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N othing about this place reminded him of his dreams. Of his interpretation of what his family’s home would be like.

A butterfly roof, a stone skeleton, large bay windows…

This place was run down. The entire neighborhood was. The streets were littered with empty food bags and bottles, with homeless people.

With misery.

“Are we in that same northern neighborhood as I ended up in the other day?”

Moargan nodded as he laced his hand through Cyprian’s, pulling him in close. Behind them, Vandor and another Luminary guard followed in silence. “We are. Zephyr only has one slum since we prefer isolating our low class in one, designated area.”

“Ouch. That seems—cold.”

“Maybe.” Moargan led the way over the pavement, where groups of people were dotted around, openly eyeing them in curiosity. “But at least we know where our most troubled population is. It makes it easier to manage them. ”

They reached a crossway. On the corner of each street stood more Luminary guards. Cyprian was surprised to see so many. How many people signed up for the Luminary? He remembered Enzo, Archer’s friend, mentioning that enrolling in the Luminary gave his family better housing. As they passed them, he couldn’t help but be fascinated by their stoic presence. They just stood there, like a wooden doll. An armed , wooden doll, that was. On their belt, they carried a variety of spike-shaped items he didn’t want to know more about. “Is that how you control the people here? By scaring them with soldiers?”

“Absolutely.” Moargan pulled on his hand and suddenly they stood in front of the entrance of a council estate. “And because there’s a murderer out there. Now, come on.”

Vandor opened the door for them and they went inside.

“Here it is, aeon . Second floor.”

From the outside, the building looked old and crumbled. But inside the place was even worse. As they climbed the stairs—the elevator was out of service—Cyprian squinted, pressing his fingers against his nose. “What’s that smell?”

“Who knows? Burned food, filthy apartments, dead bodies?”

“That’s not funny.” Cyprian jogged to keep up with him. This place gave him the creeps.

On the first floor, the smell seems at its worst. Noise blasted from behind one of the doors, accompanied by shouts and the cry of a baby.

Moargan pulled on his hand once more. “Come on. One more floor.”

Cyprian shivered. Could he have been born here in this filthy building? Could this have been the place where he lived the first months of his life?

They climbed one more floor up, the walls—once a clear white—were stained with brown spots. They reached the second floor. It was far more quiet here than below.

“Here we are. It’s apartment 12C. ”

The apartment sat in the far corner and Luminary guards walked ahead. When they reached the door, Vandor turned over his shoulder, the dark, endless pools of his inky-black irises asking the silent question. Ready? Cyprian hesitated. Nerves clutched a heavy grip around his heart.

“What if—” He couldn’t finish that phrase.

Moargan didn’t say anything. He just stood next to him, his hand wrapped around Cyprian’s, and waited. With his blond, smooth hair and violet eyes, shoulders firm and strong the way they filled his Helion Academy uniform perfectly, he looked so out of place, it nearly made Cyprian laugh.

Nearly.

Moargan looked like the Imperial he was, yet here they were. He had accompanied Cyprian to the gate of his past, and Cyprian didn’t know how that made him feel.

He cleared his throat and eyed the door. All those years of research, of dreaming from far away, about a different life, about belonging, had come to this.

To a filthy, run-down apartment. A poor neighborhood. And no matter how much he’d study, how much he’d researched, how far he would travel, this is what he would always be.

A street rat. Unwanted. Abandoned.

Cyprian pressed his ear against the door and listened. “It’s so quiet. What if no one’s home?”

“That’s what we have knuckles for, lover.” Moargan’s lips ticked up in a lazy grin that made his incisors glimmer. “Want me to use mine?”

“No,” Cyprian blurted. “No. I’ll—I’ll do it.” Suddenly his hand felt sweaty. His fist raised it to the door. Then lingered.

“What’s going on in that creative mind of yours, little aeon ?”

“Nothing.” Cyprian cleared his throat, took in a deep breath, and rapped his knuckles against the wooden surface.

For a minute they peered into the silence.

“There,” Moargan whispered. “You hear that? ”

Cyprian’s ears were buzzing so loudly, he shook his head. Then he could hear it…shuffling. It came closer until they could hear a chain being unlocked. Then, the door slowly opened.

A pair of glassy eyes in a greyish, wasted face darted outside the ajar door. They darted to Cyprian. The door closed a little further.

