I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 40: The Carriage

The morning after the visit to the training yard dawned bright and clear. Abel woke up grinning, the memory of soldiers and foals still fresh in his mind. He spent breakfast describing Speckle’s wobbly legs in great detail to Orion, who listened with a soft smile.

”Today,” Orion announced as he finished his tea, ”I have to go into the city.”

Abel blinked. ”The city?”

”Valerius Crossing. It’s the market town about an hour’s ride from here. I need to order some new clothes.” Orion gestured to his own simple grey tunic. ”Most of what I brought is... not quite right. And some of it was meant for Elian.” He kept his voice light, but the memory of the silks tailored for his brother still stung.

Abel’s face fell, just a little. ”You’re going away?”

”Just for the day. I’ll be back before dinner.”

”Oh.” Abel poked at a leftover piece of toast. ”Can I come?”

Orion considered it. The thought of taking Abel into a crowded, noisy market town filled him with dread. The stimuli would be overwhelming—the smells, the shouts, the press of people. It could trigger an episode. ”Not this time,” he said gently. ”It might be too loud. Too many people. But I’ll bring you back a present. Something from the city.”

The promise of a present helped. Abel perked up slightly. ”A present?”

”Yes. Anything you’d like? A new toy? Some sweets?”

Abel thought hard, his brow furrowed. ”A... a ribbon,” he decided. ”A blue one. For Horsey. So he can look fancy when you come home.”

Orion’s heart melted. ”A blue ribbon for Horsey. I can do that.”

After breakfast, Orion went to his dressing room to get ready. He needed to look presentable—not as a Valen cast-off, but as the spouse of the Valerian heir. He chose a dark blue over-tunic of fine wool, edged with subtle silver thread. It was one of the few garments that actually fit him properly, sent by his father as a concession after the wedding. He paired it with black trousers and his best boots.

He was standing before the tall mirror, trying to fasten a silver clasp at his throat, when Abel wandered in.

Abel stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He was dressed in his usual loose shirt and trousers, feet bare. He watched Orion, his head tilted.

”You look shiny,” Abel observed.

Orion smiled, struggling with the stubborn clasp. ”It’s just for the city. To look... appropriate.”

”You always look appropriate,” Abel said, with such simple conviction that Orion had to pause. He turned from the mirror to look at him.

”Thank you.”

Abel pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room. He didn’t stop until he was right in front of Orion. He looked up at him—a slight tilt of his head was all it took, given their height difference. His golden-brown eyes were serious.

”Are you sure you have to go?”

”I’m sure. I won’t be long.”

Abel sighed, a big, dramatic sigh. Then, without warning, he sank down to the floor. Not in a sulk, but gracefully, folding his long legs underneath him until he was sitting cross-legged at Orion’s feet. He looked up, resting his chin on his hands on Orion’s knees.

”Now you’re taller,” Abel stated, as if explaining a profound truth.

Orion laughed, the sound bright in the quiet room. ”I am always shorter than you, Abel.”

”Not right now.” Abel’s smile was mischievous. ”Right now, you’re a giant. A very handsome, shiny giant who is leaving me.”

The playful pout was back. Orion reached down and brushed a strand of blond hair from Abel’s forehead. ”I’ll come back.”

”Promise?”

”I promise.”

They stayed like that for a moment, Orion standing, Abel sitting at his feet like a devoted knight or a very large, disgruntled child. The sunlight from the window caught the dust motes dancing in the air between them.

”What will you do while I’m gone?” Orion asked softly.

Abel shrugged, his shoulders moving under the thin linen of his shirt. ”Lessons with Master Ferris. Maybe visit the kitchens. Check on Speckle. Wait for you.” He said the last part with a quiet intensity that made Orion’s chest ache.

”You don’t have to just wait.”

”I know,” Abel said. But they both knew he would.

Orion’s fingers, which had been stroking Abel’s hair, drifted down to cup his cheek. Abel leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them, they were full of a warm, open affection that still took Orion’s breath away.

