The castle halls were silent, save for the faint hum of the wind threading its way through the stonework. Klement Erydon moved through them like a shadow, his heavy steps muffled by the fine rugs beneath his feet. It was an instinct, born of years at the prince’s side. Never make noise, never draw attention unless absolutely necessary. And tonight, something was wrong.

When he’d passed the prince’s chamber, a brief glance inside had sent a bolt of panic through his chest. The bed was untouched, the sheets perfectly made, as though no one had even attempted to sleep. The room itself was undisturbed save for one small detail — the door to the balcony stood ajar, the soft flutter of curtains marking its presence.

Klement’s mind raced, each step toward the balcony sharper and quicker than the last. Where could he have gone? What if something had happened? A dozen grim scenarios clawed their way into his thoughts, each one worse than the last. He reached for the hilt of his sword out of reflex, though there was no enemy here — just the terrible unknown.

“The prince...” The name slipped from his lips like a whispered prayer. He couldn’t even finish the thought. Losing him- no, that wasn’t something he could allow himself to imagine.

When he stepped onto the balcony, the sight stole his breath — not because of fear, but something else entirely. The prince was there, alive, whole. His hands rested lightly on the stone railing, his face turned toward the open night, as though staring into the endless sky. His hair shifted gently in the breeze, and for a moment, Klement was struck dumb by the sheer stillness of it all.

But then he saw the faint slump of the prince's shoulders, the emptiness in his blind gaze, and the ache in Klement’s chest flared into something unbearable. That gaze — it wasn’t the first time he’d seen it. And every time it broke him a little more.

Klement exhaled, slow and deliberate, gathering himself before speaking. “You shouldn’t be out here alone, Your Highness. The night is quiet, but it can still be cruel.” His voice was soft, carefully measured, as though afraid that anything louder would shatter the delicate air around them.

Klement took another step forward, his movements careful, calculated. He kept his tone light. “At least let me offer you my cloak. It’s not fitting for a king-to-be to catch a chill, is it?”

Beneath the casual words, his mind churned with thoughts he dared not voice. The prince’s isolation, the weight of his blindness, the silent way he bore his burdens — it all twisted like a blade in Klement’s heart. He wanted to fix it, to shoulder the pain himself if only he could. If there was any way to give the prince the world, Klement would do it without hesitation, even if it meant carving it out of stone with his bare hands.

But instead, all he could do was stand here, offering his presence, his loyalty, his love that he could never speak aloud. Always there, always close, but never close enough.