(BL)The Villain Marries The Barbarian Prince To Escape The Plot!

Valdor did not stop until the council chamber doors had closed behind them and the voices within became muffled beneath several layers of carved wood.

The outer corridor was broad, lined with white marble pillars and tall windows overlooking one of the palace’s inner gardens, but he barely registered the elegance surrounding them. He pushed Amor’s chair toward a recessed alcove between two golden statues, away from the gathering attendants and curious courtiers beginning to emerge for the recess. There, beneath the colored light falling through a narrow stained-glass window, Valdor finally moved around to face him.

Amor looked frighteningly pale. The warm, pink color had disappeared from his lips, leaving them parted around quick, shallow breaths that never seemed to reach deeply enough. Fine moisture gathered along his brow despite the chill of his skin, while a tremor moved through his shoulders and down both arms. His pink eyes remained fixed upon the marble floor without truly seeing it. Valdor knelt immediately.

"Amor."

There was no response. The young noble’s hand had curled rigidly upon the edge of the mountain-glass pendant while the other pressed uselessly against his knees. His breathing quickened further when footsteps echoed somewhere down the corridor. The sound made his body flinch even though the approaching people remained far away.

Valdor’s heart ached. He understood wounds that bled, bones that shifted, fever, poison, and exhaustion. He knew how to splint a leg in winter, slow bleeding with pressure, draw venom from shallow bites, and recognize when a warrior’s silence concealed pain. This looked like none of those things, yet Amor appeared closer to death than when the ram charged him.

Valdor did not know how to fix it. The helplessness hurt almost as much as fear.

"Look at me."

He said softly. Amor’s gaze did not move. The warrior touched two fingers to the delicate wrist only after hesitating, feeling a pulse racing beneath skin cold enough to alarm him. Amor did not recoil, but neither did he seem fully aware of the contact. His trembling worsened as another cluster of people passed the far end of the corridor. Valdor looked toward the open windows.

’Perhaps Amor is cold?’

It was the only problem he could solve immediately. He rose just enough to remove the sleeveless mantle from his shoulders, freeing the moonstone clasp carefully before pulling the dark fabric and fur away from his body. The garment retained the warmth of his skin and carried the scent of smoke, herbs, cold mountain air, and the soap House Moons supplied in the guest rooms. Valdor draped it around Amor’s shoulders and tucked the heavier fur across his chest.

Amor inhaled. The breath still shuddered, but it went deeper. Valdor noticed.

He drew the mantle closer without trapping Amor’s arms, creating a warm enclosure that could be left whenever the young noble chose. The moonstone clasp remained attached near the edge, pale light resting beside the purple pendant. Amor’s face disappeared partly within the dark fur. The scent reached him before the warmth did.

Valdor.

Not the courtroom from Lovell’s childhood. Not his mother’s perfume filling the car before she told him what to say. Not the sharp cologne his father wore while promising that everything would be easier if Lovell simply remembered who truly loved him.

Valdor smelled like firewood, herbs, clean skin, leather, and something warm enough to remind Amor of sunlight spread across a mountain he had never seen. The familiarity cut through the haze. It gave the present a shape.

The floor beneath him became palace marble again. The voices belonged to courtiers leaving a hearing, not lawyers discussing custody beyond a closed door. The hand near his wrist belonged to someone who asked before touching. Amor’s fingers loosened from the pendant.

His breathing remained uneven, but the terrible sense of being trapped between two separate lives began to recede. He tried to lift his head and failed, the movement making the corridor tilt. Instead, his free hand left his lap. It moved blindly, searching. Valdor saw it immediately.

He caught Amor’s hand between both of his own before the fingers could reach empty air. His palms enclosed the smaller hand completely, giving warmth without pressure. Amor clung to him.

The contact steadied something inside him. Heat seeped slowly into his fingers, traveling through the cold stiffness of his hand and upward into his arm. Amor focused upon the roughness beneath his thumb, the familiar scars, and the broad fingers closing carefully around his own. He had played with this same hand inside the hearing only minutes earlier.

He was not a child on a witness stand. He was Amor Moons. Valdor was here. His next breath reached deeper.

Then another.

The shaking did not stop at once, but its rhythm softened. Amor’s shoulders lowered beneath the mantle, and the pressure inside his chest gradually released enough to let air move without pain. His gaze remained fixed upon the floor, though awareness returned behind it. Valdor stayed silent.

