Author: Alessandra Hazard
Category: LGBT
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“Not really,” Warrehn replied. “They both might be princes, but Ksar has a higher social rank. He’s the future King of the Second Grand Clan. Prince Seyn is the younger prince of the Third Grand Clan, and he will assume the position of a prince-consort when he marries Ksar. That’s why he’s the one being given away—he’s literally being given to a more influential family. If Prince Seyn were marrying you, he would be the one waiting at the fire and I would be walking you down the aisle and giving you away.”
It was the longest Eridan had ever heard Warrehn talk, and he would have been pleased if his mind hadn’t fixated on the idea of marrying someone.
As a member of the Order, it had never been an option for him, but now… It absolutely was, wasn’t it? Eridan couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The mere idea seemed… alien. Preposterous.
The sound of an orchestra tore him from his musings. Belatedly, Eridan followed Warrehn’s and Harry’s lead and stood up, too. He craned his neck, trying to see better, but there were too many people, and Warrehn’s bulk limited his view.
He was able to see the other groom only when Prince Seyn and his older brother walked past them.
“Oh,” he breathed in admiration. It was true what people said of Prince Seyn and Prince Jamil: Eridan thought they really were the most gorgeous men on Calluvia. Dressed in the Third Royal House’s blue and white colors, they looked rather alike but for Prince Jamil’s dark hair and taller form, and they both were difficult to look away from. They both were smiling, a reserved but warm smile on Prince Jamil’s face and a wider smile on Prince Seyn’s.
The latter looked radiant, happiness rolling off him in tangible waves as he took Prince Ksar’s hand.
“I’ve never seen my brother so happy,” Harry murmured, beaming.
Glancing at Ksar’s stoic face, Eridan shot him a skeptical look.
Harry chuckled. “He is, trust me. You just don’t know him well.” He added with something like wonder, “I can feel he is happy, and that’s rare.”
Eridan peered more closely at Ksar. He wasn’t smiling, but his silver eyes were only on his future spouse.
“That will be me next year,” Harry said, in a rather dreamy tone. “Though my wedding will be nowhere near as fancy as this one. Adam doesn’t want a big wedding.”
Eridan made a non-committal sound, distracted, his stomach churning as Castien started speaking.
Eridan knew the traditional wedding rites by heart, so he didn’t listen to what Castien was saying. All he could hear was his voice. The one voice he knew every inflection of. He’d spent years trying to determine Castien’s emotions through barely noticeable shifts in his voice. Four long years that voice—that man—had been his world. Hearing that voice again after so many months… it was…
Snap out of it, he told himself angrily. Castien was no longer his anything. They inhabited two different worlds now. Eridan would see him a few times a year at a high-profile wedding like this one, and they would still be separated by an invisible social barrier. He was a prince. Castien was the High Adept of the High Hronthar. For most people, Castien was just a very high-profile spiritual figure from an ancient Order of monks. They had no idea that under those impeccable robes of the High Adept, there was a man. A cold, ruthless man who wielded an enormous power over this planet, but a man, nonetheless.
All these people… they really had no idea. They were utterly oblivious. Eridan was the only one who knew. Even his brother didn’t. Warrehn would be furious if he found out just how intimately Eridan knew his Master. No one knew. And no one ever would.
Years from now, Castien probably wouldn’t even remember him. He would have more apprentices, the apprentices he would choose, real apprentices that would graduate and become Masters. Castien wouldn’t remember the emotional mess of a boy he’d once taught and fucked. Maybe he would remember him at Eridan’s wedding, as he would tie a marriage ribbon around Eridan’s wrist, tying him to his husband. Their eyes would meet for a moment, and there would be a flicker of recognition—and then nothing. Eridan would walk down the aisle, hand-in-hand with his husband, his wrist tingling where Castien’s hand brushed against it, and feel his heart ache. Ache for something he never really had.
His husband would be someone kind, good, and emotional. He would always tell Eridan that he loved him, he would make love to him, and he would give him beautiful children. It would be… it would be a wonderful life.
