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“ E xcuse me, who are you?”

Cyprian smiled politely at the redhead at the door. The woman looked to be in her forties and eyed him suspiciously as she leaned against the door.

“My name is Cyprian Creighton.” He held his breath, watching her intently. Hoping that by some miracle, she’d recognize him, the child she’d put up for adoption.

She didn’t.

Instead, she shook her head and glanced away, clearing her throat. “Listen, kid, I don’t know who you are but take my advice—” She jutted her chin and Cyprian followed her brown gaze to where the black hovercar was parked with Luminary guards. “And get the hell out of here. This neighborhood is not safe for you.”

“I don’t care about that,” Cyprian rushed. “I’ve come here to find my mother.”

“Well, it ain’t me. I had a son, but he died in a previous life.”

“According to my reports?—”

The door slammed in his face.

“You gave him up twenty years ago.” The rest of his words got swept up by the wind. Cyprian let out a heavy breath and turned on his heel. He ignored the Luminary guards who were parked so obnoxiously in the street.

22222 Skyrocket Drive. An address so untypical that he had remembered it by heart. Unfortunately, it was one of the only ones he’d registered in his mind. And without his data, he wouldn’t be able to visit the others.

He had asked Moargan if he could get it back, but the only answer he’d had was a wave of his chip, a condescending chuckle from Aviel and Yure’s question to help them get access to his data.

Nope. Not going to happen. He wouldn’t hand them his discretions on a silver platter.

Strolling back to the bus stop, Cyprian kept his head down. The woman had been right, the area was rough. It was nothing like where he’d been before when he’d managed to roam the streets by himself, or what the streets close to campus looked like.

This part of his research was much harder than he’d thought. To roam the streets of an unfamiliar planet and knock on doors. To hope—inwardly begging for that moment where he’d finally be welcomed with tears and hugs. Buckets of love would be toppled over him, and he would belong , would finally be home.

His chest tightened and his eyes burned. The thought seared his insides.

A vision blurred his surroundings. He saw himself, standing in Moargan’s guest room, charcoal pencils in his hand. He was wearing a white cape like the Imperial had on back in the spaceship, and he was drawing.

Stairs.

He heard someone crying, the sound followed by a carnal howl. Laughter and the sound of flesh being slashed open. More cries that turned into wheezing pleads.

Danger .

The word echoed through Cyprian’s mind, and he blinked in confusion at the intensity of the pain and desperation.

“Watch out!”

Arms on his shoulders yanked Cyprian back onto the footpath. He blinked, successfully erasing the invasion in his mind, eyes widening when he realized where he was.

“Are you okay?” A guy his age, his hand still on Cyprian’s forearm, asked. “You just started crossing the street.” As if to punch his words, a roaring hovercar passed by.

“I’m—” Cyprian shivered. He’d been completely out of it. “Thank you. I’m feeling much better.”

“Really?” The guy chuckled half-heartedly. “You don’t look fine.” Another once-over. “Hey, you go to the Academy, don’t you?”

Cyprian nodded. “You too?”

“Sure do. I’m a first-year tech student.” The other guy smiled now, cheeks adorned with dimples. “I saw you on screen. You’ve got quite the reputation. Listen, if you ever want to go out for a drink—just as friends—” He let out another smile.

“Sure.” Cyprian tucked a raven strand behind his ear. Did this guy want to be his friend? He’d never had those. Well, aside from Archer, that was. “That sounds nice.”

“Really?” The guy’s face lit up. “If you’re free, we could go over and grab a beer or something. There’s this place right on the corner?—”

“Get away from him.” An arm snaked around Cyprian’s waist, and he got pulled closer to a chest. “He’s taken.” Moargan smelled of spice and blood, and Cyprian inhaled through his nose, unwilling to admit how that made him feel.

Like home.

The guy’s eyes widened. “Imperial Moargan,” he stammered. “I apologize.”

“Your apology is not accepted. You are flirting with my Royal Consort.” Moargan nodded at one of the guards.

The fight was short and vicious. By the time Vandor opened the hovercar, the other student was already lying on the ground in a pool of blood, begging for the guards to keep his limbs.