Questions crowded his thoughts, each sharpened by fear. Why had Amor turned cold? What had he seen while Celestine and Alphonsins argued? Who were the people that made him react to courtrooms as though they contained monsters?

Valdor wanted answers because not knowing left him powerless, but he remembered the promise made beside Amor’s bed. When Amor eventually told him, he would listen. He would not tear open the story merely because fear made waiting difficult. So he watched.

He counted Amor’s breaths without announcing it. He kept both hands around Amor’s until the fingers no longer felt frozen. When Amor finally lifted his eyes, they remained unfocused but no longer empty.

"Valdor?"

He whispered.

"I am here."

The answer came immediately. Amor’s fingers tightened again. Valdor moved closer until one knee nearly touched the wheel of the chair.

"Do you hurt?"

Amor shook his head.

"Your chest?"

Another small shake.

"Can you breathe?"

"Yes."

The word emerged thin, but complete. Valdor exhaled for what felt like the first time since leaving the chamber. Footsteps thundered down the corridor.

"Amor!"

Lanslet appeared around the nearest pillar with his formal coat flaring behind him, all courtly restraint abandoned beneath terror. Doctor Haverin hurried beside him clutching the medical case, while two royal attendants struggled to keep pace. Vervath followed several steps behind, moving quickly but without the frantic disorder of the marquess.

Lanslet reached the chair. He looked first at Amor’s face, then his hands, chest, injured ankle, and the mantle wrapped around him. His own face had gone pale. He cupped Amor’s cheek before remembering the young noble might not welcome sudden contact and softened the touch instantly.

"My moonlight, look at me..."

Amor turned toward him. Lanslet’s breath caught.

"You are freezing."

"I- I’m feeling better."

"You do not look better."

"He is breathing more evenly."

Valdor offered. Lanslet’s head turned. The fear inside him immediately found a target.

"You!"

Valdor straightened slightly.

"You took my son out of the hearing without waiting for royal permission."

"He could not breathe."

"I can see that."

"I brought him here."

"And before that, you stole him from the estate."

Amor blinked through the remnants of haze. Valdor’s expression remained still.

"He gave permission."

"He did not know what he was permitting for."

"He said yes."

Lanslet looked ready to explain several legal distinctions regarding informed consent, parental terror, and abduction when Doctor Haverin stepped between them with the authority of a man who had already endured too much from both families.

"I need room to examine my patient. Gentlemen, please move aside."

The physician crouched before Amor. He checked the pulse at his wrist, inspected his pupils, and asked him to take several slow breaths. Amor complied, though Lanslet continued hovering so close that Doctor Haverin had to reposition his shoulder twice. Valdor remained on the other side, still holding Amor’s hand.

"Do you remember what happened that may have caused this reaction, Young Lord?"

Haverin asked.

"I just... became overwhelmed."

"Did you feel pain before the breathing changed?"

"No."

"Any dizziness?"

"Yes, a little."

"Do you feel faint now?"

"Not as much, no."

The physician touched the back of Amor’s hand and frowned at the lingering cold.

"You’ve always been on the colder side but this is mildly concerning. Keep the mantle around him."

Valdor nodded. Lanslet looked toward the garment as though prepared to order every fur in the kingdom delivered to the palace.

"Doctor Haverin, should he return home?"

"Uh, well, in my professional opinion, that’s not necessarily needed for this type of ailment."

"He nearly collapsed before the king! If that isn’t an urgent excuse to leave then I don’t know what is."

"He remained seated, my lord. Even if he were to faint it wouldn’t cause any more harm if he stayed."

"He stopped breathing—"

"I did not stop breathing."

Amor said.

"You looked dead!"

"Father!"

Lanslet turned toward Doctor Haverin with renewed urgency.

"I knew I should have made him remain at the estate. I knew this hearing would be too strenuous, but he insisted, and everyone encouraged him as though courage prevents the body from failing."

"I am sitting here, Father."

Amor reminded him. The marquess ignored that evidence.

"We are leaving."

"No..."

Lanslet looked at him. Amor swallowed and tried to gather enough energy for firmness.

"I am going back into the hearing."

"Don’t talk, you can barely speak—"

"I am speaking just fine!"

"You are pale—"

"I have always been pale."

"But not like this, Av—my moonlight."

Doctor Haverin raised one hand.

"He needs several minutes of deep breathing before anyone decides anything."

Lanslet began arguing about transport, treatment, and whether the royal physician should be summoned as a second opinion. The more frightened he became, the more detailed his concerns grew. Amor allowed the words to pass over him while continuing to hold Valdor’s hand.

