Irandial Wintoris

So, it's kinda hard not to notice that Raf is surrounded by birds and winged beings imagery - which is rather unexpected for a fish in human skin.

A non - exhaustive list made on the spot:

Artsy Birb

the crying statue on the cover for the "Long Lost Treasures" World Underneath story chapter

the statue he repairs in the Ivory Nightfall illustration

the "one winged angel" effect in the cutscene of "Fires of Devotion" as the Sanctarch

his conflictual interactions with birds (it seems they're often competing for food)

last but not least: his seagull choir

If this was just a matter of a random statue or two it could be chalked up to just aesthetics. But the constant repetition makes me think there might be something more to it.

There's also the fact that they chose Artsy Birb to represent Raphayel - he's on par with Xavier's Galaxy Kid, Sylus' crow, Zayne's snowman and Caleb's apple. The choice seems obvious for the other guys, it's only baffling in Rafayel's case. Why would the devs give Raf a random cutesy mascotte when everything else is studied in the finest details? This is not a half-assed game, and it was expecially true back when the game was first launched.

Also, why can he communicate with seagulls and other birds?

We know he can easily understand fish and other seacreatures and that they understand him - as one would expect from the sea god. But birds? It's unclear whether Raf and birds understand each other to the same level as Raf and fish, but I think it's obvious there something going on there - you don't train a seagull choir just by bribing them with food after all. Keep in mind we never see him interacting with other animals like he does with birds - there was no real communication with the cat on Hat Island for example.

TLTR: it seems the game has been dropping hints from the very beginning that Raf might not be just a fish. He probably was a bird at some point.

These are all in-game hints. But I think there are also some interesting points to consider if we look at the possible materials the devs drew inspiration from.

1. Sirens in Ancient Greece were (almost) birbs

The choice to link Rafayel and birds is not as strange as it might seem at first - sirens were depicted as half-humans, half-birds in early on. We first meet them in Omer's Odyssey, but their physical appearance was left to the imagination.

In early Ancient Greek art they were consistently represented as half - human, half-bird - initially as human-headed birds and later with human upper bodies and bird legs, with or without wings.

Also, sirens were musical beings, not just for their mesmerizing voice - they were often shown playing a variety of musical instruments

Wikipedia also informs me that "Originally, sirens were shown as male or female, but the male siren disappeared from art around the fifth century BC"

Sirens started to be depicted as mermaids during the Classical period; Romans followed this new trend and during the Middle Ages, sirens physical appearance as half-human half-fish was cemented.

How much of this is Infold taking into account? I don't know, but it seems evident the writers did their research in western myths and literature, and this whole Greek Mythology thing ties in nicely with Rafayel and his interest in painting + his association with western classical art (Greek, Roman, Italian).

Fun fact not related directly to Raf but reinforcing the relationship with Classical Art and Italy: there's a bird in the Mediterranean Sea, the Scopoli's shearwater, whose call is disturbingly human-like. From what I understand, they sing mostly at night and they sound like a wailing baby. There has been some (minor) speculation that early sirens myths were inspired by them. After all, their home is on islands near Sicily - and wouldn't you know? Scylla and Charybdis, the two monsters Odysseus survives right after the sirens, live in the Strait of Messina, between Sicily and Italy. They live exactly where the Odissey's sirens would have been.

TLTR: sirens were half-human, half-bird creatures before they became the mermaid-like creatures we all know. Also male sirens were a thing once. They've always been associated with music

2. Rafayel as in the painter Raffaello or as in the archangel Raphael? Maybe both?

Another interesting thing to notice is the choice of his western name.

As I said before, I truly believe nothing was left to chance in this game, especially at the beginning, so the devs probably spent quite some time and energy to find names that would fit the guys in all languages (a post I made about Raf's Chinese and Japanese names here)

The first thing we might associate with the name "Rafayel" might be Raffaello Sanzio, the famous Renaissance Italian painter. Raffaello's career as a painter was (relatively) short, but painting in Europe was never the same once he made a name for himself - everyone wanted to paint like him, and then later great painters like Caravaggio made a point of *not* painting like him. In short, he influenced European painting for years to come.

Raffaello's work followed the Platonic aesthetic principle of Beauty - and honestly, there's so much to unpack here it would warrant its own post but.

Raffaello sees Ancient Greece as a model (so... an ancient civilization long gone. Like Lemuria)

Plato thinks beauty is super important because it's through beauty that our soul remembers its divine origin - beauty is guide and motivation in the soul's journey to reach the truth™️ (Raf and Lemurian sure see the world differently than humans. Is this because they can see through some kind of illusion or not? We can't say atm but it's something to keep in mind I think. Also we know Raf is quite opinionated when it comes to aesthetics - he makes fairly important choices based on how things look)

In Raffaello's art, beauty reigns supreme - his paintings are famous for their delicate colors, their harmonious compositions, the graceful movements of their characters. (Raf's paintings are also quite famous for their beauty and again - beauty is always a factor in his choices)

Raffaello can also be considered one of the founders of western archeology as he dedicated a lot of effort in the study and retrieval of roman art (which he did with very strict procedures and criteria).

Archeology plays an important role in Raf's storyline: the search for Lemuria's ruins by ever, his efforts to protect it, Lemurans struggle to preserve their culture and traditions and to protect what's left of their homeland + their dream to be able to revive it.

Not to mention Rafayel is often involved in conservation and restoration work (the statue in ivory nightfall, the paintings in Destined Dawntide...)

What about Archangel Raphael then?

I must confess I'm not particularly well- versed in Bible lore. Here's what I found about him.

His name means "God has healed" or "God is the healer" and he's one of the angels that lives in God's presence.

He appears in the Old Testament in the Orthodox and Catholic Bible and in Jewish Midrash (critical explanations of the Bible).

He's consistently associated with healing and guiding. He often heals people from blindness. In at least one episode he acts as a guide while disguised as a normal human and only reveals himself at the end of the journey (Book of Tobias).

He's also often identified as the unnamed angel who periodically stirred the (healing waters) of the pool of Bethesda in the New Testament (John).

TLTR: Raffaello seems like a good choice for inspiration for Raf's name - they are both very famous painters who are very opinionated about aesthetics and what can be considered beautiful; also archeology is very important to both of them

The Archangel Raphael also has some parallels with our Raf - Rafayel is a guide of sorts for his people, and there's definitively something going on with blindness, though in this case it's him who needs healing. Also association with water.

So - sirens were originally depicted with wings and Raphael, one possible inspiration for Rafayel's western name, is an angel. Angels are traditionally depicted with wings. It seems Rafayel's inspirations support the idea that, at some point, Rafayel did have wings.

Why doesn't he have them now? Why is Lemuria associated with the sea and not the sky? What changed? What happened?

What does it all mean for Rafayel's narrative?

I'll give my own two cents in the next post - this one is already long enough as it is.

My one cent for the moment: one super interesting point I noticed - sirens, Raffaello with the platonic idea of beauty, Raphael - one thing they all have in common is the connection with illusion, things not being what they seem on the surface.

It's a hot summer night, one of those where the air is heavy and thick with the warmth of the sun, and filled with sticky memories like honey. You are lounging on the little swing that Caleb has picked out for the balcony in Gran's- your house. Cicadas are chirping in the darkness and stars are glittering on the heavens' ceiling far above you.

And maybe it's too far into the night, or maybe you had one or two drinks too much—delicious margaritas—you and Caleb had mixed earlier before. You secretly sneaked in more of the tequila because this dummy always watches over your alcohol intake. And you start to feel it now, head slightly dizzy, and somehow all the sounds seem to intensify. Like the ones from Caleb especially.

Sitting beside you on the swing he stares into the dark sky, nipping at his drink with an extra shot of lemon juice.

Freak! You could scrunch your face only by thinking about how sour it has to be. And you're abruptly reminded of something far in your past.

Your time at college. Particularly the college parties, when your fellow students and friends played those ridiculous drinking party games. And you always drew yourself back from them, too scared to have to kiss another man or to reveal secrets you were not ready to even admit to yourself. Like the one, that you have always been romantically interested in only one boy — Caleb. Your former adoptive brother and childhood friend. The one who is finally back in your life and kissed you only once yet — on his birthday. Admittedly it was more than only one kiss, but since then Caleb has been annoyingly reserved in case of physical intimacy.

"... Leeebiiie..." you whine at him, voice already slightly slurred.

The wonderful violet eyes, tinged with that little drop of magenta, immediately lock onto you. “I'm here, pips.” and with a tiny furrow of his brows “Why do you sound like you're drunk already?”

“Mmm, might have cheated!” you giggle erratically. Oh yeah, you definitely are more than just a little tipsy.

The little laugh sounds like heaven in your ears. “Such a troublemaker!” he ruffles your hair. “No more drinks for you then,” he adds with a hint of worry and firm determination.

Usually, it would upset you but now the only thing that you can think of is how ridiculously good he looks just now. Lightly sweaty from the summer heat, the white shirt subtly clinging to his buff body, accentuating the numerous muscles beneath. The chestnut colored hair was a little damp, but still fluffy. A tiny droplet of sweat clings to his temple for a moment before slowly wandering down his cheek and the strong line of his jaw.

It makes you thirsty.

You want to lick it off his skin.

It's the only thing that is on your alcohol-infused mind, so you start to climb into his lap on the swing.

“Pip-squeak?” Caleb whispers, suddenly tensing up completely, the purple eyes widen and round like a puppy's. “What are you doing?”

The seating squeaks and swivels a little at your movement, but Caleb doesn't stop you, too irritated about your sudden action.

“Thirsty…” you only mumble as you arrive at your destination and start licking the salty liquid from his cheek and down his nervously bobbing throat.

A choked whimper is heard, big hands cradling your waist like your Caleb's safety lifeline.

You're amazed at how hot his skin feels, how firm his upper body feels under the palm of your hands. The salt of his sweat that gathers in the dip of his collarbone. You're instantly addicted.

And you need more.

So you press yourself against him, and the need to feel him up overwhelms everything. You waited so long, he's back in your life after all this time. And he already kissed you, so where's the problem?

He's yours, always has been. So why not stake your claim? Right now and here. Now that the alcohol makes you brave enough to actually express your aching need for him.

Greedy you start to nibble at his hot skin at his neck, and with every love bite you feel Caleb shudder and his fingers press into the flesh at your waist. You soothe the little bruises with generous stripes of your tongue, and every time it elicits a beautiful groan and helpless whimper.

“Y-you're drunk…” he stutters, voice strained and choked out between grinding teeth “…you don't know what you're doing.”

Gods, the line from his neck to his shoulder suddenly makes you feral so you take a hearty bite there. When does he finally stop talking and take action instead?

Caleb moans as a result of your teeth sinking into his scorching skin. Yeah, that's better but still not what you want.

“'M not…” you mumble, mouth still pressed against the wet skin there, and you continue to lick up the saltiness.

Strong arms circling you, forcing you against him, and you need to let go of his skin. A hot breath at the top of your head and above the shell of your ear. Caleb is panting, obviously fighting his restraint towards you.

The beautiful red flush of his face is like a trophy. And the growing hardness underneath you only adds to the sensation. Oh, he wants you as much as you want him. You clearly feel it in the position you straddle him.

It’s hard to resist the triumphant grin that steals its way into your face. Craddling his hand to look at you, the pupils of his eyes nearly covering the beautiful hues of his eyes, blown out in obvious primal need for you.

Like a hawk you dive into him, kissing him like he's your last meal while simultaneously grinding the hard bulge in his shorts to soothe the agonizing ache in your belly.

And you exactly recognize the moment his resistance shatters.

Hungry he finally retorts, pressing you even further against his body. The hot night air is suddenly filled with loud moans and whimpers, satisfied sighs and strained groans. And even more heat.

Your mind goes off and in a haze your hands wander down, reaching the waistline of his jeans. Then two strong hands stop you, the kiss is interrupted, and Caleb suddenly retreats from you.

“Stop, pips… Please…“ he nearly begs “You don't know what you do, you'll have everything forgotten tomorrow.” A final try to stay responsible.

You furrow your brows in disdain. If this dummy thinks he can stop you, he needs more than that.

“Oh be sure, Caleb. I remember that!” And your mind suddenly is clear as the summer sky. “I always wanted you. Only you. And you're finally mine. Don't underestimate me! Stop running away.”

Caleb's eyes went wide with shock. And also with disbelief. Then they're shut close, he turns his head, trying to think. But you won't have that. Not tonight. So you cradle his face again, this time with both hands, forcing him to look at you.

“I want you, Caleb. And I won't think otherwise tomorrow.”

A last whine, the sound of a tortured soul finally set free. You had never before heard him so pained. Then his mouth crashes into yours, hungry, greedy, unstoppable in his demands.

A short break, two breaths mingle with each other as he cradles your face like the most precious thing in his life. “I hold you to it, pips. Because I can't hold back anymore.”

These are the last words spoken on that balcony. The chirp of the cicadas drowned in the sound of your rushing blood in your ears and both your unrestrained moans and groans. You're too busy grinding on his lap and trying to breathe as Caleb devours you with all the unfulfilled hunger of years. The suppressed sinful want shows how much he loves you.

Tis been a week since your kiss with Sanctarch. The precious kiss you've held dear to heart day and night. The very kiss you still see oft in your dreams. The kiss, a sweet sin committed in a house so holy.

Sometimes you close your eyes to feel the taste of his tongue on yours again. But like the wind bellows past, taking with it dust. Like yesterday never to be seen again, the feel of the kiss is gone. And now, after seven days of thirst, the fire within your soul craves to be quenched.

However, he who can satiate your hunger seems to feel...different.

He should crave you as you crave him. Yearn for you as you yearn for him. Burn for you as you burn for him.

Yet. He doesn't.

Like still waters without a single ripple, the Sanctarch is himself again. Poised, proper in speech, walk and courtesy. Unfazed at the sight of you...not even in the slightest.

What's worse isn't even his indifference towards you, but the subtle way he seems to avoid being in your presence.

At the palace, at the Chapel, by coincidence, should you meet him, he avoids you. Slips through your fingers like sand when lifted in fragile hands.

Does he no longer feel for you as he did? Did he hate the kiss? Does he really hate you, and only kissed you on impulse?

Is this all a ploy, some big plan of his to usurp the throne from right under your nose?

Questions a hundred and more fill your mind, trouble your heart, yet when answers are required all you can come up with is blanks and assumptions.

