Amor made his way toward the formal dining room with measured, elegant steps, the heels of his lavender-gray boots striking the marble in a soft, confident rhythm beneath the whisper of his split sleeves. His maids had succeeded perhaps too well in their efforts, leaving him so perfectly arranged that every polished surface he passed returned the image of a delicate moonlit noble dressed for something considerably more significant than a morning excursion through the capital. He told himself that his unusual care had nothing to do with Valdor’s opinion, though the thought became increasingly difficult to defend the closer he drew to the dining-room doors.
The scent of buttered bread, roasted meat, and freshly brewed tea reached him before the servants opened the doors, mingled with the deeper aroma of whatever strong northern drink Vervath had persuaded the kitchen to provide before noon. Amor entered expecting to find all three men gathered around the long table, with Lanslet seated at its head, Vervath to his right and Valdor occupying the place beside him that he had been assigned to claim during dinner but didn’t. Instead, only Lanslet and Vervath were present.
Amor stopped in the doorway.
His eyes moved first toward his father, then to the right seat at the table toward Vervath, before settling upon the conspicuously empty chair beside the Blackstone chieftain. No broad-shouldered warrior sat there cutting through an unreasonable portion of meat, no obsidian gaze lifted immediately to find him, and no faint warmth seemed to gather in the room merely because Valdor had noticed his arrival. The absence struck Amor with such immediate disappointment that he remained still long enough for one of the servants holding the door to glance at him uncertainly.
Lanslet noticed as well. His soft pink eyes followed the direction of Amor’s stare before returning to his son’s unusually troubled expression.
"My moonlight, is something the matter?"
Amor blinked and straightened.
"Nothing is the matter!"
He replied with suspicious speed. He crossed the dining room before either man could question him further, his flowing coat drifting behind him with considerably more indignation than the situation justified. A servant pulled out the chair at Lanslet’s right, and Amor seated himself with a small huff, opening his fan only to close it again when he remembered there was no one present whose attention he wished to capture. He regarded the empty plate before him as though it had personally contributed to the morning’s disappointment.
Lanslet looked toward Vervath. The chieftain raised a massive wooden mug to his mouth, concealing the knowing curve beginning beneath his beard. Unlike Lanslet, who saw only that his son had entered radiant and somehow become irritated by breakfast, Vervath understood immediately that Amor had been searching for someone. He drank deeply, allowing the thick rim of the mug to hide his amusement until his expression returned to something approaching neutrality.
Servants began placing food before Amor.
Warm pastries filled with cream and fruit were arranged upon a silver stand, while eggs seasoned with herbs, roasted potatoes, buttered mushrooms, and thin slices of glazed ham occupied the plate nearest him. Amor reached for a small apricot pastry and bit into it without waiting for anyone to offer assistance, though the pleasure he usually displayed while eating sweets remained notably subdued. His gaze drifted once more toward the empty chair. Lanslet watched him with increasing concern.
"Did you sleep poorly?"
He asked.
"Doctor Haverin assured me you had no fever, but perhaps the night air affected you more deeply than he realized."
"I slept perfectly well..."
Amor answered, declining to mention the nightmare that had torn him awake before dawn.
"And I am not ill!"
"You seem distracted, my moonlight."
"I’m eating."
"Those are not mutually exclusive states."
Amor took another bite of pastry to discourage further diagnosis.
Vervath lowered his mug at last, his obsidian eyes glinting with restrained amusement as he examined the delicate young lord dressed in moonstones and soft lavender-gray silk. The chieftain had spent much of the night watching his normally unshakable son stare toward the ceiling after learning he had once kidnapped Amor as a child, and now Amor himself could barely conceal disappointment because Valdor had failed to appear at breakfast. Whatever had existed between them twenty years ago appeared determined to revive whether either remembered it or not. Lanslet, unaware of those thoughts, leaned closer to Amor.
"What do you plan to do today?"