“Yes?” The man croaked.

“Hello,” Cyprian’s voice came out a rasp. “My name is Cyprian.” His heart rattled in his chest. His entire body was tense.

This had been the dream for years. This moment. Knocking on the door, introducing himself, only to be met with…

“Who?” Wheezed the other man.

Moargan put his boot in the door. “Open the door,” he ordered. “Orders from the Imperials. Now .”

Cyprian was shoved aside, and the door was yanked open. Everything happened too fast for him to process, but while the man tried to flee further inside the apartment, Luminary guards grabbed hold of his hands, cuffing them behind his back, and cleared the apartment. They practically threw him onto the ratty couch, immobilized him, then drew their weapons and positioned themselves against the wall.

The old man was panting, a vacant look in his eyes. “I didn’t buy anything,” he murmured. “They gave it to me.”

“Ludo Fandi, fifty-five years of age, unemployed. You are married to Celia Fandi, fifty-eight years of age, unemployed.” A uniform rattled. He looked up from his multi-slate. “Do you confirm this information?”

The man’s gaze darted from the security guards to Moargan, back to Cyprian. “Yes,” he mumbled.

Cyprian sat down on a worn-out chair, ignoring the dubious stains. “Did you have a son twenty years ago?”

“A son?” The man slurred.

“Yes.” He inhaled deeply. “You had a son you gave up for adoption.”

Ludo Fandi stared at him, and slowly, the glassy look in his eyes was replaced by a hardness. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he finally muttered. “You survived that?” The words left spit in the open air. “Another freak. Bet you had a fancy life, didn’t you? Better than mine, at least.”

Cyprian didn’t answer. His throat had locked, eyes burning as he stared at the stranger. There was so much hatred there. He hadn’t…he wasn’t prepared for that.

Ludo let out a wicked grin. “You’ve got the eyes of a lunatic. Look at what they did to you. And now you’ve come here to—what…to meet your maker?” He spit out another intoxicated laugh. “ Cyprian . A suitable name for a suitable aberration. Let me tell you something, boy. I gave up four babies and was handsomely paid for it.”

Cyprian felt like a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over him. The aching melded into a throbbing, and his mind blanketed, turning all common sense to mush. He should say something, but he didn’t know what. Never in a million years had he thought of this outcome.

“Did all these babies have the same mother?” Vandor asked.

Ludo’s gaze swiveled to the Luminary. “Tell me something. Do you always fuck the same woman? Good light, no. Four different bitches and a good paycheck. That’s all I needed from them.”

Cyprian inhaled deeply. He was going to be sick. Before he could do something stupid, Moargan’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. He stood behind him.

“Do you still live with any of the women, Mister Fandi?” Moargan asked. “Your record says you’re married to Celia Fandi.”

Celia . Was this his mother’s name?

Ludo shrugged. “Records, records. I don’t know where the bitch is. She’s been gone for a while. As for the others…. They’re always out and about. Sometimes they stay away for weeks. ”

“He’s telling the truth, Imperial Moargan,” Vandor grumbled. He was reading from his multi-slate. “Ludo Fandi has been registered as the father of four babies.”

Ludo flinched, jaw pinching. It was clear he hadn’t recognized Moargan for who he was, and even clearer that he’d decided not to care. Instead, he stared right ahead as he let out a cruel bark of laughter.

“Were you looking for a reunion, Cyprian? Here’s what I say—fuck off. I never wanted to raise a kid, let alone four.”

Cyprian felt his cheeks heat when that cold stare found his.

“I did it for the cash. The Imperials paid handsomely for newborns.” Ludo shrugged. “They didn’t want to give up their children, those emotional bitches. But what could I do? I sat at home with a fractured leg and a wife who wanted the fancy lifestyle.”

“Celia,” Moargan boomed. Cyprian focused on his warm grip on his shoulder. He had to, had to survive this moment.

“So, you decided to make babies so you could pay for your wife’s expensive taste?” He asked incredulously, voice coming out in rugged breaths.

Ludo shrugged. “I guess. It was a good deal.”

“Do we have a record of these other women?” Moargan asked.

“On it.” Vandor already typed away on his multi-slate.

