The Palace of the Sun never truly slept, but in the days leading up to the wedding, it seemed to have forgotten the meaning of silence altogether.

Sven had barely managed to fall asleep when a sharp knock echoed at the door of his chambers.

“My lord!” an enthusiastic voice called from the other side. “We’ve brought the fabrics for the final fitting.”

Nébula emerged from the sheets with a clumsy bounce, her ears still folded from sleep.

“Again?” she grumbled, floating until she hovered in front of Sven. “Didn’t you try on, like, five robes yesterday?”

“Six,” Sven corrected, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

They did not wait for a response.

A small procession of servants flooded into the room, carrying fabrics, boxes, pins, and rolls of parchment filled with hurried notes.

“If I may,” Sven said, with a calm he did not entirely feel, “could we begin after breakfast?”

The servants exchanged uncertain glances.

“The Queen Mother has requested that everything be ready as soon as possible,” the butler replied with a slight bow. “The wedding is only a few days away. However, we can bring you something light while we work.”

“Sweet bread,” Nébula chimed in without shame. “And fruit.”

The butler blinked once, surprised that the creature spoke, but nodded.

“Of course.”

Sven shot his companion a warning look, though he couldn’t help but smile.

The following hours passed in a blur of adjustments, pins pricking where they shouldn’t, and overlapping voices.

“Yes, the colors of his homeland are most fitting for this moment…”

“They will contrast beautifully with the king’s…”

“No, we must take pride in the colors of our own nation…”

More than once, Sven felt less like a person and more like a ceremonial statue, carefully adorned to fulfill a function.

The door opened again.

“May I come in?”

Eidan’s voice was enough to make Sven’s heart skip.

“Of course,” he replied, turning slightly.

The king paused when he saw him.

Surrounded by fabrics, unfamiliar hands, and curious gazes, Sven seemed out of place—and yet, unmistakably his.

“I just came to see if you were surviving the preparations,” Eidan said, clearing his throat.

“With difficulty,” Sven admitted, “but I’m still here. I imagine yours weren’t any less demanding.”

“I’ve already been through that,” Eidan replied with a grimace. “Months under my mother’s supervision. I would’ve preferred going to war.”

Sven laughed. He knew the Queen Mother’s perfectionism all too well.

“I brought provisions,” Eidan added, lifting a small package. Inside were white pastries topped with berries.

Sven’s favorites.

His eyes lit up with almost childlike gratitude.

“You’re a hero.”

The seamstresses exchanged amused smiles before discreetly withdrawing, pretending not to notice how the atmosphere shifted the moment the two were left alone.

Eidan stepped closer, his tone softening.

“If you’d like, we could slip away for a while. The eastern garden is empty at this hour. It might help us clear our heads from all these protocols.”

“My savior.”

It wasn’t long before they found themselves walking along sunlit paths, far from the palace’s bustle. The air was warm, and for the first time in days, Sven felt he could breathe without restraint.

“When we were children,” Eidan said suddenly, “we used to come here in the summers to escape those stiff gatherings in the hall.”

Sven glanced at him.

“And to splash in the fountains,” he added. “Though the queen nearly fainted whenever she saw us come back soaked.”

Eidan laughed, the sound simple and genuine. Those had been precious times that now felt so distant. Simpler times.

“I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you about all this sooner,” Eidan said at last, his tone turning serious. “I tried that day in the courtyard, but…”

He looked troubled, a flicker of guilt crossing his features—perhaps for his own hesitation.

He trailed off, visibly uncomfortable.

“We always knew,” Sven replied. “There was no need to say it.”

His voice came out softer than he intended.

Eidan paused. He studied him carefully, as if searching for something in his expression.

“Sven… do you…?”

The sound of a distant bell cut him off, and Sven let out a quiet sigh.

“I suppose I should go back.”

“Yes,” Eidan nodded. “Before they send the guard to look for us.”

They returned to the palace in silence, each resuming their duties. Their schedule awaited them—precise and unforgiving.

And yet, both moved forward with the uneasy certainty that something important had been left suspended between them.