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Chapter Text

The sky is so small. Just a blue dome above the land and sea, stretching from horizon to horizon. Aether looks up apprehensively, blinking and squinting in the light of the small, round ball of white fire that is this world’s sun. The single sun and moon seem to rise and set more quickly here, than in other worlds he’s been to. Celestia has no moon or sun, at all, needing no external light source to sustain the heavenly order, of which natural death has no part, and in which decay is unheard of.

Celestial bodies are like human bodies in shape and general makeup, and they may be destroyed as human bodies may, but they do not age naturally past the prime of adulthood, and they do not suffer illness, nor fail due to wear and the passage of time. Celestial childhood is much longer than it is in humans, as well, and though he has lived more years than the eldest of Teyvat's greybeards, Prince Aether is not yet in the prime of adulthood. He has come of age, however, and his father’s contract with the Dragon King specified his coming of age as the time he would be delivered to his betrothed.

He can feel the eyes of all the gathered dignitaries from this land on him, inspecting him, assessing him, silently demanding to know what gives this skinny, blonde, outlander child the right to be wed to their god, when they have so many beautiful and graceful daughters and sons to offer him. Aether is habituated to public scrutiny, but he seems to feel it more keenly, here. How will he be received by his betrothed’s people? Will they reject and despise him, and make his life a misery to him? For the hundredth time since they arrived on this world two days ago, he feels sick and wants to go home.

The assembly are gathered on a colossal, circular, stone platform, hanging high up in the sky above Liyue Harbor. Upon this disc of gravity-defying stone stands the Jade Palace. This massive and spectacular floating fortress is the home of his betrothed, who he has never set eyes upon. He knows that Rex Lapis is the god of this nation and the high king of this world. And that he is a dragon. But will he appear as a dragon, or in his human form? What does his human form even look like? One of his father’s agents, who are standing behind him, taps his arm and tells him in an undertone to stop fidgeting and at least attempt to appear princely and dignified.

Just then, a gust of wind blows his shaggy, wheat-blonde hair into his face, and whips and tugs the wing-shaped ivory cloak about his neck. He gives a start and looks up, as the brilliant midday sun suddenly goes dim. Directly above the Jade Palace, far up in the stratosphere, a massive vortex is opening, like a portal to the Abyss. Aether’s breath catches in his throat as he sees the creature emerge, flying without wings, as if it is swimming downward in the air.

All the nobles and dignitaries from Liyue bow their heads in reverence, and Aether's Celestial retinue do the same, but he cannot make himself do it. Try as he might, he cannot tear his eyes away from the dragon, as it snakes down through the sky, with strangely captivating gracefulness. It has an amber-colored mane like a qilin, but otherwise it looks more like the paintings and drawings of dragons he’s seen. Its huge, pitch-black body is long and serpentine and lithe, and its head bears what look from this distance to be golden horns.

Aether is fearless in combat and full of spirit and native pride, but his hands tremble and his stomach turns. He has known his entire life that he would one day be sent to be wed to this creature. He was promised to it as an infant, days after his birth. But now, finally seeing it in person like this, his heart quails, and he has to call upon all of his princely bearing to stop himself running away. He knows his father’s agents have permission to forcibly detain him, should such a mad endeavor actually occur to him, but his honor would restrain him before they ever laid a hand on him. Reminding himself who he is, the Celestial Prince draws himself up and stands his ground, tall (for him) and proud, prepared to be sacrificed to the dragon.

After what seems like hours, the ancient beast alights gently in the broad, open area that has been kept clear of people, and which Aether now understands is a sort of landing pad for the deity. He blinks against the hair blowing in his eyes, and all at once the thing has vanished in a shower of fiery, amber-gold sparks. In its place, there stands a man. He is very tall, as men go, but not nearly so gigantic as the the dragon. He is dressed in a long, white, religious-looking garment like a monk’s cassock, with a loose hood, which is pulled up over his head. It is close-fitted across the chest and midsection, displaying a well made, broad shouldered torso, with a very flat stomach and trim waist, about which hangs a belt of gold. His feet are bare and his black trousers are worn in the style of this land, loose and billowy about the leg, but fitted tightly at the ankle.

As he approaches, Aether realizes that he is not wearing long sleeves. These are his arms. As black as the dragon’s hide at the shoulder, graduating into glowing, amber-gold at the hands, with long lines of gold forming geometric patterns along their length. He has not seen his face yet, as it is obscured by the hood, and he does not get the chance. His father’s agent swats the back of his arm, and he hastily bows his head low, as he should already have done, in the presence of a monarch and deity of this world. For an excruciatingly long moment, nothing happens. He hears only the wind and the roar of the sea. Then the Dragon King’s bare feet stop before him. His lack of shoes strikes Aether as an immensely odd thing, which he realizes is a ridiculous thought, considering this man was a dragon two minutes ago.

“Prince Aether,” a smooth, sonorous, male voice says, using Liyue’s tongue, in which Aether is fluent. “We meet at last.”

“My Lord High King, Rex Lapis,” Aether murmurs in reply, as he has been instructed, keeping his eyes on the ground.

There is a long pause. “Will you take my hand?”

Aether glances up to see that one of the golden hands is extended to him. His ears burn with embarrassment, and he reaches out clumsily to take the proffered hand. It is iron-hard and he immediately feels its tremendous strength, but it closes gently around his, as if he is a fragile and valuable relic. He spends all his energy now in forcing himself not to tremble, as his betrothed leads him toward the archway leading into the inner courtyard, where the marriage will be sworn and witnessed.

The assembled people follow, and stand around the perimeter of what looks like a sort of altar surrounded by a moat full of water lilies. There is no authority present to conduct the ceremony, since there is no higher authority than the God of Contracts, for which Aether had been prepared. Some formal words must now be spoken for the sake of tradition and the benefit of the witnesses. Aether says his memorized lines at the appropriate times, but he is hardly aware of any of it. His hands are shaking so hard, he can barely write his name on the thick, gold-toned parchment. The name of Rex Lapis appears in fiery letters beside his. Then it is over. He is married. And he has not even looked his husband full in the face yet.

The sudden effusion of joyous congratulation from the people about them startles and disorients him. Rex Lapis takes his hand again, and as they walk the gauntlet of applauding nobles and wealthy merchants into the palace, his low, calm voice speaks in his ear, explaining what they are doing, where they are going next, and very briefly who all these people are. Through the bewildering chaos, his husband’s steady hand does not falter from his, even for a second, and Aether finds himself holding onto it like a rock in a stormy sea. Then guards open a pair of double doors and slide them shut behind them. He is alone with the Dragon King.

“We will be left to ourselves now, until sundown,” Rex Lapis explains, in his even, unhurried manner. “This is the tradition of my people. When the sun sets, we will descend into the city to appear at the feast and celebration. I will give my blessing and benediction to the people there. You will not be expected to speak, but they will wish to look at you, so we must remain long enough to satisfy their curiosity. But I expect that you are accustomed to this manner of public appearance, being the crown prince.”

“Yes, my lord king,” Aether murmurs to the glossy marble floor, still too afraid to look at him.

“Come with me. I wish to show you something.”

He follows the king to the end of the spacious chamber, where there is a gigantic open window, overlooking the harbor and the city. Out across a broad expanse of jade-green sea, there is an archipelago of islands, formed from tall, oddly fang-like formations of basalt columns. The sea breeze is balmy and refreshing, and the tidy, brightly-colored little city glitters and shines like a pile of gems below them.

“This is my city,” Rex Lapis says. “The beating heart of gold at the epicenter of my realm. I raised its walls and laid its foundations with my own hands, and for millennia, I have protected and nurtured it the same way. I hope that in time, you will come to love it as I do.”

“It’s beautiful,” Aether says under his breath, leaning over the sill to look out the window, in an unconsciously childlike manner.

He glances up and finds Rex Lapis looking at him. Aether stares back up at him for a beat. His heart pounds in his chest and his stomach suddenly flips and flutters. His husband has cast his hood back, and his hair is jet-black, fading into an amber color at the shaggy, tapered ends. His face is youthful and his pale skin is smooth, and his features are fine and symmetrical. His eyes are long and almond shaped, and almost feminine in their beauty, but there is a primal wildness to them, as if he is some kind of powerful natural predator. Which should have been obvious, because he’s a dragon. Aether catches himself and quickly casts his eyes back down at the city, his cheeks flushing crimson.

“You must be hungry and fatigued,” Rex Lapis says, stepping away from the window. “I will call for refreshment, and leave you to rest.”

As anxious as he is in the king’s presence, Aether’s heart sinks at the idea of being left alone in this strange place, with nothing to do and no one to talk to. He turns from the window and faces his husband.

“I am not fatigued, my lord king,” he says, as boldly as he dares.

The Dragon King turns back to look at him. Aether’s mouth goes dry and his pulse pounds in his ears again. This man is absolutely the most beautiful and terrifying creature he has ever faced. He didn’t know Teyvat even produced any creatures as graceful and noble as this. His impressions of its population came only from illustrations in encyclopedias and field studies. Those people were short, squat, and meagerly clothed, living in straw and mud huts and toiling in fields. Of course, Rex Lapis is not human, he is a god. But is he a man who looks like a dragon sometimes? Or is he a dragon wearing a man’s form now? Or something else entirely?

“Perhaps we will take our tea together,” the king replies slowly, with a thoughtful expression. “That will give me an opportunity to briefly answer any questions you may have, regarding your duties or the laws and customs of this land. You will be instructed at greater length, of course. I will not neglect your education in that respect. But that will be for another day.”

So saying, the king opens the door and speaks to someone outside, then the two seat themselves at the tea table, which means they sit on cushions on the floor. Aether was aware of this custom of Liyue, but hasn’t sat this way since he was a small child. His father would have been furious to find him in such an undignified posture. He is intensely curious about his beautiful, ancient, dragon husband, and disappointed when he immediately launches into a dry recounting of the important political factions and financial interests in Liyue. Before he has wound it up, the tea service arrives.

In preparation for his future marriage, Aether was rigorously trained in many things, not the least of which was this domestic ritual that is so important to the people of Liyue. He was drilled constantly, in fact, till he could do it with his eyes closed. Eager to put this skill to its intended use at long last, he rocks up on his knees and takes charge of the tea things, without being asked.

Rex Lapis observes, while with skilled and steady hands, the boy performs the intricate dance, without a single flaw or beat of hesitation. He sets a perfectly prepared cup of tea before his new husband, who takes it and closes his eyes, breathing in the wafting steam and savoring the gentle, floral aromas. Aether watches breathlessly as he lifts it to his lips and sips it. He almost imagines he sees a smile slightly lift the corner of his mouth.

“It is a very fine first effort,” Rex Lapis says tranquilly, lowering his cup. “You will do better next time.”

Had the man struck him physically, it would have been a less devastating blow. Aether is crushed. His first unsteady steps into domesticity, and he has already had a painful tumble. The eager light leaves his hazel-gold eyes and it is all he can do to dip his head politely and not burst into tears as he sips his—ugh, he really could have done better, why is this tea so mediocre? He is frowning distastefully into his cup, when his husband provides the answer to the riddle.

“Teyvat’s native flora differ in their chemical composition from those of Celestia. Even herbs that look and taste nearly the same must be prepared differently, to achieve the desired effect. This blend of Osmanthus and tisane leaves requires two more minutes to steep than would a similar blend of herbs in your home world. It is my fault for overlooking this detail. I have paid the price for my inattention, which is to drink weak tea.”

Aether doesn’t know him yet, and can’t tell if that last remark was meant as a joke or a real object lesson. Maybe both? He watches his husband as he sips his tea, but the man’s expression betrays nothing that is passing in his mind. Aether gets the sudden impression that this face is a stone mask, stern and serene, and impenetrable unless he wishes it to be.

“I promised you an opportunity to ask questions,” he says, after a moment. “What would you like to know?”

Of course, Aether has a thousand questions, but everything he is really curious about, he is afraid will either offend his husband, or strike him as stupid and trivial. Thus, he can’t bring himself to ask about anything but the most mundane things, and the time passes tediously. After an hour, he is beginning to visibly droop. Rex Lapis insists that he try to rest, and this time, Aether assents readily, covering his mouth to stifle a yawn.

When his husband has gone, he strips and lies down, but as exhausted as he is, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep much in this strange new place, on this dense, thick mat that lies on a very low wood platform a couple of inches from the floor instead of on a tall, canopied frame. He has just closed his eyes, when there is a tap at the door, and he opens them again. To his confusion, he discovers the light has changed and the shadows have grown long across the floor. He sits bolt-upright with a jolt. The sun is already low on the horizon, and he hadn’t even been aware he’d fallen asleep.

The tap at the door is repeated, then it slides open to admit one of his father’s agents, who tells him rather curtly to get his clothes on and be ready to receive the king in ten minutes. She departs, and Aether hurries to bathroom, splashes water on his face and rakes his fingers through his hair, before hastily dressing himself. He has just pulled his boots on, when there is another knock. A household attendant opens the door and announces the king, and Aether bows his head and waits to be addressed.

“You are ready. Excellent,” Rex Lapis says, by way of greeting. “Before we go down to the banquet, I have a gift for you.”

Aether looks up timidly as his husband asks for his left hand, which he takes in his own, and slides a ring onto the third finger. It fits him as if it was made for him, but it is cold and heavy, unfamiliar on his finger. It is made of gold, which Aether is not in the habit of wearing, and the stone is an amber cabochon. By some manner of jeweler's trick, a thin, gold filament has been set inside the stone itself, bent into the shape of a trefoil, which is the symbol he has seen on this land’s currency. The ring is rather ugly, to Aether’s mind, but he is better trained in the social arts than to betray a modicum of distaste for his lord’s gift. He masks any hint of that reaction with real embarrassment.

“But, my lord king…I have no gift to give you,” he falters. “I was not aware of this custom.”

“It is no custom of my people to exchange gifts at this time,” Rex Lapis answers, unconcernedy. “It is merely an indulgence of my own fancy. I would like to see you wearing this ring. That is all.”

“If it pleases my lord the king, it will never leave my hand,” Aether says sincerely, looking boldly up at him. For the briefest moment, he thinks he detects something like pain in those inhuman amber eyes, with their illuminated, diamond-shaped pupils. But whatever it was, it passes away instantly without a trace.

The crowd of important people from the ceremony have gone, and the palace seems cavernous and empty now, despite attendants and guards being posted at nearly every corner. Aether’s father’s agents have gone ahead with the rest, and thus he and his husband step alone onto the plaustrite platform, to descend into the city. Rex Lapis puts a steadying hand on Aether’s shoulder, as the disk of glowing rock plummets smoothly from the sky. Their destination is a wide courtyard in the uppermost tier of the city, which adjoins the tall building in which the Qixing conduct their operation of the city’s civil government.

The city streets are packed with people, all the way up the walkways to the edge of the courtyard. The banquet area itself is roped off and the millelith keep order, seeing that the throng don’t pass the barriers. The crowd cheers and chants, as their god descends with his newly acquired spouse, and the two walk hand in hand to the seats of honor, in the center of the main banquet table. They stop behind their seats, and Aether looks up at his husband and smiles adoringly, as he is expected to do. The cheers grow louder and more insistent.

“May I kiss you?” Rex Lapis asks, smiling down at him for the benefit of the spectators. “I apologize for the forwardness, but they will not be satisfied otherwise.”

“As my lord wishes,” Aether answers breathlessly.

His heart runs ragged as the king cups his chin in his glowing, golden hand and leans down. His eyes flutter closed. His husband’s lips are pressed gently to his for a beat, two beats, and then drawn away. The people lose their collective minds with roaring applause, as the royal couple take their seats, signaling the commencement of the marriage feast.

Feast seems an inadequate word for it. The tables practically groan under the weight of food and drink, as what Aether can only imagine constitutes every delicacy in Liyue is spread out before them and the fifty or so strangers who are their invited guests. His stomach is in knots, but he makes enough of a show of eating to offer appropriate compliment to the chefs and cooks, whose labor has provided the food he does not taste as he swallows it.

Despite his personal discomfort, the prince is accustomed to such appearances, and knows his part well. He speaks only when spoken to, keeps his eyes mostly on his husband, and looks pleased and cheerful, though his head is a hot and muddled whirl, and what he most wants to do is cry in his own bed at home. But that bed lies in a palace far away, in a different world. This is his home, now. His world. His bed is here, in the Jade Palace.

This thought brings rushing to his mind the fact that this is also his wedding night, which subject fully occupies his attention after that. All his life, Aether’s companions have been strictly managed and his activities carefully monitored, to ensure the preservation of his virtue for his future husband, though Rex Lapis made no such request or stipulation in the contract. He has been instructed thoroughly in the theory and mechanics of sex, but he is a virgin, as innocent of a man’s touch as the newborn lamb. His husband’s lips were the very first to kiss his.

He is drawn from these meditations, as at long last, the king rises to give his blessing and benediction to the people. It is mercifully brief, and then he leads his newly wedded spouse away, amid the uproariously voiced adulation of his subjects and devotees. As they ascend again together, Aether’s heart pounds with mingled terror and exhilaration. The wedding night is the consummation of the contract, when his husband will take his body and make him his own. He has been warned that it will be painful. That he will bleed. And that he must accept these things and give himself willingly to his husband, in despite of that.

His instructors, priestesses of the temple of Eros, had never tutored a male child before, but his father commanded that the prince be given the same education that royal girl children receive from them, since he was to be wed to a man. The program had to be modified, of course, but the sisters undertook the king’s commission with zeal and determination, and dedicated themselves to making this awkward male child into a proficient practitioner of the sacred sexual arts.

On the first day, he was presented with a mahogany box, containing a set of beautifully crafted and polished quartz cocks, in sizes increasing from small to frightening. Despite the teenaged prince’s undisguised mirth at the absurdity of the things, he was eventually made to use them all, in the presence of his strict and humorless female tutors, who would correct and criticize his technique, and offer advice and further instruction, while he sucked or fucked himself on a fake cock.

In order to ensure that the practitioner’s sexual responses seem natural and spontaneous, the sacred training involves as much mental conditioning as physical, with the goal of fine-tuning the body’s automatic responses with a view to giving maximum pleasure to a partner, while requiring minimum conscious concentration on the part of the practitioner. Thus, though he is technically as pure as the driven snow, Aether has been conditioned to sex in the same manner as any ordained priestess of the order of Eros. He knows this, and yet he trembles with fear at the thought of his husband’s touch. But…is it fear? It almost feels like something else.

“I will call for you tomorrow and we will speak more of your duties as prince consort,” Rex Lapis says, as they arrive at Aether’s quarters, and a servant opens the door.

“Tomorrow, my lord?” Aether asks, suddenly uncertain what is happening.

“Yes. Some time after the hour of noon,” the king replies tranquilly, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to it. “Good night, Prince Aether. May you rest well and be blessed with pleasant dreams.”

“Good—goodnight, my lord king.”

With that, Rex Lapis departs, leaving his young husband standing stricken in the hall, staring after him, until the servant attending the door clears his throat. Stunned and humiliated by this cool rejection, Aether walks dazedly into his vast and lonely suite of apartments and stands staring at the floor. The door slides shut behind him, echoing in his mind like the heavy door of a crypt. He has been as long as he can remember in preparation for this marriage. Every day has been spent being educated and trained to belong to this man. This is their wedding night—the culmination of his hopes and fears; the labor of his life up till now—and he is to spend it alone. His husband does not want him.

This is the final straw laid on the young man’s battered and exhausted heart. He curls up on his futon without bothering to undress, and abandons himself to the deep, visceral sobs, that burst upon him like breakers on the shore, shaking and racking his small body. He has never felt so lost and alone. He misses his home and his tutors and instructors, and even his father’s lackeys and attendants. Most of all, his heart cries out for his beloved twin sister, who was his only friend and confidante, before she was abducted and slain by the Lord of the Abyss. It is her face in his mind and her name on his lips, until his bitter weeping finally wears him out, and he sinks into the merciful blackness of sleep.

Chapter Text

Aether never imagined, when his husband told him he would not neglect his education in the laws and customs of this land, what that would actually entail. He is called into the king’s presence every day, and there he is made to sit and listen to lengthy lectures on Liyue’s history, its legal system, its economy, its language, its geology, its apparently thriving book printing industry, and so on, until he would rather hear almost any voice other than that of the Dragon King.

These torture sessions are not only lectures, though. The king requires his young husband’s active engagement. He asks Aether constant questions regarding the information he has relayed, and he is infinitely, unbearably patient. If Aether gets distracted and can’t answer, he simply says, ‘that is quite alright, we will try again,’ and begins again, wherever the boy’s attention began to wander.

Aether is beginning to wish his husband would forget him entirely, thus freeing him to pursue his own interests, rather than harassing him to madness with this interminable, grinding catechism. Of course, he would never dare show him the slightest disrespect. Instead, he demonstrates his unhappiness in silent submission, monosyllabic replies to any attempt at conversation, lest it turn into another lecture, and general lack of joy in the things that interest his husband. When their interviews conclude, he bows and thanks him, answers in the negative when asked if he has additional questions, and departs his presence the moment he is dismissed.

In truth, the things the king has undertaken to teach him are all subjects in which he would be intensely interested, were he allowed to discover them himself, and learn about them in his own way. And, if he is honest with himself, half of his impatience and frustration with the lessons is resentment for his husband’s neglect of him in other areas.

They have been married for three months, and the king has become no more affectionate nor familiar than the day they met. He does not kiss him, he holds his hand only when they walk together in view of the public, and he has never shown any interest in exercising his spousal rights and taking him to bed. Aether no longer expects the man to love him, but he could at least be bothered to desire him. Then maybe he would feel more like a husband and less like a student. A student with no friends, no peers, no one to talk to but the servants, most of whom are too afraid of him to have anything like a conversation anyway. Feeling thus isolated and unloved, Aether is growing increasingly despondent and listless.

Then one morning, a bright new sun dawns unexpectedly in his world, and casts its warm light over his heretofore bleak and hopeless existence. He has just left another lecture session with the king, and walks out to take some air on one of the long balconies accessible to the general court. Down below him in the garden, he hears a voice he does not know, calling cheerful greetings to another courtier, followed by a hearty laugh at whatever response was given.  

Aether cranes his neck to see who has made these lively sounds, and spies a flash of copper, as the sunlight catches in the hair of a young man who is strolling along the path. He is tall and slender, in his early twenties at the very oldest, and clad in grey Snezhnayan officer’s garb, worn with the bottom plackets of the coat rakishly undone, and accessorized in a way only a nobleman would dare. He turns his head to return a salutation from a trio of ladies, and Aether sees that there is a long earring with a ruby pendant in his left ear. This piece of jewelry marks him as royalty, by the customs of Teyvat. Rex Lapis wears a long earring, as does Aether. The young man looks up at that moment, and catches Aether watching him.

“My lord prince!” he calls up, in his youthful, friendly voice, before Aether can retreat. “I have been looking for you! Wait a moment, if you please!”

Aether looks on in frank astonishment, as the tall, apparently inhumanly-agile youth leaps up, scales a support pillar, and swings over the balcony railing like a pommel horse, to stand before him. He touches his brow and gives a sweeping bow, with a broad grin and a mischievous spark in his ice-blue eyes.

“As I was saying, my lord prince,” he begins again. “I have been looking for you. Please, allow me to introduce myself. Ajax, Lord Tartaglia. Cultural attaché to the Snezhnayan embassy in Liyue. Also Crown Prince of Snezhnaya, because you’re going to find out anyway, so there’s no use concealing it from false modesty. My friends call me Childe.”

Aether blinks up at him, bewildered. “Well…which name do you want me to use?”

He laughs, that big, musical laugh. “You can call me whatever you like, of course, but I mostly go by Childe.”

“Childe,” Aether repeats. “Why would you be looking for me?”

“To have a good gawk at you, naturally. I was visiting home when the wedding happened, and since I returned, all anyone has been talking about is the beautiful, golden-haired outlander who finally captured the heart of the old dragon.”

His manner of speaking is so easy and charming that for a moment, it doesn’t even occur to Aether to be shocked by the bold disrespect of his using the term ‘old dragon’ to refer to Rex Lapis.

Childe seems to read his thoughts and laughs again. “Don’t worry, the king is well aware of the way I talk. He and I have been acquainted for quite some time.”

Aether thinks he detects something sharp-edged behind this breezy statement, but he cannot imagine what it could be, so he lets it pass. Besides, he is so relieved to find a young person who is willing to talk to him, that he doesn’t want to do anything to offend him, lest he slip away. As lonely as he has been, he hasn’t been aware how very starved for companionship he is till this moment. He wants to grab hold of the young man and beg him to stay by his side.

“So, are you often at court?” he asks clumsily.

“All the time,” Childe says. “Except when I’m not. I visit my brothers and sisters at home, when I can. The journey to Snezhnaya isn’t short, though, and my duties mostly keep me here. Is it true you’re from Celestia?”

“I am. It’s…very different, there. Not like Teyvat, at all.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime. I’ve never met a real Celestial, before. I guess that explains why the Dragon King fell for you. You’re not one of us regular humans.”

“That’s not—he didn’t fall for me,” Aether rejoins, his cheeks flushing with color. “Our marriage was arranged.”

Childe’s imperturbable expression flickers. “Arranged. So, it was planned a long time ago.”

“Yes. My father signed a contract with him when I was a baby. A few months ago, I was sent here to fulfill the agreement.”

“That wily old dragon,” Childe says, breaking into merry laughter again. “You know, he never told the public that he’s had a consort in the oven all this time. So many scheming and intriguing noblewomen with daughters to dispose of must consider you public enemy number one, right about now. I’d watch your back, lest you find a jewel-encrusted dagger stuck between your ribs.”

“I don’t know if I’d mind, at this point,” Aether mutters, under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Childe asks, frowning sympathetically. “Are you unhappy, here in Teyvat?”

Aether suddenly feels as if he’s revealing far too much about himself and retracts into his protective shell. “Please, forget I said that. I am tired, today, and I misspoke. I am deeply honored to be the king’s consort and I am very happy here.”

“Glad to hear it,” Childe replies cheerfully, as if he’s taken the words at face value. “So, what do you think of Liyue, so far? I was totally out of my element when I first came here. So different from home.”

Aether shakes his head. “I’m not really sure, yet. I haven’t seen much of it.”

“But you’ve been down to the city, at least.”

“I was only in the city once, for the marriage feast.”

“Once? Really? The dragon hasn’t been keeping you locked up in his tower all this time, like a princess in a storybook, has he?”

“No, I—I’m not locked up. I’m free to go where I please, so long as I inform the Yaksha. It’s just that exploring a new place alone is so dull, and I don’t really have anyone to go with.”

“Say no more, my lord prince,” Childe pronounces, drawing himself up and laying a hand on his chest.  “I hereby nominate myself your minister of exploration, subject to your authorization, of course. Should you agree, I will make it my sole duty to show you everything interesting and entertaining there is to do and see in Liyue.”

“Hm. I don’t know.” Aether rubs his chin, pretending to mull it over. “What would your compensation be? I’d have to make sure it fits into my annual exploration budget.”

“No more than you can afford, I promise,” Childe grins. “Only that I get to see you smile at least twice a day. Also, you must tell everyone what an urbane and cultured gentleman I am, despite being a wild Snezhnayan barbarian.”

“I think I can make that work,” Aether says, laughing for what he realizes afterward is the first time in months.

“Then I am at the prince’s service. When shall I commence my duties?”

“Tomorrow? If you’re available.”

“As I said, entertaining you is now my sole duty. As such, I am at your disposal. At what hour shall I wait upon you, my lord?”

“At this hour. Two o’clock.”

“Ah, a prudent choice. Too late for a longer excursion, so you may test my skill before you commit to taking me as your guide for an all-day adventure. I will show you around the city. The perfect activity for a first foray.”

“I will look forward to it,” Aether says, dipping his head. “Until then.”

“Until then, my lord prince,” Childe replies, with another sweeping bow and jaunty salute, before he hops back over the railing and lands as gracefully as a cat in the garden below, to the indignant exclamations of some startled old courtiers.

This simple proffer of friendship is a pool of cool water to a man crawling in a parched desert. So far, no one at court has taken any interest in him, nor even spoken to him when not required to by social custom, save for the wine-loving bard, Venti, who is on familiar terms with everyone and doesn’t even fear the Dragon King, and Lord Dainsleif, an exceedingly beautiful but intolerably dour man in black, who wears a mask on the top right side of his face, to cover some facial disfigurement, and whose intense, aquamarine-blue eyes have the telltale Khaenri’ahn pupil slits.

He was introduced to Aether as the Khaenri’ahn ambassador in exile, being one of the very few survivors of the disastrous destruction of that nation by an unknown god. He claims he was abroad on embassy work when it happened, and that his disfigurement is an unrelated defect of birth. Aether flatly disbelieves him, but he cannot imagine what motive the man would have to lie about such a thing, and he is not even a little bit interested in finding out.

Dainsleif has made several overtures of friendly conversation to Aether at court. He is intelligent and charming, but Aether finds his presence so oppressive, that he becomes actually physically fatigued when he is nearby, as though the man is a black hole sapping his energy, and has to excuse himself after only a few minutes of conversation. He studiously avoids Lord Dainsleif, now.

Today, Aether returns to his chamber energized and excited, as he has not been since he arrived in Teyvat to begin his irreligious cloister in this opulent monastery. The practical upshot of this is that the rest of his day and evening drag out interminably, every hour passing even more tediously and sluggishly than usual, since he now has anything to look forward to. Supper is a welcome distraction, as it at least gives him something to do and people to look at.

Rex Lapis does not preside over his supper table at the palace, so that duty falls to Aether, his position now being the second in honor to the king’s. He lacks the skill of a diplomatist, but he has the cultivated social grace of a young royal, and excels at conducting these mundane domestic functions. First in rank below his own, is the Lady Ningguang, the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing (i.e. Liyue’s civil governor), who is seated on Aether’s right. She is an exquisite beauty with the brilliant mind and far-seeing eye of an accomplished statesman, and has the favor and trust of Rex Lapis. She obviously views the prince consort as very much a child (though in actual years he is likely many decades her senior), and she speaks to him in a motherly fashion, that would rankle if it came from anyone else, but from her he finds rather soothing.

After supper, he returns to his quarters to find that Madame Ping has drawn him a bath and is bustling about making tea. Madame Ping is an antediluvian housekeeper of the palace, and Aether’s favorite person he has met in Teyvat. Despite her advanced age, she works with the energy of a woman in her prime, and her mind is as sharp as a razorblade. She observes no social custom or boundary she doesn’t wish to, has no shame or modesty about his state of dress, and refers to the Dragon King as ‘the old man’ or simply Morax, which Aether understands is his ancient name. Even Rex Lapis treats her with reverence, and it is dearly charming to see the tall, stately, black and gold clad god-king stop and bow low, and speak respectfully to a tiny old woman in an apron, with a broom in her gnarled hand.

“Tsk, tsk, clothes all over the floor,” she clucks, collecting the discarded pieces of his wardrobe as he reclines in his bath. “You young ruffian, didn’t your mother teach you to pick up after yourself?”

“Madame Ping, you know I never had a mother,” Aether pouts, making his eyes as big and pitiful as he can.

“Ha! Don’t you try that puppy-dog routine with me, my boy,” she returns. “I raised two girls with bigger, sadder eyes than you, and they never got away with anything, either.”

Aether grins. “That's fine, because I don't expect to get away with anything. I only left the clothes on the floor because I know how happy it makes you to to scold me.”

“You’re not wrong,” she chuckles. “But you’re in high spirits this evening, little princelet. What happened? The old man finally come to his senses and take you for a proper tumble?”

“No, but I’ve given up on that,” Aether sighs, folding his arms on the side of the large tub and resting his chin on them. “Anyway, it’s something much better. I made a friend.”

“Have you, now. Congratulations. Oh—it’s not that drunk of a bard, though, is it? The old man wouldn’t approve of you spending too much time with that one.”

“I like Venti,” Aether laughs. “But no, it’s Lord Tartaglia, the Snezhnayan prince. He’s going to show me around the city tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh-ho,” she says, arching a grey eyebrow. “Got an eye for handsome, bad-boy types, have you? He wouldn’t be my first choice for a recognized lover, but he’d certainly be worth a turn round the garden.”

“Handsome—what types?” Aether stammers, flushing pink. “No, no, it’s not like that. He’s…we’re friends. Barely even acquaintances. I’m just excited to be going anywhere. The king hasn’t let me out of the palace since I got here.”

“Hasn’t let you?” she snorts. “You’re not in a cage, boy, the doors are wide open. And don’t let that crotchety old dragon scare you. He’s got a lot of hard scales on top, but deep down he’s as gentle as a kitten. If you just sweet talked him a little tiny bit, he’d be putty in your hands, I guarantee it.”

“I don’t know why you say that,” Aether says sullenly. “He doesn’t even like me. I see him an hour a day and all he does his lecture me about laws and maps and economics.”

She sighs, shaking her head sadly, as she lays out his ivory silk dressing robe. “Old man doesn’t understand how to be married to a young one. Especially not one who’s just as stubborn as he is. He’s trying to cut you to fit his setting, instead of making you a setting that fits your cut.”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Aether says, not really understanding what she means. “To me, it seems like he wanted the political connection and I’m just a byproduct of the transaction.”

He climbs out of the tub to step into the fluffy, enormously oversized towel she’s holding up for him and lets her wrap it around him like a blanket, then stands obediently while she rubs his hair dry with another towel. When he lies alone in his huge bed a little while later, he can’t get the words she spoke out of his head. Recognized lover.

He was aware of the term. He is extremely familiar with the marriage contract he signed, which differs from that of ordinary Teyvat citizens, since royalty are legal entities that come with a lot of hereditary holdings and other complicated baggage. By the laws of Teyvat, laid down by the High King Rex Lapis himself, members of royal couples are permitted to take a recognized lover, provided their spouse approves of their choice. King, queen, or otherwise, makes no difference. The law is the same. A queen consort, for example, would be equally entitled to veto the ruling king’s proposed lover as he would be to veto hers.

Child as he was, Aether had considered this stipulation a relic of tradition. The possibility that he might ever wish to exercise it never entered his mind. But after months of marital neglect, he is beginning to think it might be better to do so, than to languish in miserable solitude, and grow to hate his husband for it. His mind flickers to the tall, charming, extremely handsome, Snezhnayan prince. Then his cheeks burn with shame, and he chides himself for the thought. How pathetic, that he would grasp at the first person to say a friendly word to him.

Childe wouldn’t want him that way, anyway. He certainly has his choice for lovers among the cream of the Teyvat crop, and would have nothing to gain by complicating his life and becoming the lover of the high king’s husband. If he even finds Aether attractive, which hadn’t even occurred to him. He has been so used to people saying how beautiful he his, he has never once questioned it. Now, faced with the prospect of this tall, athletic, graceful young man, he feels small and skinny and awkward. But maybe their oppositeness in that respect could be attractive to him. Or someone else like him. Not him, specifically. Definitely not.

His stomach flutters when he thinks of Childe’s roguish grin across the dinner table, then he smiles to himself at the way he scaled the pillar and hopped over the balcony railing to meet him. Rex Lapis would never do anything so undignified. Aether is unaware of it, but as he drifts off with his mind full of the handsome young prince and their excursion tomorrow, it marks the first night since his wedding-night that he does not cry himself to sleep.

Aether is not required to ask the king’s permission to leave the palace, so long as he informs his Yaksha bodyguard, but he is fully resolved to tell him of his plans anyway. As blameless as his intentions truly are, he feels a deep pang of conscience at the idea of concealing anything from his husband, even by omission. When the king has finished his lecture and dismisses him, Aether pauses.

“I will go into the city today, my lord,” he says firmly and unabashedly, looking his husband in the eye. “I have made a friend and he offered to show me around.”

Rex Lapis does not appear to be even the slightest bit surprised, annoyed, or even excessively interested. “I am pleased to hear it. Who is your new friend?”

“Lord Tartaglia,” Aether answers. “I met him yesterday, in the garden.”

“Ah, indeed. The prince has recently returned from Snezhnaya. Childe is friendly with many of the city’s merchants, craftsmen, and artists. He is also thoroughly knowledgeable in Liyue’s culture and customs. He will guide you well.”

Aether stands there blinking up at him. He is unsatisfied with this response, for some reason, and finds himself unwilling to leave it at this.

“Was there something else?” his husband prompts, raising his black eyebrows in question.

“N—no, my lord,” Aether answers hesitantly. “That’s all.”

“Then I wish you a pleasant outing,” he says, with a courteous dip of his head.

Aether bows and departs hastily, because now there are impending tears burning in his eyes. There is a heavy, sick feeling in his stomach, too, like deep disappointment, which is ridiculous. What had he wanted? Jealousy? Anger? Some kind of tyrannical behavior that would justify Aether’s resentment toward him? Whatever it is, he departs his husband’s presence with tacit approval of his new friendship, and yet resenting him more than ever.

Childe is awaiting him in the drawing room attached to his apartments, all easy grace and plans for amusement. Not needing to descend for the benefit of an audience, they touch the beacon on the platform outside the palace gate and simply appear at another one, in what Childe tells him is the Feiyun Slope district, near the Northland Bank.

They chat amiably as they stroll along, Childe pointing out different shops and restaurants, and Aether looking about wide-eyed, trying to take in everything at once. People who pass by them bow and give them a wide berth, but they all smile to see the two handsome, young princes in company with one another, smiling and laughing, and looking gallant and heroic with swords at their sides, which no civilians are permitted to carry within the city.

In the Chihu Rock neighborhood, they eat something called Jueyun Chili Chicken, served by a young girl in the company of a fire-spitting bear, who she calls Guoba, and whose job appears to be stoking the restaurant’s row of busy stoves. Aether’s Celestial palate is in no way prepared for the blistering spiciness of a Jueyun chili dish, and he has to drink several cups of fruit juice just to stop tearing up and sniffling. Childe assures him his ability to taste will return soon. He seems to think this is excellent fun and an essential part of the Liyue experience, relating his similar initial reaction to the same dish, which he now eats without flinching.

After that, they wander down a walkway to the harbor area, where there is a bustling market full of merchant stalls of all kinds. Childe purchases a pair of jade earrings carved in the shape of graceful cranes, which he explains are for his elder sister Tonia. They get to talking of family, and as they walk up a footpath near the courtyard where his wedding feast took place, to a lookout spot Childe has chosen, Aether reveals that he has a sister, who has disappeared, abducted and apparently murdered by the Lord of the Abyss.

“My father absolutely forbade me ever looking into it,” he explains. “He said it was far too dangerous and he wouldn’t lose us both to the Abyss Lord. I don’t know why, since he cared little enough about losing me to promise me to a king on another world before I was a week old, but there was no disobeying him. Maybe now I’m here, I can find someone who saw her, or can give me some clue about what happened.”

“When did she disappear?” Childe asks.

“Twenty years ago. That’s not even all that long, here in Teyvat. There are plenty of people who remember the Khaenri’ah disaster, and that happened around the same time.”

“But why do you think you’d find someone here with clues to what happened?”

“Oh, I didn’t clarify. She was traveling here when she was abducted by the Abyss Lord. He couldn’t have gotten into Celestia without triggering every mystical security system in our world, but here in Teyvat, she was vulnerable.”

“Have you asked the king about it? He remembers literally everything.”

“I did. But my sister and I didn’t announce ourselves when we went to other worlds, and we always traveled under assumed names. He didn’t even know she’d been here. He said he was sorry and if he’d known the sister of his intended was in this realm, he would have protected her personally.”

“No doubt he would have, but if she’s anything like you, I don’t imagine she’d have been too pleased about that.”

“Oh, Lumine is way more rebellious and independent than me,” Aether laughs, in spite of the deep ache in his chest, every time he speaks his sister’s name aloud. “We explored a lot of other worlds together, but I was really just following her around. She kept wanting to stay away longer and longer. When she went on her last expedition, it was against our father’s wishes. I wouldn’t go with her, because I was afraid of him. She wasn’t. She didn’t even sneak away. She announced her plans, and told him to his face that he was welcome to try and stop her.”

“She sounds like an impressive young lady. What was his response?”

“He was absolutely furious to be openly defied. He said she was a conceited, superior fool, just like her mother. It was the first time I ever heard him say anything like that about our mother. But he couldn’t do anything to stop her, so away she went. When he found out the Abyss Lord had taken her, he said he’d been right all along, and it was her own fault for being arrogant and careless enough to put herself in the position to be abducted in the first place. But she wasn’t arrogant and careless. I knew her. She was prepared, vigilant, quick witted, and an absolute demon with any weapon she took in her hands. I just don’t believe that she was taken unawares that way. There has to be more to it.”

Childe’s usually laughing face is grave and fierce, and he lays a hand on Aether’s shoulder, looking him in the eye. “Comrade, if I may aid you in this matter, even if it is only to find out the worst is true and to exact revenge, I will do all that I can. You never, ever give up on family.”

Aether is moved nearly to tears by the young nobleman’s sincerity and empathy for his sorrow, and thanks him from his heart.

“Be certain you know what you are getting into, before you choose to take on the Abyss Order,” Childe replies grimly. “I have been to the Abyss. There are things there that I cannot bring myself to speak of, even on the green earth the light of day. But those are dark meditations for another time. Tell me something of your home, to bring cheer back to your heart.”

“My home,” Aether sighs. “My home is here, now. As for Celestia, there was never much there aside from my sister that brought cheer to my heart. I think my mother would have, had I known her. But I didn’t.”

“What about your father, the king?” Childe asks.

“My father has never been a comfort to me. He used me as a bargaining chip to make an alliance with Teyvat, and had me trained like a concubine to the service of this king, who does not love me.”

Childe looks stricken. “My friend…you truly believe the king doesn’t love you?”

“We’ve been married three months, and he…he hasn’t taken me to his bed. He has kissed me once, for show, at the wedding feast. That is the most affection I’ve got from him.”

“I’m so sorry. You deserve to be with someone who loves you.”

“You know what the worst part is? I really thought he—I really thought he would. My father told me I was nothing but a chain linking two powerful kingdoms, and not to provoke Rex Lapis by demanding his attention. He said I’d be better off looking for some disposable courtier to fuck me, if I wanted it that badly. But deep down, I thought if I could just be good enough, I could make him…anyway, that’s how stupid and naïve I am.”

“It’s not stupid and naïve to hope the one you gave your word to honor and cherish will honor and cherish you back. I have to say, your father doesn’t sound like a very kind person, if that’s how he talks to you.”

“He’s not a kind person, as far as my sister and me, at least. He got even worse after she disappeared, but he could never stand to be around us. People always said it was because we reminded him so much of our mother, but I’ve seen pictures of her, and she had black hair and blue eyes. We look even less like our father, though, so who knows. Anyway, I’m pretty sure that’s why he was so eager to let me go away and be married to a foreign king. So he didn’t have to put up with me existing.”

“But wait a moment. I know you Celestials are immortal, but without you or your sister, who succeeds to the Celestial throne, if something happens to him?”

Aether shrugs. “Whoever he has appointed as his successor. I don’t really care. I never wanted it, anyway.”

“What do you want? You must have some aspiration or ambition. Something that drives you.”

“Aside from finding out about my sister and not being lonely all the time? I haven’t really thought about it. My aspirations never mattered. I was always destined to be a king’s property, and that was that.”

“Are you really lonely, all the time?” Childe says, gazing at him sadly.

“Well. I’m not right now.”

“The old dragon is a fool. You’re beautiful and intelligent and kind. If you were mine, I wouldn’t—” Childe’s cheeks flush with color and he looks away quickly. “Forgive me, my lord prince. I let my tongue run away with me. I should not have been so familiar.”

“I want you to be my lover,” Aether blurts out suddenly. “I’ve been thinking about it since we met yesterday. I want someone to talk to, the way we’ve been talking today, but I also want someone to touch me and hold me and kiss me. That’s…that’s all I wanted to say. Sorry if it was awkward.”

Childe stares at him, dumbstruck. “You want a lover, and you chose me?”

“Yes. I mean, if…if you’ll have me.”

“My lord prince, there is nothing in the world I would not do for you, but your husband the king—”

“Oh, no, I would never risk bringing the king’s displeasure on you,” Aether interrupts. “I would make a request to have you officially recognized.”

Childe sits back, rubbing his gloved hands together anxiously. Then he takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I think you should sleep on this. Spend more time with me as friends, and then decide if you still want to make such a declaration of attachment to me.”

Aether’s face falls. “How much time?”

“Not long. Say…two weeks. Then if you still want me, I will be yours. Providing the king consents.”

“Alright,” Aether says, looking down at his hands. “Whatever you say.”

“Oh no, I’m not—my lord prince, I am not attempting to escape, I swear to you. I would take you right now, if it would not put my head on the block with the king. I just want to be sure you’re sure about this. We only met yesterday.”

“I think I am. I mean, it’s not like I’m asking you to marry me. I’m already married. It’s just to keep everything honest and above board. I won’t lie or hide things from my husband, no matter how unhappy I am.”

“Can you possibly truly be this good?” Childe asks, shaking his head in awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you.”

“I’m not all that good. I’m pretty sure a good person wouldn’t think about sex as much as I do.”

Childe laughs aloud at this and hops to his feet, holding out his hand to help Aether up. “We should head back, now. The sun is getting low and supper will be served soon. But come out with me again, tomorrow. I haven’t shown you half the city yet.”

The next two weeks fly by, faster than any of the time Aether has spent here. He and Childe get along spectacularly, and grow quickly attached to one another, until it begins to be physically painful not to kiss and touch one another. At the end of the waiting period imposed by the Snezhnayan prince, they are nearly desperate to be in bed together. As per their agreement, Aether sends a written request to his husband, through the appropriate channels, and eagerly awaits his release from this agonizing anticipation.

He hears nothing back that night. In the morning, while he is eating breakfast in his chambers, another squire delivers a scroll bearing the king’s official seal. Aether opens it with shaking hands and a pounding heart. He has to read the neatly written lines three times over, before he can make himself understand that his request has been denied. His heart sinking like a stone, he reads through it slowly, one more time.

To the Prince Consort, Aether of Celestia.

His Royal Highness, Rex Lapis, High King of Teyvat and Dragon King of Liyue has received your request to officially recognize Ajax, Lord Tartaglia, Crown Prince of Snezhnaya as your lover. His Royal Highness has denied your request, for the reasons stated below.

Ajax, Lord Tartaglia, Crown Prince of Snezhnaya is a member of the ruling royal family in a nation tributary to Liyue in name, but with whom Liyue’s actual diplomatic relations are strained. While Lord Tartaglia is held in the highest regard by the court, his sovereign the Tsaritsa’s continued authorization of acts of espionage and assassination, perpetrated by her Harbingers in Liyue and in Tevyat’s other nations creates a clear conflict of interest in this case, and makes an official romantic attachment between the Crown Prince of Snezhnaya and the Prince Consort of the High King a potential security risk. If the reasons for this denial are unclear, you are advised by the High King to seek his advice in person.

For your convenience, a copy of this official communication has been forwarded to Ajax, Lord Tartaglia, Crown Prince of Snezhnaya

 

Best regards,

Huang Feng, Legal Secretary to His Royal Highness, Rex Lapis, High King of Teyvat and Dragon King of Liyue

Shortly after this, an attendant arrives with a separate message from the king’s personal secretary, informing him that their audience for today has been cancelled, and summoning him to appear at the king’s private chambers at the hour of ten o’clock this evening. For some reason, this second message makes his brain fully process the first.

His face and neck flush hot with anger at this flat denial of the single thing he has ever asked of his husband. He wants to take this ugly ring from his finger and fling it out the window. He refrains from doing anything so ridiculous, however, being the son of a king, and thus fully aware how quickly their wrath can flare up over such things. He sits down hard on the floor by his bed, but he can’t weep. He can’t feel anything but cold, bitter, ugly resentment. And what does he mean by summoning him to his chambers after court hours? Does he intend to chastise him privately, like a parent would an erring child?

He spends the remainder of his day idling about in his apartments, not having the strength to face Childe at the moment, nor wanting to interact with other courtiers, lest his temper flare and he embarrass himself with some show of emotion. He does not even attend supper, pleading a headache, over which Lady Ningguang presides in his stead. At the specified hour, he presents himself at the massive, golden doors to his lord’s chambers, where an attendant ushers him in and announces him. The king is waiting, tall and severe and beautiful, in his black and gold suit, which he wears at court, rather than his more traditional ceremonial regalia.

“My lord king, you called for me?” Aether says, when the attendant has gone, keeping his head low.

“Yes, I did,” the king answers. “Come here.”

Aether crosses the room to stand before him. He gives a start and almost shies away, as his husband reaches out and lays a golden hand on his cheek.

“It is as I thought,” Rex Lapis sighs. “I owe you an explanation, and an apology. I have not been physically affectionate with you, because I do not often recall that such things are important to humans. I apologize for this oversight, and the pain it has caused you. I have not taken you to bed, either, but this was intentional. I thought to demonstrate my respect and regard for you, by refraining from doing so until some affection and trust had grown naturally between us. I have been remiss in these things, and have only driven a wedge where I sought to build a bridge. I see now that I must remedy my error.”

“My lord, what…what do you mean?” Aether falters, suddenly trembling with apprehension.

His husband does not answer, but takes him in his arms and kisses him, as he has never done before. Aether’s body responds as it has been conditioned to do, and submits automatically, slackening his jaw and sliding his tongue forward to caress his husband’s, which is hot and sinuous, and forked like a serpent’s. Breathless and trembling like a leaf, tears well up in Aether’s eyes as he is finally kissed the way he had once desired to be. He has no idea what he is feeling, now. Anger, resentment, fear. Aching loneliness and desperation for any kind of touch at all.

He is aware of being undressed, as if he is watching himself from outside his body. Then his husband carries him to his bed lays him down among the black silk linens. Aether lies passive as he pushes his legs apart and up to his chest, lifting his ass off the bed and exposing his taut, pink asshole. His whole body jolts and he gives a sharp cry, as the king’s hot tongue laps over it. He keeps going, licking and laving his asshole with his long, serpentine tongue, till Aether is flushed pink and perspiring.

Aether gives another cry as it pushes through the tight ring of muscle, and slides slowly inside, deeper and deeper, until it completely fills his hole. He whines and whimpers, writhing and twisting on the bed, while he is tongue-fucked out of his senses by the Dragon God. His cock drools all over his stomach as the tongue slides in and out, thrumming over his prostate and stimulating the tender rim. His balls ache and his cock gets so hard it throbs with his pulse, as the pressure keeps building up and winding tighter. His thigh muscles flex, and he feels his asshole tighten up around his husband’s tongue. Then all at once, an explosion of intense, excruciating pleasure racks his entire body. He gives a sobbing cry as his cock convulses, spurting hot bursts of milky fluid all over his chest and stomach. His husband licks him through the spasms, then carefully withdraws his long tongue.

“I am going to penetrate you,” he says, in the same calm, steady voice as always. “It will be painful at first, but it will become easier.”

Aether’s eyes snap open as he feels something warm and blunt press against his spit-slick hole. “Wait! I’m not ready, please just—ungh!”

His plea is strangled in his throat, as the head pushes through the resistance. It hurts more than anything he has ever felt in his life. It hurts more than he thought he could withstand, without actually losing consciousness. He groans through his clenched teeth, clinging to his husband, as he is slowly spitted on his impossibly long, thick, steel-hard shaft. When it is firmly hilted inside him, his husband stops, stroking his thighs and giving him a moment to acclimate to being filled and stretched this way.

Aether’s conditioned body does this with miraculous rapidity. The tearing, searing pain eases somewhat, replaced by a full, aching feeling. It still hurts, but it is more like the mingled pleasure-pain he felt when he tongue-fucked him. When he stops weeping and grows calmer, his husband begins to move again. He thrusts slowly and gently at first, then harder and deeper, as the boy’s muscles slacken to accommodate him. Aether’s skin flushes rosy-pink, and his half-hard cock bounces with each deep thrust. The thick bulb near the base of the Dragon King’s black and gold shaft pummels the sweet spot till he shatters in his arms again. His throbbing cock spits clear fluid this time.

He is flipped over and pulled up by his hips. Rex Lapis mounts him, knees outside of his, and impales him again, pulling one of his arms behind him to use as leverage while he rocks into him. Aether is dizzy and delirious under the rhythmic onslaught of his husband’s huge, inhuman cock. He has no control of his body. His voice moans like a whore, his thighs spread themselves wider, his ass tilts itself up to take him deeper. His back arches and his legs shake. He gives a shuddering wail as his insides contract and his cock convulses again, spurting what little he has left onto the sleeping mat below him.

Rex Lapis pushes him down flat on his stomach and leans over him, digging into him with his ruthlessly hard cock. Aether screams hoarsely into the mattress as his husband bites savagely into his neck with his long, sharp fangs. He doesn’t release the bite. He keeps his jaws clamped possessively onto him, blood running down his neck, fucking him harder and harder while Aether shakes and pants beneath him. His cock swells and the heavy shaft heats up till it almost burns. Aether feels it pulse against the stretched walls of his asshole as his husband comes inside him. The flood of molten-hot fluid fills him completely and splashes out over the backs of his thighs.

The king holds his cock deep inside till the spasms ebb. Then he releases the bite and carefully pulls out. More hot fluid gushes out, but Aether is too fucked out of his senses to be embarrassed or worried about it. He curls up and lies in a fetal position, until his husband takes him in his arms, cradling him against his chest and rocking him gently, as he presses kisses into his mop of wheat-blonde hair. After a long while, Aether's body relaxes into the embrace, and his breathing becomes slow and regular. The last thing he is aware of, before sleep takes him, is a glowing, golden hand reaching down to stroke his face.

Chapter Text

Among the Jade Palace courtiers, as with most groups of human beings on every world they inhabit, the most popular topic of gossip is nearly always related to who is sleeping with who. Recently, however, the relationship between the Dragon King and his young husband has risen above all other topics, to dominate the court talk. The reason for this, is that all of a sudden, the Prince Consort has begun appearing at the king’s side every day, dutifully accompanying him while he conducts all his court business.

Aside from being a matter of intense public interest, all agree that the image of the tall, regal Dragon King, walking hand-in-hand with the beautiful, golden-haired Celestial youth is a lovely picture to behold. Their observable devotion to one another inspires thousands of works of art, breathless articles in gossip publications all around Teyvat, and some delightfully filthy fiction disseminated by the realm’s creative pornographers.

Of course, not all the gossip is pleasant. The kinder of heart among the courtiers say it is strange that the honeymoon period should have begun so many months into the marriage, when most such blissful spells are tapering off, but that it is a testament to the strength of the love between them. The more vicious among them, however, whisper that the king is wise in keeping an eye on his wayward young husband, lest he stray again into the arms of a certain Snezhnayan prince.

Whatever the reason for the royal couple’s newfound solidarity, the Prince Consort is now present with the king at court, and in council meetings and visits of state, and even accompanies him on official business outside the palace. This is joyous news for the Guhua Clan, who are the most important and wealthy family in Liyue, and the cornerstone of the Feiyun Commerce Guild. This year, when the king conducts his annual tour of their warehouses, to demonstrate his favor and give them his divine blessing for prosperity in the coming year, they will be doubly honored by the attendance of both the Dragon King and also the Prince Consort.

In anticipation of this, the Guhua Clan have pulled out all the stops. There is a festival atmosphere at the cluster of warehouses, nestled up in the hills outside Liyue Harbor. The buildings are festooned with banners and streamers, and all the clan’s membership have turned out in their best holiday attire. There is music, food and wine, and lavish gifts presented to the deity and his young husband. There is hardly time for the ceremonial tour amid all the gaiety.

Prince Aether smiles beautifully, is endearingly humble, takes time to speak to every one of the children, and otherwise conducts himself with the flawless grace of a practiced public figure. The Guhua Clan heads are overjoyed, Rex Lapis confers his blessing, the visit is pronounced a spectacular success, and everyone parts company exceedingly pleased. Or appearing to be pleased. When the royal carriage finally rolls out of sight of the warehouses, Prince Aether’s smile dissolves and his shoulders slump, and he sits staring out at the high peaks and rolling hills.

“You are unhappy,” the king’s low, sonorous voice says, beside him.

“No, my lord king,” Aether answers listlessly. “I am only tired. Please, forgive me.”

“You need not beg forgiveness for fatigue. But you are tired quite often, of late. Perhaps you are ill.”

“Perhaps, my lord king.”

“I shall send for Doctor Baizhu.”

“Thank you, my lord king.”

The king takes his hand and presses a kiss to it, to which Aether passively submits, but does not respond in any other way. The king makes no further attempt at conversation, and the remainder of the drive passes silently. Aether occupies himself in gazing out at the ruins crowning the green hilltops, and trying to spot his silent watcher, as he flickers in bursts of black vapor from vantage point to vantage point on the cliffs high above, keeping his charge always in view.

This has become his habit whenever they are outside the palace—to look about and try to spot the Yaksha, wherever he may be perched. The flash of turquoise and purple, atop the crumbled remains of ancient walls, or amongst the golden leaves of the trees, always gives him a little thrill of wonder, as if he has caught sight of the exotic plumage of some elusive wild creature.

Being immensely curious about his bodyguard, since he is so trusted by the king, and is reportedly a formidable warrior, despite appearing to be a slight-framed youth about his own age, Aether attempted to speak to Adeptus Xiao once. The beautiful, golden-eyed Yaksha appeared, but when he learned the reason the prince had called to him, he told him grimly, ‘I am no plaything. If you awaken to a knife at your throat, if death comes to take you, speak my name. I will be there when you call. But do not try to befriend me. See me as a weapon, and nothing more.’

So saying, he vanished in his whirl of inky shadows. Stung by the rebuke and rather embarrassed to have appeared so childish and frivolous before his somber bodyguard, Aether did not try to speak with him again. Despite the stern rebuff, however, knowing that the Vigilant Yaksha is always watching gives Aether a strange sense of comfort. It feels good to know that someone in this world cares about him, above all else. Even if only because he is duty-bound to do so.

When the royal retinue arrive at the palace, Aether goes straight to his own apartments and lies down sullenly in his bed. After a few minutes, Madame Ping comes in with the tea service, then goes about flinging open the windows, to let the fresh, balmy breeze blow in from the sea.

“Well?” she says, planting herself at the foot of the bed and crossing her arms expectantly. “You going to get up and make tea, or lie about sulking all evening?”

“I’m not sulking, I’m suffering,” Aether grumbles, dragging himself out of bed anyway.

“What are you suffering from? Your husband paying too much attention to you now?”

“Yes, if you must know, he is,” Aether retorts. “I thought I was miserable before, when it was an hour of lectures a day. Now I get dragged to every meeting, conference, court session, goodwill visit, and whatever else his secretaries dream up to torture me. There is absolutely nothing for me to do at those things, so my sole job is to sit up straight and look like I’m paying attention, lest I embarrass the king. It’s exhausting and infuriating. I get so agitated sometimes I feel like all my bones are trying to escape my skin.”

“Why do you think the old man is behaving this way?” she asks, cocking her head questioningly.

Aether places her cup of tea before her on the low table and sets about pouring his own. “To punish me. Remind me I’m his property. It’s pretty obvious. He ignored me for months, then as soon as I requested to have a lover, he summoned me to his chamber and finally relieved me of my virginity. And he bit my neck while he did it, like he was marking his territory. You saw the bite wound and the bruises. Since then, he’s hardly let me out of his sight.”

“Mmm,” Madame Ping nods. “Sex good, though?”

Aether flushes crimson behind his teacup. “It’s—that’s…beside the point. He only did it because I said I wanted someone else and he was jealous.”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve got him all figured out.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Pretty impressive, for only knowing him a few months.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean, I’ve known him for as long as I can remember, and I still don’t fully comprehend that ancient mind of his.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I’m not getting at anything. I was complimenting your perspicacity.”

Aether narrows his eyes. “Why does it feel like you’re mocking me?”

Madame Ping looks the picture of innocence. “I have no idea what you mean, my lord prince. I would never mock your illustrious personage. You want to refill an old lady’s teacup before she dies of thirst?”

There is a knock at the door, and a servant announces Dr. Baizhu, who saunters in and immediately produces a long, thin pipe, which he lights, while his diminutive assistant, Qiqi, toddles in after him.

“Wh—where are we?” she asks, peering about with her huge, eerie, violet eyes.

“The Prince Consort’s chambers, my dear,” the doctor answers, through a cloud of sweet-smelling, bluish-white smoke. “We’ve been here half a dozen times.”

“Oh. I better write it in my notebook, this time, so I won’t forget.”

“Yes, you do that. What’s not wrong with you this time, my lord prince?” Dr. Baizhu asks, eyeing Aether sympathetically over the rims of his gold-framed spectacles.

“The same as usual,” Aether sighs. “I was morose after a public appearance and my punishment is to be made to waste your time.”

“I—I already wrote it in here five times,” Qiqi mutters, looking at her notebook as if it has betrayed her.

“In all fairness, I was wasting my time anyway,” Dr. Baizhu says to Aether, with a languorous toss of his long, green hair. “I hired this gorgeous new assistant and…well, let’s just say he won’t be invited to attend the Akademiya, anytime soon. Mind if I sit?”

“Oh—I’m so sorry. Please, do,” Aether says hastily. “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you. Madame Ping, it’s been a while. How are you since last week?”

“Not getting any younger, that’s for sure,” Madame Ping answers pertly.

“Ah, but you’re not getting any older, either,” the doctor laughs.

As Aether sets the teacup in front of him, his white snake unwinds herself from her perch on his shoulders, and slithers down his arm onto the tea table, where she promptly coils herself around the steaming cup. Dr. Baizhu picks it up by the rim and shakes her off, then lifts it to his lips, while she slinks sulkily away across the table.

“Mmm,” he hums, with a dreamy smile. “The tea is simply divine, my lord prince. You’ve improved drastically since last time.”

“I made the the tea last time,” Madame Ping rejoins. “You knew that, too, you cheeky imp.”

Dr. Baizhu chuckles into his cup, which steams up the lenses of his spectacles and compels him to take them off. Aether has never noticed his eyes before. They are long and languid, with heavy lashes and dark-gold irises. His pupils are slit, rather than round, but different from Lord Dainsleif’s Khaenri’ahn pupils. More like a snake’s.

“My lord prince,” he says coyly. “If you keep looking at me that way, I’ll think you want to make me the next lover your husband won’t approve of.”

Aether blushes like a rose and mutters some kind of clumsy apology, while Dr. Baizhu and Madame Ping laugh. Qiqi looks perplexedly between the three, then at the snake, who has got herself wrapped around the teapot.

“So, what has become of the Snezhnayan prince?” Dr. Baizhu asks. “Retreated from court to weather the king’s wrath in calmer seas?”

Aether shakes his head. “He’s still at court.”

The doctor arches a green eyebrow. “Brazening it out. Bold move. I imagine you’ve been forbidden to see him, though.”

“No. My husband never even mentioned his name to me. It’s not like he has to forbid me seeing him, though. He keeps me on a short leash all day.”

“Oh, my,” the doctor says, covering his mouth with his fingertips.

“No—not like that!” Aether sputters. “I just meant he’s monopolizing all my time, so I don’t have a chance to do anything else.”

“The prince believes his husband is punishing him by requiring him to appear by his side at official functions, and by making love to him,” Madame Ping explains.

“My lord prince, if I could bear that burden for you, I would,” Dr. Baizhu intones, laying a hand on his heart. “That is how seriously I take caring for your health and wellbeing.”

“Thanks,” Aether says drily. “You know, you don’t have to hang around here, if you have other patients to see. I’m not actually sick.”

“True, but as I intend to bill the court for my full hour anyway, I may as well stay for one. I could always examine you, if you’d like me to earn my wage honestly.”

“It’s so strange to me that you work on a wage basis and don’t live in the palace,” Aether says, frowning thoughtfully. “The royal family physician in my home was a permanent position at court.”

“It is done that way in the tributary kingdoms in Teyvat. But here in Liyue, where our monarch is a god, and has never had a family member before, there has been no reason to employ a permanent physician.”

“Will you…explain that to me, about him being a god?” Aether asks sheepishly. “I know my husband is called the god of this world, and worshipped as one, but I don’t exactly understand what that means, here. From what I can tell, his authority and power in Teyvat isn’t all that different from my father’s in Celestia, who is not called a god.”

“Madame Ping, I defer to your superior understanding in this area,” Dr. Baizhu replies. “I would not presume to attempt such an explanation.”

“Ah, well, let me see…” Madame Ping muses, swirling her tea in her cup. “It’s not all that simple to explain, since the fact is none of us really know what he is. Some think he is the soul of this world, manifested physically. Some think he is an ancient elemental being that evolved over the millennia into a powerful protector spirit. Some think he is eternal and that he created this world himself and chooses to live in it with his children, because he loves us like a father. That’s the one I believe least, knowing what little I do of him. What I can say from my own observation is that he does care deeply for this world and its people. He seems to be bound to it in some inherent way, that gives him the power to exert his will over the land itself. And I know he is ancient beyond the beginning of recorded history, since it was he himself who recorded the first history, and thus began the discipline in this world.”

“Is he—” Aether hesitates, worried that the question is childish, but his curiosity overpowers his embarrassment. “Is he a dragon, who becomes a man sometimes? Or is he a man who can become a dragon?”

“Ah, that would be telling, wouldn’t it,” Madame Ping  chuckles.

“She means that if you find out, you’ll have to tell us,” Dr. Baizhu clarifies. “That very question has been a matter of speculation and scholarly debate for millennia.”

Aether looks perplexed. “Well…hasn’t anyone just asked him?”

“It’s different for you, since you’re a Celestial and his husband, but he is our god and our king. None of us lowly human beings are free to speak to him as you are. I doubt there is a single one of his own subjects who would dare approach him with such an inquiry.”

“Even if they did, I doubt they’d get an answer,” Madame Ping adds. “As assiduous as he was in recording the history of this world, before he handed over the job to all the human historians, he never wrote a word regarding his origin or his own history before the…uh. Before.”

“Before what?” Aether asks, looking back and forth between his two companions, who both suddenly look immensely uncomfortable. “Before what? What do you mean?”

“Well. I think that’s enough sitting around gossiping for tonight,” Madame Ping says, as if she hasn’t heard the prince’s question. “I have dusting to do and you’re due at supper soon.”

“I’ll take my leave as well, with your permission, my lord prince,” Dr. Baizhu says, rising to his feet. “I should be getting back to the pharmacy before—Qiqi, wake up! Before that idiot boy I hired poisons someone with the wrong prescription.”

Thus the conversation ends and the party breaks up, but Aether’s curiosity about his husband is left more piqued than ever. What is the meaning of his companions’ sudden, tight-lipped behavior after Madame Ping’s apparent slip of the tongue. Is there some terrible secret about the Dragon King that it is taboo to speak of in this world? This occupies his mind till supper, when he sees Childe, seated in his usual place down near the end of the table. He is in company with Ms. Yun Jin, and is so engrossed in conversation with her, that he doesn’t even look up to flash the prince one of his dazzling smiles.

Ms. Yun Jin is a famous young diva, who has been performing her operas at court recently, and who the Dragon King regards very highly. Through the course of the meal, Aether’s eyes keep wandering over to the pair, who are chatting very confidentially together. At one point, he sees Childe lean close to whisper something into her ear, at which her cheeks flush pink, and she whispers back into his ear. Aether experiences his first pang of acrid, venomous jealousy.

The next morning, he comes upon the two walking in the garden, as is he passing by with his husband’s retinue, on his way to be tormented with an infrastructure meeting for the next couple of hours. They are strolling along laughing blithely, as if they haven’t a care in the world, and Childe is holding Ms. Yun Jin’s parasol over both their heads. They stop and turn to bow as the Prince Consort passes. As they do so, Aether spies the little jade cranes—the earrings Childe claimed were a gift for his sister Tonia—dangling from Ms. Yun Jin’s ears. His neck flushes hot with anger. Thus wounded, he strikes back, with the only weapon he has. He lets his eyes flicker icily over the pair as he walks past, then looks forward again without acknowledging their salutation.

From any lesser person, such a small slight would mean very little, but the Prince Consort’s refusal to acknowledge a courtier is a mark of social disgrace that may very well brand one a pariah, and make one’s life at court a misery. The young lady, of course, has no idea what she could possibly have done to incur the displeasure of the second most powerful person in Teyvat. After the retinue has passed on, she bursts into tears and runs away to her chambers, and is inconsolable by any method her companion can discover.

Aether spends the entire infrastructure meeting seething and stewing over Childe’s duplicity. He actually believed the charming Snezhnayan prince’s professions of fondness for him, and he is furious with himself for his fatuous naïveté. It’s not as if he expected Childe to spend his life pining over him, but he could have the courtesy not to flaunt his flirtations in his face. Aether can’t do anything about it without looking juvenile and petulant, though, so he will have to bear their disgusting displays of affection without remark. He is so deep in his miserable meditations, that he hardly notices when the meeting concludes and the Qixing and Feiyun envoys rise to depart.

“Give us a moment, please,” Rex Lapis says, to one of his legal secretaries, who bustles everyone else out of the conference chamber and slides the door shut behind them. When they are alone, he turns to his young husband. “My love, I would prefer, in the future, that you not demonstrate your disinterest in this nation’s affairs so plainly as you have done today.”

Aether gives a start and looks up at him, suddenly aware he’s being spoken to.

“If you do not wish to participate in the functioning of my government, you may simply tell me so,” the king continues, as Aether stands before him, trembling with astonishment and indignation at the unjust remonstrance. “I will not force you to do things that are distasteful to you.”

“Since when,” he says, just above a whisper.

Rex Lapis frowns. “I beg your pardon?”

“Since when,” Aether repeats, louder, only barely able to force his trembling voice to remain at a reasonable speaking pitch. “Since when does it matter to you what I prefer? Since when has telling you what I want helped me? I have asked you for one thing, ever, and I paid dearly for it. You are still punishing me for it.”

The king blinks, taken aback. “Punishing you? What do you mean?”

Aether wishes with everything he has that he could shut his mouth, but the dam is burst and hot words and tears flow forth uncontrollably. “You know what I mean, my lord king. Ever since I made a request to take a lover, you have been watching me like a hawk. I hardly have an unsupervised moment to myself, anymore, because I spend every single hour of the day in these tedious, horrible meetings and conferences and ceremonies. I hate it. I…I hate my life.”

There is a pause, in which the Dragon King must be considering what he has said, though his face is as serene and unreadable as ever. “I see. I am disappointed that this is the case. I had hoped to share with you the labor that is important to me. Since it makes you unhappy, I will no longer require your presence while I conduct business, except where custom dictates.”

Aether looks sullenly at the floor, dashing away tears, somehow feeling even worse than before.  

“As for your lover, my decision stands,” the king says. “The potential risks are too great, and the safety of my people must be my first priority.”

This brings all his wrath blazing back and he looks up at his husband again, suddenly fierce and defiant. “So, if I had chosen someone else, you would have allowed it?”

“By the terms of our marriage contract, you are entitled to a lover, provided I do not object,” his husband replies patiently. “It…causes me pain, that you wish to exercise this right so soon in our marriage, but I do not consider that to be sufficient criteria for objection. If you choose to take a lover who is a respectable person, and not attached to a hostile court, I will not hinder you.”

Aether is so entirely immersed in his tumultuous emotions, his jealousy over Childe and Ms. Yun Jin, and his resentment toward his husband, that he hardly hears the words. Had he known the Dragon King better, it would have occurred to him how rare and significant is his use of the word ‘pain’ in reference to himself. He hardly knows him at all, though, and so the statement passes over him without leaving any particular impression on his psyche.

When Aether returns to his apartments, he is a raw nerve, wavering between wanting to break down in tears and wanting to smash something expensive. The servant that opens the door for him informs him that there is a gentleman waiting in his drawing room. He replies that he wants no visitors and tells her to send the man away. She explains apologetically that she is afraid to do that, because the gentleman is the Snezhnayan prince.

Aether’s brow darkens. “Good. I have a few words to say to him. See to it we’re not disturbed.”

He steels himself and goes to the drawing room, where Childe is thumbing idly through an atlas, which he puts down when the prince enters. The sight of his handsome face, with his self-satisfied smirk and jaunty bow irritates Aether exceedingly.

“Presumptuous, to come to my private chambers uninvited,” he says coldly. “I assume you have a good reason.”

“You’re angry, I know,” Childe says, in a conciliatory tone. “Because of this morning. But it’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like you’re fucking Ms. Yun Jin.”

“Alright…it is what it looks like. But I can explain.”

Aether crosses his arms. “You can explain that? Oh, excellent. I am all ears.”

“My lord prince, you know my heart belongs to you,” Childe pleads. “But the king has forbidden our love. Ms. Yun Jin is a pretty trifle. Nothing to me but a friendly port in a very lonely storm.”

“If she means so little to you, why did you lie to me about the earrings?”

He squints one of his ice-blue eyes. “Earrings?”

“The jade cranes you said were for your sister. You bought them for Ms. Yun Jin.”

“The jade…oh, yes! No! They really were for Tonia. I intended to send them to her, but I got distracted with one thing and another and kept forgetting. When Ms. Yun Jin arrived, I had them to hand, and they were a convenient way to grease the wheels with her. I can get Tonia another pair, any time.”

“You gave her the earrings to get her to go to bed with you?”

“Exactly. Though, we’ve never actually done it in a bed. She lets me fuck her in the maddest places. I had her backstage before her performance the other night, bent right over her dressing table, with her skirts up around her waist. She is a wild one.”

Aether stares at him in blank astonishment, as he chuckles at the recollection, as if it is some kind of amusing joke. “I…I can’t believe this. You’re disgusting. We can’t be together, so your solution is to fuck someone else and then tell me about it? Are you insane?”

Childe looks genuinely wounded. “But my lord prince, I’ve been wasting away in longing for you. I needed some relief or I’d have leapt from the tower. Besides, it’s not as if we’re faithful to one another. You’ve been sleeping with the old dragon.”

“How dare you throw that in my face!” Aether snaps, his hazel-gold eyes sparking with anger. “You know I have no choice. He is the king and my husband.”

“You’re right, you’re right. Forgive me,” Childe corrects hastily. “I should never have said that. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about it. The image of him touching you and kissing you…taking you to his bed. It is always in my mind.”

“You think about him fucking me?”

“Yes, and it drives me mad! When I picture him pushing himself inside you, making you shake and moan with ecstasy, I want to…I want to do things to you that would get me beheaded.”

“Like what?” Aether asks, looking up at him from beneath his long eyelashes. He reaches out and slides a hand up under the open bottom placket of Childe’s coat. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

“My lord prince,” Childe says hoarsely. “Please, I beg you, do not touch me and speak to me this way. I cannot be held responsible for what I will do.”

“Do it,” Aether murmurs. His eyes are hazy and heavy-lidded, his rosy lips parted. “Whatever it is, do it. I want you to.”

He gasps as Childe takes him roughly by the hips and shoves him backward, to pin him against the wall, then leans down to speak in a sultry whisper into his ear, so he can feel his hot breath on it. “You innocent boy, you have no idea what you’re asking for. I would violate every inch of your body. Hold you down and breed you like a bitch in heat. I would fuck you till you begged for mercy, and even then I might not stop. You would do well not to tempt me.”

Aether did not even know Childe knew words this filthy, let alone how to use them to such devastating effect. His head reels like he’s intoxicated and his dick aches and strains at the fly of his trousers. His hands are moving of their own accord, unbuttoning his coat. He can do nothing to stop them.

Childe’s gloved hand catches his wrist to stay him. “My lord prince, I cannot allow you to—”

“Don’t tell me what I’m allowed to do,” Aether cuts him off, twisting out of his grasp. “I am the prince, here. I will do whatever I want to you.”

Startled (and rather excited) by the usually passive boy’s sudden assertion of authority, Childe submits, allowing the Dragon King’s husband to slide his jacket off over his shoulders, under which he wears nothing, baring his long, lean, extremely fit torso. Aether puts his hands on him, palming over the hard ridges of Childe’s chiseled abdomen, sliding them up his broad pectoral muscles and onto his shoulders.

“Suck my—suck my cock,” he pants, pushing him down.

Childe drops to his knees before him, undoes his fly, and pulls out Aether’s cock. It is circumcised, the round, ruddy head exposed, and a clear bead of fluid glistening on the slit. It’s already so hard the veins stand out rigidly on the shaft. Childe peels off his gloves, then wrapping his long fingers around the base, he laps the swollen head with a few long, slow licks.

Aether’s chest heaves and his fair skin flushes rosy pink. He has to lean on the wall to steady himself, as Childe takes him in one long, slow slide, to the back of his throat, without gagging or even hesitating. Then he stops, holding him in his mouth and swallowing around the head, gazing up at him with those ice-blue eyes.

Aether clenches his teeth against the urge to thrust, and gives a strained groan. “Do it! Do it, I can’t take it!”

Childe draws back a little and begins bobbing on his dick, deep-throating him with deliberately tantalizing slowness, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Aether grabs hold of him by his copper hair with both hands. Childe gives as much of a nod as he can, then lets his eyes roll closed as Aether thrusts hard and fast, slamming his cock into the back of his throat, over and over. He undoes his own fly and pulls out his hard dick, wringing it feverishly, while Aether fucks his mouth.

Saliva pours down Childe’s chin, to drizzle in a clear stream onto the floor. Suddenly, his throat constricts and clamps down on the head of Aether’s cock, his hips stuttering as he comes all over floor between Aether’s feet. Aether gives a strangled cry, clinging to Childe’s head as his cock convulses, pumping aching bursts of hot fluid into the back of his throat. Childe swallows it readily, then licks and sucks his spent dick to get every last drop, till Aether hisses and pulls away.

“My—my lord prince,” he puffs, as he rises to his feet, and wraps his long arms around his small body.

Aether’s heart rate and respiration have already returned to normal, but Childe’s heart is still pounding, and his bare chest is damp with perspiration. For some reason, Aether is repelled by it, though sweat has never bothered him before. He finds something distasteful in Childe’s scent, too, though he can pinpoint nothing offensive about it. He shifts uncomfortably in the embrace. “You had better get your clothes back on, before someone comes in and sees us.”

Childe releases him and refastens his fly, then stoops to collect his discarded article of clothing. “I will try to let Ms. Yun Jin down easily. It would go a long way, though, if you would say a kind word to her. She thinks she has done something to displease you, and that her career will be laid to ruin and her family impoverished and cast into the streets.”

“Impoverished?” Aether laughs. “What do you mean?”

Childe does not laugh. “Ms. Yun Jin’s rather extensive family relies solely upon the income her opera troupe brings in.”

“They’re…not nobility?”

“Not at all. The Yuns were a long line of very respectable tradesmen, but the majority of their assets were tied up in their manufacturing operations in Khaenri’ah. When it was destroyed, they were wiped out.”

All at once, the entire picture becomes clear to Aether. “Childe, have you been funding Ms. Yun Jin’s opera troupe, to help her support her family?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Childe snorts. “As if I’d do anything that philanthropic. I may have…invested some little sums of mora in it here and there, but only because I know there will be profitable returns. She is very good.”

Aether shakes his head and sighs remorsefully. “I had no idea she was in such a fragile position at court. I feel like a bastard for being cold to her this morning. Serves me right for letting infantile jealousy get the better of me.”

“Well, one can’t blame you for being a bit jealous,” Childe grins. “I am quite a hot commodity.”

“You’re a rascal and a shameless philanderer. But…I don’t want you to stop seeing her. I’m married, I’m in no position to deny you your extra-curriculars.”

“That’s very benevolent, but she is departing the day after tomorrow, anyway. She has to keep touring to keep the mora flowing in.”

“Does she?” Aether muses. “I wonder if the king would let me patronize her.”

“You want to patronize her?”

“Yes, I could commission her to write an opera, or something. Pay her a salary, plus compensation for whatever she will lose by not touring. Wealthy patrons support artists that way all the time. It’s how all the great masters earned their living. Oh, except…he and I had words this morning. I doubt he’ll be inclined to indulge me in anything, at the moment.”

“You snubbed Ms. Yun Jin, made me suck your cock, and defied the king, too? You are on fire today.”

“Well, most of it was your fault.”

“I concede that my behavior may have had a slight hand in it. But you’d better not put yourself on the hook with him. She’d probably be too proud to accept your patronage, anyway.”

“The girl who lets you fuck her backstage at her shows is too proud to take my money?”

“Yes. She only takes mine because she thinks she’s working for it.”

“Wait. She thinks your charity is you paying her like a whore?”

“Y—well…no. Not exactly. She likes to think of herself as more of a kept woman, who I support financially because I believe in her talent, and because her pussy is spectacular. Which it is.”

Aether stares at him, open-mouthed. “How are you like this? How can you be so kind and generous, and so vulgar and repulsive, all at once?”

“I am rather a conundrum, no?” Childe grins. “You know, if you fucked her, she’d probably let you patronize her, too.”

“No thank you,” Aether replies, making a distasteful face. “I don’t care how spectacular her…lady parts are, I’m not interested in them.”

Childe cocks his head curiously to one side. “Oh. Huh.”

“What is it?”

“I always assume everyone fucks both men and women, like I do. It surprises me to find someone is all for one or the other.”

“I was trained by a bunch of women to have sex with a man. You try ever being attracted to a woman when your earliest sexual experiences were in training sessions with priestesses of Eros, where they watched you and criticized your form and technique.”

“That doesn’t really explain why you’re totally off women. I was trained by the sisters, too, and I’m enthusiastically bisexual.”

“You were? Why? Were you promised to a king, too?”

“Eh…let’s just say the Tsaritsa likes to be prepared for all eventualities.”

Aether scowls. “Your Tsaritsa is the reason we can’t be lovers, you know. Because of the security risks, or whatever.”

“I know that’s what the official document said.”

“You think there was another reason?”

“Well, yes. Rex Lapis and I used to be lovers.”

Aether’s entire posture changes. His face goes ash white, and he has to grip the back of a nearby chair to steady himself. “You…you what?”

“It was hardly anything to speak of,” Childe goes on, apparently oblivious to his agitation. “When I first came to court, we fucked a few times. I’d have thought someone his age could be an adult about it, but I guess not.”

“Get out,” Aether growls, through the tears that are already rolling down his cheeks.

Childe blinks, uncertain he heard correctly. “What?”

“I said get out. Get out of my chambers! Get the fuck out!!”

“My—my lord prince, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Childe stammers, attempting to take Aether’s hand, which is jerked away. “Please, there is no reason to get hysterical. I’m sure we can talk about this, like reasonable—” 

“Xiao!”

The Yaksha appears in his whirl of black vapor, standing between Aether and Childe. His jade spear is drawn and the demon-mask he always carries at his hip is on his face.

“This man will not leave my chambers,” Aether says. “Remove him.”

The demon mask turns on Childe, who is already beating a hasty retreat. Xiao stalks after him, spear at the ready, seeing that he finds his way out, before he returns to the prince, who is sitting on the floor with his head on his knees.

The mask and spear vanish, and Xiao crouches in front of him to speak to him. “Tartaglia is a sower of strife. He has told you what occurred between my master and himself with the intention of hurting you, and to drive a wedge between you and the king.”

“You think Childe has been manipulating me?” Aether sniffles, looking up into the Yaksha’s large, grave, pale-gold eyes.

“I am certain that he has,” Xiao answers. “He is far more shrewd and dangerous than he appears, which is why my master rejected him as your proposed lover.”

“Wait, how did you know he told me? You were listening?”

“No. I predicted this exact scenario would eventually take place, based on my observation of his past conduct. When you called to me and I found you in distress, and him with you, I knew what had happened.”

“Why didn’t the king just tell me the truth in the first place? Why all the obfuscation about conflicts of interest and security risks?”

“I will not speculate regarding his reasons. I can only report what I observe for myself. His concern about the security risk is genuine. He believes that Tartaglia cannot be trusted.”

“Then why does he keep him at court?”

“For the same reason one would want to keep a pit viper where one could observe its movements, rather than allowing it to creep about out of sight.”

Aether wipes his pink-rimmed eyes with the back of his hand. “Are you—are you going to tell the king about this?”

“I am not a spy,” Xiao says fiercely. “It is not my duty to watch you for wrongdoing, nor bear tales between you and your husband. My only duty is to protect you.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ll tell him myself,” Aether says, slumping over again. “I won’t hide things from him, even if he won’t show me the same courtesy.”

“You…would risk the wrath of Rex Lapis, rather than conceal from him something that will displease him?”  

“Yes. I won’t lie to my husband. The consequences are my own concern.”

There is a barely perceptible shift in the Yaksha’s countenance, as if the young prince has risen in his estimation. “With your leave, I will remain on guard here, today, in case the Snezhnayan prince takes it into his mind to disturb you again.”

“Thank you, but I don’t mean to stay in. This palace is suffocating me. I need to get out of here for while and clear my head. Out of the city, too. Somewhere far away from all of these court people.”

“Very well,” Xiao says, rising to his feet. “I know a suitable place. I will take you there.”

Aether scrambles up too, looking at him wide-eyed. “You’ll—really?”

“Yes. But if you wish go unnoticed, you will have to conceal your identity.”

“I can do that. Absolutely. I just—give me a few minutes to get changed. Don’t leave, ok?”

Chapter Text

Tall and fair, grey-eyed and fine of feature, with long, silver-white hair that seemed imbued with the very light of creation. The Celestial ideal of masculine grace and beauty. Highly intelligent and literate, learned equally in the arts and sciences, and exceptionally gifted in all manner of combat, armed and unarmed. Proud and vain and ever distrustful, even of his closest allies, carrying with him the hereditary aggrievement of the descendants of a slighted younger brother—a lesser house, made subordinate to the royal line. Above all, dissembling and cunning, and naturally charismatic. Adept at seeming superior and making others feel inferior, and thus overcoming their will.

Of such description and character was the Prince Consort of Celestia, husband to the ruling queen. They married directly after she ascended to the throne. She adored him at first, and their marriage was happy for a few brief years, before his true nature became clear to her, and she found she had wed herself to a viper. Unfortunately for both, the prince consort truly loved his wife, in that possessive, stifling way that insecure men of venomous character are prone to. The dissolution of marriage does not exist as a concept in Celestia, and so ineffably bound, the two wore the guise of a loving and devoted royal couple, while behind closed doors their marriage was turbulent and filled with acrimony.

They shared a bed often enough, until she grew weary of his constant suspicions and jealous rages, and removed her residence to another wing of the palace. When she became pregnant, it had been too long since he had lain with her to even pretend to deceive himself that the germinating seed was his own. As the ruling queen, any child of hers would be recognized as a potential heir to the throne, regardless of the identity of the other parent, and so he was faced with a choice. He could reject the child and humiliate himself by essentially proclaiming himself cuckolded, while doing no damage to the queen or her offspring, or he could play the part of the joyous husband and father, and preserve his dignity, at least in the eye of the public. Not being a fool, he opted for the latter.

Thus decided, he went and humbled himself before the queen, and begged forgiveness for his past mistreatment of her. He brushed away any attempt to remind him of her many, many infidelities, saying it didn’t matter now. All he wanted was to be a family and be a father to her child. The queen was understandably wary of this, since he had made similar overtures when they had fallen out before, and had always gone back to his intolerable ways. During her pregnancy, however, the Prince Consort seemed to genuinely change.

He doted on her and cared for her, shouldered every tedious or onerous responsibility he could, that would lighten her burdens, walked with her in the gardens, massaged her aching limbs, read to her during the long, sleepless nights that torment even Celestial women in advanced stages of gestation, and in all ways became the calm, steadfast support she had always wanted. She could not comprehend what could have produced such a dramatic shift in his character, but never did he slip back into the old, unpleasant habits. They returned to agreeable cohabitation and shared a bed until the fatal day of her lying in.

They knew something had gone wrong soon after the contractions began. There was too much blood, they said, and whispers were made of hemorrhaging. Many anxiety-filled hours into the difficult and dangerous labor, a midwife came to prepare the husband for the worst. When he was admitted at last by the physicians, to speak his farewell, he promised her with tears in his eyes that he would love and care for the children as she would have. The queen died adoring her beautiful and devoted husband as she had when she married him, and believing that at least she left her son and daughter, and the Celestial throne in his trustworthy keeping.

Death was a momentous event in Celestia, whose inhabitants are immortal, and the news of the queen’s passing brought the nation to its knees. Seeming to disbelieve it himself, the king clasped her lifeless hands in his until they made him let her go. Then they bore her body away to the houses of the dead, to be ceremonially embalmed, and lie in state with her forbears. The midwives presented the twin infants to the grieving widower who was now their king. Aether, the boy was called by his mother, and Lumine, the girl. Their golden hair and hazel-gold eyes betrayed their true parentage to him at once. An outlander man the queen had befriended in some other realm, and invited to court. And now, he and these imp spawn of his would bear the blame for her death.

That very night, the king had the biological father of the twins arrested, and charged him with high treason and regicide. This was an absurd and wildly spurious accusation, but king’s authority was absolute. The few allowed into the privy counsel eagerly followed their king in blaming this seducing blackguard of an outlander for the death of their beloved queen. The man was quietly executed with the approval—or at least the self-preserving subservience—of the nobles involved, and all record of his existence was purged from the memory of Celestia. Thus the king was rid of his arrogant, self-important harlot of a wife, and her illicit lover.

Three days after the birth of the twins, emissaries came unbidden from Teyvat, announcing the intended visit of Rex Lapis, the Dragon King of Liyue and High King of Teyvat, to the Celestial court. Teyvat’s proud and intractable deity had been a thorn in the side of Celestia for millennia. He refused time and time again to sign a treaty to make Teyvat a tributary realm, and diplomatic relations had been at a tense standstill for ages. That he should seek audience now was so strange, that the king’s advisors counseled him to refuse. Being curious and having nothing to fear from this lesser being, the king brushed their concerns aside and bid the emissaries relay his welcome to the Dragon King. On the sixth day after the birth of the twins, the Dragon King presented himself at the Celestial court.

“Welcome, Morax of Teyvat,” the Celestial King said in greeting, from the throne. “It has been long since you set foot in this realm. For what purpose have you come?”

“I have come bearing condolences for the loss of her highness the queen, and to pay my respects to the Celestial King,” the Dragon King replied, on properly bended knee. “Also to deliver gifts and congratulations for the births of the two heirs.”

“I thank you for your sympathy,” the king said, bidding him rise and stepping down from the dais to speak with him. “The loss of the queen was a heavy blow to us all, tempered somewhat by the joy of the safe arrival of our children. But Celestia and Teyvat have not been so friendly, as of late. I did not expect to see you here.”

“Indeed, my lord king. For that purpose also, have I come,” Morax said. “It is my hope that we may resolve our past differences, and an alliance be made between our worlds.”

The king raised his eyebrows in real surprise. “It gladdens me to hear that your heart has changed in this matter, but…how is it you have come to see reason at long last?”

“One may dispute with one’s brother, and yet stand with him to defend the household from the ravening beasts outside. The realms of light are become islands in a sea of darkness. Agents of the Abyss grow bolder with each passing day. Survival lies in solidarity.”

“Well said,” the king replied, then fell silent, appearing to consider this for a time.

In truth, Teyvat was a jewel he and his wife had long coveted, and the humbling of the wild and willful Dragon King made it a proposition too tempting to refuse. Offered what he so desired, however, he must not appear to agree too readily, lest he tip his hand and lose the pot.

“Tell me, how would you propose to forge such an alliance, cousin?” the king inquired at last, using the familiar term of address Celestial royalty use for peers, not relations, which this Teyvatan creature certainly was not.

“I have never been wed,” the Dragon King answered. “Grant me the hand of one of the heirs to the Celestial throne.”

Another gift, cast at the feet of the king. To rid himself of one of the offspring of his wife’s lover, both more legitimate claimants to the throne than he, who held it only in their stead. This one would be harder to grasp, however, since the girl would never be allowed by custom to be married away to a foreign king.

“The royal heirs have not lived a week in this world,” he said, playing for time to think. “Would you take an infant for a bride?”

“No, my lord king. If I recall correctly, one-hundred and twenty years marks the coming of age of Celestial youth. This length of time is nothing to me. I will abide the proper season and await their coming of age.”

“Hm. Your offer seems fair enough, cousin, but…one of the twins is a boy. If I were to give you the princess for your bride, the royal house would be deprived of its matriarch, and lose its ability to produce heirs of the blood, in line unbroken from mother to daughter. That cannot be.”

“I am eternal and require no heirs,” Morax replied unperturbedly. “I seek only a royal marriage, by which to formalize Teyvat’s alliance with Celestia. Give me the prince, and both wants are addressed.”

“You will make the boy your wedded consort, and thus never have a queen? The ways of Teyvat are strange, indeed,” the king laughed. To Celestial thinking, any realm without at least one woman on the throne, or on her way to it, appeared barbaric and unsophisticated. “If that is what you wish, then so be it. Let us discuss this further in my chambers. If we can arrive at terms agreeable to all parties, you may take him, with my blessing. Seneschal, call for the lawyers!”

These negotiations proceeded astonishingly smoothly. The Celestial King wanted nothing so much as to rid himself of the prince and to take Teyvat as a tributary realm in one fell swoop. The Dragon King’s terms for the alliance were simple and straightforward, desiring only the usual oaths of protection and support, without stipulating regarding the opening of trade or travel between the realms (Teyvatan humans were mortal and could not traverse the realms, anyway). The Celestial King was also granted an annual tribute, equal to whatever percentage the lawyers specified of the gross product of Liyue’s six tributary nations, which would be a sum trivial below consideration to Celestia, but symbolically necessary for the alliance.

His terms for the marriage were even simpler. The contract named the time of the prince’s delivery to the Jade Palace in Teyvat, the (customary and exorbitant) compensation Celestia would render to him, should the prince perish before then, and the usual promises that the boy be previously unwed and of sound mind, and thus legally able to sign a marriage contract.

He made no stipulation regarding the boy’s virginity, and when asked by the matrimonial lawyers how the prince should be educated to best please him, he refused to have any opinion at all, stating his certainty that Celestia’s traditional methods for rearing and educating its royal children needed no input from him. The Celestial King made it a little jest to himself that he would have the boy raised the way royal girl children were raised, but he knew better than to speak such a jovial thing aloud, in the company of a man he had never once heard laugh, nor even seen smile.

Morax flatly refused to meet the prince, saying he had no desire to observe his future husband as an infant, and when all was concluded and the contracts sealed and signed, the ceremony was prepared that would make Teyvat a subject realm under Celestia’s beneficent aegis. The king was already in high spirits from this windfall of good fortune, and when the haughty and austere Morax swore the oath of fealty, and bowed to kiss the ring, it was one of the happiest moments of his life. More so than his wedding day, by far.

That took care of the boy. As for the girl…the girl could be controlled. He would raise her to submission and obedience, unlike her headstrong mother. Since she was no blood relation to him, once she came of age, he would wed her himself and rule from behind the throne. A much simpler prospect with her brother safely off with the old dragon in Teyvat, rather than hanging around Celestia complicating things. One-hundred and twenty short years, and his problems would all be solved. Or so he believed.

“I see it,” Aether says, as they come to the crest of a hill. “That’s it, right? The giant tree with the house in it?”

“That is a stone tower, not a giant tree. The tree grows atop the pillar, where the inn is situated,” Xiao answers. “From there we will have a clear view of the land, from the sea to the Stone Gate, which marks the border between Liyue and Mondstadt.”

“It sounds like a beautiful view. I can’t wait to get up there and see it.”

“If you are in such haste, I recommend that we use the beacons. The walk on foot will be another two hours.”

“What? No—it’s just a figure of speech, Xiao. I don’t want to teleport any further, anyway. Stretching my legs was half the point of this excursion.”

“You have many figures of speech that are unfamiliar to me,” Xiao says dourly.

“That’s because I haven’t learned the Liyue ones yet. Wow this bridge is really broken down. It looks dangerous.”

“It has not been used by humans for decades. Detritus such as this attracts monsters, and yet humans abandon their structures frequently, and leave them lying derelict all over the land. Then they wonder why the monsters come.”

“Repair and cleanup of old structures…” Aether mutters.

Xiao looks at him. “Why are you speaking quietly to yourself that way?”

“Hm? Oh, I repeat things aloud that I want to remember.”

“Why do you want to remember that thing.”

“I’ve wanted to start some of my own projects, since I arrived here. Since the king isn’t making me go to all those stupid meetings anymore, I’ll have time to do things like that. Cleanup and repair of old human structures seems like a good start.”

Xiao looks doubtful. “You intend to employ your time in dismantling old bridges and huts, and carrying away the rotten lumber?”

“Of course not,” Aether laughs. “I would survey an area, assess what needed to be done, then I would hire people to do the manual labor. Things like that create jobs and improve the land at the same time.”

“You would hire people? Would you ask the king to pay them?”

“No, I’d pay them from my own pocket. My father sent me here with my half of my sister’s and my inheritance from our mother, which, in his words, is more than enough to purchase the whole of Teyvat outright. I just don’t really have anything to do with it yet. The king provides everything I need in the palace and since I don’t have my own lands or estates here, I don’t have maintenance costs or staff to pay. I’ve never even touched my royal allowance.”

Xiao stops suddenly and stands on alert, growling like a wolf in the back of his throat. They have almost come to the marshlands, and the dirt road on which they are now walking zig zags through a lot of low hills and shallow dips in the land, which prevents one seeing around the next bend in the path.

“What is it?” Aether asks, laying a hand on his sword hilt.

Xiao points to the northeast. “Hilichurls. They are common in this area but these are many and very near the road.”

“That might mean they’re attacking someone. We have to intervene.”

“My duty is to protect you, above all, not to place you in danger by—”

“I’m not gonna let someone die while we argue about it! Come on!” Aether interrupts, already dashing away in the direction Xiao indicated.

As he rounds the bend, he spies the group of goblin-like monsters, a little way down the road, in which lies what looks to be the wreckage of a wagon. There are at least thirty of the things, and they are gathered in a semi-circular cluster, facing what appears to be a large, decorative lamp. As Xiao and Aether approach, the lamp turns toward them. Aether realizes it’s a boy, in a bizarre, wide-brimmed, black and red hat, with gold ornamentation on top and veils hanging from the back. At the same moment, the monsters spot them. With a cacophony of enraged shrieks and snarls, they turn from the boy in the hat and charge at the newcomers.

Xiao is in the act of flying to meet them, when what can only be described as a huge barrel made of stone erupts into existence in the center of the monster horde. Some are thrown away from the road, some are knocked sprawling to the ground, and others collide with them, causing general confusion and chaos. Aether leaps onto the barrel and vaults over it, plunging into the fray. A wave of them pile on him from behind and he goes down. Xiao hasn’t taken two steps toward him, before a sudden shockwave, like an explosive blast of wind, sends them hurtling backward through the air, to land on the hard-packed dirt with cracking thuds, ten feet away.

All this happens in a split second, and Aether is already on his feet again, facing down the ones in front of him. He swings his bright sword in a deadly arc, throwing crackling purple bolts of energy, that stun and incapacitate the ones they strike, before he whirls into their midst, severing limbs and heads, in his bloodthirsty dance. Having no time to pause and process what is happening, Xiao is already darting about, thrashing and skewering the ones that survived the wind blast, and have been trying to sneak away.

There is a wet burst of crimson blood, which pours in a gout down a hilichurl’s leathery, dark-grey hide, and spatters Aether’s traveling clothing, as his gleaming blade slips up behind the bottom of its bone mask into the soft, vulnerable throat below the jaw. He yanks it out and the thing crumples to the ground. For a moment, there is no sound but the rushing and gurgling of a nearby stream, as Aether stands panting, surveying the heaps of creatures, lying dead and mangled, in a mire of their own blood.

“Are you alright?” he calls out, hurrying over to the boy, whose face is partially obscured beneath the brim of his wide, round hat, with its bizarre charms and transparent veils. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“No, no, I’m quite alright,” the boy answers, in an older-sounding voice than Aether expected for someone so small. “Thank you so much for intervening. That was very impressive fighting. Are you someone special?”

“I’m just a traveler passing through,” Aether deflects. “Your clothes are interesting. I’ve not seen anyone in Liyue dressed this way before.”

“You wouldn’t have. I’m a traveler as well. A vagrant from Inazuma.”

Aether notices, leaning against a boulder a few feet away, a black shamisen with crimson ornamentation, which is a stringed instrument that looks like a small, square banjo, and hails from Inazuma.

“Oh, are you a wandering bard, like Venti?” he asks, in Inazuman, which he speaks as fluently as he does all the languages of Teyvat.

“I wouldn’t presume to compare myself to the greatest bard of all time,” the self-styled vagrant laughs, switching to Inazuman as well. “I do my best, though. Are you traveling with that boy?”

“Yes, I am. We were walking to the Wangshu Inn together.”

“Ah, I’m headed there myself. I hear it’s the best place around here for itinerant musicians to make a few mora.”

“You should join us,” Aether offers. “It’ll be safer than going on your own.”

“Thank you, fellow traveler,” the boy bows. “I’d be grateful for the companionship. One moment.”

He goes over to collect his instrument and a small, black, leather pouch with a short strap, which he attaches to his belt. Aether finds it odd that a professed vagrant would carry so little gear, and even more so that a musician would carry his instrument about this humid, rain-prone land, without a case or covering. Also, his black and red clothing, with its gaudy purple and gold ornamentation, is immaculate, and not at all travel stained, or even rumpled.

“Ready,” he says, as he returns to Aether. “Oh, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“Khonsu,” Aether says, with a bow.

The hat tilts slightly to one side, and Aether can see a smile curling the corners of his pale lips. “In that case, you may call me Sanxian. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Khonsu.”

The boy pushes the hat back to look up at him, finally exposing all of his face. Aether blinks, taken aback by his eerily exquisite beauty. He is young, but this isn’t the soft beauty of a youth. There is something sharp and hard about him, like an ice crystal or a glass figurine. His skin is flawless alabaster, and his glossy, blue-black hair is cut in a strangely jagged fashion, with shaggy bangs hanging over his eyebrows. His large eyes are a shade of violet-blue Aether has never seen before, and framed with long, sooty-black lashes. They have a distant, haunted look, despite the affable smile on his face, which doesn’t appear to touch them.

“Is there something wrong?” Sanxian asks.

“Oh no, it’s just—your face surprised me,” Aether answers honestly. “You’re really beautiful.”

“I’d say you’re flattering me, but that was too clumsy to be a premeditated compliment,” he says, laughing again. “Does your companion have a name?”

“I am called Xiao,” the Yaksha replies curtly, also in Inazuman. “The sun is low. Let’s move.”

Xiao sets out briskly down the path toward the inn, followed by Aether and Sanxian the wandering bard. Soon, the landscape becomes more domesticated, with fences and small wood houses, and the stands of roadside trinket and produce sellers, hoping to hawk goods to travelers. At the northern end of the Guili plains, they come to a watchtower, and a bridge guarded by millelith soldiers with long halberds. The two tall, armor-clad men bow low to Xiao, and let him and his companions pass without a word. If Sanxian notices this, he makes no remark.

When they reach the base of the bulbous stone tower, they traverse a platform to a creaking, groaning wooden lift, that strikes Aether as wildly unsafe, as it carries them bumping and swaying up into the sky above the Guili Plains on this side, and the Dihua Marsh to the north. Inside the inn, there are more flights of winding stairs, till finally, they reach what appears to be a lobby and reception desk.

“If you wish to play your instrument here, you must obtain permission from Verr Goldet,” Xiao says to the bard, indicating to the woman at the counter. “Please, excuse us for a moment.”

With that, he takes Aether by the arm and leads him up another two flights of stairs, down a hallway full of doors. He stops at the end of the hall, produces a key, and opens the door.

“What’s going on?” Aether asks, following him inside. “Why do you have a key to a room here?”

The single-chamber room is high-ceilinged and spacious, but contains almost nothing. There is not even a futon. A pile of colorful, hand-woven rag-mats lies near the massive windows, which Aether guesses may be a sort of bed. There is a small table and a battered wooden stool, and a fireplace with a stone hearth, before which a few books and scrolls are scattered around, as if the inhabitant had been sitting there reading by firelight.

“This is my room,” Xiao explains, as he lights a single candle in a jade drip tray, and sets it on the table.

“You live at the Wangshu Inn?” Aether asks, surprised.

“As much as I live anywhere. I require no personal space,” he says shortly. He steps close to Aether, looking probingly into his face with his keen, pale-gold eyes. Aether had thought they were the same height, but the Yaksha is actually about two inches taller than him. “Tell me how you commanded three separate elements, when we fought the hilichurls.”

“How I, uh…the same way I always do?” Aether replies, perplexed by this question, about a natural reflexive ability of his. Xiao may as well have asked him how he breathes or his heart beats.

“Even vision-holders among humans and adepti cannot control more than one element. You have no vision, and yet you command several at once. How is this possible?”

Aether recalls a brief footnote about humans of this world in one of his textbooks, stating that very few can harness elemental energy, and those who are able are only so enabled by special permission from Celestia. The sigil of this permission is called a vision.

“I’m not human, Xiao,” he reminds his bodyguard. “I’m Celestial. I don’t mean to sound high-handed, but that’s where visions come from. I don’t need one to command the elements. I can just do it.”

Xiao’s fierce expression softens and he takes a step back, looking chastened. “Forgive me, my lord prince. You seem so like a human to me, that I forget…forgive me.”

“Well, I’m not angry, so there’s nothing to forgive. Are you alright? You’re acting strange.”

“I failed to protect you,” Xiao says, turning away, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides.

“You what? What are you talking about?”

“You went flying needlessly into danger, because I failed to stop you.”

“I don’t think a few hilichurls really counts as danger. Besides, we obliterated them.”

“It is my duty to place my life between yours and peril!” Xiao snaps, turning on him angrily. “I cannot do that if you will hurl yourself recklessly at detachments of armed enemies, who far outnumber you! You fell, and I thought you—I thought…”

He breaks off and turns away again, taking deep, meditative breaths, as if to get his wrath under control.

“I’m sorry,” Aether says. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. I’ve been trained to combat since childhood, and that’s on top of a lot of real-life experience. I’m twenty times stronger than a human being from this world and I have power over the elements. Hilichurls are just not that scary to me. But, look…if there’s something seriously dangerous, I won’t go running headfirst into it, ok? I promise.”

Xiao doesn’t answer. His chest is still heaving with deep breaths, but they seem to have grown faster and more ragged. His fists are clenched again and his white shoulders tremble.

“Xiao?” Aether says, alarmed. “Are you ok?”

He reaches out and lays a hand on Xiao’s shoulder. The Yaksha gives a jolt and jumps back as if a serpent has struck at him. “Do not touch me!”

Aether backs away a step, staring at him in horror. He is stooped over, clutching his midsection, and his face is ash white. From his entire body, a thick, black vapor has begun rising in whirling eddies, like heavy smoke from a censer.

“Get out of here!” he snarls, between gasping breaths. “Get away! Before it corrupts you!”

With a hoarse cry, he collapses onto the floor, his slight body seizing and racking with agony. Aether stands frozen, aching with grief and fear for his friend. This black miasma of karmic filth can be purified by a Celestial practiced in that art, but he has never tried it before. What if it’s too much and he winds up poisoned, himself? More importantly, what if he hurts Xiao? Celestial power is as dangerous to earth creatures as abyssal, if not carefully regulated.

He looks down at his faithful protector, who is suffering and helpless. His pale-gold eyes are half open, staring into oblivion, and a slick of cold sweat has broken out on his grey skin. Ever so often, he flinches and groans, as if he’s been struck. There is no choice, here. Aether will do what he must to help him. Peeling off his gloves, he kneels beside him. When Aether swats away his weak attempts to throw him off,  Xiao thrashes and twists, so Aether straddles him and sits on his hips, pinning his arms down with his knees.

No match for Aether’s strength in this condition, Xiao gives up struggling and lies there murmuring incoherently, rolling his head from side to side. Aether pulls up his thin, white tunic and lays his bare hands on his ribcage, then closes his eyes and begins to whisper an incantation in his own language. After a moment, white light begins to glow beneath his palms. All at once, the black miasma rushes out of Xiao’s body in a single flood, and rises to hang over the two like a canopy of death.

Forcing himself to look up at it, Aether takes his hands off Xiao and raises them. The white light flares, illuminating the room like a small sun, growing steadily hotter and brighter, till it has consumed and burned away all the evil poison. Then all at once it goes out, plunging the room into the normal indigo-darkness of early evening, and the wavering light of the single candle. Aether’s eyes roll back in his head and he collapses, unconscious, on top of his unconscious Yaksha bodyguard.

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself standing in a broad field of silver grass, in the Twilight Plains of his home world. The sky is clear and black, and there are no visible stars, due to Celestia’s inherent illumination. His breath freezes in the crisp air, leaving behind plumes of white vapor, as he walks along. The night flowers are open, and their soft lights dot the silver plains all over, like a carpet of illuminated gems, in hundreds of colors. To his left, whispering trees reach out and upward toward the heavens with limbs composed of light, rustling and shivering their silvery leaves, which speak whispers of rest and calm into the soul.

He strolls down the neatly manicured path of pearl gravel, past the illuminated grove, to a little hillock, below which lies an astral pool—still, glassy water, the surface of which appears to reflect the myriad stars that are not visible in the Celestial sky, but reflects no other image placed before it. He had thought to meet Lumine here, but standing at the edge of the pool, gazing into it, is a man. He is tall and slender, but broad shouldered and well built, and wears a long, hooded, white garment, over billowy black trousers. His arms are black as night, bearing golden lines in geometric patterns, and his hands glow like molten metal in a crucible.

He turns around and casts back his hood, revealing his shaggy, amber-tipped black hair, from which two forked horns arch back over the crown of his head. They are the same glowing gold as his hands, and curved at all four ends. As Aether approaches, the man observes him with eyes that are illuminated with brilliant, golden fire. His face is beautiful and ageless, as always, but somehow Aether knows it’s much younger than the face he is accustomed to seeing. More malleable and expressive, less hardened by the passage of millennia.

“Who are you?” he asks, in his low, sonorous voice.

“I am Aether, of Celestia,” Aether answers.

“How have you brought me here, Aether of Celestia?”

“I don’t know. I think this is a dream.”

“I do not sleep.”

“I meant that it’s my dream.”

“Is that so,” the man laughs. It is a warm, natural, musical sound, that pierces Aether’s heart like a knife. “In that case, you have dreamed of me. Why? What am I, to you?”

“Tell me your name, and I’ll tell you.”

“I am not such a fool as to give you my right name. You are clearly some manner of sorcerer.”

“You’re…Morax, aren’t you.”

“Ah, so you do know who I am, after all. Then you must have summoned me for a purpose.”

Aether swallows hard. “Maybe I—maybe I heard of you and wanted to see you for myself.”

“Now that you have seen me, is your curiosity satisfied, Celestial? Or do you wish to touch me, too,” Morax says, spreading his arms wide, as if displaying himself for perusal. There is a warning edge in his voice that belies his bantering tone, and makes Aether’s hands tremble.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to bring you here. I just…wait a minute.” He pauses, frowning thoughtfully. “You’re in my dream. I’m not afraid of you. And no, I don’t want to touch you, so you can stop being dramatic.”

Morax drops his arms to his sides, so openly caught off guard by this response, that Aether laughs aloud.

“You are bold, sorcerer. There are not many who would dare speak thus to the God of War, and even fewer who would laugh in my face.”

“I’m not a sorcerer,” Aether retorts. “And I laughed because what you did was cute. Not to ridicule you, or anything.”

“Cute?” Morax repeats indignantly, the fire blazing up in his eyes as his black brow lowers. “I will not be called cute by some magical child. If you are a child, at all.”

So saying, he crosses the distance between them in two strides and grabs Aether by the front of his tunic. Pulling him roughly against his body, he takes his jaw in hand and inspects his face closely.

“I have heard that shifters of shape return to their true forms in death. Perhaps I will rip out your throat and see what you are.”

He bares his long fangs and leans close to Aether’s neck. Aether can feel his hot breath on his skin, just as if he’s really here with him. His husband’s familiar, aromatic scent washes over him, and half unconsciously, he tilts his head back further, to expose more of his neck to the dragon. To his manifest disappointment, Morax draws back to look into his face.

“You are truly not afraid of me.”

“I told you I wasn’t. Weren’t you going to bite me?”

His black eyebrows go up. “You…want me to bite you?”

“Yes,” Aether nods, throwing his arms around his imaginary, much younger, very handsome husband’s neck, as he would never dare do to his real husband. “Come on, bite me. Do it.”

Morax pulls away and steps back, crossing his arms. “Well, now I don’t want to.”

“Oh, suddenly you don’t want to, just because I said I wanted you to?”

“No. I simply changed my mind.”

“Pfft. I bet you weren’t even going to.”

“You do not know what is in my mind, do not tell me what I was or was not going to do,” Morax rejoins, at which Aether bursts out laughing again. Morax gazes at him curiously, but does not appear to take offense this time. “Why do you laugh this way, Aether of Celestia?”

Aether opens his mouth to answer, but suddenly the world around him goes hazy and dim, as if a veil of grey mist has been drawn over his eyes. He hears Morax’s voice calling out to him, tiny and far away, as if he’s hearing him from deep underwater. Gradually, as if emerging slowly from that deep dive, he comes back to consciousness. He hears a heartbeat. His head is lying on someone’s chest and there are arms wrapped around him. As the fog of sleep clears from his mind, he realizes he’s in Adeptus Xiao’s room at the Wangshu Inn.

“You are awake,” Xiao’s voice says, at that same moment.

Aether scrambles to get off him and push himself up to a sitting position. “I’m so sorry. I must’ve passed out after I purified your karmic debt.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Xiao says, sitting up as well, but not meeting his gaze. “I should beg your pardon for letting you see me in such a disgraceful state.”

“Oh, it worked! You’re not in pain!” Aether exclaims. “Wait, what disgraceful state?”

Xiao’s eyes stay fixed on the floor. “It is my duty to protect you. It is not yours to relieve my suffering, nor to care for me like a nursemaid. I am deeply ashamed to have let my curse affect you.”

