Breakfast should have continued for at least another half hour, particularly when Valdor’s plate still contained enough steak and roasted potatoes to satisfy several ordinary men, yet Amor had apparently decided the meal had served its purpose the moment the warrior agreed to accompany him into the capital. His earlier graceful patience vanished beneath restless anticipation, and although he continued eating to avoid inviting another lecture about surviving solely upon pastries and sugar, his attention shifted repeatedly toward the windows, the dining-room doors, and the silver clock standing against the far wall. Every few moments, his pink eyes returned to Valdor as though confirming the enormous man had not somehow reconsidered between bites.
Valdor had not reconsidered.
He ate with the calm efficiency of someone accustomed to finishing meals before hunts, cutting through the thick steak in generous portions while Amor dismantled a honey pastry beside him with increasingly impatient little bites. Despite the difference in their pace, Valdor appeared entirely unhurried, perhaps because he understood that Amor would not leave without him and found some private satisfaction in being waited upon. The faint amusement warming his obsidian eyes only made Amor more determined to hurry him.
"You have been chewing that piece for an unreasonable amount of time."
Amor observed. Valdor swallowed.
"It was large."
"You cut it."
"Yes."
"Then you deliberately created the problem, humph!"
Vervath released a low chuckle into his wooden mug, while Lanslet watched Amor’s agitation with a growing sense of unease. His son had entered the dining room disappointed by Valdor’s absence, brightened the instant his whereabouts were revealed, and now seemed prepared to physically drag the warrior away before the breakfast plates were cleared. Lanslet had seen Amor eager for dates before, but that eagerness had usually carried theatrical confidence rather than this almost youthful impatience.
Valdor cut another piece of steak. Amor stared at it. The warrior lifted it toward his mouth, paused beneath the pressure of Amor’s gaze, and then lowered the fork.
"You wish to leave?"
"I have been remarkably subtle, haven’t I?"
"No"
Amor opened his fan with a quiet snap.
"Then you should reward my effort by finishing."
Valdor looked toward the food still remaining upon his plate, then toward Amor’s expression above the painted silk. The delicate nobleman was attempting to appear composed, yet one heeled foot shifted beneath the table with enough frequency to reveal every ounce of his excitement. Valdor gathered the remaining steak, potatoes, and bread together and consumed them with such abrupt efficiency that Amor’s brows rose.
"That... was alarming...."
Amor said.
"You asked me to finish."
"I expected haste, not a demonstration of some kind of predatory feeding."
"He was polite..."
Vervath remarked.
"He used a fork!"
Lanslet placed his teacup down with a sigh.
He had spent years encouraging Amor to enjoy his life freely, yet now that his son was openly eager to disappear into the capital beside a man who had already cooked for him, carried him, medicated him, and apparently found his sneezes pleasing, freedom seemed considerably less admirable. The marquess reminded himself that he had consented to exploring a possible alliance between their families. He had merely failed to account for how quickly that alliance might acquire faces, blushes, and linked arms.
Amor finished the last bite of his pastry and rose before Valdor had fully set down his utensils. The flowing tails of his lavender-gray coat swept behind him as he stepped from the table, his moonstone earrings swaying beneath the carefully arranged strands of hair.
"The morning will be half wasted if we remain here discussing the proper speed at which barbarians consume breakfast."
Valdor stood immediately. His reinforced chair moved backward with a heavy scrape, drawing several servants forward to clear the path before the furniture could threaten the polished floor. The warrior towered beside Amor, still faintly damp from his earlier bath and smelling of clean skin, leather, and the fresh outdoor air clinging to him after training. Amor glanced up, momentarily distracted by the black markings crossing his chest before remembering he was supposed to be hurrying him.
"Come."
Amor said, catching Valdor’s forearm. The touch carried none of the earlier uncertainty surrounding their contact.
Amor slipped his arm through Valdor’s as naturally as though the position had already become customary, then pulled toward the doors with enough determination to make his soft sleeves flutter. Valdor followed at once, adjusting his stride before Amor had taken more than a step. His stern expression remained composed, but his entire body relaxed around the linked contact.
