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Summary
“Your Majesty, what do you know of…producing an heir?”
A faint blush awns the stoic face of the King and Kaveh finds himself staring. The question was bold and far too forward, only now does the Prince see how it must have sounded. He’s about to speak, tell the King to forget the way he’s spoken out of turn when the King’s voice rings softly through the air.
“Love,” he says simply.
Kaveh stares unabashed this time, his face heating up at the King’s innocence.
“To produce an heir, we must be in love,” he explains shyly, glazing up a the silent Prince.
Kaveh quickly turns around to hide his face, staring out the window of the King’s study, trying to reign in his swirling emotions.
“W-well yes–” the blonde was floundering for words.
“I don't foresee that to be an issue, at least, for myself.”
Kaveh sucks in a startled breath, hands bracing the windowsill to steady him. His heart beats wildly in his chest at the casual admission, it’s implied possibility. The King does not seem the kind for falsehood or flattery, and though he’s known Kaveh only from observation and this single exchange, a confession forms true.
I have already begun to love you.