I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 63: The Age

The conversation limped forward, awkward and stilted.

Loren, trying to smooth over the lingering hostility, reached for the wine carafe. He poured a generous amount into a fresh cup and slid it across the table toward Chase with a forced grin.

”Here. Consider it an... apology for the jaw.”

Chase stared at the sloshing red liquid. He didn’t touch it.

”No, wait,” he said, holding up a hand. ”I can’t.”

Loren’s smile faltered, turning defensive. ”Oh, come on! Don’t try to act all high-and-mighty now. It’s good wine. Take it.”

Chase looked at him, his expression completely deadpan.

”It’s not that. I’m not allowed to.”

”Not allowed?” Kaelen asked quietly, his first real interest piqued.

Chase shrugged, a simple, casual gesture.

”I’m underage.”

The words landed in the small room like stones in a still pond.

All heads turned. Every single one of them.

Abel’s brow furrowed deeply. He looked from Chase’s face—the sharp cheekbones, the intelligent eyes, the confident set of his shoulders—to Orion’s, then to Aster’s, as if seeking confirmation that he’d heard correctly.

Underage?

That was a word for children. For Millie and Willem. Not for this man who filled a room with his presence.

Orion’s mouth actually fell open. He blinked several times.

”You... you are a kid?”

Chase rubbed the back of his neck, a strangely youthful gesture that suddenly made him look much younger.

”Well, yeah. I did tell you I was thirteen when I first wrote to you.”

Orion sputtered, his mind reeling.

”I... I thought you misspelled! I assumed you meant twenty-three! Your letters... the vocabulary, the ideas... they weren’t a child’s!”

Chase snorted, a soft, pained sound because of his jaw.

”Thank you, I think. But no. I was thirteen.” He took a sip of his lemon tea. ”I’m seventeen. I turned seventeen last winter.”

Seventeen.

The number echoed in the silent room.

Aster’s stern mask cracked into pure, unadulterated shock. He had just beaten up a teenager. A teenager. He looked down at his own large, scarred hands, then back at Chase’s bruised face, and a wave of shame washed over his features.

Loren’s jaw hung slack. All his bluster evaporated.

”Seventeen?” he repeated dumbly. ”But... you’re taller than me. And you talk like... like a lord or something.”

Kaelen simply closed his eyes for a second, absorbing the new data, recalculating every assumption.

But it was Abel’s reaction that was most profound. The confusion cleared from his face, replaced by a dawning, slow understanding. His eyes widened. He looked at Chase with a new intensity, not of jealousy, but of sudden, startling recognition.

”You’re a kid,” Abel said softly, not to anyone in particular.

Chase met his gaze and gave a single, solemn nod.

”I am.”

The entire dynamic in the room shifted. The threatening, mysterious Alpha rival vanished. In his place sat a very tall, very articulate, very bruised seventeen-year-old boy who liked poetry and had gotten in over his head.

Orion put his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. After a moment, they realized he was laughing—a breathless, slightly hysterical laugh of sheer relief and absurdity.

”Four years,” he choked out between giggles. ”Four years of discussing philosophy and imperial politics... with a child.”

”A very well-read child,” Chase corrected, a faint smile touching his lips. ”And I’m hardly a child now. In my country, I’d be considered a man.”

”But here,” Orion said, wiping his eyes, ”you’re underage. You can’t drink wine.”

He looked at the cup Loren had pushed toward him and started laughing again.

The tension shattered completely. Loren joined in with a sheepish, guffawing laugh.

”I punched a kid!” he wheezed, sounding horrified and amused at once. ”Aster, we pinned a kid to the floor!”

Aster didn’t laugh. He looked genuinely mortified.

”Master Chase,” he began, his formal title slipping out. ”I offer my deepest apologies. We acted on a mistaken assumption. There is no excuse for our violence.”

Chase waved a dismissive hand.

”Please, Captain. You were protecting your lord’s consort from what looked like a compromising situation with a strange Alpha. It was... an overreaction, but the intention was honorable. My face will heal.”

He touched his jaw again.

”Though I may need to explain this to my publisher. ’Attacked by overzealous guardsmen’ isn’t on the list of approved reasons for delaying a publication.”

His dry humor broke the last of the ice. Even Kaelen’s lips twitched.

Abel hadn’t taken his eyes off Chase. He leaned forward slightly, his food forgotten.

”You write letters?” he asked.

”Yes,” Chase said, turning his full attention to Abel. He didn’t speak to him like he was simple. He spoke to him like he was just another person at the table.

”Orion and I wrote about many things. Books mostly. Sometimes about our lives.”

”You knew about me?” Abel’s voice was quiet, vulnerable.

Chase’s expression softened.

”Not by name. Not until today. But I knew Orion was lonely. I knew his family didn’t see him. I knew he felt like a shadow in his own home.”

He glanced at Orion with deep fondness.

”Today, he told me about you. About the wooden horses. About the waterfall. About how you wait for him in hallways so you don’t get lost. About how you make him feel safe.”

Each simple statement was like a balm on Abel’s raw hurt. This stranger wasn’t stealing Orion’s secrets; he was confirming them. He was proving that Orion talked about him, thought about him.