Vervath looked openly pleased. Lanslet looked as though someone had begun removing his most valuable possession directly before him while insisting the theft was beneficial.
Amor reached the edge of the table before remembering that leaving without farewell would be rude, even when one’s father had spent breakfast attempting to delay an outing through excessive concern. He stopped and turned, Valdor halting beside him with practiced precision. Amor’s expression softened when his gaze met Lanslet’s.
"We will return before dinner!"
He promised. Lanslet immediately began listing conditions.
"Send a messenger if you change districts, avoid the eastern river alleys, do not accept drinks from unfamiliar merchants, and remain away from the lower adventurers’ quarter unless accompanied by additional guards."
"I will be accompanied by Valdor."
"That is precisely what continues to trouble me."
Valdor’s gaze moved toward him. Lanslet met it without apology.
"You are powerful, certainly, but you are unfamiliar with the capital, and strength does not prevent deception."
"I know deception."
Valdor replied.
"Father..."
Amor intervened before the men could transform a departure into another territorial challenge.
"I have lived in this capital my entire life. I am not being delivered into an enemy kingdom without a map."
"You once purchased an abandoned theater because the actor insulted your shoes."
"The insult was unnecessarily personal!"
"You then forgot you owned it."
"... I remembered eventually."
"A year later."
Amor lifted his fan to conceal his mouth.
"The point remains that I know the city."
Lanslet looked unconvinced, though the warmth in Amor’s eyes gradually weakened his resistance. His son wanted this outing, and the possibility of denying him produced more immediate pain than every imagined danger beyond the estate gates. The marquess stood from his seat at the head, walked up to Amor, their height was nearly the same but Amor still had to tilt his head to meet his father’s eyes. Then Lanslet reached out and adjusted one moonstone fastener near Amor’s shoulder, his fingers lingering against the soft fabric.
"Enjoy yourself..."
He said quietly.
"But return safely."
Amor’s expression softened further. He leaned up and pressed a brief kiss against his father’s cheek, a gesture so spontaneous that Lanslet became still beneath it.
"I will!"
The simple affection nearly destroyed the marquess’s remaining composure.
He had received kisses from Amor throughout childhood and adolescence, usually when his son desired a gift, forgiveness, or permission to do something outrageous. This one carried none of those manipulations, offered only because Amor recognized the fear beneath his father’s objections. Lanslet touched his cheek after Amor withdrew, his pink eyes turning suspiciously bright.
Vervath watched the exchange with unexpected gentleness. Valdor, meanwhile, committed the gesture to memory. Amor turned toward the chieftain.
"I will return your son in approximately the condition we received him."
Vervath looked Valdor over.
"He survives much."
"That sounded less like confidence and more like permission to damage him."
"If he returns with fewer limbs, he must explain why."
Valdor touched one fist to the center of his chest in farewell.
"We will return."
Vervath answered with the same gesture.
"Protect each other."
The final words were directed toward both men rather than Valdor alone.
Amor noticed the distinction, and something warm moved beneath his ribs. The chieftain did not treat him as a fragile burden his son had been ordered to guard, nor did he suggest Valdor alone possessed strength worth trusting. Vervath expected protection to travel in both directions, even if the forms it took would differ.
"I will protect him from badly cooked food and predatory merchants."
Amor promised. Valdor looked down at him.
"I do not need protection from merchants."
Vervath’s voice bolstered in reply.
"You nearly accepted an embroidered belt from a traveling seller during our travel here because you thought refusing would insult his craftsmanship!"
"He worked hard."
"He was charging six times its value."
"... It was well made."
Amor sighed with the patience of a man already burdened by responsibility.
"You see, Chieftain? Your son would be financially ruined within a week without me."
Vervath’s laughter followed them toward the doors.
Amor pulled Valdor onward before Lanslet could invent another reason to delay them, his graceful steps quickening once they reached the corridor. Valdor followed easily, the difference in their sizes transforming Amor’s efforts into the appearance of a determined flower dragging a mountain through House Moons. Servants bowed as they passed, several concealing smiles when they noticed how willingly the warrior allowed himself to be led.
