Chapter Text
The castle is quiet when Kayn wakes up to train – the sun not yet above the horizon, even as the days creep longer. It's chilly in that wet kind of way that makes his breath puff into the air and his nose sting – but not cold enough anymore that he really needs the wool under his leathers when he trains, or he'll be drenched in sweat as soon as the sun comes up.
Then again, if he ends up finishing before breakfast he can probably wrangle himself a nice hot bath before the prince wakes up and complains about him taking too long. If he doesn't, then he'll complain that he smells.
Not that Ezreal would even be able to tell beyond the cloud of oils he walks around in, like a perfumed show pony, but he'd do it just to needle Kayn anyway.
Because his prince is insufferable, but Kayn suffers him gladly.
Gladly enough to also suffer through the pre-dawn training regimen for the better part of his life now. Waking in the dark to get the life beaten half out of him by the master-at-arms and master-of-shadows, both of whom have made it their life's mission to remind Kayn that someday he'll be the only thing standing between Ezreal and the countless blades looking to sink into his back.
As if he could ever forget.
As if he would have it any other way.
Not that the prince shares the sentiment.
Ezreal insists that Kayn isn't just his personal dog-in-training, because he's a bleeding heart. Where anyone else saw a starving little thief – the refugee trash of countless border wars – Ezreal saw a potential friend. And the prince has a way of getting what he wants.
Unfortunately that same bleeding heart gets Ezreal into more than his fair share of tight spots, and Kayn has the feeling it's only going to get worse as they get older.
Thankfully, Kayn has no such soft spot, with one prince-shaped exception. He might still technically be a squire, but anyone who wants to get to Ezreal is going to have to go through him first, and he's had blood on his hands since he was a child. He has no qualms about spilling more red onto his ledger if it means keeping the prince spotless.
Which is why he's awake, steeling himself to get beaten with blunted swords by Master Zed and Master Shen until he can stop arrows with a knife and step through shadows as easily as breathing. Because they're right. Some day he's going to be the only thing standing between a blade and his prince's heart.
And he's not going to fail.
Shen is waiting impatiently when he arrives, twirling a blade in hand when Kayn shuffles around the corner. “You're almost late.”
“'Almost' means I'm not,” Kayn grunts back, despite knowing that the sass will earn him extra lumps. “It's not even sunrise yet.”
“The enemy never sleeps.”
He resists rolling his eyes, because he has an ounce of self preservation, and makes his way over to the rack of blunted swords.
“The Lord Regent informed me that the Prince had a nice collection of bruises yesterday.” Shen's tone is unamused beneath his mask, and Kayn adds another few bruises to today's mental estimate. “Would you happen to know anything about that?”
“You should be thanking me for keeping it to bruises,” Kayn grumbles, not that he'll ever get credit for his considerable influence on Ezreal having even an ounce of impulse control. “Shouldn't you be pestering his minder? I'm not the one who lost him.”
But he also hadn't bothered to alert anyone when Ezreal turned up outside the stables with mischief in his eyes and a finger to his lips. He's always been weak to the prince's schemes – especially when they involve doing something stupid. Yesterday's flavor of idiocy had involved attempting to scale the side of the bell tower – which they do fairly often without issue – they just hadn't accounted for the ice still on the shady side of the stonework. Ezreal's handhold had slipped about twenty feet up, sending him careening back toward Kayn who was climbing below him.
Naturally, Kayn had let go of his own handholds, pushing off the wall with his feet until he could grab the idiot out of midair and cushion his fall before he splattered his pretty little skull all over the grass.
Really, they should be asking about Kayn's bruises. He's pretty sure his entire back is a mottled nightmare – and that's not even counting the hide-tanning he's going to get when they realize he'd managed to flatten half a bush on the landing.
Ezreal had come out perfectly unscathed from it, of course. The bruises were from the little idiot's panicked flailing when he thought Kayn might've shattered his spine – he'd tried to pummel him for it, as if it's not literally Kayn's job to take that fall for him. As if he wasn't literally giving himself injuries smashing his delicate scholar's hands on Kayn's leathers.
“Somehow I doubt your innocence,” Shen sighs, shaking his head as he hefts his practice sword and shifts into a low stance – one that tells Kayn his sore back is about to be the least of his worries. He swears he can see the glimmer of evil amusement in the Master-at-arms' eyes as Kayn lifts his own sword with a groan. “Begin!”