And oh, how you hate feeling this way. Tis' unsettling to ponder upon uncertainties. For such is the thief of peace — racing thoughts.

Be it far from you, because an Empress needs a clear mind to rule. Tis' true, but the heart is a feat hard to conquer and until you're sure your love is requited, the thoughts will remain. You must speak to him.

On a day of blessed skies and moons in the Alore Galaxy, the Sanctide Court brings you word of a letter received from the Neon Galaxy.

The Neon Galaxy. They once made a proposal of an alliance through marriage but you refused. After rejecting their offer of a marriage of convenience, what more do they seek?

You have no strength for war and at the moment your heart is too busy troubled with matters none can tend to. Surely logical reasoning at such a time will be likened to a pipe dream.

Still, you're Empress. You can't relent and perhaps the matter with the Neon Galaxy, whatever it may be, will serve as distraction from unholy thoughts of the Sanctarch, Rafayel.

In the Courtroom, members of the Sanctide Court and dignitaries present old cases and issues of the Empire. During the discussions, you nod, lift a hand in approval, respond, but your eyes always dart to the one seated south of the table, the Sanctarch, Rafayel.

As the supreme leader of the Galaxy, you sit at the North side of the Mo Table — likened to the round table for Knights of tales past.

The Sanctarch, leader of the Empire's faith, sits at the south. Hence, despite your desperation for a distraction from thoughts of him, in moments like these Rafayel is difficult to avoid.

You throw one gaze, then two. Then a glance and a glare. Yet, he doesn't move. He doesn't even look at you. His eyes remain fixed on the scrolls presented to him as cases are solved and discussed.

This is worse than when you hated each other. At least back then he'd stare at you or engage in a battle of wits. No longer. Now he just...sits.

You could try asking him a question or seek his counsel. After all, he won't deny you a reply in the presence of eyes.

No. You won't do such. It only reeks of desperation and you're not desperate. Actually, you are, but tis' best not to let it show. If tis' a game of Hard to Get he desires, then may the best player win.

"And now to the most important matter at hand. The Neon Galaxy." A member of the Sanctide Court announces and your ears perk, back straightened, composure returned, attention found.

"At the hours of Talia's dawn, we received a letter from the Neon Galaxy. We are unsure if it should be considered a reply to the letter the Sanctarch sent, disapproving the marriage of convenience between the Prince of the Neon Galaxy and Your Majesty. Shall I read the letter in entirety or present thee with a summary and give you the letter to read when this meeting adjourns, Your Majesty?"

"A summary, so that we might get to the matter quickly." You respond, eyes still taking glances at the Santarch who receives the original letter from the hand of the member who announced its presence.

"Well..." The member of the Sanctide Court clears his throat after ensuring the letter is safe in the hands of the Sanctarch and receiving what seems to be a picture from him in exchange.

"...The Prince of the Neon Galaxy seeks a visit to the Alore Galaxy. He says it's to pay his respect to you and the Empire."

"What insolence! We all see through his schemes. He simply wishes to show off his army which I believe he'd arrive with. Your Majesty, I think it a ploy to instill fear in the hearts of our people and have them think a marriage of convenience would be a better option than war." The Presiding Judge, Vera says. Her face in a scowl.

The woman hates men and the very thought of their existence due to years of abuse from her husband. Tis' no surprise she's angered at the topic of an arranged marriage, despite her not being a close acquaintance of yours.

"And how are you sure, Judge Vera?! Perhaps he seeks an audience with the Empress to make a more reasonable deal." A Minister bites back.

"That's a stupid thought. Why would one who sought a marriage receive a negative response and decide on a visit with good intentions?" An official speaks.

"Or maybe he's desperate for an heir? I hear women are in their prime at Your Majesty's age and..."

A loud thud echoes in the room the moment one of the officials speaks of you being the Prince's choice to breed with.

Everyone turns to the sound. It's the Sanctarch. His eyes glow fluorescent blue. A dagger in his hand buried halfway into the table. He's angry.

"Perhaps you all need to hold your tongues and let the Empress speak." The Sanctarch, Rafayel seethes. Eyes on everyone at the Mo table but you.

Why did he react that way? Is he jealous?

A smirk plays on your face. Perhaps, the Sanctarch does yearn for you.

"Do we have any information on the Prince? What is he like? What are his principles, priorities, goals and prospects?" Your lips move accompanying the calm and boldness in your voice.

"We've heard he's an upright man. Some say he's very intelligent. Others say he's a wolf in sheep clothing and to a few, he's hard to read. But we do have this, Your Majesty." The member of the Sanctide Court, walks to you with a poster in his hand.

"And this is?"

"A poster of the Crown Prince of the Neon Galaxy. It's from one of the Sanctide Court's informants currently in Neon upon the Sanctarch's command."

Your eyes dart to Rafayel. For a split second, his gaze locks with yours and he turns away, legs crossed, spinning and playing with the dagger in his hand.

"It seems the Prince's birthday was only two days ago, Your Majesty." The member of the Court continues, returning to his seat amongst the twelve chairs at the the East side of the Mo Table.

Scanning the poster, you realize the Prince is good looking. Red hair like flames, golden eyes burning like the sun, chiseled jawline, his hair slicked back while wearing a white uniform —The kind soldiers wear.

He may be dashing, but he's not your Sanctarch.

"Prince Helios..." Your voice echoes in the Courtroom as you read the name on the poster.

"...he's quite comely..." With those words trailing off your lips, your eyes strike a quick glance at the Sanctarch. He continues playing with his dagger, eyes on yet another scroll in front of him.

Why won't he fall for the bait?

"How would you all feel if he seeks an audience with me to propose again and I agree?"

Maybe he'd react this time.

The room is filled with gasps and murmurs but none of them matter to you. The Sanctarch's reaction is what you seek but he doesn't give any.

He really must not like you anymore. Perhaps his words at the Chapel a week ago were vain. Did the kiss even happen?

"Stay calm. I do not plan to go back on my words regarding the marriage. Besides, he might be after the Aestuspith and not I. It might be he even seeks to know the terrain of the kingdom. Be it war or peace he brings, we shall be ready." Your eyes leave the Sanctarch and rest on the heads of your subjects at the table.

Taking one more look at the poster of the Neon Galaxy's crown prince, you let out a sigh.

"We shall have another meeting on the morrow. But for now I want all Generals to gather their men and Strategists prepare for war. Should our guest plan to take us by surprise, his mission will fail." The Generals and Strategists at the table nod.

"Ministers and Officials prepare for a banquet and a warm welcome for his visit." Dignitaries arrayed in the prettiest robes nod in agreement. Tis' wisdom to leave matters of luxury and hospitality in their hands.

Your next instruction is to the Sanctide Court. The words burn your throat when your gaze rests on Rafayel. His eyes still on a scroll. You wish to avoid him like he's done to you, but the Empire and your duty to it comes first. Surely he knows this as well, whatever his grudges towards you may be.

"The Sanctide Court is to ensure a barrier at Muyra to protect the Aestuspith mines should our guests arrive with spies or have funny plans. I trust the Sanctide shall oversee this task."

Rafayel lifts his head, finally locking eyes with yours. No smile, no frown. Just a nod and his eyes return to the scroll in front of him again.

He's obviously not reading anything and blatantly avoiding your gaze. Anger boils your blood, but for duty sake you must maintain decorum and a clear head.

"When will the Prince arrive? Does the letter say?" You ask.

" In three days, Your Majesty." The member of the Sanctide Court who presented the letter responds.

"Very well, we shall be ready for his visit. I trust you'll all fulfil the tasks assigned to you with honor and have no objections to the roles assigned to you?"

"None, Your Majesty. Long live the Empire." Your subjects chant in unison.

"With that the meeting has ended. You're all dismissed."

Mahogany chairs screech against the tile floor of the Courtroom as people leave. In sudden panic your eyes search for the Sanctarch.

Maybe if he's the last to leave you can call him back. Perhaps you can come up with an excuse to make him stay.

But

What will you say?

If he does stay, what words will you utter? What questions will you ask? He never made an oath of love to you, nor swore his heart to be yours. It was only a kiss.

Just a kiss. One you haven't stopped thinking about after seven days.

While tilting your toes, eyes racing between heads and eyes, you find the Sanctarch. He is the last to leave.

Rafayel walks towards the only exit in the Courtroom, his posture as perfect as he. He doesn't turn around. His back is all you're left with.

You want to call his name. You wish to order him to stay.

Yet, whilst your right arm remains stretched reaching for him, your voice is lost and in a regretful minute...he's gone.

Three days go by with the moons orbiting planets in the midst of the brightest stars. Delegates of the Neon Galaxy cautiously lurk outside the Alore Galaxy before achieving orbital insertion into Aiden, the most habitable planet and of course the capital and center of the Empire.

Aerobraking doesn't take long and soon the alien vessel makes a safe landing on Lenkon, the outskirts of the Empire's capital city.

Citizens of the Empire, dignitaries, members of the Sanctide Court, Generals and all who may have heard of Prince Helios' arrival gather in masses to take a glimpse at the rumored prince who sought the Empress' hand in marriage.

The moment the delegates of the Neon Galaxy step out in a simple group of ten, all eyes lock on the last being at the back.

It need not be said he's the Prince Helios all came to see. For his regalia, his charisma, his beauty strikes even your heart...momentarily.

Arrayed in white regal attire, his red hair like flames swaying back with wind, golden eyes as bright as the Milky Way's sun, he's more a god than a man.

The muttering of the Empire's citizens are louder than whispers. With every stride Prince Helios takes towards you, the voices grow louder.

"Oh my word! He's dashing."

"Do you think he's returned to seek Her Majesty's hand in marriage again? Will she accept this time?"

"They do look good together."

The whispers are loud. Loud enough to reach the ears of the Santarch who stands beside you as with the other officials of the Alore Galaxy.

Your eyes linger on His Quintessence, he seems unmoved by the whispers. Not a smirk. Not a smile nor a frown. As has been for a week...nothing.

Perhaps he really no longer cares for you. Maybe he never did.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet the radiant moon of the Alore Galaxy. I am Prince Helios, sun of the Neon Galaxy. I think it a great honor and privilege to be in thine presence, Your Majesty." The Prince takes your hand in his and bows.

Prince Helios' voice is one as charming as his looks. Calm but with a certain rough edge to it. A voice that easily calls for obedience and one that stills the heart.

Yet. Tis' nothing compared to the Sanctarch's voice. A silken tune and melody that sets your heart aflutter every time he speaks.

Madness. How can you think of him while in the midst of duties.

Calling your heart to caution, you smile at the Prince before you.

"The Alore Galaxy is happy to receive you. Though your visit was unexpected, considering my refusal to your request." Reminding the Prince of being rejected might show you who he truly is. You keep your eyes peeled as you speak, observing every shift, every slight change in his expression.

"Ah yes. It took a while to mend my broken heart. But I cannot claim a broken heart when we haven't met until now. I'd only heard good things of thee, Your Majesty and the wonders of the Alore Galaxy. In my foolishness I thought it best to suggest a union between our galaxies. The sun of Neon and the moon of Alore. A force to be reckoned with. I do ask that you forgive me for making such a move without meeting you in person first."

Quite the charmer. He's hard to read but surely his mask will come off soon. After all, as Empress you've seen many like him from other galaxies and planets.

Men who present themselves as polite and gentle but often end up being the worst scum to exist.

"Well, coming to the Alore Galaxy to apologise in person is a first step to earning my forgiveness." You reply, taking your gloved hand off his. A show of distrust so he understands the need to show you loyalty. An act of subtle rejection so he doesn't think you're one so easily swayed by a pretty face and sugar-coated words.

The Prince smiles "And if I may boldly ask, what is the second step, Your Majesty?"

"That would be how you and your delegates decide to behave upon your stay." While you speak your eyes dart to the large space ship behind the Prince.

Your eyes and words hint a warning that you're ready for war should the troop hiding in his vessel act in hostility.

Of course there's an army in his vessel. He won't fool you by walking out of his ship with just ten officials. What stupid monarch would visit another's Empire without an army. Security is the most primary need for a head bearing a crown. Tis' one of the first things you learnt during your studies as crown princess.

A wide smile plays on the Prince's face "You truly are wise, Your Majesty. Forgive me but I do hope my actions do not come off as deceit but precaution. After all, this is a strange land."

"Anger toward you would only be justified if you'd attacked upon landing. However, the basic rule of the Stella Ocean is to put one's self in their neighbours' shoes to understand them. Thus is the root of love and peaceful coexistence. If I were you, I'd do the same. So worry not. I take no offense in thine actions."

"Your mercy is most appreciated, Your Majesty." The Prince takes your hand in his and lays a chaste kiss to your hand. It's a norm greeting and one charming, but you're not swayed.

Tis' easy to stand stern and come off cold to the Prince for two reasons.

One, you've never truly trusted anyone in your life. Two, your heart already belongs to another.

Right. Another.

In that moment you take a glance at the Sanctarch. He remains the same. Steady, calm, at peace. But...for a second it seems his left eye twitches at the prince for kissing your hand.

No.

You won't be deceived by your feelings for him. You won't let your mind paint images that don't exist. Delusion is not an option.

"Then...welcome to the Alore Galaxy, Your Highness." You give the Prince a sweet bow of courtesy. A simple bend of the knees and a slight bow of the head as thought since childhood.

"Helios. Call me, Helios, Your Majesty. I'd prefer it that way." With your hand still in his, Prince Helios' golden eyes lock into yours. The radiant suns giving Alore Galaxy warmth send their bright rays into his eyes. His irises glow like the yellow of hot flames. He really is one worthy of his name.

To call him by name. Where have you heard such a thing before?

Ah. Twas' the request of a certain Sanctarch, who you thought was smitten with you.

Your eyes drift to Rafayel for a bit. He turns his face away. How annoying.

As though seeking vengeance of the sort your heart thinks upon a ploy and sweetly you cup both the Prince's hands. Eyes staring into his with the sweetest smile you can muster.

"Welcome to the Empire, Helios."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." The Prince replies satisfied with your sudden warmth.

He lifts an arm, slanting his elbow at 90 degrees like the courteous men would do often while accompanying a lady.

Your hands slip into his inner elbow until you're both linked by arms, a regal and beautiful pair to the eyes of all who behold you.

As you walk with Prince Helios through a cleared path to the royal carriages prepared for him and his delegates, the whispers once mumbles grow louder.

