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Daein's harsh winter served as a stark reminder that they were far from home. Exhausted from the battle, soldiers and mercenaries had sought refuge within the Palmeni temple. There were bloodstains on the flagstones, and bodies concealed beneath sheets lined up under a stone arch, but they were all too weary to care.
Ike, who usually never skipped a meal, was especially somber that evening. Once more, he had wandered away from the group, entering the small, gray room that had served as Lillia's prison cell.
His gaze scanned the wall inscriptions without truly reading them. He imagined the young heron, with her small, frail hands, carving the stone with a tool far too heavy for her, vulnerable in the hands of humans who branded her a beast.
Glancing away from the shabby bed that occupied a corner of the room, he fought the urge to put down his sword and leave at once, far, far away from the world of men. There was nothing more to do here. No one left to save. A dull rage made his heart pound in his ears. He felt powerless.
Soren was watching him from the doorway, wrapped in large, pale green robes he had dried with a spell.
"You should come back upstairs, Ike. Dinner is served, and you need to regain your strength."
Ike sighed, his stiff shoulders slumping at the sound of Soren's even voice. Their eyes met for a moment, then, without a word, he followed his strategist, not noticing the small, worried glances he reserved only for him.
The mercenaries were seated on one side of the grand hall, a large room adorned with colorful stained-glass windows, while the reinforcements, soldiers from Begnion and Crimea, occupied the other side. No doubt an officer, a true military man, would have made it a point of honor to avoid dispersing the troops like this, but Ike did not see himself as a general, and, deep down, he was even relieved to be surrounded only by his close friends. He wasn't in the mood to endure the heavy gaze of soldiers who saw him as either a hero or a child.
Soren seated himself beside Ike, wincing slightly upon discovering his bowl of soup, a murky concoction of hot water and potatoes. The supplies had long since been plundered by the Daein army, and the priests, on a daily basis, subsisted frugally.
"Ike, if you wish, take my soup—if I dare call it that. I am not particularly hungry and you require more energy than I do."
"No way, Soren. Eat."
Soren made a small grimace of discontent, but he complied, Ike having already begun eating, lost in thought. It was Brom's trembling voice that drew him back to reality:
"It did something to me, seeing that cell. By the goddess, I am still sick from it…"
“Me too,” Nephenee said. “I can't stop thinking about that poor laguz girl. At least when we were in Castle Canteus, we weren't alone."
Intrigued by Nephenee's unusual agitation, Ike raised an eyebrow. He caught Titania's alarmed gaze to his right.
"I remember how thirsty I was," Nephenee continued, her gaze fixed on her bowl. "And those screams…Ashera bless those poor souls, but... I had heard tales about the Daein army and what they do to prisoners...and I… If Brom hadn't been there…"
Brom placed a reassuring hand on Nephenee's shoulder, nearly enveloping it entirely: "I wasn't doing so good either, you know! Especially, ah, when Sir Kieran… when they brought him back from…" Brom trailed off, his head sinking into his broad shoulders, a sheepish expression on his face.
Kieran, who was chatting cheerfully, seated a little further away between Marcia and Oscar, turned his head sharply upon hearing his name, his eyebrows furrowed, resembling a hound ready to pounce.
"Bah, are you still talking about all that, Brom? What purpose does dwelling on the past serve?"
His inquiry held a tone of reproach.
“It did nothing to you, seeing that cell? That laguz woman... Have you seen how fragile they are, those heron people? She must have...," Brom began hesitantly, before Kieran interjected sharply,
"'Tis true, but your tears will not cause prisons to vanish. We are at war!" he declared, emphasizing his final word. "We should rather thank the Goddess for this trial, which has fortified us and guided us toward the Princess," he exclaimed, with a grandiose, theatrical gesture that caused his bowl of soup to wobble.
Brom lowered his head, while Nephenee, her face drawn, whispered softly to him.
Kieran watched them, his spoon still in hand, brandished like a weapon, before he straightened up in a swift motion, nearly knocking over his chair. Ike, whose gaze oscillated between Brom and a very fuming Kieran, did not notice how the paladin gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white with the effort.