He staggers from the training grounds two hours later, body aching and stomach growling as the smell of bread wafts through the castle grounds – one of the few perks of being the first awake is getting the fresh loaves before they leave the kitchens and he has to be polite about eating them.
Atreus ruffles his hair as he hands him his morning loaf, not commenting on the way Kayn still tears into it like a feral dog. The baker is good like that – always making sure there's warmed butter on it when Kayn finishes his morning drills – which is why Kayn doesn't bite his hand.
The loaf is gone by the time he reaches the bath house and strips out of his leathers and sweaty underclothes, sinking into the steaming pool with a groan. He hadn't been wrong – Shen had done his damnedest to turn him into a puddle of jelly, and it wasn't even breakfast time yet. He has an entire day to stagger through, and gods only know what harebrained scheme the prince is going to drag him into today.
He can't wait to find out.
Which is good, because the harebrained schemes find him.
“Kayn!” The prince's voice echoes off the stone walls of the bath house, startling the few people already awake and making use of the relatively empty facility. “Are you in there?”
“Yes, your royal shortness,” Kayn grunts back, twisting enough to see the entrance as he drags a soapstone over his limbs. “Come to complain about my bathing habits already?”
“No-” Ezreal chirps as he wanders inside, sending the other occupants scrambling to cover themselves lest they flash their prince, “-well, yes. Are you almost done? I wanted to go into town after breakfast, but Uncle Lymere said I'm grounded.”
“Gee, I wonder why the Lord Regent would ground you,” Kayn laughs as he scrubs at his hair, “It's not like you ran away yesterday and scared your minder half to death.”
“It's not my fault that one was slow.” Ezreal sulks visibly as he shuffles over to the edge of the communal bath and plops down to wait next to Kayn, tucking his feet to his chest so he can rest his chin on his knees. His fancy cloak must be getting wet, but it's probably better than his white trousers. “We sorta told him where we were going anyway.”
Kayn snorts at him, blowing bubbles as he dunks his head under the water, shaking like a dog on the way up just to splatter his prince. “You literally yelled 'look over there!' and ran away.”
“You followed me,” Ezreal retorts, sticking his tongue out. “That makes you my accomplice.”
“I'm going to be your accomplice for the rest of our lives.”
If Ezreal needs bodies made and hidden, Kayn will make and hide them. If he needs things fetched, Kayn will fetch them. If his body needs guarding, Kayn will guard it. Maybe someday his little prince will understand exactly what Kayn's duty entails, despite his ardent refusal to accept that Kayn is anything but his companion.
Hopefully that understanding will come with maturity and age, and not with bloodstained blades. Gods know that Kayn has been made intimately aware of his place within the castle.
He's under no illusions. The only thing keeping him here is Ezreal's unreasonable attachment to him – that otherwise he'd be on the street or worse, as a Noxian orphan in a rival land. The Lord Regent had made it personally, abundantly clear that Kayn's life began and ended with his service to the prince. That his life would end the moment he failed in his duty. As if he needed that threat to ensure his loyalty. As if he wouldn't gladly take his own blade as the price of failure – the thought of living beyond the prince is ash on his tongue anyway.
But Ezreal is – as ever – blissfully ignorant of the realities of his station. A spoiled little thing. Sharp and clever and terribly fun. The best friend Kayn could ever have wanted.
The friend he can't really have, but duty is more than enough.
Especially when Ezreal refuses to keep appropriate boundaries for both of their sakes.
“Do you want me to braid your hair?” Ezreal asks, ignoring the scandalized looks from the other occupants. “I'll do it if you wring it out.”
“Sure,” Kayn grunts, just to watch horror curdle their faces.
He stands from the water, reaching to squeeze the water from his hair where it falls just past his shoulder blades. Zed claims that a long braid is impractical, but Kayn's been working on it for long enough now that he's committed, he'll get it past his waist eventually... and maybe it's a little bit out of spite. He doesn't want to keep his hair shorn in the Noxian style if he can help it, regardless of how much cooler it would feel inside a helmet.
“Can you grab my-” he starts, laughing as he catches sight of his prince, his face furiously red between his splayed fingers “-you found me in the bath, did you expect me to bathe in my leathers?”
“No!” Ezreal squeaks, still peeking between his fingers as he pats around for Kayn's clean clothing with one hand. “I just... you surprised me!”