"I told you they'd make a great couple."

"He's so handsome upclose."

"Perhaps Her Majesty should reconsider the marriage alliance."

"Sun and moon? I've never seen such a perfect pair. It'll be great for trading between both galaxies. We might just be part of a new and better governance."

"They should get married."

You can see Prince Helios smile from the corner of your eye. He's loving this. Surely tis' just the attitude of one who finds another attractive, nothing more. And what he finds attractive might just be your crown, not the head wearing it.

There's only one person who's praised the part of you deemed hideous — your scars. Tis' only this person's attention you seek.

You turn back to see how the Sanctarch feels about the whispers and mutters of the people.

Perhaps hearing the citizens of the Empire suggest a marriage between you and Prince Helios, might make him angry. Perhaps he'll approach Prince Helios or you. Perhaps he'd do something to cut the Prince's visit short.

It's Rafayel the Sanctarch of the Sanctide Court. He's capable of such but all your hopes become shattered when the moment you turn back, you realise...he's gone.

"After you, Your Majesty." The Prince's voice awakens you from the sea of thoughts. His hand stretches towards the door of the fanciest royal carriage.

"What a gentleman. Thank you, Helios." Courtesy beget courtesy. Surely caution with the prince is required but build too high a wall and his true intentions may remain unseen.

"I'm thrilled yet surprised that the Alore Galaxy would rather carriages like these than hovercrafts, Your Majesty." Prince Helios says once you're both in the coach of the carriage.

"My predecessors chose to keep the traditional ways after their arrival from Earth 23B in the Milky Way. Horses are a pride since they're one of the few animals our predecessors took with them after the great catastrophe on Earth 23B. Hence, we prefer carriages to hovercrafts. Unless during missions or travels to other planets and galaxies of course. We do use hovercrafts and ships for travels between countries and cities. However here at the capital for simple journeys, members of royalty and the upper class use carriages. Horses are a rare find, hence any with a carriage is considered what we call a 'gold citizen'. The distance from here to the Palace is barely a walk, so a carriage like this is much preferred." Your reply is more a recitation than an explanation. While you speak, your eyes are fixed out the windows of the coach searching for the Sanctarch.

But. Tis' for naught. He's disappeared and the crowd is much too large to find the head of one who's often in a hooded cloak.

Sitting straight, eyes forward, you focus on your guest intent to render hospitality and unmask his agenda in the Alore Galaxy. After all, tis' a far important task compared to matters of the heart.

During Prince Helios' stay at the Empire, rumors of an expected union spread across the Alore Galaxy like wildfire. There are talks of a proposal at hand.

Some make preparations ahead, with dreams of a new life should the Neon and Alore Galaxy become one through marriage.

A few discuss the proceedings and expectations of a new governance. Others express their dislike for the thought, saying the ways of Neon are much too different from Alore.

Everyone has something to say, be it opinion or complaint. Yet, whatever words slip off their tongues, tis' in regards to your relationship with Prince Helios.

Your relationship with the crown prince of the Neon Galaxy is one hard to define to the eyes of onlookers. But you know better. He is but a tool to get the Sanctarch's attention sadly.

The notion is unfortunate because so far, the Prince has been nothing but kind, honourable and so charming, that if the Sanctarch hadn't stolen your heart already you'd be head over heels for Neon Galaxy's monarch.

That annoying Sanctarch, Rafayel. By Stella Ocean you wish him damnation, then the next moment you pray for blessings on his soul and his presence.

Whenever he does show up around you, often by your command or coincidence, your acting skills become more polished than the professionals at theatres.

You'd lean closer to the Prince, press your body close to his, laugh loudly at his jokes, brush non-existent dust off his attire, hold his hand, pretend to fall so he catches you...all for the Sanctarch's attention.

And does he give you the attention you crave?

No.

He remains unmoved, unfazed. Not a twitch on his face. Not a change in his demeanor. Not a shake or quiver on his limbs. Steady and stern as he'd been before your first kiss with him.

Ah. Perhaps truly he's no longer taken by you.

The kiss? Perhaps it was a dream. And if it wasn't, he probably only succumbed to emotions that overwhelmed him at that moment.

Or worse. Perhaps the Sanctarch is indeed a coward and lied about his feelings in fear of offending the Empress after an embarrassing confession.

"I really am a fool. I should know. No one cares or sees me. None ever will. I've given my lips to him and cannot take it back. Now I've lost any respect he had for me. Not that he respected me before. Oh Stella Ocean, do forgive me for being a fool and cleanse my lips of his taste. Wash away the feel of his touch from my skin. Bring back my heart from whence he's hidden it so it might be mine again. Deliver me from the Santarch's temptation, Oh Stella Ocean so divine." You'd pray night after night in your chambers.

Three days have gone by since Prince Helios' arrival at the capital of the Empire and you've ordered a banquet to properly welcome him. It's a welcome you hope would become goodbye, because despite his charm, the Prince' isn't to be trusted. Your guts tell you so.

It could either be your guts or...your love for the Sanctarch that's made every other potential suitor a blur in your eyes.

Damn that Sanctarch.

On the day of the banquet, feet of subjects in their tens scamper about the Palace, each with a heart set to fulfil their tasks the best way they can.

Floral decorations ride over the railings of stairs, corners ignored often and on tables prepared for a grand feast. Gold, white and purple embroidery weave with radiance across the halls for thus are the representative colors of the Alore Galaxy. And at the ballroom and Banquet Hall, the colors gold, white and red twist and curl at corners in glowing ribbons for thus are the colors of the Neon Galaxy.

Chandeliers glow, windows also radiant all spick and span since curtains have been brought down as par your instructions in attempt to show off Alore's night skies.

The stars at the Alore Galaxy become a river of wonders. One can clearly see the Whalefall Nebula during this time of the Astrid month. Radiant interstellar clouds form a shape similar to the Tydefall whales at Muyra. An astronomical beauty of pink and blue with shimmering diamonds at night. It's a sight one must show off especially on an eventful night.

Dancing in the ballroom kissed at walls by floral decorations and scented lamps. The scent of Muyra spices in the air. The glow of stars and space surrounding you, seen clearly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the ballroom.

Tis' a romantic setting truly. One your subjects think intended to charm the Prince with, since you've fallen for him.

Ah. That's right.

They all think you've fallen for Prince Helios' charm. Why won't they? Your actions to gain the Santarch's attention have sown seeds that shouldn't be sown and now that they've bloomed, they tell the tale of a love that is untrue — at least to you.

But all of this. The decorations, the music, the setting. None of it was done with Prince Helios' in mind save the colors of his galaxy which should be displayed as courtesy and hospitality demands.

Every line you've written as instruction. Every decree you ordered as command. Every opinion you've shared in regards to taste and decor...all of it has been for the sake of one person. The thief of your heart — Rafayel, The Sanctarch.

You don't know Rafayel quite well. Perhaps not as much as he knows you. However the few things you've observed about him since he crowned you Empress, have come to light.

What things make him smile? What makes him frown? He seemed to enjoy seafood during royal feasts. Tis' only right to make seafood the theme of the banquet's menu.

Why does he love Honeydew yoghurt so much? Perhaps it should be the ideal drink of the night at Prince Helios' banquet.

You've seen him cater kindly and tend to Flame Lilies with dedication that borders on obsession at the rear garden of the Sanctide Chapel. Perhaps there should be more Flame Lilies added to the floral decorations at the palace.

There are more elements you've taken into account about the Sanctarch. A hundred more you could make part of tonight's banquet. But be it far from you that an Empress should come off as desperate all to win a holy man's heart.

“Your Majesty, truly is the moon of the Alore Galaxy. You glow so radiant and bright." A lady-in-waiting renders praise.

"Truly, Your Majesty. You shimmer so much brighter than the stars that they may not show tonight in embarrassment of how much you glow in comparison." Another lady-in-waiting echoes.

They render praises as usual this evening whilst preparing you for the banquet. They always do but tonight their words aren't void. For the mirror before you show they speak the truth. You do look radiant, gorgeous and breathtaking...as you intend it.

Arrayed in a beautiful white silk gown with glowing purple iridescent lines due to special threads made by Reynbow worms at Muyra.

It's a strapless mermaid gown that accentuates your figure. A thigh high slit runs down the left side of the gown to deliciously show a hint of skin. How daring.

Your hair is woven into intricate braids laced with gypsophila and silver hair jewels. A silver choker encircles your neck delicately. Its pendant shimmers, bright enough to blind the eyes for seconds. The pendant is the gleamdrop the Sanctarch had gifted you on the night of Moontide.

"I was shocked Your Majesty requested we paint thine fingernails. You've never asked such before and might I say, it was the right choice, Your Grace." Another lady-in-waiting says.

Ah. That's right, your hands.

Tonight you wear no gloves. Your fingernails are doused in lilac acrylic paint. The scars are painted over by brilliant makeup artists. Each scar is now a branch connected to another. A gorgeous pattern made to resemble vines bearing cosmos flowers.

A banquet themed with elements of his favourite things, a dress worn to tempt and to dare, the gleamdrop he gave you made into jewellery and worn on your person...

What better way to demand the Sanctarch return your heart than this?

"He either returns my heart or gives me his." You mutter to yourself and none other.

The maids and ladies-in-waiting exchange glances. It seems they heard. Even if they did, they'll probably think your intentions for Prince Helios as every other citizen in the Empire.

None knows the truth. None but you and you hope to the Stella Ocean the Sanctarch too. For tis' a greater risk that he should think the rumors true as well.

"Your Majesty, General Amund requests an audience with you." One of your guards reports.

General Amund is one of the most stubborn men in the Empire but like many of your subjects his loyalty to the Empire is unwavering and he has a good head on his shoulders.

"Send him in." You reply gazing at your reflection in the mirror while ladies-in-waiting and the royal seamstress make a few more adjustments to your flamboyant attire.

"Honor of the Stella Ocean be with you, Your Majesty." The elderly General salutes on one knee, hand over his heart. It takes him a few more minutes to get up. You wonder why he does it so often when out of kindness you've abolished that greeting for subjects on the older side knowing it takes a toll on their knees. Still, Amund like the older subjects believe in loyalty and will until death continue their traditions of old.

It's a good thing — following the old ways. Yet, it can be a bad thing. For if a new era is unwelcome then surely the words of a young Empress are of no importance to subjects like Amund.

"To what do I owe this visit, General Amund?" You ask, eyes still on the mirror, reading his expression. His eyes scan your dress. His lips curved downward. He's not impressed. It was expected. The elderly like Amund with no kindness towards the new are oft the first to judge.

"It concerns matters that are paramount, Your Majesty." Amund replies.

'Paramount'. It's his way of deeming the attention paid to your dress and the banquet's preparation, 'trivial'.

A smirk curls your lips "I'd rather you spoke quickly of these 'paramount matters', General. Tis' not wise to anger the host of an elaborate banquet that will determine war or peace between the Neon and Alore Galaxies."

He understands your message and bows once more "Forgive my words, Your Majesty. I'm here to humbly request for more soldiers at Lenkon, where Prince Helios' vessel is stationed. In moments of distraction, the Prince's secret troop within the vessel is sure to make a move. It's best we move ahead of them. Hence, my request for more soldiers."

"And what pray tell, do you plan to do with your army, General Amund? Rip the vessel off its landing pad?" Sarcasm kisses your tongue. You think the matter serious but you can sense stubbornness and intent in the General's words. Tis' best to handle him with a stern hand. He's the type to bite his ruler as the faintest smell of fright.

"No, Your Majesty. We'll simply watch the vessel and prepare for an attack should there be one." The General replies.

You maintain silence for a while as makeup artists beautify your face in colors and shimmering gloss.

Patience. Calm. Tis' not rude to make a time bomb like Amund wait. Tis' wisdom so he understands you're above him and would act of your own accord and timing.

"Yours is a brilliant proposal. I do not deny that." You finally speak after a lipstick the last of your makeup is applied. Eyes still on the mirror. An almost unseen smile plays on your face when you realize how beautiful you are. A goddess.

The Sanctarch must see you this way. But first, to rid the night of unpredictable factors. You turn to Elder Amund, while ladies-in-waiting spray your dress with perfumes from a mix of rose water and Murya spices.

"And where do you require I get these soldiers from, General Amund. Every member of the army under my command is assigned to their designated tasks tonight. Surely you know this."

"I'm aware, Your Majesty. However, I hear the finest soldiers have been assigned to the borders of Muyra and I..."

"No!" Your voice bleeds boldness, cutting General Amund's statement short. Icy. Cold.

"But Your Majesty it..."

"I said no! You will not dwindle in the affairs of Muyra. Not in its seas nor its soldiers. That place has been assigned to the Sanctarch and the Sanctide Court and I will not have any tension between them and the Empire. Not while trying to figure out the Prince's intentions to Alore. More importantly, Murya is the home of Aestuspith mines. It's only wise I send the best men to protect its borders. Or do you think contingencies regarding an unseen troop from the Neon galaxy more important than protecting the Empire's greatest treasure?"

Your eyes peer right into the General's soul. How dare he meddle with Muyra? How dare he not think of the Aestuspith? How dare he tread the Sanctarch's territory?

Oh.

You are angered at the thought of the General thinking so lightly of the Aestuspith but it seems your blood boils at the old man for speaking of leaving the Sanctarch's home unprotected.

Sanctarch. Sanctarch. Sanctarch.

You see him everywhere, in everything you do, in every word you say. This isn't love, tis' madness and one you need to be rid of soon.

"You're right, Your Majesty. Protecting the Aestuspith is of greater importance. I apologise." General Amund replies.

How confusing. He's quite quick to retract. It's suspicious. However, it's only normal he cower at the voice of a yelling monarch. He is one of your most loyal subjects after all.

"Tis' well with thee General. Apology accepted. Just leave Muyra to the Sanctide Court and should war start from the Neon's hidden troops, you have signal flares to alarm the soldiers at the Chapel and around Lenkon. Also, you forget you can easily alert the captains of Alore's war vessels with the push of a button." You point at the transparent tablet peeking out a pocket in the General's cloak.

"We're ready for any situations that may arise tonight, General. Worry not."

"I shall return to keeping watch over Prince Helios' vessel then. I apologise for troubling you, Your Majesty." General Amund bows again.

"Tis' well with thee, General. May the Stella Ocean be with thee. You're dismissed."