Then Abel moved.

He surged up from the floor, not to stand, but to his knees. He wrapped his arms around Orion’s waist, burying his face against the dark blue wool covering Orion’s stomach. He held on tight.

”Don’t fall,” Abel mumbled into the fabric, his voice muffled.

Orion understood. The staircase. The blood. The fear. It was all there, unspoken. He cradled Abel’s head, his fingers threading through the thick blond hair. ”I won’t fall. No staircases in the city.”

Abel nodded against him. Then he pulled back just enough to look up. His expression was determined.

”Kiss,” he declared. ”For the road. Millie says travelers need kisses for luck.”

Orion couldn’t help but smile. ”Is that what Millie says?”

”Yes. Lots of luck.” Abel’s eyes were sparkling now, the momentary shadow of fear gone, replaced by his usual playful insistence.

He was winning. Actually winning. Because how could Orion say no?

So Orion bent down, and he kissed him. It was soft, a gentle press of lips, meant to be a simple goodbye.

But Abel had other ideas.

As soon as Orion started to pull away, Abel chased the kiss, capturing his lips again. This one was less gentle, more insistent. A proper, lingering kiss that made Orion’s toes curl in his boots.

When they parted for air, Orion was breathless. ”Abel...”

”One more,” Abel whispered, his voice husky. ”For extra luck.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He kissed him again. And again. Each kiss was deeper, sweeter than the last. Abel’s hands came up to frame Orion’s face, his thumbs stroking his cheekbones. He kissed him like he was memorizing the feel of it, like he was trying to store enough of Orion to last the whole day.

Orion melted into it. His hands found Abel’s shoulders, holding on as the world narrowed to the warm pressure of Abel’s mouth, the scent of cedar and amber, the solid strength of him kneeling there, anchoring Orion to the spot.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of sweet, stealing kisses, Orion broke away, gasping for air. He was flushed, his lips tingling. He laughed, a breathless, giddy sound.

”Okay,” he managed. ”Okay. That’s... that’s enough luck for three journeys.”

Abel sat back on his heels, looking immensely pleased with himself. His lips were reddened, his eyes dark and satisfied. ”Good. Now you’ll definitely come back.”

”I was always coming back,” Orion said, his voice shaky with laughter and emotion.

They helped each other up—Abel rising fluidly, pulling Orion to his feet as if he weighed nothing. They stood there for a moment, foreheads touching, just breathing together.

Then a discreet cough sounded from the doorway. A footman stood there, his eyes politely averted. ”My lord, the carriage is ready in the main courtyard.”

The spell broke.

”Thank you,” Orion said, stepping back. He smoothed his tunic, took a deep breath to steady himself. He felt thoroughly kissed, thoroughly loved, and slightly disheveled. It was a wonderful feeling.

Abel followed him out of the room, trailing behind him like a shadow as they walked through the quiet corridors toward the front of the house.

The main courtyard was a wide, cobblestoned space framed by the manor’s grand wings. The carriage waiting there was a sleek, black vehicle emblazoned with the Valerian crest—a stooping hawk. Two sturdy bay horses stood patiently in harness, their coats gleaming in the mid-morning sun. A driver sat atop the box, and a footman waited by the open door.

Orion stepped out into the sunlight, squinting slightly. He turned to say one last goodbye to Abel.

But Abel had stopped dead in the arched doorway leading to the courtyard.

He wasn’t following anymore. He was frozen. One hand was braced against the stone doorframe, his knuckles white. His face, so joyful and playful just minutes ago, had gone utterly blank. All the color had drained from his skin, leaving him pale as marble.

His eyes were fixed on the carriage. Not on the horses. Not on the driver. On the carriage itself—the dark, enclosed box of it, the curve of its roof, the closed door.

He wasn’t breathing.

Orion’s heart slammed against his ribs. ”Abel?”

