The hunt was supposed to be a celebration.
Two weeks after the army left the capital, the scouts reported a massive stag with antlers like silver trees moving through the royal forest. Elandor's eyes had lit up the way they only ever did for Star or for battle. A day of riding, fresh air, no council meetings, no war maps, just the two of them leading a small party of trusted lords and guards. Star had rolled his eyes but secretly loved the idea of seeing Eli happy for once.
They rode out at dawn. The forest swallowed them in green shadow and birdsong. Star wore simple leathers now, no heavy consort coat, a short sword at his hip he actually knew how to use. Elandor rode beside him on a black destrier, hair wild in the wind, laughing loud enough to scare the deer. For a few golden hours it felt like the city night again, like the world was only them and the trees and the promise that nothing could touch them here.
They never saw the arrow until it was too late.
It came from the left, silent, black-fletched, aimed straight at Elandor's heart.
Star moved without thinking. He kicked his horse sideways, slammed into Elandor's mount, and the arrow meant for the king buried itself in Star's upper chest instead, just below the collarbone. The impact punched the air from his lungs. Pain exploded white-hot.
He heard Elandor roar his name like the world was ending.
Then the forest erupted.
More arrows rained from the canopy. Guards shouted, horses screamed, steel flashed. Star slid from the saddle, knees hitting moss, blood already soaking his tunic. Elandor was off his horse in a heartbeat, sword drawn, standing over him like a wall of fury.
"Star! Look at me, damn you, look at me!"
Star tried. The world blurred at the edges. Elandor's face swam above him, beautiful and terrified.
"'S okay," Star rasped, tasting iron. "Got you… shielded you…"
A second arrow grazed Elandor's arm, tearing cloth and skin. The king snarled, spun, and cut the assassin falling from the branches clean in half. Blood sprayed across the leaves.
"Circle!" Elandor bellowed. "Protect the consort!"
But the attackers were already retreating, black cloaks melting into shadow. Only one was slow. A guard tackled him, ripped the mask free. A young face, pale, trembling. Star recognized him with a sick lurch: one of Varyn's personal retainers who had supposedly fled north weeks ago.
Elandor knelt again, pressing a folded cloak hard against the wound. His hands shook.
"Stay with me, love. That's an order."
Star tried to laugh, coughed blood instead. "Since when… do I follow orders?"
"Star, please…"
The world tilted. Star felt himself lifted, cradled against Elandor's chest plate, the king running, shouting for the healer who rode with them. Every step jarred the arrow, sent fresh fire through his chest. He buried his face in Elandor's neck, breathing in sweat and pine and the faint metallic scent of blood that was now his own.
"Don't you dare leave me," Elandor was saying, voice cracking. "Not after everything. Not like this."
Star wanted to answer. Couldn't. Darkness rushed in, warm and tempting.
He woke to agony and lamplight.
A tent. The healer's tent, smelling of bitter herbs and hot iron. His chest was bare, bandaged tight, every breath like knives. Elandor sat beside the cot, still in blood-stained leathers, hair matted, eyes red-rimmed. He hadn't left.
Star's voice came out a broken whisper. "Hey… handsome."
Elandor's head snapped up. For a moment he looked twenty-five going on a hundred. Then he lunged forward, cupping Star's face with trembling hands, pressing their foreheads together.
"You absolute idiot," he choked. "You took an arrow for me."
"Had to," Star rasped. "You're… the king. I'm just…"
"You are everything," Elandor cut in fiercely. "Don't you ever say 'just' again."
The healer, an older woman with kind eyes, cleared her throat from the corner. "The arrow missed the lung and heart by less than a finger's breadth. He'll live, Majesty. But he needs rest. No moving for days."
Elandor didn't seem to hear her. He was kissing Star's temple, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, careful, desperate, like he was trying to pour life back into him through touch alone.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered against Star's skin. "I have never been so scared in my life."
Star managed a painful smile. "Told you… I'm harder to kill… than I look."
Elandor laughed, but it turned into a broken sound. He climbed onto the narrow cot fully clothed, armor and all, and pulled Star gently against his chest, mindful of the bandages.
"Sleep," he ordered, voice thick. "I'm not going anywhere."
Star let the steady thump of Elandor's heart lull him under.
He woke again near dawn, pain dulled by whatever the healer had given him. Elandor was still there, eyes open, watching him like he was afraid Star would vanish if he blinked.
"Stop staring," Star croaked. "Creepy."
"Never," Elandor said softly. He brushed a thumb over Star's cheek. "I need to see you breathing."
Silence stretched, heavy with things unsaid.
"They were Varyn's men," Elandor finally said. "The survivor talked. Varyn planned it himself. Knew we'd ride out eventually. Wanted me dead and you blamed for luring me into the trap."
Star closed his eyes. "He won't stop."
"No," Elandor agreed, voice turning cold iron. "He won't. Which is why you are staying in camp, guarded day and night, until I come back and put his head on a spike."
Star's eyes snapped open. "You're not leaving me."
"I have to lead the next push. We're close to his stronghold. If I don't end this now—"
"Then we end it together," Star cut in, stubborn even half-dead. "You ride out without me, I'll crawl after you on my hands and knees. Try me."
Elandor's jaw worked. He looked like he wanted to argue, to lock Star in the safest tower and throw away the key. Instead he exhaled, defeated and proud at once.
"You impossible, infuriating, perfect man," he muttered, and kissed him slow and deep, tasting of relief and fear and love.
When they broke apart, Elandor rested his forehead against Star's.
"I almost lost you today," he whispered. "I'm not letting you out of my sight again. Not ever."
Star's fingers found Elandor's, laced tight despite the pain.
"Good," he said. "Because I'm not done with you yet, Eli."
Outside the tent, the camp began to stir. Inside, two hearts beat the same stubborn rhythm: still alive, still together, still ready to burn the world down before letting anything tear them apart.
The arrow had missed its mark.
The war was far from over.
But for the first time, Star truly believed they could win it.