Vervath arrived beside them. He looked down at Amor, assessed the returning color in his face, then looked toward Lanslet’s frantic gestures. His expression suggested he considered the situation serious but believed the current quantity of panic was already sufficient. As usual, he attempted to improve matters.

"The boy still has both feet..."

Everyone looked at him. Vervath continued.

"So the morning is already better than expected."

Lanslet’s face became blank. Doctor Haverin closed his eyes. Valdor gave his father the same deeply unamused look he had offered in the guest chamber the previous night. Vervath pointed toward him.

"That face again!"

"This is not the time."

Valdor said.

"It is a recess."

"That is not what I meant."

Vervath crossed his arms.

"If Amor cannot continue, Valdor can carry him home. He is practiced now."

Lanslet turned sharply.

"He has practiced kidnapping my son twice."

Amor’s hazy gaze focused. The corridor quieted.

"Twice?"

Lanslet froze. Valdor closed his eyes briefly. Vervath’s brows rose with immediate delight. Amor looked from one father to the other.

"What do you mean twice?"

Lanslet recovered with the speed of a court veteran.

"It was a slip of the tongue."

"You said he kidnapped me twice."

"I meant that he carried you away twice recently."

"No, you did not."

Doctor Haverin tried to redirect Amor’s attention.

"Young Lord, continue breathing slowly."

"I am breathing."

"Not as slowly as before. In for five seconds, out for ten."

Amor ignored him and tightened his hold upon Valdor’s hand.

"Father. Tell me."

Lanslet’s smile became unnaturally pleasant.

"There is no reason to discuss this now. There will be plenty of time lat—"

Vervath stepped forward.

"There is every reason!"

Lanslet looked toward him with sudden horror.

"Do not."

Vervath smiled.

"We are standing in a church. Truth is favored."

Lanslet stared.

"This is the royal palace."

The chieftain glanced toward the stained-glass window, marble pillars, and gold statues surrounding them.

"It looks like a church."

"I can assure you it is not."

"Truth remains favored."

"That is not the point here, Vervath. Please stay silent on the matter."

Vervath turned toward Amor. The young noble had lifted his head fully now. Color remained absent from his cheeks, but curiosity had replaced the distant fear in his eyes. His breathing was still delicate, though steadier with every passing moment. Vervath noticed the improvement immediately. So did Valdor.

His first instinct was to stop the story. The memory of his five-year-old self stealing an infant noble, hiding him inside a garden cave, building a nest from flowers, and declaring him a wife had already caused enough humiliation when Vervath revealed it privately. Having Amor hear the entire account while wrapped in Valdor’s mantle and holding his hand seemed unnecessarily cruel. Then Amor looked toward him.

"What happened?"

The question carried genuine engagement. The haze had begun leaving his expression. Valdor’s embarrassment became less important. He gave the smallest nod toward his father. Vervath’s grin widened.

Lanslet saw the permission and looked betrayed by both Blackstone men.

"You cannot possibly believe this is appropriate!"

"It will help distract the boy."

Valdor said.

"You truly believe hearing tales from the past will help him recover from a medical episode?"

"Yes."

"That does not make it treatment. Doctor Haverin, say something!"

Doctor Haverin, still observing Amor’s breathing, glanced toward the chieftain.

"If the story keeps him calm, I will allow it."

Lanslet turned toward the physician.

"You cannot possibly be encouraging this."

"I have been asked about amputation twice in one day. My standards have changed."

Vervath looked pleased. Amor shifted beneath the mantle.

"Tell me."

The chieftain did not require another invitation.

"Twenty years ago..."

He began.

"Blackstone came to House Moons during the first envoy visit."

Lanslet groaned softly. Vervath ignored him.

"The treaty was new. When signing it your kingdom nobles watched us as if we might eat the silverware, and your father watched me as if I might eat him."

"You threatened to test whether a count’s jeweled cane was a weapon."

Lanslet said.

"It looked sharp enough to be. It was a compliment."

"It was decorative and wholly distasteful. You know he won’t even consider participating housing delegates of Blackstone anymore after that incident? And the cane is now used as a center piece at his estate."

"Then it was a poor cane..."

Amor’s lips moved faintly. Valdor noticed the beginning of a smile. Vervath continued with increasing enthusiasm.

"Anyway, Valdor was five. Angry about leaving the mountains. He said the kingdom smelled too sweet and the floors were dangerous because they shone."

"They were slippery."

Valdor muttered. Amor looked up at him.

