Valdor remained standing before Amor for several quiet moments after receiving the answer he had wanted even when Amor went to sit back down, his newly tailored mantle settling around his shoulders while the asymmetrical robe panels shifted gently against his legs. The assistants had resumed their work only in the most technical sense, moving between fabric tables and supply shelves while continuing to watch the pair from the corners of their eyes. Master Edric, meanwhile, looked torn between celebrating the success of his design and demanding that everyone stop distracting from the masterpiece currently occupying the center of his workroom.
Then Valdor stepped closer.
Amor expected another question about the fit of the clothing, perhaps a request to test whether the reinforced seams could withstand movement, but the warrior continued until barely a pace separated them. Without explanation, Valdor lowered himself onto one knee before Amor’s chair. The movement brought his immense frame down with such controlled grace that the dark robe panels spread around him like the layered garments of a foreign prince paying homage before a throne.
Every assistant gasped. Master Edric’s measuring ribbon slipped from his fingers for the second time that morning.
The image was too striking to dismiss. Valdor remained formidable even while kneeling, one broad knee pressed against the carpet and the other raised beneath the sculpted line of his trousers, while the open mantle framed his chest and markings like ceremonial armor. Amor sat above him in lavender-gray silk and moonstones, looking every bit the delicate noble heir receiving an oath of devotion from a mountain-born warlord. Amor’s heart stumbled. Valdor lifted one hand toward him.
"May I?"
For one mortifying instant, Amor’s mind refused to supply any meaning beyond the obvious appearance of the scene. The warrior was kneeling, reaching for his hand, and looking up with the severe sincerity of someone prepared to make a life-changing declaration before witnesses. Amor’s fingers tightened lightly around his fan.
Then his gaze fell toward the bandage beneath his sleeve. Understanding arrived.
Valdor wanted to inspect the wrist Alphonsins had grabbed.
Amor’s embarrassment should have eased, yet the audience made the practical gesture feel no less intimate. The assistants had gone completely still, while Master Edric’s eyes moved between Valdor’s offered hand and Amor’s face with the fascinated intensity of someone witnessing a private courtship ritual accidentally performed in public. Amor could almost hear the rumors taking shape.
Valdor appeared unaware. His attention rested entirely upon Amor’s injured wrist.
The warrior reached instinctively toward the pouch that had been secured at his hip during the morning, intending to retrieve the herbal paste and clean bandages he carried there. His hand encountered only the new sash, layered belt, and unfamiliar folds of cloth. He frowned. Amor watched the realization form.
Valdor looked down at his new clothing, then toward the pile of furs and leather resting in an assistant’s arms across the room. His medical pouch remained attached to the old belt. He rose immediately. The assistant holding the furs froze.
Valdor crossed the workroom with long, purposeful strides, the mantle moving behind him and the reinforced boots striking the floor with enough weight to command attention. The young man clutching the old clothing went pale as the warrior approached, apparently convinced he had committed some offense by touching sacred possessions. When Valdor stopped directly before him and reached out, the assistant squeezed his eyes shut. His shoulders lifted toward his ears. He braced for pain.
Nothing struck him.
Valdor simply moved aside one fold of dark fur, found the leather belt beneath it, and began sorting through the attached pouches. The assistant slowly opened one eye. Valdor paid him no attention.
"You may lower your arms."
The warrior said. The assistant obeyed instantly. Valdor untied the small pouch containing the medical jar and several strips of clean cloth, then paused before looking toward the frightened young man.
"You thought I would strike you?"
The assistant swallowed.
"Only briefly, honored sir."
"Why?"
"I did not know what you wanted."
Valdor glanced toward the furs in the man’s arms.
"I wanted the pouch."
"Hic! I-I understand that now."
Master Edric placed one hand over his face. Amor concealed a smile behind his fan, privately amused by the assistant’s terror and Valdor’s complete inability to understand how his size, exposed markings, and recent handling of a duke might inspire caution. The warrior looked more refined in his new clothes, but refinement had done nothing to reduce the impression that he could dismantle an ordinary man without effort. The assistant deserved some sympathy.
Valdor returned to Amor. He knelt once more in precisely the same place and raised his hand again, his patience unaffected by the interruption.
"Your wrist."
Amor glanced toward the watching staff. No one looked away quickly enough. Heat touched his cheeks.
"You understand that everyone in this room will misinterpret this."
He murmured. Valdor looked around. The assistants suddenly became occupied with fabric.
Master Edric picked up his measuring ribbon and inspected it as though discovering a flaw of historic importance. The frightened assistant remained trapped holding Valdor’s furs, too uncertain to pretend he had not heard. Valdor returned his gaze to Amor.
