The Prince and His Loyal Hound

August began to stir.

Caelan, already awake, felt the shift and immediately shut her eyes, steadying her breath.

She didn't move — not even an inch.

August groaned softly, blinking against the morning sunlight piercing through the curtains. A lazy frown pulled at his brows as he turned his face away from the offending brightness — and instinctively leaned in, searching for warmth.

He buried himself closer, sighing against the figure beside him, still half-asleep.

But then…

Hard. Not soft.

And definitely not a pillow.

He paused.

Still groggy, he turned his head slightly — and froze.

Caelan.

Face relaxed in faux sleep. Hair tousled. Her breath warm against his temple.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Then stared.

His brain was still trying to catch up to what his body already realized.

He was practically curled into her side.

And… she hadn't moved.

August remained still — too still.

Then, slowly, he leaned back, noticing how no part of Caelan had ever touched his skin directly.

Even in sleep, she'd kept a careful distance. Protective, instinctive.

He rubbed his arm lightly, let out a deep sigh, and murmured,

"Cae—"

Her eyes opened almost immediately. Calm. Awake.

"Yes, your Highness?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "You were awake, weren't you?"

Caelan turned her gaze away, feigning innocence.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

August let out a quiet gasp, half scandalized. "You were!"

"For how long?!"

"I woke up when you moved," she admitted with a sigh, already reaching for the pitcher nearby. "Didn't say anything because I knew you'd overreact."

"I do not overreact."

"You're doing it right now," she said flatly, handing him a glass of water.

That earned a reluctant smile from him — and a soft laugh from both of them.

"This feels like when we were kids," August said after a moment, his voice quieter now.

Caelan leaned back with a fond hum. "You used to fall asleep on me all the time."

He raised an eyebrow as he sipped the water. "You didn't exactly complain."

"You were warm," she shrugged. "And lighter back then."

August chuckled. "You were always solid. Like a very reliable wall."

"I thought I was a pillow," she echoed with a smirk.

He smiled into his glass, eyes flicking to her face. "The best kind."

The morning stretched on in golden stillness.

Neither of them moved much — conversation flowed in soft, unhurried threads. Sometimes they'd fall quiet, letting the silence sit between them like an old friend. And somewhere between teasing comments and shared glances, their dynamic eased back into familiar rhythm — sharp and playful, steady and warm.

By noon, the rest of the estate was stirring to life. Laughter echoed faintly from the halls, boots shuffled across stone, and the scent of bread and stew drifted in from the kitchens.

It was time.

The mission had ended. The monsters had receded. Mary was safe.

The victory, earned.

The trip was over.

And now, they would return — to the capital.

To the palace.

To the place August least wanted to return.

Morning light streamed through the arched window, casting long gold lines across the polished floor. Outside, the Thorne estate pulsed with life — the clang of armor, the stomp of hooves, the low murmur of voices as knights and aides prepared for departure.

Caelan stood at the center of it all, directing preparations with the sharp precision she was known for. Even from afar, August could see the slight limp in her stride, the stiffness in her bandaged arm — yet her voice never wavered, and no one dared question her commands.

Inside, it was quiet.

August stood motionless, his hands folded behind his back, gaze fixed beyond the glass. His reflection stared back at him — pristine, composed… trapped.

His jaw tensed.

Behind him, soft footsteps broke the silence.

"You don't have to go back if you don't want to," Alaric said gently, stepping into the room.

August didn't turn. "Easy for you to say."

Alaric joined him at the window, eyes following his friend's line of sight. "Still. No one would blame you."

August's lips curled into a bitter smile. "I would."

Silence stretched between them.

"I'm the Crown Prince," August continued quietly. "Whether I want it or not, the palace is where I belong."

Alaric let out a long breath. "Then I'll come visit. Often. Cause chaos. Get drunk. Maybe even seduce a few noble ladies while I'm at it."

That earned him a sideways look.

August raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"

Alaric grinned. "Of course. What's a friend for?"

August's expression softened just slightly — the first crack in his rigid composure.

"You'll cause a scandal."

"I'll cause ten. Keeps the court on their toes."

August scoffed, the sound brief but real. "This is how you show your concern?"

Alaric gasped in mock offense, hand to his chest. "Is this how you treat a worried friend?"

Their laughter broke the tension — not loud, not long, but genuine. A brief moment of warmth before the inevitable.

Outside, the carriage stood ready — polished wood glinting under the sun, the royal crest gleaming against its side. Horses were bridled, guards mounted, and the final supplies had already been loaded.

Caelan appeared in the doorway, posture firm, her uniform freshly pressed despite the faint trace of weariness still clinging to her. She offered a crisp bow, her voice formal once again.

"Your Highness, the carriage is prepared."

August turned to face her, the fleeting ease in his expression slipping away, replaced once more by the crown prince's quiet poise.

She straightened and glanced at Alaric. "Lord Alaric," she greeted, voice cool but respectful.

"Captain," he replied with a nod of equal formality — a stark contrast to their banter just moments earlier.

And with that, the return began.

The group stepped out into the warmth of mid-spring sun. Knights fell into formation, the footfalls of boots thudding in practiced rhythm. The estate slowly faded behind them as the wheels of the carriage began to turn.

Back to the capital.

Back to the palace.

Back to everything they had left behind — and everything they still didn't want to face.