"May the Stella Ocean be with thee as well, Your Majesty."

With that, General Amund leaves your chambers. The ladies-in-waiting and seamstress continue their finishing touches to your outfit. A little pick here, a little toss there, some folds and bends hither and thither.

The timbre of violins and other stringed instruments can be heard echoing from the highest and largest rooms in the North Wing of the palace. The banquet is officially about to begin.

Silvery rays of light shimmer through the parted curtains in your chambers, bathing the room in a pretty dazzle that makes the iridescent patterns on your dress and jewels glow. You're literally the embodiment of a star.

Oh, may the Divine Stella Ocean save the Santarch's soul.

If...

If he'd give into this temptation that is you. Either way, you're gorgeous to your own eyes and tis' all that matters. You need not a man to tell you such.

Damn the Sanctarch.

"Did anyone else desire or seek an audience with me?" You ask the royal guards at the door of your chambers as you step out.

"No, Your Majesty."

Ah. So everyone wanted to speak to you tonight except the one person you truly wanted to see.

Tsk tsk tsk. Damn that Sanctarch.

  The silver rays from the Whalefall Nebula can be seen perfectly from the hall where the banquet for Prince Helios takes place in the palace.

The pretty fickle red of flames glow dimly on lanterns and chandeliers, giving the hall an ambiance of warmth. Gold, silver and gems of all kinds on attires and jewellery catch light bouncing off them.

All about the night is beautiful. Gorgeous. Radiant. Still, your heart is far from joyful and your soul unsatisfied.

How can it be when Rafayel, the one you yearn for despite sitting across the table from you won't even spare you a glance.

The seafood is his favorite but he won't take a bite. The flame lily bouquets are praised by all but him. Your attire has been complimented so many times tonight, hearing another feels like noise, you've grown accustomed to.

But the Sanctarch...he doesn't say anything. Not even a word. Not about the food, the decor, not about your dress.

He speaks to delegates who approach him, instructs members of the Sanctide Court in whispers, seeks answers for whatever questions he might have from even the ladies-in-waiting but not you.

"You really look like a star, Your Majesty." Prince Helios smiles, taking your right hand in his for a kiss.

He is charming. His lips feel warm but...tis' not the lips you want.

Mutters fill the room. Mutters and whispers of excitement at what a beautiful couple you and the Prince are.

Is he looking?

Your eyes gaze across the table.

Ah.

He's not.

The Sanctarch's eyes are fixed on a book and a dagger he's playing with. He really must no longer care for you.

"Your Majesty? What troubles you?" Prince Helios' palm caresses your cheek, shifting your gaze to the dazzling gold in his eyes. He's close. Too close.

"No...nothing. Just worrying if tonight was to your expectations." Lies. You couldn't care less how he feels about tonight. Or maybe you should. He looks...gorgeous this close.

One thud. Two. Your heart starts to skip beats.

"The only expectation I looked forward to upon my arrival at Alore Galaxy was you, Your Majesty. Being in your presence. Tis' enough."

His palm feels so soft, its heat seeps into your skin. Butterflies you didn't know exist for him try to spread their wings.

But no. The hold the Sanctarch has on your heart is much too strong.

"I must say, Your Majesty, I thought you'd be adorned with rubies or diamonds if you're going for pendants..." Prince Helios caresses the fragile glowing gleamdrop at the center of your silver choker necklace.

"...what manner of object is this? Surely tis' nothing compared to fine gems. Why do you wear it?" The Prince asks. You're annoyed at how bold his hand is. And how dare he speak that way of the gleamdrop Rafayel gave you.

"Tis' a gleamdrop. One of the rarest seashells from the Muyra's seas...Prince."

Your eyes widen at the voice that speaks. Neck instantly tuning to its source.

He speaks! The Sanctarch speaks!

"Also, don't you know it's discourteous to question a lady's jewelry? Especially when she looks that radiant. Your words are disrespectful to Her Majesty, Prince Helios." Rafayel speaks for the first time tonight. The pink and blue in his eyes dimmed to hues of purple and red. His brows furrowed. Is he angry? For your sake?

"I meant not discourtesy, Sanctarch. I'd never seen a glee drop before."

"Gleamdrops." The Sanctarch bites back. Eyes at the table darting from Rafayel to the Prince and back.

"Whatever they may be called, it wasn't my intention to be rude. I'm sure Her Majesty knows that. And it's 'Your Highness' to you, Sanctarch."

"And it's Your Quintessence to you, Prince." Rafayel spins the dagger in his hand, eyes locked not on Helios' eyes but his hand still on your neck, caressing the gleamdrop pendant.

"If you weren't a man of the cloth I'd..."

"I'm not a man of the cloth. I'm Sanctarch of the Sanctide Court. Ours is a faith different from what you've assumed, Prince."

Murmurs and whispers sail the air around the banquet table.

"What is the Sanctarch thinking? Is he trying to ruin things for Her Majesty?"

"We all know he doesn't like the Empress or any monarchs before her but this is most certainly crossing the line."

"Why is he ruining a romantic moment?"

Members of the Sanctide Court caress weapons beneath their cloaks. Delegates from the Neon Galaxy clutch their unsheathed swords. Tension is in the air. One you have to break soon.

"We're both gentlemen, Sanctarch. Why don't we ask Her Majesty if I've offended her by my actions with the gleedrops and if I have I will apologise." Prince Helios smiles. His charm in the room is radiant.

What? Ask you?

Your eyes dart from the golden glow in Prince Helios' eyes to the pink blue hue in Rafayel's.

Should you say you've been offended, the Prince will apologise as he said but it'll also be embarrassing for him and may ruin the peace with the Neon Galaxy.

Should you say you're not offended, Rafayel will be embarrassed and further scrutinized by the ones at the table.

"I...I wasn't offended in the slightest, Helios. You were just curious." You smile at Prince Helios, taking his hand off your choker and holding it in yours.

Joyful squeals and exclamations can be heard at the table. The people of Neon and Alore are satisfied, that's all that matters to you now.

Why should you bother with how the Sanctarch feels? All this time he never glanced your way. Never spoke to you. For an entire week he acted like you didn't exist. To shun him now is simply repaying his actions.

"How about we head for the ballroom?" Gently stroking Helios hand you gaze into his eyes hoping the Sanctarch does see.

And he does. For at that moment the Sanctarch takes his leave for the night.

What have you done?

"I shall love to dance with you, Your Majesty." Prince Helios plants a sweet kiss on your hand. One clap, then two and officials, delegates and ministers who attended the banquet all move to the ballroom next door.

On your way to the ballroom, arms linked with Neon's Prince, a lady-in-waiting approaches you. The pool of her eyes with qualm. She reaches out offering you a letter. Her hands tremble. You smile at the sight.

Only one person in Alore Galaxy would send a message this way.

"Is something wrong, Your Majesty? Is that maid alright?" Prince Helios asks.

"All is well, Helios. Why don't you head into the ball. The Chief Minister will get things started. I have something to do quickly and I shall be with you shortly." Snatching the paper from the lady-in-waiting you hide it behind your back. Why? You're unsure. Guilt perhaps.

Maybe this is what forbidden love feels like. You stifle a laugh, almost chuckling out loud at the thought. Your heart skips beats a thousand, your cheeks and neck burn softly with the heat of yearning.

"Alright then. I shall save my first dance for you, Your Majesty. Don't stay too long." Prince Helios kisses your cheek and with the other officials heads for the ballroom.

At that moment you read the letter;

'Meet me at the library, Your Majesty. Should you keep me waiting an hour I shall keep the things I intend to say to you with me until death.

- R.

Smiling you wipe your cheek, as though the feel of the Prince's lips remain. You don't want it. Don't need it. The lips of another are what you desire.

With hands lifting your dress you rush to the library. Some jewels on your hair come undone as you pick up the pace. The timbre of violins echoes in the Palace. The Whalefall Nebula casts its silvery and golden rays lighting your path.

At the door of the library you turn left and then right making sure no one sees you.

While lost in caution, arms open the library door and pull you in so strongly, you almost fall but in a blink you're caught.

With his arms around your waist, you look up at the eyes of the Sanctarch who smirks at you.

In an instant, he pins both your wrists with one hand, his second hand tilts your chin and without warning, his lips crashes into yours.

His wet tongue glides over yours with heat that soaks your core and causes your knees to tremble. Completely melting in the feel of his kiss, his letter slips off your hand.

Oh how you've craved this kiss.

You tug at the collar of his cloak pulling him closer and the Sanctarch responds cupping your face with both hands, deepening the kiss like your mouth holds the air he needs to breathe.

When he breaks the kiss, a saliva string follows, shimmering in the light from the Whalefall Nebula.

He kisses you once more, licks your lips and tilts your chin with his left hand. His right still locking your wrists above your head. Trapping you between his body and the doors of the palace library.

"Tell me, Your Majesty. Did you have fun torturing me with that mannequin prince at your side?

Days have gone by and nights too. The universe thrives on with its countless galaxies sailing in an ocean of celestial bodies.

According to the Sanctide Court's Astrologists, the true foundation of the Empire's faith on the Stella Ocean, the Moontide Ceremony that occurs once in a hundred years is to take place.

It's a rare event where Lunaris, the largest moon in the Alore Galaxy draws its closest path to the Empire. Its silver rays settle over the cities, bathing all beneath it with radiance and glow.

The moon itself sits over the clearest lake at the centre of the Empire where the ruler renders a dance offering to the moon.

This occurrence and its laws are only in petroglyphs and paintings as old as time. Each one kept safe in the Sanctide Chapel.

A hundred years ago, the members of the Sanctide Court at the time made sure the event was successful. And thanks to their recordings, preparations for the new Moontide Ceremony have begun.

"Your Majesty truly is a beauty to behold. Surely none would shine brighter than thee beneath the Moontide's glow." A lady-in-waiting renders praises while adjusting the skirt of a beautiful dress around your waist. Its ruffles embellished with jewels and shimmering silk.

"I hear Your Majesty was gifted the voice of a siren simply for this moment."

Another lady-in-waiting chants, smoothing out wrinkles on the off-shoulder sleeve of the dress.

It's puffy sleeves buoyant in a way that boasts of wealth. Its deep opening draping over your shoulders exposes your collar bones and cleavage.

"How daring. I wonder what he'd think when he sees me." Your lips curl up to a smile.

"Your Majesty truly must be happy about the event." A third lady-in-waiting says, adorning you hair with more jewels and gems.

"Yes, I do believe I am." The words leave your lips with ease but your heart ponders on thoughts of what should be truth.

Are you happy because of the Moontide Ceremony? Or does your joy stem from the fact that the Sanctarch might see you looking so flamboyant for the first time.

The Empire is soon graced with the silver rays of a full moon. Each corner and crevice kissed by moonlight.

Over the Borsith Lake at the center of the capital city, Lunaris settles. Her glowing snow white surface reflected on ripples.

It's even more beautiful than the recordings at the Sanctide Chapel.

Wearing your dress prepared for the Moontide Ceremony, while eyes a thousand and one watch, you step on stones leading to a platform in the middle of the lake.

It's the place where you must sing and offer a dance to Lunaris. A sacred act bestowed upon your shoulders to ensure blessings on the Empire for eons to come.

As you step on the pavement barefeet, the cold stone sends its icy chill up your spine awakening you.

The jewels on your dress, waist, and ankles jingle. The sound weaving itself with whispers of the Empire's citizens who speak of how beautiful you look.

While lifting your arms ready for the dirge of the night, your eyes skim over the heads afar, searching for one you should not seek.

The Sanctarch. Where is he?

Dignitaries, Nobles, Generals, members of the Sanctide Court. They lurk at the front of the crowds. But he whose status precedes them all is nowhere to be found.

Oh, confound it! Why should you seek him in the first place?

With a deep breath, long and steady, your lips part when your voice mellow and sweet rides into the night.

The Sanctarch stands at the rooftop of the highest building at the center of the Empire. His blue pink irises watching you. Ears perked to your beautiful voice.

It is said that the monarchs truly blessed by the Stella Ocean are gifted with the voices of angels. Hence hearing the pleasant tune of your voice is expected.

However, to the Sanctarch, it's a sound he finds more enchanting than any melody ever played.

He clutches his chest, feeling his heart thrum frantically without restraint. His yearning for you is likened to a sickness that bears no cure.

But perhaps...there is a cure.

Your touch.

Sin! Blasphemy! How dare he?

The Sanctarch pats both sides of his face. A slap to the self required for awakening the sanctity in him long slumbered the moment he decided this rooftop was the perfect spot to see you.

When you're done singing, the Sanctarch's ears perk at the sound of drums and cymbals. It's time for the sacred Moontide dance.

His eyes follow your every step. Each sway of your hips, turn of your feet, blessed with grace known only to swans.

Tis a dance offered to Lunaris. But at that moment the Sanctarch thinks it a gift to his eyes and his eyes alone.

Lunaris'rays rays kiss every jewel about you. Each one catching light that bounces off you like stars dropped from the heavens. The scarf once on your shoulders glides over your wrists and arms like wings.

Rafayel the Sanctarch smiles. His heart completely smitten. His soul stolen. His body given to the beauty of your existence.

"She's more radiant than Lunaris or any star across galaxies far and near. My beautiful Empress." He smiles as the night goes on.

Once the dance is over and prayers rendered, the people celebrate with food, drinks and merriment of all kinds.

According to tradition written by members of the Sanctide Court from eons past, after the monarch has rendered their offering to Lunaris, they should return to the Palace and dwell there for two days making supplications in prayers.

You've always bid by the law. The perfect Empress but lately, your soul has become quite rebellious.

Rather than be confined to the palace immediately, you'd rather seek the Sanctarch.

Why? You're unsure.

Maybe he caught a bit of your performance. And if he didn't?

It did not matter. All your heart desires at the moment is to lay your eyes on him.

"Stop the carriage." You call to the coachman, knocking at the roof of your cabin the moment the royal entourage rides in front of the Sanctide Chapel.

"Your Majesty, do you face any troubles?" A soldier asks, her grip tightens on her unsheated sword.

"No trouble at all. At ease, soldier. I simply wish to pray."

"Pray? Isn't Your Majesty supposed to head for the Palace instead?"

"That is true. However, I wish to make supplications for the people at the house of the Stella Ocean. Is that so wrong of me? It is a significant day after all." Stern in your voice and gaze you step out of the carriage, holding up the sides of your dress.