"They already misinterpret us."
"That does not make encouragement necessary."
"You are hurt."
The simple reply defeated every objection. Amor lowered his fan.
He had begun noticing how difficult it was becoming to refuse Valdor anything, though the realization did not frighten him as much as it should have. The warrior asked for remarkably little, and what he did request usually involved permission to help, protect, or provide something Amor wanted. Denying such requests began to feel less like maintaining independence and more like rejecting kindness for the sake of pride.
Amor placed his hand into Valdor’s. The warrior’s broad fingers closed beneath it.
Valdor supported Amor’s palm and drew the delicate wrist closer without tugging, his touch careful enough that the healing bruise barely protested. The new clothing made the contrast between them even more dramatic:
Polished charcoal and bronze surrounding his scarred hands, lavender silk framing Amor’s pale fingers. Master Edric’s entire staff attempted not to stare.
Valdor slid Amor’s sleeve back. The bandage beneath it showed a faint indentation where Alphonsins had grabbed him, along with a narrow discoloration from the herbal cream used the previous night. Valdor’s expression tightened as he began unwrapping the cloth. He moved slowly, separating each layer rather than pulling at the knot. Amor watched his face.
The lethal anger that had appeared in the salon remained buried beneath concentration, though the hardness near Valdor’s mouth revealed it had not disappeared. He examined the bruises as the final strip came away. Most of the original marks had faded to pale yellow and faint blue, nearly erased by the ointment and time. Only the area Alphonsins had seized looked newly tender.
Valdor’s thumb hovered above it.
"He worsened this."
"Only slightly."
Valdor looked up. Amor sighed.
"Yes, he worsened it."
The warrior opened the small clay jar. The familiar pungent scent of stoneleaf, mint, and bitter herbs spread through the workroom, immediately overpowering the perfume of fabric dyes and pressed linen. Several assistants wrinkled their noses discreetly. Master Edric looked intrigued by the mixture’s thick green color. Valdor gathered a small amount with one finger.
"This may feel cold."
He warned.
"I remember."
He touched the ointment to the renewed bruise. Amor flinched despite expecting the chill. Valdor stopped instantly.
"Pain?"
"Ngh-no, just cold."
"You moved."
"Because it is unpleasantly cold."
The warrior waited until Amor gave a small nod before continuing.
His thumb spread the paste across the tender area with such light pressure that Amor felt more warmth from Valdor’s hand than discomfort from the medicine. The roughness Amor had admired during the carriage ride moved over his skin with extraordinary precision, calluses brushing carefully around the marks rather than across them. Amor found himself watching the motion with a softness he did not bother hiding.
Master Edric noticed that too. The tailor had seen lovers perform grand gestures in public, often designed more for spectators than the person receiving them. This looked entirely different. Valdor’s concentration remained upon Amor’s pain, while Amor’s expression softened not because he enjoyed being watched, but because he trusted the man touching him.
The room grew quieter. Even the assistants seemed to sense that gossiping aloud would cheapen something genuine.
Valdor added another thin layer of ointment, then turned Amor’s wrist to examine the underside. The marks there had nearly vanished. His shoulders lowered slightly.
"The old bruises are almost gone."
He said. Amor looked down.
"Your medicine works well."
"Yes."
"That confidence would sound arrogant from anyone else."
"It is accurate."
Amor smiled. Valdor removed fresh cloth from the pouch and began wrapping the wrist again. He adjusted each layer so the pressure remained even, leaving enough room for Amor to move his fingers comfortably while protecting the tender skin beneath his sleeve. The final knot rested along the outer forearm, neat and secure.
He held Amor’s hand after finishing. For a moment, neither moved.
Amor could feel the quiet attention of every person in the room, yet embarrassment no longer made him withdraw. Valdor had knelt before him without concern for appearances, tending a bruise left by someone who had treated Amor’s body as available for punishment. The difference between those hands mattered more than the whispers waiting beyond the shop.
"Thank you."
Amor said softly. Valdor looked up.
"You do not need to thank me."
"I know."
The answer carried an intimacy the staff could not mistake. Valdor gradually released him.
He rose to his full height, and the prince-like illusion shifted back toward something closer to a powerful foreign warrior standing beside a nobleman he had chosen to protect. He closed the medical jar, returned it to the pouch, and secured the leather cord around the new sash at his waist. The practical item looked surprisingly natural against Master Edric’s refined design.
The tailor opened his mouth to object. Then he considered the possibility of Valdor needing the medicine again and wisely remained silent.