The question reminded Amor of the excursion he had spent the morning imagining, and some of his irritation eased despite Valdor’s unexplained absence. He selected a forkful of eggs and ate it slowly, determined not to appear too eager before answering.
"I thought I might go into the capital today."
Lanslet brightened immediately.
"What a wonderful idea!"
He said, reaching across the table to pat Amor’s hand.
"You have remained confined to the estate since the ball, and fresh surroundings may help you forget whatever unpleasantness occurred with Duke Solaris. Take my personal card and spend as much as you like wherever you go."
Amor glanced toward him.
"I possess my own money and bank cards."
"And yet mine contains more money."
"That is not a compelling reason to abuse it."
"It is precisely the reason why my money exists..."
Lanslet replied.
"Particularly when my beautiful child wishes to enjoy himself."
Amor’s lips twitched. He had grown accustomed to his father’s shameless indulgence, though there were still moments when Lanslet’s affection reached him with unexpected force. In Lovell’s old life, any expense associated with him had been treated as an accusation, every meal or item of clothing recorded as proof of what his existence had cost. Lanslet offered wealth as though Amor’s happiness were the only investment worthy of serious consideration.
"You look especially perfect today..."
Lanslet continued, studying him with open adoration.
"The moonstones complement your eyes, and that coat makes you appear as though dawn itself dressed in lavender and silver."
"Father please...."
"You resemble your mother, you know..."
The teasing warmth in Lanslet’s voice softened into something quieter. He looked upon Amor’s long lavender hair and delicate profile with the bittersweet tenderness reserved for someone recognizing a beloved face within another.
"She possessed the same effortless beauty, though yours has become entirely your own. Both of you hold places within my heart that no one else could ever approach, my moonlight."
Amor lowered his gaze toward his breakfast. The faint blush spreading across his cheeks had nothing to do with embarrassment this time, though he concealed it by taking another bite of eggs. He still struggled whenever Lanslet spoke of his deceased wife, uncertain whether accepting the comparison stole something intended for the original Amor alone. Yet rejecting the affection would wound a man whose love had never arrived with conditions, and Amor no longer possessed the cruelty necessary to keep him at a distance.
"I will only be gone for the day, Father..."
Amor said quietly.
"There is no need to surrender your entire fortune."
"You may decide that after seeing the shops!"
Vervath slammed his wooden mug onto the table. The impact rattled the silverware, startled Lanslet into sitting straighter, and caused Amor’s fork to pause halfway toward his mouth. Several servants near the walls flinched before restoring their professional composure. Vervath appeared completely unaware that kingdom breakfast tables were not designed to withstand Blackstone enthusiasm.
"You go to the capital..."
He declared joyfully.
"Good!"
Amor stared across the table.
"I am pleased my personal schedule has received your approval."
"Valdor will escort you!"
The statement produced an entirely different kind of shock. Amor’s irritation disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived, his attention sharpening upon the chieftain.
"Where is he?"
Amor asked before caution could soften the eagerness in his voice. Vervath’s beard shifted around a satisfied smile.
"Morning training. He left before sunrise and should return soon. I would have joined him but he takes the matter far too seriously. He is young and full of vigor unlike my old self. Ahem, ahem!"
Valdor was not absent because he had lost interest, returned north, or chosen to spend the morning avoiding Amor after the embarrassing cold misunderstanding. He was somewhere upon the estate and would apparently be joining the very outing Amor had dressed so carefully to arrange.
Amor looked toward the empty chair again, though this time the absence felt temporary rather than disappointing. Valdor was training, which explained why he had missed the beginning of breakfast and why no servant had mentioned seeing him elsewhere inside the house. The image of the enormous warrior moving through drills beneath the morning light arrived with enough vividness to warm Amor’s cheeks.
Lanslet noticed only the proposed escort. His expression changed.
"Ah-haha oh Vervath, my good friend. Valdor will do no such thing."
He replied, his voice remaining pleasant despite the immediate resistance beneath it. Vervath reached for a large piece of steak from the platter near his side.
