11 YEARS AGO

The castle hallways were alive with warm, golden light as the servants bustled around in preparation for the evening's grand feast. Young Arto, barely thirteen but already carrying himself with the natural poise of royalty, paced the corridor, dressed in his finest tunic, embroidered with the intricate crest of his family. His face was alight with excitement, knowing the evening was meant to honour him—a celebration of his official naming as his father's heir.

As Arto scanned the crowd, his gaze fell on Kiernan, lingering in the shadows near a stone column. With a bright, genuine smile, Arto waved him over.

"Kiernan!" Arto called, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to envelop the entire hall. "Come on! You've got to sit at the high table with me tonight. I told my father it wouldn't be the same without you."

Kiernan's jaw tightened, though he forced himself to approach with a polite nod. Inside, his heart was a knot of mixed emotions: resentment, bitterness, and the lingering ache of betrayal he could never quite forget. He hated how easily Arto seemed to take everything for granted—the love, the title, the loyalty of the people Kiernan believed belonged to his own father.

"Oh, don't go out of your way on my behalf, Your Highness," Kiernan replied, the title slipping from his lips with a faint, mocking edge. His tone was controlled, almost measured, but he couldn't quite hide the bitterness lurking behind his words.

Arto laughed, oblivious to the undercurrent, and clapped Kiernan on the shoulder. "Come on, no need for all the formality. You're practically family." Arto's grin was so open, so genuine, it made Kiernan's resentment curdle further.

Kiernan gave him a tight smile, his face carefully composed. "Yes, practically," he muttered. But his mind seethed with unspoken anger. His father had been family once too—Arto's father's own blood—and yet he had been sacrificed for the crown.

Arto noticed the tension but misunderstood it entirely, leaning in with an encouraging grin. "I know it must be strange for you sometimes. It can be... overwhelming," Arto said softly, almost as if offering a kindness. "But as we grow up, you'll see. There'll be a place for you, too. Just like there's always been."

Kiernan bristled at the words, hearing only the condescension and pity laced within them. A place for me? he thought bitterly. Always beneath you, always second. He bit back a scathing remark, swallowing his resentment, and instead offered a stiff nod.

"Thank you for your... generosity," Kiernan replied, the words laden with sarcasm that Arto, again, missed entirely.

Arto's attention was called away by another guest, Kiernan lingered by the pillar, watching him with an intensity that bordered on hatred. Arto's kindness only amplified his anger, as if every well-intentioned smile and friendly gesture was a reminder of everything Kiernan had lost, of the stolen legacy he believed was his.

As he leaned against the cool stone pillar, seething beneath the mask of civility, Kael bounded over with his usual energy, his wide grin cutting through the tension that hung around Kiernan like a storm cloud. Barely a year younger than Arto, Kael seemed utterly unfazed by the royal pomp of the evening. With an irreverent grin, he nudged Kiernan's shoulder.

"There you are, lurking in the shadows like always," Kael teased, throwing a mockingly suspicious glance at him. "Shouldn't you be front and centre, basking in all this... royal glory?"

Kiernan shot Kael a sidelong look, his expression tight, but he couldn't fully ignore the mischief in Kael's voice. "I'll leave the basking to Arto," he replied flatly, though the edge in his tone softened, if only slightly.

Kael shrugged, unfazed, and casually leaned against the same pillar. "You know, I don't get how you manage to be so serious all the time," he joked, waving to a passing servant with a grin. "Come on, Kiernan. This place is practically bursting with pastries, roast pheasant, and—"

"Let me guess," Kiernan cut in dryly, glancing at him with a faint smirk. "A feast is only as good as the food."

"Exactly!" Kael replied, clapping him on the back. "You really do know me."

Kiernan's lips twitched in what might have been a smile, though his gaze remained fixed on Arto across the room, who was now laughing and shaking hands with yet another noble guest. Kael noticed the look and nudged Kiernan again, this time a little more gently.

Kiernan's eyes narrowed as Arto laughed, his voice ringing out across the hall, effortlessly charming everyone around him. The warmth of the celebration seemed to shine brighter as Arto basked in the attention, and Kiernan's chest tightened with something darker. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Instead, he remained frozen, his gaze fixed on Arto's easy smile, feeling like an outsider, always on the fringes of that warmth, never quite a part of it.

