The Appraisal

Kylian slouched in his leather armchair, the study bathed in the flickering amber glow of candles. Shadows danced across the walls, mirroring the turbulent thoughts in his mind. The ancient tome in his lap felt heavy, its pages yellowed and fragile from countless readings, but the words still held a strange power over him. He had read about the shimmer many times already, trying to understand the bond that now tied him to his Omega. The thought of what might happen if the boy fell into heat gnawed at the edges of his mind. Would he lose control? Could he resist the pull of those intoxicating pheromones? And more importantly, could the bond be broken?

He turned another page, his eyes scanning the lines until he found what he was looking for. The bond could only be broken if one of them died. Kylian's grip on the book tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. The finality of it all weighed heavily on him, like a shackle he couldn't remove.

A sharp rap at the door shattered his reverie. Kylian muttered a curse in his native French, bristling at the unwelcome interruption. "Qui est là?/Who is it?" he called out, his voice clipped with irritation.

The door creaked open, and the King's First Guard stepped inside, followed by four other men. They moved with military precision, their faces expressionless as they entered. Kylian's irritation deepened as he looked at them. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his tone sharp.

The First Guard bowed deeply, his head almost touching the floor. "Apologies for bothering the Crown Prince," he began, his voice steady and respectful. "Since the Prince couldn't come to observe the reaping of the palace guards, I have brought the best from the reaping for the Prince to choose from."

Kylian's eyes narrowed. He knew this routine well. Every year, after he conveniently missed the reaping, the First Guard would bring a selection of men for him to review, and every year, Kylian would refuse them. "You come every year after I conveniently miss the reaping," Kylian said, his tone laced with impatience. "And what do I tell you in response every time?"

The First Guard kept his head bowed. "You haven't seen someone worthy to be your personal guard, Your Highness," he answered, his voice devoid of emotion.

Kylian sighed and turned his attention to the men standing before him. They were similar in height, all built with muscle, their eyes hard and devoid of life. At least most of them were. His gaze lingered on one of them, a boy who looked younger than the rest, his eyes still holding a spark of life. The boy hadn't yet been ruined by the cruelty of the world.

Kylian's curiosity piqued, and he addressed the boy directly. "Is this your first time at the reaping?" he asked.

The boy nodded, his posture tense. "Yes, Your Highness," he replied, his voice steady but not without a hint of nerves.

Kylian studied him for a moment longer. "I can tell," he said, his tone thoughtful. "Why do you want to work in the castle?"

The boy straightened his back, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. "It has always been my dream, Your Highness," he began, his voice carrying a note of sincerity. "My father was a sentinel. He was a protector, and though he tried many times, he never passed the reaping. This is my way of telling him thank you."

Kylian nodded slowly, absorbing the boy's words. There was something about his earnestness that struck a chord within him. But he knew the palace would chew up and spit out someone like this boy, someone who still had hope, who still believed in dreams.

"Leave," Kylian said, his voice firm and unyielding. "You aren't cut out for this."

The boy's eyes widened in shock, disbelief flickering across his face. "What…" he began, his voice trailing off in confusion.

Before the boy could say anything more, the King's Guard turned on him, his blade unsheathed in one swift motion. The sharp edge of the sword hovered inches from the boy's face. "Did you just question the judgment of the Crown Prince?" the Guard hissed, his voice low and dangerous.

Kylian's eyes hardened at the sight, and with a simple gesture of his finger, he ordered the Guard to lower his weapon. The Guard obeyed immediately, stepping back and sheathing his sword, his expression unreadable.

Kylian turned back to the boy, his gaze steady. "What is your name?" he asked, his voice calmer now, almost gentle.

"Rem, Your Highness," the boy replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He seemed unsure, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening.

Kylian's eyes remained fixed on Rem, studying the boy's every movement, every flicker of emotion that passed across his face. There was something about him that made Kylian pause, something that tugged at the edges of his carefully cultivated indifference. But the Crown Prince knew better than to act on impulse alone.

"You have a bright and wonderful spirit," Kylian said, his voice steady, yet carrying an undercurrent of something darker. "But the palace does not exist for the fulfillment of childhood dreams or making one's father proud. This place is ruthless. Even as I speak, people could be plotting against me and my father."

Rem stood still, listening intently. His face was pale, but his eyes were sharp, focused.

"If I accept you," Kylian continued, "you not only give your life to me. I hand mine to you as well. Why should I give my life to you when there's a chance that you could be the one to end it?"

Rem's eyes narrowed slightly, and he took a step forward, his shoulders squared with determination. The First Guard immediately unsheathed his sword again, the blade flashing in the dim light as he pointed it toward Rem. "Stay in your place, boy," the guard growled, his voice laced with a warning.

But Rem didn't flinch. "If I wanted you dead, Your Highness, I wouldn't try so hard to get into the Palace Guard program," he said, his voice steady and resolute. "I'd rather join some resistance instead."

The First Guard's grip on his sword tightened, his muscles coiling as if ready to strike. But Rem continued, his gaze never leaving Kylian's. "I do hate the monarchy. They've done horrible things to good people. But there's someone I want to protect, someone who needs me. And that's why I'm here. That is why I did my best to get here. To you. The closest thing to the King and a powerful man in his own right. That's enough for me."

Kylian's eyes flickered with something unreadable. He let out a quiet breath, shut the book he was reading with a soft thud, and stood. "You know what?" Kylian said, his voice calm, almost casual. "I'll make you my personal bodyguard if you can beat this First Guard in a duel right here."