"Why not?"
"Because Amor already has guards."
"Valdor is stronger."
"That is not the issue."
"It is the issue when protection is needed."
Lanslet’s smile became increasingly refined, which Amor had learned was his father’s preferred expression when suppressing an urge to behave impolitely.
"My son is not entering hostile territory. He is visiting the capital, where House Moons maintains an excellent guard detail and sufficient authority to guarantee his safety."
"The ram was on your own land."
Vervath pointed out. A terrible silence followed. Lanslet’s fingers tightened around his teacup.
Amor lifted his fan to conceal the smile threatening to escape, because Vervath had unintentionally selected the one argument his father could not dismiss. Lanslet had spent half the previous evening demanding explanations for how danger had approached Amor upon their supposedly secure estate. Claiming professional guards were sufficient immediately after Valdor succeeded where household workers failed would require an impressive act of hypocrisy.
"That incident has been addressed."
Lanslet said.
"Valdor addressed it."
"With excessive efficiency."
"The ram is delicious."
"That is beside the point!"
Vervath began cutting his steak with a heavy knife.
"Valdor protects Amor well."
Lanslet’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. He knew perfectly well that Vervath’s suggestion concerned more than physical protection, particularly after the two fathers’ extended discussion the previous evening. The chieftain had spent much of that conversation describing Valdor’s ability to provide, build, hunt, cook, and care for others, presenting each quality with all the subtlety of a man displaying a prospective husband before a skeptical father. Now he wished to send that same son into the capital alone with Lanslet’s precious child.
Unacceptable.
Lanslet had always allowed Amor freedom in matters of affection. He knew about every brief romance, every infatuation, and every man his son discarded after approximately three months, though Amor likely believed his father too indulgent to notice. Lanslet had never corrected or restrained him because he understood that Amor was searching, even if the original Amor himself had not known what he sought. Political marriages were common among the nobility, yet Lanslet refused to bind his only child to someone selected for land, bloodlines, or convenience.
Whether Amor eventually chose a man or woman did not concern him.
House Moons possessed branch relatives, cousins, and enough magical resources to continue the family line through several possible arrangements should Amor desire children. Lanslet cared only that his son found someone capable of loving him without using his beauty, wealth, or devotion against him. He had tolerated Amor’s relationships because each offered experience, and he had tolerated Alphonsins far longer than wisdom recommended because Amor’s obsession appeared heartbreakingly sincere.
Then the duke bruised him.
Lanslet had seen the marks after Doctor Haverin reported them, though Amor refused to explain how they were made. He knew enough about the breakup at the royal ball to construct the likely answer, and the possibility that Alphonsins might attempt to reclaim what he had never cherished kept Lanslet’s protective instincts painfully alert. Amor might insist that the relationship was finished, but powerful men often regarded rejection as an insult requiring punishment.
His son required time, peace and gentleness. He did not require Vervath proposing a new suitor before breakfast was finished.
"You seem remarkably enthusiastic to place your son beside mine."
Lanslet observed. Vervath chewed his steak.
"Yes."
The unapologetic answer nearly shattered what remained of Lanslet’s composure. Amor glanced between them, beginning to suspect the conversation contained implications no one intended to explain directly.
"Father, I was planning to invite Valdor regardless."
Both fathers turned toward him. Lanslet looked wounded.
"You were?"
"I wish to show him the capital..."
Amor replied, smoothing one sleeve as though the decision were insignificant.
"House Merrow apparently failed to offer anything resembling proper hospitality during his previous stay, and I refuse to allow House Moons to be compared unfavorably."
"That sounds reasonable, I suppose."
Lanslet said slowly. Vervath nodded.
"It is a date!"
Amor inhaled sharply, nearly choking of his pastry. Lanslet placed his cup down with dangerous precision.
"It is not."
"A man and another man go to the city together."
"That is not sufficient enough evidence to define a date."
"They eat together?"
"People eat outside courtship."
