Summer arrived with oppressive heat. The palace slowed its rhythm, afternoon activities cancelled in favor of seeking shade. It was during one of these quiet afternoons that everything came to a head.

Kieran was organizing books in the prince’s study when Aldric entered unexpectedly, his formal robes already loosened, hair slightly disheveled. He looked more relaxed than Kieran had seen him in weeks.

“You’re still here,” Aldric observed, a slight smile on his lips. “You’re always here, it seems.”

“Where else would I be, Your Highness?”

Aldric crossed to the window, looking out at the gardens shimmering in the heat. “Anywhere but in service to a difficult prince, I’d imagine.”

“You’re not difficult.”

“Kieran.” Aldric turned to face him. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know I’m… complicated. Demanding, even.”

“You’re grieving,” Kieran said simply. “And trying to be what everyone needs you to be. That’s not difficult. That’s human.”

Something in Aldric’s expression cracked. He moved closer, and Kieran’s breath caught.

“How do you do that?” Aldric asked softly. “See past everything to the truth underneath?”

“I pay attention, Your Highness. It’s part of my duty.”

“Is that all it is? Duty?” Aldric was closer now, close enough that Kieran could count the silver flecks in his gray eyes. “Because sometimes, when you look at me, I think… I hope…”

Kieran’s heart hammered against his ribs. “Your Highness, I—”

“Tell me I’m imagining it,” Aldric interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me that I’m seeing something that isn’t there. Because if I’m not…” He stopped, struggling with words. “Kieran, I need to know. Are you here only because of duty?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implications. This was the moment—the crossroads where Kieran could either lie and preserve the proper boundaries, or tell the truth and shatter everything.

His mind screamed at him to lie. To protect them both from this impossible situation.

But his heart, treacherous thing that it was, wouldn’t let him.

“No,” Kieran whispered. “Not only because of duty.”

Aldric closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were bright with something that looked like both joy and pain.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Aldric said. “I shouldn’t have put you in this position. But Kieran, I…” He reached out, his hand hovering near Kieran’s face but not quite touching. “For months now, you’ve been the only person who sees me. Really sees me. And somewhere along the way, I started to—”

“Please don’t say it,” Kieran interrupted, his voice breaking. “Please, Your Highness.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you say it, it becomes real. And if it’s real, then we have to acknowledge what we can never have.” Tears burned behind Kieran’s eyes. “I’m a servant. You’re a prince. There are rules, expectations, a future already written for you. You’ll marry someone of suitable rank, produce heirs, rule this kingdom. And I… I’ll serve. That’s how it must be.”

“What if I don’t want that future?” Aldric’s voice was fierce now. “What if I want—”

“It doesn’t matter what we want!” The words burst from Kieran, raw and desperate. “Don’t you understand? I took a vow. Loyalty above all else. And loyalty means not dragging you into something that would destroy your reputation, your future, everything you’ve worked for. It means not crossing boundaries that exist for good reason.”

“Kieran—”

“I love you,” Kieran said, and the words felt like both release and condemnation. “I’ve loved you for so long that I can barely remember what it felt like before. But that love means protecting you, even from myself. Especially from myself.”

Aldric stared at him, and for a moment, Kieran saw his own longing reflected back—the same impossible desire, the same painful awareness of what could never be.

Then, slowly, Aldric lowered his hand.

“You’re right,” he said, and his voice was hollow. “Of course you’re right. I was being selfish. Forgetting my responsibilities.”

“Your Highness—”

“No. You’ve been far wiser than I have.” Aldric stepped back, and the distance felt like a physical wound. “I apologize for putting you in such an uncomfortable position. It won’t happen again.”

The mask was sliding back into place, and Kieran wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. They had finally spoken the truth, and now they had to bury it again.

“I should go,” Kieran said.

“Yes. Please.”

Kieran bowed—a formal, proper bow—and left the study. He made it to his small quarters before his legs gave out, before the tears finally came.

He’d done the right thing. The loyal thing.

So why did it feel like he’d just broken both their hearts?