Kyle stretched his arms upon waking, then settled back down with a blissful sigh. He never wanted to remove the heavy blankets from over him—they were warm with body heat and protected him from the early morning air that had settled into the room. The fire burned out long ago, leaving the atmosphere crisp and cool. Despite feeling like he had never slept better, Kyle was still sleepy with heavy limbs and droopy eyelids. Vivid images and memories of just hours prior flooded his brain; he glanced underneath the covers, the sight of Stan flushing his pale face and plastering a smile on his lips. The high elf smoothed a hand through Stan's hair, caressing him, and in turn, the unconscious knight draped an arm around his waist as he shifted in his sleep. Kyle had decided that he had no choice but to stay in that exact spot forever.

The sound of an unsuccessful push to open the doors followed by a light rap on the wood nearly knocked Kyle out of bed. His pulse quickened as he stood and hurriedly searched for his robe to cover himself. He was as quiet as the stressful situation allowed, careful not to wake Stan or confuse the person on the other side.

"Your majesty? Is everything alright?" It was Jason, Kyle's manservant. He knocked again. "You seldom sleep this late."

Kyle froze as his thoughts traveled a mile a minute in an attempt to come up with a believable excuse. He hadn't realized what time it actually was, and he was still completely bare, which didn't do much help in calming his panic.

"Um, yes, Jason, I've—" he jerked his head left and right, finally spotting his discarded robe, "—I've been feeling quite sick since last night." He threw the robe around himself, tucking the sides tightly over his chest and crossing his arms.

"Sick? Sick how? I can go fetch the doctor for you if you'd like."

"No no, there's no need for that," Kyle rejected. He noticed Stan stir in the bed. He cursed silently.

"I just– need– you to go and draw me a hot bath," he ordered.

"Is there anything else I can–"

"Right now, please!" the high elf interrupted. Stan was sitting up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Kyle heaved out a heavy sigh.

"As you wish, your majesty," Jason said, then left without another word. Kyle pressed his ear to the door, listening to his descending footsteps. He ran a hand through his red curls, stepping back over to the bed.

"Good morning, my dearest," Stan said, reaching out to grab his hand. Kyle let him take it, but he frowned.

"We were almost caught," was all he said in response. Stan gently tugged on his arm to have him sit on the edge of the bed. The knight wrapped his arms around Kyle's waist, hugging him from behind with his head in the crook of his neck.

"Good thing I locked the door last night."

Kyle did not react to his gentle kisses on his skin nor did he respond to the knight's brash suggestion of a "round two." He held his head in one hand, tightening his fingers in his hair. Pain surged through his temples. Maybe a hot bath would actually do him some good.

"You need to go to the knights' quarters for the morning ride," he ordered, tired and lifeless. Every morning the cavalry mounted their horses to circle the perimeter of the kingdom in search of potential threats, messengers, or anything of the like. Kyle saw it as insurance for the drow elves; these days, he figured that one could never be too careful. It was also another way of keeping the animals as well as the men in good shape.

Stan let go of the king's waist rather roughly. He stood up from the bed and gathered his belongings, dressing quickly and without so much as a glance in Kyle's direction. Eventually, he turned to face him, but his demeanor was cold. Kyle immediately felt small under his gaze, remembering he was still naked underneath his robe.

"Why are you like this?" the knight scoffed. Kyle said nothing.

"One moment you love me and the next I am meaningless to you. Why must we play this game?" he asked, making a frustrated gesture.

"Stan, you know my affections for you are legitimate. We just can't be so careless with our love."

"Careless?" Stan repeated, stepping closer to him. "Nothing about what we do is careless. You're always checking behind your shoulder and having me meet you in secret before you can even think about so much as talking to my face."

"That's not true."

"It's absolutely true and you know it. Do I even matter to you at all apart from someone to fight your battles and pleasure you at night?"

Kyle stood up, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes.

"You will stop speaking to me like that at once," he seethed. Stan mirrored his body language.

"To hell with your royalty— talk to me like I'm a person and not just a soldier you fool around with. For all I know, you could be sleeping with the entire cavalry!"

That was an empty insult solely intended to sting. Kyle knew that Stan didn't actually think that; he just wanted to hurt him. But his emotions would only allow him to come to this realization after the fact. Kyle had visibly winced at the comment but didn't verbally acknowledge it as the anger stirred and worsened. Stan seemed as if he immediately regretted saying it.

"Don't you understand that I do all of this for you? Do you know what would happen if the royal court found out we were romantically involved?" Kyle's face and ears were bright red with rage. His frustration boiled in the pit of his stomach, finally reaching the breaking point as he shouted, "I would be forced to exile you from the kingdom!"

The two raised their voices until they were practically screaming at each other in Kyle's bedchambers. The possibility of others hearing the argument sat barely below the threshold.

"Who the hell is forcing you to do that?"

"Those are the rules!"

"Forget the fucking rules!"

Kyle took a breath, attempting to steady himself.

"If I could change things, I would. Believe me," he calmly asserted.

"Bullshit! Don't I matter more to you than documents that were written hundreds of years ago?!" Stan interrogated.

For a few moments, the only sound coming from the room was heavy breathing. Stan and Kyle just looked at each other, quietly, tears rolling down the king's freckled face. He didn't wipe them away. He wanted Stan to see them.

Stan spoke up again, softly, "What is more important to you? Me, or your reputation?"

"That is unfair of you to ask."

"Answer the question."

Kyle's cheeks only moistened further. He crossed his arms weakly, turning his head away from the man standing before him. He closed his eyes. They were warm with the increased production and flow of tears sliding down and wrapping under his chin.

"You know my duties as king must come first," he says, a bit unsteady.

The door slammed behind him.