The peaceful night held them within its quiet embrace for several long, unhurried minutes, accompanied only by the soft fall of water into the fountain basin and the occasional rustle of leaves overhead. Amor remained comfortably tucked against Valdor’s side, his head resting upon the warrior’s broad shoulder while one powerful arm circled his waist with such careful restraint that it felt protective without ever becoming confining. After the chaos of the afternoon and the tender embarrassment of dinner, the simple warmth between them seemed almost unreal, fragile enough that Amor hesitated to speak for fear of disturbing it.
Then something tickled the inside of his nose.
Amor’s brows drew together as he inhaled sharply, his expression tightening while he attempted to suppress the irritation through sheer force of dignity. The night-blooming flowers surrounding the fountain had released clouds of fine pollen into the cooling air, and several pale specks drifted visibly beneath the lanterns whenever the breeze stirred the hedges. He turned his face away from Valdor at the last possible moment, lifting his bandaged hand beneath his nose.
"Ah—chew!"
The sound was small, light, and distressingly high-pitched.
Amor froze.
His eyes widened toward the fountain as though his own reflection had committed a profound betrayal, while the hand covering his mouth remained suspended in place. The sneeze had not been loud enough to wake the household or disturb the guards standing near the terrace, but within the intimate silence between him and Valdor, it had sounded offensively noticeable. Amor could already feel warmth beginning to spread across his pale cheeks.
Valdor looked down at him. The warrior’s expression remained serious, yet something softened within his obsidian eyes, a fleeting warmth that suggested he had found the tiny sound unexpectedly charming. He had heard children sneeze with enough force to frighten livestock and hunters roar through irritated noses after inhaling campfire smoke, but Amor’s sneeze had been delicate enough to resemble the chirp of one of the small birds nesting near the mountain flowers. Valdor thought it was adorable.
He also considered it a possible sign of illness.
"You are cold."
Valdor said. Amor lowered his hand and immediately straightened against the fountain rim, attempting to restore what remained of his elegance.
"I am not cold!"
"You sneezed."
"People occasionally sneeze without approaching death—"
Valdor placed the back of his fingers against Amor’s cheek.
The sudden touch silenced the next argument before Amor could properly form it. Valdor’s hand felt unusually warm against his skin, though that was hardly proof of anything when the man seemed to carry the heat of a furnace beneath his body regardless of the weather. Amor maintained a composed expression while Valdor examined him, refusing to acknowledge the humiliating flutter in his chest caused by those rough knuckles brushing his cheekbone.
"Your face is warm."
Valdor observed.
"That is because you are pressing your hand against it."
Valdor’s eyes narrowed with concern.
"We should go inside."
Amor’s heart sank. The evening had only just become comfortable enough for him to forget the implications of dinner, the curious path of their growing attraction, and the dangerous promise hidden within Valdor’s reaction to his bruises. He did not want their first quiet night together to end because of one insignificant sneeze, particularly when he had only begun appreciating the unfamiliar peace of resting within another person’s arms. Tomorrow would bring servants, estate responsibilities, and perhaps another parade of knowing looks from their fathers.
"I am perfectly fine..."
Amor insisted.
"It was the pollen."
"The air is colder now."
"It is pleasantly cool!"
"You should be warm before sleeping."
Amor tilted his chin, preparing to explain that he had survived worse conditions and several evenings in similar clothing without suffering any consequences. The soft and flowing fabrics he favored were light by design, allowing him to move freely and emphasizing the delicate lines of his body without burdening him beneath layers of stiff embroidery. He always felt slightly cooler than most people, but that had never prevented him from wearing whatever pleased him.
"Valdor, I assure you—ah..."
His breath caught. Amor’s pink eyes widened in alarm as the irritation returned, sharper than before. He attempted to hold it back, pressing his lips together and turning his face toward his shoulder with desperate concentration. The effort only delayed the inevitable.
"Ah-chew!"
The second sneeze was even softer. Amor wished the fountain would open beneath him and swallow him into its ornamental depths.
Color rushed across his cheeks and down the elegant line of his throat, his earlier dignity collapsing beneath an embarrassment so intense that he could barely look at Valdor. Sneezing was a perfectly natural bodily function, yet nothing about it felt natural when witnessed by someone before whom Amor had subconsciously spent half the evening attempting to appear beautiful. The maids had dressed him in moonstones, perfumed his hair with lavender, and arranged every fold of silk to flatter him, only for him to ruin the effect by making a sound like an offended kitten.