"Wail and weep, if that’s your inclination. I am no widow. Dwelling on our failures will not grant us the victory we owe Her Majesty."
Jaw clenched and chin held high, he gave Elincia a brief, respectful nod before quickly crossing the hall. Oscar stood up in turn, handing his half-finished bowl to Rolf with a whisper, and followed his comrade with long strides.
A heavy silence fell over the table, Soren himself biting his lip. Shinon broke the ice:
“What's the matter with Castle Canteus? I was not... er... present," he blurted, hesitant to recall the circumstances surrounding his absence.
"Daein soldiers made us prisoners, all three of us. Brom and I were seized together, and Sir Kieran was taken after the convoy escorting the princess was..."
Elincia, seated across from Ike, blinked, scrutinizing Nephenee before addressing her directly:
"I confess that I never dared to inquire." She paused, then added, "I am distressed that you endured this ordeal on my behalf.”
“Your Majesty, you have nothing to do with it! You are most kind, but we had to defend our families. It's not like we had a choice,” Brom said with a gentle smile.
"Certainly, that doesn't alter the fact that I should have demonstrated greater consideration. Your silence led me to assume, rather naively, that..."
Elincia was visibly distressed. Ike reflected upon the Daein general who had unhesitatingly massacred defenseless priests and all those who sacrificed their troops as if they were mere cattle. He interjected:
"You're on all fronts, Elincia. We all could have done better. We are a family. And if you want to talk about it, it's alright."
Elincia visibly relaxed, and Nephenee's face illuminated with a shy smile.
"Thank you, Your Majesty, Commander. I'm doing okay. Sometimes, these memories seem so real... Then, Brom talks to me for a while and it goes away. Well, yes, I... I owe a lot to Brom, for sure, and to Sir Kieran…”
She looked around as if to check that he wasn't lurking behind a table, ready to jump at her throat, before continuing:
"He was so brave. He insulted them all the time... So, he, um... he, as they say, really got on the commander's nerves and...um..."
Ike could easily imagine Kieran hurling insults at his captors and singing the praises of the Crimean crown days and nights. As part of the Princess's escort, perhaps they had imagined they could extract some information from him. He probably owed his life to that position.
"Daein soldiers are cruel, and they don't like being resisted, even less so by a Royal knight...," Rhys began, hesitating.
"You don't get it," Shinon interrupted.
The archer punctuated his remark with a shrug and, noting that he had caught the audience's attention, continued in a drawling voice:
"Soldiers are cruel, not only those from Daein. I have even witnessed soldiers using their blades for no other reason than pleasure. War, torture—all of that is merely a way to exert power over others. Perhaps, deep down, we are all capable of such things."
He reached for his mug and brought it to his lips, smiling as if privy to some secret joke.
"There is no beautiful war; that is merely knights' nonsense—pleasant songs crafted to lull common folk into forfeiting their wretched lives for their King. Or Queen."
Brom, his hands fidgeting nervously, straightened up slightly. "It's true that war is a terrible thing, and perhaps no one will remember us. I don't care. But Sir Kieran? He is a true knight. I witnessed him endure atrocious things with honor, that's true."
"Pah," Shinon spat. “Endure with honor”… What does that even mean, man? He acted proud, and he got peeled like a bloody apple. And all this for what?"
Elincia seemed to shrink in her seat; her hands were clasped together in front of her bowl, still steaming with heat.
Shinon swirled his beer in his mug. "He survived, and so did you. Survive, even as a beaten dog. Nothing else matters. He is right to want to forget about that shit."
"I do not ask such a sacrifice of the knights of Crimea, and even less of my people. I have never, never wanted that," Elincia breathed, as if speaking to herself.
"Of course, Your Majesty," Titania said hastily, "but it is the duty of your knights, and I am certain that he is very proud to serve you, whatever the cost."
