Echoes of Us: The CEO and His Soulmates [BL]

Ashur had learned two things early in life: silence was his shield, and invisibility was his armor. But neither shield nor armor was doing him much good now.

His breath hitched as he crouched lower behind the haystack, his knees tucked into his chest. The stables were warm with the earthy smells of straw, leather, and the musky scent of Kinnarions—wild, untamed beasts bred for anyone with pockets deep enough to buy them, their growls and huffs reverberating through the air. Above the low grumbles of the animals, heavy boots thudded against the stable floor, getting closer.

"Ashur! Where in the Void are you, boy?" 

The voice of his master cut through the space like a whip. Harsh. Jagged. Ashur's fingers dug into his knees, his entire body tense. He'd been hiding for at least an hour now, putting off the chore of mucking out the stalls. Not out of laziness, no—he would have done the work. But he'd spent the last two nights tending to the runt of the litter, sneaking it milk and rubbing its trembling body to keep it warm. He was exhausted, but he'd barely cared. He couldn't let the tiny creature die.

The boots stopped nearby, and Ashur froze, holding his breath. His master grumbled under his breath, muttering something vile about lazy stable boys, before stomping away. Ashur exhaled, his shoulders sagging. He had maybe a minute before his master doubled back.

The last thing he expected was for royalty to walk through the stable doors.

He heard them before he saw them—two voices, one calm and measured, the other sharper, with a tone that teetered between exasperation and authority. Ashur peeked through the gaps in the haystack and spotted the taller of the two men first. A soldier. A sharp-featured man in a polished breastplate, his sword clinking lightly against his hip. He carried himself with the kind of strict posture that spoke of years spent training for war. 

Next to him was a boy. The prince.

Ashur's breath caught in his throat. He was just a child—ten, maybe eleven— older than the last time Ashur had seen him. But there was something regal about him, even in the way he strode across the stable floor. His tunic, a deep green trimmed with gold, was simple yet elegant, and a thin sword hung at his hip, its pommel glinting in the dim light. His black hair was brushed back neatly, but loose strands curled rebelliously at his temple. 

The Prince turned towards his direction and Ashur carefully pushed himself further into the hay to avoid being detected. Still, the boy looked alert, vigilant. Like he was aware that someone was watching him.

"Prince Caelan… Prince Caelan…" the guard called, nudging the Prince. 

Prince Caelan finally turned to face him and Ashur let out a sigh of relief. "Yes, Kael?"

The guard—the boy's personal guard, judging by his protective stance—sighed and said, "Your Highness, I must insist. The Royal Beast Stables have a selection of highly trained Kinnarions and they are bred for loyalty, strength, and grace. I don't see the logic in traveling all the way to a commoner's barn for an untamed beast."  

Ashur held his breath as the boy stopped walking, tilting his head slightly to one side. "Logic is for men like you, Kael. My father tamed his own Kinnarion by hand in his youth, and I will do the same."

The guard sighed, long-suffering. "Your father was half-mad in his youth."

"And yet he became king," the boy replied, his tone breezy. Ashur bit his lip to hold back a laugh. The guard muttered something under his breath, too quiet for Ashur to hear.

The boy suddenly stopped walking, his gaze drifting toward the haystack. Ashur stiffened. 'Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't—'

The prince stepped closer. His sharp, inquisitive eyes scanned the pile of hay, then softened. Ashur felt a flicker of panic but also… something else. Something warm and unfamiliar. Was it possible for a prince to smile softly? To look curious instead of haughty?

Ashur had never believed so before now.

He hadn't realized he'd been staring until the corners of his mouth quirked upward. The prince blinked, his expression shifting into one of faint surprise, and Ashur quickly slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggle. But it was too late. 

The giggle escaped.

And then the boots returned.

"Ashur!" The growl of his master's voice sent fear shooting through him like a blade. His head jerked toward the barn doors, and his master's heavy shadow loomed there. Ashur scrambled to back deeper into the hay, but the man was too fast. 