Cyprian felt nauseous. “We were just talking!” Anger and pity swirled in the pit of his stomach, clenching his muscles. “Please. Don’t let them kill him.”

“I do as I please,” Moargan clipped. “Now, get in the car.”

Cyprian dug his heels into the ground, jaw locked. “No. You had that guy attacked for no reason.”

“I am the Imperial Prince; I don’t need a reason.” Moargan’s hold on Cyprian’s nape tightened. “Now, get in the car or I’ll make you.”

“No.”

Moargan let out a dramatic sigh. “It’s getting dark and you’re in a shit area when there’s a killer on the loose.” He pushed Cyprian inside the car. “And yes. I didn’t want that guy to flirt with you. Happy now?”

Those words loosened up some of Cyprian’s tenseness. He let himself be seated on the shiny, leather seats. “Were you jealous?”

Moargan bristled, but it was his silence that made the corner of Cyprian’s lips tick up. He had been jealous. And that did something to Cyprian’s insides.

Moargan urged for the car to leave. “So, this is what it’s going to be like? Me searching for you? Fuck knows where the next address will take you.”

“I wouldn’t have to roam the streets if I still had my data chip. But you took it from me.” Cyprian clipped.

“Touché,” Moargan growled in his ear, the vibration making him tremble despite his fury. “Although it seems you left me another surprise there.”

“What do you mean?”

Moargan leaned back. “If you’d help us out, you’d know. Now, I came to pick you up. My father wants to meet you. ”

Cyprian flinched. “Your father ? Why? Have I been reported?” His own words made him cringe even harder.

“Reported?” Moargan raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a refugee, remember?”

Moargan slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t. You have officially been claimed by the Imperial Prince of Helion. My father simply wants to know the guy I have claimed as mine.”

Cyprian huffed through his unease as he looked outside contemplating his options. Ahead of them, the nightlights of Zephyr are already in view. The earlier meeting, followed by that weird vision, left him vulnerable. He just wanted to go back to the mansion and hide away in the guestroom the entire night, drawing. But there was no way he’d be able to convince Moargan of that. “I can’t come with you looking like this,” he croaked instead, and he turned back to face Moargan. “You might look all dazzling, but I can’t meet the Imperial in my school uniform.”

“You think I look all dazzling?” Moargan gave him a cheeky smile.

Cyprian flipped him off. Moargan’s attitude did not help. It made him scared. And when he was scared, Cyprian snapped. “You know what I mean. And I don’t like your jokes about feelings and all, and I don’t want you or your guards to follow me around, and no…” He took in a deep breath, panting. “That guy wasn’t flirting. He was just being nice.”

“Was he now?” Moargan watched him from across the seat, lips pressed tight and a dangerous flash in his amethyst eyes. “A stranger who smiles at you, touches you, asks you out for a drink, is not flirting with you? He wanted you, lover, and I understand why. But he can’t have you, can he? Because I have you, and only I get to touch you. Only I get to own you.” Without waiting for an answer, Moargan held up his hand. The hover car changed lanes last minute and headed back into the city. “We will pass by our home to get you some clothes. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable when you meet my father.”

Cyprian bristled, fuming internally when Moargan didn’t even react. He just gazed outside the window, allowing for silence to creep up inside the car as they continued their journey.

When they stopped by Moargan’s house, Cyprian tried the door. It was locked. A Luminary guard handed Moargan a bag that he tossed into Cyprian’s hands. “Get changed, lover, give me a show.”

“A show,” Cyprian huffed, then rolled his eyes when he took out the clothes. “Leather pants?”

Moargan casually hung back in his chair, piercing eyes fixed on him. He widened his legs, lips curling when he caught Cyprian watching. “That’s what you wanted, right? To make yourself pretty for me?” He lit a cinder cigarette, exhaling a ring of red smoke. “Show me.”

Cyprian flushed when he took out the rest of the clothes. Ignoring the way Moargan was openly ogling him, he managed to change before they reached the Green Mansion, the Imperial’s premises. The smooth pants and white button-up hugged his skin, making it feel even more sensitive, and the black, velvet scarf tickled his flesh. He felt aroused. Nervous as hell too, but that didn’t stop his cock from standing proudly at half-mast, no matter how much he hated it.