Elincia nodded silently, visibly unconvinced. After a moment of reflection, she said softly:
"He never spoke of any of this. I did not think such memories could haunt one so brave as he is, and yet, it was evident. I myself still suffer nightmares from the night I was forced to escape, and it does not compare to…"
"It cannot be that bad, Your Majesty," Gatrie said enthusiastically. "The poor devil spends his days and nights training, pampering his horse, bothering Oscar, or chanting his exploits and his love for the Nation! As Shinon says, he has surely moved on from it."
Rhys, who was fidgeting in his chair, made a small hum of disapproval. He tugged at his robes, as if to smooth them out:
"Yes, he is brave. However, from my experience, some wounds take a long time to fully heal."
With a subtly mocking grin, Shinon drawled, "Are you referring to that mess on his back? I must say, it doesn't seem to heal much. To think, you're rubbing that smelly ointment on it every night with such dedication!"
A blush spread across Rhys' cheeks.
"Don't be like that, Shinon. I'm referring to invisible wounds—mental wounds. He is no exception, by the way. I prepare just as many potions to help our soldiers sleep soundly as I do healing potions for physical injuries."
Ike mentally took note of this information.
"I didn't want to worry you; I'm sure Sir Kieran doesn't want to either," Brom offered with a small smile.
Nephenee nodded vigorously. "I shouldn't have told you all of that. I am...sorry."
Elincia's mood seemed to darken. After a moment of silence, she stated, "I should speak with him nonetheless. I am his Queen."
Shinon mumbled something into his glass, causing Gatrie to burst into laughter. Under the combined gaze of Ike and Elincia, Gatrie stammered, "Ah, but I believe he is quite consoled, Your Majesty! You shouldn't concern yourself with him!"
Boyd rolled his eyes and kicked Gatrie under the table, retorting, "How clever you are, haha, you're so fucking funny..."
Ike frowned, seeking an answer in Soren's gaze, who whispered to him to disregard the exchange.
Elincia stood up gently, pushing her empty bowl to the side. "Thank you for your honesty, but it is my duty to ascertain this myself."
As she walked away, Shinon laughed, "Don't forget to knock, Your Majesty!" He paid no attention to Boyd's venomous stare.
**
Elincia paused in the corridor leading to the priests' dormitories.
The mercenaries addressed her with familiarity—or, at the very least, without undue regard for her rank—save for Titania and Oscar. Crimean soldiers, however, regarded her as their Queen, and Kieran was no exception. Even Geoffrey, as she grew up, had taken care to maintain a respectful distance. Her heart ached at the thought. Was she risking embarrassing Kieran, or worse, insulting him by offering emotional support?
A loud voice cut through her thoughts, and moving closer to the door, she readily overheard Kieran's words:
"Forget that! I don't want to discuss it, Oscar, ever again! Talking doesn't do any good! You want to help me? Get one of these scrawny spell users to magic these memories away! I won't be diverted from the mission that claimed the lives of Geoffrey and the Princess's escort. The Princess should not have to concern herself with this."
Elincia recoiled, as if physically pushed back by the distress and anger that made her knight's voice tremble. Kieran was not known for his restraint or moderation, but she had never seen him so out of control.
Because she meant well, she repeated to herself, and because she was driven by her concern to understand Kieran's state of mind, Elincia huddled quietly against the frame of the slightly open door. The priests' dormitory was bathed in twilight, and she could barely make out the spartan beds and the few rustic prayer chairs that furnished the room. Lit by one of the rare wall torches, she could, however, see Kieran. He was pacing the room under Oscar's unreadable gaze. Oscar was leaning against the bunk beds, arms crossed.
"Torture is meant to shame valiant soldiers with a dishonorable death! We are taught this, you should remember. What if the only song bards write about me ends up being something like 'Sir Kieran the Wounded'?! 'The Knife'd Knight!?' By Ashera, I would die of shame!"
The end of the sentence dissolved into a strangled sob, and Elincia had to fight the urge to cross the room and comfort the only knight of her guard who had not perished in her name. She remained still, though, for he would have been capable of immolating himself with one of the torches.