The First Guard barked out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "My Prince, all you had to say was that you didn't want any of them," he said, his tone laced with amusement.

But before he could say more, Rem stepped forward, cutting him off. "I'll fight him," Rem said firmly, his hand already reaching for his weapon.

The First Guard's smile faltered as he turned to Rem, his eyes widening with disbelief. "No," he said, his voice flat. "I'll only hurt you."

Kylian nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting between the two men. "You two should go at each other with the intent to kill," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "High stakes, high reward."

The First Guard's eyes snapped back to Crown Prince Kylian, his disbelief turning into concern. "Your Highness, you cannot be serious," he protested.

But Kylian's expression remained unchanged. "I am."

The First Guard let out a slow breath, his face hardening as he turned back to Rem. "This is a reading space," the guard said coldly. "It's filled with old and rare books that do not need to be stained with common blood."

Rem's jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek twitching with barely contained tension. Without warning, he swung his sword at the First Guard, the blade cutting through the air with a sharp whistle.

The guard's movements were fluid and precise as he easily dodged the blow, his body shifting to the side in a graceful sidestep. Undeterred, Rem swung again, but the guard blocked the strike with practiced ease, their swords clashing with a sharp, metallic ring that echoed through the chamber.

For a few brief, intense moments, they moved in a deadly dance, Rem attacking with all the strength he could muster, muscles straining as he poured his fury into each strike. But the guard deflected each blow with almost effortless precision, his parries smooth and controlled.

It didn't take long for the First Guard to gain the upper hand. With a swift, economical motion, he twisted his blade, knocking Rem's sword from his grasp. The boy's weapon clattered to the floor, the sound sharp and final.

The guard stepped forward, pressing the tip of his blade to Rem's throat. Rem's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, the cold steel pricking his skin. "Yield," the First Guard commanded, his voice cold and unwavering, brooking no argument.

Rem's hands trembled, the fingers of his calloused palms wrapping around the guard's sword, gripping the sharp blade with a reckless desperation. He pressed down, heedless of the searing pain as the edge bit into his skin, blood welling up and dripping down the steel in crimson rivulets.

The First Guard's eyes widened, his expression twisting with a look of pure disgust as he tried to pull his weapon back. But Rem refused to let go, using the guard's own sword to gather the blood pooling in his palms.

In one swift, fluid motion, Rem flung the viscous crimson liquid straight into the man's face, blinding him. The guard reared back with a startled cry, his sword slipping from Rem's grip as he clawed at his eyes.

Before the man could recover, Rem surged forward, his legs sweeping out to knock the guard's feet from under him. The soldier's armored body hit the stone floor with a resounding clang, the impact echoing through the chamber.

Rem kicked the guard's sword away, then snatched up his own, standing over the fallen man, chest heaving with exertion. His grip tightened on the hilt, knuckles turning white, as he leveled the blade at the guard's chest, eyes locked and unwavering, poised to drive it home.

"Stop!" Kylian's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, freezing Rem in his tracks.

Rem froze, his sword hovering inches above the guard's chest. His breath came in ragged gasps, his hands still slick with blood. Slowly, he looked up at Kylian, who had risen from his seat and was now walking toward him.

Kylian's gaze was intense, his expression unreadable. "Give me the sword," he said quietly, holding out his hand.

Rem's hands trembled as he lowered the blade and handed it over to Kylian. The weight of the sword seemed to drag him down, his knees buckling as the adrenaline began to fade. Kylian took the sword from him, inspecting the bloodied blade with a thoughtful expression.

"Kneel," Kylian commanded, his voice soft but firm.

Rem hesitated for a moment, then sank to his knees, his eyes downcast. The room was eerily quiet, the tension thick in the air.

Kylian looked down at Rem, his expression unreadable. "Do you swear to serve me, to protect me with your life, and to remain loyal to the crown, no matter the cost?" he asked, his voice steady.

Rem nodded, his voice barely a whisper as he responded. "I swear, Your Highness. I will protect you with my life."

Kylian's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you swear to uphold the honor of the crown, to act with integrity, and to never betray the trust that has been placed in you?"

Rem swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I swear, Your Highness," he replied, his voice trembling slightly.

Kylian nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Rem's face. "Then rise, Rem, and take your place at my side as my personal guard and Knight," he said, his voice carrying an air of finality.

Rem rose to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him. His hands still trembled, the blood from his wounds dripping onto the stone floor. He looked at Kylian, his eyes filled with confusion. But he wasn't stupid enough t question what the Crown Prince saw in him to knight him.

Rem's grip on the sword's hilt tightened, the leather-wrapped grip creaking softly under the strain. "I understand, Your Highness," he said, his words measured and controlled, a far cry from the fury that had consumed him just moments ago.

Kylian turned his attention to the First Guard, who had managed to pull himself up from the floor, his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and barely contained anger. "You've been bested," the prince said, his tone neutral and dispassionate. "But in a way, you win. The boy is now my personal guard."

The guard's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek as he fought to swallow his pride. "Yes, Your Highness," he ground out, the words clearly costing him.

Satisfied, Kylian redirected his gaze to Rem, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Welcome to the palace, Sir Rem," he said softly, the words carrying a weight that belied their simplicity.

Rem's shoulders straightened, spine stiffening as he bowed deeply, the movement graceful and precise. "Thank you, Your Highness," he murmured, his voice thick with gratitude, the intensity of his emotion barely contained.