Anonymous gifts continued to arrive daily, pleasing the eye with their exquisite craftsmanship and warming the heart with someone’s thoughtful gestures. Alan happily stored them in a box, occasionally exchanging shy smiles with Rick during his visits, sensing intuitively that he was the secret benefactor. However, he couldn't muster a smile for Hardy, who visited with a tense air. Alan reluctantly responded to questions about his health, and Hardy every time left in irritation. After a week, Alan cautiously emerged from his chambers, warily expecting ridicule from the courtiers. However, to his surprise, they looked at him with curiosity, whispered among themselves, but refrained from mocking and jeering. Perhaps it was because the steadfast and reliable Rick walked beside him, offering encouraging smiles.

Rick alleviated life in the palace with his involvement and the discreet trinkets he offered, endearing himself to Alan. As Alan let go of the memory of his deceased father, resentment grew towards Dwayne for recklessly endangering, betraying not only the throne but also their own father.

Alan glided through the palace like a stealthy shadow, casting wary glances at the guards who always trailed him, their weapons ominously rattling. He sighed with a sad grin, wondering if he appeared so threatening that he required the supervision of two formidable warriors. He avoided engaging in lengthy conversations with the occasional courtiers who approached him, responding tersely and reluctantly, eager to escape before anyone could inflict a painful jab. Alan hurried to find Rick at the earliest opportunity to unwind, chat, and gain insights into life with the palace.

Rick could usually be found in the backyard, issuing orders to the palace guards and overseeing the training of new solders. He often wielded a practice sword, demonstrating proper strokes or mounted his horse to shoot a crossbow at a target. The king would frequently join them, accompanied by his retinue. At their appearance, Alan would swiftly ascend another staircase, bidding a hasty farewell to Rick, who attempted to stop him.

Alan patiently awaited Rick's conclusion of his duties and then took a seat beside him, openly observing him while inhaling the distinct scents of horse sweat and crossbow oil that enveloped Rick. He listened attentively to Rick's deliberate and fluid discourse, which detailed the intricacies of palace affairs, highlighting what should be feared and what could be dismissed. In return, Alan shared aspects of his life at home, carefully omitting unpleasant details. Strangely, Rick seemed particularly interested in Alan's late aunt, once the nation's foremost beauty, who had been abducted by the Hannian king and perished in a protracted, bloody war. This event had led Alan's father to return with him, causing discord within their family.

Alan honestly conveyed that he didn't know much about his late aunt. His father, overwhelmed with sorrow when recalling his beloved sister, only revealed that she was a kind and gentle soul, radiating love to those around her. Her distinctive beauty, inherited from her Hannian great-grandmother, was striking, with blond hair in sharp contrast to her black eyes. She tragically passed away without experiencing happiness in her short life. The treacherous Hannian king Angus had kidnapped her after spotting her at a tournament, sparking a war.

Even if he had openly proposed marriage, it could have caused unrest in the country. The Lear family, being older than the ruling Rune family, could be perceived by the subjects as the future rulers of Arania. Alan, having openly shared all he knew, cautiously broached a more personally intriguing topic a few days later, “Why am I here? Can I request the king to send me to Scientinium? I've always aspired to become a knowledgeable healer.”

“The king would never allow that," Rick brushed dark hair off his sweaty forehead, looking at Alan with concern. “Are you unhappy here? If you need something, you just can ask for that and they'll provide it for you.”

“I don't feel at ease here," Alan confessed. “I'd be happier if I left. Why spend money on sustaining me, providing expensive clothes? It's an odd punishment for the brother of a traitor, Rick. I wasn't involved in the conspiracy, so am I being constantly watched? Another healer could emerge in the country in a few years’ time.”

“You'll get used to it, Alan," Rick evasively shrugged his shoulders and reiterated, "His majesty won't allow you to leave.”

