Prince Caelen’s disdain, once a veiled undercurrent, now became a public spectacle. After the ignominious incident that left Lord Kaelan bruised and broken, Caelen no longer bothered with pretence. His animosity, sharp as a whetted blade, cut through the court’s carefully constructed civility, directed solely at me. That customary seat by the Prince’s side, once a quiet affirmation of my standing, now seemed an alien throne. Lord Kaelan, head bowed in humble subservience, now occupied it, a silent monument to my displacement. I prided myself on a certain imperviousness, a cultivated detachment to the slings and arrows of courtly life. Yet, I possessed no stomach for feigned ignorance, no capacity for smiling through public shame. A whimpering cur at the heels of a former master, I refused to become such a spectacle. Approaching Prince Caelen now, as if no chasm had opened between us, felt an impossibility. My days thus began to sag under a weight of melancholy, an oppressive ennui. Flashes of vindictive fire, petty and unworthy, sometimes flared within me, but always, I endured. That petulant child-king, secure in his undeserved dominion, began to observe me with an envious, resentful gaze. His bitterness, I knew, stemmed from Kaelan. Lord Kaelan, an unwitting pawn, became the unwilling receptacle of a festering resentment. It mattered little that he had not actively sought to usurp my place; his mere presence there, his complicity in Caelen’s cruel charade, felt like a deliberate theft. He had not only stolen the Prince’s attention but had, in doing so, forged Caelen’s hatred for me. A vicious cur, I deemed him, even as logic screamed against the accusation. Feelings, I knew, often defied the cold strictures of reason. Blaming Kaelan, however unjust, offered a fragile bulwark against the suffocating despair of my situation. Nevertheless, I remained a creature of calculation. I understood Kaelan’s helplessness, his reluctant role in Caelen’s orbit. So, I offered no open hostility towards him. Partly, shame prevented me from betraying my jealousy. Partly, I recognized the futility; losing my temper with Kaelan would only cast me as a fool. Prince Caelen would despise me further, and the court whispers would brand me with the gravest stigma: one of unnatural affections. “This… is insufferable.” I hated it. A corrosive hatred that gnawed at my bones, more potent than Caelen’s own antagonism. My thoughts, like wayward moths, fluttered toward Lord Rennick, that irritating jester of the court. What cutting remark would he conjure, should he divine my hidden fears? Perhaps: ‘Turns out Elian, our astute scholar, harbours such unbecoming attachments, does he?’ That chilling phantom, Rennick’s disdainful gaze, caused my hands to clench. A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm me. Discovery, exposure, was a terror I could not countenance. --- Courtly allegiances, I had long observed, were built on shifting sand. When the rift between Prince Caelen and me became undeniable, my ties with his usual retinue naturally frayed. Amusingly, Lord Tristan, a quieter satellite in Rennick’s boisterous orbit, sought me out yesterday, engaging in an inconsequential volley of words. “Elian, Lord Rennick asked after you earlier.” “Oh? His purpose?” “He simply… did.” His replies were always thus—lacking any discernible purpose. It seemed I had, by the court’s estimation, drifted into a new constellation of influence, aligning myself more closely with Rennick’s circle than Caelen’s. Of course, the threads of connection to Caelen’s retinue were not entirely severed. Occasionally, in the training yards or by chance in the morning’s antechambers, a brief, stiff exchange of pleasantries occurred. Though this was mostly limited to Lord Gareth. “Elian, good morning.” “...Morning, Lord Gareth.” I recalled one such awkward meeting, Gareth’s voice dropping to a low murmur. “Prince Caelen has been acting strangely of late. His attentions to Kaelan… border on the possessive. Unsettling.” A sour grimace tightened my features. Gareth must have interpreted my expression as agreement. He continued, describing how the Prince often compelled Kaelan to remain at his side, grasping his arm with an unyielding grip. My fists clenched, my teeth gritted. “I care nothing for such vulgar displays.” Those words were a physical barrier, silencing him immediately. Lord Gareth, I knew, had recently been making overtures towards