Oscar uncrossed his arms and moved closer to him, speaking in the same low voice he used whenever he needed to soothe a horse.
"Kieran, come now. I doubt you can be forgotten... And you are the sole surviving knight of the Royal Guard, and you're escorting the Princess."
Kieran sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "That monster, that vile coward," he took a sharp breath, "that perverted fiend is dead and buried! I only wish I had been the one to chop his head off, but I am grateful it was you who put that cur down! But my reputation..." he lamented.
Oscar was frowning, but Kieran did not seem to notice.
"Some nights, I find myself unable to sleep." Kieran chuckled, "You are already aware of this, of course."
"I do. And I am not the only one."
Kieran's eyes widened in surprise.
"No, no! There is nothing to worry about. Everyone believes you forgo sleep in favor of training. Most people think you're… eccentric, and there is little room for doubt about that actually, but they suspect nothing of…."
"...of the nightmares?"
Kieran had spat out his question, casting an accusatory glance. Oscar met his gaze unflinchingly, his breathing slow and deep. They stood close, intimately so.
Oscar moistened his lips before answering cautiously, articulating each syllable with care:
"I am the only one who knows about them. The others are heavy sleepers, and your tent is rather isolated, in any case." He added, noticing Kieran's expression, "No one has ever seen me join you either, if that concerns you."
Kieran wrinkled his nose and raised a circumspect eyebrow.
"That, I am certain of," Oscar sighed. "Believe me, if Shinon, Gatrie, or even Mia knew, I would never hear the end of it..."
Kieran clenched his fists, his eyes screwed shut.
"I don't want your pity, Oscar. Even after you abandoned us all, it was your technique, your speed, the memory of the brilliant knight you were meant to be, that inspired me to train even harder! You've never left my mind, not for a second, and I refuse to occupy yours in such a pitiful manner. I am no vic-"
"Would you please stop?" Oscar hissed, his cheeks crimson red. "I don't pity you. I already told you that. I respect you! Look at me, I can't even bear the thought of you going through all of this on your own."
Kieran's eyes flicked open. Oscar was silent, though Elincia saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear.
"So, you accept…?"
Oscar swallowed, his cheeks still flushed as he placed his hands on Kieran's shoulders, close to his neck.
"Should we really? If the ordeal, as you say, is a thing of the past, is all of this necessary? Do you truly need this?"
"I do," Kieran said, his eyes widening with a feverish glint. "I do need it. I swear."
Oscar opened his mouth to protest, but as if Kieran had anticipated his refusal, he blurted out, stepping even closer: "I need you."
Oscar gasped, startled. Then, driven by an impulse Elincia had never suspected he possessed, he drew Kieran close, embracing him tightly, his hands gripping the back of his shirt. Kieran offered no resistance, burying his face in his companion's neck and loosely encircling his waist with his arms. She had never seen Kieran so vulnerable. He was triumphant on the battlefield and trained until he was drenched in sweat and, occasionally, blood. Cradled in Oscar's arms, he looked like a puppet without strings.
She should not be here; Elincia should not witness this. However, could the Queen afford to remain ignorant of the realities and consequences of war?
The snow had turned into a gentle rain, which softly pattered against the stained-glass windows.
Oscar's face was etched with a pained, almost guilty expression, his eyes squinting at the raindrops cascading down the glass. The rise and fall of his chest gently rocked Kieran, one of his hands wandering into his short red locks, drawing circles in the hollow of his neck.
Then, breaking free from the tight embrace, Oscar gripped Kieran by the shoulders, holding him at arm's length, scrutinizing him like a priest searching for signs of fever or madness. He seemed to anticipate a reaction that never came.
Oscar yielded:
"Kneel."
Kieran's lips curled into a ferocious smile, resembling a hound that had just caught its prey.
"I would rather die, you coward!"
