A peculiar yearning settled within Kaelen Thorne, an unexpected current in the placid waters of his daily routine. He found himself contemplating the unspoken ritual, the precise cadence of Lord Elara and Rhys, the young commoner, as they departed the Scholarium each afternoon. Initially, it felt like nothing more than a passing fancy, a minor eddy of curiosity, but a sour premonition soon coiled in his gut, like the subtle chill of an unlit hearth.
From his vantage in the archival antechamber, Kaelen had often observed Rhys trailing Elara, a silent shadow in the larger noble’s wake. Their paths never quite aligned, no companionable stride, yet the image clung to Kaelen: Rhys, a man grown, following Elara with a singular devotion that felt almost suffocating. Indulging this private scrutiny was like toying with a sealed decree, one known to contain not just despair, but a more insidious, cruel hope.
Its warnings were clear, a tiny casket of truths best left undisturbed. Yet, the urge to peer within remained an irresistible torment.
“...This is madness,” Kaelen murmured, the parchment rustling under his fingers.
Certainly, his judgment wavered. Still, the next afternoon, he found himself falling in behind Rhys as they left the Scholarium’s grand archways.
He did not follow far.
Maintaining a cautious distance, careful not to draw Elara’s eye, Kaelen watched Rhys. The commoner’s gaze was fixed on the noble’s retreating back. Beyond the manicured lawns and sculpted hedges, the outer district revealed itself: flaking plaster on stone walls, rusted iron gates, dusty cobbled lanes, and carts bearing the marks of honest toil. It was a tableau of weariness, of lesser things. Two figures moved through it: Elara in the lead, Rhys following. And Kaelen, observing from the periphery.
An acute sense of indignity washed over him. How utterly pathetic, how foolish. He turned back, the weight of his own unseen presence pressing down.
---
Later, ensconced in the shadowed quiet of his private study, a single candelabra casting long, dancing figures, Kaelen considered his retreat. A quiet satisfaction bloomed. He had been curious, yes, but what further misery might he have unearthed had he pressed on? Better this way. Better not to know. He was no fool, to pry open a forbidden decree out of mere idle fancy.
Elara’s obsession with Rhys only deepened with each passing day, a palpable tension in the courtly air. Rhys, in turn, seemed to walk under a cloud of perpetual wariness, a flicker of fear in his eyes. Or perhaps, outright disdain. No, it was certainly hatred. How could he feel otherwise towards one who had so openly disrupted his life, forcing him into the uncomfortable spotlight of noble attention?
A faint, bitter taste of smugness lingered on Kaelen’s tongue. At least he had never intervened, never tried to mitigate Elara’s early, more aggressive overtures. In hindsight, perhaps that had been for the best.
Kaelen laced his fingers behind his head, his gaze drifting to the vaulted ceiling. The intricate gold leaf, the ancestral sigils painted with meticulous care, served as a stark reminder of his fortunate birth. He was a Thorne, born to privilege, a favored son. Few desires had ever been denied him.
“...Damnation,” he whispered.
Once, Kaelen believed himself untouchable, capable of achieving anything. Then he had fallen for Lord Elara. That capricious noble had shown him the cruel reality that not all paths bend to a Thorne’s will. And Kaelen felt a grim certainty that Elara, too, was learning that bitter truth now.
The world, he mused, could be mercilessly unforgiving.
At least he had mastered the art of control, the intricate dance of concealing his deepest sentiments. Elara, however, seemed consumed by his own passions, oblivious to the desperate hunger in his gaze when he looked at Rhys. That abrupt, unsettling shift in Elara’s demeanor must have unsettled him, too.
Kaelen knew the feeling intimately; he had lived it. But where Kaelen endured in silence, Elara simply could not. Thus, instead of drawing Rhys closer, Elara’s actions only earned him a quiet resentment. For Kaelen, the ongoing drama worked to his perverse advantage.
“Just remain clueless, my lord,” Kaelen murmured to the empty chamber.
Or better yet, let Rhys grow weary and seek solace elsewhere. He harbored no illusions of Elara ever turning to him. In truth, this kind of fierce, possessive love terrified him.
He wished for one simple thing: a day when his heart no longer ached for Elara, and for Elara to find affection elsewhere, far from this destructive path. That was all. But the world, he knew, rarely granted such straightforward mercies.