Lanslet remained standing beside the breakfast table.
He watched until the dining-room doors closed behind them, cutting off Amor’s voice as he began explaining which carriage route would avoid the busiest market streets. The sudden absence left the room unnaturally quiet. Even the plates seemed abandoned rather than merely unfinished.
Vervath resumed eating his steak. Lanslet slowly turned toward him.
The chieftain noticed the movement and continued chewing with deliberate calm, apparently unconcerned by the polished fury gathering within the marquess’s beautiful expression. He had faced monsters larger than carriages, rival clan leaders, and royal negotiators threatening war; a delicate noble father glaring across a breakfast table did not immediately alarm him. Still, he recognized that Lanslet’s patience had reached its limit.
"And what..."
Lanslet began, each word delivered with dangerous refinement.
"Do you believe you are doing?"
Vervath swallowed before answering.
"Eating."
"You know perfectly well that I am not referring to your breakfast."
"The steak is good."
"Vervath!"
The chieftain lowered his knife. Lanslet returned to his seat, though the movement carried none of his earlier grace. He sat upright with both hands folded before him, resembling a magistrate preparing to question a criminal whose guilt had already been decided. The resemblance was somewhat diminished by the tenderness still lingering in his eyes after Amor’s farewell kiss, but his displeasure remained unmistakable.
"We discussed a potential marriage alliance..."
Lanslet said.
"Potentially, hypothetical. Conditional upon the free and enthusiastic consent of both our sons after they had sufficient time to consider every consequence."
Vervath nodded.
"Yes."
"We discussed accommodations in the north, shared residency between our territories, succession rights, trade protections, and whether such a bond might strengthen trust beginning with the silverwood partnership."
"Yes."
"I agreed only because you made it clear that Blackstone custom would never force Valdor to take an unwilling partner, and I made it equally clear that Amor’s happiness mattered more than any commercial agreement."
"Yes."
Lanslet leaned forward.
"Then why are you pushing them together before they have known one another for two full days?"
Vervath’s brows lowered slightly.
"I did not push them."
"You announced their outing was a date!"
"It is."
"You placed Valdor beside Amor at every meal so far!"
"Valdor placed himself there."
"You encouraged my son to take him into the capital!"
"Amor wanted to take him."
"You have spent every conversation listing Valdor’s qualities as though displaying breeding stock before purchase."
Vervath’s expression hardened.
"My son is not stock."
"I know that..."
Lanslet replied, tempering his tone before the discussion became genuinely insulting.
"Nor is mine. That is precisely why I object to treating a possible marriage as though it should be encouraged through calculated proximity."
The chieftain considered the accusation. Vervath understood why the arrangement appeared suspicious. He had recognized Valdor’s interest immediately, remembered the childhood attachment that neither young man consciously recalled, and seen no reason to interfere when each opportunity brought them closer. He had certainly encouraged the outing, but encouragement was not coercion by Blackstone standards.
"How will they choose a bond if they do not know each other?"
He asked.
"They have a month."
"A month passes quickly."
"That does not justify manufacturing intimacy!"
"I ’man-u-fractsured’ nothing..."
Vervath gestured toward the doors through which their sons had disappeared.
"Amor dressed for Valdor, searched for him when he entered, asked where he was, planned a day for him, and pulled him away before his plate cooled. Valdor has watched him since the stairs, killed for him, cooked for him, made medicine, and slept poorly because he learned they meet as children."
Lanslet’s expression changed.
"He knows?"
"Mm I told him last night."
"You told Valdor about the first envoy visit?"
"Yes."
"And the cave?"
Vervath looked mildly offended by the question.
"The cave was important."
Lanslet covered his eyes with one elegant hand. The memory remained vivid even after twenty years:
Servants racing through the gardens, his wife clutching Amor’s empty blanket, guards preparing to seal the estate, and a five-year-old Blackstone child discovered inside an artificial grotto with the missing infant sleeping in a nest of leaves. Lanslet had nearly died from terror before becoming furious enough to challenge Vervath to combat, despite possessing neither the chieftain’s size nor any realistic chance of surviving.
