C4M G1RL !

many have met their untimely demise at his hands; he walks the earth with their tormented souls at his feet. from village to village, their numbers increased until a procession of weeping thickened behind him. hundreds of graves mark the land since his advent, and yet the heavens remain deaf to the hysterical prayers for justice. only he can hear the prayers; only he laughs at them. 

they say he is a devil. you say he is a god. because only a god can saturate the earth with blood and emerge unpunished from such transgression. hasn’t it been written that wherever the fire of evil blazes, a god will be there to douse it? but who saves the damned if a god kindled the fire? 

ryomen sukuna, in a form of some twisted mockery, decides to act the part. and so like every famished god, he demands a sacrifice to satisfy his voracious appetite. you would think that a house of gold would placate his hunger for blood, but riches mean nothing to him. his appetite needs flesh and it is flesh he got. 

“have i been too lenient that you’d dare fight amongst yourselves when i’m not around?” his voice reverberates inside the room. low, guttural, and pregnant with malice. it is enough to scorch everyone’s lungs with tension. 

you want to run away from this nightmare. go back to the peaceful bliss of mundanity when sukuna is only a piece of horrifying tale used to frighten children and not an absolute being seated cross-legged mere inches away. you try transporting your mind back to the days before his pillaging, before your village succumbed to his authority. yet his pervasive presence obstructs all your pathetic attempts at nostalgia. 

“look at what you did to the poor girl.” two of his four hands sweep you from your position to his lap, parading you to the rest of tearful eyes looking at him with entreaty. 

and it stings— their eyes. you’re in the claw of a savage hound from hell, ready to be devoured, with only your hadajuban as protection. even in this pitiful state, they offer no sympathy. their tears are for themselves alone despite their cruelty being the reason for your shared plight.

selfish bitches. 

“was it jealousy that caused this infighting? have i not divided my attention to all of you equally?” sukuna continuously taunts, lacing his voice with poisonous prudence. he fools no one and that’s what urges him forward. everyone knows that his seemingly laidback attitude is plain derision. nonetheless, he tastes the lingering hope in each of your faces before dragging his teeth along such pathetic daydreams.

“y… you have, my lord,” one of the women answers, her voice betraying a noticeable stutter. “if you would permit me to speak, i can offer his lordship an explanation for what transpired in the courtyard.”

sukuna emits a languid sigh as he rests his cheek upon his fist. he runs a rough hand down your arm, triggering vibration in the pit of your stomach. his hand is as huge as your face, his fingers long enough to snap your neck with ease. despite the surge of terror, you fight the urge to retch.

after a moment of battling your dread, it’s repulsion that filled you afterwards. repulsion rising from the woman’s explanation for your wretched state. the rest of the women nod their heads along with her account of how you tripped on a slippery stone multiple times, causing your current injuries, as if you’re a toddler who cannot orient her legs properly. 

they will save themselves with falsehood. 

sukuna yawns after the woman’s narration. his set of eyes seeking you after in the silence. 

“this matter is of your stupidity, then? you’ve wasted my time, brat.” he dips his cadence in amusement and disgust. 

anger flares within you, filling your nose and ears with the bitter scent of hatred, yet its heat descended down your throat, dampening your ability to defend yourself. what is one against many? there are twenty concubines in this room and nineteen of them just sold you to your demise for unintentionally raising this trifle to the lord of the land.

all of this— all of this merely because they have immersed themselves in playing a game in which you’ve been excluded since your arrival. after all, you’re just another competition for sukuna’s attention. 

“have mercy, my lord,” you whisper, on the verge of losing your sentience. “i… i mean no disrespect. it’s… it’s stupid of me—”

sukuna drawls, “speak no more of your nonsense. i have heard enough.” 

distressed apologies race past your mouth, along with entreaties that he spares your life. but you should’ve known that a god won’t turn his back on the sacrifice of blood. 

thus, when his enormous body finally moves to encase your fragility, you close your eyes and with jittering teeth have accepted your fate. you wait for the final release of death, a snap or his fist through your heart, but none came. instead, at your feet lay your torn garments, casting your nakedness before the other concubines in a humiliating display. the crisp air blows against your nipples, causing them to pucker tight. the same air turns your blood gelid, your bones immovable. 

“now, let’s see what all the fuss is about.” from behind, sukuna gropes your breasts, swirling the tips of your nipples with his fingers. “i’ll kill anyone who looks away.” the warning is vehement, ripe with threat, that even mere insects won’t dare defy it. 

is this the ultimate act of worship? to be stripped of all your layers? to be eaten?

his lips latch onto the bareness of your neck, sharp teeth dragging across the skin. the silence is thick, saved for the sound of your uneven breathing and the rustling of fabric as the concubines shift uncomfortably on their seats. sukuna’s wet and unusually long tongue starts licking the base of your shoulder to the back of your ear, before placing his thick and robust thigh between your quivering legs. 

your exposed cunt sticks to his skin, pussy folds flapping open. with practiced ease, as if manipulating the strings of a marionette, he subtly guided your movements. he has your pulsing clit riding the ridges of his thigh as if gushing all over will save you from inevitable demise. 

“m… mhm!” no longer entirely in control of your own form, you turn and sway in a helpless dance to his hands’ command. a gasp tinged with surprise and undeniable pleasure, escapes your lips and echoes softly in the confines of the room. you feel the searing heat of the concubines’ gazes drilling into you, a tangible weight of disapproval and something more primal — a flicker of envious fascination.

“for a condemned woman, aren’t you loving this too much?” sukuna takes the reins to your body. with speed that has your heavy tits bouncing, he secures your waist and drags your slick pussy faster and more recklessly. 

pleasure, sharp and electric at first, surges through your core, blossoming outwards like a firework. your cunt clenches and unclenches involuntarily, a delicious tremor wracking your body. the world narrows, sound and sight fading at the edges as every nerve ending sings with a single, glorious purpose. slowly, the intensity ebbs to leave a pleasant afterglow that paints your limbs with a newfound weight.

you’re but a tiny speck compared to sukuna’s imposing body; a feeble creature under the jurisdiction of a god. 

possessive hands have found you in your fleeting refuge, scooping your lower body up like you weigh nothing. with the tip of his finger he traces the curve of your spine, pressing enough weight to flatten your stomach against the tatami mat. 

“even your back is filled with lacerations,” he points out brusquely.

sukuna’s hefty cock drops to the base of your spine, its puffed up cocktip lazily pulsing to leak his thick liquids of pre-ejaculate. it must’ve been a whole arm laying heavy against your spine, warm with a gluttonous desire to ram itself through the sloppy confines of your pussy. 

and you lay there, waiting for his teeth and his claws and his animalistic hunger to devour. he presses his chest to your back, filling your ears with promises that he’s going to feed on you, eat you down to the marrow of your bones— and you’ll love it. 

“look at them,” sukuna hisses as he tugs at your forehead, “i want you to look at them while i fuck you.”

with your flesh you’ve received him like some kind of communion from root to tip. he hammers your cunt with his cock, until the heat of his savage lust reaches the pit of your belly. you feel his warmth soiling your cervix and uterus with every vigorous thrust. 

“oh! m… mhm!”  completely overtaken by sukuna, your thighs can only twitch as he destroys your insides. 

“you’re soaking wet,” he groans in your ear, deliberately adjusting his pace so he can coat his thick girth all over with your creamy hole, “and so fucking tight.” 

sukuna grunts like a wounded animal each time his cocktip kisses the smooth spot of your womb. a sheen of sweat glazes his body, tattoos aglow in the lanterns, from manically fucking your cunt. he bares his fangs whenever you tighten around his shaft enfolded with prominent and proud veins. 

the once vibrant forms of the concubines, their faces alight with prurient interest, dissolve into a sea of indistinct shapes as fog descends upon your sight. you’ve been reduced to a babbling and drooling mess, unable to grasp the reality that you’re being mounted and fucked to madness before several witnesses.

sukuna extends his hand, searching for your abandoned clit during his primal need to turn your pussy to pulp. 

“there it is,” he breathes against your clammy cheek, satisfied at his discovery. 

“n… no! not there…!” you pant as the last thread of reason frays and snaps. 

a tempestuous force of pleasure sweeps through you, leaving behind a tremor that has shaken you to the core. around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations spins until a guttural moan runs from your lips, delivered by the exquisite torment of rapture. your nails scrape desperately across the tatami mat, clinging at the remnants of spilled sanity. 

sukuna cackles at your desperation to find a moment’s reprieve. the roughened end of his fingers dip into your yielding flesh as he forcefully slams your pussy back to his cock.  

“you’re not going anywhere,” he pronounces frenziedly, his eyes blowing wide. sukuna’s desperation for release intensifies to the point where he’s blatantly manhandling you, brutalizing your cunt and his cock during the process of reaching zenith. flesh meets flesh, fervid thrusts after fervid thrusts, until he feels that familiar coil in his own stomach. 

sukuna plugs your abused cunt with inconceivable amounts of cum. his cock pulses wildly, shooting globules straight to your womb it’s almost physically possible to feel his viscous cum filling every crevice of your uterus. when he’s finally pulled out, ropy cum still links his raw cocktip to your pulsing pussy hole. despite such a mind-numbing culmination, sukuna’s cock refuses to yield. it springs up proudly, aching for another taste.  

“what a sight,” sukuna issues with cavernous and demonic utterance, pertaining to your body lying inert upon the tatami mat. he sweeps the sodden hair from his brow with a lordly air, his pride evident in the contemptuous curve of his lips. 

look at the state he’s reduced you to. his thick ejaculation pools around your lower body because your little pussy can’t hold all of him. with an indifferent shrug, sukuna lowers his formidable body to your level. and only when the malevolent glint in his eyes becomes apparent does the gravity of the situation dawn upon you.

he starts fucking your cunt with his tongue.

you grit your teeth in response as sukuna places your knees upon his shoulders, burying the slimy width of his tongue in your heated pussy. it’s no mere licking— he’s practically shoved his tongue up your gummy walls, toying with the warmth of his cum pooled in your poor cunt while simultaneously licking your puffed up clit. 

“o… oh! c… can’t— please, please!” drool seeps between your gritted cuspids after your hysterical plea.

pearlescent tears warm the corner of your eyes. your sensitivity from his rigorous fucking has not yet abated, but another swell of release approaches at a hand’s reach. down to your heart, the bundles of nerves and veins constrict painfully because it’s too much. you have nowhere else to put the pleasure— the imminent pinnacle will utterly ruin you.

i’m losing my mind

i’m losing my mind

i’m losing my mind—

when ecstasy is but a heartbeat away, sukuna withdraws, denying you the finality your body craves. as if saved from drowning, you suck in and grace your lungs with air only to be propelled back to the brink of delirium when he lifts you up from the floor like a breeze. 

with carnal ferocity, he seizes the meaty flesh of your haunches with two of his limbs, while the others secure your torso. there and there, sukuna slots his insatiable cock in your dribbling cunt; an act that he’s accomplished without effort because you’re so wet, he’s slid right in. 

everyone has witnessed sukuna’s cock abusing your tingling pussy; all can see how he bounces your tingling cunt along his stiff length without strain. 

“yes… squeeze my cock like the obedient girl you are,” he sibilates on your face, followed by a harsh chuckle. “you can’t hear me now, can you?”

the voice is a distant echo, barely perceptible to your waning senses. your body, devoid of strength, limps completely in sukuna’s embrace. he buries his face in the crooks of your damped neck, groaning and babbling as he ruts into your swollen pussy. 

“how come you’re still so fucking tight?”

hasn’t he prepared you for his sheer girth? hasn’t he stimulated your pussy enough to hug his cock smoothly and effortlessly? you’ve already coated his balls shiny with all the slick your cunt has produced, but sukuna’s chest tightens because you’re milking him with a viselike grip. 

yes, it is human that he’s even affected by this carnal desire. what more can he do? he feels faint with exultation merely by fucking you. 

sukuna pumps your pussy to the hilt with slow yet profound thrusts. he bares his teeth down the blade of your shoulder as the maelstrom of release engulfs him completely. battered by waves of ecstasy, he grunts with your flesh between his teeth, the rough sound reverberating deep from his belly.

you must’ve reached the peak with him— you absolutely cannot tell. the only thing that your puddled mind can grasp is the swirl of his potent cum in the pit of your womb and the endless pulse of your cunt as you struggle to accommodate his release. 

petrified and silent, the remaining concubines are as fixed in place as if struck by an immobilizing spell. yet they watch— they watch intently while sukuna’s cock throbs with white strings of cum dripping from your cunt hole down to his balls and thighs. a hefty amount pools beneath him, oozing from where the both of you are connected. 

the envy that consumed them is a silent, suffocating thing, a palpable presence thick enough to choke. this envy deepens as they witness the delicacy with which sukuna has placed your dormant body on his own tatami mat. they grit their teeth secretly, throwing every known curse your way. may your womb not bear the fruits of sukuna’s seed, they vehemently pray. 

for ryomen sukuna, it’s nothing but a moment’s weakness, a foreign string of unknown emotion that you’ve managed to evoke from him. and even though he’s beyond human grace, he’s wasted your body to his own satisfaction, it’s only right to touch you with his claws retracted.

“performance is over, my dearests,” sukuna announces while a smirk tugs at his lips. facing his concubines, he dons his fundoshi haphazardly that it barely covers what it means to hide. 