"Forgive me for my words, Your Grace. Ofcourse you can pray at the Chapel. I shall inform the ministers and delegates of your decision." The soldier succumbs.

"Good. You do that. Besides, it's been a hundred years since the last Moontide Ceremony. Surely, traditions can change. Could they not?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. Shall I stay and..."

"No. No. I'd rather not be disturbed. I have a dagger made from Aestuspith strapped to my thigh for self defence. I assume there would be members of the Sanctide Court inside. And what fool would attack anyone in the Sanctide Chapel?"

The words ride off your lips with ease. The art of conviction. You know someone else who's just as skilled in the field. A knowing smile plays on your face.

"Very well, Your Majesty. We shall return to pick you in an hour. Please stay in the Chapel." The soldier makes a bow and lifts her hand.

In a few seconds no less, the entourage is dismissed leaving you behind.

A hot puff of breath locked in your chest escapes you. Your shoulders slouch slightly. It feels like sudden peace found. The burden of duty lifted off you for a moment.

Turning to the front doors of the Sanctide Chapel, your eyes crawl over the tall building from roof to ground and to doors.

There's yet another burden you feel the need to release. Or rather, a feat you seek to accomplish — Finding the Sanctarch.

Steps once light become heavy as you walk to the huge mahogany doors of the Sanctide Chapel.

It takes some effort to push open one of the doors.

Once inside the Chapel, you make your way to the altar. Eyes scanning every pew in search of the one your heart seeks.

The Chapel is quiet. Serene. Calm.

Lunaris' light runs through stained glass, painting the walls of the building in the prettiest colors your eyes have ever seen. It's like a sight that should only grace dreams.

You stand at the center of the Chapel, arms spread wide as you watch the patterns and colors glide over your dress and skin. It's beautiful.

With a heart light and a wide smile you spin around watching the colors ride with you.

"You really are a sight to behold, Your Majesty." A familiar voice calls.

Your feet halts its joyful spin and your eyes focus on the direction the voice travels from. Then you see him. Rafayel, the Sanctarch.

Standing at the front doors of the Chapel, legs crossed. Arrayed in his hooded outfit. A book in his hands.

How long has he been watching you?

With a smile on his face the Sanctarch walks to you. His steps doused in pride. The kind that makes anyone know he's uncommon. It is unique, yet subtle but somewhat bold.

"What does Her Majesty seek in the Chapel?" He asks. Snapping his finger, a tongue of flame flickers over his digits. With the fire, he lights a few candles at the altar and drops the book.

One with a power to control others and an ability that makes him able to ignite flames. He's invincible.

"I...I...I came to pray. Tonight is special and I shall like to make supplications to the Stella Ocean while the Lunaris hovers over the Empire." There's truth in your words, yet the lies you try to hide make themselves known in cold sweat.

The Sanctarch turns to you. A smirk on his face.

"What a righteous monarch you are, Your Majesty. And that is all you've come for. Prayers?"

"Yes." No.

"Very well. I shall leave you be. But before I do, I'd like to show you something. Please follow me." The Sanctarch turns, leaving the altar, and in hasty steps you follow him.

As the night's black thickens and Lunaris draws farther from the planet, the Sanctarch leads you to the rear garden of the Sanctide Chapel.

Moonlight casts its silvery streaks over leaves and petals open to the night. But something radiant catches your eyes.

In the middle of the garden is a pool. And in it tiny rocks glow brightly like stars beneath the water surface. Each one catching the beauty of Lunaris' light.

"They're called Gleamdrops." The Sanctarch says picking up one of the stones.

"These are rare shells found only in Muyra's seas. Beautiful isn't it?" The Sanctarch asks, placing the glowing shell on your palm. His skin lingers on yours. Warmth seeps into your flesh and your chest tightens.

"Y...yes." Your stutter, eyes locked on the gorgeous blue pink cosmos in his.

"You glowed like his gleamdrop today, Your Majesty." He says, ears now red.

"You...you saw me?" It's a question but also an exclamation of joy.

"Yes. You danced beautifully and your voice was truly that of an angel. I'm sure Lunaris was pleased." The Sanctarch's cheeks grow a deeper shade of pink likened to his ears.

The butterflies in your tummy take flight at his words.

"Than...thank you, Your Quintessence."

"Rafayel." He protests.

"What?"

"You can call me Rafayel, Your Majesty."

"Is it allowed to call the Sanctarch by his name?" You tease with a smile. He looks cute when he's blushing.

"Tis' not a sin and I'd rather you call me by name when we're alone. I am one of your subjects after all."

"Very well. Thank you for the compliment...Rafayel."

Hearing your voice call his name becomes the Sanctarch's undoing. He walks closer to you, eyes darken with hunger.

With every step he makes forward, you take one back, until you're cornered between a tree and the Sanctarch's dark gaze.

Your chest heaves at his gaze. He stares at you like a predator would at prey.

No words. Only the sound of your heaving breathes and the trickling echoes of water at the fountain.

The Sanctarch tilts your chin with one hand, the other on the tree, trapping you in his space.

"Radiant. The sight of you would make any man grovel at your feet." The Sanctarch's words melt into a husky tone that ignites the heat in your lower abdomen.

"Tha...thank...you, Your Quint...Rafayel."

Again, you say the Sanctarch's name and he shuts his eyes as though savoring your voice.

Rafayel closes what little distance is left between you and him in a hair's breath. His lips near your ears. So close you can feel his hot breath fanning your neck.

Your chest heaves with expectation. Lips parting naturally. Your body knows what it wants.

"You're wearing them again, Your Majesty." The Sanctarch whispers, slowly taking off the lace gloves on your hand.

"I told you not to hide the scars, but let them be. They're as lovely as you."

Rafayel plants a chaste kiss on your left hand and then another on the right, letting his lips linger. Then without warning, he licks one of the scars on your right hand.

He looks into your eyes as though waiting to see if you'll pull away and when you don't, he smiles cupping your cheeks.

"You're much too lax around me, Your Majesty. I'm unsure if that's a good thing or bad." His hand wraps your neck, adding a pressure all so slight but not the kind that threatens life.

"And you're too bold around me, Your Quintessence." You gasp.

"It's Rafayel." He whispers to your ear, while his fingers slip down your neck, tracing circles over your collarbone.

The Sanctarch looks down and his eyes linger on your cleavage. Oh what he'd give to press his face there.

No.

Tis' a sin. He must remain holy.

Seeing his eyes on your breasts gathers the pools in your core. Your legs part willingly, subtly. Your body craves that which it seeks.

No.

Tis' a sin. You must remain untainted.

Rafayel draws a slow deliberate path over your collar bones, threateningly close to your heaving cleavage.

"You should think more highly of yourself, Your Majesty. You're flawless despite what any might say. You should walk the planet in boldness. Do you know why?" He asks, fingers pulling away from your chest. He can't give into temptation. He mustn't.

Like one insane you grab his hand desperate to feel more of him. Insanity.

Before embarrassment settles heavy in your heart. Before your mind phantoms the concept of being shy, your tongue speaks in an attempt to distract him from your actions. His hand still in yours.

"Why should I walk the planet with boldness, Rafayel? I'm merely Empress."

His brows furrow. Your words have annoyed him it seems.

"Mere? You're no mere Empress. In fact the title should never be seen near the word 'mere'." Rafayel moves closer until you feel the trunk of the tree behind you, scratching at your back.

His breath brushes your lips. One of his knees pushes softly between your thighs, gathering the ruffles of your skirt with it.

The feel of his knee pressing close to the wet pool gathering at your core draws out a moan from you.

Your eyes widen at the sound. You've never heard yourself make such a sound before.

The Sanctarch watches your face closely and at the sound of your moan he chuckles, tilting your chin and locking your gaze in his.

"You're not just Empress to me, Your Majesty. You're a goddess." He smiles. The blue and pink swirls in his eyes peering right into your soul.

He moves closer, his knee slightly grazing your folds. Another moan escapes your lips. You can feel your essence drip down your thighs beneath your dress.

"And a goddess...is meant to be worshipped." The Sanctarch coos, his lips only a strand from yours.

Your heart thrums loudly in your chest. Your chest heaving with expectation. Your core pulsing with need.

You want him inside you.

Rafayel feels his heart race like the hooves of horses set free. His mind in a haze. All thoughts of principles and morals far gone.

All he sees, all he knows, all he wants...is your lips. Those soft, precious lips.

He's desperate to lick them, bite them, suck at them.

And your flesh.

He brushes your shoulders with fiddle fingers.

If your skin is this soft. Then what would it feel like to be...inside you.

You watch Rafayel close his eyes. It's as though he's at war with himself. Probably the same way you are right now.

Does he feel the same way you do?

Perhaps you should throw caution to the wind and kiss him. No. Tis' not befitting of an Empress.

Oh but how you crave the feel of his lips all over you.

Instinctively, you draw closer to the Sanctarch until your breasts push up against him. He feels so warm. So sturdy.

Rafayel groans. His hands snake around your waist pulling you even closer. His lips parted.

Just. One. Kiss.

You see him gaze into your eyes and then your lips. The moonlight bathing his hoodie with radiance befitting a god.

The god and his goddess in the chapel's garden, kissing under moonlight. No prettier romantic tale has ever been told before.

If....

If this were a dream or a reality you could control. But it's not.

The Sanctarch of the Sanctarch Court and the Empress of the Alore Galaxy should have no such communion.

Yet. For the sake of hope or rather faith in the feelings you have for him and the same he may have for you, you keep your eyes closed, expecting his lips on yours.

The Sanctarch looks at your face. Eyes closed, ready for his lips. Your chest heaving with need. Skin warm and supple craving touch.

Just. One. Kiss.

Hearts pump blood too fast to brains and the only thought the mind can phantom, is lips on lips.

One breath long with nervous pauses.

Another more steady as the Sanctarch's lips slightly graze over yours. Barely a touch.

Three. Just when he tries to add more pressure so you feel his taste on you...

A cat jumps out of a rose bush in the garden.

Curses! A million and one curses!

You open your eyes and see the rage in Rafayel's eyes. His eyebrows furrowed. His corneas burning red with branched veins.

Is he truly upset? Then his feelings for you must be true.

Or is it?

The Sanctarch closes his eyes for a moment, lets out a deep breath and takes a step back, his hands leave your waist.

He kneels before you, nuzzling his cheek against your hands.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty. I have no right to be with you in such a way. I have no right to taint what is flawless and without blemish."

"Rafayel I..."

No right? Blemish?

Those things do matter but not at the moment. At least not to the heat pooling in your core.

"Should cravings not be satisfied, Your Quintessence?" Your knees find the floor with him. Cupping his cheeks you gaze into his beautiful eyes with a smile. Then you see it.

Shame. Regret.

"If I thought you unworthy, I'd have pushed you or run away. But I stayed. That's all that should matter to you, Rafayel. I stayed."

"Still..." He kisses your palm sweetly. A single tear catching the moonlight falls down his right cheek. You could swear it was a pearl brilliant and bright.

"...the meal you crave should be served on a unique platter. Not in some garden like a maid. And the meal itself...should be worthy of an Empress' palate. The commoner's delight is not suitable to thine regal tongue." The Sanctarch's forehead meets with yours. He places your palm over his chest.

"You sell yourself short, Rafayel. You have a statue in the Chapel. You're powerful, intelligent, wise...if anything, I think Your Quintessence worthy of this Empress' palate." Desperation sullies your words.

"Besides, I have good taste. And if I deem a meal delicious, delicious it shall be." You pout.

The Sanctarch laughs. You've never heard him laugh this way. So freely. So loudly. Like a child would when full of joy.

He stands and lifts you with him. After one long gaze into your eyes, the Sanctarch plants a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"I bless thee, my dear Empress. Tis' not the will of the Stella Ocean that we be together. But I hope somehow, we both find peace."

The Sanctarch cups your hands in his, the gleamdrop in yours.

"Keep it." He whispers. "It belongs in the hands of a beauty like itself."

With those words, the Sanctarch takes three steps back, tilts his head with a smile and after a bow, he leaves you to Lunaris and the beauty of the night.

A while later, a few minutes to be precise, the royal entourage returns to pick you up and take you to the Palace.

The three days of supplication required of every monarch after the Moontide Ceremony comes to an end.

Usually, your first stop once free to roam the city again, would be the library or the royal seamstress' shop.

No longer. For there is something or rather someone your heart has yearned for these three days —Rafayel, Sanctarch of the Sanctide Court.

You need to see him again. You need to know if he's yearned for you these three days and nights, the same way you've yearned for him.

Does he still think of you? Why would he lean in for a kiss if he doesn't? Why didn't he go further even with your consent? What is he afraid of? Does he not fancy you as much as you fancy him?

Oh a hundred questions and maybe more, but soon...soon they'll be answered. For in the blink of an eye while lost in thoughts you find yourself in the Sanctide Chapel.

Once at the front doors of the Chapel, you push them open with force. Your eyes scan the empty chapel and stop on a familiar figure lighting candles at the altar with flames on his fingertips.

Walking down the Isle with haste, the thrums of your heart echo loudly within.

"Rafayel. Rafayel." You call his name desperately, now a few steps from where he stands.

When he turns to you, his eyes look unfamiliar. His gaze cold. Different.

His stare halts your steps and you find yourself a nervous mess.

"Rafayel I..."

"Your Quintessence. Tis' only right you address the Sanctarch properly, Your Majesty." He corrects you.

You want to argue. You wish to remind him that it is he who told you to call him by name. But, that's not important right now. You need to know how he feels about you.

"Your Quintessence. I have a confession. Would you please join me on the Sanctis Bench?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

The Sanctarch follows you to a special bench, the shape of a semi circle. It's only used during trails or confessions.

When the Sanctarch takes a seat at the bench, you stand in the middle, as is expected of a confession.

"What is your sin, Your Majesty?" The Sanctarch asks, crossing his legs. His tone without an ounce of warmth.

Perhaps this is a lost cause. Perhaps he feels nothing for you. Perhaps you were mistaken and he was just horny at the moment.

"I...I have sinned against the Divine Stella Ocean. I've committed the grave sin of fiddle fingers." Your words cause him to sit up straight.

"Fi...Fiddle fingers, Your Grace?"

"Yes, Your Quintessence. These past three days after our last encounter, I find myself thinking of you in ways I shouldn't. At night...at night...I...my fingers...they..." Your eyes are stuck gazing at the floor. Pinching your fingers you start to sweat. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Rafayel says nothing. You want to stop, but you need to know how he feels, so you go on.

