Chapter Text
There was a peculiar kind of peace in the air that spring.
The kind that settled deep in the bones after long years of war and weariness.
The capital, ever restless, had softened under the season’s touch. Cobblestone streets were dusted with petals from blooming pear and cherry trees, and golden sunlight streamed down in slow, warm ribbons through the palace courtyards.
Children laughed in the gardens, merchant stalls brimmed with bright fruits, and noble ladies in pastel silks paraded beneath their parasols, whispering secrets behind ivory fans.
It was a season of renewal.
Of breathing again.
And yet, no one, not the court, not the public, not even the most well-informed of spies, was prepared for the newest, most scandalous rumor circling the noble class like wildfire through dry grass.
Apparently, Cale Henituse had smiled.
Yes, smiled.
The Hero of the Continent, the man known for his permanent deadpan, his exhaustion with life, his reputation for attracting disasters like a flame lures moths. That same man had smiled beautifully at a diplomatic event.
It was said that a lot has fainted due to it.
Crown Prince Alberu Crossman nearly choked on his jasmine tea when the first report reached his desk.
“…A smile?” he repeated, to no one in particular, brows furrowing as he stared at the parchment as if it had personally insulted him.
And then turned to stone when he laid his eyes on the recording of Cale.
He couldn't take his eyes off it.
His aunt was smirking as she quietly excused herself.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped low across the capital’s skyline, painting the palace in hues of honeyed gold and coral pink, Alberu found Cale sitting in the royal garden like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He was slouched on the edge of a stone bench beneath the tall lilac trees, legs stretched out, red hair tousled by the breeze. The scent of blooming wisteria lingered in the air.
In his hand?
A half-eaten cookie.
Baked by Yours Truly.
Alberu couldn't help the flutter in his stomach.
It was then that Cale opened his mouth.
“I think I pulled a muscle in my face,” Cale muttered, as if discussing the weather.
Alberu stopped mid-step, arms crossed loosely over his chest. A fond expression finding itself on his face.
“You smiled at the Crown Princess of Askosan.”
“She gave me a cookie,” Cale immediately replied without a hint of irony. "And she's a child."
Alberu raised an eyebrow at that. When did this bastard start eating cookies that wasn't his?
“A cookie.”
“It had chocolate chips,” Cale elaborated, biting into the remaining half with all the emotion of someone making a business transaction.
“The good kind. With sea salt on top.”
And Alberu just stared at him for a long, contemplative moment, watching as Cale calmly chewed like he hadn’t sent three minor nobles into early retirement that same morning just by entering the discussion room.
Then, with the exasperated fondness of someone who had long given up pretending not to care, the Crown Prince muttered, “I’m going to commission a painting of this moment.”
At that Cale gave him the side eye with accompanying raised brow.
“You already have one in your office.”
“That’s different. That one’s for political intimidation.”
“I look ten years older in it.”
“You do, because that’s what I see every time you turn your life into a walking catastrophe.”
Cale snorted softly, which, in Alberu’s opinion, might as well have been a laugh.
A silence followed, but it wasn’t strained.
It was the kind they’d grown into over the years, an easy, quiet stillness that filled the air like a blanket.
There was no need to speak.
The crickets had started their evening song. Somewhere in the distance, the bells of a bakery signaled fresh bread. The warmth of the day was slowly giving way to the crispness of dusk, but neither man moved.
The war was over.
The kingdoms had found a fragile peace, maintained through endless negotiations, tired hands, and more than a few stubborn miracles.
Raon was away with Eruhaben, studying the ancient ruins in the South. Ohn and Hong were off training with the Molans. Choi Han had left with Rosalyn, the two of them weaving through continents on quiet quests of their own.
Even the wolf children Cale had once shielded with blood and fury were now teenagers. Taller, stronger, and writing him letters filled with dreams and awkward first loves.
The world had moved on.
And yet, some things had not changed.
Like the way Alberu’s gaze lingered on Cale when he thought the man wasn’t paying attention. Soft and unguarded, the prince allowing himself a private moment of affection, as if trying to memorize every line of someone he had already carved into the marrow of his being.
Or the way Cale always ended up where Alberu was.
It was never obvious, never planned. But always, always, there.
Whether it was under the guise of work, “accidental” run-ins, or Raon dragging him into palace matters with the subtlety of a flying dragon missile, Cale appeared.
Late evenings in Alberu's room, early mornings in the Crown Prince's office.
Even the lunch breaks (where they force Alberu to rest), Cale never said it, but somehow his schedule always aligned with Alberu’s.
Not even Raon believed it was a coincidence anymore.
And yet neither of them said it aloud.
They never did.
But Alberu thought, perhaps, that this silence between them.
This shared language of glances, gestures, and half-spoken warmth.
Was already a kind of confession.
A promise waiting to be made.
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CHAPTER END