“w… what will become of her, my lord?” one dares to ask. 

a fleeting, imperious gaze from sukuna sweeps over you before ushering the women from the opulent chamber. “you shouldn’t worry yourselves about such trivial matters. she will meet her own reckoning by my hands.”

a wave of malicious satisfaction ripples through the group as they exchange covert nods. you’re already a dead woman. with poisonous glee, they bow before ryomen sukuna with their faces shaped in unbridled mirth. 

“make sure that my wives are accompanied home safely,” sukuna orders the nearest guards. he tastes their fear hanging heavy in the air just by being in his presence. oh, humans. 

as the group began to retreat, they cast over their shoulders a flurry of flirtatious farewells to the imposing sukuna. however, before they could vanish entirely from sight, his deep voice cut through their progress.

“guards, before i forgot…” sukuna displays a grotesque smile filled with malice. “kill them all. i want nineteen heads on my feet tomorrow.”

they say he is a devil. 

you say he is a god. 

and despite all the names, sukuna has found himself a place of worship, with you as his altar. 

Perhaps you were heartless for thinking of Baji rather than Queen Ylan, who, according to Manjiro, had been brutally ended by the rebel. But this heartlessness had existed within you. This heartlessness was all you had known. 

You were not born to be a saint. You were born, endured your brother’s death, walked right into war blindfolded, and continued to deceive the person you swore to love for eternity.

Love. You bit back a scoff. What exactly is love in war? Nothing but a stupid dream of refuge. 

Nera took your hand in hers. A comforting gesture on a cold night. When the firelight touched her bare face, you recognized her hesitancy for something in the narrow of her brows and the tight line on her lips. 

“Have you anything in mind?” Your chest tightened at the possibilities whirling in your head. A sick part of you, that gnawing part, begged that it wouldn’t be about Mitsuya.

“I was only ruminating, Your Majesty.” Her eyes met yours. “Your world is becoming smaller. And I fear that…” she faltered, gulping as she continued, “I fear that you will be found out soon if we do not take precautions.” 

Your chest locked even more tightly. Nera was right. With each passing day, and with the royal declaration you had enforced against the Advari, your world and that of the rebellion were meant to collide if not prevented. 

And yet you felt yourself withering away. How long were you to continue leaving like a fugitive in your own skin? Every time you flutter your eyes open, a gust of anxiety would envelop you in its chilling embrace. 

There were eyes everywhere. You had been blinding them ever since the crown landed on your head. Taking actions that may divert their attention away from you. Months and months of accomplishing an exhausting feat had rendered you bone-tired.

“I have no idea what to do, Nera,” you admitted. 

You had never heard yourself admit such words. Shame mounted, overwhelming you with its growing presence. 

“I will help you,” said Nera, pacifying your dread with one of her tender smiles. “If you will let me, Your Majesty, I’ll bring the records to your manor at first light tomorrow. Since you have yet to decide how to deal with it, I figured it is best to take it somewhere far. With Her Majesty’s permission, that is.” 

“Where in the manor will you keep it?” asked you, plaiting back your lucid thoughts. The good outcome her suggestion brought outweighed the worse ones. In the manor, no one would dare touch what belonged to you. “I know,” you had beaten Nera into answering. “We shall keep it in my chamber. It is but an empty quarter now. Mother and Father wouldn’t suspect a thing.” 

“I will make sure it is done in the morrow—”

Your spine went rigid as a knock echoed from the door. Nera quickly picked up her feet to stand beside you, bowing her head low and keeping her mouth shut. 

Sitting like how you would in the grace of your constituents, you tilted your head up and pushed your chest out. 

Manjiro walked in, his sight pinching your heart. Looking at him hurt, for you knew what had happened in the dungeons. For you understood the night he believed himself spiraling down the same corruption his father had. Still, you gritted your teeth until your jaw ached, forcing a forced smile from your lips.

This day had not been kind to him, you supposed. He carried and maintained the poise of a ruler, but when Nera finally departed the chamber and you were left alone with him, Manjiro slumped to the floor, laying his head on your lap. 

“Would you mind giving me some advice?” His voice was layered with exhaustion and a humorous undertone. 

“Whatever advice does a ruler like you need from me?” You ached to touch him. Albeit having the need to shout and curse, you knew that him alone could soothe the hurt, could salve the pain. And for that, you had been torn asunder.

“Am I doing well as a king?” he asked. Raw emotions layered his voice. An unfiltered and vulnerable side that he’d allowed only for you to see. It was perplexing to think that his vulnerability could turn into cruelty.

You stroked his hair. “You are.” 

Despite his knack for wickedness, you wouldn’t rob Manjiro of the recognition he deserved. Day and night he performs his duty with the sake of Elorus in his mind. Whatever he had done thus far to protect the country was justifiable. 

It is a king’s wrath that a rebel shall receive in the eyes of the gods. For betraying your king is turning your back on Aenar. 

A deo rex, a rege lex. 

“If what you say is true, why is it that every time I believe to be one step ahead of the Advari, I am being propelled towards defeat?” 

The firewood snapped and crackled as you pondered the rhetorical question. You threaded your fingers through his hair, feeling your heart sinking for him. 

Sympathy filled your gut. Baji’s death had compelled Manjiro into thinking that he was an inept monarch. As queen, you should’ve understood more of his feelings and thoughts. If only it was easier. Baji remained a part of you. Even after severing your connection with the Advari, he was a friend. And he died in your arms. 

“We were outsmarted.” You offered him the truth instead. Whoever finished Baji had familiarized themselves with every nook and cranny of the Three Palaces. Had gathered intel about the sentries guarding the dungeons. “But this is the last time it would happen.” 

Manjiro lifted his face. “Do you mean that?” 

You hardened your resolve, shutting all doors for reluctance. Being Queen was your path. Your and the Advari’s connection had already vanished into nothing but collected memories and a failed rebellion.

“I mean it with my heart.” You rubbed his cheeks with your thumb. “We will fight back. You and I, together like always.” 

He sighed as the weight of defeat slowly abated. Manjiro took your hand and planted a kiss on your wrist. “Yes, we will. We will find the rebels. Find who killed Baji Keisuke. We will put an end to this madness. You and I.” 

And to accomplish such triumph, you had to confirm the unabating suspicions sitting in your gut regarding Baji’s last words in the dungeons. 

As the night finally left no more room for light, and as the snow persistently drizzled over Elorus, you sat on your shared bed while Manjiro snored softly beside you. 

Ybarra. Idrarean. 

You possessed not an iota of evidence to prove your speculations. Yet that had failed to eradicate your instincts. A woman had many weapons on her sleeve, and her intuition was one of them. If you would allow yourself to barge through and satisfy these intuitions, you would be hitting two birds with one stone. 

No. You need not rush. Use your mind. Plan. Oppressing Baji’s murderer and Elorus’ traitor was your priority. You need not give in to your wicked thoughts of returning what he had done to Baji. Not right now, at least. 

Heavy was the price for it all. You would be risking war. That was if you weren’t already in one. 

Ybarra. He wouldn’t escape unscathed. 

You canted your head on Manjiro’s sleeping form. He might be the King, but you were his Queen. The Queen of Elorus. Protecting the people from outside threats should be enough of a reason for you to grab your weapons and deal with enemies lurking around the corners. Because of Baji, you held with you a reasonable need to move. He had already given you a lead. 

You gathered and donned your abandoned nightgown from the floor. 

“There is no need to follow me. Stay here,” you ordered the sentries attempting to trail behind you. They merely looked at each other before returning to their position by the door. 

Talk. The goal was to talk to him. Threaten him if need be. Talk, but why were you flooded with vexation the moment the breeze brought by the snow licked your skin? Talk, but why did you carry a dagger with you? 

It was a descent into madness. Never had you been one to put your emotions over your thoughts. But if your intuition was right about Ybarra, sitting still and letting him go would be a mistake you refused to make. 

Baji was your friend. Elorus was your country. Manjiro was your lover. You loved them dearly. If the worst were to happen, you would fight tooth and nail for the sake of those you cherished. And one way to fight was to ascertain that Izana, the Prince and heir of Idrarean, had no underhanded machinations hidden behind those nefarious, purple eyes. 

The dimness that surrounded the pathway and stairs leading to Izana’s chamber had cradled the rancor fizzing inside you. The darkness had reached you with its talons, corrupting your sanity, defiling it with impure thoughts of blood. The crackle of winter thunderstorm above your head had only fanned your evil desire to see Izana’s blood, spilling out from his guts and onto the floors underneath your feet. 

You were out of breath, gripping the dagger tightly, bracing yourself for the horror unfolding before you as your mind coiled around the thoughts of killing. 

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. 

Make him pay. Make him pay. Make him pay. 

For Manjiro. For Elorus. For Baji. 

Consequences be damned. 

You held the doorknob. Eyes filled with tears. Tears that were for Baji. 

“I do not want to die.”

You inhaled sharply, preparing to charge in when sudden rumbling noises boomed and jolted every nerve awake, rattling each bone supporting your body. 

You recoiled, retreating until your back hit the balustrade. The dagger’s shaft pressing against your stomach, hand covering your mouth. There were fat and warm tears drenching your cheeks. 

What were you thinking? What were you thinking?

Clutching your chest until your nails dug in your flesh, you gritted your teeth in pain. You had to go back. Back to your rationality. Back to your chamber. You simply couldn’t end Izana here. 

Emma. She would not understand. Izana was a brother to her. And you were the Queen, sister to Eros Aven. The man who had attempted to overthrow her father before. 

With your heart pounding in your ear, you swallowed your fury. You had never felt so horrible as you did while walking back to your quarters, hoping that your decision of sparing Izana would not backfire to set everything aflame. 

—

“I have come to the realization that I loathe this weather.” Emma’s blonde strands twisted around her fingers as she put them together in a messy plait. Despite the totter of her hands, she finished braiding her own hair without the assistance of her dearest maid-in-waiting, Helen.

Outside the Princess’s chamber, the snow had thickened and fell heavily on the ground. Snowflakes gathered to powder the earth in white, masking the evidence of today’s commotion in the Palaces. Hiding away the footsteps of everyone preparing for the Winter Solstice. 

“Aren’t you fond of the Winter Solstice, Princess?” Helen peeked at Emma’s face in the mirror.

The color dusting Emma’s cheeks had deepened into crimson. “I love the feast. That is the only good thing about winter.” 

The first Winter Solstice without her father or mother to celebrate it with. Emma willed the time to go by faster, for the cold had brought with it memories she’d rather forget. Memories of her parents dying.

Through it all, Emma had deluded herself into believing that she was alright. She had banked her grief in hopes that it would fortify her. Make her stronger and more fit to aid her brother.

Her brother had not shed a tear for their parents. Emma wondered why. Sometimes she felt the strong urge to ask if the King still mourned their parents in the same way she did. 

What good would grief bring in the presence of a ruler? As much as it pained her to admit, the world would not stop spinning after the death of a loved one. Losing them would feel akin to that, yes, but for people like her and her brother, grief was fleeting. You could not dwell in it, lest you push the country into jeopardy. Like what her father did before being shot through the heart with an arrow. 

“Ah, that reminds me, Princess, this would be your first Solstice with Prince Izana after such a long time, is it not?” Helen asked. 

Emma’s throat swelled as she bobbed her head. “Yes. Hopefully. But he remains vexed towards me.” 

Izana. Her brother whom she loved tenderly. He had spent numerous Winter Solstices with Emma in the past. Their slow dancing and the giggles they shared over plates full of delectable repast remained crystal clear on her mind.

“Has he not spoken with you at all? Even after all that has been happening? He used to be so protective of you.” 

“He has not.” The ball of woe had now materialized into a tumor spreading fast to corrupt Emma. Izana kept ignoring her despite the attempts she made of bridging together the misunderstanding between them. It should’ve been an easy goal, especially with what happened to the rebel locked away in the dungeons. 

She possessed only bits and pieces of what happened. Manjiro had left her in the shadows again. All she had heard from the maidservants was the death of someone named Baji Keisuke, an Advari. A rebel. 

At times like this, Izana would do his best to keep Emma safe, away from a potential traitor ready to strike, without leaving her in the dark. Perhaps it had bothered her that both of her brothers seemed so far away. Nobody ever looked her way anymore. 

“I should apologize to Izana personally,” she blurted with a determined tone. “I wouldn’t want to prolong this quarrel.” Emma finalized her braid by tying the edges with the bow given to him by the Prince. She, then, smoothed her nightgown. “Will you hand me my coat?“

“You mean to apologize tonight, Princess?” Helen raised curious brows, already ambling her way to grab Emma’s coat. “Shall I accompany you?” 

Emma paused for a split second before nodding. Agreeing would put Helen at ease. After all, Emma hadn’t the most robust body in Elorus. It was best to have a companion to avoid agonizing those around her if her body decided to act up.

“Ah, it is cold.” Emma’s mouth puffed white smoke as she spoke. Certainly, it wasn’t as cold in the Second Palace as it was outside. The thick walls protected them from the biting chill. “Will we be alright in the Solstice?” 

“Of course, we will, Princess,” Helen cheerily pronounced. “We will eat lots! Dance and drink until we are too inebriated to function. And perhaps… find ourselves in the company of a handsome young lord!” 

Emma giggled and squeaked with her friend. Ever since Helen had been sent to her, her days had gone brighter. She was like a torch of flame thawing Emma’s loneliness away. 