"You complained about floors?"

"I was five."

"You still distrust furniture, I see."

"Furniture breaks."

Vervath nodded as though this supported everything. Lanslet crossed his arms, resignation replacing resistance now that the story had begun.

"When we were here signing, Valdor refused every sweet offered to him and glared at the musicians."

"They were loud."

Valdor said.

"You attempted to take one man’s drum. Bit him and everything before an elder had to pull you off like some rabid beast."

"I wanted to see it."

"You were holding a knife."

"It was a small knife."

Amor’s smile grew. The color in his face began returning by degrees. Vervath saw it and leaned fully into the tale.

"So, we arrived to House Moons then, Lady Moons brought you the downstairs."

Amor blinked.

"Me?"

"Mhm, you were just an infant."

"How old?"

"About three weeks."

Lanslet answered reluctantly. Vervath spread his hands to indicate a very small bundle.

"Tiny. Lavender hair already long enough to curl around your ears. Wrapped in white blankets with little silver moons..."

Amor touched his own hair. Valdor stared toward the floor. His father’s voice took on dramatic reverence.

"Valdor saw you and forgot every complaint."

Amor turned toward him. The warrior’s ears had darkened faintly beneath his hair.

"What did you do?"

Amor asked. Valdor remained silent. Vervath answered for him.

"He walked directly to your mom and demanded to hold you!"

"I asked."

Valdor said.

"You said, ’Give him to me.’"

"That was asking."

"No..."

Amor said.

"That was a command."

Valdor looked toward him.

"I was five."

"You appear to have improved only slightly."

The familiar teasing softened the corridor further. Vervath continued.

"Of course we refused. Valdor managed to trick your mother into bringing you into the playroom. From then on you two were inseparable. He once followed the maid holding you through three rooms."

"I wanted to see the baby."

"Ha! You couldn’t fool me then or now. You wanted to keep him."

"That came later."

Amor’s eyes widened.

"Later?"

Lanslet rubbed his forehead. Vervath looked delighted.

"When no one watched, he took you from the cradle."

Amor stared at Valdor. The warrior’s gaze remained fixed upon the opposite wall with the expression of a man enduring public execution. His hand stayed within Amor’s, though his fingers had become suspiciously still.

"You kidnapped me... again?"

Amor said. Valdor looked down at him.

"You were safe."

"That does not answer the accusation."

"I carried you through the garden before."

"Yes but this is without my permission at that time."

"...Yes."

Amor’s eyebrows rose. Vervath laughed.

"He brought you to a little cave beneath the flowering hedges. Not a true cave, it was part of a fake waterfall. A hollow between stones where children hid during games."

Valdor muttered.

"It was a good shelter."

"You lined it with flowers and stolen blankets! It’s a wonder where you learned to construct a good nest without guidance first."

Amor looked toward him again.

"What flowers?"

The warrior hesitated.

"Purple and pink ones."

Vervath supplied the detail with enthusiasm.

"He pulled every small bloom he could find, made a nest, placed you inside it, and sat beside you holding a stick as a spear after I took away his knife."

Amor’s mouth parted. The image formed too easily. A solemn five-year-old Valdor, still small by adult standards but likely large for his age, crouched beside infant Amor inside a flower-filled garden hollow while guarding the entrance from imaginary threats. The absurd tenderness of it reached somewhere warm.

"Why?"

Amor asked. Valdor looked increasingly trapped. Vervath had no mercy.

"Because he said you were his Little Wife."

The corridor fell silent. Amor stopped breathing again, though for an entirely different reason. Lanslet pointed toward Vervath.

"That is precisely the portion you did not need to include, Vervath."

"It is the most important portion. How can I tell one wothout the other?"

"He was a five-year-old child with a biting habit."

"He was certain and stubborn. He gets that from Sarka."

Valdor’s face became unreadable through sheer force of embarrassment. Amor stared at him.

The warrior looked toward the stained-glass window as though calculating whether leaping through it would create a faster escape than walking down the corridor. His hand remained trapped within Amor’s, preventing any dignified retreat. Vervath watched him with paternal satisfaction.

"You called me your wife?"

Amor asked.

"Little Wife!"

Vervath corrected.

"No one asked you."

The chieftain folded his arms at Lanslet’s rebuttal. Valdor exhaled slowly.

"I was a child."

"That is not a denial."

"No."

Amor’s cheeks regained color all at once at how Valdor answered him so honestly. Doctor Haverin watched this transformation with clinical interest.

