Matthias had been avoiding Prince Lucian for three years.
It wasn’t difficult. The palace was vast, and Lucian spent most of his time in the eastern wing with his tutors while Matthias trained with the guard or studied in the libraries. Their paths rarely crossed, and when they did, Matthias made sure to disappear as quickly as protocol would allow.
Because he knew. Had always known.
The second prince hated him.
Matthias couldn’t blame him. He was a commoner’s son, raised at court only because the Emperor had taken pity on his father—a loyal soldier who’d died in service. He had no right to the privileges he’d been given, no right to excel at the things princes were supposed to excel at.
But he did excel. Couldn’t help it. When the sword masters taught him, he learned. When the scholars instructed him, he understood. When challenges were set, he met them.
And every time he succeeded, he saw the way Prince Lucian’s expression darkened. Saw the resentment building like storm clouds.
So Matthias stayed away. Kept his head down. Tried to be invisible.
It had worked, mostly.
Until today.
He’d ducked into the small library in the north tower—rarely used, tucked away, the perfect place to study in peace. He’d pushed open the door without thinking, his mind already on the military treatise he needed to review.
And there, standing by the window with a book in his hands, was Prince Lucian.
They both froze.
Matthias’s stomach dropped. His mind raced through options—apologize, leave, say nothing, bow—
“Your Highness,” he managed, dropping into a deep bow, his voice barely above a whisper. “Forgive me. I didn’t know—I’ll leave immediately—”
He was already backing toward the door when the prince’s voice cut through the silence.
“Stop.”
Matthias froze mid-step.
“Come in. Close the door.”
No. No, no, no.
But Matthias couldn’t disobey a direct command. His hand shook slightly as he reached back and pushed the door closed. The soft click of the latch felt like a death sentence.
He forced himself to take three steps into the room, keeping his eyes down, his hands clasped behind his back. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
“Look at me, Matthias.”
He didn’t want to. Knew what he’d see—anger, contempt, hatred earned through three years of unwittingly outshining the man who would one day be second only to the Emperor himself.
But slowly, agonizingly, Matthias raised his eyes.
Prince Lucian stood with his back to the window, the afternoon light creating a halo around him. At sixteen, he was already growing into the sharp, aristocratic features of his family—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, eyes that seemed to see too much.
And around his mouth, that smile. Not quite cruel, but satisfied. Like a cat that had finally cornered a mouse.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to catch you alone, Matthias,” the prince said softly.
Matthias’s throat went dry. He wanted to apologize, to beg forgiveness for whatever offense he’d given, but the words stuck.
Prince Lucian took a step closer. Then another. Matthias forced himself to hold still, to not back away, even as his heart hammered against his ribs.
“Tell me,” the prince said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Are you loyal to the Crown? Will you follow my commands without question?”
This was it. Whatever punishment the prince had been planning, whatever humiliation he’d devised—this was the moment.
Matthias swallowed hard. His voice came out hoarse, barely audible. “Yes, Prince Lucian.”
He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and waited for whatever would come next.
The silence stretched on.
Then, unexpectedly, he heard the prince let out a long breath.
“Good,” Lucian said. And then, in a completely different tone—uncertain, almost vulnerable—”Then I command you to stop avoiding me.”
Matthias’s eyes snapped open. “Your Highness?”
“You heard me.” Lucian had moved closer, close enough that Matthias could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the book he was holding like a lifeline. “For three years, you’ve disappeared every time I enter a room. You take different corridors. You skip meals in the great hall when you know I’ll be there. You’ve made yourself invisible.”
He paused, and something flickered across his face—hurt?
“I command you to stop. To stay when I arrive. To eat in the great hall. To stop treating me like I’m some kind of monster you need to hide from.”
Matthias stared at him, completely lost. “I… I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t.” Lucian’s laugh was bitter. “Do you know what it’s like, Matthias? To watch someone avoid you for years? To know that they’re so desperate to get away from you that they’ll go hungry rather than sit in the same room?”
“Your Highness, I only—I thought—” Matthias struggled to find words. “I thought you’d prefer if I stayed out of your way.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because—” The words burst out before Matthias could stop them. “Because you hate me! Because every time I succeed at something, you look at me like you want me to disappear! Because I’m a commoner who has no right to the opportunities I’ve been given, and every time I excel, it’s an insult to you!”
The confession hung in the air between them.
Lucian stared at him. Then, to Matthias’s complete shock, he laughed—a real laugh, startled and genuine.
“You think I hate you?”
“Don’t you?”
“No!” Lucian set his book down on the nearby table with more force than necessary. “No, Matthias, I don’t hate you. I’m jealous of you. There’s a difference.”