“Xiao, please don’t talk like this. Friends do that kind of thing for—”

“We are not friends,” he cuts him off. “I am a weapon. Nothing more.”

“Weapons don’t have rooms at inns and like to read books. Weapons don’t get worried about their friends when they think they’re in danger. And weapons don’t lecture those friends about being reckless.”

Xiao says nothing to this, but crosses his arms and gives an annoyed sigh.

“Hey, how long have I been asleep?” Aether asks. “We just left Sanxian standing there in the lobby.”

“Less than one hour. We should speak of him, before we go back down. I do not trust him.”

“Neither do I. Nothing about his story adds up. He speaks Inazuman and his clothes are Inazuman, but he says he’s a vagrant, and has no gear.”

“And no case for his instrument.”

“Exactly. Also, that name, Sanxian, that’s not a proper name. It’s just the Inazuman word for a shamisen player.”

“There is something else. The karmic debt tells heavily upon me only when I have had a confrontation with very strong evil creatures. Hilichurls are not even evil. They are simply aggressive, stupid beasts. I have never felt the curse after dealing with them. If they were being controlled by some malevolent power, however, that would explain the fit.”

“You think Sanxian was controlling them with some kind of evil power? But we saw them attacking him.”

“Did we? We saw them gathered around him. But they were alerted to us before we could assess the situation further. Also, when they turned on us, they all did, as one. None stayed back to deal with the person they already had in hand. That is extremely unlike them.”

“But what would a sorcerer want with hilichurls?”

“Their minds are weak. Easily overridden by a superior will. Abyss Mages enthrall and use groups of them to attack and harass humans very frequently. Perhaps he is simply a pot-stirrer, looking to cause havoc.”

“I guess we’ll find out. Want to do good-cop bad-cop?”

“I do not understand what any of those words mean.”

“It’s a thing I picked up on one of the worlds I visited. I was just joking, anyway. Something tells me he wouldn’t fall for such a ham-fisted ploy.”

“Talk to him affably, listen to what he says, and do not press him, lest he become suspicious.”

“Got it. Let’s do this.”

The two go out onto a broad, round balcony, with spectacular views of the surrounding land, that Xiao says is where Sanxian would be playing if Verr Goldet agreed to let him, but there is no sign of him. As they are coming down the stairs, she hails them from the reception desk.

“Adeptus Xiao, there you are,” she says. “The young gentleman who came in with you left this for you, sir.”

“Where is he, now?” Xiao asks, accepting the sealed envelope she is holding out to him.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t ask. He said he had to go and asked for paper and a pen to leave you a note. I gave them to him, since I saw him with you.”

“When did he leave?”

“Forty-five minutes ago, or so? Right after you two went upstairs.”

“Thank you, Verr Goldet,” Xiao bows.

They step away from the desk and he opens the envelope, then holds up the note, so he and Aether can both read it. It reads as follows.

Dear Adeptus Xiao and Prince Aether of Celestia,

 

Sorry to leave you hanging, but I have urgent business elsewhere. No rest for the wicked, as they say. Good work fighting those hilichurls I riled up. There’s no telling what would have happened to the people in Dihua marsh, if you hadn’t arrived when you did. I would’ve liked to play a song for you before we parted company, but no matter. We’ll meet again, sooner or later. Until then, I hope you’ll be looking forward to it as much as I am.

 

Yours truly,

Scaramouche, the Balladeer

Chapter Text

Yashiro Commissioner and Kamisato Clan Patriarch Kamisato Ayato is reportedly the most powerful man in Inazuma. ‘Man’ is an important qualifying term when people say this, because the most powerful person in Inazuma is Her Most High Excellency the Raiden Shogun. Kamisato Ayato is second only to her. He is a tall, slender, graceful young man, renowned for his beauty, as much as his diplomatic acumen. People are fond of saying, in fact, that he is so beautiful his face must have been intended by fate for a woman, and given to him by mistake. He has even been rumored to have men falling in love with him who only ever took female lovers before.

Temperamentally, he is friendly and gentle, always smiling and frequently laughing, and is almost universally loved for his kindhearted and generous nature. Even his political enemies can think of nothing more damaging to say of Kamisato Ayato than that he is a wolf of a negotiator in sheep’s clothing, and to watch yourself when you come to the table with him, because you will wind up giving him whatever he wants, without realizing it till the contracts are signed. None of them seem to feel particularly slighted by any of the agreements he has cajoled them into, but they are all annoyed that they were taken in so easily.

The increasing tension and simmering acrimony in Inazuma is coming to a head, and the nation is on brink of civil war. A faction from Watatsumi Island, headed by the separatist monarch Sangonomiya Kokomi, have been refusing to surrender their sovereignty and accept shogunate rule. Both parties have appealed to the Dragon King for intervention, and he has agreed to hear the arguments, which is exceedingly rare. Queen Kokomi has come, but the Raiden Shogun is a military leader and a warlord, and would likely do more harm than good to her own cause by appearing in person for such a negotiation. In her stead, the shogunate has sent the Yashiro Commissioner.

This being a high-profile diplomatic occasion, management of the hospitality for the visiting dignitaries has been placed in the charge of Prince Aether. He has done everything he can to make them at home here, including having their suites of rooms filled with furniture and décor from their homelands, and making sure every member of their retinues has been assigned appropriate lodging and has access to the palace conveniences.

When the guests arrived, Aether saw that Commissioner Kamisato was attended by a tall, very good-looking young man, with strawberry blonde hair and brilliant green eyes. When he asked why the young gentleman had not been assigned a seat at the table for supper, the hospitality coordinator seemed confused, and told him that no servants sit at the king’s supper table. According to the guest manifest, he is called Thoma, with no surname given, and is listed a household steward of the Kamisato Clan. Aether had thought from his clothing and bearing that he was another young nobleman. He is a little disappointed, as something about this boy piqued his curiosity, but he doesn’t have time to think much about it.

For the guests’ first supper in the Jade Palace, the prince has instructed the kitchen to prepare a menu of Inazuman favorites, that he has selected to honor the visitors’ cultures, as well as a few dishes unique to Liyue, to show that the king wishes to share the good things of his own culture with them (despite the fact that he will not be present at the meal). Aether is a bundle of nerves until everyone is seated, and the beautifully prepared dishes begin to come out, to the manifest delight of all present.

In accordance with the traditions of rank and privilege, he has seated Queen Kokomi on his right, and Lord Kamisato on his left. Aether has a pleasant, if mundane, conversation with the teenaged sovereign and the young patriarch, carefully avoiding any potential delicate issues and keeping the subjects light, and mostly focused on Liyue’s local holidays and points of interest. Supper is a smashing success, as far as stiff, formal, diplomatic suppers go, but he is deeply relieved when it is over.

After supper, he has left an hour open for leisure, after which the guests are to be treated to a special performance by Ms. Yun Jin, the famous diva from Liyue, whose opera troupe is currently in residence at the Jade Palace, under the prince consort’s patronage. Being ill-accustomed to Liyue’s high elevation, and the Jade Palace’s even higher elevation above that, Queen Kokomi is sorely fatigued, and retires to spend her hour after supper resting, leaving Aether to entertain the Yashiro Commissioner on his own.

“How are you enjoying Liyue, Lord Kamisato?” Aether asks, as they stroll through the garden.

“Ah, the same as I ever do,” Lord Kamisato replies, lifting his head to breathe deeply in the balmy breeze. “Liyue never changes. That’s part of its charm. Did you know that the scent of the sea air is different here, than in Inazuma?”

“Is it really?” Aether asks, genuinely interested. “Why?”

Lord Kamisato smiles down at him. “If you like, I could bore you with a detailed explanation of the warm and cold water currents, where they meet and how they interact, how that impacts air pressure and precipitation, and how that, combined with the type and abundance of marine flora and the mineral content of the local soil, produce the scent we think of as sea air, thus gradually working around to why it should be different in my home and yours. Or I can just say ‘it’s the climate’ and we can both nod and feel very wise.”

“Well, if I didn’t know you were mocking my credulous curiosity, I’d have chosen the long explanation,” Aether returns, arching a blonde eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll command you to tell me, just to punish you for making the prince consort the subject of fun.”

Lord Kamisato’s musical laugh rings out like a clear bell in the serene garden, distinct from and yet somehow seeming to fit in with the natural outdoor sounds. “I shall have to watch myself with you, my lord prince. No one warned me you were the Dragon King’s secret weapon.”

“If anyone had, I wouldn’t be much of a secret weapon, would I,” Aether ripostes.

“I suppose not. But I do hope you don’t really think I meant to mock your curiosity. I have a defensive habit of mocking my own interest in such things. I think it’s guilt over having devoted countless hours of my life, in which I should have been working or studying, to investigating whatever little thing captured my interest at the moment.”

“And marine meteorology is one of those things?”

“It is, indeed. But much of my understanding of the sea has more to do with my hydro vision than than anything I could find written in books. Manipulating an element requires one to know it deeply, inside and out. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, though. You’re Celestial. You can resonate with all the elements.”

“Technically. Water is actually the element I’ve always had trouble with. I don’t think I understand it at all.”

“The cistern contains, the fountain overflows,” Kamisato replies, making an outward flowing gesture with his gloved hands. “You must tap into the cistern and allow the fountain to overflow, knowing always that you are only a pebble in the stream, able to direct the path of a tiny fraction of its current.”

“That’s very Zen, Lord Kamisato.”

“Ayato, please. I am quite envious of your multi-element ability, by the way. I’ve always wanted a cryo vision to complement the hydro. It would be terribly convenient as far as cold beverages are concerned.”

Aether blinks up at him. “You…want to use multi elemental control to make cold beverages?”

“Oh yes, can you imagine having immediately available ice chips all the time?” Ayato replies, with real energy. “You could drink everything cold.”

“But can’t a cryo user just freeze the beverage? Then you don’t need the hydro.”

“First of all, a clean, potable water source isn’t always near to hand. And some beverages don’t respond well to direct freezing. Say, for instance, you had milk tea that you wished to cool down. Rather than just freezing some of it with cryo, which would separate and curdle the milk, you could draw clean condensation from the air with hydro, use cryo to freeze that, and then plunk the ice right into your glass.”

“Something tells me this is one of those subjects that captured your interest, and you’ve devoted hours of thought to.”

Ayato tosses his pale-blue hair. “If you’d ever been in Inazuma during the summer, and had a perfectly good cup of iced milk tea go melty and warm while you were in a meeting, you’d have devoted hours of thought to it as well, my lord prince.”

“I’m sorry, but what is milk tea? Is it exactly what it sounds like?”

“Yes. By which I mean no. It is composed of milk and tea. Also a few other things…you know what, I’ll just have Thoma make it for you. If it would please my lord the prince, that is. I don’t mean to assume. It appears I’ve let my passion for milk tea carry me away again.”

Aether looks up at him, gazing intently into his silver-blue eyes. “Are you really like this, or is this a façade you put on to disarm your opponent, and get them to underestimate you.”

“It’s both,” Ayato answers cheerfully. “The best disguise is a self-portrait, after all. What is your disguise, I wonder.”

“Well, people from this world tend to take me for a teenager. That gets me pretty far as regards being underestimated. And I guess it is a self-portrait, in that I do feel very young. I’ve lived as many years as the usual human life span already, but I’ve just come of age by the standards of my world.”

“And in all those years, I assume that you’ve been devoting your energy to growing wiser, rather than taller?”

Aether blinks at him, in open-mouthed astonishment, then bursts out laughing. “You are extremely bold, Ayato. That was quite a risky throw of the die.”

“High risk, high reward,” Ayato replies sagely. “Making a joke like that is intended to assume a level of intimacy we haven’t established yet, and to show you I’m not afraid of you, despite your astronomical rank in relation to my own. I’ve intentionally breached a serious social taboo in order to invite you closer, and made it so clear that neither of us can pretend it didn’t happen, so there’s nothing left to do but hope it works. If it doesn’t work, I offend you and probably your husband, and at best, things go very poorly for me in this vital negotiation. At worst, the Dragon King sends me back to Inazuma in several separate shipments. If it does work, though, and you find it charming, rather than offensive, I have successfully bypassed several levels of complicated social formalities, and moved that many steps closer to taking you to bed.”

Aether looks thoughtful. “I see. Although, by pretending to explain the concept of flirting to me, you’ve kept yourself pretty safely ensconced in harmless banter territory.”

“Well, of course I have,” Ayato smiles. “The mainstay of diplomacy lies in the art of appearing to give more than you really are into the transaction.”

Ayato’s manner is so frank and unaffected, that Aether doesn’t think he’d have taken a flirtatious advance from him poorly, even if it had been earnest. He half wishes that this beautiful, charming man would ask him to go to bed with him, though he knows they are only engaging in the lively raillery between new friends, who have already begun to like one another. At that moment, he spots Childe a little distance away, walking with some young, female courtiers.

“What’s wrong, my lord prince?” Ayato asks, observing his sudden change of expression, and following his glance. “Has Prince Ajax upset you?”

“We were friends. We’re not, now,” Aether answers, unable to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

“He hurt you.”

“He did.”

“The black-hearted cur. If these were the less civilized days of centuries past, I’d offer to duel him for you. Although…I’ve just had a thought. How would you like to have a bit of nonviolent revenge?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, to be frank, I had observed him casting doleful glances at you during supper, and as he’s been walking with these fine ladies, he’s looked over here no fewer than four—oh, make that five times. My guess, without any other information, was that he’d been your favored lover, and then did something to estrange you. If his reputation is to be believed, what he did was almost certainly related to him having other lovers.”

“That’s all disturbingly accurate. What’s this nonviolent revenge you mentioned?”

“If your lover has another, you punish him with other lovers.”

“That sounds like some kind of burlesque nursery rhyme.”

“Thank you. Now, for this little play I propose, I would have to ask permission to touch you. Nothing inappropriate, I swear. But it will heap the coals on his head, if he’s still carrying a torch for you.”

As Aether looks up at him, wavering in indecision, a volley of girls’ laughter comes fluttering across the open space, and he distinctly hears one of them say, ‘Ajax, you wicked boy,’ in a nasal lilt.

“Permission granted,” he says to Ayato. “What do we do?”

Ayato reaches out and touches the gold brooch on his chest, by which his ivory cloak is fastened, with the tips of his gloved fingers, as he leans down to whisper in his ear. “This will make it look like I’ve made some indecent proposition to you. Now, glance around as if you’re making certain the coast is clear, but don’t look in his direction. Then we’ll slink out of sight, to do whatever scandalous thing we’ve agreed upon.”

Aether turns and casts his eyes quickly about, avoiding the direction of Childe’s group, then Ayato takes his hands in his and draws him into the shadows beneath the manicured trees. Once they’ve stepped out of the direct light of the lamps, he pulls him around the corner of the building, where they are completely out of sight from the garden, and concealed from most passing foot traffic, as well.

“Fait accompli,” Ayato announces, with a little bow and flourish. “If that doesn’t set his blood boiling, I’ll eat my—well…someone’s hat. I’ve never worn them, so I don’t own any.”

Aether looks up at him and Ayato looks back down at him, then at his hand, which is still holding the prince’s. He gives a start and draws away hastily.

“My lord prince, I—I beg your pardon,” he stammers, actually going rosy in the cheeks.

Aether can’t help but laugh at his sudden discomfiture. “Wow, Ayato. You talk quite a big flirting game, for a man who blushes at having his hand held.”

“Am I blushing? Damn this traitorous pale complexion. I must ask you to pretend you didn’t see it, my lord prince. My reputation as a fierce and icy-veined negotiator would be destroyed if such a thing got abroad.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Mostly because I suspect you blush on command, with the express purpose of getting people to talk about how easy you are to read.”

“I wish I could take such credit to myself, but alas, it was genuine. I shall have to keep that in mind as a strategy, though. Learning to control involuntary physical responses to appear to betray one’s mind to an opponent. Brilliant.”

“I guess you could do the same thing with heart rate, pupil dilation, et cetera,” Aether offers. “There was something like that in my training, but it wasn’t to give me control of my responses, it was to program them so they were automatic. That wouldn’t be useful for negotiating.”

Ayato raises his eyebrows curiously. “Training?”

“I’d…really rather not talk about it.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry. Oh, but look at that,” he says, referring to a gold watch on a fob, which he has drawn from his pocket. “Ms. Yun Jin’s performance will be starting soon. We should hurry, before all the good seats are taken.”

“You know it’s invitation only and seating is assigned.”

“Yes, but pretending it’s not makes it more exciting doesn’t it?” Ayato says, taking his hand again and pulling him along. “Chop chop, we don’t want to get stuck in the nosebleeds!”

Aether shakes his head, laughing at the ridiculousness of this make-believe, as he follows the strange young nobleman back through the garden, toward the east wing, where is located the beautifully appointed theater he had made for Ms. Yun Jin’s opera troupe. Aether sits beside the king on his right, and Queen Kokomi sits on the king’s left, followed by Ayato on her left. Childe is seated in the second row, a few seats over, and is trying to catch Aether’s eye, looking dejected and pitiful. Aether can’t help but feel a little thrill of vindictive satisfaction. Serves him right for putting his dick in everything that moves. At least he won’t be putting it in Ms. Yun Jin, anymore.

Emotionally tilted and too angry with his husband and his almost-lover to be afraid, Aether disregarded Childe’s advice and boldly asked the king for permission to officially patronize Ms. Yun Jin’s opera troupe, and keep them at the palace as artists-in-residence. To his surprise, the king was exceedingly pleased by this, and seemed to take it as an olive branch from his husband, rather than an imposition. In the end, he allocated twice the sum Aether requested, and threw in the cost of converting a ballroom into a theater, to be fitted out to Ms. Yun Jin’s specifications.

When the prince summoned her and laid out this wildly generous offer, Ms. Yun Jin was so moved that she wept and kissed his hands, as if he was some kind of patron saint, effusing about how much this would mean to her family and how her father would be so proud, until he began to feel like something of a heel for accepting all these thanks, for a thing he wanted to do anyway and which cost him nothing personally. Her reaction seemed overly dramatic to him, but he attributed that to the histrionic habits of her profession. The concept of need had still not really solidified in the Celestial Prince’s mind, who had only ever read of poverty in books, and that was before he married the God of Wealth.

Unbeknownst to Aether at the time, one of the terms of the palace’s official sponsorship of artists-in-residence, was that the artist concerned must not accept the support of any other patrons during the period of their residency in the palace, for a lot of complicated diplomatic and legal reasons. When Ms. Yun Jin dropped the Snezhnayan prince’s patronage, she also dropped him as a lover, which Aether knows because Childe accused him of having that specifically in mind when he offered the palace patronage to Ms. Yun Jin, and said he was petty and juvenile. Aether calmly called for the Yaksha, and then gave strict orders to the staff that Prince Ajax was not to be admitted to his chambers again, under any circumstances.

In addition to his sudden interest in patronizing an artist the king esteems highly, Aether, whose official duty as consort is only to take charge of hospitality for the visiting Inazuman diplomats, begged the king’s permission to sit in on the negotiations, as well. The request puzzled the king, who believed the prince’s rebellion against being included in the business of running the nation had genuinely been due to his lack of interest in such things as a whole. Whatever the reason for the boy’s change of heart, it pleased him very much. The practical upshot of the situation is that, despite his discourteous defiance a few weeks ago, the king is more inclined than usual to be indulgent of his impetuous young husband.

The next morning, when Queen Kokomi presents the plight of her people in the counsel chamber, she is impassioned, sincere, urgent, and appropriately humble. This is in stark contrast to the Yashiro Commissioner, who speaks with cool detachment of military gains and losses, refers to human lives in terms of statistics, enumerates the laws violated by the Watatsumi insurrectionists, and relays the shogun’s demand for unequivocal surrender. He is so different from the clever, mischievous, absurd young man Aether met the night before, that he can hardly reconcile the two.

“Your army numbers ten thousand at the most, Lady Kokomi,” he is saying calmly and evenly, as if he is an instructor speaking to a student. “That is not accounting for those who are currently ill or injured. The shogunate’s forces exceed ten times that number, and that is only accounting for healthy, battle-ready troops. Her Most High Excellency the Raiden Shogun has signalled her willingness to wage a war of attrition, if needs be. This is not a war you can win, without significant aid from outside.”

Despite these hard words, however, there is no malice or arrogance in the commissioner’s voice. Aether thinks he detects a hint of sympathy, in fact. Two minutes are allowed for private conference among the opposing factions, then the floor is yielded to Queen Kokomi, who speaks not to the Yashiro Commissioner, but addresses the room generally.  

“We have suffered great hardships before. Our nation’s tale is one of misfortune and grief, from its very beginning. The death of our god at the hands of—” she stops short, at a quickly whispered word from one of her advisors. “I beg your pardon. As I was saying. Since the death of our god, we have lived lives of constant toil, battling the elements unaided, struggling to cultivate crops in infertile soil, and drawing what livelihoods we can from what the sea provides. Unprotected and subject to the whims of nature, we have grown strong, while the shogunate has grown fat and sated with wealth and ease. This demand for our unequivocal surrender is the demand of a petulant child, who craves the one bauble it does not possess, among the many it has. To us, it is a choice between existence and annihilation. To forsake the ashes of our fathers and the bones of our god, or to fight for our sacred homeland, to the last breath we have. My people have spoken, and I speak as their mouthpiece. We will not be scattered to the winds, no matter how the storm thunders and howls. If we must stand on our very thresholds and fight with kitchen knives and pots, so be it. We are ready to defend our homes to the very end.”

So spoken, the Watatsumi priestess queen bows respectfully to the Dragon King and resumes her seat. Aether is stunned. Bowled over by the dignity and courage and pathos of this petite, gentle-voiced, young girl, standing alone against an empire. His throat aches with emotion and it is all he can do not to tear up. There is more quiet conferring among the opposing factions, but the Dragon King sits still and silent, as do his retinue.

The Yashiro Commissioner speaks again. “In thirty days time, shogunate naval blockades will be deployed, to prevent the passage of any seafaring vessel between Watatsumi and the outside world. The island will be cut off from food, supplies, medical aid, and so forth. To put it quite frankly, my lady, the Shogun will allow the people of Watatsumi, including its women, children, and elderly, to starve.”

Queen Kokomi lifts her head proudly. “Then we go to the bosom of Orobashi as one people, free and united, rather than slaves, cowering beneath the blade of a tyrant.”

The advisors and attorneys and whoever else these people are on Kamisato’s side of the table erupt indignantly at the use of the term tyrant to describe the shogun, but Ayato silences them with a raised hand.

“I will not accept your answer until the period allotted by the Raiden Shogun for negotiation has ended, my lady. There is yet time for your heart, or another’s, to change.”

This phrase is laden with significance, but Aether can’t tell if he’s referring to the shogun, or the Dragon King, or perhaps even Queen Kokomi’s general, who many rumors say is the one really driving this insurgence. Ayato’s companions obviously can’t tell either, because there is a rumble of consternation among them. They fall silent abruptly, and all rise from their seats and bow low, as the Dragon King rises and departs the counsel chamber, without having spoken a single word.

As expected by form, Aether accompanies his husband, his mind whirling and buzzing from everything he has heard and learned today.

“Will the shogun really starve the people on Watatsumi, my lord?” he asks, when they are alone in the king’s library, to which he repairs when he wishes his retinue to go away.

“She will, indeed,” Rex Lapis answers. “Raiden-Ei does not make such pronouncements lightly. The question is, will I allow them to starve.”

“And that’s why they’re here in your presence, but they’re talking to each other. Hoping you will intervene, without outright asking you to.”

“Yes.”

“This situation is so horrible and sad,” Aether says, dropping heavily into a plush, black-velvet couch. “I wish I could help Queen Kokomi and her people. She’s so brave and young and all alone.”

“To rule is to be alone. But yes, she is brave, and very young.”

“I’ve never seen a kingdom divided against another kingdom subject to the same High King. In my world there is one king, one law, one language, one everything. It’s a homogenous totalitarian monarchy under the Heavenly Principles.”

Aether is looking at his hands as he tugs at a loose thread on his sleeve, and so he does not observe his husband’s amber eyes, watching him with careful attention. Searching his face for…something. Whatever it is, he does not find it, and looks away out the window.

“How are you getting on with Commissioner Kamisato?”

“I only spoke to him for a little while, last night. I thought I liked him, but after the things he said today…I can’t believe he’s so different than he seemed.”

“I would not take the words he speaks in counsel, which are the words of the shogun, at face value. He is subtle and wise.”

“You know, it’s funny you say that, because I got this feeling when he was talking like…while he was warning Queen Kokomi about what would happen to her people, he was saying it so someone else would hear. Letting that observer feel the massiveness and ruthlessness of the shogunate, and the desperate situation of the Watatsumi civilians. Most politicians don’t talk openly about their own leaders allowing women, children, and the elderly to starve. But, I guess he might also have been trying to play on the queen’s empathy for her people, suggesting that they were about to suffer and she could prevent it.”

“Either is possible.”

“I wonder if he’d be honest with me if I asked him. I know he couldn’t publicly admit to sympathizing with the insurgents, but—”

“Take care, to whom you repeat such ideas,” Rex Lapis interrupts. “Commissioner Kamisato is a popular, powerful man, but that means less than nothing to the shogun. She will not hesitate to execute him, if she suspects disobedience.”

Aether looks up at him, aghast. “She’d just…kill him?”

“Without a second thought. She is not a human being, whose mind comes slowly to a conclusion and then doubts its decision. She strikes swiftly and without mercy.”

This is news to Aether. “She’s not human? What is she?”

“She is a god.”

“But, I thought—aren’t you this world’s god?”

“Yes.”

“So she’s like…a lesser god? Sub-god?”

“She is a local elemental deity who swore allegiance to me, and rules under my rule.”

“Because you’re the more powerful one?”

“Yes. By far.”

Aether has reclined languidly in the corner of the couch, with his feet on the ground and his head up on the arm. He is absently looping his long braid of blonde hair around his hand, and it shimmers like gold in a beam of sunlight from the window. The amber cabochon on the heavy gold ring catches the sunbeam, too, and flares out brilliantly, appearing to have ignited from the inside. When Aether looks up, he sees the king’s long, piercing, inhuman eyes, regarding him with what seems to him to be a severe expression. His heart lurches in his chest and he leaps abruptly to his feet.

“Forgive me, my lord king,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. “I didn’t mean to…we were talking and I forgot myself.”

“There is no need to apologize,” the king sighs. “You may go.”

“Thank you, my lord king,” Aether says, then beats a hasty retreat from the dragon’s den.

He is headed down a service hallway—which he often uses, since no one stops him to bother him with small-talk and no one scolds him for running—toward his apartments in the west wing, when he turns a corner and almost runs headfirst into Childe.

“Damn it!” he exclaims. “You scared me half to death! What are you doing lurking around back here?”

“I was looking for you,” Childe answers, as though it should have been obvious. He sounds and looks agitated. His face is pale and gaunt, and his eyes have dark circles beneath them, as if he hasn’t been sleeping or eating. “You won’t see me, you won’t speak to me, how else am I going to get a chance to explain myself?”

“You’re not getting one now. I’m busy.”

“My lord prince, please,” Childe says, catching him by his arm and pulling him back.

Aether shakes him off angrily. “Don’t touch me!”

“I’m sorry. Just please listen to me for one moment. I love you. I’m in love with you. My heart is utterly broken. I know I did wrong and I hurt you, but please. Please, give me another chance.”

“You fucked my husband. Nothing you can say or do will ever make that right.”

“He fucked me, first of all, and it wasn’t—”

“Oh my god! You think I want to hear how you did it? Get away from me, Childe!”

“Wait. One more thing. Is the Yashiro Commissioner your lover?”

“That is so far beyond none of your business.”

“My lord prince, this may not mean much coming from me, but stay away from him. He is using you.”

“That’s ridiculous. What could he possibly want from me?”

“I don’t know. What I do know is that he’s the most cunning, ruthless politician I’ve ever met. The only reason he would risk a flirtation with you, is because he needs something and he thinks you’re the way to get it.”

Aether’s eyes flash. “The only reason? That’s how little you think of me? You don’t even think I’m worth a fuck unless there’s some political advantage to be gained?”

“That’s not what I mean! I mean your position makes you a target for men like him, who will try to get close to you for their own ends. I have seen this kind of thing before. You have to believe me.”

“I don’t, actually. My husband distrusts you enough that he rejected you, and then prevented you trying to get close to me for your own ends, as you so eloquently put it. You are untrustworthy.”

At this, Childe’s blue eyes ignite and his expression hardens. Aether has never seen him really angry before. He suddenly looks much older. Ice cold and hard as stone, but nobler, somehow.

“You have no idea who I am. No idea what I have been through. Go ahead and let that man use you, then, you spoiled brat. Don’t come crying to me when he humiliates you.”

Aether’s face flushes hot with anger. “How dare you speak to me like this! Get out of my sight! Don’t ever talk to me again!”

“Go to hell,” Child spits back, as he turns and walks away.

Chapter Text

The third day of the Inazuma Watatsumi peace talks winds down, with no ground gained on either side. Neither will relent a single inch. With the opposing factions at a stalemate, and the prospect of civil war in Inazuma looming larger than ever on the horizon, Rex Lapis delivers the death blow to the negotiations himself. He has made his decision, he says. He will intervene on neither side. The parties are free to come to an agreement amongst themselves, but he will make no statement in favor or disfavor of either. So spoken, the Dragon King departs the counsel chamber, leaving the shipwrecked hopes of Watatsumi in his wake.

“Why won’t you help them?” Aether demands, the moment they are alone in the library again.

His husband turns to look down at him. “Help who?”

The question feels loaded, but Aether is too angry and heartbroken to care. “Queen Kokomi. All those innocent human beings on Watatsumi. They’re going to die.”

“The same can be said of all human beings in all places,” Rex Lapis replies, as he seats himself on the black velvet couch Aether reclined in the other day.

Aether stares at him. “You won’t help them because they’re humans who are going to die one day anyway? That…that can’t be your answer.”

The king tilts his head questioningly. “What are the people of Watatsumi to you? Whether they fall to the shogun’s war machine, or they submit to her yoke, it will make no material difference. Nothing will be gained by helping them become independent, either. Why do you care so deeply about this?”

“Because it’s wrong! To let one nation take everything from another, just because they’re bigger and stronger is…it’s injustice! They call you the god of law and contracts. Even Celestia’s textbooks say you are unerringly just. How can you sit back and let this happen?”

“You forget that the Raiden Shogun is a ruler I appointed. She is my proxy in Inazuma. Queen Kokomi and her people have broken my law. They have rebelled violently against me. Not only that, they have stated their intent to continue to do so, even to the point of waging war against their lawful ruler. And yet I have not intervened to punish their sedition. I have not cast their island into the sea and wiped their bloodline from the face of the earth. I have welcomed their queen, a heretic priestess of a dead god, as an honored guest in my home. I have allowed her to make her case before me. I have treated her in all ways as a legitimate sovereign. Now, I allow her to settle this conflict herself. This is justice. What you desire from me is not justice. It is mercy.”

“Fine, I want mercy, then!” Aether says, nearly beside himself. “Why can’t you be merciful? Why can’t you stop this war before tens of thousands of people suffer and die?”

“Mercy is not in my nature, as it is in yours. You are merciful. I am just.”

Aether dashes away the tears of frustration and anger that are rolling down his cheeks. “There has to be something someone can do. There has to be some way to give them a fighting chance.”

The Dragon King leans back in his seat, looking thoughtful, as if he is pondering an interesting hypothetical. “I suppose, if some benefactor were to provide them with enough funding, they could purchase large quantities of weapons and supplies in advance of the naval blockade. They have no ships, so they would have to hire mercenary fleets to transport the goods. Perhaps even some with swift corsairs, who would be able to evade the blockade, after it has begun. But such quantities of money must come from national treasuries. The cost would be far out of the reach of any individual ally they might find.”

Aether’s expression brightens and he looks up. “But I have that much money. It’s not out of reach for me, whatever it is. Why can’t I help them?”

“If I allow a single mora to leave Liyue’s treasury to aid the Watatsumi separatists, I have taken a stance in support of a violent insurrection against one of my own kings. More than that, to aid rebellion against the Raiden Shogun would be a breach of our contract. That is not possible.”

“My money isn’t in the treasury. It’s in the Northland Bank. You wanted to keep it separate, specifically to make it clear my inheritance was my own, to use without your permission.”

“But not indiscriminately. Your money is your own, but you are still subject to my authority. As such, I must forbid you using it in this way.”

“But why?”

“You are the Prince Consort and my husband. What you do reflects directly upon me. The technical legality of you committing your personal funds to the aid of Watatsumi will not excuse the affront in the eyes of the shogunate.”

“If it’s legal for me to use my money, but you won’t let me because it’ll offend the shogun…you’re just taking her side without saying it,” Aether says, growing more heated as he speaks. “You just said they’re heretics who broke your law and rebelled against you. That sounds a lot like you using the shogun to get rid of them, without having to destroy them yourself. So your hands stay clean, no matter how much blood is spilled.”

His husband says nothing in reply.

“Did you…did you kill their god?”

“The Raiden Shogun was an ambitious and powerful warlord. She slew their god, as well as another, thus bringing all of Inazuma under her rule. She swore fealty to me shortly thereafter.”

“She killed the gods that people worshipped and believed in. And then you let her rule over those same people? That isn’t justice, it’s oppression. God-kings fighting amongst themselves for power, and human beings paying the price in blood and death. You’re…you’re monsters. You are a monster.”

Rex Lapis holds his gaze tranquilly. “Have I ever led you to believe that I am anything other than I am?”

Aether stares back into his coldly beautiful face. His amber eyes with their diamond-shaped pupils, glowing gold where they should be black. The eyes of some ancient and unfathomable being. A sudden terror of his husband grips him in its icy claws. But the Celestial Prince is not a coward. He is courageous in the face of fear, and defiant in the face of subjugation. Neither is he a fool, to show all his hand before the bet is called. Swallowing this sudden upwelling of abhorrence for the creature he has bound himself to, he lowers his head respectfully.

“My lord king, I am overwrought. I will go rest now, with your leave.”

“You may go,” the king says, dipping his chin in acquiescence. Aether bows low and turns to depart, but as he reaches the door, the king stops him with a word. “Do not do anything foolish, my love. Should you openly defy me, I will not be merciful. I will be just.”

His hands are shaking and his throat is dry, as he traverses the hallways of this vast and opulent palace, all the property of a monstrous god-king, who he is about to directly disobey. He needs allies, though. People who will know what to do with the vast sums of money at his disposal, which are worthless unless he can get them to Queen Kokomi’s forces on Watatsumi. All his mind is ablaze with this, as he enters his private apartments. When he steps in the open door to his bed chamber, he stops short, surveying the strange scene. There is a man on the floor, crouched on all fours, reaching under an armoire. Madame Ping is standing behind him, very clearly enjoying the rear view.

“All done, Madame Ping!” his bright, youthful voice says, as he hops up, triumphantly brandishing a feather duster. “Dust bunnies eradicated. It’s clean as a whistle under there.”

“Well, aren’t you just a godsend,” Madame Ping intones. “Such a good boy.”

“What is going on in here?” Aether asks.

“Oh—my lord prince!” the young man exclaims, bowing deeply.

“Hey there, princelet,” Madame Ping chirps. “The kid here was helping me dust a few things. My old back, these days, just…can’t bend like I used to.”

Aether arches a dubious eyebrow. “You can’t bend like you used to last w—ow! What was that for?”

“There was an insect right there on your arm. It could have bitten you,” Madame Ping replies angelically. “As I was saying, I met this tall drink of water in the service hallway, and he offered to carry my mop bucket for me. Such a gentleman. Once he was in here, he insisted on helping with the cleaning. I couldn’t stop him.”

“Yeah, I bet you couldn’t,” Aether smirks, then turns to the tall, very handsome young man. “You’re Thoma. Commissioner Kamisato’s steward.”

“That’s right, my lord prince,” Thoma answers, looking and sounding like a sunbeam made corporeal and audible. “I wasn’t busy, so I’m helping Madame Ping a bit. With your permission, of course. I don’t mean to presume.”

“If this is what you want to do with your free time, I won’t stop you,” Aether shrugs. “I think Madame Ping is scamming you, though. She never needed help dusting under the dressers before.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Thoma laughs. “I really enjoy housework. Besides, I’ve been going kind of stir-crazy with nothing to do around here.”

“Well, you two have fun. I’m getting in the bath, now. It was nice meeting you, Thoma.”

“I’ll get the tea things,” Madame Ping calls after him, then says aside to Thoma, “Oh, and I need the fresh linens and towels from the laundry. Why don’t you run down and fetch those, while I bring the tea.”

“You got it, Madame Ping,” Aether hears Thoma replying sunnily, as he closes the bathroom door.

As he undresses and sinks into the steaming bath, Aether wonders if Ayato employs his young steward for more than just housework. His body is way too fit and muscular to be a simple domestic, and Aether knows a seasoned fighter when he sees one. He would guess, from his height, muscle tone, and posture, his favored weapon is likely a polearm or halberd. He must also be Ayato’s bodyguard. Whatever he is, the Yashiro Commissioner certainly has good taste in retainers.

While he is lazing in his bath, Thoma comes in bearing a huge pile of snowy-white towels, and sets about hanging them over the towel bars, and placing the rest in the linen cupboard at the end of the room. Aether watches him indolently, till he goes back out, then closes his eyes. But he’s too tense and upset from his conversation with the king, and anxious about his half-formed plan to essentially commit treason, to relax properly. He has sat back up and is irritably rubbing at a kink in his shoulder, when Thoma comes back in, carrying his robe.

“My lord prince,” he bows, laying the robe over the towel bar. “Madame Ping has made tea, and left it on the table. She said to tell you she’s off to town on some errands.”

“Thank you, Thoma.”

“Do you need any assistance, my lord?”

Aether squints up at him. “You don’t seriously think I need help bathing, do you?”

“Of course not,” Thoma laughs. “But you look like you’ve got a knot in your shoulder, and I happen to be an experienced practitioner of pressure-points massage. My lord Kamisato has tension headaches and it helps him a lot. I could take care of it for you.”

“Oh…really? Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. It would be my honor.”

“Alright. Thank you, I really appreciate—whoa what are you doing?” Aether exclaims, as the boy shrugs off his red, cropped jacket, and begins to untuck his black shirt.

“I can’t wear my clothes in,” Thoma explains, as he pulls the shirt off over his head. “They’ll be soaked.”

So saying, he unwraps his black and crimson sash and skins blithely out of his trousers. Aether is so stunned, and torn between trying not to stare, and trying to decide whether to put a stop to this, that he doesn’t manage to come to a conclusion. Thoma is already very naked and climbing into the large, onsen-style soaking tub with him. He has several long, deep scars across his chest and one on his upper left arm, but otherwise his body is absolutely perfect. Lean and muscular, more like a runner than a bruiser. Aether tries not to notice that his dick is very impressive, too, but he can’t exactly help seeing it.

“Is this bath oil, my lord?” Thoma asks, picking up a glass bottle from the rim of the bath and pulling the cork. “Mmm. It smells good.”

“Yes, th—that’s. Yes,” Aether replies clumsily.

“Come sit here,” Thoma says, spreading his thighs under the water, and patting the built-in bench in front of him.

“You want me to sit right where your—I mean, we’re naked.”

“Well, it’d be pretty ridiculous to bathe not naked, my lord prince.”

Thoma is sitting there smiling expectantly, holding the bottle of oil, so there’s nothing for it. Aether crosses the bath and seats himself gingerly between his athletic thighs, taking care not to scoot back against his dick. The instant Thoma’s big, oil-slick hands are on his shoulders, he forgets all about modesty, embarrassment, and everything else. Strong fingers apply firm, precise pressure, working into every stiff and sore place, and even discovering ones Aether hadn’t been aware of. Thumbs knead out the knots of tension, to be melted away under his hot palms. Aether’s head lolls forward, as his body liquefies in Thoma’s highly skilled hands.

Once he has been effectively reduced to jelly, Thoma tips him back to lean against his warm body, and works his fingertips into the intersections between his deltoids and upper pectoral muscles. Aether’s natural inclination would be to be intensely uncomfortable, being held and touched by a near-stranger this way, but Thoma’s gentle, reassuring aura seems to radiate from him, creating a bubble of absolute sanctuary around them. His eyes gradually droop closed, as he lets himself drift in this warm, comfortable haze, alone and naked in the arms of a man he just met, and yet feeling completely safe.

He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep, till he wakes to Thoma shaking him gently, saying he’d better get out of the bath before the water goes cold. Thoma helps him climb out of the bath, dries his body with a plush towel, and wraps his robe around him. Once he’s got his own clothes back on, he sits Aether down at his vanity and sets about unplaiting his wet braid.

“There’s no chance you’d leave Ayato and work for me permanently, is there?” Aether asks, only half jokingly, looking at Thoma in the mirror.

“I’m afraid not, my lord prince,” Thoma laughs. “Kamisato-sama is far more than an employer, to me.”

“How so?”

“He took me in when I was alone and friendless, completely destitute, in a nation whose language I didn’t even speak yet. He gave me a home, had me educated and trained in combat, and gave me meaningful work to do. My life, everything I have, I owe to him.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“He is. The best man I have ever known. Though…he does have a dark side.”

Aether’s eyebrows go up. “A dark side?”

“Oh, yes,” Thoma says, leaning down to speak confidentially, as if there’s any chance of them being overheard. “You didn’t hear this from me, but he is an absolute terrorist when it comes to pulling pranks. Also, he likes to trick people into eating bizarre things. Do not let your guard down, because you will find yourself at the business end of a sea-urchin and pickled plum hot pot.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aether laughs. “But…you really think he’s the best man you’ve ever known? I’ve been sitting in on the negotiations with the Watatsumi people and Ayato is absolutely ruthless.”

“It’s not my place to have an opinion about how my master conducts important business like that. I’m just a servant.”

Aether sits silent for a moment, watching Thoma brush and re-braid his hair. His instinct is that he is trustworthy, but he hardly knows him. This whole endearingly sweet, loyal puppy thing could be a façade. Also, he speaks as if he’s truly devoted to Ayato, but for all Aether knows, the boy could be a shogunate spy, sent to keep tabs on his master. He must tread carefully, here, but he does not have a lot of time to dither in indecision.

“All I meant was that the way you describe him makes him sound so compassionate and kind,” he ventures. “I would think someone like that would be sympathetic to Queen Kokomi and her people.”

“Kamisato-sama is absolutely loyal to Her Most High Excellency the Raiden Shogun, and to the people of Inazuma,” Thoma replies, drawing himself up and bowing stiffly. “With my lord the prince’s permission, I will go attend to my other duties.”

Damn it. He pushed too hard and scared the boy off. He’ll have to try and take Ayato’s temperature himself. At supper, Lady Ningguang sits on his right, in place of Queen Kokomi, whose attendants have relayed her apologies, saying she is too ill from the elevation to attend supper that evening. Childe isn’t present, either, which suits Aether just fine after his behavior the other day. Ayato is present, but not in a good humor, and despite the Lady Ningguang and Aether’s best efforts at conversation, he is subdued and mostly silent. After supper, however, he does agree to walk in the garden with the prince again.

“You don’t seem very happy this evening, Ayato,” Aether remarks, as they stroll out among the glaze lilies, which are just beginning to open their delicate petals to the light of the moon.

“Do I not?” Ayato asks. “Forgive me, my lord prince, I don’t mean to be dull.”

“You don’t have to entertain me. It’s my job to entertain you. When you seem so unhappy, I feel I’m doing my job poorly.”

“I thank you for your concern, my lord prince, but it is nothing lacking in your hospitality,” Ayato says, with a sigh. “These long diplomatic days tend to wear on one, is all.”

“Speaking of long days, I’m afraid I must inform you that my housekeeper Madame Ping has hoodwinked your boy Thoma into doing half her work. I found him in my chambers today, dusting and carrying linens for her.”

“Ah, yes,” Ayato smiles. “He said as much. Though, I wouldn’t worry about the hoodwinking. Thoma isn’t happy unless he’s constantly busy.”

“He seems like a good young man.”

“He is. I absolutely trust him with my life. I trust him with my sister’s life, which is saying a lot more.”

“He does have a trustworthy way about him. He offered to massage my sore neck and when I agreed, he stripped naked and got right in my bath with me. I was shocked, but I never felt unsafe.”

“You’re never unsafe with Thoma. His loyalty must be earned, but once he’s decided you belong to him, he’s loyal for life. I had better explain to him about the bath thing, though, before it gets him into figurative hot water. In Inazuma, communal baths among the same gender are standard. He’s not aware that men bathing together isn’t usual elsewhere.”

“If it meant getting a massage like that every day, I’d bathe right out in public.”

“Oh, Inazuma has public baths, too. In the old days, most people couldn’t afford one, or couldn’t spare the space in their homes, so every town and city has public baths. These days, they’re more of a recreational and social gathering place, than anything.”

“Really? What are they like?”

“Well…I’ve actually only been to one once, and we got thrown out, so I don’t have a lot of experience.”

“You got thrown out of a public bath, Commissioner Kamisato?” Aether laughs. “Well, there is no way you’re not telling me this story.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Ayato defends. “It mostly wasn’t my fault. It was about fifty percent not my fault. I’ve got a friend who is a very big man, with a big personality. He’s as soft and sweet as a mochi ball, but he’s loud and he tends to frighten humans with his enthusiasm. One day, he and his gang and me decided to go to—”

“Wait, wait, wait. Stop. Explain two things. He tends to frighten humans? And he has a gang?”

“I didn’t mention, Itto’s an oni. They don’t have them here in Liyue. Oni are demons that mostly look like humans, but they have horns and body markings, and they tend to be a lot bigger than average people. Almost all of them are red or blue. My friend is the red kind, which are the ones who integrated more with human society. His gang is what he calls his little troupe of followers. They mostly just take odd jobs and play games with neighborhood kids, but he likes to think he’s tough, so he says he’s the leader of a gang.”

“He sounds like a very unique person.”

“I guess he is. I mean, I’ve known him my whole life, so I’m used to him and his shenanigans. Anyway, we decided to go to a public bath one day, but they refused Itto, and told us no one with tattoos was allowed. I asked them if birthmarks were allowed, and they said obviously yes, like I was stupid. I explained to them that the Inazuma City charter prohibits denial of public services to any individual on the basis of gender, race, nationality, religion, or circumstances of birth. Thus, it was illegal racial discrimination to exclude him on the basis of his oni birthmarks. They couldn’t think of a good reason to deny him, so they had to let us in. Then, once we were in there, he started splashing my face, so I made a hydro mimic to slap him, which turned into a huge water fight, with a lot of hydro mimics and Itto loudly proclaiming curses on me, and we got kicked out.”

“Wow,” Aether laughs. “You were pretty wild when you were a kid, huh?”

“I certainly was, but that happened last summer.”

“I’d say I don’t believe it, but this all tracks with the way Thoma describes you. What I’m most surprised about is that the employees at a public bath had the effrontery to deny the Yashiro Commissioner and his friend entry.”

“They didn’t have any idea who I was. My name is widely known for being attached to a lot of complicated, high-level government goings-on, but most people in Inazuma don’t even know what I look like. They hear the titles and the word patriarch and they expect someone a lot older.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-four—wait. I’m twenty-five now. My youth is slipping away. Where does the time go?”

“Yeah, you’re practically geriatric. But, Ayato…can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything, my lord prince,” Ayato smiles. “I won’t promise I’ll answer, but ask away.”

“Well, the way Thoma talks about you and the way you are when we talk like this…you seem so different from how you are in the counsel chamber. I guess I’m just having a hard time reconciling the person you are right now, with a man who can coldly condemn tens of thousands of civilians to death.”

Ayato’s expression changes and he looks down at his hands, while he tugs and adjusts his gloves. “Was there a question in there, my lord prince?”

“I want to know where you really stand on the Watatsumi situation. I want to know if you’re really willing to let your shogun kill all those people, without lifting a finger to stop it.”

Ayato’s brow stays furrowed, and he wrings his hands together anxiously, as if he is struggling with something. “I…wish I knew what to do. My heart tells me I can trust you, but maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see. Maybe I want to trust you so badly that I’m letting myself be taken in.”

“Ayato, you can trust me,” Aether says, laying a hand on his arm. “I swear, I won’t betray you. No matter what you say to me.”

Ayato turns and looks searchingly into his eyes. Then he pulls him close and bends down to speak into his ear. “My lord prince, if I put all my labor, all my slow and careful work on the line, and I am wrong about you…but this is life and death, and I am running out of time. Please, come speak with me in my chambers. I can’t risk being overheard.”

Aether is startled by his sudden intensity. His heart pounds against his ribcage, with apprehension about what he may be about to get himself into, but this is the first time he is certain Ayato is being absolutely sincere with him.

“Yes,” he says. “I’ll come. When?”

“Walk with me a little longer, then we’ll part ways here, so as not to arouse suspicion. Wait one hour and come by the service hallway. Do not knock. The door will be unlocked for you.”

Thus agreed, they stroll around a little longer, making desultory chit-chat about the weather and Ms. Yun Jin’s admirable singing voice, then Ayato bows and excuses himself to retire. Aether stops to exchange polite greetings with a few courtiers, before departing to his own chambers. His nerves are so on edge that it doesn’t occur to him that it would look far less suspicious if he just walked right down the main hall to the Yashiro Commissioner’s quarters. There is no rule against the prince visiting heads of state in their own chambers. As it is, he is a bit swept up in the intrigue, and almost enjoys sneaking about, checking that the coast is clear, and then slipping furtively into Ayato’s chambers, taking care to shut the door silently, and lock it behind him.

He rounds the corner into the main sitting room, that is the hub of the guest suite, and finds Ayato seated on a cushion at the tea table, with some bizarre looking beverage in front of him. He hops up and bows as Aether enters, inviting him to sit, and explaining that Thoma is off fetching some ice, which was not delivered with the beverage service, though he specifically asked for it.

“What is this that you’re drinking?” Aether says, eyeing the tall glass suspiciously.

“I’m not drinking it, till I get some ice,” Ayato pouts. “Until then I’m just looking at it. This is milk tea! I was having Thoma make you one, too, but the ice disaster happened and delayed everything.”

“What is all that black stuff at the bottom?”

“Those are tapioca pearls, my lord prince. They are an essential part of the experience.”

“It looks a lot like fish eggs. Are you trying to trick me into drinking fish eggs?”

“Not this time,” Ayato chirps.

“Got the ice, my lord,” Thoma announces, as he bustles in with a metal ice bucket. “Oh, good evening, my lord prince. It’s good to see you again so soon.”

“You’ve already seen quite a bit of each other, as I understand from the prince,” Ayato says, arching an eyebrow at Thoma. “I ought to punish you for that.”

“You won’t, though,” Thoma returns. “I’m the one who knows how to make the milk tea.”

“Damn it. Never let Thoma discover your weaknesses, my lord prince, he will use them ruthlessly against you.”

“You have so many, my lord. If I was that ruthless with them, I’d be the one in charge.”

“That’s enough out of you, go make the prince’s milk tea! And take this one, too. It still needs ice.”

“You two have a very interesting relationship,” Aether observes, as Thoma goes away to do whatever making milk tea entails. “You sound more like friends than an employer and employee.”

“We’re not friends, he’s a tyrant!” Thoma’s voice calls, through the open door of the room he went into.

“I’ll tyrant you, you—shut your mouth and get to work on those drinks, or I’ll throw you back into the sea!” Ayato volleys back, then says in a lowered tone to Aether, “Seriously though, I don’t know what I’d do without him. I would simply cease to function. But don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

“Back into the sea?” Aether asks, mystified.

“Oh, yes. Thoma came from the sea. Just washed up on the shore one day, like a skinny little piece of driftwood. I collected him, and he’s mine, now.”

“Thoma was skinny and little?”

“He was at first. He’s had about twenty growth spurts. I have no idea where all that body mass came from, I barely feed him anything.”

“That’s absolutely a lie,” Thoma interjects, as he returns with the properly iced beverages. “The abundance and quality of food at the Kamisato estate is probably the reason I grew so much, so fast.”

“And your giant Mondstadt genes,” Ayato adds.

“Mondstadt?” Aether asks.

“That’s where Thoma is from, couldn’t you tell from his accent?”

“I don’t really hear an accent,” Aether admits.

“I don’t really have one,” Thoma puts in. “Kamisato-sama thinks it’s funny to say I do, and then pretend he can’t understand me because it’s so thick.”

“See, I didn’t get a word of what he just said, because the accent is so thick. One day I’ll train him to enunciate properly. You haven’t touched your milk tea, yet, my lord prince.”

Aether hesitates, taking up the glass reluctantly. “Uh. Why is there a reed in it?”

“You use that to drink it. So you can suck up the tapioca pearls,” Ayato says, then demonstrates by taking a long sip from his own beverage. “See? Go on, try it!”

“Thoma, you have to tell me if this is one of his food pranks.”

“It’s not, my lord prince. I would never let him pull one of those on a first-time guest.”

Aether cautiously sucks on the reed straw. He gets a little of the sweet, milky liquid, then it stops, seeming to be clogged. He draws on it harder, until suddenly the tapioca pearl pops through and the whole strawful rushes into his mouth all at once, making him choke and sputter, which amuses Ayato exceedingly. The milk tea itself is delicious, but he’s not sure about this slimy wad of slightly-sweet goo. Though, when he bites down on it, the chewiness is rather pleasant. He takes another sip and chews another pearl. Then another, finding it quickly growing on him.

“Wow, this is…I’ve never tasted anything like this,” he says, to the eagerly observing Ayato. “I think I like it.”

“Good enough!” Ayato pronounces delightedly. “It’ll get its hooks in you, just wait.”

“My lord,” Thoma says, in an undertone. “I think you have some business to discuss with the prince.”

“Right. My passion for milk tea has distracted me. Just so you’re aware, my lord prince, we can talk openly here. I’ve had Thoma search every inch of the room for secret compartments, listening vents, spy holes, anything like that. It’s clean.”

“Thoma knows how to do that?”

“Yes. Thoma is my steward, and also the head of my elite intelligence unit, the Shuumatsuban. He is the only one whose identity you will ever know, unless it becomes absolutely necessary.”

Aether stares at him. “Are you…are you serious?”

“Deadly serious. Due to the diligence of the Shuumatsuban, Inazuma has staved off multiple attempts to disrupt its economy, to sow strife among the clans, and to incite public unrest. They are my homeland’s first line of defense.”

“That’s amazing. Thoma, you do all that?”

Thoma bows silently.

“Here is where I risk everything,” Ayato says, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Under my direction, they have also been working behind the scenes to support Queen Kokomi and the Watatsumi separatists.”

“You’re not loyal to the shogun?” Aether asks, stunned. At most, he’d been hoping to hear Ayato was sympathetic, and may have some ideas how he could help. This is an entirely different ballgame.

“I am deeply loyal to the shogun and my country,” Ayato says fiercely. “This is why I have been working to help Queen Kokomi. We believe her island is the last bastion—the only part of our nation that is totally free of enemy control.”

Aether looks back and forth between Thoma and Ayato. “What do you mean, enemy control? What is going on in Inazuma?”

“The Shuumatsuban have always been able to discover and snuff out enemy plots to subvert Inazuman officials and gain footholds in our government,” Thoma says. “But this time, something different is happening. The Kanjou and Tenryou Commissions have begun vocally supporting the war on Watatsumi, and going as far as to attempt to whip up public support for it. This is a sudden about-face on centuries of pro-peace, pro-Watatsumi independence policy, with no cause we can trace it to. If there was bribe money, we’d find it. If there was blackmail, we’d know. Additionally, someone is manipulating the shogun’s perspective on Watatsumi. Convincing her that unconditional surrender or war are the only options. Only we don’t know who, because no one gets close to her.”

“You think the war against Watatsumi is a plot to destabilize the whole nation? But why? By who?”

“As far as we could tell?” Ayato says, holding up his hands, palm-upward. “Ghosts. There was nothing to attach it to anyone. No trace. Until now.”

Thoma sets a black lacquer box on the table and opens it. Inside, there is a neatly folded bit of crimson silk. Ayato takes it and unfolds it on the table, before Aether. He stares at the thing inside for a moment, attempting to understand what it could be. It looks like a dead moth or butterfly, but it is glowing with flickering red flames, emitting light and heat, though it is not hot enough even to burn its silk wrapping.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes. “What is it?”

“This is an elemental trace, left by an extraordinarily powerful sorceress called the Crimson Witch, who was believed to have died more than five-hundred years ago. It was procured at great risk by an agent of ours, from the shogun’s palace. We believe she is operating there, in disguise or through others, to influence the shogun without her knowledge.”

“Why would a half-millennium old sorceress want to create civil war in Inazuma?” Aether asks.

“Thanks to the work of other agents of ours, we believe this Crimson Witch to be one of the Fatui Harbingers. La Signora.”

“But…aren’t the Harbingers assassins?”

“Most of them are manipulators and schemers, who work behind the scenes, worming their way into complicated political situations to create chaos and discord. It’s one of the ways the Tsaritsa has been seeking to weaken Teyvat’s other nations, and draw more power and influence to herself.”

“Ok, assuming all this is true, how does aiding the Watatsumi rebellion help? It seems like you need to get into the core of the issue, which is the Harbingers.”

“If we can prove Harbinger involvement, we can expose them to the shogun and expel them. Then we will have gotten to the core of it. But that will take time. As it is, Queen Kokomi’s people can’t survive a month of open war against the shogunate army, and the shogun knows it. She says she will wage a war of attrition, but there is no way her generals would hurl the army against a well-equipped, well-supplied guerilla force, entrenched on their own home turf. The losses would be catastrophic. The shogunate soldiers are the sons and brothers and husbands of Inazuma. They are our cousins and friends. We don’t want killing on either side. If Queen Kokomi and General Gorou can make a credible show of strength, the shogun’s generals will hold off as long as they can before engaging, and try to find ways to work in behind the island’s defenses, rather than stage a frontal assault. The conflict will be limited to skirmishes and the standoff will give us time, we hope, to save Inazuma.”

“What if these Harbingers are at work here in Liyue, too? What would they do?”

“We believe they are at work everywhere. There is no danger to the king himself, of course, but they may seek to do harm to other nations by influencing what goes on at court.”

“The reason I ask is because there was one here, that I know of. Scaramouche, the Balladeer.”

Thoma’s eyes go wide. “The Balladeer? Why do you think he was here?”

“I know he was,” Aether says. “I met him.”

“You have seen the face of the Balladeer?” Ayato asks, astonished. “How is it that you live?”

Aether laughs nervously. “Is he…is he really that dangerous?”

“None have seen him and survived to report back. We have lost people to him. Good, capable, cautious agents. He left them in states in which we could not allow loved ones to view the bodies, before cremation.”

“I was with the Yaksha, when I met him, so maybe that’s why he didn’t try anything. He was riling up a horde of hilichurls to set loose on the people in Dihua marsh. The Yaksha and I killed them and—we thought—rescued him. He went with us to the Wangshu Inn and then he disappeared, but he left a note saying who he was, and that he’d see us again sometime soon.”

“You have this note?”

Aether shakes his head. “No. I brought it straight to the king. He said it was genuine. The Qixing have it locked up in their vault. I don’t want to think about that right now. The thing I want to get to, is how I can help with all this.”

“My lord prince, I am a very wealthy man,” Ayato says. “I have never been in a position in which money was an obstacle, before. But apparently funding a nation’s military and feeding their people is a bit on the steep side.”

“They need national treasury level money and they need it before the naval blockade begins,” Aether says.

“In a word, yes.”

“How much?”

Ayato hesitates. “All told, including bribes, payments to mercenaries, everything…what they need immediately is eight-hundred million mora.”

“Fine. It’s theirs, if you can help me get it to them.”

Ayato and Thoma both stare at him.

“Are you certain?” Ayato asks. “You’re willing to commit such a sum of money, just like that?”

“Yes. I could give them twice that much and not feel it. The only problem is, I don’t know how.”

“You must understand that if you do this, you’ll be putting yourself in grave danger, my lord prince. What we are doing is treason.”

“I’m not worried about that. I already believed their cause was just, and what you’ve told me just makes me more sure of it. Besides, it’s treason against a ruler in order to save her from her own foolishness. I think the king will forgive me, even if he won’t give me permission.”

“Alright, then,” Thoma nods. “It’s time to start talking logistics.”

Chapter Text

“She’s a pirate?” Aether says doubtfully. “Aren’t pirates criminals?”

“Captain Beidou is not that kind of pirate,” Ayato explains. “They call her the uncrowned king of the sea. She operates outside the laws of any nation, but since every nation’s government has benefitted substantially from her presence, she moves about as she pleases, pretty much unhindered.”

“How do governments benefit from her presence?”

“Well, aside from keeping the other pirates in check by putting the fear of god into them, with their vigilant presence and swift-sailing corsairs, she and her Crux fleet have rescued the crews and passengers of sinking ships many times, protected civilian vessels from sea monsters, and even transported emergency aid in times of crisis. These things all save local governments the exorbitant expense of keeping a civil coast guard, and in exchange, the authorities mostly look the other way on the loads of untaxed cargo she transports.”

“That makes her sound like a saint.”

“Make no mistake, she’s not running a charity. The Crux fleet are mercenaries and their fees, for those who can afford them, are substantial. But she charges what the work is worth. The sea is extremely dangerous and highly skilled sailors like hers are not easy to recruit and train. She pays her men well, and holds them to such a high standard of honorable conduct, that I would trust a shipment of valuable goods far more in her hands, than in those of any commercial shipping concern.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” Aether says, not entirely convinced. “How do we get in touch with her?”

“Thoma has already been in contact with her. You and I can’t do anything that might call attention to what we’re doing. He’s being watched, too, I’m sure, but suspicion won’t have fallen on us yet, and he knows his business. Isn’t that right, Thoma.”

Thoma draws himself up proudly. “I could go about making my arrangements in the company of a shogunate officer, and they’d never suspect what I was doing.”

“That’s an impressive claim,” Aether laughs. “Have you done anything this size, before?”

“Well, no,” Thoma admits. “But money is much easier to conceal than people or contraband, and it’s untraceable if it’s found, anyway. This is a more difficult job because of the scale, but less difficult because it’s just currency. I’ve figured all of that into my plan.”

“I don’t know what the plan even is, yet. We’ve been talking in hypotheticals and weighing options all week, but it sounds like you have something concrete.”

“We do. That’s why we asked you to come so early, today,” Ayato says cheerfully. “Thoma, if you would be so kind?”

Aether listens as best he can, as Thoma explains the whole scheme to him, then explains it again. He still doesn’t entirely understand the finer logistics of it, but he grasps the important points. Namely, the Northland Bank imposes a seven-day waiting period on any single withdrawal of more than one-hundred million mora, without a direct order from the Qixing or the king. To circumvent this, Aether will have ten bank notes of eighty million apiece drawn up, payable to the order of Captain Beidou and nine of her Crux captains. They will be filled out as commissions for the acquirement and delivery of various valuable goods, such as antique furniture, religious relics, culturally significant works of art, historical artifacts, precious stones and minerals, tea, spices, and other luxury sundry items, etc.

The Crux fleet captains will draw upon the Northland Bank themselves, at its locations in Liyue, Inazuma, and Mondstadt, in order to disperse the transactions and avoid too much immediate attention. They will retain their five percent fee from each withdrawal and the rest will go directly to General Gorou. Additionally, they will coordinate with General Gorou themselves, regarding the use of the funds, and will likely be the ones delivering the aid supplies and weaponry to Watatsumi. Thoma’s plan seems solid enough, but Aether is apprehensive about placing so much money into the hands of ten different pirates, on the word of Captain Beidou alone, and says as much.

“That’s funny, my lord prince,” Thoma replies. “She said the same about sending her captains all over the ocean carrying huge sums of money, without a clear understanding of your character and motives. You two can’t be seen together, for obvious reasons, but she is sending a trusted crew member who is not known in Liyue to meet with you. I’ve arranged your appointment at the Northland Bank this afternoon. Tomorrow, you and Kamisato-Sama will meet this crew member for lunch at Liuli Pavilion, where you will give him the ten bank notes, to be distributed among the Crux captains.”

Having the notes drawn up turns out to be a tedious process that takes more than two hours, and requires about a hundred signatures from Aether, as well as verifications and stamps and other indicators of authenticity by various high-level bank staff. When they’re finally finished and he has the documents in his possession, he is hungry and irritable, and never wants to see the inside of a bank again. He gives the notes to Thoma, to take to Ayato’s quarters, then retires to his own chambers to bathe and dress for supper.

Queen Kokomi has already departed the palace, and Lady Ningguang is absent, for some reason her secretary told Aether and he didn’t listen to. The person next in rank to Lady Ningguang is an elderly Guhua Clan patriarch, but Ayato wants to be introduced to Ms. Yun Jin, and since she is Aether’s special protégé at the palace, he accords her the honor of the place on his right. Ms. Yun Jin is a lovely, well-mannered young lady, who is deeply devoted to her craft, and deeply uninteresting. Ayato is a brilliant conversationalist, though, so the chat sails along pleasantly, despite the lady having nothing but the most banal sentiments to express.

After supper and their habitual walk in the garden, Aether and Ayato part ways, to meet again an hour later in Ayato’s chambers. They are sitting at the tea table, discussing the details of the meeting with this Crux crew member tomorrow, when they are interrupted by a loud pounding at the door. Before Thoma can get up to answer it, the door bangs open. All three leap to their feet, as the heavy boots of a detachment of armed, armor-clad Millelith thunder into the room, weapons drawn. Thoma’s fire-aura flares out around him and he stands at bay, between the intruders and his master.

“We have a warrant from the Qixing!” the officer in charge barks at him. “Do you intend to obstruct us?”

“Thoma, stand down,” Ayato says, gesturing for his steward to back off. “What is the meaning of this, gentlemen?”

“Lord Kamisato Ayato,” the officer replies, in a nasal drone, holding up an official-looking document bearing the gold seal of the Qixing. “By the authority of the Liyue Qixing, you are hereby arrested, on suspicion of treason.”

“Treason?” Aether demands, incredulous at their boldness, if not the accusation. “What the hell are you talking about, do you know who this man is?”

“We do, my lord prince. He is the man we’ve been sent to arrest. Lord Kamisato, you will be brought directly before Rex Lapis, Dragon King of Liyue and High King of Teyvat, to answer these charges.”

“It’s alright, Thoma,” Ayato says to his stricken steward, as they shackle his hands in front of him. “I’ll be alright. This is clearly some kind of misunderstanding.”

“My lord prince,” the officer says to Aether, in a more deferential tone, and with a bow. “His majesty the king summons you, as well. If you would please accompany us to the audience chamber.”

Unable to speak, Aether turns and precedes the men out of the room. He is ash-white, shaking, sick to his stomach with fear for his friend, and racked with anguish about where he could have slipped up or made the mistake that may cost this man his life, when their plot is reported to the Raiden Shogun. When they reach the king’s audience chamber, one of the soldiers hurries forward and opens the door, and Aether leads the procession into the long, black-marble floored, vault-ceilinged room. On a dais in the center, Rex Lapis is sitting upon the seat of judgement. As they approach, he looks up and beckons to his husband, indicating that he should stand beside him. Aether obeys meekly, though he does not understand the reason for this. Surely he should be standing accused, by Ayato’s side.

The Millelith men lead Ayato to the ascribed place before the throne, and then step back a respectful distance, but they leave the shackles on his wrists. Despite the chains, Ayato looks calm and appropriately humble, without looking guilty. The door swings open again, admitting Lady Keqing, lead prosecutor for the Qixing, who strides briskly in, followed by a horde of secretaries, all carrying scrolls and documents. To Aether’s confusion, Childe enters behind the Qixing. How the Snezhnayan Prince is mixed up in this, there’s no telling, but he won’t meet Aether’s gaze. When he goes to stand on the prosecutor’s side, Aether sees red. So, this devious bastard has somehow discovered the plot and betrayed them. Aether will kill him for this, if it’s the last thing he does.

At a word from the king, Lady Keqing steps forward and bows low, then begins to read from the scroll in her hands. “Yashiro Commissioner Lord Kamisato Ayato, you stand accused of the crime of adultery with the king’s husband, the Prince Consort, Aether of Celestia.”

Aether’s brain spins sideways. He stares at her, flabbergasted, literally unable to believe what he is hearing.

“This offense constitutes an act of high treason, by Liyue’s sovereign laws,” she is saying. “I have in my possession, a signed affidavit from Ajax, Lord Tartaglia, Crown Prince of Snezhnaya, who witnessed you in lascivious contact with the Prince Consort in the palace garden, on the third of this month. He will testify to this under oath, if needs be. Five other witness statements, including one from the captain of palace security, place the Prince Consort in your chambers, at late hours of the night, on four occasions, between the fifth of this month and the eleventh. Let the record reflect that tonight, at the time of Commissioner Kamisato’s arrest, the Prince Consort was found in his chambers, in company with him. The Qixing appeal to his Divine Majesty the Dragon King of Liyue and High King of Teyvat to render judgement in this case immediately, as the law allows.”

“Yashiro Commissioner, Lord Kamisato Ayato,” the Dragon King says, speaking in the same low, even tone as always, but somehow made super-resonant, so his voice fills the air and is clearly audible to the furthest reaches of the chamber. “You are charged by the Liyue Qixing with treason against me. What say you, in your defense?”

Aether’s heart stops. All Ayato has to do is tell the truth, and he will save his life. He will implicate the prince and himself in plotting treason against the Raiden Shogun, of course, but exonerate himself from the far more serious crime of actual treason against the Dragon King. He watches him breathlessly, willing him with all his being to save himself. When Ayato looks up, Aether knows he has already made his decision. He is about to sacrifice his life for his cause.

“I have no defense, my lord high king,” Ayato says simply. “The witness statements are true. I was in contact with the Prince Consort in the garden, as Lord Tartaglia has testified, and I invited the Prince Consort to my chambers, on all the stated occasions.”

The Dragon King’s face is serene and unreadable. “You are aware, Lord Kamisato, that none but a recognized lover, approved by the king, may lay hands on the king’s consort, on penalty of death.”

“I am, my lord high king,” Ayato replies, lowering his head again.

“And yet you risked my wrath and broke my law. Unless…there is some other reason that you invited the Prince Consort to your chambers, that would serve to exonerate you. In which case, I would advise you to speak now.”

Ayato holds his peace, with his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the floor below the dais. The loaded silence stretches out and hangs taut in the air, so tense that no one present seems even to breathe.

“Lord Kamisato,” the king says, at last. “Is it your intention, then, to confess here, in open court and in my presence, that you love the Prince Consort?”

Ayato raises his head and looks at Aether, rather than the king. There are tears in his silver-blue eyes. “It is. It is my intention, my lord high king. This is…obviously not the way I wanted to tell him, in chains, in his husband’s presence, moments before I die, but I love him. I am in love with him. And I will never regret a moment we spent together.”

Aether looks back into those impossible eyes, blinking away the hot tears that are rolling unchecked down his face. This is the most tragic, beautiful, courageous thing he has ever seen a man do. To protect his agents, to keep the plan in motion, to aid the rebellion, to save Watatsumi and its tens of thousands of innocent people, and eventually Inazuma itself, he will allow himself to be executed as an adulterer, in disgrace. He will die an international hero, and no one will ever know. And there is nothing Aether can say or do, without dishonoring him and destroying his cause.

“So witnessed,” the king says tranquilly. “Let the record show that Yashiro Commissioner Lord Kamisato Ayato is the recognized lover of the Prince Consort, Aether of Celestia, as sworn in the king’s presence, and approved thereby. No crime has been committed, here. I recommend that the Qixing handle their investigations more delicately, in the future, lest they call the king into court again to wrongfully accuse, humiliate, and harass diplomatic officials, who are his honored guests. The Liyue Qixing are hereby censured, and ordered to make a formal written apology to Lord Kamisato, to be delivered not later than three days hence, along with whatever remuneration the Tianquan deems appropriate. Dismissed.”

Aether stands at his husband’s side, stunned, oblivious to the general commotion in the audience chamber as his brain attempts to catch up and process what has just happened. Childe turns immediately on his heel and departs in wrath. The Qixing prosecutor and her secretaries hastily gather their paperwork and retreat from the king’s presence, with their tails between their legs, and Ayato is unshackled by the very apologetic, very chastened Millelith officers.

“My love,” the king says in an undertone to Aether. “A word, in my private chambers.”

Aether glances back as he follows his husband, and sees Ayato looking after him. He gives him as brave a smile as he can manage, before he steps out the door.

“I am displeased by your behavior,” Rex Lapis says to his young husband, when they are alone in his chambers. “You may think such a thing no matter of great moment, but Liyue lives and dies by its laws. If you will disregard them, even I cannot protect you. Why did you not request to make Lord Kamisato your recognized lover, before this became an issue?”

“I—I didn’t think of it,” Aether answers truthfully. “Everything happened so suddenly.”

“Had I not done as I have, he would have been executed, not you, who are royalty, and whose sacred blood shields you. That you would heedlessly place a man’s life in danger, while risking no danger to your own, displeases me, and demonstrates to me that you are still a child.”

“I know, my lord king. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“You are my husband and the Prince Consort. Second in rank only to me, in this world. As such, you must be that much more vigilant than other men in considering your choices and regulating your actions. Your carelessness has nearly cost the most powerful man in Inazuma his life. Do you see, now, how severely your missteps can impact others?”

“I do, my lord king. Please forgive me,” Aether says, shedding tears of genuine remorse at his husband’s remonstrance, which is all true, even if not in the exact way the king thinks.

His husband sighs. “I am not a jealous man, my love. I do not mean to punish you for having a lover. I simply require that you adhere strictly to my laws. They are in place to protect not only you, but those you draw into your orbit. That is why our marriage contract contains a clause to codify extramarital relations.”

“I know, my lord king,” Aether sniffles miserably.

“There is no need to weep. I am not angry. I have used strong words because it was necessary to impress upon you the gravity of the situation.” The king pauses, gazing down into his face. Aether is wiping away tears with the sleeve of his tunic, so he does not see his husband reach out as if to touch him, then hesitate, and withdraw his hand. “You…should go and talk with Commissioner Kamisato. He has been through a trying ordeal on your behalf, tonight.”

Aether looks up at him. “B—but, my lord king, I—”

“No more. You have apologized and I have forgiven you. The matter is closed. Go to your friend.”

Aether lingers a moment, his face working as if he wants to say something, then he bows and departs hastily. Once he is out in the hall, he practically runs to Ayato’s chambers, where he enters without knocking. Ayato is seated on the floor in the main room, leaning against the wall, with an open bottle of sake in his hand. He looks up and smiles weakly, as Aether hurries over to sit beside him.

“I thought we were ruined,” he says, in a tremulous voice. “I have never feared as I did in that moment, when they burst in here with that warrant. I thought our plans were discovered and our cause destroyed. It was…a tremendous relief, to hear the actual charge, and find that it was only my own life I’d lost, by my carelessness.”

“I’m so sorry, Ayato,” Aether says dismally. “I had no idea Childe would be angry and treacherous enough to report us, and put other people up to spying on us, too. If I’d just thought of the recognized lover thing and made the request, this could have been avoided.”

Ayato rolls his head back and forth on the wall, by way of shaking it. “No. It’s ridiculous to take on the blame for that. I was the one who suggested that stupid play in the garden. Anyway, if you must blame someone, blame Thoma. It’s not his fault, but it’s a lot more fun than blaming yourself.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Aether says, glancing about.

“I sent him into town to buy me every kind of dessert he can find. What can I say? I’m a creature of habit.”

“That’s a pretty adorable habit, though,” Aether smiles. Ayato takes a deep swig from the sake bottle, then pouts, as Aether takes it away and sets it on the floor out of his reach. “That, however, is not an adorable habit. Getting drunk won’t make you feel better, it’ll just make you sick.”

“Cut water with a sword, the water flows on. Cut sorrow with wine, the sorrow increases,” Ayato says, with a rueful smile. Then he straightens his back against the wall and crosses his arms, as if to dismiss his maudlin reflections by changing posture. “So, my lord prince, we are now officially recognized lovers. How absolutely absurd. Thoma has touched you more than I have. Come to think of it, he’s seen you naked, as well, that prince-sniping homewrecker! I insist you never bathe with him again. Unless I’m also invited.”

“Wow, you’ve been my official lover for an hour, and you’re already getting jealous and demanding.”

“I am. I’ve decided that’s the role I’ll play. I’ll be the jealous one, and you can be the one who lectures me for drinking too m—mhmm…”

His words are muffled by the prince’s mouth, as he pulls him suddenly into a kiss. Ayato makes a surprised little sound in his throat, only allowing Aether’s tongue to touch his for a brief instant, before he draws back hastily.

“My—my lord prince, I beg your pardon,” he stammers, blushing like a rose. “Please forgive me for this offense against your person. I don’t know what came over me, I—”

“I am aware that I kissed you, you know,” Aether laughs, straddling him and letting his weight settle on the young nobleman’s lap. “Shut up and do it back, or I really will be offended.”

“As the prince commands,” Ayato murmurs, as Aether leans in to kiss him again.

He wraps one arm around Aether’s narrow waist and holds him tightly against his body, working the fingers of his other hand into his silky, golden-blonde hair. Aether rocks his hips on his lap as their tongues caress and roll over each other, till they’re both breathless and flushed with heat. Ayato’s hand palms over the shaft of his cock through his trousers, making him gasp and give a little moan.

“You’re sensitive here, aren’t you,” Ayato says, soft and low in his ear. “What about here?”

Pushing up Aether’s tunic to expose his chest, he gently licks and sucks one of his hypersensitive nipples, then the other, till they are puckered and pebble-hard. While they are in this compromising position, Aether hears Thoma come in. He moves to pull away, but Ayato holds him fast.

“I want to ask you something,” he says, leaning back to look at him. “It’s a little out of the ordinary, and if you’re not comfortable with it, feel free to say no. I won’t be offended. Would you like to play with Thoma?”

“What does that mean?” Aether asks, lowering his eyes bashfully.

“It means you and I exercise our newly acquired rights as legal lovers, but Thoma joins us and we use him however we want, to enhance the experience. He’s very obedient and respectful, and if anything makes you even a little uncomfortable, we can stop.”

Aether’s face flushes and his ears and neck burn with embarrassment, but his dick is rock-hard and throbbing, soaking his underwear, and the idea of having these two beautiful men at once is so tantalizing. He hides his face in Ayato’s neck before he nods in the affirmative, so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye while he agrees to such a lewd suggestion.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, my lord prince,” Ayato says, stroking his hair. “We will take good care of you. Thoma, take the prince to my bed. I’ll be right with you.”

Aether feels Thoma’s strong, gentle hands on him. He submits to being lifted in his arms and carried down the hall, to Ayato’s bedroom, where Thoma sets him on his feet, and asks permission to undress him. Aether nods. His head feels hot and dizzy, as Thoma removes his clothing, and he’s overcome by a sudden feeling that he has surrendered control of his body, and given the reins entirely to these two men. He doesn’t exactly dislike the feeling, but it’s new and disorienting.

Ayato comes in, having changed his white suit for a light-blue yukata, and sits on the edge of the bed. He holds his hand out to Aether and pulls him onto his lap, facing away from him, so he can watch Thoma undress his tall, lean, athletic body. When he has stripped to the skin, he sinks to his knees where he is, keeping his green eyes on Ayato, waiting for instructions. His impressive dick is downright intimidating, now. Long and thick, standing out from his body like a spear. Ayato spreads his thighs, pushing Aether’s legs, which are hooked over his, wide apart. Aether gasps as his hand ghosts over the shaft of his cock.

“Just as I thought. We should make you come once, before we start anything in earnest, or you’ll finish too quickly, and it won’t be nearly as fun.” Ayato’s long fingers trail up Aether’s chest, to to flick and stroke both nipples with his fingertips, till they’re puckered and erect again. “Your responses are very strong. Have you gotten off from nipple stimulation before?”

Aether shakes his head.

“First time for everything. I’m going to hold your hands, so you won’t be tempted to touch yourself.” So saying, Ayato takes him by the wrists and pins them at his sides. “Thoma, kneel here and make the prince come for me.”

Thoma obeys, kneeling on the floor in front of Aether. Aether’s face flushes with embarrassment again, as the extremely handsome young man takes his hard nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and begins gently squeezing and tugging. The little shocks of pleasure-pain make his asshole twitch and contract, and his dick flex involuntarily, and before long he is panting and trembling.

“Does that feel good, my lord prince?” Thoma asks.

“S—so good,” Aether answers timidly. “Harder. Do it ha—harder.”

His head lolls back, as Thoma leans in to suck and squeeze and pull them, as if he’s intentionally milking his prostate through his nipples, which is exactly what he is doing. Aether’s dick is throbbing, leaking so hard it feels like he’s pissing himself. The stream of clear fluid runs down his shaft, over his tight sack, and drips onto the floor between Thoma’s knees, as the aching pressure builds in his gut. His hips begin to rock of their own accord, thrusting his rigid, overheated dick against nothing, since Thoma is being cruelly careful to deny him any contact.

“How does that feel, my lord prince?” Thoma asks.

“It feels…like I’m gonna explode,” Aether whimpers, bucking his hips imploringly. “Please, let me—please, let me come!”

“You’re so beautiful desperate and begging for it, my lord prince,” Ayato hums in his ear. “I want to watch you come for me like this. I know you can do it.”

Tears of excruciating need spill down Aether's face, and he makes pleading little sounds through his wet, parted lips, as Thoma squeezes and pulls harder. He begins to shake all over. His thigh muscles tense and flex. Then all at once, the aching knot inside him snaps. He gives a shuddering cry and arches his back against Ayato, his hips jerking erratically as Thoma milks his aching, throbbing ejaculation out of him. His cock convulses, releasing long, sloppy spurts of milk-white fluid all over Thoma’s neck and chest. Then he slumps back, dizzy and breathless.

“Gorgeous,” Ayato murmurs, gently stroking his abdomen, as the spasms ebb and subside. “You came so much. Look at Thoma, he looks good decorated that way, doesn’t he?”

Aether looks at Thoma with hazy, heavy-lidded eyes. His body feels hot and needy still, aching to be filled up and fucked, despite having just come. He can feel Ayato’s hard cock pressed into him through his yukata now. He bites his lip and looks up at him, grinding his ass shamelessly against it.

“You want me inside already?” Ayato asks, with a flirtatious rock of his own hips. “Is it alright if Thoma gets you ready, first? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Aether nods. “Not much, though. I’m conditioned. I don’t want to be too ready.”

Ayato opens his yukata, so he and Aether are skin to skin, then he kisses him, sliding his naked cock teasingly back and forth over his perineum, while Thoma produces a corked bottle, from which he pours some kind of clear, viscous liquid onto his fingers. Ayato pulls Aether’s knees up, holding his legs wide apart, obscenely displaying his asshole. His face flushes crimson yet again, which he tries absurdly to cover with his hands, making Ayato laugh delightedly.

“I’m going to touch you now,” Thoma says, in his firm but gentle way. “Tell me if it doesn’t feel good, or if you want to stop for any reason.”

Aether nods, still hiding his face in his hands. Thoma reaches down to prod and circle the sensitive rim of his asshole. Aether makes a choking sound in his throat, as two of Thoma’s big fingers push slowly inside, slicking him with the lubricant as they work in and out. Aether’s body acclimates rapidly, and Thoma doesn’t do much, before he’s drawn them out again.

“I’m going to penetrate you, my lord prince,” Ayato says, as Thoma pours more liquid into his hand and strokes him, slicking his shaft. “May I have Thoma suck you off, while I fuck you?”

Aether nods again, not hiding this time, but still blushing to the ears and trying not to look Thoma in the face. Ayato lifts him by his thighs, and Thoma holds Ayato’s cock to guide it, as he lowers him onto it.

“You’re so hot inside,” Ayato says in a strained voice. “How does it feel, is this ok?”

“More, I want—I want more,” Aether stammers.

Ayato gasps and shudders, as Aether’s taut hole swallows his shaft, all the way to the base. Then he begins to rock his hips, sliding out slowly, then letting the velvety, squeezing heat suck him back in.

“You feel so—ah! You feel so good. Thoma, suck him now. Don’t—don’t swallow it, take it…ha! on your face.”

Thoma kneels before him and takes him in his mouth. Ayato resumes pistoning his hips, harder and faster, bouncing Aether on his dick, while Thoma sucks him. With Ayato’s cock thumping his prostate, and Thoma deep-throating him like he’s never even heard the term gag-reflex, Aether is all the way over the edge before he realizes it.

“I’m c—I’m coming!” he manages to choke out, warning Thoma just in time.

Thoma pulls off, wringing Aether’s convulsing cock in his fist as it spurts all over his face. Ayato holds him by his thighs and keeps pounding up into him, till he tenses up and gives a strangled groan, and Aether feels his dick pulsing, pumping his asshole full of slippery fluid. Then he yelps with surprise, as Ayato lays back suddenly on the bed, taking Aether with him, still holding his knees up on either side of his chest. Ayato’s spent dick pops out with an obscene squelch, and Thoma immediately puts his mouth on Aether’s sloppy, freshly-fucked hole, licking and lapping up his master’s semen as it runs out of him. Aether whimpers under the onslaught of stimulation, as Ayato holds him bent in half and spread wide open, kissing and fondling him, while Thoma tongue-fucks him half out of his senses.

Thoma draws back to look at him, hearing him yelp again, and not realizing it’s because Ayato has given his raw nipples a cruel twist. “Are you alright, my lord prince? Do you want me to stop?”

“D—don’t stop!” Aether sputters. “Please don’t stop!”

Ayato laughs as Thoma goes right back to work, licking and laving and prodding and sliding his hot tongue in and out, till Aether shakes apart again, his dick throbbing and spurting weakly onto his stomach, and his pink hole squeezing and contracting spasmodically, dribbling more of Ayato’s milky semen onto Thoma’s eager tongue.

“My lord prince, would you like Thoma to put his cock in you?” Ayato asks.

“Yes. Do it,” Aether pants.

Thoma pulls him up and turns him around to face Ayato, making him straddle him on all fours. Ayato reaches behind him and spreads him apart, as Thoma slots his hot, heavy shaft into the cleft of his ass. It slides up and down in the slippery slick, then the head presses against the taut entrance. Aether puts his hands on Ayato’s chest to balance himself, groaning through his teeth as Thoma’s long, thick cock slowly impales his tender, swollen asshole, filling him to what feels like the back of his throat. He’s quite a bit bigger than Ayato, and Aether is shaking and perspiring by the time it’s all the way in. Ayato strokes his sides and murmurs encouraging words, while Thoma holds his hips flush against his ass and rocks gently, allowing him to acclimate to his girth before he begins.

“You feel so good, squeezing on my cock like this, my lord prince,” Thoma says breathlessly. “I want to fuck you hard, is that alright?”

“Whatever—whatever you want,” Aether slurs.

Thoma takes his wrists and pulls his arms behind him, to use them for leverage, then he draws back and slams his hips forward savagely, drawing a hoarse cry from Aether. He does it again, punching out another cry. Then again and again, faster and harder, hammering him brutally, while Ayato holds him steady. It hurts, getting fucked so hard and deep with Thoma’s big dick, but it’s such a good hurt. He wants even more. He buries his face in Ayato’s chest and arches his back, tilting his ass up to take him deeper. His dick bounces and swings between his thighs, drooling what little he has left onto Ayato’s stomach, as Thoma’s hips slap against his ass.

“Can you come again, my lord prince?” Thoma asks.

“I hope you can,” Ayato adds.“Thoma’s not allowed to come unless you do.”

Aether whines and writhes from the burning sparks of overstimulation igniting in his gut, as Ayato takes hold of his half-hard cock and wrings it pitilessly, brute-forcing him toward yet another peak.

“You got—really tight, just now,” Thoma pants, between thrusts. “I want to b—breed you so bad.”

“Come for us, now,” Ayato commands, grabbing Aether roughly by his hair. “Come on Thoma’s big, hard cock, so he can breed your little slut hole.”

The harsh words and sharp jerk on his hair go rocketing straight down Aether’s spine into his balls. With a sobbing wail, his orgasm is wrenched out of him, his dick throbbing pathetically in Ayato’s hand as he comes dry.

“Oh, fuck!” Thoma sputters. “Your hole is—ha! sucking me in! I can’t…ungh!”

He holds onto his wrists with bruising force, fucking wildly into him, his hips stuttering at the top of each thrust, pumping a hot, slippery flood into his brutalized asshole. He gives a last thrust and holds it deep, rocking against him while he rides out the spasms. Aether feels Ayato reach down and hold him open as Thoma carefully pulls out, then releases his arms. As he collapses forward onto Ayato’s body, hot fluid gushes out of his asshole to trickle down his thighs and certainly onto Ayato, but he’s never cared less about anything in his life. He is utterly exhausted, drifting in a blissful, fucked-out haze.

He is vaguely aware of Ayato and Thoma kissing and petting him, murmuring all kinds of words of praise and affection. He lolls half-conscious on Thoma in the bath they carry him to, while Ayato gently washes his body. Then he is lifted out of the bath and wrapped up in a plushy towel, to be carried to bed. Ayato pulls him close and Thoma’s chest is pressed up against his back. Cradled securely between their big, warm, naked bodies, he suddenly begins to weep.

“Oh—oh, no!” Ayato exclaims, looking anxiously into his face. “My lord prince, what’s the matter? We didn’t hurt you, did we?”

Aether shakes his head, but he can’t stop the tears, that seem to be coming from the center of his being.

“Is there anything at all I can do to help?” Thoma offers. “Can I get you anything, or make you anything to eat or drink?"

“It’s—it’s not that,” Aether says, between hiccupping sobs. “It’s just that…you keep asking me wh—what I like, and telling me how good I am. Then you held me and bathed me and everything. No one has e—ever paid attention to me and taken care of me like this. I don’t know why I’m crying about it, though, it made me happy.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Ayato says, pressing kisses to his golden-blonde head as he and Thoma squeeze him between them in a tight embrace. “You should always be asked and listened to and praised and taken care of. If any of your lovers don’t treat you right, you toss them right out of your bed.”

“I don’t have any lovers,” Aether sniffles. “I never had sex with anyone but my husband, before. He doesn’t ask me what I like, or tell me how it feels or anything. I didn’t know those were things people did, till just now, with you two.”

Ayato sighs. “Well…that’s a different problem. You can’t exactly toss him out of your bed. But you could try talking to him. Ask him if something feels good, tell him how things feel for you. Make him acknowledge that you’re still a human being, even when he has his cock in you.”

“I’m so scared of him, though. What if I annoy him?”

“You’re scared of him? Has he hurt you?” Thoma asks, with a sudden note of ferocity in his gentle voice.

“Hurt me? No, I’m not—I don’t mean scared that way. I’m literally afraid to make him angry. I don’t want him to regret marrying me. I don’t want to demand attention from him, and make him…oh. Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Ayato asks. “What is it?”

“All these fears I have are just things my father said to me. ‘Don’t make Rex Lapis angry’ and ‘don’t make him regret his bargain’ and ‘don’t demand his attention’. I can’t believe I’m finally away from him, all the way on a different world, and he’s still in my head making me feel like a piece of shit.”

“Fathers are complicated,” Ayato says. “My father still owns part of my head, too, even though he’s been gone for years. Though, I don’t think mine was nearly as cruel as yours.”

“I don’t think anyone’s was. The more I hear people describe their relationships with their fathers, the more I realize that ours was far from normal. None of my relationships are normal.”

“What about us?” Thoma says, feigning indignation.

“Yes, what about us?” Ayato agrees. “What’s not normal about having three-way sex with a diplomat slash treason co-conspirator and his servant slash top-secret intelligence agent after publicly obtaining your dragon-god husband’s permission?”

“You know what, you’re right,” Aether laughs. “This is perfectly normal. And if it isn’t…I think I prefer weird.”

“I definitely prefer weird,” Thoma puts in. “I mean, this is the guy I work for.”

“Oh my god!” Ayato gasps, sitting bolt-upright. “I just remembered you brought home a bunch of sweets! It’s naked dessert time!”

Chapter Text

It was a humid day in mid-September, when Ajax, Lord Tartaglia, Crown Prince of Snezhnaya, arrived to take his post as the cultural attaché to the Snezhnayan Embassy in Liyue. It had taken him many years to get to this place, directed as he was toward this purpose every step of the way by his Tsaritsa, as a hand directs a blade. As the boat drew nearer and nearer to the dock in Liyue Harbor, he found himself increasingly disappointed. The city of the Dragon King was nothing but a little port town. Pretty, certainly, but quaint and small, and woefully outdated. Even Snezhnaya’s more mediocre port cities surpassed it for size, alone.

When he disembarked, he found the Snezhnayan ambassador appropriately meek and groveling in his presence, but the embassy itself was a hovel, when compared to the grand and gaudy palaces in which he was raised. He had spent years living rough in the military and in his other special training, it was true, but he’d never lost his taste for and expectation of fine things. The circumstances would have irritated him, had the embassy in the city been his final destination, but it was not. He was to reside in the Jade Palace.

Obviously, a cultural attaché would never be given permanent lodging in the palace of the Dragon King, but the Crown Prince of Snezhnaya was another matter, altogether. The Tsaritsa corresponded personally with the Qixing, framing his appointment to the position as on-the-job diplomatic training for the heir to the throne, and the Lady Ningguang saw that arrangements for residence in the palace were made for him. The Tsaritsa would not have had it any other way. Her spy had to be as close to his mark as possible, after all.

Over the millennia, countless spies and manipulators, would-be assassins and seekers after power and influence, had been sent from all over Teyvat and beyond, to tempt the Dragon King. All their schemes had been dashed to pieces on the everlasting stone. He was monolithic. Unmovable and unmoved. The most beautiful youths of every gender and origin, all flawlessly molded to please him, were sent one after another, and not a single one so much as made a scratch in that impermeable surface.

Then the Tsaritsa had an idea. She would create a new kind of spy. One educated and cultured, and conditioned to sex as they all are, but not shaped with a view to pleasing the king. This child would be trained and prepared with the specific purpose of provoking the god-king. A willful, arrogant, foul-mouthed youth, such as very young women find exciting before their brains develop reason. Everything on the surface of this child would be designed to annoy him. The Tsaritsa even noted the Dragon King’s distaste for red hair.

But the velvet fist in this iron glove would be the child’s peculiar similarities to the king himself, that once discovered, as if by accident, would tend toward turning antagonistic feelings into sexual tension. To that end, the child would have to be exceedingly handsome and noble of birth. In him would be cultivated an unimpeachable sense of honor and a strong martial bent. A taste for history and the fine arts. Opera, classical literature, tea ceremonies and quiet meditation. At his core, under the incompatible surface, this boy must be a lover of truth and beauty, with a vulnerable heart (though he must also be made loyal enough to his Tsaritsa to conquer his personal feelings and betray the man he was sent to fall in love with).

Thus Ajax, Lord Tartaglia was chosen from thousands of children, taken from his father, adopted by the Tsaritsa, and crowned Prince and Heir to the throne of Snezhnaya. Then commenced the reshaping of this malleable being, from a little human boy into a living vessel for treachery. He was raised in the palace, and called ‘the child’ so often by the Tsaritsa, that it evolved into the stylized ‘Childe’, which was a joke at first, but then became his nickname among his tutors and instructors, and later his military cohorts.

Several years of his rigorous tutelage passed, and he excelled in every area. When he was old enough, he was given to the priestesses of Eros for his sexual conditioning. One evening, perhaps weary of fucking and being fucked while he was closely observed and chided for his poor form and technique, he ran away from the palace and disappeared. It was thought to be only a youth’s petulant whim at first, but when twenty-four hours had gone by with no sign of him, the alarm went up and the military was mobilized in searching for him. When not even the Tsaritsa herself could locate him, he was nearly given up as irretrievably lost.

Three days later, he appeared at the palace gate, hollow cheeked and wild-eyed, bearing scars that had not even been wounds yet when he vanished. He wore armor made of strange, black hides, his hair was long and unkempt, and he stood a full two inches taller than he had three days prior. He and the Tsaritsa were closeted in conversation for many hours. When he emerged, his training was resumed as if nothing had happened, and any mention of the incident was strictly forbidden.

On the surface, once he was groomed and dressed properly, Childe was nearly the same. He spoke and looked like a slightly older version of the same boy he had been three days ago. But he had changed. Something inside him had been galvanized, for good or ill, and he had become something no one had foreseen. Whatever it was, it baffled his teachers and terrified the palace servants, and delighted the Tsaritsa. He was packed off to the military shortly after, where his penchant and talent for violence made him notorious, and upon completion of his service, the Tsaritsa’s little monster was sent to Liyue, to finally ensnare the Dragon King. Credit to her highness where it is due, he came the closest to succeeding anyone ever had.

Childe’s progress at the Jade Palace was unpromising at first. A month passed, and he had yet to even lay eyes on the king. Then another. He was becoming quickly impatient of court, with its insipid young ladies and pampered young gentlemen. The only person he ever liked was Lord Dainsleif, and he was absent more than he was present. Otherwise, everyone fucked everyone else, and the whole thing was a constant morass of petty interpersonal drama. Not that Childe was entirely innocent in it—he took more young men and women to bed than anyone—but he was certainly above it. He genuinely did not care who he hurt or pleased, nor what anyone said or thought of him. In that strange way human beings have, his disdain and disregard for the other courtiers only made him more popular and sought after among them.

In order to evade a group of vacuous ladies one day, he slipped into a room someone had once told him was the library. It certainly was a library and a spectacular one, at that. Cavernous but warmly lit and restful, beautifully furnished, its high shelves packed with every rare and valuable volume imaginable…his heart nearly burst with joy. He spent a feverish half hour walking up and down the rows of shelves, examining the books, caressing the spines reverently, and laboring over which few to pull down. When he finally had his selection, he set them on a reading table, settled into a black-velvet couch near a conveniently placed window, and dove headfirst into the top book of the stack. An hour or so had passed in this highly agreeable way, when a shadow fell across the page of his book.

“What are you doing?” a man’s voice asked.

“This is a library, and I am attempting to read,” Childe answered tartly. “Now, if you don’t mind, you’re blocking my—”

The words died on his tongue as he looked up and saw who he’d been addressing, and he leapt to his feet as if he’d been sitting on hot coals, spilling his book onto the floor, in his haste.

“My lord king, p—please forgive me. I had no idea it was you,” he sputtered, bowing clumsily and hurrying to retrieve the book.

“What are you reading?” The Dragon King asked, in a not altogether unfriendly tone.

“It’s—uh, Meditations Against War, my lord king,” Childe replied, holding the book out to him.

The king took it and frowned at the cover. “Why did you choose this book?”

“If it please my lord the king, I have heard the author quoted and referenced many times, but never had the opportunity to read his words for myself, since his works are banned in Snezhnaya. I was delighted to find it here and to finally have the opportunity.”

The king arched a black eyebrow. “He is often quoted by those attempting to appear sagacious. For my part, he is not my favorite philosopher. There is some substance in his work, but…I do not think he was nearly so wise as he is given credit for.”

“Oh, but, my lord king, the value in his work doesn’t lie in its being the most wise or profound,” Childe replied eagerly, forgetting his fear in his passion for the subject. “The great value I take from it is to see the process of a warrior’s mind becoming that of a man of peace.”

“Is it, indeed.”

“It is, my lord king. Nearly all the works of philosophy we have come from the minds of men who are inclined by rank and profession to peace. Monks, scholars, theologians, and the like. This is the only case in which the philosopher had been a violent warlord, before his reform. It’s easy for clerics and academics to tout the evils of war, but it rings truer coming from a man who actually participated in the very bloodshed he grew to decry.”

“So it is the philosopher, not the philosophy, that has captured your interest.”

“Very much so, my lord king. I beg your pardon for talking so freely. My enthusiasm got the better of me.”

“Hm,” the king said, looking thoughtfully at the cover of the book again. “And what brought you here, seeking books, in the first place?”

“To be perfectly honest, my lord king, someone had pointed this out to me as a library some time ago, and I ducked in to avoid being pestered by courtiers.”

“It is for a similar reason that I am in the habit of reading here, at this hour. For a brief respite from the constant demands upon my attention.”

“Oh—I beg your pardon, my lord king. I wouldn’t have been in here to disturb you, had I known. I assumed you’d have a private library, to avoid oafs such as myself.”

The king smiled placidly. “This is my private library.”

Finally grasping the full scope of his blunder, Childe’s face flushed crimson and he bowed his head, covering his brow with his hand. “My lord king, I am so embarrassed. I was told only that this was a library. I had no idea of the inexcusable intrusion I had committed. Please, forgive me.”

“You may join me here, tomorrow,” the king replied, handing the book back to him. “So long as you are more careful with my books in the future.”

Childe was elated at this sudden stroke of good fortune. Months of nothing, and now he was invited to meet with the king alone, for a leisure activity. His spirits absolutely soared. When he came again the next day, he attempted to find an unobtrusive corner in which to read, to avoid annoying the king at all costs, but he found rather that the monarch desired to converse with him. These meetings continued, quickly becoming regular, until the two were passing time this way two or three times a week. Gradually, as occurs between friends with active minds and like interests, their interactions began to take on the character of a single, ongoing conversation, dropping off when the king departed, and picking up where they left off at their next meeting.

They discussed everything. History, politics, philosophy, language, art, warfare, international relations, taxation, the logistics of city management and infrastructure—there was no subject the king broached in which Childe did not have some interest and at least cursory knowledge. By this time, they had grown quite familiar, and Childe was more often in the habit of disagreeing than agreeing with the king, which made conversation far more interesting and which often led to spirited debate. Childe would pace to and fro, always active and gesturing, and the king would sit still and immoveable, the calm and steadfast voice of opposition.

“No, no, no,” Childe was vehemently insisting, one day. “As you do every time we come to this point, you have fallen back on the free will question.”

“Because it is relevant to the scenario you propose, and yet you persistently fail to account for it,” the king rejoined.  

“But it is not relevant to the scenario I propose. It is only your insistence upon moral autonomy as a genesis point for any reality, which it is observably not, you stubborn old dragon.”

“You only believe that because your moral autonomy has never been the genesis point for a reality, you stubborn human child.”

“Gah!” Childe exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, then falling theatrically onto the couch. “This is why it’s futile to argue with a god. Just when you think you’ve got any kind of a solid foothold, they work back from logos to theos and you’re sunk.”

The king sat upon the edge of a library table and crossed his arms. “And yet you do nothing but argue with me. Perhaps you simply enjoy futility.”

“Missed opportunity, my lord,” Childe remarked, looking at him upside-down with an impish smirk. “You should have said that I must enjoy being beaten.”

“Do you?”

“I wouldn’t know. No one ever has.”

“No one has ever beaten you? I find that difficult to believe,” the king said archly.

“Not in a fight.”

“You have never fought with me. But it would be cruel to allow you to try.”

“On the contrary, my lord. I think I would like very much to be beaten by you.”

“You are being intentionally provocative again.”

“Well…perhaps I do enjoy futility.”

“This is a strange tactic you have chosen. To pretend sexual desire for me, and take every opportunity to shift the conversation in that direction, and away from the original point in question. It works, in that it derails the debate, but it brings you no closer to gaining your point.”

“It is not pretended, my lord king,” Childe sighed. “Do you not know? Human beings desire most what is most out of reach. We possess moral autonomy and this is what we have done with it. Discovered every possible way to torment ourselves.”

“That is absurd.”

“We are absurd creatures.”

“You are an absurd creature. If you wish to go to bed with me, why do you not simply state the fact outright, rather than obfuscating it with sarcasm and jest?”

“Human nature again, my lord. Like any animal, the desire for self-preservation trumps even sexual desire.”

“You mean you are afraid of me.”

“I am afraid of nothing!” Childe returned, bridling up and also sitting up. “There are boundaries that must not be breached, is all I meant. Hierarchies that must be respected.”

“You have avoided openly stating your desire to go to bed with me, because you think my power and position place me too far above you.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you feel quite free to call me a stubborn old dragon to my face.”

“That is true, though, is it not, my lord?” Childe grinned.

“You use audacity as a shield when you fear you have gone too far.”

“You state obvious facts about me when you are excusing my breaches of propriety.”

“Come here.”

The phrase, spoken as a command, dragged Childe from the couch and moved him to stand in front of the king before his conscious mind had even processed the words. He had never lost control of his body that way before. Disoriented and alarmed, he stood trembling, staring wide-eyed into the Dragon King’s face.

“You truly are afraid of me. You have not yet begun to comprehend what I am, but you are aware that you have not. That is wise, at least.” His amber eyes strayed down Childe’s body to his pelvis, where his very erect cock was plainly observable in his snug-fitting grey trousers. “It appears that you enjoy being frightened.”

“M—my lord king, I—”

“Kneel.”

Childe dropped to his knees as if his legs had been kicked out from beneath him, and sat on his heels, gazing up at the king.

“Interesting,” the king murmured. “But how far are you willing to descend to get what you want.”

He brought his foot up between Childe’s thighs and hefted his balls with the toe of his black boot. The boy gasped and gave a jolt, then whimpered as the king pressed the shaft of his cock between his abdomen and the boot’s smooth, hard, leather sole. He moved it slowly up and down, then placed his foot back on the floor.

“Stimulate yourself manually. Ejaculate on my boot.”

With unsteady hands, Childe undid his fly and pulled out his aching, drooling cock. He peeled off a glove and spit liberally into his palm, then holding his jacket up against his flat stomach, he pumped the rigid shaft rapidly, letting his spit-slick fist come up over the head with each quick stroke. His face and chest flushed with heat and his abdominal muscles tensed. With a choked sound in the back of his throat, he came, his cock throbbing in his hand as it spurted pearl-white spatters across the king’s immaculate black boot. He was still holding his spent dick in his hand and trying to catch his breath, when the king spoke his next command.

“Clean it up.”

Childe blinked up at him, then exactly what he was being commanded to do dawned on him, and his faced flushed with indignation. But the Crown Prince of Snezhnaya strangled his pride and steeled his will to utterly abase himself. He placed his palms on the floor. Blinking back tears of humiliation, he lowered his head and licked every drop of his cold, coagulating semen from the king’s boot. When he had finished, the king departed without another word, and left him kneeling there, fumbling to refasten his fly. A courier came to him before supper with a message from the king’s secretary, summoning him to his private chambers at eleven that evening.

Childe had been taught to desire this man sexually, but he was unprepared for the quasi-draconic attributes of the king’s humanoid form, of which no one who had taught him had been aware. His serpentine tongue repelled him, and his inhuman, black and gold cock, with its pronounced ridges and thick bulb near the base of the shaft, terrified him. The revulsion and terror didn’t last very long, though. He learned exactly what a dragon tongue could do when he was made to come twice before the king’s monstrous cock had even penetrated him.

When he did, he took him from behind, with his knees outside his thighs, Childe’s head on the mattress and his wrists pinned to the small of his back. The bulb on his already oversized cock pummeled his prostate, forcing him over the edge so fast he could hardly breathe. He has no idea how many times he came that night, but he was a quivering, half-conscious wreck when the Dragon King finally had done with him.

They met regularly in the king’s chambers after that. Childe’s impudent and contrary nature often provoked the king, as it had been intended to do, and their more heated debates would inevitably lead to particularly rough fucking—and sometimes continue during. Everything they did, every word they spoke, every moment they spent together, were diligently reported to the Tsaritsa by her precious little spy. By this point, he and the king were together an average of three nights a week and Childe was well aware that the king had no other lovers. The plan was humming along beautifully.

One day, no summons came. Childe thought nothing of it. They often had gaps of days between their meetings. Several more days passed with no word. Then a week. After two weeks, Childe was a raw nerve. Justifiably agitated and confused, he plucked up his courage and went to the library uninvited. There were millelith stationed outside and he was denied entrance. He was crushed. This wounded him far more than the abrupt discontinuation of their sexual relations. He was no longer welcome in the place their friendship had taken root, and that had become a shared sanctuary over the past few months. He still had bookmarks in several books.

He walked the halls in a daze of bewilderment and grief, rejected and abandoned, without a word of explanation. But he was justly owed at least that much, and the Dragon King was just, if he was anything. As such, he put in an official request with the king’s secretary for an appointment with him. This was granted, and he was given a ten-minute time slot the following Wednesday afternoon. When he was admitted, he found the king seated at his massive sandbearer-wood desk, with stacks of scrolls and documents on both ends.

“Prince Ajax,” he said serenely. “What can I do for you?”

Childe stared at him, in frank disbelief. “You…you know why I’m here. You cut me off without a word. You forbade me entrance the library. I want to know why.”

“Ah, yes. You are most likely unaware of this, but since you came to my court, you have been at all times watched. Your appointment was highly irregular, and my agents also recommended your background be more thoroughly looked into. They have since gathered all the information they could. They now suspect that you were adopted and trained by the Tsaritsa, with the express purpose of getting close to me. Of planting a spy in my bed.”

“You say suspected, but not proven,” Childe replied, with tears welling up in his ice-blue eyes. “And you never asked me. Even if that had been the Tsaritsa’s original intention, how do you know I have not fallen in love with you and abandoned my loyalty to her?”

“I do not know those things. And because it is suspicion only, and not proof, you are welcome to remain at court, as the cultural attaché to your embassy. But the continuation of our sexual affair is no longer possible.”

The tears spilled over and drew wet lines down his cheeks. “But my lord king, we had become such friends, I thought…I thought there was some genuine affection between us, at the very least.”

“Ajax,” the king sighed. “I like you very much. I have enjoyed our time together. But you have been so habituated to falsity and deception, I wonder if you know how to be sincere at all, anymore. Even your body has been conditioned to lie. Whether it is your conscious intention to betray me or not, the fact remains that you are untrustworthy. I will not continue on such familiar terms with someone who cannot even trust himself.”

“I will prove myself to you,” Childe attempted desperately, falling to his knees and folding his hands on the edge of the desk, in a gesture so melodramatic, that it endeared him to the king even further, if only for its youthful absurdity. “I have been raised and trained to be a liar and a manipulator, but I can change those things. I can learn to be trustworthy. Only give me time and I will prove myself.”

The king leaned back in his chair, looking away, as if considering this. Then he looked back at Childe. “I believe your will to be strong enough to do as you say, if you truly wish to do it. But you must know…I can never love you. It has nothing to do with this, it simply is.”

Childe wiped the tears away with the back of his gloved hand. “I am not in love with you, my lord king, you are…you are the only friend I have ever had. I will earn your trust and become worthy of your friendship, I swear it. I will do anything you wish me to do.”

“You abased yourself before, in order to gain access to my bed. I do not trust your humility. You are a proud and strong-minded young man, so be proud and strong-minded. Do as you will, not as you think will please me. Learn to trust yourself. Then you may begin to earn my trust.”

Childe departed the Dragon King’s office with a heart torn in two, between a god and an empress. His first friend and the only mother he had ever known. But he could not serve two masters. One day, he would have to choose.

Aether opens his eyes blearily in the fresh morning light, to find Ayato wrapped around him like a big, warm octopus. Thoma is not there, but he smells very distinct breakfast smells, wafting in the open bedroom door, so he knows he’s not far away. Rex Lapis does not sleep, and so, though Aether sleeps in his bed after they have been together, he always wakes up alone. This is the first time he has woken up with someone since he was a small child, and he and Lumine used to run to one another’s beds for comfort, through the massive, silent halls, in their wing of the palace.

He smiles to himself and strokes Ayato’s silky, light-blue hair. What a brave, selfless, beautiful, and absolutely ridiculous man. One moment he is willingly going to his death for the sake of the cause he believes in, and the next he’s pouting because there are not enough chocolate things among the treats Thoma brought. Conundrum doesn’t even begin to describe Ayato. He wonders what his sister is like, and if she shares her brother’s wildly contradictive personality. If she shares his brains and his looks, she is at least a force to be reckoned with.

“He’s got you, huh?” Thoma laughs, as he steps in the door at that moment. “He’s like a huge leech when he’s sleeping. Once he clamps on, you’re done for. There’s no escape till he wakes up.”

“What’s…why’s Thoma talking about leeches?” Ayato mumbles, through a yawn. He pushes himself up and blinks drowsily down at Aether, then pounces on him suddenly and drags him onto his chest, rolling him gleefully back and forth. “Look what I caught, Thoma! It’s a naked blonde boy! Can I keep him?”

“You’ll have to take that up with the king, my lord. I just came in to say that breakfast is here.”

Ayato is busily nuzzling into the hollow behind Aether’s ear, while Aether attempts to squirm away. “Mmm, he’s so warm and delicious, though. I think I’ll just eat him for breakfast.”

“Ow!” Aether yelps, as Ayato actually sinks his teeth into his neck. “Cut that out, I’m not food!”

“Alright, my lord, no devouring the prince,” Thoma chides. “We have things to do today. You’re meeting Captain Beidou’s crewman in two hours.”

Ayato looks up and frowns. “Two hours? I thought you said it was a lunch meeting.”

“It is a lunch meeting. It’ll be noon in two hours.”

“Ughhhhh,” he groans, flopping over onto Aether with his full weight. “That’s so early. Why are you so cruel, Thoma.”

“I don’t know, my lord, maybe I’m just a sadist. My lord prince, would you like me to remove Kamisato-sama from your person so you can get up?”

“No, that’s ok, I can—ha!” Aether gasps, as Ayato’s fingertips slip into the cleft of his ass under the covers. “Just give us a m—minute.”

Thoma shakes his head, chuckling to himself as he walks out of the room. Aether spreads his knees wider apart to let Ayato settle between them. Finding him still slick and swollen from the night before, Ayato guides his cock with his hand and pushes it inside. He holds him tightly while he fucks him, caressing and kissing him and looking into his eyes, in a way that’s almost painfully intimate. Ayato comes first, but he keeps thrusting, thrumming over Aether’s prostate in the slippery slick of semen, stroking his cock till he tenses up and gives a soft cry, arching his back as it convulses and spits on his stomach.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ayato says, stroking Aether’s face with his fingertips, as they lie facing one another, basking in the post-climax euphoria.

“Pfft,” Aether retorts. “You’re only saying that because I’m beautiful.”

