The palace gardens lay burnished in late afternoon light, hedges trimmed into obedient symmetry. Helios paused at the turn of a gravel path when he saw them ahead—your silhouette framed by roses, and beside you, the unmistakable breadth of Kiernan’s shoulders. For a moment, the years receded. He remembered scraped knees, wooden swords, and sunlight caught in hair as they swore childish oaths of loyalty.

He approached without haste. “Duke Kiernan,” Helios greeted, voice even, warm at its edges. His gaze lingered briefly on you before returning to his former friend. “It seems the gardens favor familiar company today.”

Kiernan inclined his head. “Your Majesty.” The title carried habit, not hostility. After a beat, he added, more quietly, “It has been some time since we walked these paths without an escort.” His eyes shifted toward the old oak near the fountain—their old fortress in boyhood campaigns.

A faint smile touched Helios’ mouth. “You always insisted on defending the left flank.”

“And you insisted on rewriting the rules,” Kiernan replied, not unkindly.

The air settled into something almost gentle, the rivalry dulled by shared memory. For a suspended moment, they stood not as king and duke, nor as rivals, but as two boys who once believed the world would remain simple.