Matthias blinked. “Jealous?”
“Of course I’m jealous!” Lucian’s frustration was evident now, his composure cracking. “You’re brilliant at everything! Swordwork, strategy, languages, history—you absorb everything like it’s nothing! Do you know how hard I work to be half as good as you? How many hours I spend studying just to keep up?”
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “And yes, when you succeed, I feel it. It stings. But that doesn’t mean I hate you. It means I hate that I’m not as naturally talented. That I have to work twice as hard to achieve half as much.”
Matthias felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. “But… you always looked so angry when—”
“I was angry at myself,” Lucian interrupted. “At my own inadequacy. Not at you.” He stopped pacing and turned to face Matthias directly. “And then you started avoiding me, and I thought—I thought maybe you looked down on me. Thought I wasn’t worth your time because I’m just the second son who’ll never amount to much compared to my brother.”
“No!” The word came out sharper than Matthias intended. “No, Your Highness, I never—I’ve always admired you.”
Now it was Lucian’s turn to look stunned. “Admired me?”
“You work harder than anyone I know,” Matthias said quietly. “Nothing comes easily to you, but you never give up. You never stop trying. That’s—” He swallowed. “That’s far more impressive than natural talent. Anyone can be good at something they’re naturally suited for. But to keep pushing when things are difficult? That takes real strength.”
Lucian was staring at him like he’d never seen him before.
“I didn’t avoid you because I looked down on you,” Matthias continued, the words tumbling out now. “I avoided you because I was terrified of you. Because I knew I’d offended you somehow, and I thought if I just stayed out of your way, maybe you’d… forget about me. Wouldn’t feel the need to put me in my place.”
“Put you in your—” Lucian pressed his palms against his eyes. “Gods, Matthias. We’re both idiots.”
Despite everything, Matthias felt a startled laugh bubble up. “Your Highness?”
“Don’t—” Lucian dropped his hands, and there was something almost like a smile on his face now. “When we’re alone, just Lucian. Please. I can’t take much more formality right now.”
“That wouldn’t be appropriate—”
“I don’t care.” Lucian moved to the chairs by the window and dropped into one, gesturing for Matthias to take the other. “Sit. That’s a command, if you need it to be.”
Hesitantly, Matthias sat.
They looked at each other across the small table, and the silence was different now. Less hostile. Less frightening.
“So,” Lucian said finally. “We’ve spent three years completely misunderstanding each other.”
“It appears so.”
“You thought I hated you. I thought you disdained me. And we’ve both been miserable about it.”
Matthias nodded slowly.
“That seems like a waste,” Lucian said. He leaned forward, his expression serious now. “I don’t want to waste any more time on this, Matthias. I want—” He hesitated, then pushed on. “I want us to start over. No more avoiding each other. No more assumptions. Just… honesty.”
“I’d like that,” Matthias said quietly. “But Your Highness—Lucian—you should know, I’ll probably keep succeeding at things. I don’t know how to not try my best.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” Lucian’s voice was firm. “I want you to keep being brilliant. And I’ll keep working to match you. Maybe we could—” He paused, looking almost shy now. “Maybe we could help each other. Study together. Train together. You could show me where I’m going wrong with sword forms, and I could help you with—” He cast about. “Well, there must be something you’re not perfect at.”
Matthias felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Court etiquette. I’m terrible at remembering all the formal protocols.”
“I can help with that.” Lucian’s answering smile was tentative but real. “I’ve had it drilled into me since I could walk.”
They sat there, smiling at each other like idiots, and Matthias felt something unknot in his chest. Three years of fear, of careful avoidance, of walking on eggshells—it was dissolving.
“So,” Lucian said. “Dinner tonight. Great hall. You’ll be there?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good.” Lucian stood, and Matthias quickly followed. “And Matthias? The next time you think I hate you, instead of avoiding me for three years, maybe just ask?”
Matthias felt heat rise in his cheeks. “That would have been wiser.”
“We were thirteen. I don’t think either of us was particularly wise.” Lucian extended his hand. “Friends?”
Matthias looked at the offered hand, then up at Lucian’s face. The prince who he’d feared, who he’d spent years avoiding, was looking at him with something that might have been hope.
He took the hand, gripping it firmly. “Friends.”
As Matthias left the library later, his mind was reeling. He’d entered expecting confrontation, maybe punishment, certainly nothing good.
Instead, he’d found understanding. Honesty. The beginning of something that might actually be friendship.
He’d spent three years being miserable, and all because he’d been too afraid to simply ask.
Well. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
That evening, when Matthias entered the great hall for dinner, he didn’t scan for exits or calculate the fastest route to leave. Instead, he looked for Lucian.
