YULI.

“We’re up in a few minutes,” a girl whispered before muttering the same to the other person standing beside you.

A feast is dedicated to the Harbingers’ return to Snezhnaya after months of diplomatic work. All over the country, everyone who possesses an invitation bolted to their favorite seamstresses and lapidaries. Even markets, shops, and stalls have all been occupied by the preparation. While you, on the other hand, have spent most of your days in the theatre to perfect the dance for the festivities.

You palm your stomach, blowing out the anxiety poking your belly with a few deep breaths. It’s not always that chances to wander around the Palace’s halls are bestowed upon someone like you. Hailing from one of the poorest villages in Snezhnaya, the elders would consider it the highest of honors to walk on the very halls as the Tsaritsa. However, your mirth has been lost to the acid in your throat, ignited by your need to flee.

If this night hasn’t been a turning point in your rather mundane life, you would’ve done just that. But the stakes are high and you couldn’t risk a misstep.

Even with knowledge of what is to come, you start as the drums begin to roll. Heads turn expectantly towards the huge frescoed doors. All face luminous except yours, as one by one, the Harbingers march into the hall clad in their regalia.

The throng immediately parts to make way for the Harbingers and Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa. They say she is as cold as the snowflakes blanketing Snezhnayan soil and just as pretty. Seeing her in all her glory, the songs and poems proved to be true: she is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

Forgetting for a moment the current plight you are situated in, your lips part in awe as your eyes trail her walking towards the crystallized throne. Heartbeat wild and frenzied, you’ve made a mental reminder to savor each moment. But your thoughts have been snuffed out like embers embraced by snow when your eyes moved a little further to her right.

In blatant recognition, Pantalone tilts his head at you. There he is, eyeing you like a predator. He walks into the place knowing exactly where you are. Watching and looming over like a storm gathering in the middle of the sea. Afraid of its familiar intensity, you are, but a small part of you seeks refuge in sniffing out its whereabouts to better equip yourself on how to escape its havoc. An endeavor you were yet to accomplish. Despite your swift effort to sever the connection, his eyes have lingered. They always do.

“It’s time,” the same girl says, bobbing her head before proceeding towards the made-up stage in the corner of the hall.

At the first beat, you attempt to steer your mind away from thoughts of Pantalone. He makes you unsteady. His very presence is hard to bear especially when he looks at you like he owns you. Which, in more ways than one, is true.

You twirl and sway to the music, plastering a toothed smile whenever you spin to the center. If all goes well tonight, the theatre could attain favors from the Harbingers and the Tsaritsa. You could be a performer in Zapolyarny Palace and your future, as well as your family’s, will be secured. Perhaps, then, you won’t need to lean in on anyone for help. Such small hope but hope nonetheless.

Years of performing and blending your very soul with the stage have not prepared you for the attention that followed after the dance. For some reasons unknown, men and women alike flocked in your direction, congratulating a job well done. Alien you might be to the nobles’ way of conversation, you have treated the courtesy as your liberty from Pantalone’s presence.

If you can entertain these nobles long enough, perhaps you wouldn’t need to cross paths with the Harbinger tonight.

That has been the bane of your existence, has it not? Thinking that you can undermine, even for a little while, Pantalone’s eyes.

Your heart sinks as a hand slips around your waist, pulling your body close to a solid chest.

“I see that you have been enjoying the night without me, darling,” he whispers, shooing away the men attempting to approach with stares alone.

“Your Grace,” you breathe, hand tightening around your glass. Stomach coiling at the endearment, you shake out of his grip but he proves yet again how it’s futile to do so. He’s bigger than you. Stronger.

“It seems to be a challenge getting a hold of you tonight. What with all the men circling you around like vultures.” He looks down at you with a glint of mischief. His hand makes fast around your waist. “Worry not. They will not bother you any longer.”

You nervously sip from your glass, wondering when will you ever have the tongue to tell him that you’d rather conjure up fake smiles with the nobles than be in his company.

“I’m quite alright, Your Grace,” is all that you’ve managed to say. “And… and I wouldn’t want to deter your reunion with your fellow Harbingers,” you follow, hoping that he’d remember the comrades he has abandoned.

“Nonsense,” Pantalone scoffs. “In truth, I’m growing tedious of conversing about work and I’d assume you are, too. We shall retire to a quiet room.”

He leads you through the body of the crowd, as though parading the both of you together. Noticing the curious eyes thrown upon you by guests, your confidence evaporated. With his hand on your waist, claiming more than protecting, you know exactly the source of the next gossip in town.

Such a straightforward display of affection by a Harbinger, no less, is not to be taken lightly. You grow uneasy ruminating about what might be the impression of people around you by now.

The discomfort settles deep in your bones when Pantalone opens a door to a secluded room. Far from the crowd, no doubt, the distance muffles the music from the hall. Standing on the threshold, you hesitate for a moment, debating whether to run and make for the exit.

“Come on in,” he encourages, tone honey-laced. If he sensed your hesitation, he’s hidden it quite well with oblivion. But only when you’ve stepped inside the chamber does he finally look away.

Pantalone shuffles out of his fur coat, revealing his turtleneck sleeveless shirt embedded with jewels near the collar. “You may leave us now,” he commands the servant poking the hearth with a metal rod, whom you failed to acknowledge because of your nerves.

He politely bows to you both before departing the room.

“Come sit near the fire,” he says with a mirthful twitch of his brow on your unmoving frame. “One might think you’re afraid to come close. Come here.”

Mustering up all courage, you ask, “Why did you bring me here, Your Grace?”

There is nothing but the sound of wood crackling and liquor pouring down into two glasses after your question. Warmth might have enveloped the space, but you remain cold against his penetrative stare.

“Why, you ask? I know you’re not one for social gatherings. Therefore, I took it upon myself to save you from such dull conversations. Political matters aren’t your thing, I surmised. And they ken nothing else but politics,” he explains before walking towards you, offering the other glass with a smile.

Stop the charade. You know nothing about me.

“It matters not,” you insist, voice feeble as you reach for the glass. Frustrated are you by his theatrics, you have not forgotten that he is a Harbinger. Through and through, he gives away no sliver of doubt about his capabilities regardless of his laidback demeanor. “I have to be there with the others. This night is important to the theatre. We have to be there for when the Tsaritsa—”

“When the Tsaritsa, what?” He caresses your cheek, invading your personal space once again. “When Her Majesty bestows the theatre a favor of being permanent performers in the Palace?” he narrates as if he’s reading your mind.

“Is it a far-fetched dream, Your Grace?” You blankly stare at him, heart thudding.

“Oh, no. Not at all,” he says before turning away, taking your hand to sit you down on the sofa before the fireplace. “The dance was impeccable. But it failed in comparison to you.”

To that, you refuse to say anything.

Pantalone leans over your shoulder, tracing the side of your neck with his finger. “Although I have to remind you that for it to happen, the Harbingers need to be unanimous.”

Your breath hitches at the skinship. Reminding yourself that you need only get through the night, you close your eyes. “Are they, Your Grace? Unanimous?”

“Nothing has been decided yet,” he whispers against your skin. “But they’ve been quite enthralled by the performance— and by you, no doubt. I’ve seen it in every man’s eyes tonight.”