“We’re here,” Moargan announced.

The Green Mansion looked everything like the estate Cyprian had imagined. Much like Moargan’s manor, the place was made of glass and iron, of stones and chrome. It was a symmetrical building that oozed supremacy and Cyprian’s stomach dropped.

Fear was all that was left. And a feeling of self-loathing for being so scared.

Was Moargan truthful about his father wanting to meet him about his new status as Royal Consort to the heir? Or was it all a game to them, and had they always intended for him to be sent back to Tulniri and straight to death?

He couldn’t be sure.

Imperial Milanov Zephyranth was already waiting by the impressive front door, flanked by two Luminary guards.

Cyprian had only ever seen images of Helion’s leader in his research books, and then when the man had made his public statement. Both hadn’t done him justice.

Moargan and Helianth definitely resembled their father, with similar blond hair and amethyst eyes, striking family traits. It left Cyprian to wonder what their mother had looked like. Or perhaps she was still alive? She hadn’t been mentioned in any of the research, and Moargan hadn’t spoken of her.

Milanov’s hair was swept to the side and he wore a similar white cloak Cyprian had seen Moargan in on the spaceship. He held his head high above broad shoulders, his violet stare already on Cyprian.

Moargan curled a firm arm around his shoulders, pressing him close as they climbed the stairs to the entrance. “Father.”

Milanov smiled, grabbing his son's hand and pulling him in. The air crackled with energy as his gaze swept thoroughly over Cyprian, from head to toe. “And this is Cyprian Creighton,” he said.

“I am, sir.” Was he expected to bow? To speak only when spoken to? He decided to go for a little bow, much to the amusement of both men.

“He never does that with me,” Moargan joked, and Cyprian flushed.

Milanov let out a laugh, but his eyes never left Cyprian. “So, it’s him you’ve chosen.”

“I have, Father.”

Milanov finally broke his stare, and another dazzling smile flashed on his face as he gestured toward the large mansion behind him. “Come in, come in.” He said more, the words spoken in a language Cyprian didn’t understand but that made Moargan bark out a laugh.

They entered a large, high-ceilinged corridor. Polished tiles and painted walls greeted him. It seemed that the Imperial took the colours of the Luminary to heart because everything around them was a mixture of gold and black, combined with wood and glass.

“The others are already waiting in my office.” Milanov turned over his shoulder and flashed Cyprian a smile that made him tremble. “They’ve been waiting for you.”

The Imperial’s office was large, spacious, and decorated in those same colours. Cyprian recognized the desk with its flag behind it. Both seen in the video the Imperial had used for his public statement.

For the claiming by his son.

Cyprian cleared his throat. Despite the strong arm Moargan had wrapped around him, his stomach tightened with nerves. Servants offered them drinks and red cinder cigarettes as they were guided to the sitting area.

Yure and Aviel were there, as well as Moargan’s brother. Helianth smiled when he recognized Cyprian—a smile that showed off his jeweled incisors.

A guy in a black cloak introduced himself as Kylix, Moargan’s cousin. And then there was an older man who stood next to Vandor.

“I am Zimeon,” he said, holding out his hand. “And you are Cyprian.” His inquisitive stare felt intrusive, and Cyprian felt himself shy away.

By the time they finally sat down on the leather couch, Cyprian was ready to go home. He felt on edge, unsure of what was to come. The room was filled with too much power, and there were too many eyes on him, too many unspoken questions that lingered in the opium air.

“So here is the reason why we couldn’t get a hold of Moargan over the past days,” Milanov joked. The room erupted in laughter.

“Busted,” Moargan drawled. “This is Cyprian.”

“He’s…remarkable,” Zimeon breathed.

“That he is,” Milanov agreed. Though he gave Cyprian a warm smile, there was something unnerving about the way he held his gaze and truly watched his eyes.

More words were spoken in that foreign tongue, and Cyprian shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“So—” The Imperial flicked away his cigarette in the ashtray, rolling his glass in his palm. “What brings you to Helion, Cyprian?”

Cyprian fisted his hand, willing himself to stay calm with all the attention on him. “I came here to find my biological family and to study.”

“Hmm.” Milanov’s gaze darted to Zimeon, then back to Cyprian. “And what do you study?”