“I am ardently looking forward to that.” Perhaps it was time Emma find a lover, as well. Be drunk on kisses, giggle, and dream with the said person under a blanket of stars. Have someone look at her the same way the King looked at the Queen. As though she was a piece of the stars herself, always out of his reach and yet he strives to touch. 

“Oh, we’re here. I’ll wait for you, Princess.” Helen gave Emma a gentle push with a smile on her face. “May you and the Prince finally reconcile.” 

“I will be back before you notice, Helen,” she replied before turning and stepping inside Izana’s chamber. 

Izana was nowhere to be seen. Which she found odd.  If Izana wasn’t huddled in his bed reading at this hour, he would be playing his favorite instrument.

Emma considered calling her brother’s name but decided to look around first. This was Izana’s chamber when he lived in Elorus. It was spacious. There was a huge mattress meters away from the patio overlooking the Jade Sea. A long row of books divided the chamber into two sections: the sleeping and the tea area. 

Emma decided to leave when she heard conversations being uttered in careful whispers. Her stomach coiled into something she could not name. Queen Ylan once told Emma that conversations whispered inside someone’s chamber were words one would die to hear.

She walked in further instead, pressing her back against the bookshelves in hopes to hear more clearly. 

“We have to sail to Idrarean. Soon.” It was Kakucho. And he was frustrated. 

“The situation is dire. They will surely suspect us,” Izana replied in a sibilant voice. “Manjiro is not as stupid as he looks.” 

Acid flooded Emma’s tongue. She bit on the flesh and kept listening. 

Kakucho hissed, “I told you. Killing Baji Keisuke was useless.” 

Baji Keisuke? The rebel? Confusion muffled Emma’s ability to think. Or perhaps… she wanted to reject whatever her ears discerned.

“What would you have me do? Let him go and risk the whoreson betraying me to Manjiro?” Izana spat. 

“Baji Keisuke had not caught a whiff of your identity,” Kakucho retorted. 

“He saw me,” Izana replied as if reminding Kakucho. “Saw my face.” 

“Whose fault is that? I reminded you not to reveal anything. You are Ybarra in Baji Keisuke’s knowledge. You shouldn’t have told him more than that.” Spite blew up Kakucho’s tone. Emma had never heard him lose his temper like this. 

“Had I done otherwise, Baji Keisuke wouldn’t have told me about the Advari’s plans.” 

Emma’s head fizzed. She couldn’t— wouldn’t— believe her ears. As much as she wanted to shape the reality into something far-fetched, into something different, her stomach knotted up inside her body. She wasn’t a political animal, and hold not an ounce of patience for matters in court, but she knew betrayal when she heard one. 

Izana allied with the rebel, Baji Keisuke. In the end, he ended him when the rebel was captured. 

Emma forced down a gulp. And here she was wondering why Izana hadn’t come to her rescue after the death of the rebel and rumors about a traitor lurking in the Palaces had filled the whole place. How could he protect her when he was the danger himself? 

He had betrayed them. The King. Emma. His siblings. 

And it felt as though dealing with death all over again. 

“Izana.” She stood with her spine pinned straight, revealing herself from the shadows. 

Emma wasn’t the bravest nor the strongest growing up. She couldn’t even aid the King properly. Whether her actions would provide anything to the King, she wanted to be the sister he could rely on this time. 

“Emma.” Panic laced his voice. Teacups clattered on the small table when Izana bolted from his seat. Their eyes met. It was the first time she had seen him unfazed. 

“Why?” was the only question she had managed to produce. Her eyes were hot with tears threatening to fall. Lips trembling. Chest being cleaved in two. 

“What—” Izana clipped his own words and turned to Kakucho. “Leave us.” 

“Izana—”

“Leave us,” Izana repeated with a solid resolution. “Now.” 

Kakucho reluctantly took one last gander at Emma before disappearing from the door adjacent to Izana’s chamber. 

Face to face and alone with the Prince, Emma turned her heart to stone. She hardened her eyes, clenched her jaw, and balled her hands into fists. Had squeezed the spare strength she could manage to solidify her knees. 

Izana carded his ashen hair with his fingers. Hands on his hips, he stared at Emma through his lashes. “How far into it have you heard?” 

“Enough to deduce that you have betrayed the King and Elorus,” she stumbled over her words, waiting for some twisted explanation, spreading a tiny space in her heart to listen.

“I am to be a ruler myself, Emma. It needs to be done,” said he. 

The blatant honesty ruined Emma. With a sob stroking her throat, she peered at the stranger wearing her brother’s skin. “How bold. You do not even deny it.” 

“Because I do not lie. Especially not to you—”

“Everything about you is a lie, Izana,” Emma slammed with a vicious timbre. When Izana once again attempted to reach for her, she raised a hand, disgust evident on her face. “Not one step closer, you sick traitor.” 

A glint passed across Izana’s eyes. His earrings dangled as he pushed back, leaning his breaches on the tea table and pocketing his hands. “This is what will happen, Emma,” he talked smoothly as if he wasn’t fazed at all, “You will come with me to Idrarean. In my kingdom, you need not worry about anything else but yourself. Your illness will be treated and I will make you a royal.” 

Emma’s nose flared. “Is that why you insist on bringing me with you? You are mad.” 

“Mad, yes.” The Prince flicked his finger to the air. “But I care about you deeply. I could not stomach leaving you here while I take this place from Manjiro. It will be a bloodbath—” 

She had never slapped anyone. Not until tonight. And never had she imagined Izana to be the one to receive her palm. “Do you hear yourself?!” She pushed him, slamming her fists repeatedly against his chest. “We are your siblings! Why are you doing this?! Why?! Is that why you came back? To usurp Manjiro’s throne?! Why, Izana?!” 

“Unless you’ve held power, Emma, you will never understand.” He caught her by the shoulder. The tips of his fingers felt like stones, crushing in on her flesh and bones. “You have one job. Come with me and I will spare you.” 

“Unhand me.” Her shoulders burned, and so were her eyes as she stared at Izana. He stared back, and the emptiness she beheld shadowing his face was frightening. “Unhand me. Now.” 

Izana listened. 

Emma swallowed, willing herself to go on despite the utter need to fold and mewl like a child. Betrayal buzzed up in her nerves. She wanted to scratch at her skin, and have some outlet to release her pain. 

“This is what will happen, Izana,” Emma shot back, “I will walk out of that door and to the King’s chamber. He will know of your betrayal. And if you want to live, I’d suggest you pack your things and go back to your kingdom. Now.“ 

Izana leaned closer to intimidate. It worked, it always worked. Before him, Emma’s spine had gone brittle. “Emma, do not make me your enemy,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with the back of his finger. 

“You are a monster,” she hurled back at him with pain spilling from her mouth, “From now on, you and I are strangers, Izana. If you do not leave this kingdom tonight, I will be the one to deliver you before the Reaper.” When she spun on her heels, Emma’s sob raced up. She covered her mouth. As much as she wanted to be truthful to the King, it was difficult to forsake Izana. Through and through, he was her family. 

“Emma,” Izana echoed agonizingly, “Look at me. Please.” 

She continued walking, refusing to look back. Until three steps away, when Izana grabbed her by the shoulder again. And when they finally faced each other, the hairs on her nape stood. 

“You will not ruin this for me,” Izana whispered in her ear for the last time. 

Emma grunted and gasped. There was a squelching noise. She felt something sharp below her ribs. Through her flesh. Slowly, she grabbed at Izana’s clothes, eyes drooping to witness his hand shoving a dagger to her side. 

Her blood was on his hand. She held him. Painted in their eyes was the same look of horror. Izana didn’t know what he did. Emma didn’t know why he did it. 

“I… Izana…” Her legs had gone numb. Her hearing started to give up. Blood dripped to her chin. Warm blood, thick blood. “Why…?”

Izana’s eyes were glossed with tears. His irises were smaller. His shoulders shook. “You will not ruin this for me. You will not ruin this for me. You will not ruin this for me!” he repeated like a chant, his orbs shaking as he tugged at his hair. 

Emma slid down the floors. Each breath she took was labor. She could feel the world slipping between her fingers.

“I… I only… wanted to… apologize…” the Princess struggled to speak through the blood in her mouth. Her cheek met the cold floor, tears sliding down as she watched Izana bolting through the door where Kakucho disappeared.

The wind blew. The world continued to spin but for one that unfortunate, bloody night.

—

The Palace hummed with the sound of never-ending sin. In the shadows, filthy secrets reeked. Mistakes from the past slithered across the ground like monstrous veins. And you wondered how it remained unseen in the eyes of the gods. How everything had gone unpunished. 

If the sky threatened to chastise those with corrupted hearts in Elorus, you would be one of the first to perish. Your heart wasn’t clean of misdeeds. A million times over you had dreamed of burning the Palaces to the ground, of ending the bloodline of the House of Sano, of avenging your brother through any means necessary. Regardless of whether innocent people are caught in the crossfire.

But the tragic scene unfolding beneath the low-hanging moon had you convinced otherwise.

From the havering knock of the sentries on the oak door, you knew that whatever lay to the other side was not beautiful. And yet your mind hadn’t considered how ugly it would be. 

Helen knelt on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably and mumbling her apologies. Her hands, clothes, and skin were all stained with blood. Blood was from the wound below Emma’s rib. 

“Emma.” Manjiro cribbed his sister in his arms. “Emma. I am here. Stay with me. Stay with me.” Every word was filled with determination. Almost authoritative. As if he had command over death. 

Watching the King face the impending death of a loved one, you had been left unable to move. In his expression, a monster was birthed once again. His jaw was set, a clear indication of the tears he was holding inside. He was fighting the urge to cry. From shouting. From ruining the whole place. 

“B… brother?” The twinkle in Emma’s eyes was only courtesy of the tears she shed. Life sputtered dimly in her irises. Not even the fire could paint her face alive. 

“Who did this to you? Who?” the King asked through gritted teeth, each word an agonizing effort against insanity. “Stay with me, Emma. Please, love, stay with me.” 

“It was Prince Izana!” Helen cried out. “It was him!” 

You felt your stomach doubling over. 

She knew the price of accusing a royal given her position in the Palace, and yet she bravely and fiercely uttered the Prince’s name. 

Manjiro pretended not to hear. There was only his sister in his eyes. He had not been moved by Helen’s accusations. It was as though he was in a huge bubble where nothing else mattered.

“Where… where is Izana?” you managed to ask, fighting the nausea rippling across your vision. “Where is he now?” 

Helen’s whole face was soaked with tears, sweat, and blood. She wagged her head, sobbing at Emma’s unmoving body. “He… he was gone when I found the Princess! He was gone!” 

“Emma!” Manjiro yelled frantically when the Princess wheezed. “Emma! Don’t close your eyes! Please, Emma!” He tapped her cheeks multiple times, forcing her eyes open.

Emma reached for his cheek, smearing it with streaks of blood. “Izana… killed… Baji…” 

Your heart thundered. 

“No.” Manjiro shook his head. “This is an illusion. Izana will never do that.” 

“Yes, he would!” You knelt beside Emma. It might seem unsympathetic, but you needed her words. You needed to hear whatever transpired between them. 

“He… allied… with the rebellion…” She heaved painfully, her wounds kept gushing forth thick blood. 

“Where are the physicians?!” you bellowed at the same time physicians burst through the door with Ran. 

Manjiro carried Emma to the bed. And you watched as they all tended to the wounded Princess. Pressing a hand to your forehead, you tried to calm down. But Helen’s accusations rang in your ear with a sharp noise. 

You whispered an apology and a promise of return before dashing outside.

“Bring me a bow and the fastest mount,” you commanded the nearest sentry in the hallway. There were a dozen of them aligned outside now. The news slowly crawled to wake up the Palaces. In your hurry, you hadn’t felt when you bumped shoulders with Rindou. He took your wrist and spun you around. 

“Your Majesty.” He bowed grimly. And the assassin with him, too. 

“You.” You wrapped your hand around the assassin’s wrist. The one who’s always with Haruchiyo. “Come with me.” 

“Where are you going?!” Rindou yelled behind you. “Your Majesty!”

You ran and ignored him completely. The assassin chased behind you swiftly and soundlessly. Akin to a cat sprinting with the wind on its back. 

“Your Majesty.” It was unnerving just how similar the tone of her voice was to that of Haruchiyo’s. As if they had gone through nightmares and were left half-alive by the experience. “Where are we headed?” 

“To the docks. We are hunting down the Prince of Idrarean.” 

The assassin didn’t raise any further questions. She was pliant— the dangerous kind. There was an edge of a misdemeanor in the discipline embedded in her every move. When she mounted her horse, she merely looked at you and nodded. 

Into the snow, you thrust yourself with the black stallion carrying your weight. You shoved away the wriggling misjudgment of mindlessly careering through the thick snowfall. You could barely see through the curtain of snow falling everywhere. The clack of hooves had been silenced with the cobblestone streets covered in white. 

“Your Majesty,” the assassin called, her expression hadn’t moved a bit even under the mercy of the cold. “Are we certain he is in the docks?” 

Escaping would be the first thing you’d accomplish if you were Izana. You’d like to believe that you had him scrutinized to deduce such. He would be running to his ship after the evil he’d committed. 

You tightly held at the reins. “I am certain.” 

The cold was enough to freeze you while riding the stallion. You couldn’t feel your face and your teeth clattered. Your lashes had been tipped with minuscule snowflakes. They stabbed at your cheeks and lips, leaving you feeling benumbed to the bone.