“Surely, you’re mistaken, Your Grace,” you reply nervously, sensitive to the direction of the conversation.

“They want you,” he insists. “And I’m not one to share.”

There it is— the words. His adamant claim to mark you. To claim you. To make you his territory.

“I’m not certain I understand, Your Grace.” Your throat bobs deeply, eyes fixated on the dancing flames as you await his response.

Pantalone sighs and takes a step back before circling around to crouch in front of you, blocking the flames from your sight. It has taken everything in you not to flinch when he took your cold hands in his warm ones.

“The Harbingers need to be unanimous,” he repeats while brushing your knuckles with his thumbs, as if consoling. And yet there is nothing in those eyes but unadulterated determination and yearning. So flagrant that his pupils dilate because of it.

“And you…” You release a shaky breath, realizing what he truly means by being unanimous. “You do not plan to agree, do you?”

He sighs in relief, as if grateful that you’ve finally understood his dilemma. “It is far beyond my patience to watch these men ogle at you—”

“Why are you doing this?” you croak suddenly, throat burning with anger and the need to lash out. “Why are you doing this to me?!”

It’s not only your life that’d crumble. The others… the whole theatre… and he cares not even the slightest bit.

Pantalone squints a little, confused at your unforeseen rage. He stands up, towering over your frame. “You look at me as if I’m wicked.”

Your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms, restraining the rancid words you wish to throw at him behind clenched teeth. How powerless you are under his mercy. It’s pathetic. It eats at your bones from within, leaving only a rotten mess behind.

Receiving silence, Pantalone tilts your chin up with a mere lift of his finger. “Am I truly that terrible?”

“It is… it is a terrible thing to be desired by you.”

At the look he’s given you, cowardice snakes into your ire and poisons what little bravery it has offered.

“Why? Because I want all of you and I have not a mind to share with anyone?” An odd sense of curiosity tints his voice. It sounds as though your disapproval over the matter downright confuses him.

“Pardon me, Your Grace. I am in dire need of fresh air.” You stand up but he catches your wrist swiftly, crashing your body onto his forcefully enough to have elicited a wince from you.

“Look me in the eyes. Say that you’re willing to face the consequences of leaving this room and I’ll let you go.” The threat echoes as a whisper. Sharp and baleful.

“Consequences?” Seized by terror, your lips went ajar and pallid. You face him completely, wrist hot under his fingertips.

He brushes the skin below your eye, as if plucking an invisible thread. “This is hardly the time to bring out the list, is it?”

The list. The list of everything your parents owe him: loans, mortgages, and debts. Who in Snezhnaya doesn’t owe him something? He’s the bloodline in which mora flows freely. A man of great wealth and influence, no one would dare displease him on purpose.

“One day, I swear, I’ll pay everything we owe you. To the last penny. After that, you won’t hear from me ever again,” you hiss, clueless as to where you’ve gained the courage. Perhaps it’s rooted in your hopelessness and exhaustion towards having to bend on his will.

“And I’ll do everything in my power to prevent such a horrible day,” he says, unaffected by your attitude. If anything, the determined set of your brows only deepened the flush on his cheeks. “Now, be a good girl and I might just change my mind…” he extends the last word, taking off his glasses before closing his mouth on yours.

Everything, up to this moment, is weighing on a scale. Perhaps ever since your family has been indebted to him. The other side of the scale fattens and grows heavier with each mora beside your parents’ name.

One day, Pantalone’s list will become as blank as your mind tonight.

One day.

Despite the frantic need that is evident in his eyes, Pantalone’s kisses are patient. He’s like an ocean on nights like this: dark, blood-curdling, and yet tempting. You couldn’t deny, no matter how you fight the admittance burning on your tongue, that he knows exactly where to touch and kiss you. How to coax lecherous sound after lecherous sound from your lips whenever his fingers would reach inside your cunt, curling, and pumping until your stomach tightens.

“Don’t be shy,” he sighs a breadth away from your lips, breathing in your heavy pleas. “Let me hear you.”

You want to refuse him the pleasure of watching you melt under his playful ministrations. Want to extinguish the carnal lust painted in his eyes as he sucks and bites on your tit. Silence would wound his pride and crush his ego underfoot. And yet silence is the weapon missing from your arsenal.

“I do appreciate your efforts in trying to keep your moans.” The corner of his lips tips up. “But your cunt is so wet. Nobody will believe your displeasure.”

Panting, your mouth opens for a rebuttal but he quickly shoves his fingers on your tongue. Overwhelmed with a whiff of something vinegary, you gag.

“Taste yourself,” he commands. “Suck.”

At the first swirl of your tongue, Pantalone grabs your throat with his free hand to steady your head. He hisses on your cheek, “I’ll fuck you so hard tonight you won’t think of anything else.”

And he did fuck you. Hard. In many positions that have kept you exposed and embarrassed. He moves with his back flexing as he pounds your cunt.

Your eyes blurred with tears when he flipped you on your stomach, ramming his length completely inside from the back. You have been stretched open, reduced to a whining mess. And he, grunting and groaning, drives himself in and out while securing your waist with big hands.

Pantalone feels his cock growing harder, balls plumped and full of unreleased cum. His stomach clenches down to his cocktip. But before his release, he pops his cock out of your wet cunt. It bobs eagerly under its weight, shaft glossed with your arousal and ringed with white around the base.

The interruption has given you but a few seconds to breathe before he pulls your leg and guides himself completely inside once again. You both gasped at the continued connection. You shriek when he hooks your other leg over his shoulder and starts to fuck you sideways.

It’s embarrassing. The position is far too crude yet feels so good. It lasted for a minute before Pantalone shifted to face you. Both of your bodies are bouncing to his movements.

“I’m close,” he declares in the crook of your neck followed by a gutted moan.

Along with your head being fuzzy, the need to pee arises. “W… wait—” you rasp, palming his chest away. “I need to pee. Stop— stop!”

He stiffens and slows down, rising above you just enough to press a hand on your lower abdomen, before picking up his pace again.

The knot in your chest slides to your abdomen, to where his hand is pressed down your flesh. You look up at him, a harsh cry escaping your lips. Utterly devastated with pleasure, you haven’t the strength to stop yourself from gushing around his girth. The warm liquid secretion from your cunt squirts everywhere— on the sheets, your thighs, and his thighs.

“Archons,” you hear him sigh before an interval of unrestrained moans and grunts leave him. He gathers you in his arms, cock throbbing sporadically inside your walls.

You know, by then, that he had come hot and needy straight to your womb. The last you’ve seen are his eyes, stricken with nothing but satisfaction and desire before sleep tugged you in its embrace.

It’s the slip of the sun’s rays through the curtains that woke you up the next day. Sitting up on the bed, you’ve found yourself alone in the spacious room. No signs of Pantalone, and yet you still feel him in every corner of your body as if he’s stuck himself in your skin. Shivers thunder down your spine at the remnants of last night. The flashes of memory you’d rather forget have rendered you hankering for a good, long bath. And yet you have been faced with a dilemma right after stepping out of bed: your clothes are gone.

Panic rising, you clasp the sheets around your body before checking under the bed. The floor is spotless.