"I had successfully forgotten that nightmare...."
Lanslet murmured.
"It was not a nightmare. They were safe."
"Your son kidnapped my newborn."
"He built a nest."
"That does not improve the crime."
"He used flowers."
"Vervath!"
The chieftain leaned back in the reinforced chair, apparently unable to understand why decorative effort failed to lessen the offense.
"Valdor was beaten and learned not to take children from their beds."
"I should hope the lesson remained useful."
"It has..."
Lanslet lowered his hand and regarded him wearily.
"Did you tell Amor?"
"No."
"Good"
"Will Valdor?"
"Maybe not."
The marquess imagined his son learning that the enormous warrior currently escorting him through the capital had once called him Little Wife, stolen him from his nursery, and hidden him in a garden cave. Amor would either find the story charming or use it to torment Valdor for the remainder of his life. Knowing his son, both outcomes were equally likely.
"That childhood incident cannot be used to suggest some predetermined bond..."
Lanslet said.
"They were only children."
"I did not say otherwise."
"You speak as though their current attraction confirms fate."
Vervath considered the word.
"Perhaps it does..."
Lanslet’s lips tightened. The chieftain lifted one broad hand before the marquess could object.
"Perhaps it does not. Blackstone people believe old paths may be walked again, but the feet still choose whether to follow them. Valdor understands that Amor is not bound by promises made before either knew their meaning."
"That is more reasonable than I expected."
"Your face is insulting."
"My apologies."
They regarded one another across the table, both fathers attempting to separate concern from pride and political advantage from personal hope. The potential alliance had seemed elegant when discussed late into the previous evening:
House Moons would gain unmatched access to Blackstone territory and protection, while the tribe would secure commercial routes, noble legitimacy at court, and a powerful southern advocate. Their sons might receive partners capable of balancing what the other lacked.
Valdor possessed strength, discipline, practical skills, and a protective loyalty that seemed almost impossible to shake once given.
Amor possessed intelligence, wealth, political awareness, and the ability to move through refined society without allowing its sharper instincts to consume him. He could teach Valdor how to navigate noble deception, while Valdor might offer Amor a kind of safety and uncomplicated devotion no previous lover had provided. On paper, the match looked remarkably strong.
Lanslet hated how convincing it was.
"I know Valdor is a worthy man..."
He admitted reluctantly.
"I would not have entertained the proposal otherwise..."
Vervath grunted his agreement.
"He is more attentive than the men Amor previously chose, more capable than most royal guards, and apparently willing to turn every minor concern into a personal mission. He asks permission before touching, notices injuries Amor attempts to hide, and treats beauty as something deserving protection rather than possession."
"Good qualities."
"Excellent qualities!"
Lanslet corrected, sounding almost irritated by the admission.
"That is the problem!"
Vervath stared. Lanslet looked toward the closed doors.
"If Valdor were obviously unsuitable, refusing the match would be simple. I could protect Amor from disappointment, send you to another estate before the end of the month, and continue waiting until someone worthy appeared. Instead, your son entered my house and immediately began behaving like precisely the man I always wished Amor would choose."
The honesty left him unexpectedly vulnerable.
Lanslet had watched Amor waste affection upon people dazzled by his beauty but unwilling to understand the person beneath it. He had tolerated the brief romances because Amor never seemed deeply wounded when they ended, but Alphonsins had been different. Amor’s obsession with the duke consumed months, distorted his judgment, and turned him into someone Lanslet barely recognized.
Valdor had achieved more tenderness within one day than Alphonsins offered throughout six months.
That should have reassured Lanslet. Instead, it made the possibility of losing Amor suddenly real.
"I imagined this alliance as something distant..."
Lanslet continued.
"A discussion requiring months or years, with enough negotiations that I could become accustomed to the idea before anything changed. I could plan a residence, establish travel schedules, and ensure Amor retained every comfort."
