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Tonight is a quiet night—empty as clothes and belongings are packed away in boxes and chests. Nolan stands by the open windows in his chamber, facing the Eastern coasts as if winds have travelled from the sea to caress his skin.
Behind him, the door closes softly.
Erik doesn’t announce himself. He never has to.
“You should rest.” Erik comes up beside Nolan.
“I can’t.” Nolan doesn’t face him.
“I still think I should go with you.” Erik narrows his eyes, turning to Nolan.
“No,” Nolan answers with no hesitation.
“It is my duty.” Erik insists. “Where you go, I go.”
Nolan finally looks at him, frustration edges on his composure. “And I am telling you to stay.”
“Your Highness—”
“Don’t use that tone with me tonight.” Nolan goes away from the window.
Three years without training at dawn together. Three summers without a swim in an afternoon. Three winters without sparring bruises. For them, who have always been together since Nolan was born, three years feel longer than they allow.
Erik follows behind, his jaw tightens. “You are travelling in uncertain water. Foreign courts. Foreign blades. You will need—”
Nolan raises one hand to shut him off. “I need someone I trust here. For her.”
Her.
Viviana.
Always for her.
“She is alone here. I do not trust the court. I trust you.”
Erik doesn’t answer. He knows. He understands. Viviana is important. The intended savior. His blood.
But isn’t Nolan important too? And Erik places Nolan before everything. Is that too selfish of him?
“You think I do not want you with me?” Nolan drops his tone and steps closer.
“I am worried.” Moon shines on Erik, showing his furrowed brows. “What if something happens to you?”
“Then you will protect Viviana. She has gone through too much. She is my family.”
“But you are my prince.”
“And you are mine.” Nolan’s hand lifts—hesitates—then rests against Erik’s chest.
Erik widens his eyes, he searches his face — looking for doubt, for reconsideration. He finds none.
He takes Nolan's hand and presses it to his chest. He keeps his gaze on their intertwined hands.
“You know I will do anything for you.”
“I know.” Nolan closes the distance, breath mingling with Erik.
And Nolan kisses him first; he always does. But not with a playful curiosity nor a mischievous smirk tonight. Only a fervent urgency wrapped in his lips.
And Erik responds immediately; he always does. His hands pull Nolan closer, cradling him as if he’s afraid this moment will slip away. But his grip is tighter tonight—because it’ll slip away.
Just for tonight, their choices aren’t anywhere else.
Nolan pushes Erik; their steps mangle as the bed hits Erik’s knees. They both fall onto the soft mattress.
Erik widens his eyes in disbelief—not in confusion, but realization. Their stolen kisses never get this far, and they swear to never get them this far.
But the unwavering gaze of Nolan breaks those promises in an instant.
And Erik will do anything for Nolan.
Nolan traces bolder, tasting the salt at the hollow of Erik’s throat.
Erik’s hands tremble against Nolan’s clothes, unfastening them—though familiar yet with a different intention.
Armors leave. So does restraint. Only skin against skin. Only breath against breath. Only longing’s left.
Erik rolls Nolan over, settling him under. Erik stops his movements when they’re both completely bare, not duty or crown in their ways. His gaze softens, turns to devotion. And it’s a long moment of simple adoration in those eyes. Nolan returns that intensity by staying still.
“You are beautiful.” Erik lowers his voice, barely a breath as if he’s afraid one word can shatter him.
Nolan chuckles with surprise. “Only now?”
Erik just smiles. “No.”
And so they don’t say any words. They don’t need to.
They’re closer than they could ever be. Because they’ll be further than they have ever been.
When arms in arms, their fingers intertwine, fiddling across skin as if to remember every scar, and every bump. They soothe each other into slumber, not with a lullaby or murmur, but simply from their touches.
The morning comes softly, hesitantly. They both wake up without any word. Erik slides into his own garment before helping his prince fasten his white linen shirt. His touch lingers on Nolan's nape as if holding back the urge to place a kiss there.
But he can't.
His lips touch the skin in a whisper that even Nolan can't hear. A promise? A hope? Or simply a goodbye.
Nolan stands up and straighten his coat before Erik.
"Your Highness," Erik bows his head as always.
Nolan nods. As always.
"Sir Erik."