Months had passed since King made the decision to suppress his feelings for Valjean. Their friendship continued as strong as ever, but something had subtly shifted in the way King carried himself. Though he was still the same steady companion, Valjean occasionally caught a strange distance in his eyes, something she couldn't quite name.
One evening, after a long day of riding through the valley and sparring with local bandits, they sat by the fire under a clear night sky. Valjean, ever the dreamer, began talking again about the man she had met—the one who resembled her vision of a prince. His name was Aric, a knight she had seen at a distant tournament. She had begun visiting nearby towns more frequently, hoping to run into him again.
"King," she said, leaning back against a log, her voice soft with longing, "I think I may have found him—my prince. Aric… He's everything I've ever dreamed of."
King kept his gaze fixed on the flames. Every word was a dagger to his chest, but he nodded, feigning interest. "He sounds… noble," was all he could manage.
Valjean didn't seem to notice the strain in his voice. She went on about Aric's charm, his strength, the way he had looked at her across the crowd. King listened, his heart aching, but he knew this conversation wasn't for him. It was for her.
As the days turned into weeks, Valjean became more and more consumed by the idea of finding Aric again. She started taking longer trips into town, often leaving King behind to tend to their affairs. She still trusted him with her life, but there was a growing divide between them, one she didn't fully understand.
One evening, after Valjean returned from yet another journey into the city without finding Aric, she sat across from King, frustration in her eyes. "Maybe it's foolish," she muttered. "To chase after a dream, to think that some prince will just sweep me off my feet. What if I've been wrong this whole time?"
King's heart raced. For the first time in months, he saw a glimmer of hope. But he quickly pushed it aside. Valjean didn't need false promises—she needed a friend. "Sometimes," he said carefully, "the things we dream of aren't as far away as we think. Maybe they're right in front of us, and we don't realize it."
Valjean looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
King hesitated. He had sworn to himself he wouldn't speak of his feelings, that he wouldn't jeopardize their friendship. But sitting there, watching her chase after a phantom, he couldn't help but wonder if she had ever even considered him. If, for just a moment, she could see him in a different light.
He took a deep breath. "Valjean, I've never told you this, but—"
Before he could finish, a rustling came from the edge of the camp. Valjean jumped to her feet, her hand on her sword, and King did the same. Out of the shadows stepped a tall figure, cloaked in darkness but unmistakable in form. Aric.
Valjean's eyes lit up in recognition, and King felt his heart sink all over again.
"Valjean," Aric said, his voice smooth and commanding, "I've been looking for you."
The moment was surreal. Valjean's dream had materialized before her, the prince she had longed for standing just a few feet away. Without hesitation, she ran to him, embracing him like a long-lost lover. King stood frozen, watching from the sidelines, his unfinished confession dying in his throat.
Over the next few days, Aric stayed with them at the camp. Valjean was completely taken with him, her laughter and joy brighter than King had ever seen. She spent every waking moment by Aric's side, leaving King to fade into the background. Though Aric was charming, something about him unsettled King. There was an arrogance in the way he spoke, a subtle cruelty hidden behind his polished demeanor. But Valjean didn't seem to notice. To her, Aric was everything she had dreamed of.
King grew quieter as the days passed. He had always been content with silence, but now, it was a different kind of quiet—a resignation, a giving up. Watching Valjean with Aric was like witnessing a slow unraveling of everything he had cherished. She was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do.
One night, while Valjean and Aric were off together, King sat alone by the fire. The stars twinkled overhead, but they brought him no comfort. He had lost her, not to a battle, not to death, but to a man who didn't truly know her heart the way King did.
As he sat there, Aric returned to the camp alone. He approached the fire and sat opposite King, his eyes sharp. "You care for her, don't you?" Aric asked bluntly.
King stiffened. "She's my friend."
Aric smirked. "I've seen the way you look at her. But let me give you some advice—she's not meant for a man like you. She needs someone who can give her the life she deserves, someone with power, not just loyalty."
King clenched his fists, anger bubbling inside him. "And you think that's you?"
Aric stood, his smirk growing. "I know it is. Don't waste your time, King. She'll never see you as anything more than a friend."
With that, Aric walked away, leaving King staring into the fire, the weight of his unspoken love heavier than ever.