Alan released a protracted sigh, perplexed by the nature of his peculiar sojourn in the palace. Despite being assigned quarters for the privileged, adorned in opulent attire, and provided with exquisite meals, he couldn't shake off the feeling of being scrutinized as if he could commit harm at any moment. Gazing down at Rick's large, sun-kissed hand resting casually on the bench, Alan delicately stroked it with his own slender pale hand. He spoke softly, “Thank you for your support. I truly appreciate it.”

Rick stared at his hand in astonishment, blushed slightly, as if Alan made a faux pas. Suddenly, he leaped up from the bench, offering a bow to someone. Perplexed, Alan turned toward the bow, promptly rising from the bench and delivering a formal bow to the king, who glared angrily at them. Hardy ignored their bows, sharply turning on his heels and briskly striding into the palace.

“Did I do something wrong? Am I not allowed to touch courtiers?” Alan blinked in confusion, but Rick offered a gentle smile, laying a comforting hand on his that was fidgeting with the ruffle of his camisole, halting the nervous movement of his fingers. “It's fine, Alan, don't worry. Look, I'm touching you.”

Alan breathed a sigh of relief, settling back, but Rick, instead of returning to sit beside him as Alan anticipated, reluctantly headed back to the soldiers who paused due to the king's arrival, issuing brief instructions. Disappointed, Alan had to return to his chambers, feeling as though he had transgressed some unwritten rule. Unfamiliar with palace customs, which appeared to him as a complex science, he grappled with the sense that he had committed a misstep. Zack awaited him in his chambers, informing him that he would be joining the king and his retinue for dinner today, now that he was fully recovered. Alan approached the dining room as if facing the guillotine, realizing that the anticipated mockery had only been temporarily deferred by his illness.

Alan pale from the exertion offered a bow to King Hardy and then sat upright like a rigid pole in his seat, sensing Hardy's piercing gaze upon him. The courtiers engaged in hushed conversations, artfully disguising their dialogues with a veneer of politeness that concealed a wealth of hidden venom. Although everyone at the table was involved in the discussions, Alan responded succinctly to elaborate sentences. The ladies adorned themselves with opulent jewelry, their powdered low necklines revealed too much for Alan unaccustomed with such attire. They smiled amicably at him, but their smiles carried an undertone of chilly scrutiny. The nobles, just as curious as their companions, observed him keenly. Alan felt out of place, wrestling with his meal and frequently glancing at Rick for support.

Rick smiled, encouraging him and deflecting attention when a particularly persistent courtier insisted on a detailed response. Alan increasingly relied on him, expressing sincere gratitude for his assistance. Hardy, however, remained sternly silent, observing everyone closely. He stood up first, bringing the dinner to an early end. The courtiers followed suit, expressing thanks for the meal. Alan, uttering words of gratitude and bowing, happily retreated to his room, relieved to escape the company of the venomous courtiers. It was indeed an unpleasant punishment; even cleaning the stables would have been preferable to enduring the presence of such deceitful court vipers.

Surprisingly, the usual guards who accompanied him were absent, bringing a sense of unusual freedom to Alan. He strolled leisurely through the dimly lit corridor. Suddenly, a black shadow enveloped him, and he caught the familiar scent of horse sweat and crossbow oil. A rough palm covered his mouth, prompting a startled scream from Alan. However, the palm was swiftly replaced by lips—hot, firm, and voracious—pressing into his mouth and sucking on his tongue. Hands roamed down his tensed body, exploring with intensity until they reached the clasps of his breeches. With a swift motion, the breeches were torn off, running a handful down to his groin beneath his underwear. Alan gasped, the shadow's mouth overpowering his, and he clutched at his camisole, feeling himself rapidly hardening under the skillful touch. He squirmed, attempting to free himself, but the shadow pressed him harder against the wall, intensifying the kiss and sliding a hand over his hardened member.