A small sacrifice. This is but a small sacrifice. 

You had to wrap yourself around faith. Even if you had to borrow a sliver from the unperturbed assassin with you, you had to believe that Izana hadn’t yet reached the docks. 

As you careened faster, you rewound Emma’s revelation. 

Izana. He had allied with Baji. So, what were the odds? What were the odds that all the deaths thus far had something to do with him? 

That night in the Vencasto’s manor, Izana had been left in the Palace. Together with Emma and the Queen. It was the night Baji attacked and eradicated Queen Ylan. 

What if he refused to attend the revel so he could aid Baji? And so Baji wouldn’t touch Emma, as well. That would also explain why Baji had found Queen Ylan’s chamber. 

It made complete sense. All this time, the traitor was Izana. But, why? Why would he go through this length? Questions upon questions percolated your mind. 

“I see one stallion ahead of us, Your Majesty!” the assassin shouted over the intensity of the snowstorm. 

Her shout brought you back to yourself. Peering ahead, you spotted the shadow of a stallion with one rider. 

“It is Kakucho,” she added, still yelling. 

Your throat clogged as you slowly released the reins, pushing your hips together as leverage to keep you upright. You had never shot someone while riding a horse before. 

Courage. It is all you need. 

Shuffling for the bow and arrow, your heart kept pounding, leaving you a shaking mess. No. You only had to shoot Kakucho. Or his stallion. 

You bounced and almost slipped from the stallion, swallowing your heart in the surprise brought by it. 

“Your Majesty, I’m right beside you,” the assassin reminded when she saw you struggling to nock the arrow. 

That gave you enough comfort to steady your hands and close one eye. You and the bow had been friends for years. You had to believe in it and yourself. 

Sucking down stuffed air, you exhaled through your mouth. 

Aenar, let this arrow fly to its target. 

It wheezed past, up into the air, finding its mark on Kakucho’s left shoulder blade. From the distance separating you, you heard his agonized roar. 

Your heart soared. You did it. 

“Your Majesty! Watch out!” the assassin bellowed when Kakucho’s stallion whinnied and turned. 

The beast turned and revealed Izana also nocking an arrow straight at you. 

He was in front of Kakucho? 

There was no time to react. No time at all to dodge when his arrow found its mark. The stallion’s eye. Your stallion’s eye. 

How? 

“Your Majesty!” 

You reached for the reins but the rope slipped away from your grasp. Heart dropping, you whispered a silent prayer, knowing full well the pain that awaited you. 

Given that Elorus’ streets were an up and down hill, you had been tossed like a sack of grain when the stallion whinnied and reared. 

Down to the cobblestone streets you fell with a loud thud, your spine burning from the impact. You had barely any time to scream, react, or pick yourself up when you rolled down like a marble. Down and down, until you were filled with bruises and gashes. Down and down, until your forehead collided with something solid. Down and down, until blood obscured your vision. And until your vision completely darkened into oblivion. 

—

Days and days of sleeping near fires, the sentries’ teeth clattering as they huddled close to each other had nearly driven Haruchiyo to madness. Even skilled warriors remained vulnerable to the cold. If they were to remain outside without the thick walls of the Palaces to protect them, they would surely freeze to death. 

“Sir, we found something near the village,” one of the sentries riding with Haruchiyo declared. “We think it might lead us to the Advari.” 

A lead. Something they all had been yearning for days since leaving the Capital and braving the cold in Caelfall. Haruchiyo’s patience had grown utterly thin. And it wasn’t even thick in the first place. 

To pull the rebellion out of its root, Haruchiyo needed to acknowledge their knack for hiding. The Advari was like a venomous snake slithering off to its hideaway. Every time Haruchiyo starts to believe they were only one step away from him, he’d always be left with the skin they had already shredded. With traces that lead nowhere.

“Take me there,” he said as he curbed his stallion in the direction of the sentry. 

The sentry presented him with a patch of land covered in snow. What remains of Haruchiyo’s patience had been put to the test immediately. He should’ve brought that woman instead of these fools who eats away at his sanity day by day. 

“What is there to look at?” He lifted a brow, not bothering to hop off his stallion. 

The sentry, a young boy, fluttered his eyelids sheepishly at the assassin. “It was a well, Sir.” 

“Certainly, the nearest village operated this well before winter glaciated the water.” Haruchiyo pulled the reins of his mount. “Return to your sleuthing and stave off your mindless chitchatting.” 

“Sir, haven’t you heard of the tales?” asked the sentry. “About the gold laying underneath Caelfall’s soil?” 

Gold in Caelfall. It had struck a memory. And yet Haruchiyo couldn’t stab its source. He decided to indulge the young soldier. “Tell me.” 

Face morphing into enthusiasm, the young sentry cleared his throat. “My grandmother once told me that not only bones lay hidden in Caelfall. There is gold, as well. When she was young, people would burrow hundreds of well around the forest to search for gold. It was stopped by King Einar, as it brought danger to the folks. Some people drowned in the well they created while searching for treasure.” 

Haruchiyo’s eyes hardened. 

Gold. Caelfall. Well. 

“Interesting…” he mumbled more to himself than to the zealous sentry. 

Everything clicked in place. Haruchiyo remembered how the Queen discussed a certain well behind Caelfall, where children searched for gold dust. 

How interesting to mull over the fact that this well was miles and miles away from the House of Aven. How did a lady of your status come to find this well? What business did you have to take care of behind Caelfall? 

His growing suspicion was only fanned by the questions stacking up and up. 

Suspicion that Haruchiyo kept for months after his and Ran’s conversation. He couldn’t simply accuse you of being in the rebellion by the scant details he had weaved together. Although they seemed plausible, it would be certain work to convince the King. 

But if he was right, that you were indeed a snake, Haruchiyo knew that he need not an order to end you. For the King, he’d do anything. It was all he had ever known: to serve. 

“Sir!” 

He snapped his attention to the soldier drawing closer. Similar to the animated sentry he was with, this one held huge eyes blown by excitement. Mixed in with a dash of trepidation. 

“Speak,” Haruchiyo encouraged. 

“We found something over there.” His shaking finger pointed at the pathway teeming with trees. 

Beset by low-hanging trees and boughs healthy of fronds, Caelfall appeared unperturbed by the harsh winter. The surrounding trees remained healthy with leaves. It made a good hiding place. 

Haruchiyo clenched his jaw. A part of him wished that ending Baji Keisuke and his friends was the end of the rebellion pestering the King. But his years of experience dealing with the King’s enemies, even before when he was the Prince, told him otherwise.

“Here, Sir,” the sentry pointed at the marks on the earth. 

Footmarks. 

Haruchiyo hopped out of his mount, landing soundlessly right beside the mark. The footmark extended only an inch longer than half the length of his foot. It most likely belonged to a woman, he had deduced. And it trailed the path before him, hidden behind huge trees and from human eyes. 

He carefully followed the marks, unsheathing his sword and wrapping his palms around the hilt. “Be on your guard,” he whispered to the group of soldiers following his lead. 

Anticipation hatched in the assassin’s chest as he proceeded to follow the clues laid before him. And when it ended, with no more marks to follow nor scrutinize, Haruchiyo raised his finger for the company behind him to halt. 

A cave. It was well-hidden. And if someone did so much as to sweep their eyes across the land, they wouldn’t be able to its difference from a hill. 

“Survey the area for any egress,” Haruchiyo commanded. If there’s an entrance, there would always be a way out. “And if you find one, set it on fire.” 

Two sentries saluted and disappeared to accomplish the task. 

Haruchiyo pushed closer to the entrance. There was a torch placed on the niche in the mouth of the cave. Once he stepped further inside, swords being drawn out hissed out metallic strains. 

Bloodlust was like a wildfire, spreading fast in its unsustainable flames. That bloodlust filled Haruchiyo’s veins when he heard muffled voices deeper into the cave. 

His eyes turned into slits. Senses up and alert. 

“Nobody move,” he cautioned. “We wait.” 

Albeit being eaten by the oppressive space, the conversation slowly grew louder, setting Haruchiyo’s pulse on fire. 

Oh, the element of surprise. He loved how he could utilize it any time he wanted. Never had he been betrayed by it. Not before, not now. 

“Greetings!” Haruchiyo chirped as the figure approached, revealing a man and a woman holding hands. 

The man before him quickly positioned himself in defense, caging the woman hiding behind him. But Haruchiyo had already seen her face. 

Being an assassin had ushered Haruchiyo’s life into the most horrid situations one wouldn’t wish to go through. The shadows embraced with it crimes and sins a normal person would die first before facing. He knew the shadow very well. Haruchiyo was rammed into it with nothing but a dull knife when he was eight. Nothing could ever surprise him anymore, but indeed, the view before him came close. 

“Now, Nera, was it?” His lips knifed up. “You are miles away from home, aren’t you?” 

Haruchiyo’s blood pumped in excitement when five more men emerged from the shadows. 

“Mitsuya, go,” one of the men declared, “Run. We will handle this.” 

“If you can,” Haruchiyo chirped once more. “Of course, no one’s belittling your abilities. After all, you are an Advari, yes?” It was a gamble. Haruchiyo’s instinct was the only thing he had wagered the conclusion to. 

“No,” the one named Mitsuya refuted. “We are commoners. Miners.” 

“Miners,” Haruchiyo repeated, his lips shaping downwards as he shrugged. “Well, I am an assassin and these men with me are part of the Kingsguard. We have been dispatched by Her Majesty to hunt down a rebellion.” 

“W… what?” The voice was from Nera. 

“We have direct orders from Her Majesty to eradicate the rebellion. Have you encountered any suspicious activity around here as of late?” Haruchiyo proceeded, still playing the clueless theatrics. 

“No, we haven’t.” 

“A shame.” Haruchiyo bowed lightly. “Apologies for delaying your work. Have a pleasant day ahead.” 

Haruchiyo spun around and began walking away, letting relief sit on the atmosphere before planting his hand on one of the sentries’ shoulders.

He gripped, hard, leaning closer to the soldier’s ear. “Kill everyone but the girl. I need her alive.” 

Haruchiyo mounted his stallion, ignoring Nera’s pitched scream when the massacre began. 

Because for His Majesty, everything and everyone else were nothing but a buzzing noise.

—

Covered in moss, two small cairns sat atop the hill overlooking the waterfall from below. Time had corroded the stones that had been stacked up as a memorial to remember Eros and Simon. 

Draken gently dropped flowers before the stones. He listened to the streaming waterfall, the birds chirping their gratitude for the sunlight that had been absent for the past few days, and the whisper of the crisp wind hedging him in. 

In pure concentration, he placed his palms together and whispered his prayers. Draken had always believed that regardless of the circumstances of Eros’ and Simon’s deaths, Aenar had bestowed them mercy and welcomed their souls in Valar. Where they now rest in peace. Away from suffering. 

“It’s been a while, Eros, Simon.” He bumped his fist against the stone as if it were the hands of his friends. “Worry not, I am not here to complain nor cry.” 

This place was Draken’s sanctuary. It never failed to give him the kind of solitude he longed for when the world becomes heavier to carry. Here, he had spoken all his woes and joys. Despite the former overwhelming the latter. 

“Eros, your sister is the Queen of Elorus,” he began his tale, “She will be a great Queen. Many songs will be written about her. I know it in my heart.” Draken tilted his head up to the cloudless skies. “I apologize for thrusting her into such a life. All her suffering is a fault of mine. But believe me when I say… that I loved her more than life itself. I still do and will continue to do so.” 

Recalling the scene he had witnessed in Myrefall, Draken’s mouth had been filled with a mirthless chuckle. 

“Ah, this confession is not the reason I dropped by,” he proceeded. “I am here to tell you that today, the Advari will be dissolved.” 

He had repeated the thoughts over and over in his head. The decision was all he could think about as the cold grew bitter each day. Perhaps it was time that those in the Advari live a life they deserved. A life filled with happiness, together with their loved ones without the fear of being hunted down like fugitives. 

“She is the Queen. And thus, Elorus is in good hands,” Draken added, his voice lowering into that of a soft tone. “There will be no point of resistance. I know she will not betray the people.” 

He didn’t know about Baji and the rest. However, they were the target of Draken’s last task as an Advari. He would convince Baji. It would be arduous work, but Draken obliterated any thoughts of giving up. Baji deserved a peaceful life. Together with Chifuyu and Kazutora.

“And I would never want to torment her with the Advari’s existence. It is best that we are gone for her own sake. We are her dark past. Only in her past do we belong.” 

Years ago, Draken had looked at the Advari with stars in his eyes. Cleaving into the hopes it gave him, to the memories it had created. Losing control over it surely felt like a world-ending feeling.

The rebellion had taken over his life ever since Eros and Simon took him under their wings. Fighting injustices and plotting for King Einar’s downfall defined him. But King Einar was dead, and Elorus was trudging towards a brighter future. 

Now, Draken had a choice. To reshape his life. To make it better. And he would give the same chance for what remained of the Advari with his decision to finally disband the resistance. 

Mitsuya could finally pursue his dreams of being a tailor. The others could go home to their loved ones, hug their lovers, and kiss their children good night. Draken could finally travel the continent, live in a faraway land, visit the Isle of Leto and see what enthralled Eros about the island. 

“I know this is the decision you’d like me to make, Eros,” he whispered to the wind. 

