"I won’t kill you, Zarius!"

The shout was frantic, a desperate burst of air that felt like it had been clawing its way up Cherion’s throat for hours. He jerked upright, his eyes snapping open to find himself not in a greenhouseof shattered porcelain, but in the soft, lavender-scented linens of a bed within their traveling camp.

They were in the final stretch of their journey to the Capital, and the weight of the air already felt different.

His chest was beating like it had chugged six energy drinks, and the cold sweat situation was becoming less "slightly nervous" and more "freshly escaped hostage." The dream, memory? hallucination? emotional sabotage? still felt way too real. He could practically still feel Yerel in his arms, and frankly, his brain needed to stop being so committed to the bit.

Yikes.

"Is this how you suggest we greet each other in the morning?"

The voice was a dry, low rumble that vibrated through the air, immediately grounding Cherion. He turned his head sharply to find Zarius laying beside him on the edge of the bed. The Duke looked perfectly composed, his dark hair slightly tousled from sleep, watching Cherion with a mixture of amusement and a trace of protective curiosity.

Zarius arched a single brow, his gaze traveling over Cherion’s panicked expression. "I have to say, I need time to get used to such a... vibrant greeting." He paused, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, before his voice softened with a trace of humor. "But if those are the terms of the day, then I suppose I won’t kill you, too, Cherion."

Before Cherion could even process the absurdity of his own outburst, Zarius leaned in. The warmth of the contact grounded him instantly, a welcome change from the emotional horror movie he’d just escaped, as he pressed a brief, lingering kiss to Cherion’s cheek.

The Duke then got up, his tall frame dwarfing the space as he began to prepare for the day’s final leg of the journey.

Cherion remained still for a moment, gulping hard as the nightmare’s hold finally shattered. He wasn’t that person. He wasn’t the "Original Cherion" who had whispered murderous promises in the greenhouse.

But as he sat there, he couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. These days, the "Original Cherion’s" life was appearing in his sleep like a cursed film reel. Most of it was just petty, agonizingly small-minded "torture" aimed at Philia. He’d seen Cherion intentionally bumping into Philia’s shoulder in the palace halls, stepping on his expensive silk shoes during a dance, or "accidentally" spilling extra pepper into the boy’s tea.

Just what in the name of the Great Holy Carrot was he thinking? Cherion thought, rubbing his temples until the skin reddened.

The pettiness was exhausting to witness, a series of mean-spirited social slights that felt utterly foreign to the man he was now. But last night’s dream had been the worst. The idea that the original would offer to kill Zarius all for a man like Yerel was baffling. How was he even planning to do it? With a poisoned teacup? A very sharp knitting needle? It was a level of delusional devotion that made Cherion’s skin crawl.

The camp came down quickly, every knight moving with ease. Soon enough, the carriage wheels were humming steadily against the paved road.

Cherion sat restlessly in his seat, his gaze fixed out the window. The trees were taller here, the air thicker and more humid that felt nothing like the sharp cold of the North. Eventually, his eyes lost focus on the landscape and caught his own reflection in the glass.

Listen here, whoever is in the staff that handles the dream section, he cursed internally, glaring at his own translucent image. Stop sending me memories that won’t give me any beneficial information. I don’t need a map of the mistakes or proof of how much of a simp the original was for Yerel. I’m trying to move on here!

He began to wonder if he should buy every single dream catcher he could find in the Capital the moment they arrived. He’d hang them like a protection circle all around his bed, maybe even put a night-guard wolf plushie to protect him. Will it work against memories? he wondered. Meh, no harm to try.

Cherion was pulled out of his thoughts when he saw Zarius’s reflection in the window, too. He looked aside and found himself nearly meeting Zarius’s nose. The Duke had moved across the carriage to sit beside him, his presence suddenly filling the entire interior.

"What is so interesting out there that you’ve been looking at it so seriously?" Zarius asked, his eyes searching Cherion’s face. "Trees? Woods? Or are you looking for enemies in the hedges?"

Cherion recalled how Zarius had chosen to be with him in the carriage. He had refused to go on his horse per usual, claiming that it was "uncomfortable" because Cherion wasn’t with him. He had grumbled that he couldn’t ask Cherion to ride with him on the stallion because it was too tiring for a long journey, so he had simply invited himself into the carriage instead.

"Nothing," Cherion answered, looking back out the window. "I just wonder when we will arrive."

"Soon," Zarius replied. He reached out and tapped his own lap with a faint smile. "You look exhausted. You can go to sleep here for the final hour if you want."

"Hell no," Cherion blurted out, his eyes widening. "I better stay awake."

I don’t want to have another weird dream about the original, he added silently.

Cherion looked at Zarius, his expression softening despite his restlessness. "It’s not that I hate the idea," he said, pointing at Zarius’s lap, "but I’d rather keep my eyes open and look at this." He gestured toward Zarius himself, a small, genuine smile finally tugging at his lips.

The atmosphere shifted almost without notice, the sharp edge from earlier giving way to something softer between them. Zarius leaned in, his gaze dropping to Cherion’s lips. Cherion felt his breath hitch and instinctively closed his eyes, expecting the soft pressure of a kiss to ground him once again.

But the kiss never came.

Instead, a violent jolt rocked the entire carriage. The screech of horses neighing in panic filled the air, followed by the sound of heavy wheels skidding against stone. Cherion was thrown forward, his body practically flying off the seat, only for Zarius’s powerful arms to shoot out and catch him mid-air.

Zarius held him firmly against his chest, his posture shifting in a heartbeat from a lover to a predator. Outside, the sound of steel ringing out, dozens of Northern swords being drawn at once, echoed through the trees.

Cherion gasped, his fingers gripping the front of Zarius’s tunic as he steadied himself. The silence that followed the crash was deafening, broken only by the heavy breathing of the horses and the low, rhythmic clatter of armor outside.

"Why... why did we just stop so suddenly?" Cherion whispered, his heart resuming its frantic pace.

He looked toward the window, but the view was blocked by the dark cloaks of the Northern guards who had surrounded the carriage in a defensive wall. There was no checkpoint in sight, no palace gate. They were in the middle of a stretch of road surrounded by dense forest, and for the first time since leaving the North, Cherion felt a cold, familiar dread sinking into his bones.

The nightmare hadn’t ended, it had just changed its shape.