"They walk with arms joined I bet!"
"Vervath!"
"They look at each other too long. I call it how I see it."
Amor hid the lower half of his face behind his fan, though the color spreading toward his ears remained visible. Vervath’s directness would have been amusing had the subject not been his own behavior. He had intended to take Valdor into the capital as part of his obligations as host, even if he also wished to impress him and remain beside him for the day.
Lanslet appeared one sentence away from expelling the entire Blackstone delegation. Before he could issue the elegantly phrased refusal gathering behind his lips, the dining-room doors opened.
Valdor entered and the conversation stopped.
He appeared freshly washed after training, though the evidence of exertion remained visible in the heavier rise and fall of his chest. Moisture gleamed across his caramel skin where he had failed to dry completely, catching along the black markings on his shoulders, chest, and abdomen before disappearing beneath the darker furs wrapped around his hips. His thick hair remained wet, pushed back from his face while droplets gathered at the ends of several decorated braids.
The furs he wore were considerably longer than those of the previous day.
A dark hide crossed one shoulder and fell diagonally over part of his chest, secured by a bone clasp above his ribs, while the lower garment extended nearly to his knees in uneven layers of black and gray fur. The additional coverage might have been selected in deference to kingdom customs, yet it did little to diminish the overwhelming masculinity of his body. If anything, the wild textures emphasized the hard planes visible between them, making him appear like a warrior who had stepped directly from a mountain legend.
His breathing was slightly heavier from his rush to breakfast. Every inhale expanded the immense width of his chest, shifting the predatory marking spread across it, while faint veins remained visible along his forearms after training. His powerful thighs moved beneath the longer furs with each stride, and the sheer physical presence he brought into the refined room transformed the delicate furniture around him into miniature decorations. The morning light behind him traced every hard line and damp edge. Valdor’s gaze found Amor immediately.
He stopped.
Amor’s carefully selected appearance received the full force of those obsidian eyes. Valdor looked from the moonstone earrings framed by lavender hair to the soft coat fitted around Amor’s narrow waist, following the silver embroidery down the flowing split sleeves before returning to his face. His stern expression remained almost unchanged, yet the intensity entering his gaze made every deliberate choice Amor had made before the mirror feel suddenly visible. The air around the warrior seemed to warm.
Amor’s face flushed. He turned his head quickly.
The movement was so abrupt that his moonstone earring swung against his neck, and his fan lifted instinctively to conceal more of his expression. He could not endure Valdor seeing the color and mistaking it for another fever, particularly when the truth was somehow more humiliating. The warrior looked especially exotic that morning, still glistening from his bath and carrying the raw physical force of his recent training.
’Erotic! Way to erotic!’
A treacherous portion of Amor’s mind supplied. He silenced it immediately. Unfortunately, turning away from Valdor meant facing Lanslet. His father saw everything.
The lowered pink eyes, the darkened cheeks, the delicate hand tightening around the inherited fan, and the shy angle of Amor’s face created an expression Lanslet had never witnessed upon his son before. Amor had flirted openly with countless men, pursued Alphonsins without restraint, and weaponized beauty with the confidence of someone who knew admiration was inevitable. He had never looked maidenly.
Now he resembled a bashful bride avoiding the gaze of a man who had already seen through every veil. Lanslet’s protective instincts erupted.
He looked toward Valdor with the immediate suspicion of a father discovering an overly confident son-in-law inside his home, though the warrior had done nothing beyond enter the dining room and look at Amor. For one irrational moment, Lanslet wished to demand that Valdor cover himself more thoroughly, dry his body properly, and stop displaying muscles within sight of an impressionable young noble. The fact that Amor was an experienced adult with several previous lovers became entirely irrelevant.
Vervath rescued his son before Lanslet could begin disciplining him.
"Valdor!"
The chieftain declared, cutting another piece of steak.
"You will escort Amor into the capital."
Valdor looked from his father back to Amor.
"Yes."