Kael, sensing the shift in Kiernan's mood, nudged him again, this time more gently, his voice lowered. "You know," he began with a half-smile, "Arto really does want you by his side. He's been saying it for ages. He'd like nothing more than for you to be part of all this."

Kiernan barely spared him a glance. His jaw clenched, and he shrugged off the comment with an edge of bitterness. "I'm sure he would," he replied with a cool tone, his voice cutting through the air with a forced nonchalance. "But it's easier to say when you're the golden child, isn't it?"

Kael paused, a frown flickering across his face as he caught the edge of Kiernan's sarcasm. "It's not like that," he said, the sincerity in his voice real. "Arto's not some... perfect prince, Kiernan. He just wants things to be—"

"Normal?" Kiernan interrupted, his voice tight. "Normal for him, you mean."

Kael opened his mouth to respond, but instead, he just sighed, frustration creeping into his expression. He knew there was nothing he could say to make Kiernan see reason right now. With a half-hearted shrug, he muttered, "I'll be back," and walked away, leaving Kiernan alone again, standing in the shadows.

Kiernan stared at the ground, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't push aside. Everything would be easier if I didn't care, if I didn't let him affect me like this. Why does it feel like I'm always being asked to be something I'm not?

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to shake off the spiralling thoughts. But no matter how hard he tried, they kept coming back—replaying old memories, reminding him of everything he hated and everything he couldn't have.

"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath.

Just as he thought he might drown in his own thoughts, Kael reappeared out of nowhere, his expression impossibly cheerful. He was holding a plate in his hand, and frosting was smeared all over his face—on his cheeks, on the tip of his nose, and a generous blob on his chin. He looked like a child who had gotten a little too enthusiastic with a cake, and it was enough to make Kiernan's scowl twitch.

"Cake?" Kael offered, holding out the plate, grinning with the same carefree attitude he always carried. "Come on, it's not a feast without cake, right?"

Kiernan couldn't help it. A reluctant laugh escaped him, though it was dry and bitter. He glanced at Kael, seeing the ridiculous frosting smeared all over his face, and for the first time that evening, the tension in his chest loosened just a fraction.

"No, I'm good," Kiernan replied, though he didn't push Kael away. He just watched as Kael shoved another piece of cake into his mouth with a mock-serious look.

"Your loss," Kael said, still grinning like an idiot, "but I thought I'd offer anyway. Sometimes, it's okay to not take everything so seriously, you know?"

Kiernan shook his head, though a slight smile tugged at his lips, a smile that was half-amused and half-exasperated. "You're a fool, Kael."

Kael just shrugged, frosting dripping down his chin as he wiped it off with the back of his hand. "But I'm your fool," he said with a wink.

Kiernan didn't respond, but the brief exchange was enough to pull him out of his spiralling thoughts for a moment. And though the unease in his chest remained, it was a little easier to breathe with Kael's presence, and the ridiculous cake, still somehow clinging to his cheek.

The evening had grown quieter, the corridors of the castle now bathed in the soft glow of torchlight. The celebratory mood had faded somewhat, leaving behind a sense of calm that felt oddly empty to Kiernan. He walked slowly down the hallway, his footsteps echoing lightly against the stone floor. The sounds of the feast still buzzed faintly in the distance, but he had long since wandered away, seeking solitude in the quieter corners of the castle.

A faint chuckle escaped him as he passed Kael, who had clearly overindulged and fallen asleep sprawled out on a sofa, his face smushed into a pillow, and frosting still clinging to his cheek. Typical Kael, Kiernan thought with a small shake of his head.

As he continued down the corridor, the stillness of the castle felt heavy around him, almost suffocating. He tried to shake off the lingering bitterness that had been weighing on him all evening. And yet, no matter how far he walked or how much he tried to ignore it, the knot of resentment in his chest refused to loosen.

He rounded a corner, lost in his thoughts, when suddenly he collided with something—or rather, someone.

"Oof!" The breath was knocked out of him, and he stumbled back a step. A familiar voice echoed down the hallway.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Arto said excitedly, his face flushed with exertion after what must have been another round of swordplay.

Kiernan's first instinct was to step back, to draw away from him, but he caught himself before he did. Arto's presence, so unassuming and open, always made him feel... something he couldn't quite name, something that left him uncomfortable and angry in equal measure.