Valdor’s expression softened further. He did not laugh, tease, or display even the faintest hint that he considered Amor unelegant. Instead, his arm tightened protectively around Amor’s waist while his free hand brushed several loose strands of lavender hair away from Amor’s flushed face. His entire attention shifted toward the possibility that Amor might be becoming ill.
"We are going inside."
Valdor said. Amor stared stubbornly at the moving water.
"That was also pollen!"
"The pollen is outside."
"That does not make the night air responsible!"
"The night air is also outside."
Amor opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again when he realized Valdor’s logic, while painfully simplistic, had trapped him within an irritatingly effective conclusion. Remaining outside meant continuing exposure to both possible causes, while going indoors would eliminate the debate before Amor could produce evidence in his favor. He briefly considered sneezing a third time purely out of spite, though his body fortunately refused to cooperate.
Valdor rose from the fountain rim.
His arm remained around Amor as he stood, lifting enough of Amor’s weight that the smaller man found himself carried halfway upright before his heels settled securely upon the stone path. Amor reached instinctively for Valdor’s chest to steady himself, his palm resting against the black markings crossing the warrior’s warm skin. The contact only strengthened Valdor’s conviction that Amor required immediate shelter.
"I can walk without assistance."
Amor said.
"I know."
"You are holding me as though I might collapse."
"You are cold."
"I have repeatedly informed you that I am not! That’s just my body’s temperature!"
Valdor glanced toward Amor’s uncovered shoulders, translucent sleeves, and thin layers of flowing fabric.
"Your clothing is made of wind."
Amor looked down at the cream silk and pale lavender chiffon that had seemed exquisitely suitable when his maids selected it. Beneath the night sky, the material suddenly appeared considerably less practical, particularly when a stronger breeze moved through the garden and pressed the soft fabric against his body. A faint chill slipped across his exposed collarbones.
He shivered. Valdor felt it immediately. Amor closed his eyes in defeat.
He had imagined the night walk as a spontaneous, romantic continuation of their dinner, a private opportunity to enjoy Valdor’s company without calculating every expression or wondering how his actions might be interpreted. In that imagined version, moonlight would flatter his appearance, the cool air would encourage innocent closeness, and perhaps Valdor would offer him warmth in a manner both subtle and tender. Amor had not anticipated sneezing twice before being escorted indoors like a fragile invalid.
He regretted refusing the maid’s shawl. He regretted selecting such light clothing. Most of all, he regretted allowing Valdor to witness a side of him that felt so ordinary and inelegant after Amor had spent the entire day cultivating an image of effortless poise. The warrior had seen him covered in bark, lifted helplessly into a tree, and devouring enough cakes and dinner to alarm an entire household, yet somehow sneezing seemed to be the final humiliation his pride could not bear. Amor wanted to retreat beneath the nearest decorative stone and remain hidden until Valdor forgot the sound.
Valdor saw none of this turmoil. He saw only Amor’s shiver, flushed cheeks, and the delicate clothing that provided almost no defense against the cooling night. Without chastising him or reminding him that a cloak had been offered, Valdor moved Amor closer against his side. He wrapped one arm more fully around Amor’s back and used his body to shield him from the breeze as they began walking toward the terrace. Amor glanced up suspiciously.
"You’re not going to say you warned me?"
"No."
"You did warn me."
"Yes."
"And you do not feel compelled to mention that you were correct?"
"You are cold. That matters more."
The absence of triumph unsettled Amor more effectively than teasing might have. Alphonsins would have used such a moment to demonstrate Amor’s foolishness, delivering a cold observation about his impractical clothing before allowing a servant to solve the problem. The original Amor’s previous lovers might have laughed affectionately, using his embarrassment as an opportunity for flirtation without considering whether he truly felt comfortable. Valdor simply adjusted his pace, drew Amor closer, and concentrated upon keeping him warm.
There was no lesson hidden inside the kindness. Amor lowered his gaze.
They moved through the garden at a measured pace, though Valdor clearly wished to travel faster. He restrained himself because Amor’s heeled shoes required careful steps along the stone paths, particularly where mist from the fountain had left the surface damp. Whenever Amor’s footing shifted, Valdor’s arm tightened instantly, preventing even the smallest stumble without making him feel clumsy.