Eros had fought for what he deemed right. The right path he pursued had been imbued to his sister’s head. She sat on the throne with the beliefs of her brother. Perhaps that was enough. Enough of compensation for the lives that had been lost. At least, for him. For his mother and father, too. 

“I am alive because of you. I have lived by your principles. And the memories we made together, the three of us, are eternally kept in my heart.” Draken took a slow intake of breath, letting the scent of the flowers fill his nose. “This is not goodbye, Eros, Simon. Wherever I go, I will carry both of you with me. Forever.” 

Draken’s heart was full of hope when he stood up, glancing at the stones for the last time before trekking the way back to the Advari’s cave. 

It was a long walk. The pathway was covered in snow. Draken had spotted a deer on his way back. With a smile, he reminded himself to tell Mitsuya about it. Perhaps they could share a delicious stew before parting ways. 

Mitsuya had a penchant for meals cooked in cold weather. Baji— he loved the spice. He also had a sweet tooth. A characteristic that he and Kazutora shared. Chifuyu would eat anything under the sun, but those soggy strings of dough with the soup were his favorite.

If he could find them soon, he would certainly cook their favorite meals. Although he wasn’t confident with Baji’s sweets. You were the only one who could do a perfect job with sugar. 

A silly grin shaped Draken’s lips. In the middle of Caelfall, and under the unforgiving cold, the scenarios in his head had kept him warm. 

That warmth had slowly ebbed into the numbing cold when thick smoke coming from the Advari’s cave had filled his sight. 

Draken’s footsteps halted. 

Smoke. Never would it smoke in the cave. It was a hideaway. 

Panic growled in Draken’s belly. He swallowed the log stuck in his throat. Propelled by dread alone, he flew to the scene, mindless of the branches obscuring his way or the stones that almost tripped him. 

He flew to the scene, hoping that it was not too late. 

But the massacre laid before him shattered all his hopes. 

The ground beneath his feet tilted until he had melted down. His head spun with his stomach. His heart was non-existent. And his pulse was boiling. 

Knees slapping on the ground, his bones thudded painfully. But the physical pain was lost in the one that has seized his heart. 

“M… Mitsuya…” Draken gulped down the sob as he crawled on his hands and knees toward his friend. His brother. “Mitsuya!” 

Mitsuya was drenched in his own blood. His eyes were still open. As if he was looking at something— at someone. His hand extended, reaching out helplessly. 

“Mitsuya!” A broken sob. “Mitsuya!” 

Draken’s hands shook as he took Mitsuya in his embrace, feeling the warmth in the latter’s body be replaced by the cold as deadly as the one surrounding them. “N… no! No! No!” Draken cried hysterically, choking on his own sob, drowning in his own tears. “Mitsuya! Mitsuya!” 

Mitsuya was dead. Mitsuya had been butchered. Everyone had been killed. By whom, the answer was written on Mitsuya’s arm, using the sharp tip of a dagger. 

In glaring red, the blood conveyed the message: A deo rex, a rege lex. 

Draken gasped for air before an apoplectic cry echoed from him. 

—

Once the king falls, the kingdom follows.

The tenet was instilled in Shinichiro’s head all those years ago. When he died, it had been consigned to Manjiro like spikes of the crown dinning into his skull. 

And perhaps, it was the only thing keeping him upright before Emma’s lifeless body. 

There was silence inside him. A silence that was similar to unperturbed water. Leveled and unmoving. He had to compose himself. Remain calm. Never shed a tear. Let everyone think that the death of his sister did not weaken him, at all. 

His knuckles were white as his hands gripped the edges of the marbled surface where Emma had been placed. He desired nothing but to burn the lilies surrounding his sister. Burn who took her life away. Burn him and his kingdom to the ground. 

“Izana…” His teeth clamped together in fury. Up to this point, he refused to believe that Izana would commit such an atrocious crime not only him. But to Emma, out of all people, as well. 

If the Queen wasn’t unconscious in their chamber, with multiple cuts from an injury inflicted by Izana, and without the assassin avouching the Prince’s escape, he would have declared everything as false. 

Izana wouldn’t let a fly land on Emma’s skin. Since they were mere children running around the Palaces’ courtyard, he had been the one to protect the Princess. That affection sometimes foisted insecurity into Manjiro’s heart. Once, he had believed that Izana’s love for Emma had surpassed that of Shinichiro and Manjiro’s. 

What would push him to end Emma’s life? 

“Sire, forgive me for intruding.” Ran’s robe rustled behind him. “His Majesty’s bidding is done. Kakucho’s head, as we speak, is on its way to Idrarean.” 

“Good,” was his only response. 

“Your Majesty, I know it is not within my expertise to catechize your decision. However, this act is a declaration of war,” Ran reminded, his hesitation burning Manjiro’s back.

“I know,” Manjiro coldly retorted. “I know the consequences of war, Ran. Killing my sister is an act of war in itself. And I will destroy Idrarean for it.” 

“What about the Queen, sire? She vehemently opposes any decision that might lead to violence. I fear that this will cause a riff once she wakes up—”

“Not even she can influence this decision.” Manjiro had to feed the growing wrath. Satiate it for the sake of his sanity. His whole family was dead. Whatever war he needed to raise would be done. “If you have nothing more to say, leave me to mourn alone.” 

“Haruchiyo is here, Your Majesty,” Ran quickly added. 

“Sire, I have returned,” echoed the man. “My deepest regret for the Princess’s demise. If I had been here, I would’ve assured that this would not befall Princess Emma.” 

Manjiro’s eyes peered. “You know what I need more than your condolences, Haruchiyo.” 

He yearned to hear the demise of his enemies. The end of the Advari. And after that, the destruction of Idrarean Empire. 

Haruchiyo cleared his throat. “If you would allow me, Your Majesty, I have found something— someone— in Caelfall.” 

The King spun and stared at the kneeling assassin blankly. “Where is this someone you speak of?” 

The assassin tilted his head up, lurking in his emerald eyes was the undying devotion and loyalty to the King. He stood up, nodded in reveration, and led the King outside the temple where Emma had been placed temporarily before delivering her body to the Temple of Valar. 

Instead of descending the dungeons, Manjiro found himself in a single room on the outskirts of the Palaces. It was the most southern part of the Third Palace. Away from the hubbub of the Capital. An abode befitting an assassin like Haruchiyo. 

To the King’s surprise, the little house was well-kept. The garden was tended to. Vegetables and flowers bloomed outside. Even inside, the furniture was placed neatly close to the fireplace. 

“I do not possess the time for your foolishness, Haruchiyo,” Manjiro snapped coldly. He had a funeral to arrange and an unconscious wife to take care of.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” the assassin whispered before pushing a cupboard by himself, revealing a trapdoor hidden underneath. He extended his hand as a signal for the King. 

Manjiro hesitated only for a drop of time before descending the stairs. 

There was a hanging lamp above his head, casting light on a variety of weapons attached to the wall. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve winced at the sight. 

This was a torture room. Manjiro wasn’t directly in favor of Haruchiyo’s ways and means, and yet he was neither opposed to it. He liked to believe that the assassin had years and years of experience to know the deeds he commits. 

But the image before Manjiro had him second-guessing. 

“What is she doing here?” he gnashed with a glower. “Release her this instant, Haruchiyo. You’d be well to know that these tricks do not amuse me one bit.” 

Sitting on a lone chair, Nera was gagged and bound. She looked as though she had gone through a calamity. 

“Sire, I’m afraid that cannot be done,” Haruchiyo replied. At that instant, Manjiro was aware that there was no moving the assassin. “I have found the Queen’s maidservant with suspicious men in Caelfall.” 

Nera stirred. Manjiro watched her as she craned her neck slowly, blinking at the newfound light her eyes had been welcomed to. 

“Caelfall?” His tone conveyed more questions. Questions that he need not utter. Questions which meant to ask what reason does Nera have to be in Caelfall? “And these men… what fate did they face under your mercy?” 

“They are all gone, Your Majesty—”

Muffled sobs resounded from Nera. She glared at the assassin while giving her hardest to unbound her hands. Tears soaked the loincloth covering her mouth. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She looked utterly devastated. 

“What have you done?” Manjiro hissed, tugging Haruchiyo by the arm. “Release her now!” 

Haruchiyo boldly contrasted the King’s command. He pressed his lips in a tight line before sauntering to the small table in the room. There, another set of weapons was scattered on the surface. 

“We have scoured the cave, sire. In our sleuthing, we found these weapons and a map of the Palaces.” Haruchiyo took a parchment and displayed it before the King. It was indeed the interior map of the Palaces. His blood had gone completely cold. “If they were innocent men, what would explain this map? I understand your hesitation, Your Majesty, I truly do. However, I have reckoned it is best to end them in their vulnerable state.” 

Manjiro saved himself from the frenzied situation by taking a step back and washing a hand over his face. He stared at Nera, trying to decipher her connection to all this.

“Take the gag off. And make haste,” the King pinned. 

Once her gag fell to her chin, Nera had screamed deliriously at Haruchiyo. She was enraged. Manjiro was looking at a different person. Gone was the timid lady standing beside the Queen at all times. All he could see was a woman filled with suffering and hatred. 

What incited such recoil from Nera? 

“You are a monster! Burn in Hell! Burn in Hell!” she screamed, her voice raw and pitched. “You butchered them all! Monster!” 

Haruchiyo stood unflinching. He was nonchalant at Nera’s frantic screaming. “It will serve you well to speak the truth now.” 

“Hah,” Nera gasped dubiously, her cheeks stained with soot and tears. “Truth.” 

“What were you doing in Caelfall, Nera?” Manjiro stepped between the two and faced the woman. Unbridled melancholy wrapped her eyes, despite the rage on her face. “Answer me. So I can help you.” 

Nera recoiled in her seat. Her lips trembled, eyes downcast. The pain that she was going through— it was physical. “No. I know nothing. I know nothing!” 

Haruchiyo unsheathed his sword. Nera sobbed at its sound. Manjiro raised a finger to stop the assassin. 

“That answer tells me you know something, Nera.” Manjiro peeked at her face. “And you will tell me everything. That is a command.” 

“No, no, no!” Nera shrieked. “No!” 

The King’s temple twitched. He hadn’t procured enough patience for this play. His feet edged closer to the woman before Manjiro leaned, holding the chair by its top rail, trapping Nera with his presence. 

“Nera, I believe you are aware of the punishment of lying to the King, aren’t you? Now, you will listen to me very closely: confess everything you know. If you decide otherwise, I will send you straight to the Reaper. Am I understood?” Manjiro whispered each word with enough warning. 

Nera’s eyes flicked, her irises dilating. “Please, Your Majesty. Please. Spare me! Spare me!” 

Manjiro inclined his head. “I will. Only if cooperation will exist between us. To remind you, Nera, I am not a patient man. Decide fast.” 

“I am with a child, Your Majesty. I am with a child,” she sobbed, fresh tears rolling to drench her cheeks that hadn’t even dried yet. 

The King stilled. Nera’s words were an echo. Growing louder, growing stronger. “What?” 

“Spare us. I beseech you. Spare me and my child.” Nera trembled, the intensity of her cries overcoming her ability to speak clearly. 

“Talk and you will be spared. Let your confession be the judge of your and your child’s fate.” 

Nera gasped for air, as though bracing herself. Little did Manjiro know, it was him who needed to hold tight to the waves that would wash away everything he had ever believed in. 

The second Nera’s mouth opened, his knees had gone weak. Manjiro felt his lungs tightening, his throat breaking in two. 

Draken. Mitsuya. Baji. Kazutora. Chifuyu. 

Eros. Simon. And… you. 

Those were the names Nera had breathed life to. The ones who inspired the rebellion. The ones who filled it.

“And the Queen was part of the Advari. It was the rebellion formed to end your bloodline: the House of Sano.” 

His vision had gone completely blurry. Manjiro grabbed Nera’s shoulders, shaking her with ferocity. “Liar!” 

Nera cried once more while shaking her head. “What would lying serve me in this situation?!” she mewled at the King’s face. “I had just betrayed my friend! My Queen! Of all people, why would I do this to someone I cherished if I was lying?!” 

“Ah, no…” Manjiro stepped back and shook his head, a bitter laugh leaking out of his mouth. “You’re lying to me, Nera!” He could barely stand. Could barely breathe. Could barely think. 

“What proof do you have, woman?” Haruchiyo was the one who asked. “You are speaking of treason. And death will only suffice as punishment.” 

“Proof? Mighty Aenar,” she exhaled. “The passageway. The tunnel. King Einar’s death. It was found by me and the Queen when she was still Lady Aven.” 

“That doesn’t explain anything!” Manjiro screamed, his denial bouncing off the walls. 

“It does, Your Majesty,” Haruchiyo answered solemnly. “If this parchment shows the map of the Palaces, it only means that the Advari received help from the inside.” 

“I can kill the both of you right now,” Manjiro hissed with a low, morose chuckle. “I can kill you and not blink for thinking like this about the Queen— my Queen.“ His onyx eyes moved from Haruchiyo to Nera. “Do you want me to kill you both?” 

“Sire—”

Nera yelped a prayer when Manjiro grabbed a dagger from the wall and pushed Haruchiyo back. The dagger’s shaft kissed his cheek. 

“Speak. Let us hear it,” Manjiro gritted. “Speak!” He pointed the sharp tip at Nera. 

She closed her eyes shut and screamed in fear. “The Aven’s manor! That is where the proof is!” she gasped each word out. “The records you have been searching for, Your Majesty, I have hidden them there!” 