“Apologies, my prince,” Kayn teases, climbing the steps before dropping to one knee in front of Ezreal, still nude and dripping. “You'll have to forgive my manners, if you recall, I am just your stray dog.”
“Shut up,” Ezreal grumbles, shoving the bundle of clothes at him before scrambling to his feet and turning his back. “Put that away.”
“As my prince commands.” Kayn grins as he shimmies on his clothing and gathers his sweat-soaked training gear. “Shall we?”
Ezreal peeks over his shoulder, as if he doesn't quite believe Kayn has put on his pants yet, then scowls at him. “No. You can't go out there with your hair wet, you'll get sick. Let me braid it.”
“It's going to be wet whether you braid it or not,” Kayn points out, but wanders over to the bench anyway to put himself at chest level to his prince.
“Be quiet.” Ezreal pokes him with a bony finger, then begins carding his fingers through the wet strands, gently untangling knots and separating it into three bunches. The feeling of nails scratching across his scalp makes Kayn want to purr.
“Is that an order?” he teases, tipping his head back far enough to smirk up at him – only to earn a tug on his hair for his troubles.
“Yes,” Ezreal sniffs, nimble fingers making quick work of the braid. “I'm sorry about your back by the way, the bruises look bad.”
Kayn can only shrug at him, unbothered. Better his back than Ezreal's. It makes his prince grumble under his breath, fingers twisting off the end of the length as he asks, “Do you have a tie?”
Kayn offers the leather cord on his wrist without a word.
“There, all set.” His prince runs a finger down the length of his braid, oozing self-satisfaction. “Like it?”
Kayn nods at him, smiling as he gathers his soiled training gear once more, and tips his head toward the entrance of the bath house.
Ezreal skips ahead of him, the ends of his hair just starting to curl in the humidity. There's a wet spot on his cloak where he'd been sitting. He's ridiculous.
Kayn is more than a little in love with him, more than a little dedicated to him. It comes with the territory, part and parcel with duty.
“So! I figure after breakfast we're going to have to sit through a few boring lessons to keep up appearances of good behavior,” Ezreal tells him conspiratorially, his eyes sparkling in mischief, “- but , I'm pretty sure that this afternoon there's a delegation coming from Demacia, and everyone will probably be distracted with that, so we might have a chance to slip away in the commotion.”
Kayn does not point out that Ezreal is almost certainly expected to be a central show-pony for whatever grand welcome will be prepared for the delegation. It wouldn't do any good.
Besides, he's already got his orders to follow, and offering common sense was nowhere in them.
Ezreal turns to grin at him, continuing as Kayn nods in his direction. “I think the common folk are holding some sort of spring festival shortly too – not the one we do when everything blooms, some old pagan one trying to bring the warmth sooner – which I'm all for at this point.” He rubs his hands together as he chatters, the tip of his nose just beginning to turn pink in the morning air. “I was thinking that it would be decently easy to get lost in a crowd like that, especially if everyone thinks I'll be at the castle.”
Kayn doesn't suppress his smile, knowing full well that Ezreal will be at the castle. There's no chance in hell his uncle is going to let him anywhere out of his sight today – not after the beating Kayn took on his behalf this morning. He's frankly amazed that Ezreal even managed to escape alone to get to the bath house.
“So, what do you think?” Ezreal prods, steps faltering as he turns to look up at him with those trusting golden eyes. “Sound like a plan?”
Kayn feels the corner of his mouth twitch. Sees the way Ezreal ticks an eyebrow up at him.
He points to his lips with a questioning look, grinning when Ezreal rolls his eyes with a scowling huff.
“ Yes, Kayn. I didn't want to order you to be literally quiet. You can talk.”
“Well, you did though,” Kayn laughs, nudging him with an elbow in a way that would risk a whipping for impertinence if Ezreal wouldn't throw a fit over Kayn's proper housebreaking. “I don't think they're going to be letting you run off today, my prince.”
“Ugh, stop calling me that.” Ezreal pokes him in the ribs, “You know it's weird coming from you, Kayn.”
“Forgive me for reminding you of your official title on a day when you're going to be needed for official duties,” Kayn drawls back at him, steering him lightly with a hand on his back toward the barracks where he can drop off his soiled leathers. “I'm sure you're going to be needed at the reception.”
