I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 39: The Morning After

The morning light was different. It didn’t feel like an enemy pushing through the curtains, demanding the day begin. It felt soft. Gentle. It painted pale gold stripes across the floor and over the edge of the bed.

Orion woke slowly. He was warm. He was on his side, and Abel was wrapped around him from behind like a giant, living blanket. One heavy arm was draped over Orion’s waist, holding him close even in sleep. Abel’s face was buried in the back of Orion’s neck, his breath a steady, warm rhythm against Orion’s skin.

For a few minutes, Orion just lay there. He listened to Abel breathe. He felt the solid, reassuring weight of him. He thought about yesterday—the forest walk, the training yard, the cookies, the men, the heartbreaking handshake. It all felt like a dream now, but the warmth in his chest was real.

Abel stirred behind him. A deep, sleepy sigh ruffled Orion’s hair. The arm around his waist tightened briefly, pulling him even closer. Then Abel nuzzled the nape of his neck.

”Mmm,” Abel mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. ”You’re here.”

”I’m here,” Orion whispered back.

Abel shifted. He rolled onto his back, stretching his long limbs with a groan. The bed creaked under his weight. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, then blinked up at the canopy, looking disoriented for a second. Then he turned his head on the pillow and looked at Orion.

A slow, sleepy smile spread across his face. It was a pure, unguarded expression of happiness. ”Good morning, husband.”

”Good morning,” Orion said, smiling back.

They lay there for a moment, just looking at each other in the quiet morning light. Abel’s hair was a mess, sticking up in blond tufts. There was a pillow crease on his cheek. He looked rumpled and soft and utterly content.

Then his stomach growled, loud and long in the silence.

Abel’s eyes went wide. He looked down at his own stomach as if it had betrayed him. Then he looked back at Orion and giggled. A real, boyish giggle. ”I’m hungry.”

Orion laughed. ”I think breakfast is a good idea.”

They got out of bed. The room was cool. Orion pulled on his robe. Abel, less concerned with modesty, padded barefoot to the washbasin in just his sleep trousers. He splashed water on his face, scrubbed his hands through his hair making it even messier, and then stood there dripping, looking refreshed.

He caught Orion watching him and grinned. ”What?”

”Nothing,” Orion said, his heart doing that funny little squeeze again. ”You’re just... you.”

Abel didn’t question it. He dried his face and then got dressed, pulling on simple trousers and a loose linen shirt. He struggled with the laces on the shirt for a minute, his big fingers fumbling, until Orion came over and quietly tied them for him.

”Thank you,” Abel said, planting a quick kiss on Orion’s forehead.

There was a soft knock on the door. It was time for their morning tray. Usually, a maid brought it, her face carefully blank, her movements efficient and cold.

But when Orion opened the door, it wasn’t a maid. It was a young kitchen boy, maybe thirteen years old, holding a heavy tray with both hands. His eyes were bright with excitement.

”Good morning, my lords!” the boy chirped, his voice cracking slightly. ”Cook sent me up special! She said to tell you the honey is from the new spring batch!”

He carried the tray in and set it carefully on the small table by the window. On it was the usual pot of tea, two cups, a plate of buttered toast, some soft-boiled eggs, and a small dish of thick, golden honey. But there was also something extra. A little cloth napkin bundle, tied with a piece of string.

The boy pointed to it proudly. ”And that’s from Hobb, the company cook! He heard you liked his oat biscuits, m’lord.” He gave a quick, awkward bow and scampered out before Orion could even thank him.

Orion stared at the bundle. Word traveled fast.

Abel was already at the table, peering at the food. ”Oat biscuits?” He looked at Orion, his eyes lighting up. ”From your cookie friends?”

”Seems so,” Orion said, sitting down. He untied the napkin. Inside were four perfect, rough-looking oat biscuits, still slightly warm. They smelled wholesome and hearty.

Abel took one immediately. He bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. ”It’s good,” he announced after swallowing. ”Not as sweet as ginger. But good. Solid.” He took another bite. ”Friend-Aster’s cook?”

”One of the soldier’s cooks, yes.”

Abel nodded, happily munching. He dipped a corner of his biscuit into his egg yolk. ”We should say thank you.”

”We will,” Orion agreed, pouring the tea.