"I find myself caressing my breasts while thinking of you, Your Quintessence. I imagine what your fingers would feel like on them. How your tongue would feel on my nipples, my tummy and down..." Your breath catches in your throat and you look at him to see his reaction.

He's covered in sweat.

The Sanctarch once unshaken, with his legs crossed now sits with his legs spread apart. A hand over his chest. His free hand clutching at the bench as though grounding himself.

Oh. Maybe he does feel the same way after all.

"Then...I imagine how your mouth would feel between my legs. Your tongue circling and flicking my clit. Then with a few kisses, you'd lick my slit, spreading them apart to drink off me. When I imagine this, I circle my core with my right fingers, while tugging at my nipple with my left." While you speak, you feel your waters dripping down your thighs.

Rafayel shifts on the bench, pulling down the hoodie of his outfit. Streaks of the blue amongst his purple bangs stick to his sweaty forehead.

His chest heaving just as quickly as yours.

"I close my eyes and imagine your tongue licking at my core slowly, sweetly then lavishing me with sucks and flicks. Faster. Deeper." Your legs lose strength for a bit but you stand steady.

You stop talking, wanting him even more than you have these three days.

Just one kiss. Just one bite. Just one touch.

The Chapel is swallowed in silence as you stand in the middle of the Sanctis Bench.

You need him to say something. Anything will do, but he doesn't. Rafayel sits still, eyes on you like you've gone mad.

Then you realise. You've embarrassed yourself.

"Clearly I was a fool to think my feelings would be reciprocated!" Your chest feels tight. Your heart sinks when he still doesn't speak.

In anger you walk out of the bench and down the Isle. Tears blurring your sight.

"Your Majesty, wait. Your Majesty!" Rafayel calls but you don't stop moving. You're too hurt, too embarrassed to look at him.

"I said stop!" At his command, your feet halt. Purple translucent threads keep you in place against your will. He's using his powers.

You wish to scream. You wish to curse at him. You wish to punish him for his actions, but a broken heart has no strength.

The Sanctarch walks towards you in quick steps and the moment he's before you, his once cold gaze grows soft.

"Oh foolish Empress of mine. I thought myself the siren, but you've enchanted me with your spell." He confesses.

"I've always wanted you, long before you wanted me."

The Sanctarch's words are quite a shock but pleasing to hear nonetheless.

"I crave you daily like a man dying of thirst. To drink from your waters..."

His lips meet yours first, with tenderness. Flesh on flesh.

"...would be divine. May the Stella Ocean forgive me, for you're a temptation I cannot resist."

With those words the Sanctarch's lips meet yours again in a lick and then after a bite, his tongue dances sinfully with yours. The warmth of your wet tongues sliding over each other, while his arms pull you close like this first kiss is not enough.

Loneliness. Tis' the word only you could phantom. A word only you understood. For despite being called Empress with a thousand to do her bidding, none was a true companion.

Life had set you on the highest pedestal of glory for as long as you could remember. A role heavy on the shoulders and a crown that could break the neck was yours to bear. The people of the Empire and its dignitaries would oft chant eulogies of support, and they did – only in words.

For this reason you never thought much of any. Not as friends, nor as foe. Save one person in all of Alore Galaxy. The Sanctarch, Rafayel.

Known for his power rumored to be unrivaled, decorum and charm befitting a prince and beauty not even gods could create, he'd caught your attention.

Twas not for his looks maidens found desirable, nor the fear he instilled in past monarchs, nor the faith the Sanctide Court had found in him.

No.

Yours was an ill feeling you could not define. For every moment around him had you on your toes. Every word he uttered made your blood boil. Every action he took somehow made you question your supremacy as ruler.

"Tis' not a rivalry. Tis' not love. Then why do I concern myself with him so much? Why does he anger me so?”

The question was one you'd oft ask yourself before bed and at the morning lark's call.

On a cool noon, you received a letter from delegates of the Neon Galaxy a few light years away. The content of the letter was one you'd avoided the moment you came of age. But for one regal, twas only a matter of time it'd come to light.

An arranged marriage.

One proposed by the Neon Galaxy as an alliance. They claim it'll further strengthen the Empire, and grant you, it's Empress more power. Yet, you know they have their sights set on the Aestuspith in Muyra, a region under the Empire's control.

Still, should you refuse, it could cause tension between both galaxies. With the bad blood between the Sanctide Court and the Empire, another brewing war isn't one you can afford.

The letter had been discussed earlier this afternoon between high ranking officials of the Empire and members of the Sanctide Court. As expected they all agreed it was best to seek peace.

Hence, as always your choice means naught. You could've ignored the matter but for a woman who's over two decades old, the universe seems to bow yet again to its old ways.

You could reject it. You have the power to.

But.

Would any really care? You do have a voice but it's never really been yours. The words you've issued, decrees you've made, they've been echoes of rules set in stone. Traditions passed from generations of monarchs like you.

So why refuse? When none sees you for you. It's best to be still as the seas calm and move whence the wind chooses.

Lost in thoughts, you bump head first into something. The worry in your heart becomes anger the moment you lift your face.

"What thoughts could possibly have you dreaming, Your Majesty?"

That voice. The hairs in your skin stand. Your chest tightens and the moment your eyes meet his, your heart once steady beats in a way it only does at the sight of the one before you.

Blue pink eyes dazzling like tiny universes gaze into your soul as though seeking truth. Porcelain smooth skin kissed by beauty marks, three sit on his pretty face. Purple hair swaying beneath the hoodie of his cloak.

Pink lips so perfect, one look could tell one how soft they were.

How would it feel to kiss him?

You shake your head the moment your mind carves the question.

How dare your mind think upon such. And for him? Madness.

"Are those colorful eyes of yours for fancy?!" You did not mean to yell. An Empress must be calm at all times, but not to him.

The Sanctarch smirks, a puff of breath escapes his lips curling up at the side.

"My eyes see clearly, Your Majesty. Twas you who bumped into me. An apology would be courteous of the one wrong. But of course, pride is a priority to people like you. All monarchs are the same." He folds his arms, eyebrows furrowed.

Ah. This feeling of hate is not unrequited.

The Sanctarch Rafayel is well known for his hate of monarchs and the Empire. Rumors and facts say his people in Muyra were exploited time and time again for their energy source — Aestuspith.

It's why his gaze upon you has always been one of unease since you became crown princess and now Empress.

He's not unlike the rest of them. Seeing only the crown and not the one who wears it.

It annoys you. Boils your blood. How can one who judges on sight alone lead the prayers to the Stella Oceans at the Chapel. How can one who should hold the secrets of confessions dismiss the colors within your soul so easily?

Perfect? Holy? Good? Hah! What a joke. He's just like the rest of them. No one sees you. Not even him.

Pain seers in your throat, burning the muscles within. Your heart beats twice its pace. Tears blind you for a moment.

"How dare you speak to me in such a way?! What subject demands an apology from their ruler?! I should have you sent to the dungeons!" Every sense of calm is gone. Rage is all that remains. Rage and regret for tis clear you shouldn't act this way.

"And what kind of ruler is unable to control their emotions? If the waters within your soul are troubled this easily, how can you rule with a clear head, Your Majesty?"

He's calm. Poised. Yet, his words sting. They always do. You want to throw curses at him, but you must maintain composure.

"Tis' my duty to rule the Empire and rule I shall. You should focus on that haughty Court of yours who hoard the Aestuspith under your command. Tis for the good of the Empire, not your greed, dear Quintessence."

Your words elude you like a blade. A smile plays on your face hoping you've cut him, but Rafayel's expression doesn't change.

"A Sanctarch has no greed. No sin. Your words have become blasphemy, Your Majesty. You should seek deliverance."

"You should go to hell!" Your voice echoes in the Palace Garden, but you couldn't care less.

As though the thought of marrying a complete stranger for the good of the Empire isn't enough, the Sanctarch dare demeans your authority with wits.

While drowning in fury, a General walks towards you. Each step is ridden with uncertainty and fear. Uncertain of how hot your rage burns and fearful of the Sanctarch.

"Your Majesty, the officials are calling for another meeting." The General announces.

"Another?!"

"Yes, Your Majesty. It concerns your marriage with the crown prince of the Neon Galaxy. We've received another letter demanding a wedding date."

Your stomach churns. For some reason your eyes dart to Rafayel. He seems indifferent. Of course he is. Why look at him?

"Your Quintessence is also asked to join the meeting of course, as the Sanctide Court's input on the matter is crucial." The General turns to the Sanctarch.

He simply nods and makes his way to the Courtroom in the Palace.

And you? You stand in the garden unable to move.

Maybe you should run away. Maybe you should do what you've always done. Stay silent.

But this is a sentence to life with another you haven't even met. Still, peace must come to play first.

In the Courtroom, delegates and officials chatter about wedding plans. Colors, themes, food. Each person at the table shares their thoughts on a gallant wedding with wine in hand and faces with fake smiles.

Your wedding to the Prince of the Neon Galaxy is of no concern to them. It's what comes next.

Through your marriage with the prince, the Empire will certainly grow stronger. And to win your favor with the new regime that's to come and guarantee their positions, they smile and laugh as though happy for you when they're not.

You can't blame them. They're only looking out for themselves. But it's sickening to see them joy over your headache.

"Does Your Majesty wish to go through with the wedding?" A voice echoes loud, bold and true in the Courtroom. Tis the voice of the Sanctarch.

Every movement. Every sound. Stops. Silence veils the room.

"Wha...what do you mean, Your Quintessence?! Of course Her Majesty desires to go through with the marriage. Tis for the good of the Empire!" One of the officials speaks.

"Yes indeed! Why make enemies with the Neon Galaxy when we can strengthen our alliance. I'm sure Her Majesty is aware of this." Another rants.

Rafayel ignores both officials like they're non-existent and repeats his question. This time, his eyes fall on you. Gaze locked on yours.

"Is Your Majesty willing to go through with the wedding?"

Why is he asking?

"Why ask Her Majesty such a foolish question, Sanctarch?! It is clear that..."

"Silence! Tis' not you I asked. Or are you the Empress of the Alore Galaxy?" The Sanctarch snaps at one of the Generals, cutting her sentence short. His eyes glow fluorescent blue.

Aestuspith. His powers.

In fear, the Courtroom falls silent.

"I ask thee again, Your Majesty. Is it your will to go through with the wedding?"

Why is he concerned? Surely, his question isn't out of care. He's always had a battle of wits with you but care? Never. Not that you know of.

Could it be he's threatened that the Sanctide Court would lose its power over the Aestuspith in Muyra if you got married and formed an alliance with the Neon Galaxy?

Or...

You gaze into his eyes. The fluorescent blue now a brilliant shade of azure, bearing rosy pink within.

Does he really care?

Whatever his intentions are, this is your only chance to either succumb to the will of the Empire's Officials or for the first time, speak your heart.

But wouldn't it be selfish to reject the marriage proposal from the Neon Galaxy? What if they declare war?

As though reading your thoughts, the Sanctarch speaks up, eyes still on yours.

"Should Your Highness reject the proposal, the Sanctide Court shall stand with you."

"With what armies?! The inferior army of Murya? Her Majesty is..." The words of one of the Generals is short lived when he picks up a table knife, slowly pressing it against his own neck. Blood trickles down his trembling hand.

All eyes in the room turn to the Sanctarch with fear. His eyes glow fluorescent blue once again.

"I said...be quiet. Do not speak if you're not spoken to." He seethes and turns to you.

"What's Your Majesty's say? Do you agree to a marriage with the Prince of the Neon Galaxy. Or do you not?"

"I...I..." You pinch the fingers of your gloved hands. This might be the biggest mistake you ever made or this could be freedom you've never had all your life.

"The Alore Galaxy will always be my priority and I will do all in my power to make its Empire the strongest force there is...but my heart can't do so if caged. And I believe that's what I'll be, should I marry for alliance." With every word, your heart feels lighter.

"Agreememt to an alliance by marriage with a galaxy that's only after the Aestuspith is a sign of weakness. And this Empire is anything but weak."

"But Your Majesty, it's foolish to..."

The knife in the hand of the General controlled by the Sanctarch sinks deeper, breaking through skin and tissues.

"If you don't want that knife buried in your throat, you will be silent." The Sanctarch threatens.

"Foolishness is me not finding my voice until now." You continue.

"Should war be inevitable, I reckon the Sanctide Court won't withhold the power of the Aestuspith for our victory." You turn to the Sanctarch. He smirks and nods.

How confusing. He agreed, just like that. Then is it not the Aestuspith he wishes to protect by questioning your marriage alliance? Did he...try to protect you?

No. Impossible.

"Then according to Her Majesty's wishes, there shall be no marriage of the sort. The Sanctide Court will issue a letter to the Neon Galaxy regarding this decision. As the will of the Empress is the will of us all." The Sanctarch declares on his feet.

An applause echoes in the Courtroom, as all agree and commend you for your choice.

The meeting finally comes to an end and everyone leaves the Courtroom. When the Sanctarch is about to make his way out as well, your lips move without your mind's consent.

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what Your Majesty?"

"Help me." You can't believe you're saying these words. Help? You?

"I did no such thing, Your Majesty. How can one help one who needs no help? Or do you think yourself incapable of ruling?"

There he goes again. Saying things that sting.

"Who said I'm incapable?!" Rage once calmed burns quickly in your soul again.

"Do you think you're incapable?" The Sanctarch asks once more, his arms crossed over his chest.

His eyes truly demanding an answer you know well. Yet you find yourself stuttering.

"I...I..."

The Sanctarch walks to the door of the Courtroom and turns back, eyes not holding an ounce of enmity but something you consider worse — pity.

"There are many sins we commit towards the Stella Ocean, Your Majesty. But yours is the worst of them all. You have no faith...in yourself."

Your heart drops at his words. Anger, embarrassment and denial play a game of tag in your mind. You wish to defend yourself but the words are trapped in your head.

With those words that shake you, the Sanctarch takes his leave out of sight until the weekly Tideprayer at the chapel.

The bell at the Sanctide Chapel tolls and with rage still burning your nerves, the voice of the Sanctarch rings in your ears despite the moment being days ago.

In the Chapel while the Sanctarch speaks the will of the Stella Ocean and the Sanctide Court, chants fill the building.

