They were only half a day’s ride from Mirelen. By terce tomorrow, they would descend into the chasm and into the mouth of war.

The sun melted low over the horizon as the camp stirred for the night. Fires flared across the field like stars pulled down to earth. Laughter rose where knights drank and swapped stories, voices too loud, too eager—their last night before blood and steel replaced bread and song. Tents glowed with the hush of vassals and lead knights bent over maps, voices low and urgent.

Thallan was not among them. He stood by the riverbank just beyond the last torchlight, clad in a loose shirt, boots braced in the grass, sword flashing silver against another.

“Thallan,” Adius gritted out, breath ragged, “control yourself. We’re not armored.”

They reset their stance, blades circling. The younger man’s eyes searched his—trying to read what lay beneath. “You’ve been off the past two days,” Adius added. “Should I bring this to Sebastian? You’re partially leading our retinue into hell. You need your focus.”

Thallan didn’t answer. He let his silence speak through steel—strikes coming faster, heavier, until Adius yielded with a sharp intake of breath, sword angled down.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered, jamming his sword into the dirt.

Thallan’s eyes followed him as he turned to leave. “Where are you going? We’re not done.”

“This isn’t training,” Adius snapped, not looking back. “I’m not your damn whetstone. If you want to bleed your frustration, do it elsewhere.”

“Oh? Now you don’t want to be the body I use to relieve tension?”

Adius halted, shoulders stiff. “I can feel your affinity,” he bit out. “There are things in you that I can’t burn off with sparring, Thallan.”

Thallan’s grip tightened on the hilt. Gods, what were they doing? They had been fine. Better than fine. Moving as one, even laughing. He was going to speak to Sebastian about keeping Adius in the vanguard with him. He trusted him to watch his back.

And then—Katerina. Just outside camp, two nights ago. She passed him like he was air. No recognition. No pause. No anger, even. Just… nothing. He’d stood there, still as prey.

Perhaps she truly didn’t remember him at all. Perhaps he had been nothing more than a passing moment in her life, a name spoken once and forgotten. While she had become something carved into the marrow of his.

And since then, everything had spiraled.

There was no wine strong enough. No nameless body here to claim and quiet the weight in his chest. And Adius—Adius had become the closest target. The one person who had seen past the armor, the one who could feel everything he tried to bury.

“Adius, wait,” Thallan called, stabbing his sword into the ground beside Adius’s abandoned blade. “When I was a squire, I served beneath a knight who mistook his position as license to bruise. I swore I’d never—”

The rest of the sentence never left him.

Adius moved quick and unforgiving. A sharp sweep of the leg stole Thallan’s footing. The breath hitched in his chest a moment before he was slammed into the earth, the impact punching a low, guttural sound from his throat.

“I told you I am not a squire!” Adius barked, breath seething between clenched teeth. He straddled him, palms splayed firm over Thallan’s chest, the weight of his body grounding them. His expression had drawn taut with anger—brows knitted, jaw set, his features caught somewhere between defiance and hurt. “I am a knight. Like the rest of you. I am your equa—”

Thallan didn’t wait for the rest. He’d heard enough.

With a swift movement borne of both strength and instinct, his arm coiled around Adius’ waist and in one practiced twist, reversed their positions. The air shifted with the motion, Adius’ back finding the grass in a thud more restrained than the one Thallan had endured.

“I was trying to apologize!” Thallan snapped, breath heaving as he loomed over him, palms digging into the earth on either side of Adius’ head.

Silence settled thick between them.

Adius didn’t speak. He only stared up at him—cheeks tinged a warm, flustered pink, one hand still fisted in the front of Thallan’s tunic. Slowly, his gaze slid away, avoiding his.

“What, nothing to say now?” Thallan asked, the edge in his voice dulling.

“I’d rather not speak to you when I’m in a… compromising position,” came the muttered reply. His gaze remained elsewhere.

Thallan blinked, his eyes dropping to the space between them. It was a compromising position. Adius’ legs had parted slightly beneath him, thighs framing his own. His weight hovered in the cradle of the younger knight’s hips, their proximity undeniable. He had noticed. He simply hadn’t intended to say so.

“It’s only compromising if you think it is,” he said at last, voice level but with a trace of something drier threading the edge of it. “But no need to worry—I’m not your type.” His lips curled faintly, a flicker of wry amusement cutting through the tension. “You started this. You end it.”