How are you supposed to leave now? You might’ve already sold your soul to the devil named Pantalone, but you hold a sliver of self-respect to even consider marching naked out of Zapolyarny Palace.

“You’re awake.”

You jolt at the sound of his voice.

He might’ve noticed your alarm, for he chuckles and raises his hands in defense.

“Where are my clothes?” you rasp, putting as much distance between you as physically possible.

“Oh, that?” He pumps his shoulders up in realization before snapping his fingers, then a servant carrying a huge box enters while looking at the floor. “I could not let you in those rags so I had someone burn them while you sleep.”

Stupefied beyond recognition, words have unfortunately failed you when you needed them most. You feel faint just sorting through his revelation. Rags? And burned them without your permission?

He motions to the servant, who placed the box on the bed beside you. “Go ahead and try the dress, my love. I’m certain the color will suit you.”

There is no doubt about it. The dress has been bought from the most expensive shop in the city. You know this because of the name written on the box. Once, you’ve dreamt of possessing a dress made in that shop. Yet now, all you can feel is dread.

“I can’t,” you counter, “I can’t take this. I have not the mora to pay for this.”

“Leave us,” he commands and the servant ran off without a backward glance.

Pantalone closes the distance between you, breaching your personal space and claiming it as his own. He takes your chin and says, “It’s a gift. And it’d please me so if I see you wearing it.”

“I do not want to please you.” You wag your head to take his hands off you. “I’d rather dress in rags or go home naked than… than wear that.”

From your peripheral, you’ve witnessed him wipe the sides of his mouth. He’s turning impatient, that you are certain. However, he reaches for your hand and holds it tightly despite your struggle.

“Although the latter entices my imagination, do you want me plucking out the eyes of each person that’d look your way? I suppose not.” He grips your chin and made you look at him this time. An eerie smile, one that would’ve appeared lovely to a stranger’s eyes, shapes his lips. “However, you do have a choice, my love. You always have.” Then he kisses your forehead and leaves the room.

Choice. You want to spit at the word. Trample on it until it’s reduced to pieces. He talks of choices but in truth, you have been left with none.

It’s either you wear the stupid dress or remain in this stupid chamber with your stupid pride. Nothing matters. Whatever it is you decide to do, it will end up pleasing no one but Pantalone.

Do you remember what life was before Satoru Gojou?

It was sad. Miserable. Pathetic in every sense. The world had no meaning, and existing felt like a punishment rather than a privilege. The things you were doing had no purpose. They were repetitive, soulless, and depressing. Each time you’d find yourself staring outside of the window, the skies were becoming gloomier. The miasma of decay was getting thicker. There was scarcity in food and water. Yet, there was no option to go outside of your abandoned home when an eerie fog with the acrid smell of rotting flesh and blood were everywhere haunting you.

At one point, rather than trying to survive in a world that no longer welcomed you, you believed it would have been easier to just perish. Die at long last just like everyone else you knew. The people who once had a family, a lover, a pet, and a friend—they used to be people like you. Alive and breathing under your warm skin and fully-functioning set of human organs. But now, they were the opposite of what you once knew. They had become ghastly, tottering creatures looking at you with their frenzied, colorless eyes, and their putrid, saliva-filled mouths. In fact, when a couple of them managed to break into your home, staggering to chase you around the house with the rabid eagerness to masticate on your innards, you thought of finally just letting things be. After all, no one was left. You were probably the only living being in an area full of decomposing, white-blanched corpses. With their wretched appearance and fetid smell, the last bits of humor inside of you wanted to go along and mimic their series of raspy growls. You were dying, anyway. Finally.

You knew you were dying. You anticipated how their disease would soon be inching its way into your flesh.

That, with no resistance, you would let yourself be one of them.

That was your plan. That was… until every single zombie in your vicinity was sniped with a shotgun. You could barely move as bits of flesh, blood, and sinew flew all over the place. Their skulls—busted. Their entrails—falling out. You would have screamed in disgust after seeing maggots crawl out of their eyes, but then your eyes caught sight of the hero who saved the poor damsel in distress. His arctic white hair, electric blue eyes, and porcelain skin. There was no sign of a single disease in his body.

Damn. How could one person shoot a shotgun with such precision and accuracy? But more importantly, how much of a cliche was it for him to show up and be your savior at the brink of your death?

“Satoru Gojou,” he’d easily introduced himself, pulling his makeshift mask down while standing tall behind the army of foul-smelling beasts that he just massacred. What a cool man. What a dream. What a… what a… hold on, wasn’t he too good to be true?

“I must be dead,” you even joked at the time despite your struggle to catch your breath, “There’s no way a random guy would just come up here and save me like this.”

One smirk from him was all it took to completely win you over. “You don’t look dead to me.” And then a hand to help you up. “Come on, we gotta leave this place.”

And so you did. You were brought to a safe haven that you never thought existed. You were acquainted with people who had a beating heart and an uninfected brain. You were given the golden ticket to cohabit with them in a secured camp and an acceptable living condition. Everything was rationed, but you had no right to ask for much in a situation like that. All you could offer was your gratefulness, and every time you saw your godly, angel-faced hero, you could not help but think of how much you owe your living life to him.

So much so that you would think about ways to approach him without becoming a bother. He was your typical popular guy, expected by the others to rescue their lives. You were just one of the many. He had the virtue of a soldier, ready for war just to make sure that his people were safe and sound. Maybe he actually was in the army before, which could explain the reason for his expertise in guns and survival. There was no way for you to know when you barely had the chance to talk to him, and sincerely thank him at the very least, for saving your life when you almost lost it.

But then, he must have heard the same thing from the countless women who followed his tail each time he arrived back in the camp. The ladies would scramble on their feet just to make sure that they were tending to his needs; feeding him warm meals, treating his wounds, making him laugh.

You see, crushing on a stranger was a ridiculous idea, especially in the middle of an apocalyptic world. You kept that thought in your head as you stepped through a pile of mud, cursing under your breath while continuing towards the pathway to the bonfire. No, you didn’t make it there. Because someone had smoothly pulled you by the belt loop, dragging you behind the tree before he revealed his most admiring self.

“S-Satoru,” you stammered without a reason. Or maybe you did have a reason. He was good-looking enough that your thoughts were becoming jumbled. A hot mess, truly, with his mop of white hair and his piercing blue eyes. Not to mention his parted, pink lips and his slightly exposed toned chest.

“You’re really out here pretending I don’t exist, huh?” There was that playful tone and that goddamned attractive smirk. With his hand moving to your lower back and his forearm resting on the trunk of the tree, you almost let out a swoon. “I was waiting for you to approach me.”

You turned your face away a little, only to a certain degree so he wouldn’t notice the heat on your cheeks. “That’s funny ‘cause… since that day, I’ve actually been waiting, too.”

“Hmm?” he tilted his head and deepened his gaze.

“I mean, waiting for an opportunity,” you clarified, releasing an awkward chuckle, “to talk to you and thank you. You’re just always surrounded by people, so…”

He straightened his posture as he pulled away and began nodding his head, as if he was connecting the dots in his head. “You can always walk up to me. Anytime,” he assured, “I’d actually love to know you more.”

You knew what everyone else might be thinking; ‘Seriously? You’re having a love affair in this situation?’