"His circulation appears to be improving."

Lanslet looked betrayed by medicine itself. Vervath continued the story.

When the adults realized both children were missing, the first envoy reception dissolved into chaos. Lanslet ordered every servant to search the estate, while Vervath followed a trail of uprooted flowers, small boot prints, and one discarded Blackstone leather cord through the garden. They found Valdor inside the hedge hollow, sitting guard with infant Amor sleeping peacefully against his stomach.

"He refused to return you!"

Vervath said. Valdor looked toward his father.

"I returned him."

"After four adults surrounded you. Even poor Lanslet almost got bitten by your merciless teeth when he got too close."

"That is still returning."

"You tried to bite me the most. Calling it family betrayal because I led the group to you. I had to wrestle you down so they can take back Amor! Bit my arm up real good."

"I do not remember that."

"I do! I’m pretty sure I still have the marks to prove it. Brat even got my ankle once I let him go, I know that’s still there. Cut right through the leather. Humph!"

Amor’s fan was not available beneath the mantle, so he settled for squeezing Valdor’s hand.

"You bit your father to keep me?"

"I was five."

"You continue using that as a defense."

"It remains related."

Lanslet reluctantly added.

"He also attempted to climb into your cradle that night. And every night since then."

Vervath looked at him.

"You said you would not tell that part."

"You have already destroyed restraint."

Amor turned toward his father.

"He slept beside my cradle?"

"Beside it at first."

Valdor’s eyes closed. Lanslet continued with a trace of vindictive satisfaction.

"Then he started climbing inside."

"You allowed this?"

Amor asked.

"I did not! I found him there."

Vervath laughed loudly. Apparently, after the household settled and the Blackstone delegation retired to the guest wing, Valdor escaped his room, returned to the nursery, and wedged himself into the oversized cradle beside the sleeping baby. The cradle had been large enough to hold both only because Amor was tiny and Valdor curled around him protectively. Servants discovered them at dawn.

"He growled when anyone approached. We had to call Vervath to retrieve him which turned into another wrestling match. I never knew a child could be so... enthusiastic about sleeping."

Lanslet said.

"I was asleep. You startled me."

Valdor protested.

"You growled while asleep. Like a proper beast! I don’t even know how you could tell when someone stepped close enough to pick you up."

"That can happen."

Amor could no longer prevent the laughter. It emerged weakly at first, then warmed as the image settled around him. The panic lingering within his chest loosened beneath the absurdity. He laughed until his breathing deepened naturally instead of requiring concentration. Valdor looked at him. Embarrassment remained, but relief softened it.

If the story returned color to Amor’s face, Valdor could endure every humiliating detail. He even allowed Vervath to explain how, on the day the delegation departed, five-year-old Valdor attempted to hide infant Amor inside a traveling basket. The plan failed because Amor began laughing loudly enough to alert the servants.

"You tried to take me!"

Amor said.

"Yes."

Valdor did not use childhood as a defense this time. The simple admission warmed Amor more deeply. Vervath looked toward Lanslet.

"Humph! That was only the first successful kidnapping."

Lanslet sighed.

"And this morning was apparently the second."

"I asked permission this morning."

Valdor said.

"For an unspecified action, you sneay thief."

Amor reminded him.

"You agreed."

"Because I trust you!"

The words quieted him. Valdor looked down at Amor.

The corridor, fathers, physician, and waiting hearing receded for a moment. Amor still held his hand between both of his, wrapped within a mantle that smelled like him, with color returning to his face and breath moving freely. Trust remained more frightening than attraction. It also remained true.

Vervath cleared his throat with no subtlety. The moment broke. Amor looked toward him with narrowed eyes.

"Did anything else happen?"

Lanslet answered before Vervath could.

"No."

"Well... There is more. Many attempts that were not as successful as the first."

Vervath said.

"There is not any more stories to be told, Vervath."

"Oh! He cried for three days after we left."

Valdor stared at his father in betrayal. Amor’s expression softened.

"You cried?"

"I was five."

"That defense is becoming less effective every time."

Valdor looked away. Vervath’s amusement gentled beneath memory.

"He carried purple flowers in his pouch until they dried. Looking at anything pink and small made him tear up. Then Sarka made many mountain-glass beads because he wanted something the same color as your hair. Usually he would be reluctant to add them to his hair unless ceremony required it but since the visit, he pestered her to make many for him. Only purple."

Silence returned, but this time it was warm. Amor’s fingers moved toward the pendant.