The shadow pressed his straining cock against Alan’s exposed crotch. Alan groaned, settling back on weakened legs, the searing arousal spiraling upward from his groin was making him dizzy, and unable to endure this sweet torture any longer, he slammed into the other man's fist that was holding both cocks, rubbing and speeding up. Alan responded to the kisses, thrusting quickly into the fist, and spurted out first, sobbing pitifully, and his assailant bit down on his neck and in a few movements brought himself up with a wheeze, spilling onto his belly. The shadow carefully sat him down on the floor, and sped away before Alan could regain his senses.

Alan struggled to stand on shaky legs, using the wall for support with one sluggish hand while clutching his torn breeches with the other. He walked unsteadily back to his room, his cheeks flushed crimson. After thoroughly washing himself and changing, he stared dumbfoundedly at the window. He realized the encounter had been incredibly sweet, even sweeter than when he was alone. However, Rick... perhaps he, too, felt a sense of shame and preferred to engage in intimate moments with Alan in the darkness. Back home, Alan had heard about the various customs of the palace, with servants chuckling about the capital's debauchery, but he had never encountered homosexuality in his homeland. Although he knew that male marriages were the norm in Hannia, in the stern land of Arania, such unions were not accepted, despite occasional affairs between men within the palace.

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He drifted into sleep with a gentle smile, contemplating Rick. Perhaps, if Rick's feelings for him ran deeper than mere lust, they could run to Hannia and get married there? Alan chuckled, covering his mouth with the blanket, and peacefully fell asleep for the first time since entering the palace. The following morning, after a hasty grooming of his unruly blond curls and getting dressed, he hurried to Rick's usual place in the backyard. Breathless, he stumbled upon seeing the king seated beside Rick.

“Good morning, Alan," Hardy greeted with a relaxed smile. "Come, join us."

Rick nodded, gesturing for him to approach and offering a soft greeting. Alan, feeling a sense of tedium, moved toward them, exchanging pleasantries, albeit without much desire to acknowledge the king. Seating himself at the very edge of the bench, he felt an overwhelming awkwardness. However, Hardy pulled him closer, scrutinizing his face carefully.

"Why are you always quiet around me, Alan? Have I wronged you? And you gaze at me as if I'm your enemy," Hardy turned his face towards him, making him meet his gaze.

"I have nothing to say, your majesty. I look with respect, as a subject should," Alan replied with a steady and direct look. Hardy sighed faintly, releasing his chin.

"With respect, indeed. I don't usually receive such defiant looks from my subjects without them risking losing their heads. Don't bite your lip, princess. I forgive you. By the way, if you wish, you can see your sister. She's soon to be married to a good nobleman."

"Shouldn’t she...?" Alan caught himself before saying, "Shouldn't she marry you?" Instead, he asked, "Did she agree?"

Hardy responded, "Yes, of course. Don't see me as a monster, Alan. I didn't force her. Her chosen one is young, attractive, and very rich. Melissa accepted his hand and heart with joy. This marriage would give her more reason to enjoy life at court. There wasn't much entertainment in your land. As she complained, your father generously gave his money to the people, leaving few resources for the lavish balls she loved so much."

Alan replied with dignity, "My father was kind to his people, taking care of them as the head of the land should. If Melissa marries on her own free will, I'm happy for her. However, I don't want to meet her because we're not on good terms."

Hardy pointedly glanced at Rick, who had retreated to the warriors, and asked, "Who are you on the best of terms with? Him? You look at him with trust and warmth. Why don't you look at me like that, Princess?"

“Maybe because you call me princess?” Alan, unable to bear that, blurted out with annoyance. “I'm not a girl, can't you tell?”

"But beautiful, unlike every other girl," Hardy smiled softly, openly admiring him. "I've never seen such beauty anywhere, Alan, not even in Hannia. Your golden curls and blue eyes are the envy of every lady in the palace. And many of them would like you to reciprocate," Hardy lowered his voice, getting close to his face. "Do you fancy any of the ladies? Is there someone in mind?"

"No," Alan recoiled. "And there won't be. No one would marry a bastard."

"Is that the only reason?" Hardy grinned, continuing to scrutinize him with intense eyes. "So do you fancy someone?"