Well, if you were going to meet death, anyway, why should you settle being a miserable, lonely woman?

“You’re a miserable, lonely woman,” spoke one of the survivors in your cabin, Meredith, glaring at you with her arms crossed across your bunker. “That, or you just truly lost it.”

While she was laughing and moving her index finger in circles beside her head, the other survivor was decent enough to shush her, telling her to stop throwing insults towards you. “Quit doing that. She needs time to adjust,” said Shoko Ieiri, “It’s traumatizing out there, you know?”

“Yeah, but she still needs to help us with some errands here! We’re not living here for free. We have duties. Ugh… I’m so sick of cleaning the nasty toilets.”

“She’ll come around. Be patient with her.”

“She’s been here for two months! She can’t just stay in her bunker all day and do nothing!”

“Meredith—”

“Hey, lunatic!” her amber eyes bore into you. “Wake the fuck up and get your ass workin’. If you really wanna survive, you need to do your job.”

You took a deep breath and sighed. “Can I… Can I see Satoru first?”

Meredith let out a groan. “Here we go again.”

“Wh-Why?” you asked, frantically. “I just… I wanna talk to him. I wanna thank him for saving me.”

This time, it was Ieiri who sat at the corner of your bed, patting your back in a soothing motion. “Satoru is…” she hesitated. “He’s not here, Y/N. He never was.”

As if lightning struck your entire body. “What do you mean? What do you—? He was here. He was just talking to me last night!”

“I know, I know.” Ieiri sent you a look of sympathy. Sympathy that you didn’t really ask for. “I understand it’s been a difficult time. It’s been a really traumatizing experience, but trust me, everything’s going to be okay.”

You held onto her arms as tears pooled your eyes. All those voices in your head, the pain in your heart… “S-Stop. What are you saying, Ieiri? He was… He was with me.”

“He’s dead,” she said the very words you refused to hear. “He didn’t survive the first wave of zombies that infested our town.”

“But…” You shook your head in hard refusal. “But he was there, he rescued me.”

“It was Suguru who did,” Ieiri confirmed, reaching what appears to be a bottle of Fanapt pills under your pillow. “Satoru’s not with us anymore. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Your roommate, Himeno, suggested that you go to the library so they could check your paper. You find yourself understanding the content, but when it comes to writing an essay in any class, you always get a mediocre grade. Himeno said that one of her friends is helping out, you never asked who it was, and you obviously didn’t bother looking for them. You saw Aki available and went up to him immediately. He luckily could help with the subject you needed help in.

“You have all the right ideas, they’re just disorganized.” He adds, which you don’t know if it makes you feel better or worse about yourself. You know the material, you just don’t know how to properly word it. He takes a seat beside you, all his attention on the paper. Your eyes shift from his focused face to the paper in his hands. He’s nitpicking any minor mistake in your writing. It almost hurts your feelings, even though you know he’s trying to help you.

You came here because you needed help, and he’s giving it to you. Although your mind wanders off, as you watch him move his lips. He’s explaining what you need to fix so your paper receives an adequate grade, yet your brain doesn’t comprehend anything. You’re nodding, acting as if you’re understanding a word he says. Your eyes are staring at the peek of the dragon tattoo that he has on his neck, and you notice that it starts on his arm. Although he has many other tattoos on his arms

“Do you understand?” He asks, which brings you back to reality. You try to smile, trying to hide the fact that you don’t understand and that you were zoning out because he is, in fact, fucking hot.

“I do, thank you, Hayakawa.” You end up responding. He gives you your paper back, and you stuff it back in your bag before standing up.

When you’re back in your apartment, you lock yourself in your room to finish up homework for other classes. You’re thinking of the man that helped you with the best of his ability, while fixing up the essay. You type away on your computer, making the near perfect essay. You come to a stop on the third paragraph to look back at the paper and reread the suggestion he made. 

His handwriting looks neat yet sloppy at the same time, and the way certain letters are written makes you chuckle because who writes them like that? You like his handwriting though. Way better than the majority of guys. 

You focus back on your computer to type out the rest of your essay, but instead of typing more, you open a new tab. And instead of searching up resources to help with your writing, you type in Aki Hayakawa and look to find any social media he has. You find his Instagram and click on it, only to find out it’s private. You squint your eyes to look at the profile picture, but his face is covered by a camera. He seems to be into photography, at least that’s what you can tell from the picture.

He probably has an alternate account for his photos, but you’re really not in the mood to look at pictures of flowers or random insects/animals that you can find in your backyard. You go back to the previous page and also find a Twitter account. A smirk comes onto your lips as you think at what you can possibly find on that page. 

You click on his Twitter and immediately go to the media. You don’t really care too much to read about his thoughts; you don’t want to lose interest because of one unfunny tweet. You grin when you find his face in many pictures, as well as some other photographs that you don’t really care about too much. You come across one particular picture that makes you stop scrolling completely. 

It’s him and your roommate. Himeno’s arms wrapped around him as she smiles at the camera. Aki smiles as well, not as bright as Himeno though. You realize that Aki is the friend that Himeno was telling you about. You sigh as you click out of the picture. You remember her saying,

“He’s so hot, God, I’d do almost anything to be with him.”

You close the tab and go back to your essay, and when you're completely concentrated on the task in front of you, there’s a knock on your door. You puff out a breath before you stand up from your chair and walk to your door. You open the door to find your roommate with a bright smile on her face, a beer in her hand.

“My friend is coming over, come join us.” She suggests. You’re about to shake your head since you don’t have too much time to finish your essay but then it hits you, 

“Is this your same friend that tutors?” You ask, and she hums in response. She doesn’t know that you know him since you never asked for his name. Before she could tell you anything about him, you left. 

“I promise he’s fun! Well… After a couple of drinks. He acts mature and all that but he loosens up.” She tells you. You don’t understand why she’s insistent, but you end up nodding slowly.

“Alright, I’ll join you.” You answer.

“Yay! He’ll be here in a few minutes. Let me get changed.” She responds before walking away, and you decide to do the same. But you decide you’ll wear something different. Maybe something that shows a bit more skin, but not too much. You don’t want Himeno to notice and come to the conclusion you’re trying to impress her friend. You are, but you don’t want her to notice.

Right when you finish changing, there’s a knock on the front door. You walk out of the room and go to the front door, since Himeno is apparently still changing. You open the door, and just as you expected, there’s Aki.

“Oh, hey.” He greets you and says your name. He raises a brow before asking, “Is Himeno your roommate?”

“Yeah. She’s in her room, she’ll come out soon enough.” You inform him and he nods in response. You move out of the way so he can enter the apartment, and when he does, he walks to the couch. He takes a seat and makes himself comfortable. “Would you like a beer?”

“It’s fine. I can get it.” Aki answers and you go to the couch to sit down as well. You put some distance between the two of you so you don’t make him uncomfortable. This awkward silence fills up the room until Himeno walks back and joins you. 

She changed. She changed from a black tank top and sweatpants to a tight white tank top and shorts. You really aren’t surprised. She smiles at Aki, greeting him with a melodious, “Hey~”

You can tell she’s had one too many beers already. She seemed fine when she knocked on your door, but you obviously misjudged her. She takes a seat between the two of you, closer to Aki. Way closer. So much so that she’s almost invading his personal space. Aki isn’t sure what to do with his personal space being invaded, so he tries to scoot away, but he can’t since he’s at the end of the couch.

