When Cailan turned sixteen, he expected things to change between them. That was the age at which Liam had left his father’s house and forged his own path, the age at which he had joined the military. When Liam had been sixteen, he had considered himself a man.

Cailan lived with Liam at the military camp now. They had more time together but less time alone. During the day, Cailan was left in a tent with other slaves, and at night he would sleep cuddled up with Liam in a tent with four other men.

On rare occasions, Liam would return early from training, his skin glistening with exertion and his uniform clinging to his muscled frame. In these stolen moments of privacy, Cailan's heart would race. Was this finally the day? He watched Liam's every move with bated breath, ready and willing to fulfil his purpose.

The way Liam looked at him had shifted, the change subtle but unmistakable. The difference in their age was no longer something Liam focussed on, and instead, in hushed tones, he'd marvel at Cailan's beauty. During quiet moments, Liam would gently run a comb through Cailan's golden locks, his calloused fingers occasionally brushing against Cailan's scalp and sending shivers down his spine.

Yet for all the tenderness in these gestures, an invisible line remained uncrossed. Liam's lips never sought Cailan's, his hands never strayed. His affection, while abundant, remained chaste. Cailan found himself caught between gratitude for Liam's kindness and a growing ache for something more.

They talked about most things and Liam never reprimanded him for speaking his own mind. But this… this they had not spoken about. Cailan was too afraid to broach the topic, to hear Liam’s reasons for leaving him a virgin. Had Liam simply come to realise that he wasn’t attracted to Cailan in that way? That human men appealed to him more?

There were days when Liam arrived late to collect him, the acrid tang of someone else's sweat clinging to his skin. His eyes would be distant, unfocused, as if part of him lingered elsewhere, and Cailan would know that he had been with someone else.

The jealousy that surged through him was visceral, a twisting ache in his gut that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Shame quickly followed. What right did he have to these possessive feelings? He belonged to Liam, body and soul—not the other way around. Liam could do what he pleased with whoever he pleased. 

Cailan would clench his fists, willing the jealousy away. He focused instead on the countless ways Liam had cared for him, protected him, cherished him. The soft words of praise, the gentle touches, the unwavering dedication—all given freely, asking so little in return. How could Cailan feel anything but boundless love and devotion for such a man?

Yet try as he might to quash these unwelcome emotions, they persisted. Cailan felt caught in an endless tug-of-war between his training and his heart. Liam's kindness and adoration had awakened feelings in him that went beyond what he'd been taught to expect or accept. It was a constant struggle, balancing his deep-rooted sense of duty with the stirrings of desires he'd never anticipated—a war he wasn't sure he was winning.

#

Cailan was eighteen when Liam came to fetch him from the slave tent early one day, an extravagant bouquet cradled in his arms. As they walked to their tent, the colourful blooms drew curious glances from passing soldiers, a rare splash of beauty in the utilitarian surroundings.

Once inside, Liam presented the bouquet to Cailan with a gentle smile. 

"They're beautiful," Cailan murmured, bringing the flowers close to his face and inhaling deeply. "Thank you, Liam."

Liam's eyes crinkled with fondness. "I'm glad you like them. I noticed you admiring the flowers in the market last week."

A flush crept up Cailan's neck, warming his cheeks. "Oh, I... I didn't realise I was so obvious," he said, lowering his gaze..

Liam stepped closer, gently tilting Cailan's chin up with his fingertips. "Hey, none of that," he said softly. "I want you to feel comfortable expressing your interests. Besides, what would I spend my father’s money on if not spoiling you?”

Cailan leaned into the touch, savouring the warmth of Liam's skin against his own. After a moment, he asked hesitantly, “Did he send more?”

"Mm." Liam's hand dropped away, and Cailan felt the loss of its warmth. "I swear he thinks I would have died by now without his generosity. It's more than a little insulting."

"Have you replied to him yet?"

"No. I've started a few times, but the words always come out laced with more bitterness than I intend. The last thing I want is to reinforce his view of me as childish."

“You’re not childish at all.”

A small smile tugged at Liam's lips. "Thank you, sweetheart." He pressed a gentle kiss to Cailan's forehead. "But enough about my father. I have good news. I've secured that reassignment to Saffron Rock Base."

Cailan's eyes widened. "Oh! Congratulations!"

Liam's smile broadened, reaching his eyes. "Thank you. We'll be sharing a tent with two of my friends there. It means we can be more at ease, and you'll be able to stay in the tent during the day. I'll even be able to visit you for lunch more easily."

Warmth bloomed in Cailan's chest. "I'd like that very much. I don't mean to sound needy, but... I do miss you during the day."

