When Alexis returned to Hiral's chambers, the door was slightly ajar.
He paused at the threshold, hearing the physician's calm, measured voice.
"…even if the wound has closed cleanly, you must not mistake healing for readiness," the elderly man was saying.
"A pierced chest is no small matter. And you were unconscious for months. Your muscles won't be as ready as your mind so don't push them to the limit, it's counterproductive."
Hiral, seated upright against the carved headboard, inclined his head respectfully.
"I understand."
"No strenuous activity," the physician continued firmly. "No weapons practice. No riding. No running for miles. Gentle stretches only—and slowly. Consistently. For a couple of weeks at least. Allow your body to adapt again."
"I will follow your instructions," Hiral replied, voice sincere, gaze steady.
Alexis leaned against the doorframe silently, watching.
Hiral's expression was perfect—attentive, obedient, grateful.
Too perfect.
He won't, Alexis thought, a flicker of exasperated fondness warming beneath his ribs.
He'll say yes, then push his limits by sunrise. That is if I leave him alone.
Alexis silently smirked at the thought.
So he kept that observation to himself. There would be time to argue later. Preferably in private.
The physician finally noticed Alexis and straightened, bowing deeply. "My lord."
"How is he?" Alexis asked, stepping inside.
"Remarkably resilient," the physician admitted. "The scar will remain, but there are no signs of internal complications. I will send a detailed medical report tomorrow outlining his limitations and expected recovery."
"Do that," Alexis said. "And ensure discretion."
"Of course."
Alexis nodded to the head butler, who stood waiting near the door. "See to the doctor's payment. And the customary gifts. Promptly."
The butler bowed. "It's as good as done, my lord."
Within moments, the physician was escorted out. Alexis turned to the servants lingering near the doorway.
"Leave us."
They bowed and withdrew, closing the doors behind them.
Silence settled—soft, intimate.
Hiral watched Alexis carefully now, reading him as he always did.
"Well?" Hiral prompted gently. "You were called away for something urgent."
Alexis walked closer to the bed, studying Hiral instead of answering immediately.
He could see it—the faint heaviness in Hiral's eyelids, the way his shoulders sagged once he believed no one was looking too closely. He was upright only through willpower.
Stubborn man. I'll make sure that you follow through your word with the physician.
"It can wait," Alexis said at last. His voice was quieter than before, stripped of command. "We'll talk tomorrow."
Hiral blinked, surprised.
Alexis reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Hiral's forehead. "You're exhausted."
For once, Hiral did not argue.
He held Alexis's gaze, searching it—and whatever he found there must have satisfied him, because his posture softened.
"…Very well," Hiral murmured. "I'll rest."
He lay back slowly, great exhaustion pulled him quickly to slumber.
Alexis remained seated beside him, expecting at least a few more clipped remarks, perhaps a final protest.
But Hiral's breathing evened within moments.
Alexis stared.
The room felt unbearably still.
Hiral's face, in sleep, lost all its guarded sharpness.
The insidious strategist vanished.
The imposing general greatly softened.
What remained was somehow—peaceful, unburdened young man.
And yet, that look was painfully familiar.
Too familiar.
For a flicker of a second, Alexis was back in that long, silent stretch of weeks—standing beside this same bed, watching a chest and counting how it rose again and again, wondering if it would suddenly stop.
His throat tightened.
"You'll wake up once again, right?Of course you will," he whispered with a trembling voice.
Slowly, as if testing reality, Alexis reached out and brushed his knuckles lightly against Hiral's cheek.
Warm.
Alive.
"Hiral," softly Alexis voiced out.
After a long moment, Alexis stood and quickly washed the dust of the day from his hands and face, shedding his outer coat and boots.
He extinguished most of the lamps, leaving only one dim light near the hearth.
He returned to the bed.
Carefully—so carefully—he slipped beneath the covers beside Hiral, leaving respectful space at first.
But the distance felt absurd.
With quiet resolve, Alexis shifted closer.
He leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss to Hiral's forehead.
"Sweet dreams," he murmured.
Then he lay down on his side, facing him.
Just to prove that this wasn't another cruel trick of fate.
Just to wake in the morning and see those dark eyes open again.
If that was his repayment for weeks of fear and prayer—then he would take it gladly.
And for the first time in months, Alexis allowed himself to fall asleep without bracing for loss.