“ Uuughhhhh ,” Ezreal whines, kicking at a patch of dirt in front of them, marring the white of his boots. “But it's gonna be so booorrriiinnnggg.”
“Imagine what being king will be like.”
“Don't remind me,” he grumbles, pouting miserably up at Kayn, “It's gonna be so hard to sneak out with you then.”
Kayn can only blink down at him, struck by how much he likes this little royal fool.
“Technically, it's not sneaking if you make the rules,” he feels compelled to assure him, settling a hand on Ezreal's shoulder, “Where you go, I go – remember? If you want to rule the kingdom and wander the streets with me, who's going to stop you?”
“Oh, right!” Ezreal perks up again, practically skipping ahead of him toward the barracks. “Then you won't have to sleep in this smelly place anymore – you can share my set of suites!”
Kayn has to bite down a grin at the idea of the scandal that will surely cause – a common born Noxian orphan, the Prince's feral stray, not only elevated into knighthood and hand-fed by his master – but sleeping curled up at his feet as well. It might be worth the fight Ezreal will face over it just to see the look on everyone's face.
For now though? He's content with the smelly barracks – better than the gutter.
Also better than the gutter?
This reception that they absolutely could not worm their way out of – not that Kayn was intending to aid his prince in his escape plans. He does have a little self-preservation, and Master Zed is almost certainly lurking around here somewhere.
Still, he can't complain. The food is excellent – he gets to try the first bite of each of Ezreal's plates of course, in case of poison – and beyond that, all he's required to do is stand at his prince's back, eyes peeled for any sign of trouble.
Ezreal is less than charitable about the whole thing, which is a bit ridiculous considering Kayn is the one who is more bruise than human today. But he's not wrong about it being boring. The emissary has been droning on for the better part of an hour while they eat, and most of the fun to be had is watching how the foreign dignitaries shift uncomfortably when Ezreal holds out scraps of food to Kayn from his own fork.
“Here, I wanna try this-” Ezreal whispers just a touch too loudly, twisting in his chair to hold some sort of shelled dish between his fingers. Kayn reaches to take it, only to have it swatted away, the shell raised to his lips by Ezreal's hand. “It's all buttery, no point in both of us getting dirty hands.”
Kayn shrugs at him, grinning. He can see the looks of discomfort behind Ezreal's head, the scandalized horror crystallizing as he lets Ezreal tip it into his mouth.
He licks his lips, holding Ezreal's brightly curious gaze. Wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist where some of the butter sauce had smeared, considering the flavor. It's not poisoned, but it is kinda slimy.
“Texture is weird,” he mutters, leaning in and keeping his voice low. “Like when you have a really bad cold and can't keep up with the snot.”
Ezreal's bark of laughter is much too loud for the room, and Kayn has to bite down hard on his lip to stifle his own.
“ Ew. ” His prince casts a glance back at the tray. “Maybe I don't want to try them then.”
“Go on,” Kayn goads him, because if he had to slurp snot from a shell, then so does his prince. “It's a delicacy, don't be rude.”
“You just said it was gross!” Ezreal hisses, shooting a scowl his way, uncaring that they're starting to draw attention. “Why would I try it now?”
“It's just my commoner palate,” Kayn teases him, “dogs don't eat seafood anyway.”
His prince's eyes narrow at him, brimming with annoyance. Ezreal hates when Kayn calls himself that – it infuriates him even more than the rest of the staff calling Kayn his dog. Kayn doesn't see why, it's not inaccurate. He absolutely will growl and bite anyone that he deems a threat, and certainly wouldn't mind pats from his prince.
Still, he's hoping that the stately decorum needed for the occasion will spare him the tongue lashing he can see brewing.
Unfortunately, it's not the need for decorum that saves him.
“Ah yes, and onto the matter of my nephew-” the Lord Regent calls down the table, pitching his voice into that stern and knowing tone that makes Ezreal's shoulders hunch, “-as we had agreed in our correspondence, he shall be returning with you for his continued education.”
“I'm what- ” Ezreal blurts, whipping around in his chair so fast Kayn winces at the crack of his neck.
His uncle stares back at him, dispassionate and unamused, daring him to make a scene.
“You will be returning to Demacia with the delegation to continue your education.”
Ezreal gapes back at him for a moment before schooling his expression into something passably neutral.
