I searched his face—those shifting, haunting features that had slipped beneath my skin in dreams and waking hours alike. “Your secret… does it explain this... whateverthisis between us?”
His eyes met mine again. “I cannot say.”
But I could. I felt something shift inside me—something that had lived in confusion now resolving into clarity. Whatever he was hiding, it was the key to this connection. The answer to why I, a man who had never desired another man, found myself haunted by Lioran's every glance, every word.
“Is it something that puts you in danger?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “Something that would see you punished if discovered? Punished or… hurt?”
His answer was simple. Quiet. “Yes.”
I released his wrist slowly, the gesture deliberate, as the implications sank in. This wasn’t some matter of silly court games. I had a feeling this was much more. Perhaps survival. Perhaps life and death.
I exhaled, and with it came a decision I hadn’t known I was making until I spoke the words aloud.
“Then don’t tell me. Not yet.”
He blinked. “You would not wish to know?”
I shook my head. “If I don’t know the truth, I can't betray it. Even by accident. And I do not wish to betray you, nor your secret, whatever it may be.”
His eyes widened slightly—clearly not the response he’d expected. Perhaps he had braced for an ultimatum. Perhaps even rejection. But instead, I gave him what I could: protection, freely offered. No conditions. No demands.
Something softened in his face then. Just a little.
And though the silence that followed said more than any words, it was the first silence between us that didn’t feel like a wall—it felt like trust.
“Why would you protect me without knowing what you’re protecting?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
I turned my gaze away, toward the castle towers visible beyond the garden walls. Arthur was there somewhere—my king, my oldest friend, the man to whom I’d pledged my life and loyalty. What would he think of this moment? Of my choice to shield someone who freely admitted to carrying a secret? In my experience, secrets were the currency of danger and devastation.
And yet...
“Because,” I said finally, turning back to Lioran, “some things transcend duty and oath. This connection between us—whatever its true nature—feels like one of them.” I took a deep breath as I asked myself if that was the full truth. "And… Itrustyou."
He immediately looked down at the cobblestones beneath our feet, the silence stretching between us heavy but not uncomfortable. I felt its weight, but I didn’t shy away from it.
“I would protect you,” I continued, swallowing hard, “because in our conversations, in training, in the Hunt Trial... I’ve come to know your character, even if I don’t know all your circumstances.” He raised his eyes to meet mine, and they were shimmering with emotion. “Whatever secret you carry, Lioran, I believe it doesn’t change the person I’ve come to...” I hesitated, then chose my words with care. “...value greatly.”
He was silent—stunned, perhaps. But I could not match his silence—not when I felt like I'd drown if I didn't get all of this off my chest. He needed to know how I felt—even if there was nothing we could do about it. I still needed him to know.
"Whatever this secret is, I want you to keep it to yourself. And know that I respect it, but… I cannot give in to my feelings toward you. Just as you cannot give in to yours for me."
He looked up at me and nodded. “Thank you."
We stood there a few heartbeats longer until the risk of discovery called us back. Soon, we followed the winding path that had brought us here, walking side by side. I felt... lighter. As though something had shifted—not clarity, exactly, but acceptance. The weight of uncertainty, once unbearable, had eased into something I could now carry.
“The eastern wall was reinforced after the storm last winter,” I remarked as we passed the newer stonework, needing to diffuse some of the heaviness between us. “The masons kept the old designs. See how the carvings echo those on the original sections?”
Our conversation flowed easily now—observations, questions, even brief moments of laughter. It surprised me how natural it felt. I hadn’t spoken this freely with anyone in years. Not since... well, not since a time before the crown grew so heavy on Arthur’s head. Not since the divorce from Merlin had turned us all into stone.
When we reached the garden’s outer edge—a rise that offered a sweeping view of the distant mountains—I stopped, drawn by memories I rarely allowed myself.
“My mother came from those highlands,” I said, gesturing toward the misty blue peaks on the horizon. “She used to tell stories of spirits that guided lost travelers through the fog. Quiet protectors.”
Lioran turned to look at the mountains, then back at me. “Do you believe them?”
“I believe something saved those who were lost. Whether spirits or something else—it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
He nodded thoughtfully, not dismissing the story, not demanding an explanation. Just listening. As he always did.