Valdor adjusted the pouch until it rested where his hand could reach it easily.
"Where else do you wish to go?"
Amor looked toward the workroom windows.
The sun had climbed higher while they remained inside, and the angle of light suggested noon was approaching. Their morning had already included sweets, tailoring, public humiliation, a minor diplomatic crisis, and renewed medical treatment. Hunger had begun returning despite the confectioner’s generous tasting tray.
Amor stood. The hem of his coat settled around his boots as he moved beside Valdor and examined the complete ensemble from close range once more. The clothing looked even better in movement, the layered cloth and fur shifting without restricting his stride. Amor felt a spark of satisfaction at having chosen correctly. He turned toward the assistant holding Valdor’s original belongings.
"Have his furs cleaned carefully and sent to House Moons..."
Amor instructed.
"Do not alter, trim, or replace anything without his permission."
The assistant bowed.
"Yes, Young Lord."
"Send the remaining new outfits once Master Edric completes them, along with duplicate arm wraps, spare fastenings, and at least two sets of reinforced trousers per outfits."
Master Edric placed a hand against his chest.
"Do you doubt my first pair?"
"I witnessed what happened to the temporary pair."
"A temporary failure should not stain my reputation."
"Prepare the duplicates."
The tailor sighed.
"Of course."
Amor looked toward Valdor.
"You will wear your furs at the estate, and when we go into the capital or attend formal occasions, you may wear something like this."
Valdor became still. His gaze moved toward the pile of old clothing.
"I can still wear them?"
Amor frowned.
"Of course."
The uncertainty in Valdor’s voice unsettled him. The warrior looked down at the new garments as though reassessing their meaning.
"I thought you wanted me to change."
The words struck Amor with unexpected force.
He had been so focused upon improving Valdor’s comfort in the capital that he never considered how the request might appear from the other side. Nobles had stared at Valdor’s markings, furs, and exposed body with open judgment, and Amor had brought him directly to the finest tailor in the city. Perhaps Valdor believed the new clothing was an attempt to make him more acceptable by removing everything Blackstone from his appearance. Amor’s brows lowered.
"I do not want you changed."
Valdor looked at him. Amor stepped closer, one pale hand resting against the fur-lined edge of the mantle.
"Your furs are part of your home, your work, and your people. I would never ask you to discard them merely because kingdom nobles find unfamiliar things inconvenient."
"Then why this?"
"Because I do not want you uncomfortable."
Valdor’s expression remained uncertain. Amor drew a slow breath and searched for an explanation that would reach him without sounding like courtly excuse.
"When you hunt, do you always wear the same clothing?"
"No."
"What changes?"
"Color. Scent. Weight."
"Why?"
"To suit the land and prey."
Amor nodded.
"This is camouflage..."
Valdor’s eyes sharpened. Amor gestured toward the elegant clothing.
"Not to hide who you are, but to allow you to enter their territory without every foolish creature stopping to stare before you have decided whether you wish to be noticed. A predator does not become grass because he wishes to move through it unseen."
The metaphor landed. Valdor looked over the dark fabric, open markings, and preserved fur with new understanding. The outfit did not erase him. It gave him another method of moving through a place that judged surfaces before strength.
"You chose openings for the marks."
He said.
"Yes."
"You kept fur."
"Yes."
"You did not wish to make me a kingdom man?"
Amor’s expression became openly offended.
"You would be terrible at it..."
Master Edric coughed to hide laughter. Valdor’s scarred mouth curved. Amor continued, still irritated by the misunderstanding.
"I wanted you to remain yourself while avoiding unnecessary discomfort. If I intended to remake you, I would have ordered high collars, hidden sleeves, jeweled boots, and a hairstyle requiring six servants."
Valdor touched one braid decorated with bone and mountain glass.
"You dislike my hair?"
"I like your hair!"
"All of it?"
Amor narrowed his eyes.
"Do not attempt to turn my indignation into another opportunity for compliments."
Valdor’s expression warmed. The worry beneath it finally disappeared.
Amor saw the change and should have felt satisfied, but the fact that Valdor had believed himself unacceptable still bothered him. He had wanted this day to prove House Moons offered better hospitality than House Merrow, not make Valdor suspect Amor shared the same contempt beneath a prettier presentation. The offense settled visibly across his face.
He folded his arms. Valdor watched. Amor’s lower lip pushed forward in the faintest pout. The effect was devastating.
"You misunderstood me."
Amor said.
"Yes."
"I explained myself."
"Yes."
"And yet I still feel offended!"
Valdor considered this carefully.
"What should I do?"
The sincere question softened Amor’s irritation, though he refused to surrender it completely.