“Don’t you want to start watching that movie?” Aki asks, hoping that it’ll make Himeno stand up, and give him the chance to reclaim the room that was taken from him. When you hear the word “movie” one thing comes to mind, and it’s nothing pure. You’re not even sure if Himeno meant to invite you– Unless Aki was the one who suggested that they’d watch a “movie”.

“Why don’t you go grab a drink first?” Himeno suggests, the alcohol in her breath blowing into Aki’s face. Her arms wrap around him, and he’s trying his best to distance himself. This is why he tries not to come around at night. She has one too many drinks and gets touchy.

“I actually have to finish some assignments.” You say, standing up from the couch and beginning to walk to your room. You hear a groan from Himeno, but she doesn’t say anything to stop you. Now that Aki is here, she’s changed her mind about having you join them, so she isn’t exactly too mad about the fact that you’ll choose to lock yourself up in your room.

“Uh… Actually, I think I should go with her. I explained everything to her but she seemed to be needing some more help.” Aki tells Himeno, making her let go. He’s clearly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t have the courage to voice it. It makes the woman pout and cross her arms, and Aki says, “Go drink some water and look for a movie you want to watch. I’ll make it quick.”

He follows you to your room, uninvited, and neither of you know what to say when he closes the door behind you. You take a seat at your desk and decide to focus on your homework while he waits it out.

“Sorry…” He begins, and you hum in response. You don’t care all that much about it. He stands around awkwardly, not wanting to take a seat on your bed without asking. “I didn’t expect her to be already tipsy, and she tends to be touchy.”

“Oh yeah, I get that.” You respond. “You can sit down.”

“Okay…” He responds, but instead of actually taking a seat, he walks over to you to check what’s on your computer. He finds the paper that he revised on your desk as well, so he knows you’re still working on the paper he helped you with at the library. “Do you need me to revise that again?”

“I think it’s fine.” You answer. You don’t have all that much energy left to check the paper another time and make more revisions before turning it in. You end up turning off your laptop, deciding to take advantage of the moment. You might never have him in your room again, so you might as well talk to him. “When are you going back?”

“In a few minutes. When she’s had some water and time to be more level-headed.” He replies. He takes a seat on your bed and pulls out his phone. “If not, I’ll just leave.”

“I definitely don’t think that she’ll grab water like you suggested.” You tell him as you stand up and sit down on the bed. He still wants to wait a couple minutes before deciding to leave. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

“Hmm… I think it was around campus or something. She came up to me and we hit it off.” Aki recalls, although he can’t remember it all too well. “She’s three years older than me– I think.”

“Yeah… She’s taken a while to get her degree. But hopefully next year she’ll make it!” You share, and he nods in response. You aren’t sure what you two can talk about other than Himeno, until you look at his arms, “You have a lot of tattoos. That’s cool.”

“You think so?” He responds, and you nod in response. “Himeno was actually the one who pushed me to get a tattoo. It was a small one on my thigh but then I just couldn’t stop getting more and more.”

“I’ve been thinking of getting one myself, which one was the least painful for you?” You ask, and he takes a moment to think about it. He has so many… 

“Forearm is not so bad, also outer thigh is okay.” He informs you. “Neck was very painful, don’t do that. “Butt is okay. At least from what I’ve heard.”

“From what you heard?” You chuckle, and he ends up laughing as well. “Are you sure you don’t have a tattoo on your butt?”

“Maybe once upon a time I went out to drink with Himeno and we got too drunk…” He explains. You begin to wonder for how long exactly they’ve known each other. He shares a couple more things with you– How his ears piercings was also something Himeno forced him to do, that he’s lucky she didn’t force him to pierce his nose and also get a lip ring. They’ve known each other for around four years. Aki is graduating this term, and works part time as a barista. He tells you so much about himself. 

There’s a knock on the door, interrupting the conversation that you and Aki withhold. Himeno’s speech is slightly slurred as she says, “Aki, how much time– Do you have left? Is her paper not ready?”

“Oh she’s definitely opened a few more cans of beer.” You comment, and Aki hums, a bit disappointed. 

“I need a fucking cigarette.” He rolls his eyes. “What options do I have?”

“Sneak out the window– Which I don’t recommend since this is a second floor. Or wait till she passes out and leave. Unless you want to make up an emergency.” You tell him and he subconsciously begins to bounce his leg, looking around the place to decide what he wants to do.

“Can I smoke in here?” He asks and you shake your head. As much as you’d want to let him do anything he wants, the last thing you need is your bedroom smelling like cigarettes. You’ve forced Himeno to smoke outside, even when it’s pouring out

“Sorry, I don’t really want my bedroom to stink.”

“What? Do I stink?” He questions. He’s never associated his addiction with a horrible smell. Sure, smoking outside is the formality so not everyone is clouded with the smoke. Maybe it has a strong smell– Well, it definitely reeks but he fucking needs to smoke.

“You don’t stink, but if you pull out a cigarette in my room then you will. And I will too.” You explain and he still sighs. He lays his back on the bed and stares at the ceiling for a second. 

“Will you suck me off?” He asks out of nowhere, and you feel the heat going to your cheeks as he says that. “I need something that’ll distract me from smoking, and that’ll certainly do the trick.”

“You know, Himeno would be willing to give you a hand if you asked.” You say, your hand going to his belt. Does he need a cigarette so badly or does he just want a blowjob? You don’t care to ask as your lips go down to peck his lips. When you pull away, he says, 

“I don’t want Himeno.” He responds. “She’s a nice friend but that’s all she’ll be.”

“Hmm…? Didn’t we just meet? You’re already talking about us being more than friends?” You begin as you unbutton his pants and pull them down. Your hand goes into his boxers and begin to feel his length, which is certainly impressive. Although you aren’t too surprised. “Will this actually help you?”

“I suggested it for a reason.” He responds, and you pull down his boxers. You run your thumb over his tip, spreading the pre-cum on his cock. You lower your head, your tongue circling around his tip. You met a couple hours ago, and here you are, starting a blowjob. This wouldn’t be your first one night stand though. You’ve fucked guys that you’ve known for a shorter time.

You lower your head completely, wrapping your mouth completely around his cock. You take in as much as you can, and you can hear him softly moan as you bob your head. Your hands stroke the parts of his cock that can’t fit in your mouth, while your other hand cups his balls.

“Fuck– That’s good.” He can’t help but moan as he feels your mouth wrapped around his dick. Maybe he was thinking of a similar scene in the library while looking over your paper. And now he feels your tongue gliding on his shaft. 

You take his cock out of your mouth, your hand stroking his cock while your mouth goes down to suck on his balls. He shuts his eyes and bites his bottom lip as he feels your mouth. God, he has to remember that Himeno is right outside so he can’t let her hear what’s going on inside your room. That he isn’t in fact helping you with your assignment. 

Your tongue licks from the base of his cock back to the tip. Your mouth wraps around his cock again, doing the same thing as before. While it feels great for Aki, he still says, “Baby, can you take it all in your mouth? It’ll be so good”

The pet name “baby” makes your panties wet. All the heat immediately goes to your cunt, but you focus on Aki and making him come. Using your mouth for his pleasure. 