There was no surprise, hesitation, or request for explanation. Lanslet’s eyes widened slightly.
"The arrangement has not been decided!"
Valdor took several steps toward the table.
"Amor wishes to go."
"I am aware."
"He should be guarded."
"And he will be."
"Mm, I will guard him."
Lanslet’s smile tightened.
"Your confidence is remarkable."
Valdor glanced toward the white bandage partly hidden beneath Amor’s sleeve.
"I have protected him before."
That ended the argument more effectively than Vervath’s mention of the ram. Amor looked down to conceal the warmth spreading through his expression, while Lanslet reluctantly accepted that no household guard could currently claim the same success. The marquess still disliked the speed with which Valdor had placed himself within Amor’s daily life, but refusing the escort now would appear motivated entirely by jealousy. Worse, it would disappoint Amor.
Lanslet could withstand barbarians. He could not withstand his child looking unhappy.
"Haah, very well..."
He said.
"Valdor may accompany you, along with two House Moons guards and a carriage staff."
"Father..."
"One guard?"
"None."
Lanslet looked personally wounded.
"My moonlight."
"Valdor is stronger than the entire group you intend to send..."
Amor reminded him.
"Additional guards will make us appear to be traveling under threat and attract precisely the attention I wish to avoid."
"You attract attention by existing with how beautifully charming you are."
"That is hardly my fault."
Vervath nodded solemnly.
"He is very noticeable."
Lanslet gave him a cold, pointed look. Valdor reached the table and paused beside Amor’s chair.
The servants responded immediately, removing the unused setting beside Vervath and transferring it to the place Valdor had occupied during dinner. A reinforced chair appeared as though the staff had anticipated this new arrangement becoming permanent, and within moments, a large plate had been placed before him. The kitchen served him a thick, well-cooked left over ram, eggs, roasted potatoes, dark bread, and enough additional food to sustain several ordinary men.
Valdor sat beside Amor. The heat of his body reached through the small distance between their chairs, carrying the clean scents of soap, leather oil, and something distinctly wild beneath them. Amor continued eating his eggs with studied calm, though his attention seemed unnaturally focused upon the precise movement of his fork. He refused to look directly at Valdor while the warrior settled.
The fathers watched them.
Vervath resumed his breakfast, openly pleased with the seating arrangement, while Lanslet regarded Valdor’s proximity with the suspicion of a man observing a siege beginning one chair at a time. No one commented upon the fact that Valdor had chosen the place beside Amor without being invited. After dinner, the household already appeared to accept that the spot belonged to him.
Valdor began eating.
Unlike Amor’s delicate bites, the warrior cut an enormous section from his steak and consumed it efficiently, apparently requiring no period of recovery after training. His breathing gradually slowed as he ate, though the occasional shift of his arm caused Amor’s sleeve to brush against his skin. Each accidental contact drew Amor’s attention despite his efforts.
He stole a glance. Valdor was looking at his plate. Amor quickly turned back to his pastry. Several moments passed. He glanced again. Valdor lifted his wooden cup and drank. Amor looked away before being caught.
He had spent the entire morning preparing himself to receive the warrior’s attention, enduring the giggles of his maids and selecting every detail with embarrassing care. Valdor had stared intensely upon entering, but he had not said anything. Amor wanted a compliment, preferably one sincere enough to justify all the effort, though demanding it would make him appear vain.
He was vain. That did not mean he wished to be caught.
Amor selected another pastry and took a small bite, hoping the movement might draw Valdor’s eyes toward his lips as it had during tea. The warrior continued eating his steak. Amor adjusted one flowing sleeve, allowing the silver embroidery to catch the light.
Nothing.
He touched one moonstone earring.
Still nothing.
Vervath noticed the increasingly elaborate performance. The chieftain hid another smile behind his mug, entertained by the sight of Amor attempting to attract attention from someone who had already spent half the meal observing him through peripheral vision. Valdor possessed enough hunting discipline to watch without turning his head, while Amor appeared determined to coax an obvious reaction. Neither understood how transparent they were to everyone else.