The warmth of Valdor’s body gradually eased the chill. Amor’s shoulder pressed against the warrior’s chest while Valdor kept one hand spread across his upper arm, rubbing slow movements through the translucent sleeve. The gesture was entirely practical, intended to restore warmth rather than provoke intimacy, yet Amor found himself acutely aware of every pass of Valdor’s palm. He tried to hide his flushed face by turning inward, allowing his lavender hair to fall between them like a curtain. Valdor looked down.
He could see only the delicate curve of Amor’s ear and the edge of one pink cheek through the pale strands. The warmth of Amor’s skin concerned him, particularly after the sneezing and shivering, while the smaller man’s attempt to hide suggested weakness or discomfort he did not wish to admit. Valdor’s protective instincts sharpened.
"Your face is getting hotter."
He said. Amor nearly stumbled.
"It is not!"
"It is."
"I am merely embarrassed!"
Valdor frowned.
"Why?"
The sincere confusion made everything worse. Amor gathered more of his hair across his face, wishing the path toward the manor would somehow lengthen and shorten at the same time. He wanted another few minutes beside Valdor, but he also wanted to reach his chambers before the warrior began examining every shade of red spreading over his complexion.
"There is no reason worth explaining!"
"You sneezed."
"Yes, Valdor! I was present!"
"It was small."
Amor stopped walking for half a heartbeat. Valdor adjusted immediately, keeping him upright as his pink eyes lifted in horrified suspicion.
"Small?"
"Yes."
"Did you find it amusing?"
"No..."
Valdor considered the question, then added with complete honesty.
"It was pleasing."
Amor stared at him.
The warrior appeared entirely unaware that describing someone’s sneeze as pleasing might be more embarrassing than openly calling it cute. There was no mockery in his expression, only the quiet warmth of a man who had witnessed something endearing and filed it among the many details he wished to remember. Amor’s face became hotter still. Valdor noticed and grew alarmed.
"The fever rises."
"I do not have a fever."
"Your skin is red."
"Because you continue saying things that make it red!"
Valdor’s brows drew together. Amor realized the explanation would require admitting that Valdor’s opinion mattered enough to embarrass him, which would expose far more than the sneezing ever had. He turned his face away and resumed walking with as much dignity as his enclosed position allowed. Valdor followed beside him, maintaining the protective embrace without demanding clarification.
The manor drew closer. Warm light spilled from the eastern doors across the terrace, turning the glass panes golden against the darkness. Several servants remained stationed inside, visible through the windows as they prepared to lock the garden entrances for the night. The sight should have reassured Amor.
Instead, he felt a small and unreasonable disappointment.
Once they crossed inside, the quiet intimacy of their stroll would end, replaced by servants offering assistance and Valdor returning to whatever duties occupied him before sleep. Amor had resisted going indoors because he did not want their time together to finish so quickly for the second time that day. First the ram had interrupted their woodland walk, and now his own traitorous nose had ended the evening.
Valdor sensed Amor slowing. He assumed fatigue had begun setting into the smaller man’s body. Without warning, he bent and slipped one arm beneath Amor’s knees. Amor caught his shoulder.
"What are you doing!?"
"You walk slowly."
"I am wearing heels!"
"You are tired."
"I am perfectly capable of reaching the terrace, thank you very much—ah!"
Valdor straightened, lifting Amor from the path with effortless strength. Amor’s protest dissolved into a startled breath as his body settled against Valdor’s chest, the flowing skirts of his tunic spilling over the warrior’s arm. His hands closed around Valdor’s shoulders to maintain balance, though he suspected the gesture was unnecessary. Valdor held him as securely as he had beneath the tree, one arm supporting his back while the other cradled his legs.
"This is unnecessary...."
Amor muttered.
"You are warmer this way."
"That does not make it necessary, humph!"
Valdor began walking.
"It makes it useful."
Amor could not argue with the warmth surrounding him. Valdor’s body shielded him completely from the wind, while the steady heat of his chest seeped through the thin silk until the last traces of chill disappeared. Amor allowed his head to settle near the warrior’s shoulder, hiding his face more effectively than his hair had managed. If the garden guards witnessed their approach, Amor decided they would value their employment too highly to discuss it.