"You began planning yesterday."
"Planning is not surrender."
Vervath’s gaze sharpened with understanding. Lanslet’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
"Talking about Amor traveling north sounded manageable when he was upstairs and the possibility remained theoretical. Watching him leave this room beside Valdor made me realize that one day he may leave this house and not return before dinner."
There it was. Not distrust of Valdor or opposition to Blackstone culture. But fear.
Lanslet had already lost his wife, and Amor had become the remaining center of his life. Every corridor carried memories of raising him, every room had been altered to suit his preferences, and every decision concerning House Moons had been made with his future in mind. The thought of that future unfolding beyond Lanslet’s sight felt less like natural adulthood and more like another bereavement approaching slowly enough to be anticipated.
"He would be far so away."
Lanslet said.
"The northern road is shorter now."
"It still requires days of travel."
"Fast horses make it less days."
"My son dislikes riding for long periods, it makes him ill."
"Valdor can carry him."
Lanslet stared at Vervath. The chieftain appeared to believe the suggestion genuinely comforting.
"That is not the point!"
"He would not walk tired."
"Perhaps this was a mistake. The distance remains—"
"We can build a road."
"You cannot build an entire road because Amor misses his father!"
Vervath considered this.
"We can!"
The absolute confidence in the answer left Lanslet momentarily speechless.
Blackstone people apparently regarded mountains, forests, and infrastructure as obstacles defeated through sufficient labor rather than reasons to revise a marriage arrangement. Lanslet imagined Vervath ordering several thousand warriors to carve a road south because his daughter-in-law wished to visit home more frequently. Disturbingly, the idea did make him feel slightly better. Only slightly.
"The north is dangerous..."
Lanslet persisted.
"Monsters, harsh winters, territorial disputes, and villages days away from a proper physician."
"Amor would have guards."
"Blackstone warriors?"
"The best."
"Valdor cannot remain beside him every moment."
"He will attempt to."
"That is not reassuring. It sounds suffocating."
"Amor will tell him when to leave."
"And Valdor will listen?"
"Yes."
The certainty came without hesitation. Lanslet remembered hearing about the bruised wrist from Doctor Haverin and how it happened from his shadow knights, they mentioned Valdor’s anger upon seeing it, and the careful way the warrior had apparently stopped himself from touching Amor while he slept. Valdor’s protectiveness carried violence toward threats, but it had not yet crossed into control toward Amor. Perhaps Vervath was correct.
"I still dislike it."
Lanslet muttered. Vervath tore another piece of bread.
"You are his father. Disliking departure is normal."
"He is my only child."
"Hmph, I have nine!"
"That hardly grants you authority to lecture me on attachment."
"It grants experience."
Lanslet folded his arms.
"You sent Valdor into the capital with alarming ease."
"He is twenty-five, kills monsters, commands hunters, and survived winter alone at fourteen."
"That is not the same as navigating aristocratic courtship."
"Amor will protect him..."
The answer silenced Lanslet. Vervath took another drink before continuing.
"You see Amor as small because you carried him when he was small. I see Valdor as a cub because I remember when his axe was wooden. They are grown."
"I am aware."
"No. You know it, but do not feel it."
Lanslet’s expression tightened. The words struck precisely because they were true.
He trusted Amor to manage the wealth of House Moons, negotiate with merchants, and move through court politics more cunningly than many nobles twice his age. Yet whenever danger, love, or separation became involved, Lanslet’s mind returned to the infant wrapped in silver blankets and the child who once ran crying into his arms after scraping a knee. His intellect recognized adulthood while his heart continued measuring Amor against the small body he had spent years protecting.
Vervath’s gaze softened beneath the shadow of his heavy brow.
"When children choose a path away from us..."
He said.
"We do not stop being their fathers. We become the fire they return to..."
The phrasing held the rough poetry of Blackstone custom. For a moment, Lanslet felt unexpectedly comforted. Then Vervath continued.