“Art. I’m a junior, sir.”

“Ahh, an artist. You’re a brave man.” He nodded into the glass and took a swig. The room had turned silent, void of the earlier amusement.

Cyprian swallowed. Is this where the Imperial was sending him back to Tulniri?

“What do you see yourself doing with an art degree?” Milanov asked instead.

Scrubbing the kitchen floors.

Cyprian cleared his throat. “I draw with charcoal, sir—Imperial.” He blushed. “I’d like to hope that I could be recruited to work as a personal artist one day.”

Next to him, Moargan squeezed his thigh. “I’ll contract you, little aeon , you have nothing to worry about.”

Cyprian’s face flushed. “It’s my dream to be contracted by someone who appreciates my artistic talents.”

“Oh, you have many talents I appreciate. And I’ll make sure to reward you well.” He gave his thigh another squeeze.

“That’s not what this is about,” Cyprian bristled.

“No?” Moargan raised an eyebrow. “Then what is this about? Enlighten me.”

They stared at each other. “It’s about respect,” Cyprian snarled.

“No, it’s about money.”

“Your father is asking about the future.”

“That’s what I mean. Money.” Moargan shrugged.

Someone cleared their throat and when he looked up, he found that everyone was staring at him, making him wish he could hide behind the couch. What the hell had gotten into him? His chest thrummed vividly. “I apologize.”

Helianth tried to hide his smile in his glass, but his violet eyes danced with amusement.

“You mentioned that you came here for your biological family?” Kylix deadpanned.

“Yes. I was fostered and grew up in Tulniri. I have come here to find my parents.”

“And? Have you found them yet?” Kylix asked.

“No. I…I—” Cyprian turned to Moargan.

“I took the chip on which he stored all his research,” he said, visibly unfazed.

“Ouch,” someone let out.

“Why?” Milanov crinkled his eyebrows.

Moargan shrugged. “I used it as leverage. I needed answers from Cyprian. It worked.” He got up and headed for the liquor cabinet to fill up their glasses, and Cyprian couldn’t help but admire his self-assured swagger.

“I would like him to give me the chip back,” Cyprian weakly commented. Perhaps his father would tell Moargan to act like an adult. “I spent so long researching, and the road that led to here was a challenging one.” He swallowed away the sudden emotions.

Milanov stood and walked toward the fireplace, where Zimeon stood. “We found another one, old friend. And my son has claimed him as his.”

His right hand nodded thoughtfully. “I had to see him for myself. Not many of them survived on that dark, dark day.”

“Aviel.” The Imperial nodded. “Show Cyprian.”

Aviel’s lips curled up into a dark grin, aurelian eyes flashing as he gazed at Cyprian.

Silence followed.

Then Aviel’s eyes started to swirl like liquid gold, and the study turned a few degrees warmer, faster and faster, until a ball of fire shot out and skidded to a halt against the cool stone of the fireplace. Another one followed, and another one and Cyprian’s gaze flew from those brilliant eyes to the fire Aviel shot.

“That’s—” His voice faded, the words already forgotten.

Dariux .

The word echoed through his mind even before Milanov voiced it after the black-haired lunatic finished his show with a smirk and a bow.

“Aviel is Dariux, Cyprian. He’s an Essential, part of the elite,” the Imperial said. “He is part of us. The question is—” He lingered, his amethyst eyes searching Cyprian’s face. He felt Moargan’s fingers tighten around his shoulder. “Are you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not, sir. I can’t shoot fire with my eyes. I was simply given up.”

But they didn’t hear him. Too many words were spoken, soft and foreign, between Milanov and Zimeon. Aviel chimed in, his voice void of its usual irony.

He’d been thrown away.

The thoughts burned his gut. He’d come to hate them .

“Just look at those eyes,” Zimeon had switched back to the common tongue. “That’s all the proof we need.”

Cyprian couldn’t take it anymore. Freeing his hand from Moargan, he got up from his seat. “Whatever it is you think, I’m not. I am?—”

“No mistake.” Aviel stood to his full height, but it was his words that made Cyprian bare his teeth to protect himself. “You are Dariux, I can feel it in my wicked heart. Brother .”