“I don’t see the problem here, Imperial.” Ludo’s words dripped with sarcasm. “Your family was in the process of buying newborns, and I sold them. Offer, demand. Don’t try to turn this into something it isn’t, just because he —” Cyprian flinched when he felt that cold gaze on him. “Has gotten all sentimental about it.”

“ He —” Moargan lunged for the other man and lifted him up by his throat. “Is my Royal Consort. My claimed one.”

Ludo spluttered as Moargan dragged him to stand in front of Cyprian. Cyprian swallowed and scrambled to get out of his seat himself. His knees felt wobbly, and he had to fight to stay put and not run away and hide. And cry.

“He is your son , you piece of shit. Although you don’t deserve him.” Moargan tightened his grip, making the other man wheeze as he struggled to breathe. “I want the names of those other three women you impregnated. Am I clear?”

Ludo nodded frantically.

“I said, am I clear?” Moargan growled.

“Y-yes, Imperial Zephyranth,” the man whimpered.

“Good.” Moargan let him go, and Ludo slid down to his knees, clutching his own throat as he coughed and spluttered, face red. “Come with me, aeon .”

Moargan’s arm was firm as he pulled it around Cyprian’s shoulder and walked them both toward the exit.

“What the hell did you do to those babies anyway?” Ludo taunted.

“Ignore him,” Moargan’s words were muffled against Cyprian’s temple. “He’s just trying to rile you up.”

Ludo smiled devilishly behind them. “Look at this freak with his yellow eyes. Look at the way—” The rest of his words were caught off by another storm of coughs. “You are not my son!”

Cyprian knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He turned around into Moargan’s hold, fast enough to see how Vandor landed an array of punches on the man who was now crawling on the floor in an attempt to escape the attack. His father . Though his face was twisted into a grimace, Ludo still cackled a sharp, broken noise that clawed at Cyprian’s insides. It tore the wound open and shredded him apart.

“I hate you!” Cyprian cried out. He felt his insides crumble. “I hoped you’d be a good man, a man who wanted me. But you’re an animal, a filthy pig.” His eyes leaked with tears.

“He’s out of it, lover. It’s the drugs. Come on, let’s go home.” Moargan pushed him through the door.

But behind him, Ludo shouted. “You are not my son! You’re a monster! A monster !”

T hose words played on repeat like a broken record.

Not my son. A monster.

Cyprian felt…thrown away. Had been thrown away. In exchange for money. This man, his father, had not wanted him. Still didn’t want him.

His mother, a mystery.

Was Celia Fandi his mother? Or was it some random stranger who had left in the obscurity of those slums in the north of Zephyr, never to be found again?

Did he want her to be found?

“Cyprian…lover.” Moargan stood in the doorway of the guest room. He didn’t enter, as if waiting for Cyprian’s admission. “Do you want to talk about?—”

“No.” His voice was a cracked whisper. He looked at his palms. “Not yet. I—” Moargan was connected to him now, it was overwhelming. He had to open up to him sooner or later. But the pain was too raw. The disappointment was too much for his brain to formulate words. He turned over his shoulder and forced a smile. Moargan looked formidable in black and gold, strong and fierce. So handsome. Cyprian swallowed a sob. And this man was his? He turned back and eyed his canvas. “I’m not a great talker.” He bit his lower lip. Even admitting that was hard. “I’ve never learned to do so.”

There was a moment of silence, before Moargan answered, “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

That was…Cyprian’s heart ruffled in his chest. His stomach tightened but in a good way. It made him feel warm in a moment of despair. Thrown away by one, taken in by the other. And how he wanted to belong here, to Moargan.

“I have somewhere I need to be. Are you going to be okay by yourself for a few hours?”

Cyprian nodded.

“If you need anything, Aviel’s in the kitchen. Or you ask any Luminary. The house always has at least five guards around. They all serve you.”

Cyprian took in a wet breath. “Thank you.”

Footsteps, followed by a strong arm around his throat, full lips that found his for a punishing kiss. “He will pay for this,” Moargan mumbled against Cyprian’s mouth. It took him a lot to not bury himself in Moargan’s embrace and fall apart. To let go of those tears that clung to his insides, begging to come out.

“My biggest nightmare came true,” he whispered.