”He said I make him safe?” Abel whispered, his eyes searching Orion’s face.

Orion reached across the table, past the bread and cheese, and took Abel’s hand. He didn’t care about propriety anymore.

”You do,” he said firmly, his voice thick with emotion. ”More than anyone ever has.”

Abel’s fingers closed around Orion’s, holding on tight. Some of the hollow darkness in his eyes began to recede, replaced by a tentative, fragile light.

Chase watched their joined hands and smiled a little. He took another bite of stew.

”This is quite good, actually,” he remarked, changing the subject with graceful ease. ”The tavern keeper wasn’t exaggerating.”

Loren, eager to move past his shame, jumped on the topic.

”It’s the venison. Best in the city. You should try the meat pies next time.”

”If I’m not beaten senseless next time, I shall,” Chase replied dryly.

Loren had the decency to look abashed.

They ate for a few minutes in a more comfortable quiet. The food was good, and the simple act of sharing a meal did what words alone could not—it made them temporary companions.

Chase finished his bowl and dabbed his mouth with a napkin, careful of his split lip. He looked at Abel again.

”May I ask you a question, Abel?”

Abel nodded, still holding Orion’s hand.

”Orion told me you have trouble sometimes. With your memory. With loud places.” Chase’s tone was clinical, curious, not pitying. ”Do the wooden horses help?”

Abel considered this.

”They’re friends,” he said simply. ”They don’t change. They’re always the same. The world outside... changes too fast. It gets loud and dark.”

He glanced at Orion.

”Orion helps more. He finds the door.”

Chase listened intently, nodding as if Abel had explained a complex poetic meter.

”A constant in the chaos,” he mused. ”And a guide through it. That makes perfect sense.”

He didn’t offer empty platitudes or false cheer. He accepted the explanation at face value, which seemed to please Abel immensely.

”You’re not scared of me?” Abel asked suddenly, the question blunt and honest.

Chase met his gaze without flinching.

”Should I be?”

”People usually are. After... after I get loud.”

Chase tilted his head.

”You’re not loud now. You’re asking thoughtful questions. And besides,” he added with a faint smirk, ”I’ve just been assaulted by your personal guard. I think I’m more scared of Captain Vance’s left hook than anything else.”

Aster actually flushed.

”It won’t happen again.”

”I should hope not,” Chase said, but he was smiling.

Orion watched the interaction, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. Abel was talking. Really talking, to someone new, and they were listening. They weren’t humoring him. They were just... talking.

As the meal wound down, Chase pushed his chair back slightly.

”I should likely go and find some snow for my face before it swells shut. And I have those proofs to review.”

He looked at Orion.

”Thank you for today. Despite the... dramatic interlude... it was wonderful to finally meet you.”

He stood up, and everyone else at the table instinctively stood with him—a mark of respect that had nothing to do with his age and everything to do with the quiet authority he carried.

He walked over to Orion and, very carefully, placed a hand on his shoulder. No hug this time.

”Write to me. Tell me how things go. And,” he added, his voice dropping a little, ”take care of him. He’s rather special.”

Orion nodded, tears prickling his eyes again.

”I will. Travel safely, Chase.”

Chase then turned to Abel. He didn’t offer his hand. He just gave a slight, formal bow of his head.

”It was an honor to meet you, Abel Valerian. Your husband is lucky to have you.”

Abel stared at him, then slowly, hesitantly, bowed his head back. It was a clumsy gesture, but it was sincere.

Chase nodded to Aster, Loren, and Kaelen.

”Gentlemen. A memorable lunch.”

And with that, he picked up his travel pack, gave one last small smile, and walked out through the ruined doorway, moving down the hallway with the loose-limbed grace of a young athlete.

The five of them were left standing around the table littered with empty bowls and bread crumbs.

Loren blew out a long breath.

”Well. That was...”

”Unexpected,” Kaelen finished for him.

Aster ran a hand over his face.

”I need a drink. A strong one.”

Orion finally let go of Abel’s hand only to wrap his arms around his waist, burying his face in Abel’s chest. Abel’s arms came around him immediately, holding him close.

”He was a kid,” Orion mumbled into Abel’s shirt.

”He was nice,” Abel said softly, his chin resting on top of Orion’s head. ”He didn’t talk like I was stupid.”

”No,” Orion agreed, pulling back to look up at him. ”He didn’t. Because you’re not.”

Abel searched his eyes.

”You’re not leaving?”

The question, so raw and direct, pierced Orion’s heart.

”Never,” he vowed, his voice fierce. ”You’re stuck with me forever, remember? Cookies and sleep-kicking and all.”

A tiny, real smile finally touched Abel’s lips. It was wobbly, but it was there.

”Good.”

They stood there holding each other in the wrecked upstairs room, surrounded by guards who had just accidentally bullied a teenager, and the remains of a peace-making lunch. The jealousy and terror of an hour ago had melted away, leaving behind a shaky, profound understanding.

Outside, the city bustled on, unaware of the quiet drama that had just ended not with a sword fight, but with the revelation of a birthdate.