"If danger takes them, we avenge them, kill those responsible, and sing their names until the mountain breaks!"
Lanslet’s comfort disappeared completely.
"That is a horrifying conclusion."
"It is comforting."
"To barbarians, perhaps."
"You called us honored guests yesterday."
"I am reconsidering...."
Vervath laughed, the sound booming through the dining room and causing a nearby servant to conceal a startled movement. Lanslet glared at him, though even his indignation could not fully suppress the faint twitch threatening one corner of his mouth. The chieftain’s effort at reassurance had failed by noble standards, but its sincerity was unmistakable. Vervath leaned forward.
"Amor would not vanish into the north..."
He said more plainly.
"He would gain another home. He could return here. Valdor could live here for seasons. Children, if they choose them, could know both lands..."
Lanslet’s expression softened despite himself.
"We would not take your son and close the mountains behind him..."
Vervath continued.
"A bond joins families. It does not cut one away."
That reassurance reached where the earlier talk of vengeance could not.
Lanslet had assumed, perhaps unfairly, that Blackstone marriage required Amor to surrender his existing life and enter the tribe completely. Yet the alliance they had begun discussing involved two powerful heirs whose responsibilities extended across different territories. Any union would have to create movement rather than permanent separation.
"He would retain his title."
Lanslet said.
"Yes."
"And his inheritance."
"Yes."
"House Moons would remain his primary legal residence within the kingdom."
Vervath shrugged.
"Use whichever kingdom words prevent officials from whining."
"He would spend at least half the year here."
"Discuss it with them."
"With you."
"They are the ones marrying."
Lanslet frowned. The chieftain’s refusal to negotiate away his son’s future without Valdor’s participation was infuriatingly principled. Lanslet had expected to establish every safeguard before presenting the possibility to Amor, yet Vervath clearly believed the younger men should shape the arrangement themselves. The perspective made political planning inconvenient but personal consent far more secure.
"You truly believe they should be allowed to explore this freely."
Lanslet said.
"Yes."
"Without pressure from either house."
"Yes."
"Then stop calling their outings dates before they decide what they are!"
Vervath considered the request.
"No."
Lanslet’s eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
"Because it irritates you..."
The marquess stared at him in offended silence. Vervath raised his wooden mug, openly amused now that the most serious portion of their discussion had passed.
"And because it is a date."
"It is a tour!"
"They will walk, eat, shop, and look at each other."
"That describes ordinary companionship!"
"They will hold arms for sure."
"They already do that everywhere!"
"Exactly."
Lanslet drew in a slow breath and reminded himself that murdering the Blackstone chieftain would damage both the treaty and the silverwood agreement. Vervath continued drinking, secure in the knowledge that House Moons would not stain its elegant dining room with diplomatic blood. His smugness made restraint increasingly difficult.
Still, Lanslet’s gaze drifted toward the closed doors once more. Amor had looked happy when he left.
Not triumphantly pleased by conquest or theatrically delighted by admiration, but genuinely, softly happy in a way Lanslet had rarely witnessed during his pursuit of Alphonsins. Valdor’s presence seemed to awaken curiosity rather than obsession, and his care allowed Amor to relax instead of constantly proving himself worthy of attention.
Perhaps that difference mattered more than distance. Lanslet touched the cheek Amor had kissed.
"If Valdor hurts him..."
He said, his voice quiet and absolute.
"No treaty, alliance, or mountain will protect him from me."
Vervath nodded solemnly.
"If Valdor harms Amor without cause, I will hold him while you strike."
The offer was horrifying. It was also, by Blackstone standards, apparently a profound demonstration of agreement. Lanslet sighed.
"Your comfort continues to resemble a threat."
"Threats are reliable."
"I prefer assurances."
"Valdor will care for him."
"You cannot guarantee the future."
"No..."
Vervath’s honesty removed the possibility of false reassurance. The chieftain looked toward the morning light spilling through the dining-room windows.
"But I know my son. When he gives his heart, he does not give a piece."
Lanslet became quiet.
That was what frightened him most.
It was also what Amor deserved.