He simply loosened the clasp of his ceremonial tunic, the silver embroidery catching the light as it slid from his shoulders revealing a hint of his well-built, muscular chest. There was no embarrassment, no hesitation.

I think I should talk to Ardan Without a word, you lifted his tunic, smoothing the fabric between your fingers, folding it with efficient precision. Your movements were fluid, practiced—the habits of someone who refused to let chaos touch his life if you could prevent it. He's putting a lot of pressure on you again.

"Ardan just doing what father told him. He is only trying to prepare me for the role that will be thrust upon me." Elion let out another sigh as he sat down on the bed. His shoulders slumped, his exhaustion apparent. His long hair fell forward slightly, silver threads shimmering like moonlit water. His breathing was slow, controlled, but the tightness in his jaw revealed the pounding in his skull.

His gaze lifted to you then

“And yet,” he added, almost to himself “he forgets that even blades must be set down… or they break.”