For anyone that isn't Kayn at least. The line of tension in his shoulders is painful to look at as Ezreal turns back to the food in front of him and picks at it, chewing mechanically. He says nothing else.
The reception moves on quickly from there, Ezreal listening to none of it while Kayn keeps his eyes on the room, studiously avoiding looking at the Lord Regent.
Eventually the delegation is shown to their quarters in the guest wing, and Ezreal is called into the Lord Regent's study – without Kayn.
“Shall I watch the door, sire?” he asks, hand on the pommel of his sword – the fancy filigreed one he has to carry when he's with Ezreal for shit like this.
“No. Return to the barracks.”
Kayn bows at the waist and turns on his heel, catching Ezreal's mutinous gaze.
He can only hope that his prince will have the self preservation necessary to avoid digging himself an awful pit – he knows just how petty and stubborn Ezreal can be when he doesn't want to do something.
But then again, he has always said that he wanted to travel – what better opportunity than becoming a ward of a neighboring kingdom? He'll be safe and comfortable at least, and maybe they'll have a chance to catch some of the nice sights along the way. It could even be an adventure, and Ezreal loves adventures.
Maybe it won't be so bad.
Midnight shakes him awake.
The eyes hovering over his face are red-rimmed, and only the familiar smell of overly perfumed oil keeps him from launching his knife right between them.
“What are you doing, Ez?” he whispers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he glances around the barracks. Thankfully they've always kept him near the front – first to die in an ambush, probably – so there's not much of a chance Ezreal had been spotted sneaking in.
“He's sending me tomorrow- ” Ezreal rushes out, tears welling up as his lip begins to wobble, “And I-”
“Hold on, not here-” Kayn cuts him off, rolling from his bunk and stuffing his feet in his leather boots before grabbing his heavy black cloak. “Let's go-”
Ezreal sniffles, following his urging until they're walking through the moonlit courtyards, sticking close to the shadows as they make their way to the far garden where there aren’t any patrols.
“Alright, prince,” Kayn sighs as he settles into the grass, holding an arm out for Ezreal to join him. “What's all this about? Why the tears?”
Ezreal all but tackles him, burrowing into his chest until Kayn has no choice but to bracket him with his knees and pull his cloak around the smaller boy.
“He's sending me away tomorrow!”
Kayn nods, tucking his chin over Ezreal's head as he smooths a hand down his back. “You said as much... that's not much time for us to pack and say our goodbyes I suppose.”
Ezreal freezes, trembling a moment, his fingers clinging tight into the thin material of Kayn's nightshirt. He lifts his head to look up at him with those beautiful sunlight eyes – face cast into relief by the moon. Fresh tears spill as he shakes his head. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Hiccups a sob as he leans to press his face into Kayn's shoulder.
“I'm... missing something,” Kayn guesses, heart clenching at the look of despair on his prince's face. He knows it's going to haunt him. He'll do anything to erase it. “Ez, please... what's wrong? Let me fix it.”
“You can't- ” Ezreal wails, smearing wetness into his shoulder as he shakes his head “-you can't fix it because-” he shudders, coughing all wet and horrible with snot, “-because you...you're not-”
“I'm not what?” Kayn presses him, fingers stroking against Ezreal's spine as he shields him from the cold. Whatever it is, he's confident he can handle it. There's nothing he's not willing to do to keep his prince happy, healthy, and safe. “I'm sure we can-”
“ You're not coming with me. ”
At first Kayn thinks he's misheard.
Because, of course he's coming with him. Where the prince goes, so follows his loyal hound.
He belongs with Ezreal. He belongs to Ezreal. His shadow. His blade. His confidant.
His friend.
“I-” He shakes his head, words failing him as Ezreal's sobs spill into the night. “Are you sure?”
A miserable nod, fingers clenching tighter into his shirt.
But... why? What good is he if he isn't with his prince? His duty lies at Ezreal's side. It doesn't make any sense.
“Did he tell you why?”
Another nod. A deep breath as his prince lifts his head to look up at him, tear streaked and pathetic and lovely as ever.
“Uncle said that... that we're a distraction. That I need to focus on my studies there, and you need to complete your knighthood if you want to continue serving.”
“But I can complete it at your side!” Kayn insists, his heartbeat threatening to choke him. It had always been his intention to serve at Ezreal's side as a knight, everyone knew that, it doesn't make sense-
“He said you need to train with Zed.” Ezreal recites the rationale like he's reading the elegy of their long-determined fate. “And that I need to strengthen ties with Demacia.”