Lanslet noticed as well, though his interpretation produced considerably less amusement. His beautiful son was seeking approval from the half-dressed warrior beside him.
Outrageous.
Lanslet cleared his throat.
"Amor, you truly do look exquisite this morning."
Amor gave him a fond but dissatisfied glance.
"You have already said so."
"I will continue saying it because it is true! Facts must be told repeatedly to be reminded that they are facts!"
"Mm, I know. Thank you Father."
Valdor’s knife paused. His eyes moved toward Amor again, this time more slowly.
Amor felt the attention and immediately became fascinated by the fruit preserves upon his plate. He spread them across a piece of bread with excessive care, keeping his face angled just enough to present the curve of his cheek and the moonstone near his ear. His heart began beating faster.
Valdor set his knife down.
"You dressed for the city?"
He said. Amor’s fingers stilled.
"Obviously."
"The clothing is different."
"I own more than one outfit."
Valdor looked across the soft lavender-gray coat, taking in the fitted waist and flowing sleeves as though committing every detail to memory.
"It suits you."
The compliment was pleasant but inadequate. Amor lifted one brow.
"Only suits me?"
Vervath coughed into his mug. Lanslet stared at his son. Valdor appeared to consider the question seriously, unaware that a nobleman would ordinarily understand it as an invitation for flattery. His gaze rested upon Amor’s face for several breaths, darkening with the same intensity that had forced Amor to turn away when he entered. When he finally spoke, the answer carried no polish.
"You are beautiful enough that clothing struggles to matter."
Amor forgot how to breathe. The room became painfully quiet.
Valdor continued looking at him with complete sincerity, having offered the observation as plainly as he might comment upon weather or the strength of a weapon. There was no smugness within his expression, no expectation of reward, and no awareness that he had just surpassed every practiced compliment Amor’s noble admirers had ever delivered. He simply believed what he said.
Color rushed across Amor’s face. He lifted his fan so quickly that it struck the table edge with a light click before concealing everything below his eyes. The pink gaze visible above it darted toward Valdor and then away, caught between delight and the urge to disappear beneath the breakfast table. His maids’ efforts had succeeded more thoroughly than he anticipated. Valdor’s brows drew together.
"Your face is red again."
"I am not ill!"
Amor said immediately.
"I did not say you were."
"You were thinking it!"
"I learned."
Vervath laughed loudly. Lanslet looked caught between pride that his son had been praised accurately and irritation that Valdor had produced such a reaction with one sentence. He reached for his tea, silently reminding himself that striking an honored envoy during breakfast would complicate the silverwood negotiations. The thought offered remarkably little comfort. Amor lowered the fan by a fraction.
"You have learned what?"
He asked.
"That your face becomes warm when embarrassed."
His blush deepened. Valdor’s eyes softened.
"It is pleasing."
"Do not start discussing my bodily reactions again!"
"The sneezes were also pleasing."
Amor nearly dropped his fork. Lanslet’s head snapped toward Valdor.
"The what?"
"Nothing!"
Amor replied.
"He sneezed twice."
Valdor explained.
"Valdor!"
"I thought he was ill."
Vervath cut another piece of steak while laughing beneath his breath.
"Hohohaha! You should have seen it Lanslet! He searched the gardens at night and made medicine for your poor boy."
Lanslet stared between them.
"You made medicine because Amor sneezed?"
"He was cold."
Amor closed his eyes behind the fan, recognizing that the humiliating story had escaped containment completely. By luncheon, every servant, relative, merchant, and household animal would know about the incident. His only consolation was the warmth returning to Valdor’s eyes whenever their gazes met. Lanslet’s expression softened despite himself.
The reaction made his resistance more difficult to maintain. Valdor’s concern might be excessive, but it was also sincere, practical, and directed toward Amor’s comfort rather than his own pride. After watching Alphonsins treat his son’s devotion as an inconvenience, Lanslet could not entirely despise a man who responded to two sneezes by preparing medicine with his own hands. He still intended to watch him carefully.