"You may make me feel better at our next stop."
Valdor nodded.
"How?"
"I have not decided that yet."
"I will do it."
Amor looked up at him. The immediate agreement threatened his composure again.
"You should ask what I intend before promising."
He said.
"You ask for little."
Master Edric made a small noise behind them. Amor’s face warmed.
The tailor and assistants had apparently reached the limit of what they could witness without reacting. Several exchanged looks that carried entire conversations regarding feeding, medicine, clothing, and the increasingly domestic rhythm between the two men. Amor ignored them.
"It-it’s nearly noon..."
He said.
"We will go to a restaurant!"
Valdor glanced toward the sweet tray.
"You ate pastries."
"That was not lunch."
"You ate many."
"That remains irrelevant!"
Valdor’s gaze moved toward Amor’s narrow waist.
"You will eat more?"
"Are you questioning my ability?"
"No."
"You looked doubtful."
"I have seen you eat..."
Amor lifted his fan in warning. Valdor’s expression softened into something almost openly fond.
"I will make you feel better at the restaurant."
He promised. Amor’s pout eased.
The warrior stepped closer until the side of his arm brushed against Amor’s sleeve, following with the quiet attentiveness of a great hound that had found someone kind enough to trust and interesting enough to obey willingly. The comparison would have offended Valdor if spoken aloud, though the warmth surrounding him made it unusually accurate. Wherever Amor intended to go, Valdor had already decided to follow.
Amor turned toward Master Edric.
"Thank you for everything..."
He said.
"The clothing is exceptional, and I apologize again for the disturbance."
The tailor bowed with one hand across his chest.
"You brought me the most interesting commission of my career and allowed a royal duke to be thrown upon a carpet I never liked. I consider the day profitable."
"Wasn’t that carpet imported? You boasted about it for weeks after installing it."
"I assure you, it was ugly and needed to be taught a lesson..."
Amor laughed softly. Master Edric glanced toward Valdor’s newly bandaged work, then toward the open sections of the ensemble framing his markings.
"Return tomorrow if any seam pulls, though I suspect the reinforced construction will survive ordinary activity."
Valdor looked toward him.
"What is ordinary?"
The tailor became pale, his meauring ribbin slipping from his hands for a third time. Amor took Valdor’s arm before an answer could produce another redesign.
"Walking, sitting, and eating. Today, you will avoid throwing additional noblemen."
"If they touch you?"
Amor paused. Master Edric’s staff listened.
"Then allow me to attempt diplomacy first."
Amor said. Valdor inclined his head.
"First."
The qualification was concerning. Amor accepted it anyway.
They left the workroom together, Amor’s hand resting naturally upon Valdor’s forearm while the warrior adjusted every step to his pace. The new clothing moved beautifully through the rear corridor, drawing startled admiration from the salon staff who had not seen the finished design. Even the clients who witnessed Alphonsins’s humiliation became silent again when Valdor returned looking like a northern prince prepared to claim a court of his own. Amor lifted his chin.
This time, when the capital stared, Valdor did not shrink beneath the comparison between them. He remained close to Amor, dressed in clothing that respected both worlds without surrendering either. The medical pouch rested at his waist, his markings remained visible, and the dark fur along his shoulder reminded everyone that refinement had not made him harmless. Amor’s arm through his completed the image.
They crossed the salon and reached the front doors. Amor offered Master Edric one final farewell before guiding Valdor outside toward the bright street and the promise of lunch. Their conversation continued immediately, Amor complaining that the tailor had exaggerated the number of pastries he consumed while Valdor argued that five had been visible and therefore likely not the total. Neither noticed the stunned silence they left behind.
The doors closed. Master Edric’s assistants remained motionless for several breaths. Then everyone began speaking at once.
"He knelt! Did you see that? Like a prince!"
"Yeah but that’s not all! He bandaged Lord Amor’s wrist."
"Did you see the way Lord Amor touched his side? Very scandalous! Are they courting?"
"He said he could wear his furs at home. They are under the same roof, it would be weirder if they weren’t courting!"
"They already sound married."
Master Edric raised both hands for silence, though his own expression carried the same astonished delight.
"They do not sound newly married..."
He corrected.
"They sound like a couple who have spent twenty years misunderstanding one another’s habits and still know precisely how the other prefers lunch."
The assistants absorbed this. One looked toward the discarded furs.
"Oh, but the king announced the yearly envoy visit starting two days ago. So... that would mean they have known each other for only two days!"
Master Edric retrieved his measuring ribbon.
"That..."
He said.
"Is what makes it terrifying."