Hiral watched Alexis with that infuriatingly smug look—chin lifted, eyes bright with resolve, mouth curved as if he'd just won a battle no one else knew was being fought.
For a heartbeat, Hiral held it.
Then he chuckled.
It slipped out soft and surprised, a sound he hadn't realized he still remembered how to make.
Alexis blinked. "—You're laughing?"
"I am," Hiral said, the warmth lingering in his voice despite himself.
He studied Alexis openly now, no armor of diplomacy, no calculated distance. Just him. "You look… unbearably certain."
Alexis huffed. "Careful. That sounds like praise."
"It's not," Hiral replied lightly, though his eyes softened. "It's recognition."
That certainty—that stubborn, luminous resolve—it tugged at something old in him. A memory he hadn't let surface in a long while.
A platinum-haired general thrown bodily out of a tent.
Dust in the air.
Laughter from the tribes.
Eyes locking across a basin of sand and dawn.
Finally, Alexis had said then, grinning like a fool. Someone whose eyes don't scream stab first, talk later.
Hiral's chest warmed at the recollection, unbidden.
The way Alexis had looked at him back then—relieved, earnest, absurdly sincere in the middle of a war he hated.
That same glow was here now, burning through grief and exhaustion alike.
And with that thought came a quiet truth.
I did wonder, Hiral admitted inwardly. Just a little… how you might hate me and perhaps change your feelings but I guess I know you too well...
Alexis narrowed his eyes.
"Oh no," he said flatly. "Don't look at me like that."
Hiral arched a brow, innocence sharpened to a blade. "Like what?"
"Like you already anticipated this," Alexis shot back. "Like this smug declaration of mine fits neatly into whatever maze you keep in that head of yours."
Hiral's lips twitched.
Alexis clicked his tongue. "Unbelievable."
He leaned in, intent clear—if words wouldn't break Hiral's composure, perhaps something else would.
But this time—
He swiftly leaned forward with clear intent, intent to steal another kiss.
Hiral shifted smoothly aside, quick despite his stiff muscles from long disused, leaving Alexis grasping at air.
He lifted one brow higher, eyes gleaming with challenge.
Alexis froze. Then laughed, low and genuine.
"You really shouldn't tempt me like that," he warned, amusement threaded with promise.
"I have no idea what you mean," Hiral replied evenly.
Alexis snorted. "Liar."
He saw it then—the faint coyness Hiral tried and failed to hide, the subtle tilt of his head, the way his gaze lingered a fraction too long before looking away.
Alexis intent to cage Hiral in his arms leaned back to catch Hiral off guard—
But then both of them stilled.
Footsteps. Quick. Purposeful.
The air shifted.
Hiral straightened first, his expression smoothing into something composed and unreadable once again.
Alexis followed a heartbeat later, regal mask sliding back into place just as the knock came at the door.
"Enter," Alexis called.
The head butler stepped in, bowing deeply. "My lord. The physician has arrived and is prepared to examine our honored guest."
Hiral inclined his head politely. "I am at your disposal."
His gaze flicked—ever so subtly—between them, then returned to Alexis. "There is also an urgent personal matter that requires your immediate attention, My lord."
Alexis exhaled through his nose, already bracing himself. "I understand."
The butler bowed again and withdrew, leaving the room heavy with things unsaid.
For a moment, Alexis and Hiral simply looked at each other.
Alexis exhaled slowly, then looked at Hiral.
"We're not finished," he said, tone firm but no longer sharp.
Hiral's smile softened—no tricks now, no masks. "I know," he replied.
Alexis did not leave immediately.
He lingered at the threshold until the physician arrived, watched with narrowed focus as the man set down his things and began his examination.
Only when Hiral was properly attended to did Alexis finally shift his weight—as if preparing to go.
Hiral, catching his eye, lifted a brow.
Go.
Alexis stared.
Hiral sighed theatrically and made a lazy shooing motion with his hand, the picture of dignified impatience.
That did it.
Alexis let out a quiet chuckle, stepped back, and then—deliberately, extravagantly—bowed.
Low. Formal. Impeccable.
"I'll be back, Your Highness," he said lightly, voice threaded with unmistakable amusement.
The room froze.
The servant, the physician, and even the ever-composed head butler all stiffened at once—every one of them acutely aware that the man about to be crowned king had just bowed to an enemy general, a so-called war prisoner.
Not a single one reacted.
They looked away immediately, honed from their experiences that the scene needed not be paid attention by them and so they carried on as though they had seen nothing at all.
Hiral exhaled through his nose, muttering, "Insufferable," though the fondness betrayed him.
Alexis turned and left, the echo of his steps carrying him down the hall.
Once they were far enough from Hiral's room, Alexis finally asked, "What was the urgent matter?"
"The Prime Minister sent a runner, my lord," the head butler replied. "A letter. He requested a response as soon as possible."
Alexis frowned faintly.
Did I offend him? Or worse—was this about the coronation again?
He changed direction at once, heading for his study.
Inside, he broke the seal and scanned the letter.
Then he stopped.
Then he blinked.
Then he laughed—once, sharp and incredulous, before it spilled into full, unrestrained laughter that doubled him over, one hand braced against the desk as his stomach began to ache.
"Unbelievable," he breathed between laughs. "Absolutely unbelievable."
Look for an heir first if you plan to elope with your lover.
So the Prime Minister had seen that too.
Alexis wiped his eyes, finally catching his breath, and took up his pen.
His reply was brief.
Measured.
Amused.
He wrote that since his lover was currently recovering, he would take the throne as planned—and would, in due time, carefully select a competent heir. The Prime Minister need not worry about him vanishing into the night just yet.
He sealed the letter with a satisfied smile.
"Send this," he told the head butler.
Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and headed back down the corridor—steps lighter, purpose unmistakable.
Back toward Hiral.
To continue.