No response. Abel was statue-still, his gaze locked on that black shape as if it were a monster coiled in the courtyard. A low, terrified sound escaped his throat—not a whimper, but a choked-off vibration of pure panic.

The accident.

Of course.

The carriage accident that had shattered his mind. He must have been in a carriage just like this one.

Orion moved without thinking. He crossed the space between them in three quick strides. He didn’t try to pull Abel’s gaze away. He simply stepped between Abel and the carriage, blocking his view.

He placed his hands on Abel’s cold cheeks, forcing his face gently upward until those wide, unseeing eyes met his own.

”Abel. Look at me.”

A flicker. A tremor in the gold-flecked irises. Abel’s breath hitched, a ragged, desperate gasp.

”Breathe,” Orion commanded, his voice low and firm. ”Look at me. It’s Orion. You’re here with me. In the courtyard. You’re safe.”

He leaned in and kissed him. Not a passionate, luck-stealing kiss this time. A firm, grounding press of his lips against Abel’s cold, unmoving ones. A brand of reality.

He pulled back an inch. ”Breathe.”

Abel sucked in a shuddering breath. His eyes finally focused, the terror receding like a tide, leaving confusion and shame in its wake.

”I... I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

”Don’t be sorry.” Orion kept his hands on Abel’s face, his thumbs stroking his cheekbones. ”You never have to be sorry for that. Do you hear me? Never.”

Abel nodded, a tiny, jerky movement. He was trembling now, a fine shiver running through his big frame.

”I don’t like it,” he confessed in a small voice, his eyes darting nervously toward the carriage still blocked by Orion’s body.

”I know. I understand. You don’t have to like it.” Orion kept his voice calm, soothing. ”I have to go in it. But you don’t. You can stay right here.”

”You’re going in the... the dark box?”

”Yes. But it’s just a box on wheels. It’s safe. I’ll be safe. And I’ll be back in it, later.”

Abel swallowed hard. He looked at Orion, searching his face for any sign of doubt or fear. Finding none, some of the tension left his shoulders. ”You promise?”

”I promise. And you know I keep my promises.”

A weak smile touched Abel’s lips. ”You do.”

Orion kissed him again, briefly, softly. ”Now. You are going to stand right here, on this step. You are going to wave goodbye. And then you are going to go find Horsey and tell him all about the ribbon he’s getting. Can you do that?”

Abel took another deep, steadying breath. He squared his shoulders. He nodded. ”I can do that.”

”Good man.”

Orion gave his cheeks one last reassuring stroke, then turned. He walked across the cobblestones, feeling Abel’s gaze on his back like a physical warmth. He didn’t look back until he reached the carriage door.

The footman handed him in. Orion settled onto the plush velvet seat inside the dim, leather-scented interior. He leaned to the window and looked out.

Abel was still standing in the doorway, exactly where he’d left him. He had his wooden horse clutched tightly in one hand, pressed against his chest. His other hand was raised, fingers waving slowly back and forth. His face was solemn, but his eyes were clear. He was staying. He was being brave.

Orion waved back, smiling through the window.

The driver clicked his tongue. The carriage lurched into motion with a creak of wood and a jingle of harness.

Orion watched as the courtyard began to slide past the window. Abel grew smaller, but he kept waving, a steadfast figure silhouetted in the grand archway.

Just before the carriage turned and the manor disappeared from view, Orion saw Abel bring the wooden horse up to his face, whispering something to it. Comforting it. Or perhaps comforting himself.

Then the view was lost, replaced by the blur of green hedges as the carriage picked up speed on the drive.

Orion sat back in his seat, the image of Abel waving burned into his mind. His lips still tingled from the barrage of goodbye kisses. His heart ached with a fierce, protective love.

He was going to the city. He would buy clothes. He would find a perfect blue ribbon.

And then he would come home. Because home was no longer a place. It was a man with golden hair and a toy horse, waiting on the steps, learning how to be brave.