---
Another shift in the delicate courtly balance. Elara, with a casual disregard for established protocol, arranged for his study table to be moved. Not to his usual position amongst the other high-ranking nobles, but directly adjacent to Rhys’s, in a less prominent alcove used by scribes and archivists. The commoner’s shorter stature meant Elara’s imposing frame now obscured Rhys’s already limited view of the lecturers’ scrolls during public lessons. Rhys’s former table-mate, a junior scribe, offered Kaelen and Lord Varian an awkward bow, his expression a mingling of embarrassment and relief.
“My lords.”
Varian and Kaelen exchanged a brief, unreadable glance, offering a curt nod in return.
“Haha…” The scribe’s nervous laugh hung in the air, but neither noble offered a response. Their disinterest was absolute.
Elara settled beside Rhys without a word, a palpable silence radiating from him throughout the session. Kaelen found himself wishing—no, desperately pleading—that this moment, this taut, uncomfortable tension, could stretch into eternity. He longed for the day it would all dissolve into a forgotten, vague dream.
---
Another change followed. Elara, who had previously indulged in a reputation for libertine pursuits among the lesser nobility, seemed to curtail his more overt escapades. Gossip, gleaned from Varian’s more frivolous circle, suggested he hadn’t ceased entirely. Yet, the brazen tales of conquest no longer echoed through the court’s antechambers, nor did the faint, cloying scent of debauchery cling to his velvets. For Kaelen, this was a small mercy. He no longer had to endure the stench of Elara’s careless affections up close.
“Tell us, Elara, have you forsaken all wildness?” Ser Corvin, a younger noble known for his crude jests, swayed suggestively before Elara. He placed a hand near his groin, mimicking a lewd gesture. Elara’s face twisted with disgust at the vulgar display. His gaze darted quickly towards Rhys, then he snapped, his voice tight with anger.
“You oaf! I told you not to flaunt such filth in public!”
“Why this sudden modesty, my lord?”
“Mention that again, Ser Corvin, and you’ll regret it.”
“My Lord Elara—”
“I said, silence!”
“...As you wish, my lord.”
The others in the circle were clearly disappointed. Elara, with his imposing stature and mature aura, had once been the perfect conduit for the younger nobles’ nascent curiosities. His exploits provided vicarious thrills.
Few in Elara’s inner circle were truly innocent; most had dabbled in clumsy dalliances. Compared to true novices, they were easily roused. With Elara no longer sharing his conquests, their attention drifted to Varian. But Varian merely bared his teeth, a flash of pure disdain in his eyes.
“Filthy curs.”
“Ah, there he goes! Varian’s always with his sanctimonious pronouncements.”
“He’s a peculiar one. Honestly, such a waste.”
Laughter rippled through the small gathering, loud and fleeting. Many within the noble circles had ventured into forbidden territories, but Varian, for reasons unknown, had not. While they teased him as ‘Abstinent Varian,’ no one truly disrespected him. He was Lord Varian, after all. He carried a lighthearted, almost casual demeanor that made his often-cutting remarks seem less offensive, his actions more approachable. Many noted how his intimidating features belied a surprisingly affable nature.
“Cease your glaring, you buffoon. You’ll have me wetting myself.”
“Aye, Varian’s face could curdle milk.”
“Do you wish to taste my blade, imbeciles?”
Varian scowled, prompting another burst of laughter, though the jest had long worn thin. Some lesser nobles loitering at the edge of the group, perhaps aspiring friends, joined with their own forced chuckles, adding to the general din. As Kaelen sat among them, his gaze unfocused, he stared at his gloved hands resting in his lap, lost in thought.
...
He recalled no instance of being aroused by a woman. This, he supposed, made him as he was, by birthright. While certain illicit illustrations, depicting both men and women, had sparked a physical reaction, he had never once fantasized about a woman’s form in private moments. The former, he concluded, was an arousal born of intensity, the latter a simple absence of desire.
He had once been dragged to a less reputable establishment by Elara, but had not even passed the entrance. He lacked the necessary false papers. Instead, he had waited outside until Elara re-emerged. Brothels? Repugnant. The mere thought of such places sickened him. He wondered why anyone would frequent them.
Because of this, the others in the courtly circle jokingly referred to him as ‘Abstinent Thorne.’ Yet, his abstinence felt more a matter of intrinsic nature than moral choice.
He let out a small, almost inaudible sigh.
The others, absorbed in Varian’s stories, remained oblivious. Seizing the moment, Kaelen glanced at Elara, who sat in quietude. Elara’s eyes were, as always, fixed on the back of Rhys’s head as the commoner diligently studied across the chamber.