“Eridan? What’s wrong?”
Eridan lifted his gaze to his brother and opened his mouth to tell him that he was fine, but nothing came out. There was a thick lump in his throat he couldn’t seem to swallow. His chest hurt from lack of air, his ears ringing. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.
Warrehn’s confused frown turned into alarm. “Do you need some fresh air? Come, get up. The ceremony is over anyway.”
Was it? He must have spaced out.
Dazedly, Eridan got to his feet with the help of his brother. Harry was nowhere to be seen; he must have gone to congratulate his brother.
“I’m okay,” Eridan managed. Lied.
He wasn’t okay.
His vision swam, his mind aching, his chest tight. His lungs didn’t want to work. Neither did his heart. It was like someone had taken a hold of them and was wringing them, squeezing them of every drop of blood. Eridan made a few steps but stumbled and would have fallen if Warrehn hadn’t caught him.
“Bullshit,” Warrehn said, radiating worry-protectiveness-fear. “You’re barely breathing. Do you have some kind of illness you didn’t tell me about? An allergy?”
Eridan shook his head hazily, trying to clear the fog in his mind. He grabbed his thaal and focused on its calming, reassuring feel, and for a moment, it worked. Except then the dethrenyte started turning hot and he had to let go—just in time for it to crack and shatter. No!
Eridan’s dismay was swallowed by the debilitating pain that shot through his mind. He stumbled again.
“Get us a healer,” Warrehn bellowed out, to his utter mortification.
“No,” Eridan tried, but it was too late. They were attracting attention, people were stopping, crowding around them, radiating confusion-curiosity-alarm so loud it made his head hurt more. Eridan panted like he’d run a marathon, his vision darkening. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to reinforce his shields against the mental assault and the splitting headache, trying to remain conscious. This couldn’t be happening, this hadn’t happened to him since he was a child—
And then there was a cool, calming touch of another mind, the mind as familiar to him as his own. Castien’s mind wrapped around him tightly, shielding him from others, and Eridan almost sobbed from how good it felt after so long. “Master,” he whispered with parched lips, falling against a broad chest and clinging.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Indulgent
Warrehn hated feeling helpless. It brought back all the feelings he’d wrestled with since he was ten.
So he settled on pacing the library of the Second Royal Palace, trying to wrap his head around this bizarre situation. The fact that he could hear the sounds of the wedding reception was only making him more agitated. Fuck, they had sure given those vultures something to talk about. He could only imagine what they were saying about Eridan after his brother had clung to Idhron and called him Master.
Warrehn ground his teeth and glanced at his brother, hoping he had finally recovered his mental faculties, but judging by the fact that Eridan was still curled up in Castien Idhron’s lap, that wasn’t the case.
“Is it a telepathic merge addiction?” Rohan said, breaking the tense silence. He was watching the pair curiously, a furrow between his dark brows.
“No,” Idhron said. “I would never be so careless.”
Rohan raised his eyebrows. “Then what is this? And don’t tell me you don’t know. You don’t seem surprised.”
Idhron looked back at Eridan.
Warrehn suppressed a shudder of unease. There was something about th
e way Idhron looked at Eridan that made his hackles rise. Hell, the hand Idhron had on Eridan’s lower back made his hackles rise, too. There was something proprietary about Idhron’s body language. He didn’t look uneasy or uncomfortable sitting in that armchair, with Eridan curled up in his lap and clinging to him, Eridan’s head tucked under his chin.
The most disconcerting part was Idhron’s telepathic mark: it was wrapped tightly around Eridan’s, caressing his mind with such casual intimacy it turned Warrehn’s stomach. Just how close had his brother been to this man?
“I am not surprised,” Idhron confirmed, still looking at Eridan strangely. “This has been a possibility, however remote.”
“Care to enlighten us?” Warrehn bit out.
Idhron turned his cold eyes to him. “Are you not aware of your own brother’s biology?”
Warrehn frowned, thrown off-balance. “What?”
“He is a throwback,” Idhron said. “Throwbacks are biologically different from you and me. Their brains are different.”
