The war camp sprawled across the valley like a living thing: canvas tents, cook-fires, the constant clang of steel on steel. Five days' hard march from the capital, and the army was finally settling. Star's legs still ached from riding all day in the saddle beside Elandor, but the ache felt good. Honest. Real.
Tonight the command tent was quiet. Most officers had gone to their bedrolls. Only a single lamp burned, throwing golden light across maps and scattered armor.
Star stood at the tent flap, staring out at the sea of campfires. Behind him, Elandor was unbuckling his breastplate, piece by piece, the clink of metal loud in the stillness.
"You should sleep," Elandor said, voice low. "Tomorrow we drill at dawn."
Star didn't turn. "Can't. Too much in my head."
A pause. Then the soft rustle of fabric. Bare feet on rug. Elandor came up behind him, close enough that Star felt the heat of his body without touching.
"What is it?" Elandor murmured, breath warm against Star's ear.
Star's jaw tightened. "Prince Arlen."
The name hung between them like a blade.
Arlen of Highvale, their newest ally, had arrived at dusk with three hundred elite riders. Tall, golden-haired, impossibly polished even after a hard ride. He'd greeted Elandor with the easy familiarity of old academy friends: hand on shoulder, laughter too bright, eyes lingering too long.
Star had watched it all from the edge of the command circle and felt something hot and ugly coil in his gut.
Elandor's arms slid around Star's waist from behind, slow, deliberate. "Arlen is a friend. Nothing more."
Star huffed. "He looks at you like he wants to be a lot more."
Elandor's lips brushed the side of Star's neck, a feather-light touch that made Star's breath catch despite his anger. "And you look at me like you want to murder anyone who comes near. I like that version better."
Star turned in the circle of his arms, glaring up. "Don't joke. He touched your arm. Twice. And you let him."
Elandor's green eyes darkened, amused and hungry all at once. "Jealous, farm boy?"
"Yes," Star snapped, cheeks burning. "I hate it. I hate feeling like I have to share you."
Elandor's hands came up to cup Star's face, thumbs stroking along his cheekbones. "Then take me," he whispered. "Right now. So there's no room left for doubt."
The words hit like wildfire. Star grabbed fistfuls of Elandor's linen shirt and yanked him down into a bruising kiss. Teeth clashed, breath stolen. It wasn't gentle. It was claim and answer and mine.
Elandor groaned into his mouth, backing him up until Star's shoulders hit the tent pole. The lamp flickered wildly as they moved, shadows dancing over bare skin when shirts were torn away. Calloused hands mapped old scars and new bruises from training. Every touch said you're mine, every bite said never forget.
Star shoved Elandor down onto the narrow camp bed, straddling him, grinding slow and deliberate. Elandor's head fell back, throat exposed, a broken sound escaping as Star's mouth found the pulse hammering there.
"Say it," Star demanded against sweat-slick skin, voice rough. "Out loud."
Elandor's hands gripped Star's hips hard enough to bruise. "Yours," he rasped. "Only yours. Always."
The words snapped the last thread of control. Clothes vanished in frantic hands. Oil from a small vial, slick fingers, gasped curses. When Elandor finally pushed inside, slow and relentless, Star's back arched off the furs, fingers digging into Elandor's shoulders like he'd never let go.
They moved together, fierce and fast, the bed creaking under the force of it. Each thrust was a promise, each moan a vow. Star bit down on Elandor's collarbone to muffle his cries; Elandor answered by angling deeper, hitting that spot that turned Star's vision white.
"Never doubt it," Elandor growled against his ear, pace turning punishing. "Never doubt me."
Star shattered first, clenching tight around him, spilling between them with Elandor's name torn from his throat. Elandor followed seconds later, burying himself deep, shuddering through release with a broken groan that sounded like surrender.
After, they lay tangled, hearts hammering against each other. Elandor traced lazy circles on Star's back, lips brushing his temple.
"No one else," he whispered into the dark. "Not Arlen. Not anyone. You're carved into me, Star. Deeper than any crown."
Star pressed his face into Elandor's neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and steel and them. The jealousy was still there, a dull ember, but the fire that had burned it away was stronger.
Outside, the camp slept. Inside the tent, two men held each other like the world could end tomorrow and it wouldn't matter.
Because tonight, there was no room for doubt.