The first time Rowan Vale saw the Crown Prince, a man was kneeling in a pool of his own blood.
The throne hall was silent—too silent for a place filled with nobles, guards, and servants. No one dared to speak. No one dared to breathe too loudly.
The only sound was the uneven drip of blood against marble.
Rowan stood at the far end of the hall, unmoving, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. He had been summoned only moments ago, dragged from the barracks without explanation, and brought before the royal court.
He already knew what this was.
An execution.
But what unsettled him wasn't the blood.
It was the prince.
Crown Prince Cassian sat upon the raised throne—not yet king, but already holding the weight of one. He leaned lazily against the carved armrest, one gloved hand supporting his chin, as if he were watching something mildly entertaining rather than a man begging for his life.
"Your Highness… please…" the kneeling man choked, his voice trembling. "I have served the crown faithfully—"
"Faithfully?" Cassian repeated softly.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
The kind of calm that carried something dangerous beneath it.
The prince tilted his head slightly, dark eyes fixed on the man before him. "You sold military routes to our enemies."
"I—I was forced—"
"Mm."
A pause.
Then, without warning—
Cassian raised his hand.
The executioner moved instantly.
Steel flashed.
A sickening thud echoed through the hall.
Silence followed.
The man's head rolled across the marble floor, leaving a streak of red in its wake.
Not a single noble spoke.
Not a single servant reacted.
Because they were all watching him.
Watching the Crown Prince.
Rowan's gaze flickered—just once—back to Cassian.
The prince didn't look away from the body.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't react.
He simply exhaled, slow and quiet, as if bored.
"Dispose of it," Cassian said.
His voice carried easily through the hall, smooth and emotionless.
Guards rushed forward, dragging the corpse away. Servants followed quickly, wiping the blood before it could stain the pristine marble for long.
Within moments, it was as if nothing had happened.
Except for the smell.
Blood always lingered.
Rowan remained still.
Observing.
Measuring.
This was the man he was to serve?
Interesting.
"Step forward."
The command cut through the air like a blade.
Rowan didn't hesitate.
He walked forward with steady, deliberate steps, his boots echoing faintly against the polished floor. Every eye in the room shifted to him, curiosity and pity mixing in their gazes.
He ignored them.
His focus remained on the prince.
As he approached the base of the throne, Rowan dropped to one knee, bowing his head.
"Rowan Vale," he said, his voice calm and even. "Reporting as ordered, Your Highness."
Silence stretched.
Long enough to feel intentional.
Rowan could feel it—the prince's gaze, sharp and heavy, resting on him. Studying him.
Testing him.
"Look at me."
Rowan lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
And for the first time—
Something shifted.
Cassian's gaze was darker up close. Not just in color, but in weight. It carried something unreadable, something cold and calculating… and something else beneath it.
Something alive.
"You don't look afraid," Cassian said.
Rowan held his gaze. "Should I be?"
A murmur rippled through the hall.
A noblewoman gasped softly.
Someone whispered, He dares—
Cassian didn't react immediately.
Then—
A faint smile touched his lips.
It wasn't warm.
It wasn't kind.
But it was real.
"How interesting," the prince murmured.
He straightened slightly, his attention sharpening. "Most men avoid my eyes after witnessing that."
"I've seen worse," Rowan replied.
Another ripple of shock.
Cassian's smile faded—but his interest didn't.
"Have you?"
Rowan didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Something in his silence spoke louder than words.
The prince leaned back again, studying him more openly now. "They say you were recommended personally by General Arcturus."
"I was."
"High praise," Cassian said lightly. "He rarely recommends anyone."
Rowan remained still.
Cassian's gaze drifted over him slowly—from his posture, to the sword at his side, to the faint scar along his jaw.
"Tell me," the prince continued, voice softening just slightly, "are you loyal, Rowan Vale?"
Rowan didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Cassian tilted his head. "To the crown?"
A pause.
Barely noticeable.
But it was there.
"To my duty," Rowan said.
Silence.
A dangerous silence.
For a brief moment, the air in the hall felt… tight.
Then—
Cassian laughed.
It was quiet, almost amused.
"Careful," he said. "That answer could be interpreted as treason."
"And yet," Rowan replied calmly, "you haven't ordered my execution."
A sharper murmur this time.
Cassian's eyes narrowed slightly.
Then—again—that smile.
"You're either very brave… or very foolish."
"Perhaps both."
Something flickered in Cassian's gaze.
Not anger.
Not annoyance.
Something closer to… intrigue.
"Stand," the prince ordered.
Rowan rose smoothly to his feet.
Cassian gestured lazily toward him. "From this moment on, you will serve as my personal bodyguard."
The words dropped into the hall like a stone into still water.
Shock spread instantly.
"That position is—"
"—reserved," Cassian finished coolly, glancing toward the nobles who had begun to whisper. "Yes. I'm aware."
His gaze returned to Rowan.
"But I find myself… dissatisfied with the current options."
A lie.
Everyone knew it.
The prince didn't make impulsive decisions.
Which meant—
This was deliberate.
Rowan inclined his head slightly. "As you command, Your Highness."
Cassian watched him for a moment longer.
Then he stood.
The entire hall immediately bowed.
"Come," the prince said, stepping down from the throne. "Walk with me."
Rowan fell into step behind him without hesitation.
The massive doors of the throne hall opened, and the two of them stepped into the long, quiet corridors of the palace.
The moment the doors closed behind them—
The atmosphere shifted.
The weight of the court disappeared.
But something else replaced it.
Something sharper.
More intimate.
Cassian didn't slow his pace. "You handled that well."
Rowan kept his gaze forward. "Handled what?"
"The execution."
"I've seen death before."
"I believe you."
They walked in silence for a few moments.
Then—
"Why did you join the royal guard?" Cassian asked.
Rowan's expression didn't change. "To serve."
"Another safe answer."
"It's the truth."
Cassian glanced at him sideways. "I don't like safe answers."
Rowan met his gaze briefly. "Then perhaps you're asking the wrong questions."
Cassian stopped walking.
So suddenly that Rowan halted a step behind him.
Slowly, the prince turned.
They were close now.
Closer than before.
Close enough for Rowan to see the fine details of his expression—the sharpness of his features, the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes searched his face like he was trying to peel something back.
"You're not what I expected," Cassian said quietly.
Rowan didn't look away.
"Neither are you," he replied.
A dangerous statement.
A bold one.
For a moment, it seemed like the prince might take offense.
Instead—
Cassian stepped closer.
Too close.
Close enough that Rowan could feel the faint warmth of his presence, the subtle shift in the air between them.
"If you're lying," Cassian said softly, "I will know."
"I'm not."
"If you betray me," the prince continued, his voice dropping further, "I won't hesitate."
"I wouldn't expect you to."
A pause.
Then—
Something changed.
Not in the words.
But in the silence between them.
It stretched… lingered…
And for a brief, unguarded moment—
Cassian's gaze flickered.
Down.
Then back up.
So quick it was almost unnoticeable.
Almost.
Rowan caught it.
And for the first time—
Something unfamiliar stirred in his chest.
Not fear.
Not unease.
Something far more dangerous.
Cassian stepped back.
The moment broke.
"Good," the prince said, his tone returning to its usual calm. "Then we understand each other."
He turned, continuing down the corridor.
Rowan followed.
But this time—
Something had shifted.
Neither of them spoke again.
But the silence between them was no longer empty.
It was charged.
Alive.
And neither of them realized it yet—
But something had already begun.
Something neither duty nor power would be able to stop.