And, as always, Kaelen regretted it. Why did he look? Why did he seek this torment? To distract himself, he posed a question to Varian, a futile attempt at redirection.
“So, Varian, do you truly intend to remain celibate until marriage?”
Varian, sprawled in his chair with casual arrogance, abruptly fixed his gaze on Kaelen’s lap. The intensity of his stare made Kaelen instinctively cross his legs, a protective gesture. What in the blazes?
“You are not my wife, Kaelen, so why do you ask? Are you offering to be?”
...
Of course. Varian always had a malicious jape at the ready. The others laughed. Kaelen delivered a sharp kick to Varian’s shin under the table.
Such were his days – a monotonous, circular procession of the same moments, endlessly repeating.
---
Alone in his chamber, Kaelen often found himself adrift in thought, contemplating endless scenarios. Invariably, these thoughts strayed into strange, unbidden fantasies.
Today, he wondered what it would have been like to fall in love with Lord Varian instead of Lord Elara. It seemed, objectively, a less painful path. If he had loved Varian, he would not endure the heartache caused by Elara’s tangled affections and reckless disregard for decorum.
Even so, heartbreak would still be his constant companion.
Neither Lord Elara nor Lord Varian, after all, would ever return his affections. But at least his heart would not ache because of Rhys.
This train of thought, however, inevitably led to feelings of inferiority, of gnawing anger. In the end, Kaelen simply wished for the swift arrival of his graduation from the Scholarium, to become nothing more than a stranger to Lord Elara.
---
He had developed a subtle, unconscious habit of placing his hands beneath his desk whenever he sat down. This began in his middle years, always sparked by the same catalyst – men. His thumb traced the ornate buckle on his tunic, a faint metallic clicking filling the quiet room. Should he? Or shouldn’t he? Just as he applied pressure to release the fastening, a soft knock echoed from the door.
“Kael! Are you studying diligently?”
“...Ah, no! I mean, yes! I am!”
His heart leaped into his throat. Clearly, the stars were not aligned for such a private indulgence today. Mortified, he buried his face in his arms. Damnation.
---
Lately, Lord Elara had become a persistent thorn in Kaelen’s side.
Sometimes, when Rhys’s gaze briefly met Kaelen’s, Elara would deliberately interject, drawing the commoner into conversation. Rhys, caught between them, would flick his eyes towards Kaelen, his lips parting as if to speak, only to close again. Then, as if wary of Elara’s formidable presence, he would lower his head, answering in the faintest of voices.
“Y-yes, my lord…”
Just like that.
Rhys, however, subtly sought Kaelen out more and more, sometimes even daring to address him as “Kael.” Aside from his immediate family, almost no one used that familiar diminutive, so the change was remarkably pronounced. Rhys seemed to think he was being discreet, but his caution was insufficient. The worst part was Elara’s inability to conceal his profound discomfort whenever Rhys dared such a familiarity.
“Rhys, cease bothering Kaelen Thorne while he is engaged in his studies.”
“My lord?”
“I said, cease bothering him. Do you not comprehend?”
“Oh… uh, y-yes, my lord…”
When Rhys stammered, avoiding his gaze, Elara childishly slammed his fist against the leg of the nearby table. Kaelen pretended not to notice. Annoyingly, the oblivious Rhys seemed to believe no one cared about him using “Kael” anymore. He grew bolder, using it as if it were perfectly normal.
“Uh, Kael… forgive me for disturbing your concentration.”
Kaelen stiffened, staring at Rhys in disbelief. Had the man no sense? Elara sat directly beside them.
Predictably, Elara pounded his fist on the table leg once more. Damnation.
“You! Rhys!”
“...My lord?”
The atmosphere soured instantly, thick with unspoken threat.
“I told you.” Elara’s anger was stark, undisguised. “I told you not to call him ‘Kael,’ did I not?”
“...W-well…”
“Call him Kaelen Thorne. That is his name – Kaelen Thorne.”
Elara’s gaze sharpened, almost predatory, turning towards Kaelen. Kaelen detested that look and instinctively lowered his head. At that moment, Lord Varian, seated beside him, casually draped an arm over Kaelen’s shoulder. His low, distinctive voice murmured close to Kaelen’s ear.
“Lord Elara, if you persist in this, you will truly undo yourself.”
“What in the nine hells are you speaking of?”
“I’m saying you’ll regret it, my lord.”
Varian smirked, and Kaelen felt a flicker of irritation, for one reason only.