Liam's expression softened. He leaned in again, this time pressing a firmer, longer kiss to Cailan's forehead. His lips lingered for a moment, and Cailan could feel Liam's breath ghosting over his skin as he spoke. "Pack your things. We leave tomorrow morning."

#

Though Liam hadn't seemed overly concerned about the flowers' fate after presenting them, Cailan cherished the gift. With careful determination, he'd managed to improvise a makeshift vase using a tin cup filled with water, and by morning they still looked fresh.

As they prepared to leave, Cailan hesitated. Bringing flowers on a carriage ride seemed oddly frivolous, especially for a slave, but the thought of abandoning them twisted something in his chest. When Liam noticed Cailan cradling the bouquet, his eyes softened with a fond smile. Drawing strength from his gentle support, Cailan decided to bring them along.

They made their way through the camp, Liam's hand a reassuring presence on the small of Cailan's back. As they approached the waiting carriage, Cailan caught sight of a tall man already seated inside, his long frame folded somewhat awkwardly in the confined space.

"Good morning, Roope," Liam greeted warmly, his hand steady on Cailan's back as he helped him into the carriage. "This is Cailan."

Roope cut a striking figure. His ginger hair cascaded past his shoulders, framing a face peppered with freckles that stood out against pale skin. A wide-brimmed hat rested in his lap, its weathered leather speaking of long days under the sun.

For a long moment, Roope's gaze fixed on Cailan, an intensity in his eyes that made him want to shrink back against Liam. But when Roope finally spoke, his tone was relaxed, almost nonchalant. "Huh. Is his hair actual gold?"

Liam's fingers trailed through Cailan's hair, the silky strands catching the morning light. "No, though it is quite convincing, isn't it? I burnt some of it myself. I can assure you it smells and behaves just like any other hair when you take a flame to it."

Roope’s eyebrows lifted. “You burnt his hair?”

“Just a few strands, obviously. I wouldn’t ruin his lovely hair.”

The carriage rocked slightly as another man climbed in, squeezing into the space beside Roope. He was shorter and stockier than his companion, with dark hair cropped close to his scalp. His eyes, sharp and appraising, swept over Cailan.

"Shit.” He whistled low, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "That is an expensive looking slave. Hey, Liam, can I have some money?"

“Ah… probably,” Liam said. “What do you need it for?”

The stocky man's grin widened. “Well, I was gonna try to grift you, but it’s no fun if you’d just give me money because I asked as, like… a nice gesture.”

“Sorry?”

The man's gaze flicked to the bouquet in Cailan's lap. "Did you buy the slave the flowers as well?"

A hint of steel crept into Liam's tone, his posture stiffening slightly. "His name is Cailan."

"And mine is Tris," the man retorted, one eyebrow arching in cool amusement. "Not my fault you didn't introduce us." He turned to Roope, his voice taking on a playful, mock-wounded tone. "But back to the flowers. Roope, how come you never buy me flowers?"

Roope's lips quirked in amusement, his voice dry. "Do you want flowers?"

“No,” Tris scoffed. “What would I do with flowers?”

“Hold them for a five hour carriage ride?”

Cailan felt heat rise in his cheeks, his grip on the flowers tightening unconsciously. He ducked his head. "I'm sorry if they're an annoyance, sir. I'll try to keep them out of the way, but if they're going to be a bother to anyone, perhaps Liam would prefer that I leave them behind."

Tris's expression softened, a hint of guilt flashing across his features. He waved a hand dismissively, his voice gentler than before. "Nah, I'm just joking. Don't worry. Nobody wants to take your flowers away."

"Good," Liam said, his arm settling around Cailan's shoulders with a gentle but possessive weight. "He's more polite than he needs to be. I wouldn't have asked him to leave the flowers behind."

Cailan dipped his head in silent acknowledgement of the correction. Liam’s friends probably wouldn’t even have interpreted it as such, but Cailan was familiar with Liam’s more subtle approach to shaping his behaviour. He never raised a hand or his voice; he didn't need to. A slight shift in tone, a barely perceptible tightening around the eyes—these were the cues Cailan had learned to read and respond to instinctively.

As the carriage lurched forward, Cailan settled the flowers carefully across his lap. Liam and his friends fell into easy conversation, their words washing over Cailan like a familiar tide. He turned his gaze to the window, watching the camp shrink into the distance. This was a role he knew well—present in body, yet separate in spirit, a quiet observer on the fringes of the human world.

But then he felt it—Liam's hand, warm and familiar, sliding over his own. Warm fingers slipped between his, hidden beneath the bouquet. Each gentle squeeze was a silent reminder: You are here. You matter. You are not forgotten.

As fields and forests rolled by outside, Cailan allowed himself a small, secret smile. He might be apart, but he was never truly alone. Not with Liam by his side.