"Your outing will remain within the central districts..."
Lanslet declared.
"You will return before the evening meal, avoid crowded alleys, and send word if your plans change."
Amor lowered his fan.
"You speak as though I’m twelve years old."
"You will always be my child."
"I am the heir of this house."
"You are my heir-shaped baby."
Vervath roared with laughter. Amor looked toward the ceiling for patience, while Valdor studied Lanslet with an expression suggesting the phrase made perfect sense. Blackstone parents apparently suffered from the same inability to recognize adulthood where beloved children were concerned. Amor suspected that realization would encourage rather than restrain his father.
"We will return before dinner..."
Amor conceded.
"Assuming the capital provides enough entertainment."
Valdor turned toward him.
"Where will we go?"
Amor’s mood lifted immediately.
"The central market first, perhaps, though I wish to avoid the more crowded entrances. Afterward, the artisan quarter, the riverside promenade, and whichever restaurants catch our interest..."
He paused, then added with deliberate casualness.
"I thought you might like to see the city properly, since House Merrow apparently failed to provide anything beyond burnt food and locked doors."
Valdor’s gaze held his.
"You planned this for me."
It was not a question. Amor shifted beneath the intensity.
"I am your host. Planning enjoyable activities is among my responsibilities."
"You could have gone alone."
"I could have."
"But you chose me."
"Yes, I have..."
Amor raised his fan again, though this time it could not conceal the warmth in his eyes.
"Do not become unbearably confident before we have even left the estate."
Valdor’s mouth curved faintly.
"Mm, I will go with you."
He said. Vervath looked toward Lanslet over his mug. The marquess returned the glance with far less enthusiasm, though he could no longer deny the ease with which their sons had already chosen one another’s company. Valdor’s expression remained severe to most observers, yet every line of his body had relaxed after Amor confirmed the outing was intended for him. Amor, meanwhile, had entered the room in a disappointed huff and now looked brighter than the chandelier above them.
Lanslet sighed inwardly.
’Perhaps Vervath was correct that our negotiations would definitely extend beyond silverwood.’
Valdor returned to his breakfast, though he shifted his chair a fraction closer to Amor’s before cutting another piece of steak. Their arms touched along the table, silk brushing warm skin, and neither moved away. Amor continued eating his pastries with considerably greater satisfaction than before.
He stole another glance toward Valdor. This time, the warrior caught him.
Amor expected to look away first, but the warmth in those obsidian eyes held him still. Valdor examined his moonstone earrings, silver-threaded hair, and soft coat once more before returning to Amor’s face with quiet appreciation.
"You look like the first flowers after snow."
He said. The compliment was softer than the first.
Amor remembered the tiny purple and pink fireheart blooms Valdor told him he admired near his tribe, resilient flowers rising from warm ash before anything else dared to grow. He understood immediately that Valdor did not merely mean delicate or pretty. He meant something beautiful enough to signal that winter had ended.
Amor lowered his gaze toward his plate. A smile formed despite every effort to restrain it.
"Finish your breakfast..."
He murmured.
"I refuse to have you claiming hunger before we reach the first market."
Valdor resumed eating, visibly satisfied.
Across the table, Vervath drank his beer with the smug serenity of a father whose matchmaking required almost no effort. Lanslet watched his son’s hidden smile and reluctantly accepted that throwing the Blackstone delegation out would now cause Amor far more distress than allowing them to stay. Still, when his gaze moved toward Valdor, it carried a perfectly clear paternal warning.
Valdor met it without fear.
For several silent seconds, the two men regarded one another across Amor’s lavender hair, one promising to protect his beloved child and the other quietly stating that he intended to do the same. Neither looked away. Amor remained unaware of the challenge passing over him, too occupied with planning precisely how he would ensure Valdor never again considered House Merrow—or any other noble host—worthy of comparison.