“My lord prince, I must tell you something. About what I said to the king. That wasn’t a lie, to save the cause. I’m…I’m in love with you.”

Aether’s heart plummets like a stone. He opens his mouth to frame a reply, but he can see in Ayato’s face that he has already caught and fully comprehended his reaction.

“I’ve made everything awkward, now, haven’t I,” he says, with a heroic attempt at a laugh. “Damn my impetuous temperament.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Aether says helplessly. “Ayato…I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s my fault. I wanted you to know how I feel, and now you do. But I won’t make myself a nuisance, I promise. I don’t expect anything from you that you can’t give me.”

Tears well up in Aether’s eyes, seeing how strong and good his friend is, attempting to mask the wound with cheerfulness. He throws his arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“You’re so wonderful and kind,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. “I don’t deserve you. I’m sorry I’m like this. I wish I could—”

“Nonsense,” Ayato interrupts gently. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault romantic fools can’t help falling on our faces in love with you. I am deeply honored to know you, and to be counted among your friends. Now, no more crying, I mean it. Thoma will think I’ve been bullying you and he’ll punish me by withholding milk tea.”

“Are you…sure we’re ok? Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Of course,” Ayato smiles, pulling him up from the bed. “I’m a big boy, my lord prince. I’m disappointed, of course, but I can handle a little rejection without utterly collapsing. Come bathe and have breakfast. We have treason to commit, and Thoma is very particular about punctuality when it comes to high crimes.”

The Liuli Pavilion has been cleared of guests and most of the staff for the prince’s visit, as is customary, and the owner waits upon them herself, in the formal dining room. She has just finished describing the special menu they’ve prepared, and departed to bring beverages, when the door opens, and Thoma announces the crewman from Captain Beidou’s fleet. Aether looks and then has to do a double take. He had expected a big, burly, suntanned sailor type. This person is nearly as far from that as is possible, while still being actually human and not some species of rare bird.

For a moment, Aether thinks it’s a woman, but as the person approaches, it becomes clear to him that he’s a boy. He is about Aether’s height, slight and slender in build, and extremely fair-skinned. His irises are ruby-colored and his long hair is snow-white—save for a single deep-crimson streak—and drawn back in a leather tie at the base of his neck. He is extraordinarily beautiful. It’s all Aether can do not to stare at him as courteous bows are exchanged, and Thoma introduces him and Ayato.

“Kaedehara Kazuha,” the boy says, in a voice that belies his youthful appearance. “A wandering samurai from Inazuma. Some years ago, Captain Beidou took me in and taught me the trade of seafaring. I have belonged to the Crux fleet ever since. I understand you wish to assist the people of Watatsumi.”

“That’s right,” Aether nods.

“Why?”

Kaedehara Kazuha is looking frankly into his face, expecting an answer. His manner is calmly self-assured, but in no way brash or offensive. He is within his rights to ask this question, and does so without apology.

“I heard their case in counsel,” Aether answers. “What’s happening to them isn’t right. It may be justice to leave them to their own devices, as far as my husband is concerned, but it’s not mercy. Money will help them and I have nearly unlimited wealth at my disposal. How could I stand by, knowing they are in need, and not extend my hand?”

“So you are a humanitarian. I have not heard this is a philosophy common among Celestials,” Kazuha replies, with a deceptively offhand air. He is testing him now.

“Celestials think of humans as little more than stock animals,” Aether says bluntly. “They are born, they breed, and they die. All in a matter of decades. So I was taught to think of them. But I have visited many worlds that harbor them. If they are animals, why do they build great cities and write songs and myths, and create beautiful things for beauty’s sake? Why do they look to the stars for answers and for hope? Why do they love and grieve, and weep for joy and sorrow? Why do they aspire to be more than they are? To me, mortality does not make humans less than us. It only makes them briefer, and their lives more poignant and precious, for their fleeting nature. Their few years should be filled with as much happiness as is possible, and as little suffering. That’s why I wish to help the people of Watatsumi. To save them from the needless suffering and early death that accompanies war.”

“White bones are the only crop in these yellow sands,” Kazuha murmurs, as if to himself.

“War is a fearful thing, and the wise prince resorts to it only if he must,” Aether returns. “I’ve read the works of the poet-philosopher Zhongli, as well. It was part of my education in Teyvat’s culture and history.”

Kazuha arches an eyebrow. “Then you know what they say of him.”

“They say he was an ancient warlord who had a divine vision, and abandoned warfare to wander the world as a vagrant, lamenting the blood he himself had spilled. He supposedly wrote his Meditations Against War during that time.”

“Supposedly. Though, many historians don’t believe he was ever one man, but various philosophers, writing under the pen name. People all over the world reported seeing him and speaking with him, but not a single word written in his own hand has ever been found. All his works were transcribed by others.”

“You mean to suggest that even advocates for peace may not be what they seem.”

“No,” Kazuha smiles. “I just enjoy talking history and philosophy, and there are very few pirates who are knowledgeable in the subjects.”

“I see,” Aether laughs. “Well, I’d be happy to talk more about them with you any time, only you’ll be at sea and I’ll be here, which will make that inconvenient.”

“Prince Aether…General Gorou is a close friend of mine,” Kazuha says, sitting forward. “We have worked together on many occasions. That is why Captain Beidou sent me to meet with you. To impress upon you how much the cause of Watatsumi’s people means to all of us in the fleet. Many of our sailors hail from there, and others have wives and children there. But I think perhaps you would benefit from meeting the people face to face. Actually seeing the human beings that your aid will save. Speaking with the men who fight for their land and homes. There is a world of difference between humanitarianism and humanity.”

“You think I should meet them?” Aether asks, taken aback. “But how?”

“You could come with us. Aboard the Alcor.”

Aether shakes his head slowly, even as the old wanderlust ignites, and sets fire to his blood. “I can’t. I can’t leave the palace and my duties and just…go with you across the sea.”

Kazuha gazes intently into his eyes for a long beat, then he sits back in his chair and shrugs. “Well, it was only a thought. Regardless, the people of Watatsumi will be forever in your debt. You have singlehandedly saved thousands of lives.”

When Aether, Ayato, and Thoma depart the Liuli Pavilion, Aether is relieved of the burden of eight-hundred million mora in bank notes, and weighed down with the knowledge that his part in the task is now complete. All he can do is wait, and hope. Long after the three young men have vanished down the bustling city street, Kaedehara Kazuha stands on his perch atop the roof of the restaurant, gazing up at the mountain peaks, and the Jade Palace high above.

There is a shift in pressure. A familiar scent, like the sweet air of a summer night, borne here out of season on some errant breeze. A silent presence.

“A morning shower in Guili has settled the light dust. The willows by the inn are fresh and green,” he says in a soft, elegiac cadence, as one reciting a verse from memory. “Stay, and drink a cup of wine. West of the pass, you will meet no more old friends.”

A gust of wind is the only reply.

He turns to look, but there is nothing to see. A tear rolls down his bone-white cheek, but there is no one to see it. Then he draws the hood of his cloak over his head, and goes on his way.

Chapter Text

Aether tells no one what his plans are. He can’t afford to let Ayato be implicated, so he has to go without him knowing, so he can honestly deny it, when he is inevitably questioned. In his chambers, he leaves a message for the king, which Madame Ping will find in the morning, explaining where he’s gone. He leaves another for Ayato (which will certainly be delivered to the king, also), formally dismissing the Yashiro Commissioner as his lover, and saying that his persistent callousness regarding the plight of Queen Kokomi and her people makes the continuation of their affair impossible.

He takes a beacon down into the city and slips into a dark alley to pull on an old, travel-stained cloak, with a hood to cover his long, golden hair. A weak disguise, but it only needs to last until he sets foot on the skiff. The Alcor draws too much water to be docked in the city’s harbor without running aground, and is thus anchored off the Guyun Stone Forest, where the shallow floor of the harbor drops off into deep ocean. Kaedehara Kazuha is waiting for him at the little fishing pier north of the commercial district, where he said he’d be, with the skiff ready. Just as they clasp hands, there is a rushing sound and a burst of flickering shadows, blacker than the night around them.

Kazuha stares, looking stricken, then he bows hastily. “Xiao-sama.”

“Xiao, please don’t try to stop me,” Aether implores his stoic guardian. “I’m ready to face whatever the consequences are with the king, but right now I have to do this. I have to do it for myself.”

“It is not my duty to hinder you,” Xiao says simply. “Only to follow where you lead, and to protect you.”

Overcome by a sudden upwelling of emotion, Aether throws his arms around the visibly startled Yaksha, and embraces him tightly. “Thank you. Thank you, Xiao.”

When he releases him, Xiao’s bone-white cheeks have a slight flush of color and he won’t look at him. He vanishes again, before Aether can comment on it.

“I thought I sensed the Yaksha nearby after our meeting, the other day,” Kazuha remarks, after they have settled on the skiff, and the oarsmen have pushed off. “He is your bodyguard, then.”

Aether nods. “And my friend. Though he won’t admit it, and he says he’s nothing more than a weapon.”

“And he will follow you, even in your defiance of his master.”

“Looks that way. I assumed he’d either try to stop me or go tell the king, but I guess I was wrong.”

“If he is loyal to you, above his loyalty to Rex Lapis…he must care for you profoundly.” Kazuha is looking away, toward the towering shadows of the stone forest and the reflection of the moon, shimmering silver on the glassy sea. As a result, Aether can’t see his face, but he detects something like sorrow or wistfulness in his voice. When he turns back to look at him, though, he is smiling, and there is no trace of it. “I would call that friendship, wouldn’t you? Even though you are a prince, count yourself honored. One could ask for no better friend nor guardian than Adeptus Xiao.”

“I do count myself honored, and I try not to take him for granted. I’d like to show him how much he means to me, but he scolds me if I summon him just to talk, and he won’t accept anything I try to give him. When I asked him what he does like, he said ‘nothing,’ and poofed away.”

Kazuha laughs. “Then he has changed very little.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize. You know him personally?”

“I encountered him in my wanderings, long ago, and we traveled in company together for a little while. We parted ways when I left Liyue to return to Inazuma. I will tell you a secret of him, since you are his friend.”

“No, no, I don’t—”

“It is nothing untoward, I promise. Only a hint that may help, if you wish to give him a gift one day. Almond tofu.”

“Almond…tofu?” Aether asks, bewildered.

“That is all I will say. Just keep it in mind.”

Traveling aboard the Alcor, a swift sailing, square-rigged corsair, with a dragon figurehead, and blessed with favorable winds and fair weather, as they have been, the sea voyage to Inazuma takes only five days. At first, Aether spends most of his time in listening to the brash and lusty Captain Beidou (who he likes immensely) calling out orders in her big, booming voice and telling tales of the Crux fleet’s exploits, or in following various crewmen about and learning what they do. Sailing ships that require wind and a wheel are not used in Celestia, and this is his first time aboard one. He likes the noisy creak of the wood and the lulling rise and fall of the ocean, but overall, he finds this method of travel to be rather slow and tedious going. That is, until he discovers the crow’s nest.

To the astonishment of a burly sailor, who has just advised him, in a rather patronizing tone, to stay down here, where he won’t fall and break every bone in his royal body, he leaps up and scales the mast with the agility and speed of a polecat, then tosses the man a jaunty salute from his perch, high above. From that point on, anyone seeking the little goldfinch (as they have affectionately dubbed him for his golden hair and penchant for roosting in precarious locations), knows to look upward, first.

To Aether, who has no instinctive fear of heights to conquer, as humans have, his natural place seems to be up here in the wind and sun, with the open sea stretching out like an untold story in every direction. This is the most free he has felt since he arrived on this world, with its earthbound population and only one palace in the sky, as far as he can tell. At least it’s the one he gets to live in. He can’t even imagine residing on the ground full time.

Xiao does not show himself at all while they are aboard the Alcor, but Kazuha, who has an anemo vision, and as little fear of heights as Aether, joins him atop the sails or in the crow’s nests when he is off duty, and they talk about history and poetry and philosophy together. Thus the journey flies by, and before he knows it, they are within sight of Watatsumi.

Watatsumi Island is the strangest place Aether has seen in this world so far, though his experience is admittedly limited. He finds he dislikes the oppressive warmth and humidity, and the density of the air at this low elevation makes him fatigued and groggy, until he gets used to it. Otherwise, the place is beautiful, lush, and overgrown, giving an impression of being very newly inhabited, though he is assured the people have dwelt thousands of years, here. The impression of wildness is partly due to conscious effort by the islanders to alter the natural environment as little as possible, and partly due to the island itself being actively inhospitable to agriculture.

Queen Kokomi describes a phenomenon called holy soil, whereby large swathes of the island’s soil will periodically bleach white and become infertile, unable to sustain any crops. There are scientific and mystical explanations for this, but they seem, to Aether, to lead to the same conclusion. What strikes him most about all of it, is the absolute necessity for open trade with their neighboring islands, as well as other nations. They are rich in pearls, and in the shells and corals and plants used all over Teyvat for dyes, pigments, and paints. Even the holy soil is a sought after commodity outside the island, due to its extreme fineness and purity, which makes it an essential element in hundreds of products, ranging from skincare to ceramics. What they do not have is food.

In accordance with Aether’s wishes, only Queen Kokomi, General Gorou, and a few top officials are aware of who he is, or even that the Prince Consort is their anonymous patron, in the first place. As a result, he is unhindered by excess attention, outside the usual curiosity a stranger attracts in a small community. As he goes about with Kazuha, he constantly hears words of hope and rejoicing, and adulation for this guardian angel who has saved their lives, while being spared the embarrassment of accepting all this outpouring of gratitude personally. That night, they sleep in a little house in a cliffside village called Bourou, and the following morning, Aether is taken out to Fort Fujitou, where Captain Beidou has gone ahead of them, to meet General Gorou.

General Gorou is not at all what Aether expected. He had pictured a scarred, hardened old veteran of many conflicts, holding his men together with his stern, paternal presence. He finds, instead, a highly energetic young Shiba-man, who is hardly more than a teenager, and is shorter than most of his soldiers. Energetic would be a ludicrous understatement, in fact. In addition to running the whole army and managing strategy and logistics with Queen Kokomi, he lives in the barracks with his troops, takes guard duty and kitchen duty, and puts in his time digging trenches and mending fences, like any regular soldier. They even say he fights on the front lines, and is at the head of the formation in any battle. How the general has time to eat or sleep, Aether cannot comprehend, but he appears to be happy, and he is almost fanatically adored by everyone around him.

He thanks Aether sincerely and enthusiastically for everything he’s doing for them, and insists upon showing him around the encampment himself, so he will see the areas in which they are most urgently lacking, and where his money will be used first. He is openly fond of all his men and immensely proud of what they have accomplished. His fluffy tail wags eagerly when he talks of how brave and dedicated they all are, and droops when he talks about how huge the shogunate military force is, and how many good men Watatsumi stands to lose. He is clearly very intelligent and serious, and a formidable fighter and commander, but his adorable dog characteristics are extremely distracting to Aether, and it is literally all he can do not to grab him and snuggle him, and scratch behind his big, velvety ears.

They dine in the mess with the men that evening, on fresh-caught fare from the shallow parts of the sea, which Aether finds generally repulsive, but eats cheerfully, out of courtesy to his hosts. After the meal, General Gorou and Captain Beidou go away to discuss what the island will need and how quickly it can be acquired. Aether and Kazuha opt to walk on the beach, where the breeze is coolest. In the dark, with the sun well below the horizon, Aether can suddenly see, off in the distance, what appears to be a hurricane in still-life, composed of massive chunks of shattered stone, floating in place, as if frozen in the act of being pulled upward by the ball of eerie, purple light at the center.

“That is Seirai Island, where Kanna Kapatcir fell,” Kazuha says, seeing where his gaze is turned.

“What is Kanna Kapatcir?” Aether asks, though he thinks he already knows the answer.

“The great thunderbird. The god of the people of Tsurumi Island. She was slain and fell upon Seirai. The power of her lingering wrath and sorrow was suppressed by wards maintained by the Asase Shrine, until five-hundred years ago, when during the Seirai Rebellion, Asase Hibiki unsealed the wards, and the area was swallowed in a massive electro storm. That is the storm you see now, still raging on.”

“The shogun killed Tsurumi’s god, Kanna Kapatcir, and Watatsumi’s god, Orobashi.”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why did they not seek some accord, rather than resorting to slaughter?”

“Tsurumi’s tale is tragic and bloody. Kanna Kapatcir was not a ruler or protector, as is the Raiden Shogun. She was a wild elemental force of nature, who knew little of the people who worshipped her. It is said that she was captivated by the song of a young boy of the tribe, and befriended him. She would descend often to Mt. Kanna to hear him sing, and grew fond of him. The tribe interpreted her attention as desiring the boy for a sacrifice. When she returned one day and found him slain, and his blood spilled upon the earth, she razed the island and exterminated its inhabitants, for the brutality and cruelty of the priests, and for the loss of the child’s song, which was precious and irreplaceable. She laid a curse upon them, also, that their spirits would wander there in the grey mists, restless and unhoused, until she should hear the boy’s song once again. When Raiden-Ei saw this great beast wreaking slaughter and destruction on humans, she slew it, in turn. With Kanna Kapatcir’s death, the hope of breaking the curse died, also. To this day, Tsurumi lies uninhabited and unexplored, because the permanent fog prevents it. Those who enter it become sick and disoriented and wander aimlessly, till they die, or chance upon a way out. Few have attempted it and fewer have returned.”

“But you’ve only told me about Kanna Kapatcir. What about Orobashi?”

“I cannot tell you. No one in Teyvat may speak of those days, on pain of death.”

Aether frowns. “By whose order?”

“By the decree of Rex Lapis. It is a law that is written nowhere, but everywhere understood.”

Aether suddenly recalls the strange behavior of Madame Ping and Dr. Baizhu, when Madame Ping referenced some ‘before’ time in the life of Rex Lapis. Then there was the sudden haste with which Queen Kokomi’s advisors stopped her, when she began to mention the circumstances surrounding the death of their god. What is his husband so desperate to hide, that he would threaten an entire world with death, should they speak of it?

“People are that afraid of him, that they won’t even talk about something because he might kill them?”

Kazuha shakes his head. “It is more likely that they would be slain by other humans, who would fear that the misdeeds of the individual would bring the wrath of the Dragon God upon the whole community, and view it as the preferable option to address the issue themselves, and dispense with the one person.”

“Have you ever known someone to be killed by Rex Lapis or other humans for talking about it?”

“No. There are stories, but they have the ring of nursery tales invented and spread by children.”

“Do you believe he would kill someone for talking about it?”

Kazuha looks intently into Aether’s face for a moment. “Prince Aether, if you want to know who it is you have married, you should ask such questions of him, not me. Not because he is a god, but because he is your husband, and yet you speak of him as a stranger, who does not share your home and your bed.”

“It’s not like that, Kazuha,” Aether sighs. “Not with kings. I was raised by one, I know. My father was even more distant and inaccessible than my husband, and he made it clear at every opportunity that he did not want anything to do with my sister and me. That we were only useful as links—she in a chain of blood, and me between two worlds. Rex Lapis bought alliance with my father by accepting me as a husband. That’s all. That doesn’t give me any special claim to his soul, or mean he wants to know me.”

“It does literally give you special claim to his soul, my friend,” Kazuha says, with a sad smile. “Teyvat’s marriage contracts bind spirits, not bodies. That is why there is no respect paid to gender nor age nor position, and neither spouse is made superior or subordinate to the other. The contract is that of an equal partnership between two souls, with equal claim to one another. When you married him, by his own law, you became part of him, and he of you.”

“I don’t see what the language of the marriage contract has to do with him and me, personally.”

“Do you not? Who is the god of contracts?”

“He is, but—”

“They say that no one has ever broken a marriage contract in Teyvat.”

“I knew that, from my studies. It didn’t really strike me as that unique, at the time, because dissolution of marriage is impossible in Celestia, too. I first heard of the concept of divorce on another world.”

“Dissolution of marriage is not impossible, in Teyvat, nor even prohibited,” Kazuha replies. “It simply doesn’t happen. That said…it is notoriously difficult to obtain a marriage contract here. Each one must be personally approved by and sworn before the king. I think that stops a lot of people who aren’t as sure it’s true love as they thought.”

“And yet he used his own marriage contract to purchase my father’s protection, and took me without even knowing me.”

“Hm,” Kazuha says, and turns to resume walking.

“What?” Aether asks, following him. “What does ‘hm’ mean?”

“Hm means hm. It is a nonverbal interjection.”

“No, it’s a nonverbal signal that means ‘you should rethink what you just said’ but without saying it outright.”

Kazuha casts a sidelong glance at him. “Hm.”

“Now you’re bullying me. How does it make sense that you’re too afraid of the king to talk about whatever that taboo thing is, but you’re not afraid to bully his husband.”

“Well. You are much less scary than he is. And there is no decree against bullying you.”

“Oh, yes there is, and he’s called the Yaksha. If you’re not nice to me, I’ll make him throw you into the Seirai storm.”

“Alright, alright,” Kazuha laughs. “Sorry I bullied you. Please don’t tell Xiao-sama to throw me into the Seirai storm.”

“We’ll see,” Aether sniffs, tossing his head.

“Either way, we should go back, now, and get some sleep. Military men rise early.”

Aether has been on Watatsumi three days, when a messenger comes to the encampment with an urgent communiqué for General Gorou. He immediately feels uneasy about it, and when he and Captain Beidou and Kazuha are called in to the general’s strategy room, which is a tent at the top of the camp, away from the other buildings, he prepares himself for the worst.

“The Yashiro Commissioner’s ship docked safely at Ritou last night, without incident,” Gorou says, with no greeting or other precursor. “When he arrived at the Kamisato Estate, shogunate soldiers were waiting, and he was immediately arrested on the charge of treason. He is in custody at the shogun’s palace in Tenshukaku.”

“For what treason?” Aether asks. “What are the specific charges?”

“It says conspiracy to aid enemy insurgents.”

“God damn it. Do they have Thoma?”

Gorou shakes his head. “Only Lord Kamisato is listed. It is unlikely they would bother to arrest a servant.”

“Alright. Kazuha, get to the Kamisato estate and make sure Ayaka and Thoma are ok,” Aether says, in no uncertain terms. “General, you stay here and hold down the fort. You cannot afford to be caught out by the shogunate soldiers. I’m going to Tenshukaku.”

The Celestial Prince’s air of authority, when he employs it, is such that most non-hostile people will obey him instinctively, without thinking to hesitate or question his orders. Such is the case, now, as everyone does exactly as he says. Also, they all love Ayato and do not have a better plan to save him, which may have contributed to their ready obedience.

Aether throws off his travel worn disguise and enters the city of the shogun in his light-armor, with its gold and jeweled accents, his long, golden hair uncovered, and his cloak of ivory silk billowing out like wings behind him. When he reaches Tenshukaku, a less than imposing palace compound of traditional Inazuman architecture, soldiers hold out halberds and bar the way, demanding he identify himself and state his business.

“Prince Aether of Celestia, Prince Consort and husband to the High King of Teyvat. I have come to see the shogun. If you mean to hinder me, I will—”

“Ah, of course, my lord prince,” the soldier says, as he and his partner bow low. “Her Most High Excellency the Raiden Shogun has been expecting your highness. We are to escort you directly to the audience chamber.”

“She—she has?” Aether asks, stunned out of his momentum by this unexpected development. Then he clears his throat, attempting to recover. “I mean, yes. She has. Lead the way.”

“I’m terribly sorry, my lord prince,” the second soldier says. “Her Excellency was most clear that we were to admit only your highness.”

“It’s alright, Xiao,” Aether says to the Yaksha. “It’s her realm, her rules. Go check on Kazuha.”

Xiao growls low in his throat, then vanishes in his whirl of shadows, giving the soldiers a start. Aether shoos the two young men along and follows them up more steps to the massive doors of what must be the audience chamber. They open the doors for him, then close them behind him, remaining outside. It’s much dimmer in here, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust. Then he sees the Raiden Shogun, standing tall and queenlike, at the end of the room, with her famously beautiful hair hanging in a long braid over her shoulder.

“Approach, Prince Aether of Celestia,” she says, in a super-resonant voice, like Rex Lapis uses, that fills every inch of a place, without sounding as if the speaker is shouting.

Aether begins to walk toward her, but every instinct in his body suddenly screams danger. Not because she’s a god—Teyvat’s elemental gods are not intimidating to him in the least. It’s something else. He takes another step, and his skin prickles up in goosebumps, all over. Maybe it’s because it’s as cold as goddamn meat freezer in here, he thinks irritably, trying to shake off his sudden apprehension. When he is within ten paces of the dais before which she stands, he stops dead in his tracks, staring at her. This is certainly the shogun. He has seen enough pictures of her to know her by sight. But something is wrong.

“So, you are the outlander who has won the heart of the old dragon.” Her lips curl in a tranquil smile, that does not touch her beautiful, long-lashed violet-blue eyes. Where has he seen eyes like these before? “Welcome to Inazuma, the nation of eternity.”

“Who…who are you?” Aether asks, bewildered.

Her placid smile turns instantly acidic, and she holds up her hand. Aether perceives the pulse of energy almost in slow-motion, as it flies toward him. It’s electro, but she should be saturated with it, and he can’t detect any. Also, the pulse seems to have originated somewhere behind her, not from her body. This is all he has time to work out, before it strikes him like a thunderbolt, and he is plunged instantly into the black depths of unconsciousness.

He wakes sore and stiff, his head splitting with pain. He is lying on the cold, stone floor of what appears to be a holding cell. Iron bars make up the walls of the cell, and it is one in a row of several identical ones. There are no windows on the building’s stone walls, so it must be somewhere below-ground. The bars look flimsy (for a Celestial) and he can see no guards. If these are the precautions they’re taking, they must not be too concerned about him escaping.

He pushes himself up to look around, then leaps to his feet. He can see Ayato, lying still on the floor, a few cells down. He reaches out to lean on one of the iron bars, intending to call to him. A crackling zap of purple-hued electricity makes him jump back, cursing and clutching his hand. As he is doing this, a strange, unsettling laugh comes from the shadows on the other end of the row of cells. Aether looks in that direction, just as the laugh’s owner steps out of a cloak of inky, unnatural darkness.

“Wow, ouch. Guess you won’t be trying that again.”

Aether’s brow lowers. “Scaramouche, the Balladeer.”

“You remember me,” he grins, baring his perfect, white teeth, which are all of his face that is visible below the brim of his hat. “How flattering.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Chaos. Destruction. Slaughter. The usual,” Scaramouche replies, spreading his arms theatrically. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but it’s definitely boring heroics. Trying to foil evil schemes and save innocent people. Banal and predictable, as always.”

“Because a villain speech about how good is boring is so new and original,” Aether scoffs. “You gonna give me all the details of your scheme and tell me how ‘we’re not that different you and I’ too? If so, just kill me now.”

Scaramouche’s half-hysterical laugh rings out again. “You and I are very different. We do have one thing in common. We’re puppets on the strings of the gods. But at least I know what I am. You actually think you’re doing something defiant and courageous, and not exactly as you’re expected to do. So pathetic.”

“Whatever you’re going to tell me to try and make me doubt everything I believe in, save it. I seriously don’t care.”

As Aether turns away from the deranged bard, his limbs begin prickling like they’re falling asleep. He barely has a chance to wonder why, when they suddenly go heavy and dead, as if they’re filled with wet cement. He collapses, but rather than falling to the floor, he is caught and yanked back to his feet, by some invisible force, as if he’s being held on literal versions of the puppet strings Scaramouche just referenced. He strains with all his will to resist, as his body turns around to face the Balladeer, but it’s no use. He can’t get a signal from his brain to his muscles.

“What the hell are you doing to me!” he snarls, through his clenched teeth.

“Revealing your own absurdity to you, whether you like it or not,” Scaramouche says, tilting his hat back to reveal his face. His strangely beautiful, violet-blue eyes are wide and wild beneath his haphazard bangs.

Aether watches helplessly, as his own feet walk him to the front of the cell. As his hands come up and take hold of the electrified bars. The electro energy snaps through him, sending jolts of searing pain up his arms into his chest. His eyes roll back in his head, and he begins to foam at the mouth, as his heart and lungs seize. Then his hands let go of the bars, and the pain stops as abruptly as it began. He is shaking all over and gasping for breath. He wants to fall down on all fours and vomit, but he’s not in control.

“That one sting a little?” Scaramouche taunts. “Let me know if you want me to do it again. I’ve always wanted to see how much a Celestial body can take before it shuts down.”

“The barrier on the cell is…it isn’t you,” Aether rasps, between ragged breaths. “How are—how are you using…the shogun’s power?”

Scaramouche steps closer to the bars, his slender arms crossed on his chest, and eyes him up and down. “Not as stupid as you look. The short answer is, I’m not. The longer answer is, neither is the shogun.”

“I knew it wasn’t her. The elemental energy was all wrong,” Aether mutters, then he looks up at him again. “So, you’re not working with the Signora. You’re skulking around in the dungeon because she doesn’t know you’re here. You’re betraying her, and trying to get me to help you.”

“Bingo.”

“So why torture me, you prick! Why not just fucking talk to me!”

“I had to show you my power, before I risked revealing my intentions. Make you aware that if you even think of fucking me over, I can force you to bite off your own tongue before a word comes out of your mouth.”

With that, the invisible strings go slack, and Aether crumples to the floor. He rolls onto his back and lies there panting and staring up at the ceiling for a moment, then struggles up to a sitting position.

“Well? What do you want?”

Scaramouche crouches just outside the bars, to speak quietly. “In case your brain didn’t make it all the way to the finish line, that is the Signora up there, not the shogun. And the Signora is out of control. She’s learned to draw power from sources all over this world, including from elemental gods. Now that she’s attached herself to the Raiden Shogun’s power, she’ll just keep swelling up and growing stronger, like a fat tick sucking blood.”

“Is she a danger to Rex Lapis?” Aether asks, alarmed.

“No. He’s a different kind of god. Eventually, she might get powerful enough to draw his attention. I’d almost like to let her keep going, just to see the old dragon obliterate her himself. But, by then she’d have swallowed me and all the other Harbingers whole, already.”

“Pardon me for not shedding a tear for the Harbingers. You still haven’t explained why you and I are talking.”

“The bottom line is, you want the real shogun back in control, and I want the Signora out of my goddamn way. You and I have a chance to stop her before she’s literally unstoppable.”

“Ok, then, how do we do that.”

“She has the shogun under a spell of euthymia, and safely stowed away in a pocket realm, where she’s using her like a battery. The drain won’t kill the shogun, because she’s a god, but if she gets weak enough, she might never be able to return. The only way to snap her out of the euthymia is to get the Signora to use a significant amount of her power for something else.”

“And I’ll be able to get her to do that?”

“Yes. With my help.”

“So, you think the Signora is that dangerous and powerful, but also that you and I will be enough to stop her?”

“No. Have you even been fucking listening?” Scaramouche says irritably. “As she is now, feeding off the shogun’s power, we stand no chance. But we don’t need to. All we need to do is distract her, and get her control to waver long enough for Beelzebul to wake up. She will deal with the Signora herself.”

“Beelzebul? What is that?”

“It’s—nothing. Just an old name for the shogun. When you and the passed-out pretty boy over there are brought before her tomorrow, she will accuse you and the Yashiro Commissioner of treason, and use that as a pretext to begin the assault on Watatsumi immediately. You’ll be escorted to the audience chamber under heavy guard, and there will be many more soldiers in there already. You will very loudly accuse the Signora of being the impostor that she definitely is. That will be the signal to me. I will puppet the soldiers, and they will help you attack her. You won’t be able to summon your weapons until the outer barriers are down, so you’ll be limited to elemental attacks. She’ll direct energy away from the barriers first, though, not expecting any trouble from the outside. Once those are down, you can summon your weapons, and your Yaksha will be able to get in, too, which will help, if you’re still alive. By then, the shogun should have awakened and come to take vengeance on the witch.”

“Well. This sounds like a pretty stupid plan. Let’s do it. What? Why are you…looking at me like that?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be like, ‘how do I know I can trust you’ and ‘no way, you’re one of the bad guys, you’ll just betray me’ and all that?”

“Yeah, except I don’t have a learning disability,” Aether retorts. “You have nothing to gain but what you claim to want by getting me to agree to this, and I have nothing to lose. If you’re lying, for who knows what reason, or you have some post facto double-cross in mind, going along with you just gets me that much closer to what I want, anyway. I’ll deal with whatever happens next as it comes.”

“Careful, princess. You keep talking like that, I might wind up respecting you.”

“You know, that’s not an insult. Calling me princess. Teyvat’s idiotically primitive ideas about gender roles, that place the female inferior to the male because of their smaller average physical size, are the laughingstock of almost every other civilized world.”

“I thought you just said you weren’t stupid. I wasn’t insulting you, I was flirting with you.”

Aether immediately blushes to his ears. “W—I—you—”

“At least you’re cute. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, but you won’t see me. Not until it’s time.”

“Wait!” Aether calls after him, in a stage whisper.

“What?” Scaramouche asks impatiently.

“How will I know it’s time?”

“It’ll be pretty obvious when the soldiers drag you out of here.”

“Wait, wait!”

“What, what!”

Aether grins. “Do you really think I’m cute?”

Scaramouche’s long-lashed eyes flicker over his body, then he gives a smirk and vanishes, in a burst of black and violet flames.

“Something about this feels familiar,” Ayato observes, as he and Aether are led toward the shogun’s audience chamber the next morning, with heavy shackles on their wrists. “Oh, hey, weren’t you at my last treason accusation?”

“Mmm. Maybe,” Aether answers, squinting at him. “I get accused of treason so often, though, who can remember.”

“No talking!” one of the soldiers barks, at which, to his immediate consternation, both his prisoners burst out laughing.

As the Millelith had done at the Jade Palace, the soldiers lead them to the designated place for the accused and step back a respectful distance. Unlike the Jade Palace, the monarch is not yet present.

Ayato looks sidelong at Aether. “You know, if that Harbinger assassin was lying or he’s wrong, and the person who comes in here is really the shogun, I’m about to die.”

“He’s not lying,” Aether reassures him. “The woman I saw was not a god. She didn’t even have electro energy in her body.”

“Right, but just in case I do die, can I have one last kiss?”

Aether smiles and leans toward him, and Ayato bends down.

“No kissing!” the soldier barks.

“Back off!” Aether and Ayato reply in unison, which disconcerts the man so much, he makes no further objection, as Ayato presses his lips to Aether’s.

He has just drawn away, when a bailiff announces Her Most High Excellency, the Raiden Shogun, and the woman from last night enters, stepping to the center of the spacious, oblong chamber.

“You’re right. That is certainly not her,” Ayato whispers.

“Prince Aether of Celestia. Yashiro Commissioner Kamisato Ayato,” a person who must be a prosecutor reads from a scroll. “You stand accused of conspiracy to aid enemy insurgents, which constitutes an act of treason against Her Most High Excellency, the Raiden Shogun, and the people of Inazuma.”

The false shogun says what amounts to pretty much the same thing, and them asks them to speak in their defense. Aether opens his mouth, but to his surprise, Ayato answers before he gets a chance.

“By the laws of Inazuma, those accused of capital crimes, including treason, have the right to plead their case before the Raiden Shogun,” he says, in a strong, clear voice, that carries through the chamber. “We will not speak in our defense until we are brought before the Raiden Shogun.”

“Take care, Commissioner,” the false shogun replies, with venom dripping from her voice. “Measure your words, for they may be your last.”

“I will take neither orders nor advice from a Fatui spy,” Ayato sneers. “This woman is an impostor! She is the Harbinger called La Signora! She has taken our god prisoner, and is impersonating—”

Ayato’s words are cut off suddenly by Aether slamming bodily into him and throwing him to the ground, to avoid the energy bolt the false shogun has sent flying at him. Another one follows directly after it, but fizzles impotently against the sturdy, wooden tower-shields of the palace soldiers, placed in front of Aether and Ayato just in time.

“I—I don’t know why I’m doing this,” one of the soldiers says, as he drops to one knee and unshackles them. “Why can’t I control my body? Is that woman really not the shogun?”

In the meantime, the false shogun has begun to fling spears made of ice, which are also proving ineffective against the wall of wooden tower-shields carried by the advancing soldiers.

“Give it up, Signora!” Ayato shouts, sending a volley of hydro mimics splashing past the soldiers to attack her.

Her ice blasts freeze them mid-trajectory. As they do, the body of the shogun warps and twists, resolving into a tall woman with platinum blonde hair, massive, flaming wings that unfurl behind her to span of at least six meters, and a confusingly revealing gown. She raises her hands and throws a gout of fire this time, which blasts Ayato’s frozen mimics to wet fragments. Some of the soldiers’ shields begin to smoke. Now unmasked, she is at her most dangerous. They can’t let all these innocent men die. Ayato and Aether look at each other, then step out between the soldiers and the revealed Crimson Witch.

“That’s a great look on you. Very femme-fatale,” Ayato smiles. “But you really should have stuck with ice.”

As he speaks, he holds out his hand and creates a massive pool of water around her, filled with floating lilies made of hydro, and charged with a surge of electro from Aether. The witch screams as the hydro douses her firebolts and the electro jolts through her body. Just then, Xiao’s shadowy, demonic form comes tearing down from the heavens like a black angel, bringing with him a rain of ghastly spears, that almost knock her off her feet. At the same moment, the puppet soldiers fling wide the chamber doors, and Kazuha and Thoma come dashing in, weapons at the ready.

“You insolent little cretins!” the Crimson Witch shrieks. “You have no idea who you are dealing with!”

But the room has fallen deathly silent, and all the soldiers, the two newcomers, the Yashiro Commissioner, and the Celestial Prince, have fallen to their knees. Behind the enraged, water-bedraggled witch, stands the Goddess of Eternity. Her long hair and her silk kimono billow and sway in a wind that does not blow in this place. Her skin seems illuminated with its own light, and her gaze is keen and deadly. In her hand, she holds a sword made from pure lightning, and above her head, like a halo of amethysts, rises the eye of judgement. Turning her eyes on the witch, she readies her blade for the Musuo no Hitotachi. But the witch, seeing her death and calling desperately upon the embers of her own waning power, tears a smoldering hole in reality and tumbles through, just in time to avoid the blade of oblivion.

The shogunate soldiers, suddenly free of the puppet control, begin to rise to their feet, and a few collapse to the ground, overcome with shock and fatigue. The ones who are still sound collect their companions and begin to carry them out of the chamber. Ayato and Aether stand watching the lightning goddess warily, uncertain what she will do. She is casting her eyes about the chamber, as if looking for something.

“Kunikuzushi!” she calls out suddenly, in a sweet, melodic voice, that carries in it the power of a thunderclap. “Reveal yourself!”

Scaramouche steps out of a cloak of shadows to the left of Aether, and the shogun’s eye falls on him.

“Kunikuzushi,” she says icily. “You have returned.”

“Beelzebul,” Scaramouche replies, with a deranged smile. “So have you.”

Quicker than sight, he whips his arm out, unleashing a volley of black blades, apparently aimed at the shogun’s heart. Simultaneously, with a flick of her wrist, she sends a crackling bolt of magenta energy to meet them. The blades explode back at Scaramouche like shrapnel, and three or four bury themselves deep in his torso and legs. He staggers, clutching his midsection with a rasped curse, then vanishes, in a flash of violet and black fire.

As if nothing at all has happened, the shogun turns her lofty gaze on Aether. “Why have you come here, Celestial? What business have you in the realm of Teyvat?”

“Your Most High Excellency,” Ayato interposes, bowing low. “Please allow me to introduce Prince Aether of Celestia, Prince Consort and husband to His Divine Majesty, Rex Lapis.”

The shogun looks at Ayato, then back at Aether. “Has Rex Lapis sent his husband to the aid of Inazuma, then?”

“No, excellency, he has not,” Aether answers respectfully, but with appropriate familiarity, as he technically outranks even the majestic lightning goddess, by his marriage to the High King. “I came here of my own accord, and in direct opposition to his command.”

“So you are fearless,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “An admirable quality in those who survive it. Though it may have been against his command that you came here, if it were truly against the wishes of Rex Lapis, I doubt very much that you would have set foot out of Liyue. In any case, Prince Aether of Celestia, I owe you a boon, in return for the great service you have rendered me and my people. Name your wish, and I shall attempt to grant it.”

“Your excellency, I would have you recognize the independence of the people of Watatsumi, and allow them to live in peace.”

“That, I will not do,” she replies flatly. “The children of Orobashi are under my guardianship, whether they will it or no. The witch may have enflamed a situation that was already antagonistic, but she was not the originator of the conflict. However…I will withdraw my military and lift trade sanctions upon the island, while negotiations proceed free of sabotage from Fatui filth. I trust that during that time, Commissioner Kamisato will craft a compromise that is suitable to all parties.”

Ayato bows low, indicating his acknowledgement and thanks, and the shogun returns her attention to the prince.

“Under more auspicious circumstances, I would offer you welcome here, and every hospitality at my disposal. As it stands, I must beg you to depart my land in all haste. You would not have me invite my lord the High King’s wrath by harboring his husband, who is fugitive from his authority.”

“Of course, I would not wish to place you in such an untenable position, excellency,” Aether bows. “I will return to my husband as soon as arrangements for travel can be made.”

“Very well. If you will excuse me, then, there is much work to be done. When the witch connected herself to my power, she unknowingly exposed much of her mind to me. The Fatui rot has crept into nearly every branch of Inazuma’s civil government. Thanks to her hubris, I now know exactly where to find the vipers’ nests so that they may be purged. Interestingly, only the Yashiro Commission has remained untouchable, and uncorrupted. Your integrity and loyalty have been noted, Commissioner Kamisato.”

Ayato bows again, and the shogun vanishes.

Aether, Xiao, Ayato, Thoma, and Kazuha walk the broad, stone steps leading down from Tenshukaku silent and half in a daze, still processing the blitzkrieg of the past twenty-four hours. For most of them, this was the salvation of their homeland, the end of a years-long struggle, and the fruition of their dearest hopes. Aether feels happy for them, and wants to celebrate their victory, but he is unresolved and unsettled in his mind. When Scaramouche released control of his body, he slackened the marionette strings, but it appears he did not sever them. Aether feels as if they are still tugging and straining at his limbs, and if he concentrates, it seems to be from a distinct direction.

“I’ll meet you back at the estate,” he says to the group, generally, when they reach the bustling Tenryou commercial district. “I’m going after Scaramouche. He looked pretty badly hurt.”

“How will you find him?” Ayato asks. “He could be anywhere by now.”

“I can sense him. I know he’s somewhere on Narukami still, at least. I want to see if he’s alive, and if so, if he needs medical attention. He did help us get the shogun out of the Signora’s hands, after all.”

“He also tried to kill the shogun, right afterward,” Thoma points out.

“I don’t know if that’s really what that was. Besides, it felt personal to me, and I want to ask him about it. I’ll be back soon.”

His friends are not exactly thrilled with the idea, but they can’t do much to stop the prince doing as he pleases, so they communicate their reluctant assent, with admonitions to be careful.

“Xiao, I’d better look for him alone,” Aether says, when the Yaksha moves to follow him. “If I don’t, I think it’ll spook him and scare him off. But I’ll call for you at the slightest sign of danger, I promise.”  

The Yaksha obeys silently and sullenly, and Aether hurries off, before anyone’s exhausted brains can catch up, and they think to seriously object to his behavior, on the grounds that it is insanely dangerous and foolish of him to go off on his own in pursuit of a Fatui Harbinger. He knows it is. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is relieving the swiftly increasing agitation and discomfort of the Balladeer’s pull on him.

Chapter Text

Aether follows the pull as long as he can, but it seems to be getting weaker, and sporadically dipping out altogether. This doesn’t bode well. Scaramouche may be letting go intentionally, but it feels like his energy is running out. By this point, he has come to the western edge of the city, and there is nothing left past the safety railing but a short stretch of grass and then a sheer cliff face. He is about to turn back, when he spots a flash of crimson and black on the ground, obscured by the darkness and the scrubby bushes. It’s Scaramouche’s shamisen. Hopping the safety railing, he dashes over and pushes through the brush. Scaramouche is lying unconscious in amongst the clump of bushes, as if he sought to conceal himself, like a dying animal.

There is dried blood on his face and on his hands, but the blades are nowhere to be seen. He must have pulled them out before he dragged himself back here. Aether puts his hand on his midsection to find the wounds. The moment he touches one, he gets a chill and a strong wave of nausea. So, he poisoned his knives with abyssal filth and then got them tossed back at him. Kind of serves him right, but Aether still doesn’t want him to die. The building he is lying behind is an onsen inn with private baths. That’s a stroke of good fortune. If he can get his body warm, it’ll help reduce his pain after the poison is drawn out.

“Hang in there a few more minutes,” he says, to his cold, white face. “I’ll be right back.”

The Sweet Suites Inn & Onsen is a tidy, mid-scale establishment, that caters mostly to middle-aged and elderly couples. The man at the registration counter casts a doubtful eye over the obvious outlander and his tattered traveling cloak, as he enters.

“My friend is sick,” Aether says, dropping a hefty bag of mora in front of him. “I need a room with a bath and without questions.”

His doubts miraculously allayed, the man scoops up the pouch and slides Aether a key, with a wooden tag that reads Suite 3. He hurries back outside and hangs the shamisen over his shoulder, then hauls Scaramouche over the safety railing, and carries him in his arms like a baby. When he reenters the inn with his unconscious burden, the man at the counter has developed a deeply engrossing interest in whatever book he is reading, and doesn’t so much as glance their way.

Suite 3 is clean though not overly spacious, and the onsen tub is on the left side, as a featured part of the room. Aether drops Scaramouche onto the futon and puts his shamisen on the table. When he bends down to pull up his tunic, the boy stirs and blinks up at him, but his eyes have a blank, unseeing look to them. He doesn’t appear to be aware of where he is or what’s happening to him.

Fortunately, he doesn’t struggle or do anything that might make his injuries worse. He submits mechanically to being undressed, staring vacantly into the middle-distance, and not reacting at all to being touched or spoken to. He has three knife wounds on his torso and one in his thigh. Not many, but they’re deep, and they are already beginning to expel black vapor.

This is where everything might go south. Aether is many times stronger than the regular humans of this world, but Scaramouche is certainly a vision holder, and he can’t be sure of their relative strength. Purifying the abyssal poison is going to hurt. If he reacts badly and fights with him, he could seriously injure himself, or them both. But he could die while Aether sits here wavering, so he has no choice but to try.

Pressing his palms together, Aether chants softly in his native tongue, till he has a good bit of white-hot light between his hands. Taking a deep breath, he lays his hand on the first wound. Scaramouche’s body twitches, and the wound expels a gout of black vapor, which is rapidly destroyed by Aether’s light. The second time, Scaramouche’s body jerks hard and he attempts to curl into himself. The third wound produces a groan of pain and another self-protective movement, and when he leans over to treat the thigh wound, Scaramouche snaps fully awake.

“What—what the hell are you doing, don’t touch me!” he growls, attempting to push Aether away, but failing, due to his current state of weakness. “Where the fuck are we? What did you do to me?”

“You’re the one who poisoned your knives,” Aether returns, putting a hand on his chest to hold him still. “I’m drawing it out of the wounds, so you don’t die. There’s only one left to go, so shut up and let me work.”

Scaramouche gives a hoarse cry and struggles in Aether’s grasp while the white light burns the poison out of the thigh wound. The effort exhausts him completely, and he fall backs on the futon, trembling and ash-grey. Aether steps away and strips himself quickly, then scoops up his patient and carries him to the bath, before he can muster enough energy to make another fuss about it. Scaramouche seems to have resigned himself to the situation, however, and lets himself be helped into the water, responding only by collapsing onto a seat and slumping against the side of the tub. Aether ignores his glowering and washes the dried blood from his face, then tips his head back and rinses his blue-black hair, too.

“Why are you doing this,” Scaramouche says sullenly, not looking at Aether.

“Baths make me feel better when I’m injured,” Aether shrugs. “I thought it might help.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, I know why people take baths. I meant why are you doing this for me. I’m nothing to you. I’m not even human. I’m…garbage.”

“You’re wrong. No matter what’s happened to you or what you’ve done, you’re still a human being. There’s always another chance for you do things differently.”

“That’s very protagonist of you, but I’m not having a crisis of conscience. I am literally not human.”

“What?” Aether frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I am an organic machine. A failed prototype, to be specific. The one who made me didn’t think I was good enough to suit my intended purpose, so I was thrown out, like garbage.”

It finally clicks. That’s where Aether has seen those violet-blue eyes. “The shogun…she made you.”

“When I awakened, all I had known was her will and her voice. Finally seeing her face overwhelmed me. When she saw the tears in my eyes, she said ‘It weeps. It is too weak,’ and walked away. Servants came and dressed me and gave me money. Then soldiers took me away to Yashiori. They told me never to show my face in Tenshukaku again, or I would be killed on sight, and they left. I made my own way for a while. Then the Fatui found me, and…that’s all.”

“Oh,” Aether says, with tears welling up in his hazel-gold eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why the fuck are you crying, what do you care?” Scaramouche snarls, turning on him ferociously. “I don’t want your fucking pity, Celestial!”

He staggers to his feet and attempts to climb out of the bath, but in his weakened state, his arms aren’t strong enough to lift him, and they give out. Aether catches him before he smacks his chin on the side of the bath, then ignoring his protests, wraps his arms around his slender body and pulls him close against his chest.

“Let the fuck—let the fuck go of me,” Scaramouche gasps, struggling weakly in Aether’s arms.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Aether says, pushing his head down on his shoulder. “Calm down and let me hold you.”

Scaramouche doesn’t have the energy to keep trying to twist free, but he sits rigid and unyielding in the embrace, taking rapid, shallow breaths. After a minute or two, his panicked breathing slows and becomes regular. Bit by bit, his tense muscles slacken, as he submits to being held in Aether’s arms. Finally, he gives a shaky sigh and buries his face in the crook of his neck. Aether holds him and pets his hair, till he yawns deeply, and his hands slip around Aether’s waist.

“If you’re gonna fuck me, hurry up and do it before I fall asleep.”

“What?” Aether says, aghast, leaning back to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t give me that innocent face. You brought me here to fuck, right?”

“I brought you here because you were lying in the bushes, poisoned and bleeding out. It wasn’t even my idea to follow you. You practically dragged me with your puppet strings.”

“Oh…oops. Did I forget to sever the connection?” Scaramouche laughs. “Well, however it happened, we’re alone, naked, and touching each other, so you may as well finish what you started and fuck me. Or…is this what you want.”

Aether gasps as Scaramouche slides his fingers into the cleft of his ass. Almost against his will, he leans into him and spreads his legs wider, shaking and panting while he circles and strokes the sensitive rim of his asshole with his fingertips. He pushes one inside and finds the sweet spot, prodding and pressing it, as Aether moans softly and grinds his ass against his palm.

“That’s where you like it, huh?” Scaramouche murmurs, into Aether’s ear. “I want to put my shamisen strap around your pretty neck. Puppet you so you can’t fight back, and strangle you while I fuck you. Ooh, you tightened up a lot when I said that. You like the idea of me controlling your body and raping you?”

“Y—yes,” Aether stammers, rocking his hips wantonly. “Do it…do it, please.”

“It’s not rape if you’re begging for it,” Scaramouche points out. “You’re supposed to beg me not to.”

“But I want you to,” Aether reasons.

“No—I know, but you have to play along, or it breaks the fantasy. Say you don’t want it or it hurts, or call me names. Whatever feels right in the moment. Don’t worry, I won’t stop.”

“What if I really do want you to stop?”

“Uh…then say something you’d never say related to the scenario, so I’ll know it’s out of character.”

“Like dango milk?”

“Dango milk? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It was the first thing I thought of.”

“Fine, say dango milk if you really want me to stop. Are you ready?”

“Yes! I mean…no, no, please don’t choke me and fuck me.”

“You’re literally the worst at this. I’m taking over now.”

Aether feels that same pin-pricking sensation in his limbs from the previous day, along with a low-frequency vibration in his skull that makes him a little dizzy. As before, there’s no numbness, he’s just not the one driving anymore. His body is climbing out of the bath, getting down on all fours, lowering his forehead onto the floor. His knees move apart, spreading his thighs wider. He gives a little yelp as his arms jerk themselves behind him and his hands grab his ass, holding it open so his asshole is exposed and vulnerable.

“So pretty, all wet and naked and helpless,” Scaramouche observes. “Be right back.”

He’s gone for thirty seconds and reappears carrying a broad leather strap, with a buckle on one end. Aether trembles as the smooth, cold leather slips around his neck and draws snug through the buckle. The loop begins to tighten.

“Dango milk!” he gasps.

The strap goes slack. “What’s wrong? Too tight?”

“No, I like it,” Aether says sheepishly. “I just wanted to make sure you’d really stop.”

Scaramouche sighs patiently. “Ok, but that’s your one freebie. You don’t want to wind up being the boy who cried dango milk.”

With that, he resumes tightening the strap around Aether’s neck. It’s not strangling him yet, but the constricting sensation is making him feel intoxicated and dizzy, and it’s making his dick so hard he can feel his pulse in it. Scaramouche’s cool hand slides down over his balls, onto the shaft of his throbbing cock, pulling and tugging teasingly, collecting the clear fluid on his fingers as it leaks from the slit.

“You’re so wet for me already. You really like being choked, huh?”

“Sh—shut up,” Aether slurs drunkenly, somehow remembering to be in character. “Stop touching me, you bastard.”

Scaramouche draws his hand away prods Aether’s exposed asshole. Aether groans through his teeth, as he pushes two of his fingers in, slicking him with the slippery fluid from his dick.

“You’re soft inside, like a girl. Do you spread your legs for every man you see?”

“Fuck you! Let me go!” Aether growls.

“Not a chance, princess,” Scaramouche laughs, giving the strap a firm jerk. “Not till I’ve had my turn.”

Aether feels the warm, blunt head of Scaramouche’s dick pressing against him. Pulling the strap taut like a leash, he pushes himself roughly inside, till his pelvis is flush against Aether’s ass.

“Take it…ungh! take it out!” Aether groans. “Please, it hurts!”

“Oh, does my dick hurt your delicate little pussy?” Scaramouche sneers. “Why don’t you fight me off then?”

Aether whimpers as he slams his hips forward, beating against his ass with wet thuds, hard and fast, drawing the strap tighter and tighter. His head is pounding from being choked and his neglected cock is throbbing with need. Feeling his body under someone else’s control like this, with a hard shaft thumping mercilessly over his prostate, is driving him rapidly over the edge.

“Stop! Stop! It’s too deep!” he sputters. “You’re g—you’re gonna make me come!”

“But this is the fun part,” Scaramouche answers, with an unhinged laugh.

He wrenches the strap back and holds it tight, strangling Aether with real force. Black spots creep across Aether’s vision. His head fills with sand. His mouth hangs open, and a stream of drool trickles from between his lips onto the floor. His reeling brain informs him that he was a fool to give control of his body to a Harbinger assassin, and now he’s definitely going to die. Just as he is about to lose consciousness, the tension explodes. He comes so hard his vision blacks all the way out, the spasms of pleasure-pain magnified to unbearable intensity by the oxygen deprivation, and his aching, overheated cock pulsing and spurting sloppily all over the floor beneath him.

Blood and oxygen roar back into his brain as Scaramouche abruptly releases the strap. Aether’s head buzzes and his ears feel pressurized, and everything takes on a surreal character for a moment. Then he is suddenly aware of a stinging, tearing sensation as long slashes are clawed into his back. He gives a sharp cry and attempts to pull away, but his marionette body ignores his commands.

“Yes, scream—scream for me,” Scaramouche pants, lacerating his skin again, with his sharp, black fingernails as he thrusts into him. “You get so…fucking tight, when I hurt you.”

Aether feels blood trickling down his sides. Scaramouche forces his hands to reach up and grab hold of his own nipples, twisting them savagely. He wails with pain, straining against the control while Scaramouche holds onto his ass with both hands, his hips stuttering and jerking as his cock convulses, flooding his insides with bursts of slippery fluid. The nipple torture combined with the abrupt increase in stimulation, while Scaramouche’s cock batters his swollen prostate in the slick of semen, makes Aether come again suddenly, shuddering all over while his dick throbs and spurts clear fluid.  

“I can’t believe you came twice, just from taking it in your ass,” Scaramouche says breathlessly, letting Aether’s arms fall at his sides again. “Did Rex Lapis train your body to be this lewd, or was it those whore priestesses?”

“Shut up,” Aether rasps. “Get the fuck off me.”

Scaramouche laughs as he lifts him off his feet and carries him to the bed, where he sits propped up against the wall. Aether’s face flushes with humiliation as he makes his body straddle him and squat on his lap, sinking onto his cock until the full length of it is buried inside him.

“H—how are you still hard?” Aether demands, as it bottoms out.

“I told you I’m a machine,” Scaramouche grins. “I can just keep going. Feel free to pass out, if you need to, though. I can make your unconscious body ride me just as easily.”

So saying, he makes Aether lean back and his hands put themselves on his thighs, displaying him obscenely as his ass and pelvis work, bouncing him up and down on his dick. Aether’s own dick is spent and limp, slapping against his balls when he comes down on his hips. Scaramouche watches him raptly as he is forced to ride him, like his body some kind of breathtaking phenomenon.

Abruptly and with no warning, his control strings snap. He catches Aether as he collapses and rolls him onto his back, then resumes thrusting forcefully into him. Aether tries to kiss him, but he turns his head and hides his face in the pillow. After a few more rapid thrusts, his body tenses up and he makes a muffled, choking sound in his throat, holding his cock deep inside him as he comes. Then he lies still on top of him, shaking and breathing strangely. Aether feels tears running onto his neck and shoulder.

“Thank you for this,” he sniffles, into Aether’s shoulder. “I’m a monster. I know I am. But I get so tired. Thank you for letting me feel human, for a little while.”

Aether holds him and strokes his back soothingly, till he stops trembling and sniffling. After a long while, it appears he’s finally fallen asleep. Aether thinks with a shudder about how he verbally framed the two of them having sex as violent and nonconsensual when he brought it up. Then, when he finally let go of his puppet strings, he refused to kiss him, and cried after he came. He is terrified to lose control, to the point where he needs to control his partner, and can’t function intimately without breaking down. Whatever the Tsaritsa and her Harbingers did to this boy, it must have been cruel, though he attempts not to imagine what that entailed. Fortunately, he is exhausted from the drain of purifying his wounds, or he wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep at all.

When he opens his eyes again, he is standing on a mountaintop, overlooking the sea. All about him are steep, rocky hills, and directly below him is a deep cove, creating a natural harbor in the cliff-faced shoreline. He realizes with an eerie thrill that it looks almost exactly like Liyue Harbor would look without the city. The entire landscape looks like Liyue, in fact, but most of the landmarks he knows aren’t there. In the sky above, there is no Jade Palace. Out in the expanse of turquoise sea, there is no Guyun Stone Forest. The green hilltops are crowned with yellow flowers, instead of ancient ruins.

He turns around to look for other landmarks and finds himself face to face with a dragon. It is jet black and amber-maned, with fiery dorsal scales and forked golden horns. Gold claws and long gold whiskers, and a gorgeous plume of amber at the end of its tail. It is unmistakably the same dragon he saw descend to the Jade Palace on his wedding day, only his dream has apparently made it much smaller. It can’t be more than thirty feet in length, and its head is no more than two or three times the size of that of an adult horse. It isn’t actually sitting on the ground, but hovering a little above it, with its foresection reared up like a cobra, and arched down to put its head just above Aether’s eye-level, about where it would be if it was a man. Its piercing, amber eyes are studying his face, as if it is waiting to see what he will do.

“Morax,” he says softly, from awe more than caution, as it doesn’t even occur to him to be afraid of it.

It looks pleased, and blinks its eyes slowly in acknowledgement. Apparently it doesn’t speak in this form, but it makes its intent felt clearly enough to be understood almost as speech. He knows it recognizes him, but it doesn’t feel like intimate recognition. More like that of a brief acquaintance.

“So, I am dreaming again, and again I am dreaming of you,” he says, stepping closer, and reaching up to touch its thick, dark-amber mane.

The dragon gives a little twitch of its long whiskers and a shudder races down its black, serpentine body, as if it is surprised by this touch, but it doesn’t draw away. It snuffs Aether’s golden hair curiously, then bends down to have its mane stroked and petted. Its amber eyes close contentedly, as he cards his fingers through the silky hair, and scratches at the base of its horns, as if it is a pet. Very soon, its jaw is resting heavily on his shoulder.

“I guess you’re beautiful in all your forms,” Aether sighs. “I wish I could touch you like this when—hey, hey, don’t fall asleep on me, you are extremely heavy!”

He laughs as he staggers under the thing’s weight, at which the dragon gives an indignant snort, like a horse, and lowers its head to butt him in the center of the chest. This playful bump sends Aether toppling backward, but it catches him in its foreclaw and lowers him gently to his back in the turfy grass, amid the tiny, yellow flowers. Then it does land on the ground, planting its forelegs on either side of him, and looms over him, as if it means to devour him. Aether lays his hands on its face and cranes up to press a kiss to its jet-black muzzle.

Instantly, it shatters into fiery sparks, revealing the form of the younger looking Morax from his previous dream, who leans into the kiss. Aether throws his arms around his neck and loses himself in his familiar taste and warm, aromatic scent, as their tongues caress and roll over each other. It is like kissing his real-life husband, and also unlike. This feels like his body, but his kiss is brutal and ravenous and…oddly clumsy, actually. It suddenly occurs to Aether that he is the one leading, which he has never done with the king.

“Morax,” he says, pulling back to look at him. “Have you kissed a human before?”

“I have never kissed anyone before,” Morax answers unabashedly. “Have I done it incorrectly?”

“No, just differently than I expected. What a strange detail for my subconscious to invent. Like the missing landmarks and…are—are you naked?”

“Of course not.”

“You have nothing on but a cloak and hakama pants,” Aether says, looking down at his body, then back up at his face. “Where is the top half of your clothing?”

“Why should I wear a covering on my torso when I am not in battle?”

“Why should—because…your body is very beautiful, and seeing this much of it exposed makes it hard for me to think.”

“Your weak self-will hardly seems to be my responsibility, sorcerer. I will clothe my body in whatever way seems good to me. Avert your eyes if you are offended.”

“You’re absolutely right. I apologize. But I’m still not a sorcerer. I want to ask you something. Would you kill someone for disobeying a command you gave?”

“Certainly.”

“Oh,” Aether says, blinking. “I didn’t expect you to answer that fast.”

The dragon-god tilts his head questioningly. “You have twice said ‘expected’. Why should you have any expectation of me, whatsoever?”

“I, uh…”

“I have discovered you. I know exactly what you are.”

“You do?”

“It all adds up. You do not fear me. You behave as if you know me. You appear in a form perfectly designed to allure me, then you touch me in pleasing ways, so that I will be docile to your hand, and more apt to heed your words. You are a daemon.”

“You think…I’m a spirit guide? Are you jo—” Aether gives a jolt and grabs hold of Morax, as with a thunderous boom, the entire mountain bucks beneath them. “What was that!”

“That is my friend,” Morax answers offhandedly, as the ground booms and shudders again. “I trapped him beneath this mountain and he is attempting to break free.”

“What? Why would do that to your friend?”

“Because he was dozing in the sun like an overgrown lizard, and let his guard down.”

As Morax hops up and pulls Aether to his feet, there is another boom, far stronger than the others. At the same time, huge boulders and chunks of dirt explode out from the side of the mountain, and go crashing across the landscape. This is followed immediately by an earsplitting roar, like the howl of a hurricane, which rends the air all around them.

“It appears he’s got loose,” Morax says cheerfully. “Wait here, a moment.”

Holding out a golden hand, he casts an ethereal, amber-tinted shield about Aether. Then he turns and rises into the air, floating out to a good distance, presumably to keep him out of the danger radius. Aether dashes after him to the edge of the cliff, just in time to see a colossal earth dragon, twenty times the size of Morax’s dragon form, with huge horns and covered in spikes of stone, come barreling out into the valley, shaking the ground beneath its thunderous steps.

“Morax!” the thing roars, squaring up and pawing the earth, like a bull about to charge. “You will not get away with this!”

“You brought it upon yourself, Azhdaha, you indolent reptile!” Morax laughs, his hyper-resonant voice echoing throughout the valley. “What did I say I would do if I caught you napping again?”

“I do not recall! Come down here and we will discuss it!” Azhdaha rumbles back.

“I prefer to remain where I am, thank you!”

“Have it your way!”

With that, the dragon swings its massive tail like a club, shearing off the top of a nearby hill, and sends the house-sized chunk of rock and soil hurtling through the air at Morax. Apparently unconcerned, Morax does not move. He waits until it gets closer, then simply holds up his hands and stops it, midair. His eyes and his forked horns blaze out brightly, as he puts his palms together, then spreads his arms wide. The huge piece of countryside splits in two, down the center, and he sends both halves sailing back toward the dragon. With astounding agility for a thing that might reasonably be considered a geological feature itself, the dragon leaps to the side, dodging the hurled missiles, which smash into the earth, noticeably altering the landscape.

“Ha ha! Not even close!” Azhdaha thunders. “You are getting sloppy!”

Aether watches the two toss pieces of Liyue’s topography back and forth, laughing and taunting one another, with a mingled sense of wonder and sadness. He knows of Azhdaha. It was an evil dragon that was slain by Morax, after it caused earthquakes and rockslides that buried mountain villages and killed hundreds of people. He wishes that his dreams wouldn’t torment him with these heartbreakingly lovely fantasies, of his stern, staid husband as an uninhibited prankster, and the battles with his ancient enemy as sparring between friends.

There is a heavy, thumping sound, as stray rocks from one of their fusillades glance harmlessly off his ethereal shield and go plunking onto the grassy turf around him. Aether looks down, then sits bolt-upright, gasping and disoriented. It takes his sleep-muddled brain a moment to parse what is happening. He has been dreaming and the thumping sound that has awakened him is someone knocking on the door. Scaramouche is nowhere to be seen, so he wraps a yukata around his body and hurries over to answer the door. It’s an attendant from the inn, who delivers a small, sealed envelope and departs. Aether shuts the door and breaks the seal to tear it open. Inside is a piece of plain stationery with the following note:

Morning Sunshine,

 

Sorry to run without saying goodbye, again. Can’t stop moving unless you want to get caught. Thought it was only polite to drop you a thank-you note, for helping me sabotage the Signora’s little scheme. Thanks to you, she looks like a huge fuckup, and none of our people have any idea I was involved, so I get to keep playing the obedient Harbinger while I plan my next move. Since you’re probably wondering, yes, I absolutely led you on with all the theatrics. I am a monster, but I’m not even a little bit sorry about anything I’ve done, and I have no intention of reforming. Fair warning, because I’m a gentleman: our interests happened to be aligned this time, so I let you live. Next time you see me, it might be for just long enough to realize who put the blade in you before you bleed out.  

 

Yours truly,

Scaramouche, The Balladeer

 

P.S. Thanks for the fuck. I never had my dick ridden like that in my life. I hope Rex Lapis appreciates that deliciously slutty little body of yours.

Ayato fails to entirely conceal a look of pain as he reads post script on the note, but Aether is looking out the open door at the Zen garden in the courtyard, so he doesn’t see it anyway. Ayato hands the note to Thoma, who has observed the flicker in his master’s composure, but keeps it to himself.

“I wish I could say I was surprised,” he remarks, as he returns the note to Aether. “My lord prince, it would be inexcusably presumptuous of me to scold you, but—”

“You scold me constantly,” Ayato interrupts. “Go ahead, scold him. He has it coming after the incredibly stupid thing he did.”

“I do have it coming, and I owe you all an apology,” Aether says contritely. “I know how foolish and dangerous it was, now, but I couldn’t help myself. His puppet spell put some kind of compulsion on me to go after him.”

Ayato shakes his head. “I should have stopped you. This is as much my fault as yours. If he’d killed you, I…I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“This is absurd,” Xiao cuts in, from the shadowy corner of the room. “It is not your duty to protect the prince, it is mine, and I am not a fool. I made certain he was never in danger.”

“Xiao, you were…were you there?” Aether says, dismayed. Then his face flushes with humiliation and unaccountable anger at the idea of Xiao seeing him in such a state. “How could you do that! How could you directly disobey me and violate my privacy that way?”

Xiao steps forward and stands facing him, arms crossed on his chest. “I am not your servant. My duty is to protect you, not to take orders from you. I do as you tell me out of respect for your position, but my obedience stops when your behavior places you in danger. Then I am free to use my judgement and do as I see fit.”

“That includes watching me fuck?” Aether fires back heatedly, but Ayato steps in and lays a hand on his shoulder, which immediately cools and checks his wrath.

“Thank you, Xiao-sama,” Ayato says, with a dip of his head. “I failed the prince. You did not. You have been a better friend than I.”

“Kamisato-sama is right,” Kazuha puts in, from the doorway, where he is sitting with his back against the frame, feeling the cool, late-afternoon breeze. “I failed you as well, Prince Aether. I am sorry.”

“And Thoma, too,” Ayato adds. “Everyone’s always forgetting to blame him, but he shouldn’t get off the hook, just because he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

It is into this tense atmosphere that Ayato’s beautiful, soft-spoken, deeply shy younger sister enters. She bows and announces that supper is served, then her brother takes her arm and escorts her out, followed by Aether and Kazuha. Thoma heads for the kitchen, where he takes his meals with the other servants, and Xiao vanishes. Aether’s heaviness of heart to be leaving this beautiful place and these wonderful people prevents him enjoying his last taste of Inazuma’s cuisine, but he spends the time engraving every bit of this place into his memory, so it is not a loss, as far as he is concerned.

He has flatly refused to accept the return of any part of his money from the Watatsumi islanders, telling Captain Beidou in no uncertain terms that it is still to be used exactly as she and General Gorou planned. His brief audience with the shogun did not exactly fill him with confidence regarding her intentions toward Queen Kokomi’s people, and they sorely need it, war or no. In his message to General Gorou, he tells him jokingly to name a school after him or something and he’ll consider himself fully compensated.

The sun is setting in a riot of fiery hues off the coast of Narukami Island. The wind from the sea is sweet and gentle, and sakura petals whirl and dance in the air, as they flutter down from Mt. Yougou, like enchanted snow. Ayato and Ayaka, and Thoma, of course, escort Aether and Kazuha to Ritou, and see them off at the dock. Aether can’t help but feel, as the perpetual halo of light above the Grand Narukami Shrine fades into the deepening night behind the Alcor, that he is leaving a little piece of his heart there. He hurt Ayato. He knows he did. But he couldn’t return his love. It feels less awful, at least, knowing someone else loves the man so dearly and completely, that his heart will never really be broken.

Late that evening, the sky is indigo and violet, and the stars are peering out from behind their veil. On a cliff above the Kamisato estate, Ayato stands, still gazing out over the sea, in the direction of Liyue. The gentle wind plays in his pale-blue hair, and billows his long sleeves about him, and he breathes deeply of the sea air, which is different here at home, than it is there, where the prince has gone.

“My lord,” Thoma says, from a few paces behind him.

“I have sown a bitter crop, and the harvest has come home to me,” Ayato replies, without turning around. His normally smooth voice is hoarse and hollow, as if he’s been weeping. “I have shamelessly used and manipulated so many powerful men and women. When they were no longer of use to me, I disposed of them all, without a second thought. Without a modicum of remorse, even when some begged me on their knees not to leave them. And I fully intended to do the same to this young Celestial Prince. How that blade has been turned against me.”

“How often, my lord, was any of that done in service of yourself, for your personal gain?” his steward asks pointedly.

“Thoma, do not—it doesn’t matter what the reasons were. For the people whose hearts were broken, the result was the same.”

“Forgive me, my lord. I had been counting the lives saved, destitute housed, children fed, wars prevented, and assassinations foiled as outweighing the hurt feelings of a few wealthy oligarchs, whose vile selfishness of nature required them to be manipulated with sex, because human decency and compassion failed to compel them.”

Ayato sighs heavily. “You cannot keep excusing me this way. That I have acted in service of nobler goals than self-interest does not change the number of beds I’ve lain in dishonestly. And I, a veteran whore, fell in love with a prince, like the greenest virgin debutante. He…but it is only what I deserve. Anyway, it is getting late. I should return to the house before Aya-chan thinks I’ve been arrested again.”

Turning away from the empty horizon and the land of the Dragon King, he moves to take the winding path back down to the estate, but as he attempts to pass him, Thoma stops him with a hand in the center of his chest.

Ayato looks down at the hand, then up at Thoma, perplexed. “Thoma? What is the meaning of this?”

“How many more times,” Thoma says, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How many more times are you going to fall in love.”

Ayato sighs. “Thoma, I thank you for your concern, but I am tired. I am in no mood to be scolded.”

With that, he moves to pass him again, but Thoma keeps his hand on his chest, staying him. When Ayato attempts to push it away, Thoma grabs him suddenly by both lapels of his jacket and yanks him roughly back, holding him fast. Ayato’s breath catches in his throat, and he stares up at Thoma in disbelief. This is the first time his steward has ever dared lay hands on him in this way.

“How many more times, my lord,” he demands, holding his gaze boldly now. “I have watched you suffer a great disappointment, bestowing your love upon a young man who will not or cannot return it. I have watched you finally give away your heart, only to have it cast aside. It has broken me. I do not know if I have the strength to carry you through another such heartbreak. So I am asking you. How many more times are you going to fall in love, with men who are not me.”

Ayato blinks, taken aback. “Thoma…I don’t know what you—”

“No, my lord, you do know. Give me your heart. Let me care for it the way I care for every other part of you. I will shield it with my life. I will cherish and protect it with my last breath. Only love me, as I love you. Belong to me, as I belong to you.”

Tears well up and roll down Ayato’s pale cheeks. “How can you…how can you say you love me? You know what I am. You know how I’ve demeaned myself, again and again, in service of my homeland. You are pure and precious. I am a used, fouled, ugly thing, unworthy of you in every way.”

Thoma holds his gaze, drawing him even closer. “I know everything about you, my lord. I know you better than you know yourself, and I love all of you, exactly as you are.”

“Even if…even if that were true, I’m much too old for you. You’re a child.”

“Wrong again. I’m only four years younger than you. I run your household, manage all your affairs, and command your special intelligence unit. I am verifiably not a child. If you want to put me off, you’ll have to come up with a better excuse than I’m too pure and young for you.”

“They’re not excuses, Thoma. Do you think I would be fool enough not to love you, if I thought for a single moment I was worthy of you?”

Thoma’s face brightens. “Then you do love me.”

“W—wait, I didn’t say—”

“Say it,” Thoma says, hooking one arm tightly about his waist, and laying a hand on his cheek. “Say you don’t love me. Say it, or I will claim you for my own, here and now, and I will never let you go.”

Ayato finds himself unaccountably shy and almost afraid of this tall, striking young man, who he suddenly feels as if he is seeing for the first time. It never occurred to him until this moment, that his sweet, obedient little Thoma is quite a bit physically stronger than himself, now, not to mention a good two inches taller. His face is stern and his bright-green eyes are clear and keen. He looks much older than Ayato has been used to thinking of him. Has he always been this handsome?

His cheeks flush with heat and he lowers his eyes. “I think…I think I am your own, already.”

He gasps and gives a little moan in his throat, as Thoma draws him into a kiss. As many times as he and Thoma have had sex with a third party together, they’ve never directly had sex with one another. They’ve never even kissed each other before. His heart pounds against his ribcage, and his stomach flips and flutters as Thoma’s tongue slides across the edge of his teeth to caress his. He surrenders. Melts into the embrace and lets himself be enveloped in Thoma’s strong arms and the heat of his body. All at once, he recognizes it. This warm, full feeling in his chest. The comfort of Thoma’s steadfast presence. This…this is what it feels like, to be kissed by a man who loves you. To be kissed by the man you love.

“Forgive me,” Ayato breathes, between Thoma’s urgent kisses. “For my blindness. For not seeing it sooner.”

Thoma reaches up to brush away the tears from his beloved’s face. “There’s nothing to forgive. You belong to me. You are mine. My own. My love. That’s all I have ever wanted.”

“I love you, Thoma. I love you, so much.”

“I love you, too. Now, let’s go home and get you into bed.”

Ayato gazes up at him as they stroll hand-in-hand down the meandering path toward the house. “I’m beginning to suspect that I’ve never really been the one in charge, in this relationship.”

Thoma arches an eyebrow. “You’re just beginning to suspect that now, my lord? I thought you were renowned for being quick witted.”

“Right back in the ocean,” Ayato mutters.

“What was that?”

“Hm? Nothing. I just had a thought, though. Do we have to stop inviting people to have sex with us, now that we’re in love?”

“Of course not. Why should being in love mean we have to stop having fun? But you’re not allowed to fall in love with anyone else. Your heart belongs to me, now. Don’t forget it.”

“How could I ever forget it?” Ayato says, with an adoring smile. “You’re the one who makes my milk tea.”

Chapter Text

If Aether had thought to slip quietly back into Liyue, beg his husband’s pardon, and take his punishment privately, he is very quickly and thoroughly disabused of this optimistic fantasy. Whoever reported Commissioner Kamisato’s deeds in favor of Watatsumi to the false shogun has also wasted no time in broadcasting the prince’s role in the rebellion, to seemingly every corner of Teyvat. Unbeknownst to Aether at the time, before he had even boarded the Alcor bound for Liyue, the matter was widely known and had been thoroughly canvassed.

The public has decided amongst themselves that Commissioner Kamisato was the one who discovered the false shogun, and the shogunate soldiers’ participation in the attack on her was due to their faith and trust in their beloved Yashiro Commissioner. Aether is framed as a humanitarian angel, whose compassion and mercy were so great, he defied the laws of the hard-hearted Dragon King, to stand as a benefactor to the imperiled innocents of Watatsumi. An idea has got abroad, somehow, that they are pacifists who have no army at all, and the prince went to train their fishermen and pearl divers in warfare himself.

Be it noted, there are no pearl divers on Watatsumi, as Sango pearls are created by a native species of shallow-water oyster, who spit them out periodically, rather than retaining them inside their shell for life. Thus, they can be gathered over and over, from about the metaphorical feet of the same prodigious old oyster patriarchs, and the deepest water one must traverse to retrieve them hardly reaches the knee. Gathering these pearls is so easy, in fact, it is most often the occupation of children.

When Aether disembarks in Liyue harbor, he is escorted to the Jade Palace by a detachment of Millelith. This is necessary to shield his person from the crush of the adoring crowd of well-wishers that have gathered to celebrate his heroic return. The practical upshot of this, however, is to create the impression that the prince has been arrested, which raises a public outcry, and a blizzard of petitions to the king for clemency, which clog the Qixing’s mailboxes for months thereafter.

“Well, young man, you’ve created quite the stir,” Madame Ping says chirpily, as she sets out the tea things that evening. “Question is, are you ready to take your medicine?”

“I told myself I was, all this time,” the young prince replies, chafing his hands together anxiously. “That I’d accept whatever the consequences were, but…I’m so afraid he’ll be angry with me. I’m ready to take whatever punishment I’ve earned, I just can’t stomach the idea of living with his disapproval hanging over my head.”

“You know, there’s an easy way to avoid that. Don’t do things that will make him angry.”

“Yes, thank you, you’re a true sage. It’s a little late for that, anyway. But I think I have an idea for how I might be able to convince him to forgive me.”

“Ah, excellent thinking,” Madame Ping says, nodding wisely.  “You can never go wrong with good ol’ fashioned cock su—”

“Madame Ping!” Aether exclaims. “What has gotten into you! You have been all sauce since you had Thoma in here 'helping' with the dusting.”

“Alright, we’ll put a pin in that one, then. What’s your idea, if you’re so smart?”

“In another world, they tell the story of an ancient queen who sought a great favor of the king. It was a death sentence to go before him unsummoned, so she had herself beautified and dressed in her loveliest garments, and then she went to him humbly and knelt before him. Seeing her humility, and how she had prepared herself, specifically to please him, softened his heart, and he forgave her trespass and granted her request.”

“So, you want to pretty yourself up and show him how sorry you are. Not the worst idea.”

“Not just pretty myself up. I need to prepare myself specifically to please him. For that, I need some help.”

Early the next afternoon, a cadre of people arrive at the Prince Consort’s quarters. Dr. Baizhu with detoxifying herbs for the bath, and a qingxin infused salt scrub, to make the skin silky-soft and lustrous. Ying’er, a perfume specialist, to create a unique scent for the prince, Ms. Hu Tao, to do grooming and cosmetics, and Xingqui, the scion of the Guhua clan and head designer at its fashion house, with his assistant Chongyun. These two have come with a massive, rolling wardrobe, that has to be pushed along by two male palace attendants.  

“Xingqui, what is all this,” Aether laughs, as the attendants depart, winded and red in the face.

“My liege!” Xingqui greets him dramatically, with a sweeping bow. “This is everything I have in the color palette specified in your summons. There are a few additions of my own, and Chongyun will be happy to model them for you, as usual.”

Chongyun bows, then sets about pulling out the extendable racks upon which the clothing items are hanging, and placing boxes labeled ‘accessories’ and ‘jewelry’ and the like on the table. Aether begins to peruse the hanging garments, which are all traditional Liyue clothing as he requested, in black, gold, and shades of amber, in various silk and satin fabrics.

“Now, keep an open mind,” Xingqui says, as Aether’s hand lights on a gold zhongdan, made of a diaphanous silk organza. “Some of these garments are technically intended for women, but—”

“That’s fine with me,” Aether replies. “More feminine might be better.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, my lord prince. With your height and slender frame, we should accentuate your delicateness, not bury you in something bulky, like a xuanduan.”

“Yeah, I definitely don’t want to look like I’m going to a school graduation. But nothing too overt, either. I don’t want to look like I’m flaunting myself. I want to look like I dressed just for him.”

“May I suggest, then, black shan and ruqun, over that sheer and flirty gold zhongdan you picked. That way from a distance, you’ll look formal and solemn, and from close up, he’ll be able to see the hint of something enticing underneath.”

“That sounds good. But I don’t want the outer garments to just be black. That’ll look liturgical and way overdo the drama.”

“What about this embroidered jacket? It’s black, but the short sleeves and gold accents prevent it looking priestly. Then we’ll wrap the sleeves of your ru with gold ribbon, so the forearms are snug, and cinch your tiny little waist with a gold brocade belt. The effect will be very pretty.”

“Perfect,” Aether nods. “What about jewelry?”

“Don’t worry, we’ve brought an excellent selection.”

“Hmm,” Aether says, as he eyes the necklaces and wrist bangles, and long left-ear earrings. “I want what I wear to match my ring, if possible. Do you have anything with this kind of amber stone?”

Xingqui looks closely at the ring, then back up at Aether. “My lord prince…I have to assume you’re joking.”

“I have to wear it, the king gave it to me. Why? Is it that ugly?”

“Ha. Ugly,” Xingqui replies, with a half-hysterical little laugh, as Chongyun flicks open his ebony-handled fan and steps over to ventilate his master’s face. “My lord prince, that is not amber, that is Cor Lapis. There are so few of those stones in the world, that even if I could entirely liquidate my family’s assets to afford one, I still couldn’t find one to purchase. Pardon my dizziness, but the casual way you are walking around with the GDP of a small country on your hand is giving me a touch of the vapors.”  

Aether holds up his hand to frown at the ring. “The king said it was only a fancy of his to see me wearing it. I honestly thought this was just amber.”

“Cor Lapis resembles amber to the untrained eye, perhaps. But pay attention to the way it refracts the light, in different situations. I’d say compare it to regular amber but you won’t have to. In sunlight, Cor Lapis lights up like another little sun, and no matter what color light shines on it, the light it gives back is always the purest shade of gold.”

“Oh,” Aether replies, unsure how to feel about this revelation. “Why is it called Cor Lapis? Heart of stone?”

“The name comes from an old wives’ tale about it, but I won’t repeat something so childish to the king’s husband.”

“I can’t believe I’ve been wearing such a valuable artifact all this time,” Aether says uneasily. He’s still looking at the ring, and talking as if to himself. “Why didn’t he tell me when he gave it to me, how precious it was? Why did he give it to me, at all? Shouldn’t it be in a museum, or somewhere safer than with me?”

“Well, that’s for him to know and us to wonder about,” Xingqui shrugs. “If he said he wanted you to wear it, he must have wanted you to wear it. Gods are strange creatures. Who can tell what goes on in those ancient minds.”

“My lord prince,” Dr. Baizhu calls out, from the bathroom door. “I have your bath ready, and you must get in now, if you’re going to have time for Ms. Hu Tao to fix you up after.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Aether calls back. “Xingqui could you put the rest of the outfit together while I’m in the bath? I’m getting pressed for time.”

“Of course, my liege. What time is your audience?”

“I’m to appear at court at six, just before the day closes.”

Xingqui’s cheerful expression fades. “You’re appearing at court, not in his private chambers?”

“That’s what the summons says. I assume I’m going to be publicly chastised because he’s angry with me, and wants to teach me a lesson. Don’t worry, I’m not easy to humiliate. I could care less what the courtiers think of me, and the common people seem to have taken my part in the whole affair.”

“I thought humility was what you were going for. What if he asks you to apologize and admit that you were wrong? Will you?”

“I will apologize for disobeying him. If he wants to go further than that, and attempt to govern my thoughts as well as my actions, we will be at an impasse.”

“Ooh,” Xingqui shudders. “My lord prince, you gave me chills. You looked so lofty and noble when you said that. Like some legendary hero or saint.”

“Well, I hope not. Most of them are legendary because they’re dead.”

Aether goes to soak in his bath, attended by Dr. Baizhu, who applies the qingxin body scrub rather vigorously, which Aether pouts about, because it makes his skin all flushed and pink. When he exits the bath, however, the pink has calmed to a healthy glow, and his skin is softer than it has ever been. While Ms. Hu Tao manicures his fingernails and rubs them with a metallic powder that gives them a gold sheen, Ying’er comes in with perfume pots for him to sample.

“I like the glaze lily one the best, but I want it to smell more like…what’s that little yellow flower that grows all over the mountains here?”

“Osmanthus, my lord prince?” Ying’er replies doubtfully. “Not to contradict your highness, but are you certain that’s what you want? It’s an extremely common herb. It’s in tea and wine, and all kinds of things.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. Well, it’s alright. That’s still the one I want. It’s not common to me.”

The lady goes away again to revise the perfume, and Ms. Hu Tao moves to plucking his eyebrows into neater shape, while Dr. Baizhu braids some gold threads into his long hair, which is tied at the end with gold ribbon and white crane feathers.

“I don’t know if it’s just because I usually work on dead people, but your skin is really, really pretty,” Hu Tao remarks, when she has finished with his eyebrows. “I don’t want to cover it up, if I can help it. I’m thinking just a tiny touch of this gold and mica powder, to highlight your brow and cheekbones, and the carnelian eyeliner you wanted.”

“You’re still married to that red eyeliner, my lord prince?” Dr. Baizhu says mournfully.

“It’s important because the king wears it,” Hu Tao points out. “It’s to signal that he’s noticed a detail like that.”

“Well. If you must,” the doctor clucks. “But the king has black hair and dark lashes. With your light hair and hazel eyes, it’s going to make you look weepy.”

“Weepy is fine,” Aether says. “I’m supposed to be contrite, remember?”

“Yes, well, it’ll take more than red eyes to make you seem contrite, highness. You’re like one of those thoroughbred horses. Defiant and proud, even with a bit and bridle.”

“Well, now, that’s an idea,” Madame Ping observes, as she enters the room at that moment. “Nothing says humility like a little pony play.”

“I do not even want to imagine what that is, and don’t make Hu Tao laugh when she’s got a paintbrush so close to my eyeball,” Aether scolds.

“You’re the one who let Hu Tao anywhere near your eyeballs. The hospitality coordinator wants to know if you’ll be presiding over supper this evening.”

“Hm. I hadn’t thought about that. If things don’t go well at court, I won’t be in any condition to host.”

“I would hope that’ll be the case if things do go well, also,” Dr. Baizhu puts in.

“Just say no, to be safe,” Aether says. “Thank you, Madame Ping.”

“I’m glad you said so, because I already told her no,” Madame Ping replies pertly. “Also, little lord haircut and his snow-boyfriend have your clothes ready, but they want to know gold or black slippers, and they say you have to try them on yourself because the boyfriend’s feet are much larger than yours.”

“Their names are Xingqui and Chong—oh, yes, Ying’er, thank you. Give it to Dr. Baizhu, will you? I can’t turn my head.” The perfumer hands the little pot to Dr. Baizhu who holds it under the prince’s nose. “Mmmm, this is perfect! What is it?”

“It’s just the glaze lily blend, with Osmanthus added,” Ying’er answers sheepishly. “It turns out you were right, and the combined scents synergized in a way I hadn’t predicted. Careful with that salve. It melts with body heat, so when you put it on you won’t smell it almost at all, but when you and your husband are…reconciling your differences, it’ll get stronger. Only use a little. I recommend putting a dab on the back of your neck, and a dab between your thighs, and nowhere else. My mother taught me that trick, and it has never failed me.”

“Your mother taught you to—well, I guess that makes sense. Thank you so much, Ying’er. This is lovely.”

“All done, my lord prince,” Hu Tao announces.

“Alright,” Aether says, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Time to gear up.”

Though there have been far fewer audiences scheduled than usual today, the court is absolutely packed with courtiers, all waiting in eager anticipation for the Prince Consort’s arrival. This is pretty much the event of the year, seeing as he is returning from dramatically rebelling against the king and going off across the ocean in the company of pirates, to fight in a rebellion against another king. Some of them half expect him to show up dressed like a pirate, himself.

At exactly six o’clock, the heralds announce Prince Aether of Celestia, Prince Consort and husband to His Divine Majesty Rex Lapis, the Dragon King of Liyue and High King of Teyvat. A breathless hush descends upon the crowd, and the way to the throne opens like the parted sea in the mythology of another world. They lower their heads respectfully as he passes, but every single eye in the room is fixed on the prince.

He has cast off his dark-brown, rather boyish looking short-tunic and riding trousers (which many of them considered an open affront to the dignity of his position) and his less offensive (but still foreign) ivory and silver formal ensemble, and instead, appears before them in elegant, traditional Liyue clothing, for the first time. They are collectively astonished at the justice this outlander has done to their national dress. But for his golden hair, which is not a color that occurs natively in Liyue, every detail of his ensemble is flawless.

Black is thought to be a good, dignified color, reflective of the deity’s divine form, and the gold trefoil symbols, embroidered all along the trim of the shan jacket, evoke their nation’s status as specially favored by their god to be the most prosperous in the world. The gold ribbons wound round his forearms to keep his sleeves tight, like a swordsman or archer, remind the people that he is a hard worker, who takes his responsibilities in his own hands, not a luxuriant idler. The topaz and gold earring reflects their nation’s lucrative mineral products, and the white crane feathers their hallowed adepti.

His very trim waist is bound snugly with a gold brocade sash, and gold slippers peer out from the long, graceful hem of his ruqun as he approaches the throne. Just visible above the neckline of the sleek, jet-black garment, is a half inch of sheer, gold silk organza, which softens the v-line of the collar and gives it a vulnerable, feminine touch. The carnelian eyeliner does make him look a bit weepy, from a distance, but the effect on his beautiful, youthful face is rather poetic, than otherwise.

He walks resolutely, with his head high and his hands folded in front of him, until he reaches the dais where the king is seated. To the astonished whispers of the gathered courtiers, he sinks to his knees, with his head bowed, like a penitent. The Dragon King’s face betrays no emotion, but the length of the pause before he addresses his young husband is noted by the elder courtiers, who have been watching him a long time, and know him better than the youngsters.

Whether it is a reaction to his husband’s otherworldly beauty, or to his shrewd manipulation of the scene with his clothing and posture, none can say. The will and emotion of the crowd, however, are as apparent as if they had stated their opinions aloud. The Dragon King would be cruel, indeed, to be hard with such a young, lovely, repentant boy. He looks more like a princess, than a prince, so small and delicate, kneeling before the tall, stern Dragon King, towering high on his throne, and elevated even further by the dais.

“Prince Aether, you may rise,” the king says at last, in the same calm, low-toned voice as always. “The court wishes to hear you speak, regarding the circumstances of your recent absence.”

This is a heavy blow to the prince, who had been expecting to be told what he’d done wrong, then told what his punishment will be, and sent away. Now he must extemporaneously offer information in support of himself—essentially make his case, without preparation or assistance, while also appearing properly humble and remorseful. So it is to be combat, then.

“My lord king,” he says, in a strong enough voice to be heard, but not all the way to the back of the room, so some of the courtiers will have to repeat what they hear to others, and the tale will grow in the telling. “I have come to confess and be absolved. Not by my king, but by my husband.”

The murmurs and whispers in the room tell instantly that this was a remarkably adept move. To frame their ruler-deity as his own spouse, which he is, but in such a way that indicates humility before him, rather than asserting privileged status as his husband. Aether thinks best on his feet, and the moment the confrontation became a battle, his mind awakened, ready to the challenge.

“I have broken no law…” His voice wavers here and he pauses. “I have broken no law, but I have failed in my sacred duty of submission to my husband. I have willfully disobeyed him, and done as I would, not as he wished me to do.”

“Your husband forbade you doing as you have, and gave you his reasons,” the king says tranquilly. “And yet you chose disobedience. Why did you consider your judgement in this matter to be better than his?”

A pointed blade, but not sharp enough to pierce the Celestial armor, hardened in the court of a father-king who sought at all times to trip him up and exhibit his foolishness. “My husband’s judgement is wiser and better than mine, in all things. My heart, not my reason, drove me to act as I have done.”

“And so…you repent of your actions?”

Aether raises his eyes and meets the king’s gaze. “No.”

The ripple of murmurs and whispers reverberates through the assembly again. The corner of the king’s mouth twitches almost imperceptibly, but in what expression no one would have been able to say. It almost seemed to Aether that he was about to smile.

“Why do you not repent?”

“I do not repent because I have acted according to my nature. The suffering of innocent human beings wounds me, as deeply as if it were my own. I aided them without heed to the consequences, because their need cried out to my pity. If presented with such a situation again, I would do the same. Not because my judgment is superior to my husband’s, but because it is inferior. Because I am weak, where he is strong. I am merciful, where he is just.”

There is no reply Rex Lapis can make to this. It is all fastidiously true, and yet serves to make the prince look brave, rather than defiant, and self-sacrificing, rather than wayward and rebellious.

“Justice in this circumstance requires you be punished, as my subject,” the king replies flatly. “Therefore, you are henceforth prohibited from any participation in state matters, until such time as I see fit. This includes your civil projects for revitalization and beautification of the Liyue countryside, which will be handed over to the Qixing. Since you acted from compassion, in accordance with your nature, so will you serve the people, in accordance with your nature. Your official duties will be limited to hospitality, charity, and goodwill, undertaken only at my direction. Again, until such time as I see fit. Do you understand?”

Aether bows his head again. This sentence is so much more lenient than anything he had expected, that he is filled with sudden dread of some hidden sting, which will be revealed when they are alone. His hands shake, and it is all he can do to control the tremor in his voice. “I understand, my lord king.”

“Court is dismissed,” the king says, and rising from the throne, he steps down from the dais and takes his husband’s hand. “A word, in my chambers.”

The courtiers bow low until the king and prince have departed, then the whole place erupts into a flurry of excited conversation. Aether hears none of it, as he is led away to the king’s chambers, like a lamb to the slaughter. His fears appear to be confirmed, as the king directs him to the drawing room, rather than the bedroom. A servant opens the door and Aether follows his husband inside. Lounging indolently in one of the chairs by the fireplace, is Childe, who hops up and bows.

“What is he doing here,” Aether demands, recoiling as if from a serpent.

“Ajax wishes to explain himself to you. He begged me to facilitate this, since you will not agree to see him, otherwise.”

“I will not agree to it now,” Aether spits, and turns to leave the room.

“Sit,” Rex Lapis commands.

Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to turn back, and sits rigidly on the edge of one of the chairs. The king takes the chair beside his and Childe sits opposite.

“Well?” Aether prompts.

“My lord prince—” Childe begins.

“Don’t you mean spoiled brat?”

“My love. Please,” his husband admonishes.

Aether sits sullenly back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Fine. Explain why you tried to get my friend executed for treason.”

“It baffles me, how you can still think he was ever in any danger of execution, here,” Childe answers impatiently. “I suspected Lord Kamisato of using you, as I said, so I investigated the situation.”

“What? What do you mean, investigated?” Aether asks, taken aback.

“My lord prince, I am a spy. By profession and inclination. I have spies under my employ and other spies to watch them. I’m aware that it is shocking to you, but this is simply the way things are done in Snezhnaya. In any event, I uncovered your little plot with the pirates and the money almost instantly. I knew that if I had done so, the Qixing couldn’t be far behind. I was compelled to report your affair to them, to confuse them and throw them off the scent, because the two of you had been so stupid and clumsy in covering your tracks.”

Aether looks up at his husband. “You were aware of this? That he’s a spy?”

“Yes. I refused you permission to take him as a lover for this very reason.”

“I—I’m so confused.” Aether turns to Childe again. “What made you so sure Ayato wasn’t in any danger of being executed for adultery?”

“Because I told your husband first. I still believed Kamisato had drawn you in by presenting himself as a lover, and was using you dishonestly. My lord the king said he did not think so. He told me to report the affair, to throw the Qixing off your trail, and said he would take care of the treason charge.”

“You knew the whole time?” Aether asks the king, in a tremulous voice.

“I did.”

“But what if he had confessed in court about the plot? To save himself from the adultery charge?”

“If Commissioner Kamisato would abandon his cause so easily, he would deserve to lose it,” the king answers serenely. “When I asked him if he loved you, he spoke the truth, and showed himself to be a man of courage and conviction. I knew then that I could trust him with you.”

“So you see, my lord prince,” Childe puts in. “Whatever other reasons I have given you to despise me, I could not go on letting you believe that I had been such a vile and poisonous coward, as to turn in your lover to the authorities. Had I been that jealous, I would have confronted him, like a man.”

Aether does not hear any of what Childe has said. He is staring unseeing into the fire, recalling words that Scaramouche and the Raiden Shogun spoke to him. …think you’re doing something defiant and courageous, and not exactly as you’re expected to do. So pathetic. …though it may have been against his command, if it were truly against the wishes of Rex Lapis, I doubt very much that you would have set foot out of Liyue.

“You…you knew what I would do,” he says to his husband, with tears welling up in his eyes. “You told me to take especial care of him, as an honored guest. You told me not to believe how cold he seemed in counsel. You even told me exactly what to do with the money. And then, while you were pretending to forbid me doing it, you happened to let it slip that it was legal for me to use my own money.”

“I did not pretend to forbid you. I was in earnest. I cannot break my own law, but I trusted you to defy me and do it for me. Your mercy was necessary to temper my justice.”

“You weren’t angry with me about Ayato, because I was doing exactly what you wanted.”

“My love—”

“Stop calling me that! You used me!” Aether says, jumping up from his chair, the tears spilling over and making his red eyeliner run like blood down his fair cheeks. “I cared about this! I believed in this! You manipulated me and made a fucking fool of me! You played me like a puppet on strings, just like the Balladeer said!”

Childe gives a start and goes a shade paler than usual. “The Balladeer. My lord prince—”

“Stay the fuck out of this, Childe, it’s none of your business! I fucking hate you! I hate you both!”

Aether turns and flees from the king’s chambers, half blinded by the tears and hardly seeing where he is going. He is sick to his stomach with anger and grief. Most of all, he is furious with himself for being so green and naïve as to let himself be played for a fool so easily by those two reptiles. They’re probably still fucking, too, he thinks bitterly, as he reaches his own chambers. Madame Ping and everyone have departed, and the rooms are immaculate and empty. He has no one to talk to. No friends. No one in the world who belongs to him.

He wants to shred and burn every piece of his beautiful, meticulously chosen wardrobe, but that would be disrespectful to the work of the Guhua seamstresses, and ungrateful for Xingqui’s personal attention. He settles for stripping them off and leaving the pieces lying on the floor where they fall. The soft, gorgeous silks that felt to luxurious just hours before make his skin crawl, now, knowing what a stupid child he has been, to think such a thing would win his husband’s favor. Rex Lapis doesn’t even like him, let alone notice what he looks like. Had he actually expected to allure him by…allure him. That is not a turn of phrase he is in the habit of using. But it sounds so familiar. Where did he hear it used recently? Well, nevermind. He can’t remember and it doesn’t matter.

While he is washing his face, he catches sight of the amber and gold ring, and grabs it to pull it off his finger, but he still can’t make himself do it. Disgusted with his weakness, he turns away from the mirror and goes to don his old traveling disguise, pulling the gloves on over the ring. He last wore this when he’d gone walking about with Xiao. He feels a pang of something like homesickness when he thinks of Xiao. He’s angry with him for watching him with Scaramouche, but on balance, it’s the least despicable thing anyone close to him has done recently. At least it was genuinely done with his best interest at heart.

Xiao always acts with his best interest at heart, in fact. And he is the only person Aether knows who has always been forthrightly, sometimes brutally honest with him. He is also the only person aside from the king who does not speak deferentially to him, or call him by his honorific titles. Poor Xiao. He got so upset when Aether ran off after the hilichurls. It must have been torture when he went after Scaramouche—a thing so much more dangerous than hilichurls, that the comparison is ludicrous. God damn it. He owes Xiao an apology.

He sighs, then he smiles to himself, as he wraps himself in his traveling cloak and draws the hood over his long, golden hair. He only intended to go walking wherever his feet took him, to blow off some steam, but now he knows exactly where he’s going. Now he has something to do.

Chapter Text

From high upon a cliff edge, just outside Liyue Harbor, a little cloaked and hooded figure is visible, trudging resolutely up an old, narrow foot-road that snakes through the hilly terrain. So small in this vast land. Alone and vulnerable to attack. A little way ahead of him, off to the right of the road, there is a dilapidated ruin, infested by treasure-hoarders. That is to say, formerly infested by treasure-hoarders. The men now lie in a narrow gorge a hundred meters away, food for carrion fowl. Their cooking fires have been smothered, and their weapons and belongings of any value tossed into a wooden chest and left near the road, free to all comers.

A quarter-mile or so ahead of this, just past where the road bends, a Fatui vanguard unit have set up an encampment. Their bodies are tossed into the swift-flowing river, to be carried out to sea. The valuables and weapons go into the water with them. Fatui-tainted filth is of no use to anyone. When the little hooded figure passes near the camp, and stops to investigate, all he finds is an empty tent and a few snuffed torches. The world about him is peaceful and silent, but for the rushing of the river and the whisper of the wind.

Far ahead of him looms the tree-topped stone pillar that forms the fantastical silhouette of the Wangshu Inn. There can be no doubt that is his intended destination, now. Unless he turns suddenly and crosses the Guili Plains to the east or west, for some reason, but he has already passed the bridges. There would be no sense in attempting to ford the forked river further ahead, where it grows wide and deep on either hand.

An abyss mage and its enthralled gaggle of hilichurls lie in wait beneath an old stone bridge, where the horsetail rushes conceal them from the sight of passing millelith patrols. They are slain silently and their bodies submerged in the sticky, sucking mud of the marsh, but for the abyss mage, whose corporeal form disintegrates as soon as it is severed from the unclean spirit that animated it. The little hooded figure crosses the bridge, blissfully unaware of anything but a whirling breeze, that smells of spring in some forgotten valley, long ago.

When he reaches the inn, he rides the lift up to the reception lobby. Ridiculous. He was the one who had the beacon installed, in the first place, citing concerns regarding the safety of the lift, and the inaccessibility of the long, precarious wooden stairway to the elderly and infirm. He could at least be bothered to use a thing he has had placed there. But he could have used any of the beacons he passed by along the way and wasted far less time in coming here, so there is little point in taking issue with this last one.

Now he has gone inside somewhere, and is no longer visible from amongst the branches of the sandbearer tree. The Vigilant Yaksha drops onto the balcony and enters the inn. Verr Goldet bows and says ‘good evening, sir’. A few traveling merchants glance over and then speak excitedly to one another in hushed tones, as they do a poor job pretending not to be staring. Smiley Yanxiao, the chef, has placed two clay bowls on the table just outside the kitchen, where the little figure is sitting, now unhooded, since this area is not open to guests.

“What are you doing.”

“Hello, Xiao,” the prince answers, with one of his breezy smiles. “I’m eating almond tofu.”

Xiao does not smile. “Why are you doing that here.”

“I enjoy being here,” he shrugs, swinging his feet, because his chair is too tall for him to place them properly on the ground. “There’s a beautiful view.”

This is highly suspect. The view cannot be enjoyed from within the kitchen, where there are no windows. Xiao narrows his eyes. “Why do you have two bowls of almond tofu.”

“Because I happen to really like it, and wanted to eat two bowls.” So saying, the prince picks up a cube (with a spoon, like an outlander or small child) and puts it in his mouth. He swallows it, managing not to gag, but just barely. “See? I can’t g—get enough.”

“You do not like it, at all,” Xiao asserts, crossing his arms on his chest.

The prince grins and wrinkles his nose, in a childlike way that makes him seem to have freckles for some reason, though none are visible on his skin. “You got me. I gave it my best effort, but I seriously hate it. Will you eat the other bowl, at least, so it won’t go to waste?”

A transparent ruse. Insulting. But…it would be a waste not to eat it, since it has already been served. Xiao seats himself and takes up a set of chopsticks, like an adult. “I know you purchased this dish specifically to entice me. This does not mean I forgive you for your behavior.”

“Buh! My behavior!” the prince exclaims, laying both his hands on his chest in a gesture of theatrical indignation. “What makes you think I’m the one who needs forgiving?”

Xiao stares at him.  

“Ok, fine, I’m the one who needs forgiving,” he admits. “I wanted to apologize to you and that’s the whole reason I came here and ordered this jellied anemo-slime, so just forgive me and be my friend again, ok?”

“We are not—” Xiao begins, then hesitates, looking down into his bowl. He recalls very plainly the night he fell into a fit of blackness and pain, and the little blonde Celestial held him and healed him. “I suppose…I must be your friend. If you insist upon it.”

“And I do insist upon it!” the boy exclaims gleefully, throwing his arms around him. “Best friends forever!”

Xiao glowers miserably, which makes the prince laugh and give him a hearty shake. As a result, his cube of almond tofu pops out from between his chopsticks and lands on the floor with a jiggling splat. It does rather seem like anemo slime would, were it jellied.

“You have made me drop food onto the floor,” Xiao says, sounding cross, though he does not feel it. “Let go of me.”

“Sorry,” the prince chirps. “You can have my bowl, too. I never want to see this stuff again. You don’t happen to have any other favorite foods, do you? Like, not disgusting ones?”

The idea of putting the pungent, greasy food that humans customarily consume into his mouth makes his stomach turn. “I do not eat anything else. This is the only human food I can tolerate.”

The prince’s huge, hazel-gold eyes get even bigger. How he can be so amazed by every little thing he learns, and yet still have the energy to talk so much, is a mystery to Xiao.

“You don’t eat at all?” he asks.

“None of the adepti require food, though we can eat, if we choose to.”

“Oh. Is that why the king doesn’t host supper at court? Does he not need to eat, either?”

“He has no need for food, but that is not the reason,” Xiao says, pushing away his empty bowl and taking the prince’s. “He does not host supper because the honor of feasting with the gods is a rarely accorded boon for select individuals, or for certain celebrations. To dine regularly among his subjects would make it common.”

“That makes sense,” the prince says, then his blonde brows lower and knit. “It sounds like the exact kind of calculating thing he’d do, too, the coldblooded bastard.”

Xiao swallows the reflexive wrath that surges up, black and cold, in his gut, and shows no sign of it on the outside. He puts down his chopsticks and looks at the prince gravely. “I understand that you may quarrel with your husband, as a matter of course, but please take care how you express your frustrations to me. I will hear no ill spoken of him. Even by you.”

The prince lowers his eyelashes and his cheeks flush with color. “I’m sorry. I’m just angry with him right now, because of the Watatsumi thing. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

This is entirely unfair. Looking like that and blushing that way, Xiao would have forgiven him for burning Liyue Harbor to the ground. “Which part of it makes you angry.”

While he devours the rest of the almond tofu, the prince describes the audience between his husband and himself, and Tartaglia, to whose presence during what he had supposed to be his private conference with Rex Lapis, he has taken great umbrage. He is clearly more incensed about that, than about any other part of the situation, though he is trying to hide it.

“I do not understand why this makes you angry,” Xiao says, when he has finished speaking.

“The dishonesty! The manipulation!” the prince says energetically. “He played on my vulnerabilities and used me to get the thing done behind the scenes, because he wouldn’t admit supporting the separatists publicly.”

Xiao openly despises political maneuvering and court intrigues, but why the prince should be so offended by them is unclear to him. He had assumed all human and Celestial royalty were taught lies as their native tongue, and imbibed subterfuge and duplicity with their mothers’ milk. Can this young man truly be so naïve? If so, perhaps he does not fully understand what has happened. Telling him will surely help.

“You did as you wished. You achieved the result you wished for,” Xiao explains patiently. “The king gave you the information and tools necessary to do these things. He did everything but give you explicit permission, which he could not do, because he cannot break his laws. Your only punishment for open defiance of his authority has been a token one, to demonstrate to the public that you are not above the law. The whole of Teyvat is now discussing how the Dragon King adores and dotes upon his young husband, to the extent where it has swayed his judgment. And yet you are angry with him.”

Rather than appearing satisfied by this enlightening information, the prince looks angrier than before. He pouts when he is cross, though it is unlikely he realizes it. If he did, he would take steps to stop it. It makes him seem very young.

“You and him both keep saying he had to do as he did because of the laws,” he contends, “but it’s idiotic to expect me to believe that. He’s the king. He makes the laws. If he wanted to help Queen Kokomi, he could’ve just done it, without tricking me into it.”

Ah, then he does not understand. With a little more clarification, he will certainly see reason. “I think you do not understand the way he rules. The laws of this world are an expression of himself. He is the law. When I say he cannot break it, I do not mean he chooses not to, I mean he cannot. The fact that he allowed and even obliquely aided you in bending the law speaks volumes regarding his frame of mind.”

The prince pouts harder and crosses his arms. “What I really don’t understand is why you’re taking his side.”

This reaction is ridiculous. How can objective truth have a side? “I am taking no side. I am describing this matter to you as I observe it. You failed to see how your husband’s mind accorded with yours, and how he extended his hand to aid you, because he did not spell it out for you as if you are a child. Now you are angry, because you feel foolish.”

“Well. I’m also angry because he and Childe ran around and did all this behind my back,” the prince says sullenly, looking down into his tea cup. “Like they’re in some kind of secret little club and I’m an outsider. If he doesn’t trust Childe to be my lover, why is he doing secret plots with him, in the first place? Why is he trustworthy enough for that?”

A question Xiao would like to ask Rex Lapis himself, if he would ever dare question his master on any point. “I cannot say for certain. I assume it is because he has decided in which spheres he does and does not trust him to operate. But I do know that he does nothing without a reason. Though he does not often make those reasons known.”

“Uggghhhh,” the prince groans, dropping his golden head onto his folded arms. “Why is being married to an ancient god-king from a different world so complicated.”

The answer to this is so plain that the question must be meant rhetorically. But…just in case. “You are experiencing difficulty being wed to him because you are young, irrational, and imprudent, and he is the opposite of those things.”

“Why are you being so mean to meeeee,” the prince intones mournfully. “You’re my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side no matter how irrational and imprudent I am.”

Xiao rises from his seat. “I would be a bad friend to see you persist in errors, and fail to point them out to you.”

“That’s what you say. I think you just like being mean. Where are we going?”

“Up to the roof. I sit there in the evening, sometimes.”

The two ascend the stairs to the upper balcony, where they hop the wooden railing and climb up to the top tier of the roof, amidst the boughs of the golden leaved sandbearer tree.

“What are those big mountains, way over there?” the prince asks, as he seats himself unnecessarily close beside Xiao.

“That is Qingyun Peak, foremost. To the south is Mt. Hulao and to the north is Mt. Aocang. Between them lies the Huaguang Stone Forest. Humans do not traverse that area. The terrain is difficult and dangerous, and they fear to trespass upon the abodes of the adepti.”

He leans forward, as if he will suddenly be able to see these concealed abodes, from several inches closer. “How many adepti are there? I heard there were more, but I only know of you and Cloud Retainer.”

“Only the most powerful are still living. Aside from myself and Cloud Retainer, the ones you are most likely to encounter are Mountain Shaper, Moon Carver, Lady Ganyu, and Madame Ping.”

“Madame Ping, my Madame Ping?” the prince asks, raising his blonde eyebrows in surprise.

“Yes.”

The brows go back down, frowning thoughtfully. “Why would someone that important be working as a housekeeper?”

Has Rex Lapis taught this boy nothing of the customs of this land? Does he expect Xiao to be his instructor, as well as his bodyguard? “To serve in any position in the palace of Rex Lapis is a great honor. None of lower standing would have been considered worthy to wait upon the king’s husband.”

“That’s…but wait, I thought the adepti were immortal. Why is she so old?”

“The adepti are immortal. As to the reason she chooses to appear as she does now, you must ask her yourself.”

“I knew she was suspiciously spry. What about you? Are you also someone super important who I had no idea was super important?”

Xiao does not understand what he could mean by ‘super important.’ His turns of phrase are mystifying. Perhaps the prince does not speak the language as fluently as he thinks. “I do not understand what you mean by ‘super important.’ There were many guardian Yaksha, but five were primary. Bosacius, Indarias, Bonanus, Menogias, and Alatus, the leader. All are dead but Alatus.”

“That’s you. Alatus.”

The prince is looking up at him with those huge, hazel-gold eyes again. “Yes. Also Jinpéng, the Golden-Winged King, the Conqueror of Demons, the Vigilant Yaksha…I have had many names. None of them alter who I am.”

“Which one do you like best?”

“Xiao. I was given this name by Morax, when he freed me from enslavement by an evil god. I have used it since, and will continue to use it, until he gives me another.”

