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A t night, the desolate apartment looked worse.

Moargan counted two filthy bedrooms—empty—aside from the run-down lounge and bathroom. Black moist spots were engraved in the otherwise light walls and discarded towels were scattered on the floor. The kitchen was a mere grimy corner in the living area, right next to the front door, through which Moargan had invited himself.

For the second time today.

A Luminary guard came back from one of the bedrooms. “The apartment’s empty, sir.”

“Yes.” Moargan let his amethyst glare sweep over the grungy place. “So it appears. Dare I say I’m a little disappointed?” He licked his gems, noticing how the guard gave him a nervous chuckle.

He’d come back here, to Ludo Fandi’s ratty home, after today’s charade. The man had given him an appetite. Him and his glassy, intoxicated scowl and his fucked-up words.

An appetite for violence.

With the way he had visibly hurt Cyprian, his creative, beautiful lover. After they’d gone home, his aeon had wanted to be left alone in one of the guestrooms, where he’d created a museum of the scarce things he owned.

Moargan had let him. The fact that Cyprian hadn’t tried to run off into the shadows, but had chosen one of his rooms to find emotional cover, had left a pleasant buzz in Moargan’s chest. And when their palms had touched at that moment—a soothing, fleeting moment—the house had lost its electricity. Moargan had felt it. That searing wave that chased through his veins and ended up in his chest with a pang. Cyprian’s eyes had widened. Yes, he had felt it too.

And now Moargan was back here. To deal with some unfinished business.

“...Sir?” The Luminary asked, and judging from the way he sounded, he’d asked before.

Moargan looked his way. “ What ?”

The man looked uncomfortable. “The apartment is empty. Do you want us to do a local search?”

Moargan growled, baring the guard his teeth.

“Moargan,” Vandor clipped. The junior general stood by the door, Yure on the other side. He held up a warning finger. Barely a few seconds later, there were scraping sounds at the door. Someone swore before the key finally found the keyhole. The door swung open and in staggered Ludo Fandi.

He was humming to a beat, his voice a mere rasp. Trying to reach for the light, he nearly crashed to the floor, cackling as he did so, hands feeling around the wall for leverage.

So he was a drunk as well as a drug addict.

Yure switched on the light, bathing the room in light. Ludo yelped in surprise. Eyes glassy, mouth slack, movements jerky.

“Well, hello again, Mister Fandi.” Moargan curled his lips into a sinister smile.

Ludo’s intoxicated glare became larger, and the man was trying to focus. Finally, things seemed to click in his foggy brain. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” He snarled, reaching backward for the door knob. He yelped when Vandor hit his knuckles with the flat of his knife.

“Greet your Imperial.”

Ludo yanked his hand back, pressing his lips against the battered knuckles. “Good evening, Imperial Moargan,” he finally grumbled. His eyes lit up with new defiance. “Is this still about that yellow-eyed monster?”

Yure whistled lowly. “Seems the man has a death wish.”

“And I shall gladly oblige. With time.” Moargan strolled forward. “But first things first. As a matter of fact, Mister Fandi, this is about the prize money you were given all those years ago for the newborns you sold us.” He took a contract from his inner pocket and unfolded the papers slowly, inwardly grinning when the other man scrambled forward. Even intoxicated, the man was curious. “You see, I’m afraid you didn’t read the many fine lines of the agreement back then.” Moargan pointed to one of the articles as stated. “One child per family. You, Ludo Fandi, provided us with four babies. That means you committed illegal acts against the Imperials of Helion. The punishment for that is the Aureate .”

Ludo froze. “You’re lying,” he whispered, eyes searching Moargan’s violet gaze.

“Are you accusing me of not telling the truth?”

Ludo clearly couldn’t find what he was looking for, his shoulders slumped. “No, I—I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now that things are cleared up, here’s the formal part of your punishment. You will shortly receive an invitation with a date on which the event will take place. Do you have any questions?”

Ludo was still glued to his spot, his intoxicated mind scrambling to catch up with the news. “Will I die?” He finally rasped.

Moargan smirked. “That is only for us to decide. But consider this—your behavior towards my Royal Consort displeases me very, very much.” He clapped the old man on his shoulder. “Oh, and if Celia comes home, tell her to report herself to the closest Luminary office. There’s one just across the road.”

Vandor opened the front door. Leaving the room, Moargan turned over his shoulder and gave the defeated Ludo an amethyst grin. “Don’t bother. We’ll let ourselves out.”

The door fell shut with a soft click.

As they made their way downstairs, Yure chuckled. “On the life of my dead mother, how the hell did you get him to believe that fake contract?”

Moargan laughed. “Impressed, are you? I’d figure he’d be illiterate. Turns out I was right.”

“Poor bastard. Even if he would have caught you or your lie, he’d be as good as dead.”