Warrehn stared at him. “You’re talking about the myth that throwbacks have only one true mate for life?”
Idhron’s expression became somewhat pinched. “That myth is not entirely unfounded, though I would not phrase it like that. Our private research has found that most throwbacks really fixate on one person, though it has nothing to do with them finding ‘one true mate’ and everything to do with the hormones that affect their brain and body once they fixate on someone.”
“Are you saying you and Eridan— I’ll fucking kill you, you—”
Rohan grabbed his shoulder. “Warrehn, calm down,” he said, projecting calm at him.
Warrehn took a deep breath, shaking with anger. He glared at Idhron, who looked back at him steadily.
“That is none of your concern,” Idhron said coldly. “My point is, that was a possibility, but I thought it was very remote. This should have protected him.” Idhron touched the tiny piece of purple gemstone that was still attached to the ribbon interwoven into Eridan’s hair. “It should not have broken.”
“What is that thing?” Warrehn said, trying to distract himself from the urge to plant his fist in Idhron’s face. “Eridan refused to tell me.” He had suspected that it was more than just a pretty piece of jewelry, but his brother had been very tight-lipped about it.
“It is an apprentice’s thaal,” Idhron replied. “The gemstone is infused with the apprentice’s Master’s telepathic mark, so it is normally used to denote who the apprentice belongs to. In Eridan’s case, it was also used to help him center himself. As you know, he is not very good at centering himself without assistance.”
No, he hadn’t known about it. Warrehn hated that this man knew his brother far better than he did.
“I thought that even if the throwback part of Eridan’s brain got fixated on me, his thaal would be enough to fool his hormones into thinking that I am close.” Idhron looked thoughtful, his hand stroking Eridan’s back in a manner that seemed absent-minded. Warrehn wondered if the man was even aware of what he was doing. Idhron murmured, “There is still a lot we do not know about throwbacks, and it does not help that every throwback is somewhat different from others.”
Rohan cleared his throat. “Even if Eridan’s hindbrain got… fixated on you, can’t you fix it? Are you not supposed to be the greatest mind adept on the planet?”
Idhron’s expression was unreadable. He dropped his gaze and was quiet for a while.
Warrehn nearly growled with impatience.
“Theoretically, it is not impossible,” Idhron said at last. “It will be difficult, but I believe I can block the part of his brain that is unique only to throwbacks.”
“Then do it,” Warrehn snapped.
Idhron gave him a flat look. “Are you seriously suggesting that I modify your brother’s brain without his consent?”
Warrehn scoffed. “Please. As if you haven’t done worse things.”
Although Idhron was still looking steadily at him, his telepathic presence tightened around Eridan’s, to Warrehn’s annoyance. “I have,” he said. “But not to my own apprentice.”
Warrehn didn’t like the possessiveness of that statement.
“You messed with his mind before,” he gritted out.
Idhron’s lips thinned. “Blocking a few memories is not the same as modifying one’s brain. In your ignorance, you are comparing the incomparable. Besides, the point is moot. Due to the extensive protective measures on Eridan’s mind, such invasive modifications can be done only with his explicit permission.”
He glowered at Idhron, but before he could say anything, Eridan finally moved.
Rubbing his face against Idhron’s throat, he mumbled, “Master.”
Warrehn’s stomach twisted. Fucking hell, he was beginning to hate that word. It wasn’t just the word; it was the way Eridan said it.
Idhron’s attention turned fully to Eridan. “Does your head hurt?”
Warrehn’s brows furrowed. While he wouldn’t call Idhron’s tone soft exactly, it was warmer than he’d ever heard it.
“A little,” Eridan said, sounding sleepy and dazed. “It’s better.”
Idhron’s fingers buried in Eridan’s hair and massaged his scalp. “Here?”
Eridan made an affirmative noise, still sounding completely out of it. “I missed you, Master.”
The line of Idhron’s mouth tightened. He said nothing, something almost like frustration flickering in his eyes.