Found him sitting at one of the side tables, not at the high table with his brother. There was an empty seat beside him.
Their eyes met across the room. Lucian raised an eyebrow in question.
Matthias smiled and walked over.
As he sat down, Lucian pushed a plate toward him. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you’d chickened out.”
“And disobey a direct command from a prince? Never.”
Lucian snorted. “Right. Because you’re so obedient.”
“I am!” Matthias protested, but he was grinning now.
“Sure. That’s why you avoided me for three years.”
“You commanded me to stop. I stopped. That’s obedience.”
“I suppose I can’t argue with that logic.” Lucian’s expression turned more serious. “Thank you. For coming. For staying.”
“Thank you,” Matthias said quietly. “For not hating me.”
“Never did. Never will.” Lucian picked up his fork. “Though I’m still going to be jealous when you beat me at sparring tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? We’re sparring tomorrow?”
“We are now. I need to figure out why you’re so much better at the defensive forms.” Lucian glanced at him sideways. “Unless you’re scared to fight me?”
“Hardly.” Matthias felt lighter than he had in years. “Though you should know, I won’t go easy on you just because you’re a prince.”
“I’d be insulted if you did.”
They ate together, talking easily now, the conversation flowing naturally. Around them, other students and young courtiers watched with poorly concealed surprise—the prince and the commoner’s son, who everyone knew couldn’t stand each other, laughing together like old friends.
Let them stare, Matthias thought. Let them wonder.
He’d spent three years in fear, and he was done with it.
The second prince didn’t hate him. Didn’t want him gone. Wanted him close.
And for the first time since he’d come to court, Matthias felt like maybe—just maybe—he actually belonged here.
Not despite who he was, but because of it.
Prince Lucian wanted his friendship, his companionship, his honestly earned skills.
And Matthias was going to do everything in his power to prove himself worthy of that trust.
Starting with absolutely destroying Lucian in sparring tomorrow.
After all, what were friends for?
The General’s Return
The news reached General Matthias Corvain on the northern front, delivered by a messenger who’d ridden three horses to death getting there.
The Emperor was dead. The Crown Prince was dead. A carriage accident on a mountain road.
And Prince Lucian—second son, never meant to rule—was now Emperor.
Matthias had stood frozen in his command tent, the letter crumpling in his grip, while his officers waited for orders.
Lucian. Alone. Wearing a crown he’d never wanted, surrounded by vultures who’d see weakness in his accession.
“Break camp,” Matthias had said, his voice cutting through the silence. “We ride for the capital. Now.”
That had been six days ago.
Six days of riding harder than he’d ridden in eighteen years of campaigns. Six days of changing horses at every outpost, sleeping in the saddle, driving himself and his personal guard to the point of collapse.
Because Lucian needed him.
The whispers started before he even reached the capital’s gates.
The Undefeated General returns in haste.
He brings his army.
He comes for the throne.
Matthias heard the rumors from his scouts, from the civilians fleeing the city, from the guards at the checkpoints who looked at him with poorly concealed fear.
Let them whisper. Let them fear. He didn’t care.
All that mattered was reaching Lucian.
Captain Varen of the Imperial Guard had served three Emperors, and he’d never been as terrified as he was now.
“Your Majesty, please,” he pleaded, standing before the Emperor’s desk in the private study. “Let me arrest him when he arrives. Put him in chains, at least until we can determine his intentions—”
“No.” Emperor Lucian didn’t even look up from the document he was reading. “General Corvain is not to be impeded in any way.”
“But the rumors—”
“Are just rumors.” Now Lucian did look up, and his expression was calm, almost serene. “The General is loyal. He has always been loyal. He will always be loyal.”
“Your Majesty, with all due respect, he’s been gone for eighteen years. People change. Ambition—”
“Captain Varen.” The Emperor’s voice was quiet but held an edge of steel. “I have known Matthias Corvain since we were children. I trust him with my life. More than that—I trust him with the Empire. He is not a threat.”
Varen wanted to argue, wanted to beg, wanted to do anything to make the Emperor see reason. But the young Emperor’s expression was immovable.
“You’re dismissed, Captain. And I want it made clear to every guard in this palace—the General is to be treated with the respect his rank and service deserve. No one lays a hand on him. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Varen said hoarsely.
But as he left the study, dread pooled in his stomach. The Emperor was signing his own death warrant, and there was nothing Varen could do to stop it.
The throne room was packed.
Every noble in the capital had found a reason to attend today’s audience. They clustered in their factions, whispering behind fans and gloved hands, their eyes darting to the great doors every few moments.
