The hallway outside the wedding chamber was long and cold. Stone walls rose high, lined with portraits of stern-looking Valerians from centuries past. Morning light streamed through a tall, narrow window at the far end, cutting a bright path across the flagstone floor.
Orion closed the door softly behind him. He took a step, then stopped.
Someone was standing in the beam of sunlight.
Abel.
He stood perfectly still, facing Orion’s door. He was dressed now in dark, formal trousers and a simple white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sunlight turned his golden hair into a halo. It lit up the side of his face, making his skin glow. For a moment, he looked less like a man and more like a statue of some ancient, gentle giant.
He was waiting.
Orion’s breath caught, just for a second.
Abel must have heard the door. He turned his head.
His eyes found Orion’s.
And he smiled.
It wasn’t the sleepy, confused smile from this morning. It was bright. Warm. A sunrise contained in a human face. It reached his golden eyes, crinkling the corners.
Orion felt something unwind slightly in his chest.
"Why are you here?" Orion asked. His voice was quieter than he meant it to be in the vast hallway.
Abel’s smile didn’t fade. "I was waiting for you."
"I know that. But why?"
Abel tilted his head, as if the answer was obvious. "Because you’re here now. So I came to walk with you."
"I don’t need an escort to the dining hall, Abel. I can find my way."
Abel considered this. He looked down at his own feet, then back up at Orion. His expression turned thoughtful, then slightly sheepish.
"Well," he said slowly. "I get lost."
A laugh bubbled up in Orion’s throat before he could stop it. It was a short, surprised sound. He pressed his lips together to trap it, but a hint of it escaped, softening his eyes.
Abel saw it. His own smile widened, pleased.
"It’s true," Abel continued, earnest now. "This place is big. The halls all look the same. Sometimes I turn the wrong way and end up in the kitchens. Or the stables. Once I ended up in a closet full of brooms." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "So I thought, if I wait for you, then we can be lost together. Or not lost. Whichever is better."
Orion stared at him. The logic was so utterly backwards, so completely sincere, that it made a strange kind of sense.
He looked at Abel standing there, illuminated by the sun, offering companionship as a defense against his own poor sense of direction.
The cold knot of anger and resignation from the bedroom began to loosen another fraction.
"Alright," Orion said softly.
Abel’s face lit up even more. He took a step forward, out of the sunlight and into the cooler shadow of the hallway. He stopped a few feet from Orion.
Then, very deliberately, he stretched out his right hand.
It was a large hand. Strong. The fingers were long, the palms broad. There were faint scars across the knuckles—old training wounds, perhaps. A gentleman’s hands that had learned to fight.
He held it out, palm up, in the space between them. An offer. A question.
Orion looked from the hand to Abel’s face. Abel’s expression was open, hopeful, and utterly without guile. He wasn’t demanding. He was just... presenting an option.
Slowly, Orion lifted his own hand. His fingers were slender, his skin paler against Abel’s sun-warmed tone.
He placed his hand in Abel’s.
Abel’s fingers closed around his immediately. His grip was firm, but not tight. Warm. Solid. It felt less like being led and more like being anchored.
"Okay," Abel said, satisfied. He gave Orion’s hand a small, gentle squeeze. Then he turned, still holding on, and began to walk down the hallway, pulling Orion gently along beside him.
Orion let himself be led. His smaller hand was swallowed up in Abel’s. He could feel the calluses on Abel’s palm, the steady pulse of warmth radiating from his skin.
They walked in silence. Their footsteps echoed softly—Abel’s heavier tread and Orion’s lighter one. The portraits watched them pass. A maid scurried by with a basket of linens, her eyes darting to their joined hands before she dropped her gaze and hurried on.
Abel didn’t seem to notice. He walked with a calm, confident stride, as if holding his husband’s hand was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t look at Orion. He just kept his eyes forward, his face peaceful.
Orion watched their linked hands swing gently between them as they walked. A simple connection. A physical tether.
He thought of the cold maid. He thought of the ill-fitting silks in the box. He thought of his brother’s disgust and his father’s dismissal.
Then he felt the warm, steady pressure of Abel’s hand around his.
It was a small thing. Just a hand.
But in that moment, walking down the cold Valerian hallway toward a breakfast with strangers who saw him as a placeholder, it felt like the only real thing he had.
Abel turned a corner, pulling Orion smoothly with him. Ahead, the hallway opened into a grand, vaulted entrance. Double doors of dark, carved wood stood open. Beyond them, Orion could see the edge of a long dining table, hear the low murmur of voices.
The dining hall.
Abel didn’t slow down. He didn’t drop Orion’s hand. He just kept walking, straight toward the open doors, toward the family and the future that waited for them.
Orion took a deep breath. He straightened his shoulders. He didn’t pull his hand away.
He just let himself be led forward, step by step, into the sunlight streaming from the next window, and into whatever came next.