The argument didn't explode.
That was what made it dangerous.
It crept in quietly, carried on glances held a second too long, on pauses where words should have been, on the way footsteps subtly adjusted to keep pace with mine—or to pull ahead of one another.
We had been walking for hours beneath a sky stretched thin with clouds, the land rising gradually into broken hills dotted with stone and scrub. The road here was little more than an old scar in the earth, barely remembered by anyone who still believed in borders.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It was expectant.
Silas broke it first.
"We need to talk."
Rowan glanced over his shoulder. "That sentence never leads anywhere fun."
Alaric slowed immediately, eyes moving from Silas to me—not intervening, not withdrawing.
I stopped walking.
That alone changed everything.
"What about?" I asked.
Silas exhaled slowly, as if choosing words he rarely needed to choose. "About proximity."
Rowan let out a soft laugh. "Oh. That."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome to be clearer."
Silas met my gaze directly. "You're being pulled in three directions. Whether you intend it or not."
Rowan's grin faded. "Careful."
"No," Silas replied evenly. "This is exactly where we should be careful."
Alaric didn't speak, but his attention sharpened—on me, not on them.
I crossed my arms loosely. "Go on."
Silas nodded once. "We said jealousy wouldn't be rewarded. That doesn't mean it won't exist."
Rowan scoffed. "I literally acknowledged that."
"Yes," Silas said. "But you mask it with humor."
Rowan's eyes flashed. "And you mask yours with silence."
The air tightened.
Not hostile.
Honest.
I felt it—the way both of them adjusted slightly, awareness sharpening not just of me, but of each other.
Alaric finally spoke. "This isn't about competition."
Rowan glanced at him. "Isn't it?"
"No," Alaric said calmly. "It's about alignment."
I studied their faces.
Silas—steady, controlled, unused to sharing ground he considered important.Rowan—open, expressive, hiding seriousness behind ease.Alaric—anchored, refusing to rush, refusing to flinch.
Three different instincts.
One center.
Me.
"I didn't ask for this," I said quietly.
They all stilled.
"But I won't pretend it isn't happening," I continued. "If we're going to address it, we do it honestly."
Rowan nodded slowly. "Fair."
Silas inclined his head. "Agreed."
Alaric waited.
"Here's the truth," I said. "I feel different things with each of you."
Rowan's mouth curved faintly. "I hope so. That would be awkward otherwise."
I shot him a look. "Don't deflect."
He sobered immediately. "Sorry."
Silas's gaze stayed on mine. "Different how?"
I took a breath.
"With you," I said to Silas, "I feel safe in a way that doesn't require reassurance. You don't ask for access—you offer presence."
Silas absorbed that without reaction, but something eased in his posture.
"With Rowan," I continued, turning slightly, "I feel… seen without being weighed. You remind me that wanting doesn't have to be heavy."
Rowan swallowed, nodding once.
"And with you," I said to Alaric, "I feel understood without explanation. You don't try to interpret me—you let me arrive."
Alaric's gaze softened, just barely.
Silence followed.
Not strained.
Reverent.
Silas broke it. "That doesn't resolve proximity."
"No," I agreed. "But it reframes it."
Rowan ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. Then here's honesty from my end."
I nodded.
"I don't want to be background," he said. "I don't need exclusivity—but I won't pretend indifference."
Silas glanced at him. "Neither will I."
Rowan looked surprised. "You?"
Silas nodded once. "I won't compete. But I won't disappear."
The admission carried weight.
All eyes shifted to Alaric.
He didn't rush.
"I won't claim," he said calmly. "And I won't retreat to make things easier."
I felt that settle deep.
"So," Rowan said, exhaling, "what does that mean in practice?"
I considered.
"It means," I said slowly, "that no one assumes priority."
Rowan grimaced slightly. "Oof."
Silas didn't object.
"And it means," I continued, "that if something feels like pressure, it stops."
Alaric nodded immediately.
"And it means," I finished, "that jealousy is spoken—not acted out."
Rowan snorted. "You're very organized about this."
"I had to be," I said. "Chaos used to decide things for me."
That shut him up.
The bond hummed softly—aligned, attentive.
"Does this change anything right now?" Silas asked.
"Yes," I said.
They waited.
"I don't want to be crowded," I said. "Not physically. Not emotionally."
Rowan took a step back without being asked.
Silas adjusted his stance, creating space.
Alaric remained where he was—but didn't move closer.
The difference mattered.
We resumed walking shortly after, the tension diffused but not gone—contained. The land sloped downward toward a cluster of ruins visible in the distance, stone half-swallowed by time.
As we walked, the dynamic subtly recalibrated.
Rowan kept pace beside me—but no longer brushed my shoulder. He talked, but listened more. When he joked, it felt lighter—less like a bid for attention.
Silas stayed a step behind—not withdrawing, but anchoring. His presence was a constant at my back, not looming, not absent.
Alaric walked to my right, steady as ever—but I noticed something new.
He watched the space around me.
Not to guard it.
To respect it.
We reached the ruins by late afternoon. Broken walls formed a rough square, the ground inside clear enough to camp.
Rowan circled the perimeter. "This place has opinions."
Silas crouched, examining markings on a fallen stone. "Old."
"Safe?" I asked.
"For now," Alaric replied.
As camp was set, the quiet returned—not expectant this time, but settled.
Later, as dusk painted the stones amber, Rowan approached with two cups of water.
"Peace offering," he said, handing one to Silas first, then to me.
Silas accepted with a nod.
Rowan smiled faintly. "I'm not great at being patient."
"I know," I said.
"But I'm trying," he added.
"That counts."
Silas glanced between us. "It does."
Night fell gently.
When the fire burned low, Alaric spoke quietly beside me.
"You did well today."
"I felt like I was managing adults," I said dryly.
He smiled. "Leadership often feels like that."
"I didn't ask to lead."
"No," he agreed. "You asked to be free."
The bond pulsed—soft, approving.
Across the fire, Rowan leaned back against a stone, watching the stars. Silas took first watch, posture easy but alert.
The tension hadn't vanished.
But it no longer threatened to fracture us.
Because it wasn't being ignored.
It was being held.
And that, I realized, was the real shift.
Not that multiple men wanted me.
But that they were learning how to want without taking.
And I was learning how to stand at the center—
Not overwhelmed.
Not diminished.
But deliberate.