They ate breakfast in comfortable silence for a while. The sun grew stronger outside the window, chasing the shadows from the room. It felt normal. Peaceful.

After they finished, Abel sat back in his chair, sipping his tea. He looked out the window, his expression turning thoughtful.

”Orion?”

”Hmm?”

”Can we go see them today? My new friends?”

Orion looked at him. Abel’s face was hopeful, eager. Not anxious, just curious. He wanted to go. Not because Orion was going, but because *he* wanted to.

”If you feel up to it,” Orion said carefully. ”Your treatment was just yesterday.”

”I feel fine,” Abel insisted. He flexed his arm. ”See? Strong. And my head isn’t fuzzy today. It’s clear. I want to see the training place. And say hello properly.” He paused. ”And maybe get another biscuit.”

Orion smiled. ”Alright. We can go this afternoon. After your lessons with Master Ferris.” Abel still had daily tutorials—simple reading, sums, estate management basics—meant to maintain some semblance of his former education.

Abel made a face. ”Lessons are boring. But okay. After.”

The morning passed quietly. Abel went to his lessons in the library with his tutor, a patient, elderly man who spoke to him with respect. Orion used the time to write a few letters—one to his father, brief and formal, updating him on his well-being (a lie) and asking after Elian’s health (a formality). He didn’t expect a reply.

When Abel returned, he was in a good mood. ”Master Ferris said my sums were very good today. And we read about bees. Did you know bees talk to each other by dancing?”

”I did not know that,” Orion said, genuinely amused.

”They do! It’s amazing!” Abel’s enthusiasm was infectious. He was buzzing with energy, ready for their adventure.

They changed into sturdier clothes—simple tunics and trousers, boots. Orion didn’t bother with the hat or umbrella this time. Abel, however, picked up his wooden horse from the nightstand.

”Is Horsey coming?” Orion asked.

Abel looked at the toy, then nodded firmly. ”Yes. For moral support.”

Orion didn’t question it.

They left through the same side door. The path through the kitchen garden was familiar now. The woods seemed less dense, more friendly. Abel walked ahead, confident, following the deer paths Orion had taken the day before. He moved through the trees with a natural grace, as if his body remembered this route even if his mind didn’t.

When they reached the edge of the clearing, Abel stopped. He stood just inside the tree line, looking out at the training yard.

It was a hive of activity again. Men were shouting, swords clacking, dust rising in the afternoon sun. It was loud and chaotic and vibrant.

Abel watched, his head tilted. He didn’t look scared. He looked fascinated. His eyes tracked the movements, the patterns of the drills. He watched two men sparring with wooden swords, his gaze sharp, following every parry and thrust.

Orion saw the exact moment they were spotted.

A soldier near the edge of the yard, drawing a bow, lowered his weapon and stared. He elbowed the man next to him. A ripple went through the group again, but this time it was slower, more controlled. The noise didn’t die completely, but the frantic energy shifted. Men stopped what they were doing, turned, and looked.

Aster was in the middle of demonstrating a disarming move on Loren. He finished the move smoothly, sending Loren’s practice sword flying, then looked toward the trees. He straightened up. He didn’t smile, but his posture changed. He gave a short, sharp whistle—two notes—that cut through the din.

At the sound, every man in the yard froze. Then, as one, they turned to face Aster. He jerked his chin toward the tree line.

In unison, the forty soldiers turned and looked at Abel and Orion.

The silence this time was total. No murmurs. Just the sound of the wind in the trees and the distant call of a crow.

Abel took a deep breath. He glanced at Orion, seeking reassurance. Orion nodded, giving his hand a quick squeeze.

Then Abel stepped out of the shadows and into the full sunlight of the training yard. He walked forward, his steps measured, his head high. He still held his wooden horse under one arm.

He walked right up to where Aster was standing. He stopped a few feet away. He looked at Aster, then at the ring of silent, watching men.

He smiled his bright, open smile.

”Hello, friends,” Abel said, his voice carrying easily in the quiet. ”I came to visit.”

For a second, nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Then Aster bowed. It wasn’t a deep bow, but it was a bow of the head and shoulders, respectful and sincere. Behind him, every single man in the yard followed suit. Forty heads dipped in unison. A sea of battered helmets and sweaty hair bending toward their forgotten captain.

When they rose, their faces were a mix of emotions too complex to name.

