Chapter Text
Keith Claes had never liked court life that much. Too many courtesies, too many voices layered in honey but dripping with venom underneath. Still, as the son of Duke Claes, and acting in his father's stead more and more often these days, it was his responsibility to attend such meetings. He was good at it—his poise, his intellect, and his firm yet respectful tone made him a natural diplomat.
But today? He was just tired.
The long discussion about trade agreements with the northern provinces had drained him. His father, Duke Luigi Claes, seemed pleased to stay behind and keep talking with the advisors. But Keith? All he wanted was to finish this final task and go home.
He sighed as he walked toward Prince Jeord’s office. The last errand: a simple confirmation regarding boundary records tied to their dukedom. Quick, efficient, no fuss.
Jeord had always been— annoyingly enough —reliable. Keith didn’t like speaking to him alone. Their conversations always carried a strange tension, a wordless tug-of-war neither of them acknowledged. But deep down, he was someone Keith could count on. And... they were childhood friends, weren’t they? Sort of.
A familiar pang tugged at his chest.
He glanced at the castle windows as he walked, catching the light of the afternoon sun. He wondered vaguely what Katarina was doing today. It was her free day—no work at the Ministry, no duties, no lectures. She’d probably gone to her field again. Or maybe she was reading some new romance novel Sophia lent her. He smiled faintly to himself.
He wanted to be home. With her.
He missed her.
As he neared the prince’s office, Keith noticed something strange. The door wasn’t fully closed.
He paused.
There was no sound. No conversation. That was odd.
Maybe he was alone?
He shrugged. It wasn’t worth worrying about. If he could get this last piece of business over with, he could leave. He pushed the door open gently, his voice already forming:
—Hi Jeord, I just need a moment—
He stopped.
His breath caught in his throat.
There, under the soft golden light of the window, was Katarina.
She lay over the cushions of the emerald green sofa. Her dress was loosened, the neckline slipping off one shoulder, revealing the delicate slope of her chest. Her hands were buried in Prince Jeord’s hair, who was bent over her in a tight embrace, gripping her waist.
Their lips had clearly just parted.
The passion in the air was palpable.
Katarina gasped.
Jeord’s eyes snapped toward the door, toward Keith.
Time collapsed into a single, burning instant.
—K-Keith— Katarina’s voice trembled, her face flushed with shock and embarrassment.
Jeord stood abruptly, his expression frozen between surprise, confusion and fury.
But Keith... he couldn’t move .
He stared at her.
The woman he loved.
The one he had devoted his life to protect.
The one who promised would be by his side forever .
He hadn’t known she was at the castle. He thought she was home. Waiting for him.
His mouth opened. No sound came out. His limbs had gone numb.
She had come here... not to spend her day off with her brother. But to meet him .
Keith stumbled backward. His hand found the doorknob. He flew out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
He walked fast. Then faster. He wasn’t even sure where his feet were going. He just knew he couldn’t stay.
The corridors blurred. His thoughts were a storm.
Her flushed face. Jeord on top of her. His hands caressing her.
He had no right to feel betrayed. But he did .
He found himself outside, somewhere in the quiet shade of the castle gardens. He collapsed onto a stone bench, bracing himself with trembling hands. His chest ached in a way that wasn’t physical.
—----------
The office was dead silent.
Katarina clutched the fabric of her dress against her chest, cheeks burning, heart hammering. Her breathing was shallow, almost panicked, as she turned toward Jeord—him with disbelief showing on his face.
—We—he—Keith saw us… —she stammered, voice cracking. —I—I didn’t even know he was here!
Jeord cursed under his breath and quickly moved. He adjusted the front of his shirt, fastened a button that had come undone, and ran a hand through his tousled hair. Then he turned to her.
—You need to fix your dress —he said calmly, kneeling to retrieve his fallen cape and passing it to her—. Here.
She nodded frantically and slipped it on, hiding the evidence of what had just happened. Her hands trembled as they tied the ribbon near her collarbone.
—I need to find him —she said breathlessly—. Jeord, I have to talk to Keith—he must be so confused, so upset, and I didn’t mean for this to happen like—
—Katarina.
Jeord’s voice was firmer now. He gently placed both hands on her shoulders.
—Stop. Breathe.
She froze. Her wide blue eyes stared into his.
—If you run after him like this —he said slowly—, with your hair a mess, your dress still wrinkled, in broad daylight, in the halls of the royal castle—do you understand what kind of scandal that could cause? For us. For him.
—But Jeord, I didn’t—
—I know —he said, a bit softer now—. I know you didn’t mean to hurt him. Neither did I. But we can’t allow emotions to push us into recklessness. That’s not the right way out of this mess.
Katarina blinked hard, her eyes misting.
—Then what do we do?
—I’ll go —he said—. I’ll speak to him. I’ll calm him down. I’ll make sure he’s alright.
She opened her mouth again, but he cut her off gently.