“He's fucking selling you off?” Kayn snarls, all thoughts of propriety lost as he clutches Ezreal close, “Are you serious?” He can feel his blood pressure spiking, throbbing in his temples. “You're not a damn political pawn, Ez-”
“It's not like that-” Ezreal sniffs, but his protest is weak. He knows Kayn is right, but he's too damned duty-bound to fight it. “It's for the good of the people...”
Kayn's jaw aches from the force of clenching it and he buries his hand in Ezreal's hair just to keep from punching something. A fierce thing in him wants to scream at Ezreal to forget the people – forget these games and this fucking castle and his uncle that doesn't give a shit about him as an actual person, only as a political tool.
But he can't say that. Because someday Ezreal is going to make the best king the world has ever seen, thanks to his bleeding heart that loves those people.
His bleeding heart that found a feral street rat trying to pickpocket him, and saw a friend.
The heart that is bleeding onto Kayn's shoulder. A future king, weeping at the loss of his shadow.
Weeping at the loss of his only real friend.
No. Kayn can't tell him to abandon his people. Can't ask him to sacrifice one more godforsaken thing in his life – not when duty is the only thing Ezreal really has.
And if anyone can understand a love of duty, it's Kayn.
“I'll write to you,” Kayn presses the promise into Ezreal's hair instead. “All those lessons I had to sit through thanks to you – I'll finally put them to good use.”
“You hate writing.” Ezreal wipes his nose on Kayn's shoulder and frowns up at him, tear streaked and bedraggled, wrapped like a little raccoon in the embrace of Kayn's cloak.
“I like you more than I hate writing,” Kayn tells him, like it's a secret. And maybe it is. But if it is, it's a badly kept one.
He has an inkling that there's more to this separation than training for knighthood and court education. He isn’t deaf to court gossip. He’s seen the look in the Lord Regent’s eyes when he watches Kayn watch Ezreal.
“I'll write to you too,” Ezreal assures him, like it's obvious that the future king would be spending his precious time writing letters to his bodyguard in training back home. “All the time. You'll get sick of me.”
“I hope not,” Kayn teases him, reaching up to wipe at the tear tracks with his thumb. “I'm going to be stuck with you for the rest of our lives, my prince.”
Ezreal sniffles again, shifting until he can curl sideways in Kayn's arms. “With the exception of the next few years.”
Kayn's heart lurches, but his voice stays steady. “That long?”
“Yeah... two or three.”
A moment of silence, broken only by the owls and their shared sigh.
“Well...” Kayn tucks his head down low, resting his temple on the crown of Ezreal's head. “At least I'll be a knight by then.”
“ My knight,” Ezreal corrects.
“Your knight,” Kayn agrees, squeezing Ezreal with his thighs. “And you'll be the king almost, probably.”
His prince nods slowly, shoulders slumping. “Yeah... the coronation will probably be a few months after I return. A few tournaments and stuff in between, time to sort out advisers and all that.”
“They've really planned your life out, huh?” Kayn sighs, thumb rubbing at Ezreal's shoulder.
“No more than yours.” Ezreal squeezes his wrist, tips his head to offer a sad smile. “At least this way I don't have to worry about you dying for me at dinner for a few years.”
“No, I just have to worry about you dying without me there to stop it,” Kayn grumbles, feeling a little less wrong-footed about the whole thing now that they're back in familiar territory. He can work with teasing... can work with a plan.
He has about three years to hone his skills – to become the tool that his prince will need by his side. He's going to make the most of it.
But that's starting tomorrow.
Tonight he has a prince that needs him.
The Demacian delegation leaves with much fanfare in the courtyard, flush with supplies for the return journey. A wagon full of Ezreal's things – hastily packed by his attendants – rattles across the cobblestones.
A prince on a white steed glitters in the midday sun. His ceremonial cloak is pure as driven snow, but too light for the weather. The heavy black cloak underneath it keeps him warm.
Kayn shivers in the breeze that whips the pennants into a frenzy, tearing through his squire's leathers.
Ezreal's golden eyes find his, dry and sorrowful, but full of promise.
Kayn watches him gleam like a fallen star until they ride out of sight, then turns on his heel, offers the Lord Regent a bow, and walks off into the shadows.