The terrace steps presented no obstacle. Valdor climbed them without altering his breathing, carrying Amor as though the smaller man weighed no more than the discarded flower petal he had removed earlier. Amor watched the open doorway approach with increasing embarrassment, aware that the household servants would soon see their young master arriving in the arms of the honored guest after a private night stroll. By breakfast, the maids would probably have selected wedding fabrics.
"Put me down before we enter."
Amor whispered.
Valdor looked toward the doors.
"Why?"
"Because I prefer walking into my own home."
"You sneezed twice."
"That has no connection to my legs!"
"You may be ill."
Amor lifted his head.
"Illness does not immediately disable the lower half of one’s body!"
Valdor’s expression remained unconvinced. Nevertheless, he stopped near the doorway and lowered Amor slowly, maintaining one arm around his waist until both heels rested securely upon the marble terrace. Amor straightened his clothes and gathered every remaining piece of dignity he possessed before entering. Valdor stayed close enough that their bodies continued touching from shoulder to hip.
The moment they crossed the threshold, a waiting servant approached. The young footman bowed deeply, though his eyes briefly widened at the sight of Valdor holding Amor so protectively.
"Young Master, honored guest, may I provide anything before you retire?"
"Yes."
Valdor answered before Amor could speak. Amor turned toward him.
Valdor carefully guided Amor away from his side and placed one of the footman’s hands beneath the younger man’s forearm, transferring responsibility with the solemnity of entrusting a wounded clan member to a healer. The servant looked startled but immediately supported Amor, despite the fact that Amor was standing perfectly well on his own. Valdor kept one hand at Amor’s back until he appeared satisfied that the footman would not allow him to fall.
"He has caught cold."
Valdor said.
"I have not!"
Amor replied. Valdor continued as though he had not spoken.
"His face is hot, he sneezed, and his body was cold. Take him to a warm room, prepare heated water, and bring a shaman."
The footman blinked.
"A...shaman, my lord?"
"He means the physician..."
Amor translated through clenched teeth.
"Doctor Haverin."
"Bring him quickly..."
Valdor said.
"Be careful with Amor."
The servant’s eyes moved uncertainly between them.
"Of course, honored guest."
Amor pulled his arm gently from the footman’s support.
"There is no need to summon anyone. Doctor Haverin examined me less than two hours ago and found nothing wrong."
"That was before the cold."
Valdor replied.
"It was before two sneezes."
"Two signs."
"Two sneezes are not a plague!"
Valdor had already stepped backward toward the open garden doors. Amor’s irritation faltered when he recognized the determination settling over the warrior’s face.
"Wait! Where are you going?"
"To find herbs."
"For what?"
"Medicine."
Before Amor could explain that his room contained an entire cabinet of professionally prepared remedies, Valdor turned and strode back into the night. His long steps carried him across the terrace with alarming speed, black hair and decorated braids shifting behind him as he descended toward the gardens. He did not wait for permission, a servant, or even a lantern.
"Valdor!"
The warrior continued.
"Valdor, come back here!"
He disappeared beyond the nearest hedge. Amor stood within the doorway, speechless.
The footman remained beside him, apparently uncertain whether he should obey Valdor’s instructions, follow the young master’s objections, or summon enough guards to retrieve an honored foreign guest currently searching the estate grounds for medicine in darkness. Amor watched the empty path where Valdor had vanished and felt embarrassment burn from his face down to the tips of his ears. The man had interpreted two sneezes and a blush as a developing fever and was now prowling through a noble estate at night in search of medicinal plants.
’This is a disaster!’
’It’s also...’
Amor admitted only within the most private corner of his mind.
’Painfully considerate.’
Valdor could have ordered servants to fetch medicine, or simply carried Amor to his room and considered his duty complete. Instead, his first instinct had been to prepare something with his own hands, exactly as he had done for the bruised wrist and the evening meal. The sincerity of that care might have softened Amor if it were not currently threatening to awaken the entire household over a condition he did not possess.
"Young Master?"
The footman ventured.
"Should I call Doctor Haverin?"
"No."
"Prepare a hot bath?"
"I bathed before dinner."
"Ah-a warming drink then?"
Amor closed his eyes. The servant was attempting to follow Valdor’s instructions as closely as possible for fear of losing his employment, and refusing everything would only encourage him to report that the young master had become irrational from fever. Amor wished once again for the marble floor to open beneath him.