—You can’t leave this room. Please, Katarina. Stay. If you go after him, it’ll be worse. People will notice. I’ll ask a maid to bring you some tea. And something sweet.
—But—
—I love you —he said firmly, tilting her face up with a hand—. Let me handle this.
Katarina went quiet. Her cheeks turned scarlet. She swallowed, then nodded slowly.
—I… I love you too.
Jeord gave her the faintest smile—warm, reassuring. He leaned in and placed a small, chaste kiss on her lips.
—I’ll be back soon.
—----------
In the hallway, the prince moved with purpose, but not haste. He stopped the first maid he encountered and asked her politely:
—Would you kindly bring Lady Katarina Claes some warm tea and a plate of sweets? She’s in my office. Tell no one else.
The maid curtsied, blinking in surprise, and nodded before hurrying off.
He continued. He asked another servant, casually:
—Have you seen Lord Keith Claes?
—He passed through here just moments ago, Your Highness —the young footman replied—. Toward the gardens. He looked troubled.
—Thank you.
Jeord nodded and changed course, heading out into the castle’s rear wing, toward the shaded paths of the garden.
And there, he found him.
Keith sat on a stone bench beneath a canopy of flowering branches, the sunlight dappled across his light coat. His hands were still trembling. When he saw Jeord approaching, something snapped in his eyes.
—Of course it’s you —Keith muttered, standing up—. Why are you here? Why isn’t she?
Jeord stopped a few paces away.
—I told her to stay in my office.
Keith let out a dry, humorless laugh.
—Of course you did. Of course you get to decide who stays and what happens. I’m the damage control, is that it? You take her like that—and then run after the fool who walked in on you?
—I don’t—
—Leave —Keith snapped, stepping back and turning away—. Just walk away, Jeord. I don’t want to hear your excuses.
—That won’t do —Jeord said, voice still calm—. I’m here because you ran into something you weren't meant to see. And I intend to resolve this matter.
— You think you can fix this?
Silence.
The wind stirred the leaves.
—I didn’t even think she was at the castle today —Keith muttered—. She was supposed to be home. It was her day off. I wanted to go back early to see her.
Another bitter silence.
—I’ve been in love with her for so long… —Keith mumbled, sitting again on the bench while burying his face in his hands.
Jeord took a slow breath.
—I understand you're upset. If you hate me, that’s fine. But Katarina—she didn't mean to hurt you. Let's calm down, and talk this out as adults.
Keith, still unturned, didn’t answer.
—----------
Jeord stood there in silence.
Keith hadn’t looked at him since that first bitter exchange. His hands were clenched on his sides, like he was holding something inside that was seconds away from exploding.
He had expected anger.
But this silence—this wounded stillness—was harder to bear.
He shifted his weight, trying not to let his irritation show. Say something, damn it, he thought. Yell at me. Punch me. Anything but this.
He could almost feel the words bubbling inside his throat. But he swallowed them down.
The silence dragged on, and Jeord felt the tight coil of exasperation. And beneath the exasperation… something else stirred in him.
A feeling of victory, yes.
But also a strange, bitter sense of guilt.
He had won. The heart of the woman they both loved belonged to him. She had kissed him, had whispered I love you to him.
But somehow… it didn’t feel like triumph.
Because it came with the image of a hurt Keith, the boy who used to chase Katarina through wildflowers in the Claes estate gardens. Who used to laugh when Jeord tripped in the mud. Who once pulled Katarina out of a stream when she fell in trying to catch frogs, and scolded her like a parent, even while dripping wet himself.
The three of them had played together, back then.
Jeord let out a soft sigh through his nose.
He hated that he cared. He hated it even more that it mattered.
We weren’t always rivals , he thought bitterly. Were we?
Keith finally spoke, his voice hoarse, low.
—Why are you still here?
Jeord didn’t answer.
Keith turned his head, slowly, fury flashing in his gaze.
—Are you enjoying this? —he asked, biting the words out like poison—.
Is it fun, seeing me like this? Are you here to twist the knife? Well, congratulations.
She chose you. I get it. You won . Now leave me the hell alone.
Jeord exhaled, his patience cracking.
—I have no intention of doing that —he said, stepping forward and—without asking—sitting down beside him on the bench.
Keith stiffened, caught off guard.
—What—
—I’m not leaving —Jeord simply said.
Keith stared at him, confused, unsure of what this was.
Jeord’s posture was more relaxed now, but his expression—quietly pained—betrayed him.
He looked down at his hands, voice barely above a whisper.
—I’m sorry.
That one phrase struck the air like a stone breaking glass.
Keith blinked. He said nothing, but the storm in his eyes had shifted—still dark, still angry, but now conflicted.
Something in Jeord’s complexion touched a part of him he wasn’t ready to confront.
—Why are you saying that? —Keith muttered, almost to himself—. You don’t owe me anything.
Jeord glanced sideways at him.
—I think I do.
Keith didn’t respond.
They sat in silence. Two men with far too much history between them.