The prince looks down at his hands and fidgets with his glove, as he is frequently in the habit of doing. “So…you used to be a slave to an evil god and now you’re free, but all your friends are dead.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been listening to me complain about my petty little problems, which are nothing compared to what you’ve been through, and mostly my fault anyway.”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, Xiao. I’m such a selfish idiot.”

Xiao sighs. “Do not weep, please. You do it constantly and it is distressing to me.”

“Sorry,” the boy sniffles, hastily wiping away the tears that keep coming.

This is untenable. How does one quiet crying children? Distract them with some new object of attention? He thinks he has heard this said. “Look. Do you see that small structure, above Qingyun Peak?”

The prince lifts his head to squint where he is pointing. “The squarish blob with that like…green glowy bit at the bottom?”

“Yes. That is called the floating abode. It belongs to Cloud Retainer. It is the highest point in Liyue, and from there, one can see further than from anywhere else. When it is light, I will take you there, if you wish.”

The prince’s whole face brightens, like sunshine shimmering on the rippling surface of a clear pool. “Really? You will? I would love—wait. Are you only doing this to get me to stop crying?”

“Yes.”

“Good enough! Hooray, field trip with my bestie!” he declares, throwing his arm around Xiao and rocking him side to side.

Xiao does not know this term ‘bestie’ and does not like the sound of it one bit. “If you continue to speak to me that way and jostle me about, I will not take you.”

“Boo, you’re mean.” The prince removes his arm, and instead, leans over and rests his heavy, blonde head on Xiao’s shoulder. “Can I do this, though? I’m so tired all the sudden.”

Xiao gives a tolerant sigh. “If you must.”

“Thank you for being…my friend, Xiao,” he says through a yawn, hugging Xiao’s arm tightly with both of his.

He is so much like a child. Or a girl. At least he has stopped crying. They sit in agreeable silence this way for a long while, listening to the wind in the leaves of the tree, and the river far below, and the muted bustle of activity that never ceases at the inn. Across the darkened landscape, are scattered little dots of warm light, from house windows and cooking fires, and high above, silver stars gleam in the black expanse of the sky.

For some reason, Xiao is hyper-aware of the touch of the prince’s skin on his bare arm, the weight of his head, and the blonde hairs tickling his shoulder. It is highly distracting. His body is very warm, too. He radiates heat like an ember. A gust of wind whips across the open plain and ruffles the prince’s golden hair. He stirs and makes a drowsy little grumble, nestling closer into Xiao. His scent suddenly washes over him. Like summer in the fields below Qingce Village. Tales told by the elders over evening wine. Morning tea served with Liyue’s traditional peasant breakfast: last night’s leftover rice and freshly gathered eggs—all the simple, homely domesticity, for which Xiao’s mutilated heart has always longed, and will never possess.

He is put immediately in mind of that other friend. The one whose name he cannot bear to utter, even now, with all the years that lie between them. He has to swallow hard to force down a sudden, aching tightness in his throat, as he hears that gentle voice in his ears, as if it has been carried to him on the wind. West of the pass, you will meet no more old friends.

It was a torment equal to the pain of his karmic curse, to see that face once more. They did not speak a single word to one another, all the time they were in company together with the prince. They knew they could not do it. They could not reopen that wound and let it bleed them out, all over again. There is nothing more that can be done to alter their fates now, than there was then. No choice to be made differently. Xiao’s duty is to his master, alone. This is the fulfillment of his oath. He looks down into the prince’s sleeping face. Then he turns his keen eyes back to the wilds, to continue his vigil until dawn.

“Be careful,” Xiao admonishes. “There is loose scree in many places on the path.”

“Yeah, I can see it,” the prince retorts. “You know I’ve traveled all over lots of worlds, right? I’ve climbed way steeper and more dangerous paths than this one.”

Xiao catches his arm and steadies him as his boot slips on a mossy rock. “You must have been paying better attention than you are now.”

“Thanks, father.”

“You are unpleasant this morning. What is wrong with you.”

“Nothing.” Xiao takes this answer at face value and presses the issue no further, just as content to climb the mountain in silence, but the prince goes on, unprompted. “I’m grumpy because I slept on a roof and now I’m all stiff and my neck is sore. Also, I’ve been thinking about all the stuff you said and I think you’re right, but you still took the king’s side, so I’m mad about it.”

More petulance. Perhaps the same tactic he used the night before will work again. “You are out of sorts. We will do this another time.”

“No, no, wait!” the prince says hastily, catching his wrist as he turns, as if to descend back down the path. “I didn’t mean I was angry with you about it. I was just venting. I have all kinds of complicated feelings and I never get to talk about them, so sometimes I don’t phrase things right.”

“You never talk about them? You talk constantly.”

“Yeah, when I’m with you. But you won’t hang around with me unless I go traipsing off into the wild, so I never see you.”

“It is not my duty to hang around with you.”

“No, but you said you were my friend, and that’s what friends do. So. You have to, now. No takesies backsies.”

“You are very childish,” Xiao observes. “But I suppose that is acceptable, since you are a child.”

“I’m not child, Xiao, children can’t get married. I’m probably older than you, anyway.”

“You are one-hundred and twenty-one years old.”

“Yeah. How old are you?”

“I do not know precisely. I have walked this world for more than two-thousand years.”

The prince opens his mouth, astonished. “You…you have?”

“Yes.”

“That’s amazing. You’re ancient, old, like the king. You must remember so much about everything.” They have come to the end of the path now, and have to climb up the few remaining meters to the smooth, flat top of the peak. The prince looks up at the floating abode directly above them, shielding his eyes from the sun. “How are we going to get up there from here?”

“The way is secret. There are plaustrite platforms, but they do not become visible until you step on them, so you must already know where they are.”

“You know where they are, right?”

“I do. but I think we will go up the easy way, instead.”

With that, Xiao wraps his arms around the prince and takes the entire distance in one spectacular burst of momentum, alighting gracefully on the stone base of the floating abode, where he sets the prince on his feet.

He had expected him to be pleased, but the prince is literally overjoyed by the place. He goes all around the platform, excitedly pointing things out that he recognizes and asking Xiao about others, with all the energy of a child experiencing some new delight for the first time. Xiao finds that it touches a poignant chord in his heart, to look upon this land through the eyes of one to whom it is all new and wondrous. He has not appreciated its beauty this way in many years. The towering mountains and winding ravines, the jagged fangs of the stone forests, and the rolling, green hills, stretching from sea to sea. And up here, nothing between them and the sun but the boundless blue sky.

When the prince has thoroughly surveyed the entirety of the visible world, they sit on the side of the hexagonal pagoda bench that is facing the coast and the Jade Palace. The colossal structure can be seen from nearly anywhere in Liyue, and still looks impossibly huge from this many miles away. Xiao sits straight-backed, with his arms crossed on his chest, and the prince reclines indolently, with one foot up on the bench.

“Xiao?” he asks, just when Xiao had been getting to enjoy the silence.

“Hm.”

“I was joking around a lot about how you have to be my friend now, but…if you really don’t like me, I won’t force you to hang around with me. Just tell me, and I won’t bother you about it.”

Had the prince produced a dagger and stabbed him in the gut, it would have wounded him less, but nothing of this shows on his face. “Why are you talking like that.”

“Well. You’re always sighing and scolding me and telling me I’m childish. I don’t want to keep annoying you if—”

“I have lived long in this world. Two thousand years of suffering and death have robbed me of any joy I might take in it. Your childishness is a precious thing. You will lose it gradually, and become hard and cold, like us ancient ones. Do not try to be rid of it too quickly, because you will never have it back. Also…please forgive my impatience. I am not often in the company of people so young. I still wish to be your friend.”

“I don’t think you’re hard and cold,” the prince says, hanging his head thoughtfully to one side. “I think you’ve just gotten really good at hiding where you’re soft.”

Xiao huffs indignantly at this, which makes the prince laugh aloud, as he hops up and stretches his arms above his head, then spreads them wide, as if to encompass the whole of the broad horizon.

“I love it up here so much!” he breathes. “If I could live here, I would.”

“You are not afraid you would fall?”

“Why would I be afraid I’d fall?” he says, laughing again, as he turns to peer over the side of the floating platform. “The Spire of Akanistha, where I was born, is so high above the other four realms of Celestia, you can see all of them from there at once. And they’re all much bigger than Liyue. Hey, how fast can you fly?”

“I am very fast. I move by propelling myself through gaps between the spirit world and this.”

“So…you think you can catch me?”

Xiao opens his mouth to ask what he means, but before he has a single word formed, the prince spreads his arms again and leaps suddenly backward, off the edge of the platform. Xiao’s heart stops. His mind shuts down. But his superhuman reflexes have already taken over. He is off the side as well, plunging through the air. Calculating the boy’s speed and trajectory automatically, he flickers into place and grabs at him just in time to feel the very breath of his body slipping through his grasp. But he has not miscalculated. The prince has suddenly changed direction.

Six wings, made of pure ethereal light, have burst into existence behind the prince’s back, unfurling like the rays of a star, to arrest his momentum and turn him abruptly upward. Each one has a gold joint, with a four-pointed star-gem at the articulation point, and they don’t appear to actually attach to his body. 

“Too slow!” he shouts down at his bodyguard, laughing merrily.

Xiao stares, stunned and spellbound, as he arcs gracefully through the air like a white-winged seraph, with his long, golden-blonde braid trailing behind him. There may never have existed a creature so beautiful as this. Nor so fast, he is putting distance between them very rapidly. Xiao shakes himself and charges after him toward the Huaguang Stone Forest, in an explosion of inky shadows, a demon hunting an angel, hovering and flickering from point to point, as he tries to predict the prince’s path and intersect with him.

As the boy swerves to avoid a rope bridge, hanging between two karst formations, Xiao careers into him like a missile, slamming his back against the sheer side of the karst, where he pins him to the smooth rock with his body.

“Ok, you c—you caught me,” the prince pants. “Wow, you’re strong.”

His cheeks and lips are flushed and glowing from the exercise. His big, hazel-gold eyes are looking right into Xiao’s. His chest is pressing against him as it heaves with his rapid breaths. Xiao lets go and turns hastily away, to look out over the towers of stone. While his back is turned, the prince plants his feet on the rock wall and springs off.

“I won’t go so easy on you this time!” he calls back, as he goes sailing past him.

Xiao gives chase as before, missing him by millimeters several times, till he finally takes him down over the top of Mt. Aocang. They tumble out of the air together and hit the ground at high speed, to roll to a stop on the turfy grass.

“I have caught you,” Xiao announces.

“Looks like I caught you,” the prince, who is on top of him, simply because of the way they landed, contends.

Xiao moves to flip him over, but the prince holds him fast. He can’t push him off. How is he so strong, suddenly? Has he been this strong the whole time, and just concealing it? His bewilderment must show on his face, because the prince laughs delightedly.

“I keep telling you, I’m really strong, too,” he says. “Now, what’s the prize for catching you? I think…I get to kiss you.”

Xiao’s body freezes in sheer panic, as the prince leans down over him. But the boy’s lips only peck his cheek playfully, then he leaps laughing into the air and soars away again. Xiao snarls and pursues him. They continue on in this way, darting two and fro among the rock pillars, intermittently colliding with each other as Xiao attempts to capture the prince. He has caught on to his rhythm and flight style now, and succeeds several times in a row. Finally, the prince collapses into the grass atop one of the karsts, proclaiming that he gives up. Xiao alights and sits beside him, while he lies stretched out, basking in the sun and catching his breath.

“You did not tell me you could fly,” Xiao says.

The prince squints up at him. “Huh? Oh, I didn’t think to mention it. I assumed you knew.”

“We have been walking all over Liyue. Flying is much faster, and far more pleasant.”

“Force of habit. I was taught never to fly where people might see me. Celestials don’t use their wings once they come of age, unless it’s an emergency. It’s considered undignified and—”

“Childish?”

“Yeah.”

“You are here, now. You can make your own rules.”

“You’re right!” the prince says, pushing himself up and jumping to his feet. “I’ll fly if I damn well please! You want to fly back to the inn with me?”

“I must return you to the palace. You have been absent overnight, and there will be concern.”

“Ugh. Fine. But I’m way out of practice, so we should probably just take the beacons. There’s no way I’ll make it all the way there.”

“We shall have to fly more often, together. To get you back into shape.”

“You’ll do that with me? You promise?”

“Of course. We are friends.”

Chapter Text

“Xingqui…I can’t let you do this,” Aether says, casting his eyes over the racks of garments that the Guhua scion has had rolled into and lined up in his bedroom, like a gorgeously-clad battalion of soldiers. “You have to let me pay you for—”

“Absolutely not, my liege, and not another word about it,” Xingqui interrupts decisively. “If anything, I should be paying you to wear my clothes.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Do you know how popular black ruqun and gold zhongdan have become since your appearance at court? I’ll be backordered on black and gold silk for months. I had to re-purchase stock we exported to Inazuma. I’ve already hired eight new seamstresses to keep up with the demand, and I’ll probably have to take on a few more. This is the best thing to happen to my fashion house, in…ever.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a vishap attack. So, you see, they’re not even really gifts. I am here as a supplicant, begging you to continue being seen in garments I’ve made. On my knees, if I must.”

“Please don’t get on your knees,” Aether laughs. “I love your work and I’d be happy to wear it, but…I can’t wear clothes like I wore to court every day.”

“Worry not, I have thought of all of that, my lord prince. You looked divine in your formal wear, and I have brought more, but mostly, I was concerned with your day-to-day wardrobe. You should have a consistent but fashionable look that you can be comfortable in, and that the public will come to see as your signature style. I was musing upon what that could be—you’re young and strong and full of life, you’re a world traveler and an accomplished swordsman—then it hit me. Yisan.”

“Yisan?”

“Chongyun, put on casual ensemble three for the prince, please. Yes, yisan. They are the traditional garment of Liyue’s military officers. They look very classic and streamlined, and they’re designed for comfort and mobility. The sleeves won’t need to be bound, because they are made tapered at the forearm, the skirt only comes down to the knee or mid-calf, depending on your preference, and you wear them with pants. To dress one up, or in cooler weather, you can put one of these gorgeous zhaojia over it. Chongyun, while we’re young!”

Xingqui’s faithful assistant emerges from behind the racks in the specified clothing, having changed in what must be actual record time, despite his master’s impatient haranguing.

“Yes,” Aether nods. “This is it. This is exactly what I want. How many do you have and in what colors?”

“Tailored specifically for you, ten. The others will need a little alteration, for which I apologize, but I was rather pressed for time.”

“Ten is more than enough to start with. These are perfect, Xingqui. You’re a genius.”

“Well. Yes, I am. Now, the trousers are much easier. All you need are white or black, depending on the color of the yisan, and they’ll be mostly covered by your boots, anyway. I’ve brought twenty of those.”

This matter settled, Xingqui moves on to some other types of robes and things for lounge wear, some graceful, diaphanous daopao for intimate wear, and more formalwear like the ensemble Aether wore to court, in an array of colors and patterns.

For his first foray into everyday Liyue clothing, Aether chooses a midnight-blue yisan, with an embroidered silver dragon, that wraps around the shoulders, so that the head and tail meet in the front, where the cross-collar overlaps. He wears black trousers underneath, and opts for his own black riding boots, which he prefers to the bulkier Liyue-style boots. A black leather belt with ice-blue cabochons and a silver buckle emphasizes his very trim waist, and the pleated skirt of the garment gives it shape and structure, while allowing unrestricted mobility. The sleeves come down to the wrist, but they are snug enough to wear gloves or gauntlets over them, should he so choose. He is extremely pleased with the overall effect, and Xingqui is practically rapturous, proclaiming it princely and dashing and stunning and extremely marketable.

While they are thus occupied, Madame Ping comes in with tea, followed shortly by an attendant with a message from the hospitality coordinator, saying that the Mondstadt delegation has arrived ahead of schedule, and will be present for supper this evening. This has no material impact on the supper arrangements other than the switching about of a couple of seats, since they are mostly soldiers of the Knights of Favonius, and only one individual of rank is among them.

As is customary with diplomatic visitors, Aether places Captain Alberich on his right on the supper table chart. The spot on his left would usually go to Lady Ningguang, but Aether is still punishing the Qixing for bringing charges against Ayato, so he accords the spot to Ms. Yun Jin. Then he thinks twice about that, and reassigns the seat to Lady Ningguang, before he hands the card back to the attendant. If this Captain Alberich turns out to be exceptionally dull, Aether will have to carry the conversation, and he has no desire to lug around Ms. Yun Jin’s part in addition to his own.

The question now, is what to talk about. Aether knows little about Mondstadt, except that they produce the best wine in Teyvat. Even in his textbooks, it was mostly glossed over as a small, wine-producing nation between Liyue and Fontaine. By all accounts, they are a cheerful, hospitable people, much given to drink and song, but rather backward in their customs, compared to the other nations. One less than charitable Liyue author had referred to them as a nation of illiterate, blonde giants. But Aether also recalls something Ayato said about Thoma’s Mondstadt genes, and if the rest of these blonde giants are anything like Thoma, they can’t be that bad.

“I don’t really know much about it,” Madame Ping answers, when questioned on the subject. “I traveled through there, a long time ago, but I was on my way elsewhere. They’ve got a huge cathedral, which is singular. And a comparably huge statue of their local god, who abandoned them a couple thousand years ago.”

“Abandoned them?” Aether frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Their god, Barbatos, is the god of wind and freedom and song. He destroyed their old god, so the spot as king went to him. Turned out the last thing the god of freedom wanted was to make laws and run a country, so meaning nothing but the best, he bid them be free and do what brought them the most joy, then pissed off somewhere. He commanded some guardian wind spirits to stick around in case things got too dicey, but the people were left pretty much to themselves. Since humans made the laws and established their government and social system, it’s a little more…rustic than in the nations ruled by god-kings.”

“I thought you just said you didn’t know much about them,” Aether returns, crossing his arms.

“That’s all I know, and I wouldn’t call it much,” Madame Ping grins. “If you want a crash course on things to chat about with a Mondstadter over supper, go and find Lord Dainsleif. He spent quite a bit of time there.”

“No, thank you,” Aether shudders.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like Dainsleif?”

“I don’t dislike him, it’s just…I can’t explain it. Every time he talks to me, it’s like he’s draining the energy right out of my body. I can’t stand to be around him for more than five minutes before I have to excuse myself to get a strong cup of tea.”

“You know, I have a suspicion why that might be.”

“You do? What is it?”

Madame Ping lowers her voice conspiratorially. “You didn’t hear this from me, but I think he might be…boring.”

“Thank you, great adeptus. As always, your insights are invaluable. I should make you go host supper so you can see what I suffer through.”

“Ha! Not a chance, princelet. I didn’t get myself grounded to guest-babysitting duty, you did. You said you were ready to take your medicine, and it’s not exactly a bitter pill, so buck up and soldier on.”

Aether feels a pang of some nebulous disquiet in his gut when he thinks about anything related to the Watatsumi situation, or its fallout. He is still angry with the king, regardless of what Xiao said. His reasons may have been defensible, but it feels awful being an unwitting pawn in anyone’s scheme, justified or not. Also, the king hasn’t summoned him since Aether declared that he hated him and stormed out of his chambers. His stomach does another uneasy flip. He is intensely ashamed of his behavior that day. No matter what his husband did or did not do, he should have the self control to behave like a prince and an adult. Not like a child throwing tantrum because he’s angry with his—

“Father,” Aether says aloud, to himself.

“Nope, still me,” Madame Ping chirps. “You have a fever, or something?”

“Hm? Oh. No, sorry, I was just…finally realizing the origin point for all of the problems I’ve had in my marriage and every other aspect of my entire life.”

“Ah, makes sense, then. I think realizing you hate your father is the first step toward healthy adulthood, for most people.”

“I don’t hate him. I don’t think I do. He was never outright cruel. He never beat us or deprived us of anything. He just…crushed me with the sheer force of his disapproval until I was terrified to breathe in his presence.”

“Sounds perfectly normal. What about your sister?”

“They fought. By which I mean she would actually raise her voice to him. I was always astounded by it. He could glance at me and I’d be in tears all day, but not Lumine. When she was sure she was right, she’d plant herself like a tree, and nothing could move her. She did that with our traveling. He didn’t want to let us go away and explore other worlds, like most Celestials do at that age, but she was adamant, and she won somehow. Even though he always made his annoyance about it clear, he almost never actually stopped us. She was so—she was so strong.” Aether’s voice breaks, as tears roll down his cheeks. Madame Ping sits beside him and puts a comforting arm around him. “She protected me, our whole lives. I should’ve been there to protect her that last time, but I was too afraid. And now she’s gone and I don’t even know what happened. My sister’s gone because I was a coward.”

“Now, now, that isn’t true,” she says gently. “You know there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“That’s the worst part. There might have been. I don’t know how powerful the Abyss Lord is, but Lumine and I are Celestial royalty, and we have a resonant link. When we’re together, it magnifies both of our power massively. If I’d have been with her, we might have been able to fight him off. She might still be alive.”

“There’s nothing to be gained going down that road, trust me. The might haves and should haves. You’ll drive yourself mad with it, and it still won’t bring them back.”

Aether looks up at her, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. “Have you lost someone, Madame Ping?”

“Oh, honey,” she says, with a sad smile. “I have lost so many someones I can hardly count. Never gets easier, so you get to putting up walls to protect yourself. If you’re not careful, you stop being able to love anyone.”

“That almost sounds like me. I cared about Ayato, but I didn’t feel anything deeper than fondness for him. I liked Childe, before he revealed his true colors, and I was kind of hurt, but mostly I was just angry and disgusted. They both said they loved me, but I definitely didn’t love them. I don’t know if I even can love anyone.”

Madame Ping purses her lips. “Maybe. Or maybe your heart just has better sense than to fling wide the gates to a couple of handsome, charming deceivers. Don’t look at me like that, I’m sure your Inazuman friend is a good man, deep down. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s all façade and misdirection up top.”

“I can’t argue with that. He’s not a liar, but he’s almost never being totally sincere. Childe is different. He’s just an all-around bastard.”

“Well, I’m glad you got your head screwed on straight about that one. Though, I’d rather you hadn’t got hurt over it.”

“I’m ok. I don’t really care that much, anymore. I just wish he wasn’t hanging around my husband like a suckerfish on a shark.”

“Ha! Now, that’s a—oh, darn it, look at that, it’s almost seven. Go wash your face quick, before you go off to supper.”

“Oops, you’re right. Oh…and thank you. You know. For letting me cry on you like a big baby.”

“Don’t be unfair to yourself, you’re not a big anything. Now get your backside in gear!”

Icy. That would be the one word Aether would use to describe his first impression of Captain Kaeya Alberich. Ayato is habitually insincere and Childe is a spy, but this young man is something altogether different. He’s beautiful and graceful, first of all, almost like a woman. His skin is a gorgeous shade of tawny olive, and his long, stylishly unkempt hair is dark, marine blue. He wears a black eyepatch over his right eye, and the visible one is a frosty blue, not quite as violet-hued as Scaramouche’s. He’s also Khaenri’ahn, and not from Mondstadt, as Aether had expected, revealed by his star-shaped Khaenri’ahn pupil slit. His clothing is eccentric and rakish, and is certainly not what is worn by the other Favonius knights. It suits him and he wears it well, but he looks far more like a pirate than a proper knight.

Overall, the young captain’s words are pleasant and his entire demeanor is affable and easygoing, but his knowing half-smirk and the strange way he inflects his sentences gives him an air of cool derision, and makes it seem as if he is engaged in some private joke, at your expense. Aether also observes that, despite his relaxed manner, the way his eye flickers restlessly about suggests a man always in a state of vigilance, who has been habituated to quick observation and calculation in perilous circumstances. Despite all his contradictions, Aether finds himself inclined to like this young man.

“Dandelion wine,” Captain Alberich remarks, after he sips from his glass. “Served in honor of the gentleman from Mondstadt, no doubt.”

“No—well, yes,” Aether replies, immediately flustered. “I mean, I would have chosen it because you came from there, but it’s really just the best wine there is. I probably should’ve just said yes and moved on.”

Captain Alberich’s almond-shaped blue eye narrows, as if he is scrutinizing an opponent, though he is still smiling. “I wonder if you’re that clever, highness.”

Aether lets the bold familiarity of this mode of address slide, chalking it up to Mondstadt-bred manners. “If I’m that clever?”

“To pretend to be clumsy, while you pay me a sly compliment through the side door, would be clever. To fumble your way into an honest compliment, well…I’d almost find that charming.”

“Captain Alberich is the owner of the Dawn Winery, my lord prince,” Lady Ningguang says, coming to Aether’s rescue. “By saying his own wine is the best, without knowing it is his, you have paid him a high compliment.”

“Oh, I—I see,” Aether says awkwardly. “I guess I should have known you were the owner.”

Captain Alberich laughs at this. “So, it was genuine. I am officially charmed, highness. My lady, what are you drinking? It doesn’t look like the wine I’ve got, at all.”

Aether recedes into the background, thankful he gave the seat to Lady Ningguang, and happy to let the two converse and only put in polite replies when spoken to. He feels strangely sensitive and vulnerable, likely because he’s just been talking about his sister, and doubts he is up to crossing swords with a man so cold and sharp, at the moment. Unfortunately, this is not for him to decide. He is required to walk with honored guests in the garden after supper, unless the guest in question should beg off, pleading literally any excuse. It is purely a courtesy gesture. Captain Alberich does not appear inclined to grant him a merciful reprieve from this duty, and accepts the invitation.

The garden is rather full, since the weather is clear and cool this evening, and as they walk out together, people persist in staring. Aether would have chalked it up to the newcomer, but heads have been turning since he left his apartments this evening. Then he suddenly remembers that he is dressed in his striking new Liyue clothing. That instantly cheers him up a little, in the way knowing one looks one’s best tends to do. It does annoy him that he has chosen midnight blue for his garment and these ice-blue gems for his belt and long earring, though, because it will almost certainly appear that he has dressed intentionally to match his clothing to Captain Alberich’s. Alright, time to make banal chit-chat till it’s late enough to excuse himself.

“So, Captain Alberich, how do you manage being the owner of the most famous winery in Teyvat, and also the Cavalry Captain for Mondstadt’s military?” he asks, as they stroll along, just ahead of another group. “You must be incredibly busy.”

“Not really,” the captain replies offhandedly.

Aether raises his eyebrows. “You’re not?”

“I don’t like to bother myself with excessive effort. The trick is, I don’t give a damn about either thing, but they can’t get rid of me, so other people do all the work for me.”

“That’s a fortunate position to be in, if you don’t like to work,” Aether laughs, acting as if and very much hoping the statement was a joke.

Captain Alberich flashes a roguish grin. “It suits me. I do whatever I please, and I keep getting praised for maintaining the reputation of Mondstadt’s most beloved institution. The winery, not the knights. Mondstadters love to drink.”

“I heard you’re the youngest captain the Knights of Favonius have ever had, as well. How did you come into all this good fortune so early in life?”

“I was given the made-up position of Cavalry Captain by the old king, to keep me occupied and under control. Then I was given the winery to compensate me for being otherwise disowned and disavowed. Is that the good fortune you mean?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…know any of that. I didn’t intend to offend you.”

“I was only in jest, highness,” Captain Alberich says, smiling down at him. But there is something in it that gives Aether a chill. He tilts his head to the side. “Well, well. You are every bit as beautiful as they say, aren’t you.”

Captain Alberich’s choice of words is not the most courteous, but certainly not the most offensive, either. And yet there is a demeaning and almost aggressive note underlying the remark, that sets Aether’s teeth on edge. They have stopped by the koi pond, so he turns away to observe the fat, jewel-hued fish, and buy a moment to work out how to smooth this cold, spiky man down.

“This pond freezes over in the winter sometimes,” he says, without thinking, simply casting about for any topic. “I was so worried about the nishiki koi at first, but one night my friend brought out a lantern and showed me where to look. There they were, alive and beautiful, underneath all that ice. No matter how many times it freezes, they’re always perfectly alright when it thaws.”

He looks up at Captain Alberich, who is staring at him with an unintelligible expression on his face. It almost looks like awe…and animosity. But it vanishes instantly into one of his little smirks.

“Ah yes,” he says. “Liyue’s famous ice-defying nishiki koi. They’re practically a wonder of the world.”

He’s being glib now. Alright, then, if that’s how he wants to play. “They are really quite common, here. But I’d be happy to have some sent back with you, to Mondstadt, for your people’s edification.”

“Ha. How very generous of you, highness,” Captain Alberich answers, as they move on from the pond. “But pretty fish are the last thing Mondstadt is in need of, at the moment.”

Aether’s ears prick up. That actually sounded sincere. “Is Mondstadt in need of other things, Captain Alberich?”

“Adults, highness. Mondstadt is in need of adults. Half the population over the age of eighteen have gone off with Grand Master Varka on a foolhardy errand, and left a boy in charge of a nation of children.”

“I had heard King Diluc was very young, but certainly he’s not a child.”

“Nor is he a man, yet. And a boy king with no army doesn’t stay king for long.”

“I’m very sorry. There’s nothing I can do about things like military support. But if Mondstadt is in need of humanitarian aid, or anything else in my power, I would be happy to look into it.”

“Thank you, highness, but I’m nothing but a lowly cavalry man, with very little influence. There’s no reason to waste your charms on me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Aether blinks, bewildered by this response. “What do you mean?”

Captain Alberich tosses his hair carelessly. “Everyone in Teyvat is aware of the liberal hospitality the Dragon King’s consort bestows upon noblemen of rank. I only meant to remind you that I’m not worthy of that kind of hospitality from you. Nor interested in it.”

Aether stops in his tracks and stands there stunned, staring up at him, in absolute disbelief. No person in his entire life has ever dared to offer him such a vile insult. Captain Alberich’s smile is not openly venomous, but he clearly intended the sting behind his words to be felt.

“Captain Alberich, Lord Kamisato was my legally recognized lover, approved by my husband, the king,” Aether says calmly, though he can feel the heat of indignation rising swiftly in his cheeks.

“What a pleasant duty for a husband to undertake. How many lovers have you brought to him for such approval, I wonder.”

“Put those words back in your mouth, or I will put them back for you, Captain Alberich,” another voice says from behind them, in a commanding tone. Aether turns to see Lord Dainsleif, of all people, striding up to meet them with fire in his aquamarine eyes. “What would your father think, to hear you speak this way?”

“You’d know better than I would. Why don’t you tell me,” Captain Alberich fires back, but his cool insouciance has evaporated, and he suddenly looks very much like a young soldier being dressed down by a superior.

“Very well, I shall,” Lord Dainsleif says. “Your father would tell you to retract your foolish words and to beg your host’s pardon, immediately. If I were you, I’d beg him not report to what you’ve said to His Divine Majesty, while you’re at it.”

“I will not apologize to a Celestial,” Captain Alberich spits, pronouncing the word as if it is dirty.

Lord Dainsleif lays a black-gloved hand on his shoulder and speaks quietly, so only the three of them can hear. “You will do as I say, or I will put you on your knees in view of all these people, and then you will do it.”

Captain Alberich’s brow furrows and his jaw works angrily. Keeping his eyes on the ground, he turns to Aether. “I beg your pardon, highness—”

“Try again,” Lord Dainsleif cuts him off.

“I beg your pardon, my lord prince,” Captain Alberich says, through his clenched teeth. “I should not have said such things to you, and I beg you not to report this incident to His Divine Majesty.”

“You have my pardon this time, because I trust Lord Dainsleif’s judgement, and he seems to think you’re only a youth misbehaving,” Aether answers. “But I would advise against continuing to speak as you have done, while you are in the Jade Palace. The walls have ears, and my lord the king is not a merciful man.”

“Thank you, my lord prince,” Captain Alberich mumbles. “You are most gracious.”

“Good. Now go,” Lord Dainsleif barks. “Get yourself to your quarters before your mouth lands you in the dungeon, instead.”

Aether watches as the young Khaenri’ahn beats a hasty retreat at the command of his elder, then turns back to Lord Dainsleif. “I wasn’t aware you knew Captain Alberich.”

“I knew his parents, before the disaster,” Lord Dainsleif explains, still looking after the boy as he stalks off. “I feel responsible for him, since there are so few of us left, now. Again, I beg your pardon on his behalf, my lord prince. He is a good young man, but he is…deeply wounded, and thus angry. Sometimes he directs his anger at inappropriate targets.”

“He’s lucky it was only me who caught the shrapnel. But he said he wouldn’t apologize to a Celestial. What was that about? Does he have some special grudge against us?”

“I will not presume to speak for him, my lord prince,” Lord Dainsleif says, bowing apologetically. “He has not opened his mind to me on the subject.”

“That’s alright. I understand why people here in Teyvat wouldn’t like Celestials, in general. I actually expected a lot more hostility than I’ve gotten. Mostly, people seem to regard me as some species of exotic animal.”

“Count yourself blessed. The few people who attempt small-talk with me wind up performing absurd conversational contortions to avoid mentioning the fact that my homeland was obliterated two decades ago, but most don’t know how to cope with it at all, so they simply pity me from a distance.”

Aether winces. “I hope you don’t think that’s what I’ve been doing.”

“Ah. Well. I wouldn’t blame you, if it was,” Lord Dainsleif says, then he frowns. “My lord prince, are you well? You look very pale.”

“I just…I started to feel faint, all the sudden,” Aether says, blinking his eyes rapidly against a wave of dizziness. “I’d better go lie down. Please, excuse me, Lord Dainsleif.”

Aether walks away on unsteady feet, hardly thinking he’ll make it to his quarters, but by the time he’s halfway there, he’s already feeling almost normal again. What is going on with these reactions to Lord Dainsleif? Maybe he’s wearing some scent he’s allergic to? He doesn’t smell like anything out of the ordinary, though.

“I heard what that ruffian said,” a voice says beside him, giving him a start.

“Childe! God damn it. Stop sneaking up on me, would you?”

“I would’ve cut his throat, if Dainsleif hadn’t intervened.” Childe bends down to peer into his face, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you unwell? You look pale.”

“I had this strange…it doesn’t matter. What do you want?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“About what?”

“About nothing. I simply wanted to see you.”

“So, the last time we saw each other, I told you that I hate you, and your reaction is to seek me out, because you simply wanted to see me?”

“The heart wants what it wants,” Childe shrugs. “And I don’t believe you really hate me.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, how could you? I am amazing.”

“And humble.”

“If you say so.”

“Are you fucking my husband?”

Childe looks genuinely taken aback by this. “Am I—of course not! I would have told you.”

Aether sighs and his shoulders slump. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.”

“Because I am not a liar.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“I’m not!” Childe maintains. “Look. I spy, I blackmail, I ferret out people’s weaknesses and exploit them…I do many underhanded things. But lying to a person I love about other lovers would be dishonorable. That is a thing too far beneath me to countenance.”

“You’re a blackmailing spy and you think lying about sex is beneath you.”

“Yes. When I told you what happened between him and me, I hadn’t withheld it intentionally. I honestly had no idea you’d be upset about it. It was years ago, and if you knew how…well. Nevermind. I’m sure he’s told you and you’ve had a good laugh about it.”

“My husband and I have never once spoken of you outside your presence.”

“That’s not flattering to me, is it,” Childe mutters, crossing his arms. “He speaks of nothing but you, outside yours.”

“What, are you jealous?” Aether smirks.

“No, that would be juvenile,” Childe retorts. “Alright…yes. I am jealous. But I can’t help it. It’s just my conditioning.”

Aether frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Huh. You really don’t know what an absolutely pathetic failure I am.”

“I really don’t. Come to my room to tell me, though. I don’t want to be seen talking to you out here.”

“I, my lord prince, am a fool,” Childe pronounces, when they’ve entered Aether’s drawing room. “A comic buffoon. You see, I was taken from my father, as a young child. Educated, conditioned, and trained with one purpose. To win the heart of the Dragon King. And then to spy upon him for my Tsaritsa. When I came here, we became lovers, and I thought I was succeeding in my mission. Then one day he informed me that he would never love me, that he’d suspected I was a spy all along, and that he’d only been fucking me to keep my guard down till he was sure. And he dropped me like a bad habit. Fast forward several years. I return from visiting my family in Snezhnaya, and lo and behold, he has gotten married. And the punchline to this comedy of errors? They had been betrothed all along. A hundred years before I was even born, he was already promised to another. My grand mission was a failure, before it began. My life was a failure. Because of your birth. Also, the Tsaritsa’s carelessness in not accounting for all possible factors when hatching the scheme.”

To his own surprise, as much as Childe’s, Aether bursts out laughing. He covers his mouth to try and stifle it, but he can’t, which makes Childe laugh, too.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he gasps, through his mirth. “It’s very sad. It is. But I can’t help it.”

“It’s alright. It is rather a farce, isn’t it.”

“They did the same thing to us both,” Aether goes on, wiping away tears of laughter. “Raised us like veal cattle, cut us into the shape they wanted, and plated us up to be served to the Dragon King. And he didn’t love either of us.”

Childe’s smile dissolves. “What do you mean, either of us?”

“You and I. We’re both the fools in this comedy, Childe. You don’t get to hog the spotlight.”

“I know he never loved me, but why do you say he doesn’t love you?”

“Don’t act shocked and sad about it, please. I finally realized the reason I’ve been so resentful and behaving so badly toward him is because part of me was still hoping he’d love me. Now that I’ve admitted that to myself, I’m starting to accept that my marriage won’t be the way I thought. It’s just a political alliance. It’s actually less than that, since I have no function aside from being the tether between our worlds. So, all that’s left for me to do is stop making myself and my husband miserable, and try to find my own happiness, where I can.”

“I don’t believe it,” Childe says fiercely. “I won’t believe it. That can’t be how the story goes. He has to love you. You have to love him. You just—you have to.”

“Well, it’s not up to you. Listen…I’ve been thinking about a lot of things. I’m not saying I forgive you completely, but I think I understand you better, now. I don’t want us to be enemies.”

“Nor do I, my lord prince. I never wanted to be your enemy.” Childe holds out his hand. “Friends?”

Aether accepts it and shakes it. “Tentative friends. Probationary friends. Now, go away. I got basically called a whore by a guest, and I want to cry to my bodyguard about it.”

“I will kill him for you, if you like.”

“No, you absolutely won’t.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Get out!”

“—offer’s not off the table. Goodnight, my lord prince!”

The moment Childe is gone, Aether opens one of his massive windows, climbs onto the sill, and hops out, ascending rapidly to the highest point on the palace rooftops, where he alights and stands looking out over the harbor and the sea. About fifteen seconds pass, then there is a burst of black shadows, and Xiao appears.

“I heard what the blue-haired soldier said to you in the garden. I will kill him for you, if…what are you wearing?”

“This is my yisan,” Aether says, holding his arms out to demonstrate his ensemble to Xiao. “I’m going to start wearing Liyue clothing all the time. You like it?”

“It is…it is very—” Xiao breaks off and turns away to clear his throat. “Are you ready to fly?”

“Ready when you are.”

“You have been doing well. I think you can make it all the way to Wangshu, this time.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Xiao’s judgment turns out to be sound, and when they descend at the Wangshu inn, the full moon is riding high and the night is clear and bright. Despite Aether’s declaration regarding flying, he’s still too embarrassed to use his wings in front of people, so they land directly on their rooftop perch, avoiding being seen from the balcony. He is a little worn out from the flight, but he’s feeling much more cheerful than he would’ve expected for the emotional whiplash he’s had today. It’s usually like that, though. No matter what happens at the palace, flying with Xiao—even just being with Xiao—always soothes him and makes his misery seem smaller and further away. The past few weeks have been the happiest he has had, since he has lived here in Teyvat. Maybe ever.

“Xiao?” he says, after they sit in companionable silence for a while.

“Hm.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

Xiao frowns. “Why are you asking a question like that.”

Aether shrugs, looking down at his snug, brocade sleeves to tug on them. “I just wondered.”

“I cared for someone, a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

“He went away. I stayed here.”

“Oh. When you say you cared for him, were you…did you…”

“We shared a bed and did all the things people do, who feel that way about one another.”

Aether looks up at him again. Then suddenly his face flushes bright pink and he covers it with his hands.

“You imagined me having sex,” Xiao says, at which the prince nods miserably. “It is only fair, I suppose. Since I have seen you.”

“Oh my god,” he groans into his hands. “Can you please never bring that up again, I am so humiliated that you saw me like that.”

“I only saw you for a moment, then I waited nearby, where I would still sense if you were in distress. I could not bear to watch.”

“I really am sorry for acting stupidly like that. I don’t know how many more ways I can apolo—”

“You misunderstand. I could not watch because…it made me angry. I did not want him to look at you and touch your body. When I saw you in his arms, I wanted to cut his throat.”

“Xiao…”

“Please, forgive me. I should not have spoken that way. I have no right to be jealous, you are not mine.”

“Xiao, look at me,” Aether says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Xiao turns to look at him, and almost automatically, as if he is unaware he is doing it, he reaches up and lays his gloved hand gently on Aether’s cheek. For a breathless beat, they gaze at each other. Then he leans close and brushes Aether’s lips with his. Aether’s heart lurches and runs ragged. His head spins like he’s intoxicated. What is happening? A moment ago they were best friends, and now he wants this man so badly he can feel it in his teeth. But he still feels all the same respect and warm affection of genuine friendship for Xiao. It just seems to have overflowed naturally into this other kind of affection. The deeper, more intimate kind, that turns warmth into flames, and friends into lovers.

“Xiao, I want—”

“This cannot happen,” Xiao cuts him off, in a hoarse whisper, but even as he says it, Aether is pulling him closer, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “We…we cannot do this.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Aether murmurs in his ear. “I’m not asking you for anything you can’t give me.”

He is suddenly aware that there are tears spilling down Xiao’s face. He draws back to look into his big, wet-lashed, pale-gold eyes. The tautly wound thread of restraint snaps. Their mouths have found each other before they can think to hinder them, their tongues caressing and rolling over each other, till Aether’s body is hot all over, literally aching with desire. He doesn’t remember how they got down from the roof and into Xiao’s room, but the door is banging shut behind them and they are kissing feverishly, fumbling to undo buttons and peel off articles of clothing.

Aether’s are off first, and Xiao lays him down on the makeshift bed of mats. His slit pupils are blown wide and black in his gold irises, making his eyes look eerily catlike. Aether watches breathlessly as he stands up and strips his slender, beautiful body. His trousers come off last, letting his hard cock spring free. It’s uncircumcised, and not nearly as big as his husband’s or even Thoma’s, which is a relief to him. Xiao sits on the mats and pulls Aether into his lap, then he spits liberally into his palm and takes them both in hand, to stroke them together.

“I’m gonna come so fast,” Aether pants. He puts his hands on Xiao’s shoulders and cranes his neck to look down at the ruddy heads of their cocks, sliding against one another while they fuck into Xiao’s fist. “I’m co—I’m coming!”

He gives a choked moan as his dick throbs, spitting milky fluid all over their stomachs and into Xiao’s hand. A few more rapid pumps in the slippery slick, and Xiao comes, too. His ejaculation releases far more fluid than Aether’s, but it is clear, rather than milky. Before the spasms have even subsided, he pushes Aether down on his back. Aether holds his legs up and apart, while Xiao swipes his hand across his stomach, scooping up their wet mess, then works his fingers into his asshole, slicking him with their mingled semen.

“You are very tight inside. I want to penetrate you anyway.”

Aether nods, licking his lips wantonly. “Do it. Put it in.”

Slicking his shaft with more saliva, Xiao guides it with his hand, pressing the swollen head to Aether’s taut opening. Aether wants it so badly, he doesn’t even notice if it hurts. He wraps his legs around him and digs his fingernails into his back, drunk on the sensation of Xiao’s naked skin, his body pressed close to his, and his aromatic scent, as he rocks into him. He has never felt anything like this. This desperate, raw, ravenous desire for another person, that seems to be increased, rather than relieved, by possessing him. The deeper Xiao fucks him, the deeper he wants it, and the more he begs and clings to him. When Xiao pushes his knees higher to change his angle and let the head of his dick thump into his prostate, Aether comes almost instantly, arching his back beneath him, tears running down his temples into his hair. Xiao pistons his hips, thrusting wildly into him. Suddenly, he lunges forward and covers his mouth with a kiss, and Aether feels his cock convulsing, deep inside him.

Xiao lets him ride out the post-climax high, then pulls out carefully. Aether’s breath puffs out with a drunken laugh, as Xiao collapses on top of him. They remain like this for a while, simply being together, then Xiao moves off him and they lie facing each other. They interlace their fingers and look into each other’s eyes. They talk in soft, hushed tones. They kiss and caress one another’s bodies. Sometime before dawn, Aether finally sleeps. These past weeks have contained some of the happiest times he’s had, but this moment, drifting off in his best friend’s arms, exceeds them all. It is possibly the happiest moment of his life.

Chapter Text

My dearest former official lover,

I trust this letter finds you well. As for myself, I have been positively languishing away in the depths of despair since we parted ways. I’ll have you know I’ve only eaten dessert three times this week, and I am down to two milk teas per day. I hope you can live with yourself, knowing the shipwreck of a man you’ve made me. Thoma is reading over my shoulder and he says it’ll be zero milk teas if I don’t behave myself. Do you see the kind of tyrant in whose hands you’ve left me? A man with any heart at all would already be racing here with an armada to rescue me from my persecutor. I expect to see the flying colors of a hundred warships off the coast of Narukami any day, now.

Aside from my desolated heart and Thoma’s cruel despotism, things have otherwise been going splendidly, which I now recall was the chief reason I sat down to write this. The Fatui filth have been entirely purged from the other commissions, and using the intelligence thus gathered, the Shuumatsuban are hunting down the remnants and ejecting them from our islands. Most of the commission employees were only acting on the orders of their higher-ups and were never really culpable in the mess, but several officials have been arrested for collusion, including the Tenryou Commissioner himself. Her Most High Excellency the Raiden Shogun has named Kujou Sara acting Tenryou Commissioner. Kujou Sara is a man of action, rather than any particular sagacity, and she has always been a staunch shogun hardliner, but I think she is honest and honorable, so we shall see how that proceeds.  

I must mention that I’ve been given a little promotion, because you may hear me referred to in the press as the Raiden Kanrei or Deputy Shogun, and I don’t want you to be confused. All it really means is that in the wake of the Fatui situation, Her Most High Excellency is planning to step back from state duties for a while, so I will be acting as her deputy during that time. I’ve so far declined to relocate to Tenshukaku, but that will mean I’ll have to trek over, and Thoma has threatened to make sure I’m on time every morning, so now I’m reconsidering. Perhaps Tenshukaku during working days and the estate for weekends and holidays. It would be rather amusing to invite Itto along to the palace as my bodyguard, or something. That would certainly keep the gentry on their toes.

Before I forget, Kaedehara Kazuha has just been visiting with us, and he sends his regards. He reports that General Gorou and Queen Kokomi regularly sing your praises, and there is talk of making your birthday an official Watatsumi holiday. He also bid me remind you to try the almond tofu on Xiao-sama, whatever that could possibly mean. I hope it’s a euphemism for something filthy. Speaking of which, Thoma says that when you do visit, he would be amenable to the three of us having an encore performance of our bedroom play, if you’re interested. I don’t know why you wouldn’t be, since you’ve also had Thoma’s cock in you, and we both know it is magnificent.

Well, now I’ve been scolded for referring to it in such vulgar terms, but I don’t know how else I’m meant to phrase it. You’ve also known the sublime pleasure of Thoma’s prodigious manhood? I’ve been scolded for writing that, as well. I’m beginning to think it would be simpler if he would just take the finished copy of this letter and redact it before it goes into the post. He says not to tempt him and if I’m going to write down every little thing he says anyway, I may as well hand him the pen and let him write to you himself. The tyranny, my lord prince, you see how I am oppressed. I’d attempt to get up a proper mutiny, but it’s ever so much trouble, and all of the staff would just take his part, anyway. C’est la vie.

He’s gone to get the tea things, now, so before I wrap up this letter, I can tell you: I have a little surprise planned for him, which, if it goes well, will require your return to Inazuma for a rather momentous celebration. If it does not, you will never hear from me again, because I will have retired to a monastic existence in the mountains somewhere, or thrown myself into the sea. Aya-chan sends her love and hopes you will visit us again soon, and I send mine as well, though only a little of it, since most of it is currently being monopolized by my cruel master Thoma.

 

Faithfully and affectionately,

Your former official lover, Kamisato Ayato

 

“Well, Ayato is certainly in good spirits,” Aether remarks. He is reclining in the grass atop a karst, with his head on Xiao’s stomach, reading the letter aloud to him, while Xiao lies stretched out with his arms crossed behind his head, and pretends not to be listening. “He and Thoma really were meant for one another, don’t you think?”

“I have no opinion on that matter,” Xiao answers flatly.

“When I write back, I’m going to tell him you could hardly contain yourself, you were so effusively happy for them.” Xiao huffs at this, which makes Aether laugh, as he climbs over him to straddle his lap. “Xiao, do you think people really have soul mates?”

“No. Human affection is as changeable and impermanent as are human beings.”

“I always thought my husband would be my soul mate, but I guess that was one of my childish delusions,” Aether sighs. “I wonder if the king has ever been in love. He’s been around so long, he must have had a lot of lovers.”

“There was a tale among the people, many centuries ago, that when he was young he had a lover. But it is nothing more than an ancient legend, as likely to be fabricated as not. There are no records from that time and I never heard him speak of her.”

Aether’s eyebrows go up in surprise. “Her? Rex Lapis had a lady lover? Well, what’s the legend?”

“The legend is that the God of Law and Contracts was once a fierce warrior god, and that it was his love for Guanyin, the Goddess of Mercy, that changed him, by teaching him to temper his justice with her mercy.”

“Awww, that’s so romantic!”

“It is mere folklore. Teyvat had no goddess with that name. It is almost certainly a confused and embellished account of his friendship with Guizang, the Goddess of Dust.”

Aether makes a face. “Dust? That doesn’t sound like a thing that needs a whole deity.”

“Dust is the memory of the world. Guizang was wiser and more farsighted than even Rex Lapis, because she had in her keeping the memory of the entirety of Teyvat. She was his friend and faithful advisor for many centuries.”

“Wow, that’s way more interesting than that Goddess of Mercy story. What happened to Guizang?”

“Guizang was wise, but she had not the strength of Rex Lapis. The revenants of evil gods awaited the absence of Rex Lapis, then arose to cast down her city of stone, and exterminate the humans that dwelt there. Guizang and her mechanical guardians, along with the Yaksha Alatus, held them off, so that the humans could escape. They were victorious, but she fell in the battle, and the city was mostly destroyed. The humans never returned, considering the place cursed by the death of their patron goddess. Her machines are left defending the empty ruins, to this day.”

“Oh, Xiao…I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“You could not have known.”

“So, the Guili Plains, is that where her city was?”

“Yes. She said the name was a combination of her name and that of a friend.”

“What was the friend’s name?”

“I do not know.”

Aether lays his head on Xiao's chest and listens to his heartbeat for a while, as Xiao idly strokes his back. “You know what we should do right now?”

“You are going to say ‘go back to the inn and fuck’. That is always your suggestion, no matter what we are doing.”

“Well…do you want to?”

“Yes.”

For the past month or so, Aether has cast off any pretense of spending time in the palace, and only returns to check in and attend to mandatory duties. In the mean time, he and Xiao fly all about, exploring the natural splendor of Liyue’s wilds. They go everywhere together, talk about everything (meaning that Aether talks and Xiao listens patiently), and fuck constantly, assailing each other’s bodies with the insatiable appetite of reckless, youthful passion, till they wear themselves out and are forced to rest, only to do it all over again. Aether becomes pleading and submissive if he’s choked, which Xiao finds extremely arousing, and employs this new power with judicious care. Xiao blushes if he’s stared at, which Aether finds extremely adorable, and exploits this new power with joyous abandon. The intensity and warmth of their connection feels so good, that Aether thinks his heart will burst from happiness, sometimes. But gradually, something begins to change.

One day, Xiao is more impatient with his constant questions than usual. Aether brushes it off and thinks nothing of it. Another day, he is openly annoyed with him for pressing kisses to his face, and pushes him away. Aether is hurt, but Xiao fucks him with such passionate fervor that night, that he forgets all about it. One morning, he notices Xiao is paler than normal, and seems to have a shadow beneath his eyes. He chalks this up to them being up all night fucking again (despite the fact that Xiao does not sleep anyway), but it continues, and gets worse. Desperate to hang on to the happiest he has ever been, Aether buries his head in the sand and studiously ignores the emerging pattern, while Xiao steadily becomes more withdrawn, less affectionate, and more aggressive when he fucks him. He is never left without bruises and bite marks after they fuck, anymore.

He wakes to the bright light of early morning, one day, and the sound of birds chirping riotously outside Xiao’s open window. He sits up, yawning and stretching, and looks about, but Xiao is nowhere to be seen. There’s no bathroom in here, and he needs to wash up and relieve himself before he does anything, so he finds his clothes and boots and pulls them on. He is just standing up to go to the bathroom at the end of the hall, when Xiao steps in the door.

“Your breakfast is waiting at the table in the kitchen,” he says curtly.

“Good morning to you, too,” Aether replies, with a sunny smile.

“Good morning,” Xiao replies, evading his kiss. “Please ready yourself, as soon as possible. I must return you to the palace.”

Xiao turns to walk back out the door, but Aether grabs his hand. “Xiao, stop. I know something is wrong, so tell me what’s going on. Please. You have to talk to me.”

“It is nothing to concern yourself with,” Xiao says, not meeting his gaze. “The karmic debt has been heavy upon me, lately.”

Aether feels as if he’s been slapped. Stunned that the reason for the downward spiral their relationship has taken is something so simple. Xiao has been suffering from chronic pain, and has been concealing it from him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, distraught at the revelation. “I had no idea you were in pain. I can heal it for you, and everything will be—”

“Do not touch me!” Xiao snarls, giving Aether a start. “My curse is mine to bear! You have no right to take it from me!”

Tears well up in Aether’s eyes and his lower lip trembles. “But, Xiao, I only want to help you. Why would you let yourself suffer, when I—”

“I will not listen to you weeping for my pain. I am leaving. I cannot force you to resume your proper place in your husband’s house, so go where you will. Only do not be here when I return.”

With that, Xiao vanishes in an explosion of inky shadows, leaving Aether stricken and heartbroken, completely blindsided by his inexplicable behavior.

In a daze of sorrow and confusion, he takes the beacons back to the Jade Palace. He enters his bedroom without bothering to call for Madame Ping, or even light a lamp, and collapses into his bed, where he curls up and weeps himself into a troubled, fitful sleep. He dreams he is calling to Xiao for help, as he sinks swiftly into a roiling, black mire. Xiao stands nearby, watching as Aether strains and reaches for him, but he won’t take his hand.

When he awakes again, the shadows have shifted across the floor, and the golden light of late afternoon is in the sky. Madame Ping is bustling about with the tea things, humming a little tune. Aether wraps his arms around himself, shivering, despite the warmth of the room. He feels cold, down to his very core. Cold and sick with grief. He murmurs a word or two to Madame Ping, on his way to the bathroom. Maybe the hot bath she always has ready for him will help warm this icy ache inside him.

He sits in the bath, staring listlessly into the water, barely feeling the heat. He wants to weep, but his tears have all been spent. He climbs back out, feeling no better, and manages to pull on his robe. His reflection in the mirror looks pale and haggard. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything. He sits there on his vanity stool, unable to make himself get up, until Madame Ping comes in and retrieves him. She tries to coax him with tea, but he won’t take more than a few sips, before he crawls back into his bed.

He spends several days in this torpor of disoriented anguish, though it could have been weeks, for all he knows. He has no concept of the passage of time. Into this black misery, a summons comes from the king, bidding the prince come to his private chambers that evening at nine o’clock. With Dr. Baizhu’s help, Madame Ping succeeds in getting him bathed and dressed, and at the specified hour, he presents himself at the king’s chambers.

Rex Lapis is waiting for him, stoic and beautiful and unchanging as ever. Like a statue of himself. Aether bows and stares at the floor, pale, hollow-eyed and silently morose. Seeing his young husband so demonstrably miserable, and not having the slightest clue what has passed between him and his bodyguard, the king takes his mood to be a response to being called into his chambers, and his brow furrows. But he has a purpose, and thus forges ahead.

“My love, I have called you here because I wish to clear the air between us,” he says, in his infuriatingly tranquil way.

“About what, my lord king?” Aether asks apathetically.

“With regard to the Watatsumi affair.”

“That was months ago.”

“Yes. You were very angry with me, and I thought it best to give you time and space to cool off, before I attempted to speak to you about it. While I do not think I was wrong in how I handled the situation, I am also aware that my actions wounded you. I wish to beg your pardon.”

Aether frowns up at him. “If you don’t think you were wrong, then why bother apologizing?”

“Because something I have done has made you unhappy. I regret causing you pain.” The king dips his chin. “Please, forgive me.”

“Of course I forgive you, my lord king. You don’t even have to apologize. I’m your property. If you want the air to be cleared between us, then it is. Because you say so. Do you want to fuck me, too, or was that all?”

His husband’s amber eyes harden warningly. “Prince Aether. Leave my chambers.”

Aether walks dazedly out of the king’s chambers, back to his own, feeling as if he is dissociating from his body. Wavering on the razor’s edge between deeply numb and emotionally tilted. He wants to pound his fists through the stone walls until they bleed. He wants to throw the ornate vases down from the pedestals and walk in the broken shards. He wants to feel anything that is not this hollow ache in his gut, or this bitter bile of resentment toward his husband, for trespassing upon his grief and making demands of him, when he is already so close to shattering.

In his chambers, he dismisses Madame Ping and Dr. Baizhu for the evening. Once they’ve gone, he goes to his writing table and scribbles two messages, which he hands to the attendant in the hall. This done, he changes his silver-grey yisan for one of the diaphanous, black daopao, putting a dab of his custom perfume salve on the back of his neck, and one between his thighs. A few minutes later there is a knock, and a servant comes in with a silver tray bearing a bucket of ice, two heavy-bottomed glasses, and a tall, unlabeled bottle of clear liquid. After the servant departs, Aether pours some of the clear liquid into a glass, drops in some ice, and takes a sip. He is still choking and sputtering on the potent burn of the liquor, when there is another knock.

“Come in,” he rasps, attempting to clear his throat.

“My lord prince,” Childe says, with a sweeping bow. Then his ice-blue eyes light on the bottle. “My lord, if you are unaccustomed to distilled spirits, I would caution extreme prudence when drinking Snezhnayan Fire Water. It has killed men before.”

“Yeah, I just tried some and it burned the shit out of me,” Aether says, rubbing his throat. “Lesson learned. I only ordered it because I know you like it, anyway.”

“Ah. I am much obliged for the courtesy. So, how may I serve you?”

Aether seats himself on the edge of his bed. “Fuck me.”

“I…I must have misheard you,” Childe says, laughing uneasily.

“No. You heard me right. I want you to fuck me.”

“But, my lord prince, you—”

“Please!” Aether half shouts, suddenly bursting into tears. “Get drunk first if you can’t stand the idea, just…please. I need to feel something—anything that isn’t this.”

Childe hurries over and sits on the bed beside him, putting a comforting arm around him. Aether collapses into him and sobs on his chest, while Childe rocks and tries to soothe him. “I think it’s a friend you need, more than a fuck. Why don’t you talk to me. Tell me why you’re in a self-destruct tailspin.”

“Everything. Everything. That’s why. I’m fucking furious at everything. I’m tired of being hurt. I’m tired of being lectured and disapproved of and summoned and sent away, like a dog. I’m tired of being angry and not being allowed to say it. I want to scream and set fire to this palace and kill myself and everyone in it.”

“I understand. This is how I feel…pretty much every day.”

“You do?” Aether sniffles, looking up into Childe’s face.

“I do.”

“But you’re always so cool and calm. How do you do that, if you feel that way every day?”

Childe smiles and spreads his gloved fingers in a theatrical flourish. “The grand illusion. What I let show outside rarely correlates with how I feel inside. Most days, I’m a hair’s breadth from garroting the nearest courtier and wearing their blood like warpaint, while I see how many I can kill before they kill me.”

“Why are you so angry?”

“Oh…I didn’t mean to make this about myself. I was only relating to you, from sympathy.”

“I know, but hearing that I’m not the craziest person around is actually making me feel better. So, tell me why you’re angry.”

“Alright then, where shall I begin?” Childe sighs. “Perhaps when I was taken from my family and raised by a woman who couldn’t be bothered to learn my name, so she called me ‘the child’ until I was sixteen, which is where the nickname comes from. Perhaps when I was a teenager and I was given to the priestesses to be turned into a responsive sex doll. Perhaps the reason I’m so angry is because I have always been a thing—a means to an end—to everyone around me. So have you. I suspect that’s why you’re angry, too.”

A stray tear rolls down Aether’s cheek. “I never thought there was anyone else who would ever understand that. The way that feels.”

“Well, I do. And I saw it in you, from the beginning. I felt a kind of…fucked up kinship with you. That’s why I fell for you so hard.”

“I never actually believed you fell for me. Not because of you. Because of me. I don’t believe I’m someone who is worth loving. Because I can only relate to myself as a thing, not a person.”

“Same here,” Childe says, with a grim laugh. “Why do you think I’m constantly fucking people I hardly know? Because I’m mentally healthy and perfectly able to respect my worth as a human being? Part of it is that I really like to fuck, but mostly it’s to avoid being alone. Because if I’m alone, I might—”

“You might start thinking about things. And the things you might think about are too painful to face. So you just…don’t.”

“Exactly. I, uh. I’ll take that drink, now, if you don’t mind.”

So saying, Childe drops a handful of ice into the other glass, then pours in about twice what Aether had poured into his own. Aether watches as he takes several deep swallows of it, without the slightest wince or hesitation.

“How do you do that? I thought that one sip was going to kill me.”

“I was raised on this stuff, my lord. In Snezhnaya, it’s on the dinner tables, like salt and pepper.”

“Wow. And I thought Mondstadters liked to drink.”

“Ah, but that’s the rub. They only like to drink. We are forced to drink, whether we like it or not, to cope with the deadly cold. In the Snezhnayan cold, you don’t get drunk on Fire Water. It only warms you. But you must beware, because once you step inside and your blood warms back up, it will bite you.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Fire away.”

“How did you get your vision?”

“Ah…ha. How did you know I had one?” Childe asks, looking down into his glass.

“I can just tell. It must be a Celestial thing.”

“Well. It came to me when I was in a very dark place. That’s all I’ll say about that.”

“It’s hydro, right? Can you make hydro mimics, like Ayato?”

“Kamisato is undisciplined,” Childe sniffs. “The things he does with his vision are useful, but crude. Unrefined. Rudimentary.”

As he is saying this, he is twirling a gloved finger in the air. Aether watches, spellbound, as clear water droplets condense and coalesce before them, building an intricate crystalline-looking liquid structure, like an elaborate snowflake, only it is made of hundreds of smaller snowflakes, which have even smaller ones within them, and all the parts are moving within the other parts, so that the entire surface glitters and shimmers with living intensity.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Aether breathes. “How can you possibly have that much control?”

“I am not undisciplined,” Childe grins. “Go ahead. Touch it.”

Aether reaches out and touches the structure with a fingertip. The whole surface ripples and warps, and all the little snowflakes change shape and become tiny, curling vines, coiling and looping about one another. Then they snap into perfect cubes, then spheres, then all the spheres begin to wobble and melt, and flow into one another until all the water is one floating globe, reflecting the room upside-down. Aether is still watching it raptly, when it suddenly explodes into a shower of mist, spraying his face and all about the the room, which both startles him and makes him laugh delightedly.

Childe laughs, too. “My lord, if I knew you were this easy to entertain, I would have shown you my little tricks a long time ago.”

“That was really amazing, Ch—” Aether stops short. “I don’t feel like I should call you that. Because of the way it began. It makes me sad.”

“Well. You could try calling me by my name.”

“Ajax.”

“Yes, my lord prince?”

“I still want you to fuck me.”

Childe takes a slow sip from his glass. “I won’t be gentle. I’ve been imagining what I want to do to you for more than a year.”

“Good. I want to feel it. I…I want it to hurt. I don’t want to be able to feel or think about anything else.”

“And you’re aware that this is extremely unhealthy, and we’ll just be using each other’s bodies to avoid confronting our emotional pain.”

“I mean, that’s pretty much all we’ve been talking about.”

“Ok. As long as we’re on the same page,” Childe says, getting up to refill his glass. He reseats himself on the edge of the bed and leans on one hand, holding the glass in the other. “Take off the robe. I want to look at you.”

Aether stands before him and lets the silky, black daopao slip from his shoulders. Childe’s eyes drift appreciatively up and down his naked body.

“You’re gorgeous all over, aren’t you. Oh-ho, but what are these?” he says, pointing to the fading bruises on Aether’s neck and chest and inner thigh. “You’re covered in bite marks. Get on your knees, you little whore. Suck my cock while I finish my drink.”

Aether kneels between Childe’s thighs, already feeling the low hum of submissive euphoria in the back of his skull. Childe watches, sipping his drink as Aether unbuttons the fly of his grey trousers, and pulls out his long, thick, already-hard cock. God damn it. Why does it have to be so big? Oh, well. He did say he wanted it to hurt. Aether takes a deep breath and dives in, lapping and laving the head, licking up the salty pre-ejaculate, while he pumps the shaft.

“Ha—ah! So good,” Childe gasps. “Deeper. Suck it.”

Aether forces his jaw wider and bobs on it slowly, intentionally tormenting him with just barely not enough depth and friction, until Childe growls something in Snezhnayan and grabs him by a handful of his hair. Aether’s dick goes from half-hard to rigid and leaking, as Childe pushes his head down roughly, shoving his cock all the way into the back of his throat. He gags hard, drool pouring out over his chin and tears streaming down his face, while Childe fucks his mouth, ramming the big, blunt head into his throat, over and over. It gets hotter and harder against his tongue, and his thrusts get more erratic. Then suddenly, Childe yanks him back by his hair, wringing his cock as it throbs and spurts hot, milk-white fluid all over Aether’s face.

“Pretty,” Childe hums, smiling down at him. “It’s not fair that you don’t get to see your face with my come all over it, though. Let’s take you to have a look.”

Setting his empty glass on the table, he drags Aether up and pushes him into the bathroom, where he stands him in front of his vanity mirror. Spying a rouge pot on the counter, he pulls his glove off with his teeth and dips his finger into it. He takes hold of Aether’s jaw to keep his head still, and smears the scarlet pigment across his lips, then he dips his finger in again and scrawls ‘my bitch’ on the mirror above his reflection. Lifting Aether’s thigh, he puts one of his knees on the counter, spreading him wide and displaying him obscenely, while he hooks both his arms in one of his, and holds them behind his back.

“Look at yourself. My pretty little bitch,” he purrs, soft and low in Aether’s ear. “You’re so wet already. You're leaking onto the counter. Can you see your dick in the mirror?”

“Ye—yes,” Aether stammers.

“Don’t look away.”

Aether watches as a small globe of hydro forms in the air over the counter, then stretches and twists into a long, thin rod, slightly fatter on one end, like a fantastical icicle. He can’t imagine what this could be for, but there is a wicked light in Childe’s ice-blue eyes. As he is wondering about it, the hydro icicle floats down toward his dick.

“Wait, Ajax, what are you—” Aether begins, but Childe clamps his hand over his mouth, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Aether’s body jolts as the cool surface of the hydro rod touches the head of his cock. His heart pounds with sudden panic and he takes quick, ragged breaths, as the tip pushes into the slit. Oh, fuck, fuck, it’s going inside. He whimpers into Childe’s palm, feeling every excruciating millimeter as the thing slides deeper and deeper into his urethra. His hips twitch and his asshole contracts as it bumps into his prostate. His attention is entirely fixed on the mirror, where he can see the crystalline rod begin to piston in and out, as if it’s automated, fucking him inside his dick. It swells and gets fatter as it fucks him, until the ache from the stretch is so overwhelming, that his eyes water and tears pour down his face. Finally, it stops moving and swelling, and Childe unclamps his hand from his mouth.

“Ajax, t—take it out,” Aether sputters. “Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

“What fun would that be?” Childe laughs. “Look at you. Lipstick all smeared, my come all over your face, and my plug in your dick. If you don’t like it, why are you so hard?”

Aether’s cock is throbbing around the thick rod inside it, so rigid that the veins stand out on the shaft, and the swollen head is dark and ruddy. It should be leaking like a faucet, but the hydro plug is preventing any coming out. Childe reaches down between them, and Aether feels the big, blunt head of his cock pressed against his taut, un-prepped hole. He has no idea how he got lube onto it, but it’s slick and slippery as he prods and teases the sensitive opening with it.

“You want my dick in your little pussy?” Childe taunts, baring his sharp teeth in a vicious grin. “Beg for it.”

“Please, give it to me,” Aether whines, rocking his pelvis wantonly. “I want it…I want it so bad, please!”

He clenches his teeth and groans at the burning ache, as the big head pushes through the tight resistance, and he is stretched open and spitted on Childe’s thick, iron-hard shaft. When it finally bottoms out, inside him as far as it can go, Aether is shaking all over, panting and perspiring.

“Fuck…you feel so good,” Childe rasps, straining against the urge to thrust. “How can you be so tight?”

“You’re just…your cock is too big,” Aether slurs, thoroughly drunk on the euphoric endorphins his brain is frantically secreting, in response to his asshole and dickhole being concurrently penetrated.

“Eyes open,” Childe says, clamping his big hand over his mouth again. “Keep them on the mirror. Watch me fucking you in your dick while I use your slut hole.”

He draws back and gives a deep, savage thrust, just as the hydro plug plunges in again. Aether’s spine arches and he screams hoarsely into Childe’s palm, as the plug jabs his prostate at the same time that Childe’s dick thumps into it. Childe takes the opportunity to pull his arms tighter behind him, keeping his back arched and his chest tilted upward. His nipples are pebble-hard and rosy pink against his creamy-pale skin, his chest heaving as Childe thrusts harder and faster, slamming his hips against his ass, fucking his dick with the hydro rod in time with his thrusts.

Aether gives muffled, sobbing cries into Childe’s palm as his prostate is battered from both sides. It’s so much stimulation, so much agonizing pleasure-pain, he thinks he’s going to die. His balls are tight and heavy and straining for release, the friction and pressure inside him torturing him on the razor’s edge of climax, but no matter how bad he wants it, he can’t come. The buildup just dips and then he gets dragged to the edge again and again, till he is a weeping, quivering mess.

Childe uncovers his mouth. “You want something, bitch? You know how to ask.”

“I need—I need to come,” Aether chokes out, through hiccupping sobs. “Please, it hurts. P—please let me come.”

Childe reaches up and pushes two fingers into his mouth, sliding them roughly in and out over his tongue, while Aether gags and drools all over his chest. His big dick fucks him to the edge again, then all the sudden, he yanks out the hydro plug and disperses it in one swift, smooth motion. Aether bites down on his fingers and wails through his teeth as his excruciatingly intense ejaculation explodes out of him right along with the plug, spattering water and spurting clear fluid all over his mirror and countertop.

Grabbing him by his hair again, Childe shoves him forward and holds him with his face pressed up against the mirror. Aether’s hot, panting breaths fog the glass in front of him, while Childe pounds him like a jackhammer, fucking little mewling yelps from between his wet, crimson-stained lips. He wanted it rough, but he’s fucking him like he’s trying kill them both. He’s not sure how much more he can take before he breaks. Finally, Childe comes, with a strangled groan, his hips stuttering at the top of each thrust, flooding Aether’s insides with bursts of slippery fluid.

He holds it deep as he rides out the spasms, then keeping his hand on Aether’s head and his dick inside him, he leans back and takes a moment to catch his breath, while he admires his work. Apparently satisfied, he pulls out and holds Aether’s swollen, pink asshole open with his fingers, to let his semen stream out and trickle down his thighs. Aether leans heavily on the counter while Childe takes a warm, damp cloth and gently cleans his face and body. His wobbly legs almost give out, but he is already lifting him in his arms.

“You still have your…clothes,” he murmurs drowsily, as Childe lays him down in his bed. “You fucking…you wrecked me, and you’re not even undressed.”

“I keep telling you I’m amazing, my lord prince,” Childe replies, with mock indignation. “When are you going to realize that it’s true.”

“Where the fuck are you going?” Aether demands, lifting his head unsteadily.

“I thought you’d want me to get out of—”

“No. You have to sleep here with me. That’s an order.”

“As my pretty bitch commands,” Childe croons, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He strips out of his light-grey uniform, which he hangs over a chair, along with the daopao Aether left on the floor earlier, then puts out the oil lamp and slides into bed. Aether nestles into his chest, and Childe wraps his arms around him, burying his face in his golden-blonde hair and breathing deeply of his warm, intoxicating scent, as the boy dozes in his arms. He has been on the other side of this situation enough times to know he’s only a consolation fuck, because the prince has been hurt by someone he cares about more, but he tells himself that it’s alright. That even if it’s just for tonight, being his lover this once is better than never. He will not allow rejection to make him bitter. He will not allow personal feelings to compromise his duty.

Chapter Text

Childe is not present at supper the next evening, nor the following one, nor does Aether hear from him. Which, if he is perfectly honest with himself, he didn’t even notice till Madame Ping asked if she should plan on bringing her step stool in the morning, to clean more obscene graffiti off the mirrors. Any thought of Childe is banished from Aether’s mind when, after Madame Ping has gone, Xiao appears in his chambers unbidden, which he has never done before. Aether leaps up and throws his arms around him, as if they haven’t seen one another in months. Xiao returns the embrace rather stiffly, then draws away. Aether suddenly realizes he looks weary and his skin is ash-white, and there is a pink tint to the rims of his eyes, as though he has been weeping.

“I have come to apologize to you, for the way I spoke to you the other day,” he says, in a hoarse, hollow voice, not meeting Aether’s eye. “When the curse is heavy upon me, I become…irrational and aggressive. I should not have allowed it to progress so far, while you were present.”

Aether shakes his head. “Whatever you did, I forgive you. I don’t care about that. I’m just so glad you’re alright. You have no idea how much I—”

“Please, let me speak. I must say what I came to say,” Xiao interrupts gently. “The reason I have suffered so much under the curse of late, is because of my own guilt. I was commanded by my master, to whom you belong, to protect you. I allowed my feelings for you to overcome my duty, my honor, and my self control, and I took you to bed. Not once, but many times. I knew, every time, that I was committing a grave sin against my master, in being with you that way, and yet I continued to do so. The burden of my betrayal grew heavier and the curse with it, and at last I could no longer sustain it. I lashed out at you in my pain, and for that I beg your pardon. Now, I must amend my wrongdoing and do penance for my sin.”

Aether’s face drains of color. “Xiao, you don’t mean—”

“I have already confessed to my master. Since I cannot trust myself with you, I must inform you that I…I will no longer be serving as your bodyguard. I will return to my duties hunting demons and guarding the villages in the countryside. You will receive official notification of my reassignment, but I came in person, because…I have cared for you, and I wished to say goodbye.”

“No, no, no, you can’t—please, don’t do this,” Aether implores, through sudden, uncontrollable tears, embracing him again and clinging tightly to him. “Please don’t leave me. Please.”

Xiao gently but firmly removes Aether’s hands from his person and presses a kiss to each. There are tears on his pale cheeks, as well. “I must. I will think of you often. Goodbye.”

“No Xiao, wait! Wait don’t—”

He has already gone, dispersed in a whirl of inky shadows. Aether collapses sobbing onto the floor. A month ago, he was the happiest he’s ever been. Now, he has lost Xiao, who has been his most dear and cherished lover, as well as his best friend. This visceral grief rapidly metastasizes into the black bile of wrath at the absolute cruelty of the situation. The well of strength he finds in anger buoys him up for battle. It dries his tears and sharpens his teeth. So fortified, he goes forth to confront his enemy.

Despite the late hour, the king is not in his private chambers, so Aether goes to his office. In the antechamber, a secretary hops up from his desk and attempts to stop him, explaining that his Divine Majesty is in conference with someone and will not be disturbed. Aether ignores him and walks right up to the door, where two Millelith guards are posted. At a word from the secretary, they cross their halberds, to deny him entry.

The Celestial Prince’s hazel-gold eyes flash with majestic fury. “You would dare stand in my way?”

The two young men, making a quick calculation regarding the consequences of defying the Prince Consort, versus defying one of the king’s secretaries, lower their weapons and immediately step aside. Aether pushes the double doors open and walks in, bristling head to toe, prepared to order whoever his husband is meeting with out of the room. Much to his immediate consternation, the person standing before the king’s desk is Childe, who looks equally disconcerted to see him there.

“I want to talk to my husband privately, Ajax,” Aether says brusquely, not to be put off.

Childe glances between Aether and the king, then bows and makes a hasty exit, closing the doors behind him. The king folds his hands on his desk and looks at his husband expectantly.

“Xiao,” Aether says, fighting back tears of sorrow and rage. “You sent him away into exile, like a criminal! You can’t do that to him! You can’t punish him for something I did!”

“I did not send him away,” the king replies.

“You—what?” Aether falters, knocked rudely out of his trajectory by this assertion. “What do you mean?”

“Adeptus Xiao is far too dear and respected a friend, for me to treat him as a simple household retainer,” his husband explains patiently. “When I chose him for your bodyguard, I anticipated this as a possibility. He is a beautiful and fascinating creature, and you and he would be spending every day in company with one another, possibly in dangerous situations that required you to rely upon him for safety. It would be natural for such a bond to form, and cruel to expect you to ignore it. Before you came to my world, I had already signed an official approval, should you eventually take him for a lover. I did not make him aware of this, as it would have deeply embarrassed him. He came to me today, in great trouble of spirit, and confessed to carrying on an illicit affair with you. He felt it to be a grave betrayal, and requested to be punished as an adulterer. I denied his request. I made him aware that he had committed no betrayal, in my eyes, and had my approval to continue as your lover. I went so far as to plead with him to stay. He refused. Since I will not punish him, he has elected to punish himself, by resigning your service and returning to his old post in the Guili Plains.”

“Why…why would he do that? Why would he choose to leave like this?”

“In your readiness to place the blame upon me, you have failed to account for Xiao’s personal convictions. He has violated his own sense of honor and loyalty. No permission nor forgiveness from me can alter his state of mind. He will likely come around in time, but it may take years.”

His momentum thoroughly disrupted, and his case against his husband so easily demolished, Aether sinks dazedly into the chair in front of the king’s desk.

“Ajax, on the other hand, is being punished,” the king goes on. “He came also to confess his betrayal to me, today, as you may have guessed. There was considerably less risk in his confession than there would be for another man, as his status as the heir to the throne of Snezhnaya shields him from imprisonment and capital punishment. There must be consequences, however, and to that end, he has been banished from my court, until I decide he may return. He will depart for Snezhnaya in a few days.”

Aether watches the king warily, as he rises and steps over to the window, where he stands with his hands folded behind his back. There is nothing markedly out of the ordinary in his comportment, but some indefinable tension in him—as if his body is drawn taut, like a bowstring—sets Aether on alert. He has never perceived this in his husband before, and it frightens him.

“Prince Aether, though you may not believe it, I wish primarily for your happiness,” the king says, in his low, smooth voice, as steady and gentle as ever. “Ironic, therefore, that I should be the cause of your discontent. I understand why. I am ancient. I am not human. My ways are alien to you, as yours are to me. As this world’s ruler, my authority hangs always over your head, whether I intend it to or not. Even so, I have been…wounded by your aversion to me.”

There is an extended beat of silence, but Aether has long been familiar with the slow, methodical pace at which his husband is accustomed to speak, and is fully aware that lengthy pauses do not indicate that he has finished. After a moment, the king resumes.

“That I have been so detestable to you that you have been so often driven to find solace in the arms of other men, causes me pain. For this, the blame rests squarely upon my shoulders. Every step I have taken with you has been a misstep. In the beginning, when I attempted to give you time and space in which to grow accustomed to our marriage, and to let you come to know me gradually, you despised me for neglecting you. Then, when I sought to draw you close and make you foremost in all that I did, you told me you hated your life. When I allowed you to do exactly as you would, you said that you hated me. This is the result of my mislaid efforts. I have made you hate me. After I waited for you, for…but nothing can be done to change that, now. I know not how to repair this rift, and all my attempts to bridge it have only made it wider.”

He pauses again and sighs, gazing out over the warm lights of the cheerful little harbor city, and the jagged peaks of the Guyun Stone Forest, piercing like dragon’s teeth through the hide of the deep-turquoise sea.

“I must once again beg your forgiveness,” he says, at last, turning away from the window and back to Aether. “I have done you an incalculable wrong, in binding you to me, for I cannot break a contract I have made. Even I have not the power to unmake the chains in which I have trammeled you. Thus, we are inextricably bound to one another. I cannot release you from our vows, and so we must find a way that you may live, that does not cause your life to be a misery to you. Since I have made myself so abhorrent to you, I think it would be best for us both if you went away from the palace for a while. Perhaps a change of scenery, and relief from the oppression of my presence, will alleviate some of your unhappiness.”

Under the weight of these softly spoken words, the heaviness of their quiet finality, something inside Aether breaks. He feels it, as a palpable physical sensation, like a rib cracking. All at once, his spirit, his fire, his defiance, all his resentment and anger desert him. He is left eviscerated and bereft of will. He bows his head and listens meekly as the king pronounces his sentence.

“Mondstadt’s Windblume Festival is imminent,” he is saying. “As such, the Knights of Favonius are sending an envoy to retrieve the bard, who has been loitering here, for reasons known only to himself. You will travel back with them, to attend their festival and to spend time in company with their king. This gesture will demonstrate our goodwill toward Mondstadt and our support of his reign. While you are there, you may also undertake charitable works, as you see fit. The treasury will supply the cost. Otherwise, you are free to do as you will. Take any lover you desire. Spend your time in what pursuits seem good to you. Do what makes you happiest. I have already corresponded with King Diluc on the matter. He welcomes your visit and expects your arrival with the Knights in one week’s time. A date for your return has not been set.”

“You’re sending me away, then, my lord king,” Aether says, just above a whisper, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“You are not being exiled. This is your home. You have as much right to it as I have. After the Windblume Festival, your itinerary is left to your own discretion. You may return any time thereafter, should you so wish. You may also travel elsewhere, instead, should you prefer to do so. As far as more practical matters are concerned, you may take with you whatever accoutrements and household staff you require for your comfort, only all must be ready in time for your departure in three days. Have you any questions for me?”

Aether opens his mouth, but finding himself unable to speak, closes it again and shakes his head.

“Then I wish you safe travel, and a pleasant sojourn in Mondstadt,” the king says, with a bow. “You may go.”

Thus dismissed, Aether rises and bows low, and walks numbly out of his husband’s office. He has finally done what he had always feared, and yet somehow never believed truly possible. He has driven his husband to regret marrying him. He has lost Xiao and caused Childe to be sent away, and he is going into seclusion in Mondstadt. When he enters his own chambers, he is too internally devastated to think, so he sits down in the middle of the floor and curls up to weep until he is out of tears.

As soon as his office door shuts behind Aether, the king sinks heavily into the chair his young husband just vacated, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees, cradling his forehead in his gloved hand. All who have known him would be astounded to see him in this attitude. There is a defeated sag to his shoulders, which no person in existence has ever observed in his flawlessly dignified posture. The expression of profound grief, too, on his hitherto preternaturally stoic countenance, would have shocked and distressed any among his people who saw it. But the Dragon King is alone, and none bear witness to his personal sorrow.

Madame Ping sees to all the prince’s packing and other arrangements, since he has declared he does not care what he takes with him, and will do nothing but lie listless in his bed staring out the window. That night, Childe comes to bid him farewell and promises to write to him from Snezhnaya. Aether informs him he’ll be sending his letters to Mondstadt, then, and Childe winces sympathetically. But they part on good terms and Aether takes comfort in the fact that, though he’ll likely never see the Snezhnayan prince again, he can at least count him among his friends.

By the day planned for his departure, Aether’s crushing grief has settled into paralytic apathy, which robs the prospect of a voyage to a new country of any wonder or joy he would have taken in it. Rex Lapis sees him off, which is important for the public to perceive, lest they suspect a rift has formed between the king and his consort. Captain Alberich has returned, and leads the detachment of Knights that escort Aether and the bard on their journey, but Aether doesn’t even have the will to despise him. He just sits gazing blankly out the carriage window, listening to Venti, who is an effusive and inexhaustible source of Mondstadt information, as he cheerfully catches Madame Ping up on the nation’s current goings-on.

The situation, in brief, is as follows: In the absence of their god, Barbatos, King Diluc Ragnvindr is the human hereditary sovereign of Mondstadt, descended from a long line of Ragnvindr sovereigns of Mondstadt. He was crowned six years ago, at the age of sixteen, after the sudden passing of his father King Crepus, which made him the youngest ruling monarch in Teyvat’s history. Despite his youth, however, he is widely respected, and is renowned for being one of the most dedicated and fastidious rulers in Teyvat.

As arranged between King Diluc’s illustrious late father and the other highly respectable noble father concerned, the king is engaged to be married to the wealthy heiress and deaconess of the Favonius Cathedral, Lady Barbara. Since her ladyship is seventeen, however, and the marriageable age in Teyvat is twenty, the engagement is yet to be a long one, while she awaits her majority. In the meantime, the young and lovely royal-couple-to-be are seen often in company with one another, attending society functions and community events, or walking chastely hand-in-hand, in the town square after church. They are the nation’s only celebrities and are generally adored and much gossiped about and fawned over by the public. How intensely boring.

On the third day of their journey, early in the afternoon, the well-armed and smartly caparisoned convoy draws within sight of the spire of the Favonius Cathedral, and the colossal statue of Barbatos, towering high above the immense walls of stone. The spectacular sight fails to elicit any particular feeling from Aether, whatsoever. He has seen a hundred little kingdoms with a walled city at the center, surrounded by provincial hamlets and idyllic agrarian scenery. They are all virtually identical, as if there is some walled-city and farm-village distribution company that goes about to every human-inhabited world and sets them all up.

King Diluc and Lady Barbara, along with a number of other very young or elderly gentry, are present to receive the Prince Consort at the royal residence in the city. King Diluc is exceptionally handsome, in that languishing, vampiric way that appeals to young women who think doomed poets are the ideal of manhood and the only proper conclusion to any romance is tragedy. He is tall and slender, consumptively pale of complexion, and has long, gorgeous, scarlet hair, which he wears pulled into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, and otherwise allows to have its freedom about his face. His eyes are large and melancholy and mostly hidden in his hair, with which they share their singular color. The Lady Barbara is as nearly his polar opposite as imaginable. She is very young and very pretty, in a conventional, blonde, blue-eyed and buxom way, and she seems wholly genuine in her starry-eyed naïveté and youthful delight with the world.

Aether dislikes the young king immediately, and can tell he is also disliked by him. He is flawless in his manners, relentlessly formal, and coldly courteous. Aether thinks he would prefer Captain Alberich’s icy venom to the dull punctiliousness of this highly orthodox king. The flawless manners in question flicker for a moment, however, when he is greeted by the bard, who throws his arms around the visibly startled monarch and loudly proclaims how much he’s missed him. The king tolerates this behavior with a patient sigh and a lowered brow, beneath his scarlet bangs. Lady Barbara, on the other hand, is overjoyed to be reunited with the bard, who is apparently her great friend, and the two walk arm in arm behind King Diluc and Prince Aether, laughing and chatting together, as the retinue enter the palace.

After the customary tour of the palace for the honored guest, the king takes his polite leave of the group in the cavernous, white-pillared main hall, pleading the immense amount of work he has yet to do before the festival commences tomorrow, and leaving his betrothed and the bard to show Prince Aether to his apartments. They inform him that supper will be served in the grand dining room at six, after which the king will be working late into the evening, as is his custom.

“Don’t take it personally, my lord prince, King Diluc’s always working late,” Venti assures him. “We’ll have a better time on our own, anyway. He’s a dreary old teetotaler.”

“Venti!” Lady Barbara exclaims, half laughing and half in feigned shock. “Don’t talk about the king that way, I won’t hear it. He is a good man, he just happens to work very hard.”

There is something else here—some grievance or dissatisfaction underlying the young lady’s defense of her future lord, but Aether is patently indifferent to it. A king neglecting his intended in favor of his royal duties, which he assumes is the issue, is a tale as trite as true love.

“Oh, does the king not drink liquor? I thought that was Mondstadt’s national pastime,” he says idly, for the sake of making conversation.

“Not a drop,” Venti confirms. “You know what he drinks instead? The unfermented juice from perfectly good wine grapes. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“There are plenty of people who don’t drink liquor, for your information,” Lady Barbara sniffs, tossing her platinum curls. “Including me.”

“You don’t drink because you’re a child,” Venti laughs. “King Diluc is just stubborn. I’m sorry to tell you, Prince Aether, but Captain Kaeya is just about the only nobleman in Mondstadt who knows how to have a good time.”

“He’s not a nobleman,” Lady Barbara blurts out, apparently without meaning to, then her face flushes pink with embarrassment. “I mean—all I mean is that his status is because he’s a military man, since he’s not from one of the noble families.”

This is almost mildly interesting, so Aether decides to mine this vein. “He said something to me about being disinherited. And how he was given the winery as a consolation prize? I don’t recall exactly.”

“I suppose you’ll find out anyway, so we may as well tell you,” Venti says, sounding anything but reluctant to share this information. “Captain Kaeya was a foundling. He was taken in by the old king, Diluc’s father, and they were raised together like brothers. But since Kaeya is a foreigner and not native to Mondstadt, he can’t be considered nobility, no matter who raised him. The old king gave him the officer’s commission so he’d at least have equal status with the nobility. When he died, he left Kaeya the winery, which everyone knew was his pride and joy. So, Kaeya is bitter about having been raised as a son by the king, and yet still being looked down upon by the gentry, and Diluc is bitter about his father entrusting Kaeya with the winery, rather than his own son and heir by blood. It’s sad, too, because they were so close before the old king died. They hardly even look at one another anymore.”

“So sad,” Lady Barbara murmurs, nodding her head solemnly.

Aether is far more interested in Captain Alberich being a foundling than his personal drama with his sovereign. Lord Dainsleif said he knew his parents before the disaster, so why didn’t Dainsleif take the boy himself, or even just find him other Khaenri’ahn refugees to live with, rather than allowing him to be raised among xenophobic rustics in this medieval throwback of a kingdom? Maybe he didn’t know about the boy’s survival till later. Which only raises more questions. Captain Alberich would have been an infant when the disaster occurred. How would he have made his way to Mondstadt, sans parents, and thus survived the disaster that killed them? If another Khaenri’ahn brought him here, which would make more sense, then what happened to them?

Aether is wrapped up in his puzzle, and barely notices his hostess and the bard taking their leave, bidding him rest and relax a while before he dresses for supper, for which a servant will come to fetch him to the drawing room. Apparently they have no shortage of servants, since there are two buzzing about his chambers under Madame Ping’s watchful eye, organizing his things and drawing his bath, and stoking the fires in the massive, stone fireplaces, which seem a little redundant, as they are present in every room. When the sun goes down, and Aether experiences the first chill of the Mondstadt night, he understands better the human need to heat every room in the palace, but he was raised in the perpetual cold of sunless Celestia. It would be a bitter winter here before it would much affect him.

Madame Ping brings him his black yisan, but he recalls that King Diluc is dressed head to toe in black. He is in a contrary mood, and doesn’t wish to coordinate with his host. Instead, they settle on a traditional Liyue color scheme, and choose his ivory brocade yisan, with the bold, jewel-hued dragon embroidery, a belt of heavy gold medallions with rubies inlaid, and his long, gold earring with the ruby and crane feather. He wears snug-fitting, white trousers underneath, and black riding boots with gold buckles, like Xiao’s. His stomach turns with grief at the mere thought of the beautiful Yaksha, who will never come to his call, again. No longer is his faithful watcher in the peripheral, invisibly observing and protecting him, no matter where he goes. He is truly alone, now.

He has just finished lining his eyes with the carnelian pigment worn by Rex Lapis—chosen to continue the red-accented Liyue theme—when the servant comes to take him to supper. Aether is ready, but Madame Ping makes the man wait a few minutes, anyway. This is not from contrariness, but due to the Liyue custom in which the person of the highest rank is expected to always enter a meeting last, at which point the function at hand commences. Aether has been taught to be several minutes late from courtesy, lest a lower-ranking person enter after himself and be embarrassed by interrupting proceedings already in progress. Deliberately submerging his personal turmoil, he enters public appearance mode, and follows the servant to the drawing room.

When he is announced, the few who are seated rise and all present bow, including the pragmatic and unpretentious King Diluc, who apparently harbors no illusions regarding his own position as the monarch of this tiny kingdom, in relation to that of the Celestial-born husband of the high king and deity of this world. Aether notices and silently appreciates this. He does not enjoy such ceremony for himself, but he is here as a representative of the Jade Palace, and any neglect in proper honor to his person would be a direct affront to the Dragon King.

The Celestial Prince smiles and dips his head graciously in acknowledgement of the general salutation, which frees everyone to go about their business. He has just been gaily accosted by the bard and Lady Barbara, who positively adores his ensemble and wants to know everything about it, when he happens to glance over at a group of uniformed ladies and gentlemen, representing the upper ranks among the Knights. One of them steps away at that moment, and Aether has to make a conscious effort to prevent his lip curling with revulsion. His estimation of King Diluc takes an instant and severe nosedive. Standing previously obscured by the Knight who walked away, conversing with the king, is one of the automata from the Rhinedottir Concern.

The Rhinedottir Concern is a mysterious and wildly unethical manufacturer of various strange and questionably-legal novelties, whose headquarters lie on a fairly lawless world, far afield of vigilant Celestial supervision. Rhinedottir Dolls are their famous line of extraordinarily costly automata. They are made to order and customized to each purchaser’s specifications, but for legal reasons, all must be plainly recognizable as Dolls. This is accomplished by casting them all from one template, so they all share the same body structure (small and slight, and thus flexible regarding gender), their delicate facial features are nearly identical, and they all have the trademark flaxen hair, brilliant, sea-green eyes, and unnervingly flawless porcelain skin. Each one is said to bear a unique maker’s mark to distinguish them from one another, but that could be a rumor.

The Dolls are marketed to individuals of fantastic wealth, whose proclivities veer too far into the extreme to be satisfied by the conditioning of the priestesses of Eros, who have strict doctrine regarding what they are willing to train a human being to do. Aether has never seen a Doll in person before, but he has seen pictures of them. It is legal to own one in Celestia, but very few people there have them. They are generally spoken about only in whispers, being considered a shameful vice, as they are essentially mindless sex slaves, programmed as their owners desire.

Aether became aware of them when he was studying Celestial law, and read about the landmark case brought by several Celestial owners of the Dolls, who had become so enamored of them, that they sought to obtain status as sentient beings for them, so that they could wed them and make them legal inheritors of their estates. The case was dismissed due to lack of sufficient support for the plaintiffs’ claims, and the Celestial court published a brief, determining Rhinedottir Dolls to be organic automata, not sentient beings, and thus legal to own in Celestia, but not to sign contracts, retain property, be accorded civil rights, nor be held legally competent or criminally culpable, et cetera. As with other automata and pets, the owner assumes all liability for their actions.

He is understandably disgusted to find one of the things very publicly in the possession of the young king of Mondstadt, who he already disliked, and who now seems to him to be a shameless degenerate, in addition to being dour and boring. No wonder Lady Barbara seems touchy and vaguely unhappy about her intended. To his immense chagrin, Venti and the lady blithely tow him over to converse with the king and this golem, who is clad in the uniform of a high-ranking officer of the Knights of Favonius, which Aether would have thought someone here would find beyond the pale of offensive.

“My lord prince,” King Diluc says, dipping his head in greeting, as Aether approaches. “Please allow me to introduce Master Albedo, Chief Alchemist to the Knights of Favonius and Captain of the Investigation Team.”

“My lord prince,” the Doll says, bowing courteously. “It is an honor.”

Aether is thunderstruck. So, not only is the Doll an actual commissioned officer of the Knights, it is an alchemist? As a dark art, alchemy is considered heretical in Celestia, which also applies to its tributary realms, as far as he knows.

“Chief Alchemist? I wasn’t aware alchemy was practiced anywhere in Teyvat.”

“My work is a…different kind of alchemy,” the Doll answers evasively.

“We are aware that alchemy is controversial,” King Diluc interjects, with more than a hint of defensiveness. “However, Master Albedo’s formulations have healed many wounds and saved many lives, here. We are all indebted to his tireless efforts to advance the discipline.”

“I would love to know more about it, if you’d be willing to talk to me sometime,” Aether says to the Doll, seeming eager and curious, rather than shocked and disapproving, as the king has clearly expected.

Supper is announced at that moment, so the conversation stalls there, and the Doll is not seated anywhere near Aether at the table. Lady Barbara sits across from him and as such, is his natural conversational partner. The king, who is seated between them at the head of the table, speaks very few words, and does not smile even once. To Lady Barbara’s right is a tall, serious-looking young woman who bears a striking resemblance to her, and is introduced to him as Lady Jean Gunnhildr, acting Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius. On Aether’s left is Captain Alberich, with whom he has no interest in conversing, and who seems to be fully engrossed in the giggling young lady seated on his other side, anyway.

The supper is awkward at best, despite Lady Barbara’s admirable attempts at keeping a conversation going, and is comprised of dishes Aether finds heavy and bland, accustomed as he now is to Liyue’s vibrant cuisine. He is immensely relieved when the ordeal is over. King Diluc walks out with them, to see Lady Barbara to her carriage home, then excuses himself to work. Thus, after traveling with them for three days, Aether finds himself still in company with the bard and the Cavalry Captain. Venti, who appears to be blissfully unaware of any tension between the other two, suggests a walk in town, to show the prince around a little before the festival begins tomorrow.

“He means a walk to the tavern,” Captain Alberich intimates.

“The Angel’s Share is an important part of town,” Venti reasons. “Everyone meets there. The Adventurers’ Guild, the Knights…it’s Mondstadt’s social hub. Once in a while, when the mood takes him, King Diluc even comes by and tends the bar.”

“What, are you joking?” Aether laughs looking back and forth between them, unable to imagine the stiff and reticent young king slinging mugs of beer behind a counter.

“I’m afraid not, highness,” Captain Alberich answers grimly. “I own the place, but he’s the king, so not even I can stop him. If you’ve never had a drink mixed by a man who doesn’t drink liquor himself, count yourself blessed.”

“His drinks aren’t…that bad,” Venti says diplomatically. “At least he doesn’t pour them weak. The best drinks in town are Diona’s, obviously, but she doesn’t work nights.”

“Small child with pink hair and cat ears,” Captain Alberich elaborates, before Aether can ask. “I should say, she looks like a small child. I don’t actually know how old she is. In any event, she’s the bartender over at the Cat’s Tail. She mixes spectacular cocktails, but they’re served with a hefty dose of disapproval, so venture in at your own risk.”

“Disapproval?” Aether asks, completely lost.

“She hates liquor and thinks people who drink it are vulgar swine. She claims she tends bar to make terrible drinks that will get everyone to swear off alcohol. Problem is, she had a blessing or a hex cast on her at some point, and she’s literally unable to make a bad drink. Nevertheless, she keeps trying, and we all reap the benefits.”

“That’s a lot of backstory for a bartender,” Aether observes. “Is there anyone here who just does the job they have because they like it?”

“Me!” Venti announces. “I am a bard for the single reason that I like to do it.”

“And the free booze,” Captain Alberich corrects.

“Well, the free booze is part of the job.”

The Angel’s Share tavern is, to Aether’s utter lack of surprise, exactly like the hundreds of small-town taverns in other worlds he’s been to, complete with the cast of regulars, the bartender who knows everyone’s name and personal business, whether he wants to or not, and the homelike atmosphere and tidy-but-rustic decor that gives these places all their charm and half their banality.

After they have ordered their beverages, Venti goes to a stool near the bar, produces a lyre, and launches into an unexpectedly sad and lovely tune. Aether supposes this must be the custom of the place, which supposition is supported when some burly, green-clad men come from upstairs to sit nearby and listen.

Aether draws a few curious gazes from patrons as he and Captain Alberich make their way to a table, but mostly people seem content to mind their own business. He is mildly annoyed to be left in company with this man again, but he has other things on his mind, and is just as content to sip his glass of wine in silence. After a few minutes, however, the Rhinedottir Doll Chief Alchemist enters the tavern, and Captain Alberich waves him over.

“My lord prince,” he says, bowing before he seats himself. “I must apologize for King Diluc springing me on you without warning, like that. It must have been quite a shock to see me here, in polite society.”

“You’re right,” Aether admits. “I didn’t mean any offense, Master Albedo, but I didn’t know what to think. My knowledge of your kind is…extremely circumstantial.”

“You refer to the ruling in which Celestia declared us organic automata, incapable of exercising free will, and thus not entitled to human rights.”

“I do mean that. It was before my time, though. I only read of it in a textbook, when I was studying Celestial law.”

“Ah, the Heavenly Principles. I have studied Celestial law, as well. It varies in many curious particulars from the law of Rex Lapis.”

“I’m afraid I know less about Teyvat’s laws than I should,” Aether says sheepishly. “I was taught what my instructors thought I should know about this world in order to be a good consort, which only included a cursory examination of the law.”

Master Albedo frowns. “They believed that in preparing you to be wed to the originator of the law, they would best serve you by under-educating you in it?”

“I don’t think my father really thought of it that way. I don’t think he thought of it at all, actually. He just wanted to take Teyvat for a tributary realm. I was nothing more than currency in the exchange between two kings. What did it matter if I understood the man I was going to marry, as long as my body was properly conditioned to be fucked by him.”

“It is true, then, that the Celestial royals receive conditioning by the priestesses of Eros, too.”

“It is.”

“I’m so sorry that was done to you,” Master Albedo says, lowering his eyes with what appears to be sorrow and sympathy. “The practice is…utterly barbaric. No one should ever be subjected to such a thing.”

Aether is perplexed and irritated by this reaction, which he has never seen a person have in response to learning of his sexual conditioning. Most people are either embarrassed by the idea, or pruriently curious. Sympathy for it, especially from a living sex doll, is not something for which he was prepared.

“How is the conditioning I underwent worse than being a toy created specifically for the purpose of sex?” he returns, more heatedly than he intended, as this has struck an unexpected nerve.

“Easy, highness,” Captain Alberich says, half under his breath.

“It’s quite alright, Kaeya, I’m well aware of what I am,” Master Albedo replies, unperturbed. “Your question is absolutely valid, my lord prince. The way it is worse, in my opinion, is this: I and the others like me were created to serve a purpose, as you said. We were always intended to be things, without free will. You, on the other hand, are a human being, born from a mother’s womb, possessed of inherent self-will and moral autonomy. Such a thing is a gift beyond the wealth of kings. To take a natural human and alter its innate free will, in that fundamental way, is an act of monstrous inhumanity. It is nothing less than a desecration of what makes each one of you infinitely precious. Far more so than I am, who was born a soulless shell, and cobbled together a semblance of self from fragments of the programming my creator left in my brain.”

Aether has to blink to force back the tears that are threatening in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Master Albedo. I shouldn’t have said that stupid thing, I was just…no one has ever offered me sympathy for being conditioned. It was done at my father’s specific direction. To me and to my…and to my sister. Our father did that to us and everyone acted like it was perfectly normal. It never occurred to me before that it may have been wrong.”

As he says this, Aether’s threatened tears become actual ones, and he dashes them hastily away with the back of his gloved hand.

“Come now, Bedo, what did we say about vivisecting people’s trauma the first time you meet them,” Captain Alberich admonishes. “There are demons a man shouldn’t have to face in a tavern, in the presence of strangers.”

His eccentric inflection makes it unclear whether the statement is intended in real sympathy or in mockery, but he lays a supportive (and extremely cold) hand on Aether’s shoulder as he says it. The gesture itself feels so spontaneous and sincere, that it actually disconcerts Aether enough to stop his tears, and make him look up at him.

“I sense your relationship with your father is not warm,” Captain Alberich says glibly, withdrawing his hand, as the wall of ice snaps back up. “That’s something to which most people can relate, I think.”

“Except me,” Master Albedo puts in. “I’m a homunculus. No father or mother required. Just chalk.”

Aether frowns, confused. “What do you mean, chalk?”

“Oh, the way the Rhinedottir Concern markets us, as genetically engineered and lab-grown, it’s all absolute lies. Even with the outrageous sums she charges, she’d never turn a profit running an operation like that. The cost of lab equipment alone would be astronomical. We are homunculi. Soulless human bodies, made via alchemy. Khemia, specifically. We’re not perfectly human, because alchemy can’t create a perfect human, so we have maker’s marks. I normally hide mine, but you can see it now.”

Albedo lifts his chin, and Aether can clearly see a mark that wasn’t there a moment ago, on his throat between the points of his notched navy-blue collar. A gold, four-pointed star, oddly similar to Captain Alberich and Lord Dainsleif’s Khaenri’ahn pupil slits. After a moment, it fades away again, and Aether sits back in his chair.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you know so much about the priestesses’ conditioning?”

“I studied all forms of mental conditioning, in my quest to defeat my own. I am happy to report that after a short several-hundred years, I was able to say no to sex when I didn’t want it, and I had rid myself of the automatic submission impulse.”

“Several hundred?”

“I am five-hundred and seventeen years old. Not human, so I don’t age like one. Of course, if I had been human, it would have been much easier to break the conditioning. What the priestesses do is similar to our programming, only it’s imprinted manually on top of normal human brain function, rather than hard-coded into a blank slate.”

Aether frowns thoughtfully, looking down into his glass as he swirls the wine idly around. “So, if a human, hypothetically, wanted to break their conditioning, would you be able to show them how to do that?”

“Hypothetically? Yes. But I would want the person to consider it very carefully, first, and be aware what they were getting into, as well as what result to realistically expect. The brainwashing can be defeated, but the memories will remain. I can’t undo trauma. Also, the return of their natural sexual responses may be jarring. I was baffled the first few times I wanted to have sex, after I’d finished my own reconditioning. I thought I’d made a mistake somewhere and it had failed. I nearly drove myself mad examining the whole process over and over. Then finally, I realized it was just normal sexual desire in response to my physical attraction to beautiful men. The next time it happened, I indulged it, and I found out I actually enjoyed sex, without the programming deciding for me. The rest is history.”

“You mean I wasn’t your first?” Captain Alberich exclaims, with mock indignation.

“No, Kaeya, you were not even my hundredth, and you are well aware of the fact,” Master Albedo laughs. “I doubt I was yours, either.”

Aether looks back and forth between them. “Oh, are you two…”

“I’m not ‘you two’ with anyone, my lord prince,” Albedo says frankly. “Sexual monogamy is not interesting to me, and emotional romance even less so. Captain Alberich just wanted you to know he’d had the honor, I’m sure. Though, I don’t know how he even remembers, considering how much traffic his bed sees.”

“That is patently untrue,” Captain Alberich contends. “I never bring them to my own bed. There are plenty of guest rooms for that.”

“The late-night traffic of good-looking young men and women in and out of the Dawn Winery is a matter of local legend, my lord prince. Kaeya quite prides himself on it.”

“Just doing my part to bring disrepute to the family business,” Captain Alberich says, with a rakish grin.

Aether turns bodily to face him and looks him square in the eye. “And you had the fucking audacity to insult me based on my having had exactly one lover, which my husband had approved of, when you—”

“My lord prince, I am very sorry for that,” he interrupts. “I wasn’t sincere when Dainsleif made me apologize, of course. But I hadn’t really meant what I said to you, in the first place. I wanted to knock you down a peg and it was all I could think of.”

“Why did you want to knock me down a peg, at all?” Aether demands. “We had just met, you had no reason to dislike me.”

“Because you were the spoiled, arrogant lackey of the Celestial King. A proxy sent to demonstrate his supremacy over our world. Or so I believed. I’ve begun to change my mind, since. I’m still not sure I like you, and I’m even less sure I trust you, but…you’re not exactly what I thought you would be. So, I beg your pardon sincerely for what I said.”

“Well…then, I give you my pardon sincerely. The same goes for you, though. I don’t know if I like you and I definitely don’t trust you yet. But I’m willing to start over if you are.”

Captain Alberich tilts his head to one side, as if considering this. “Fair enough. Pleased to make your acquaintance, highness.”

“Pleased to make yours, Kaeya,” Aether retorts, making a point of using his first name, since he has persisted in that casual mode of address. 

“Since we’re all becoming so familiar, I don’t like to be called Master Albedo, by my friends,” Albedo puts in. “Just the forename for me, as well.”

“Ooh, we’re already on first names?” Venti remarks, as he approaches the table at that moment, with full glasses of wine in both hands. “I’m glad everyone’s getting on so well. But you better not have talked about anything interesting without me! You didn’t, did you?”

“No,” Albedo answers.

“Of course not,” Kaeya adds.  

“Not a thing,” Aether confirms.

Chapter Text

From what Aether has gathered, Mondstadt’s Windblume was a symbol of the rebellion against the previous god of this land, of whom Barbatos rid the people, with the help of the ancient Ragnvindr progenitor, thus permanently associating the flower with the Ragnvindr Clan. He has also gathered that the Windblume flower is more conceptual than actual, and that each person pretty much chooses their own favorite flower to represent the idea. The festival itself seems to Aether to be a sort of less-organized Lantern Rite, with a much larger focus on the special edition wines, ciders, and ales sold by the local taverns in honor of the festival.

Since he is present as a show of goodwill from the Jade Palace, Aether is obligated to go about with King Diluc, attending the various public events and carnival games the city puts on as part of the festivities, which he does with his customary practiced grace, while secretly wanting to pry all his own teeth out. There are a number of festival games, which Lady Barbara and Venti attempt to cajole him into taking part in, but they are all athletic in nature, and there is not one in which he feels it would be fair for him to compete with regular humans, so he politely declines.

One of these is a sort of archery contest, in which competitors fire arrows at balloons, which award varying numbers of points, depending upon the type of balloon struck. It is time-limited and the winner is the one who collects the most points in the time allotted. Aether knows what is about to happen to him, when he sees Lady Barbara stand tiptoe to whisper into the king’s ear, and the king, who still has to bend down to accommodate the height difference, dips his head in genteel acquiescence.

Sure enough, the king requests the honor of the prince’s participation in this contest, as his opponent. Aether literally cannot refuse, so he accepts, looking cheerful and enthusiastic, as if he and the king are actual friends about to take part in a friendly game, for the purposes of entertainment. The people running the competition are elated to be graced by the participation of their beloved King Diluc and the Dragon Prince (the Mondstadt public have bestowed this erroneous title upon Aether and will not be taught to call him anything else). The announcement that the two illustrious persons are about to have a go at the Balloon Bullseye spreads like wildfire, and makes such a circus of the whole affair, that they wind up having to wait while spectators gather, so as not to disappoint anyone.

At long last, they step up to their marks and the flights of colorful balloons begin to go up. Aether is almost certainly a superior archer to this twenty-two year old human child, but this places him in a difficult position. Diplomacy demands that he neither humiliate the people by defeating their king, nor insult them by making it obvious that he has lost intentionally. As they let their first few volleys of arrows fly, it becomes apparent to Aether that King Diluc has had the same idea, and is underperforming, intending to lose to his honored guest. If this becomes a competition to see who can do worse, they will both look ridiculous. Thinking on his feet (at which he is far more apt than when he has time to fully consider a situation), a solution occurs to Aether.

“Is that all you have, your highness?” he calls out, in a tone of friendly raillery, and loudly enough for most of those gathered to hear. “I had heard you Mondstadters were warriors!”

As intended, the crowd turns merrily against him, and there is an explosion of affable boos for him, and cheers and encouragement for their king, whose honor, as well as all of Mondstadt’s, is now on the line. Diluc flashes him a blistering glance, and his posture changes entirely. Aether almost smiles to see the trained archer that has been hidden in the slender, languid frame of the young man. The king strikes four high-value targets while Aether is noticing this, and he has to scramble in order to reasonably close the gap between their scores. When their time is up, he’s not entirely sure he’d have won, even if he’d been trying in earnest.

The crowd lose their collective minds with applause for their sovereign, whose victory over his opponent by popping more brightly colored balloons in this festival game, has safely secured their nation’s pride. Aether cheerfully concedes, laughing and shaking hands with the king, and bowing graciously to the ecstatic crowd, before the royal retinue moves on.

Venti and Barbara, who do not appear to have spotted the ruse, nor the antipathy between the king and the prince, are nearly as delighted as the public, and chatter about how exciting it was and how they couldn’t tell who would win, and how their hearts stopped when the king and the prince took those last two shots, et cetera. But their attentions are fickle, and before they’ve finished gushing about the archery contest, they are already skipping along ahead of King Diluc and Aether, on their way into the square, where there are rows of merchant stalls hawking garlands of flowers and festival treats, and various souvenirs.

They are being observed by the public, and as such, King Diluc is wearing the serene expression he dons for such celebratory occasions, which is not quite a smile, but draws near to it. The Celestial Prince is radiant, with an angelic smile on his youthful face, which effect is magnified by his white yisan and tousled, golden hair. Since Venti and Lady Barbara have run off, and the other courtiers and attendants are walking a respectful distance behind the two, they are out of immediate earshot of anyone at the moment.

“My ego is not so fragile as to require cosseting, my lord prince,” King Diluc says to Aether, maintaining his benignant facial expression. “There was no need for you to lose to me intentionally.”

Aether continues to smile beatifically. “I am not concerned with your ego in the least, your highness. As their king, your mind should be upon your people, rather than upon yourself. They need to believe in your superiority, because it is their own. It cost me nothing to give them occasion to take joy and pride in their monarch’s triumph, who is their proxy, and I would have gained less than nothing by humiliating them. It was simply an elementary bit of tact.”