“And why do you have it?” Manjiro whispered, sotto voce. “Why do you have it?” 

“We… Lady Vencasto gave it to Lady Aven! She handed it to the Queen after she was convinced that Her Majesty will give it to you!” Nera wept. Each word was a cut through her skin. “Please, Your Majesty!” 

Manjiro’s sight had cambered. His world was spinning at a pace he couldn’t chase. The dagger clattered on the floor as it slipped from his weakened fingers. He reverted only for Haruchiyo to catch his arm before he could land on the floor. 

“Breathe,” he reminded himself as he gasped for air. 

“Your Majesty, what about the Queen?” Haruchiyo carefully uttered. “Just say the word and I will—”

Manjiro grabbed the assassin’s collar and pinned him down with a glare. “Touch her and I’ll kill you myself. She is mine to destroy.” 

He climbed the stairs back up. Jaw pulled tight, his chest as hard as a brick. He felt warm from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. Warm despite the frigid snow. 

“A king must not lose his temper. A king must invariably maintain his composure. A king must not shed a tear,” Manjiro repeated the words again and again. Again and again and again until he had reached his private study. 

“A king must not lose his temper—” He breathed in, struggling to focus his attention on the wine bottle and goblet sitting on the round table to his left. “A king must invariably maintain his composure.” Breathe through the nose and out through the mouth. He snatched the bottle by its neck, trembling hands pouring the wine into the goblet. “A king must not shed a tear—” 

The words died. 

The bottle crashed and shattered. 

Manjiro fell on his knees as one, wrathful cry racked his body. The tears poured like rivulets as he pounded on the floor with his fist.

The cries weren’t from him. Not at all. It was from a boy. A boy who had to bury the body of his brother. Who witnessed an arrow as it went through his father’s heart. Who held the bloodied and broken figure of his mother. And the boy who cradled his sister until life sputtered out in her eyes. 

It was from a boy who carried a crown heavier than himself. The boy who had grown up with grief as his companion. 

Manjiro’s knuckles bled as he punched every solid surface he could find. His nails had been chipped as he pushed down every standing bookshelf. Shattering everything in his sight. Breaking every brittle thing his eyes had landed on. 

His strength had left him. Now, he collapsed on the floor. Chaos fenced him in with shattered glass, ruined books, and broken chairs. He did not care. He wanted to remain here for the rest of his days. Watch everything disappear. Be at peace. 

“Your Majesty, this is Ran.” The voice was from the door. “I have news from the sentries guarding outside.” 

“I will not hear it.” I will not hear it anymore.

“I’m afraid this news is of great import, sire. A man currently stands at the gates. He is named Draken, and he claims to be the one leading the Advari. He is here to surrender himself.”

Clutching your professor’s sketchbook closed to your chest, you ambled with shaking legs toward the fluffy-looking sofas overlooking the skyscrapers outside.

“What in the Christian Grey was that?” 

Wherever you looked, the shapes of the towering building seemed to morph as a woman bending over the table with a man hitting it from the back. And there was no doubt that it would plague your sleep later tonight. Not that you were a creep, no, but images like that just easily entrench the mind. 

You thought it only happened in movies. Because why on earth would someone who owned five different penthouses all over the country, and a few dozen nightclubs, bone his secretary in his office? For someone with businesses that had printed Roppongi’s name in headlines, that was quite unprofessional. 

Your thumbnail was in between your teeth as you mulled it over. Rich people were a lot crazier than they looked. 

Eyes flitting to the elevator that would bring you a reprieve, you debated whether to go home or stay and wait for Ran Haitani to finish the job. 

The sketchbook felt cold in your clammy hands. Ms. Fuentes, your professor slash boss, asked you personally to deliver her initial sketch to Mr. Haitani. Said today was supposed to be their meeting for the nightclub Mr. Haitani wanted her to design. Some emergency happened, bringing you here in this office dripping in opulence and marked with at least ten architects’ signatures. 

You shouldn’t have reassured her that you’d bring the sketch in one peace before Ran Haitani. You shouldn’t have grabbed the responsibility after hearing that you were the only one who knew about this design like it was your own child and that you should meet with Mr. Haitani to practice your communication skills. In which, you sucked bad. Not to mention that you’d almost walked in on him busting a fat nut—

“Holy shit— I… I’m sorry…!” You bolted to your feet, apologizing for whatever reason upon seeing the secretary straightening her vest. 

Sorry for walking in on them? Sorry for seeing her getting her shit wrecked by her boss? 

She looked at you, big eyes wide with her long eyelashes fluttering. “H… how long have you been—” Her words stopped abruptly as if she was realizing the whole situation. “Good morning, Miss. What can I do for you today?” 

It was your turn to blink, deeply rooted in the floorboards. That was fast— the way she changed her posture and voice. 

“I…” After gulping, you finally managed to introduce yourself without stuttering. It was hard not to, especially when that image lingered on your mind longer than it should. “I am Ms. Fuentes’ apprentice. Uh… I’m here to present the initial sketch design for Mr. Haitani’s nightclub.”

“Oh, yes!” she cheerily said. “Mr. Haitani has been waiting for you but you took a while to arrive, didn’t you?” 

“Excuse me?” You flashed a toothed smile. No, you didn’t arrive late. Who would dare to a meeting with Ran Haitani? They were just busy exchanging salivas to accommodate you. 

She ignored you completely before dialing something on the telephone. “Yes, sir. Ms. Fuentes’ apprentice is here. Shall I send her in now? Alright, I’ll let her know. Thank you, Mr. Haitani.” 

You stood there, jaw aching for the smile you refused to let go of. “Am I good to go now?” 

“Oh, no,” she lazily voiced, as sticky as honey. “Mr. Haitani says if you could wait a moment? He takes so long to get ready sometimes, I’m telling you.” 

You gripped the edge of the counter. And here you thought that secretaries like her only ever existed in movies. Again. 

What did she think? That you have a flying fuck about her knowing her boss? Because she makes it seem like she knew all his nuances and dirty secrets and she’s slapping you with all of it. 

For Pete’s sake, you had only been here once. And you didn’t have the chance to climb and enter Mr. Haitani’s office back then. Yes, you might know a little about the man, courtesy of his few interviews printed in magazines, but that’s it. The man loved to sleep. It wasn’t like you wanted to know more than that. 

“I can wait,” you answered after your inner monologue. “I have all the time in the world.” 

You had all the time and patience for your goddamn apprenticeship. 

“Sweet!” she clapped and smiled. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?” 

“I’m good. I’ll just…” You pointed to the sofas wearing your wide smile. “I’ll just mind my business here.” 

However, before you could reach your seat, the secretary once again took the telephone to her ears. 

“Oh, alright, Mr. Haitani. I’ll send her in,” you heard her say before she called your name and told you to finally enter Mr. Haitani’s office. 

That’s when you felt the weight of it all. On your way here, you didn’t even think that the man could intimidate you without him actually standing in your presence. For a lack of a better word, he was like an octopus with long tentacles, oppressing the whole space without moving. 

Sometimes, thinking through a decision might save you from further dilemmas. You should try doing it. 

And yet the glimpse of your resume suddenly flashed before your eyes. Of how you could write “help designed Mr. Ran Haitani’s nightclub” and you’d be certain to bag different firms to work in. For people on the hem of society like you, these encounters were worth a fortune. Instead of moping about bout how you were seconds away from facing the Ran Haitani, you should push your chest out at tight circumstances like this one. 

Chin up. Chest out. Shoulders pinned. 

The secretary pushed the door open, and you stepped in. 

I wanna go back, was the thought that filled your mind. Someone save me. 

Everything about his office was designed to tell you how poor you were. Ran Haitani’s office was in the colors brown, grey, and black. From the table to his sofa set, the leather dominated the interior design. Behind his office table was a painting of a samurai, hang on a huge niche in the wall. Beside it was a cabinet full of antique vases, no doubt, and a huge fucking lamplight beside that as well. From where you stood, the floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the towers outside. They were like legos, intimidated by that of Mr. Haitani’s office. 

“So, you’re the apprentice?” The voice was calm, tipped in with absolute danger. It almost felt like something was crawling up your spine. 

“G… good day, Mr. Haitani. Ms. Fuentes sent me for the initial sketch of the new nightclub,” you revealed, breathless. 

God, he was tall. You knew he was tall— but it’s different when he’s near. His height was intimidating. He was designed to have you thinking of what did you wear today, what perfume did you use, was your makeup decent? Was it up to his taste? And you didn’t even know the man like that. 

He wore simple white polo sleeves, paired with slick-looking slacks and shoes that reflected the blinding lights hanging above the ceilings. In his hand was a glass of alcohol, expensive alcohol. You didn’t know what alcohol it was, but it looked like it costs thousands. 

“Please, have a seat.” He pointed to his sofa with his hand still holding the glass, tipping his head with his brow moving ever so slightly. “Relax, pretty. I won’t bite.” 

What… 

You stood frozen, feet refusing to move. First of all, pretty? Second of all, didn’t you read that line in million books before? So, it does happen in real life? 

“Thank you, Mr. Haitani,” you murmured before sitting on the sofa properly, the sketchbook on your lap. 

He ambled his way to you, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as he drew near. For someone who’s already pushing forty, he certainly didn’t look the part. 

You wondered who was his esthetician. 

“What’s your name?” He’s fully seated now, his eyes glued to your face. And just like that, his woody fragrance mixed with lavender whiffed at your nose and engraved its scent there. 

And why does it feel so overwhelming to have a rich man’s eyes on your face? 

You pinched the edges of the sketchbook, displaying him a docile smile before stating your name. “Ms. Fuentes regrets to tell you that she needs to be somewhere. She says—”

“It’s quite alright, I wouldn’t mind talking to her apprentice until the project is done,” he interrupted, unflinching before drinking from his glass. “So, what are discussing today?” 

“Oh!” You wagged your head and opened the sketchbook, laying it properly on the table before him. “This… this is the sketch for the nightclub.” 

Ran Haitani’s brow cocked up. “What, exactly, are we looking at here? Sorry, I’m not architect-savvy.”  When he talked, his neck tattoo moved like it had a life of its own. 

You cringed inwardly. That tattoo was one hell of agony, you were certain. And that tattoo that seemed to snake from his wrist to his whole sleeve would take you at least a fuck ton of determination and someone paying you a million dollars to get yourself. 

“Ah, so Ms. Fuentes has at least three design inspirations for the nightclub. As you can see right here, it almost looks like a shape of a butterfly. We can install crazy lights to appear like it’s a butterfly’s wings from above. Hence, giving justice to give the nightclub life. This might seem complicated, but here you can see the floorplan we’ve sketched. Of course, this will be perfectly ergonomic for comfort and— is… is there something on my face, Sir?” 

“How old are you?” He didn’t hold any expression. It was blank, that face. 

You swallowed. Why would he randomly ask about that? “I’m 24, Sir.” 

“I see. You have a job?” 

Okay, that was random. 

“I do, Sir. The apprenticeship and a few part-time jobs here and there,” you said. 

“How much are you getting paid?” He drank from his glass again, licking his lips after he gulped the content. 

“Enough to survive, Sir.” 

Ran Haitani nodded. “I see. Please, continue.” 

God. God. God. You didn’t look like a beggar, did you? Why would he ask about those things? You looked decent today and no one could tell you otherwise. Despite the sleepless nights, you could still carry yourself, at least.  

You proceeded to discuss half of Ms. Fuentes’ sketchbook. You couldn’t tell if Ran Haitani was interested, or if he thoroughly listened to your discussion. However, he nodded and hummed here and there. If he wanted you to repeat everything from the start, you would. But right now, getting the hell away was the priority. 

He looked calm, yes, but he was overwhelmingly suffocating. Everything about his screamed sports cars, designer clothes, and perfumes. He was rich and acted like it. He was rich and he knew it. 

“That’s all for now, Mr. Haitani,” you said with a tight smile to cover your relief. “Ms. Fuentes will come again to discuss everything more clearly.” 

He leaned back and tipped his head to the side. “You did it excellently, though. If she ever comes again, do come with her.” 

“Excuse me, Sir?” Ms. Fuentes was his architect. You were only an apprentice wanting to learn. 

“I’ll look forward to meeting you again.” He stood up and offered his hand to you. 

Albeit reluctantly, you extended your hand and let his big one shake it. With one last awkward smile, you turned around and faced the exit. You could still feel his eyes burning holes on your back, even when you had already grabbed the doorknob. 

“You’re not telling a soul of what you saw here, alright?” he suddenly whispered, blowing air behind your ear. 

Your knees almost gave up. How on earth did he come behind you that fast? How on earth? And… what? 

Tell a soul? Does he mean that scene earlier? You fucking knew it. He saw you. It wasn’t just your imagination that your eyes met for a split second. 

“I… don’t understand, Sir,” you whispered, feigning innocence. 

He was painfully close; you could suffocate on his scent. 

“Part-time jobs and an apprenticeship. Think about the things you’d lose.” 

You clutched the sketchbook, desperately begging yourself to not open your mouth and land you into more trouble. But you were saying the words before your mind could comprehend them. “Is that a threat? You know I could fucking sell what I’ve seen to every gossip column and earn me a fortune, right, Mr. Haitani?” 