"Long live the Sanctarch! Long live the Sanctide Court. May the Stella Ocean bless us all!"

In just a few years of his position as Sanctarch, Rafayel has gained the faith of the Empire. So much so, his name is now a prayer.

Usually while on the altar speaking words of faith and prophecies alike, he'd have eyes on each pew, peering into the souls of the guilty and innocent for he knew all in the Alore Galaxy by heart and thought.

But today. Today. He's different.

Though his sight skims over the congregation at the Chapel, you could swear they linger on you.

He'd utter a sentence, glance at the congregation and gaze at you for a few seconds.

It's uncomfortable. You wish to move. To change seats even, but tis impossible. Not while you're seated at the first pew. All eyes on you.

Soon, your heart receives ease when the ceremony ends.

Everyone has left the Chapel, but you.

You love the quiet of the Chapel when it's empty. The scent of rare spices from Muyra wafting from burning incense. The golden dance of the sunset through stained glass. The shimmering tiles radiant.

It's your sanctuary. The only time you can breathe free of duties, thoughts. Just a time when the only sound in the universe...is you.

Seated amongst the first pews in the Chapel, you stare at the statue of Rafayel, a maiden with six wings and a gold crown between.

"He's no priest but a god." The words leaving your lips come straight from the heart.

"A god? You flatter me, Your Majesty." A familiar voice whispers behind you.

In shock you turn to see the Sanctarch. His eyes glowing with warmth you've never seen before.

The hoodie of his outfit lowered, exposing the fluff of his purple hair in its fullness. You're almost tempted to tousle it.

"Tis' inappropriate to sneak up on the Empress, Your Quintessence." Your voice bears no ill, but the sudden warmth about him calls for caution. So unlike earlier this week, calm comes before rage.

The Sanctarch chuckles. You've never heard him laugh before. He circles around the pew behind you and in a few steps he's seated right next to you.

It feels unsettling. Suffocating even.

You've never liked him. He's never liked you, so why does his voice feel calming?

"Would Your Majesty behead the Sanctarch for merely startling Your Grace?" He asks, a smile brightens his face kissed by the orange hues of sunset.

You've never looked at him like this before. Not this close. Not without anger. He's gorgeous. How annoying.

"What if I'd died of fear then? Won't your prank warrant death?"

"Your Majesty isn't one to die from fear. You do not have a weak heart." His words melt your heart. Your arms once crossed fall to the sides. Each heart beat skips faster. Heat crawls over your skin and your chest tightens.

Did he just give you a compliment?

No. You mustn't fall for his trickery. The Sanctarch is well known for his intelligence and charm. A sugar coated tongue must be one of his skills as well.

He takes your hands in his, eyes sinking into the depths of yours.

"You're strong. But strength isn't found in loneliness or without others. True strength is the courage to ask for help."

In anger you pull your hands from his.

"Who says I need help? Help with what?!"

"I did not mean it that way, Your Majesty. I'm simply saying you often bear burdens alone and never speak even if something doesn't sit right with you. You accept anything given to you. You have no complaints over food, clothes. Not because you have no preference but because speaking your heart seems a burden."

While he speaks, the Sanctarch slowly takes off your gloves, but his words pierce your heart like a sword. Your heart is in too much pain to concern itself with gloves.

"Even when you don't like a meal you stay silent. When clothing isn't your taste you still wear it. You don't wish to be a burden or inconvenience to anyone because you've grown up without being heard. Now you're used to it. So you feel it's best to stay silent."

His eyes trace the scars all over your hands. Tis why you always wear gloves. An Empress must never have scars. It devalues a woman. It's unpleasant to see.

Tis the words of the people and the laws etched in the heart of men. Words based on prejudice and cruel judgement none has the power to make.

Hence you've always hidden your scars.

They were inflicted upon you by the former Empress. An evil woman, not your mother by blood but by marriage.

Whenever you'd speak up for yourself or showed signs of discomfort towards her rules or choices for you, the punishment was pins left in the fire for hours. With those hot pins, she'd make a mark claiming each one the number of times you've sinned.

"Children must obey their parents or be punished. Tis' the will of the Stella Ocean." She'd say.

Upon her death you gained some form of freedom. Or so you thought.

The trauma and fear of voicing your opinions lived with you until adulthood and the scars remain a testament to the former Empress' reign as your mother.

You hated the way the ladies-in-waiting looked at the scars while tending to you. Even at special banquets and balls hosted in the Palace when you were younger, not one person asked you for a dance due to the scars. Even those who have no intention of being rude would stare at your hands brazenly.

So you decided to cover them up and once you became Empress, the first and only change you made to your wardrobe was wearing gloves to hide the scars.

When you try to take your hands off the Sanctarch's he pulls them back. His fingers tracing and caressing the old wounds on your skin.

Your heart races at the sensation. It's one you've never felt before. Heat maps your skin and your chest heaves with each breath.

The Sanctarch's palm brushes over your hands once more and comes up to rest on the left side of your cheek.

Warmth. Softness, yet subtle calluses probably from years of wielding a paintbrush and sculpting knife. After all, you've heard the Sanctarch is gifted in such.

"You don't have to stay silent anymore. You're free to be as loud as you wish and I shall be your weapon in hand if you need me be."

"Why?" It's the only word you can mutter. The walls in your heart have been broken by his touch. Your soul is in melancholy as your mind ponders upon the truth of his words. Sight blurred by tears that refuse to fall.

Does he really see you? Has someone finally seen you?

"Why?" He smiles. "My duty isn't to the Sanctide Court alone, but to the Alore Galaxy and she who governs it."

"I thought you hated monarchs like me. What changed?"

The Sanctarch's palm slides down your cheek, neck and rests on your shoulder. Each road he treads over your skin leaves a flame flickering at its wake.

What is this feeling?

"Hate you? Tis' treason to hate you, Your Majesty. Truth. I've never been friendly with monarchs in the past nor considered friendship with them...until you." He smiles.

"I always found you intriguing but I couldn't trust you. I wasn't sure if I could. So to test the waters I'd engage you in a game of wits." He chuckles.

"Game of wits? Wait...You're telling me every moment you'd make a snark comment or argue with me...tis' wasn't out of hate but a test to know if you could trust me?" Your eyes twitch. How dare he?

"You sound offended, Your Majesty."

"Who won't be?! You often kept your distance, gave me a condescending look at all times and cunningly spoke rudely. Now you're confessing it was all a test? Am I fun to taunt?" The sweet heat in your skin turns cold with rage again.

"I did steer clear from you because you're a monarch, Your Majesty and in truth I found you quite pompous, haughty even but what angered me the most was how you'd let anyone tell you what to do."

The Sanctarch rubs gentle circles over your palm, as though releasing the knots of rage beneath.

"I was never angry at you, Your Majesty. I was angry for you. I have no right to. Nor did I have a right to exchange words that angered you so. I simply wished for you to believe in yourself more and have a will of your own."

"So you didn't respect me. That's what it sounds like."

"I did, Your Majesty and..." He kneels before you, his left hand over the left side of his chest "...I still do."

You gaze into the eyes of the Sanctarch. First, with scrutiny. For how could one so powerful kneel at your feet. But then you see it within the dazzling cosmos in his eyes.

Respect, love, devotion. And you remember loyalty isn't commanded by the crown alone, but by heart.

The Sanctarch takes your hands in his and to the scarred flesh, he kisses one forelimb before the other. Pressing his soft lips over your flesh and letting the feel of him linger as though sanctifying the scars with his holy touch.

He nuzzles his face against your hands. The smoothness of his skin exciting the warmth on yours. Then he looks up at you.

"And these scars. Do not hide them, Your Majesty. They're not stains to your person, but a testimony of strength. They're lovely like the woman who bears them."

The steady beats of your fragile heart become one quite frantic. The calm pools of your soul disturbed.

What is this tight feeling in your chest?

Hate? Love?

Absolutely not.

Confused by emotions tangled within, your cheeks, neck and chest burn with a heat you only feel around him. Except this time rather than having your feathers ruffled, you melt at his touch.

The Sanctarch catches the turmoil within the pool in your eyes. One side of his lips curls up into a smile.

He graciously gets off his knees and sits beside you. A smirk on his face. Eyes somewhere between condescending and reverence.

Tilting your chin with his fingers the Sanctarch's voice grounds you in reality. Shattering the short moment of delusion.

"Whilst I bear no ill will against thee, nor approve of a marriage of convenience for thee...this doesn't mean I'm smitten, enchanted nor taken by thee, Your Majesty."

His voice trails into your ears, an octave lower. The sound tugs at your heartstrings, but his words burn away any sense of reason in rage.

"You must've lost your mind, Your Quintessence! Smitten? Enchanted? Why would I desire such things of thee?!" You pull your hands from his, up on your feet in seconds and with haste.

Stepping out of the pew, and walking towards the front doors of the Chapel, you turn to take one more glance at the Sanctarch.

The colorful glitters of the sunset's rays filter through the stained glass windows, painting his face like art. The wings of the sculpture at the altar align with his figure like they're his.

At this moment he's what any would call a heavenly being.

"If you believe every maiden in the Empire seeks to be taken by thee, then perhaps you think too highly of yourself, Your Quintessence. You're not as comely as you think." Lies. Of course he's comely. He's the most gorgeous being you've ever met.

The Sanctarch laughs "My my, Your Majesty. Do not let anger blind thee nor conform thine tongue to lies. Not as comely? Surely you jest."

Rage. Anger. Yes, he's aware of his beauty but how dare he be so pompous about it to the point he thinks the Empress yearns for him. How absurd!

"You may accuse me of the sin of having no faith, Your Quintessence. But I advise you to take a closer look at thine reflection and surely you'd see the sin of pride has you in shackles."

With those words, hoping it tears at his very soul, you step out of the Chapel fuming with rage unsettled.

The sun drowns into a sea of darkness and glittering stars after you leave the Chapel. Now in your chambers at the palace, you stand face to face with your reflection on a mirror.

"How dare he? How dare he think so little of me? Taken, smitten?! Such sinful words. And he calls himself a Sanctarch?!" You rage at none but the mirror.

You don't think yourself uncomely or likened to a goddess but being an Empress tis no surprise that the Sanctarch be taken by you.

"I would not let his words put my worth to question." You console your heart, trying to break free of the turmoil within.

It's always like this.

Every time you engage in a conversation with him, it leaves you mad, quite unsettled, in thoughts.

Tsk. It was insane to think he'd fallen for you simply because he disapproved of your arranged marriage to the Prince of the Neon Galaxy. Of course his intentions were to himself.

"Bastard." You curse under your breath but then the tightness in your chest loosens a bit when the scars on your hands come to sight.

His words repeat in your head "...they're lovely, like the woman who bears them."

Your cheeks flush hot. Your chest heaves in response to your racing heart.

"That charming idiot." The words leave your lips with a smile you did not plan.

Thoughts tempting move your muscles and you find yourself kissing the very spot the Sanctarch's lips touched on your hands.

Your hands still smell of him. Rare spices from Muyra. Enticing. Charming.

How indecent!

You call yourself to composure searching for a handkerchief to clean your hands. Perhaps that will rid them of his scent.

Where is it? You try to remember where you dropped the handkerchief. Then you recall the fact that you had in your person when you went to Chapel.

Another item lost.

Every now and then you lose something of yours. If not a hankie, then a jewel. If not that, a hair tie or a veil. They're often a small item so you never bother.

Despite the Empire's posterity there are thieves lurking about.

Stealing from the Empress is a sin worthy of death and should not be heard of. For one who can take items from you so easily without being noticed might be able to take your life as well.

Still, tis' a matter you cannot bother with. Not right now when your heart and head are riddled with emotions stirred by the Sanctarch. Perhaps another time you shall revisit the matter.

Taking another hankie out a cabinet close by, you wipe your hands but his scent remains.

"I need a bath."

Whether your words carry disgust or not, you can't tell, but for now a bath will do.

Back at the Chapel, your absence leaves the Sanctarch pondering on thoughts. Thoughts he'd only kept to himself.

He sits at the pew staring at the inanimate objects on the altar.

A statue of himself, one of a being with six wings and at the centre a crown - you.

The Sanctarch walks to the altar in silence. Gracious. Calm. Still. Like the seas untroubled at night.

His fingers graze over the surface at the base of the crown sculpture. One tug then another and he shifts a slab at the base revealing a locked drawer.

With a key he takes out from his cloak, the Sanctarch unlocks the drawer. He slowly pulls at it to reveal relics belonging to you, the Empress.

Rings, necklaces, handkerchiefs, veils, bracelets.

Every moment he'd engage in banter with you, he'd sneak a piece of you with him. You never noticed. Not once.

"How careless, Your Majesty." The Sanctarch smiles, taking a handkerchief from his cloak. It's the one you hand on your person today.

He presses the handkerchief over his nose, drawing in a long breath.

It smells like you. Dainty yet strong. Beautiful. Enchanting. Wise.

With each inhale, the Sanctarch feels heat gather at his core. His lower abdomen burning with a desire he shouldn't have. His length twitching beneath his outfit.

Madness. Sin.

He takes your handkerchief from his nose and gazes up at the statue bearing six wings.

"O Divine Stella Ocean. Forgive my sins. Each moment I gaze upon her tis impossible to hold back the desires burning within me." The Sanctarch confesses pressing the handkerchief to his lips.

"My chest tightens when she's near. The air around me becomes unfounded. It is as though I cannot breathe. My mind spirals, all thoughts lost. But for sanity I have to pinch at my legs and speak words that sometimes angers her." He glides the handkerchief in hand over his arms and chest.

"Tis' not out of hate. Being like that to her...it's the only way to single out myself from the crowd of subjects who serve her. I may be Sanctarch but what if she doesn't see me? For this reason, I must become one she thinks of be it from a place of hate or friendship. As long as she sees me. Tis' all that matters."

The Sanctarch wipes his neck with the handkerchief slowly.

His skin flushes with heat. Heart beating twice its pace, so loudly he can hear its thrumming in his ears.

"O Divine Stella Ocean. I know I should not fall in love with her. All monarchs are the same. Her predecessors have trampled on my people for the sake of the Aestuspith. Vengeance should be my cause but...I can't think straight. Not with this temptress around me."

The Sanctarch falls to his knees clutching the handkerchief to his chest.

"Sin. This is sin. Feeling this way. Tis' not right. There is no rule of celibacy to the mouth pieces of the Stella Ocean but...it's wrong to desire the Empress this way."