You feel his hand on the back of your head, and he begins to push your head down on his cock. You begin to gag on his cock, and the sound is better than any melody for him. And the best part of all is that it feels so good for him. Even better than before. He could come at any moment.

Too engrossed in what you’re doing, any noise from outside is canceled out by Aki’s moans and your gagging. Until the door strikes open, and a drunk Himeno walks into the room, looking for Aki. You raise your head, taking his cock out of your mouth. You’re wide-eyed while the man can’t help but be annoyed by the fact that he was so close to finishing, and he was interrupted.

Himeno is trying to process the scene in front of her, asking, “What’s going on here?”

“A- Aki needed a cigarette.” You stutter.

“She won’t remember any of this in the morning. There’s no need for an explanation.” Aki assures you. He pulls his boxers back up and begins to fix himself. “I have to go. I’m gonna smoke a cigarette.”

Just as Aki said, Himeno remembered nothing the next morning. Yet, you decided that you’ll keep your distance because Himeno clearly likes him, and getting with him is sort of a betrayal to her. It’s easy to avoid him, mainly because you’ve never bumped into him before. You avoid the library, and he doesn’t come over to hang out with Himeno often.

Nearly a month after everything, you find yourself back in the library, ready to check another paper. The paper Aki checked got a near perfect score, and while you’re trying to avoid him, you value your grades more than anything. Your eyes meet when you step into the place.

You’ll look for someone else because you doubt either of you will feel too comfortable around each other, especially after a month of not talking. Or maybe that’s just you because Aki begins to walk towards you.

“Hey.” He says when he’s in front of you. You smile at him, avoiding eye contact. “Do you need help on another paper?”

“Uh… Yeah.” You nod, looking around to find another person that’s not Aki, to check the paper you need help with.

“I can check it for you.” He states, noticing that you’re looking for someone else. He left someone on their own to come up to you. He hopes at the very least you’ll take his help so he doesn’t look like a jerk.

“Sure… But aren’t you busy?” You question and he shakes his head. You noticed he was with someone else, but he decided to walk up to you. “I don’t want to–”

“It’s fine, they were just leaving.” He responds, and you end up sighing. He furrows his brows at your reaction and just when he’s about to ask what’s wrong, you end up saying,

“You know Himeno likes you, so I think it’s best if we–” You begin but he cuts you off.

“I’m helping you with your essay, I’m sure Himeno won’t get mad with that.” Aki answers, and you end up sighing again. He’s not wrong, but the reason you don't want his help is because you aren’t sure if you’ll behave around each other. 

You end up going with him to take a seat. You pull out the paper and hand it to him so he can look it over. And he takes it as he takes a seat beside you. Unlike the first time, you don’t gawk at him. You stare elsewhere, somewhere that he isn’t in your vision.

You feel him pat your thigh, and the heat goes to your cheeks immediately. “Do you have a pen?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” You respond, reaching into your bag to pull out a pen. You give it to him, and once again stare off into space, until his hand goes back to your thigh. But this time he isn’t patting to ask you for something. He takes advantage of the fact that you’re wearing a skirt. 

He caresses your thigh, all while his focus is on the paper in front of him. You don’t understand how he suddenly got so comfortable with you to do this, but at the same time you really don’t care that much. Except when his hand goes to your clothed cunt and he rubs lazy circles on your panties. No one will notice or know, yet you’re still freaking out. But you won’t push his hand away either.

“Same mistakes as the first time.” He comments, pushing your panties to the side. Two fingers run through your folds as he circles and underlines what needs to be fixed. He mutters, “You’re so wet, and I haven’t done anything.”

“Huh?” You question, your face burning up, the same heat that’s in between your legs. Yet one is of embarrassment and the other of arousal. 

“I said, last time clearly didn’t do anything. You made very similar mistakes.” He begins to circle your clit. You didn’t really expect a stunt like this from him of all people. But then again, you don’t know him well. You’ve stalked his social media after giving him a blowjob, but that’s about it. 

You wait for him to push two fingers in, but at the same time you’re not desperate for it because his fingers’ speed against your clit is just right. He moves his fingers perfectly. You bite your bottom lip, preventing a whimper from leaving your lips.

“Does it feel good, gorgeous?” He asks, glancing at you before his eyes go back to the paper in front of him. “Wouldn’t it feel good if I slipped a finger in? You’d have to ask me in a pretty little voice.”

“Please.” You whisper. You’re scared of being too loud and being heard, although half the library is empty.

“Can you be a tad bit louder? I can’t make out what you’re saying.” He says, and you end up shaking your head. The library is so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, and you’re scared that if you raise your voice just a bit more, that people will turn to see. The place isn’t too crowded. Just a couple of people cramming in for exams.

His fingers press against your entrance, but he doesn’t slip a finger in. He fixes your panties and stands up, “I need a cig. Check over what I wrote. I’ll be back in a second.”

You watch as he walks away, and you stuff your paper back in your bag. You stand up and begin to walk to the shelves. You begin to look for a book that you’ve been researching for a term paper. Instead of asking the librarian for help, you go to the very back of the place, looking for the book. 

You waste around ten minutes, before you spot it. Your arm goes out to grab it, but before your hand gets to it, someone else grabs it. You notice the tattoos on his hand and immediately figure out who it is. You turn around to look at him, and he’s so close that you’re pushed against the shelves.

“I thought I told you to make revisions and here you are…” He sounds a bit annoyed as he says this. His lips go down and he pecks your lips before he kneels down in front of you. He lifts up your skirt, and you press your thighs together.

“Right here?” You ask, tilting to the side for a moment to see if you find anybody. When you don’t, you stop squeezing your thighs. He pushes your panties to the side, once again, and forces you to spread your legs.

“You should really be checking your paper…” He tells you before his tongue licks up your cunt. He really couldn’t care less about your paper. He can say he was upset when he stepped back into the library and you weren’t there, waiting for him. He was going to tease you a bit more. But now he’s glad that you decided to come here because you taste great on his tongue.

He spits on your cunt before his lips attach around your clit. You throw your head back, making a couple of books fall over. The sound would sure catch a couple of people’s attention, but they’re all too focused on their own thing to care. You put a hand over your mouth to muffle any sounds from escaping your lips. 

Books knocking over aren't alarming, the sound of moaning sure is.

He detaches himself from your clit and licks down your folds to the entrance of your cunt. He teases it before he inserts his tongue inside of you, which makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. He moves it in and out of your cunt while his fingers begin to play with your clit.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” You whisper, your hips bucking. He’s looking up at you, watching your face as you try to contain your pleasure. He really wishes he could hear it, but he sure picked the wrong place to do this. Either way you wouldn’t make a sound in your apartment either because of your roommate.

You shut your eyes, feeling your climax get closer and closer. He takes his tongue out of your cunt and begins to flick your clit. The sweetest “Aki” leaves your lips while your thighs begin to squeeze around him. He swears this is heaven, and you’re the sweetest angel.

You keep your thighs squeezed around him while your orgasm takes over you. You hear Aki humming, loving the way you taste around him. A moan escapes your lips, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you come.