Rennick’s group, a subtle sifting of allegiances, perhaps. He, too, sought an exit from Caelen’s lengthening shadow. His confidences to me, I surmised, were but an attempt to solidify this shifting loyalty. --- Today, as often happened, only Rennick and I remained in the secluded solar, away from the court’s clamour. Rennick, a study in casual arrogance, occupied the archway, observing me with a disquieting assessment, or merely an habitual disregard. Annoyed, I turned my head, opting for mutual silence. “Elian.” “What?” “Let us seek out that spiced wine after the day’s duties. The vintage we sampled last week was rather excellent.” He ignored my attempt to ignore him. As he spoke, he lazily tossed a polished pomander across the chamber. The orb bounced erratically, threatening to strike priceless artefacts, yet no one dared rebuke him. He remained utterly indifferent to the prevailing atmosphere, selfish in his ease. I watched the pomander carom, a frown deepening on my brow, finally breaking my silence. My irritation at his brazen confidence sharpened my tone. “The one you consumed entirely yourself? You procured it for your sole enjoyment, as I recall.” “Well, not precisely. Its hue simply pleased me.” “And my preference held no sway?” “How was I to discern your desires? You offered no counsel.” By then, the pomander had rolled to rest near a junior page. Rennick extended a hand, a silent command. The page hesitated, then awkwardly retrieved the item, placing it into Rennick’s waiting palm. Rennick shook the orb casually, offering a dismissive nod to the retreating youth. “My thanks, you cipher.” An insufferable personality. “Cipher this, lackey that.” Every utterance from him grated on my nerves. Honestly, it made no sense that Rennick, with his particular brand of boorish charm, chose my company over Prince Caelen’s. He dined with me, sat with me during court sessions, attended lectures alongside me. Caelen might be estranged, but Rennick could easily convey a message, arrange a private meeting, should he wish. The thought presented itself without preamble, and I voiced it, unthinking. “Why the sudden diversion from Prince Caelen’s company?” Rennick, mid-act of tossing and catching the pomander against a wall, suddenly froze. He turned to me, his expression puzzled. “A rift has formed, Elian,” he stated. “Between whom?” “Between you and Prince Caelen.” “I know. The fault is mine. But how does that concern you?” “Your pronouncements are truly most peculiar. It concerns me because you are my friend.” Rennick’s gaze, oddly blatant, scanned me from head to foot. Unease prickled along my skin. I avoided his eyes. “You were also Caelen’s friend, were you not?” “Remarkable. Are you suggesting you are not my friend?” His tone was incredulous; a finger pointed accusingly. “No, I am your friend. But you were also Prince Caelen’s. Why then, do you align yourself with my side?” “Our paths, after all, crossed long before Caelen’s.” “What nonsense do you utter? Our bond solidified because of Prince Caelen, did it not?” “Indeed! We were close during our earliest days within the Court’s academies!” “When?” “Truly, you are an insolent cur. Unbelievable. During those meals in the refectory, our gazes met constantly!” “Ah… back then.” “So, I was the sole party who perceived a friendship? You charlatan. That is why, upon finding ourselves in the same scholastic group, I sought you out first! And you deny this? Unconscionable. I find myself quite disappointed.” “Oh.” “Astounding. Simply… astounding. How could you inflict such a slight upon me?” “Forgive me, then. I offer my deepest apologies, is that sufficient?” I mumbled, hastily recalling those awkward yet strangely frequent exchanges from our first year. So those silent, often hostile, exchanges had been within his “friendship category.” I felt robbed, a victim of perception. Such stares, to me, had conveyed a silent challenge, a measuring of worth. Did that mean the first to suggest shared company wasn’t Prince Caelen, but… him? The realization struck me like a stone, leaving me stunned. It was unsettling, profoundly shocking. Still, I wished to avoid further entanglement, so I feigned comprehension, offering a nod. “Very well. I grasp the meaning. My apologies.” “I was profoundly distressed just moments ago.” Rennick glared briefly. His mind, I often found, was an impenetrable maze. “And in any case, Prince Caelen’s conduct grows increasingly