Kieran's slap echoed sharply in the room. Elincia gasped, stifling a cry with her hand. Oscar, though shocked, remained standing, inhaled deeply, and grabbed Kieran's hair, forcing him to kneel on a prayer stool. With a swift motion of his left hand, he unbuckled his belt and tied the other paladin's hands in front of him on the chair. Elincia's legs trembled as her nails scraped against the stone doorframe.
Kieran glared at Oscar, his expression defiant, all traces of anxiety now gone. He struggled against the belt, though without exerting his full strength. Oscar disappeared momentarily into the dimness of the room, pursued by Kieran's taunts, who cursed his name and showered the Princess of Crimea with loud praise. When he returned, he walked to stand before Kieran and patiently observed the sight before him, his head slightly tilted.
"Ah. You do believe your Princess isn't dead yet."
His voice was like a whip. He dropped to one knee to look Kieran in the eye, cupping his flushed cheeks with one hand, an inquisitorial look on his face.
"It's a shame you only speak to utter such nonsense, because I could look at your pretty face all day long," he teased, the corner of his mouth twitching in a genuine smile.
"I have vowed to protect Her Majesty the Queen with my life!" Kieran articulated, shaking his head to escape the constraining grip. "I have naught to say to the likes of you. I would suffer a thousandfold the test of your blade, rather than betray the crown and dishonor myself!"
Oscar laughed as he stood up. Elincia had often heard him laugh. He was good-natured, easily amused by Boyd's gossiping, Rolf's antics, Shinon's awful jokes, or Kieran's dramatic and rarely rational outbursts. Oscar laughed easily, timidly, sincerely. However, that laugh wasn't his.
"Am I dreaming, or is that man on his knees lecturing me about honor?" he smirked, passing behind Kieran, who was waving his bound hands with a bit more conviction.
"My honor has never faltered!"
Raising an eyebrow, Oscar leaned over Kieran, right by his ear. His voice was barely a whisper: "Quite an interesting choice of words, Sir Simpleton."
Kieran blushed, attempting to turn and face Oscar, but his restraints prevented him. Oscar watched his struggle for a moment, appearing thoughtful, before kneeling behind Kieran, pressing his chest and hips against his body. Even through his shirt, Oscar's skin felt scalding. Kieran stiffened as Oscar sighed and began to play with the laces of his shirt, resting his chin on Kieran's shoulder.
"There is no one left to help you now. You are without armor, you serve no general, you bow to no princess—you're merely a dog, bereft of its masters."
Then, pressing delicate kisses upon his neck, he continued:
"You are utterly insignificant."
Kieran whimpered, raising his chin and granting his captor, whose hands had deftly slid beneath his shirt, unrestricted access to his neck. His expression was strained, and he bit his lip with such intensity that Elincia feared it would draw blood.
With his eyes closed and mouth slightly open, Oscar pressed against Kieran, their hips locked in a tight embrace as he traced a line of wet kisses down Kieran's neck. Kieran moaned, his hips rolling rhythmically against Oscar's pelvis, his breathing heavy. Oscar gently nipped at his skin, careful not to leave a mark, and, sensing Kieran succumbing to his kisses, whispered endearments and praises into his ear. Kieran arched his back, releasing a long, whimpering sigh, his knuckles white from the intensity of his grip on the chair.
Oscar's hands roamed possessively over his partner's chest, teasing the laces of his pants and, moving upward, pinching a nipple. Kieran struggled, but his moans escaped uncontrollably. Abruptly breaking away from Kieran, his breath ragged, Oscar lifted his prisoner's shirt with one hand, exposing both his chest and back.
Kieran was muscular, possessing a lean, defined waist and matte skin sprinkled with freckles. However, Elincia's attention was seized by the lacerations Shinon had mentioned previously. The fresh wounds, still scarlet and raw, contrasted sharply with the older, almost entirely faded scars. Her gaze drifted from these recent injuries, where strips of skin appeared to have been excised, to the brownish marks scattered across his shoulders. She found herself unable to look away from this mosaic, painted by her enemies and endured on her behalf. Oscar, silently, regarded the wounds with the calm of a detached observer, tracing the scars with the tip of one finger. Kieran's skin glistened with perspiration, and his breathing remained labored, his gaze fixed on the horizon. After several moments, he finally regained his composure:
"I shall not be corrupted by a vile scoundrel such as yourself. Give me my weapon and confront me like a man!"