Arto wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. His smile was wide and hopeful, too hopeful for Kiernan's liking. "You know, Kiernan," he said, leaning in with an excited energy that was practically contagious, "my father's been talking about forming a new advisory council. He thinks it'd be good to bring in younger voices—ones who understand the needs of people our age."

Arto paused, as if waiting for Kiernan's reaction, his grin unrelenting. His enthusiasm only seemed to heighten the dull ache in Kiernan's chest, like he was being pulled into something he didn't want, something that always seemed just out of reach.

"I'd love for you to be part of it," Arto continued, his eyes bright with optimism, as though the idea itself had already won Kiernan over.

Kiernan's heart twisted in a way that was all too familiar. The offer, however genuine it seemed, felt like another thing taken from him—another reminder of everything Arto had, and he, Kiernan, never would. The invitation was a kindness, one that Arto probably thought would bridge the gap between them. But to Kiernan, it only made the distance feel wider.

For a long moment, Kiernan didn't say anything. He simply stared at Arto, trying to steady the swirling emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. What did you expect? he thought bitterly. Of course he would offer this. He doesn't understand. He'll never understand.

"You—" Kiernan paused, his voice coming out more strained than he meant it to. He swallowed hard, trying to focus, but the words wouldn't come. His usual sharpness, his quick wit, failed him in the moment.

Instead, he gave a tight, forced smile. "Thanks, Arto. But you're not exactly asking someone who shares your... idealistic view of the world." His tone was more clipped than he intended, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "It sounds... nice. But you don't get it."

Arto blinked, his brow furrowing with confusion. "What do you mean? I just thought—"

"You thought too much," Kiernan cut him off, stepping back, the walls he'd put up around himself thicker than ever. "I'm not who you think I am, Arto. I'm not your little project." His voice grew colder with every word, the anger bubbling back to the surface.

Arto's face softened, his expression now touched with concern. "Kiernan, I didn't—"

"I know what you were trying to do," Kiernan said sharply, his gaze hardening as he turned away. "But you can't fix me. No matter how much you try. Some things are beyond fixing."

Arto's voice followed him as he started walking away, but Kiernan didn't stop. "Kiernan, wait! I didn't mean—"

But Kiernan didn't want to hear it. He'd heard those words too many times before—always filled with too much pity, too much hope. And right now, it felt like nothing more than another betrayal he couldn't bear.

He didn't turn around, didn't give Arto the satisfaction of seeing the mess of emotions that were twisting his insides. Instead, he quickened his pace, slipping away into the shadows of the hallway, away from the warmth of the celebration, and the offer of something that could never belong to him.

Arto stood still for a moment, watching Kiernan's retreating form, a mix of confusion and hurt crossing his features. He didn't understand why Kiernan always pushed him away. Why can't they just be friends, like they used to be. But Kiernan was slipping through his fingers, and Arto wasn't sure he could do anything to stop it.

The soft flicker of candlelight illuminated the library, casting long shadows across the rows of ancient tomes and dusty scrolls. Kiernan sat hunched over a thick book, his brow furrowed in concentration, but his mind was far from the text in front of him. Every word on the page seemed to blur, each sentence pulling him deeper into his own thoughts, the weight of the argument with Arto still lingering heavily in his chest.

The library was quiet, a welcome escape from the noise and chaos of the castle. Kiernan liked it here—the silence gave him space to think without interruption. But he should have known better than to think he could be left alone for long.

The creak of the library door broke the stillness, and a familiar voice followed.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Kael's voice was light, teasing, as he entered the room, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "The brooding prince, hiding in the library again? You're not going to find any answers in those dusty old pages, you know."

Kiernan didn't even look up. He could feel Kael's presence, the playful energy that was as much a part of him as his carefree attitude. He wanted to stay in his cocoon of anger and solitude, but he knew Kael wouldn't let that happen. He would never let him wallow in silence for too long.

"I'm reading," Kiernan muttered, his voice flat, trying to brush him off. "Not in the mood for your usual nonsense, Kael."

Kael didn't take the hint. He was already there, leaning casually against the nearby bookshelf, an easy smirk still on his lips. "I know. Arto already told me what happened," he said, his tone turning a bit more serious. "And I get it, alright? But you can't keep running from this forever, Kiernan. You're better than that."

Kiernan felt a twinge of frustration, his temper already fraying after the exchange with Arto. "I don't need you to lecture me," he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. "I'm fine."