“True.” They left the stench of the building behind and got into the hover car. Claiming that an Imperial didn’t tell the truth was like hanging yourself voluntarily.

“So, how’s things going taming the lost wolf?” Yure asked from behind the wheel as they made their way home. “Today must have been a bitter pill to swallow for him?”

Moargan leaned back on his seat, stretching out his legs. “Curious much? As for the first one, the taming is going well, though we are taking our time. And yes, today was hard on him. He had hoped for his family to at least acknowledge having given him up in the first place.”

“Man, I can’t imagine what that must be like. Mine might be dead now, but at least they loved me.” He fell quiet after that.

A little while later, they passed the gates and drove their way up to the house. Yure parked the car and looked at the dim lights. “There’s still life in the kitchen.”

“Probably Aviel. Cooking whatever new dish he found.”

Yure chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a good housemate. Guy’s a genius with pots and pans.”

They made their way inside, and the lights in the corridor automatically lit up. When they got closer to the kitchen, Moargen halted and listened to the sound of voices. There was the unmistakable, playful timbre from Aviel. But, as he entered the room, he found Cyprian, still in the blue bathrobe in which Moargan had left him in earlier. He sat at the bar, a drink in his hand, his chin propped up in the other.

He looked fierce, with his black hair mussed and his yellow eyes bright and happy, and so handsome, so different from the way he’d left him earlier, and Moargan’s entire being was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Cyprian was perfect.

“Lover. What are you still doing, up?”

“We were chatting,” Aviel replied instead, batting his eyelashes playfully. “Drinking.” He swept his gaze over Moargan, not missing a single detail. “I take it the night was interesting?”

“Very,” Yure deadpanned. It was his turn to look around. “Why do I get the feeling we’re interrupting something?”

“Because we are.” Moargan snatched Cyprian’s glass from the bar and put it to his lips. “You look way too pleased. And what is that smell?”

“Fire.” Yure gazed at the sink, before opening the fridge and grabbing two beers. “Couldn’t help yourself then, Aviel?” He threw Moargan one of the drinks.

Cyprian tried to snag his glass back, but Moargan pulled it away with a sly smile.

“One sip,” Moargan shushed, placing the glass against Cyprian’s mouth.

Cyprian rolled his eyes. “For all you know, I may have already finished a few of those.”

“Don’t get me started, lover. I’m not in the mood for small talk.” He was tense after tonight, though pleasantly surprised to find Cyprian like this. Chatting to his friends. For someone who admitted he wasn’t a good talker, this was a great start. Even with Aviel, who whistled and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, always the asshole.

“Oh, fuck off,” Moargan grumbled, polishing off Cyprian’s drink. He grimaced. It was sweet and lacked alcohol.

“He demonstrated what he can do with his eyes.” Cyprian sounded giddy.

“Show-off,” Yure muttered, though he couldn’t hide his grin.

“I know.” Aviel lifted his hands in defeat, a playful grin on his face. “I’m a terrible show-off, indeed. We can’t all be gifted like I am. The question is, can our sweetheart here shoot fire through his eyes as well? They sure look like they can.”

“Did you try?” Yure asked.

Cyprian blinked. “What, to shoot fire? No.”

Moargan wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Yes, you have.”

Cyprian whipped his face so they faced each other. His cheeks were coated with a slight flush and he looked guilty with pinched lips. “I have not.”

“You so have.”

“I have not!”

“ Children… ” Aviel held up his wooden spoon. “Regardless of what we did when you were not here—since that is our business—there’s no such thing as just shooting fire. Even those who have the gift, need to be inspired. You can’t just go and spread fire.”

“You can’t?” Yure snorted, unconvinced. “Then what inspires you? Because you never seem to have any trouble burning shit.”

Aviel shrugged, but he had a wicked smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Moargan pointed to the sink. “And what inspiration did you have tonight?”

“Ahh…” Aviel winked. “You will find out when the time’s right.”

“Stop speaking in riddles, man,” Yure growled. But Moargan just stared at Aviel. True, his friend liked to play around. But strangely enough, Moargan believed him. Enough to drop the subject for now. He squeezed Cyprian’s shoulder. “Give me a few moments. I’ll give Helianth a quick call. Meet you in the bedroom.”

He left the kitchen with his palm already in search mode, but his brother didn’t pick up. By the time he settled by the window sill of his bedroom, he had tried three times. Lighting up a red cinder cigarette, he promised himself not to worry.

Perhaps Helianth was already in bed. Which was something they should do, too. Tomorrow, they had classes, and it was late. Finishing off his smoke, Moargan got ready in the bathroom, then changed into sleeping pants and a tank, yawning as he crawled into bed.

A few minutes later, Cyprian joined him, his cool, smooth skin quickly warmed with the tangle of limbs. Under the sheets, they found each other's palms. Moargan settled in the peaceful silence that followed and let the thrum in his veins lull him to sleep.