Prince Cerik Ellison wanted a wedding, and he wanted the wrong man for it. He stood in his tower room, lighting the last candle on his altar shelf. His father would give him anything he pouted for. A dress, a title, a crown of blue flowers. But his father would not bless a marriage to a man who had never once said he loved Cerik back. And Marco, his personal guard, guarded that word like a loaded gun. Marco waited at the door, hands folded, eyes forward. He always stood like that. Straight-backed, jaw tight, pretending Cerik was furniture. "Come look," Cerik said. He held up a black candle. "This one's for truth. It burns until the truth comes out." Marco didn't move. "That's not real, Prince." Cerik smiled. He crossed the room slow, skirt swishing, and stopped close enough to smell the gun oil on Marco's coat. His calico cat leapt onto the shelf and watched them both, tail flicking. "My father spoke to me this morning," Cerik said. "He's ready to bless my marriage. To anyone I choose." Marco's jaw twitched. "Then choose someone good for you." "I did." Cerik set the candle down. "I chose you. Years ago. You know that." "I'm your guard." "You're a coward," Cerik said sweetly. "You look at me like you're starving. But you won't say one word. And without that word, my father won't sign. No confession, no wedding. So we stand here forever, and you die alone guarding a door." Marco's hands unfolded. "Stop." "Make me." Cerik stepped closer. His voice dropped. "Say you don't love me. Say it plain, right now, and I'll marry a stranger by winter. I'll stop. I promise." Silence. The cat stared. A candle popped. Marco grabbed Cerik's wrist. Not rough. Desperate. "I can't say that," he breathed. "Because it's a lie. I love you. I've loved you since I was assigned to you. There. You win." Cerik's heart slammed. He'd chased this for years and still felt it hit like cold water. "I win," he whispered. Then he kissed him. Marco kissed back, one hand in Cerik's hair, the other still gripping his wrist like he might fall. When they broke apart, Marco's forehead dropped to Cerik's. "Now go tell my father," Cerik said. Marco went stiff again. "He'll never allow it. His son and a hired guard. He'll send me away. Or worse." Cerik's smile faded. He knew that voice. His father doted on him, yes. But Don Varelli was still a hard man who ruled hard men. A prince could marry up. A prince did not marry the help. "He gave me his word," Cerik said. "He didn't know it was me." Cerik looked at the black candle, still burning. The truth was out. And now it had to survive his father. "Then we tell him together," Cerik said. "Tonight."

That night, Marco didn't come to walk Cerik to his father. Cerik found him instead, standing between two flower-wrapped pillars in the open hall, jaw tight, hands folded like a man on duty. But his eyes were wrong. He wouldn't look up. "We're late," Cerik said. "He's waiting." "I've been thinking." Marco's voice was flat. "You're a prince. I open doors. If I stand next to you tonight, your father sees what I am. And then he sees what you'd be marrying." He shook his head once. "I won't shame you. I'll step down as your guard. Find you someone he'll accept." Cerik's chest went cold. Without Marco beside him, there was no marriage to argue for. The whole plan died right here, on Marco's fear. "So you'll decide for me," Cerik said. "You'll walk out and call it kindness." "It is kindness." Cerik didn't beg. He reached into his skirt and pulled out a small silver box. He opened it between them. Inside sat two rings, a plain silver band and one crowned with a blue opal heart. Marco stared at them. His hands unfolded. "I bought these three days ago," Cerik said. "Before you confessed. Before I even knew you'd say yes. I paid for a wedding I might never get, because I already knew who I wanted at the end of it." He held the box up. "You think you're a gift I have to explain to my father. You're not. You're the one thing I chose without asking him." Marco's throat moved. "He'll look at me and see the help." "Then he'll look at me and see me smiling anyway." Cerik took the silver band out. He picked up Marco's hand. It shook. "Wear it in front of him. Not to argue. Just so he knows it's already done in here." He pressed the band into Marco's palm and closed his fingers over it. Eilrie padded across the pale stone floor and sat between their feet. She looked up at Marco, tail curled, patient, like she was waiting on his answer too. Marco looked at the cat. Then at the ring in his fist. Something in his shoulders let go. "If he sends me away," Marco said, "I'm not going quiet." "Good," Cerik said. "Neither am I." Marco slid the silver band onto his own finger. He didn't fold his hands again. He offered Cerik his arm instead, stiff, unpracticed, but there. Cerik took it. The plan was alive again, and now it wore a ring. They walked out of the flowered hall together toward his father's study. Eilrie trotted ahead of them. At the end of the corridor, a door stood shut. Behind it, Don Varelli waited, still believing his favorite son would marry someone worthy. He was about to learn otherwise.