"Have someone prepare tea in my sitting room, but do not awaken the physician."
"Yes, Young Master."
"And I am not ill!"
"Of course, Young Master."
The careful agreement suggested the servant believed precisely the opposite. Amor’s humiliation reached its limit.
"I am fine!"
He said again, though the insistence sounded less convincing now that half the household appeared ready to quarantine him.
"I will be retiring for the night."
He turned sharply and began walking toward the grand staircase.
His original intention was to proceed with calm dignity, but the possibility of Valdor returning with fistfuls of herbs—or Lanslet hearing that his son had developed a fever after nearly being killed by livestock—sent his heels clicking faster across the marble. By the time Amor reached the first corridor, his graceful walk had become dangerously close to a hurried stride. At the stairs, it transformed into an inelegant half-jog.
Servants flattened themselves against the walls as he passed.
Amor gathered the flowing fabric around his legs and climbed quickly, hoping to reach the privacy of his room before anyone else attempted to examine his temperature. His lavender hair streamed behind him, silver cords glittering beneath the wall sconces as he fled from the shame of his own body’s minor betrayal. He refused to look back at the servant still standing near the garden doors.
The footman watched the young master disappear upstairs. Then he looked toward the dark garden where Valdor had vanished.
After several uncertain moments, he summoned another servant and quietly instructed her to prepare hot tea, warming stones, additional blankets, and a message for Doctor Haverin to remain available. By the time Amor reached his chambers, the story of his supposed illness had already begun spreading through House Moons. His maids opened the doors in alarm.
"Young Master, we heard you have taken ill!"
"I sneezed!"
"Twice, according to the footman."
Amor stared at them.
"How did that detail reach you before I did?"
The maids exchanged worried glances, apparently interpreting his irritation as feverish distress. One hurried toward the fireplace while another reached for the blankets folded at the end of Amor’s bed. The third approached cautiously with a hand raised toward Amor’s forehead. Amor stepped out of reach.
"No one is touching me!"
He declared.
"No one is summoning the physician, and no one is discussing my sneezing with another living person."
"Yes, Young Master."
They replied together. Their expressions promised that all three instructions would be violated before midnight.
Amor crossed the room, removed his heeled shoes with less grace than usual, and climbed onto the bed without waiting for assistance. He pulled the blankets around himself until only his flushed face and lavender hair remained visible. The warmth felt pleasant, though he refused to consider that evidence of Valdor being correct.
He wanted to hide beneath the covers forever.
Valdor had seen him sneeze, carried him inside, announced his supposed illness to a servant, and fled into the darkness to prepare medicine, all while Amor had been too embarrassed to explain that his flushed complexion had nothing to do with fever. The more Amor reviewed the events, the deeper he sank beneath the blankets. His only consolation was that Valdor had appeared concerned rather than disgusted by the undignified display.
A quiet knock sounded at the outer door. Amor stiffened.
One maid opened it and exchanged whispers with someone in the corridor. Amor could not hear every word, but the phrases—
"Lord Moons", "physician", and "honored guest searching the gardens"
—reached him clearly enough. He pulled the blanket over his face.
The peaceful life he had imagined three days earlier had already become unrecognizable. Yet beneath the embarrassment, beneath the urge to disappear until everyone forgot he possessed a nose capable of sneezing, Amor felt a small and traitorous warmth. Valdor had thought him vulnerable and responded by offering protection rather than judgment. He had not laughed, criticized, or used the moment to prove himself correct.
He had simply kept Amor warm.
Outside, Valdor moved through the moonlit estate grounds with a servant’s lantern in one hand he had picked up from a guard after hearing why he was out, searching the edges of the herb garden for leaves capable of soothing fever, clearing the lungs, and warming chilled blood. He replayed Amor’s tiny sneezes with concern, though a faint tenderness entered his expression whenever he remembered the delicate sound. The medicines would need to be mild, he decided, because Amor was small and kingdom bodies might not tolerate the stronger remedies used by Blackstone hunters.
Valdor knelt beside a cluster of broad silver-green leaves.
He gathered only what he needed, carefully preserving the roots so the plant would continue growing. His thoughts remained fixed upon Amor beneath warm blankets, surrounded by servants and protected from the night air. Even so, Valdor intended to prepare the medicine himself.
Amor had sneezed.
That meant something unpleasant had reached him.
Valdor would ensure it did not remain.