Abel seemed unfazed by the display. He looked around, his eyes taking in the training dummies, the weapon racks, the sandy ground. ”This is a good place,” he announced. ”Lots of room to run.”

Loren, ever the first to break tension, stepped forward. He was grinning, though his eyes were suspiciously bright. ”Plenty of room, my lord. Want to try?”

He gestured to a rack of practice swords.

Abel looked at the wooden swords. He looked down at the horse in his hand. He seemed to consider it seriously. Then he shook his head. ”Not today. Today is for visiting.” He turned to Aster. ”Thank you for the biscuits. They were very good.”

Aster’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. ”Hobb will be pleased.”

”And thank you,” Abel added, looking at the group, ”for being friends with my Orion yesterday. He said he wasn’t lonely.”

Something in the way he said it—so possessive, so proud—made a few of the men smile softly.

Jax, the big one who had cried, shuffled forward. He looked nervous, twisting his hands together. ”M’lord... would you... would you like to see the horses? The real ones? In the stable next to the yard? We have a new foal.”

Abel’s eyes lit up like twin suns. ”A baby horse?”

Jax nodded eagerly.

Abel looked at Orion, his face full of wonder. ”Can we? Please?”

”Of course,” Orion said.

And just like that, the spell was broken. The formal reverence melted into a more natural, bustling warmth. The soldiers didn’t crowd Abel, but they formed a loose, respectful escort as Jax led the way to the long, low building beside the training yard.

The rest of the afternoon was simple, and perfect.

They saw the foal, a wobbly-legged chestnut creature that Abel watched with rapt attention. He named it ”Speckle” for a white mark on its nose, and the grooms promised to keep the name.

They walked through the stables, and Abel greeted every horse, patting their noses gently, whispering to them. The huge warhorses, beasts that would shy from most strangers, stood calmly for him, nuzzling his hand.

They went back to the training yard, and Abel sat on the same bench under the oak tree. This time, a proper stool was brought for Orion, and a cup of tea appeared in his hand without him asking.

Abel didn’t try to train. He didn’t remember how. But he watched the sparring matches with intense interest, sometimes pointing and asking questions. ”Why did he step that way?” ”What happens if he drops his shield?”

Aster or Kaelen or one of the others would answer him patiently, explaining the mechanics. And sometimes, listening to their explanations, Abel would nod slowly and say, ”Oh. That makes sense.” And a flicker of something—understanding, perhaps—would cross his face.

He shared the oat biscuits Hobb had sent, breaking them into pieces and handing them out to the men closest to him. They accepted the crumbs as if they were sacred offerings.

He showed them his wooden horse, explaining how its legs moved. The soldiers examined it with grave seriousness, complimenting its craftsmanship.

As the sun began to dip toward the trees, casting long shadows across the sand, Abel yawned. It was a big, jaw-cracking yawn. The day’s stimulation was catching up to him.

Orion stood up. ”Time to go home, Abel.”

Abel nodded, getting to his feet. He looked around at the circle of men who had gathered to say goodbye. His smile was tired but happy.

”Thank you for having us,” he said politely. Then he added, with utter sincerity, ”This was the best day.”

No one said anything. They just looked at him, their faces soft in the fading light.

Aster stepped forward. He didn’t offer a handshake this time. He simply placed his fist over his heart, a soldier’s salute.

One by one, every man in the yard did the same. A silent, powerful gesture of loyalty.

Abel didn’t salute back. He didn’t know how. But he seemed to understand the meaning. He nodded, a serious, regal little nod.

Then he took Orion’s hand. ”Bye, friends! See you soon!”

He turned and led Orion back toward the woods, chattering excitedly about the foal, the horses, the way Jax had shown him how to hold a sword properly even if he didn’t want to try today.

Orion looked back once, just as they reached the tree line.

The soldiers were still standing there, in the golden afternoon light, their fists still over their hearts. Watching him take their captain home.

They walked back through the quiet woods, Abel’s voice a happy hum in the stillness. The wooden horse swung gently in his hand. Orion listened, his heart so full he thought it might burst.

It wasn’t a cure. Abel still didn’t remember. The past was still a locked door.

But today, they had built something new. A bridge. A friendship. A place where Abel could just be Abel, welcomed and respected not for what he was supposed to be, but for who he was now.

And that, Orion thought as they stepped back into the garden, was a victory all its own.