"You little brat!" His master stormed toward him, reaching into the haystack. Ashur whimpered as the man's hand fisted in his hair and yanked him up, dragging him out into the open. "Did I not tell you to clear out the stalls? Hiding in the hay, are you? I'll give you something to—"

"Unhand him."

The words cut through the air like a sword, silencing everything. The growling Kinnarions stilled, the master froze, and Ashur could only stare.

The prince had drawn his sword. It wasn't particularly large—scaled down for someone his size—but the steel gleamed with deadly intent. His stance was rigid, his dark eyes narrowing as he took a step forward. "I said," the boy repeated, "unhand him."

Ashur's master looked confused. "Your Highness… forgive me… I did not realize you—" he gestured at Ashur. "But… this lad…"

"As Crown Prince of Aeryndale and heir to the throne, I order you to unhand him at once. I will not repeat myself a fourth time." The words were spoken with quiet authority, but Ashur didn't miss the spark of fire in them. It made his heart skip.

His master released him immediately. "Of course, Your Highness," he said, though the venom in his gaze promised that Ashur would pay for this humiliation later.

Ashur scrambled backwards, like if he avoided the sunlight, he would somehow disappear from all the eyes on him. His master looked annoyed. There was a smile on his face but Ashur could see the fury burning in his eyes. He was going to be beaten near to death later, that much he knew. Still, it felt nice that someone thought to defend him. At least he could hold on to that for after his punishment when he was numb and in tears.

He flinched as the prince's guard—Kael—stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder. "Your Highness," the guard said with practiced patience, "you're here to choose a Kinnarion for your regiment, not pick fights with stable keepers."

The prince didn't lower his sword immediately. He looked at Ashur, his gaze lingering, before finally sheathing it. "I know why I'm here, Kael," he replied evenly. "The Royal Beast Stables may have their trained Kinnarions, but I will choose one from here. If I am not to tame one myself, then I will at least have one who has not been pampered with cooked meat and trimmed paw pads."

Kael sighed. "Of course, Your Highness. A noble endeavor."

The master, still pale, bowed low. "Which of my stock will you select, Your Highness?"

Ashur's heart raced as the prince turned to him, his head tilted in curiosity. "Which one is your favorite?" 

Ashur blinked and looked over his shoulder. But, no. There was no one behind him. Surely the prince wasn't speaking to him. Princes didn't speak to stable hands. Princes didn't care about dirty and small and unimportant boys like him. But this prince wasn't like anyone Ashur had ever met before.

And he was still waiting for a response.

Ashur swallowed hard. He whispered, "Do you speak to me, Your Majesty?"

The boy smiled faintly, and it made something in Ashur's chest tighten. "Yes. Which one is your favorite?"

Ashur hesitated, then he turned toward the far corner, where the rusty orange runt of the litter was curled up, its ears twitching at the sound of voices. "This one," Ashur said, his voice soft but firm. "He may be small, but he has the unbreakable will to live."

Ashur had seen him fight for every breath, every drop of milk. Even as he reached for the creature, it growled at him and crouched down in a pounce even if it could barely keep its eyes open.

The prince studied the cub for a moment, then asked, "What is his name?"

Ashur paused. "Surely Your Majesty will choose a befitting name."

"But surely he has one already," the boy said, his voice light. "What is it?"

Ashur swallowed hard, but he couldn't lie. "Arrow. I call him Arrow, Your Majesty."

The prince turned to Kael and said, "I shall take Arrow home."

Kael bowed. "As you wish, Your Highness."

The boy glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes locking on Ashur. "And I believe Master Darion was looking for new hands for the Royal Beast Stables. See to it that Ashur meets with him."  

Ashur stared, dumbfounded. His master looked equally shocked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.  

The prince smiled again—soft, kind—and Ashur's heart bloomed. And bloomed. And bloomed. Until the doors closed and he was left staring at the decaying wood, wondering what in the god's name had just happened.