The General was coming. Everyone knew it. The scouts had reported his army camped outside the city walls, his personal guard entering the gates.
He would be here soon.
Emperor Lucian sat on the throne—too large for him, meant for his father’s broader frame—and conducted business as though it were any other day. A dispute over water rights. A petition for tax relief. A request for funding for a new bridge.
His voice was steady, his judgments fair and measured.
But the courtiers weren’t listening to the proceedings. They were waiting.
“They say he’ll kill you where you sit,” whispered the Duchess of Westmarch to her neighbor. “They say he won’t even wait for the throne room to empty.”
“I heard he’s already promised the crown to his captains,” another noble muttered. “That they’ve been planning this for years.”
“The Emperor should have fled while he had the chance.”
“Too late now. The General’s forces control all the roads.”
Captain Varen stood at the Emperor’s right hand, his hand on his sword hilt, his entire body tensed. Every guard in the room was positioned strategically, ready to form a protective barrier at the first sign of threat.
But the Emperor had forbidden them from acting first.
They could only wait and watch and pray they’d be fast enough when—
The great doors slammed open.
The entire court froze.
General Matthias Corvain strode into the throne room.
He was still in his traveling clothes, dusty from the road, his cloak billowing behind him. His sword hung at his hip. His boots struck the marble floor with sharp, rhythmic cracks that echoed through the sudden silence.
And his eyes—his eyes were locked on the Emperor.
Emperor Lucian stood.
The movement was sudden, unexpected. He rose from the throne, taking two steps down from the dais, his hands loose at his sides.
The General didn’t slow. Didn’t stop at the appropriate distance for a formal greeting. Didn’t kneel. Didn’t bow.
He walked straight up the steps, and the entire court held its breath, waiting for the blade to appear, for the Emperor to fall—
And then the General reached the Emperor, and his arms came up—
Not with a weapon.
But in an embrace.
He pulled the Emperor against him, holding him tightly, desperately, like a drowning man clutching a lifeline. The Emperor’s arms came up immediately, wrapping around the General’s shoulders, returning the embrace with equal fierce strength.
They stood there, locked together, while the throne room watched in stunned silence.
Seconds passed. Then more. The embrace didn’t break.
When they finally pulled apart, Captain Varen could see the General’s face clearly for the first time.
He wasn’t smiling. Wasn’t triumphant.
He looked devastated.
“I’m so sorry,” the General said, his voice rough and carrying in the silence. “Gods, Lucian, I’m so sorry. I should have been here. Should have been with you. You shouldn’t have had to face this alone.”
The Emperor’s hands were gripping the General’s shoulders. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
“Your father—your brother—” The General’s voice cracked. “I loved them. And I wasn’t here when—”
“I know.” The Emperor’s own voice was thick with emotion. “I know, Matthias. But you’re here now. You came.”
“Of course I came.” The General’s hands came up to grip the Emperor’s arms. “Did you think I wouldn’t? Did you think anything could keep me away?”
The Emperor made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. “Half the court thinks you’re here to kill me and take the throne.”
The General’s head jerked back. He turned, taking in the assembled nobles for the first time, his expression shifting to something cold and dangerous.
“Let me be absolutely clear,” he said, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. “I serve the throne. I serve the Empire. I serve Emperor Lucian. Anyone who thinks otherwise—anyone who spreads such lies—will answer to me personally.”
He turned back to the Emperor, and his expression softened again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think—I just needed to see you. To make sure you were—”
“I’m alright,” the Emperor said quietly. “I’m managing. But I’m glad you’re here.”
The General squeezed his shoulders once more, then seemed to remember where they were. He took a step back and dropped to one knee, bowing his head formally.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” he said, his voice carrying the proper formality now. “I place myself at your disposal. My sword, my service, my loyalty—everything I am is yours to command.”
“Rise, General Corvain,” the Emperor said, his own voice formal now too. “We are honored by your swift return and your steadfast loyalty.”
The General stood, but his eyes never left the Emperor’s face.
Emperor Lucian turned to address the court. “This audience is concluded. We will reconvene tomorrow morning. You’re all dismissed.”
The nobles filed out slowly, whispering frantically to each other, their faces showing shock and confusion. This wasn’t what anyone had expected. Not the General. Not the Emperor. Not the obvious, deep affection between them.
When the throne room was finally empty except for a few guards, the Emperor’s formal composure cracked.
“Matthias,” he said, and his voice shook. “I need—can we—”
“Your study?” the General asked gently.
“Yes. Please.”
In the privacy of the Emperor’s study, with the door closed and warded, Lucian finally let himself break.