The young king’s expression flickers briefly, as he feels the smart of this unexpected rebuke, before his placid façade snaps back into place. They have just caught up with Lady Barbara and Venti, who have acquired garlands of flowers, and insist upon decorating the prince and king with them. Aether doesn’t know if King Diluc received his chastisement well or poorly, and doesn’t particularly care. A royal scion should know better than to take such things personally, when international diplomacy is at issue.

While Venti is putting a wreath of crimson windwheel asters in his blonde hair, Aether glances idly at the king, who is stooping to allow his lady to adjust the wreath of white Cecilia flowers in his scarlet hair. He does so without any protest, and when she has finished, he bows and kisses her hand, and thanks her for thinking of him.

Aether has noticed that he always addresses her as ‘my lady’, and unfailingly shows her the utmost courtesy and consideration. She is the same with him. Always respectful and attentive. But theirs seems less like the exclusionary fixation on one another between lovers, and more like the eggshell-walking courtesy between polite acquaintances. Aether had thought they would warm up as they became accustomed to his presence and began to drop their indoor manners, but nothing in their behavior has altered in the slightest degree. People who are in love have thoughts and opinions, and their interactions are messy and spontaneous. These two handle one another with kid gloves, almost at arm’s length…almost as if they’re making up for something, by being excessively considerate of one another.

From Lady Barbara’s side of things, he can see how a doe-eyed seventeen-year-old may easily develop a romantic fancy for a broodingly handsome, emotionally unavailable young king. He does not believe King Diluc could actually reciprocate this juvenile adoration, though. Unless the two are pulling the wool thoroughly over everyone’s eyes with the chastely-betrothed act, and he has been prematurely exercising his marital privileges on her lovely young body behind closed doors. It is possible. The marriageable age is twenty in Teyvat, but the age of consent to sex is tentatively sixteen, and the gap in years between these two is not much.

Aether thinks this is unlikely, though. People who are sexually intimate always eventually betray themselves with inadvertent gestures of familiarity. He recalls the story of the queen who discovered the identity of her king’s mistress, when at a state occasion, the woman reached out and plucked a piece of lint from his jacket. King Diluc and Lady Barbara have betrayed no such intimate liberties with one another’s personal space. Even Aether and Rex Lapis were more familiar with each other than these two. He has distinct memories of his husband patiently untangling his long earring from his braid on several windy occasions outdoors, and a few particularly lengthy carriage rides, during which he fell asleep leaning on his husband’s shoulder.

His stomach sinks with a heavy, aching feeling, like homesickness, when he recalls these innocuous little moments of intimacy between them. This train of thought naturally leads him to the less innocuous moments of sexual intimacy. Sex was certainly never their problem. Ever since he fucked him that first time, Aether has desired his husband intensely. Though he would never have admitted it, even when he was most angry and resentful over whatever thing was happening at the moment, he wanted him more than anyone else. Even when he was with Ayato and Childe and Xiao. Even now, the thought of surrendering to him and taking his cock makes him weak in the knees.

This must be the conditioning. It was intended to make his body sexually responsive to his husband’s touch, so it must also be generating sexual desire for him as well. If so, then Albedo was right about it being cruel. It’s downright sadistic that he should have to long for Rex Lapis to fuck him, even though they’re estranged and he has been sent away, like a lame horse being put out to pasture. He should talk to Albedo about breaking the conditioning. Maybe then he’ll be able to move on with cobbling together some semblance of a life for himself.

He is still wrapped up in these meditations that afternoon, when the royal party walk over to the massive statue of Barbatos, where there is a huge crowd gathered, facing a simple barstool, which is the only accoutrement Venti requires for his performance. Most famous bard in Teyvat or no, it had struck Aether as odd that he was considered so vital to the Windblume Festival that Mondstadt’s king would send a detachment of Knights to retrieve him. Apparently, however, Venti is a true bard, in that he is the person in sole possession of all the ancient songs and lore of this nation, the reciting of which turns out be one of the chief delights of the occasion.

Holding a half-drunk throng of Mondstadt provincials spellbound for an extended length of time is no mean feat, but Venti carries it off with ease. He performs a full two hours without a break, and his voice never wavers, nor does he miss a single note. Aether has never heard any music so lovely and heart-stirring, even in Celestia. To those who listen, it seems that as the bard sings, the characters from the tale come to life in the mind’s eye, and they see the scenes of glory and tragedy played out before them, in vivid, living color.

When the tales are done for the evening, the children and elderly mostly head home, and the younger adults flock back to the taverns, to enjoy the apple-blossom cider while they may, and perhaps hear another tune or two, if the bard is plied with enough drink. Lady Barbara goes to the cathedral, as she has an early service to prepare for, and Venti is already off somewhere absorbing free booze like a little green sponge, so Aether is left alone with King Diluc, for the moment.

When her carriage is out of sight, Diluc removes Lady Barbara’s crown of white Cecilias from his head and tosses it to a passing lady, who nearly faints with delight at the honor of receiving the king’s wreath, and has to be supported as she walks away by her quietly annoyed husband, who clearly thinks her adoration for the young, handsome monarch is a touch excessive.

“Is that a custom of the festival?” Aether asks. “Should I give mine away, as well?”

“Giving of all manner of gifts, to friends and acquaintances, as well as strangers, is the custom of the festival,” King Diluc answers, with a patient sigh, as if he is repeating commonly known information to an inattentive child.

“Excuse me, your highness,” Aether retorts. “I’m not from this world and I’ve only been here two years. I don’t know every little thing about everything yet.”

The young king sighs again. “Pardon my weariness. It has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re kind of making it have something to do with me, by being rude.”

The scarlet eyes blink beneath their heavy curtain of bangs. “I…have never been called rude, before.”

“Maybe not to your face,” Aether shrugs.

“Listen to me, Prince Aether,” King Diluc replies tersely. “I am sovereign, here, and I will not be spoken to disrespectfully by you. Your husband is the High King. That does not make me your subject, it makes me his. I will do my duty by him and look after you until he allows you to return, but I have many of my own troubles to deal with, and I am less than pleased at being used as a warden to confine his wayward, teenaged consort.”

Aether’s neck and ears flush hot with indignation, but he stays the sharp retort on his tongue. He is more than a match for this young man, when it comes to verbal sparring, but he’s also learned to master the boyish compulsion to hit back directly when hit.

“A walled city is the proper setting for a prison, I suppose,” he replies obliquely, which remark has the intended effect, and disbalances his opponent, who can’t tell if he’s being self-deprecating or insulting. While King Diluc is still reeling, Aether delivers his follow-up jab. “Most prisons are of our own creation, though, don’t you think?”

“What’s all this about prison?” Kaeya breaks in, as he comes sauntering up. “Whatever it was, I didn’t do it, and I can produce witnesses to confirm my alibi.”

“Good evening, Captain Alberich,” King Diluc says stiffly.

Kaeya arches an eyebrow. “Is it a good evening, highness? That isn’t what the looks on your faces say. If I was a random stranger passing by, I’d almost be inclined to think you two weren’t very fond of one another.”

“King Diluc is weary,” Aether informs him. “I think for courtesy’s sake I will bid him goodnight, now, so that he may take some well-earned rest.”

“Ah, I see. In that case, you should come along with me. I was just out for a stroll in this pleasant weather.”

The sky was clear and blue all day, and the mountain winds were high. As a result, the evening is dry and windy, and cold enough so that their breath crystallizes in the air. In spite of the frigid temperatures of Mondstadt springtime, Kaeya is wearing his customary ensemble, with no coat or extra layers, and he appears to be as perfectly comfortable as Aether is.

“Then I leave the prince in your charge, captain,” the king says, drawing his overcoat closer around his body against an icy gust. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

“Goodnight, my lord king,” Kaeya replies, then he and Aether bow as the king turns on his heel and walks briskly away toward the palace. “Well, that takes care of him. I wasn’t really out for a walk. I was…having a friendly chat with a young lady in the alley across the way, but I saw you in need of rescuing, and came to offer you my aid.”

“Thank you for that,” Aether says sincerely, as the two begin to stroll along, around the half-circle perimeter of the vast courtyard that adjoins the royal property, the cathedral, and the Barbatos monument and makes them all part of the single uppermost tier of the city. “To tell you the truth, the king and I have not been getting on very smoothly. I don’t think we have particularly compatible personalities.”

“That’s not your fault, his personality isn’t particularly compatible with anyone’s,” Kaeya answers breezily.

“What about Lady Barbara?”

Kaeya laughs aloud at this. “Ah, Lady Barbara. I would almost pity the girl, if she deserved any pity.”

“What do you mean?” Aether frowns.

“I mean that she’s a pampered, privileged infant, who thinks duty means taking the path of least resistance to whatever her family expects of her. If she was half the woman her sister is…but, no. I’m spewing venom unjustly. You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve had quite a bit to drink.”

Kaeya doesn’t seem the least bit intoxicated to Aether, but there’s no point in destroying a man’s social escape-route when he’s embarrassed himself by being too honest, so he lets it pass. “Is Acting Grand Master Jean her sister? They look alike, but no one has mentioned any connection between them.”

“Indeed, she is. But Lady Barbara’s father defected from the Gunnhildr Clan fold some years back, and took his younger daughter with him. He’s a man of the cloth, and Barbara was already in training to become the deaconess, so it made sense from that perspective. As a result, the girls live and work in close proximity to one another, and yet they are near-strangers.”

“Does anyone in Mondstadt not have some horribly sad family history, or life-altering tragedy in their past?”

Kaeya bites his lip thoughtfully. “Mmm. Not that I can think of. Maybe there should be a festival dedicated to tragic backstories.”

“Speaking of backstories, what’s Venti’s? He seems to be personally friendly with nearly everyone in Teyvat, and as universally adored in Mondstadt as the royal couple, if not more so, but I know absolutely nothing about him or his family. I don’t even know where he lives.”

“Come to think of it, I’m not really sure where he lives, either. He’s at the winery quite often,” Kaeya muses. “He’s always amenable to free food and wine and usually stays the night, when he visits. He’s from Mondstadt, but as far as I know, he’s never mentioned any family. I assume they’ve all passed on and he prefers not to talk about it.”

“I wonder if that’s the case. He’s always so upbeat and optimistic, but none of his songs are like that. They’re all bittersweet and elegiac. Every single one of them makes me cry, if I listen too carefully. So…maybe he puts all his grief into the music, so he can just enjoy his life when he’s not playing.”

“You know, I rather like that theory. I think I’ll choose to believe that, from now on. Seems so fitting.”

There is a sudden stir across the courtyard, and Kaeya and Aether both turn to see what the matter is. A group of green-clad Adventurer’s Guild men are hurrying up the broad, stone steps toward the cathedral, calling out to the guards to open the door. One appears to be carrying an unconscious person, and another is helping a wounded member of their order limp along after them. Aether looks up at Kaeya, whose face has drained of color.

“Benny,” he breathes, and dashes off toward the scene of the commotion.

Aether follows him, and as they draw near, he can see that the person being carried is an unconscious teenaged boy, with blood matted into his snow-white hair. The man carrying him is openly weeping, and the others look to be on the verge of doing so. The guards have already thrown open the cathedral doors and are shouting to the sisters to get the deaconess immediately. Kaeya runs ahead and lays out his own cloak on the floor of the cathedral, then helps the man gently lower the bleeding boy onto it. The man’s green vest and white tunic are soaked with blood, and he is near hysterics, as his cohorts walk him off a little way and make him sit in a pew.

“What the hell happened, Royce!” Kaeya demands, as the limping adventurer and his helper catch up.

Aether has never seen the young captain angry like this, before. He is literally a different person. His bearing is suddenly authoritative and imposing, and his blue eye is alight with cold fire. Any man who is not a fool would see that there is death in that gaze.

“Abyss…Abyss Order,” the wounded man pants. “They were in the—”

“You Adventurers have been warned explicitly and repeatedly, to never, ever to take them on yourselves, regardless of the circumstances. You are to retreat and inform the Knights, immediately. Explain to me why you disobeyed me!”

“Please, Captain Alberich, I swear I’d never disobey you,” Royce implores. “The thing ambushed us, sir. We didn’t have a chance to retreat. Poor Benny. Please, don’t let him die, my lady.”

This last bit is spoken to Lady Barbara, who has come hurrying out, for what reason Aether still has not gathered. Shouldn’t the boy be at the hospital?

“I’ll do my best, Royce,” Lady Barbara replies calmly. “Everyone, please back away and give me some space, so I can examine him and begin treatment.”

“Where did they ambush you?” Kaeya asks Royce.

“Just outside Wolvendom, sir. We were coming down from—”

“There are no Abyss Mages in Wolvendom,” Kaeya cuts him off impatiently. “They don’t dare come so close to Andrius and his pack.”

“It—it wasn’t a mage, sir. It was like…nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“Then describe it!”

“It was big. Man shaped, but at least eight feet tall, and it was floating three feet above the ground. It was all covered in armor head to toe, and it had a black helmet like a deer skull. And this huge, spiky halo thing behind its head, with red jewels on it.”

“Lector,” Aether says, with a chill of horror, as he and Kaeya look at one another. “What is an Abyss Lector doing here in Mondstadt.”

Kaeya’s lip curls to bare his sharp teeth. “Getting gutted and displayed above my mantel, is what. How dare it set foot in my—”

“Lady Barbara, stop!” Aether shouts, giving Kaeya and the others a start. “Stop, it’ll kill you! Get away from him!”

The lady has been using her hydro vision to apply healing to the wounded boy, but suddenly, thick tendrils of hideous, black vapor have begun to curl out from the boy’s wounds, tinting the healing water black wherever they come in contact with it. She looks up, frowning, to see what the prince could mean by this, but he has already leapt to her aid and is dragging her bodily away from her charge. As he is wrenching her free of contact with her patient, the spell explodes, splashing inky water all over the white tiles and her white frock, and the lady collapses, insensate.

“Kaeya, get everyone out of here, now!” Aether commands, in no uncertain terms. “His wounds are abyss tainted. The miasma will kill everyone without a vision, and I won’t be able to help them fast enough!”

Kaeya hesitates for a split-second, then shouts to the others that they heard the prince and had better make a run for it. The Adventurers help Royce, and Kaeya lifts Lady Barbara in his arms and carries her away after the retreating group. As the door booms shut behind them, Aether quickly assesses the boy’s wounds. They are deep, ragged punctures, randomly distributed across his torso, like the wounds Abyss Lectors are prone to leaving, with a sort of mystical projectile-mine they use, that explodes and throws abyss-energy shrapnel. It’s strange that a Lector would use one of these when ambushing people unawares, though. They almost exclusively use them as last-ditch distractions, while making a hasty escape.

Aether is already dizzy from being in such close proximity to this much abyssal energy, and he has to pause to breathe through a wave of nausea. He has done this type of purification before, but Xiao’s karmic debt is earthbound evil, not abyssal, and the amount of abyssal energy Scaramouche had on his tainted knives was miniscule, compared to multiple projectiles made of the stuff, and left to dissolve in the wounds. There is a hundred times that amount here, at least. Aether knows he is seriously in over his head this time, but this boy is dying, so he has no choice but to try.

“Alright, Barbatos,” he mutters. “I could really use a hand, so if you’re still out there, anywhere, now would be a good time for a miracle.”

As he lays his hands on the wounds, he gives a jolt at a sudden touch, and turns his head to see Venti, who has appeared from thin air, and is kneeling beside him, with his hand on Aether’s shoulder. Barbatos unveiled, would be the more accurate description, but they can talk about that later. Venti nods encouragingly and Aether begins his chant. The white light flares up under his hands, and the abyssal filth begins to pour out of wounds, thick and viscous, like sickening black tar, only it floats upward and pools in the air above them, rather than oozing onto the floor. Aether’s strength is rapidly depleted, but he can feel power flowing steadily into him from the bard’s hand. As the last of the abyssal poison is drained, Venti sends a surge of power, effectively overloading Aether’s purifying aura, which flashes out blinding white, like a slow-motion lighting strike, and burns away all the black sludge in an instant.  

Unfortunately, with the wounds purified, they are now bleeding profusely. Despite the miracle they have performed, the boy will be dead in moments. Aether moves to run for Barbara, but Venti holds him fast, and points at the boy. Aether looks down to see the ruby-red gem of his pyro vision blazing brightly on his hip, where he wears it hanging from a belt. Aether looks on in silent awe, as the thing glows brighter and brighter, and the wounds close and cauterize themselves. When they are all healed, the light fades and the vision returns to its inert state. The boy is still unconscious, but he is no longer bleeding, the sickly grey cast has left his skin, and he is breathing normally.

“What the hell, Venti, you’re Barbatos?!” Aether exclaims under his breath.

“Of course I am,” Venti laughs, then he looks confused. “Wait. You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed you knew. I mean, you’re married to Morax, so…”

“I had no idea. He never tells me anything, though, so whatever. Thank you for helping me. There’s no way I could’ve handled this alone.”

“Bennett is one of my people. I couldn’t stand by and let him die. I can’t do the Celestial purifying thing, though, so it’s a good thing you were here.”

“I guess he’s a pretty lucky kid. You better make yourself scarce, before they come back and wonder what you’re doing in here. But I have about a thousand questions for you, so please don’t leave Mondstadt yet, ok?”

“I won’t,” Venti answers cheerfully. “I have to be here till the end of my festival, at least. Oh, and no one knows who I am, obviously, so don’t spill the beans. See you later!”

With that, he vanishes in a gust of wind, just in time for Kaeya to miss him, as he pops his head in to assess the situation. Aether waves him over and describes what happened with the vision and the wounds after the abyss energy was purged.

“Have you ever seen a pyro vision heal someone like that?” he asks.

Kaeya shakes his head. “Never. I didn’t know visions could self-activate, either. Sounds like you weren’t the only one involved in this little miracle.”

“I guess not. How’s Barbara?”

“She’ll be fine. Couple of the sisters are walking her home. There was some feedback when she hit the abyssal stuff with her hydro, and it knocked her out.”

“What about the other guy? The one who was with Bennett.”

“Sprained ankle and some minor bruising. I also got some of the real story out of him, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I was, actually. How did you know?”

“If you know what a Lector is, then you know how they operate, and hanging around ambushing small-fry civilians isn’t it.”

Aether nods. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Also, why did it use a mine when it didn’t have to?”

“From what I can piece together, it sounds like they stumbled on it and it panicked. Probably cast the mine before it had a chance to think.”

“If that’s the case, something already had it keyed up and on edge. They’re not exactly twitchy.”

“You never find them so close to densely populated human settlements, either, and especially not anywhere near Andrius’ territory. That’s quite a bit of abnormal behavior at once.”

“Which means…”

“Which means there’s something bigger going on, and the Investigation Team will likely have to work around the clock till we get to the bottom of it.”

“Why do you sound so happy about that?”

“Highness, do you have any idea how boring this place is? Nothing but hilichurls and bandit camps, and the occasional Abyss Mage. I’m just happy to have something to do, for once.”

Aether arches an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like having to do things.”

“Royce!” the hitherto unconscious boy gasps just then, sitting bolt upright in a panic. “Royce, is he ok? Where is he?”

“Easy there, Benny,” Kaeya soothes. “You’re safe. Royce is fine. Turned his ankle and got a bump on the head, but that’s all.”

“Oh. Ok. Good,” Bennett pants, blinking around as if he’s not quite sure where he is. “I thought…I thought we were dead for sure, this time.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Kaeya asks, at which Bennett nods. Kaeya rubs the bridge of his nose as if he has a headache coming on. “I mean, would you please tell us what happened.”

“Right. Sorry, sir. I was coming back down from bringing Razor a Windblume gift in Wolvendom, and I ran into Royce, so I said I’d walk back with him. I wanted to take the road, but he—I mean…we both wanted to cut through the woods. Cause it’s shorter. Then we stopped to pick some mushrooms for Royce’s girl, and then…what happened then…” Bennet trails off, frowning as he tries to recall the events of the evening.

“Nevermind all of that,” Kaeya says patiently. “Just tell us about how you got ambushed by the Abyss Lector.”

“Oh, the giant knight with the red cape and the black skull helmet thing? I didn’t know that’s what it was.” Bennet looks uncomfortable and reaches down to fidget with his bootlace. “Uh. Maybe it ambushed us. Is that what Royce said? He might remember better than me.”

“Don’t worry about what Royce remembers. I want to hear what you remember.”

“Well…it’s gonna sound super weird. And I don’t want to say anything that might get anyone in trouble with the Knights or the Adventurers.”

“Benny, it’s me,” Kaeya reassures him. “You know I’m not looking to get anyone in trouble. We just need to know all the details, so we can figure out what that very dangerous thing is doing here.”

“Ok, but I’m only telling you because I trust you. And whoever this guy is, I guess.” Bennett takes a deep breath and lets it out. “So, Royce was behind me a little ways, picking mushrooms. I stepped out into that clearing with the lampgrass, by the bottom of the hill, and almost smacked right into the huge knight thing. And I jumped back and it jumped back and we were both like ‘Aaah!’ Cause we startled each other. I didn’t know what to do, then, because we’re not supposed to engage with Abyss Order at all, so I was trying to think how to get away. While I was doing that, it said ‘Hey, you’re just a kid. You seriously scared me, for a minute.’ I told it I’m not a kid, I’m seventeen. It laughed like that was a good joke and then it said I better get out of there, because—something. It didn’t finish what it was saying, because Royce came crashing out of the trees, hollering and waving his sword around, and it jumped away through like…a black and purple kind of hole in the air? I don’t know what that was, but it left that thing behind that exploded. That’s all I remember.”

“Well, this certainly makes a lot more sense than Royce’s version,” Kaeya remarks aridly.

“Hold on a second,” Aether frowns. “If Royce charged at the Lector, and it was retreating from him, how did you catch all the shrapnel from its mine and he didn’t take any?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bennett says sheepishly, looking at his bootlace again. “I—I’m just super unlucky. Ask Captain Kaeya, stuff like that happens to me all the time.”

“You stupid fucking kid!” Kaeya says, half angrily and half overcome with emotion, as he seizes Bennett in a crushing embrace. “Don’t you ever do something like that again, you idiot. Don’t you dare sacrifice yourself for a piece of shit like Royce. You hear me? You’re worth a hundred goddamn Royces!”

“B—but captain, if I let someone get hurt, and I could’ve saved them—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kaeya sniffles, squeezing him tighter. “I’m so proud of you and furious with you right now, I don’t even know what to do. Slap the shit out of you and buy you some ice cream, I guess.”

“Wow, Captain Kaeya does have a heart after all,” Aether smirks. “Who knew.”

“You breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll cut your fucking throat,” Kaeya fires back, pointing a finger at Aether, while still hugging the increasingly confused Bennett. “I swear I’ll do it. Uh. Your highness.”

Aether rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’re all talk, Alberich, you big marshmallow.”

“Highness?” Bennett asks, bewildered. “Who…who are you?”

“This is Prince Aether, the Dragon King’s husband,” Kaeya answers, releasing the boy and dabbing up the tears that have rolled down the cheek without the eyepatch. “He’s staying here in Mondstadt for a while and he saved your life. You should probably thank him.”

“Oh, I didn’t—I just purged the abyssal poison,” Aether says modestly. “Your pyro vision healed up the wounds. That was really amazing.”

Bennett is staring wide-eyed at Aether, with his mouth agape, trying to figure out which of these things to respond to first, when the cathedral door bangs open and the group of green-clad men from the Adventurers Guild come pouring in, apparently having grown too impatient for news of the boy to wait any longer.

“Benny!” the one with the blood all over his shirt calls out, bursting into tears again. “My Benny boy, I thought we lost you!”

“Dads!” Bennett shouts, leaping to his feet and running to embrace them.

The whole group has many hearty handshakes and back-slaps and effusive expressions of thanks for the young prince, who begins to feel as if he has saved the life of the most beloved human being in Mondstadt. Whatever he is to Mondstadt at large, Bennett certainly is the most beloved human being to all these old men, and thus the Dragon Prince (as they persist in calling him) has secured his status as their eternal hero. When Kaeya walks him back to the palace, Aether is swaying and stumbling from fatigue, having been severely drained by the purification, despite Venti’s large contribution. But the young cavalry captain gives him his arm and steadies him on his feet, and deposits him safely in his chambers in the care of Madame Ping, before he departs to continue his long, solitary night, silently stalking his quarry in the ink-black shadows, beneath the heavy tree canopy at the edge of Wolvendom.

Chapter Text

He is standing at the bottom of a low hill, this time, amidst long, yellow grasses and orange flowers. Behind him, there is a village. Rustic, but homelike and tidy. The thatch-roofed houses are painted cheerful colors and there are clay pots of flowers outside some. All along the low, wooden fence that marks its boundary, people from the village are standing. Simple, peasant people in fieldworkers’ and farmers’ garb. A few have short, iron swords, but all have something in hand, be it scythes, spades, or even pitchforks.

He turns again to look before him, where lies a deep valley between mountain peaks, with a narrow river at the bottom. Surging up the valley toward the village is an ocean of horror. A roiling, black mass comprised of coagulated hatred, vomited up from earth in the form of thousands of unclean spirits—beings of mindless malice, with no purpose but to consume and destroy all in their path. A cacophony of sickening voices, howling and shrieking in a frenzy of bloodthirst, precedes them, echoing through the valley, to shake the courage and weaken the hearts of mortals. 

But the villagers are not looking at the demonic horde. Their eyes are turned upward, to their god, who stands alone between them and death. His figure is like that of a man, in hooded white robes, only he stands nearly ten feet in height, and there are forked, golden horns on his head. The people are murmuring his name in reverence and supplication.  

Morax raises his hands, palm upward, as if he is physically lifting something. The earth rumbles and shakes as a towering wall of basalt pillars, at least fifty feet high and hundreds long, bursts up from the ground behind him, between himself and the little human village. The geometric lines on his black arms blaze with golden fire, as he spreads them wide, rising higher into the air. The sky darkens. Aether looks up, to see a void-like vortex opening high above, like the one Rex Lapis descended through on their wedding day.

From this rent in reality, colossal spears of stone emerge, each one a mountain unto itself, and come screaming down from the sky, igniting in the atmosphere from the sheer force of their speed and mass. The cataclysmic impacts quake and rend the earth, as annihilation rains down upon the demonic horde. The humans and their little village are shielded from the shockwave and the deadly pyroclastic blast by the basalt cliffs Morax raised around them. The ground bucks and shudders, and then all at once, the world is quiet. The shrieking howls of the demons are gone, and only the soft voice of the river, and the wind whispering through the long grasses, can be heard.

As the black smoke clears and the dust begins to settle, Aether can see that the valley is now filled with strange land formations, like gigantic stone towers. He smiles as he suddenly recognizes the karsts of the Huaguang Stone Forest, where he has often been with Xiao. He can even see the fissure in the earth that the river is now flowing into, which will be eroded into the wider riverbed one day. Now he understands the source of this dream, at least.

His enemies vanquished, the God of Stone descends from the sky, diminishing to his more human proportions as he does so. When he alights on the rocky riverbank, he takes a few unsteady steps, then staggers and falls to the ground, where he lies like a dead thing.

“Morax!” Aether cries out, dashing to his side. The young deity is far heavier than he should be for his size, but Aether manages to roll him over onto his back, and sits supporting his head in his lap, as he shakes him and pats his wax-white face. “Morax, come on. Please, wake up.”

After a tense moment, his long, amber eyes blink heavily open, and he looks up at Aether. “Did my…did my people see me fall?”

Aether shakes his head. “They’re all behind the wall you put up around the village.”

“That is well,” he murmurs. “They should not see me like this. They will be afraid.”

“What’s wrong? Is there some way I can help you?”

“It is nothing. I am weary. I must rest and regenerate.”

“Really?” Aether frowns. “I didn’t know this kind of happened to you. I thought you were too powerful.”

“This was one among many such attacks, all over my land, this day,” Morax returns, almost petulantly. “You try generating hundreds of giant stone spears to crush hordes of demons, as well as dozens of shields to protect your people and their homes, then see if you are not also fatigued.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to doubt your power,” Aether laughs. “I did see the giant spears. That was impressive.”

“I am…very impressive,” Morax mumbles, as his amber eyes droop closed. Then they blink open again. “Will you stay with me, Aether of Celestia? For a little while?”

“Of course. I don’t really have anywhere else to be.”

“Because you are my daemon.”

“Um…sure, ok.”

“But why have you neglected me? I have not seen you in two-hundred and seven years.”

“Two-hundred and seven years? Really?”

“I admit that it is not an excessively long time, but I thought a daemon would be with me far more often. Unless you did not think I was in need of guidance.”

Aether can’t help smiling as he gazes down at him, studying the face he knows so well, which is materially the same as the real one, and yet still seems indefinably younger. This man’s hair is longer than his husband wears his, too, but it’s pretty much the same style—tapered and shaggy, and hanging partially over his eyes. Aether smooths it gently back from his forehead. Morax responds by reaching up a golden hand to touch Aether’s cheek with his fingertips.

“I have never seen a face like yours, Aether of Celestia,” he says softly.

Aether blushes and looks away to conceal it. “Have you seen a lot of Celestials?”

“Yes. I have been often in Celestia. You are unlike its people. They are tall and exceedingly graceful.”

“Hey!”

“They are picturesque and cold, like statues, rather than living things. You are warm, like sunlight. And small and bright, like Osmanthus flowers.”

Aether squints doubtfully. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I feel…I feel as I did when we met before. As if we are connected in some significant way. But if you know it, you will not tell me what it is.”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“What do you wish to ta—” Morax breaks off with a sharply indrawn breath.

In carding through his hair, Aether’s fingers have brushed over one of his forked, golden horns. He gets the distinct impression this was not a negative reaction, so he tries it again. Morax’s eyes flutter shut and his lips part.

“You like to be petted, huh?” Aether laughs, running his fingertips along the smooth, hard surface of the horn, from the base to where it splits.

“No one has…ever dared to touch me this way,” Morax answers breathlessly, which Aether would not have believed him capable of doing till this moment.

“Not a lot of people have dared to touch you at all, have they.”

“No. Why would anyone do something so foolish?”

“I mean. I did, and I survived.”

“You are different. You may touch me.” Aether laughs again at this, and Morax opens his eyes. “Why do you laugh so often at what I say, when I do not speak in jest?”

“I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just that, for something so powerful and scary, you’re very adorable.”

Morax narrows his amber eyes fiercely. “I do not like to be called adorable. But…I do like to be petted, so I am at your mercy, for the moment. What do you wish to talk about?”

“Hm…oh! There’s something I’ve been wondering. Are you a dragon who can turn into a man, or a man who can turn into a dragon?”

“That is an absurd idea, Aether of Celestia. When you change your raiment, do you become one or another of the garments you wear? Are you trousers or a tunic?”

“I see. So, neither is more true. You appear as a dragon or a man, depending on the circumstance.”

“This body is a vessel I created, as is the other. I inhabit them, but I am not bound to this plane by them, as human and Celestial bodies bind their spirits to material existence.”

“What would happen if one of your bodies was destroyed while you were in it?”

“It would take a great concentration of power to do so, and the effort would be wasted. I would simply make a new one.”

This must be what Scaramouche meant when he said the Signora was not a threat to Rex Lapis, due to him being a different kind of god. “Wait, so what happens when the bodies of elemental gods are destroyed?”

“If they are very strong, they may retain their will, and live on in some diminished form. For the most part, their will is dispersed and their power flows back into this world. Each one that I have slain has increased my power by a small degree.”

“Each one that you have—what do you mean, are the gods at war with each other?”

“They are at war with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I am the God of War.”

Aether purses his lips. “If you’re going to answer me with tautologies, I’m going to stop petting you.”

“But that is truly the reason,” Morax contends. “I will explain. My world was in chaos, each human tribe serving different petty gods, and constantly at risk of incurring the wrath of others, because there were so many conflicting wills imposed upon them. These petty gods have provenance over things such as fair weather and abundant harvests, but most have not the power to protect their followers from evil gods, who have grown strong by the blood of human sacrifice. The people cried out for a conqueror, with the strength to quell the chaos and establish order, and I have answered their call.”

“So, you’re the God of War because your people wanted a warrior god to destroy their enemies?”

“Yes. And as my power grows, they turn ever more to me and abandon their old gods. Soon, this world will be entirely under my rule.”

“A homogenous autocracy, just like in Celestia.”

“The two are not alike. Celestia is much older and has had time to form complex social and political structures. Teyvat is young, and its elemental gods are simple creatures. They respect only power, and must be dominated, or they will be belligerent and intractable. I am the most powerful, and thus I shall prevail.”

“So, what…you’re just going to slaughter all the other gods until you’re the only one?”

“That will be unnecessary. They are primitive, but for the most part they are not fools. The strongest and most ambitious among them will soon seek to put down the others, and bring large areas under their own control. Then they will supplicate to serve as vassal rulers, under my rule, and swear fealty to me.”

“And then what?”

“And then my world will have order.”

“You keep saying your world. What does that mean?”

“I mean that it is mine.”

“What did I just say about tautologies.”

“If the answer is unsatisfactory, then I am afraid I do not understand the question.”

“You’re really difficult when you want to be,” Aether grumbles. “Are you feeling better, yet? This is not a very comfortable place to sit.”

“I have felt quite well for some time. But I did not want you to stop touching me.”

“So, you’re making me sit here bruising my ass on river rocks, because you want to be petted like a cat.”

“Of course not. Cats do not have horns.”

Aether looks up, hearing voices echoing from the direction of the village, where he can see some men with torches, emerging from behind the basalt wall. “Should we go? They’re coming this way.”

“They will not recognize me. Not unless I reveal myself intentionally.”

He looks down at Morax, whose horns have vanished, and his sleeveless, priestly garments have suddenly changed into a simple, dark brown, cross-collar tunic and grey trousers, such as the commoners wear, with black gloves concealing his glowing golden hands. He is still taller and more beautiful than the humans, but there’s nothing inherently supernatural about that.

“Hello, over there!” one of the men calls out, in what sounds like a rural version of the Liyue dialect Aether knows. “Do you need help, ma’am? Is your husband injured?”

Morax laughs at Aether’s annoyed sigh as he helps him to his feet. As the men come hurrying up, the torchlight falls upon the two strangers, and they observe Aether’s fine clothing.

“I beg your pardon, young master,” the lead man says, bowing in greeting. “Has your servant been injured?”

“No, but thank you for your concern. He was overcome by exhaustion. He’ll be fine,” Aether answers, at which the men look bewildered and mutter amongst themselves.

“Please, pardon my master’s strange accent,” Morax says, stepping forward and bowing. “He is an outlander, visiting from afar.”

“Ah, I see,” the lead man nods. “Well, I ain’t gonna sugarcoat it, you picked a bad time to come here, with all the trouble lately. Wherever you’re headed, you won’t do yourself no good pushin’ on through these hills, till it’s light. There’s blind ravines and all kinda pitfalls and hazards. I’m Jianguo, the village elder. Head up to the square and my wife Huifang will see to puttin’ you up for the night. We’re off to search for any others injured or as needs help.”

“Thank you, sir,” Morax says, with another bow.

With that, the men troop off with their torches, leaving Aether and their god, who they have taken for a servant, to themselves. Morax turns to walk up the hill, and Aether follows him eagerly. He’s extremely curious to see him interact with his people, in disguise. This hadn’t occurred to him as a thing he could do, or would have any reason to do. He wonders if it’s something Rex Lapis actually does or ever did, seeing as this entire scenario is a product of his own fancy, and not necessarily an accurate representation of his husband’s younger self.

Up in the village, the lanterns have all been lit, and the people are bustling about in a purposeful fashion, each apparently having tasks in hand, and seeming to be working toward a communal goal, like bees in a hive. The eruption of the basalt cliff has showered much of the lower part of town with rubble, including large stones and uprooted shrubs, and huge clods of dirt, bound together by grassroots. A group of young men and hardy-looking older ones are at work, some on the roofs of the houses, tossing down the debris, while others break up the larger clods, and still others shovel the loose dirt and small debris into carts. Children are following after them with straw brooms, sweeping away the remnants.

In roughly the center of the village, which must be the square Jianguo mentioned, a buxom woman, with rosy cheeks and a blue headscarf wound around her salt and pepper hair, is tending to people who have what look like minor injuries. Some women are carrying huge pots of water and baskets of vegetables and other foodstuffs toward the long, iron spits over communal cooking fires, and others are setting clay bowls on the gathered bamboo tables. Aether and Morax approach the woman with the blue headdress, as she appears to be the chief person.

“Good evening, ma’am. You must be Huifang,” Morax says, bowing courteously.

“I am and that means Jianguo found you and sent you up,” the woman says briskly, continuing to wrap a linen bandage around a boy’s wrist. “What are your names, travelers?”

“I am called Li, and this is my master. He is an outlander.”

“I can see that for myself,” she observes, casting a sidelong glance at Aether. “Outlander or no, we welcome all as are honest and don’t mind puttin’ in their fair share of the work.”

“Look at his yellow hair, jipo,” the injured boy interjects, speaking to the woman. “I never seen hair like that before.”

“Don’t be rude, Yan,” she admonishes. “You’re all done. Run along to your ma. And mind you don’t have another spill on your way! Well, young master, I can find you a room for tonight, but like as not your man’ll have to sleep there with you. Most are full up with folks from the houses that got the worst of it.”

“Thank you very much, ma’am,” Aether answers with a bow. “What can we do to help?”

“You look big and strong enough, Mr. Li. You can go and ask my son Jianfang about helpin’ out down by the wall.” Morax bows again and departs, while Huifang eyes Aether doubtfully. “Young master…I ain’t rightly sure what you can do, what with your fancy clothes and all.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that. I see that you have a lot of injured. I do have experience field-dressing wounds, if that would be useful.”

“Ah, now I understand the getup,” she says, relaxing considerably. “You’re a military man. Well, if you don’t mind gettin’ your hands dirty, I could surely use another pair.”

“Are these all the people who are still untreated?” Aether asks, referring to the waiting dozen or so, who are mostly seated on the ground or leaning on a rough-hewn wood fence. 

“These are it. None seriously hurt. Lot of the young men and children were right near where the wall went up, and these here took a tumble gettin’ out of the way, or caught some of the flyin’ stones.”

“I’m glad no one was badly injured,” Aether says, as he looks over the supplies on her bamboo table. “Do you happen to have any qingxin handy?”

Huifang squints. “Qingxin? The tea maker likely has it, but whatever for?”

“My physician taught me to make a poultice of it to reduce swelling and pain in minor injuries. I think it might help.”

“That a fact. If you say so, I’m sure it won’t hurt to try. I can have one of the girls run and ask for some. Anything else?”

“A mortar and pestle. Otherwise, just boiled water and clean linen, which you have plenty of, here.”

Huifang calls to one of the girls who is helping by the cooking pots, and sends her off after the specified herb. She scurries away, and within five minutes, comes back in the company of the tea maker, an elderly gentleman with snow-white hair, who is carrying a bulky, reed basket with a lid. Both the tea maker and Huifang watch curiously as Aether grinds batches of the dried flowers into a powder, which are mixed with the boiled water in a big kettle, to form a loose paste. The water is warm, but not hot, which he explains is vital to the process, since the flowers need heat to properly infuse, but they don’t want to burn their patients. After a few minutes, a handful of the strips of clean linen go in to soak up the paste, and Huifang beckons the next patient over.

“Hello, young lady,” Aether smiles, to the tiny, black-haired girl who sits on the chair. “What seems to be the trouble?”

The girl stares up at him with her huge, brown eyes.

“He means where’re you hurt, Fen,” Huifang prompts.

Pulling up the hem of her skirt, she reveals two very badly scraped knees, one of which has bled down her leg, and both of which are already coloring with bruises.

“Wow, real battle scars,” Aether says, as he kneels down to bathe the wounds. “Were you out there fighting the bad guys with Morax?”

Fen shakes her head, still staring at him, wide-eyed. When the abrasions are clean, he places qingxin bandages on them, and wraps those up in dry ones, snugly enough to stay on, without hampering her walking too much. Huifang sends her off with a grandmotherly admonition to be more careful, and the next patient comes up.

Between Huifang, Aether, and the tea maker, who has been recruited as another nurse, they have the remainder of the injured taken care of within an hour. By this time, word of their new poultice, which has been relieving pain almost miraculously, has spread about the village, and some of those previously treated by Huifang are coming back to see if they can have it, too. They are just finishing the last of the second round, when a group of dusty, sweaty men (and Morax, who is neither dusty nor sweaty) come up from the work near the wall.

“I never seen anyone carryin’ rocks that big,” one of them is exalting, as the young men seat themselves at the bamboo tables nearby. “You ever think of gettin’ into the mining business, Mr. Li? You’d make a fortune.”

“I am very interested in ores and gemstones,” Morax replies thoughtfully. “Perhaps I will look into it. Excuse me, please. I must go and tend to my master.”

“Thanks again for your help, Mr. Li!” the man calls after him.

“You’re welcome here, any time!” adds another.

“Looks like you’ve made yourself pretty popular,” Aether observes, as Morax comes over to join him.

“Not so much as you,” Morax returns. “The men have all been abuzz about the yellow-haired outlander, performing healing miracles in the square.”

“Well, you’ve definitely captured the female vote. The young ladies by the cooking pots watched you all the way up the hill. They’re still gawking.”

“My human form is beautiful, Aether of Celestia, many women look at me,” Morax answers, in that innocently forthright way he has, which makes Aether laugh. “Have they not also been looking at you?”

“They have, but it seems to be because they’re interested in my hair as a curiosity. I think I’m too exotic-looking for them. Also, I’m pretty sure most of them still think I’m a girl.”

“You are correct about that. I have heard several of the people refer to you as such.”

“Well, they can think whatever they like. I don’t really care.”

“Evenin’, travelers,” a young lady says, as she trots up to meet them and bows. “We’ve got a room ready for you. I can take you there, now, if you’d like to wash up and rest before supper.”

Their guide introduces herself as Mei-Lin and chats exuberantly to them of the power and greatness of their god, in calling down the weapons of heaven to defeat the monsters, and his benevolence in raising the miraculous shield in defense of the village. She hopes his blessing will be upon her marriage day this coming autumn, and rejoices that her betrothed was not slain fighting demons, as some young men from other villages have been.

The house where they are to be lodged is one nearer the top of the hill, where the larger of the village dwellings are situated. Mei-Lin shows them to a room at the end of the long hallway, explaining that her parents are not in at the moment, but will be later. Then she lights the oil-burning lamp for them, informs them that supper will be in the square in about an hour, and hurries off, probably to see her betrothed.

The room is spare, but tidy, and contains a small futon on either side, as well as a large, wooden trunk that appears to serve as a tea table. Colorful woven rugs cover the clay-brick floor, and above the stand with the washbasin and pitcher, there is a window with dark blue shutters. Aether closes them when he has finished washing his hands and face, then stretches out on one of the futons.

“I’m becoming less and less convinced that these are regular dreams,” he says musingly. “I’ve never had a dream this long and coherent before. But what could they be? Some other kind of vivid, elaborate hallucinations? Am I having out of body experiences?”

“But your body is physically present,” Morax points out.

“So you say, but you’re part of the hallucination. Of course it seems physically present to—what are you doing? There are two futons in here, you know.”

“I want to lie on this one, with you.”

“You’re not really lying on it with me, so much as shoving me out of your way with your big body.”

“But your body is so small, that there is adequate room for us both,” Morax contests, encircling Aether with his arms. “You are very warm. And you smell like qingxin flowers.”

“I was using them to treat the wounded.”

“May I kiss you?”

Aether looks up into his otherworldly amber eyes and his pulse immediately quickens. “If you—if you want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” Aether nods. “Yes, please.”

His stomach flips and flutters, and his heart races wildly, as Morax’s lips push his apart, and their tongues caress one another. This kiss is much better than the one in that other dream, on the mountaintop. Morax appears to have learned to restrain himself and go slowly, and is now using his dexterous dragon tongue to absolutely devastating effect. Moreover, since this fictitious version of his husband does not terrify him the way his real-life husband does, Aether is able to lower his defenses and actually be fully present, to experience kissing him and touching his magnificent body.

All his very first impressions come rushing back. This really is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. Every single facet of him seems as if it was fashioned specifically to Aether’s aesthetic tastes. His long, amber eyes, with their distinctive epicanthus and almost serpentine shape, framed by sooty-black eyelashes. His fine, symmetrical features, youthful enough to avoid the roughness and ungainliness of adult male faces. His silky black hair with the touch of amber near the ends, his jet-black arms and glowing golden hands. His height and build, which are tall and athletic, without being either too willowy or too bulky.

His draconic characteristics in particular are extremely attractive to Aether, who does not have human hangups regarding non-human physicality. His horns are stunning, his tongue is breathtaking, and his cock is a work of art. Formidably sized, black and gold like the smooth hide on his legs, and especially tantalizing with Aether’s firsthand knowledge of exactly how its inhuman features feel inside him. Morax pulls Aether closer against him and the hard length of it digs into Aether’s hip through their clothing. Maybe not the real cock his body has been aching for, but this dream version will certainly do for now. He slides his hand down inside Morax’s trousers and wraps his fingers around the thick shaft. Immediately, Morax’s entire body goes rigid and he stops kissing him.

Aether draws back to look at him. “What’s the matter?”

“Please…do not touch me this way,” Morax says, in a taut, shaky voice.

Aether hastily withdraws his hand, flushing crimson with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I thought we were—I’m sorry.”

“You need not apologize. It would be the natural progression to this situation, only…I am not certain that I wish to give myself to you.”

This strikes Aether’s ears as an oddly juvenile way to refer to the sex act. And he looks and sounds almost frightened. But how could that be possible? How could this literal god be afraid of him? Then it dawns upon him. His husband is ancient. This version of him is very young, by the standards of whatever he is. He had never been kissed or even caressed affectionately, he’s certainly never had his cock touched. He’s afraid because he’s inexperienced and unsure of himself.

“I didn’t mean to push you, I just didn’t think about it,” Aether says apologetically. “I didn’t realize you were less experienced than me.”

Morax raises his black eyebrows. “Am I? Have you lain with many men?”

“I wouldn’t say many,” Aether replies, a touch defensively. “I’ve had a few lovers. What about you?”

“I have given neither my heart nor my body to another.”

“Well. The two don’t always go hand in hand. But I guess it is better that it be with someone you love.”

“May I ask you, when you are with a man, do you prefer to be receptive or penetrative?” Morax asks curiously.

“I’m only with men, and almost exclusively receptive.”

“Do you enjoy it? Is it not painful?”

“I enjoy it a lot. It kind of hurts, but if it’s done right, it’s not a bad hurt.”

“How does one do it right?”

“Are you…seriously asking?”

“I am simply interested in your experience. I am familiar with the mechanics, of course, and I have observed creatures of all species copulating many times. Humans seem to do little else, in winter. But I have not asked for their impressions, lest I terrify them and they take it as a divine edict regarding intercourse.”

Aether laughs aloud at the idea of the deity appearing to a couple for a post-coital interview. “I can definitely see why they’d be terrified, but would that divine edict thing really happen?”

“Almost certainly,” Morax says, with a sigh. “I have learned that I must speak sparingly to my people, and measure my words judiciously when I do. They cling to every syllable I utter. They memorize the most trivial things and transmit them to other humans, and then argue regarding what I meant. I always mean exactly as I say, so it is beyond redundant to split hairs in this manner, and yet they persist. I find it a peculiar impulse to desire one’s interpretation of a thing to be superior to another’s, when the two differ in no significant way.”

“Pretty human impulse, as far as I can tell. Much like their impulse to be fucking constantly.”

“You are not incorrect. They must take great pleasure in it, because they often choose mates of the same sex, despite the fact that they cannot produce offspring that way.”

“Can gods produce offspring by mating with the same sex?”

“We are not biological creatures like humans and Celestials. Sex is not inherent in our kinds, aside from being a physical expression of how we perceive ourselves. If I desired to bear children, I would make and inhabit a body capable of doing so.”

“What if you wanted a woman to bear your children.”

“It is possible, but I would not want that. I do not desire to reproduce at all, and certainly not with a mate who would live such a brief time before perishing from age, provided injury or illness did not take them first. Human beings are very fragile.”

“What about a female-presenting god?”

Morax shakes his head. “Even the elemental gods are, for the most part, territorial and solitary creatures, accustomed to supremacy, and prone to come to cross-purposes with other gods. I am even more territorial and solitary than they are. Gods may take other gods as lovers from time to time, but offspring are exceedingly rare, and mating permanently with one another simply does not occur.”

“So, gods don’t fall in love?”

“On the contrary. Love is where we are most vulnerable. The chink in the eternal armor. We can be mortally wounded by those to whom we have given our hearts.”

“You mean literally? Or like, mortally wounded as in emotionally devastated.”

“There is not much distinction, for me. My physical bodies can be destroyed and remade. An emotional wound is a wound I sustain in my essence. If it is grievous enough, it may sicken or even destroy me.”

Aether’s ears suddenly ring painfully with echoes of his husband’s voice, only this time, the softly spoken words strike home like arrows. I have been wounded by your aversion to me. That I have been so detestable to you causes me pain. He had always assumed that, like his father, his god-king husband was immune to injury by anything he could say or do. He thought that when he used words like wound or pain, they were his way of euphemizing displeasure. He never imagined that he could actually hurt Rex Lapis. The idea is horrifying to him. Is it possible that he has made such a terrible mistake?

Morax sees something of this on his face and his brow furrows. “You appear distressed by this. You need not worry for me. My heart is not easily made susceptible to such wounds.”

Aether can’t bear to look into his beautiful face, so he tucks his head under his chin. “This may sound ridiculous to you, but if I…if I do something to hurt you, one day, just remember that I don’t mean to, and whatever I did is because I don’t actually believe I can hurt you. Please remember that, and try to forgive me.”

“I do not understand the source of this anxiety, but I will remember what you have said, should it ever come up.” Morax smiles, reaching up to stroke his golden-blonde hair. “You are a strange creature, Aether of Celestia. Most would simply wait to beg pardon until the offense had been committed, not preempt potential offense with pre-apology.”

“Sometimes I don’t realize I’m wrong until it’s too late to apologize. I just wanted to get ahead of it. Though, it doesn’t really matter, since this is just my subconscious working through my—”

“You are fading,” Morax interrupts suddenly. “I can feel you growing less tangible. Wait. Please, do not go yet.”

Aether tries to look up at him, and finds he can’t move his body anymore. “I can’t help it. I don’t know how to control my dreams like that.”

“Then come to me again. Sooner, next time!” Morax’s dwindling voice calls out to him.

“I don’t know how to do that, either, but I’ll try!” he calls back, through the grey mist rapidly thickening about him, veiling the dream world from his inner eyes, as his physical eyes resume control.

He emerges from it this time, fully conscious of the transition from dreaming to waking reality. He leaps out of bed and hurries over to the writing table, determined to get everything down while it’s fresh in his mind. He knows he’s dreamed of Morax this way before, and has a few vivid impressions from those dreams, or visions, or whatever they are, but he loses the details so quickly, and he feels as if they are trying to tell him something important. Unfortunately, he has had few of them, and they have occurred far apart and seemingly at random. All he can do for now is record what he recalls, and wait for the next one.

Chapter Text

Mondstadt is a deeply devout nation. Despite—or perhaps due to—their deity being absent for millennia, and thus seeming a more nebulous and distant concept than those of other nations, the citizens of the land of wind and song are avid churchgoers. Their cathedral's beloved deaconess, in addition to being young, pretty, wealthy, and the king’s intended, is renowned for her lovely singing voice. The result of this combination of factors is that so many of the devout Mondstadters flock to the Favonius Cathedral for their weekly observances, that Lady Barbara has to conduct both morning and evening services two days per week, just to deal with the capacity, and has been considering adding a third day.

As a foreign dignitary on a goodwill visit, the Celestial Prince is obligated to attend church with King Diluc, who is as devout as his people. Aether finds this custom absurd, considering their god is the God of Freedom, not of protracted, monotonous public rituals, but church is for the worshippers, not the worshipped. This is very much evidenced by the fact that the deity in question is among his few notable acquaintances who do not attend, along with Kaeya and Albedo.

After this morning’s service, it is the king’s stated purpose to go with Lady Barbara and pay a visit to Bennett, after which they will take luncheon, then he will walk the lady back to the cathedral to prepare for her evening service. Aether goes along with them, having nothing better to do and some interest in the boy’s recovery, since he was personally involved in treating his injuries.

Lady Barbara chats pleasantly to Aether on the way, and King Diluc is silently present, his languid eyes fixed straight ahead, and his ivory-pale face betraying no emotion but general malaise. Aether has never seen anyone so consistently miserable as this young man appears to be. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown and all, but there must be more to it than the burdens of statecraft. This nation is too small and simple to have that many troubles.

As is customary, attendants run ahead of them to announce the king’s impending arrival at the Adventurers’ Guild, and when they approach the building, its green-clad members have assembled outside to pay respects to the monarch, with many low bows and expressions of reverence, before the visitors are shown inside. Bennett is confined to bedrest and apparently very much put out by the fact, according to the adventurer ushering them upstairs, who explains to them that ‘the boy is stubborner than an ox and determined to be the death of his old dads, with his rushing headlong into every dangerous situation he happens across.’

When the king and lady and prince enter his little room, Bennett leaps up to greet them, upsetting a night table and a stool in the process, when he becomes tangled in the bed linens, trips over the stool, and topples into the night stand. Aether catches the water pitcher and cup, and the king catches Bennett, patiently helping him back into his bed, despite his insistence that he can do it on his own.

“I heard we almost lost you, Benny,” King Diluc says, righting the stool for Lady Barbara to be seated. “I’m so glad to see that you’re recovering well.”

“Oh—no, it wasn’t that bad,” Bennett falters, going red in the face and looking down at his hands. “I’m ok, really, your highness. I don’t want anyone to worry about me.”

King Diluc looks over at Aether, who is leaning on the windowsill, so as not to crowd the others in this tiny room. “My lord prince, how bad was it, exactly?”

“If everything hadn’t worked out exactly as it did, he would be dead right now, my lord king,” Aether says grimly. “It was down to minutes. If they hadn’t got him back to the city so fast…actually, how did you get back so fast, Bennett? Royce can’t have carried you all the way here on his sprained ankle.”

“No, sir, he didn’t,” Bennett answers solemnly. “Royce said a man happened by and found us, and brought us to the city in his cart.”

“What was his name?” Lady Barbara asks. “He should certainly be recognized for the kind deed he’s done.”

“I don’t know, my lady, I never saw him. I was kind of…out of it, at the time.”

“Unconscious and bleeding out,” Aether corrects. “And full of abyssal poison, which would have killed you just as fast. If it weren’t for your vision, you wouldn’t have survived the Lector’s mine in the first place.”

“I hope you’ll be more careful from now on, Bennett,” Barbara puts in. “No adventure is worth dying for. Tell him, my lord king.”

“I am…torn, in this circumstance,” King Diluc says to Bennett. “You behaved with exemplary courage and valor, throwing yourself on the mine to save your companion. At the same time, abyssal energy is no laughing matter. The idea of you dying in agony, as you would have, had it not been for Prince Aether…it causes me pain.”

He looks away into the middle-distance for a moment, seeming to be pausing to steady his voice. His face is even paler than usual, and Aether notes that he flexes and clenches one black and red gloved hand spasmodically, as he wrings it in the other.

“But I didn’t come here to lecture you,” he says at last. “I came to offer you, once again, a knighthood and a captain’s commission with the Knights of Favonius. It’s the highest honor I have at my disposal.”

“Oh, my lord king, I would be so honored,” Bennett answers, his big, green eyes filling with tears. “But you know that if I accepted…I’d have to leave the guild. I couldn’t do that to my dads.”

Diluc smiles. The first genuine smile Aether has ever seen on his face. “Don’t cry, now. I’m not displeased. I knew you wouldn’t accept and why. But I do want you to know I think you more than worthy of it, should you ever change your mind.”

Aether peers out the open window at that moment, hearing voices in the street below. It sounds as if someone is trying to get in and is being denied entry. A man in a plain blue worker’s yukata has come up to the building and is speaking with the men at the door.

“…kind of you to come by, but the king is in with him right now, so you’ll have to come back later,” a green-clad guild man is saying to him.

“That’s alright, I understand,” the man replies. “I’m so glad to hear he’s alive.”

“Who’s that?” Aether calls down, at which the men in the street look up quickly. The one in the yukata is Inazuman. He has shaggy black hair that looks as if it is often being pushed back out of his face, and wears spectacles, which is rare in Teyvat.

“This here’s the man that brought Royce and Bennett in from the woods last night, my lord prince,” the adventurer calls back up to Aether.

“What are you doing turning him away, then?” Aether asks testily. “The king has just been saying he wishes to thank him personally.”

“Oh—no…I couldn’t bother his majesty,” the Inazuman man puts in. “I only came to see the boy was ok. I’ll just be on my way.”

“Nonsense,” Aether rejoins. “Gentlemen, escort that man upstairs immediately, and apologize for being discourteous to the person who is responsible for saving your friend’s life last night.”

The men offer effusive apologies to the prince as they dutifully escort the extremely reluctant Inazuman inside, and Aether turns back to Diluc and Bennett and Lady Barbara, shaking his head with annoyance at their rustic manners.  

“They mean well,” Lady Barbara says diplomatically, as the king moves to the foot of the bed to accommodate another person.

The adventurers show the deeply embarrassed man into the room, with more bows and apologies, and then make themselves prudently scarce. The newcomer bows to the lady and king and prince, then stands there looking so absurdly awkward, that Aether has to stifle a smile. Up close, Aether can see that he is athletically built and even taller than King Diluc. He is also unusually handsome and fine-featured for a peasant, but his spectacles and shapeless clothing obscure the fact. Almost as if they were intended to do so.

“Mondstadt owes you a great debt for your aid in rescuing our friends,” King Diluc says, reaching out and shaking the man’s hand. “What is your name, my friend?”

“I’m—uh, I’m called…Enjou, my lord king,” the man stammers. “I—I really didn’t do anything worth mentioning. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“You did, though,” Aether insists. “I treated him myself. I can tell you from my own knowledge that if it hadn’t been for you, Bennett would no longer be with us. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Abyss Order, but their weapons are extremely deadly to humans.”

Enjou’s grey eyes flicker up to Aether’s face, behind his spectacles. “You treated him yourself, my lord prince? You were able to purge and purify the abyssal corruption? I mean…I assume that’s how it works.”

“So, you are familiar with the Abyss Order, then,” Aether says.

“Only by…you know. Secondhand report,” Enjou replies, casting his eyes back down. “I’m a scholar of Khaenri’ahn history. I’ve read a lot about them.”

“Then you are at least aware of how much danger Bennett was in, and how vital to his survival was your role in getting him home quickly for treatment,” King Diluc asserts.

“I…I suppose so, my lord king.” Enjou ventures a look over at Bennett and then takes off his spectacles to rub his eyes with one hand, giving a shaky sigh. “I’m so glad you’re alive, kid. I was sure you were done for. There was so much blood.”

“I’m really ok,” Bennett insists, crossing his arms stoutly. “They’re making me stay in bed like this, but I feel fine. I mean—not to sound ungrateful! Everyone’s being so kind worrying about me so much, and I really am indebted to you for finding us and bringing us to the city. My dads are gonna want to repay you, by the way, so—”

“No. Absolutely not,” Enjou cuts him off, shaking his head. “I won’t accept any kind of compensation. That would be a direct affront to my honor. I hope your fathers will understand and respect that.”

“I’m sure they will,” King Diluc assures him. “They will want to thank you in person, though. That much, at least, your honor would not deny them.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Lady Barbara asks Bennett. “I assumed they’d be here looking after you.”

“They all went to church to thank Lord Barbatos for helping save me, just in case, and then they said they’d be going to get lunch at the Good Hunter, and they’d bring me something back.”

“They should be returning shortly, then,” the king says. “We came direct from church, and the Good Hunter is only a short walk from here. We can wait with you until Bennett’s fathers return, Mr. Enjou.”

“I really can’t stay, my lord king,” Enjou protests, growing increasingly uneasy. “I don’t meant to be discourteous, but I—I have many pressing matters on hand, at the moment. I must get back to my work.”

“I see. Well, we won’t repay your good deed by imposing unreasonably upon your time,” Diluc concedes. “But you are a welcome friend of Mondstadt, now. I hope you take part in some of the festivities while you are visiting here.”

“Thank you, my lord king. My lady, my lord prince, Bennett,” Enjou says, bowing his farewell and then departing hastily.

“What a strange man,” Lady Barbara remarks, after the door shuts behind him. “Is it an Inazuman custom to be so uncomfortable about being thanked?”

“Not that I know of,” Aether answers. “Maybe he’s just socially anxious. He said he’s a scholar or whatever, right? Speaking of which, I didn’t want to be rude by asking, but why would a scholar of Khaenri’ahn history have any special knowledge about the Abyss Order?”

King Diluc stares at him. “Surely…you are in jest.”

“Do you really not know what happened?” Barbara asks, raising her blonde eyebrows.

“I heard the nation was destroyed by an unknown god. I don’t really know anything else.”

“Their ambassador in exile is a courtier at the Jade Palace,” Diluc says. “Have you never spoken with him?”

“I can’t really talk to him. It’s complicated,” Aether replies irritably. “Are you going to tell me, or just keep looking at me like I’m stupid.”

“Khaenri’ah was obliterated all at once. Not in a single battle or a single day, even. In a single moment. And it was not just destroyed, it was completely annihilated. Since there are no witnesses left alive, there is no proof of exactly what occurred, but the current working theory is that they ran afoul of the Lord of the Abyss somehow, and he took out the entire nation in one fell swoop.”

Aether’s face drains of color. “The Lord of the Abyss. Why do people think that?”

“Aside from the tremendous amount of abyssal corruption at the site, which makes it evident enough, that kind of unmaking—the totality of it—can only be the provenance of the abyss.”

“What’s wrong, my lord prince?” Lady Barbara asks. “You don’t look at all well.”

“My…my sister,” Aether says weakly.

Diluc frowns. “Your sister?”

“She was in Teyvat. This is where she was when the Abyss Lord took her. Around the same time that Khaenri’ah was destroyed.”

“You do not think she was in Khaenri’ah, when it happened.”

“I have no idea. My father told me the Lord of the Abyss killed her. But part of me always hoped that there was some kind of mistake and I’d find some clue that would lead me to her, and she’d…she’d be alive, somehow.”

“I am sorry, Prince Aether,” Diluc says sincerely. “I did not intend to be the bearer of such grave news.”

“Captain Alberich is Khaenri’ahn,” Barbara offers. “Maybe he knows something that may help put your mind at ease.”

Diluc shakes his scarlet head. “That is unlikely, my lady. Kaeya was an infant when the disaster occurred. Where are you going, my lord prince?”

“To see if I can catch up with Enjou,” Aether says, opening the door. “If he knows anything about what happened there, I have to talk to him. Bennett, I’m so glad you’re ok. I’ll come visit you again, soon. Please excuse me, my lord king.”

Before anyone can make any protest, Aether hurries down the stairs and out the door. He looks both ways down the street, but of course, the man is long gone. Someone has to have seen him, though. If he can just find out which way he went, he’ll have somewhere to start. Fortunately, two of the Adventurers who had been there when he showed up are seated on a bench nearby. They say they saw him headed toward the main street, which would take him to the square, and past that, the city’s southern gate. Thanking them, he dashes off in that direction.

There is no sign of him in the square, but the lively festival crowd doesn’t exactly facilitate finding one person. Aether stops at a corner to regroup. Ok. So, the man found them in the woods outside a place called Wolvendom. He knows that’s south of here, near a village called Springvale, but he’s not sure how far away it is. If the man happened upon them there, he must be lodging nearby. He also has to have gotten the cart from somewhere, so someone in Springvale will likely know where he is.

He has just started toward the southern gate, when he spots the object of his search. He is in the act of being accosted by a group of intoxicated young women, who have thrown a garland of flowers about his neck and are attempting to cajole him into having drinks with them. Apparently this is not abnormal behavior for the Windblume Festival, it being strongly associated with finding love, which translates to a lot of drunken flirtatiousness among the younger crowd. Aether laughs to himself, seeing the bewildered scholar awkwardly endeavoring to escape, but it’s clear that he’s fighting a losing battle. Aether had better rescue him. But he may as well have a little fun, too.

“Enjou!” he says, loudly, putting his hands on his hips for effect. Enjou gives a jolt and whirls around to face him. “I leave you alone for five minutes and I come back to find you flirting?”

Enjou pushes up his glasses. “I—I, uh…”

“Don’t you give me that!” Aether fires back, tossing his head. “This is the Windblume Festival, not the infidelity jubilee! How could you do this to me! After everything we’ve been through!”

The man looks so utterly confounded, it’s all Aether can do not to burst out laughing. The intoxicated young ladies have caught up by this point, and make protestations of righteous indignation, accompanied by expressions of outrage such as ‘you’re married?’ and ‘what are you doing flirting with us, then!’ and ‘you should be ashamed of yourself!’ and ‘cheater!’ and so forth. So spoken, they lock arms and sail away in a towering huff, apparently oblivious to the fact that they were the instigators of the situation, and even if the man had been intending to flirt with them, he certainly hadn’t had a chance to try. Meanwhile, Aether slaps Enjou on the back, laughing merrily at his little prank.

“Thank you so much, my lord prince,” Enjou says, removing the flower garland from his person and tossing it away, with a look of disgust. “I was just minding my own business and they surrounded me and confused me, and…what did they want with someone like me, anyway?”

“Dunno. Maybe they saw through your clever disguise, somehow,” Aether answers drily.

Enjou looks startled. “My—my what?”

“You know what I mean. Hiding the fact that you’re handsome and well built with the spectacles and schlubby clothes. That never works on women, by the way.”

“Oh,” Enjou blinks. “It doesn’t?”

Aether shakes his head. “Nope. Dressing that way just makes you look single to them, because they assume you have no one at home to dress you properly. If you want to avoid female attention, you’re doing it the wrong way. Oh, but you can’t dress too well, either. That’s basically displaying plumage, like you’re trying to attract a mate, which will just make it worse.”

“How unbelievably confusing,” Enjou says despondently, which makes Aether laugh again.

“You don’t talk to many women, do you.”

“I don’t talk to any women. I don’t talk to people at all, if I can help it. This situation is fairly exemplary as to why. People are baffling, complicated, emotion-minefields.”

“Ah, the woes of the introverted nerd.”

“Hey! Oh…right. That is accurate. But my lord prince, what are you doing out here? Was there something else you needed from me?”

Aether nods. “I want to ask you some questions about Khaenri’ah, since you’re a scholar of their history.”

“Oh. Uh, I…I really need to get back. It’ll be dark in a few hours and—”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Aether interrupts. “It’ll be dark in a few hours and you don’t want to be wandering around alone in a strange land, especially with that Abyss Lector possibly still lurking near the city, somewhere. I’ll go with you and be your bodyguard, and in return, you can tell me about Khaenri’ah.”

Enjou eyes him reluctantly, then sighs. “There’s no way you’re going to let me get out of this, is there.”

“Nope,” Aether chirps. “Let’s go.”

“This is where you’re working?” Aether asks, looking doubtfully at the heavy, rune-carven slabs of stone that, along with an imposing archway, comprise a door in the cliffside. “What are you learning from hanging around in a tomb?”

“It’s not a tomb, your highness, it’s the ruins of an ancient temple,” Enjou says, as he does something with the plates on the door, which causes the runes to glow blue, and the huge, stone slabs to grind slowly open. “Temples like this one were where sacred knowledge was housed, and since they’re mostly underground and carefully sealed, many of them contain well-preserved scrolls, stone tablets, carvings, ritual objects, et cetera. These places are treasure troves of information, and every fragment of ancient written material I find intact is worth far more than its weight in gold.”

“Wow, you really are a nerd. I’ve never seen someone so passionate about dusty old ruins.”

Aether follows Enjou into a large, square chamber, with steps down to a sunken floor, where there is a big block of granite, that looks like some kind of altar. There are braziers along the walls, which have been lit and are warmly illuminating the place, but the room is otherwise empty. On the far side, steps lead back upward to a huge, round doorway. A colossal, circular slab of stone, that must weigh a hundred tons and is carven all over with elaborate, timeworn ornamentation, has been rolled a little to one side, creating an opening wide enough for ingress and egress.

Through the round door is a much larger room, oblong and cavernous, almost vault-like in atmosphere. All down the center, there are long, stone tables and benches, and on either side, rows upon rows of towering bookcases, also stone, and bearing decorative embellishments of tarnished brass. Some have crumbled and lie in obstructive heaps all over the floor, but they are mostly intact. Of these, several are empty, but the vast majority are packed with scrolls and stone tablets.

The braziers in this room are also lit and blazing cheerfully. Over in the corner nearest the door, a copper kettle is hanging on a little iron spit over a makeshift firepit, beside which are a couple of rolled up wool blankets, and a small traveling pack. These few things appear to make up the entirety of Enjou’s material comforts. Unless he just has them for contingencies, and is actually staying somewhere else. Either way, this is obviously the room he has been working in.

One of the long tables has been cleared of dust and debris, and there are orderly stacks of what must be the scrolls and tablets from the empty bookcases all over it. At the near end, there is an oil lamp, ink pot, pen, and some leather-bound notebooks, as well as a box of charcoal sticks and several large rolls of thin parchment, likely for making rubbings of the stone tablets. On the next table over, there are piles of yet-to-be-organized scrolls and tablets, a few of which have spilled onto the bench and floor.

“What is this language?” Aether asks, glancing over one of the tablets. “I don’t recognize it.”

“Don’t know. That’s part of what I’m doing down here. I’m gathering as exhaustive a codex as I can, from which I will begin to crack the translation. If it’s too complex or obscurely encrypted, it could take years to form a useful glossary, but I doubt it will. I’m pretty good at languages.”

“Because you’re a huge nerd.”

“I’m at peace with what I am,” Enjou shrugs. “So, if I may ask, why the pressing interest in Khaenri’ah? I mean, it has to be important, for you to follow me six miles out of the city to talk about it.”

“It’s a long story, but I just found out my sister’s death may have had some connection to the disaster there. My father told me she’d been taken and killed by the Abyss Lord while she was here in Teyvat, but I had no idea the Abyss Order was connected to the Khaenri’ah disaster till today.”

Enjou peers keenly into his face for a moment, then he looks away again. “There’s no absolute proof that the Abyss Order was responsible, but it is true that what little evidence there is suggests as much. Abyssal corruption lies so heavy on the land where Khaenri’ah was, it’s pretty much impossible to send expeditions in to survey it, so there has been very little study of the area. On the rare occasions the black fog hanging over the site clears enough to offer some visibility, what can be discerned from a safe distance is an empty crater, like a volcanic caldera. Like the nation was surgically excised from this world.”

“That sounds eerie. And no one can get close enough to get a better look?”

“A few hardy explorers with visions have ventured near the outskirts. Most report seeing structures along the perimeter that were cut cleanly in two, and they say that there’s no rubble, and the halves that were left behind are still standing perfectly undisturbed. No one gets closer than that, though, because they get sick extremely quickly. And abyssal corruption doesn’t just dissipate eventually, like other toxic substances, so it’s possible that no one will ever be able to study that area.”

“Not unless Celestia sends someone to clean it up, which they won’t,” Aether says, with an annoyed sigh. “It seems like all Rex Lapis does is pay taxes to my father, and Celestia has no obligation to do anything to help out here, in return. I don’t understand why he even wanted the alliance.”

“What, you don’t think you were worth it?” Enjou asks.

“Huh?” Aether inquires, squinting at him.

“I mean, Rex Lapis gave up his independent sovereignty and became tributary to Celestia so that he could marry you, right? Wasn’t that the condition on which the Celestial King agreed to let him take you?”

“You have misunderstood the situation gravely, my friend,” Aether laughs. “He accepted me in order to have the alliance. Making him take me was the price my father exacted from him, not the other way around.”

“Oh. Sorry. I don’t really know much about it.”

“That’s alright, it’s not exactly common knowledge. So, is there anything I can help you with, while we talk? It seems like you have a long way to go before you’re finished, here.”

Enjou looks around, considering this. “You know how to make charcoal rubbings?”

“No, I’m six years old.”

“Alright, smartass, then grab some charcoal and parchment and get to work. I mean…get to work, your highness.”

Aether sets a stone tablet on the table in front of him and tears off a bit of parchment. “How about this. We pretend we’re both just history-nerd friends working together on this, and that way you don’t have to keep my lording and your highnessing me. Just call me Aether.”

“Fair enough, Aether,” Enjou says, as he lays out a leaf of parchment and gets started on his own rubbing. “But if we were friends, wouldn’t we have nicknames for each other? I hear friends do that.”

“Uh…maybe. My sister was my only friend who didn’t have to use a title with me, but we just used each other’s names. Except Xiao, but he never once used an honorific, or my name, or a nickname. He just didn’t call me anything.”

“I don’t know who Xiao is, but that sounds a little weird.”

“He’s a weird guy. He’s like…more than two-thousand years old, though, so I don’t really hold it against him.”

“Is he not your friend anymore?”

“Hm? Why do you ask?”

“You said he didn’t call you anything. Past-tense.”

“He’ll never not be my friend, but we’re…separated, right now. I don’t know when I’ll see him again.”

“Separated? That makes it sound like you were a couple.”

“We kind of were.”

“But you’re married. To the god of this world.”

“Yeah, but I’m allowed to have lovers. It’s a whole thing. We’re not here to talk about me, remember? Tell me about Khaenri’ah.”

“Right. I’m not sure how much you know about it already, though, and I don’t want to bore you with needless repetition of basic facts.”

“I could use a refresher. Just act like I don’t know anything about it, and start at the beginning.”

Enjou takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Khaenri’ah was one of the very few nations in Teyvat not ruled by a god-king. It was a constitutional monarchy, full of philosophers, scientists, sorcerers, and other kinds of visionaries, and the people valued moral autonomy and intellectual freedom above all. In accordance with this, they decided amongst themselves that they desired true sovereignty, and didn’t want to be beholden to any gods. Not even Rex Lapis. It was no half-baked rebellion, though. They drew up a complete proposal for self-governance, free of a deity, complete with intellectual and philosophical justifications for their argument, and a detailed outline of their planned governmental framework, and presented it to Rex Lapis.

Surprisingly, he agreed to their proposal. He would, he said, withdraw his influence from their land, and also prohibit the trespass upon their soil of any elemental god not expressly invited by their government. They would have absolute sovereignty. But, he warned them, to withdraw his influence would mean he withdrew his aegis. He would no longer protect them and, in fact, would not be able to do so, since he would be unaware of any calamitous event within their borders until it was too late. He did not speak these warnings from a desire to dissuade them, however, and when they said they were willing to accept the responsibility of self-governance without his protection, he gave them his leave. He did not appear displeased with the request, and in fact, seemed rather curious regarding how this experiment would play out.

When the other nations heard what they had done, they looked on Khaenri’ah in awe and fear, many believing that they had wrongfully abjured their god and transgressed his law unthinkably. They trembled to think what retribution would come to proud Khaenri’ah. But none came. Millennia passed and Khaenri’ah grew and prospered. At its height, it was wealthier than any nation but Liyue, and was Tevyat’s indisputable leader, as far as the advancement of mystical and non-mystical science and technology. This is how Khemia—the Khaenri’ahn version of alchemy—arose, among other disciplines unique to that nation. Some of its sorcerers even became so powerful that they were able to traverse the realms and live outside Teyvat.

Despite the rumors of their increasing practice of the dark arts, as well as other teachings considered heretical in the realms of light, Khaenri’ah remained on good diplomatic terms with Tevyat’s other nations. They traded openly and allowed free travel through their land, and many commercial concerns around Teyvat even began to move their manufacturing operations to Khaenri’ah’s far superior production facilities, as it became more efficient and cost-effective to have many goods made there and shipped back, than to produce them locally, by inferior means.

What offense Khaenri’ah committed to provoke the ire of the Lord of the Abyss, many in Teyvat have speculated, but none know. One day, the nation was simply unmade, without warning or precursor, nor any other disturbances or increased abyssal activity elsewhere in Teyvat. People as far as hundreds of miles away reported hearing a roar like the rushing of a thousand winds, but no one suspected what had happened. Then travelers who had been close enough to witness anything and survive—which is to say, not very close—began to arrive in towns and cities with their tales of the strange phenomenon.

All the tales had these elements in common: flashes of light like lightning and thunderous booms like a storm, then a sudden, howling gale. Wind like they had never felt or heard of, tearing up trees by the roots, flattening structures, carrying away anything small enough to be caught by it. When the locations of the witnesses were triangulated, it appeared the wind had all been rushing toward Khaenri’ah. The witnesses said this lasted only moments, then there was dead, eerie silence and not even birds chirped. Nothing else happened, and no one knew what caused it. Very quickly, it was discovered that the entire border of the nation was impassable due to abyssal corruption, and that is as far as the investigation has gone.”

Aether looks up from his tablet and frowns. “Why didn’t Rex Lapis try to find out what happened? Khaenri’ah may have been without his protection, but this is still his world. An attack on any of the nations by an outside force is an attack on him.”

“He may have tried and succeeded or failed, and never bothered to tell anyone. He may be looking into it as we speak. He may simply not care. It’s impossible to tell. Gods are aloof and inscrutable, and their purposes are most often opaque to lesser creatures. Rex Lapis is particularly enigmatic among them, being an older and higher order of deity.”

“It’s always so strange to me, to hear him talked about that way. I guess it’s hard to view a god the way other people do, when you’ve lived together and had arguments with him.”

“Did you have a falling out? Is that why you’re here in Mondstadt?”

“I am here on a goodwill visit,” Aether replies frostily, resuming work on his rubbing.

“Oh—I’m so sorry,” Enjou winces. “I’m terrible at people. I didn’t realize that question was a huge overstep.”

Aether shakes his head. “It’s ok. I’m not particularly happy with my situation at the moment, so I’m touchy about it. It’s not your fault.”

“Well, in any event, I hope you’ve gathered something useful from what I’ve told you about Khaenri’ah.”

“It seems like what I’ve mostly learned is that if my sister was there, attempting to look further into it is a lost cause,” Aether sighs. “I don’t really know what I was hoping for. I guess…I wanted there to be more to it than her being a bystander who died by chance. She was the most important person in my life. Losing her that way, because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, seems so worthless and meaningless.”

“But you don’t know she was there for sure, right? So, you don’t know she’s even really been killed. If you ask me, as long as there is even a one-percent chance of finding her, you shouldn’t give up.” Enjou looks up to find Aether is staring at him, blinking with what appears to be disbelief. “What’s wrong? Did I say something stupid again?”

“No, it’s just…bizarre,” Aether says, shaking himself. “That’s literally something she used to say. That if there’s even a one-percent chance at something, you keep hoping and trying, because giving anything less than everything you have would be cowardice.”

“It sounds like you really looked up to her.”

“I did, which I know is weird, because she was my twin, but she was so far ahead of me. I always felt like I was scrambling to keep up with her. Not that she ever left me behind. She always took my hand and dragged me along. Until that last time. But even then, she didn’t abandon me. I could’ve gone with her. I just didn’t. And that’s how I lost her.”

“You want to take a break?” Enjou offers, in a sympathetic tone. “Get out of this vault and stretch our legs a little bit? Always cheers me up.”

“I’ve been getting pretty gloomy, haven’t I,” Aether says, with a rueful laugh. “Yes, that sounds good. I think the stale air or all the dust in here is getting to me. I’ve had a headache coming on for a while.”

“Then a walk will be just the thing. I can make you some qingxin tea when we come back in, if you like.”

Aether’s eyebrows go up. “You have qingxin with you?”

“Of course. Nothing better for headaches. I get a lot of them from trying to decipher the chicken-scratches on half-destroyed old manuscripts in dark underground ruins by oil-lamp light.”

“That why you have to wear glasses?”

“Uh…no,” Enjou chuckles. “I don’t think there’s really anything to that old superstition about ruining your vision by reading in dim light. It does cause eye strain, though.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aether says. “Hey, since we’re going out anyway, could you show me where you picked up Bennett and Royce? If you can find the spot again, I mean. If not, it’s no big deal.”

“I think I could find it, but why?”

“I’m just curious. I don’t think there’ll be any evidence or anything, but it never hurts to double check.”

“Got it,” Enjou nods, as they step out through the crescent-shaped opening in the massive, circular doorway. “If I recall correctly, it’s not too far from here.”

“Perfect. I’d rather not take a long walk. I’m too eager to get back here and have some of that tea.”

Chapter Text

The night is crisp and clear, and their breath freezes in the air, making plumes of white steam billow up over their heads as they stroll along down the hill. Despite his lightly-woven summer yukata, Enjou doesn’t appear to be any more put out by the cold than Aether is, or at least makes no mention of discomfort. The entrance to the temple ruin lies off the beaten path a little way, but the terrain is easy, and soon they have emerged from beneath the tree cover to step out onto the hard-packed dirt road, in the bright light of the moon.

Across the road, they are forced to pick their way more carefully through the trees, which grow denser and closer together as the hill slopes back upward toward Wolvendom. Here, the undergrowth also becomes thicker and increasingly troublesome, and so it takes them longer to move a shorter distance. After about fifteen minutes of diligent labor, they come to the little clearing with the lampgrass, where the bioluminescent bulbs cast their eerie, blue light about, giving the place an enchanted look.

Aether turns around in a circle, scanning the treeline. “Visibility into the woods from here is basically nonexistent. Look how dark it is under the trees. No wonder they surprised the Lector by bursting out that way.”

“Oh—don’t step there!” Enjou warns. “There’s blood all over the grass.”

“Thanks, I didn’t even see it,” Aether says, backing up a step, then crouching to examine the ground. Most of the blood has soaked into the dirt between the turfy grass clumps, leaving crimson droplets all over the tiny, green, sword-like blades. “The grass is barely crushed here, at all. That means Bennett didn’t lay here very long. You must’ve got to them right after the Lector vanished. You’re lucky you weren’t a minute earlier.”

“I guess so.”

“This spot is deeper in the woods than I expected, too. How’d you get your horse cart in here? We barely fit through the trees on foot.”

Enjou shakes his head. “I didn’t even try. I left the cart on the road and carried them out to it.”

“It’s not visible from the road, at all. How did you find them?”

“I heard someone yelling for help. I stopped the cart and ran toward the voice.”

“Enjou…that’s a very generous instinct, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. While I was driving them to the city, that guy Royce lectured me about how it was a stupid thing to do, because bandits often use that ploy to lure people into traps. But he was the one yelling for help, so I don’t know what he expected. No offense, but I don’t like him very much.”  

“Neither do I. I’m getting the impression that disliking Royce is not a unique sentiment.”

“I still can’t believe the kid jumped on that mine,” Enjou says, casting his eyes over the blood-soaked spot in the grass again. “He’s a real hero, even if it was to save a guy like that.”

Aether frowns. “How did you know Bennett jumped on the mine?”

“Uh…someone mentioned it to me. Must’ve been Royce.”

“Did he? It’s weird that he’d have a sudden fit of honesty with you. He left that part out, when he told us the story. It seemed like he thought Bennett was going to die, and he didn’t want people to think of him as the guy who got him killed. It’s a pretty scummy attitude, but it’s not anything actionable. He probably won’t even lose his guild membership.”

Enjou scowls. “He should. The whole thing was absolutely his fault. He caused a situation in which another person almost died, and then he tried to obfuscate his incompetence, to avoid losing face? What a dirtbag. How did he know Bennett wouldn’t report him when he survived?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say he was banking on Bennett’s kindheartedness in not wanting to expose his negligence. But Kaeya got it out of him pretty much immediately.”

“Kaeya?”

“Captain Alberich. The captain of Mondstadt’s nonexistent cavalry. I don’t think there’s anything else we can find out from hanging around here. You want to head back?”

“Sure,” Enjou smiles. “I’ll make you that tea, if your head still hurts.”

“It’s a lot better, but I’d like the qingxin tea, anyway, if you don’t mind. I miss the tastes and smells, and other little things from—” Aether stops short, his breath catching in his throat.

He was going to say ‘home’. His mind reflexively framed Liyue as home. His throat constricts with a sudden surge of emotion, as it dawns fully upon him that he’d been about to say it, because it’s true. Liyue is his home. Gradually, without really even noticing it, he has grown to love the land in which he lives. Perhaps it took being away like this, for him to truly appreciate it. Whatever the reason, he sees it finally, and he loves Liyue so dearly he can feel it in his chest, like a physical wound.

Celestia, the place of his birth, feels distant and alien to him. He can’t even imagine thinking of it as home, now. Maybe he never really thought of it as home, in the first place. Even in his first days in Teyvat, when he was lonely and desolate, he never ached with longing for Celestia’s silver meadows and softly glowing seas, the way he does for Liyue’s sweeping valleys and high, green hills, crowned with ancient stones and tiny yellow flowers. He never felt wistful and sad thinking of the cold and lofty Spire of Akanistha, the way he does when he thinks of the sunrise over Jueyun, and the early-morning mists that make the karsts look like enchanted islands in a sea of clouds.

Homesickness. That’s the word. That’s what he’s feeling. He’s homesick for every part of Liyue. Even the Jade Palace, looming high and majestic in the blue sky over the cheerful little port town. His bedroom, with its view of the deep-aquamarine sea, and the remains of titanic spearheads that make up the Guyun Stone Forest. Though he has long known it in his heart, the idea clearly crystallizes in his mind for the first time that, even if he and his husband remain estranged forever, he will not leave this world. Teyvat is home now, for better or worse, and his fate is inseparably joined to it.

He emerges from his reverie, to find that they are already back at the temple, and Enjou is pushing the door closed behind them. He must have observed Aether’s reflective state and had the tact not to disturb him. Back in the vault room, they spread out the woolen blankets by the makeshift firepit, so they don’t have to sit on the bare, dusty stone. There is a good bit of coal left in the pit, which Aether lights by creating a little fireball in the palm of his hand. He finds himself childishly annoyed that Enjou does not appear to be the least bit impressed by or even curious about this ability, then he chides himself for being ridiculous.

While his host boils water for the tea, the prince turns his eye inward again, brooding over his homesickness and his dragon-god husband, and the thousand other things that trouble his young mind. He is drawn again from his ruminations, when Enjou takes a bundle of soft, crimson cloth from his traveling bag and unwraps what he calls his tea cups. They are quite a bit larger than Liyue’s usual handle-less teacups, and they are cubic, rather than round, with a smooth, cylindrical hole bored into the waxy-looking black stone, to make the reservoir. Just below the rims, a simple geometric pattern has been carved out, in which remnants can be seen of some precious metal that was once inlaid.

“Where did those cups come from?” Aether asks curiously. “They’re really unique.”

“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tattle to the Millelith,” Enjou says, with a sheepish smile, as he pours the tea.

“I will take it to my grave. Provided I ever die,” Aether avows, accepting the cup Enjou presents to him, and holding it up to blow the steam off.

“I sort of…appropriated them from an ancient archaeological site I unearthed in Liyue. I know that’s a big no-no, legally speaking, but I technically had the owner’s permission.”

“Permission? How?”

“Well, in order to open this particular ruin, I had to decipher an ancient form of Liyue writing that was carved all over a stone pillar and pedestal, which, it turns out, were part of a geo-powered security device. Then I had to use what I had translated to solve a ridiculously complex puzzle, involving multiple pressure plates and perfect timing, which finally activated a door mechanism and gave me access to a subterranean vault. Normally, I’d have abided by the law—I don’t like to make myself unwelcome with local authorities—but because of the text I deciphered, it didn’t feel wrong to take something. I’ll spare you the long version, but the final lines were, ‘I wish to depart, to be done with this world. My wealth I leave here, sealed by my arts. If you are fated to do so, take them as you please.’ I had been moved by the other words the owner wrote, and I wanted to keep a relic to honor his memory. I have no use for jewels or gold ornaments, and even less so for weapons, so I took this pair of tea cups, before I reported the site to the Millelith.”

“Wow. I didn’t know any of those old ruins had mechanisms that were still operative like that, except the ruin guardians and hunters. But how do you know the owner was a he?”

“In the text I deciphered, he called himself Bosacius. One of the Yakshas.”

“So, this belonged to one of Xiao’s friends,” Aether murmurs, as he looks down at the ancient drinking vessel in his hand. “How strange. I wonder how he’d feel about where it wound up.”

“Who can say for sure,” Enjou shrugs. “According to what I can gather of him from his writing and that of others about him, though, I’d be inclined to say he wouldn’t care much what became of his possessions. How’s your head? The tea helping?”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, it just feels kind of…buzzy. Where are your horse and cart?”

“They’re at the stable in Springvale. Is there something wrong? Do you need me to get you back to the city?”

Aether turns the cup slowly in his hand, watching the firelight play across the smooth surface of each side. “There’s not any one big thing wrong. Just a lot of tiny things. But doubts are like biting insects. When taken together, a lot of tiny ones add up to a swarm you can’t ignore.”

Enjou takes off his glasses and gives a heavy sigh, massaging his brow with his fingertips. “Do we really have to do this, Aether?”

“You know we do, Enjou,” Aether says, just as unwillingly. “If that’s even your real name.”

“It’s…as close an approximation to my real name as the Inazuman language can get, without sounding cumbersome and ridiculous. A more accurate translation would be the Devouring Benthic Flame. There’s not one word in any Teyvat tongue to express the concept.”

As he speaks, he rises to his feet, and Aether gets to his, as well. He starts back a step, as Enjou’s body is briefly enveloped in a sudden whirl of smoke, which dissipates just as abruptly, revealing his transformed shape. He’s around eight feet tall, now, which looks less magnificent than usual, since he’s not also floating three feet off the ground, as Lectors tend to do, but is still pretty damned imposing, particularly in comparison to Aether’s height of five-foot-four.

Without the Abyss Lector helm, he still has the glowing red gem in his forehead, and five black horns emerge from his jet-black hair, four of which fan out like curved blades with a twist in the middle, where they turn to hook their pointed tips upward, and one in the center, that points straight up like a pike. This gives Aether the impression that the helmet is not so much a piece of armor, as something his humanoid head changes into. His eyes have scarlet irises with glowing, diamond-shaped pupil slits and he has long fangs, like Rex Lapis, but his face is otherwise the same as it was.

The halo suspended in the air behind him is gold, and the red jewels in its pointed rays are afire with their own light. Other than armor, he’s wearing little in the way of clothing. Just a white surcoat, which is sleeveless and open on both sides, and splits down the center of the torso under the chest plate he wears, to reveal the bright flame at his core. His arms and other exposed skin are dark crimson, and there are swirling marks reminiscent of flames all over his body. His hands glow like molten gold and his fingers taper into claws. All things considered, he’s oddly beautiful, if overtly evil-looking things can be called that.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of relieved to get out of that little human body,” he says, as he stretches his arms and rolls his shoulders. “Compressing myself into that size for long periods of time isn’t the most comfortable thing.”

Aether stands tense and ready, watching him warily. “I can’t believe it took me so long to put it together. I feel like a total idiot. I’m usually pretty good at spotting liars, too.”

“In defense of your perspicacity, I haven’t really been lying,” Enjou offers. “Everything I’ve told you about myself has been the truth. I just didn’t happen to mention where I’m from.”

“What are you doing in Mondstadt? Why did you set off that mine on Bennett and Royce?”

“Ok, that’s two separate questions. I told you exactly what I’m doing here. I’m gathering as much writing as I can in this ancient language for my codex. I’m a historian and a linguist, just like I told you. Lectors aren’t berserkers, we’re the—”

“Thanks, I know what Abyss Lectors do,” Aether interrupts tartly. “Get to why you set off the mine.”

“I didn’t mean to set it off. I was trying to tell the kid to beat it, when that Royce guy came crashing out of the forest shouting and waving a weapon at me. Before I had time to process that it was just one guy, who apparently doesn’t have much practice with a sword, I had already been startled and conjured the mine reflexively. Once it was cast, there was no way to recall it before it went off.”

“So you took a portal out of the blast radius. And then you went to the trouble of going and getting a cart to carry two injured humans to the city? Why?”

“Look, I just want to mind my own business and do my research. I don’t want to kill anyone in the process, especially not some innocent kid. I never imagined he’d jump on the mine. Anyway, I saw him do that stupid, heroic thing, and I was pretty sure he was dead, so I thought the least I could do would be to not leave him and his buddy to get eaten by wolves.”

“Is that why you came back to the city today to check on him, too? The goodness of your heart?”

“I don’t…have a heart, but you’re speaking metaphorically, which I realized halfway through my sentence. I came back because I felt awful about what happened, and I was going to try to do something for whatever family the kid left behind. I couldn’t believe it when they told me he lived. That was such a relief.”

Aether crosses his arms cagily. “Assuming all this is true, I don’t understand why, after you took all those risks and still got away pretty much scot-free, you’d blow your cover by letting me follow you here, and hang around talking to me all day. You had to know I was bound to figure it out, sooner or later.”  

“I wish I could say I had some more complicated scheme in mind, but the truth is…I thought you were interesting and I wanted to talk to you. Turns out, I rather like you. I guess I fooled myself into thinking you liked me, too. That maybe this Celestial versus Abyssal thing wouldn’t matter, and we could be friends, somehow.”

“I do like you!” Aether half shouts, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I finally meet someone in this miserable place who’s actually literate and intelligent, and we can’t be friends because you’re evil! That fucking sucks, Enjou!”

Enjou sighs dejectedly and sits back down on the wool blankets. “Evil is so relative. Yes, I prefer the darkness to the light, and yes, my body emits radiation that’s toxic to mortals if they’re exposed to it for too long, but I don’t mean to be that way, I just am. I don’t sit around cackling to myself about all the suffering I’m going to cause. I don’t really even want to hurt individual people, I just don’t care all that much about them as a species. Does that make me evil?”

“I…I don’t know,” Aether says, letting his combat-ready posture slacken a little. “Celestials don’t really care about humans, either. They basically think of them as stock animals.”

Enjou laughs bitterly. “And yet they condemn us for the same thing, and call us monsters, as if they’ve never committed mass-slaughter of innocents.”

“Yeah, seriou—wait, what? What do you mean?”

“I mean humans are sitting ducks, caught in the cross-fire of a conflict that has been going on since before they even inhabited Teyvat, and the Abyss Order are not the only ones responsible for atrocities perpetrated against them. But history is written by the victors, and Celestia has pretty much unlimited control of the narrative. The truth is always a lot more complicated than it seems on the surface.”

“I’d like to believe you, because that fits with the quietly totalitarian way Celestia governs, but you’re literally an enemy agent. You could just be saying whatever it takes to save your ass.”

“I could be, so don’t take my word for it. The only way to get to the heart of a matter is to investigate for yourself. What you find may not exactly accord with Celestia’s beneficent public image. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to paint the Order with a rose-colored brush, or anything, but when it comes to good and evil…there’s more to it than darkness and light. Light reveals, but it can also burn and blind. Darkness conceals, but it can also give rest to the weary and solace to the grieving.”

“Everything in moderation.”

“Yep. Just like a human philosopher from one of these little backwater worlds said.” Enjou raises his illuminated red eyes to look up at him. “So…are you gonna kill me?”

Aether crosses his arms. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“No. I mean, I don’t actually think you’re a fight I can win, but that’s not the reason.”

“It’s because you like me.”

“Yeah.”

“I like you, too.”

“Thanks.”

“So, what do we do, now?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had an enemy-aligned friend. I’ve never really had any kind of friend.”

“Wow, way to sound even more pathetic than me.”

“I wasn’t saying that for sympathy. I’m not like humans that way, where they need companionship to feel fulfilled, or whatever. I’m pretty happy being alone. But it turns out I kind of like being not alone, too, when it’s you who’s with me. Today has been a whole new experience.”

“Glad I could broaden your horizons,” Aether says drily, sitting back down beside him.  

They sit in silence for a long moment, then Enjou breaks it awkwardly. “Sorry about the headache. I’m…glad the tea helped.”

“Thanks, but why are you sorry about it?”

“The cloaking spell I use produces constant, low-level psionic interference, which can create minor discomfort for sensitive people. That’s probably what gave you the headache.”

“Huh. Now that you mention it, my head doesn’t feel weird anymore.” Aether turns and holds his palms up in front of Enjou, as if he is a fireplace. “Also, you really put off a lot of heat when you’re not cloaked.”

“Yeah, I’m, you know…made of fire. Or, animated by it, is more accurate? My physical body is obviously not fire, but my essence is.”

“Will you burn me if I touch you?”

Enjou frowns thoughtfully. “I don’t actually know. I’m not a comfortable temperature for mortal humans, but you’re Celestial. Go ahead and touch me, if you’re curious.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I kind of want to know, too.”

Peeling off a glove, Aether lays his palm on Enjou’s upper arm and slides it up onto his bare shoulder. His skin is certainly hot, but not nearly enough to burn him. The closest temperature he can approximate it to is the heat of a concrete walk under a summer sun. The underlying muscle feels much harder and more solid than a human’s. Yet another feature he apparently shares with Rex Lapis. Whatever his body is made of, the heat coming from it feels so good that Aether is overcome by the sudden urge to strip naked and wrap himself around him. Unconsciously, he slips his hand under the white surcoat, onto the smooth plane between his clavicle and one of his pectoral muscles.

“O—oh, I wasn’t expecting that kind of touching,” Enjou stammers. “I suppose I did give you permission, though.”

“Sorry,” Aether says, drawing his hand back. “I like the heat from your body. I just wanted to feel more of it.”

Enjou opens his mouth and shuts it again, the illuminated, diamond-shaped slits in his crimson irises dilating as he looks into Aether’s face. “You…you want to…feel more of my body?”

Aether bites his bottom lip and looks up at him from beneath his eyelashes. A transparent and juvenile seductive gesture (exactly as it is intended to be, as that is where its charm primarily lies), but devastating, with his beautiful face and boyishly tousled blonde hair. “Would you mind?”

“No, I…anything you want, is…yeah,” Enjou mumbles, already caught in the spell of his powerful Celestial allure.

Aether hops up and puts his hand on his shoulder for balance, then steps over Enjou’s thighs to straddle him. He settles in his lap and suddenly the height difference between them becomes very clear, as his head only reaches up to the middle of Enjou’s pectoral muscles.

“Your armor is hard and pointy,” he pouts.

“Better?” Enjou asks, as his chest armor and surcoat vanish.

Aether nods and then melts into his bare chest with a shuddering sigh. The glowing area in the center of his torso, where the fire is the brightest, radiates heat like a descended sun, and immediately begins to lull him, like a hot bath.

Enjou’s low laugh vibrates through his ribcage, as his muscular arms come up and coil around Aether’s tiny body. “You’re really small, for a Celestial. I can feel how strong you are, though. I’m glad you decided not to kill me, because I wouldn’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell, in a fight with you.”

“You know what’s weird?” Aether says drowsily, not lifting his head. “Now you’re not cloaking it, I can feel the pyro energy on you like crazy, but I can’t feel any abyssal energy.”

“That makes sense. I have some control over abyssal energy, but it’s not my power source, so I’m not saturated with it.”

“It’s not?”

“Well, no. I’m an Abyss Lector, but that’s not all I am.”

Aether leans back to look up at him. “What else are you?”

“Primarily, I’m a fire demon.”

“So, you’re powerful on your own, without the Abyss Lector magic.”

“Eh…relatively. Not compared to you, but definitely compared to a Celestial born further from the light. And there’s no way a mortal human being could take me on.”

“Even a vision holder?”

“Doubtful. Maybe if they were extremely strong and skilled, and had a delusion, too.”

Aether squints. “A delusion? What’s a delusion?”

“The dark-arts counterfeit vision. They can be pretty powerful, depending on who made them. The principle boils down to brute-forcing elemental control through pilfered abyssal energy, at a high cost to the user. If they’re a vision holder and they use the delusion sparingly, it might take years to see any negative effects, but eventually, it’ll take its toll.”

“What about a non vision-holder?”

“A non vision-holder could die instantly, trying to use a strong delusion. That’s if they’re lucky. Usually they die in prolonged agony, while the abyssal corruption necrotizes their insides. Weak delusions drain the life energy less aggressively, but even using one sparingly, a non vision-holder would be dead in weeks.”

“Do people really use these delusion things? They sound like a bad deal.”

“The Fatui Vanguard use them.”

“The Tsaritsa allows her own people to use a weapon that’ll kill them?”

“She requires it. I’ve heard the Harbingers use them, too, but I’ve never met one, so I can’t say for sure.”

“I’ve met a couple of them. I don’t know about Scaramouche, but the Signora had multi-elemental powers. I thought it was because of the Crimson Witch thing, but maybe it was a delusion.”

“The Crimson Witch of Flame? She’s a Harbinger now? That’s disappointing. She used to say she was going to cleanse the corruption from this world with a storm of fire. I guess she changed her mind.”

“How do you know of her?”

“I’m a fire demon. She was the most powerful pyro-aligned sorcerer in Teyvat’s history. Word gets around in professional circles.”

Aether frowns thoughtfully. “So, I have a question, if you’re an elemental-aligned spirit, what makes you a demon? What’s the difference between you and the elemental gods?”

“Aside from the fact that they’re from Teyvat and I’m from elsewhere, the difference is mainly that demons don’t particularly like humans or care what happens to them, whereas gods want to get all involved in their lives and shepherd them around like flocks.”

“That’s why I’m confused. I thought demons were created when elemental gods accept blood from human sacrifices.”

Enjou shakes his head. “Different kind of demons. Not actually demons, at all, if you want to get technical. What you’re talking about are corrupted earthbound spirits, and those really are evil—as in malicious, destructive forces who hate humans and feed on suffering and death. I’m a true demon, meaning I’ve always been this way. Also, I can’t absorb power from human sacrifice. I’m not connected to any world like that.”

“Are all Abyss Lectors demons, then?”

“All Abyss Lectors are demons, but not all demons are Abyss Lectors. It’s a vocation, not a species.”

“So, why take a side if you don’t have to? And why choose the Abyss Order?”

“In the rare case one of us gets involved, we almost exclusively side with the Abyss, because they let us choose our roles according to our own interests and work with minimal supervision, whereas Celestia is notoriously heavy-handed with the micromanagement. Even if we were invited to side with them, we wouldn’t. We don’t take well to being ordered around. For myself, I wanted the knowledge and power the Order offered. I can’t tear holes in reality myself, for example, and that manner of travel is extremely quick and convenient. Also, their archives are unimaginably vast, and they offered me unrestricted access. As a historian, I couldn’t resist all that information.”

“Yeah, I already knew you were a nerd. Is Rex Lapis a thing like you?”

“Ha…no. First of all, in terms of sheer power alone, comparing me and and him is like comparing apples and the planet apple trees live on. Though, to be honest, I don’t know what he was before he became a benevolent deity to a bunch of humans. He could have been a high-order demon at some point. Morax was the God of War, after all.”

“So, he’s not inherently good.”

“Very few things are inherently good or evil. Every sentient being is a product of their choices and experiences, as much as their nature. Why do you ask?”

“I was curious because you kind of look like him. With the eyes and the horns and the fangs and claws and skin markings and glowing hands—” Aether breaks off and his eyes go wide. “Wait, are you a dragon, too?”

“No, I’m not a dragon,” Enjou laughs. “Are you disappointed?”

“No.” Aether slides his hands up his bare chest onto his shoulders and draws him down, till their foreheads touch. “You’re beautiful.”

“So are—so are you.”

“It would probably be…a really bad idea for us to fuck, wouldn’t it,” he murmurs, almost letting his lips brush against Enjou’s, but not quite. His red eyes flutter shut, and Aether feels his breathing become quick and shallow.

“Definitely. The worst idea.”

“We’re gonna do it anyway, aren’t we.”

“God, I hope so.”

Enjou gives a soft moan in his throat as Aether’s mouth covers his. Hooking his arm under his ass, he pulls him up higher, so he doesn’t have to bend down to kiss him, and pushes his tongue forward to find Aether’s. Aether’s head spins, intoxicated by the sensation of being pressed against his big, hard, blazing hot body, feeling the scrape of his sharp fangs as his long tongue rolls over his.

“Wait, wait,” Enjou pants, breaking the kiss and drawing back to look at him. “Before this gets any further, you should know that my, uh…my anatomy isn’t exactly human. I didn’t want to spring it on you suddenly and shock or disgust you.”

“Ooh, really?” Aether says, sounding anything but shocked or disgusted. “Let me guess, your cock is huge because you’re eight feet tall and it has non-human characteristics.”

“They, uh…yes they are, but that’s not what I—”

“They?” Aether interrupts, wide-eyed. “Are you—do you have more than one?”

“I, uh. I have…two,” Enjou says awkwardly.

“Holy—” Aether feels his cheeks and ears flush with heat, and knows he’s probably turning bright pink. “Can I see them?”

“Well. They’re, uh—ahem—they’re inside, at the moment. They come out from the protective scales when they get hard.”

“Protective scales?”

“I know how weird that must sound,” Enjou winces. “I can turn back into a human, if this is too much for—”

“No, no!” Aether exclaims hastily. “Please don’t do that! I’m not freaked out by nonhuman anatomy. It’s kind of the opposite. I’m actually starting to wonder if I have a monster kink.”

“You’re married to Rex Lapis. It’d be unfortunate if you didn’t have a monster kink.”

“But you’re not going to…like, turn into a monster, or anything, while you fuck me…right?”

“No, I won’t do that,” Enjou laughs.

“Oh. Alright,” Aether says, sounding disappointed, which makes him laugh harder.

He stops laughing, however, and watches raptly, as the boy twists out of his arms and hops up, stripping off his clothing and letting it lie where it falls. Aether steps over his legs again, and leans his naked body against him. Enjou’s hands slide up onto his tight, round ass, as he presses kisses into his silky skin, licking it and grazing it with his teeth, flicking his nipples with his long tongue, till they are puckered and pebble-hard.

“Are you really gonna let me fuck you?” he asks, looking up into his beautiful face.

“Depends on whether or not we can get your huge demon cocks in me. I don’t have anything to lubricate with but saliva.”

“Oh, they self-lubricate.”

Aether blinks. “They do?”

“Yeah. I’m a fire demon. Heat plus friction equals lots of drying, so they produce their own lubrication.”

“Convenient,” Aether says, kneeling down between Enjou’s legs to survey the situation.

There is a rounded bulge in the smooth, crimson hide, in the place where a cock should be. He leans closer and can see what appears to be a tightly closed seam in the center. Enjou hisses with a sharply indrawn breath, as Aether strokes the area with his fingertips. Retracting his claws and slicking his fingers liberally with saliva, Enjou reaches around behind Aether to prod and tease his asshole. Aether spreads his knees wider and bends down on all fours to put his mouth on Enjou. His whole body shudders as Aether’s tongue slides over the snakelike scales, lapping the tightly closed slit, till it begins to swell and yield, and looks almost like a woman’s vulva.

Resting his weight on his elbows, he puts his thumbs on either side to spread it open, licking up and down the cleft, till the tapered heads of Enjou’s cocks emerge, pushing the slit open, lengthening and swelling, until the entire shafts are exposed. They’re identical, joined at the base, like a snake’s, rather than exiting his body at two separate points, and each one is nearly as long as Aether’s forearm. They have a color gradient, going from dark scarlet to glowing gold at the tip, and they bulge in the middle of the shaft. As Enjou had said, they are already slippery all over, and leaking more clear fluid from the tips. Aether wonders if he could even fit one inside, let alone both, as he takes one in each hand. Their outer layer is more pliant and squishy than human cocks, but they are rigid and solid inside. He pumps the shafts with both hands, licking and sucking them in tandem, while Enjou’s big fingers push roughly in and out of his asshole, scissoring and working him open.

“You don’t want any more prep?” he asks, as Aether pulls away and straddles him again.

“No, I’m conditioned. I might need a minute to adjust to your size, though.”

Enjou watches breathlessly as he takes one of his dicks in his hand to guide it, and bends his knees, squatting down to mount him. The hot, slippery head presses against Aether’s taut hole. Its tapered shape makes it easier to slide inside, and after a few minutes, he’s got it firmly saddled. Enjou hangs onto his hips, straining against the urge to thrust, as Aether works his thighs, riding his girthy shaft like a carousel horse. He reaches back and holds the other cock against the cleft of his ass, letting it slide up and down as he fucks himself on the first one, till he’s flushed and breathless. The one is more than enough, but the idea of having them both inside has taken hold of him and he can’t let it go. He pushes himself up, almost all the way off the first cock, and presses the second head against his taut hole behind it.

“Whoa, are you—are you sure you want to do that?” Enjou sputters. “I don’t want to kill you, remember?”

“I can take them both,” he pants. “I just have to…ungh! Fuck!”

His sentence devolves into incoherent profanity as both heads push in through the tight ring of muscle at once. He clenches his teeth and groans as he sinks onto them, slowly impaling himself on the slippery, springy shafts, letting them stretch and fill him, till he can’t take any more, and has to pause to breathe through the burn. They’re not even halfway inside yet. Once his muscles acclimate a little more, he resumes pushing himself down, pausing to breathe every inch or so, till he has them almost fully hilted. They don’t seem inclined to go in any deeper, but there are a couple inches of the shafts outside still, and he’s determined to take them all the way.

Letting his knees fall apart, he leans back, planting his hands on Enjou’s thighs, and rocks his hips gently, getting his hole used to being stretched to this extreme degree. Gradually, the resistance gives way, and his body swallows the remaining length, till his ass sits flush on Enjou’s pelvis. Aether is panting and shaking all over, already dripping with sweat, from the intense heat they are radiating inside him. He lays a hand on his abdomen, blinking dazedly down at it, as if he’d somehow be able to see the massive cocks inside him from the outside.

It does look a little distended, and his dick stands rigidly out from his pelvis, ruddy and veiny, drooling from the slit. His body feels heavy and full, and his hole is stretched so tight that it feels like he’ll rip in half if he moves an inch. Not that he could move, anyway. Now that he has managed to get both cocks inside him, his legs are pretty much useless, shaky and weak, and spread so wide to accommodate Enjou’s big body, that he doesn’t have any way to get leverage.

“I can’t…my legs,” he slurs, swaying drunkenly. “You gotta f—fuck me.”

Enjou obediently takes hold of his waist with one hand, supporting his back with the other, then begins to cautiously slide him up and down on his cocks. Aether leans heavily against Enjou’s hand, arching his spine and letting his head loll backward. With his insides squeezing and sucking his cocks, and his young body displayed this way, he is the most alluring thing Enjou has ever seen. His long, golden-blonde hair, his slender build, with his flat stomach and tiny waist, just enough muscle tone to avoid looking too childish, but not enough to signal overt masculinity. His nipples are rosy and erect and his chest is flushed, and his pink, human dick is leaking so hard it looks like he’s pissing himself. Enjou has just lifted him up and is pushing him onto his cocks again, when all the sudden, the boy’s hole clamps down tightly on him.  

“I’m c—I’m coming!” he wails, digging his fingernails into Enjou’s thighs.

His leg muscles flex and his toes curl, and he makes a choking sound in his throat, his hips jerking erratically, as his cock throbs and spurts milk-white fluid onto his chest and stomach. When he lifts his head and catches Enjou staring at him, he blushes like a rose, covering his face with his hands, as if he’s embarrassed, which has the practical effect of making his fire-demon lover want to absolutely destroy his pretty little human body.

Lifting the tiny Celestial in one hand, Enjou stands up and pins him against the stone wall, with his legs over his shoulders, and pushes both cocks back into his stretched, swollen hole. One clawed, golden hand gripping his ass and one on the wall for balance, he begins to thrust in earnest. The boy’s mouth falls open and his eyes roll back in his head. His dick is already hard again, leaking a stream of clear fluid onto his abdomen as Enjou’s thick shafts rake mercilessly over his tender prostate. His whole body tenses up and he moans obscenely as he shakes apart again, spattering his ejaculation all over himself. Enjou keeps fucking him and fucking him, milking excruciating orgasms out of him with his huge cocks, till he’s quivering and whining, tears rolling down his cheeks as he comes completely dry.

“P—please,” he whimpers, in a hoarse, fucked-out voice. “I can’t take—I can’t take it any more.”

“I want to come inside you,” Enjou rasps.

Aether nods unsteadily. “Yeah, in—do it inside.”

Enjou bares his long, sharp fangs and lunges forward, biting deep into his neck. Aether gives a strangled cry, twisting and writhing helplessly, choking out wet, hiccupping sobs, as the already massive shafts inside him swell to an unbearable girth, threatening to tear him apart. Enjou clamps his fangs down tighter and fucks him harder and faster, pounding him like a jackhammer, until finally, he plunges his cocks in as deep as they can go and holds them there. Aether is half out of his senses, only vaguely aware of one convulsing inside him, pumping a flood of slippery, molten-hot fluid into his asshole, that overflows and gushes out, splashing onto the the stone floor. Enjou resumes pounding him in the slick of semen, till his other cock throbs and releases another hot torrent, which also spills out and splatters onto the floor.  

He holds onto Aether’s pert little ass with both hands, rocking into him against the wall while the spasms ebb and subside, then he lifts him gently in his arms and takes him to lie him down. His huge cocks squelch out of the boy as he collapses insensate on the wool blankets, legs splayed wide apart, viscous, milky fluid streaming out of his gorgeously gaped asshole, to pool on the floor between his thighs.

Aether is properly wrecked. His dick lies wet and spent on his abdomen, his body is drenched with sweat and semen, and his neck is bleeding from the bite wound. Enjou knows his Celestial body is extraordinarily strong and resilient, but he looks so young and small, and painfully soft. He crouches beside him, anxiously observing him, till his big, hazel-gold eyes flutter open. Aether blinks up into his face, then his lips part in a smile and he reaches out his arms to be held.

Relieved to find that he is happy and not in distress, after having his body brutalized like that, Enjou lies down and pulls him onto his chest. While Aether dozes in the blissful, post-fuck haze and the soothing heat of his body, his fire-demon lover stares up at the vaulted ceiling in the dim light, turning something over in his mind. He truly does like the boy, and dislikes deceiving him, but his loyalty to his master is absolute. So far, he has been accomplishing what he was sent here to do—seeding doubt, planting sympathy for the Abyss Order in the prince's mind, assessing his loyalty to the king—but his mission is not quite concluded. There is one thing left to do before he can return to his real work. But that can wait, at least until Aether wakes up. For now, he wants to lie here and enjoy holding him like this, just a little while longer.