Aki continues flicking your clit for a couple more seconds, watching the beautiful face that you make as you orgasm. When a sigh escapes your lips when you come down from your high, he kisses your clit and gets off the ground. He grabs the back of your head and pulls your face in for a kiss. His tongue enters your mouth, pressing against your own. His tongue glides over yours while your hands go to the bulge that’s in his pants.

When he pulls away, a string of saliva connects your lips. You stare into his lust-filled eyes, and you watch him bite down his bottom lip as you feel the bulge in his pants. His thumb pushes down your bottom lip before he orders, “Open your mouth.”

You do as he says and he spits in your mouth. You swallow as your hands unbutton his pants. Your hands go inside his boxers and you begin to stroke his length. He says, “You want me to fuck you here, baby?”

“Hmm…” You hum in response. You pull down his pants, “You already ate me out, we might as well go all the way.”

“You’re right. I’ve been daydreaming about your cunt wrapped around my dick.” He says, stroking his cock a couple of times before he runs the tip through your folds, getting his cock wet with your slick. “And the craziest thing is that this is the third time we meet.”

“It’s the effect I have on people.” You chuckle, before he slowly pushes his cock inside of you. You whimper, feeling as his thick cock stretches you out. You both shut your eyes, taking everything in. He’s even bigger when he’s inside of you, at least that’s how he feels.

“Your pussy feels so good.” He whispers. Your cunt feels just like he imagined– No, even better. So nice and tight. The night he needed a cigarette, he shouldn’t have asked for a blowjob, instead he should’ve straight up asked you to fuck him. He actually would’ve finished.

When he bottoms out, he waits a moment, letting you adjust to his size. He begins to move slowly, looking at your face as you try your best to contain yourself. His bottom lip is between his teeth as he fucks you. One hand goes to the shelf behind you, causing a couple more books to tumble over.

You’re beginning to moan, and as much as he loves the sound, he can’t risk getting caught. One hand covers your mouth while his lips go to your ear, “You want us to get caught, naughty girl? You want everyone to come see you get caught?”

God, he just feels so good inside of you, it’s hard for you to keep it all in. His cock hits all the right spots. You could come alone with the way he moves in and out of you. Yet your hand still moves down to your clit to play with it.

Aki understands the way you feel because he’s trying his best to contain himself as well– In more ways than one, because he could come at any moment. He stops covering your mouth and his lips land on yours again. 

He feels your cunt clench around him, and he moans in your mouth. When he pulls away, his lips go to your ears again, “Love your tight little pussy. I could die in it, and I’d die a happy man.”

His cock picks up speed with every thrust. His hand is back on your mouth, muffling the sounds that get louder and louder with every thrust. You reach your climax, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your legs spasm.

“So fucking good. I need to come inside your pussy.” He mutters. After a few more thrusts, you feel as his warm cum fills up your cunt. He keeps his cock inside you for a minute. He takes it out and fixes your panties. He pecks your lips one more time, as he fixes himself up. 

“Go fix your paper, and if I like it enough, I’ll give you another reward.”

Fortunately for everyone involved, your mother, Veron, was adroit in molding and twisting herself to fit in anyone’s standard.

This is for the sake of you and Simone, she reminded through a sibilant whisper with razor-edged eyes, holding the door open to your and your twin’s bedroom the night Mr. Hanemiya stayed over.

Already counting down the day until she and Ichiro would part ways, you merely flapped your lashes upward, pupils following. Hearing the same words was a clamorous tune you wished to free yourself from.

“Sister, do you know that Mr. Hanemiya is a business tycoon in Valedana? Mama certainly knows how to pick a man.” Simone crawled to your bed across from hers, wiggling her body as to make the bed squeak. In the streaming moonlight through the glass window panes, her smile appeared almost sinister. A smile that revealed her impression on Ichiro Hanemiya.

“Valedana?” Flipping the pages of the book about a lost civilization forgotten to man, your eyebrow twitched upward. “That place is miles away from Inasea, Simone. Veron would find the journey unworthy of its profit.”

“Have you not heard a thing I said? He is a business tycoon! If that isn’t profit enough, I don’t know what is.” Simone expanded her arms to visualize said land. “Mama would grab him by the throat, suffocate him with undying affection, and he will never rise again. Never underestimate her, sister.”

You grinned and shut the book with a soft thump. “That seems almost familiar, Simone. Do you miss Mr. Alazar that badly?”

At the name, a puzzled looked contorted her face.

You clapped your hand gently on her shoulder before leaning close to her ear, her skin and your lips being hair’s breadth away. “Mama grabbed him by the throat, suffocated him, and he never got up again, had he?”

She jolted away with a gasp. As though she was staring at some lunatic, she granted you a look of absolute astonishment.

Ah, your twin and her penchant for the dramatics would not fail to enthrall you.

“Sister!” she gasped. “You shan’t speak ill of the dead nor of your mother. Mr. Alazar died of sickness in the lungs. Such rumors about him being mowed down must not fill your head.”

“The rumors are quite beguiling, I must admit. And now we shall watch its spark burn brighter once Mr. Hanemiya’s visit turns into a crawling gossip tabloid.” You shrugged and pulled the sheets over your lap.

“Ever pessimistic, you truly are.” Simone climbed on her mattress while clicking her tongue. “Mother has been widowed for almost a year now. That’s the longest she has gone without remarrying. And as her family, we shall support her newfound happiness.”

“Do you mean her newfound treasury?”

Simone’s voice rumbled to a chuckle. “Oh, my dear sister, your tongue is as cutting as a whetted knife. I pray to the gods that it will not be your downfall.” She leaned and blew out the flames from the candle on her bedside table, reducing the light inside your shared bedroom to dim.

Her words failed to deal its effect regardless of the frown that had graced your lips. You would first succumb to cutting yourself into tiny pieces than play vapid.

Although to some extent, witnessing the rumors shove Veron into the cauldron of shame was riveting. It had only insinuated that her submissive demeanor was nothing but farce when hearsay of mariticide stuck and sought her like a devout lover.

By which you had been most entertained, because she remained true to her typical self under the neighbors’ probing stares: blocking the sneers and humiliation out of sight with the high tilt of her chin.

A normal person accused of committing mariticide would have dug up a grave of her own, and yet the incessant whispering of the whole town could not persuade her to fetch a shovel and save herself from the mortification. A defamation sharp enough to wound her vanity had yet to be invented, it seemed. Vanity that was akin to a mellow fruit hanging from a tree, with its sweet deception seducing even your twin sister’s appetite.

And you, cast into the shadow of their desires, once again left alone with hunger. Left alone with a parched throat inside a home that wasn’t yours somewhere in a foreign land. Once again standing inside her new husband’s house while going over the lessons Veron had imbued to your brain: pull your lips into a pleasant smile, curtsy as gracefully as possible before Mr. Hanemiya and his son.

“What a lovely house, Mr. Hanemiya!” Simone chirped, hands pressing on her heart. Her smile was as intense as the white rays of the sun. Stare a little longer and you’d be rendered blind. “I have never seen a similar one in Inassea!”

“Inassea’s architectonics differ from that of Valedana. Aren’t you aware?” The thought had crossed your mind, but the one who gave it voice was the young man, Ichiro’s son, Kazutora Hanemiya.