Kael's grin faltered, replaced by a look of concern. "Look, I just want you to stop pushing everyone away. You're not alone, you know. We're all in this together, whether you like it or not." He stepped closer, his voice softening, but Kiernan only felt more irritable.

Kiernan slammed the book shut, the loud sound echoing through the library, and finally met Kael's gaze. "You don't get it, Kael," he said, his voice low and tight with anger. "Don't act like you know anything about losing the people who mattered." His words came out harsh, venomous, meant to hurt, to lash out at something—anything—that would make him feel less empty.

Kael's eyes went wide for a moment, the sting of the words hitting him harder than he'd expected. His usual easy going demeanour faltered, and for the first time, Kiernan saw the hurt in his eyes. Kael opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond.

Kiernan's heart hammered in his chest. He didn't want to see that hurt in Kael's eyes, didn't want to feel the guilt creeping up on him, but it was there all the same, gnawing at him. He had wanted to push Kael away, to make him feel the distance that he so desperately wanted to keep, but now that he had, it felt worse than anything.

Kael took a step forward, his eyes meeting Kiernan's, unflinching. "You don't have to shut me out, Kiernan," he continued. "You can't keep holding all of this inside." He gestured to the space between them, the raw tension hanging in the air. "You'll break before anything else does."

Kiernan stood up abruptly, a fierce surge of frustration bubbling up. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his voice trembled with barely contained fury. "And what do you want from me, Kael? What am I supposed to do? Just forget everything? Pretend I'm fine when nothing feels fine anymore? You think it's that simple?"

Kael opened his mouth, but the words seemed to fail him for a moment. His jaw tightened, and then he sighed, the disappointment in his eyes more painful than anything Kiernan could have thrown at him.

"I never said it was simple," Kael answered quietly, looking away, his voice softer now but carrying a weight of its own. "You can... talk to me. You don't have to lash out like this."

Kiernan's heart was pounding, his chest tight. He looked at Kael, saw the sincerity in his eyes, and for a brief moment, a crack formed in the wall he'd spent years building. But just as quickly, he hardened again, his anger rising to fill the void.

"You wouldn't understand," Kiernan spat, his voice rough with the emotion he couldn't quite control. "You have everything—your father, your mother, the queen's favour. You can't possibly get what it's like to have everything ripped away. And I don't want your pity, Kael."

"Kiernan, I'm not trying to pity you," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the pain in his eyes. "I'm just trying to help. I know you're angry, but you don't have to go through this alone. You can trust me."

But Kiernan's anger flared again, the pain of his past rising to cloud his judgement. His hands shook as he clenched them into fists at his sides, and he couldn't help the words that spilled out, sharp and unforgiving.

"Trust you?" Kiernan's voice cracked with contempt. "Why would I trust you, Kael? You've never had to fight for anything in your life. You've never had to scrape by or watch your world burn. Your father might be a lord, but he's just a lapdog to the queen. And you? You're just another puppet for them. One day they'll toss you aside too." The words came out venomously, each one a stab meant to cut deep.

Kael's face went pale, the weight of the insult sinking in like a knife in his chest. For a moment, he didn't know how to respond. His mouth opened, but the words didn't come. The hurt was too raw, too fresh. Instead, his gaze flickered, then hardened. He stepped back, as if trying to distance himself not just physically, but emotionally as well.

Kiernan's breath came in ragged gasps, his anger quickly turning into a sickening sense of regret. The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he'd crossed a line, and the guilt weighed heavily on him. "Kael... Kael, I didn't mean—"

But Kael was already turning away. His back was rigid, shoulders tense. "No," Kael said, his voice low and almost broken, "You're right. You don't need me. Not now, not ever."

Kiernan stumbled to his feet, his hands trembling, his voice thick with desperation. "Kael, please... I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I didn't—"

But Kael didn't turn back. He walked toward the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the silence between them. His hand brushed the door handle, and he paused, but not to say anything. There was nothing more to say.

Then, with one last, lingering moment of hesitation, he opened the door and left, the door closing with a soft click behind him.

Kiernan stood frozen in the middle of the library, his heart hammering in his chest. He hadn't meant what he said—he hadn't meant it. But the words were out there now, and Kael was gone. Kiernan collapsed into the nearest chair, his head in his hands, feeling the weight of the emptiness that now filled the space where Kael's friendship used to be.