Alan smiled faintly, recollecting the events from yesterday, and cast a furtive glance at Rick, who was demonstrating another sword move to his soldiers while riding. Hardy exhaled sharply, straightening up, and released a sigh filled with bitterness.

"Ah, that's it... Well, I should have thought of that, I didn't, and I should have... I forbid you to come to the backyard, Alan. Go to your chambers."

"But—" Alan's lips trembled as he looked longingly at Rick, and Hardy shouted, squinting angrily,

"Don't test my patience, Alan!"

Alan rushed to his chambers, trembling with restrained sobs, harboring an even deeper resentment towards the king. He threw himself on the bed, thrashing his arms and legs in a fit of frustration, crying uncontrollably. Zack anxiously circled around him, eventually sitting down, gently stroking his back, and attempting to console him.

"What's wrong, sir? Who has wronged you? Tell the king, and he would tear anyone to shreds for you."

"He did!" Alan shouted, raising his face covered with tears. "He's a vicious, vile mocker! He mocks me! He always has! He used to ask me to dance like a court lady when I came to court occasionally, humiliating me with it! He still calls me princess, as if I'm not a man!"

"How could you?" Zack turned pale, placing his hand over his heart. "His majesty cares for you so much! He has forbidden all the courtiers to offend you, informing them that any insult to you will result in immediate withdrawal from the court. He placed you in the best quarters, surrounded you with care, and has kept your sister away from you, knowing that she does not love you. How can you speak so of him? He is kind, caring, just! You simply cannot forgive him for executing his brother!"

"What?" Alan wiped away his tears and sat down, perplexed. "Did he really instruct the courtiers not to harm me? Then why is he keeping me under the supervision of two guards, treating me like a dangerous criminal?"

Zack chuckled, easing up, and replied with a smile:

"They guard you from all the threats of the palace, Alan, not the palace from you. There are quite a few envious people here who wish you ill fortune. Even your sister was upset about being placed in the common quarters and demanded that you be relocated, or even better, expelled from the palace. The king was very angry and told her that he could send her back to her father's house with her excommunicated mother, so she quieted down."

Alan fell silent, turning his face away in shame—had he misunderstood Hardy, who had been so kind to him? Why, then, did Hardy mockingly call him a princess? It was incomprehensible, and Alan pondered, nervously rubbing the twisted cord of his camisole. He joined the dinner on time, bowing to the king this time without strain, glancing at him briefly. However, Hardy pursed his lips, clearly noticing Alan's red eyes, and tilted his head, signaling him to sit down. Alan scanned the table with a polite nod of greeting and flinched upon seeing his sister seated next to Rick. Melissa responded with a cold look in her amber eyes, jerking her chin angrily, pursing her lips, and placing her hand on Rick's arm, who replied with a gentle smile. Alan stared in bewilderment at their intertwined hands, not comprehending what was happening, and the king addressed his unspoken question with an announcement, “Today, I have delightful news to share. y dearest friend and trusted ally, Earl Rick of Mornay, plans to marry Duchess Melissa Lear. I'm thrilled for you, Rick," he said, patting Rick on the shoulder, leaning over, and offering a warm smile. Meanwhile, Melissa, radiant, received well-wishes from courtiers who likely already knew the news but feigned surprise.

Alan let his hands drop helplessly to his knees, feeling the impact of the unexpected revelation, and quickly composed himself with an inscrutable expression. He joined the congratulations with a forced smile, saying, “Congratulations, Melissa and Rick! I wish you both a life filled with happiness and prosperity!”

Melissa curled her lips with disdain but cast a fleeting smile toward her fiancé, “Thank you, dear brother.”