Warrehn exchanged a look with Rohan before clearing his throat. “How are you, Eri?” he said, walking closer and standing behind Idhron so his brother could see him.
Eridan opened his eyes blearily and stared at him, his eyes a little confused. His pupils were still blown, his gaze not quite focused.
“Sometimes I wish you never found me,” Eridan mumbled.
Warrehn flinched, feeling like he’d been stabbed in the gut.
“Or never gave me to him in the first place,” Eridan said, his eyes glazing over. He put his head back on Idhron’s shoulder and sighed, sounding absolutely miserable. “My thaal broke.” He pouted. “Will you make another for me? I want another, Master.”
“I suppose I can.”
“Will you get me another purple one? I know they’re rare, but I want a purple one.”
A sigh. “I will.”
Warrehn couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had never thought Castien fucking Idhron, the Grandmaster of that creepy Order, could be so… indulgent, but he couldn’t think of a different word to describe this.
He had known in an abstract way that Idhron must have been somewhat fond of his brother if he had come alone to get Eridan from his kidnappers, risking his own safety, but Warrehn had never actually seen them interact in normal circumstances. Granted, Eridan’s mental faculties were definitely impaired at the moment, but Idhron’s definitely weren’t. And yet he was sitting there, with Eridan in his lap, putting up with Eridan’s inebriated babbling and indulging his spoiled demands.
Wondering if he was going crazy, Warrehn looked at Rohan, but he could see the same bewilderment on Rohan’s face.
Rohan shrugged.
“Please, Master.”
Warrehn frowned and shifted his gaze back to Eridan.
He found Eridan and Idhron just looking at each other. They seemed to be having a silent conversation between themselves, which only served to irritate Warrehn further.
“No,” Idhron said at last.
“But Master,” Eridan drawled, all huge violet eyes and pouted lips.
Warrehn was honestly surprised Idhron continued to put up with this. He had never thought that man had any patience for someone’s whining.
Instead of snapping at him as Warrehn had half-expected, Idhron took Eridan’s chin, his fingers pressing against his telepathic point.
Eridan trembled, his eyes slipping shut and his lips parting. “Master…”
Warrehn couldn’t see Idhron’s face from that angle, but he could see
a muscle pulse in his jaw as it tightened.
“Look at me, Eridan,” Idhron said, his voice quiet but commanding.
When Eridan lifted his eyelashes, Idhron said, “I am going to open our bond, slowly. I will open it only enough to make your hormones settle. You will not be greedy. You will take what I give you and will not ask for more. Is that understood?”
Eridan’s brows furrowed. He nodded eagerly.
Warrehn wished he could look away—this looked uncomfortably intimate—but he couldn’t. He was responsible for his brother, and he didn’t trust Idhron with him, especially when Eridan was in such a vulnerable state.
He stretched his senses, trying to monitor what Idhron was doing, but he could barely sense anything besides the fact that Idhron’s telepathic mark became more interwoven with Eridan’s, wrapping tighter around him, like a giant snake around its victim.
Except Eridan didn’t look like he was suffering. He gasped, his eyes glazing over, his cheeks flushing. He looked absolutely blissed-out.
Warrehn averted his gaze, too uncomfortable to watch any longer. He looked at Rohan and found him staring at the pair strangely.
“What?” Warrehn said, stepping closer to his friend. “Can you sense anything?”
Rohan didn’t look away from Idhron and Eridan as he murmured, “Your brother is in love with him, War.”
Warrehn glared at him, hating him a little for saying what he’d been trying very hard not to think about. “That’s just… some childish infatuation, that’s all. It’ll go away when Idhron blocks the throwback part of his brain.”
Rohan hummed, his dark eyes full of skepticism.
Before Warrehn could say anything, he felt the shift in Eridan, felt his brother’s mind clearing from that strange inebriated state.
“Master?” he said, this time sounding a little cautious—and something else.
Warrehn walked back to him. “How are you?”
Eridan’s gaze flickered from Idhron to him, and Warrehn was relieved to see that his eyes were clear and more guarded.