bizarre.” “...” “The Prince, he is quite unhinged. Always possessed a certain peculiar cast, but this? This is beyond the pale.” He grasped the pomander with four fingers, lazily spinning it around his temple with his index. The sight conjured images of Lord Gareth and the other courtiers who had, with varying degrees of awkwardness, attempted to discuss Caelen with me. From their hushed tones alone, one truth emerged: Prince Caelen’s reputation was in freefall. “Unnatural affections.” The phrase—the most feared and damning stigma in the rarefied world of courtly ambition—sent a chill through me. My body trembled slightly at the thought. At the same time, a perverse relief washed over me, knowing my own forbidden secrets remained hidden. Did that relief mean I valued myself more than Prince Caelen? Uneasy, I met Rennick’s gaze, feeling like a sacrilegious priest, harboring forbidden texts beneath his vestments. “Indeed,” I muttered. Then I let out a laugh—a strange mix of fear and derision. It was almost comical that, to others, I was now Rennick’s closest confidant. In truth, I was no different—a criminal branded with an unholy stigma. Only a few months prior, I had been Prince Caelen’s closest companion. And yet, here I was, hiding in a filthy trap I’d barely escaped. I had merely avoided being caught. That was all. --- A pre-dawn chill permeated my chambers. A missive, unsigned, from an unfamiliar courier, arrived unexpectedly. A summons at the fourth hour. Half-asleep, I thought for a moment that all that transpired recently was but a dream. Even though I had meticulously avoided seeking out Prince Caelen to protect myself from further pain, my pulse quickened, a traitorous drumbeat, at the thought that the message might be from him. I hurriedly rubbed my eyes, checking again the sender. My feelings were profoundly conflicted. Part of me hoped it was merely one of those unsolicited solicitations from disreputable merchants. But as soon as I deciphered the content, I knew it wasn’t from Prince Caelen. “Elian, my sincerest apologies for this unseemly hour. Could you present yourself outside your residence for a moment? I am truly sorry. Utterly so.” “Just this once. Only this single time.” Prince Caelen had never known the language of contrition; such an apology would never issue from his lips. Among my peers, only two ever addressed me by my given name, and of those two, only one was so pitifully desperate. How had Lord Kaelan acquired my private address? The moment I saw the message, a sour grimace tightened my features. I did not wish to see him—never wished to see him. His presence always brought a disagreeable air. Despite the internal protest, my limbs obeyed. I slid from my bed, buttoned my tunic, and stood. My steps carried me to the door, but I stopped short of stepping through, resting my forehead against the frame with a deep sigh. “...Damn it.” It was all so overwhelming, a cloying density settled in my gut. That was the only way to describe it. I clutched my chest. I had always prided myself on my scholastic achievements, on the carefully curated lexicon of a scholar drawn from countless volumes, but none of the words I knew could fully express this intricate, tangled mess of emotions. It was simply… complicated. My antipathy toward Kaelan, the vivid phantom of his recent disfigurement, the desperate lengths to which I’d gone to disentangle our fates—all swirled together in a sickening maelstrom. Biting my lip, my fingers traced the cold metal of the latch, then I closed my eyes and turned it with a decisive twist. The Palace gardens, still shrouded in the cool breath of morning dew, heralded the arrival of autumn. To avoid the wet grass, I stepped carefully onto the cool, polished flagstones between the manicured lawns. The chilly dawn made me pull my jacket tighter around me. My toes, poking out from the front of my slippers, carried me all the way to the front gate. I paused there for a moment, clicked my tongue lightly, and grasped the handle. The creaking of the hinge made me flinch, and I opened the gate even more slowly. Beyond the gate, illuminated by the streetlight on the asphalt lane, stood Lord Kaelan in the simple, formal tunic of a court page. His head was hung low as he idly scrawled invisible shapes on the ground with the tip of his boot. “...Lord Kaelan.” At my voice, Kaelan’s head snapped up like lightning. “Elian, Elian!”

A Shift in Constellations