His hands were above your head. He was towering over you, caging you, intimidating you. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, pretty?” You tried to speak, but he quickly shut you up by saying, “Keep that pretty mouth shut and we’ll have no problems. I’ll see you again, alright?” You grabbed the knob but he grabbed your hand to stop you. “Alright? I need your words.” 

“Alright,” you hissed, fighting his hand for the doorknob and sprinting outside when you managed to break free. 

Inside the elevator, you slid down the floor. 

You didn’t just get on Ran Haitani’s bad side, did you?

He had never been gentle, not when it came to you. Rindou was all crooked edges, bloody fists, sarcasm, and a dash of nihilism. All these he uses to bleed those around him with much ferocity and less mercy. And for years, you had been at a hand’s reach, the subject of his attention. If that was good or bad, only this story would tell.

It was messy— the way he fucked you on his glass table like he paid for it with his soul. Every thrust of his hips had the table trembling, including your body. Rindou wouldn’t break your bones, no, but he would break his. Just the way his legs jittered wildly, pelvis clapping against your rear, gave him a specific kind of ecstasy no drugs could ever serve.

It wasn’t you who would have trouble walking after this mind-blowing sex, it’s certainly going to be Rindou. What’s crazy about it? He didn’t give a damning hell about limping his way to Bonten’s hideout every day if it’s to fuck you like this every night.

And so he heard you groan, your acrylic nails clawing helplessly at the clear surface of the table. “Slow down!”

It came out more like a shriek, which compelled a chuckle deep from his throat. Aren’t you adorable when you’re fucked to your wits?

He slanted his body towards your back, even his nipples were hard as they brushed over your skin.

“Don’t look down on me,” he murmured in your ear, cupping your cheek with one hand so he could press his lips against your skin, “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til we can’t walk anymore.”

He grabbed your hips again, nails digging into the soft flesh before pulling his cock out to the root just to slam back in to the base. Before you could recover from the impact, Rindou parted his hips, shifting his position to pistol through your cunt like a ravaged man.

Because he was, indeed, a ravaged man. Especially when it’s you— has always been for you. The years didn’t dull his affection and ardor, never would it be.

Tight, you clenched around him. Your walls gripping his cock as if you wanted nothing but to suck his balls in, too. Pride swelled up into his chest. You wanted him as much as he wanted you. And whatever the fuck would be more gratifying than that? Nothing.

“I’m cumming.” Rindou’s jaws clenched, his stomach recoiling in untamable desire. He could feel his balls getting heavier as he pumped through your cunt, that familiar tickle swirling in his abdomen. Oh, he would fill you up. “Inside,” he bit down teasingly.

Sheathed in sweat, your body glimmered under the pale light in his kitchen. Turning and shivering sideways, you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “No… not inside…”

“Fuck,” he muttered, tipping his head back as realization dawned on him yet again: with your eyes alone, you could send any man on his knees. “You look like you want it all inside, though.”

You folded your knee over the table, practically altering your position to let Rindou pound into you more relentlessly. “I don’t…” you gasped, stringing out the word with a helpless tone.

There’s no one who could rile him up like this. Only you. He knew what that look wanted, and he’d hand it over with two hands.

“Gonna fill your pretty pussy up, yeah? Put a baby in you.” His mouth twitched up to the side as he felt your cunt tightening in response. “Something for the headlines: famous actress gets knocked up by his non-showbiz fuck buddy. How does that sound?” he dragged the question the same way he dragged himself in and out unhurriedly, tipping his orgasm to its near edge to revel in it and remember the moment for the coming days. Probably jack off to the thought of it, too.

“Hold me, Rindou…” Your tone was pleading, sending him into a spiral of familiarity: he knew this feeling all too well. He had known this ever since he was a boy ruling Roppongi. He had known this the first time he saw a new girl carrying boxes to the vacant apartment beside theirs.

He popped his cock out to turn you on your back, the fat crown shamelessly leaking and glistening, covered with your arousal. Like you were born to it, your bodies searched for each other to continue its rhythm. Rindou hurriedly and greedily filled you again, his now sensitive cock gliding in smoothly with a squelch.

He could barely hold himself, not when you looked utterly gorgeous underneath him like this. Glimmering eyes, mouth hung open while whispering only his name, tugging him close and asking him for more. Because you knew, for you, Rindou always had something more to offer.

Snapping his hips while gritting, your nails clawed on his back. It stung, yes, but it had Rindou grabbing your sweat-covered hips to lose himself to the feel of your cunt. The sound of your pussy sucking him in— that squelch proving just how hungry you were for each other had him trembling, his eyes going blurry.

“I’m cumming,” he repeated deliriously. This time, it’s only tainted with sincerity as he stared into your eyes. Rindou pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily against your mouth. “Where do you want it?”

There were strings of whimpers and moans before you managed to steady your lips. The grip of your cunt was a continuous beat around his cock as you took his face with your hands. “Inside me,” you whispered into his mouth, ending both your gasps by kissing his lips.

Call it exaggerated but Rindou had no fucks to give. The release didn’t feel like exploding stars behind his eyes. It’s thunderous, obliterating any attempts of thought to register. He had fucked himself in your pussy for too many times to count, but every time he comes, it feels like the first time.

Rindou couldn’t think of anything else as he squirted thick globs of cum into your cunt. There was only you, flicking your clit aggressively while riding your orgasm. Sweat-covered body, tight nipples, tears in your eyes. He had you where he wanted you but it feels like he’s defeated. Again.

You have him on a leash.

“R… rin!” you gasped, attempting to sit up before Rindou nailed you down the table, pushing your leg to lick your clit with his cum still dripping down your rawed out hole, “too much!”

He looked up to you, eyes hooded. You melt just as instantly, caving into his hazy eyes. And you could only watch and moan while he ate your pussy out to another orgasm.

You ran your manicured fingers through his hair. The colors complimented the purple dye that had been a permanent hue on his head. But of course, you would never admit that you gave attention whether you matched in anything or not. After all, this relationship was only birthed by self-indulgence and nothing more.

Rindou gripped your thighs, his tongue hard and lolling around your clit with his eyes closed, as if it’s something that he’d rather do forever. Quite frankly, when it comes to you and your pussy, that sounds just right.

The wave of pleasure tied your stomach in knots. There was a tickle, hot and heavy, in the pit of your belly that begged to explode. It spreads all throughout your body until you feel an intense shiver running down your spine, your back arching at the feeling with your fists tugging at Rindou’s hair. You couldn’t fathom what happened next but all you could hear was your cries as yet another orgasm slammed into you.

Rindou had to hold you up and guide you on one of the chairs, while he sat on the floor with his cock sticking to his thighs, looking at the ceiling to recollect his sanity. Your pussy was lethal— it could make any man fucked in the head.

As he slowly recovered, he leaned back to admire you, just sitting there and looking pretty even with mascara running down your face. “Stay the night,” he suggested, gulping ever so slightly to hide the plea in his voice. He couldn’t afford the possible rejection, and never would he show his dejected expression to you.

You giggled, as if you were mocking him. “Do you know what I had to do to escape the paparazzis today? They won’t leave me alone. It’s almost a miracle how I’m here tonight.”

“Bummer.” He blew the strands of hair away from his face. “Want me to take care of ‘em?” Rindou cocked his brow up, studying you.

You picked up your feet and poured yourself a glass of water, still butt-naked while doing so. “I’m not letting you harm anyone for my sake, Rindou.”

“I’ve done it a thousand times before. I don’t see the difference now,” he argued as he finally stood up. “Just list the names and say the word.”

“I’ll use the bathroom,” you said, veering the conversation away from where it was.

Rindou dropped the topic when you turned your back on him. He wasn’t an emotional kid growing up, despite having to follow his big brother whenever he’d go. He was used to looking at Ran’s back, obscured by his shadows, and never once did it matter. But when it came to you, it felt a little different, a little painful. Every time your back faces him, he feels the distance between you that seems only to widen with every movie project, commercials, and endorsements that fall onto your lap.

Putting on boxers and a tank top, Rindou laid on his bed while listening to the sound of the water from the bathroom. He blinked slowly, the after sex dragging his eyelids down.

“Rin,” you called. Rindou peeled one eye open. “You can use the bathroom now. I’ll change then I’ll go.”

“It’s already midnight. You really wanna go home?” He sounded pathetic even to his own ears. He knew that. But he couldn’t stop yearning for you.

“Rindou,” you sighed but there was a smile on your lips. “I’ll meet you again, y’know. I’ve got a photoshoot tomorrow morning for a magazine cover. Can’t miss that.”

“Do you know why I called you today?” he asked, sauntering up in front of you. You lifted a brow, urging him to go on. “Your sex scenes are getting bland these days. I can feel your boredom through the screen.”

“Too bad.” You shrugged. “I didn’t need to hear that from someone who doesn’t know jackshit about acting.” With one last tap on his cheek, you picked up your things and began changing.

It took Rindou a while to finish, but when he came out, you were no longer there. There was not a trace of you in his room but the faint smell of your perfume still lingering in the air.

He ran a hand through his damped hair as droplets raced down his body.

How long did he intend to torture himself like this? Asking for a crumb of your time, hoping for a drop of affection. How long would it go? It had been years, yet Rindou still asked himself the same thing over and over.

When would he ever try to accept that it was never going to work? It was never going to work because you have a good reputation to maintain, and he’s got a bad one to protect.

You probably were resentful, but you didn’t hate Ava. Frankly speaking, if she had the mind to hand over the gang to you, you would’ve been more than willing to pump her credit card full to continue living her princess life. She could’ve been at a front seat on every fashion runway on Earth— whenever and wherever. She could’ve owned the latest cars, leading the fashion trends, becoming that one perfect It Girl if only she had given the gang to you. If only. 

But she’d rather traverse this sick life with blindfolded eyes. Therefore, all you could do was lay your own life protecting her like what you promised on her father’s grave.

All you could do was meet this man in her stead since she had little to no idea what she agreed to in the phone call with Manjiro “Mikey” Sano— with Bonten’s leader. 

The boss had no qualms with Bonten, yet he never once sat inside a room with Mikey. Bonten was as aloof as their leader, and based on the reputation they have built, negotiating with them wasn’t a walk in the park. So why the fuck had they directly contacted Ava? These were bloodthirsty men and their greed knew no bounds. Had they thought about browbeating Ava into submission? 

You shifted on your seat, your mood turning even more sour at the thought. If that was the case, they had made a grave miscalculation. As long as you stand, no one could touch Ava. 

And that’s to explain why you were here in the first place, in front of a five-star nightclub in the middle of the city while hiding a pistol in your purse. Rumor has it that this certain executive was one of the craziest out of the Bonten bunch. Apparently, he hailed from Roppongi. That was enough reason to keep a gun with you. 

Juxtaposing the sound of honking cars and the sight of passersby waiting for the last bus trip, the inside of the night club was in a state of pure chaos. Your six-inch heels left deadly thuds against the floor, but the sound had been lost to the bodies jumping and dancing and grinding on the dance floor. 

Some guy greeted you at the door and led you towards the isolated part of the club. Women wearing thongs rushed through the pathway decorated with red lights. They hastily put on their earrings before entering different rooms. You looked around you, keen eyes trying to look through the door cracks to see if he was there until you reached the last room from the right. 

It was incredibly cold inside the room. You frowned, immediately regretting wearing a backless. 

However, where the fuck was Ran Haitani? 

The room was spacious, and without a doubt concealed many secret pathways for emergencies. You sat on the plush couch, crossing your leg over the other when someone appeared from behind the thick curtain on your peripheral. 

“You’re late.” Your heart jumped at the familiar voice. It’s from the man wearing a crisp tuxedo, looking expensive and a tad bit ragged. He grinned at you before downing the glass he was holding. “Twenty minutes late.” 

“Traffic,” you deadpanned, “and why the fuck are you here? I was supposed to meet with Ran Haitani.” 

“Traffic? In the dead of night?” He shot up an accusing brow, amusement dancing in his emerald eyes. 

“Well, not my fault that you’ve decided to meet here. Right, Sanzu?” you bit out. 

He revealed a sly smile while scratching his brow with his pointer finger. “Feisty, I like that.” 

You ignored the mirth clouding his face and sat up properly. “Let’s get down to business, shall we? Unlike you fuckers in Bonten, sleep is pivotal to some people.” 

“Oh, fuck,” he dragged the words, long and taunting, “I get so fucking hard when you talk like that, though watch your pretty mouth before I fuck you silly over that table.” 

You leaned back and crossed your arms. “Wow, I am so wet.” 

Sanzu chuckled while raising his glass in agreement. “I know. It only takes a few dirty talks to have your thong crying.” 

“I just walked in and you’re all ready to bust a fat nut. I guess you’re not one to talk,” you replied while looking and studying your nails. 

His grin turned wider. “And you’re wondering why I’m here instead of Ran? Can’t have anyone hearing those words other than me.” 

You blinked, edging his patience. “You sure you didn’t fight the others for it? Though, I’d much prefer Ran. I’ve heard he’s a straightforward guy.” 

Sanzu jumped and sat on the couch in front of you before manspreading and reclining back. “Careful, pretty, I’m a jealous man.” 

You peered at him and echoed a fake gasp. “Shocker.” 

“Damn, I’ll surely nut if we don’t fuck anytime sooner. But let’s talk business first before I wreck your shit.” He said the words so casually that for a second, a log seemed to be stuck in your throat. Nothing could really shake this man, so he goes around saying the most explicit words ever created in the dictionary. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You gasped dubiously. It had been years and you should’ve been used to this already. This man had always been vulgar when it comes to his savage wanting. When it comes to you. 