Oscar ignored him, continuing to trace the lines with meticulous care. When Kieran began to fidget and tug strenuously at the belt, he pressed the tip of his finger into one of the cuts. Kieran cried out, his face contorted with both rage and agony. As he straightened to unleash more invective, Oscar pressed again on a roughly sutured wound, his face blank. Kieran, enraged, struggling like a caged animal, tears streaming down his cheeks. His chest, slick with perspiration, heaved with labored breaths.
"You are a very foolish knight. You've brought this upon yourself. You asked for this, even," he whispered, never glancing at Kieran, who was writhing helplessly against Oscar.
With a graceful movement, Oscar stood and rummaged through his pockets, smirking.
"You won't be corrupted? If only you could see yourself. I fear you'll be begging me to take you very soon.”
Kieran raised his head, spitting out a stream of insults that elicited a small smile from Oscar. He had retrieved a candle from his pocket and lit it using the wall torch.
"If you behave, I'll even put you in a dress." He paused, then added, his tone playful: "Do you think your general would have liked to see you in a pretty dress?"
Kieran, his face now crimson, fell silent and blinked. His eyes, still brimming with tears, held a bewildered expression that Oscar seemed to find amusing.
"Have you gone mad?!" he shrieked. "I would never—"
Kieran's threats evaporated when he saw what Oscar, who had positioned himself directly in front of him once more, was holding. His chest, still swollen with a litany of stored insults, found itself paralyzed. He furrowed his arched eyebrows, his burning gaze fixed on Oscar, and held his breath.
"You owe me an apology, my knight."
Kieran clenched his teeth, casting hateful glances in which Elincia detected a hint of fear. Oscar reached out to cup the side of his face with one hand, holding a candle just above his back with the other. The two men stared at each other, Kieran's lips trembling slightly, betraying unspoken emotions. The only sounds permeating the room were the crackling of the torches and the rain crashing violently against the windows.
Without taking his eyes off Kieran, Oscar twisted his wrist, and wax flowed gently from the candle onto Kieran's back, eliciting a hiss of pain, though his jaw remained resolutely clenched. He was drawing arabesques upon his shoulders with hot wax, carefully avoiding the most sensitive wounds, covering each freckle. Kieran panted, thrashing about in vain, like a horse in a frenzy.
Then, Oscar leaned over, his hair falling on his face, to pour the scalding liquid onto Kieran's chest. Kieran struggled, thrashed, and attempted to escape Oscar, who maintained his grip on Kieran's jaw with one hand. A stream of wax trickled onto his nipple, and he couldn't stifle a cry, arching his back in response. Oscar smiled and, seizing the opportunity, shoved two fingers forcefully into his mouth. Kieran's eyes widened in surprise, his protest muffled by the intrusion. Oscar blew the candle out, letting it drop to the floor, and yanked Kieran's hair with his other hand, tilting his head back to hold him in place. Kieran sobbed and hiccuped, struggling against nausea and undoubtedly devastated by the humiliation he was enduring. Oscar kissed his forehead and shushed him as he plunged his fingers deeper, moving them slowly back and forth within his mouth, his eyes fixed on Kieran's slightly bruised bottom lip. When he withdrew his fingers, never entirely removing them, they gleamed with blood and saliva.
"Such a good boy."
Kieran groaned, held firmly in place as he endured the assault. He struggled to suppress his tears, breathless, each attempt to speak silenced by Oscar's fingers as they played with his tongue and explored the interior of his mouth.
After several minutes, Kieran yielded. His face was flushed, and his breathing labored as he eagerly sucked on the offered fingers, his eyes gleaming with feverish desire. His hips swayed in rhythm with Oscar's movements. Noticing the outline of an erection pressing against his companion's pants, Oscar frowned and uttered a breathless curse.