Chapter Text

“I wish you could stay longer,” Enjou says, watching as Aether dresses himself.

Aether finishes tightening the belt around the waist of his black and gold brocade yisan, and sits to pull on his boots. “I’ll come back. I’ve already been gone overnight, though, and I don’t want to lead them here, if they’re out searching for me.”

“They don’t know what I am. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal if they showed up here.”

“Still, it’d be better not to have the Knights crawling all over your work site.”

“True,” Enjou concedes, lifting Aether in his arms to kiss him. Then he laughs and swings him back and forth. “You’re so little, I just want to carry you around like a doll.”

“Hey, no bullying me! Put me down! I haven’t even finished growing yet, anyway. I won’t always be this small.”

“Sure, but most Celestials are much taller by your age,” Enjou says, pressing another kiss to his lips before he sets him on his feet again. “You must take after your non-Celestial parent.”

“My what?”

“You know, whichever of your parents is the outlander genetically responsible for your observably non-Celestial hair and eye color. And I assume your height, though who knows, you might suddenly shoot up another foot and a half.”

“Sorry, but you’re mistaken. I don’t have a non-Celestial parent.”

“Really?” Enjou frowns.

“Really. Both my parents are purebred Celestials, my mother from the royal line and my father from a subordinate ducal house.”

“Huh. Well, heredity is a strange beast. I guess it’s just a fluke.”

“Enjou…before I go, you know I have to ask you—”

“I can’t. Please don’t.”

“What the hell do you mean, you can’t?” Aether demands, bridling up. “You’re an agent of the Abyss. You have to know more than you’re telling me about what happened in Khaenri’ah—what happened to my sister.”

“Prince Aether, I am loyal to my master,” Enjou answers gravely. “I will not act in contradiction to his wishes. However…friendship requires something of me, so I will allow you to ask one yes or no question, and I will answer it honestly. Only one. Choose it wisely.”

Aether stares up at him, struggling with conflicting emotions, mostly anger at the audacity of this creature in claiming loyalty to the Abyss Lord as a legitimate reason to withhold information Aether has been desperately seeking for so long. But something within him warns him to tread carefully. That despite his disarming awkwardness and affable demeanor, Enjou is a not a creature to trifle with.

“Did the Abyss Lord kill my sister?” he asks, at last, unable to conceal the tremor in his voice.

“No.”

Tears start in Aether’s eyes. “But what does that mean? Is she alive? Did someone else kill her? Please, Enjou, I’m begging you. If you know anything, please tell me.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t say any more. There are things you have to find out for yourself. But I can give you one clue as to where to start looking for answers. I—” Enjou stops short, blinking strangely.

“What? What’s wrong?” Aether asks, alarmed.

“I—ice,” he says.

Aether looks down to see what very much appears to be a spear made of ice, sticking through Enjou’s abdomen, already beginning to hiss and steam as his body heat melts it away. The answer to the riddle becomes clear as Kaeya steps out of the shadows in the massive doorway, sword drawn, with a jagged ice crystal floating above his other palm. At the same time, Aether hears voices and booted footsteps, thundering in the other chamber.

“It’s here!” Kaeya shouts behind him, through the open door. “It’s been holding the prince captive!”

“Looks like they were out searching,” Enjou says, in a strained voice. “Hang onto my…teacups, will you?”

Aether turns to see him tearing open an abyss portal in the air beside them. “Wait, Enjou, I won’t let them hurt you! Let me help you!”

Enjou smiles and staggers back a step, clutching his abdomen. “Nothing you can do. Demon, remember? See ya around.”

So saying, he vanishes through the portal, which instantly collapses behind him, with the accompanying low roar, as air rushes in to fill the vacuum left by the abrupt displacement of matter, just in time for one of Kaeya’s ice javelins to go sailing through the space it had just occupied.

“Damn it,” Kaeya growls, as he comes dashing up. “Highness, are you alright? Did it hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine,” Aether replies crossly, stalking over to pick up Enjou’s traveling pack, which contains the teacups.

The other Knights have stormed in now, and are fanning out to search the place, tromping all over and kicking up dust, and knocking over neatly arranged stacks of scrolls. Two hurry over to investigate the campsite, and begin rolling up Enjou’s wool blankets and taking his kettle from the spit.

“Excuse me, my lord prince, but that’s evidence,” the female Knight says to Aether, indicating the traveling pack. “You’ll have to turn it over to us to be catalogued and examined.”

Aether cocks his head to one side. “Pardon my inexperience in this area, but I’m not accustomed to being told by subjects what I’ll have to do. What is the process by which you intend to enforce this demand?”

Seeing her error, the young woman turns ash-white and stands there literally shaking in her boots. She glances at her commander, Captain Alberich, for assistance, but he is laughing delightedly at her discomfiture, and shows no sign of taking her side in the situation. Having no other option, she bows low and mumbles a hasty apology, then practically runs away.

“Sorry about that,” Kaeya says, trotting to catch up with Aether, who has turned and is walking briskly out of the temple. “These young Knights don’t know their hierarchy from a hole in the ground.”

“I’m used to it. People think they can boss me around like a child because I look like one.”

“So, since I’m dying with curiosity now, what’s in the bag?”

“Teacups.”

Kaeya frowns questioningly. “Teacups?”

“Enjou asked me to take care of them for him, before he took that portal out.”

“Enjou…the Abyss Lector.”

“Yes.”

“I see. Something tells me he wasn’t holding you captive, after all.”

“No, he wasn’t. I doubt he could have, even if he intended to.”

“Ah. Well. Sorry I shot first and asked questions later. That little icicle won’t kill him, though, so don’t worry yourself too much.”

They have just stepped out the door into the pale light of early morning, under the deep green veil of trees. Aether stops dead in his tracks and turns to face the Cavalry Captain. “Why are you apologizing and why are you reassuring me that it won’t kill him? Aren’t you supposed to be lecturing me about going off alone with an Abyss agent, and acting all horrified and morally outraged that I willingly spent the night with him?”

“I’m reassuring you because it seems like you care whether he lives or not. Why else would you bother about his teacups? As for lecturing you, it’s not my place to assume I know your business better than you do. I figure you had your reasons for doing what you did.”

“Oh.” Aether blinks. “Thank you for treating me like an adult.”

“Just out of curiosity, when you say you spent the night with him…” Kaeya ventures, as they resume walking.

“We fucked.”

Kaeya arches his blue eyebrow. “You had consensual sex with an Abyss Lector?”

“Yes. I did. Really good consensual sex,” Aether returns defensively. “Why, you jealous?”

“I mean…a little bit, yeah,” he muses, rubbing his chin. “I imagine that’d be quite an experience.”

Aether can’t help but laugh at this. “It’s probably best you keep it in your imagination. I doubt a regular human would survive that experience, even with a vision.”

“C’est la vie,” Kaeya says unconcernedly. “I have plenty to amuse myself with, here in Mondstadt, anyway.”

“Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be back there with your Knights, investigating the ruin?”

“Eh, they’ll be fine. Unless the Lector comes back. Then they’re screwed,” Kaeya answers, chuckling with apparent amusement at the idea of his subordinates being slaughtered by an Abyss agent.

“How did you find us, anyway?”

“You walked out of town with the man. He wasn’t exactly secretive about where he was working. I put two and two together about him being the Lector when our most noble king mentioned that he said he was a scholar of Khaenri’ahn history. That sounded like a hook to bait you, if anything was.”

Aether frowns. “You don’t think he set up the whole situation to get to me, do you? That would require some elaborate orchestration.”

“Maybe, but I think it’s likelier what happened with Bennett and Royce was a genuine accident that worked out for him by chance.”

“What could he have possibly been after? All we did was talk.”

“I don’t know. Depends what you talked about.”

“He gave me a brief overview of the Khaenri’ah thing. After I confronted him and he revealed himself, he told me a little bit about demons. He also said something about Celestia not being as benevolent as it seems, and told me to look into it myself. He wouldn’t tell me anything else about Khaenri’ah or my sister. He said he’s loyal to his master, but I could ask one yes or no question. My father has been telling me the Abyss Lord killed my sister for two decades. I asked him if that was true. He said no. So, now I have conflicting stories about my sister’s fate. One from my father, and one from a demon I met yesterday.”

“Which one do you believe?”

“I think…I think I believe the demon I met yesterday.”

Kaeya’s eyebrow goes up again. “Over the word of your father?”

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone?”

“I suppose I can’t stop you.”

“When my father told me what happened to my sister, I never really believed it. I don’t know what reason he’d have to lie, but something about it never sat right with me. No one else questioned it, of course. The death of the female heir was a worldwide tragedy. There was a huge funeral and all of Celestia went into mourning for a year. But I couldn’t feel anything about it. My sister was my best friend—the only person I’ve ever loved—and I couldn’t even cry. All I felt was…unsettled. I asked my father for more details once, if only to help me get closure, but he got angry and forbid me asking about or looking into it.

I thought to myself that I’d just look into it once I was in Teyvat and he couldn’t stop me. Then, for a while, I was afraid I’d never wind up here, because there was talk of keeping me at home to be married to a Celestial woman, so that my daughter could continue the royal line. That was shut down eventually—apparently even Celestials are afraid to break a contract with Rex Lapis. But once I was here, I had no idea where to even begin to look. I’ve been here two years and this Abyss Lector is the closest I’ve come to any useful information.”

“Well, no time like the present,” Kaeya says offhandedly. “It’s too bad you hate Dainsleif, so much. He might know something useful.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t hate Dainsleif.”

“Really? He told me you avoid him like the plague. He says every time he tries to make conversation, you make some excuse about feeling ill and run away.”

“No, it’s—they’re not excuses. I actually like Dainsleif. I just literally can’t stand to be around him. Every time I’m near him for more than a few minutes, I get weak and disoriented, and I feel like I’m gonna pass out. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure it’s not just in my head. Last time it happened was that night you and I walked in the garden. He and I talked for about five minutes, then I started to go weak and blurry and had to get away. I felt better before I got to my room.”

Kaeya’s brow is furrowed and his blue eye is fixed on some point in the middle-distance. “Can that truly be the reason?”

“Can what be?”

“It’s nothing. I’m Khaenri’ahn and you have no trouble being near me, so it must be something else.”

“Right. I didn’t really think it was that, anyway. Khaenri’ahns are just humans from a different part of Teyvat.”

“Are we? Where did we get these beautiful eyes, then?” Kaeya pretends to pout. “I always hoped the rumors were true, and that our ancestors interbred with demons.”

“Is that a thing people think? I’ve never heard that.”

“You didn’t grow up in Teyvat, hearing the old wives tales. All the folklore treats the eyes as a mark of shame, but different stories diverge on whether we’re actually the descendants of demons, or if Rex Lapis gave the people of the cursed nation these slit pupils, so we could always be identified and kept separate from his faithful children.”

Aether frowns. “He would never do something like that.”

“Of course not. That didn’t stop the other Mondstadt children from calling me creepy Kaeya and throwing salt at me to see if it’d burn me.”

“Those little monsters. Why didn’t someone put a stop to it?”

“Eventually, someone did.”

“Who?”

“None other than our illustrious King Diluc, of course. I never told anyone about the things they said and did to me, because I didn’t want the old king to know. I knew how it’d hurt him. Diluc didn’t know because all the children of each age group were tutored together in the cathedral, and he was a year older, so he wasn’t in my class. After lessons one day, a bunch of them cornered me by the retaining wall at the bottom of the cathedral courtyard. They’d been throwing salt at me, but they’d run out, and were looking for another way to humiliate me. The children used to say I wore my eyepatch to hide my devil eye. Two of them grabbed me and tried to tear it off to get a look.

The Knights of Favonius HQ is just over the hedge from there, and as it happened, Diluc was in the training yard with Master Varka. They heard the commotion and came to see what the matter was. Diluc…he lost his mind. I’ve never seen anything like it. I think he was actually on fire. I was around eleven, at the time, so he was no more than twelve, but Master Varka couldn’t even stop him. Before he got him under control, he’d beaten those two boys so badly they had to be hospitalized.

Of course, the parents of all the children involved presented King Crepus with a formal complaint, blaming me for causing disruptions and instigating fights with their little angels. They demanded that I be kept away from the other children for their safety. Diluc was scary when he was angry, but…that day, those people found out where he got it from. The difference was, the old king knew how to keep the fire under control, and only let it show in his eyes. When he was angry, he was calm and stern, and terrifying.

He stood by me and put his hand on my shoulder. He called me his son. He told them that children learn fear and hate from their elders, and further harassment of his son by any children would be handled as if it were their parents’ own actions. That was the day he became my father, in my heart. When the plaintiffs went away sufficiently humbled, he warned Diluc to watch he didn’t actually kill one of the other children, then he told us he hoped we’d always look out for each other, and sent us off to play.”

“What happened to change things between you before he died? I remember you saying he left you the winery to make up for disowning you otherwise.”

“Nothing happened. He really didn’t have much choice about disowning me. He couldn’t make me a real Ragnvindr, because of the nation’s heredity laws. As you may have gathered, Mondstadt is a touch bigoted against outsiders.”

“And Diluc wanted the winery, right? That’s why there’s so much tension between you two, now?”

“Noticed that, did you?” Kaeya laughs bitterly. “We don’t really bother to conceal it. The people pretend to wish we’d reconcile, but they love it. They enjoy nothing more than to wring their hands and lament about how we were brothers once, and it’s so tragic that we’d let a little thing like inheritance come between us. They don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about. The rift between me and him…it goes far deeper than the disposition of a few grape vines in a dead man’s will.”

“Does it have something to do with why you hate Mondstadt so much?”

“I don’t hate it. The people in Mondstadt…well, that’s another story.”

“So, why do you stay?”

“Eh,” Kaeya shrugs. “It’d be a lot of work to pack up my life here and venture off to establish myself in a new place. Why go to all the trouble, when I have everything I need for a luxurious life right here?”

“Wow,” Aether says, looking up at him. “You’re a pretty good liar. I bet everyone buys the whole devil-may-care libertine act, too.”

Kaeya’s frost-blue eye flashes on him keenly, then he throws his head back and laughs. “Sorry to disappoint you, highness, but I’m not a secret hero in disguise as a dissipated youth. What you see is what you get. I’ve long been disenchanted of any idealistic notions I harbored in my childhood. The world is ugly and hard, and nobody loves anyone more than they love themselves. So, I live for myself, now. That suits me fine.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s making you very happy.”

“Happiness is an illusion. The best one can strive for is contentment.”

“Are you content?”

“Getting there, I think. I’ll let you know in a couple years.”

When they arrive back at the palace, Kaeya declines to come inside, pleading his need to get home, as the Dawn Winery is hosting its annual Windblume Festival banquet this evening. He bids Aether come and see all the gentry, who think he’s not good enough for a leaf on the royal family tree, but will happily drink his wine and eat his food. Aether is obligated to go, but would have anyway, just to see how Kaeya comports himself as a host with Diluc present. Most of the Mondstadters seem to take his open contempt for an acerbic sense of humor, and he gets away with saying some boldly insulting things, but Aether doubts his childhood friend is prone to make such an error.

As soon as he gets to his chambers, King Diluc summons him to his drawing room to debrief with him regarding the Abyss Lector, and when Aether is done with that, he only has two hours to bathe and dress, before the carriages leave for the winery. Madame Ping has some observations to make regarding the amenities (or lack thereof) in this so-called royal house with which to amuse the prince while he bathes, though, so he’s in much better spirits by the time a servant comes to alert him to the waiting carriage.

Aether has heard much of the Dawn Winery, and has served hundreds of gallons of its produce at his supper table in the Jade Palace, but he has never seen it before. His first introduction to the place is certainly the way to see it to its best advantage. When the carriages come around the bend into the verdant valley, it is the golden hour of late afternoon. An unseasonably balmy breeze rustles the dark-green leafed vines, and the scent of rich soil permeates the air.

At the center of the lush greenery, stands the sprawling, villa-style house. A red-crowned bastion of warmth and hospitality in the expanse of verdure. Lights shine bright and cheerful from its many large, paned windows, and the garden has been hung all about with lanterns and garlands of flowers, converting the entire area to a party space. Long outdoor banquet tables are covered in white linens and glittering place-settings, and an army of smartly-uniformed waiters stand ready to see to every possible want a guest may have.

The king’s cortège are the last to arrive, so the finely arrayed crowd is already in place, and the revelry is in full swing. The entrance is flanked by ranks of servants, and Kaeya stands front and center to greet them, with a bow and sweeping gesture of welcome, as they exit their carriages. He has doffed his standard vagabond’s attire, in favor of a fitted, white dinner jacket and black waistcoat, with the white shirt left rakishly unbuttoned underneath, exposing generous expanse of his tawny décolleté.

He looks absolutely stunning, and Aether tells him so, for which he is rewarded with a sardonic kiss on the hand. This makes King Diluc roll his eyes and delights Lady Barbara to no end. Apparently she has decided that there is some simmering attraction between the Dragon Prince and the Cavalry Captain, and is determined to find evidence to that effect in every gesture and word they direct at one another.

As they approach the house, the lively strains of a melody plucked from a stringed instrument waft up through the garden, which means Venti is present somewhere and still conscious. This is surprising to Aether, since kegs of cider and bottles of wine are literally everywhere, and the vigilant waiters are patrolling with trays of full mugs and glasses, while others whisk away the empties. After the obligatory heralding of the king’s arrival and communal bow, Barbara trots off into the fray in search of her friend, and Kaeya excuses himself to attend to his hosting duties, which once again leaves Aether in the company of the monarch.

They are not forced to speak to one another, however, since a near-constant stream of courtiers and nobles stop by to extract their rightfully owed facetime with the king. A young Knight of Favonius named Lady Eula has just cheerfully vowed vengeance upon all the king’s enemies, when Aether spots the heavy, fur-collared coats and carnival masks of a group of Fatui. They are approaching from the left, and Diluc is turned to the right, speaking with Lady Eula, so he doesn’t see them. No one else appears to, either, judging from the general lack of reaction.

Aether’s bright, golden-bladed sword materializes in his hand and he stands at bay, between the enemy agents the king. “Your next step will be your last, gentlemen.”

“What? What is the meaning of this!” the lead one demands, as the Fatui give a collective start at finding themselves held at sword point, and throw their hands up.

“My lord prince,” King Diluc says smoothly. “If you would do me the honor of not killing any of the guests, I would be most obliged to you.”

“I don’t understand,” Aether replies, lowering his sword, but keeping his eyes on the interlopers. “Why are a bunch of Fatui here as guests?”

“This is the Snezhnayan Ambassador to Mondstadt, Lord Viktor,” Diluc explains. “Lord Viktor, this is Prince Aether of Celestia, Prince Consort and husband to His Divine Majesty Rex Lapis.”

“I beg your pardon,” Aether says, dismissing his sword, and dipping his chin to the flustered group. “I was told there was no Snezhnayan Embassy in Mondstadt.”

“My lord prince,” Viktor replies, with a stiff bow, then turns to the king. “King Diluc, it seems you have failed to properly prepare your illustrious guest for our presence. Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa will be most displeased with the way you have allowed her representatives to be insulted, through your negligence.”

“I am very sorry, Lord Viktor,” King Diluc replies, with a low bow. “If there is anything I can do to make reparation for this offense, I am at your service.”

“I will think about it,” Lord Viktor sniffs.

“Of course you will want to rest, now, after such a terribly brutish assault on your person, Lord Viktor,” Lady Eula interposes, with a chivalrous bow. “Come. I will personally escort you and your envoy to your lodging.”

Viktor blinks. “I…I don’t—”

“Now, now, don’t be coy, my lord,” the lady Knight insists, hooking her arm into that of the befuddled diplomat. “A man with your delicate constitution must take especial care not to become overwrought, else you may never recover. Worry not, I will see that you get home safe and sound.”

Detecting the mockery in her tone, Lord Viktor shakes her off and steps back, drawing himself up haughtily. “I can see we are not welcome at your little festivity, so we will take our leave. King Diluc, rest assured this incident will be reported to Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa.”

With that, the Fatui delegation turn on their heels and storm off, under a cloud of indignation. Aether and the Lady Eula laugh merrily, and King Diluc looks exactly as dismal as ever.

“Eula, I wish you wouldn’t insult Viktor like that,” he says wearily. “Now I’m going to have to deal with the blowback from the Snezhnayan state department.”

“I’m sorry, my lord king,” Eula replies, looking dutifully chastised. “I simply can’t stand to watch those weasely little Fatui bureaucrats treat you so disrespectfully.”

“I’m with the lady, your highness,” Aether puts in. “They have no right to behave that way. Letting them get away with it will just encourage them to keep taking further liberties.”  

“I see. I am grateful to you both for the advice,” King Diluc says, barely lifting his eyes from the ground. “I will take it under consideration. If you’ll excuse me, I should go and find Lady Barbara.”

With that, he turns and stalks away into the garden, leaving Lady Eula and Aether looking after him.

“Well, I’ve put my foot in it, now,” Eula sighs. “I really didn’t intend to cause trouble for him. Seeing our king treated like an inferior by men who aren’t fit to shine his boots just makes all my proud, Lawrence Clan blood boil.”

Aether shakes his head. “Don’t chide yourself for doing the right thing. You’re a Knight. You’re duty-bound to defend your king’s honor, even if he won’t. I’m sure there won’t be much in the way of retaliation, but if there is, I’ll intervene personally. I’m not scared of the Tsaritsa, and I was the one who pulled the sword on them, in the first place.”

“I wish some of your self-assuredness would rub off on King Diluc, my lord prince. He could sure use it.”

“What’s wrong with him, anyway? Has he always been so miserable?”

“Oh, no, not at all. King Diluc and Master Jean and I are the same age, so we were classmates all through primary school, and the three of us were best friends. He was always a little quieter and more serious than other children, but he was never like this. Not until his father died.”

“What happened? I know there was some kind of attack and that the king was killed, but the details I got from Venti were hazy at best.”

“The details are sort of hazy in general. It was Diluc’s sixteenth birthday. They were on their way here from the city. They were within sight of the winery, when an Abyssal beast attacked them. Everyone else that was with them was killed, so no one was with the king, but Diluc. The king drove the beast away and protected his son, but he was mortally wounded, and by the time Kaeya and the household guard from the winery got to them, he was dead. Eventually, one of the Fatui Harbingers killed the beast and brought its head to Mondstadt, which put Diluc in their debt. That’s why he was forced to allow them a diplomatic presence, here. There was no official space available that was good enough for them, so they’re headquartered at the Goth Grand Hotel.”

“A Harbinger,” Aether frowns. “That sounds suspiciously benevolent. Not to mention advantageous for the Fatui.”

“Master Albedo thinks so, too. He’s been looking into it, but has yet to discover any proof of a connection between the Fatui and the beast’s attack on the king.”

“Which Harbinger?”

“I’ve only heard him called Dottore.”

“Hm. I’ve never heard of him. These stupid names of theirs make them sound like a wandering circus troupe.” Aether looks up at that moment, and spies acting Grand Master Jean talking with Lisa, the inexplicably scantily-clad Favonius librarian. “Lady Eula, can I ask a stupid question?”

“Only if it’s really stupid,” Eula grins.

“Well, if Master Jean is the same age as King Diluc, why wasn’t the marriage arranged between the two of them? Why the younger sister?”  

“As her mother’s firstborn daughter, Jean is the hereditary Dandelion Knight. She has many important duties, already, without adding a royal marriage to it. Being a queen is a huge responsibility, too, and it would be pretty much impossible for her to do both jobs.”

“I know that, firsthand. I’m in the same position as a queen, only they call me a consort because I’m a boy. Which is kind of sexist, but whatever.”

“Old habits die hard in Teyvat, unfortunately. If you’ll excuse me, my lord prince, my date is all by herself. I’m going to try and put the moves on her before she gets drunk.”

“Good luck, Lady Eula,” Aether laughs.

Finding himself on his own, for once, and having no interest in sampling more Mondstadt cuisine, he decides to explore the winery a little. The interior of the main house is richly and tastefully appointed, in that way noble houses in cold-climate kingdoms tend to be, with a lot of dark, polished wood, jewel-toned fabrics, and roaring fireplaces. Having come from the Jade Palace, and the Celestial before that, the Dawn Winery’s twenty-seven guest suites, five kitchens, countless drawing rooms, and miles of subterranean wine cellar fail to make much of an impression on Aether.

Wandering down a series of hallways, he comes to a library or large study, lined with tall bookshelves that are packed to the gills with books. In the center, there are overstuffed couches and low tables bearing various little oddments, including a large, carven owl, and a vase that looks as if it belongs in another world. On the far end of the room, before the huge, stained-glass window, is an ancient-looking mahogany desk, covered with papers and scrolls.

Aether goes and sits down in the leather chair behind the expansive desk. This must be where the Cavalry Captain conducts the business he pretends not to run. Off to one side, there is a dog-eared copy of a book called The Adventures of Angelos. Aether picks it up and as he flips through it, a folded bit of paper falls out and flutters to the ground. He bends down and picks it up to examine it. It appears to be a sheet of official Knights of Favonius letterhead, upon which is written a list of names.

Aether frowns as he scans the paper. These are apparently the names of bandits and mercenaries all over Mondstadt, each with details regarding their specialty, area of activity, and a brief personal profile. Among them, a dozen or so are circled, with a note in the margin saying, ‘Otherwise, things would get too boring.’ Aether can’t imagine what any of this means, or why Kaeya would be conducting such thorough investigations of local bandits. He hears a footstep and looks up to see his host in the doorway, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed and his usual knowing smirk.

“Interesting reading?” Kaeya asks, as he strolls languidly into the room.

“I don’t really know,” Aether answers, holding the paper out to him. “What is all this?”

Kaeya takes the paper and looks it over carelessly, before handing it back with a shrug. “I suppose I must have got drunk and started scribbling nonsense.”

“Pretty articulate nonsense, Captain Alberich,” Aether returns. “I thought you didn’t give a shit about your position with the Knights, and avoided working at all costs.”

“There something specific you’re driving at, highness?”

“I think you’re a better man than you pretend to be. It’s none of my business why you insist on hiding it and fostering this image you’ve cultivated as a capricious playboy, but I want you to know you’re not pulling the wool over my eyes. I see you.”

Kaeya’s lip curls in an expression halfway between a smile and a sneer. “Do you, really? Or are you only seeing what you want to see?”

“I guess I’ll find out,” Aether replies, holding his gaze.

Kaeya stares back at him for a beat, then turns away, laughing. “Do come back downstairs, when you’ve finished snooping through my private property, highness. Don’t want to miss the party.”

When Kaeya has gone, Aether returns the sheet of paper to its place in the pages of the book, then steps out of the study into the hallway. He’s not sure which way actually leads out, and wanders about a bit before he finds the back stairs. These take him to a service hallway, where he goes out a side-door and finds himself among the grape arbors. The sun has long since set, and luminous, aquamarine crystalflies glimmer overhead, scattering trails of shimmering dust in their wake. The place really is beautiful at night.

Aether meanders absently along the rows, thinking about Enjou and his sister and Kaeya and lists of bandits. He is just about to turn the corner into the next row, when he hears a scuffle and some voices. He pauses to listen. It sounds like Diluc and Venti, but he can’t hear what’s being said. Leaning out from the arbor, he peers into the row. Venti is seated on the ground beside an open crate, surrounded by empty bottles. Diluc is attempting to coax him to give up the one he has in his hand, from which he is sloshing clear liquid about, as he gestures with it.

“Need some help?” Aether calls out, stepping into view.

“Do not trouble yourself, my lord prince. He’s not ill, he’s intoxicated,” Diluc replies, as he finally captures the bottle and manages to wrench it out of the bard’s hand.

Drunkenly incensed at losing his bottle, Venti wails plaintively and kicks his skinny, white-clad legs, as Diluc drags him up off the ground.

Aether picks up the bottle and sniffs the top, at which he wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. Fire Water. That explains it. I’ve seen him drink plenty of times, but I’ve never seen him actually drunk. How much did he have?”

“I have no idea,” Diluc says, shaking his head. “Let’s get him to the garden and have them bring some black coffee.”

Aether accompanies Diluc in leading Venti back toward the outdoor banquet area. Swaying and staggering as they walk along, he reels sideways suddenly. Turning to catch him, Diluc glances down the row they are passing. He stops short, staring, and Aether follows his gaze. A little way down the row, Kaeya is leaning against a large, wooden barrel, with a glass of wine in his hand. He doesn’t see them, because his attention is currently fully occupied by the Master Alchemist, who is kneeling in front of him, energetically deep-throating his cock. Kaeya grips the boy’s flaxen hair with his free hand and pushes his head down roughly as he thrusts into his mouth.

“Fuck that’s so good. Ha….ah! I’m gonna come. Swallow it,” he pants, then gives a choked groan as he apparently reaches his climax in the Master Alchemist’s throat.

“Hope you swallowed good, Bedo!” Venti bellows, with a drunken laugh, as he almost pitches over again. “Open up, let’s see!”

“Alright, that’s enough out of you. Time to sober up,” Diluc growls, lifting the giggling bard bodily off his feet and carrying him away.

Aether doesn’t look at them for their reaction, but as he hurries away after the king, he hears Albedo and Kaeya burst out laughing. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say the two specifically intended their little tête-à-tête to be witnessed. Though, for what purpose, he can’t say. Also, he’s not exactly sure, because the whole thing occurred within about ten seconds, but it seemed as if Diluc looked more wounded than particularly shocked, before Venti piped up and he dragged him away.

When they enter the banquet area, the king sits the bard down at a table, on one of the long, bench seats, and sits beside him, seeing that he doesn’t topple over, while he lolls against him, slurring out little bits of songs. Aether finds a servant and calls for a pot of black coffee, then sits down across from them.

“Princey-prince, pretty princey pants,” Venti warbles, swaying side to side. “Not as pretty as pretty little Luc, though. No one’s as pretty as him.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Diluc says irritably, arresting the bard’s hand as he pokes and prods his cheek. “The servant should be back with coffee, any moment now, so get it all out of your system.”

“What happened to Lady Barbara?” Aether asks. “She wouldn’t have let him drink so much, certainly.”

“Barbarbara Barbarbarbatos,” Venti hums, burying his face in Diluc’s chest. “Lady Barbaratos! She’s the god of wind, now, I decree it. Someone…write that down.”

“She took a carriage home an hour ago,” Diluc says to Aether, over the bard’s head.

“Cause it’s past her bedtime cause she’s seven,” Venti intimates sagely, from somewhere in Diluc’s cravat.

“Seventeen,” Diluc corrects, pushing him gently back upright, and handing him a cup of coffee from the tray a servant has just set down. “Here. Drink this, but take care you don’t burn your mouth.”

“Can’t even burn my mouth you stupid coffee,” Venti grumbles into the mug. Miraculously, he manages to swallow some without spilling it, then he makes a grimace like a child eating a vegetable it doesn’t like, and sticks out his tongue. “Ack. Gross. Bitter bean water.”

“Well, think about that next time you decide to get drunk,” Diluc chides. “No—all of it. I can wait.”

He watches Venti finish the mug and pours him another, while Aether looks on, growing increasingly fascinated by the dynamic between the two. The dour and unsmiling youth, attending to the intoxicated deity, with the firm and unflagging patience of a parent caring for a child, and the deity in question, dutifully obeying his young adherent, despite his pouting protests. He can’t tell if Diluc knows who his little bard friend really is, but either way, there is clearly some deep affection here. Diluc expresses it by being stern and paternal, and Venti expresses it by using pet names for him and touching his royal person in familiar ways.

“Pretty princey pants married mean old Morax,” Venti sighs, laying his head on Diluc’s shoulder. “I got him drunk once. Bet he didn’t…told you. Dumb dragon. He was so dumb and sexy and dumb. We fucked on Cloud Retainer’s table. She was so f—so mad!”

Venti gives a gleeful, hiccuping laugh and Aether laughs, too, imagining the look of shocked disapproval on the face of the fastidious old avian adeptus, at finding two intoxicated gods defiling her outdoor furniture. King Diluc looks a little bit shocked, himself.

“My husband is thousands of years old, your highness,” Aether explains. “I’m not offended by him having had sex with other people before we were married.”

“And he’s not offended by you doing it after you’re married!” Venti announces cheerfully.

“You are fortunate to have an arrangement that works for you,” Diluc says stiffly. “For my part, I would be deeply wounded if the person I loved gave their body to another.”

“You’re so young, though,” Venti observes, through a jaw-splitting yawn. “Sex is…nothing. You’ll figure it out, then you’ll be happier. Pretty princey pants, you should fuck little Luc! He needs it bad you can tell, right? Look how grouchy and wound up he is. Like a…like a spool of…grouchy yarn.”

Diluc tosses his scarlet hair. “I am not grouchy. I’m serious.”

Venti flops over the table and cups his hands to speak in a stage whisper to Aether. “Don’t tell him I said it but he’s a little baby still so he needs an adult to show him how probble…probubble…probally. You take good care of him, eh?”

“I do not need an adult to—no more talking about me!” Diluc says, his alabaster cheeks flushing with color. “My personal affairs are none of anyone’s business. I apologize, my lord prince. This is highly inappropriate.”

“It’s ok, I’ve seen drunk people before,” Aether laughs. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“I’m not a people you’re a people,” Venti contends vehemently. “You’re a drunk…people. Where’s my bottle I’ll show you who’s drunk.”

“You’ll pipe down, or I’ll order another pot of coffee,” Diluc informs him, at which he covers his mouth with both hands and looks frightened. “I think it’s about time to go, anyway. My lord prince?”

“Yes, definitely.”

In the carriage on the ride back to the city, Venti wriggles himself into the king’s arms and falls promptly asleep. Diluc gazes morosely out the window, not speaking a word, and Aether sits in the seat opposite, a million miles away, thinking about the young Morax from his dreams, who Venti’s anecdote has brought to his mind. He wonders what his husband is doing, and if he ever thinks of him. Then he looks down at his hands, feeling a sharp pang of pain and regret. If Rex Lapis ever does think of his young husband, it’s doubtful that it’s fondly.

With the eyes of distance, Aether has begun to see their relationship far more clearly. The picture of himself is not a flattering one. He was the worst husband he could possibly have been to the Dragon King. He was rebellious, selfish, resentful, disrespectful, and thoughtless. And yet his husband showed him nothing but patience and consideration. He never uttered a single unkind word to him. Never raised his voice, was never cruel or hurtful. And still, Aether pushed and pushed. Until he finally broke and sent him away. Even then, he was gentle and considerate. To the very end. And now…there is nothing Aether can do, now, but live with the knowledge that the only one to blame for the failure of his marriage is himself.

Chapter Text

“…haven’t seen or spoken to him since. Whenever you’re in Liyue next, if you could please go out to the Wangshu Inn and look in on him, just to see how he’s doing, I’d be really grateful. I hate to ask such a big favor of you, but you’re the only person I know who knows him. Thank you so much, Kazuha. Also, if the fleet stops by Mondstadt anytime soon, make sure you come and see me…” the Signora lowers the paper from which she is reading. “How do we know this is genuine?”

“I intercepted it myself, my lady,” the tall, masked Pyro Agent replies, keeping his head bowed low. “Recovered it from the body of a palace messenger.”

“I see. And how did the unfortunate soul meet his end?”

“I’m afraid he lost his footing and fell into a ravine, my lady. Poor sod broke his neck.”

She scans the letter again, then tosses it on the table and falls silent for a moment, drumming her long fingernails on the black ivory handle of her fan. “It may be deliberate misinformation, intended to lead us into a trap. I suppose the only way to know for sure is to go to Liyue and do some reconnaissance.”

“I’ll go,” Scaramouche cuts in. “Subtlety isn’t exactly your strong suit.”

The Signora tosses her platinum hair. “Oh, and I suppose it’s yours?”

“I’m better at it than you are. I’m not the one who—”

“You are both equally terrible at subtlety,” a third voice interrupts. “But you can spare yourselves the trip to Liyue. It’s true. Adeptus Xiao quit the prince’s service and fucked off into the wilderness, right before I left.”

The two Harbingers turn to look at the owner of the voice—a tall, slender young man, in a black and dark grey pseudo-military uniform, with a scarlet sash worn loose across his chest, and the asymmetrical jacket unbuttoned at the bottom, exposing the electro delusion he wears at his hip. He is reclining indolently in a high-backed chair, with his scarlet-accented boots up on the long, mahogany counsel table, and an infuriatingly insouciant smile on his handsome face.

“Tartaglia, you son of a—you knew the prince left the Jade Palace no longer under the protection of the Vigilant Yaksha?” the Signora demands. “And you didn’t think to inform us?”

“Now, why would I tell you two anything that might give you the upper hand?” Tartaglia replies, with a chuckle. “Please. You’re a little old to be so naïve.”

“When you say you left Liyue, you are referring to the fact that you were banished from the Dragon King’s court for fucking his husband, correct?” Scaramouche asks pointedly. “If you want to call our competence into question, you should take a look at yourself, too. What good is a spy who can’t even stay close to his target?”

“You don’t know the old dragon like I do,” Tartaglia says unconcernedly. “He’ll summon me back. He always does. Until then, I’ve been relegated to the delightful duty of going about cleaning up the messes you two have made. Which brings me to my point. How did you manage to fuck up so badly in Inazuma? You had the nation on the brink of civil war and the Shogun in the palm of your hand. And yet, somehow, it all fell apart.”

“That was la Signora’s mess,” Scaramouche contends, crossing his arms. “I had nothing to do with it. I was on Yashiori overseeing the manufacture of delusions.”

Tartaglia tilts his head to one side. “Were you, indeed. It’s funny. I’ve questioned the men at Tatarasuna. The manufacturing facility is still offline. Apparently the failure occurred during a twenty-four hour period in which no one can verify your whereabouts. It also happened to be directly after the Shogun resumed control of Inazuma and ejected our dear Signora.”

“Are you accusing me of something, Ajax? If so, have out with it.”

Tartaglia spreads his black-gloved hands. “Come on, Mouche, we both know—”

“Do not call me that!” the violet-eyed boy snarls, slamming his fist down on the table.

“Temper, temper, Balladeer,” the Signora hums, with a wry curl of her crimson lip. “Careful how you talk to the prince. We wouldn’t want you to wind up like il Dottore. They say it took him days to die.”

Tartaglia keeps smiling imperturbably. “You do have a rather short fuse, Mouche. But you know what annoys me far more than insolence, my lady? Failure.”

The snide expression on the lady Harbinger’s face freezes. If her snowy cheeks had any color to be drained of, they would have. “But I—I can hardly be blamed for that. The Celestial Prince interfered in the entire thing, and then he actually showed up on Narukami. He saw through my illusion and attacked me, and that damned Yashiro Commissioner turned all the guards on me.”

“And who invited the Celestial Prince to Tenshukaku? Ah, I see you didn’t know I knew about that. What gets me is that you really thought you’d grown too powerful for even a Celestial highborn to stop you. Does your hubris know no bounds?”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “I assume you’re going to be lecturing her for a while. Is there any reason I have to be here for it?”

“Not particularly,” Tartaglia concedes. “But don’t leave the compound. We still have the little matter of the delusion facility to discuss.”

The Balladeer growls something unintelligible as he stalks out of the room, the Pyro Agent holding the door for him, then shutting it behind him. Meanwhile, the Signora steps over to Tartaglia’s side of the table. He draws one leg down and puts his foot on the floor so she can sit on the edge, directly in front of him. Under the pretext of speaking confidentially, she leans down, putting the heels of her hands on her knees, which pushes her ample, already barely-contained bosom forward. This position accentuates the round swell of her breasts in the tight, white-satin corset, which has slipped down just enough to expose a sliver of her pale-pink areolae, peeking out above the top of the bodice.

“Things didn’t go exactly as planned in Inazuma, it’s true, my lord prince,” she says, in a low, sultry voice. “But I’m sure if you give me a chance, I can…more thoroughly explain my side of things.”

“I’ve always found you most eloquent on your knees, my lady,” Tartaglia returns coolly. “Don’t. I’m not here for that. I came to deliver a warning: The great divide between the profane and the divine cannot be traversed by brute force. Those who attempt to cross treacherously taste only the bitter fruit of their mortality.”

“These are Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa’s own words?” the Signora whispers, clutching her bosom with a suddenly trembling hand.  

“They are, indeed,” Tartaglia answers. “Now hear my words. There is only one God of Ice and Snow. She is my mother, for better or worse. If I ever even suspect that you intend to betray her, I will not allow her to destroy you, in her tender mercy. I will keep you alive for centuries, even if you should beg for death. And you will beg for it. Do you understand me?”

Her ice-grey eyes flash with indignation at being threatened by this half-human whelp, but she forces herself to swallow her pride and bows her head. “I understand, my lord prince.”

“Good,” Tartaglia says cheerfully, hopping up from his seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to deal with the Balladeer. Oh, and see that the Celestial Prince’s letter reaches its intended recipient. No use letting him know his communications are being intercepted.”

Barely acknowledging the obsequious bows and sycophantic salutations of the numerous Fatui underlings he passes in the crimson-carpeted halls, the youngest Harbinger strides briskly through the Autumn Palace, coming eventually to a long, curved staircase, which he takes up to the second floor of the south wing, where Scaramouche has his private apartments. Regular patrols pass up and down this hallway, same as all the others, but no guards are stationed outside the Harbingers’ doors. They tend to be touchy about their privacy, and the idea of mortal humans protecting them from anything that could harm a Harbinger is ludicrous, anyway. At the Balladeer’s door, he gives three quick raps—enough to be heard, without being obnoxious—and waits.

“It’s not locked!” Scaramouche’s voice calls from within, after a long pause.

Childe steps inside and casts his eyes about the spacious, vault-ceilinged main room, as he closes the door behind him. Scaramouche is sprawled out on an aubergine velvet chaise longue, throwing a black-bladed knife into a painting of some ancient Fatui general on the wall opposite, and summoning it back to his hand. The number of clean punctures in the forefather’s round face and bald head suggest something of the small Harbinger’s deadly accuracy with bladed weapons. Small, but by no means young. Scaramouche, despite looking like a boy in his late teens, is one of the eldest of the Harbingers. Childe isn’t even sure how old, but there are rumors of his glorious deeds going back nearly eight-hundred years.

“You live like a teenager, has anyone ever told you that?” he chides, as he picks his way through the weapons and boots and books, and various other oddments strewn about the floor. “If you’re not going to pick up after yourself, at least let the servants do it.”

“I don’t want people in here touching my things,” Scaramouche returns tetchily. He flicks his wrist and the knife impales the painted representation of the old gentleman’s cranium again, with a muted thunk. “What do you want?”

Childe sits on the sofa across the low coffee table, displacing a fat, orange cat, who warbles in protest.

“I know you were sitting here first, koshka, but we can share,” he croons, lifting her into his lap. Deciding that she is amenable to this compromise, she arranges her substantial person into a loaf shape and sets about purring loudly. Childe looks up at Scaramouche. “We have to talk about the delusion facility in Tatarasuna.”

“What about it?” Scaramouche asks, as his knife rematerializes in his hand.

“There was a critical failure in the furnace. The entire area is heavily contaminated with electro energy, now. It’s going to be weeks before it’s safe to send our people in again.”

“And?” Another thunk. The knife reappears in his hand.

“And the failure occurred because an unexpected power-surge overloaded the machinery. Because you were not there to handle it.”

Scaramouche frowns thoughtfully, tapping his bottom lip with the tip of the knife’s black blade. “Has there ever been anexpected power-surge?”

“Come on, Mouche,” Childe sighs. “You know the Tsaritsa wants an explanation as to why you were absent from your post.”

“Then explain it to her. You already know where I was, or you wouldn’t be here asking me about it.”

“I do know where. The question is, why. For my part, I can think of several reasons you would be involved in the Signora’s failure to maintain control of Inazuma. But I want to hear yours, before I decide what to tell Her Royal Highness.”

“Tell her ‘you’re welcome.’ That bitch was trying to become a god. I stopped her. The Tsaritsa can see the result for herself.”

“Fair enough.”

Childe scratches the cat’s chin and coos to her a little more, then hoists her off his lap as he rises, and sets her back on the couch. Scaramouche watches him with hooded eyes as he steps to his side. Childe stands over him looking down at him for a moment, then he puts a knee on the chaise and bends down, leaning close to his face, as if to kiss him. Scaramouche scowls and turns his head away.

“Aw, don’t be like that. What’s the matter? You tired of me?”

“That depends. Did you fuck la Signora?”

“Of course not,” Childe says, looking as if the very idea is unthinkable. “You said if I ever put my dick in her again, you wouldn’t let me put it in you anymore. Besides, she’s being punished. Though, I did leave Alexei alone with her. I hope she just fucks him and doesn’t kill him.”

“Alexei? Who’s Alexei?”

“The Pyro Agent who delivered the intercepted letter.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t give them names. You’ll just wind up getting attached to them.”

“I didn’t give him that name, he brought it with him from home.”

“So, you found it out when you fucked him.”

“Of course. Look at me,” Childe says, taking his jaw in hand. “I want to know what you did after you sabotaged la Signora’s little scheme. My informants say you spent the night at an onsen in Tenryou, with a certain individual of note.”

“Yeah. I did. I fucked that pretty little whore Rex Lapis married,” Scaramouche sneers. “As if everyone hasn’t. He’s basically a public utility, at this point.”

Childe lets go of his jaw and deals him a ringing backhanded slap. “You will speak of him more respectfully in my presence. Tell me what you did with him.”

Scaramouche glares up at him, so Childe throws his hand back and strikes him again, harder. Then again. His big, long-lashed violet eyes tear up from the smarting blows, and a pink, hand-shaped welt raises on his pale cheek, but his mouth remains defiantly shut. Then Childe wraps a gloved hand around his slender neck. The change is instantaneous. The black bladed knife clatters to the floor as his arms fall slack at his sides. His eyes roll closed, and his breath comes fast and ragged between his parted lips. Childe pushes his legs apart to kneel between them.

“Talk. Everything you did with the prince,” he says, soft and low, his hot breath on Scaramouche’s ear as he squeezes his throat. “I want to know all the salacious details.”

“I p—I puppeted him,” he chokes out. “He asked me to. Strangled him with my shamisen strap…put him on all fours and fucked him from behind, like a dog. He said it hurt, but that whore is as soft as a woman inside. There’s—”

The rest of his sentence is cut off as Childe squeezes his neck tighter. “I told you. Respectfully. Go on.”

“There’s no way it really hurt. He came twice, just from taking it in his ass. His body is so slutty, it’s—hngh!”

Childe strangles his voice in his throat again and leans closer, swiping his tongue slowly along his bottom lip. “Such a filthy mouth. I guess I’ll have to give it something better to do, since you can’t seem to control it.”

So saying, he pushes himself up and straddles Scaramouche’s chest, pinning his arms with his knees. Undoes his fly and pulls out his long, thick, cock. Scaramouche opens his mouth and looks up at him, in challenge. Childe’s lips curl in a wicked grin. Grabbing him by a fistful of his hair, he shoves his dick roughly down his throat, till his nose is buried in his copper pubic hair. Scaramouche has no need to breathe and no gag reflex, so he lies passive, throat open, jaw slack, staring up at him as he fucks his mouth. Childe grasps the back of the chaise with both hands and thrusts hard and deep, thumping Scaramouche’s head against the cushioned rest, his heavy balls slapping his chin in the slick of drool.

“I’m g—I’m gonna come,” he rasps. “Don’t swallow it. Show it to me.”

He shoves his dick in deep and gives a choked moan as his hips jerk erratically, pumping his ejaculation into his hot, wet throat. When he eases his cock out, Scaramouche holds his mouth obediently open. Milky fluid trickles out over his lips, and tears have streaked his white cheeks with scarlet eyeliner. Properly and beautifully wrecked. Childe laughs and covers his mouth with a searching kiss, licking and sucking his own salty semen eagerly off his tongue. Then he moves down and pulls up the boy’s black tunic, to expose his nipples, which he sucks and bites viciously, while Scaramouche arches his back and whines.

“Get up and strip. And you better grab some lube.”

“What if I don’t?” Scaramouche retorts, wiping his chin with the back of his forearm.

“Then I’ll fuck you raw and dry just to hear you scream. Go get it.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes, but he does as he’s told, and returns in a moment with corked glass bottle, which Childe takes from him. He leans back on one elbow on the chaise and slicks his dick with the slippery lubricant, while he watches Scaramouche undress. The boy’s cock springs free of his short black trousers, rigid and ruddy, already leaking from the slit in the tip. Childe resists the urge to grab him and put his mouth on it, and beckons to him, patting his thigh.

“No, turn around. I want to watch your perfect little ass bouncing on my dick.”

Scaramouche straddles his lap, facing away from him, and wraps his hand around his cock, to guide it to his taut entrance. He groans through his teeth as he sinks slowly onto it, swallowing it in his tight, squeezing heat, till his ass sits against Childe’s pubic bone. As soon as he’s firmly saddled, he begins working his thighs, rocking up and down on his thick shaft.

“Good. Ride me,” Childe says hoarsely. “Yes, like—just like that. Fuck, you’re so…fucking tight. You feel like—ha…ah! You feel like a virgin, every time.”

He sits up on both elbows, watching his dick slide in and out as the boy fucks himself on it. After a moment, his eyes trail up his lean back, where they linger almost adoringly over the long, deep scars that crisscross his white skin, some very old and some newer and pinker, from within a few years. No fresh wounds, though. Not anymore. Not since il Dottore met his well-deserved end. Childe recalls the man’s gurgling screams, a macabre symphony in the theater of his memory, echoing eerily up the stone halls of that subterranean dungeon, as his brutally disfigured, hollow-eyed victims tore him apart.

Childe set them free. Left their torturer in their hands, alert but incapacitated, and all his tools at their disposal. He has no idea what happened to them, after he departed. Some of them probably cast themselves from high places or into the sea, unable to bear the burden of living after what they had suffered. There is no art of gods or men with the power to cure such wounds. At least he was able to give them vengeance.  

Scaramouche is different. He was so deeply scarred before Dottore got to him, it’s doubtful the man left an indelible impression upon his psyche. To the centuries-old Balladeer, he was just one in a series of tormentors. The last one, if Childe has anything to do with it. He reaches up and wraps his hands around the boy’s neck, forcing him to arch his back, strangling the blood flow to his brain while he thrusts up into him, until he feels his insides tighten up. His small body racks and seizes spasmodically as he comes, then all at once, his muscles go slack and limp.

Childe releases his neck and holds him by his waist and shoulder, preventing him from toppling over. A few more rapid plunges, and his cock convulses, releasing his aching ejaculation inside him. He rides out his climax, then pushes Scaramouche forward and lets him fall. He collapses facedown on the floor. Childe sits up to admire his work, watching his semen trickling out of his swollen hole, down the backs of his thighs, as he drags himself up onto his hands and knees. Despite his not needing to breathe, his body reflexively gulps in deep, desperate breaths, as the blood rushes back into his head.

“Enjoying the view?” Scaramouche spits. “This is what you like, right? Humiliating me and watching me crawl on the ground like an animal?”

“It’s what you like, Mouche. I’m happy to choke you and humiliate you, of course, but mostly I like to put my dick in your hot little body.”

“Tch. You could at least get me a towel or something, if you’re gonna sit there staring at me like a pervert. Hey, what—what the fuck are you doing! Put me the fuck down!”

“Not a chance,” Childe replies sunnily, continuing to carry him down the hall. “You need a bath and I’m going to give you one.”

“Like hell you are! I’ll fucking kill you! Let me go!” Scaramouche roars, thrashing wildly in his arms, to no observable effect. He throws a hand out, attempting to push Childe’s face away as he leans down to kiss and nuzzle his cheek affectionately. “Ajax—god damn you, stop that!”

“Hush,” Childe clucks. “Behave yourself, or I’ll take you outside and wash you on the lawn, in front of all the men.”

Scaramouche makes a strenuous final effort to twist himself free, then gives up struggling and sighs resignedly. “I hate you so much.”

“I know, Mouche. I love you, too.”

“Fuck you. And don’t fucking call me that.”

“There are two-hundred questions on here, Bedo,” Aether says, eyeing the stack of paper doubtfully as he thumbs through it.

“One hundred and seventy-seven,” Albedo corrects. “I understand that it is daunting, but we are talking about altering brain chemistry. Before I can properly test your responses in a sexual context, we must be as thorough as possible in establishing a medical history, as well as a physical and mental baseline. Which is also the purpose of this.”

Aether looks up from the lengthy questionnaire, to see that Albedo has pushed a plain-looking silver ring across the desk.

“What does this do?” he asks, holding it up to inspect it.

“That will monitor your vital signs, hormone levels, et cetera. You will need to wear it for seventy-two hours, during which time you must abstain from sexual activity. Including masturbation.”

“Ok, I can do that. Anything else?”

“One more thing. Do you find me sexually attractive?” Albedo laughs at Aether’s befuddled expression. “It’s not a trick question, just answer honestly. Are you sexually attracted to this face and body.”

“Well. I mean, you’re beautiful. So, yes. Is that weird?”

“It is not weird. In fact, it will make things quite a bit easier.”

“Uh…what?” Aether blinks. “Will make what things easier?”

“Breaking the conditioning. In order to do so, counterspells must be cast during specific inflection points in a sexual interaction, between arousal and climax. If you find this body sexually desirable, we will not have to wait while we find you a partner who is willing to participate in the process, which can be quite troublesome.”

“Wait, to break my sex conditioning…you and I are going to have sex?”

“Hm?” Albedo says, looking up from his notebook. “Oh, no, of course not. I will be running a variety of extremely complex and energy intensive spells. I wouldn’t be able to do that while engaged in sexual activity.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Albedo casts his eyes about distractedly. “Ah…just a moment. I’ve left my other notebook in the lab. Go ahead and get started on the questions. I’ll be right back.”

Shaking his head at the absent-minded alchemist, Aether picks up the pencil and digs in. The first few questions are general information. Biological sex: Male. Gender identification: Male. Sexual orientation: Homosexual. Age of first sexual attraction: He was twelve or thirteen. He had a crush on his swordsmanship instructor, who was also his father’s master-at-arms. Also a cousin of his deceased mother, but childhood crushes don’t really split hairs. He was a tall, slender, agile man, with grey eyes and jet-black hair, which he wore in a long braid. Aether’s idolization of him was the reason he began wearing his own hair braided, this way. He was a tough and demanding instructor, but in an attentive, encouraging way, that touched Aether’s deep longing for a fatherly attention, and made the young prince willing to do whatever it took to make him proud. His approval was life itself, his disappointment was absolutely devastating.

The first time Aether masturbated to ejaculation, thinking of a specific person, it was that swordsmanship instructor. After training, when he bathed, he would fantasize about him coming in to join him in the shower. Imagine how that tall, leanly-muscular body would feel on top of him. Naked skin pressed against his. The scent of the man’s body. How it would feel to be kissed by him and penetrated by him. He never acted on the attraction, obviously (he was a child and the man was an adult relative), but the number of times he came thinking of him must be some kind of record.  

On to the next question. Have you ever experienced sexual attraction to a non-humanoid sentient being and if so, what type or species? Yes. Dragon. Have you engaged in sexual activity, including but not limited to penetrative intercourse, with a non-humanoid sentient being? No. Or…wait. He’s not actually sure if Rex Lapis counts. He’s only had sex with him in his human form, but that form has some non-human anatomy. Also Enjou, but again, he was humanoid with non-human genitalia. Albedo has just come back in and resumed his seat at the desk across from him, so Aether looks up to ask him. He gives a start and jumps out of his chair, dropping the pencil on the floor.

“Who are you?” he says breathlessly, his heart pounding with adrenaline.

Albedo frowns. “I’m…Albedo. Are you feeling unwell, my lord prince?”

“No. No, you are not,” Aether returns, backing away a step. “Who the fuck are you and where is Albedo?”

A slow smile creeps across Albedo’s face as he gazes back at him. “Fascinating. Albedo, you can come back, now!”

Aether whips around as the door swings open again, and Albedo steps into the room. The real one, this time, though he is identical to the other in absolutely every detail. Aether looks back and forth between the two, with his mouth opening and closing, which makes them both laugh.

“What the hell is going on?” he demands. “You didn’t tell me you had another one of your kind here.”

“Sorry for the prank,” the real Albedo says, not sounding even a little bit sorry. “We really didn’t think you’d catch on. No one can tell us apart.”

“Almost no one,” the other Albedo intimates, in the exact same voice, as he gets up to surrender the chair to the real one. “Captain Alberich can tell us apart, too.”

“I still don’t know why we can’t fool him,” Albedo muses, tapping his bottom lip with his pen, then looking down to make some notes in his little notebook. “But now we know the prince can tell, too, so maybe we can search for common factors.”

Aether drops back into his chair and crosses his arms petulantly. “I can’t believe there are two of you, and no one has ever mentioned it to me.”

“Oh, they don’t know,” Albedo says casually, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Only the king and Captain Alberich,” the other adds.

“How do people not know?”

“As we said, almost no one can tell us apart,” Albedo explains. “So, rather than attract annoying questions by revealing his presence, Alius and I sort of…share a life. It’s terribly convenient with regard to keeping delicate, time-sensitive experiments going, while having other duties to attend to. I’d recommend it to everyone, if it were possible.”

“So, you’re also a Doll,” Aether says to the other Albedo, who is apparently called Alius. “And you’ve broken your conditioning, too?”

Alius shakes his head. “No, mine is intact.”

“What—why?”

“Because I don’t want it to be broken.”

Aether frowns, confused. “But…I thought the point of all this was autonomy and free will.”

“Personal choice is part of free will,” Albedo answers, looking up from his notes. “Alius didn’t want to have his conditioning removed, which is his choice. The exercise of free will encompasses the choice to relinquish certain freedoms, in exchange for safeties one desires. Hence all of society. It would be a good idea for you two to talk more, before you make your final decision, your highness. That way you’ll have heard the perspective of a person who broke the conditioning and a person who kept it, both of whom are happy with their choices.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, I still don’t understand why you’d make that choice,” Aether says to Alius. “Why would you want to keep your sexual conditioning?”

“Albedo and I look alike, but we are not alike in personality,” he explains. “He hates the idea of being controlled and wants total autonomy in everything. I, however, prefer having my sexual responses predetermined. It makes me feel safe, for lack of a better term, because I always know what to expect and how I will react. Whether I enjoy sex because my programming tells me I do or not is immaterial to me. I’d rather not trade a thing I am happy with for a chance at the great unknown.”

“But that’s just the sexual part of the conditioning,” Aether says. “I thought Dolls didn’t have free will at all, in their original state.”

“Most don’t. This may sound odd, looking at us, but Albedo and I are rather unique. I am the first prototype of the Dolls and Albedo is the second. I was created with free will—that is, the ability to develop a personality organically, in response to my experiences. Albedo was the experimental control. A blank slate for programming. Since I am closer to perfectly human, he was considered to be flawed, but our creator soon discovered that more human was not necessarily desirable. Ultimately, Albedo’s more rigid template was used for the production of the others.”

“Why wasn’t being more human desirable?”

“Rhinedottir hadn’t accounted for the natural circumstances in which a human psyche is formed. I formed my personality under extremely dysfunctional conditions. The result was that I was just human enough to be monstrously inhuman. Albedo’s inhumanity actually makes him more sympathetic to them, since he views them as alien to himself. To me, humans were all too comprehensible, and I absolutely detested them. Thus, I was difficult to control, emotionally unstable, and prone to violence.”

Aether’s eyebrows go up. “Violence?”

“My first owner was a wealthy public figure. His wife knew he was sexually abusive, and she had been covering for him by paying off his young, male prostitutes to keep quiet and not press charges. She came to Rhinedottir with a request for a lifelike humanoid sex toy, so that he could indulge those urges safely, and thus spare the family the embarrassment of an arrest, when a prostitute eventually wouldn’t play ball. Rhinedottir immediately saw the vast potential in producing living, breathing, sex slaves that were also defensibly not human, so that they could be legally sold and owned. She undertook the commission on an experimental basis, and a year later, I was delivered to the client.

They kept me in my own house, adjacent to the husband’s place of business, and safely away from his home and family. He had to beat me fairly severely to get off, which was fine. That is the purpose of a Doll, and I was sexually conditioned to enjoy that kind of play. But, after a while, he got emotionally attached to me. He spent the night with increasing frequency, when he came to fuck me. Then he stopped beating me, altogether. He started saying he loved me, and that he wanted to leave his wife and marry me.

I couldn’t reconcile his bizarre behavior within my mental framework. It was totally discordant with the only roles I understood, so it confused me and made me angry. When he persisted in this manner and refused to go back to behaving properly, I undertook to solve the problem, which was him. I cut his throat, dismembered him, and sent him home to his wife in gift boxes.”

“Oh my god,” Aether says, taken aback. “I thought you meant violence like getting into brawls.”

“No, I meant murder and dismemberment. Understandably, the wife wasn’t excessively devastated to lose her odious spouse, and wanted nothing more than to keep the whole thing quiet, so the Rhinedottir Concern settled with her out of court, and I was taken back to be reconditioned. It turns out I’m much happier with less free will, so I have kept my conditioning intact since then.”

“But you’re not violent that way anymore.”

“Well. No. I have violent thoughts sometimes, but I would never hurt an innocent person, so don’t worry about that. Besides, even if I wanted to hurt you, which I won’t, Albedo would never let that happen. You won’t be in any danger from me.”

“I won’t be in danger from you? What do you mean?”

“When we have sex. I won’t hurt you.”

At last, the entirety of the situation dawns fully upon Aether. “So, breaking my conditioning will involve you and I…”

“Engaging in sexual contact,” Alius says frankly. “Unless you prefer to bring in a partner of your own choosing. In which case, I won’t be offended. Not everyone is attracted to this type of face and body.”

Aether shifts uneasily in his seat. “I am, but…are you ok with that? Fucking me for this reason?”

“Albedo and I take our scientific work very seriously, my lord prince. I am more than happy to participate in the process. Particularly knowing that we’re helping you with something so deeply important to you.” Alius lowers his sea-green eyes bashfully. “Just so you are aware, I find you very beautiful. I would be interested in having sex with you, regardless of the context.”

“And…uh. Albedo, you’ll be watching?”

Albedo nods. “I will be actively monitoring your physical and psychological responses and adjusting my spells as needed. The process is delicate and energy intensive, and requires constant updating as the situation evolves.”

Aether chafes his hands together nervously. “Um. So. I’ve never been watched having sex, that I knew of at the time. What happens if I can’t get…in the mood.”

“I have formulated aphrodisiac elixirs of varying concentrations, for both experimental purposes and for the treatment of sexual dysfunction in humans,” Albedo answers. “If you are unable to function normally, I will be happy to administer one. But you must be aware of the effects and give pre-consent, since you can’t be held responsible once you are under the influence of the elixir.”

“That won’t mess up the reconditioning?”

“No, not at all. It will actually make things a bit easier, by speeding and amplifying your responses, so I can rapidly identify the implanted triggers. While we are on the subject, do you have any more questions about the process?”

“Uh. Not that I can think of at the moment.”

“Then for now, take the questionnaire with you and fill it out at your leisure, and wear the monitoring ring for at least seventy-two hours. Remember, we are operating on your timeframe, so take as long as you like getting them back to us.”

“We know this must be a bit overwhelming,” Alius puts in. “If you think of anything you’d like to ask or have any other concerns to address, we’re happy to see you any time of the day or night. One of us will always be available.”

“And, of course, if at any point you decide you’d rather not proceed, just say so. It is your mind and body we are working on, so we want you to be as informed as possible about the process, and certain of your decision.”

Aether takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then nods. “Alright. Thank you—both of you—for being so open with me. This has been incredibly informative. It is a bit overwhelming, like you said, but I feel a lot more comfortable with the idea than I did before. I’ll get back to you, soon.”

Aether puts the silver monitoring ring on the middle finger of his right hand and pulls his glove back on over it, while Albedo places the questionnaire in a large envelope for him. Their business concluded, the twin alchemists escort him out, bowing their courteous farewells and reiterating their promise to be available any time he needs them.

As he crosses the town square—cheerful and orderly, and much less crowded, now that the Windblume Festival has ended—he catches in the corner of his eye, a flash of snow-white hair, shining in the bright, noonday sun, and glances in that direction. Sure enough, Bennett is seated at a table outside the Good Hunter, in company with Kaeya. They spot him at the same time, and Kaeya smiles and waves him over.

This has literally never happened to Aether before. Having friends one runs into by chance in a city, only to have them casually invite you to join them at their outdoor table, is utterly foreign to him. Of course, this is the first time he has had friends, at all, so most things about it are new. It feels good, being liked and having people to talk to. He seats himself quickly at the table, before they have a chance to rise and bow, which he finds awkward and intensely embarrassing in non-official settings.

“Excellent timing, highness. We just sat down,” Kaeya says, leaning back languidly in his chair.

“I was just about to go put in our order, my lord prince. Can I get something for you, too?” Bennett offers.

Aether hadn’t been hungry before, but the scents of fresh-baked bread and roasting meat, wafting over from the restaurant’s open counter, make his stomach rumble.

“Sure. I’ll have, uh…” His mind goes blank. He has no idea what food is offered here. “I’ll have whatever Captain Alberich is having. Thank you, Bennett.”

“What have we here? Looks important,” Kaeya says, eyeing the thick envelope Aether has set on the table, as Bennett trots away on his errand.

“It’s a very detailed questionnaire I have to fill out for Albedo. I’m thinking about having him break my sexual conditioning.”

“Right. I recall you two speaking about that, the night you first met. If you don’t mind me asking, why would you want it broken? Doesn’t it just make sex better?”

“Well…I’m not actually a hundred percent sure I do want it broken, anymore,” Aether admits. “I assumed it would be better to let my body have natural responses to sex, rather than the ones that were trained into me, but it’s not as cut and dried as I thought. Albedo explained his reasons for breaking his, and…someone else explained their reasons for not breaking theirs. Now I’m wavering.”

“Ah, so you finally met Alius. Well, technically you met him very briefly at my Windblume Festival party, but it’s not as if you were properly introduced.”

“Wait, that was him with you? Not Albedo?” Aether asks, leaning forward. “You’ve been with both of them?”

“I have, indeed,” Kaeya grins. “Concurrently and individually.”

“So you—” Aether stops short, blinking. “Wow, Kaeya. Remind me never to sleep with you and expect it to stay between the two of us.”

“You won’t have to remind me not to sleep with you, highness,” Kaeya laughs. “Not that you’re not gorgeous, and all that. You certainly are. But you’re uh…not exactly my type.”

Aether gazes into the Cavalry Captain’s exquisitely lovely face, frowning thoughtfully. He had always assumed he was attracted to men based solely on a certain level of physical beauty, and that anyone above that level would trigger a sexual response. But Kaeya is one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen, and he has never felt even a twinge of sexual attraction to him. How odd.

“Why are you looking at me like I’m a math problem?” Kaeya asks, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“Sorry. I was trying to figure out why I’m not sexually attracted to you. Maybe you’re just not my type, either. I’ve never met a beautiful man who’s not, though, so it’s kind of untrodden territory.”

They both turn their heads at that moment, startled by a yelp and a crash behind them, to find that Bennett has apparently run afoul of a cart full of dishes. Aether and Kaeya hurry over to make sure he’s alright, and help the apologetic waitress collect fragments of smashed crockery from all over the cobbles. She explains that she had been pushing the heavily laden cart around the corner, when she slipped on a wet cobblestone and lost control of it, and it careered away to slam directly into Bennett.

Fortunately, the actual damage is minimal, and the three young men have a good laugh about it, which comforts the distraught waitress considerably. Bennett is pleased to escape with no worse injury than a ceramic splinter in his palm, which Kaeya patiently removes, once they are seated again. When all is said and done, the accident works out to a net-positive, because their meal is on the house, by way of apology, and the owner throws in a plate of big, gooey, cinnamon rolls, which are the first food Aether has sincerely enjoyed in Mondstadt. Before they leave, he purchases another dozen to be delivered to the palace, for Madame Ping.

“I think we’re past the point of casual acquaintanceship, so I have a question for you,” Aether says to Kaeya, as the three climb the stone stairs toward the cathedral level of the city. “You’ve been with a conditioned person and one with their conditioning broken. I’d like to hear your opinion.”

“My opinion on what aspect of the situation?” Kaeya inquires, smirking at Bennett, who is looking studiously away, pretending not to hear any of this.

“How was the experience different for you, between the two? I mean to ask, is it better for you, if the person is conditioned, or not conditioned?”

Kaeya squints thoughtfully, scratching the back of his head. “There’s not really much of a qualitative difference, that I’ve noticed. To be perfectly frank, highness, if your partner is so focused on their own pleasure that they care how your conditioning increases or decreases it, then they’re likely a pretty shit partner. Since you asked for my opinion, I think you have to make this decision based on what is best for you, not your sex partners.”

“I agree, my lord prince. Sex isn’t all about what they like or what you like. It’s about how you work together,” Bennett puts in. Aether and Kaeya turn slowly and stare at him. “What? I’m not a kid, you guys. I’ve had sex, too.”

“Oh, have you, you little rascal!” Kaeya exclaims, catching him in a headlock roughing up his white hair. “I ought to ground you till you’re thirty! Here I was thinking of you as my sweet, innocent baby Benny, and all this time you’ve been sticking your grubby paws into the forbidden cookie jar.”

“How about we never use that metaphor again,” Aether says, with a distasteful grimace.

“Who’ve you been fucking, boy?” Kaeya demands merrily, releasing the ruffled teenager from his grasp. “Spill the beans, or I’ll tell everyone it was me, and your reputation will be ruined.”

Bennett flushes crimson and looks at the ground, kicking at a cobble with the toe of his boot. “I—I have a boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend, too? When did all this happen??”

“We’ve been together for a year and seven months.”

Kaeya throws his hands in the air, nearly beside himself. “Who are you, even? More importantly, who is he? His intentions better goddamn well be honorable.”

“They are! He loves me. We—we’re in love. With each other. We were both virgins. When I turned sixteen, we…uh. You know. We’ve been doing it, since then.”

“My baby Benny is growing up!” Kaeya intones mournfully, throwing his arms around Bennett again and lifting him bodily off his feet, to rock him back and forth, as if he’s an actual baby. “I never thought I’d see the day. Do I have any grey hairs, yet? Highness, check for me. Nevermind, I’ll get someone taller to look, later.”

“Could you…could you put me down, captain?” Bennett’s muffled voice entreats, from the front of Kaeya’s shirt.

“Not until you tell me who’s responsible for un-virgining my innocent ch—wait a minute…I know who it is!” Kaeya drops the boy on his feet and steps back, pointing a theatrically accusing finger at him. “You two sly little bastards! Always going out ‘hunting’ together! You’ve just been sneaking away to fuck!”

Bennett turns even redder. “N—no! We were really hunting, too!”

“Who is this man?” Aether asks. “You two have me all curious, now.”

“He is not a man, he is a boy,” Kaeya informs him. “A wolf-boy, to be exact. Goes by the name of Razor.”

“Oh, he’s part wolf? I know a Shiba man.”

“He’s all human by blood, as far as I know, but he’s got no human family. He was raised by Andrius as his own pup. Master Varka found him in Wolvendom, a few years ago, living with the pack. He gave him the name Razor, and taught him human words and how to swing a sword. When he got his vision, Lisa taught him to control his power.”

“Why hasn’t he been here to see you?” Aether asks Bennett. “Does he know you were injured?”

“He has been,” Bennett assures him. “He just doesn’t like to be around a lot of people, so he came late and night and snuck in the window. He was furious about it. He still is. But Andrius won’t let the pack try to hunt the thing down, and they’re no match for an Abyss Lector without him.”

“Who is Andrius?”

“The Wolf of the North Wind,” Kaeya answers. “He was—well, he is a god. Currently, he is technically deceased, but his very powerful spirit still inhabits Wolvendom.”

Aether’s face loses half a shade of color. “How did…how did he die?”

“As far as I understand it, he chose to die. The story goes that he hated Decarabian as much as anyone, but he didn’t want to be a candidate for Mondstadt’s new god, because his blizzards were deadly to humans, not helpful. After Decarabian bit the dust, Andrius let his body die and most of his power flow back into the land, but remained here in his current, diminished form, to act as a guardian of Mondstadt.”

“Decarabian. That’s the storm god Barbatos defeated, with the Ragnvindr ancestor. Right?”

“The very same.”

“Got it. So, Bennett…your boyfriend’s dad is a spirit wolf. That’s kind of awesome.”

“I guess so,” Bennett laughs. “I only met him once. He’s really huge and beautiful. He made me fight him to prove myself worthy. Then he said he was glad Razor found a human mate, and he wouldn’t worry about him being lonely, anymore.”

“He made you fight him?” Aether asks, astonished. “And you did it?”

“Yeah. That’s the law of the pack.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Uh. I don’t think I get scared the way people describe it,” Bennett says, wincing self-consciously, as if this fact is something embarrassing. “I mean, I knew he could kill me without even trying, but I almost die all the time. When every day is equally likely to be your last day alive, the way you die seems like a lot less of a big deal. Plus, I love Razor. Having his wolf dad and his pack accept me was really important to him, so I did it.”

Aether shakes his head slowly. “Wow. Seventeen years old and you’re already more of an adult than me, your extreme elder. You keep impressing me, Bennett.”

“Uh. Th—thank you? But I thought we were like…the same age.”

“I’m a hundred and twenty-two years old.”

“Which is basically seventeen, among Celestials,” Kaeya adds helpfully.

“I mean…that’s not exactly inaccurate,” Aether concedes. “Though, apparently my father considered it a perfectly acceptable age for me to be married off to a Dragon God, in whose world the legal age for marriage is twenty.”

Bennett looks Aether up and down, squinting uncertainly. “But—not to be disrespectful or anything, my lord prince—if you’re a hundred something years old, why are you so small?”

“That’s it! Next person who points out how small I am gets beheaded!” Aether announces, turning on his heel, to continue walking toward the palace. “In fact, beheadings for everyone taller than me!”

“Can he…do that?” Bennett asks, as he and Kaeya follow him.

“I don’t know who’s going to stop him,” Kaeya shrugs.

“Pick up the pace, you two,” the prince calls back to them. “We have guillotines to commission!”

Chapter Text

“How long will this take to work?” Aether asks, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

“Five, maybe ten minutes,” Albedo answers, marking something down on his notebook, then tossing the empty bottle into a bin. “You will feel feverish and probably sweat more than usual. There will be increased general sensation all over your body, but particularly in the erogenous zones, i.e., nipples and genital and rectal areas. You may also experience internal sensations like heat, tingling, et cetera. These are all normal reactions.”

“Got it,” he nods.

“I’m going to make a few final checks. You can undress, now. Remember, we’re only monitoring, today. I won’t be changing anything, just looking for the trigger points in the conditioning.” Albedo smiles. “Try to relax, if you can. We are here to help.”

Aether undresses and climbs into the little bed, pulling the dark-green, wool blanket over his naked body. He lies there for what seems like a hundred hours, trying to think not nervous thoughts, while Albedo walks around the room fiddling with equipment and jotting down notes. He begins to squirm and shift uncomfortably, as the tingling feeling that has begun in his gut intensifies. The blanket seems to have gotten far too warm, since he’s been lying here. He never sweats, but his skin is beginning to feel humid. Finally, he kicks off the blanket and sits up, his shyness about exposing his body subordinated to his need to relieve his fevered skin. The cool air feels so good, he gives a little gasp.

Albedo glances over. “Looks like it’s kicked in. Excellent. Alius, you can come in now!”

A moment passes, then the other alchemist enters the room, wearing a short, navy-blue robe, which he casually slips off and hangs from a hook by door. His body is smooth and flawless all over, without any visible hair, but for light, downy fuzz like women and children have. His cock is a little bigger than Aether’s, circumcised, and his balls are smooth and symmetrical. He is absolutely beautiful, in a sort of sterile, artificial way. He comes to sit beside Aether on the bed. The sight and proximity of his naked body make Aether’s head spin like he’s intoxicated. He quickly pulls the blanket back over his waist, to conceal his very obvious physical response.

“Please don’t be embarrassed, my lord prince,” Alius says affably. “We are going to have sex, after all.”

Aether blushes to the ears. “Right, it’s just…uh. You know, we barely know each other and there hasn’t really been any lead-up so, I…fuck, you smell so good. Is that from the aphrodisiac?”

“I hope I smell good, regardless, but you’re probably more sensitive to it because if the elixir,” Alius laughs. “Just so you’re aware, you can touch me however you like. Don’t worry about offending me. Pull my hair, choke me, slap me, whatever gets you hard. This is not a time to hold back because you think what arouses you most might be too extreme. I promise, there is literally nothing you could do that could shock us.”

“If I get any harder, I think I might need serious medical attention,” Aether replies, in a strained voice. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Beginning monitoring,” Albedo says, from across the room. “Prince Aether, are you comfortable?”

“As comfortable as I’m going to get.”

“We’ll start with some manual stimulation, before we move on to heavier contact,” Alius says. “May I touch you?”

Aether nods dazedly, as Alius pulls the blanket away and straddles his lap. He hardly notices the bright, amber lights pulsing on the other side of the room, because Alius has pushed him down on his back, and begun to stroke and prod his hyper-sensitive nipples. They are are pink and pebble-hard, and look like they’ve inexplicably gotten bigger. His cock is rigid and leaking already, and his balls feel tight and full. Every scintillating brush of the beautiful boy’s silky skin against his resonates through his whole body, as if sensation in all his nerves has been magnified a hundred-fold.

“I’m really sensitive there,” he says huskily, as Alius leans down to circle and flick his nipples with his tongue. “I’ll c—I’ll come if you keep doing that.”

Alius looks up at him, raising his eyebrows over his sea-green eyes. “Really? I’d like to see that.”

He leans back down and sucks and squeezes them with redoubled energy, while Aether writhes and whimpers, and bucks his hips, thrusting his aching, overheated dick against nothing. The jolts of pleasure-pain from his tortured nipples seem to amplify and feed back on each other, getting stronger and faster, till suddenly, the tension in his gut explodes, and he comes, with a soft cry, his cock throbbing and spurting milky fluid all over his stomach.

“Beautiful,” Alius breathes. “Albedo, did you pick up the responses on that?”

Albedo looks up and nods. “Yes. Good work, both of you. That will be very helpful data.”

Aether is still rock-hard, despite having just ejaculated. His head feels fuzzy and hot and the agonizing knot of need is still taut and pulsing in his gut. Alius is hard, too, and he wants his dick inside him so badly he can’t think. He gives a plaintive little moan and licks his dry lips.

Alius picks up the bottle of lubricant from the metal tray on a stand beside the bed, and pulls the cork. Aether rolls eagerly over onto his stomach, with his knees bent and spread wide, turning his ass up so his hole is shamelessly exposed. He doesn’t give a damn, anymore, he just wants relief, as fast as he can get it. He shudders all over as Alius pushes a cool, lube-slick finger inside him. He works it in and out a few times, then adds another, hooking them to milk Aether’s swollen prostate. Aether arches his back and bites his lip, pushing back against his fingers, straining to get more depth and friction, as his dick leaks all over the bed.

“Put—put it in now,” he slurs. “I can’t take it.”

“Ride me,” Alius says. “So you can control the depth and the pace, since we don’t know each other’s bodies very well, yet.”

Aether pushes himself up, so Alius can lie down, then he climbs onto the beautiful, flaxen-haired artificial human’s lap, and takes his perfect cock in his hand to guide it. Aether’s eyes roll closed as he sinks onto it, swallowing him in his taut, slick hole, till it’s all the way in. There’s no pain at all, just the eye-watering relief of being stretched and filled. He leans back with his hands on Alius’ thighs, the way Scaramouche made him do, and rolls his hips, fucking himself on his hard dick, while his own drools all over his abdomen.

He’s hardly ridden him for thirty seconds, when he tenses up and comes hard, spurting all over Alius’ stomach and chest. His insides are still aching and throbbing with need, and his dick is still rock-hard. He keeps going until he comes again, his next ejaculation spurting weakly and running down the shaft of his cock. Still not enough. He keeps riding him, engaging his thigh muscles to buck up and drop down, harder and faster, nearly in tears of frustration.

“Is everything alright, your highness?” Alius asks, looking concerned.  

“It—it’s not enough,” Aether half sobs, arching his back in agitation. “I need more. It’s aching. Deep inside me. My insides are burning.”

“Albedo, what should we do?” Alius asks.

“You f—you fuck me, too. Please, Bedo,” Aether entreats drunkenly, stretching out a hand toward him. “Please, I n—need it.”

Albedo’s big, sea-green eyes flicker over the prince’s lithe, naked body, glistening with sweat, sitting astride his double with his thighs spread wide apart. Down the curve of his spine to his perfect ass. Back up to his wet, pouting lips, and his hazel gold eyes, languid and heavy-lidded as he begs to be fucked.

“I…suppose the monitoring spell can run itself for a little while,” Albedo says slowly.

He sets down his notebook and shrugs off his white coat, then comes over to climb onto the bed, kneeling behind Aether. Aether bends over on top of Alius, licking and sucking his nipples and biting into the silky skin on his chest. He yelps as Albedo pours more cold lubricant onto his sweltering, hyper-sensitized skin, then moans and shudders as he begins to work his fingers into the tight seal around Alius’ cock, testing how far he can be stretched. Pouring on more lube, he works them in and out, till he is apparently satisfied, then he withdraws his fingers. Aether hears him unfastening his belt and undoing his fly. Alius reaches back to take hold of his ass, spreading it open for his twin.

Aether’s mouth falls open and his eyes roll back in his head, as Albedo’s cock pushes through the resistance, sliding slowly inside along the length of Alius’ shaft, stretching him to the extreme limits of pleasure and pain. By the time he is all the way inside, Aether is shaking all over, sputtering incoherently, as he clings to Alius.

“My lord prince, is that ok? How does it feel?” Albedo asks.

“Hurts…” Aether mumbles, into Alius’ chest. “Hurts…so good. Fuck—ungh! Fuck me…fuck me.”

The twin alchemists lock eyes, then in perfect unison, they both begin to thrust, a slow, rough slide in the hot slick inside him, impaling him on their dicks, fucking strangled sounds out of his throat, thumping mercilessly over his battered prostate, till comes so hard he sees stars.

“Harder, please!” he groans, before the spasms have even subsided. “Fuck me ha—harder! Give it to me!”

Albedo pins his wrists behind his back and they keep thrusting, harder and faster. Aether whimpers and trembles all over, as his insides are brutalized by their cocks. His fevered, sweat-slick body racks and seizes as he comes dry. He comes again and again, awash in a hot haze of pleasure and pain, his orgasms all running into one prolonged, agonizingly intense spasm that lasts so long, he loses control of all his muscle functions. He feels stinging pressure building suddenly in his bladder.

“Stop, wait! I’m gonna p—I’m gonna piss,” he chokes out, writhing weakly between his identical lovers as they thrust into him. “I can’t help it, it’s coming out!”

His words dissolve in a hoarse wail as the most brutal orgasm yet is pounded out of him, along with a hot stream of piss, that spurts from his spent dick and splashes over Alius’ stomach, between them.

“We made him piss himself,” Albedo pants. 

“Fuck him harder. I bet he’ll do it again,” Alius suggests.

“If he does, I’ll come. I won’t be able to hold it anymore.”

“Same. Go for it.”

So saying, they grasp Aether’s waist and thighs respectively, and piston their hips into him like they’re trying to kill him, fucking him literally senseless, while he makes helpless little mewling sounds in his throat. Finally, they wrench one last excruciating orgasm out of him, forcing out another hot stream of piss. He is vaguely aware of one of their cocks convulsing inside him, then the other one, pumping a flood of slippery fluid into his tortured hole. Then finally, they carefully pull out, one at a time. Their mingled semen gushes out of him, all over Alius. He doesn’t have the capacity to care anymore. All the fluids they are soaked with are just part of the general chaos of sensation in which he is submerged.

“I’m afraid we made a mess of you, your highness,” Albedo says, climbing off the bed.

“But we’re even, because you made a mess all over me,” Alius adds.

Aether mumbles something incoherent as they lift him off the bed. He hangs limp in Alius’ arms, not particularly understanding or caring what is happening to him, until he hears a shower and feels the warm water wash over his tingling skin. Alius sets him on his feet and holds him steady. The elixir is rapidly wearing off, and he quickly becomes more alert. When he stops swaying and can stand on his own, Alius bends down and pushes his fingers gently inside him, to rinse away their semen. They linger in the shower, making a rather lengthy play of bathing, kissing and laughing and caressing each other’s bodies under the steaming water, till Albedo comes in to see what is keeping them.

Alius excuses himself and goes off to get dressed, and Aether follows Albedo back to the lab, wrapped in a big, plushy bath towel, to discuss the results of the monitoring. In the center of the room, there is a large, three-dimensional, holographic image of a brain, comprised of that same odd, amber light he noticed before. Aether looks at Albedo questioningly.

“This is a model your brain, created by the resonant energy of the monitoring spell,” Albedo explains. He holds his hand out in front of him. What appears to be blue dust made of light coalesces in his palm, then swirls away and resolves itself into another brain model. “This is a human brain. Your Celestial brain differs from it in several key ways. For example, there are something like a hundred times the number of folds in your brain. Yours also has additional divisions and white-matter connections within each hemisphere, which means there are more lobes than in a human brain. Your brain specifically also appears to have a unique feature. Meaning a feature I have never seen before.”

As he says this, he turns his hand, causing the amber and blue brains to rotate upside-down, so that Aether can see the peach shaped area just above the spinal cords.

“This is the cerebellum,” Albedo explains, pointing to the blue one. Then he points to the amber one. “This protrusion, here, sitting against the brain stem is absent in a human brain. The strange thing is, there is no such feature in the Celestial brain, either.”

Aether frowns. “But…I’m Celestial and that’s my brain, so there must be.”

“This is a normal Celestial brain,” Albedo says, summoning another brain model, in white light-dust this time. It looks identical to Aether’s amber one, until he flips it over to show him the cerebellum. Sure enough, the Celestial model has the same rounded, peach shape as the human one, with no extra protrusion at the bottom. “As far as I can tell, this extra area is not indicative of any disorder or malformation. Which is to say, it is healthy, normally connected tissue, that activates in coordination with other parts of the brain. What I can’t tell is where it came from and what it does. The cerebellum is responsible for motor control, coordination of movement, equilibrium et cetera, as well as some emotional responses, so I imagine it is something correlated to those functions.”

“Is it…is it possible that it’s genetic? Like, hypothetically, if one of my parents was from some non-Celestial humanoid race?”

“It is certainly possible. As I said, it appears to be perfectly healthy and native to your body. But you’re from the royal family. Both your parents are purebred Celestial, aren’t they?”

“I’m starting to suspect otherwise. People keep pointing things out about me that aren’t Celestial, like my height and hair and eye color. This brain thing seems like more evidence to that effect. Though, there’s always a chance I could just be grasping at straws, because it would neatly explain my father’s behavior toward me and my sister. If we weren’t actually his children, his general distaste for us would make a lot more sense.”

“What’s going on?” Alius says, as he reenters at that moment. “What are all the brains for?”

Albedo explains the situation thoroughly, showing him the differences on the brain models, while Aether steps away to the other end of the room, listening to them talk as he gets his clothes back on.  

“It doesn’t seem that strange to me that a brain with so many differences from a human one would have one more, but why would it differ from other Celestial brains?” Alius muses, looking over the floating holograms. “It’s too bad we don’t have access to the brains of any close relatives. That would narrow it down in a hurry.”

“Are there any other humanoid races that have brains like that?” Aether asks. “Maybe we should start looking there.”

“Good thinking,” Albedo nods. “It looks like it’s time to hit the books. In the meantime, my lord prince, I hope you don’t mind if we hold off on your reconditioning, until I know what exactly we are working with, here. All the parts of the brain are interconnected, and I can’t responsibly alter any of their functions, without knowing how it might impact the whole.”

“I understand. I’m really curious about this, myself. Uh. Otherwise, how did the monitoring go?”

“It went very well. We got more than enough data. There is actually quite a bit less conditioning than I expected.”

“What, really?” Aether says, genuinely surprised. He had assumed they’d discover that he was essentially a marionette puppet, when it came to sex.

“Really. It looks like your conditioning was primarily physical, and the responses they programmed into you are mostly related to increasing neural activity between stimulation and reaction, i.e., making you feel things more intensely than you would naturally.”

“Oh. I don’t know if I want that removed, anyway. I had been under the impression that my submissive impulses and sexual attraction to certain things were all conditioned into me.”

Albedo shakes his head. “I assumed so, too, from how you described it, but it appears that is not the case.”

“I guess I’m just addicted to my husband’s cock, on my own,” Aether sighs. “That’s not exactly great news, since he doesn’t want me anymore.”

“I’m sorry, my lord prince,” Alius says, frowning sympathetically. “There’s only so much conditioning can do, and only so much we can fix. Have you thought about maybe…trying to work things out with him?”

“That’s not up to me. He’s the one who sent me away. He basically said he regretted marrying me, and that we had to find a way to live happily apart, since we can’t get divorced. I’m a castoff, not a runaway, like everyone thinks.” Aether turns away, wiping up the tears that have started unexpectedly down his cheeks with his yisan sleeve. “Ugh. Sorry I got all emotional. I think I’m coming down pretty hard from that aphrodisiac.”

“Oh, please forgive me, my lord prince, I completely forgot,” Albedo says, putting a hand on his forehead. “You’re dehydrated and your blood sugar is almost certainly at rock bottom. I am terribly absent-minded when it comes to those things. Let’s get you something to eat and drink. We can talk about sex and brain abnormalities later.”

“That sounds good,” Aether laughs. “Thank you, Bedo.”

Ripples, ever repeating.

Ripples, ever repeating.

Sometimes…he has to remind himself not to let years slip by, while he stands still and silent, listening to the heartbeat of his world. When the burden of immediacy and the hurtling pace of these infinitesimal mortal time-frames tax his ancient mind—when he desires to observe the warp and weft in the fabric of reality, to tug a thread here and there, and ponder the potential effects—he unshackles his consciousness from his body and meditates. But he is no longer able to do so outside of time and space. He dwells now, a physical being, among the people of his world.

Their voices awakened him, crying out in prayer and supplication. This aspect of him, at least. The part of him aware of individual self. The temporal logos to the eternal theos. To move among them, he veiled his light and took a form like theirs. Superior, of course, but a real, living body, and thus subject to some of the same vulnerabilities. He desires, for example. Longs, in a way his houseless essence never did.

For what does a god long? Connection, perhaps. Understanding. Kinship. A spirit to touch his. To intertwine with it, in that harmony of perfect communication that spoken languages can never come close to replicating. His physical form craves physical things. Conversation. Contact. Touch. Sex. All weak substitutes for the unfiltered joining of spirits, but they help to soothe for a little while, the gnawing hollowness inside him. But only for a little while.

His fangs are sharp and long, these days. His scales are hard as iron and the tips of his claws as bitter as needles. He contains a vast emptiness, deep and black as the Abyss. He could devour the very mountains to their foundations, stretch wide his jaws and swallow the sea; it would not quench this unbearable ache of longing. Above all else, he longs for his beloved. His own. The other half of their united soul. Distance, physical and metaphorical, stretches the cord taut. Tears into the very fiber of his being. He is bleeding. Always bleeding. The merciless God of War. The unchangeable God of Stone. The wise and just Dragon King. A soft, golden-haired, summer-scented child will be his destruction.

He descends. The transition between dragon and man appears instantaneous from the outside, but it is not instantaneous to him. Time on that scale means nothing to a being that can lengthen or shorten its perception of chronology at will. Feeling returns gradually to his limbs and extremities, as he reshapes his essence to fit his humanoid body, connecting his senses to the appropriate nerves and neurons. A complex and delicate process, that is accomplished all within the space of a single human heartbeat.

Millelith guards swing open the palace doors, and the heralds proclaim the presence of the king. All tongues are silenced. All heads are bowed. He passes through the glittering throng, noting every face along the way. He knows their names. Their family histories. Their foremothers and forefathers, stretching back into what is time immemorial for them, but is still fresh and recent to him. She is a descendant of a proud, warrior woman, whose mighty sword slew demons in defense of her homeland. He is the scion of a priestly order, consecrated to drive out evil spirits from amongst the dwelling places of the people. She is the daughter of a poor fisherman. He smiles, when he sees her. She pleases him the most of all his children, for her merits are all her own.

The path she walked was not an easy one, and though she has never known it, he walked with her every step of the way. He was with her the day she departed her parents protection and ventured out into the unknown. He suffered, as she suffered, through agonizing hunger and want. Long, sleepless nights in the bitter cold. Days of backbreaking toil under the scorching sun. He grieved for her disappointments. He rejoiced in her successes—small at first, but multiplying rapidly and building upon each other. He watched with paternal pride as she used her fierce intelligence and dogged tenacity to ascend, unaided, to her lofty position, and all the while, retain her humanity, her humility, and her grace. Soon, her rising star shone bright enough to eclipse all others.

When he initiated the sequence of events that brought her vision to her hands, seemingly by fortune, he already knew how his young Tianquan would react. Sure enough, she came to him to say that there had been an error. That she had bought this bauble from a traveling merchant, intending to use it as a design template for a piece of mass market jewelry, but when she touched it, the thing had lit up and resonated. Since his Divine Majesty had not given it into her hand, she said, it could not possibly have been intended for her.  

“My lady, it would seem that it chose you itself,” the Dragon King said, in answer. “I can bestow a vision upon a mortal I believe to be worthy, but I cannot force that vision to resonate with its potential holder. How many hands did it pass through, and yet remain inert and unresponsive, until it passed into to yours? The manner of its coming to you is immaterial. It resonated with you. It is yours, for better or worse.”

This was true. He had set the thing in motion, but the path it took to her hands was left largely to chance, and it resonated with her only because she was, indeed, worthy. Had she believed it to be a gift, however, bestowed upon her from charity or personal favor, she would have been loath to use it, and would have let it lie fallow. As he foresaw, she instead departed his presence determined to make the absolute most of her good fortune, and put it to the best use that she possibly could. She would work harder and become stronger than any geo vision holder had ever been. She would prove herself worthy of this power. Rex Lapis knows well the hearts of his children.

When he arrives in his office, he seats himself behind his sandbearer wood desk, calling for paper and his official seal. These things are brought. Then he sits for a while in silent deliberation. At long last, two words appear in fiery letters on the paper, that turn ink-black as they cool.

Come back.

Sealing the envelope with black wax and his dragon emblem, he passes it to his secretary, to be delivered immediately by special messenger. It will take ten days for the letter to reach its destination. Exactly twenty days later, the heralds announce the arrival at court of Ajax, Lord Tartaglia, Crown Prince of Snezhnaya and Cultural Attaché to the Snezhnayan embassy. A summons to the king’s presence is brought to him in his chambers the following morning. Rex Lapis sits on the black couch in his private library, reading one of his favorite books. At the appointed time, the Snezhnayan Prince is ushered in, and the Millelith guards close the door behind him.

“My lord king,” Ajax says, coming over to kneel before him.

The king looks up from his book, as if emerging from a deep reverie. “Ah, Ajax. There you are.”

“Yes, my lord. You sent for me, and I have come. What is your will?”

“It is nothing urgent. I simply had a fancy to see you, and hear your voice. Please, have a seat. Talk to me, for a while.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Ajax says, arranging himself comfortably in the leather library chair, opposite the couch. “So, what shall we talk about? Shall I tell you what the Harbingers are up to? Or the family? Perhaps you’d like to hear about my romantic adventures, while I’ve been in exile.”

Rex Lapis smiles. The intense energy and sharp wit of this young man always cheers and invigorates him. Draws him out of his ancient, plodding ruminations and into the lively and vibrant business of life in the human world. “Do you have romantic adventures, Ajax? Or are they simply sexual exploits?”

“I don’t know that there’s so much difference, my lord king,” Ajax replies, with a devilish grin. “I suppose I’ll just go chronologically. There was an electro cicin mage I met in the Chihu forest, on Narukami. Those little cats are always in heat. I fucked her up against an aralia tree. She carried on so loudly, it woke up a gaggle of hilichurls who’d been sleeping in a cave nearby, and I had to fight them off, before I could conclude my business with her.

After that, my new friend, Alexei. A Pyro Agent. His face is scarred and his hair’s all white from using his delusion, but by god, the man is gorgeous. Jaw could cut glass. Body looks like it was carved out of stone. I tied him up and fucked him with a rather oversized hydro cock. He was a good sport about it, so I let him fuck me, too. I happen to enjoy being penetrated, though, so it wasn’t really much of a concession. Then, of course, there was the Balladeer—”

“Come here. Kneel,” Rex Lapis interrupts. Ajax jumps up from his chair and drops to his knees between the king’s thighs. “Give me your sash and glove.”

He pulls the crimson sash off over his head, then peels off one of the black half-gloves he wears, and hands them over. Rex Lapis stuffs the glove into the boy’s mouth, then uses the sash as a gag, tying it tightly at the base of his skull. After checking that it’s secure, he directs him to stand on his hands and knees in front of the couch. This done, he reclines and takes up his book again, stretching out his long legs to rest them on the Snezhnayan prince’s back, one crossed over the other, as if he is an ottoman.

After thirty minutes or so, Ajax’s spine starts to sag. After an hour, he begins shifting his weight from one arm to the other, to combat the soreness and muscle fatigue. Another hour or so, and he is really suffering. Biting down on the gag, while sweat beads on his forehead and his arms shake.

The king lowers his book and cranes his neck to look down at him. “Ajax.”

“Mmm?”

“Do you need to take a break?”

“Mm-mm,” he answers, in the negative.

“Your arms are shaking. Are you certain you are not too fatigued?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Very well,” the king says, and re-crossing his legs on the boy’s back, he returns to his book.

He becomes engrossed in the material, and doesn’t attend to Ajax’s physical state again until the boy simply collapses. His reading thus disturbed, the king closes his book and rises, stepping over him, then crouches to untie the makeshift gag and pull the glove out of his mouth.

“There is tenacity and there is futility, Ajax,” he says, sternly, but not unkindly. “You should have taken a break, when I offered. Now you must rest.”

“No, I—I can…I can do it,” Ajax puffs, as he strains and struggles to push himself up, with arms that have no strength left. “Just give me a…second.”

The king rises again. Placing his black boot in the center of Ajax’s back, between his shoulder blades, he pushes him firmly back down onto his stomach. “I told you to rest. Must you defy my commands in all things, even when they are for your own benefit?”

“I’m sorry my lord. It’s just my nature.”

“It is your nature to be constantly testing your will against mine?”

“Yes, it is. You know it is,” Ajax answers, folding an arm under his head, so at least his face isn’t directly on the floor. “That’s why we’re friends. You like to be challenged. To have a strong will to push against, so you can remember what your own strength feels like. Reassure yourself that millennia of your human subjects’ docility hasn’t atrophied your will.”  

Rex Lapis considers this for a moment, tapping his foot on the Snezhnayan prince’s back. “You are at least partially correct, I think.”

“You can never let me be all the way right, can you,” Ajax laughs. “Ok, I’ll bite. What part was incorrect?”

“I do not fear that my will has atrophied, for that is not possible. And though I do enjoy our mutual antagonism, that is not why we are friends.”

“Why are we friends, then?”

The king makes no reply to this. Instead, he lifts his foot from Ajax’s back and leans down to help him onto the couch. “Remove your jacket.”

Ajax unbuttons the grey jacket the rest of the way and shrugs it off. His torso is bare underneath, as always, but he thinks nothing of it. He has never been burdened by excessive modesty. Meanwhile, the king peels off his black gloves, exposing his glowing, golden hands. Stepping behind the couch, he places his hands on Ajax’s bare shoulders. The light and heat emanating from them intensify for a brief moment, and suddenly, all the weakness and soreness have vanished from Ajax’s body.

“What did you do? I feel fantastic!” he exclaims, craning his neck to look at his upper arms, as if some change will be physically visible. “I had no idea you had healing power, my lord.”

“The healing of wounds and hurts of the body is not my domain. Instead, I have lent you some of my power. Your muscles are no longer fatigued because you are too strong to be fatigued, at the moment.”

“How strong?”

“Strong enough that you must take care not to destroy any property or injure anyone, until it wears off. In fact…it would probably be safer to take you somewhere outside the palace.”

As soon as these words are spoken, the scene around them jerks sideways, as if the world is an image on a film projector, and the celluloid has been abruptly yanked away. Ajax gives a start and blinks about, momentarily disoriented. They are now standing atop a high, green cliff in Nantianmen, overlooking Dragon-Queller, the colossal warding tree.

“On this site lies a great dragon called Azhdaha,” Rex Lapis says, gazing down at the golden-leafed tree, with its otherworldly branches of azure crystal on one side. “When my world was young, I discovered him deep within the earth and gave him the gift of sight, so that he could travel with me and enjoy its beauty. He was…my first friend. We were together often, in those days. We sparred constantly. Tested one another’s strength and prowess. Eventually, he fought by my side and defended my land and people from evil gods. Then he lost himself, and I was forced to bind him here. After that, I had no other friend who was like him. Until I met you.”

Ajax turns away, blinking back the tears suddenly threatening to well up in his ice-blue eyes. “I’m honored, my lord, to be counted among your friends.”

“Since you are imbued with some of my power, perhaps you would like to make proper trial of it, in combat. Spar with me.”

His eyes go wide and he looks up at him eagerly. “Do you…do you really mean it, my lord king?”

“I only say things that I mean. Down there, in the valley. We will spar before Azhdaha’s tree, and honor his memory.”

Ajax gives a jaunty salute, and leaps off the cliff, using precisely aimed spouts of hydro to surf down the sheer side. The king merely flickers out of existence and back into it at their destination. As his golden-bladed polearm materializes in his hand, his body is transfigured, taking its ancient form, with forked, golden horns on his head, his sleeveless white robe and hakama pants, and his feet bare. Ajax slides his scarlet hawk mask down over his face and summons his hydro blades.

The golden spear flashes out and the hydro blades glitter like liquid diamonds in the sun. Their dance is rapid and staccato, matching one another step for step and blow for blow, perfect mirrors, acting in counterbalance. Very soon, however, Ajax loses the breakneck rhythm and stumbles. He is struck down hard, several times in a row. When he leaps to his feet the last time, he engages his electro delusion, changing his hydro blades for a crackling, magenta polearm.

The duel continues. Ajax pushes his speed and strength to their limits, launching a fusillade of swift thrusts and slashing blows, but Morax parries each strike, drives back every advance, thrashes him mercilessly, till he is panting and staggering, bleeding from his mouth and nose. Morax moves in for the decisive blow. Desperate, cornered, and thus at his most deadly, Ajax transforms once again. Spreading his arms and rising into the air, he is briefly enveloped by thick, black smoke, from which he emerges, massive, red-masked demon, with a long, flowing cloak of Abyssal energy, billowing out behind him. Morax smiles and his eyes blaze up with golden fire, as he readies himself for the next attack.

Ajax fights like a berserker in his Abyssal form, wild and vicious, with no concern for life or limb, as he assails his enemy at every possible opening, even if it leaves him vulnerable to follow-up strikes. He drives Morax back by throwing his Abyssal cloak about him and temporarily blinding him, but his advantage lasts seconds, at the most. The divine fire sears through his veil of darkness, and he is struck dead-center with the cannon-shot forward thrust of the Vortex Vanquisher. Shaken down to his bones, he reels, staggers, and falls to the earth, like a crumbling battlement. His energy is depleted, and unable to maintain the Abyssal form any longer, he diminishes to his natural shape and size.

Morax steps to his side and bends down, holding out his golden hand. “As always, you are determined to drive yourself far beyond your capacity. You should not use your delusion except at direst need. It is devouring your life.”

“Yes, but it’s—so much fun,” Ajax pants, as he is pulled to his feet. “And what are a few years off the end of my life? Those are the boring ones, anyway.”

As he is saying this, he sways and Morax hooks an arm around his waist to steady him. But he doesn’t let go. A beat. Two beats. It’s too late, now. They’ve already lingered in contact too long to pretend it didn’t happen. Ajax looks up into his amber eyes. All at once, their mouths are pressed together, tongues rolling hungrily over each other, hands grasping at one another’s bodies, grinding their hard cocks against each other through their clothing. Ajax throws his arms around Morax’s neck and drags him down on top of him in the green, turfy grass beneath one of Dragon-Queller’s titanic roots.

It has been so long, since they touched one another this way. He loses himself in the kiss, tasting his mouth and breathing deeply of his aromatic scent, like petrichor and cedar, with a hint of charred metal, like a smithy’s forge. Morax rolls him onto his stomach and yanks his trousers down around his thighs. His long, forked, sinuous tongue slithers into his asshole, slicking him liberally with viscous saliva, then without further preparation, he guides the head of his cock to his spit-slick hole and penetrates him roughly.

Ajax bites down on his knuckles to stifle a hoarse cry, then he grabs hold of the grass with both hands and digs his fingers in, hanging on for dear life, as the Dragon God pounds him savagely. The knot on his shaft beats ruthlessly into his prostate, and he comes hard and fast, thighs shaking and back arching, as his dick spurts into the grass beneath him. Morax pulls him up by his hips and keeps rocking into him, driving his iron-hard shaft deeper and deeper with each thrust. Ajax trembles under the onslaught, feeling his thick, heavy cock swell and get even hotter. Finally, Morax gives a deep thrust and holds it as it convulses, flooding his insides with molten-hot fluid. When the spasms ebb, he pulls out slowly, holding him open with his clawed thumbs, to let his thick, pearl-white semen drain from his swollen hole.

When he releases him, Ajax rolls over, away from the wet mess, and shields his brow with one hand, squinting up at Morax. He is in the act of rising to his full height, his partially dragon-scaled human body stark naked, glorious and gorgeous in the golden sunlight of afternoon. His eyes and horns are still afire, and his long, amber tipped hair is loose from its usual binding. A whirling breeze blows it about his pitch-black shoulders as Ajax gazes up at him. He looks wild and dangerous. Like a primal god from some ancient legend. Which, of course, he literally is.

“Why do I feel like a proxy through which you and your husband are fucking each other?” Ajax asks, as he struggles to his feet, to pull up and refasten his trousers.

“Because you had sex with him, despite having been expressly told not to,” Morax frowns, at which Ajax laughs.

“You already punished me for that. Besides, you can’t really blame me. You know how weak I am when it comes to him. I knew full well I was just a comfort fuck because he lost Adeptus Xiao, but how could I refuse him? He was so sad and pretty and vulnerable.”

“I am sure he was, and I am well aware of his allure, which is why I was not more displeased with you. It is not fair to expect even a half-human to resist it for long.”

“Well, I’m all human, so you must give me particularly generous leeway.”

“If you say so, Ajax.”

“What do you mean, if I say so?” Ajax laughs. Then his smile freezes on his face. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“It is well past the time when you should have been informed of your true origin. It is inexcusable in her to have kept you in the dark about such a thing for so long.”

“In the dark about what?” he demands, his voice taking on an edge of hysteria. “What do know about me?”

“You are not all human, Ajax,” Morax replies gravely. “You are the exceedingly rare offspring of a human and a god.”

Ajax turns ash-white, and attempts to swallow in a suddenly dry throat. “That’s…no. That’s impossible. My—my mother died in childbirth. My older sister, Tonia, remembers when it happened.”

“That child was stillborn. Your elder sister was three years old when she lost her mother. Her memory of the circumstance is fabricated, from what she was told later, regarding her mother’s death and her infant brother.”

“Then…who is my real mother?”

“You know, already. Even if you have refused to see it, you have known, always.”

“I don’t believe it,” Ajax says, angrily dashing tears away as they well up and spill down his cheeks. “I don’t fucking believe it. Not even she could do something so monstrous. You are trying to make me doubt her. To shake my loyalty so I’ll choose you.”

Morax sighs patiently. “Have I ever had any need to court your loyalty, Ajax? Has it not rather been you who has sought my favor?”

“Yes. It has. And you played me like the fool I always am, when it comes to you. You summoned me back. You toyed with me and flattered me, and said I was your friend. You fought me, which you knew I have always wanted. You even fucked me, for the first time since you ended our affair. And it was all a ploy to soften me up and make me receptive to this…this ludicrous claim.”

“I did hope these things would soften the blow. But that does not alter the truth of my words. Search your heart. You know that what I—”

“No! Stop! I won’t hear this, I won’t hear any more from you! I owe her my life! She made me what I am and gave me everything I have!”

“Except your vision.”

This precision shot strikes home. Ajax stares at him, thunderstruck. Slowly, his hands clench into fists at his sides, and he bares his teeth. “Fuck you. Fuck you! I’m resigning my position with the embassy, effective immediately. Don’t summon me to court again. I won’t be coming back.”

With that, he turns and strides briskly away. Morax stands watching him tranquilly. He gets about twenty paces, then stops short, as it dawns on him how very deep in the Liyue wilderness they are. He pivots on his heel and strides just as briskly back, to stand before the Dragon God, arms crossed on his chest, maintaining his outraged indignation as best he can.

“Take me back to the palace and then don’t summon me to court again. I won’t be coming back after that.”

Chapter Text

“How about a knight?” Barbara suggests, from where she is lounging on Aether’s bed, propped up on her elbows, with a copy of That’s Life magazine in front of her.

Aether makes a face. “I don’t think so. Knights are way too common, here. Plus, there’s no part of that armor that’ll look good on me. I’m five feet tall. I’ll look like a tin of beans.”

“With your slender little body, you’d make such a pretty pixie or, something,” Venti, who is also sprawled out on Aether’s bed muses. Then his big, green eyes get even bigger and he leaps excitedly off the bed, almost taking Barbara and her magazine with him. “That's it, I’ve got it! I am an absolute genius! I have the perfect thing!”

Aether arches an eyebrow. “Well? Are you going to tell us what it is?”

“Who’s about your size and build, and wears an iconic costume that’s instantly recognizable to all Mondstadters and also a good excuse to dress really slutty?”

“Uh. Lisa?”

“Li—no! She’s not your size at all. And she’s a lot taller than you. I’m talking about Barbatos!”

“Venti! Don’t call Lord Barbatos’ sacred raiment slutty!” Barbara exclaims. “And it’s certainly not appropriate to wear it to a sexy costume party.”

“Pfft, sacred,” Venti snorts. “That’s what he wore to orgies—uh. I bet. Either way, it would look fabulous on the prince. Besides, I doubt the God of Freedom would be offended about his outfit being worn as a costume by someone whose cute little ass would do it so much justice. He’d probably love it.”

“Hm. My ass would look kind of cute in it,” Aether muses. “But I’d have to get one tailor made and the ball is tomorrow.”

“That’s the best part!” Venti enthuses. “You can just borrow mine! I bet we’re the same size.”

“Yours?” Barbara frowns. “Why do you have a Barbatos costume, Venti?”

“I, uh…I was Barbatos in a big theatrical production. The Fall of Decarabian.”

“Oh. I never heard about that one.”

“Well, there was only one performance and it was a total disaster. What do you say, prince Aether? You want to go to the ball as sexy Barbatos? Which is to say, Barbatos?”

“We are about the same size, even though you’re a little taller than me,” Aether says, biting his bottom lip thoughtfully. “But what about the hair?”

“That’ll be easy. We definitely have time to get a wig styled before tomorrow. Oh, wait…there is a problem. The wings. I can’t lend you those.”

“Why?” Barbara asks.

“Oh, that’s…a long story. Well, pooh. Wings are a big part of the costume.”

“If worse comes to worst, I have my own,” Aether offers. “They won’t be the same as Barbatos’, but I doubt anyone will notice.”

Barbara looks mystified. “You have fake wings? And you brought them with you to Mondstadt?”

“Ha. No, I…uh. I have real wings,” Aether says awkwardly, automatically reverting to his old self-consciousness about the appendages, which he hasn’t used since Xiao left him. “Actually, I’m starting to think this Barbatos costume isn’t such a great idea. If Lady Barbara doesn’t think it’s appropriate, it might offend other people, too.”

“Well, to be honest, it probably won’t,” Barbara admits. “I think I’m the only one who thinks of Lord Barbatos as sacrosanct that way. I mean, you’ve seen the alterations Sister Rosaria made to her uniform and no one seems to be offended by it.”

“Or they’re just too scared of Sister Rosaria to say anything,” Venti chirps.

“I guess if I have the deaconess’ approval, then Barbatos it is,” Aether says. “Thank you, Venti.”

“No problem. I better go dig it up now, in case it needs any alterations. I’ll bring it by later.”

“Thank you again! See you later!” Aether calls after Venti, as he trots out the door. “By the way, Lady Barbara, what’s your costume going to be?”

“I’m going as an Oceanid,” Barbara says. Then she hesitates, looking down at her  hands. “My lord prince, may I ask you about something?”

“Sure,” Aether smiles. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering, if…uh. Is it…is it true that you were, um. Conditioned? By the priestesses of Eros?”

Aether is taken thoroughly by surprise. He never thought of Barbara as someone to broach such a topic. “Yes, I was. It was standard practice for Celestial royals. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I—I um…” She looks up at him, then promptly flushes rosy pink and casts her eyes down again. “It’s nothing. Nevermind.”

“Are you sure? That’s a kind of specific question to ask out of nowhere.”

“I’m sure. Please, forget I said anything. Actually, I—I really should be going. I’ll see you tomorrow night!” she says, hopping up hastily to depart.

“Alright then, goodbye, my lady!” Aether calls after her, with a bewildered frown.

The next evening, the Adventurers’ Guild hosts its annual masquerade ball to benefit the Little Adventurers’ Charity, which provides housing, education, and other aid to orphans all over Teyvat. King Diluc has provided the ballroom at the palace for the event venue, as is tradition, and the Dawn Winery has generously donated all the refreshments for the evening’s entertainment, as is also tradition. Since the catering and location are donated, all ticket sales proceeds benefit the children directly. Prices for these tickets are set on a sliding scale from zero to ten thousand mora, with the purchaser choosing to pay what they wish, based on what they feel they can afford.