“I know.” Moargan’s arms tightened around his frame and Cyprian shuddered, overwhelmed by warmth and strength. “But your journey has only just begun, lover.” He pulled back, and their eyes met with an unspoken promise. Moargan smiled and swept away a lonely tear from his cheek. He hadn’t realized it had dropped. His face felt hot, his mind was tired. “Get some rest, aeon . I’ll be back before you know it. Unless you don’t want me to go?”

Cyprian shook his head. “No. Go. I need to—” He gestured to his canvas. “I need time to process everything that happened.”

“Alright.” Moargan left him a final peck. “And if you need anything, go to Aviel.” And then he was gone, and it was just Cyprian.

Cyprian and his canvas.

Time stood still when he started to draw, but it was peaceful. Cyprian mumbled to himself while tonight’s event played through his mind like a film, again and again. He’d felt humiliated.

On edge. Fragile.

Discarded.

Finally, he stopped and just stared. The painting he’d drawn had once been the house of his biological family, with the butterfly roof and the large windows, but dark streaks of charcoal had turned it into an obsidian, filthy smear. It had even leaked onto the blue bathrobe he was wearing.

What if Moargan wanted to dispose of him as well? Regardless of what he’d said earlier, he was right in one thing. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He was the Imperial Prince, after all. And he didn’t hesitate to show that on every occasion that didn’t go as planned. Moargan was unbreakable. Strong in body and mind. He had a family on his side. Friends.

His Royal Consort. Him .

Cyprian bit his bottom lip and drew another line. He was a joke. He had stood there, in front of his father, and had let his mind leave. Instead of finding more closure, as cruel as they came, he found himself with more questions.

He had been sold to the Imperials as a baby. Did that make him Dariux? Moargan had admitted that not all babies had made it to the laboratory. Perhaps he was one of those, with the luck he had in his life. Although…he appeared to have three siblings somewhere out there. Had they survived as babies, or had they died like most of the newborns had?

Cyprian took in a deep breath and put away his utensils.

As he walked toward the kitchen, he realized he should probably have changed into something more appropriate. It was too late for that now, judging by the voices heading his way.

Two uniforms.

They nodded their heads as Cyprian passed by.

He eyed the blue bathrobe. Yeah, he should have changed. In his defense, this meeting had been one big disappointment. A painful one.

Fortunately, the kitchen was empty. Cyprian got himself a glass of water from the fancy fountain that was placed above the double sink. Finishing his drink, he was about to head back to his room, when he heard Aviel’s unmistakable, teasing voice .

“There you are. Took you long enough.”

Cyprian spun around, facing the other guy who entered the kitchen on a smooth step.

“I’ll go and make us mocktails.”

Cyprian watches his lithe movements.

”Why do I get the feeling that you knew I would be here, in the kitchen?”

“Because I did, Cyprian.” Aviel’s eyes shone in amusement. “Tell me, can you feel my presence as well?”

Unsure about the answer to that question. Had he felt Aviel’s presence?

“I met with my father today,” he blurted instead.

“I know.” Aviel’s gaze softened just that little bit, but when he blinked his usual golden glow was back. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” But the moment the word left his mouth, his decision faltered. He missed Moargan. He needed him to find the words he felt in his mind. In his heart.

“They’ll be back soon.” Aviel slid his drink over the bar.

Cyprian frowned. “Can you read my thoughts?”

Aviel grinned and shook his head. “Your eyes reflect your thoughts, sweetheart.”

“No. That’s not good enough, Aviel, and you know it.”

“Ahhh…” Aviel took a sip, still grinning. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Will you tell me?”

“What is it you’d like to know?”

“I don’t know,” Cyprian admitted. “I don’t know anymore. He didn’t want me, you know. Never did.” A fresh wave of rejection rolled through the pit of his stomach.

“As much as I’d like to say differently, I know the feeling.”

The words lingered in the air, their importance slowly landing.

“Your parents didn’t want you?” Cyprian finally asked.

“No. Like you, I was sold to the Imperial family. Like you, I felt thrown away.”

“What changed?”

Aviel’s lips curled up. “I embraced my Dariux and it made me invincible. I know this is still fresh, so you’re going to need some time to process this all. But don’t take too long. Other things are waiting. Far more important things.”

“How do you know?”

“You will too soon.”

“Will I?”

Aviel gave him a single nod. His eyes flashed with an intensity Cyprian had only seen once before, in that very same spot.

“Show me, Aviel,” he whispered. “Show me the Dariux in you one more time.”