The bead had not originally been carved for him, exactly. It had been carved from a childhood memory of him, many shaped by Sarka before Shae gave him the one meant before Valdor’s first hunt, tying the beginning of Valdor’s path and to the small lavender-haired child he once wanted to keep. Perhaps by the time Sarka gave him that specific bead, Valdor had already forgotten the tiny baby but his heart hadn’t. The connection still reached across twenty years with startling intimacy.

Valdor looked mortified. Amor looked at him differently.

"You remembered the color. That matters."

He said.

"I remembered flowers."

"And me."

"Not clearly."

"No. But it counts for something."

Valdor nodded. Amor’s thumb moved over the rough bead.

The palace hearing, the collapsing novel plot, and every unanswered question remained beyond the corridor. Nothing had been solved. Celestine still contradicted the role Lovell remembered, and the future remained uncertain enough to frighten him again if he stared too closely. For now, he had another history. One the novel never mentioned.

Five-year-old Valdor had already carried him away from a crowded room, placed him somewhere soft, and guarded him until adults arrived. Twenty years later, Valdor had done nearly the same thing, wheeling Amor from a royal hearing, wrapping him in warmth, and remaining until he could breathe. Perhaps not every repetition belonged to fate. Some belonged to character. Doctor Haverin checked Amor’s pulse again.

"Mm, it’s improved. He should be fine for now. Let me know if you feel any more fainting spells come on. Rest and try not to strain yourself."

Lanslet bent close.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Should he return to the hearing?"

The physician looked toward Amor.

"That depends upon whether he feels capable."

Everyone turned toward him. Amor drew one slow breath. The air entered without resistance.

He still felt shaken, but no longer trapped in the old courtroom or terrified of the world unraveling around him. Valdor’s mantle covered his shoulders, and the warrior’s hand remained warm within his. His father stood beside him, worried enough to argue with kings if necessary.

"I can continue..."

Amor said. Lanslet’s expression tightened.

"I will not stand..."

Amor added before the lecture began.

"I will ask for another recess if I need one, properly this time..."

Valdor looked toward him. Amor raised one brow.

"You may remove me if I suddenly stop breathing."

"Alright."

"You should still request permission from the king first."

Valdor considered.

"There may not be time."

King Cassian’s distant voice could not be heard from behind the closed doors, but Amor imagined the awkward cough that would follow another abrupt departure. A smile touched his mouth.

Lanslet noticed the recovery and finally relented.

"We have about ten more minutes."

"The recess was for twenty."

"You spent half of it being kidnapped into a childhood story."

Vervath looked proud. Doctor Haverin began reorganizing his case while advising Amor to drink water before returning. Lanslet summoned an attendant and demanded chilled water, a sweetened restorative tea, and a blanket that did not belong to the person currently accused of assaulting a duke. Amor refused the last item.

He kept Valdor’s mantle. Valdor did not ask for it back. Vervath watched the two of them and wisely restrained another comment, though his expression promised the story would be retold many times. Valdor gave him a warning look. His father smiled. Amor leaned back in the chair.

"Little Wife, huh?"

He murmured. Valdor’s ears darkened.

"Do not, please."

"I have endured a difficult morning. I require amusement."

"Choose another."

Amor smiled beneath the edge of the mantle.

"Nope."

Valdor sighed. The sound carried resignation rather than true displeasure.

By the time the herald appeared at the end of the corridor to announce that the recess would end in five minutes, Amor’s hands had stopped trembling completely. He looked pale but present, tired but capable, and far more interested in Valdor’s childhood crimes than the frightening uncertainties waiting inside the chamber.

Valdor moved behind the chair. Before he began pushing, Amor reached back and touched the hand upon the handle.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

Amor looked toward the council doors.

"For taking me away before I had to ask."

Valdor’s expression softened.

"You did not need words to ask."

That answer might once have frightened Amor. Now it felt like being known.

They turned toward the hearing together, Amor wrapped in Valdor’s mantle, the purple bead against his heart, and the ridiculous secret of their first meeting warming the place where panic had nearly swallowed him. Behind them, Lanslet continued arguing quietly with Vervath about whether an infant could consent to being placed in a flower nest.

Vervath maintained that Amor had not cried. Lanslet maintained that this was not a legal standard. Doctor Haverin walked between them with the exhausted expression of a man reconsidering every professional decision that had brought him into service with House Moons.

Amor smiled. For the first time since Celestine took the stand, returning to the chamber did not feel like walking toward a predetermined fate.

It felt like choosing to continue.

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