"I demand," Oscar panted, urgency tingeing his voice, "that you apologize to me."
Kieran shook his head, his eyes screwed shut as he greedily sucked on his fingers. Oscar let out a laugh, a genuine one this time, and sighed. When he attempted to pull his fingers away, Kieran hollowed his cheeks, endeavoring to keep them within his mouth. Oscar inhaled sharply as Kieran's tongue flickered between his fingers, tracing their shape, drawing them deeper. Then, unable to compel Oscar to remain inside him, he bit down.
It was hard, possessive, a desperate act of claiming.
"You..." hissed Oscar, abruptly withdrawing his wet hand from Kieran's mouth. Elincia's heart pounded at full speed as she beheld Kieran, his brown eyes clouded with desire, cheeks flushed and lips glistening with saliva, curving into a coy smile. Kieran lowered his eyes to Oscar's pants and his smile broadened further.
"It seems like I have won this game!"
Oscar grimaced, visibly disconcerted. Licking his lips, he paused to admire Kieran, an involuntary twitch in his groin betraying his arousal at the sight before him.
Kieran had always been handsome, but kneeling on the ground, his eyes ravenous, he was seductive, sensual, almost irresistible. Oscar felt as though he stood on the edge of a precipice, one that would be very easy to cross. A spark, a single step off the carefully trod path of years, was all it would take. For a moment, he contemplated abandoning restraint, taking what Kieran seemed willing to offer, though only under his conditions.
But Oscar longed for more. He longed to hear Kieran confess once more that he needed him, not merely his services. Deep down, he knew that Kieran yearned to surrender to him. He could feel his body ignite beneath his touch, consumed by desires unknown to Kieran himself. It was easier for Kieran—chaste, chivalrous, proud Kieran—to feign that he simply required Oscar's assistance to exorcise his demons.
He held Kieran's heart firmly in his grasp, a heart Kieran had offered to him long ago, without even realizing he did. He had spent years waiting for Oscar to accept him as a friend, a rival, a lover; and at Oscar's request, he would willingly prolong that wait. Devoted, docile, dutiful.
Kieran was alone in believing that he retained any control over the situation.
Oscar sighed, his tender smile now unconcealed, and this sudden shift plunged Kieran into a torrent of incomprehension. He stood once more before Oscar, his Oscar. Elincia observed from his rigid posture that he dared not utter another word. A question would definitively break the enchantment, so Kieran remained silent.
After a moment, Oscar untied Kieran's hands and ran a hand through his hair. He admitted to himself that he would probably never tire of looking at his face.
"What?! But what did I say?!" Kieran exclaimed, a hint of despair in his voice. Oscar did not respond. Stunned, Kieran only rose when his companion, having replaced his belt, picked up the abandoned candle from the floor and began to tidy the room.
Playtime was over.
Oscar missed the flash of sorrow in Kieran's eyes. Elincia did not.
"I... I see! Very well. We'll see each other tomorrow, then," Kieran stammered, adjusting his clothes, his gaze still fixed on Oscar, who had his back to him.
"Yes, obviously. Unless there's something you wish to share?"
Oscar turned, his gaze as sharp as a blade, piercing Kieran.
Kieran swallowed, then, displaying a sulky pout Elincia found adorable on him, he blurted out: "Nah, nothing...! What do you want me to say? You have proven a valuable opponent, once again, but do not become presumptuous.”
With that, Kieran tapped his foot nervously against the floor, his eyes fixed downward. Oscar smiled mischievously. "Good night then, my dearest friend."
Sensing that she had little time to act, Elincia retreated a few steps into the hallway, finding refuge in a small alcove. Kieran passed by without seeing her, his pace quick, his eyes watering with rage, muttering furiously to himself.
Pausing to catch her breath in the dimly lit hallway -illuminated by a single ray of light from the room- she realized that it would likely take her some time to fully comprehend everything she had just witnessed.
She straightened up, cast one last glance at the slightly open door, and turned on her heel.