maybe,” Kaveh murmured, voice softer now. “But right now… it’s fine.”

From the grass behind them came a sing-song voice. “Well then, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

Kaveh froze. His lashes fluttered, and he lifted his head just enough to glance sideways at Alhaitham. “Lovebirds… huh?” His voice was quieter now, stripped of bravado, as though testing the word.

Alhaitham’s gaze stayed forward, but the sound that left him was low, almost thoughtful. “Mm.”

Kaveh’s throat worked. He dropped his gaze, flower crown slipping slightly in the wind. “I… like birds,” he whispered, softer than before.

For a long moment neither of them moved. The city stretched below, the wind carried laughter, and spring petals scattered across the cliff. Then Kaveh shifted closer, his hand brushing lightly against Alhaitham’s chest for balance. He tilted his face up, slow, hesitant, and pressed the gentlest kiss against his lips—soft as a secret, fleeting as the breeze.

Alhaitham’s breath caught, the burn of wine forgotten. His arm tightened around Kaveh’s waist, holding him there, holding him close.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. The marriage, the court, the sharp edges of duty waiting for them both. But as the wind tangled through Kaveh’s golden hair and the warmth of his body pressed into his side, Alhaitham thought one thing with quiet certainty, whatever the fates had written, they would face it together.

Chapter Text

Hello everyone. This isn’t an update but I wanted to take a moment to explain where I currently stand with writing. I’ve always tried to be transparent about my process for all the fanfics I have posted (that now I have archived). In the past, I occasionally used chatgpt to refine certain dialogues or fix small grammar mistakes. It was never a large part of my writing but lately after learning more about AI and its impact, I dont feel comfortable continuing to use it even in small ways.

I plan to step back and if I return, it’ll be with stories that are fully written and polished by me alone or through a beta reader! Thank you so much for your understanding and continued support💗

I am just trying to be better.

Chapter Text

Kaveh knew his death was coming. He found out about the plot long before Alhaitham, his designated assassin, arrived at court. Still he could not hate Alhaitham. Kaveh hated his own life and he understood Alhaitham was protecting someone else. Kaveh never expected to fall for the man meant to kill him. As events unfolded, Kaveh decided that if he had to die, it would be on his own terms, by the hands of the man he loved.

The assassination order was more personal than Alhaitham realized. Kaveh's father, the King, was the mastermind, issuing the hit through the third party who hired Alhaitham. The King’s goal was not just to secure the royal line. Although Kaveh was a pure-blood omega, the King acted out of profound, personal bitterness. He blamed Kaveh for the death of his biological mother, the Queen. The King sought comfort with other women, had a bastard child, and preferred this child over Kaveh. He planned Kaveh’s public death by his "bodyguard" to avoid suspicion. He wanted his bastard child, Kavi, an alpha, who disguised himself as beta, on the throne.

On the wedding day, Alhaitham stabbed Kaveh but purposely missed all vital organs. Since the court believed the Crown Prince was dead, Alhaitham fled with the wounded Kaveh. During their escape, as Alhaitham tended to the injury, Kaveh revealed the full truth. He confirmed the King's manipulation and confessed the fatal detail. "Eliane has been dead this whole time," Kaveh explained. "You were going to end my life for a life that was never alive." Alhaitham was furious that Kaveh had withheld such a crucial secret. Kaveh calmly met his gaze with a bittersweet smile. "We both had secrets." With the knowledge that he had been entirely manipulated and betrayed, Alhaitham chose vengeance. He decided to destroy the entire kingdom.

When Alhaitham returned to the castle to enact his plan, he found Dottore, dying. This was Kaveh's final action. Kaveh wanted to die on his own terms, but his self-respect was still intact. He had been slowly poisoning Dottore the whole time, pouring small amounts of rat poison into Dottore's wine. The kingdom burst into flames, killing everyone, including innocent people, Alhaitham's revenge. The blame fell on Dottore, making the destruction look like his suicide. With the kingdom destroyed, Alhaitham and Kaveh ran away together to Mondstadt, the city of freedom.

With time, they built a cozy home together. It looked almost exactly like the little house Kaveh used to sketch when he daydreamed. They adopted a cat and named him Mehrak and later they raised two children of their own. Their life was small compared to a kingdom, but it was peaceful, and it finally belonged to them.


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