Alan struggled through the remainder of the meal, feeling uneasy and watching Rick and Melissa exchange affectionate glances. Inside he resented the fact that Rick could deceive him in such a manner. Why would Rick kiss and caress him in the hallway if he harbored feelings for someone else? Alan bit his lip until it bled, finally realizing that Rick would never openly show interest in him, let alone elope to Hannia. After all, he was not the legitimate daughter of the deceased king's former right-hand man, but merely a bastard with whom Rick could engage in clandestine affairs under the cover of darkness. This realization, bitter and disheartening, irreversibly tainted the flavor of the royal meal. Alan swallowed the food with unshed tears, never lifting his eyes from his plate.

He came back to his chambers with a clear desire to escape to Scientinium as soon as possible, to embrace the path of a healer and thereby close the chapter of his past. He refrained from shedding tears, offering only a wry grin at his own blindness. Silently, he bowed to Hardy, who entered the room after him. Hardy approached him, watching his face with intensity.

“Are you disturbed by their wedding, Alan? Do you hold such affection for Rick?”

“Not at all, Your Majesty," Alan pressed his lips into a sardonic smirk, involuntarily edging against the wall to maintain some distance. “I am genuinely happy for their joy. It's just that Rick was my sole friend here; he treated me kindly. However, with Melissa in the picture, I doubt we'll have the chance to maintain our close friendship.”

“Why just one friend?” Hardy sighed wistfully, looming over him. “What about me? Haven't I treated you well, Alan? Why don't you regard me with the same warmth? Tell me, enlighten me. I'm uncertain about how to earn your smile. I've courted you, tiptoed around you, and all I receive are cautiously distrustful glances and your back when you run away from me. It's my own fault, I admit. With my every attempt to be gentle with you I snap in the face of your rejection and end up spoiling every fragment of warmth between us.”

“Courting?” Alan blinked in shock. “I'm not sure I understand, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, Alan," Hardy confessed, breathing heavily as he gazed at Alan's astonished expression. “I, King Hardy Rune, ruler of Arania, have been deeply in love with you for several years now. I dream of you returning my affections, Alan, of you loving me with the same fervor as I love you, my princess," he pulled Alan's hand toward his and kissed him, leaving him stunned.

Alan gasped with indignation, pushing his hands against Hardy's chest to distance himself. However, Hardy pressed him against the wall with his entire body, moaning into his mouth, running his hands over Alan's body, leaving a scent of horse sweat and crossbow oil. Alan, feeling his strength wane, stared at Hardy in bewilderment—so it was Hardy who had kissed him before. Hardy pulled back abruptly, breathing heavily, wiped his moist lips with the palm of his hand, and whispered, “I apologize for once again acting like that. I struggle to control myself when I'm around you. Alan, please tell me, what can I do to change your perception of me? Can't you find it in yourself to forgive me for losing that fight? I removed Mile from his position to prevent him from harming you. I knew Mile harbored ill feelings toward you. My intention was never to cause you harm. You bravely confronted me, and for the first time, you looked at me for so long that I couldn't end the fight sooner. I lingered, savoring your attention, even if it was fueled by anger. Or perhaps you were offended by the blown kisses in the hallway?”

“Why? How?” Alan averted his gaze, feeling uncomfortable as Hardy's eyes continued to reflect a desire that made him uneasy. “Your Majesty, I am a bastard, and I have endured enough mistreatment at home and in court from people. I cannot become your lover and bear the shame that would accompany such a relationship.”

“Oh no, Princess," Hardy smiled softly, turning his face back. “I'm changing the law so I can marry you and make history in Arania with the first male marriage in decades. I don't intend to humiliate you with an inappropriate position. I've been dreaming of marrying you for years. Please look at me differently, give me a chance, open your heart to me, Alan. The king is begging you to reciprocate, begging you humbly, come on!”

Alan listened to the turmoil raging inside, looked incredulously at Hardy, searching for hidden mockery in his face, but saw only a bright, sincere feeling, a timid hope, and whispered with embarrassment, “Forgive me, your Majesty, for thinking ill of you. I... I need time to think.”

“Don't think too long, Alan," Hardy swallowed and ran a finger over his lips. “Kings are not noted for their patience. I've waited too long for you.”