Elliott's gaze landed on Aiden's disheveled state—his unwashed hair, the shadows carved deep beneath his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped under the sheer weight of exhaustion.
"Look at you," Elliott murmured, his voice still faint, but threaded with unmistakable disapproval. "When was the last time you slept?"
Aiden avoided his gaze, feigning indifference. "I've... slept."
"Liar," Elliott said simply.
Aiden opened his mouth to argue, but a weak hand reached out, pressing a finger to his lips to shush him. The touch was feather-light, but the command behind it was firm. Elliott didn't remove his finger as he turned his head toward the nearest attendant.
He didn't trust Aiden to answer truthfully.
"Has he eaten?"
The attendant hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. Her eyes flicked to Aiden, who was glaring daggers in her direction.
"Answer me," Elliott said again—his voice soft but commanding, the imperial authority returning in the tone even through his weakness.
The attendant swallowed hard. "N-Not since yesterday, Your Majesty."
Elliott's breath hitched. Two days.
Aiden was starving himself.
"Bring broth," Elliott ordered at once. "And bread. Now."
The attendant scrambled out with an eager nod. Aiden, however, was less than thrilled.
"I'm not a child," he muttered against Elliott's finger, still pressed to his lips.
"Then stop acting like one," Elliott tried to snap. It came out as more of a wheeze than a bark.
But it was enough. Aiden's resistance faltered.
The meal arrived not long after, steaming and fragrant. Elliott pushed himself upright on trembling arms, ignoring Aiden's immediate protests and the way his muscles screamed in protest. He didn't care. He took the spoon in his own hands.
"Sit," Elliott ordered, gesturing to the edge of the bed. His tone left no room for argument. When Aiden hesitated, he added firmly, "Aiden."
Reluctantly, Aiden sat.
Elliott dipped the spoon into the warm broth, his grip unsteady. Slowly, he brought it up and held it in front of Aiden's mouth.
"Open up."
Aiden stared at him like he had lost his mind. "You can't be serious."
"Believe me, I'm very serious."
"I'm not a child to be spoon-fed."
"But you are very stubborn."
For once, Aiden had no rebuttal.
Elliott gave him a small, tired smile. "I've fed you a thousand times when you were little. Let me do it now."
Aiden hesitated... then finally opened his mouth. Elliott guided the spoon forward.
"Good boy."
Something cracked—softly, invisibly—in Aiden's expression. His gaze dropped, and without a word, he leaned in again, letting Elliott guide the second spoonful to his lips.
The broth disappeared slowly, spoonful by spoonful. When the bowl was empty, Elliott set it aside with quiet satisfaction. His limbs trembled with the effort, but he still wasn't done.
He moved on to the next concern.
"You're exhausted," he murmured.
Aiden shook his head almost instantly. "I have duties to attend to—"
"They can wait."
"The council—"
"—can survive a few hours without you."
Aiden opened his mouth to argue again, but Elliott was already shifting his weight. He winced through the motion but still managed to scoot over, patting the empty space beside him.
"There's room," he said softly. "Come on up."
Aiden froze. His breath caught. "You're seriously asking me to—? I'm not a kid anymore, I can't just—"
"Aiden." Elliott's voice was gentle but unwavering.
His hand extended again—warm, callused, steady. Still reaching for him, still offering comfort like nothing had changed.
Aiden hesitated. Guilt gnawed at him. He didn't deserve this. Not after the lies, the secrecy. Not after what he'd become in Elliott's absence. But he couldn't help it—not this time. He couldn't stop the longing that clawed at him.
Just this once... he let himself be selfish.
The bed, though king-sized, was adjusted to Elliott's more modest height. Aiden had to curl slightly to fit, his tall frame folding awkwardly. At first, his body was tense, as if even brushing against Elliott would somehow be a sin.
But Elliott didn't seem to mind.
Seeing Aiden so stiff, he shifted closer, ignoring the ache in his muscles. With careful hands, he guided Aiden's head to rest against his shoulder.
"There," Elliott breathed. "Better."
Aiden was still rigid. His breath was uneven. "Elliott, I—"
"Hush." Elliott's fingers slipped into Aiden's hair, combing through the strands in slow, rhythmic motions. Soothing. Familiar. The way he used to when Aiden was a boy plagued by nightmares, sneaking into his bed on stormy nights.
"Remember when you were little?" Elliott murmured, his voice a quiet hum. "You'd come into my chambers holding a pillow whenever it stormed. I'd hold you to sleep each time."
Aiden's breath hitched. His fingers curled in the silk sheets.
"You'd cling to me like I'd vanish if you let go," Elliott continued, smiling faintly. "And I'd tell you—shh, it's okay. I'm here. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."
Aiden muttered, "You lied."
His voice was thick with something raw. It wasn't anger. Not really. It was something older. Sadder. "You... left."
Elliott's chest ached. It didn't take a genius to understand. Aiden wasn't referring to childhood storms. He meant the saffron. The poison. The silence. The fever. The days of not waking up.
Elliott's voice was a whisper. "But I came back, didn't I?"
Aiden didn't respond.
But slowly, ever so slowly, his body began to relax. The tension bled out of him. Elliott's hand never stopped moving through his hair.
And for now, that was enough.