He sank into his chair, his hands covering his face, and the sobs came—wrenching, painful sounds he’d been holding back for weeks.
Matthias was beside him instantly, kneeling next to the chair, his hand on Lucian’s shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” he said softly. “I’m here. Let it out.”
“I can’t do this,” Lucian gasped between sobs. “Matthias, I can’t—I don’t know how to be Emperor. I’m not—I’m not ready. I’m not good enough. Father was brilliant, and Adrian was perfect, and I’m just—”
“You’re enough,” Matthias said firmly. “You’re more than enough. And you’re not alone.”
“Everyone expects me to fail. They’re waiting for me to make mistakes. Some of them are probably plotting already—”
“Let them plot. They’ll find out exactly how difficult it is to move against an Emperor who has the Undefeated General at his back.”
Lucian looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You’ll stay? You’ll help me?”
“Lucian.” Matthias’s hand moved to cup his face, his thumb brushing away tears. “I will never leave you again. I spent eighteen years away because the Empire needed me on the borders. But you need me here, and that takes precedence over everything else. The borders can be handled by my subordinates. You can’t.”
“I don’t want to be a burden—”
“You’re not a burden. You’re my Emperor. My friend.” A pause. “You’re the most important person in my life. You always have been.”
Something in Lucian’s chest eased at those words. “I thought—when you didn’t come back, year after year—I thought maybe you’d forgotten about me. That our friendship didn’t matter anymore.”
“Never.” Matthias’s voice was fierce. “Not a day went by that I didn’t think about you. I wrote you letters—did you get them?”
“Some of them. Not all. The military couriers can be unreliable.”
“I should have come back sooner. Should have visited more. But there was always another battle, another threat—” He stopped, shaking his head. “But that’s done now. I’m here. And I’m not leaving.”
Lucian reached up and gripped Matthias’s wrist. “Promise me. Promise you won’t leave.”
“I promise. I’ll be here—as your General, as your advisor, as your friend. Whatever you need from me, it’s yours.”
They sat there for a long moment, Lucian beginning to calm, Matthias’s presence solid and reassuring beside him.
“The court is going to be insufferable now,” Lucian said eventually, his voice still rough but steadier. “All the rumors, the speculation about why you really came back—”
“Let them speculate.” Matthias’s lips curved into a slight smile. “Though I have to say, I’m curious how they thought I was planning to kill you when I was clearly unarmed.”
“You had a sword.”
“Yes, but I didn’t draw it. What was I supposed to do, beat you to death with the scabbard?”
Despite everything, Lucian felt a laugh bubble up. “That would be a very inefficient assassination.”
“Terrible tactics. I’d never plan something so poorly thought out.” Matthias stood, moving to pour wine for both of them. “Here. You look like you need this.”
Lucian took the cup gratefully. “What am I going to tell them? The nobles, I mean. They’re going to want explanations.”
“Tell them the truth. That I’m your loyal servant and devoted friend. That I have no interest in the throne and never have.” Matthias paused. “Or tell them nothing. You’re the Emperor. You don’t owe them explanations for why you trust your own General.”
“They’ll invent their own explanations.”
“Let them. As long as they understand that moving against you means moving against me, and I’ve never lost a battle in eighteen years.” He smiled grimly. “That should keep the more ambitious ones in line.”
Lucian sipped his wine, feeling the warmth spreading through his chest. “I’ve missed you. So much. These past weeks, I kept thinking how much easier everything would be if you were here. If I could just talk to you, ask your advice—”
“Well, now you can. Constantly. You’ll probably get sick of me.”
“Never.” Lucian met his eyes. “You’re home now. That’s all that matters.”
Matthias’s expression softened. “Yes. I’m home.”
They drank in companionable silence for a moment, and then Matthias asked, “So what’s the most pressing crisis I should know about? What problem can I help solve first?”
And just like that, they fell into old patterns. Lucian explaining the political situation, Matthias asking sharp questions, both of them working through problems together like they used to when they were teenagers studying strategy.
Like no time had passed at all.
Like they were still those two boys in the library, finding friendship in understanding.
Only now they were Emperor and General, and the stakes were so much higher.
But the foundation—the trust, the loyalty, the genuine affection—that was unchanged.
And as they talked late into the night, planning and strategizing and occasionally laughing at shared memories, Lucian felt something he hadn’t felt since the accident.
Hope.
He wasn’t alone. He had Matthias.
And with Matthias at his side, maybe—just maybe—he could actually do this.
Could be the Emperor the realm needed.
Not because he was brilliant or perfect or naturally suited to the role.
But because he had the Undefeated General’s loyalty, friendship, and unwavering support.
And that, it turned out, was worth more than any crown.