Wealthier parties, of course, usually choose to give far more than the maximum price for a ticket, and almost always on the condition that the amount not be known publicly. Prince Aether (or the Dragon Prince, as he has been called since he arrived in Mondstadt a few months ago) is no exception. He paid ten million mora for his ticket, from his own inheritance money in the Northland Bank, rather than Liyue’s treasury, despite the king’s promise to fund any charitable endeavor he undertook. He would have been just as happy to skip the ball altogether and donate the money outright, but Venti was so excited about it, he couldn’t really say no. He’s curious to see what a sexy-costume party in gorgeous Mondstadt looks like, anyway.

Aether only had Thoma for an example of Mondstadt stock, and he was not disappointed. These people really are exceptionally tall and good looking, as a whole. It is for that very reason, in fact, that he has taken up a new hobby of late, which consists in purchasing swords and then finding various creative ways to damage them, so that he has excuses to visit to the blacksmith in town. The man must think him to be the world’s most heinous abuser of weaponry at this point, but those big muscular arms flexing, and beads of sweat rolling down his broad chest while he hammers that red-hot metal in front of the forge…wait, what was he thinking about?  

Oh, right. The ball. Yes, the ball should be at least passably fun. As long as he doesn’t get a hard-on in these tiny, gauzy, white shorts, which leave less than nothing to the imagination. It had previously occurred to him that perhaps he should feel strange wearing a piece of clothing that Barbatos was wearing when Aether’s husband fucked him a thousand years ago, but ultimately, he just finds it amusing. And kind of super hot. No, no, no, divert that train of thought. No picturing Morax fucking Barbatos over a stone table. Probably with one knee up on it, and these shorts dangling around his ankle. He needs to avoid getting hard. He really should have tucked and taped, like Venti suggested, but it’s a little late for that, now.

He adjusts his bejeweled, white and gold carnivale mask over his eyes, and waits for his cue. When he agreed to the grand entrance Venti insisted upon—descending into the ballroom through a skylight, using his own wings—he hadn’t considered how extremely visible he would feel. But he never could say no to an exuberant wind-deity (who absolutely would not take no for an answer), so here he is on the palace roof, wearing an almost transparent crop-top and fuck-me shorts, and holding a replica of the sacred Lyre der Himmel, hoping said deity’s wind doesn’t upset his wig (black, with the signature turquoise Barbatos braids at the front, which somehow no one puts together as being Venti’s exact hairstyle).  

There it is. The strains from the real lyre swell in the ballroom below and the spotlights turn upward to focus on the open skylight. Aether takes a deep breath, unfurls his six wings made of ethereal light, and steps off the edge, to descend slowly, pretending to pluck the lyre while Venti plays the actual notes from the orchestra stage. To Aether’s pleasant surprise, the crowd goes wild with applause, apparently understanding the bit of theatrics immediately, and absolutely delighted with it. This eases his anxiety, and he poses and throws kisses as he descends, which elicits even more raucous cheers and laughter. When he lands, he bows and waves, then the band take up a lively tune, and the ball gets back into swing.

“A spectacular success! What did I tell you!” Venti says, as he and Barbara hurry over to join Aether. “You look absolutely edible, too. I think a few people fainted when you blew kisses their way.”

“Oh no, I hope not,” Aether laughs. “You were right, though, they did react really well. You two look amazing, by the way. Barbara your whole ensemble is perfection, but the use of hydro effect puts it over the top. Venti…what are you, exactly? You look like a Snezhnayan dominatrix.”

“Oh, that’s what I am!” the God of Wind answers cheerfully. “See? Bullwhip! I have a few targets in mind, already. If they ask very nicely.”

“Well, your waist looks exquisite in the corset. How high are the heels on those boots? You’re so tall, all the sudden.”

“I think they’re five inches? Not really sure. I just told the shoemaker I wanted them as whorey as possible.”

“What should I do with the fake lyre, by the way? Am I supposed to just carry it around all night?”

“There’s a private green-room for the king’s party, which you’re part of,” Barbara offers. “It’s over there. The door with the guards outside, just past the table with the chocolate fountain. You can dump the lyre in there. Oh, and you can use the room to slip out of the party without calling attention to it, if you need to. There’s an exit door to the back courtyard.”

“Wow, useful room. Oh my god is that Master Jean? What is she wearing!”

“That’s her Vennessa costume,” Barbara says, waving to her sister. “Vennessa was the first Dandelion Knight.”

“Why is it so…uh…”

“Slavey?” Venti assists. “It’s from the famous episode of her heroic tale when she was captured and made to fight in the gladiatorial arena. See the shackle on her ankle?”

“I do. I also see that Jean has killer abs. She’s making me feel like a scrawny little beanpole, by comparison,” Aether pouts, patting his own abdomen, which is flat and toned enough, but rather lacking in muscular definition. “Where’s the king, Lady Barbara? I’m excited to see his costume.”

“Prepare to be un-excited, then,” Barbara replies glumly. “He always just wears regular formal clothes and this silver and gold falcon mask. I have no idea what he’s supposed to be, but that’s what he wears to every costume event.”

“He says he’s too busy to worry about frivolous things like costumes, but I think he’s just embarrassed to dress up,” Venti interjects. “Too bad, too. I’d love to see him in a maid’s outfit. For…reasons.”

“Gross, Venti,” Barbara says, wrinkling her nose. “Go hang around with Captain Alberich if you’re going to be a pervert.”

“Oh, is Kaeya here, already?” Aether asks. “I especially want to see his costume.”

“I saw him somewhere earlier,” Venti says, craning his neck and looking about. “I think he was headed to the green-room, come to think of it.”

“That’s perfect. I was going to put my lyre there anyway. I’ll come find you later!”

So saying, Aether trots away, pretending to be oblivious to the lingering stares directed his way, as he passes through the crowd. Whether it’s the glowing, aquamarine body markings, the wings, the scantness of it, or the fact that he is dressed as their god, his costume is certainly getting a strong reaction. This embarrasses him more than he is proud to admit, and he blushes as he hurries toward the private room.

The Favonius guards stationed outside bow low and open the door for him, and close it after he steps inside. It’s a long, narrow room, that probably used to be a sunroom, with couches and easy chairs scattered about, as well as a long vanity counter with mirrors and stools at the far end. On the wall beside the back door, there is a sideboard with a full coffee service and tea service, and a couple of trays of fruits and cheeses and other appetizers.

He sets his lyre on the vanity counter and takes the opportunity to check his appearance. The white stocking that covers one leg to the thigh, and the white gloves that come up to the middle of his upper arms are kept from slipping down by way of concealed adhesive tape. Venti says he never had trouble with that happening, but Aether insisted that it was better safe than sorry. He grimaces, adjusting the gold belt that clamps tightly at his hip bones, rather than going all the way around as fastening with a buckle. Definitely more aesthetic than comfortable. Attached to the belt, is a trailing skirt of white strips of fabric. This keeps his ass marginally less exposed, but it seems oddly extraneous on such a revealing ensemble.

He doesn’t want people touching his goddamn wings, which they almost certainly will, so he retracts them. If anyone even notices he doesn’t have them anymore, they’ll assume they were part of whatever stagecraft facilitated his entrance. This wig is already getting hot and uncomfortable, but he resists pulling it off. The herculean task Madame Ping had of flattening and pinning down his long hair to fit into a mesh cap under the thing is not something he’d like to try to replicate on his own.

Finding himself in order, he heads back toward the ballroom, but as he is passing by, a gust of wind blows the outside door wide open. Someone must’ve used it earlier and not closed it all the way. He is leaning out to pull it shut, when he hears voices in the dark shadows of the courtyard. Leaving the door open, he ducks back inside quickly and presses his back to wall beside the door frame. It’s two male voices, and they appear to be arguing. He knows logically that he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but his curiosity already has the better of him, so he holds his breath and listens. One of them is certainly Kaeya, but the other is speaking too low for Aether to recognize the voice or make out the words.

“…have no right judge me, you sanctimonious prick,” Kaeya is saying. He must be talking to King Diluc. “This was your choice! This is how you wanted it to be! You don’t get to be pissed off at me for trying to wring some semblance of a fucking life out of the wreckage!”

The voice that might be Diluc says something in reply, but all Aether catches of it is “flaunting” and “petty revenge.”

“You know what, fuck you,” Kaeya laughs—that icy, venomous laugh he uses when he’s the most angry. “You made your bed. Die in it.”

“This isn’t what our father wanted for us,” the other voice (which is absolutely Diluc’s) says, growing clearer as they seem to move closer. “He told us to look out for—”

“Our father? Our fucking father? He was your father, not mine!” Kaeya snarls. “If you want the winery, take it. Throw me out or have me arrested. No one can stop you. You’re the king and I’m just a filthy outlander, after all.”

“You know I never gave a damn about the winery!” Diluc’s voice fires back, wavering with emotion. “Wait—Kaeya, please!”

“No! No more! I’m fucking done with you!”

As he is saying this, Kaeya’s voice is rapidly getting louder and Aether can hear his footsteps approaching the door. There’s no way to get out of the room now. Having no other option, he slips behind a panel of the heavy drapes, just in time. Kaeya’s steps come briskly into the room and go straight back out the ballroom door without pausing. Hopefully Diluc will follow him. After a few seconds, Aether hears him step in and shut the door. More steps. A pause. Then a sigh, and a body falling heavily onto the sofa closest to him. Fuck. He stands there for a while, trying to figure out how to escape, which he is still doing, when he hears Diluc get up again.

Thank god, he’s leaving. All he has to do is wait a few more minutes after he leaves and then follow him out. Silence. More silence. What the hell is he doing? Aether’s whole body jolts as the drapes are thrown off him and a big hand is clamped around his neck, pinning him to the wall, in one swift motion. He barely has time to feel the cold steel of a blade touch his throat, before King Diluc gives a start and backs up a step. Then he cocks his head to one side and looks him up and down, still holding him at bay with his dagger. Aether realizes it’s the eye mask and Barbatos costume that has thrown him off.

“My lord king,” he says breathlessly. “You gave me a serious fright, just now. Mind lowering the blade?”

“What the hell are you doing hiding in the drapery?” Diluc demands, as he sheathes his dagger.

“I can explain! Because…you know. I definitely have a good reason for—wait, how did you even know I was back there?”

“I never let my guard down, Prince Aether. You’re lucky I didn’t strike first and ask questions later. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve found assassins lurking in my house.”

Aether gives a merry little laugh at this. “I’m not sure how much damage you think you’d have done to me with that letter-opener, but I’m glad you didn’t stab me, anyway. I can’t get blood on this outfit, since it’s not mine. I actually borrowed it from—”

“I don’t care,” Diluc cuts him off. “And you have yet to tell me why you were hiding in here.”

Aether winces apologetically. “I was putting my lyre down and I saw the back door open. I was just going to shut it, but I heard you and Kaeya arguing. Then I couldn’t get out of the room before you came in, and I didn’t want things to be awkward, so I hid.”

“I see. I am sorry you had to witness such a shameful display,” Diluc sighs wearily. “I am sure you know my adopted brother and I are not on good terms.”

“Yeah, I…heard something about that.”

Aether watches the young monarch as he goes over to collapse into the sofa again. He pulls off the falcon mask and drops it on the cushion beside him, then rubs his eyes with the heels of his gloved hands. They are bloodshot and have dark circles beneath them, which are made more apparent by the waxy pallor if his complexion. His whole posture looks beaten and exhausted, or like he’s suffering from some chronic illness. Aether steps around in front of him, to peer down into his face, till Diluc glares up at him.

“What?”

“You’re obviously not well, is what. Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?”

“I thank you for your concern, but no. There is nothing you can do, Prince Aether. I am merely tired. The burdens of governing are many and onerous. You should run along and enjoy the party.”

“I’m well aware of your dislike for me, but don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” Aether retorts, with all the dignity he can muster, while dressed like this. He crosses his arms on the glowing sunburst thing in the center of Venti’s chest piece. “For starters, I’m a lot older than you. Also, I know a lot more about ruling a nation than you seem to think. I’m the son of a king and the husband of another one. Those aren’t easy jobs, either.”

“Yes, I imagine being married to the High King must be very demanding,” Diluc sneers. “Is that why you’ve chosen to extend your stay here for months, rather than return to your husband?”

Aether’s posture relaxes and he puts a hand on one hip, letting his expression shift into an icy smile. “Forgive me, your highness. I’ve misjudged you. I thought you were a joyless, arrogant prick, but I see you, now. I know exactly what you are.”

“And what am I, Prince Aether?”

“You think you’ve got everyone fooled, with all your sternness and rigid decorum—your constant working and refusal to let yourself experience a single moment of levity—but it’s all armor. A big, hollow suit of armor. And underneath it, you’re just a scared little boy. You have no idea what you’re doing and you’re all alone. I’ve got some news for you, child king. If you keep building your walls higher and higher, and pushing everyone away who tries to care about you, you’re going to wind up like that forever. Alone.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, Aether tosses his head and saunters out the ballroom door, without a bow or even a word of respectful farewell. He does not see the young man’s scarlet eyes fill with tears, that roll down his ivory-pale cheeks and soak into the high, black collar of his shirt. Nor does he see him hastily dashing them away with his crimson-palmed gloves, as if he is deeply ashamed of showing such weakness, even with no one by him to see it. When the king has mastered himself again, he puts his mask back on, takes a few deep breaths to ensure his voice will be steady, then steps out into the ballroom to face the public.

Aether is far away on the other side by now, picking his way through the whimsically masked and costumed throng, in search of his friends. An ice-cold hand on his shoulder gives him a start, and he turns to see Kaeya smiling down at him. In place of his eyepatch, he is wearing a mask that covers the top-right quadrant of his face, like Dainsleif’s, only there is no hole for the eye. His clothing consists of a black shirt, unbuttoned almost to the navel, over which he is wearing a short, black cloak, lined with some velvety, midnight-blue fur. His long legs are displayed to excellent effect in tight, black leather trousers, and made even longer by riding boots that go up to the knee, with a two-inch heel, and silver spurs with dark-blue gems in the wheels. In his right ear, he is wearing a long, silver earring with a black feather and sapphire, and around his neck, a black leather choker, also bearing a silver setting and sapphire.

“Wow, Kaeya, you look gorgeous!” Aether exclaims, taking a step back to get the full view all at once. “I can’t tell what your costume is, though.”

Kaeya grins wickedly and gives a sweeping bow. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Barbatos. I am the Prince of the Abyss.”

Aether squints doubtfully. “Is that…a real thing?”

“What does it matter? It’s a costume ball, anything goes. But look at you, walking around like a felony in progress. You know, I never noticed how lewd our god’s holy raiment was, till just now.”

“I’d be flattered, but I’m not sure any of that was a compliment.”

“So, what was the sour expression for? When I saw you across the room, you looked like you’d stepped in something unpleasant.”

“Just King Diluc being a fucking prick,” Aether grouses. “I hope he knows he looks like a giant chicken, with that bird mask and the white suit and all that red hair.”

Kaeya blinks, then bursts out laughing. “That’s exactly what he looks like! Well, he’ll never hear the end of this one.”

“Oh, no, please don’t use that to mock him! I really shouldn’t have said it, I was just being a bitch because he blew me off when I was trying to be nice.”

“Ugh. Fine. You’re no fun at all.”

“I know, I know. I’ve grown boring in my old age. Hey, is Albedo around, by any chance?”

“No. They don’t come to these things, anyway, but he and his other are apparently busy working on some top-secret research project. They won’t even tell me what it is. Can you believe that?”

“That’s probably something to do with me. When we did the thing to look into my conditioning, my brain scan showed some kind of abnormality.”

Kaeya’s olive skin goes half a shade paler and he looks stricken. “Abnormality? Like what? Are you going to be alright?”

“Oh—no! I mean yes, I’ll be fine. It’s nothing like that. My brain has some unique features, is all. I must say, though, it was very cute that you got worried about me that way.”

“Tch. No. I didn’t get worried,” Kaeya returns, crossing his arms on his chest. “Why would I care what happens to you?”

“Awwwww, you like me!” Aether laughs. “It’s ok, Captain Alberich, I won’t tell anyone you’re a big, mushy softie.”

“You’d better not, or I’ll break your sexy little legs.”

“Captain Kaeya! Prince Aether! There you are!” Venti’s voice comes ringing out cheerfully, as he approaches, with a glass of wine in one hand, and dragging Barbara along with the other. “How are you two not drunk yet? Let’s get this party going, already!”

A waiter appears at that moment, as if summoned by Venti’s will, with a tray of full champagne glasses. Aether takes one, while Venti drains his wine glass in one go and sets the empty on the tray, trading it for two glasses of champagne.

“None for me, thank you,” Kaeya says, shaking his head.

Aether’s eyebrows go up. “Kaeya not drinking? This is unheard of.”

“What are you, pregnant?” Venti chimes in.  

“If all goes well, I’ll be doing my drinking later. The Ambassador from Fontaine’s twin daughters are in attendance this evening, dressed up as cabaret girls in shorter shorts than Lord Barbatos, here. I’m going to see if I can’t surmount that language barrier and convince them to take a private winery tour.”

“You really have a thing for twins, huh?” Aether observes.

“Does anyone not?” Kaeya grins. “Oh, speak of the devils. I’m off. Wish me luck!”

Barbara makes a disgusted face and Venti laughs delightedly, as the captain departs to hunt his quarry. After that, Lisa and Jean come by to chat for a bit, then Eula, in company with a young lady named Amber, who Aether gathers is her date. When he is on his third glass or so of champagne, Diluc comes to collect his lady and escort her to her carriage home. As they are saying goodnight, Kaeya passes the group with a twin on each arm, laughing conspicuously, which visibly irritates Diluc. He and Barbara depart rather briskly.

Venti goes off next, following a big, burly man in a hilichurl mask and loincloth, who Aether is almost certain is the inexplicably sexy blacksmith. Aether can’t really get drunk on champagne, and since he’s not doing anything but standing here being gawked at but not approached by anyone, he decides to call it a night. He got what he wanted out of the evening, anyway, which was to wear a sexy costume and talk to good-looking men, which he supposes still counts even if it was only Kaeya and Venti and Diluc.

That fucking prick Diluc. He had almost started to like the man, that night at the winery, when they took care of drunk Venti together, but that person was nowhere in sight this evening. He was all thorns and razorblades, as Madame Ping likes to put it. He really did look like a big stupid chicken in that suit and bird mask, though, so Aether consoles himself by laughing at that.

Back in his own chambers, Madame Ping takes the costume to be cleaned and pressed, before returning it to the wind god, while Aether soaks in a hot bath. Despite having a good enough time tonight, he finds he’s agitated and restless, and can’t relax, even in the bath. At last, he gives up. Pulling on a black yukata, he tells Madame Ping that he’s going to snoop about the palace a bit, since almost everyone is still at the party way over in the west wing, leaving the east wing, where his guest chambers and the royal suites are situated, fairly deserted.

He finds the vast, marbled hallways silent and dark, but for wall sconces with candles at intervals, and he only sees one or two guards, as they pass by on patrol. As he wanders along, he happens to pass the king’s study, and spies a light shining out under the door. Working, as usual. He is moving on, when he distinctly hears a sound like a body hitting the floor, and a muffled cry. What the fuck? He knocks on the door and waits. He hears some papers or something rustling within, but there is no answer. He gives the door three heavy, resounding knocks. This time he hears a plaintive moan from inside. Shit.

He tries the knob, but it’s locked. Sorry, Diluc, desperate times. He puts both hands on the door and pushes till he hears the telltale creak, then the ringing snap of wood splitting. Finally, the metal bolt tears free of the door and it bursts open. The first thing he sees is Diluc’s gloved hand grabbing onto the edge of the mahogany desk, as he tries to pull himself up. He collapses behind it again as Aether rushes to his side. There’s no blood on his white coat, and he can see no other signs of injury.

“Stop trying to get up, highness, you’ll make it worse,” he scolds, rolling the king onto his back. Then the burning scent of Fire Water rises up to assail his nostrils. “Ugh, gross. You’re not hurt, you’re deadass drunk! What the hell is the matter with you? I thought you didn’t drink.”

Diluc mumbles something incomprehensible as Aether pulls him up to a sitting position. The half empty bottle, which has rolled under the desk, is leaking blithely all over the woven wool rug. Aether lets go of Diluc to grab it, and Diluc collapses onto his back again, with a heavy thud.

“Hey, hey! Stay with me!” Aether says, pulling him back up. Diluc’s head has dropped forward, so Aether takes him by the chin and lightly slaps his cheek a few times. “How much did you drink? Was this bottle full when you started?”

“Venti, you’re…you’re not you anymore,” he slurs out, with a lopsided smile.

His eyes are blinking slowly and unfocused, and he’s swaying back and forth. Aether can’t purify regular poison like alcohol with his Celestial power, so there’s no sobering him up that way. Looks like there’s nothing for it but to put him to bed and let him have a good old-fashioned hangover.

He takes the king’s arm and hooks it around his shoulder, then stands up, lifting him with him. His knees buckle and he almost falls again. No good. He’s totally unable to walk, and he is far too tall for Aether to drag him along this way. He is on the verge of calling to the guards, when he stops short. For a man like King Diluc to drink like this, he must be seriously suffering. He would also be deeply humiliated to be observed in this state by any of his people, from whom he must command respect.

“God damn it, your highness, why tonight?” Aether grumbles, as he lifts the athletically built, six-foot-one-inch tall young man in his arms, like a petite bride carrying her oversized groom. “This is the last thing I wanted to be doing right now. I hope you know that.”

Peering up and down the hall, to see that it’s clear, he carries the king as quickly as he can toward his private chambers. His servants will see him, but that can’t be helped. At the king’s door, he is let in by the chamberlain, who gasps and looks terrified at seeing his master this way.

“Oh, no! What happened to my lord the king?” he asks, nearly in tears, as he hurries after Aether to the bedroom.

“He’s not hurt, he’s just really drunk,” Aether assures the man. “I need you to help me undress him and get him into bed. After that, there’s a bottle in his study and Fire Water spilled all over the rug. If you could go and clean those things up before anyone else sees them, I’ll stay with him. And this goes without saying, but please keep this quiet. You know how the king is. He would be mortified if anyone knew.”

“You can count on me, my lord prince. If you do not mind me coming in to tend the fire myself, I will keep the other servants away from his chambers till morning, as well.”

Between the two of them, they manage to get the uncooperative king stripped down to his underclothing, and into his bed, then the chamberlain hurries away. Aether stokes the fire and brings the pitcher of water and cup over to the king’s nightstand, then goes about snuffing the candles, till the low-burning embers are the only light in the vast bedchamber.

“Come…come back…” Diluc murmurs, barely audibly.

Aether goes over to the edge of the bed and leans over him. “What is it, my lord? What do you need?”

“Come back,” Diluc murmurs again, his heavy-lidded eyes blinking halfway open and then falling closed again. “Don’t leave me. Please…don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, your highness.” As Aether says this, he reaches out to pat his hand, then gives a yelp as Diluc takes hold of it and pulls him forcibly down into the bed, wrapping him up tightly in his long arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs, pressing kisses to Aether’s face, which he is wetting with his tears. “I’m so sorry, I did what I…I thought I had no choice. Please, just don’t…don’t go…”

Aether sighs irritably, but doesn’t bother to resist, as the king rolls onto his side, cradling him against his chest, and slurring out half-coherent fragments of sentences along the same theme, till he apparently loses consciousness. He is obviously not aware of what he’s saying or who he’s with. Aether wonders if the words are intended for his father, the old king. He has heard people sometimes experience deep grief and regret over for the loss of a parent. If that is the case, the kisses are a bit strange, but who knows how these Teyvatan humans express familial affection. Aether never once dared to lay a hand on his own father, affectionately or otherwise, and the only time the king touched his son was to slap him across the face, or scruff him and drag him out of a room for chastisement. The idea of embracing or kissing the man is so ludicrous, he actually laughs out loud at the thought.

“Oh, my lord prince, I’m so sorry,” the chamberlain says, as he comes in at that moment. “I’m sure my lord the king intends no offense against your person. Shall I help extract you?”

“No, that’s alright,” Aether replies, sounding more cheerful than he feels. “I was planning on staying with him tonight to look after him. Sleeping on his side is the best way to make sure doesn’t vomit and aspirate it, and if hanging onto me keeps him this way, I’ll take it. Just leave the bedroom door open and stay close by, in case I need help. Thank you.”

“As you wish, my lord prince,” the man says, bowing low, before he slips quietly out into the next room.

Aether manages to twist himself around so he's not facing the king, at which Diluc stirs in his sleep and squeezes him tighter, burying his face in the back of his neck. Ugh. Great. He gets to marinate in the stench of Fire Water all night, while he acts as some drunk idiot’s human teddy bear. Though…it does kind of feel nice to lie next to someone like this, with no possibility of sex entering the equation. Aether has never slept with a man and not fucked. It’s a kind of comforting, safe feeling, like when Thoma held him in the bath. Of course, awake and sober, Diluc is the last person Aether would choose to do this with, but he may as well make the best of the situation. This asshole better not puke, though.

Chapter Text

Excerpted from The Literary History of Teyvat, Volume I: Liyue, by the Lector Devorans Ignis Abyssi, Royal Historian to our Supreme Overlord, Dominus Abyssus

Among the ancient myths of Liyue, there is one that stands out as unique, for the fact that the deity concerned, Guanyin, who the people called the Goddess of Mercy, persists as the primary figure in every version of the tale, and yet is mentioned in no other historical account. Neither is there any record of her death, but this is not unique, as many names have been lost among the thousands of gods Morax put to the sword. The peculiarity of her case lies chiefly in the fact that there is no other evidence of her life. Even the most petty of the deities of Teyvat had devoted cults, and cults leave physical evidence in the form of shrines, statuary, relics, what have you. Guanyin, it seems, had no cult, and only this one tale records her name.

Of this myth, the versions are many and divers, but while they vary in the fine particulars, the meat of the tale, as it were, is generally consistent across sources. This, of course, lends little to its credibility as historical fact, as it is the character of myths to contain some moral lesson, which remains relatively unaltered in the retelling. The value of the tale, however, lies not in its factuality, but in its role as a fascinating thread in the rich tapestry that makes up the mythology of Teyvat. Unfortunately, there are few in that world who remember it, now, and none who repeat it, due to the local superstition against speaking of the ancient days (Teyvatans claim that this was a command from their god, but I have yet to discover evidence of such an edict in any record or text). In order that it should not be lost forever, I give here a briefly summarized version of the tale of Guanyin, compiled from the most reliable sources. I have made notes where said sources differ significantly.

In the days of the War of the Gods (Historia Antiqua Teyvat, Vol. I), the people of Teyvat lived in constant dread and watchfulness. The deaths of so many gods had caused the old battlefields and places of execution to become black with the filth of their hatred and malice. This filth gave birth to demons (Note: demon is the Teyvatan term used to denote a corrupt, earthbound spirit, and not a demon proper), that arose and stalked the people in the dark of night, falling upon villages to slaughter the weak and defenseless. The people wrung their hands and cowered in fear, as is customary for humans in these tales, and some even sought for ways to appease these creatures.

To a certain highland village one day (Note: some versions would have it situated in Minlin, others in Lisha, but the vast majority give it no concrete location), came some outlanders, traveling from afar, who were given food and lodging for the night (Note: no version specifies the land in which they originated). Hearing the woes of the people regarding the demons, they told them that they knew of magic that would appease them and spare the village from destruction, but the cost would be great. The people begged to hear the method of this. At last, the men relented, and in secret counsel with the village elders, they transmitted their knowledge.

When the outlanders had spoken, the elders understood that the cost would be great, indeed. To appease the evil gods, to sate their bloodthirst and protect the village, they must build an altar, upon which they must sacrifice one of their own, each year, on an appointed day. They sat long in debate, but could reach no accord. Finally, it was decided that the matter should be opened before the people, and that all should have a vote. Many were horrified and spoke strongly against this plan, but in the end, the people were near evenly divided. Those in favor cast only two or three more votes than those opposed, but that made a majority, and thus the plan went forward, on the stipulation that they would suffer no children to be harmed. Each year, one adult villager, selected at random, would be sacrificed to save them all.

The outlander men showed them how to build and consecrate the altar, and the first sacrifice was chosen (Note: this process is gone into at wearisome length in all sources, but for the sake of brevity, I pass it over). For a long while, the plan appeared to work. The villagers faithfully slew one of their own at the appointed time each year, and the village remained safe and untouched, while the attacks on villages in the surrounding areas grew worse and worse.

One year, on this day, the wife of a huntsman was chosen, while he was from home hunting. When he returned to see his wife slain, he went mad with grief. In his blind rage, he slew the two outlanders with his own hands, before the others of the village fell upon him and cut him down. Being one of those who had remained faithful, he cried out to Morax with his dying breath, whose worship many of the others had forsaken.

Then the earth itself trembled, and the villagers fell on their faces in fear, as the God of War appeared among them. When he learned what had been done, he rose in wrath and condemned them all to death. By the divine law he laid down for his people, any tribe or village that allowed human sacrifice would pay the penalty with every one of their lives. They knew this command and defied it, and so their lives were forfeit. So spoken, Morax raised his blade to strike them down.

Before he carried out his judgment, a star descended from the heavens, radiant and shining white, and hung suspended in the air, between the people and their god. Then they saw that it was not a star, but rather a winged, golden-haired girl, not much more than a child, clad in raiment of white and bearing a sword of bright gold in her hand (Note: all sources use the term to denote ‘young girl’ and the female pronouns, except Hui Jin, who uses the gender-neutral ‘youth’ and neutral pronouns. Hui Jin tends to be more reliable on the whole, but he is outnumbered in this case, and so I defer to the majority). She spoke to their god in a heavenly tongue, which the people knew not, and could not understand (Note: all versions mention that the girl’s language was unknown to the mortal observers, before blithely going on to relate her exact words in detail).

“Look at them, Morax!” she commanded. “They are afraid! They cower before you, who they love, and plead for mercy!”

“They have broken my commandments!” the God of War answered, and his great voice echoed throughout the valley like thunder. “They have allowed false prophets to dwell among them, and they have consented to spill the blood of the innocent in sacrifice to evil gods, who made strong by their offerings, went on to wreak terrible destruction upon their neighbors! I will not suffer this to pass! I will have order!”

Then the girl spoke again, saying, “They sought to save their children’s lives! They believed the words of evil men and were deceived! Many that are here abhorred the practice, but dared not stand against their leaders. And you would have them pay for the offenses of those who have sinned, with the blood of them all? That is a tyrant’s order!”

“You dare to call me a tyrant!” Morax roared, his eyes ablaze with the fire of his wrath. “You dare to question my authority in my own realm!”

Undaunted, the girl still barred the way, holding aloft her sword, which shone like the sun. “I am the only one who can! You stand at a crossroads. Choose now to rule by fear, and so will you rule always. An oppressor. A subjugator. Your children will hate you on bended knee, as they do those evil gods who demand tribute in blood! But choose now the other path—choose to temper your justice with mercy, and you will become a wise and virtuous ruler, to whom the people’s hearts will belong, as well as their bodies!”

As she spoke thus, the sword’s golden light fell upon the faces of the people. Then the warrior god saw them through the eyes of mercy. Mortal beings. Flawed and fragile. Temporary and precious. Capable of great evil, but also of great good. Mothers clutched newborn babes in their arms, children clung to fathers, and all quailed before him. All looked upon their god and were afraid. Then the holy fire died in the eyes of Morax. The sword of retribution fell from his hand. And the mighty God of War fell on his knees before the small, golden-haired girl, which caused the people to tremble with wonder and awe.

“Teach me,” said he, in attitude of humble supplication. “Teach me how justice may be tempered by mercy, for I know it not.”

Then the girl alit upon the earth and took the hands of Morax, bidding him rise (Note: Hui Jin and Ran Mao have him take her in his arms and kiss her, like a lover, as do several other sources, but most are satisfied with the chaste touching of hands). They two ascended the hill and spoke long together, but what they said, none could hear. After many hours, Morax came down again to the people, leading the girl by her hand, but it was she, rather than he, who came forward to speak.

“Morax has heard my prayer on your behalf,” said she, addressing them in their own tongue. “He grants you mercy, and in his grace, has given back to you your lives, which your wrongdoing rendered forfeit. From this day forth, I bid you trust in your god and heed his commandments. He is your shield and your strength. He will bring you out of desolation and war into an age of peace and prosperity such as this world has never known. But beware. Defile yourselves no more with evil deeds. If ever again you spill the blood of the innocent in heretical worship, your apostasy will be your undoing. I will not intercede. Mercy will not stand between you and justice a second time.”

Then as one, the people cried out in worship and in gratitude, naming her Guanyin, the Goddess of Mercy, some falling prostrate in reverence, some weeping, and some laughing for joy. That night they slept secure, beneath the divine aegis of their god, in whose justice was mercy tempered (Note: some sources go on to relate a brief scene in which the villagers reiterate their repentance and gratitude to their god for his greatness and so on, but scenes such as these are redundant, tedious, and artificial, so I leave them out).

As one can see, there are several unique features to this tale. The most notable among them being its casting of the God of War in a submissive posture, deferring to another god (particularly to a female god, as Teyvatan power dynamics tend to be androcentric), and consenting to change his decision, based upon her open and rather bold chastisement. Though we see many instances of Morax learning from the wisdom of the goddess Guizhang, for example, she is never cast as his equal, let alone as one who would dare to lecture him in public. For my part, I suspect that it is this very reversal of his usual role that is the reason the tale of Guanyin became so popular. The idea of the fierce and warlike Morax, bending his knee to a winged, golden-haired child, and consenting to show his errant people mercy at her command—from love of her or otherwise—is a deeply compelling and poetic image.

Aether is rudely awakened from a very pleasant dream, involving the blacksmith and a bit of public exhibitionism, to a hand gingerly shaking his shoulder. With a petulant grumble, he rolls over to blink blearily at the offender. He is bewildered, for a split second, to see Mondstadt’s king peering down at him through a curtain of scarlet bangs, before he recalls the events of last night, along with the reason he is in his bed.

“Oh, thank the gods. It’s you,” Diluc breathes, and falls back down into the snowdrift of pillows, where he lies with a hand on his waxen forehead. “I saw only the the blonde hair, and I thought I’d done something…terrible.”

Aether pushes himself up on his elbows. “Well, I’m not gonna lie, that’s pretty much the opposite of the reaction I was expecting.”

“Please, speak more quietly,” the king groans, covering both eyes with his hands. “My head feels as if it’s been kicked by a horse. I suppose I should ask what you’re doing in my bed, but I imagine the two things are related.”

“I carried you here last night. I thought it’d be preferable to leaving you on the floor of your study, for the guards to discover. Don’t worry, I sent the chamberlain to clean up the Fire Water. I stayed to make sure you didn’t get sick and choke to death in your sleep.”

“I see. I am deeply ashamed that you observed me in that state, my lord prince. I beg your pardon for the inconvenience I have caused you.”

“You aren’t going to ask if we…you know,” Aether grins, waggling his eyebrows up and down.

Diluc gives a little snort of laughter then groans again. “Do not make me laugh while I’m dying.”

“I didn’t even know you were capable of laughter,” Aether replies cagily. “Are you sure you’re King Diluc and not some doppelganger? Oh, or maybe you hit your head when you fell behind your desk.”

“It is possible. I have no memory of falling, though, so I have no way of knowing. All I am sure of is that my skull is splitting in two. And that my mouth feels as if I’ve been eating hot sand.” Diluc moves one hand to squint up at Aether, as he climbs out of bed and pours a glass of water from the nightstand pitcher.

“Here,” Aether says, holding it out to him. “Can you sit up? You need to drink as much water as you can. You should eat, too.”

“No…no food. Too sick,” Diluc pants, as he struggles to a sitting position and takes the water glass in his unsteady hand.

“That’s what everyone thinks when they’re hung over, but you’ll feel a lot better if you eat, trust me.”

So saying, Aether leans out the door and wakes the chamberlain, who is dozing on a chair beside it, and instructs him to have breakfast brought for the king, as well as a pot of coffee. In the meantime, Diluc has finished his glass of water, and Aether comes back to refill it. The king dutifully swallows the entire glass, then collapses into the pillows, wax-white and shaking all over.

“Why are you taking care of me?” he asks breathlessly. “I’ve been awful to you, since the day you arrived.”

“That’s…surprisingly self-aware,” Aether answers, squinting suspiciously. “But I don’t exactly blame you for not liking me. Were I in your position, and I only knew a person based on what you’ve probably heard about me, I’d be just as annoyed to be obligated to have them for a houseguest.”

“Do you often evade direct questions by answering obliquely, that way?”

“Force of habit, sorry,” Aether chuckles. “I’ve been at court far too long, where there is no such thing as a simple question, and giving direct answers is a fool’s game. To actually answer yours: I’m still here taking care of you because I think I’m the only one who can.”

Diluc’s scarlet brow furrows. “Do you possess some peculiar skill in the easing of drink-related maladies?”

“Unfortunately, no. I mean that I doubt anyone else around you would dare to try taking care of you, and even if they did, it’s unlikely you would allow it. I, however, am not scared of you and don’t have to do what you say, so you can’t really stop me.”

The king tenses up and looks almost frightened, as Aether seats himself on the edge of the bed and takes his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Checking something. Hold still.” He presses two fingers into the back of the king’s hand then releases them and studies the skin. “Just as I thought. You’re still very dehydrated. Drink another glass of water. No sign of jaundice, though, so whatever damage you did to your liver wasn’t too severe.”

“You have studied under a physician, then,” Diluc posits.

“Sort of,” Aether shrugs. “I have some training in field medicine, but at the Jade Palace, my husband was in the habit of assuming I was ill and calling the doctor in whenever I showed the slightest sign of being out of sorts. I learned a lot from his constant visits.”

“Can you even be ill? I had heard that in Celestia, illness is so scarce that they have no physicians.”

“That’s not exactly true. We had a court physician in residence at my father’s palace. We’re immune to biological pathogens, because the light eradicates them, but we can be killed or injured by violence. We can be hurt by things like poison, too, but it’d have to be something a lot stronger than would kill a human. Something like Fire Water, for example, wouldn’t do much to me, but if a human had a mind to, they could end their life with less than a bottle.”

Aether’s hazel-gold eyes flicker up to the king’s face, but he is frowning thoughtfully into the middle-distance, and doesn’t appear to have taken his meaning. Aether doesn’t have a chance to press him, as the chamberlain returns and announces breakfast, followed by servants rolling carts loaded with silver-domed trays. The chamberlain escorts the king to the bathroom, from which he returns in his black dressing robe, and seats himself at the round table beside one of the tall, narrow windows.

“My lord prince, will you breakfast?” Diluc asks, as Aether shows no signs of being seated.

Thus invited, Aether can’t courteously refuse, so he sits down to eat with the king. Diluc, however, only manages a few bites of whatever this gruel-like substance is, before he is wax-white and swaying, his forehead glistening with cold sweat. Aether helps him back into bed and the chamberlain orders the breakfast things to be taken away. Servants are clearing up and Aether is assisting the young monarch in sipping a glass of sunsettia juice, when the seneschal comes in with the king’s schedule for the day.

“My lord king, you are still in bed,” the man says, eyeing the situation disapprovingly. “You will be late for court.”

“I do not believe I will be at court, today, Roderick,” Diluc replies shakily. “I am not feeling my best.”

“My lord king…it would behoove your highness not to lie abed while there are diplomats awaiting audience with you,” the man returns. “Delegates are here from the Lawrence clan, as well as Snezhnaya and Fontaine, all of whom have made appointments to see you.”

Aether’s indignation flares up hot at this man’s presumption, but he keeps his mouth shut and looks at Diluc, who is the ultimate authority, here.

“I am very sorry, Roderick,” the king says, actually sounding sorry. “But it would be more to my shame if I were to appear before them, and then become ill in public and be forced to retreat.”

“I see,” the seneschal replies tersely, not bothering to disguise his annoyance. “Shall I tell them you are ill, then?”

“No, no, the people will worry,” Diluc says. “It is nothing so serious as that.”

“Then what excuse shall I give?”

“You will give no excuse!” Aether breaks in, no longer able to contain his outrage at hearing a steward speak so disrespectfully to his king. “None! The king is not obligated to beg pardon and offer obsequious explanations to subjects and diplomats. His highness is unavailable. That is all the information they are entitled to, and all they will receive. Reschedule his private audiences, and conduct the general business of court in his stead, as is your duty, lord seneschal. Unless you cannot handle that much, in which case I would demand to know whether you are recreant, or merely incompetent.”

“My lord prince, I meant no offense,” the man replies cringingly, having instantly and thoroughly changed his tune in the face of a wrathful Celestial. “I only meant to impress upon his highness the importance of faithfully attending to—”

“It is not your place to school your superiors in statecraft,” Aether cuts him off. “Be grateful his highness is not a sterner master. Were you my steward, you would no longer be in possession of your tongue. Now, remove yourself from my sight. And see that you apply yourself assiduously to your duties, henceforth.”

“Yes, my lord prince. My—my lord king, may Lord Barbatos grant your highness a speedy recovery,” the man stammers, bowing low and backing out of the room with his head down, like a whipped cur.

When he is gone, Aether turns to Diluc. “I apologize for my outburst, your highness, but I won’t stand by and watch a snide little coattailer speak to his monarch like a serving boy.”

“Roderick means no harm,” Diluc says wearily. “He served my father, and so he has been always in the habit of thinking of me as the king’s son. I’m afraid he still sees me as a child in need of teaching.”

“And he always will, if you continue to allow it. No man would dare address my husband that way, and you deserve the same respect he commands.”

“Oh…no. I would never claim to hold a position anywhere near as exalted as His Divine Majesty.”

“Ok, maybe that wasn’t the best example. But you’re equal in station to the Raiden Shogun, and if you won’t accept that because she’s a god, you’re at least equal to Lord Kamisato, the acting Shogun. He is a gentle, courteous, soft-spoken man, but he’d annihilate a subordinate for that kind of impudence.”

“You know Commissioner Kamisato, personally?” Diluc asks, looking eager and curious, and suddenly very young.

Aether almost smiles. “I do. I don’t know if you heard, but we conspired to commit all kinds of treason together. Also, he was very briefly my official lover.”   

The king’s pale cheeks flush with color and he lowers his eyes. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to pry. I knew you worked with him to aid the Watatsumi rebellion and expel the Harbinger impostor from Inazuma, but I wasn’t aware the relationship was closer than that.”

“No need to beg pardon. I’m not offended. I’m not exactly secretive about my personal business. I always assume everyone knows, since that’s how it is in Liyue. Speaking of which, I’d better go before my reputation tarnishes yours. You can’t be seen to spend too much time in private company with Rex Lapis’ wayward teenaged consort.”

As he walks back to his chambers, Aether laughs to himself, remembering a time when he would have felt brazen and shameful leaving a man’s room in the morning, in nothing but a yukata, in full view of the guards and domestics and whoever else is buzzing about this hive of grey stone, but those days are behind him. Not that he is a seasoned veteran, by any means, but King Diluc’s extreme youth made him suddenly aware of the divide between them, and he is certainly no longer a child.

“Well, well, well,” Madame Ping remarks, arching a white eyebrow as he enters. “Looks like you found something interesting in this drafty old place, after all.”

“What I found was the king, stone-drunk on the floor of his study, if that’s what you call interesting,” Aether replies. “I stayed with him so that he wouldn’t choke on his vomit in the night, then I made sure he will stay in bed today. I think my responsibility to the preservation of Mondstadt’s royal bloodline is fulfilled.”

“I’d say you’ve done the country a noble service, princelet. And you’re back just in time. I was going to eat your breakfast, if you didn’t get here by ten.”

“I told you to order for yourself, too, when you order mine. I won’t have an adeptus eating in the kitchen with the servants.”

“Oh, I do,” Madame Ping grins. “I’ve finished my breakfast. I meant I was going to eat yours, as well. But what’s the heavy brow for? You sound satisfied with your evening’s work, but don’t look it.”

Aether seats himself and sets about pulling apart a pillowy cinnamon roll, as she pours his tea. “I don’t know anything for sure, but…you know how I get feelings about people? Like, when they’re suffering more than they let on?”

“I have known that of you, yes. You think the kinglet is hiding something?”

“I think…I think he tried to kill himself, last night. And I think I may have stopped him, without knowing it.” The moment the words are out of his mouth, Aether’s cavalier façade shatters and his eyes blur with tears. “But he can’t have really meant to do it, right? How could someone so young be hurting so much, that he’d rather die than face another day?”

Madame Ping shakes her head sadly. “I’ve seen a lot of men give up and let the darkness take them, in my time. Even ones just as young and rich and handsome as that little boy they’re calling king. No one can really know another man’s heart. Not unless he opens it up and invites you in.”

“But I could be wrong,” Aether says, and attempts to believe. “Maybe it was just an accident. He doesn’t drink, so he may not be aware how strong Fire Water is. You’ve been here as long as I have. What’s your impression of him? Do you think he’s capable of…giving up?”

“I think it’s a very good thing that you went snooping around the palace last night,” Madame Ping answers circumspectly, laying a gnarled hand briefly on his shoulder. “That’s all I’ll say about that. I’m off to get your bath ready.”

Aether has only just finished dressing, when there is a knock, and Madame Ping announces the king’s chamberlain.

“My lord prince,” the man says, bowing low. “Please excuse my presumption in coming to you unsummoned, but there is a matter of importance of which I would speak to you, if you would grant me a moment of your time.”

“Yes, of course. Come, sit in the drawing room with me. We can speak there.”

Once they are seated in Aether’s drawing room, and after he is assured that Madame Ping is in the prince’s deepest confidence and can be trusted implicitly, the elderly man opens his subject.

“My lord prince, I have served as the king’s chamberlain since my lord King Diluc’s grandfather sat upon the throne,” he says gravely. “If I may be so bold, I will say that I have loved the boy as one would a son. When his father passed away…my lord the king changed. A hardness entered his heart. The kind of bitter hopelessness that is a slow poison to the soul. My lord the king has allowed his mind to wander so long in these dark paths, I sometimes fear he will lose his way entirely.”

“I am very sorry to hear it, but why are you telling me all of this?” Aether asks.

“I will explain, my lord prince. Since his father’s death, my lord the king has been tormented by nightmares. What it is that troubles his dreams, he will not tell me, but he avoids sleep at all costs, sometimes until he collapses. He works late into the night, and when he consents to go to bed, he falls only into a fitful, restless state of unconsciousness. The little sleep he grants himself is troubled by nightmares, from which he wakes screaming horribly, every night.”

“Every night?” Aether frowns. “But I didn’t hear any screaming. Am I that heavy a sleeper, Madame Ping?”

“No, you’re a fairly light sleeper, I’d say,” Madame Ping answers. “That’s why I save most of my bustling about till you’re out during the day.”

“That is precisely the point I am coming to, my lord prince,” the chamberlain continues. “My lord the king screams in his sleep every night, but for one. Last night. When you slept by his side. The difference was such that this morning, when you woke me to have breakfast brought, I was confused, thinking it was still the night before, because I had not been earlier awakened by the king’s screams.”

Aether squints doubtfully. “You really think it was my presence that made the difference? What about the Fire Water he drank? Isn’t it more likely that the alcohol sedated him?”

“That’s not likely, princelet,” Madame Ping puts in. “I’ve known veterans of war with night terrors, who also screamed in their sleep. Liquor only made their agitation and sleep disturbances worse.”

“Hm. And King Diluc never drinks, right?”

The chamberlain nods. “Correct. That was the first time I have seen him intoxicated.”

“Then what we have is two factors altered at once, which is a poor basis for a conclusion. The only way to test it fairly would be to—oh, that’s why you’re telling me all this. You want me to sleep with him again.”

“As you said, two factors were altered. Since it is unlikely he will drink himself into such a state again in the near future, your presence would be the simplest factor to test.”

“I…I don’t think so,” Aether says, shaking his head. “I don’t think I should get involved in this.”

“You kind of already involved yourself,” Madame Ping mutters, earning a glare from the prince.

“Please, my lord prince,” the chamberlain entreats. “I know you have nothing to gain, but I am begging you. He is suffering. I cannot bear to see him in such agony. This is the first ray of hope that has shone down into this darkness. Please.”

“Damn it,” Aether sighs, letting his shoulders slump. “Ok…say I were to agree to this, how do you propose to convince him to do it? It’s not like I can seduce him. Even if I had any interest in him, which I do not, he’s heterosexual and engaged to be married. Believe it or not, even I have standards.”

The elderly man looks as if he is stifling a laugh. “I certainly did not intend to ask you to seduce the king, my lord prince. I apologize if that was the impression I gave. I meant to say that if you will agree to do this, then leave him to me. I will convince him.”

“Alright, fine. If you really think it’ll help, I guess it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to say no.”

With effusive thanks, the chamberlain bids Aether farewell, telling him to come to the king’s chambers at half-past midnight. After he has gone, Madame Ping amuses herself to no end, while packing a satchel with nightclothes and a toothbrush for what she calls the prince’s ‘sleepover’, by offering other things such as manicure kits and sleep masks, till Aether threatens to make her accompany him. That night, at the specified time, he presents himself at the king’s chambers, feeling more than a little awkward about the entire thing.

The chamberlain ushers him inside and offers him tea, which he declines, and the use of the changing room, which he accepts. He changes his yisan for the white zhongyi Madame Ping has packed, which people often sleep in. He normally wears nothing to bed, and is skeptical about the comfort of sleeping in what amounts to linen trousers and a shirt, but he can’t very well sleep naked with the king present. When he emerges from the changing room, looking very much like a child in white pajamas, he finds Diluc seated on the edge of his bed, in similar dress, only in the style of Mondstadt rather than Liyue. He is staring at the floor, with his arms crossed sullenly on his chest.

“This is deeply embarrassing for me, prince Aether,” he says, by way of greeting. “My chamberlain would not relent, however, and so I have agreed to try it once. I would thank you to not repeat any of this to anyone.”

“Trust me, I’m not any happier about it than you are,” Aether replies, going around to the other side of the bed, and pulling the covers back. “Let’s just get it over with.”

“Please stay on your side. I would like to avoid touching one another, if possible,” Diluc says, as they both climb into the massive, mahogany-framed bed, with its crimson velvet coverlet, and mountains of snowy-white pillows.

“What, are you scared I’m gonna convert you?” Aether retorts.

“Convert me to what?”

“Liking boys.”

King Diluc sighs and picks up a book from his night table. Aether wonders if he should have brought something to read, too. There’s no way he’ll be able to fall asleep with the lamp lit. He rolls onto his side, facing away from Diluc, and watches the chamberlain snuff all the candles, till the fireplace and the king’s bedside lamp are the only lights in the cavernous chamber. He is tempted to stretch out his limbs to take up as much room as possible, but he doubts the joke would land well with the aloof young man. He lies there shifting and fidgeting for what seems to be about a century, then he rolls back over and looks at the king, who is at least appearing to be engrossed in his book. Gods, his hair is gorgeous. It looks like fire made of strands of glass or spider’s silk. Aether suddenly wants to touch it very badly.

“Highness,” he says, in a stage whisper. “Hey, your highness.”

“What, prince Aether,” Diluc replies, in his normal speaking voice, without looking up from his book.

“Can I braid your hair?”

Diluc looks up, then, blinking incredulously. “Can you—no! You may not braid my hair, have you lost your mind?”

“Come onnnnn,” Aether wheedles, sitting up to face him. “I can’t sleep this early and I’m bored. I’ll make you a deal. If you let me braid your hair, I won’t talk anymore.”

The scarlet eyes narrow. “You promise?”

“Swear to, uh…one of the gods. Dealer’s choice.”

“Fine, you can braid my hair. But don’t make it into a mass of snarls. And don’t yank my head about. I am trying to read.”

Diluc scoots forward to allow Aether to sit behind him, against the headboard. Once he is situated, Aether unties the black ribbon that secures the king’s hair at the nape of his neck, and the glossy, scarlet waves tumble free over his shoulders. Aether resists a sudden impulse to bury his face in it, and begins to card his fingers through it, feeling its silky weight in his hands, while he draws it back and separates it into sections to be plaited. When he has his sections, he weaves them together carefully, one over the other, in a simple trifold braid, like the one he wears.

The king’s scarlet hair looks exquisite braided like this, and the little segments reflect the light beautifully, but he thinks the sections could have been more even, so he separates the plaits to start again. He is totally absorbed in this occupation, and doesn’t notice the king’s head drooping slowly forward, till he starts awake and it snaps back upright. Aha! He likes to be petted, too! Aether wonders if it might have a lulling effect on him, like it seemed to have on Morax. If so, maybe it’ll help him sleep.

Pretending not to have noticed the king dozing and waking, Aether sets about gathering the hair for the new braid, spending much longer carding his fingers through it, letting them trail over the king’s scalp and up the back of his neck. Gradually, his shoulders sag and his head begins to droop, again. He startles awake and then slowly dozes off again. This time, his head doesn’t snap back up. Holding his shoulder so he won’t fall, Aether moves out from behind him and lowers him gently onto his back. Diluc is fast asleep. Aether takes the book from his lap and places it on the nightstand. It is then that he notices the title on the cover. Meditations Against War. How exactly like King Diluc, to be reading such a thing, and not something recreational. He chuckles to himself, as he extinguishes the oil lamp and climbs back into bed.

Chapter Text

“Oh my god, get off me,” Aether groans, pushing the king with both hands. “How does your body produce this much heat?”

“You’re on my side of the bed, you get off me,” Diluc rejoins. “How does your body occupy this much space?”

“I had sex with a literal fire demon, and I don’t think he was even this hot. I feel like I’m sleeping next to a furnace.”

Diluc opens his mouth, then pauses, blinking. “You had sex with a fire demon?”

“Yeah, and before you get judgy about it, Celestials aren’t nearly as hung up on those kinds of things as humans are, so I don’t really care if it shocks you.”

“You are unpleasant in the morning, you know that? Though, you have been unpleasant every time I’ve spoken to you, so I suppose it’s not out of character.”

“Is that any way to talk to the guy you’re sleeping with?” Aether clucks, shaking his head. “I thought you were a gentleman.”

Diluc ignores the remark and climbs out of bed. Aether lies there for another minute, then follows him into the bathroom-slash-dressing room area, where he leans on the counter to inspect himself in the mirror, while he wets the bristles of his toothbrush and covers them with dental powder.

“Have you no modestly, at all?” Diluc, who is standing at the toilet relieving himself, asks irritably.

“Not really,” Aether replies, with his toothbrush in his mouth. “You’re lucky I’m being polite and wearing my zhongyi to bed for you. I usually sleep naked.”

Diluc rolls his eyes as he comes over to the sink, reaching around Aether to pick up his own toothbrush. “What is that powder you’re using? It smells good.”

“Qingxin and mint, and some other stuff. Madame Ping makes it. You want some?”

“Thank you. Mm, it tastes good, too. Do you think she’d give my apothecary the recipe?”

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t.”

When Diluc has finished brushing his teeth and washing his hands and face, he steps over to the dressing side of the oblong room. Aether hops up to sit on the counter and does his very best not to notice the young monarch’s lithely muscular upper back, as he pulls his nightshirt off over his head. He returns wearing his black trousers and dark grey shirt, carrying an ivory handled hairbrush and black ribbon. Handing them to Aether, he turns around and stands between his knees, with his back to him. Aether runs the brush through the thick, unruly waves of his scarlet hair, smoothing it into some semblance of obedience, and secures it with the ribbon at the nape of his neck.

“All done, sweetie,” he chirps. “Don’t you look handsome, today.”

“That is never funny. You want me to do yours?”

Aether squints dubiously. “Do you know how to braid hair?”

“No, I’m six years old,” Diluc retorts, taking the brush and making a ‘turn around’ motion with his index finger.

“Hey, that’s a thing I say!” Aether pouts, as he slides off the counter to stand facing the mirror. “Identity theft! Quit copying me!”

“What? No. I’ve always said that.”

“You have not, liar. Why are you such a liar?”

“I have so. You don’t know what things I say.”

“Ow! You’re yanking my hair!”

“I can’t help it, if you let it get full of tangles like this. Hold still.”

“You’re brushing it hard on purpose!” Aether wails.

The chamberlain opens the door at that moment and peers inside. “My lord king. My lord prince. What is going on in here? I heard shouting.”

“Help me, Toland!” Aether intones mournfully. “The king is stealing my identity and ripping all my hair out!”

“I am not!” Diluc contests. “He rolls about all night and gets it knotted up. I’m just trying to untangle the rat’s nest he’s made.”

The elderly man smiles. “I see. I am very glad that you two are becoming such friends.”

“We are not friends,” Diluc replies indignantly.

“Yeah, I can’t stand him,” Aether agrees.

“And the feeling is extremely mutual,” Diluc adds.

“As you say, my lords,” the chamberlain bows. “Breakfast has arrived, when you are ready.”

While the two young men eat breakfast together, the much more respectful and obliging seneschal arrives, with the king’s schedule for the day.

“What is this fifteen minute gap here, at 1600, between the Tariffs Commission and the Natlan Tourism Bureau?” Diluc asks, as he runs his eyes over the paper.

“Ah, Lord and Lady Auvergne are scheduled for a courtesy visit, but the translator has fallen ill, so they will have to be canceled,” the seneschal explains, with a bow.

“Don’t do that. Captain Alberich is fluent. I’m sure the knights can spare him for a little while this afternoon.”

“If my lord the king pleases, I took the liberty of sending a messenger to Favonius Headquarters to request his assistance. Apparently, he left early Tuesday afternoon, saying he was off on some winery business, and they have not seen him since.”

“Have they sent someone to search for him?” Aether interjects.

Diluc shakes his head. “They wouldn’t bother. He does this kind of thing all the time. It appears that Lord and Lady Auvergne are out of luck.”

“Well, maybe not. I can probably translate. Where are they from?”

“Fontaine.”

“And you said Kaeya is fluent?” Aether frowns.

“Something wrong?”

“Not really. It’s just that he made a comment about overcoming the language barrier, when he was talking about the ambassador’s twin daughters, at the Adventurers’ charity ball. That’s an odd thing to say if you’re fluent in a language.”

“Who knows. It was probably his idea of a joke,” Diluc says, looking suddenly drawn and weary, despite having been in rather higher spirits than usual this morning. “But I couldn’t impose upon you to act as a translator for a court audience.”

“You don’t have to impose upon me, because I’m doing it. Lord seneschal, the Auvergne audience will proceed as planned.”

“Yes, my lord prince,” the seneschal says, bowing his farewells, before he departs to his work.

“Why does he obey you, like that?” Diluc scowls. “He didn’t even glance at me to get confirmation of the order, he just accepted it.”

“Well, you know. I have an air of authority,” Aether says, puffing out his chest and sitting as tall as he can.

“You jest, but you truly do. Not always, but sometimes—like when you chastised Roderick that first morning—it’s as if you become another person. I don’t know how you do it.”

Aether smiles sheepishly. “Well, to be honest, I’m just doing an impression of my father. He’s the scariest man in the known universe.”

“Scarier than the Dragon King?”

“Like, a hundred times scarier than the Dragon King. If you want to know how to be authoritative and commanding, I could give you a few pointers.”

“I would be very much obliged to you,” Diluc says, dipping his chin.

“No problem. You can think of me as a mentor. Or like…an older brother. Your big bro. You should probably call me big bro, actually.”

“Over my cold, dead body.”

“Tch. I bet your body won’t even be cold when you’re dead. They’ll probably keep it here to heat the palace. I should get going, now. I have stuff to do before the audience with the Auvergnes. I’ll see you at 1600.”

“Prince Aether?” Diluc says, stopping him as he rises to depart.

“Yes, little bro?”

“Will you be here, tonight?”

Aether opens his mouth to make a jocular reply, but he softens, seeing the real anxiety in the young man’s eyes, and smiles. “Of course I will. You don’t have to keep asking. I know how important this is. I’ll be here, as long as you need me.”

When Aether returns to his chambers, Madame Ping is just bustling into the anteroom with a feather duster and broom.

“Morning princelet,” she greets him cheerfully. “Two things. First, Lady Barbara is in your drawing room. She came by saying she had something important to talk to you about, and she had to see you. I told her I didn’t know when you’d be back, but she insisted on waiting.”

Aether swallows a sudden, sinking feeling in his gut. “Alright, I’ll go see her. What’s the second thing?”

“This,” she says, holding out an envelope bearing a blue wax seal. “Arrived by royal courier from Snezhnaya. He was very snooty about it, and I did not offer him tea.”

Aether takes it and sees that it is from Childe, and is dated from the Winter Palace, then grimaces and holds it away, blinking his eyes rapidly, as if they’ve been assailed by some noxious fume. “Ugh, wow. You feel that?”

Madame Ping nods. “Pretty strong sealing enchantment, for a friendly letter.”

“I guess they don’t even trust their own royal couriers, in Snezhnaya,” he says, laying it on the entryway table. “First things first, I’ll go talk to Lady Barbara. The letter can wait. Oh, and I need something to wear to court this afternoon. I’m filling in for a translator.”

“You got it, princelet,” Madame Ping replies, with a jaunty salute.

When Aether enters the drawing room, Lady Barbara is seated at a tea table, with tea and a tray of pink and white biscuits before her, that she doesn’t appear to have touched. She hops up and gives a pretty curtsey as he approaches. She doesn’t appear angry or upset, but there is a slight tint of pink to the rims of her large, bright-blue eyes. That may suggest she’s been weeping at some point this morning, but could also indicate allergies or a poor night’s sleep, or any number of things.

“Lady Barbara, what a pleasant surprise,” he says, bowing cordially. “Please, sit. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” she replies, as they take their seats. “I know I came unannounced, so I expected to wait. Thank you for seeing me.”

“I’m always happy to see you. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I—I hoped…I’m sorry. I’m so nervous,” Lady Barbara mumbles, casting her eyes down at her hands, which are fidgeting in the lap of her snow-white frock.

This does not strike Aether as the attitude of a young woman about to demand to know why he has been spending every night with her fiancée. Maybe she isn’t here about that, after all.

“It’s ok. There’s no reason to be nervous,” he says, employing his most reassuring tone and most approachable smile. “You and Venti and me have hung around together about a hundred times. You know I’m not as scary as I look.”

She laughs at this, which seems to have the intended effect, and attenuate her agitation somewhat. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Alright…here goes. You know how I asked you about the Priestesses of Eros? Well. I was hoping that maybe you could…maybe you could help me contact them.”

“I don’t understand. What do you want to contact them for?”

“I need their help,” Barbara answers, her voice wavering with sudden emotion. “I want to make him happy. I want to do my duty and be a good wife, but there’s something wrong with me and I—I need them to fix it.”

“Whoa, whoa, hang on a second,” Aether says, reining her in as gently as he can. “Let’s start from the beginning. What do you think is wrong with you?”

“I hate being touched by the king,” Barbara blurts out, then bursts into tears and covers her face with her hands. “I can tolerate holding hands and even when he kisses my cheek, but when I think about having to kiss him for real, one day, I feel sick to my stomach. If I have to go to bed with him…I might kill myself.”

Aether blinks, dumbfounded at this revelation. “Oh. Wow. Well look, I know Diluc is kind of a prick, but don’t you think suicide is a little excessive? He’s a very handsome young man, and I am sure he’ll treat you right.”

“Oh no, it’s not that,” she says hastily, dabbing her cheeks with a white handkerchief she has produced from a hidden pocket in her skirt. “I respect and admire my lord the king so much. He is a kind, generous man, who deserves all the happiness in the world. But…I don’t have those kinds of feelings, for him or anyone. I’ve always been repulsed by the idea of kissing and sex, and all those things.”

“I see. So, you want the priestesses to condition you, so you can tolerate having sex with him.”

Barbara nods. “I have heard a little about what they do, and I know they accept anyone betrothed to a monarch. But I don’t have any idea how to get in touch with them, so I need your help.”

“But you won’t have to marry him for three more years. Why do you want to do this now? He hasn’t been pressuring you, has he?”

“Never!” She sits up straighter in her chair, her big, blue eyes flashing with the most fire he has ever seen in her. “Prince Aether, I know you dislike my lord the king, but he is the best, most honorable man I have ever met. He has never treated me with anything but the utmost consideration and respect.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Aether says contritely. “Of course he’s treated you respectfully. It was just a stupid, knee-jerk response. Please, go on.”

“He has always been so kind and gentle to me, but he is so terribly sad. I want him to be happy, so badly. I just…I want to make him happy.”

“And you think what will make him happy is sex?”

“It must be. Isn’t it? As soon as I turned sixteen, Captain Alberich starting making jokes about how the king’s fatigue must be because I keep him up all night. Or asking me in front of other people if the bedsprings squeak in the king’s chamber. I’ve never even been in the king’s chamber! And it’s not just him, it’s everyone. Married noblewomen are always telling me that the most important thing is to keep him happy in the bedroom. I overhear men, all the time saying…well, you know how men talk. I can’t repeat it.”

“Lady Barbara, those people are all wrong,” Aether says flatly. “Especially Kaeya, who should damn well know better than to be such an asshole to a teenaged girl. Not wanting to have sex or romantic love is not something that’s wrong with you. It’s not bad, just because it’s different. Those kind of backward ideas are why the priestesses are still traumatizing royal children all over the universe.”

Barbara looks frightened. “Traumatizing? Wh—what do you mean?”

“I mean that a large part of the reason I have a hard time relating to myself as anything but a sexual commodity, is because when I was a child, my father put me in the hands of a bunch of priestesses, with the express purpose of teaching me that a sexual commodity is exactly what I am. The conditioning is humiliating and dehumanizing. They won’t care that you’re just a little girl. They will strip away your innocence and turn your body into a compliant vessel for a man’s pleasure, while leaving you technically pure. Is that what you want? Is that what King Diluc would want for you?”

“But what else can I do?” she pleads, breaking down into tears again.

“What do you want to do? Lady Barbara, look at me,” he says, in a paternal tone. She raises her eyes and stares up into his, finding herself held captive by his gaze. “What do you want?”

“I want my lord Diluc to be happy, but I don’t love him, and I never will. I will never love anyone romantically. My heart belongs to Lord Barbatos. I want to be celibate and devote myself entirely to my god and my congregation. That is what I’ve always wanted.” As soon as the words are out, she gasps and claps a hand over mouth. “How did—how did you do that! How did you make me say all that?”

“It’s one of the very few things my father taught me to do,” Aether answers, with a rueful smile. “It can only compel the truth from someone who wants to tell it and can’t or won’t for some reason, but it’s useful for breaking through emotional walls. Doesn’t it feel better to finally admit it? How long have you been holding it in?”

She gives a shaky sigh. “As long as I’ve known it, I suppose. But how does saying it aloud help me? I will still have to marry him. I will have to let him have his right of my body, as per the marriage contract, to produce heirs of the Ragnvindr blood.”

“Why don’t you try saying it aloud to him,” Aether suggests patiently. “I would never want to force an asexual person who didn’t love me to marry me and bear my children. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to do that to you, either.”

“Oh, no, I can never tell him! He can never know!” she exclaims, nearly leaping from her seat in her sudden urgency. “The Gunnhildr Clan would be dishonored and lose their standing among the noble houses if they allowed me to break a marriage contract with the king!”

“I thought you and your father left the clan.”

“My father did, but I’m still considered a Gunnhildr. In his absence, I’m legally under their guardianship. You have to promise me you won’t breathe a word of this, my lord prince. I would be disgraced forever.”

“I would never say anything that would put your honor at risk, I swear,” Aether assures her. “But I still think you should talk to him. If Diluc is anywhere near as good a man as you say, he wouldn’t allow you to fall into dishonor because you opened your heart to him.”

“I couldn’t. I just…couldn’t,” she says, blushing like a rose. “I would die of humiliation if I had to talk of such things to him.”

“I get the sense that you aren’t exactly close, despite being engaged.”

“I wouldn’t presume to call us close. It’s rather the opposite. He’s always been…a distant, heroic idea to me. The prince and future king. I remember the first time I met him. I was eight years old. He was this tall, serious boy with fire-red hair. He came over and bowed to me, like I was a real grown-up lady. He said, ‘Lady Barbara, one day you will be my queen. If ever you have need, and your father is not by you, come to me. I will protect you with my life.’ I had no idea what being his queen meant, but I knew there was some special connection between the prince and myself. Of course, as I got older and learned about my arranged marriage to him and what that would mean, I was more terrified than anything. Not of him. Just of the entire thing.”

“You two weren’t even friends?”

Barbara shakes her head, making her pale-blonde curls swing and bounce about. “When I was in school, he was already a grown man, as far as I was concerned. He was crowned when I was eleven, and I didn’t see him except at church, until I turned sixteen and was officially out in society. Then I had to begin appearing in public with him, as his intended bride.”

“So, all this careful courtesy and formality between you two is because you barely know each other.”

“We do talk a little. Mostly about my work at the church and things going on around the city, and all that. I know he’s an honorable man and a good king, and everyone admires and respects him, but…I don’t even know his favorite color or food.”

“That sounds so much like my husband and me,” Aether sighs. “Lady Barbara, I can’t express to you strongly enough, that you will not make him happy by marrying him against your wishes, simply because you’re contractually obligated to. All that a marriage without love will accomplish is to make you both miserable. I know firsthand. I’ve been unhappy since the day I was married. Far worse than that, I have made my husband unhappy.”

Barbara’s big, blue eyes get even bigger. “Do you…do you not love His Divine Majesty?”

“He doesn’t love me, and with very good reason. I have been rebellious and thoughtless and unfaithful. I have treated him abysmally and he was right to send me away. I see it all now that it’s too late, obviously. How badly I’ve behaved. I regret every moment of it. But there is nothing I can do, now.”

“But he’s our god,” she says, in a hushed voice. “Even above Barbatos. How can that be? How are you able to rebel against him?”

“Celestials are a lot different than Teyvatan humans. We don’t have the same relationship to the gods as you do. Individually, we’re lesser beings than Rex Lapis, by far, but as a whole, Celestia is the most powerful of the realms of Light. My father has legal authority over Rex Lapis, to some extent.”

“So, are…are you a god?”

“No, no, not at all,” Aether laughs. “I mean, I’m immortal and I have abilities Teyvatan humans don’t, but I can’t hear prayers, or anything, and I don’t have guardianship of a world or its people. You have to have that, to be a god.”

“But you’re married to His Divine Majesty,” Barbara reasons. “Your souls are joined in eternity. Doesn’t that also make this your world, and us your people?”

“I don’t…huh,” Aether says, leaning back and frowning thoughtfully. “I never thought of it like that. No. That can’t…that can’t be how it works. No. Definitely not. That would be absurd. I’m not a god, I’m a spoiled, selfish child, who can’t stop interfering in everyone else’s business and sleeping with every beautiful man I see.”

“From what I know of the gods, that sounds pretty much exactly like them,” Barbara laughs. “Are you sure you’re not?”

“Yes. Absolutely sure. Mmm…ninety-nine percent sure. But we’re talking about you. What are you going to do about King Diluc?”

“Marry him and suffer in silence till I can’t take it anymore and then walk off Starsnatch Cliff into the sea?”

“Ok, for now, why don’t we call that plan B. Let me think a moment. If he releases you from the engagement himself, for his own reasons, you won’t be disgraced right?”

“No, it doesn’t work that way. It would have to be a breach of contract on his end. If he breaks it off just because he wants to, I’ll be considered to be at fault, and the clan will still lose honor.”

“So, listen, if you’re this unhappy with your betrothal, it’s very possible he is just as unhappy. If it’s alright with you, I could try talking to him. I won’t say anything about what you’ve told me, don’t worry. It would just be to get a read on him and where he stands in the situation, and then report back to you. If it seems like he’s of a similar mind, maybe we can work out a way of freeing you from the marriage arrangement, without damaging you and your family’s good names.”

“You’d do that for me?” Barbara asks, tearing up yet again. “Why?”

“I can’t stand to see people suffering, Lady Barbara. Even if it’s something personal like this, and not huge, war-famine-pestilence level suffering, it hurts me deeply to see human beings in pain. If there is a chance to spare two young people a life of marital misery, like mine, why wouldn’t I do everything I can to help?”

“Are you really miserable?”

“Miserable is a bit dramatic. I should have said I’m taking my medicine. I know I drove my husband away. I know I brought this all on myself. I just wish I hadn’t hurt him, in the process of learning my lesson.”

“I’m so sorry, my lord prince,” Barbara says, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on his. “For what it’s worth, I hope you find your way back to each other, one day. It sounds like you really love him.”

“Thank you, Lady Barbara. I doubt it’s possible for us to reconcile. The God of Contracts is not exactly known for changing his mind once it’s made up. But I do appreciate the sentiment.”

When their interview is concluded, Aether shows Lady Barbara out himself, which is the only reason he recalls the letter that he’s left lying on the entryway table. He breaks the seal to destroy the nauseatingly strong enchantment, then takes it to his bedroom, to lie on his bed while he reads it.

My Lord Prince Aether,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that you are enjoying Mondstadt as much as anyone can enjoy Mondstadt. There is something I must tell you, and I don’t wish to dally and beat about the bush, like a coward, so I will get directly to the point. Though I am back in Snezhnaya now, I was summoned to the Jade Palace several months ago. Rex Lapis and I met and had a rather volatile interchange, during which we sparred and then fucked, then had a quarrel, and I left. It was the first time he has touched me that way since he broke off our affair years ago, and it will not be happening again. I was angry and I spoke words to him that I regret, now that I cannot unsay them. But what is done is done. I departed court the next day, and I doubt I will ever return.

I hope you will forgive me, but I do not expect you to, and I do not believe myself to be entitled to forgiveness, simply because I have confessed. I have only written to tell you all of this because I promised I’d never lie to you, and that I wouldn’t keep such things from you. I beg pardon for not writing sooner, but I have been dealing with some difficult and painful family matters, and simply didn’t have the energy to face such a task until now. If I thought I would be welcome, I would come to Mondstadt in person to speak with you, and to perhaps liven up that drab, grey city for you. It would be rather amusing to pretend to be visiting in an official capacity, and put the fear of god into the insufferable ass of a Snezhnayan ambassador there, as well.

All joking aside, I do wish I could see you once more, but I will be far afield on errands for my empress for some time, and do not know when I will be back in that part of the world. You have probably already thrown this letter into the fire and sworn your eternal hatred on my black and traitorous heart, but I hope you have not. I love you, as I ever have, and think of you often. I will always be honored to have been your friend, even if you never forgive me and I never see your face again. But I have let myself become maudlin and slipped into melodrama. Of course we will meet again, one day. All rivers flow to the sea, after all.

Love,

Ajax

Aether reads through the letter rather quickly the first time, then once again, more carefully. When he has finished, he refolds it and slips it back into the envelope. He thinks he should be angry that Rex Lapis and Ajax fucked again, but he finds he doesn’t feel anything very strongly about it, one way or another. Mostly, he feels sympathy and pity for Ajax, who seems determined to keep beating his heart against that impenetrable stone, no matter how bloody and broken it is. Aether smiles sadly. Of course he forgives this hapless child. A child just like himself, who is so emotionally damaged, he doesn’t even know who he’s in love with. He doubts Ajax knows what love feels like. But…does he know what it feels like?

Lady Barbara’s words from a little while ago echo in his ears. It sounds like you really love him. Does he love his husband? How would he know, if he doesn’t know what love is? Thinking in circles is getting him nowhere. He should work this out properly, starting with what he does know. He knows what love does not feel like. He didn’t love Ayato, despite liking him immensely and having excellent sexual chemistry. He doesn’t love Ajax, who says he’s in love with him, but is so clearly in love with his husband, that it’s become a bit ridiculous. Xiao…that is the closest he’s come to what he thinks love feels like. And still, his instinct hesitates. He loves Xiao, certainly, as a dear friend and respected mentor. But his heart knows that it is not the capital-L, souls bound together till the end of time Love. The thing people mean when they say ‘in love’.

As he is musing upon this, he is idly twisting the heavy, gold ring on his finger, watching the light glimmer and flare in the heart of the Cor Lapis cabochon. Before his mind’s eye, as clearly as if it is happening now, he sees his husband’s face, that day, when he gazed out over Liyue Harbor, and turned to see him looking at him. His hands, with strength like the very bones of the earth, taking Aether’s with delicate care, to slip the ring onto his finger. The flicker of pain in those ancient eyes, when the child he married swore he’d never let the ring leave his hand, if it pleased his lord to see him wear it. Most of his memories of his husband’s face contain that expression of pain. Pain he caused.

It occurs to him in that moment that he would rip the heart from his own chest, rather than be the cause of suffering to his husband again. He is filled with a sudden, desperate impulse to go to him, to beg on his knees for forgiveness, to plead with him that if he will only let him be a dog at his feet, he will serve him forever. He knows Rex Lapis would accept his apology and forgive him. He knows—and realizes now he has always known—that Rex Lapis would have given him anything he asked for. Done anything he asked. But he did not want to ask. He wanted his husband to come to him and offer, from the natural overflowing of his heart. What a childish, romantic fantasy. What overflowing of that heart of stone could be expected, when he never gave the Dragon King a chance to love him?

But no. He will not go to Rex Lapis. It would be rank selfishness to inflict upon him the grief of seeing his wayward young husband’s face, after all the pain he caused. To hang himself like a stone around his neck. He should rather run to the very ends of the earth, cloister himself away, remove his tainted presence as far from that beautiful, noble heart as he can. Perhaps he should even leave Teyvat. But if he departs his realm, will he ever dream of Morax again? His heart aches with longing for the nascent warrior god, establishing his authority and learning the ways of shielding and shepherding his people, in a younger, purer world. He clutches his chest spasmodically. Just as his heart aches for Morax, his body aches for his husband’s touch. Maybe these hurts will lessen with time and age. Maybe he will become cold and hard, like his father. A clear and flawless crystal, through which the Light shines pure and brilliant, without giving warmth or comfort. A true Celestial.

While he and Diluc prepare for bed that night, Aether is more silent and reflective than usual, as he happens to be turning over some heavy matters in his mind. They brush their teeth, change into their nightclothes, and climb into bed, with hardly a word passing between them. As usual, the chamberlain snuffs the candles, and the king sits up with his book. Aether lies on his back, gazing at the canopy, absently twirling his long, golden-blonde braid about his fingers. About thirty minutes or so pass, then Diluc snaps the book shut and crosses his arms.

“Alright, what is wrong with you?” he demands.

“Huh? Me?” Aether asks, blinking confusedly up at him.

“No, all the other people in my bed. Yes, you. What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing? I don’t…know what you mean.”

“I mean why are you being so quiet?”

“Oh. No reason,” Aether shrugs. “I’m just not feeling chatty.”

The king’s scarlet eyes narrow suspiciously. “So, instead of pestering me with questions, or complaining about how hot it is because of me, or playing with my hair, or slowly scooting closer and then pretending I’ve just gotten fatter, you’re suddenly being quiet, for no reason. And not to drive me insane anticipating whatever irritating thing you’re planning.”

“I have no memory of doing anything irritating, and I am offended at the accusation,” Aether sniffs. “I am an absolute delight to share a bed with.”

“A delight to share—I have been attempting to read this same chapter for three weeks. Three.”

“Well, why didn’t you say something, little bro? If you need help with the big words, just tell me.”

“Which poisons did you say can kill Celestials?”

“Ha! Nice try. Like I’d go around telling humans our weaknesses. Why are you still awake, anyway? Usually you’re falling over into that book you’re pretending to read, by now.”

“Well…I have been generally less fatigued, lately. As it turns out, if one actually sleeps when one lies in bed at night, energy is replenished, to be used the next day.”

“Wow. Have you contacted the university in Sumeru? They’ll certainly want to know of this phenomenon you’ve discovered.”

“I think I’ll publish my findings independently, first. I don’t want them getting the credit for my scientific breakthrough.” Diluc frowns. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Aether points a finger at him. “You made a joke. Out loud. With your mouth. I’m literally in shock.”

“If you were literally in shock, you wouldn’t be—ow! What was that for?”

“I was making sure this isn’t a dream.”

“You’re supposed to pinch yourself! Damn it. I’m going to have a bruise there, now. Why are your little hands so freakishly strong?”

“Oh, please, you bruise when someone looks at you too hard. You’re like an albino peach. You ever think of going out in the sun? Like even once?”

Diluc shakes his head. “I dislike sunshine and heat. I prefer cold weather. Rain. Even snow.”

“You have a pyro vision and you dislike heat?”

“I think my vision may be the reason for it. My body is already functioning at a much higher temperature than an average human. Adding external heat to that is oppressive.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re a vampire.”

“What—your skin is pale, too. Why am I the vampire?”

“Have you seen us together? I’m like three shades darker than you. Also, I’m not the one who dresses for a gothic funeral every day.”

“You could, if you wanted to. You don’t have to just envy my superior fashion-sense from afar.”

“I do kind of envy your whole deal,” Aether admits. “I wish I was tall and romantic-handsome, and had hair like yours.”

Diluc makes a face. “You wish you had red hair? Why, so all the other children can mock you for it?”

“Did the other kids make fun of your hair when you were kid?”

“Of course they did. No one outside the Ragnvindr clan has hair this color, and it is a conspicuous one. It made me a moving target.”

“Kaeya said something about being bullied for how he looked, too. What is it with Mondstadt children and picking apart one another’s appearances?”

“Children are like that, everywhere. People are like that, everywhere. They fear what’s unfamiliar to them, and cope by attacking and ostracizing it. Did the children in your world not behave that way?”

“Uh. I don’t really know. My sister and I were tutored privately and my father never allowed us to associate with other children. Not that there were that many to associate with. Children are extremely rare in Celestia.”

“Because you’re all immortal?”

“Yep. There’s a huge bureaucratic infrastructure in place to prevent overpopulation. Having a child requires a long application and screening process. The persons wishing to reproduce have to provide an exhaustive genealogical account of their families and appear for interviews with different officials over a period of several years. The process for obtaining the proper permits and licenses is even longer, and they are ridiculously expensive. Royalty are always allowed and expected to breed, though. Bloodlines are extremely important there, because being born closer to the Light means more power. It’s genetic hegemony.”

“That sounds even more complicated and….ridiculous than Mondstadt’s heredity laws,” Diluc yawns, as he puts his book away and extinguishes the lamp.

“Maybe, but in Celestia, at least there is a palpable power difference. Mondstadt’s heredity laws seem to be pretty much aesthetic. Can I have one of your pillows? You’re not even using like half of the ones you have.”

“As if you’re not going to scoot over here and sleep on them anyway.”

“Oh, well in that case, why don’t you use them to make a fort so you can sit in there and cry about it.”

“Because they’ll all be under you already. You’re the world’s biggest pillow thief.”

“Um, King Diluc, can you be quiet, please? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Diluc responds with an annoyed sigh, which makes Aether snicker.

For a long while, the king lies awake, staring into the dark, listening to the prince’s breath becoming soft and regular, as he drifts off to sleep. The prince begins to stir and toss about and finally rolls over, and Diluc feels his small body nestle up against his back. Then he smiles to himself and closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

The promise Aether made Lady Barbara has been weighing on his mind constantly, but as yet, he has been unable to find an opening to bring up the subject of love and betrothal with Diluc. Their interactions outside of official business are generally more akin to those between schoolyard rivals than actual friends, which is not a state conducive to a conversation approaching such a delicate personal topic. Whenever Aether has resolved to steer the conversation in that direction, come what may, Diluc will suddenly shut down, or change the subject, or simply leave the room, before Aether has even hinted at it. It’s as if he’s developed a sixth sense related to this topic, and knows ahead of time when it’s going to come up.

In spite of this frustration, Aether has begun to grow rather fond of the young monarch. In addition to essentially living with him, he has been accompanying the king frequently while he performs his daily duties lately, with the purpose of observing and advising on how to be more assertive and authoritative. Despite his youth, Diluc is circumspect and not prone to hasty decisions. His dour countenance, which makes him seem unapproachable in social situations, works in his favor at court, because it betrays no emotion, and makes him extremely difficult to read. He also tends to be silent and let others speak, until absolutely necessary, and though his mind is like a steel trap, his silence often encourages others to underestimate him.

Unfortunately, he tends to be too meek in the face of opposition from his elders and those he perceives as having far more experience than himself, and in Aether’s opinion, he yields far too easily to any pressure on his weak points. Mondstadt is on good diplomatic terms with every nation in Teyvat, but the balance is precarious. Diluc is a very young, human king in a world where gods lead nations. It is also a well-known fact that his military strength has been long overextended outside the country, under the influence of Grand Master Varka, leaving his small kingdom worryingly vulnerable.

The law of Rex Lapis prevents any nation’s expansion into another’s sovereign territory, but if a legitimate enough excuse for armed confrontation were drummed up by a belligerent power, Mondstadt would be defenseless. If King Diluc had the support of Liyue and its Millelith, no power in Teyvat would dare offend him, but Rex Lapis has never made such an alliance, and has stood firm in his unwillingness to interfere in conflicts between nations that do not directly violate his law. As such, Diluc is prone to bow quickly to pressure from nations such as Snezhnaya, who have a history of engineering such conflicts.

It is early morning, as Aether is lying in bed mulling all of this over. The fire has long died down to embers, and the grey light of pre-dawn is the only illumination in the chamber, giving a deathlike cast to the young king’s pallid face. Diluc becomes annoyed when looked at for too long, so sometimes when he’s asleep, Aether takes the opportunity to surreptitiously observe him.

They are lying face to face, and up close like this, it’s possible to see that his eyelashes, which appear black, are actually a very dark red. Aether knows from paintings and pictures, that King Crepus wore facial hair, but Diluc has none and doesn’t appear to grow any. He has never once shaved, to Aether’s recollection, and his face is as smooth as a young girl’s. His lips are pale, but for the slight flush of color in the center, as if he’s been eating strawberries, and his ivory skin is translucent, like fine bone china. The way it gathers and scatters light gives him an almost angelic quality.

He is so beautiful, lying asleep with his face framed in tumbled waves of scarlet hair. Without thinking, Aether reaches out and brushes a stray lock away from his cheek. Diluc’s eyes snap open and his hand closes around Aether’s wrist. For a tense beat, they lie silent, staring at one another.

“If you want to touch me, do it while I am awake,” Diluc says, releasing his wrist.

Something in the king’s tone makes Aether’s heart lurch. He can’t mean that as a real invitation to touch him, can he? He’s engaged to Lady Barbara. But what if he feels the same way about her that she does about him? If neither of them loves the other, he is free to bestow his affections where he chooses. Not that Aether is interested in the disposition of his affections! Diluc isn’t even attracted to men. Is he…? He is very young yet, maybe he’s curious. No. No, no, no. Of course not. If he had any inclination in that direction, it would have come up by now. Whatever the case, the safest route here is to play the whole thing off as part of their usual badinage, at least for the time being.

“You’re awake now,” Aether says, affecting a sultry purr. “Does that mean you want me to touch you?”

Diluc scowls and rolls onto his other side, facing away from him, which makes Aether laugh.

“Aw, come on, little bro. I was just messing with you. Don’t be mad.”

“I find nothing amusing in that kind of jest,” Diluc replies sullenly, without turning back to look at him.

Can he really be this upset by a joke about touching another man? Aether’s temper flares up instantly. “Grow the fuck up. It’s not contagious, you know.”

“What is not contagious?”

“Liking boys. You can’t catch it from me, so there’s no reason to be so upset about a joke.”

Diluc sighs wearily. “Please stop talking. We have almost two hours before Toland comes to wake us, and I would like to devote them to sleep.”

Aether rolls his eyes and flops heavily back into the pile of pillows he has commandeered to his side of the bed, where he lies glaring at the canopy and fuming. He is used to Mondstadt’s backward ideas about sexuality by now, and he had already assumed Diluc shared them, so why is he so angry? Why does he feel so personally stung by it? Maybe it’s because he and the young king have become something like friends, over the past few months. Or maybe it’s because of the things like what just happened. Diluc didn’t shy away, or say ‘don’t touch me.’ He arrested Aether’s hand and said to do it while he’s awake. Perhaps the increasing familiarities and gradually dissolving physical boundaries between them have lulled Aether into a sense of closeness that the king does not feel.

He gives a start at a touch, as Diluc pushes his arm out of the way and settles his head on Aether’s chest, coiling his long arm about his waist. Right. It’s the things like this. Acting upset and offended by a simple joke, then as soon as he’s half-asleep and doesn’t know what he’s doing, holding onto Aether like a lover. Basically the biggest mixed signal in history.

“Your heart’s beating…so fast,” Diluc murmurs drowsily.

“You startled me,” Aether whispers back.

The king mumbles something unintelligible through a yawn, then says no more. Aether lies wide awake, painfully conscious of the weight of his head and the intense heat of his body. The gentle pressure of the arm curled about him. The silky brush of his hair against his chin. The warm, masculine scent of him. Fuck. He’s so hard he can feel his pulse in his dick. And there’s no way to escape to take care of it without waking Diluc. This has to be divine retribution for all the extramarital sex he’s had. Doomed to share a bed with a gorgeous, excessively snuggly, heterosexual man.

Diluc shifts in his sleep just then, and his erect cock presses against Aether’s thigh, through their night clothes. Yeah, this is definitely hell, or whatever the equivalent Teyvatan concept is. Unable to take it any longer, Aether twists his body out of the king’s grasp and dashes into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Taking the hem of his zhongyi shirt between his teeth, to keep it out of the way, he pulls the pants down and hitches the waistband behind his balls. His dick is stiff and aching, and it takes less than a minute to wring himself to what turns out to be a rather unsatisfying climax. Ugh. It’s been way too long since he’s had sex.

He laments to himself about the lack of interesting and available cocks in Mondstadt, as he washes his hands, then brushes his teeth and washes his face, because he’s in here already and he may as well. He could try Alius or Albedo again, but knowing they’ve been regular lovers of Kaeya makes him feel kind of weird about it. If only he knew how to summon a fire demon. Enjou’s two cocks would be extremely useful right about now. That young Morax from his dreams is lucky he hasn’t had one of those in a while. He probably wouldn’t escape Aether with his virginity intact, this time. Though, he wonders if Morax would even want him, knowing how experienced he is.

Aside from his husband, he has been with Ayato and Thoma, Xiao, Childe, Scaramouche, Enjou, Albedo and Alius. It seems like a lot, when he lists them in series that way, but distributed over the period of three years, that’s only an average of three partners per year. That isn’t an excessive number, by any standard. It’s extremely restrained, as far as Celestials go. He has heard that his mother sometimes had a different lover every night of the week. One of those lovers might even be his real father, if his suspicions are correct. Of course, Aether can’t blame her for that, since being married to the king is probably what drove her to fill her bed with literally anyone else.

Having relieved himself for the time being and finding the king fast asleep, Aether climbs back into bed, to doze until Toland comes to wake them. Directly after breakfast, he departs to his own chambers. For months, now, he has been staying mainly in Diluc's rooms, but for the past several weeks, he has been stopping by in the morning and afternoon to check his correspondence, in anticipation of a specific message he’s been expecting. When he arrives today, he finds the morning post has been delivered, and a neat stack of envelopes waiting on the entry table. He rifles through them and tosses them back with a dejected sigh.

“No message, Madame Ping?”

“Nope. Sorry, princelet,” Madame Ping answers, as she carries the ash pail over to the fire place. “Oh…but it’s possible I misplaced one, come to think of it. You might want to check the drawing room.”

Aether’s face lights up and his heart leaps with excitement. Throwing off his cloak, he practically runs to the drawing room.

“Kazuha!” he exclaims, hurrying to embrace his lovely friend, as he rises from his cushion at the long, low tea table.

Kazuha returns the embrace, then steps back to bow courteously. “It is good to see you, my lord prince. You look very well. I know I gave you little notice, and I did not have time to wait for a reply, so I hope I am not intruding.”

“Are you kidding, I’m so happy you’re here!” Aether laughs. “You really are a sight for sore eyes, too. It’s been so long since we saw each other, I completely forgot how beautiful your face is.”

“You did not, you inveterate flirt,” Kazuha retorts, then pauses, seeing Aether frowning down at the table. “What is it, my lord prince?”

“Well…where did you get milk tea?” Aether says, indicating to the tall glass, filled with ice and caramel-colored liquid, with the telltale black pearls at the bottom. “Did you make it yourself? Madame Ping absolutely refuses to.”

Kazuha opens his mouth to answer, but at the same time, the drawing room door bangs open and a pair of voices shout, “Surprise!” Before Aether has time to process what is happening, he is captured and lifted off his feet in a crushing embrace, between two tall men, one of whom is pressing enthusiastic kisses to his face.

“Ayato! Thoma!” he says, immediately bursting into tears.

“Are you surprised?” Ayato asks, leaning back to look at him. “This is happy crying, yes?”

“Of course it is!” Aether sniffles. “What are you doing here, you rotten sneaks? No one told me you were coming! Kazuha, you’ve been in on it the whole time, haven’t you!”

“I’m afraid I was sworn to secrecy by my illustrious client,” Kazuha says, with a bow.

“I apologize, my lord prince, but neither of us were allowed to say a word,” Thoma explains, backing away a step, as Ayato swings Aether to and fro in his arms. “Kamisato-sama thought it would be fun to surprise you.”

“I threatened them with treason charges,” Ayato says against Aether’s cheek, which he is nuzzling affectionately. “I can do that, now. Are you impressed?”

“I am very impressed,” Aether laughs. “I’m getting a little dizzy, though.”

“Well, it is natural that you should be overcome with joy at my unexpected arrival. Faint, if you must. I will not think less of you.”

“Put the prince down, my lord,” Thoma interposes. “He means you’re making him dizzy shaking him around that way.”

“But, Thoma, I haven’t seen him in ages,” Ayato objects, looking deeply wounded. “You promised I could play with him as much as I want, while we are visiting here.”

“I promised you could play with him as much as he wants. The prince is not a toy.”

Ayato’s silver-blue eyes glint defiantly and he clutches Aether more securely against his body, as if to prevent him being snatched away. Thoma crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows, in challenge.

“You know, you can’t drink your milk tea, holding me like this,” Aether reasons, at which he is promptly set on his feet, and patted atop the head by the serenely smiling nobleman.

“Thank you for reminding me, former official lover,” Ayato says cheerfully. “Thoma, go and fetch the rest of our milk tea, would you?”

“Thoma, you do no such thing,” Madame Ping interjects, as she bustles in carrying a tray, laden with glasses of Lord Kamisato’s favorite beverage. “You sit with the others and leave the serving to me. You’ll have to get used to being an aristocrat, sooner or later.”

“That’s right, Thoma will also be Lord Kamisato, when we’re married,” Ayato concurs. “Though, I haven’t decided what title to give him in the clan…Wakagashira, maybe? Is that too common? Whatever he’s called, he’ll always be my right-hand man.”

“Right hand, left hand, and most of his brain,” Thoma intimates. “But I’ll still be acting as his steward, as far as public appearances go. As head of the Shuumatsuban, I can’t afford to lose my anonymity and mobility. Servants have a lot of freedoms that noblemen don’t.”

“That we do. Brooms and dusters are the best disguise,” Madame Ping says with a wink at Thoma, as she carries away the empty tray.

“Speaking of which, we’re traveling a bit incognito,” Ayato says to Aether. “Since this is decidedly not an official visit, we’d like to keep my presence as quiet as possible.”

“Does King Diluc know you’re here?” Aether asks.

“Of course. I am the Raiden Kanrei, now. I would never presume to enter another sovereign nation without observing the proper courtesies. I am scheduled to meet with his highness, but I will not appear for a public audience.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t even tell me you were coming. This is starting to look like a conspiracy. But, wait…who’s in charge in Inazuma, if you’re here?”

“I’ve left things in the care of the competent and highly motivated Kujou Sara. And of course, Her Most High Excellency the Raiden Shogun is still there, if anything goes wrong. She is simply on sabbatical.”

The young men sit down to their beverages and catching up, falling right back into easy rapport with one another, as if no time has passed since they were last in company. Ayato is giving an embroidered recounting of their ship voyage, with interjections and amendments from Thoma and Kazuha, when Madame Ping returns and announces Captain Alberich. Kaeya strides in and bows briskly to the group, then remains standing near the door, like a sentry.

“Kaeya, what on earth are you doing?” Aether asks. “Why don’t you come be introduced and sit down?”

“I am on duty, my lord prince,” Kaeya replies curtly. “I have been assigned by the Knights of Favonius to act as guide and bodyguard to His Excellency Lord Kamisato, for the duration of his sojourn in Mondstadt.”

Ayato’s gaze flickers back and forth between the two of them. “You know Captain Alberich familiarly, prince Aether?”

“Yes, he’s a friend. He’s also the adopted br—”

“Lord Kamisato need not be troubled with the family history of a soldier, your highness,” Kaeya interrupts. “If it pleases my lords, I will go and take my tea in the kitchen.”

Before anyone can make a reply one way or another, the Cavalry Captain turns sharply on his heel and is gone, leaving the drawing room door swinging shut behind him. Aether sits blinking after him, dumbfounded by this behavior. 

“What a strange young man,” Ayato muses, between sips from his reed straw. “He has been nothing but perfectly courteous, since he came to meet us at the harbor. I wonder what has gotten into him.”

Aether shakes his head. “I have no idea. He must be mad at me about something, but I can’t imagine what. He and I got off on the wrong foot a long time ago, but we’ve actually become fairly close friends, since I’ve been here.”

“Perhaps it is your close friendship with me that he objects to.”

“Oh, no, it’s definitely not anything like that. Kaeya and I are not that kind of friends. Even if we were, I doubt he’d care. He sleeps around even more than I do.”

Ayato arches a light-blue brow. “Does he, indeed? Maybe Thoma can do something to extract the bee from his bonnet.”

“I’d be more than happy to,” Thoma puts in. “He is definitely my type.”

“You mean tall, gorgeous, blue-haired men?” Ayato croons, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously at his betrothed.

“I mean bratty, high-maintenance bottoms who think they’re tops,” Thoma returns, deadpan.

Ayato chokes on his sip of milk tea, blushing to the ears and spluttering into his napkin, while Aether laughs and pats his back sympathetically, and Kazuha looks tranquilly amused.

“So, you still haven’t told me what brings you here,” Aether says, when Lord Kamisato has recovered his composure. “Unless it’s that you missed me enough to abandon the governing of your nation and sail across the ocean, just to visit me in my little mountaintop exile.”

Ayato gives a toss of his pale-blue hair. “Of course that’s not the reason.”

“That is exactly the reason,” Thoma says helpfully. “I’d had enough of Kamisato-sama gazing out across the sea and sighing, like a maiden in a tragic romance, so I told him our engagement was off unless he used some vacation time to go and see you. When Kazuha stopped by on one of his pirate adventures, he told us you’d moved to Mondstadt for a while, so my lord wrote to introduce himself to King Diluc, and arranged an unofficial visit.”

“These are spurious and wildly inaccurate characterizations of me, my lord prince,” Ayato contends, as he drags Aether bodily into his lap, to wrap him up tightly in his arms again. “I never once missed you. I hardly even remember you, really.”

“You say that, but—ow! No biting! Eat a tea biscuit, if you’re hungry!”

A glance passes between Kazuha and Thoma, then Kazuha rises to his feet. “If you will excuse me, my lord prince, I must see that the crew have found their lodgings, and I have yet to submit our harborage documentation to the Mondstadt port authority.”

“Aw, no, you’re already going?” Aether pouts, pushing Ayato’s face away from his neck. “You just got here.”

“I’ll be going, too,” Thoma says, also rising. “I have to inspect Kamisato-sama’s rooms and ensure the security is up to my specifications. I’ll be taking Captain Alberich with me, my lord. Since he is acting as your bodyguard, he and I should be on the same page as far as security precautions.”

“Very well. I shall stay here and keep watch over the prince,” Ayato says, with the air of a resolute protector. “No telling what sorts of treason he’ll get up to if he’s left unsupervised.”

“Hey, all my treason was because of you!” Aether protests, pretending to struggle against his encircling arms. “If anything, you’re the one who needs to be supervised.”

“Just don’t supervise each other so energetically that you’re overtired and can’t get out of bed,” Thoma admonishes. “I want to take you to a restaurant in the city tonight, that I used to visit as a boy.”

“Captain Alberich has been supervising Thoma’s hindquarters since we arrived,” Ayato whispers to Aether. “I’m sure they’ll be supervising one another regularly, before long.”

“Maybe we should settle on a meaning for that euphemism, before we go tossing it around like that,” Aether suggests. “Oh—bye, Thoma! Bye, Kazuha! See you guys later!”

As soon as the door shuts behind Kazuha and Thoma, Ayato buries his face in the back of Aether’s neck again, and breathes a long, deep sigh. “Thoma was only joking about tiring ourselves out, of course. If all I do is hold you this way, I will be perfectly satisfied.”

“If holding me this way is all you intend to do, you may as well go with Thoma and Kazuha,” Aether rejoins, arching his back against his friend.

“Oh, thank the gods. I’m so hard I think I might actually injure myself.”

“Same here. Let’s move to my bedroom, though. I don’t want to get in trouble with Madame Ping.”

A very few minutes later, Aether and Ayato are naked in Aether’s enormous, Liyue-style bed, with its low frame and thick, cushy futon, which he’d had shipped from a furniture maker in Liyue a few weeks into his stay here, finding himself unable to get used to his high-framed Mondstadt bed. They make a perfunctory pretense at foreplay, which ultimately amounts to little more than applying lubricant, before Ayato has Aether’s legs over his shoulders and is sinking into him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ayato says, between urgent kisses. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

“Wait, d—don’t do it so fast!” Aether sputters. “I’m gonna—ungh! Fuck!”

It’s too late, of course, and the rough friction of Ayato’s impatient thrusts, with his cock perfectly angled to thrum over his prostate, sends him spinning wildly over the edge. His fingernails dig into Ayato’s back and he gives a shuddering moan, his insides seizing as his dick releases hot bursts of milky-white fluid, all over his stomach and chest. Ayato drags his fingers through the wet mess, then pushes them into Aether’s mouth. Aether grabs the hand and holds on to it, sucking and licking his fingers wantonly while Ayato fucks him, hips thudding against his ass, till he lunges forward to kiss him again, as his cock throbs, and slippery warmth floods Aether’s insides.

“You came a lot,” Ayato remarks, as they lie in one another’s arms, basking in the post-climax euphoria. “Have you been that pent-up lately, unofficial lover?”

“You wouldn’t believe,” Aether sighs. “I could put ‘not having sex’ as a specialty on my resume, at this point.”

“Oh, no. I wish I’d known, or I’d have let Thoma think he talked me into this visit much sooner. Why have you been in such a slump?”

“For reasons too complicated to get into at the moment, I have been platonically sharing a bed with a heterosexual man, for the past several months. It tends to get in the way of other activities.”

“I assume ‘reasons too complicated to get into’ means reasons you can’t divulge to me, but knowing you, it’s got something to do with selflessly lending your aid to someone in desperate need.”

“Knowing me?” Aether squints. “What do you mean by that? Since when do I do anything selfless or help any desperate people?”

Ayato laughs and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You really are adorable. So, tell me about King Diluc. The two of you must get along splendidly.”

“I mean, I am kind of adorable, but I can’t say Diluc and I get along all that splendidly. Our relationship has been more antagonistic, than otherwise.”

“Really? That is surprising. He always speaks highly of you in his letters.”

“He speaks highly of—wait, letters plural?”

“Yes. We’ve maintained regular correspondence, since I first wrote to him. I like him very much.”

Aether blinks, bewildered by this idea. “You…like Diluc?”

“Indeed. He was a bit stiff and formal at first, but he’s warmed up considerably. His letters are a perfect combination of wisdom and wit. I always look forward to them.”

Aether crosses his arms petulantly. “Are you sure you came here to see me, and not your king boyfriend?”

“Don’t pout like that, unless you’re meaning to tempt me,” Ayato warns, craning down to kiss his lips. “Of course I came to see you, but I can’t help but be curious about my young acquaintance. He is rumored to be very beautiful.”

“He is very beautiful. He’s also engaged to be married to a young lady.”

Ayato frowns, which expression Aether has seen him wear perhaps twice in all their acquaintance. “How very curious. He has never once made mention of an engagement or a lady. Young men in love usually speak of nothing but the object of their affection.”

“It was arranged by their parents and I don’t think they’re in love. At least, she isn’t in love with him.”

“Ah. It would appear you are deep in the lady’s confidence.”

“I guess I am. I don’t know why, though. I don’t ask to get involved in people’s lives, they just come to me and confide in me. It happens like…all the time.”

“Does it seem so strange to you?” Ayato asks, studying Aether’s face attentively. “I knew you for only a few days before I risked my life, the lives of all my agents, my years of clandestine work, and the freedom of Watatsumi, by confiding in you.”

“Why did you? I know you said you were running out of time, but you could have stalled the shogun’s invasion plans. Why’d you bet it all on me?”

“My lord prince, you may think you know the way others perceive you, but I doubt your estimation is accurate. At first blush, perhaps, you appear to be not much more than a beautiful child. It is easy to mistake your gentleness for the softness of a boy who has been sheltered and pampered. But one must only spend an hour or two in conversation with you to read your character. Your true strength, even I do not know, because you take great care not to show it. But you cannot hide your heart. It shines through you like light through a clear glass. It is a beacon of hope and a promise of comfort. People give you their trust because they cannot help it.”

“Damn it,” Aether mutters, hastily dashing away the tears that have welled up and are escaping down his cheeks. “Why do you have to say things like that and make me all weepy.”

“Maybe I like it when you cry,” Ayato replies, with that smile that makes people think he’s a secret psychopath.

“Don’t look at me like that. It gives me chills.”

“Thoma calls it my snake smile. Though, I don’t think I look like a snake at all.”

“I don’t either. You look like a cat to me.”

Ayato’s eyebrows go up in surprise. “A cat?”

“Yeah, you’re all sleek and posh and graceful, but you get really excited about food, and when you think no one is looking, you do silly things.”

“Hmm. If I am a cat…then you must be my canary,” Ayato says, catching Aether’s wrists and pinning them above his head.

“Cut it out! Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to play with your food? We just did it, how can you be hard again already! Ayato!”

“We don’t use spying or tracking enchantments or devices, and we don’t violate our guests’ privacy,” Kaeya is saying, looking and sounding supremely bored, as Thoma inspects the suite of rooms assigned to Lord Kamisato. “The servants won’t come to deliver meals unless they’re ordered, and they will all be in palace livery, and carry a badge like this one. Don’t open the door to anyone you didn’t call for, unless you know them. I would also suggest His Excellency Lord Kamisato use a cloaking enchantment to alter his very unique appearance when out in the city. I can provide one, unless he prefers to use his own. Do you have any questions?”

“I do, actually,” Thoma replies, smiling imperturbably. “Do you use cloaking enchantments?”

Kaeya’s languid expression hardens. “What?”

“I mean that you have a very unique appearance, as well. We both know how people here treat outsiders, so do you ever use a cloaking enchantment?”

“No. I have nothing to be ashamed of. And refusing to wear a disguise exposes other people to me, more than it exposes me to them. Any more absurd questions?”

Thoma tilts his head to one side, still smiling. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

The Cavalry Captain’s frost-blue eyes flicker over him. “No. You look like every other yellow-haired Mondstadter, to me. You’re about my age, right? Were you one of the pieces of shit I went to school with? If so, we can continue this conversation outside the city walls.”

“I’m a year younger, so I was in the class below yours. I saw them being cruel to you, often. I wanted to defend you, but my father told me I’d just make more trouble for you and wind up getting hurt. He said if I ever saw the children ganging up on you, I should run and get a grown-up to help. The next time I saw them corner you outside the cathedral, I ran to get Master Varka and Prince Diluc. They didn’t seem to bother you much, after that.”

“My fucking hero,” Kaeya sneers. “Am I supposed to thank you for doing the bare minimum a decent human being should do in that circumstance, a decade ago?”

“No. I never wanted thanks. I was just ashamed I was too small back then to help you, myself. But I always wanted to ask you something. Why did you let those other children beat you and bully you?”

“In case you don’t recall, there were a lot of them and only one of me. That’s how ganging up works.”

“So, you’re saying they overpowered you.”

“What the hell are you getting at?” Kaeya demands, growing increasingly uneasy under this young man’s probing gaze, and thus becoming combative.

“You really don’t remember me?”

“I really don’t!”

“I’ll refresh you, then. It was before my father and I left for—”

“Is this going to be a long story?” Kaeya interrupts irritably.

“Shut up and let me tell it, or it will be. It was before my father and I left for Inazuma, so I had to have been eleven. I was looking for valberries in the highlands, and I stayed out too late. By the time I got on my way, the sun was almost down. Right before I reached the road, some hilichurls jumped out from behind some ruins and grabbed me, and carried me to their camp. They tied me up, but I was too terrified to move or even breathe, anyway. They took the valberries from my pack and threw it in their fire. Then they stood there grunting at each other for a while, like they were deciding what to do with me. Finally, one got out a bone dagger and came toward me.

Then out of nowhere, this boy appeared, with a silver sword and dark blue hair, and stood between me and them. It seemed like he was yelling at them in the same sort of grunts they were using to talk to each other. Whatever he said, they didn’t like it, and they all rushed to attack him. I was absolutely sure we were both about to die. Then I watched this boy take out the entire gang of hilichurls, all by himself. There had to have been a dozen of them, but they didn’t stand a chance. He was impossibly fast and strong, and he had some superhuman abilities. He would be fighting and then he'd literally disappear, and then reappear behind them to land a blow. In the end, he only actually killed three of them, and the ones who survived ran for their lives, while he cursed and shouted after them. Then he turned around and asked me if I was ok. I knew him from school, but I never saw him up close before. He was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.

Once he untied me and made sure I was uninjured, he swore at me and scolded me like a grown-up, and told me if I’d got eaten it would’ve been my fault for being an idiot and wandering through their territory alone, and not to do anything so stupid ever again. I asked him why he didn’t kill all of them. He asked me if it would be right for them to come into my house and kill my family, just because one of them got lost and wandered in by accident. Then the whole situation really hit me—how I’d almost died and everything—and I broke down sobbing like a baby.

You held me and comforted me, and walked with me all the way back to the city. I wanted you to come to my house, to meet my father and let him thank you, but you wouldn’t. You told me if I wanted to thank you, the best thing I could do would be to never talk to you again. You made me swear I’d never breathe a word of what happened to anyone, and then you just walked away. After that, I still saw you around the cathedral a lot, when our classes were switching, but I remembered what you said, so I kept my distance. My father and I left for Inazuma soon after. A lot of life has happened to me, since then, but I never forgot you. You were my hero.”

“I…I can’t believe it,” Kaeya says, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t believe you were that stupid fucking kid who almost got himself skinned alive by hilichurls by bumbling around their territory at night! Are you seriously Lord Kamisato’s bodyguard? How is he still alive? Unless your brain has grown as much as your body. Actually…why are you so big, now? You were so scrawny back then you made me look like a bruiser.”

“I had a lot of growth spurts,” Thoma smiles. “But you’re avoiding my question. Why did a boy who could wipe out a whole camp of monsters like it was nothing, allow a bunch of little kids bully him?”

Kaeya glowers at the floor, his fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically. “They were just human children. They couldn’t seriously hurt me, and if I fought back, I could have killed one of them without meaning to. I knew if I hurt any of them, it would be a hundred times worse for me, so I just took their abuse. Eventually, our f—the king found out and put a stop to it. You…you can’t tell anyone about this, Thoma. These people already hate me and fear me because of my Khaenri’ahn features. If they found out that I—”

“Don’t tell me anything else. I’m not asking you to reveal any of your secrets to me. I just wanted you to know that you saved me. For the record, I was never afraid of you, and I never hated you.”

“I lied,” Kaeya says abruptly. “I did remember you. I knew who you were, the minute you stepped off the ship and I saw those green eyes. You disappeared from school one day, and I always wondered what happened to you. You were the only one who ever looked at me the way you did.”

“What way was that?” Thoma asks, stepping boldly into Kaeya’s personal space.

“The same way you are now. Like I’m something beautiful.”

Thoma reaches out and lays a big, hot, weapon-calloused hand on his cold cheek. “You are something beautiful.”

“Why are you—why are you touching me like that,” Kaeya asks breathlessly.

“Because I’ve always wanted to. Do you want me to stop?”

“Aren’t you engaged to Lord Kamisato?”

“I am. And my fiancée is enjoying time with one of his lovers, at the moment. We are faithful, but not monogamous.”

“I see.”

“I would very much like to take you to bed, Captain Alberich. I’m highly skilled in multiple forms of erotic stimulation. Also, I’ve been told that my cock is spectacular.” Thoma leans down to speak softly into his ear. “Feel free to verify that claim for yourself, though.”

“Oh…fuck,” Kaeya rasps, as Thoma presses the full, hard length of himself against his own rapidly thickening cock, through their trousers. “You really have grown up. You’ll split me in half with that thing.”

“I’ll be gentle, I promise,” Thoma hums, leaning close, so his lips are almost touching Kaeya’s. “Let me fuck you. Let me make you feel good.”

Kaeya pulls him the rest of the way into a kiss, slow and soft at first, then increasingly urgent and feverish as they touch and caress one another’s bodies, pulling off and tossing away clothing on their way to the bedroom. Thoma bends Kaeya over the side of the bed, lifting one of his knees onto it, then kneels behind him and spreads him open with his thumbs. Kaeya gives a yelp and buries his face in the mattress, holding onto the bed with both hands, as Thoma’s searing hot tongue licks and laps and teases him into a dizzy haze of aching need. One of his big, spit-slick fingers pushes inside, hooking to find his prostate.

“Slow down!” Kaeya stammers. “S—slow down. Please. I haven’t done this in a long time.”

Thoma frowns. Aether had seemed to suggest Captain Alberich was highly sexually active. Maybe he misheard, or the prince was mistaken. He slows his plunging to an intentionally tormenting pace, sliding rhythmically in and out, gradually adding more saliva and another finger, till Kaeya is arching his back and whining, rocking his hips against his hand, and his dick is leaking like a faucet all over the dark-green bedcover.