You doused the habit of cocking your brow at his tone. He was impervious to all sense of cordiality, speaking his question with a bite that was hard to miss.

“Oh, my! How many hearts have been shattered by this face, I wonder?” Veron sang dramatically, inching forward to cup Kazutora’s cheek with a gloved hand. She extended her fan and giggled behind the material. Each word and every movement formed to impress. Veron was an actress and the world was her stage.

Seldom would you agree with her, but standing an arm’s away from the young man had you wondering the same. His hair, like the color of onyx, reflected the doom in his eyes: fierce and infernal.

Kazutora Hanemiya was downfall masked as salvation.

Before he could verbalize the hostility marring his face, Simone suddenly grabbed his hand, clasped it between hers.

“I am Simone! Delighted to meet you, Kazutora. Let us get along well!” Simone, forever glued to her blitheness, continued to pretend ignorant of Kazutora’s palpable disdain. She shook hands with him, tugging you beside her to present like a favorite pet. “And this is my twin! Apologies. She isn’t very sociable, but she harbors a mind that always speaks its truth—”

“That’s enough, Simone,” you pronounced sharply while stealing glances at Kazutora’s unchanging countenance.

“It seems to me that the children will get along well,” Ichiro pitched in, accompanied by a low chuckle. He folded his hand on his son’s shoulder and said, “Kazutora, from now on they are your sisters. And Veron is your mother.”

“Oh, my dear, we wouldn’t want to overwhelm the boy with these changes.” Veron folded her fan, tilting her head to match Kazutora’s eyes. “You can call me Missus for a while.”

His eyelids were low on acedia. If what you heard was true, Kazutora had not a mother ever since Mrs. Hanemiya passed away, unlike you and Simone who had lived in different houses and had addressed multiple men as your father before.

“And your twins can address me as their father. Only if they’re comfortable, that is.” Ichiro’s eyes crinkled at the sides when he smiled down at you.

“Wouldn’t it be vulgar for us, Mr. Hanemiya—”

Simone cleaved your worries by bumping her elbow against yours. A signal before jumping on her toes and embracing Ichiro. “Father!“ she shrieked, a delighted smile tugging her lips to the ears.

Ichiro laughed heartily, holding Simone like he would his own daughter.

Mood deflating, you made no effort to imitate your twin. Once she smiles, she is the sun. None could debase her luminosity no more. Not even you, who shared the same face with her. Because the earth only had one giant ball of fire circling the skies, people only needed Simone.

“Try harder,” someone behind you whispered before being propelled towards Ichiro and Simone. It was your mother’s voice— a gentle warning.

Simone beckoned you closer while Ichiro extended his hand to take yours. Hesitation fading in the back of your mind, you took a step forward before your attention wound up to two pairs of void for eyes.

Kazutora stared at you like you were a choice he had already made. If he couldn’t torment the sun, there was the shadow for all his taking.

From his father’s arm, you smiled at the young heir. If you were a shadow, all his fire was yours to claim.

And together, you descended into damnation.

but when you whispered how you’re naked underneath your silk skirt while trekking up the hills, you never would’ve expected the desire on his face to make your pussy ache as it did. and the first time zhongli touched you, all hands that ever did failed to come close.

you don’t think your cunt has been fingered that hard and rough before— your legs fluttering erratically until zhongli has to hold you down by pressing a hand on your stomach. until your pussy is covered in slick and your eyes in tears. until you’re crawling away because it’s too much, only for him to tug you back by your ankles.

“don’t run,” he whispers into the night, putting back two fingers in your cunt to stuff your walls again. “you did this to yourself, didn’t you? now you’re crying, but your tears only spur me on.”

you tell yourself it’s a trick of the scant light provided by the moon because when zhongli pulled his breaches down to his hips, a huge cock healthily and excitedly bounced in front of you.

“touch it and decide if it’s going to fit,” he says, the darkness in his eyes slowly growing luminescent in pure desire, “or else you want me to make it fit.”

even with a wet pussy, zhongli has to take his time inching forward inside your gummy walls. his cock struggled against your slabbering hole— despite the fingering and the clit rubbing and the numerous orgasms.

when he started to pound you— balls clapping with full grunts echoing from him— tears streamed down your face again. the sight clouded zhongli’s thoughts. never in his six thousand years has he ever fucked a pussy as tight and as pretty as yours.

trust him when he says he did his hardest to restrain himself from shoving his needy cock in your irresistible cunt whenever you flutter your eyelashes at him, or bite your lip when you talk, or when you pretend to trip and fall on his chest.

he knows that once he’s tasted a piece of your cunt, it would be too late to turn back. and he’s right. the fact only made his stomach whirl in desire and his balls to tauten until he’s blabbering words about how he’d fuck you every day, eat your cunt in the quiet rooms of the funeral parlor, and fill your insides with his hot cum. words that he wouldn’t have said if he wasn’t so pussydrunk.

“zhongli…!” you sobbed, watching your pussy as it warms his long and huge shaft. “zhongli… slow down…!”

“rex,” he grits, ramming his cock in even harder, “rex lapis. it’s my name.”

you’re too delirious to care if it’s true or not. but what’s been left of your wits tells you that of course, he’s rex lapis— because only a god can fuck your pretty pussy like how it deserved to be fucked. only a god can blow and dam up your cunt with cum until white strings ooze from your hole down the grassy earth where he fucked you dumb and senseless.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stroked his hair. “You are.” 

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

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

A deo rex, a rege lex. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ybarra. Idrarean. 

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

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

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

Ybarra. He wouldn’t escape unscathed. 

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

You gathered and donned your abandoned nightgown from the floor. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. 

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

For Manjiro. For Elorus. For Baji. 

Consequences be damned. 

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

“I do not want to die.”

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

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

What were you thinking? What were you thinking?

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Izana—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Izana listened. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt your stomach doubling over. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart thundered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small sacrifice. This is but a small sacrifice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Courage. It is all you need. 

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

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

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

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

Sucking down stuffed air, you exhaled through your mouth. 

Aenar, let this arrow fly to its target. 

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

Your heart soared. You did it. 

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

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

He was in front of Kakucho? 

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

How? 

“Your Majesty!” 

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haruchiyo’s eyes hardened. 

Gold. Caelfall. Well. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir!” 

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

“Speak,” Haruchiyo encouraged. 

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

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

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

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

Footmarks. 

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

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

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

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

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

Two sentries saluted and disappeared to accomplish the task. 

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

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

His eyes turned into slits. Senses up and alert. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W… what?” The voice was from Nera. 

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

“No, we haven’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Draken’s footsteps halted. 

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

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

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

But the massacre laid before him shattered all his hopes. 

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

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

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

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

“Mitsuya!” A broken sob. “Mitsuya!” 

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

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

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

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

—

Once the king falls, the kingdom follows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What would push him to end Emma’s life? 

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

“Good,” was his only response. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the image before Manjiro had him second-guessing. 

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

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

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

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

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

“They are all gone, Your Majesty—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What incited such recoil from Nera? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, no!” Nera shrieked. “No!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Draken. Mitsuya. Baji. Kazutora. Chifuyu. 

Eros. Simon. And… you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sire—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words died. 

The bottle crashed and shattered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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