He throws the handkerchief over his face. Letting the silk material cover his eyes, nose, lips. Breathing in the scent of you as though you're present.

"Sin. Oh tis' a sin so grievous of one who should be holy. The Empress...she's a temptress I confess. Oh Divine Stella Ocean how can I release myself from the chains of obsession that bind me so."

Rafayel the Sanctarch groans beneath the handkerchief veiling his face.

"Why make the devil so much stronger than a god walking amongst men. Tis' cruelty O' Divine Ocean. Cruelty. Save me."

With those words, the Sanctarch's length now erect drips his nectar so sweet.

The clear water around you is so soothing. Hot and steaming it curls around your form which is barely covered by one of the white towels provided by the Hot Springs owner.

Leaning on your back against the edge of the little well, you let your head sink back and your eyes close in sheer bliss. 

Caleb had booked this little vacation to de-stress from the last few weeks when you barely had spoken with each other, and hadn’t even seen each other at all.

After some hiking to enjoy the stunning Mountain View, your muscles are now finally relaxing. The little artificial spring gurgles and some distant voices drift towards you.

You’re alone in this little pool, strictly separated from male visitors as this side is for women only. Caleb probably relaxes on the other side of the dividing wall of woven bamboo. But, suddenly, the water splashes and small waves ripple against your chest and the heavy fabric that clings soaked wet to your form. Irritated, you open your eyes only to stare into some purple orbs, tinged with a pink hue.

“Caleb?!” you shriek, and a big hand swiftly covers your mouth to suppress any more sounds. 

“Shhh, pip-squeak! Or someone will hear us!” he whispers into your ear, a hot breath dancing on the lobe of your ear.

Still stunned you tear his hand away from your lips and push him away. Which isn’t easy as Caleb had surrounded you, his broad bulky form enveloping you at every side, and his strong arms caging you in successfully.

“What are you even doing here? This is the woman's bath!” you scold him in a low voice, scrutinizing his handsome face in an attempt to appear upset.

But it’s hard when he looks that delicious!

The dark brown strands of his hair are damp from the moist air and clinging partly to his handsome face. Water droplets dripping slowly down his buff torso and the wet sheen of water accentuates every hill and valley of his muscles with a glistening highlight.

Your mouth instantly waters.

“Surprise!” your boyfriend whispers back, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling in mischief. “I thought, how lonely you’d be over here. So alone in this hot spring.” Then his voice gets deeper, the purple eyes turning darker “So wet… And flustered…” his eyes raking over your shivering form with obvious hunger. And you hate to admit it, but it does things to you. Your body heat immediately stirs up, your heart rate spikes and all you can think of is, that you can’t see his towel around his hips beneath the steam of the water.

“C- Caleb....” you stutter as he starts peeling the towel off of you. You’re trembling now because of him, the feral desire in his eyes, and the sudden feeling of warmth around you, where seconds before the towel clung to you.

“Ah, poor thing…” he mumbles as he presses his body flush against your now naked form. “Afraid to be caught?” his face is now only a hairbreadth away from you “… You aren’t afraid of me, riiight?”

As if you are under a spell, you slowly shake your sour head, unable to tear your gaze from his lips.

You can feel everything now. Every ridge and bulk of his chiseled abs, the strength of his arms pressing you against his body. The hot breath that mingles with your own.

But not the fabric of his towel. 

Instead, a very obvious hardness pulsates against your belly. Flaming hot and like steel beneath a velvet cover. And thick, twitching with excitement at the skin-to-skin contact.

Caleb groans and your eyes widen. Then his lips are on yours. Hungry. Impatient. Demanding. But also, so so tenderly. 

And you sink into him. Finally reunited with the man you missed so much these past weeks. Urgency guides your movements, the yearning for his touch, his kisses and so much more lets you move on raw unfiltered wanton. A deep groan escapes Caleb’s throat, caught by your claiming mouth.

You're slinging your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. You need more!

And your boyfriend obliges, bending to your will like he always does, giving you what you desire. Him.

Strong hands grab underneath your thighs, lifting you to the edge of the pool and the cold of the mountain air hits you like a truck. 

But you only moan, not willing to surrender to the cold. Instead, you press further into the furnace of your lover's body, the plush pecks and the hard valley of his abs. Arms instinctively circling you, warming you, and urging you on to seek him out.

Caleb’s pries your legs open with a hint of impatience, and you welcome him, enveloping him like you want to vanish into his form, live beneath his skin.

He only groans, still not breaking the kiss. Still devouring you with all his desire for you. Your head gets dizzy and something in your lower body ignites, aching to be filled, clenching around nothing.

His impressive girth presses against your belly, no longer hidden beneath the water's surface. It glistens with the remnants of the clear liquid but also pools at the angry red tip with something else, something more sticky. The evidence of how much Caleb wants you, needs you, right now.

And you beg into his mouth, pleading pathetically “…leeeb…” but also not willing to miss a single second of his lips on your own. “Mmpppleeease.”

But the brown-haired man eases back, panting heavily, lips swollen from your eager kisses. A lovely hue spreads over his cheeks, accentuating the tiny freckles around his straight nose.

“God, pips... You’ll be the end of me...” 

You don’t have the time to answer as he lines himself up with your aching core and with a single push of his hips, he sheathes his girth into you. The stretch burns deliciously and you let out a loud lewd moan before his lips are crashing onto yours once more. 

“Psst … Stay quiet…” he lowly grunts, swallowing the rest of your whimpers and sighs within his mouth as he starts to pick up a slow pace. Thrusting carefully in and out, dragging his cock along your greedy walls with too much care.

“More… Faster…” you whine, pressing the heels of your feet into the tensed muscles of his, to sign him to thrust with more strength and passion. 

You only hear a pathetic groan as a warning as he picks up the speed, now thrusting into you with ruthless force. The water splashes around you, and your butt bounces on the hard stony edge. But you don’t care. You cling to Caleb with all your might, losing yourself to the fullness of your core. Enjoying how he fucks the emptiness out of your body until everything that is left, is the feeling of him. His scent. The heat of his skin. The whispering of your name into the hollow of your mouth.

It doesn’t last long until the familiar knot builds, and you cheer Caleb on to push you over the edge with muffled whimpers and helpless moans.

Which he does, frantically so. Too lost in his own pleasure to tease you, to edge you first as he usually does. It’s simply been too long since you both reunited.

And with some more powerful thrusts, that shook the center of your core, you’re thrown into your climax. Your whole body tenses, toes curl, your core clamps down in a vice grip around his pistoning cock. You scream into his mouth, biting his lips hard. Fireworks explode behind your closed eyelids.

You're lost in your high, and as it subsides, you feel he’s cumming too. The thrusts grow sloppy, frantic, and soon Caleb grunts into your neck, and you feel his cock twitching and spurting into your walls.

Exhausted his body slumps into you and you giggle into his ear. “I love your surprises.” 

Purple eyes lock into yours, still dazed from his recent orgasm. “Mission accomplished!” with that boyish grin you know since your childhood.

Your hands slowly wander down along the hard ridges and valleys of Caleb’s back. Inconspicuously, pretending to massage the knots and tense muscles. But your intentions are not as pure as your earlier innocent offer.

Your boyfriend is in front of you as he sits on the bed in his house in Sky Haven, your legs slung around his hips. A comfortable silence has settled in as you press and stroke the muscles on his bare back.

The feared Colonel of the Far Space Fleet is putty in your hands, grunting and sighing in relaxed bliss as you prepare for your surprise.

You haven’t seen each other for over 3 weeks. Caleb was always busy with military matters, and you’re caught up in endless hunter missions. And now you’re hungry for more of him, aching in ways you just recently explored together. So you decided to help him get some relief in another way.

And sneaky like that, your hands are travelling around his form to find the button of his uniform pants in front of his taut abdomen. 

Caleb tenses up, breath hitching, and he turns his head to look at you with widened eyes, the purple, and pink swirling in surprise and something else… Disbelief? “What are you doing?”

You only grin, breathing a feather-light kiss on his cheek. “Oh, I know that’s not your back. But there’s another muscle I can also massage to help you relax.”

The faint blush that creeps up Caleb’s face fuels your satisfaction, proof that you have him at your will. “That...” he gulps, trying to gain some focus and looking anywhere but at you, as you slowly sink a hand into the depths of his pants. 

A warm hardness greets you, and your smirk widens, knowing he’s already on the edge for you.

“Pips-squeak…” he exhales instead, closing the nebulae-like eyes, and the Adam's apple bobs again in a nervous attempt to calm him down. 

You nibble lightly at his ear as you start palming the huge bulge in the tight underwear. “Ssht… It’s okay. Let me do this for you, Caleb. I want that.”

Feeling him twitch and squirm under your hand only encourages you more. He likes it! 

With a trace of your thumb, you notice the soft tip of his cock and start circling it, earning a helpless grunt from the man in your arms. You decide to throttle up, and with your second hand, you turn the handsome face to meet his lips in a consuming, hungry kiss. 

Suddenly, a swift grab on your arm and the hand in his pants is removed, captured by trained strength. But before you can protest, your boyfriend pulls you to his lap and continues to kiss you frantically. Dry lips popping with yours, trying to devour as much as he can.

“Then I’d better help you to do your best, right?” comes his now bold statement, trying to gain at least a bit of control over the situation.

But you want this to be about him. Full of determination, you retreat from Caleb, keeping him at arm’s length as you glide down between his clothed thighs. “No, you don’t, Colonel,” comes your answer, firm and commanding. “This is about you, so lean back and enjoy.” Then a little softer, accompanied by tender pecks on his handsome face that deepen the red flush. “I want it, Caleb, so let me.” 

The man you have known for nearly all your life only sighs. Defeated and still deep red. He was always helpless against your pleading eyes, knowing damn well that you are his weakness.

“Alrighty…” and Caleb finally relaxes, leaning onto the mattress, using his broad arms to support his upper back and giving you the space to fulfill your desire. But his eyes have darkened; the violet is now a deeper shade, and the pink flares into red. “Go on, pip-squeak.” His words in that deep timbre prove how much he anticipates it, despite being so reluctant at first.

And so you do. With careful fingers and his help, the pants are pulled down his butt and thighs until they’re bunched around his ankles, followed by the dark-colored boxers. His massive girth springs free immediately, angrily bouncing with the tip flushed as red as the cheeks of your colonel. 

Suddenly feeling thirsty, you lick your lips, dying to get a taste of him. Caleb’s eyes go wide at this sight, his Adam’s apple bobs nervously in his throat. And beaming at him, you dive right in, giving the brown haired man no chance to prepare himself.

Your mouth closes hungrily around the hot flesh, and with a moan of satisfaction, you glide down the shaft until it tickles your throat. You didn’t even make it halfway, but you’re not sorry as Caleb flings his head back, grunting the most scandalous way you’ve ever heard. This short contact has him already blissed out, and you enjoy how his cock is twitching and pulsing between your lips. How his chest erratically moves up and down with your boyfriend’s abrupt, ragged breaths. How he’s completely taken out by this single, sinful attack.

So you move up, slowly. Torturing, drawn-out.

Lips gliding wet over the big vein at the bottom and every little bump. Feeling the heat of blood rushing through, and the smooth, soft skin that covers the hardness of his impressive manhood. 

With half-lidded eyes, you watch Caleb as he loses himself in this blissful and agonizing moment. A loud, deep moan escapes his throat while you reach the eager end, and with a last lick of your tongue over the sensitive, glistening tip, he throws his head up. 

A wild, nearly feral look captures you, and you grin at him. “Did you like it?” knowing damn well what he’s going to answer.

“Fuck, pip-squeak. You’re goin’ to kill me!”

A wide, proud grin grows on your face at his statement, and with a soft press of your hand against his chiseled abs, you push him into the mattress. “Then let me finish this.”

And with a helpless grunt, Caleb surrenders to your will, leaning back, but his gaze still glued to your face and lips.

You sink onto his hard pulsing cock again, cling your lips around the moistened tip, and start to suck him into oblivion. Up and down you glide along his impressive member, still not able to take him in completely without gagging, so you decide to use your hands too. 

Bopping your head and stroking him with fingers simultaneously. And oh, what it does to him.

His face is heated to the point where you can see the freckles spread out on his cheeks, the purple, and pink in his eyes nearly sealed by dilated pupils, his mouth wide open. Caleb pants, wrecked and lost in the pleasure you give him. His grunts and groans fill the room along with the slurping sounds of your wet lips on his length.

He’s close now, you can sense it. His cock gets even harder, hips bucking slightly up against his control, big hands grabbing the sheets in a desperate attempt to ground him. His breath and the aroused sounds he makes are becoming more restless, frantic even. 

“Hng… Piiip…” he chokes, “stop… Please… I-I’m…” he tries to wriggle out of the scandalous hold of your lips, but you don’t let him, wrapping both your hands around the delicious piece of meat you’re devouring.

“Mpf-o-baee..” You try to talk, mouth stuffed full with his girth.

“Damn...” he pants. Caleb’s eyes are squeezed shut. A few fast pumps and intense sucks later, he comes with a scream. His abdomen tightens, his thigh twitches, and then his warm load shoots into your eager mouth, hot and sticky.

You suck him a little more until the liquid ends its spilling. And with an exhausted “please... Stop..” Caleb pulls out, weak and utterly destroyed. 

With a last assuring smile, you get up, keeping your mouth closed and your tongue away from the foreign liquid. Some hurried steps, and you reach the bathroom and spit into the sink what you successfully coaxed out of him.

Worried, Caleb has followed you. “Everythin’ alright?” and you only nod, while washing out your mouth.

“You didn’t swallow it?” comes his perplexed question. “Why have you…” he sighs again, running a hand through his brown hair? “If you don’t like it, why…?” Caleb adds shyly, despite his aroma still enveloping your taste buds.

You throw him a happy smile and turn to him, proud of your work and pecking his lips tenderly. “I liked it, Caleb, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it. Just didn’t want to gulp it down.” and with a more embarrassed tone, you add “The consistency freaks me out, sorry.” 

“It’s okay, don’t worry, pip-squeak.” Strong arms cradling you close to his buff chest. “It was amazing, thank you.” A light kiss at the top of your head eases away all the insecure thoughts you might have had because of your dislike of swallowing his cum.

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for ‘Love and Deepspace’. I only own the rights to the plot idea.