“Mikey wants your connection to buy a couple of guns.” He leaned forward again, placing his elbows on his knees. At the confused expression on your face, Sanzu grinned. “I know, I know it sounds bizarre. Bonten has never been one to grovel, so what’s our deal now?” 

You rolled your eyes immediately. Pompous fuckers. 

“Not only that: Bonten is forever on its emo’s phase. So what’s your deal now?” To goad him, you raised a perfectly trimmed brow, refusing to look away. If they were thinking that you’d give in easily, that your gang would give in easily, you’d prove just how wrong they were. 

Sanzu merely laughed it off before proceeding, “We’re the most heinous gang out there right now. And us, coming to you, is something you’d tell your grandchildren about.” 

It was your turn to laugh. There was no doubt to it now: Bonten believed that they had the undercity in a leash. You must admit that you were vulnerable because of the boss’ death, but the gang have you. 

You giggled. “Bonten needs to stop riding its own dick, I think. Not everyone is scared of your little gang, Sanzu.” 

“And if you don’t wanna be scared, the guns will be on our table by next week.” He altered his position by placing one knee over the other, copying you. “Generous deadline, yes?” 

You’d kill him. With your own and bullets. They were the ones who called Ava— had her panicking for a minute straight— and they had all the guts to command you now? Something is fucked in their brains. 

“First of all, fuck you,” you flatly said. 

“You will,” Sanzu replied nonchalantly, “later. Business first, I’m afraid.” 

You completely ignored the jibe and continued, “Second of all, it’s Bonten that needs us and not the other way around. Have you forgotten it’s Mikey who called Ava? Personally, too. If you want the goddamn guns, talk politely.” 

Sanzu’s lips twisted to that of a mocking grimace. “Wise points but I gotta correct you on that. Mikey called Ava because she’s weak. The girl would cave in, which is gonna be for her own good, and there’d be no problem between our gangs.” 

“Ava isn’t weak,” you pinned. But you weren’t certain yourself. People have different strengths, yes, but Ava’s was not meant for this life. Therefore, her strength lies somewhere else. 

“She is, and you know it. A good relationship with Bonten will serve as her protection,” he further explained with his free hand swaying to the air. 

You went silent for a hot minute before peering back at the man who’s still got his smirk glued to his face. “Being allies will guarantee enemies. She’d be vulnerable,” you elaborated. 

“Playing safe now, are we? Where’s the fun in that?” Sanzu tilted his head to the side in an attempt to goad you. “Thought you were a daredevil.” 

“I’d call it playing wise. She’s not ready for this life yet.” You hated how weak your voice had become. You wanted to believe in Ava so badly. But everything would’ve been easier if it was you. 

Sanzu clicked his tongue. “But you are, always have been. So what will it be? Yes or no?” 

Under Bonten, as much as you begrudged to admit it, Ava would be safe. You could protect her, yes, with your own life if need be. But there was obvious unrest in the gang after the boss’ passing. Some of the men believed that Ava was simply not meant to lead. First, because of her upbringing. Second, she was too fragile for a life of guns and endless bloodbath. The boss had raised her to live a normal life, and be the writer she dreamed to be. 

You were as shocked as everyone else when she announced that she’d start leading the organization. Yet you couldn’t deny her that. She was the sole heiress. Whatever she would want, she would have in a heartbeat. 

“Let me talk to Ava first,” you answered. 

Sanzu’s eyes glowed. Still goading you, the bastard. “A few guns won’t hurt.” 

You stood up and straightened your dress. That’s what he believed, but in this field, you knew it was more than guns. Sanzu wouldn’t simply admit it. 

Bonten is like a magnet. They could bring you more allies just as easily as they could garner you enemies. You weren’t certain which would it be had your gang decided to ally with them. Best be careful now before the glory attempts to blind you. 

“It could. You know that.” You turned on your red bottoms, looking at Sanzu one last time before ambling to the door. 

“Last chance to strip and let me hit,” Sanzu called after you. The last thing you heard was his raucous laughter after you gave him the finger. 

Inside the limo, you contemplated the offer. This would be burdensome for Ava. You, at least, needed to sift through it so you can expand on it clearly. She had little to no idea about Bonten, just that Mikey have managed to build an empire without actually moving from his throne. 

Somehow, crossing Mikey was the choice you’d rather not make. Not that he scared you, but nobody knows how he maneuvers his pretty little head and his unpredictability makes him even more dangerous. If a gang war between you arises, it’d be complicated. 

Ava’s mansion, since it’s technically now hers, loomed in the distance after an hour of driving. It sat at the top of a small hill overlooking the expanse of their manor below. However, the unabridged shape of the house had been overwhelmed by imposing iron gates. They were huge gates. If there was a zombie apocalypse, you’d feel safer behind it. 

Envy once again settled in your chest. It was pathetic to feel such. However, what could you do? These feelings were completely normal, and even after all the things you’d done that would question your humanity, you remained entitled to this envy. 

It was past one a.m. when the limo finally lined itself along with ten other sports cars in their first garage. Yes, first of many. 

The main hall was expectedly empty when you entered, and the only noise you heard had been the sharp clack of your heels. 

You roamed your eyes around the majestic hall. You still could remember the first time her father brought you here. For minutes you refused to move for the fear that you might get lost. It’s just too huge and intimidating like a real life palace. 

The boss’ passing didn’t come off as a shock to everyone. He’d been battling an illness for years. And yet it didn’t make it any less tragic. He was the only adult figure you’d ever known after the death of your mother. His death surely had left a tiny hole in your heart. Everything you knew and every luxurious thing you possessed was because he trusted you. He trusted that you’d help bring his gang to its glory. 

Shaking your head to release some tension, you sighed and walked straight to the kitchen, almost dropping your purse at the sight which greeted you. It’s Ava, in her favorite pajamas, obviously mixing coffee.

“Why are you awake?” you raised the question. 

Ava swiftly turned from the coffee machine and adjusted her thick glasses. She looked so much like her father. Her skin was in rich tawny color, thick brows, a deep set of eyes, and a decently pointed nose. Ava was beautiful.

“Hi!” she greeted cheerily, “I have exams coming up so I’m pulling an all-nighter.” 

Right. She’s one school year away from graduating college. Home-schooled because of her family’s background. 

“And you thought a shot of espresso would help?” you quipped before sitting on one of the stools. “Take it easy or you’ll palpitate again. We do not want Sev scolding you before exams.” 

Sev is part of the gang and Ava’s personal butler. He’s slightly older than you and more like a brother to Ava. Similar to you, he had been of service to Ava’s family ever since the boss saved him from the juvie. 

Ava grabbed her cup with two hands and sat across from you. “I can make you one if you’d like. I’m getting better at it.” 

“I’d love to,” you sighed, “but I need sleep. There’s so much work to do tomorrow.” 

You hadn’t meant it to sound like you were complaining. However, Ava’s face easily formed an apology. 

“I’m sorry for sending you to the conference,” she whispered, “I mean, I would’ve gone myself but I didn’t wanna mess it up.” 

“Silly.” You chuckled. “It’s my job and I’d rather do it. I’ll never send you to negotiate with those men.” 

Ava smiled sheepishly. “One day, I have to. And you have to let me go.” 

You reached and pinched her cheek. “Not now, though. Lemme handle this for you, m’kay?” 

She took a sip from her cup before asking, “How was it? What do they need?” 

Propping your chin up with your hand, you let Ava into what you’ve discussed with Bonten’s number two. “They need us to buy guns for them. Your father had the grip on gunrunning business. They know it’s easier if our gang handles the job.” 

Curiosity shadowed her eyes. She must’ve been reviewing the names of people who could provide you with the goods. You had Sev list all the allies down for Ava to familiarize herself with, after all. 

“Are we talking about the one in Russia? What did you say?” 

“I said we’ll think about it. You can never trust anyone in this job,” you said with caution, “everyone can fuck our asses up real bad once they get what they want.” 

Ava nodded. “Will they, though? Bonten?” 

“If given the chance,” you answered truthfully. “Men are hungry creatures. And we’re vulnerable now because of your dad’s death, may he rest in peace, so we have to be extra careful.” 

Her eyes were moored to the steam coming from the cup. You knew she was thinking of something, yet she remained unreadable. “I wonder how did you manage to survive these hungry men,” she voiced out with emphasis to the last words. “Papa once said that you were only a teenager when you joined the gang. I couldn’t imagine how it must’ve felt like.” 

Suddenly, you’ve been brought back to the darkest days of your life that you would rather not think about. You smiled at Ava instead. “It’s not every day they see a woman handle shit meant for men. But such things don’t exist here. You have to be tough or they’ll eat you alive.”

“That sounds cool.” Ava lifted her face, her eyes shining like stars. “I want to be tough like you so I will not disappoint you and the gang.” 

After Ava finished her cup, you bid her goodbye. It’s past two now, said the clock inside your car. You let out your hundredth sigh of the night, turning on the stereo for the music to accompany you home. To your own home. 

There was an unparalleled relief once you arrived at the gates. To you, your home was the safest place where you could be. Nobody knows you live here. Not Ava, not Sev, not the gang. It’s your own place away from the chaos outside. Away from danger and the hubbub of gang trades. It’s not as grandiose or enormous as Ava’s mansion, but it is home. 

You blinked hard, pressing your finger to the motion sensor. A silent ding before the doors parted and you were inside. 

It’s oddly dark inside. You walked in further, palming the wall nearest to you for the light until you felt something cool pressing on your temple. 

“Gun’s off the house, angel,” he whispered before the lights filled the living room one by one, revealing Sanzu pressing a gun to your temple while holding a glass of Hennesy, no doubt. 

You groaned and reached for your purse. “You’re fucking dramatic.” 

Only when you tossed your gun to the ground did he retreat his hand. “Well, you’re sleep-deprived. I didn’t wanna take the chance.” 

“You’re right. I might’ve shot you on sight if the lights were on,” you said flatly while reaching for the laces of your heels. 

Sanzu placed his glass on the floor before reaching for your neck, wrapping his hand around gently before pushing you against the door. With his gun still in hand, he captured your lips. 

You answered the kiss with the same hunger, wrapping your arms around his neck. He ground his lower body to yours, hard-on against your tingling cunt. Before Sanzu pulled back and brought the gun between your bodies, rubbing your poor cunt with the muzzle. 

“Haru…” you gasped into his mouth. 

Sanzu’s eyes were intense, never letting go of your face. He trailed kisses down your jaw, rubbing the gun more aggressively now, before sucking on your skin. 

The whole ordeal had you dizzy while helplessly clawing at the door. The excitement just made your bones even more brittle, your knees starting to give up before Sanzu caught you. 

He retreated the gun, pulling your dress down and kissing your forehead. “You’re tired.” 

You held onto him, just relishing the warmth provided by his body. “Didn’t know you’re into edging.” 

Sanzu chuckled, tossing his gun to the nearest couch. He faced you, then, cupping your cheeks and pressing to purse your mouth together. “How’s my wife?” 

“Tired. So fucking tired. That shit Mikey pulled has me losing my mind a little,” you complained as you tugged his hand down and ambled for the bar counter barefooted. You sat on the stool while Sanzu took it upon himself to grab you a cold glass of water. “Would you let me in why he called Ava? It’ll be our little secret.” You winked at him playfully. 

Sanzu clapped his tongue. “You’re hot, but no. Besides, gang stuff stays out of the house, right?” 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” you murmured before emptying your glass. “I need a bath.” 

“It’s waiting for you upstairs,” Sanzu said. 

“Thank you,” you whispered before planting a kiss on his cheek. You hopped out of the stool and jogged toward the stairs. A few steps up, Sanzu called your name. You leaned over the railings to look down at him. 

“Remember the penthouse you wanted so bad?” He smiled from ear to ear. 

You folded your brows. “Yes. What about it?” 

A wide and satisfied grin adorned his lips, then. “It’s yours now.” 

Blinking, you stared at him for a good minute before your heart started to pump like crazy, blood rushing to your head. “No fucking way,” you gasped with an incredulous chuckle. 

He tipped the glass in your direction. “Yes fucking way. You can check it out tomorrow.” 

You released an excited shriek before running and hugging him. Sanzu giggled into your ear, whispering welcomes as you screamed your thank yous. Pulling back, you closed your mouth around his while smiling. He automatically raised your dress, squeezing your ass. 

“I deserve some pussy, don’t you think?” he whispered hoarsely, drunk to the kiss you shared. It’s silly how Bonten’s second in command folds with your kiss. 

“This pussy’s all yours tomorrow.” You tapped his cheek lightly. 

“Music to my fucking ears,” he groaned before leaning in for a kiss again. “I’ll meet you upstairs.” 

“I love you,” you said, refusing to let him go. “So much.” 

“I love you. Tenfold,” he replied instantly. There was nothing but absolute zeal in his eyes. 

You gave him a peck before jogging your way to the stairs again.

You opened the door to your shared bedroom. Instantly, the familiar scent of home whiffed at your nose. You smiled widely before stripping and going straight to the bathroom. 

Somehow, all the day’s work had been shredded off your skin. It’s always like this with Sanzu, your husband. Sometimes it scared you just how much you love him, and he had admitted the same all the time. And even though your works were different and you had to pretend enemies outside, it wouldn’t matter as long as you come home to each other.