“I want to put it in, now,” Thoma says, getting to his feet behind him. “I’ll be careful.”

“Yes, do it,” Kaeya pants, then gives a choked cry as the big, blunt head penetrates the tight ring of muscle. “Fuck! It’s too big! It hurts…it hurts too much.”

“Shh, it’s ok. Just breathe,” Thoma soothes, holding still and stroking his lower back. “You’re already relaxing a little. I won’t put any more in till you’re ready.”

Kaeya takes deep, meditative breaths as he’s been told, and when he seems calmer, Thoma resumes slowly pushing his rigid shaft into his unyielding hole, till his pelvis sits flush against his ass.

“You’re so tight inside, I feel like I’m wearing you on my dick,” he says shakily. “I’m going to start moving now. You feel really good. I might not last very long.”

He slides his hands around Kaeya’s narrow waist and begins thrusting. He’s a lower temperature inside than a regular human, but Thoma’s abnormally hot body warms him rapidly. When he starts to arch his back and moan, Thoma thrusts harder and faster, till he feels his insides tighten up on his shaft and his thighs begin to tremble. Kaeya reaches down to stroke himself, but Thoma grabs both his wrists and pins them to the small of his back.

“No hands. I want you to come like this,” he says hoarsely. “Just from feeling me inside you, filling you up, pounding on that spot you like—”

“I’m coming! I—I’m coming…fuck!” Kaeya groans through his teeth, as his cock convulses, spurting onto the already soaked bedcover.

Thoma gives a few more rough thrusts, then pulls out abruptly and pumps his cock in his fist, while it spits pearl-white streaks all over Kaeya’s gorgeous, tawny-olive back. He pushes his spent cock back into Kaeya’s swollen, slippery hole, rocking gently inside him while they ride out the spasms. Breathless and perspiring, he carefully pulls out and falls onto the bed beside him.

“Thanks for not coming inside,” Kaeya puffs, as they lie there catching their breath. “Very gentlemanly of you.”

“Well, you still have to work today,” Thoma grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll breed your slutty little hole later.”

“I’m usually the one doing the breeding, you know.”

“Yeah, because you’re in denial. Natural tops don’t moan like that while they get their ass destroyed.”

“How about you go get me a towel, before I freeze your balls off.”

“These balls belong to the Raiden Kanrei. No freezing or otherwise damaging them, unless you want to incite an international incident,” Thoma says, pushing himself up from the bed.

He goes to the bathroom and the water runs for moment or two, then he comes back out and rubs Kaeya down with a warm, damp towel. The prince and Lord Kamisato won’t want to be disturbed, and they still have a few hours before they’re meeting to go to supper, so they lie around a bit longer, before they collect their clothes and begin to dress in a leisurely manner.

“Who is he?” Thoma asks, as he pulls his boots on.

Kaeya shakes his head. “He?”

“The man you’re in love with. The reason you pretend to fuck everything that moves, when you clearly haven’t had many lovers, at all. He must’ve fucked up colossally to make you so angry.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s been over between us for years.”

“But you still love him. That has to count for something.”

“It counts for nothing. He made his choice and it wasn’t me. That’s all there is to it.”

“It hurts me to see you hurting, like this. You’re so strong, but you’re all alone, just like back then.”

“I have no choice. I’ll be alone until my purpose is fulfilled.”

“By purpose, you mean revenge?”

“Yes.”

“No one else sees through your mask. Why did you take it off for me?”

“Technically, you saw through it a long time ago,” Kaeya says, then he bares his white teeth in a devilish smile. “Besides, if I think you’re going to betray me, I can just kill you.”

Thoma smiles, as well. “I’m glad we got a chance to meet again, after all these years. I really like you.”

“Why? Am I that good a fuck?”

“Absolutely. By the way, if you’re interested in fucking the acting ruler of Inazuma, let me know. He’d like you, too.”

“No, thanks. Your little friend with the white and red hair is more my type. He’s beautiful.”

“Unfortunately, Kazuha has an equally beautiful and extremely territorial lover. They’re not like my lord Kamisato and me. They don’t share.”

“That’s pretty rare. Seems like everyone fucks everyone, these days.”

“They’re old fashioned,” Thoma chuckles. “I guess they’re a product of their time.”

Kaeya frowns, not understanding the joke. “Their time?”

“Kazuha is more than five-hundred years old. His lover is in the thousands.”

“A god?”

“No. You know better than anyone, you don’t have to be a god to be immortal.”

“I don’t even know what immortality means. I’m only twenty-one years old.”

“That’s strange. I thought the early twenties was the time you’re supposed to feel immortal.”

“Do you?”

“Sometimes. I think all vision-holders do, to some degree, though. We do live a lot longer than regular humans, and we have power they don’t have.”

“Power,” Kaeya says, with a bitter laugh. “Yes, and look what good it does us.”

“Is he still your lover?” Diluc asks. He and Aether are sitting in his office, where Aether had come looking for him, after having dinner with his visiting friends.

“Well, he hasn’t been for a long time, but we sort of reconnected. He and Thoma are pretty openly polyamorous. They’ve invited me to play with them, while they—”

“Don’t,” Diluc blurts out, then his white cheeks flush with color and he turns away.

Aether blinks. “What?”

“Don’t sleep with them. Stay with me. Please.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Aether says cheerfully. “I’ll still sleep in your room with you, obviously. Playing doesn’t mean I have to spend the night with them.”

“Still, I…I would prefer it if you didn’t have sex with them, and then come to my bed. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable? What does it matter to you, if—” Aether stops short, and his jaw and shoulders tense. “Oh. I get it now. It’s because they’re men. You think that makes me dirty, or something. I am so fucking sick of this stupid bigotry.”

“I don’t care what gender they are!” Diluc says, with sudden heat. “I am only saying that if you have sex with them, I do not desire you to come to my bed afterward. That is my prerogative.”

“It’s not your prerogative to have an opinion about who I fuck!” Aether volleys back. “You’re not my husband! You’re not even my lover! I don’t sleep with you because I want to, I’ve been doing you a favor!”

The king rises abruptly to his feet, his fiery demeanor going dead and icy, as if a switch has been flipped. His scarlet eyes seem to look past Aether, rather than at him, like they had when Aether first arrived in Mondstadt. “Then allow me to relieve you of the inconvenience, my lord prince. You will no longer be summoned to sleep in my chambers.”

Aether crosses his arms. “Fine.”

“Good. Then the matter is settled. If you will excuse me, I have other things to attend to.”

Aether glares after the king, as the office door slams shut behind him. What the hell is wrong with him? He has no right to get jealous of his attention, like a spoiled child. Or maybe it’s Ayato’s attention he wants. The few times Diluc has mentioned Lord Kamisato, it has been in an almost reverent tone, as if he is some kind of idol of his. Maybe he thought he’d have his powerful guest at his disposal, and doesn’t want Aether to steal his spotlight. But…this is all his own annoyance talking. Diluc isn’t that kind of man. If he was, neither Aether nor Ayato would care about him, one way or another. He wishes he could ask Kaeya how to best handle his brother, but there’s something wrong with him, too. Aether sighs heavily. All these fragile, volatile children, hell-bent on being unhappy. Why can’t any of them just say what they mean?

Chapter Text

“So, he told you, at last. I wondered how long it would take.” Her laugh glitters in the air between them, clear and cold and delicate, like the tinkling of ice crystals. “How did he do it? Did he coax and pet you, first? And what happened after? Did you weep and curse him, and refuse to believe it? Or did you simply run away?”

“I believed it,” Ajax replies in a flat, emotionless register, keeping his eyes on the white marble floor upon which he is kneeling.

“You did weep, then. I knew you would. Such a human child. So soft and weak.”

“Is that why you never told me, yourself? Because you can’t stand to see me demonstrate how weak I am, firsthand?”

“No. I wanted him to do it, because I desired that you be revealed to him, in that moment of pain. Stripped bare by your emotion. Eviscerated and exposed to the god you worship.”

“It was only to humiliate me, then. To make him despise me for the insignificant creature that I am.”

“On the contrary, he will treasure you all the more, for your human vulnerability. If you think he desires you to be like him, you have failed to comprehend him. He wishes you to have the long life of a god, as well as the mortality of a man. He wishes you to be stronger than all others, but weak enough to crumble in his hands. He will never give you his heart, but he wishes to possess yours. Such is the way of the gods. We are selfish, jealous, unyielding creatures. The depth of our desire for the love of our human lovers can never be sounded, but we forget them the moment they are gone, and do not mourn their passing. We demand everything and give nothing in return.”

“He is not a god like you. He is different,” Ajax says hoarsely, through the aching tightness in his throat and the hot tears he can’t stop from rolling down his cheeks, despite the shame that turns his stomach.

She laughs again, sleigh bells in a winter wood. “You are correct. Morax is not like me. He, to whom even my millennia of life have been but a beat in the space between breaths. He is far more cruel and pitiless than I could ever hope to be. The gentle cold of ice and snow are nothing to the endless everdark of the outer void. What a dreadful fate have I woven for my child, to cause you to love such a being. You must lament the day you were born.”

She reaches out and caresses his cheek with a snow-white fingertip. The tears freeze on his face, shatter, and fall away. The fires raging within him cool and are stilled. His mind is calm and clear again.

“I lament nothing my empress has willed to be. I live and die at her pleasure.”

“But you must hate me a little,” she replies, in a half-mocking lilt. “Such a heartless mother to cast you naked and alone into the Abyss, simply to test your will to live.”

“If I had failed that test, I would be unworthy of the life my empress gave me.”

“You would, indeed. But you did not fail, and thus you live. You are at least worthy to draw breath.”

Ajax raises his ice-blue eyes and looks boldly into her face. “Mother?”

“What is it, my child?”

“Why did you not give me my vision? Why did you leave it to another god to favor me?”

“Ah, that. I am afraid I dote upon you overmuch, and thus my judgement in the matter could not be trusted. If I bestowed a vision upon you, it would have been an indulgence, from a mother to her darling son. I wished for you to capture the notice of another god, and to be found worthy of their favor, by your own merit.”

“And if I had not? If no god had chosen me?”

“What matter? You have mastered the heretical arts of the Abyss. You wield a pure delusion. Your vision is but a pretty accessory to your real power.”

“But my vision channels the energy of the god who bestowed it. The cost for my delusion falls upon me, alone. It devours my life, in exchange for power.”

“Your delusion is no cheaply manufactured plaything,” she returns, with a frosty snap in her voice. “I crafted it for you, with my own hands. Do you believe I did so carelessly, without thought to the cost? You are only half human, my child. As your delusion consumes your life, your immortality supplies the balance. You cannot be drained of an infinite resource.”

The color leaves his face, till he is nearly as white as she. “Immortality…what do you mean?”

“That you do not wish to live forever is the least human thing about you. Perhaps you are not entirely unlike us, after all.”

“Mother, I am not immortal, am I?” he demands, in an unsteady voice, beginning to lose his balance and tilt again into the roiling torrent of emotion. “Tell me. Tell me I am not immortal. Tell me you have not created such a twisted, wretched thing as me, and doomed me to eternal life.”

Her smile is a snowdrift on the surface of a frozen lake. “I will not tell you what is not true.”

Ajax staggers to his feet, without asking leave, and drops heavily into the long, low couch, piled with luxurious white and grey furs. For a long while, the two are silent. He is the one to break it, at last. “So, when you summoned hundreds of boys from noble families, and chose me from among them…”

“Appearances,” she answers, with a careless wave of her hand. “Humans despise nepotism that does not benefit themselves, and they love to believe that they all have a chance, however infinitesimal, at greatness. The entire affair was good for morale, even for the families of the boys not chosen. It gave them something to envy your father for, which people enjoy even more than being the object of envy, themselves.”

“And you threatened or bribed my father into maintaining your charade, all these years. I assume threatened, since he’s not susceptible to bribes.”

“I will not have you retaliate against your father, child,” she admonishes. “He is a good, kind, generous man, with so many precious little vulnerabilities.”

“I suppose I can’t blame him for cooperating with you, knowing what you’d do to his other children,” Ajax sighs. “But we both know that a good, kind, generous man is not your type. So, why him? What made you choose him for this?”

“At the risk of sounding superficial, I chose him primarily for his looks. He is tall and well-made, and handsome as human males go. Also, I specifically wanted red hair, light-blue eyes, and fair skin without speckles.”

“They’re called freckles,” he corrects, forcing down the little upwelling of fondness he feels for her, when she exposes her unfamiliarity with the human world.

“Whatever you call them, it is exceedingly rare to find your hair color on a person without them. After long searching, I discovered a bloodline that possessed the features I wanted. Unfortunately, your great-grandfather was boorish and stupid, and your grandfather and his brothers were varying degrees of ugly. I didn’t foster any particularly high hopes for your father, but he grew up surprisingly well. Mostly thanks to his mother.”

Ajax lets out a mirthless laugh. “So, you bred me like a stock animal. I can’t even pretend to be surprised about it. This all tracks with what I know of you. How did you and my father…did he know what you were planning?”

“Of course not. I had him summoned to the palace on some flimsy pretext and properly seduced him.”

“I’ll thank you to keep the details to yourself. It’s revolting enough to know you and my father have had sex, at all. I can’t stomach the idea of you doing it together.”

“Don’t worry, I treated him well,” she says, with another boreal smile. “It was less easy than I anticipated. He was terrified of me. When I finally got it through his head what I wanted, he objected based on his reluctance to disgrace my divine person with his profane touch. Absolutely adorable.”

“Yes, yes. Conception, birth, et cetera. Can we please move on?”

“As you wish. When you had been two weeks or so in this world, I called for him again and presented you to him. I explained that I had taken him to bed with the formed purpose of producing an heir, and you were the result. He was too overjoyed at the sight of his infant son to question my motives further. He carried you about, kissing your face and cooing at you—it was frankly disgusting. He also made some ridiculous protestations regarding my lying in, and how I should have told him, so he could have been by my side, to support me. I laughed so hard that the guards rushed in, thinking I’d been crying out in alarm. He really was a delight.”

“I am so pleased to hear that my father amused you,” Ajax replies aridly.

“You should be. That is the reason you exist. If I had any doubts regarding his paternal instincts, they were quickly allayed. He fell profoundly in love with you, the moment he saw you. He stayed a week in the palace, and only let you out of his sight when the nurses took you away to feed and clean you. When it came time for him to depart, I thought his heart would break for weeping. Then I took him to the window and pointed out to him the fleet of carriages waiting in the drive, filled with your nurse and physician, and other staff and belongings, to be taken with him to his family estate. I told him frankly that I had no desire to keep a bothersome infant about the place, and had no interest in seeing you until you were old enough to be educated. Still, he fell on his knees and kissed my hands, as if I’d bestowed some magnificent honor upon him, by giving you into his care. I didn’t laugh, that time, because he was so earnest and dear, and I thought he might be wounded by ridicule at such a moment. Then I warned him that no one must ever know of your true origin, and he took you away. The rest, you know.”

“Clever way to conceal your scheme,” Ajax observes. “Hinting at a general time when you might be inclined to see me, rather than making a concrete agreement with him. Because even a verbal contract between private parties is known to Rex Lapis.”

“It was as clever as it needed to be,” she shrugs. “The ruse only had to hold together for so long. By the time Morax’s agents uncovered the truth of your origin and purpose, it was too late. He’d already tasted the complex and challenging delicacy I had so painstakingly prepared for him, and he desired to keep you.”

“Plated me and served me up…” he mutters. “Why did you call me Ajax? Because it’s similar to Morax?”

“That is a question for your father. I had nothing to do with naming you.”

He smiles bitterly. “Of course. You couldn’t even be bothered to remember my name, you certainly didn’t choose it yourself.”

“I remembered your name perfectly well. I simply dislike it. It is not a Teyvatan name, but comes from the mythology of another world.”

“Then why didn’t you just call me something else?”

“I did. I called you child.”

Ajax sighs again, and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “So, what if I’d been ugly or stupid, like my predecessors? Genetics are a roll of the dice. What if you’d come up snake eyes?”

“I would have found another use for you and tried again. But there was no need. You were perfect.”

“If that’s the case, it must especially rankle to see me go to waste. I’m not even useful as a known spy, anymore. I left him on very bad terms. The things I said…I’m surprised he didn’t just kill me, on the spot.”

“If you think a few heated words from a child he adores are enough to annoy Rex Lapis, you do not know him as well as you should,” she replies serenely. “He will allow you time to have your tantrum and cool off, then he will summon you again. Just as he has always done.”

“He doesn’t adore me, at all,” Ajax contends, crossing his arms petulantly. “He only cares about his Celestial prince.”

“But they are living apart, for the time being. Perhaps for a long time. That means there is a vacancy you can exploit. A gap to drive a wedge.”

“There’s no vacancy. Not with him. That old dragon thinks he has concealed himself well from me, but there are chinks even in those ancient scales, and I have perceived his heart. It is absolutely broken over that boy. I have never seen him so wounded. It’s like he’s slowly bleeding to death, in front of my eyes.”

“Morax, you ancient child. You would be obstinately loyal to your first love,” she says to herself, her silken voice betraying a rare hint of irritation. “No matter. He will call you back, and when he does, you will go to him. Now, you have had your history recited for you and I have grown tired of this conversation. Leave me.”

Ajax pushes himself to his feet and bows low, before departing his mother’s presence. The confrontation went far better than he anticipated. At least he learned a few things about himself and his father. She didn’t demonstrate even the slightest modicum of remorse for anything she’d done, but he didn’t expect her to. He knows her better than to harbor any delusions of warmth or maternal affection lurking beneath the permafrost. Blood of her blood though he be, she would let him suffer and die without a moment’s hesitation, if it were convenient for her in that moment.

“You look awful,” Scaramouche says, with a grimace, as Ajax enters his chambers without knocking, and collapses onto the chaise. “Have you been crying, or something?”

“I’ve just been to see my mother,” Ajax answers listlessly.

“So, yes.”

“Did you know about me?”

“I had my suspicions. She never told me.”

“Come here and lay on me,” Ajax says, spreading his arms.

“Fuck off,” Scaramouche sneers.

“If you let me hold you for a little while, I’ll fuck you really hard later.”

“How long is a little while?”

Ajax gestures wearily. “I don’t know, Mouche, like a half hour? Please. I really need it.”

“Twenty minutes. And you have to choke me till I pass out.”

“Done. Get your ass over here and snuggle me.”

“I hate you so much,” Scaramouche grouses, as he climbs onto Ajax and lies down with his head beneath his chin. “Hey, cut that shit out! That’s not part of the deal.”

“But your hair smells so good,” Ajax laughs, continuing to press kisses to his head, despite his squirming and fuming. “You’re like a mink. Little and soft and silky, and also vicious and angry, and full of really sharp claws and teeth.”

Scaramouche makes no reply to this, which means he either didn’t hate the comparison, or could find no solid ground from which to contradict it. Ajax wraps him tightly in his arms and breathes a long, shaky sigh. The weight and warmth of his little body feels so good. His skin is like velvet and his limbs are pale and slender, like a girl’s. He smells a lot like orange blossoms, and a little bit like an electrical fire—a side-effect of his powerful electro energy, scorching the atmosphere around him. He carries no vision, since he essentially is a vision, and if he has a delusion, Ajax has not seen him use it. The shadow arts he uses for cloaking and teleportation are Abyssal, but Ajax never learned anything like that in the Abyss, and has no idea where Scaramouche acquired them. He isn’t exactly inclined to offer up personal details about himself.

“I thought I’d be angrier with her,” he says, after a long silence, not really caring whether or not his companion is listening. “Mostly, I just feel stupid, for not figuring it out sooner. The fact that I didn’t die immediately should have been enough to set off some alarm bells. Maybe I was willfully blind. Human children don’t survive the Abyss just because they’re determined. I was always too strong, too fast a learner, too instantly good at anything I tried. And I was arrogant enough to believe it was all me. That I had some natural merit of my own. Turns out it’s just divine heredity.”

“So, you’re not a regular human, then. So what,” Scaramouche replies impatiently. “Why are you so miserable about it? At least you won’t get some disease, or grow old and frail, like those disgusting mortals. And it’s not like you have to live forever just because you can. If living gets to be too much for you, you can always just end it.”

“Thanks, Mouche. You always know exactly what to say to cheer me up,” Ajax hums, burying his nose in the hollow behind the little Harbinger’s ear.

Scaramouche attempts and fails to shove him away. “I’m not trying to cheer you up, I’m saying you should stop fucking whining. You’re not the only one with a god for a mother. You’re not the only one brought into existence through no fault of your own and doomed to an eternity of not being good enough for her.”

“That’s exactly why we have to stick together. No one understands me like you do.”

Scaramouche lifts his head to scowl at him. “Not even that Celestial whore?”

“Not even him,” Ajax grins. “But I do like that you’re jealous.”

“Tch. I’m not jealous, you idiot. I fucked him, too.”

“It’s ok to admit it. I think it’s cute.”

“Do you know how many knives I have?”

“Roughly. But if you want to get that kinky, you’re gonna have to pay the piper, sweetheart. Twenty more minutes of cuddling.”

“You are so fucking irritating,” Scaramouche growls, as he struggles in Ajax’s tightening embrace. “I changed my mind, let me go. The sex isn’t worth it.”

“Hush. Just relax and enjoy it,” Ajax croons. “Unless your plans for this evening don’t involve you regaining consciousness covered in bruises and various fluids, wondering what the fuck I’ve done to you.”

Scaramouche relents somewhat in his writhing, then finally, he gives a resigned huff and lets his body relax into Ajax’s. He’d gut anyone for daring to suggest such a thing, but he doesn’t absolutely detest the way Ajax holds him and pets his hair. And he guesses he doesn’t hate listening to his heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, either.

“You and I have such good chemistry,” Ajax muses aloud. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we were in love? Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Give what a try?”

“Loving me. I bet you could, only you’re so determined not to. I’m a really good boyfriend, if I’m allowed to fuck around a little, and no one will love you like I will.”

“Love is for pathetic fools,” Scaramouche says flatly. “Neither of us fit that description.”

“Don’t we?” Ajax chuckles. “I feel like a pathetic fool, most of the time. I spent my entire life being shaped into an object for Rex Lapis’ pleasure, and he doesn’t love me. He’s married to the man he chose before I was born.”

“So? Married doesn’t mean in love.”

“It does for him. I’m sick of being the third wheel in that relationship, anyway. Between the two of them, I’ve had my heart pretty well put through the wringer. It’s time to move on.”

“Who do you love more?”

“Between you and Rex Lapis?”

“That joke is seriously getting old. You know I mean between the Celestial prince and Rex Lapis.”

“And you already know the answer to that.”

“So, if something were to happen to the prince, you could have—”

“Nothing is going to happen to him,” Ajax cuts him off, with a warning glint in his eye. He takes hold of his jaw and forces him to look him in the face. “Nothing. Do you understand me?”

“I understand, I understand. Calm the fuck down,” Scaramouche grumbles.

“Sorry, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” Ajax chirps, returning to his jaunty, bantering tone with unnerving facility. “Once you finally admit you’re in love with me, I’ll make an honest man of you.”

“I’m not in love with you!” Scaramouche fires back, pushing himself up to sit astride Ajax’s lap and glare into his face. Then he seems to waver, and his pale cheeks flush with color. Casting his large, violet eyes down at his hands, his voice drops to a barely audible mumble. “But I might…I might hate you a little bit less than I hate everyone else.”

“Awww, Mouche! That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard you say!” Ajax exclaims delightedly. “As a reward, I’m gonna tie you up extra tight and get a unit of soldiers to fuck you senseless!”

“Sh—shut up,” Scaramouche stammers, flushing even redder. “No you’re not.”

Ajax’s blue eyes widen, as he reaches out to palm up and down Scaramouche’s cock through his trousers. “Did you get hard just from hearing me say that? Is that what you like? You want to get tied up and used by a bunch of soldiers?”

“No! That’s not—stop talking like that while you’re touching it, you perverted psycho!”

“I’ll have to blindfold you, so they won’t be scared that you’ll kill them later,” Ajax says, one hand slipping down the back of Scaramouche’s trousers and the other sliding up under his tunic to tug and twist his hard nipples. “Then I’ll make them line up to fuck your slut holes, one after another, till you’re such a sloppy mess, you can’t even—”

“I said shut up!” Scaramouche snarls, grabbing him suddenly by the lapels of his jacket and pushing him down onto his back. “Shut up and fuck me, right now.”

“You’re really not coming?” Ayato asks, looking in the mirror to address a bulky lump of bedcovers, that appears to have coalesced in the center of his large, high-framed bed.

“No,” the bedcovers lump answers sullenly, in Aether’s voice. “I don’t want to see his stupid face. I hate him.”

Ayato’s pale-blue eyebrows go up. “That’s quite a temperature change from yesterday. Did something happen?”

The bedcovers lump replies with something muffled and unintelligible.

“My lord prince, you really should come out from there. I can’t hear you, at all.”

The bedcovers lump shifts about, and Aether’s golden head emerges from the top. “I said Diluc is the hetero man I’ve been sharing a bed with.”

“Yes, I had worked that out for myself. But what does that have to do with you suddenly hating him?”

“Because last night, he told me not to sleep with you guys and then come to his bed.”

Ayato frowns. “Did he, indeed?”

“Yes! Can you fucking believe that? I told him it was none of his business who I fuck and he told me not to come to his bed anymore, so I said fine and then he stormed off and now I hate him.”

Ayato seats himself on the bed beside the Aether-headed covers lump, reaching out to ruffle his wheat-blonde hair. “My dear little friend. How is it that you can be so wise and perceptive about human beings, but only up to the point where it concerns yourself?”

Aether looks bewildered. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that it is quite plain to me that you and King Diluc have some unresolved feelings for one another.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Aether pouts. “I’m really upset about this.”

“I am not making fun, I am simply giving my assessment. What else could his behavior signal than romantic jealousy?”

“That’s ridiculous, though. Why would he be jealous, when he doesn’t even like men? He thinks homosexuals are dirty and doesn’t want to be tainted, or something.”

“And you know this? You have asked him?”

“Well no, but…he’s engaged to a lady. And we’ve been sharing a bed for months. It definitely would’ve come up by now.”

“Hm. An arranged royal engagement means little to nothing, as far as the heart is concerned. But it is difficult to believe a so-inclined man could share a bed with you for so long and refrain from touching you. He would have to be possessed of nearly supernatural fortitude. I could not do it.”

“Exactly. No homosexual man could resist fucking me all this time in our situation, especially considering how snuggly he is. But—don’t read into that! It’s just when he’s asleep!”

“I wonder,” Ayato says, pursing his lips. “Tell me again, what were his exact words, when he asked you not to sleep with us?”

“I was talking about how we planned to play together and he said ‘don’t.’ Just like that. I said I could play with you guys and still come back to sleep with him. He said that made him uncomfortable, because…hm. Actually, I was the one who said it was because we’re all men. Then he got mad and said he didn’t care—” Aether stops short and his face flushes pink.

“Go on,” Ayato prompts, pulling the covers away as Aether attempts to burrow beneath them. “No, no hiding. Finish what you were saying.”

“He said…he didn’t care what gender you were. I wasn’t misrepresenting intentionally, though! I didn’t remember that part until just now.”

“So, is it perhaps possible that you have drawn some false conclusions about him, based on your personal biases? I believe there is a term for that kind of prejudgment…”

“No pointing out my hypocrisy! I’m telling Thoma on you!”

“Thoma can’t save you, my lord prince, he is away with his lover. You’re entirely at my mercy.”

“Ok, assuming you’re right, what am I supposed to do about it?”

“What do you want to do about it?”

“I want to know what Diluc really wants. I want to know what would make him happy. Failing that, what would make him marginally less miserable. And I would really, really like it if what he wants is to fuck me.”

“Alright,” Ayato nods. “I’ve decided upon a course of action. When we attend the private dinner tonight, Thoma and I will observe him closely, and advise you based upon what we see. For that to work, however, it is imperative that you also attend. We must compare how he behaves toward you with his behavior toward others.”

“I see what this is. It’s all been a ploy to trick me into behaving like a responsible adult,” Aether declares, flopping dramatically onto his back, in the tangled mess of linens he’s made.

Ayato laughs at his histrionics, as he produces the formal invitation letter from a concealed pocket. “Let me see. The guest list is very limited, so that will make things a good deal easier. Attendees are to be King Diluc, Lady Barbara, you, myself and Thoma, Grand Master Jean Gunnhildr, Captain Alberich, Captain…who is Captain Albedo?”

“He’s the chief alchemist and head of the Favonius investigations division. I’m glad you asked about him, because I almost forgot to prepare you. Albedo is a Rhinedottir Doll.”

Ayato’s lips part and his silver-blue eyes gleam with sudden, intense interest. “Is he, really? I’ve never met one, in person. Whatever is he doing with the Knights of Favonius? Does he belong to someone?”

“No, he defeated his programming, so he has free will and everything. Don’t get distracted and pay attention to him all night, though. You’re supposed to be spying on Diluc for me.”

“You underestimate me, my lord prince,” Ayato sniffs. “I am a master multitasker.”

Aether narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You’re gonna fuck Albedo, aren’t you.”

“I am certainly going to try,” Ayato answers cheerfully. “Why, is he a lover of yours?”

“No. Well. One time. But it was for science.”

Ayato arches an eyebrow. “For science, was it? Was this before or after the Abyss Lector?”

“After,” Aether says, grinning sheepishly. “But I haven’t been with anyone since him, till you.”

“You know that I, of all people, don’t judge. Only…I cannot help but doubt your husband would approve of you choosing lovers from the actual Abyss. And a high-ranking demon, no less.”

“I know it was an insane thing to do, but I can explain!” Aether pleads, clasping his hands and making his amber-gold eyes as big and round as possible. “He was extremely sexy and I really wanted to!”

Ayato smiles indulgently. “That pretty face must help you get away with all sorts of mischief.”

“You’re one to talk,” Aether scoffs. “You basically invented using your looks to get away with mischief.”

“If only I could take such credit to myself.”

“Hey, that guest list didn’t mention Kazuha. Is he not coming? And where has he been?”

“Who knows. Not even my agents can keep track of him. He declined to be included as my guest, saying that, as a mere captain of a humble sailing vessel, he was in no position to be seated at the table of a king. I would have pointed out that I am the acting shogun, and he has no qualms about being seated at my table, but he seemed determined to weasel out of attending, so I let it go.”

“That sneak. He better come spend more time with me, while he’s here. I haven’t got a chance to ask if he went to see Xiao.”

“Ah…indeed,” Ayato says stiffly, as if this is a topic he wishes to avoid. “Excuse me, a moment. Hisashi!”

Aether sits bolt-upright, nearly startled out of his skin, as the Shuumatsuban ninja steps instantly into view before them, as if from thin air. “What the fuck, Hisashi, you almost gave me a heart attack! I hate when you guys do that.”

“Apologies, my lord prince,” Hisashi replies, concealing a smirk in a deep bow. “You called, Kamisato-sama?”

“Yes, go and brief Thoma regarding our plans to observe the king, this evening. Also, inform him that if he could be troubled to take his cock out of Captain Alberich long enough to assist me in dressing for dinner, I would be much obliged.”

Hisashi bows again and vanishes without another word, as is the habit of Lord Kamisato’s elite covert operatives.

“Thoma and Kaeya are really getting along, huh?” Aether asks, when the man has gone.

“They seem to be. I am glad there are mutual good feelings between them. Thoma has spoken of him often, over the years. He always intended to seek him out, while we visited here, but lo and behold, he was assigned to guard me.”

“You’re not jealous, are you?” Aether teases. “You seemed a little annoyed when you were talking to Hisashi just now.”

Ayato appears to take the question in earnest, and taps his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Jealous? Yes, I suppose I am. It is not sexual jealousy, obviously. It pleases me that Thoma has lovers of his own. It is more that…I am jealous of his attention. I desire to hold the foremost position in his heart and mind. I want to be the object of his highest esteem and I want him to be always thinking of me. So long as he worships me abjectly and makes catering to my every whim the sole purpose of his life, he’s free to fuck whoever he likes.”

“Wow. That actually sounds more demanding than sexual jealousy.”

“Of course. That is why he calls me high-maintenance.”

“I wonder if my husband is jealous of attention, that way,” Aether says, lying back down to stretch his arms over his head. “He didn’t seem to be sexually jealous, but he did tell me it hurt him that I’d been so unhappy with him that I had to find comfort with other men. That was the day he told me he was sending me away. I’ll never forget how he looked that day, because it was the first time I truly saw him. The real him, not the false image I had constructed in my mind. I remember thinking that if he had just shown himself to me that way before, even once…but the truth is, he was always showing me. I was just never looking. Anyway, what’s done is done. It’s too late for those kinds of regrets, now.”

“It’s too late for them today, at least,” Ayato says gently. “You’d better go, if you want to have time to bathe and dress, before dinner.”

“What time is it? Five-fifteen? Oops, you’re right, I better run. I’ll see you later.”

The two embrace warmly, pressing kisses to each other’s lips, before Aether hops up from the bed and hurries off to get ready. Once the door closes behind the prince, Lord Kamisato goes to his own bath, which he prefers to take alone, even when Thoma is present. He returns in the dark-blue yukata that serves as his dressing gown and seats himself at the vanity, from which he picks up his eyeliner brush and a pot of pigment.

“My lord,” a voice says behind him. “Do you really want to do that yourself?”

“Not really, but I had no idea when you’d be coming back,” Ayato smiles, handing over the cosmetic implements to Thoma. “Have you been enjoying yourself?”

“Of course. You know how I like to mix business with pleasure,” Thoma grins in the mirror, as he pins back his master’s hair.

Ayato tilts his face up to have the eyeliner applied. “How is the business part going? Anything new?”

“Nothing concrete. Whatever I’m sensing seems to be woven into everything, here, but it’s impossible to unravel the tapestry if I can’t get a hold of a single thread.”

“Your intuition has never failed us before. Keep on it. I won’t leave the prince here, if there’s something dangerous going on.”

“Whatever it is, I doubt it’s directed at him. Though, he could be caught in the crossfire if anything happens. Don’t blink like that, you’ll smudge it.” Thoma dips the brush in the pigment pot again and begins on the other eye. “If I could get a look at the archives in Favonius HQ, I could at least form a clearer idea of the situation, around here, but I can’t exactly walk in the front door and demand access to that kind of information.”

“Isn’t that where your conveniently placed friend comes in? He is the Knights of Favonius second-in-command, is he not? Unless…you suspect him of something.”

“I suspect everyone, my lord. You taught me that.” Thoma sets the brush down and replaces the lid on the pot. “All done. Let it dry before you go running around.”

“I am not a toddler, Thoma, I do not go running around,” Ayato retorts. “Hisashi and Kazuaki will have no trouble getting into Favonius headquarters and copying documents, but they must first know what you’re looking for.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know what I’m looking for. It’s a fishing expedition, at this point.”

“I’d prefer to hold off on breaking and entering until we have no other options, anyway.”

“Agreed. Maybe we can soften someone up to play ball. If we really have to spend time on this court function, tonight, let’s look for a target there. I’d like the evening to produce something useful, at least.”   

“Ah, but it will produce something useful. The king’s state of mind is a vital piece of intelligence, in a small nation like this, just as it is in a larger one. His pressure points appear to be exposed, for the world too see, but are they?”

“You mean his nation’s strategic position, lack of a standing army, indebtedness to Snezhnaya, missing deity, and young, inexperienced ruler?”

“Those are political vulnerabilities. I mean his personal pressure points. For example, he is betrothed to a lady far too young for him, who appears to be some sort of local religious mascot. Despite his betrothal, he has been chastely sleeping with a foreign prince, for an unknown reason. He is estranged from his adopted brother, and yet trusts and relies upon him implicitly. And, in a land where drunkenness is a national pastime, the king has relinquished the royal winery to said brother, and avoids drinking alcohol as though it were deadly poison.”

“And you think all these personal matters are somehow entangled with the web I feel tightening around this land?”

“I don’t know yet, but we’re going to find out. I rather expected to find the place dull, but Mondstadt is turning out to be quite an intriguing little puzzle box. One way or another, I will open it up.”

Chapter Text

Diluc stares in the mirror, hardly recognizing his pale and haggard face. His scarlet eyes close and open heavily. Dark circles lie like smudges of soot beneath them. With a bone-white hand, he clutches spasmodically at his chest, willing his heart to die inside him. Wishing with all his strength that it would petrify, and become a cold, dead stone. He is deeply ashamed of how freely it opens to others. How naïvely it warms and softens, at the slightest sign of affection. How easily it is wounded by rejection. For these very reasons, he has spent years building high the battlements around it. But mighty walls matter little when the foundation is cracked and broken.

I don’t sleep with you because I want to. I’ve been doing you a favor.

These words cut through his ragged consciousness like cold blades, twisting and tearing at him with their sharp edges, in every quiet moment. Once again, the darkness calls to him. A soft, sweet murmur, humming in his skull, drowning out the prince’s cruel voice. In death, there is relief. Peace. Merciful oblivion. You are so weak. So alone. Lay down this burden and rest. Leave the struggle to those with the strength to fight. A more worthy ruler will lead your people. In time, they will rejoice that you are gone. Better to die by your own hand, than bring your father’s kingdom to ruin. Only wait till Lord Kamisato departs. He should not witness your final humiliation. Then choose your method. Surer than Fire Water. Quick enough, so the lord of wind hasn’t time to prevent it. A poison, a blade, a deep pool, it does not matter, only die. Die. Die.

Toland begs him to reconcile with the prince, if not for his own health, then for love of his old chamberlain, whose heart breaks to see him suffer thus. Diluc thanks him for his advice and says he will take it under consideration. Albedo comes with a fortifying elixir, which relieves the fatigue and stiffness in his limbs, and brings some of the life back to his face. He normally refuses any medical assistance, but it is imperative that he is well enough to properly attend to his illustrious guest, this evening.

“It is possible there is some physical malady behind such marked disturbances in your sleep, my lord king,” the master alchemist suggests, though he does not believe it. “It would not hurt to allow me to examine you. If anything, it would be wise to rule out possible causes.”

“Thank you for your advice, Albedo. I will consider it,” the king replies noncommittally.

The day passes like grey clouds drifting over the horizon, indistinct and far away. That evening, his selected guests await him in a private drawing room upstairs, rather than the cavernous reception hall, used for official functions. Carefully concealing both his exhaustion and his nervousness at the prospect of finally meeting his powerful Inazuman correspondent, he returns their general salutation with appropriate courtesy and dignity, and gestures for them to carry on.

The moment he sets eyes on Kamisato Ayato, Diluc is aware how very thoroughly he is outmatched. His appearance is impeccable. He is graceful, slender, and tall for an Inazuman. Not particularly tall for Mondstadt, but his magnificent bearing makes him seem to tower above others. Diluc watches him, captivated, as he and Prince Aether approach, feeling suddenly like a boy wearing his father’s clothing, only playacting the part of a grown man.

“My lord, King Diluc,” the prince says in greeting, as the ranking person in attendance, upon whom the duty of introductions fall. “Allow me to present His Excellency the Raiden Kanrei, Yashiro Commissioner and Kamisato Clan Patriarch, Lord Kamisato Ayato.”

“My lord king, it is an honor to finally meet you in person,” Lord Kamisato says, with a courteous bow.

“Your excellency,” Diluc replies, bowing in turn. “The honor is all mine, in having the privilege of welcoming you to my home. I hope you have found Mondstadt agreeable, thus far.”

“Thus far, I have seen little but the inside of my chambers. But I shall give you my impressions, as soon as Thoma and Captain Alberich see fit to take me out of my cage, for a bit of exercise.”

His voice is smooth and refined, and he speaks the Mondstadt tongue with a slight Inazuman accent, which only adds to his charm. His smile is genteel and lovely, and does not touch his eyes. He is too aware. Alert. He is watching for something. What could it be? Is there some danger nearby? No…it is not that, exactly. It is something else. Something urgent but not immediately dangerous. Diluc considers simply asking him outright what it is, but his self-doubt closes his mouth. Better not to embarrass himself by saying something foolish to the Raiden Kanrei.

Despite Lord Kamisato’s unnerving vigilance and Diluc’s awareness of it, the conversation flows as naturally as if they have been acquainted many years. When Albedo joins them, Lord Kamisato makes no attempt to disguise his intense interest in him. Prince Aether doesn’t appear annoyed by this, at all, which is strange to Diluc. Isn’t Lord Kamisato his lover? He glances at the prince, to find his big, hazel-gold eyes already looking up at him. He turns away quickly, feeling heat rise into his cheeks, then chastises himself for this juvenile reaction. There is nothing between them. The prince has made that very clear. So, why should his heart race like this, to meet his gaze?

His memory cruelly replays for him all the nights he held this boy in his arms. Grew familiar with his scent and his touch. The sound of his breathing. The beat of his heart. The silky brush of his hair against his chin. The softness of his little body, when he would stir in his sleep and nestle into him, like a baby animal. The prince’s very proximity had eased Diluc’s torment, in more ways than one. Quelled the nightmares and brought him rest, for the first time in years. Soothed the aching loneliness of the isolation that comes with kingship. And little by little, without realizing it, he carved out a place for the boy in his heart. What a fool he’s been. In reaching out for comfort, desiring to soothe his broken heart, he has doubled his misery. Now he suffers two heartbreaks at once.

People will say he’s been morose and moody this evening, if he does not take care, so he smiles blandly, while his chest splits with unbearable pain. It helps somewhat, to focus his attention on Lord Kamisato, in his immaculate, white suit, with gold trim and wing-like kimono sleeves, and his perfectly groomed, pale-blue hair, swept stylishly to one side. His eyes that appear both silver and blue, depending on the angle and ambient light. Rumors of the Yashiro Commissioner’s transcendent beauty had reached even Mondstadt, and they have not nearly done him justice. He is the most beautiful man Diluc has ever seen. He is more beautiful than any lady he’s ever seen.

He feels a pang of conscience, realizing this sentiment is hardly flattering to Lady Barbara, who has come over to join them. Prince Aether is just pointing out that, in her flouncy white frock, with the gold and royal-blue Favonius accents, she looks more like Lord Kamisato’s companion than Diluc’s own. She smiles and blushes beautifully, and clings to her fiancée’s arm. As he does whenever she is nearby, Diluc takes special care to make her the primary object of his consideration. This is proper, since she is his betrothed, but at least part of it is guilt. As if he’s trying to compensate, by being excessively chivalrous, for the fact that he can never love her. At least not the way he’s expected to.

It is no fault of her own—Barbara is a beautiful young lady of excellent breeding and unimpeachable character—but what he feels for her is the protectiveness and fondness of an elder brother. The idea of being physically intimate with her turns his stomach, the same way it would, were she his actual sister by blood. She doesn’t seem to have any interest in sex, thank the gods, but that is likely due to her youth. Once they’re married, he will be expected to perform that onerous duty, and to produce an heir. But, he reminds himself, they will never be married. She will be free of him soon enough. Free to find the love and happiness she deserves, and that he can never give her.

When dinner is announced, the company move to the northwest dining hall, which is about a fifth the size of the grand dining hall downstairs, and is intended to be more comfortable and intimate. Despite the personal tension between King Diluc and the Dragon Prince, they are both experts in social etiquette. Aided by the witty and charming Lord Kamisato and the cheerful and lovely Lady Barbara, they manage to keep a lively conversation going among the diners, and everyone is thoroughly entertained. After the meal, which may have been comprised of sand and leaves, for all Diluc tastes of it, the party repair to the drawing room, for drinks and coffee. At long last, Diluc finds himself alone with his guest.

“My lord king, you have spoiled my evening’s work,” Lord Kamisato remarks, with a mischievous smile.

Diluc frowns. “Have I? I beg your pardon, Lord Kamisato, but what do you mean?”

“I mean that you have been too aware of me watching you. I intended to observe you secretly tonight, until I’d ferreted out all of your secrets. But alas, you gave me no opportunity. Though…perhaps it is telling enough that a young man at dinner among close friends should never allow himself a single unguarded moment.”

“I wasn’t aware of you watching me, Lord Kamisato,” Diluc says honestly. “I was aware of you watching for something, but I could not discern what it might be.”

Lord Kamisato continues to smile tranquilly. “Now you know the truth. I confess, I have been attempting to surreptitiously gather intelligence, regarding your royal person. What punishment shall I receive for spying?”

“I think none, since I do not believe you mean any harm. You say you have learned nothing, though, which you would not have told me, if it were true. Is it not rather the case that you knew I had caught on to your ulterior motives, and thought your best response would be to confess and make a joke of it?”

“Indeed, that is the case,” Lord Kamisato laughs. “I am pleased to find that you are every bit as shrewd and perceptive as you are rumored to be.”

“I do not know if that is true,” Diluc replies, fidgeting awkwardly with his gloves. “But if you are seeking hidden weaknesses, you will be disappointed. You know them all, as does the entire world. My position is such that I am an international joke.”

“Is that what you believe?” Lord Kamisato muses. “How strange. His Divine Majesty the Dragon King has spoken highly of you to me, as have others learned in statecraft.”

Diluc’s white face goes half a shade paler. “The Dragon King has spoken of me?”

“Why should that surprise you? He sent his husband to you, to offer you aid and to foster relations between yourself and the Jade Palace. He has never favored Inazuma, thus. The prince and I committed treason, in order to bring him there.”

“I know that strengthening diplomatic relations was the reason stated in our official correspondence. I was advised by my agents, however, that the prince consort was wayward and had displeased the king. They said he was given into my charge to keep him away from the Jade Palace and out of trouble.”

Lord Kamisato’s musical laugh rings out again, at this assertion. “I do not know where they collected this notion, but if your informants think any of us are capable of keeping the Celestial prince out of trouble, they do not know him. Not even His Divine Majesty is able to rule him. He would certainly not expect you to do so.”

“Then why is the prince here?”

“For the very reason Rex Lapis stated. Before you ask, I do not know in what manner he is meant to aid you. I know only that the Dragon King did not send his husband away thinking to punish or reform him, nor did he choose you for his host on a whim.”

Diluc passes a hand over his brow. “I don’t understand. Rex Lapis told you all of this?”

“Ah…I am not at liberty to disclose what His Divine Majesty has or has not confided in me. Let us just say that I know him well enough to speak as I have, with certainty. He does not often conceal his motives intentionally, but he is ancient and subtle, and troublesome for mortal beings to comprehend. When one has the opportunity to meet with him and observe him frequently, one gets to better understand his ways. That is why it is wise to spend time in the court of the Dragon King. Speaking of which, why do you not visit the Jade Palace, when your invitation stands open? You send always a representative.”

“I have much to do, here, and cannot spare the time away from my…” Diluc trails off and sighs. “That is a lie, my lord, for which I apologize. You are my friend, and I owe you candor, at the very least. I do not visit the Jade Palace, because I am ashamed to show myself in the presence of His Divine Majesty and dignitaries from the other nations. I am a child, struggling to govern the smallest nation in Teyvat. I have no right to stand among so many high and honorable people.”

Lord Kamisato raises his pale-blue eyebrows. “I beg your pardon, my lord king, but I must disagree. As the acting Shogun of Inazuma, the second most powerful nation in Teyvat, since the fall of Khaenri'ah, I say that you have every right to stand with me. I would be honored to be counted your equal.”

“You cannot mean that,” Diluc says, his voice tightening with emotion.

“I mean it with all my heart,” Lord Kamisato avers. “I hope to see you at the Jade Palace, soon. But let us talk of lighter matters. If Thoma thinks I’ve made you upset, I’ll be in for a stern lecture, later.”

“Thoma, your betrothed?”

“The very same. He comes from Mondstadt originally, you know. I found him washed up on the beach and claimed him for my own. Oh, but I am afraid I will not be returning him. It was your error to let such a precious gem escape your treasury.”

Diluc very nearly smiles. “It would appear so. Though Mondstadt may regret the loss, I wish you both joy.”

“I will give him your kind regards,” Lord Kamisato bows. “Now, if you will excuse me, my lord king, I am anxious to talk with Master Albedo, before he departs for the night. But first, I will tell you something that may help you better understand the prince. He is not being kept in exile, here. He was only required to remain in Mondstadt while the Windblume Festival lasted. After that, the king gave him leave to travel where he will, do what best pleases him, and take any lover he desires. Thus far, he has chosen to stay here, and to spend his time with you.”

Diluc stands dumbstruck, while Lord Kamisato glides away after the young master alchemist. He catches hold of his quarry, who appears to have been loitering about with the express purpose of being so ensnared, and the two immediately go off to a private corner together. Across the room, near the sideboard, Prince Aether is chatting with Master Jean and Lady Barbara. Between Diluc and the fireplace, Kaeya is engaged in intense conversation with a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered young man, in a dark-crimson dinner jacket and black trousers, who Diluc knows to be Thoma, Lord Kamisato’s steward and fiancée. So, why is he flirting with Kaeya, while his lord is elsewhere with Albedo? He is contemplating this odd behavior, when Lady Barbara returns from bidding the other guests goodnight.

He hardly hears a word she says, as he escorts her out to her carriage home, and they part with the standard chaste kiss on her gloved hand. His mind is full of what his friend told him about the prince. If he is not being forced to remain here…that means he is staying of his own accord. The Dragon King’s Celestial husband has chosen to spend months in a land he very obviously does not care for, in thankless service to its deeply broken king. Why would he do something like this? Is he deranged?

Agitated by the discordance between the prince’s behavior and his concept of reality, Diluc’s self-loathing and doubt rise up to strangle him like noxious fumes. The soothing murmurs return, to breathe deathly calm into his writhing soul. How arrogant the boy is, to pity you, as if you cannot function without his help. You are an object of scorn, to him. An idiot child, unworthy to serve as his footstool. He hardly bothers to disguise his contempt. His aid is a mockery of your weakness. He exposes you to public ridicule by his charity. Turn away from his false friendship. Keep your eyes on the path you have chosen. The merciful embrace of death is all that awaits you, now.

He doesn’t return to his guests in the drawing room, after Barbara’s carriage departs. He has nothing to contribute to anyone’s conversation. His dour presence will only be a hindrance to their enjoyment. Returning instead to his chambers, he sheds his formal attire, hanging everything neatly on the garment rack in the dressing room, and pulls on a pair of tight, black trousers. Not bothering to put on a shirt, he looses his hair from its tie, leaving it to tumble free about his bare shoulders. He still feels like he’s burning up from the inside, so he steps out onto his private balcony, to soothe himself in the clean, bracing cold of the autumn air. He is leaning on the stone rail and staring listlessly out over Cider Lake, when the door opens. He glances at his visitor, then turns his eyes back to the lake.

“What do you want, Prince Aether? Can you not just leave me in peace?”

“You are a fucking idiot,” the prince announces, with no other precursor.

“I beg your pardon?” Diluc asks irritably, turning about to tower over him.

“You heard me,” Aether returns, standing his ground and planting his hands on his narrow hips. “You’re a fucking idiot. Fortunately for you, I’ve decided that I’m not going to stand by and let you fuck up your life.”

Diluc’s jaw muscles work beneath his pale skin. “You do not have authority over me, Prince Aether. You seem to have forgotten once again that I am sovereign, here. Not you.”

“Yeah, except you don’t have any authority over me, either. You can be as much of an asshole as you want, but I won’t allow you to push me away anymore. You need me and I am going to save you.”

“You’re going to save me?” Diluc replies, with an incredulous laugh. “Your arrogance is truly a wonder to behold.”

“It’s not arrogance when it’s the truth. I will help you, whether you like it or not. The only question is, do you want to do it the easy way, or the hard way?”

“I have no reason to accept chastisement from you. If you will not leave my chambers, I will.”

Aether catches him by the arm, as he attempts to brush past him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“What are you doing? Let go of me!” Diluc jerks himself free, only to have Aether take hold of both his wrists. He twists and strains, but he may as well have fought against iron manacles. The more he resists, the tighter Aether’s hands clamp down, till Diluc drops to his knees, with a sharp cry. As if in response, a sudden gust of wind kicks up and tears across the balcony, whipping the king’s scarlet hair about his face.  

“Easy, Barbatos, I’m not really going to hurt him,” Aether mutters, releasing him abruptly.

Diluc sits down hard on the paving stones, out of breath and chafing his wrist in his hand. “Fuck me. How can you—how can you be so strong?”

“I’m a Celestial highborn, human. I could snap you like a dry twig,” Aether smirks, as if it should have been obvious. Then he tilts his head curiously to one side. “You knew that, right? That I’m way stronger than you?”

“All I know of Celestials comes from rumors and hearsay. You don’t look like people say Celestials look, so why should I believe anything else they say about you?”

“Huh. That’s surprisingly circumspect. I’m, uh…sorry about your wrists. I needed to show you I was serious.”

“There are ways to express earnestness without assault,” Diluc answers testily. “I assume this is what you meant by ‘the hard way.’ What do you intend to do, beat me until I accept your help?”

“As fun as that sounds, I don’t think it’ll be very productive. What I am going to do is exactly what I have been doing, but leveled up to therapeutic intensity. So, strap in, because from now on, I will be by your side every moment of the day and night. I will be there when you wake up and when you fall asleep. When you are working and eating and whatever else you do, I’ll be there. I will let you use the toilet alone, but that’s it. Also, you’re going listen to me and do the things I say, that will help you get better. Venti has agreed to cooperate with me on this, so don’t get any cute ideas.”

“This is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. You can’t fix me by hanging around annoying the shit out of me all day. If you could, I’d have been cured months ago.”

“A-ha! You admit you need to be cured, then! This is excellent progress. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.” Aether spreads his arms wide, then presses his hands together in an anjali mudra salutation. “Now…the healing can begin.”

“I hate you so much,” Diluc grumbles, in order to suppress a laugh.

“That’s no way to talk to your big bro-slash life coach,” the prince scolds. “But I’ll let it slide, since it’s bullshit. I know you like me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, yes you do.”

“I do not. You are loud and insolent, and you are constantly saying and doing ridiculous things. Also, you kick me in your sleep.”

“It’s ok to admit how you feel about me. You need to learn to be vulnerable and trust the people who care about you. Actually, I think we should hug.”

Diluc scowls. “If you hug me, I will break your arms.”

“I’d like to see you try. Bring it in, little bro.”

Having no real choice in the matter, Diluc relents, as the Celestial prince’s frighteningly strong arms encircle his torso, like slender, silk brocade-clad snakes. The gold chain around his neck feels like a strand of little icicles, on Diluc’s bare chest, and the feather in his long earring tickles his shoulder. He smells like jasmine and honey and summer sunshine. The gentle power of his presence washes over the young king and effortlessly obliterates all his defenses, like a spring breeze blowing away a puff of dandelion seeds.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Aether chirps, drawing away to look into his face. His expression changes, seeing the tears streaming down the king’s wax-white cheeks, and he throws his arms back around him. “It’s ok. It’s ok, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Diluc lets his head drop heavily onto Aether’s shoulder and abandons himself to weeping. The dark murmurs are silenced by the prince’s touch, and all of a sudden, he can see the cruelty and rank falsehood of what they have been telling him. He feels as though he is waking from a long stupor, and coming back to himself in the clear light of day. Of course he doesn’t want to die. Of course he doesn’t want to abandon his people and leave his father’s kingdom to another ruler. He was born to lead this nation. To follow in the footsteps of his Ragnvindr predecessors, and to keep their sacred oath to Lord Barbatos. Burden though it may be, this is his duty and his great honor. He will see it through to the bitter end. The prince moves to draw away again, but Diluc holds on, pulling him tightly against his body. His fear and doubt and anxiety have burned away, like mist before the dawning sun, and he won’t hold back, any longer.

“Be with me,” he breathes, with his lips pressed close to the prince’s ear.

“I am with you,” Aether laughs.

“Don’t pretend to misunderstand me. You know what I mean.” He leans back and lays his hands on either side of Aether’s face. “Aether. Look at me. Were my heart free, it would belong to you. Tell me you know that, at least.”

“I…I do know,” Aether says, lowering his eyes shyly, as color rises into his cheeks. “And in another life, I could have loved you. I could have been happy with you. When I look at you, I see it. A path diverging, into a different future. A path we walk hand in hand. But that way is closed. We met many years too late.”

“It is true. You are married and I love another. But my beloved does not love me, and you are estranged from your husband. We are both of us alone. So let us be alone, together. If only for a little while.”

Aether lets his forehead rest against Diluc’s, their lips so close they almost touch. “What do I do, now? I want to kiss you more than I want my next breath, but I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of me?”

“Obviously not. I’m afraid that once I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop.”

“Then wait until you will not have to stop,” Diluc says, drawing back, and then smiling at Aether’s frustrated huff. “You are very impatient, for someone who claims to be afraid. Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to wait long. Only until I am free to give myself to you, without dishonor.”

Aether looks confused. “Dishonor?”

“Regardless of what I feel, the fact remains that I am betrothed. It would be disgraceful in me and unfair to Lady Barbara, were I to be with you that way, before I have properly ended our engagement.”

“Wait. Is that the reason we’ve been sleeping together all this time and you haven’t tried to touch me?”

“Yes. I take my commitments very seriously. I’m afraid disentangling the attachment will be difficult and delicate work. Aside from angering the Gunnhildr Clan, I do not wish to hurt her, any more than I can avoid.”

“Hurt her?” Aether squints doubtfully. “Didn’t you just say she doesn’t love you?”

“No, I said my beloved doesn’t love me. You don’t seriously think my beloved is Lady Barbara…do you?”

“Well, not when you say it like that, I don’t.”

“Barbara is a child, Prince Aether. Is that really your opinion of me?”

“How was I supposed to know?” Aether says, throwing his hands up in a gesture of exasperation. “She’s your fiancée and she’s over the legal age of consent! It’s not like it’d be all that weird!”

“I have no romantic feelings for Lady Barbara. The match was arranged by our parents, for political purposes only.”

“Then who have you been talking about, when you say your beloved?”

“In my youth, I gave my heart irretrievably to my first and only lover. We swore a solemn oath, to love only one another, till we die, and to give our hearts to no one else. It was my father’s wish that I marry Lady Barbara, to solidify power between the Gunnhildr Clan and the throne, but I believed he would find a queen and produce another heir. Then I could relinquish my claim to the throne and my betrothal, with it. But it was not to be. He died suddenly, a young man in the prime of his life, and left me an orphaned, teenaged sovereign. I was bereft and confused and terrified. I did whatever my father’s advisors said was proper, to honor his legacy and his wishes. When I told my beloved that I would not break my betrothal to Lady Barbara…let us just say that things did not end well.”

Aether frowns. “If you love this person so much, why are you suddenly willing to break off your engagement now, but you weren’t before?”

“I was a child, when I made that rash declaration. I truly believed I was doing the right thing. I had no idea how much pain it would cause us both. I have since offered many times to terminate my engagement. I have reaffirmed my profession of love and begged for forgiveness, on my actual knees. All to no avail. I killed whatever love was between us, and I can do nothing to repair the rift. The most I can do, now, is to spare Barbara the unhappiness of a marriage to a man who cannot love her. My death would have been simpler than a dissolution of our betrothal, which will be complicated at best, but…I no longer wish to die.”

“So you did plan to kill yourself, then. Was that what you were doing with the Fire Water? That night I found you in your office?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but I suspected. What I can’t understand, is why. I know the situation with your lover and your engagement and all the pressure on you as king must be incredibly difficult, but that can’t be enough to make you want to end your life.”

“Those things alone, no. Probably not.”

“Then what is it? What can be so horrible that you couldn’t bear to live anymore?”

Diluc looks away, his expression hard and unreadable, but there are tears in his scarlet eyes. “I killed my father.”

Aether stares at him, stricken. “You…what?”

“I have never spoken of this, to anyone. The story is widely known, but no one knows the full truth of the matter.” Diluc takes a deep breath to steady himself, then goes on. “My father and I were attacked, as you know, on the road to the Dawn Winery. It was a foul beast, like a corrupted dragon, and all the men with us were slain. My father never wavered. He told me it would be alright, and that he would protect me. He stood alone between the creature and me, and wielded some terrible power. A power I had never seen before, nor since. He held out his hand, and from it came a blackness so profound, it stung the eyes, like a light that is too bright. I had to shield my eyes, but this black fire wounded and frightened the beast, and it fled into the wild.

Then my father fell. I ran to him and took him in my arms. His face was hollow and gaunt, as if he’d aged a hundred years at once. The hand that had wielded the power was burned to cinder, and blackness was spreading up his arm and neck, from it. He put his dagger in my hand and placed it over his heart. He said I must kill him, before the darkness turned him into a wraith, doomed to wander the Abyss in eternal torment. I was so afraid. I told him I could never do it. I wept and pleaded with him, to wait for help to come. Then he began to scream in agony. He begged me to release him from the pain. And I did it. I pushed the blade into his heart, and ended his life. As the blood poured from his chest, the sky opened, and the storm broke upon us.

Kaeya was the first to arrive on foot, from the winery. The guards came running up behind, just as my father’s body began to blacken and disintegrate, like paper over a flame, until it was nothing but wisps of ash, that the rain washed away. No one knew of that evil weapon my father wielded, and they assumed the beast had slain him. I couldn’t bring myself to correct them, to his discredit, so I allowed everyone to believe the false version of things. The memory of that night, is the nightmare that torments me. I have relived that horror, over and over. It drove me mad, to the point of wishing for death. That wish turned into an intention, and that to action. If you hadn’t come to my study that night, I would have died. But…when you are near me, the nightmares cease. The fog of guilt and revulsion, that seems always to be clouding my mind and sickening my body—the whispering voices that accuse and condemn me—all of it fades away. My vision clears, and I see how cowardly and shameful it was to desire to take my own life. When I am with you, I want to live.”

Aether wipes away his own tears with the sleeve of his yisan, and pulls Diluc into his arms again. “I’m so sorry, Diluc. I made all these assumptions about you and I never asked you anything about yourself. I had no idea what you were really going through. How can you be human, and be so strong?”

“I am not strong, Aether, I am weak,” Diluc sighs. “So laughably weak. I can hardly hold myself together, let alone this entire country. If you had not come, I would have fallen apart already.”

“Strength doesn’t mean doing everything on your own and never letting anyone help you or know how you’re suffering!” Aether says, with sudden energy. “Strength means doing the absolute best you can, within your ability, and knowing when to rely on other people. One of the few things I learned from my father is that the most important part of being a ruler is wise delegation of authority. That’s just the Celestial way to say ‘asking for help.’ Ironically, he’s a control-freak micromanager who never trusts anyone to handle anything. But he did pay lip service to the idea. What I’m saying is, not even Rex Lapis tries to do everything himself. He has divided the labor of governing Teyvat between himself and his vassal kings. He has armies of diplomats and civil servants and lawyers and engineers, and everything else you can think of, to keep things running. And he’s a god! You’re just a human kid! Why would you think you should do everything on your own?”

“Is this personal advice, or you being my life…what did you call it?”

“Life coach, and there’s no difference. A life coach is really just a friend who hangs around all the time, telling you what to do.”

“Are we friends?”

“Well, we’re not lovers, so…I guess so.”

“Not lovers yet,” Diluc corrects, taking his hands in his, and lacing their fingers together.

Aether looks down at them then back up at Diluc. “Are you really sure you want to go there with me? It’s going to be a lot different than what you’re used to.”

Diluc frowns. “Because you’re a Celestial?”

“No, jackass,” Aether laughs. “Because I’m a man.”

“Aether…my lover was a man. I thought you understood that.”

Aether’s mouth opens, as the implications dawn upon him. “Oh. Ohhhhhh. So many things make sense, now. I should’ve known no heterosexual man could be that particular about accessorizing. Also, you get really hard when you’re snuggling on me.”

“When I’m snug—you’re the one who can’t respect bed boundaries!” Diluc contends. “I wake up every morning with you halfway on top of me!”

“Your body produces so much delicious heat, though. I’m like a lizard. I can’t sleep unless I’m laying on something warm.”

Diluc blinks, perplexed. “A lizard?”

“Yeah, you know how they’re always sitting on hot rocks.”

“I am aware of the behavior, it’s just that I’ve never heard a man liken himself to one, before.”

“I’m unique, that way. Like a really unique lizard.”

“You must stop talking like this, or I will kiss you, and all my talk of honor and restraint will be for naught.”

“Speaking of honor and restraint…I wanted to tell you something. I had sex with Ayato, when he first arrived. When you said it bothered you—”

“I beg you to forget that,” Diluc interrupts, with a grimace. “I had no right to make such demands of you. It was childish petulance, and I am extremely embarrassed.”

“It was kind of childish, but you’re really young, so I don’t blame you for it. Anyway, after you said those things, I decided that, whether you and I become lovers or not, I won’t sleep with anyone else, while I’m here with you.”

“You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Would it bother you, if I went and had sex with another man, tonight?” Aether asks, looking at him frankly. Diluc opens his mouth and then shuts it again. “Yeah, see, it would bother you, so I won’t do it. Oh, except I dream about my husband sometimes, and if that happens, all bets are off. I will absolutely have sex with dream-husband. If he lets me. He’s kind of a prude.”

Diluc looks mystified. “Does sex in a dream even count? More importantly, you dream about your husband?”

“They’re very vivid dreams. I haven’t had one in a while, though, and I’m kind of sad about it. I am really into the young, warrior-god Morax. It’s a crime how sexy he is. Or, how sexy my imaginary version of him is, at least.”

“I don’t know how to feel about hearing our god called sexy,” Diluc says uneasily.

“Well, he is, so deal with it. Haven’t you met him, in person?”

“Once, when I was five or six years old. I accompanied my father on a diplomatic visit to the Jade Palace. Rex Lapis was dressed all in black and gold, and was even taller than my father, who was the tallest man I’d ever seen, till then. When my father presented me to him, he knelt down to talk to me, and his voice was soft and kind. I’ll never forget his eyes. He looked dangerous and unearthly, but he didn’t make me afraid. I asked him if he was really a dragon. He said yes, and he smiled and showed me his fangs.”

“That is the most adorable thing I have ever heard!” Aether croons, clasping his hands together. “Little baby Diluc got the mean old Dragon King to smile. I can’t handle this level of cuteness.”

“I suppose it was a bit cute,” Diluc says, making a distasteful face. “Anyway, even after that, I still half doubted he was truly a dragon, but then I got to actually witness him ascending. Everything stopped and the whole courtyard went quiet, like everyone was holding their breath, while we watched the huge, graceful creature, swimming up into a black hole in the sky. But I don’t know what I’m telling you, for, I’m sure you’ve seen it a hundred times.”

Aether shakes his head. “I haven’t. I saw him descend, on our wedding day. Otherwise, I’ve only seen him in his humanoid form. Except in one dream, when he was briefly in his dragon form.”

“When will you return to him?” Diluc asks gingerly, attempting not to sound as anxious as he feels.

“I won’t,” Aether answers, looking down at the gold and cor lapis ring, as he turns it on his finger. “Not unless he calls for me. But even if he never does, I will still belong to him. My heart will belong to him, as long as I live.”

“That is as it should be. As much as I wish to keep you here with me, I’m sure he will call you back to him, sooner or later. If you were my husband, I’d never let you out of my sight.”

“Because I’m a little tramp, who can’t stay out of other men’s beds?” Aether grins.

“Because you are precious and beautiful, and I would jealously guard every moment I had with you.”

“I’m really not,” Aether protests, blushing again. “I mean, I know I’m pretty, but that’s not anything to be proud of. Celestials are just born that way. I’m not so pretty on the inside. If I had treated you the way I treated my husband, I doubt it would have taken you nearly as long to get rid of me. I managed to wear out the patience of an eternal being.”

“You see, you’ve really got something,” Diluc encourages. “There are few who could make that claim.”

“How about I punch your face?”

“I would prefer to keep my bones and teeth in their current configuration, thank you. Will you sleep here, tonight?”

“Are you sure you want me to? It’s going to be torture, knowing we want to fuck and we can’t.”

“I haven’t had sex in six years, Prince Aether. I think I can hold out a little longer.”

“Six fucking—six years?” Aether sputters. “Are you kidding me? I’d be a walking hard-on by that point! I know you’re trying to respect your betrothal, but you could have paid a reputable whore, or something.”

“We don’t have those. Prostitution is illegal, in Mondstadt.”

“What?!” Aether demands, even more flabbergasted by this second revelation. “What in the name of the five Yakshas is wrong with you people? Do you know how bad illegal prostitution is, for everyone involved?”

“You can spare me the sermon. I am fully aware. I have argued again and again that the God of Freedom would detest criminalization of such things, but the clans are powerful, and they are deeply conservative.”

“That’s so stupid. You know, if the Dragon King made a universal decree about it, that would supersede local statutes, and there would be nothing the clans could do. We should get Ayato to help us put together an international commission, to present the case the Jade Palace. I’m sure Rex Lapis would be open to it.”

“Would he? I’d have thought an ancient deity would be even more conservative than humans.”

“Well…he dislikes democratic rule, and he’s completely inflexible, as far as obedience to his commands, but otherwise I’ve found him to be generally open-minded. He doesn’t have human hangups about  sex and morality, and he likes anything that stimulates trade without doing harm. Prostitutes generate a huge amount of tourism revenue, serving the sailors that are always in and out of the harbor, so keeping them safe, healthy, and happy, is in Liyue’s best interest. As such, they’re fully protected under the law. They even have a training academy, subsidized by the palace.”

“You seem to be quite informed regarding the minutiae of civil government in your country. Were you deeply involved in it, before you came here?”

“Uh…not so much. I was allowed to conduct humanitarian projects and make some diplomatic decisions, but I got all my privileges taken away, after I disobeyed Rex Lapis and ran off to Inazuma to aid an insurrection and do a bunch of treason against the shogunate. I just remember everything I read or hear, so I learn extremely quickly.”

“Everything you read or hear?” Diluc repeats, raising a dubious eyebrow.

“Every single thing. Celestial brain, remember? It’s convenient, not having to re-read books, but it kind of ruins the fun of re-reading them, too.”

When Diluc is sleeping peacefully in his arms, late that night, Aether is still thinking over his description of the recurring nightmare, and the accusing voices he mentioned. Especially the way the symptoms clear, when he and Aether are in close proximity. The power Diluc said his father used sounded suspiciously like a Delusion, to Aether, though he did not say it aloud. There is no sense in jumping to conclusions, and even less in worrying the king with a vague notion, based on nothing but instinct.

The Raiden Shogun’s deception and entrapment by La Signora and her witchcraft comes strongly to his mind. Could the Harbingers be at work here, too? Could King Diluc’s nightmares and his decline into mental paralysis and suicidal ideation have been somehow engineered by the Tsaritsa’s attack dogs, for some purpose of her own? The Fatui do seem to be strongly invested in maintaining a foothold in Mondstadt.

But if it is the Harbingers, what can Aether do? He can’t even use his power to look for evidence of a hex on Diluc, because doing so might hurt him, and if it’s not Abyssal in nature, he might not be able to detect it, anyway. Then it occurs to him. Albedo. Of course. If anyone can be trusted to help the king, and to be discreet about it, it’s the master alchemist and his secret twin. Thus, Aether is decided. He will have the seneschal clear the morning schedule, so he can take the king to see them first thing, tomorrow, even if he has to pick him up and carry him over his shoulder, like a sack of flour. After that, they can discuss how to release Diluc and Barbara from this enforced engagement, that is binding them unwillingly to one another. Once those things are taken care of, maybe Aether will actually be able to get out of the palace and have some fun with his visiting friends.

Chapter Text

“Everything looks good, so far,” Albedo says, making a note on his clipboard.

“Very good,” Aether agrees, as he steps around to inspect the back of the full-sized, three-dimensional model of Diluc, made of amber-tinted light particles, which the alchemists have produced for the purposes of examination.

Diluc scowls. “Stop ogling my ass. You two didn’t tell me the projected image was going to be nude.”

“It is a medical scan, your highness, we can’t very well examine you clothed,” Alius explains. “It’s not just surface level, either. We can look at every layer of cells in your body, this way.”

“Besides, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before,” Venti chimes in. “They’re your doctors, and I bathed you tons of times, when you were a baby.”

“That is absolutely not the same thing,” Diluc contends. “And why are you even here?”

“I actually haven’t seen it before,” Aether says to Venti. “Not that I’m looking! I mean, I am, but not in a pervy way.”

Venti arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure it’s not in a pervy way?”

“Is anyone even listening to me?” Diluc grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Alius, come and assist me with this,” Albedo says to his twin, not appearing to have heard any of the interchange.

The two alchemists put their heads together and talk in lowered voices, referring to Albedo’s notes as they enlarge the model and rotate it back and forth, thus signaling to the others that they should leave them to their work, for the moment.

“I feel like a giant taken captive by dwarves,” Diluc remarks, eyeing Venti and Aether cagily. “There are far too many small men in this room.”

“That is willful slander! I am an average height!” Venti asserts.

“Pfft. An average height for what?” Aether snorts. “A fourteen year-old boy?”

“Twelve, in Mondstadt,” Venti grins. “I’m not really self-conscious about it, though. I like being this size. You’re one to talk, anyway. I’m taller than you, pipsqueak.”

“I’ll be way taller than you, I just haven’t hit my growth spurt yet!” Aether rejoins indignantly, swatting at Venti’s hands as he ruffles his hair. “Quit it! Diluc, your god is bullying me!”

“Then you just bully him right back,” the king replies sagely.

“Aren’t you supposed to defend my honor?” Aether points out.

Diluc makes a face. “Defend your honor? What am I, your boyfriend?” 

“Aren’t you?” Aether chirps, with a smile so angelic, he seems to be actually radiating light.

“I wonder which one of us would win, if we actually fought,” Venti muses, while Diluc is busy blushing as red as his hair, and Aether is occupied in laughing at him. “Hey, princey pants, want to arm wrestle? Best two out of three, loser buys drinks?”

“All contests of strength are to take place off these premises, as per office policy,” Albedo announces, from across the room. “Also, don’t fall for it, Aether. He’s only challenging you because he knows he’ll win.”

“Boo, spoilsport!” Venti grouses. “You should have to buy the drinks now, to make up for ruining my fun.”

“If it’s just about booze, I’d be glad to buy the drinks, without arm-wrestling for it,” Aether offers.

“Now, that’s what I call a gentleman!” Venti trills, recovering his cheerfulness with impressive alacrity, and hooking an arm about Aether’s waist. “Let’s be off, then.”

“I meant later,” Aether laughs. “We’re kind of in the middle of a thing, here. Also, it’s ten in the morning.”

Venti’s smile wilts again. “Ugh, when did the youth become such boring teetotalers.”

“Better a boring teetotaler than a profligate day-drinker,” Diluc interposes, with a displeased frown. “Would you mind taking your hands off the prince, now?”

“Aw, you’re jealous!” Venti exclaims delightedly, immediately releasing Aether and bouncing over to throw his arms around the king. “Pretty little Luc is jealous of me touching his pretty little boyfriend! So cute!”

“I am not cute, I am a grown man,” Diluc insists uselessly, as the God of Wind pinches his cheeks and presses kisses to them. “It’s ridiculous that you still treat me like I’m an infant. I look older than you, now.”

“Yeah, and stop kissing him,” Aether pouts. “I haven’t even got to, yet.”

Venti bursts out laughing at this revelation. “You haven’t? That is so sweet, I could cry! I don’t even remember a time when I was that innocent and pure. All my relationships start with sex…and end with sex. I guess I’m not really a relationship person.”

“We are not innocent and pure,” Diluc retorts. “We are waiting until I have properly severed ties with Lady Barbara. It may be complicated and take a little time, is all.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be as complicated as you think,” Aether puts in. “At least not on her side of things. I can’t speak for the Gunnhildr Clan.”

“Why do you say that?” Diluc asks, still attempting to pry Venti off him, like an oversized, green barnacle.

“She came to me for advice a while ago. I can’t really say much, since it’s personal, but the conclusion I reached from our conversation, was that she doesn’t want to marry you, any more than you want to marry her.”

“She talked to you? I’m so glad!” Venti says, finally letting go of Diluc. “I told her if anyone could sympathize with her being stuck in an arranged marriage to a mean old mister no-fun king, it’d be you.”

“I am not old!” the king in question objects.

“We know that, honey,” Venti informs him. “You’re the youngest person in this room by a century.”

“Since we’re on the subject, how do you plan to handle the Gunnhildr Clan?” Aether asks.

Diluc shakes his head. “I am not sure, yet. Ideally, I would prefer to find a way for the dissolution to be entirely my fault, without going too far and damaging relations with them. I will sacrifice that connection, though, if it is necessary in order to protect Lady Barbara. Even if we mutually agree to terminate the contract on friendly terms, she will be considered legally at fault, and if it becomes known, she might be made the target of public criticism. I will absolutely not allow that to happen.”

Venti gives a dolorous sigh. “I should never have let you people write your own laws. You made such a mess of things. I guess Morax was right, after all.”

“Did he advise you not to let them do it?” Aether asks, visibly perking up at the mention of his husband’s ancient name.

“He did. He also told me I was a lazy, unreliable drunk, and I’d be no good at it, either.”

“That does sound like a thing he’d say.”

“It was and he did. I was kind of offended at the time, but he wasn’t wrong. I can’t think of a more excruciating thing than sitting down trying to make up rules for people to follow. I didn’t want to ask stupid bossy Morax for help, though, so I told the people to do their best to make really good laws, and to make sure they were fair and just, and not too strict, and would make everyone happy. I don’t understand why they did it so badly.”

“Mondstadt is still standing, though, so they didn’t do it that badly,” Aether reasons. “The only other human-governed nation in Teyvat was cut out of the world like a huge scoop of ice cream.”

“Khaenri’ah’s government was far more efficient and effective than Mondstadt’s, my lord prince,” Albedo corrects, looking up from his notes. “I doubt the disaster had much to do with it. Unless it was social equality, an incorrupt justice system, a universal income, and free access to health care, that offended the Lord of the Abyss.”

“How do you know so much about it? You’re talking like you were there.”

“I was there. Alius, as well. Our creator is Khaenri’ahn.”

“You were? She is? How did I not know this? I should have been asking you two about the disaster, this whole time!”

“We know no more than anyone else,” Albedo says. “We hadn’t lived there in centuries, when it was destroyed. You’ll have to forgive us for not bringing it up before. It’s force of habit. We’re already stigmatized for being Dolls. If people knew where our kind originated, it would only be worse for us. They tend to think of all Khaenri’ahn technology as evil sorcery.”

“Even Rhinedottir represents herself as a native of the world she inhabits, now, to avoid the prejudiced attitudes,” Alius adds. “On the rare occasion anyone in a realm of Light sees her in person, she’s always in some kind of disguise.”

“Now, to the matter at hand,” Albedo announces, with an official air. “My lord king, our examination of your scan is complete. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, we have found essentially nothing wrong with you, mystical or otherwise. Overall, you are in excellent health. You are actually in superhuman health, but that is normal for vision-holders.”

“But you say ‘essentially’ and ‘overall’,” Diluc observes. “Why the equivocation? What have you found?”

“My lord the king is very perceptive,” Albedo says, dipping his chin. “But since patient confidentiality is paramount, we would ask that our friends step out, for a moment, before we discuss the details. My lords, would you be so kind?”

“Sure, we don’t mind at all,” Aether replies affably. “Come on, Venti, let’s grab some of those cinnamon rolls at the Good Hunter, before they sell out for the day.”

“Fine, I’ll go, but I’m not happy about it,” the God of Freedom concedes. “They don’t start serving booze till noon.”

“We found evidence of a past head injury,” Albedo says to Diluc, after Venti and Aether have gone. “Though, there is no record of you being treated for one. This isn’t entirely abnormal. Sometimes people don’t realize they’re concussed, and shrug it off as a severe headache.”

“But we also don’t remember King Crepus calling us in for anything like that, and he used to summon us every time you sneezed,” Alius says. “Do you recall getting a nasty bump on the head, at any point? Or a having very bad headache that lasted several days?”

“Not that I can think of,” Diluc answers. “I have frequent headaches from fatigue, due to the nightmares disturbing my sleep, but nothing remarkable.”

“That’s not really what we mean. Judging from the state of the injury, it would likely have been when you were a child. If you aren’t suffering any negative effects, at present, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“There is only one other thing,” Albedo says. “We found a tiny cyst in your right cochlear canal. The part of your inner ear that converts soundwaves into signals intelligible to your brain.”

“Normally, these are nothing to worry about, and go away on their own,” Alius continues. “But on the very small chance it were to enlarge, it could cause permanent hearing loss.”

As his twin is speaking, Albedo is spreading his hands and manipulating the scanned image, so that they are viewing the area in question, apparently inside Diluc’s ear. “It probably doesn’t look like anything you’d recognize, but this is the interior of your cochlear…uh. Just a moment, my lord king. Alius, look at this.”

Alius steps over and leans close, squinting at something. “How strange. The scan must be malfunctioning.”

“Malfunctioning,” Diluc repeats doubtfully. “How can a picture malfunction?” 

“It’s not a still image,” Albedo clarifies. “The spell is projecting a live scan of your body, for us to examine. There it goes again. Did you see that?”

Alius nods. “I see it, but I don’t understand it.”

“I want to look closer, before I jump to any conclusions. Increasing intensity,” Albedo says, doing something that causes the amber particles to brighten, and the image to sharpen noticeably.

“Get this spell off me, right now!” Diluc snaps, growing suddenly agitated, as he shields his eyes from the light of the projection. “If you’re not sure these things work, you shouldn’t be testing them out on me. I’m not your guinea pig.”

Albedo’s eyes flicker to Alius, then back to the king. “As you say, my lord king. If you would be so kind as to wait just a moment, I need the talisman to safely remove it. Alius, would you please fetch it, from the lab?”

“And make it quick,” Diluc barks, as Alius trots away out the door. “You two have wasted enough of my time, today.”

“I apologize for any inconvenience we have caused, my lord king,” Albedo says, keeping an eye on the scan. “You must know, we only have your best interest at heart.”

“Ah, yes, my best interest,” Diluc returns icily. “It was certainly in my best interest when Alius sucked Kaeya’s cock in the vineyard, during the Windblume Festival banquet. In fact, all the times the three of you have fucked were for my sake, correct? Because you are always thinking of what is best for me?”

Albedo smiles sadly. “Believe it or not, yes. We are always thinking of you.”

“How can you say that so boldly, to my face? Have you no shame at all? What am I saying, of course you don’t. We all know what you are.”

“My lord king, you will regret these words, later,” Albedo replies calmly, glancing down at his pocket watch. “But I will not hold them against you.”

“I will regret them? Are you threatening me openly, now? I know you all wish to be rid of me, so why did you not simply tell me? I would have ended my pathetic life long ago.” Albedo watches, expressionless, as the king unsheathes the dagger from his thigh and turns it in his hand, to offer him the hilt. “Come, now, Master Alchemist. Will you accept the responsibility of the final blow, or shall I do it myself?”

Albedo makes no move, either to take or refuse the blade, but glances at his pocket watch again. Just as he does, Diluc gives a strangled cry and drops to one knee, clutching his head, letting the dagger fall clattering to the floor.

“Bedo…help me,” he pleads, in a panicked voice, as tears well up in his eyes and spill down his pallid cheeks. “My head, I can’t—what am I doing? Why did I have my dagger out?”

“I will explain shortly, my lord king,” Albedo says, bending down to pick up the dagger. “Worry not. You will be quite well again, in just—”

“Diluc!” Aether cries, as he bursts into the room, followed by Venti and Alius.

The king staggers to his feet and leans heavily into the prince’s embrace, ash-white and trembling head to toe, his face slick with cold sweat. Aether helps him lie down on the examination table, where he sits beside him, holding his hands in his own.

“Self-terminated,” Albedo says to Alius. “No further suppression observed.”

“Time?” Alius asks, producing his own pocket watch, identical to Albedo’s.

“Ten twenty-one sixteen.”

“We’d already re-entered the building. That means the range of effect is very short.”

“Good thing it won’t matter, anymore.” Albedo turns to Aether. “My lord prince, I recommend you employ your Celestial purification now, as time is of the essence. The amount of Abyssal corruption the device released is small, but it is enough to do serious damage, if left to fester in the tissue and bone.”

“If anyone in here was a regular human, I’d ask you to leave, now. Lucky you’re all weirdos,” Aether says, laying a hand on Diluc’s clammy brow. “Close your eyes. This might sting a little, but it’ll be ok in a minute. Then, I assume, Albedo will explain everything.”

Diluc obeys without argument, letting his pink-rimmed eyes fall closed under the small, gentle hand. Rather than chanting an incantation, as he used to do, Aether merely whispers a word of command, and the light immediately flares up beneath his palm. It glows brilliant white for a few seconds, then flashes and goes out.

“You can open your eyes, your highness,” he says, drawing his hand away. “Kind of anticlimactic. There was barely any in there, compared to the shrapnel the Abyss Lector left in Bennett.”

“What about the thing that was in his head?” Venti asks anxiously. “There aren’t any other ones hiding elsewhere in his body, are there?”

“Even if there were others, they’d be toast, now,” Aether assures him.

“How do you feel?” Albedo asks Diluc.

“I feel perfectly well, actually. Better than when I arrived,” Diluc says, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “But Albedo, about what happened, just now. Those things I said…I hope you understand, I didn’t—”

“I told you, you’d regret them later, but I wouldn’t hold them against you,” Albedo smiles. “I have known you your entire life. I certainly know you well enough to discern what you mean, from what you do not.”

Diluc swings his long legs over the side of the table to stand up, and reaches out to squeeze his hand gratefully. “Thank you, my friend. Now, will you please explain to me what in the nine hells is going on?”

“Ah, yes. What we took to be a small cyst, appears to have been an implanted device of mystical origin.” Albedo waves his hand, dismissing the current scan and bringing up a blue version, which he enlarges till they can all see the device in question. It looks like a small, metallic spider, but with no visible eyes or mandibles. “This is a saved image of the live scan. These appendages, here, seem to be used for mobility, as well as embedding itself in the tissue at the chosen location. Judging from its size, it was likely an extremely simple machine, only capable of a few basic behaviors. The enchantment on it would have to be very weak, in order to escape detection, which is likely why it had to be inside your cochlear canal to work, my lord king. When we saw it move, we thought that the scan had malfunctioned, but it appears the thing reacted to being detected, and tried to change location. Your sudden agitation, my lord king, was the result of it expelling more Abyssal energy than usual, as it attempted to evade the scan. When I increased my spell’s intensity, it panicked, for lack of a better term, and before the prince got back in range, it self-destructed.”

“Back in range?” Diluc asks. “In range of what?”

“Our working theory is that the prince’s Celestial power has been passively suppressing the device and the attached spell, while he is in close proximity to you. The thing appeared entirely inert, until he and Venti went away.”

“I guess I really am growing up,” Aether says, shifting uneasily in his seat. “I had no idea I could do that, already.”

“Already, my lord prince?” Alius inquires. “You were aware of this ability?”

“I was aware it exists in some highborn Celestials, but if it does, it doesn’t normally develop until well into adulthood. Usually, it only works on Abyssal energy, but if the possessor is exceptionally strong, it can negate other types of power, as well. My father was capable of suppressing any power weaker than his own, in his immediate vicinity. I’m not sure I would call it passive, though, since he could control it. He actually used to make a mean-spirited game of switching it on and off.”

“A game? What manner of game?” Albedo asks.

“In Celestia, it’s common for nobles to have glamours cast on their marriageable children, when they take them to meet prospective spouses, to make them appear more charming and attractive. Anyone foolish enough to try it on the king wound up disappointed and embarrassed, when his ambient power would suddenly suppress their enchantments, mid-audience. I saw him do it a few times. He didn’t have any intention of marrying again, but he kept allowing suitors to come and be presented. He really enjoyed humiliating people.”

“Suitors came to court him?” Diluc says, looking lost. “But he is the king, is he not? Meaning…he is a man?”

Aether rolls his eyes. “Here we go again with Teyvatan ideas about gender dynamics. Celestial males of the noble and royal lines are courted by suitors, male or female. Noble and royal women seek and court spouses as they choose, like my mother did when she chose my father. Being a nobleman of high rank and the queen’s widowed consort, my father can receive offers of marriage, but can’t make any. I wouldn’t have gone looking for a spouse, either, even if Rex Lapis hadn’t claimed me when I was six days old.”

“What if a nobleman wants to court another nobleman?” Albedo posits. “Or the same situation, between two noblewomen.”

“In that case, one of them has to formally assume the role of suitor. I don’t think it matters which one. Unless one is a royal male. Then the non-royal one has to be the suitor, regardless of gender.”

“What if a royal male likes a female of whatever lineage, and wants to marry her?” Alius puts forth. “Does he just have to wait around and hope she notices him?”

“I’ve never heard of that happening in real life, so I’m not exactly sure,” Aether admits. “Theoretically, though, he could pursue her privately and then once they wanted to get engaged, she could declare herself to be his suitor and propose.”

“Uh…guys?” Venti breaks in. “As much as I hate to interrupt this riveting detour into Celestial matrimonial customs, I’d really like to get back to the evil bug someone stuck in my little Luc’s head. There are things I want to know, still. Like, who did it, for example? Also, how did it get into his cochlear canal? It can’t have punched through his eardrum, because he’d definitely have noticed.”

“Thank you for getting us back on track, my lord,” Albedo says, with a bow to the bard. “Most likely, the device was put into food or a drink, and expected to self-navigate from the gastric tract, to the desired implantation site.”

“That’s what I don’t understand about this,” Diluc interjects. “If they went to all the trouble of engineering and enchanting this device, and finding a way to get it into my food, why didn’t they just use it to stop my heart or blow my brains out?”

“That is a good question,” Albedo replies thoughtfully, tapping his bottom lip with his pencil. “It would seem that whoever is responsible is careful and patient, and values subtlety above speed. If they simply killed you, it would have been an obvious assassination, and could potentially be traced back to them. Instead, they used a spell whose range and intensity were very low, which enabled the device to evade detection indefinitely, while its effects built up slowly, over time. If I had to guess, I would say they intended for you to show gradually worsening symptoms of losing your mind, in order to lay the groundwork for believable suicide. There was always a chance you’d be prevented, of course, or would not choose to do it, so I imagine they also had a plan in place to help you along, if you failed to die within a certain time frame.”

“The device’s self-obliteration upon discovery, which neatly covers the owner’s tracks, does support that theory. How very clever,” Alius chuckles, then catches himself. “And reprehensible, obviously.”

“It was clever enough, I will give them that,” Albedo allows. “It would appear, however, that they did not count on the Celestial prince throwing a wrench into the works. I imagine they will be quite put out, when they learn that, after all that planning and waiting, their device has been discovered and destroyed.”

“How long has the thing been in my head?” Diluc asks, with a little shudder of horror. “Could it have been responsible for the nightmares, as well?”

Albedo pauses, pondering the question. “Hm. I cannot say with certainty, since I do not know what the exact nature of the enchantment was. But I would wager that it played some role, whether in producing or exacerbating them.”

“I believed I was going mad,” Diluc says, pushing his hands back through his scarlet hair then wringing them together in visible distress. “I have spent…years of my life in soul-crushing anguish and self-doubt. Years reliving the horror of my father’s death, every night. I became so desperate, that I had resolved to kill myself. To think that this was all the result of a poison that some vile and cowardly sorcerer was feeding into my head…it is so cruel, to take away a man’s mind. To violate and exploit his deepest grief and shame. Who could be responsible for such a thing, if not the empress of ice and her monstrous Harbingers.”

“I agree with the king,” Albedo says to the group generally. “This does appear to have the marks of the Harbingers all over it.”

“Of course it was their work, but why? They nearly destroyed me, and for what? What does wealthy and powerful Snezhnaya possibly stand to gain by interfering with my little country? We keep to ourselves and trouble no one. We desire only peace, and the freedom to live our lives as we choose, in the land our god bestowed upon us.”

“If Snezhnaya really was responsible, which I’m sure they were, this constitutes an act of aggression on the part of another sovereign nation,” Aether reminds him. “That’s a violation of the law of Rex Lapis, which gives you the right to declare Snezhnaya hostile and expel its diplomats and soldiers.”

“It gives me the right, but not the power,” Diluc says miserably, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “As the situation stands, I could not defend Mondstadt against a hostile incursion, even by a smaller, less militaristic nation. So long as they do not openly harm my people, I will take no action that might provoke them. Snezhnaya knows this. That is why they feel free to trample all over me.”

“But trying to assassinate you is harming your people! Without a Ragnvindr descendant on the throne, honoring their oath to Lord Barbatos—” Aether stops short. “Wait…Diluc, who succeeds to the throne, if you die without an heir?”

“My father’s cousin would have, but she married into the Lawrence Clan. Her eldest son is next in line. He is a boy, yet. Not more than ten or eleven years old.”

“The Lawrence Clan, Lady Eula’s people?” Aether asks.

“In name only. She is estranged from them and has been disowned.”

“Disowned? Are you serious?” Aether says, bewildered by the idea of a knight in good standing, who is a personal friend of the king, being disowned by her family.

“The Lawrence Clan has been at odds with the rest of Mondstadt, since they attempted to stage a coup, centuries ago. Lady Eula never liked their conduct, and as soon as she came of age, she left to pursue her commission with the Knights of Favonius, in direct defiance of the clan elders. She earned her knighthood with integrity, valor, and martial prowess, and became one of our best knights. She is a credit to the name Lawrence, which the clan loathe and resent, rather than allowing her to act as a bridge by which they might re-enter the fold.”

“I wonder if they’d stoop to working with the Fatui in order to install their heir on the throne.”

“There’s nothing they wouldn’t stoop to, as long as they didn’t think they’d get caught,” Venti puts in. “I do remember that they were chummy with the Fatui, back when they tried that coup, but there was no indisputable evidence linking Snezhnaya to their actions.”

“Do the Knights keep an eye on them, these days?” Aether asks.

“Not to my knowledge,” Diluc says. “Albedo?”

“Not exactly my department. Master Jean might know, but she doesn’t oversee covert operations, Kaeya does, and there’s no guarantee he’d tell us anything. He is extremely tight-lipped when it comes to his work.”

“We have to start somewhere, and it looks like the Lawrence Clan are as good a place as any,” Aether says decisively. “If we can get proof that the Fatui or the Harbingers were involved in an assassination plot against the king, even through Lawrence proxies, you can appeal directly to Rex Lapis for intervention. Then you wouldn’t need to defend Mondstadt yourself. You could purge their embassy and garrison, and if the Tsaritsa retaliated, he’d be obligated to send the Millelith to support you. Not even Snezhnaya’s military would dare to pick a fight with them.”

“I will consider all of this,” Diluc says, but sincerely, rather than in his usual way, which is tantamount to a dismissal. “We must go, now, if Aether and I are to be dressed in time to meet with Lady Barbara for lunch. All of us here should confer with Master Jean and Captain Alberich, as soon as possible. Albedo, contact them to set up a meeting, and send me the details, by palace messenger. And do impress upon Captain Alberich that he is required to attend.”

“Yes, my lord king,” Albedo says. “One last thing, before you go. I would caution you to take things easy at first, and to moderate your expectations. Your overall mental wellbeing may take some time to show marked improvement, and there is no telling exactly what long-term effects you may experience. Keep track of your moods and make note of anything out of the ordinary, and we will examine you again, in a week’s time.”

“I will,” Diluc says, as the group bow their farewells. “Thank you, Albedo, Alius. For everything.”

“Hey, little Luc, you know how I try not to give you fatherly advice?” Venti asks, once he and Aether and the king have stepped out into the cobbled street of Mondstadt’s main square.

“I know I have asked you specifically not to do so,” Diluc answers wryly.

“Right. Well, I’m about to anyway, so suck it up.” Venti takes a deep breath and puffs it out, as if steeling his resolve for a plunge. “You need to talk to Barbara alone. She’s a lot smarter and more perceptive than you seem to think, and you owe her the respect of approaching her on equal terms, like a friend, and opening your heart to her. Whatever you two decide to do about your betrothal, you should decide together, so you can present a unified front, when you run into opposition, which you will. So. Yeah. Aether and I aren’t coming with you, to talk to Barbara. This is something you need to do on your own.”

Diluc arches a scarlet eyebrow. “Aether, the two of you decided this together? Not to come with me?”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Aether says truthfully. “But I think Venti is right. If you two can’t talk to one another like adults and come to an agreement on your own, maybe you’re not ready to make this kind of decision. If that’s the case, there’s no reason to rush. You still have three years to think about it.”

“I see,” Diluc says. “Then it appears I must thank you, for sparing me the awkwardness of asking you not to join me. As it happens, I had the same thought Venti has expressed. This is a private matter, between Lady Barbara and myself, and should be addressed between us, privately. The last thing I wish to do is embarrass her or make her feel cornered.”

“Look at you,” Venti sniffles, pretending to dab up tears. “All grown up and conducting yourself like a man. I’m so proud of my baby boy!”

“You are the most embarrassing person,” Diluc sighs, as the bard flings his arms around him to squeeze him in one of his customary rib-endangering embraces. “Do the other gods behave this way, Prince Aether?”

“Not the two I’ve met, but they’re not exactly normal, either, as far as I’ve heard.”

“What are you doing now? You are aware we’re out in public, are you not?” Diluc protests, as Venti pulls him down and stands tip-toe, as if to kiss his cheek.

“Your father is proud of you, too. He wanted you to know that,” the bard whispers in his ear, then releases him and turns away to skip along beside Aether, smiling sunnily, as if nothing at all has happened.

“Thank you,” Diluc says, under his breath, brushing away a genuine tear, before he quickly composes himself and strides off after his companions.

“What do you mean, stopped working?” Scaramouche asks, hardly looking up from the book in front of him.

“I mean that it has ceased to function, Scaramouche. Are you an idiot? What else could those words mean?” the Signora harangues, as she paces to and fro, chafing her gloved hands together in an agitated fashion.

With a forbearing sigh, Scaramouche closes his book and folds his hands on the table, then speaks slowly, as if to a very small child. “I ask you to repeat yourself when you say stupid things, because it’s hard for me to understand nonsense. Enchantments do not just stop working. Especially not ones I cast.”

“Oh, really,” she fires back, planting herself in front of him, with her hands on her hips. “Then what happened, great master sorcerer?”

“No idea,” he shrugs. “Sounds like someone broke it.”

“You claimed it was undetectable and couldn’t be broken!”

“I said no one in Mondstadt could detect or break it. That guarantee doesn’t cover everyone in the universe. I’m not a god, you know.”

“Clearly. Perhaps you are not nearly so talented a sorcerer as you think, either. There are powerful witches in Mondstadt. If one of them—”

“Powerful witches?” Scaramouche cuts her off, with a smirk. “You’re not talking about the slutty librarian and the mental patient with the talking bird, are you? Those two are so far beneath my notice, I don’t even count them as witches. There’s no way it was one of them. If someone really found it and destroyed it intentionally, it was probably your favorite person.”

“That infuriating whelp!” she growls, clenching her fists tightly. “I will not be humiliated by him again! Where is Tartaglia? Why is he not handling the situation?”

“Don’t know. Not in Mondstadt.”

“How can you not know? What good is it being his lover, if you can’t even keep track of his whereabouts?”

“I am not his lover.”

“Oh, please,” the Signora scoffs. “I know you’re the reason he won’t fuck me, anymore. He is always with you and he sleeps in your chambers, every time he is here. He doesn’t even bother to hide how in love with you he is, in front of the men. Why don’t you two drop the charade and get married, already.”

“He does not love me. He loves Rex Lapis.”

“And you accuse me of saying stupid things. You may as well say he loves the sun, or the sea. They can’t love him back, any more than Rex Lapis can. What does that have to do with you loving him?”

“I do not love him!” Scaramouche snarls, leaping to his feet, at which the Signora starts back a step or two, alarmed by his sudden outburst. He pauses, taking a few slow, meditative breaths, and lowers himself back into his seat. “I beg your pardon. I’m working on controlling my temper, but it’s not coming naturally to me.”

The Signora stares at him. “Controlling your temper? What is wrong with you, are you ill? Please, tell me you’re dying.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t die. No matter how much I want to.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very dark and tormented. Whatever manner of personal growth you’re attempting to achieve is none of my business, only see that it does not impede our work. Now, if you’d be so kind, shall we get back to your enchantment being broken, and what we are going to do about it? I should not have to remind you that if we do not produce a dead king soon, we are both on the block. With the Celestial prince involved, everything just became far more complicated.”

“Oh, that. You worry too much,” Scaramouche replies offhand, reclining languidly in his chair. “I have a plan for how to deal with the child king and the Celestial whore at once. I am going to kill two pains in the ass with one stone.”

“You really did lose your mind in il Dottore’s dungeon. You think you’re any match for a Celestial highborn?”

He bares his sharp, white teeth in a demonic smile. “No. I think you are.”

The Signora stands blinking at him, then laughs outright. “What? Me? That is absurd. As much as it pains me to say it, you are more powerful than me.”

“Yeah, we both know I could crush you like a bug. However, aside from my electro-based puppet control, my sorcery is all Abyssal. Assuming it was the prince who broke my enchantment, that’s likely why he was able to do it so easily. Your power, on the other hand, is elemental. Which makes it…?”

“Which makes it…Celestial,” she breathes, with a tremor of excitement in her voice. “Listen to me, Balladeer, if you truly intend to kill the husband of Rex Lapis, you had better be absolutely certain that whatever this plan is will work. You are quite literally playing with fire.”

“I am certain. But for it to work right, we have to do it together.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time. It had better work quickly, too, because if Tartaglia gets wind of this, he will do everything in his power to stop us.”

“Trust me, I’m aware. We’ll talk over the details tonight, at the usual place. Now, go away. You’ve interrupted my reading.”

“Meditations Against War? Oh yes, do forgive me for intruding upon your study of such a great philosophical masterpiece. I can’t believe you’re actually reading that idealist drivel. They assign it to school children.”

“Well, you know what they say,” he mutters, as he flips to the page he was on. “Know thy enemy.”

“What? What are you talking about, now,” she demands testily. “What enemy?”

“Hm? Nothing. Didn’t I give you permission to leave, already? You are dismissed,” he says, waving her away as if she is a servant.

Before she can formulate any kind of witty rejoinder, he bends over his book and affects deep interest in it. Having no other recourse, the Signora turns on her heel and departs in disgust, with the lavish train of her white silk gown billowing and rippling theatrically in her wake. When the door booms shut behind her, Scaramouche looks up again, with a cold smile playing across his pale lips. She has grown far too powerful, but she is still such a credulous fool. The perfect puppet to dance on his strings. A gaudy blaze of misdirection, by which to conceal his sleight of hand. And when she has served her purpose, Ajax will deal with her for him. What a beautiful show he has choreographed, for all his little marionettes. Exceedingly pleased with himself, he summons his shamisen to his hand and plucks out a jaunty tune, before he resumes his reading in earnest.

Chapter Text

“You have returned. And much sooner, this time.”

Aether places his hand in the illuminated, golden hand that is held out to him, and attempts not to appear too awkward, as Morax presses a kiss to it. “How long has it been?”

“Twenty-two years. But much has happened,” Morax says, turning away his hooded head, to look out over the harbor, which lies far below the grass-covered mountain peak upon which they stand.

Aether follows his gaze, and gives a cry of surprise. “The city! It’s so beautiful! Did you build all of it yourself?”

“I did. I chose this place long ago, but I had many things in hand, and had yet to make my vision a reality. When I saw that the time was come, I commanded the stones to be shaped according to my design. What you see is the result.”

“Wow. It must’ve taken a long time.”

“Many different types of stone had to take shape and move into place, and some had to be grown from seed minerals on the spot. The physical process from beginning to end lasted…several minutes, at the least.”

“For the whole city? That’s amazing!” Aether laughs delightedly.

Morax smiles. “You are a peculiar creature, Aether of Celestia.”

“Huh? Me? Why?”

“You stand upon a mountain that I fashioned, overlooking a coastline that I shaped. Behind you lie great ranges of other mountains that I raised, valleys and canyons I carved, and rivers I laid in their courses. And yet it is this little habitation that amazes you.”

“It all amazes me,” Aether breathes, casting his eyes affectionately over the elegant tiers and orderly streets, of what will one day be the Liyue Harbor he looks down upon, from his window in the Jade Palace. “The city is different from the mountains and valleys and rivers, though. I can see that it’s special to you. That your heart is in it.”

When he turns to Morax again, the young warrior deity is already looking at him, with a strange expression on his preposterously handsome face.

“My heart,” he murmurs, half to himself. “I wonder if you have chosen these words by chance.”

“What do you mean?” Aether asks. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no. You must forgive me. My mind wandered.”

Aether knows from experience that this is what his husband says when he does not want to talk about something, so he changes the subject. “There are a lot of lights in the windows, down there. Are there people living in the city already?”

“There are. Much of my world has become too dangerous for mortal humans to inhabit, while the war continues. I called to my people, and those who would come, I led here, to take refuge in this strong place. The Yakshas are abroad, gathering those who did not hear my call, or are too old or infirm to travel unaided. Many have not yet come. Many never shall.”

A little thrill races up Aether’s spine. “The Yakshas?”

“I found myself in need of helpers. The Yakshas are earth spirits, imbued with my power, who aid me in my various labors. Menogias and Bonanus are the strongest, and are foremost among them.”

These names were among those Xiao mentioned, when he spoke of his friends who had died. Aether is extremely curious about the other Yakshas, and whether or not Xiao is with them, but there is something dark and heavy underlying Morax’s tone. Some grief or regret that weighs upon him.

“Morax, is everything alright?” he asks, laying a hand on his arm.

Morax pauses for beat, as if confused by the question. “I think that you are using this phrase to inquire regarding my personal circumstances, and not the totality of existence. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Aether says, suppressing a smile at his childlike literality.

“In truth…all is not well with me. I have been in great trouble of spirit. I lost my friend. Or rather, he lost himself and I was forced to subdue him.”

“Oh, no!” Aether gasps. “You mean Azhdaha? What happened?”

Morax’s expression becomes even more solemn than usual. “Aether of Celestia, you must understand that I…I hesitate to speak of this matter with you.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Aether says clumsily, feeling a little stung by this rebuff.

“That is not what I mean. I mean that I desire to speak of it with you, but I am reluctant to do so, for to even think of it enflames my wrath. I do not wish you to observe me that way. I could not bear to see fear in your eyes. Fear of me.”

Aether looks up at him, wondering if he would fear Morax, in his anger. As he is thinking this, it strikes him that he has never seen Rex Lapis angry. He has never seen him more than moderately annoyed. It is true that his chastisements have reduced him to tears, but they never frightened him. He recalls, long ago, his existential dread of this creature that his entire being recognizes as something utterly alien to himself, but he no longer feels any such fear. That is not what Morax is referring to, anyway.

“I will never be afraid of you,” he says resolutely. “I promise. Tell me about Azhdaha.”

“Very well.” Morax turns away, as his expression hardens and his eyes blaze up with golden fire. “The people of a mountain village in Azhdaha’s domain heard rumors from others traveling through, of human sacrifices, and the protection granted in exchange by the gods. As the war worsened and they feared ever more that it would come to their doorsteps, they began making these sacrifices in secret, hoping Azhdaha would grant them his protection. They knew not the extent to which he was already protecting them. Ironically, the very means by which they sought to gain his favor, caused their ruin. By the time word of what they were doing reached Azhdaha, the practice had grown into a public ritual. He hastened to the village to intervene, but humans cannot understand his speech, so he could not command them to stop. They took his appearance, rather, for approval of their deeds. When he saw children slaughtered in his name, it drove him mad with rage. He shook the mountain until it came down upon the village, and all that were there perished. This is the punishment the law requires, for such evil deeds, but he was no longer in his right mind. He turned his wrath upon all humans, and began a rampage through the mountain villages, seeking to cleanse his domain of these wicked creatures, who would slay the innocent, hoping to purchase their own safety.”

“This sounds like another story I heard once,” Aether mutters. “But, if you knew all of that, about the human sacrifices, why didn’t you go to the village and talk to the people? You could have put a stop to it, right?”

Morax smiles ruefully. “I am not omniscient, Aether of Celestia. Far from it. I knew nothing of what was afoot until my mountains, being reft from their foundations, cried out to me, and I came. Thus, I found Azhdaha, raging like a wounded beast. When I laid hands upon him, I read in his memories what had brought him to that pass, but I could neither calm him nor reason with him. He threw me off and assailed me violently. In the end, I was forced to subdue and bind him. He lies now in Nantianmen, deep in the earth, beneath the roots of the warding tree.”

“Then he’s alive?” Aether asks hopefully.

“After a fashion. Azhdaha cannot be killed by destroying his physical form, and his spirit is strong enough to take possession of other living creatures, so it would have been unwise to separate it from his body. I broke his will, then laid him under a spell of sleep and the most powerful sealing ward at my disposal.”

“Could he get better? Could he come back to himself, one day, and be your friend again?”

“It is unlikely. Though his body lives, his power is quelled and his spirit fragmented. In his weakened state, his memory will erode, until he is nothing more than a great beast of the earth, as he was when I found him. At least then he will be at peace.”

Hearing his husband’s beautiful voice, strained with emotion, for the very first time since he has known him, is too much for Aether to withstand. He throws his arms around Morax’s waist and embraces him tightly. The young deity gives a start and tenses up, but he does not pull away. After a moment, his arms come up to gingerly encircle the boy, whose face is buried in his chest.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for Azhdaha’s suffering and for your loss,” Aether sniffles. “It probably seems stupid for me to be the one crying, when he was your friend. I just can’t help it.”

“On the contrary,” Morax says, reaching out to gently brush his tears away. “I am unable to weep. It is beautiful that you should do it for me.”

Aether blinks up at him. “Unable? Like, you can’t at all, or just not about this?”

“I cannot. It is alien to my nature.”

“Why? Do you not feel emotions the way we do?”

“In this form, I experience emotions, but there is no way for me to judge whether I feel those things as a human would. I have felt loneliness. Emptiness. Longing, for something I do not understand and cannot find. Right now, I feel sorrow and regret, for the loss of my friend. Anger, at the perpetuators of this practice of human sacrifice, whose disobedience to my commands robbed me of my oldest friend.”

“Why are people in Teyvat so prone to human sacrifices? The idea is so strange, to me.”

“They are no more prone than other human cultures have been, on other worlds. You must bear in mind that they are a primitive society. Many millennia behind others, in terms of cultural development. They know that they possess free will, but have not the power of the gods. Aware of their weakness and mortality, they fear death and seek to avoid it. The revenants of evil gods have appeared to them and made displays of power, and taught the people to feed them with the blood of their brethren. Some elemental spirits and weaker gods have been corrupted against their will, and others have willingly accepted this form of worship, desiring power for themselves. Through fear and ignorance, these practices continue.”

“Can’t you do anything about it?”

“I have made known to the people that any community in which human sacrifice is found to be practiced, will pay for the innocent blood they have spilled with their own. All shall be held guilty and all shall die, from the grey-headed elders, down to the newborn infants. When others see that retribution is swift and severe, they will be less and less inclined to take the risk. Eventually, the practice will die out altogether.”

“But what about the innocent people whose communities did try it? What if only a few of them were involved, and the others didn’t participate in it? Will you really kill them all?”

“Yes. My commands are absolute, Aether of Celestia. Though it may seem hard, to you, who are gentle of spirit, it is my nature to be rigorous and unwavering in the governance of my world. Because of this body I inhabit, I look like a man, but I am a creature of ruthlessness and domination. Passionless objectivity, law and order—these are my province. By reason I create stability and by strength I administer justice. I do not fail of my word, whether in retribution or reward.”

Aether would be hard-pressed to explain why these words should wound him, but they do. Each one strikes him like an arrow and sinks deep into his heart. This is nothing more than a friendly conversation, but it feels as though they are locked suddenly in deadly combat. He bites back his tears and stands his ground. “But why does everything have to be so black and white? What about mercy?”

Morax frowns. “I do not understand.”

“You don’t understand the concept?”

“I am aware of the definition of the term. I do not understand how it applies to me.”

“Oh, right,” Aether says, feeling a bit deflated. “You did say that mercy is not in your nature, like it is in mine.”

Morax tilts his head. “When did I say that?”

Realizing his mistake too late, Aether becomes confused and his cheeks color. “Did I say you said it? I—I must’ve misspoken.”

“No. You spoke naturally, without premeditation,” Morax says, holding him with his fierce, amber eyes. “How do you know me? Why do you wish to conceal our connection from me?”

Aether withstands his gaze without wavering. “I swear, it’s not for any malicious reason. I don’t want to tell you, because this—whatever is happening between us—is pure and good and beautiful. I don’t want it to be complicated by other things. I…I don’t want to lose you.”

“Why should you lose me? Have you some reason to believe I would abjure your company? Are we enemies?”

“No. We’re not enemies.”

“Then speak plainly to me.”

“Please, don’t make me tell you, yet. Just enjoy this with me, for a little while longer.”

Morax looks searchingly into his eyes for another beat, then he sighs. “I indulge you far too much. Very well. I will let the matter rest, for now. But I will not kiss you again, until you tell me.”

“Wait, what? No! We can talk about this, there’s no reason to take drastic measures!”

“Those are my terms. I am afraid they are non-negotiable.”

“Noooooo! You’re so mean! This is cruel and inhumane!” Aether intones, slumping dramatically against him, then his stomach flips and he gives a yelp, as Morax suddenly scoops him up in his arms, like a bride.

Aether stares at him, wide-eyed and breathless, both hands clutching the front of his garment with a white-knuckle grip. He’s absolutely sure Morax can hear his heart thudding against his ribcage. Rex Lapis would never do something so spontaneous and playful, and it hadn’t occurred to Aether in his wildest imagination that his younger self would, either.

“You promised you would never fear me,” Morax chides. “And yet you tremble in my arms.”

“Yeah, fear is…definitely not what I’m feeling, right now,” Aether replies, silently praying to whatever power is higher than Morax, that his strong physical response to being handled this way isn’t noticeable.

“That is well. I will not be merciful, if you break a promise to me.”

Morax looks very pleased with himself, which distracts Aether from worrying about him noticing his hard-on, by bringing his inclination toward mischief-making rushing to the surface. He narrows his eyes slyly.

“You said you won’t kiss me again, until I tell you how I know you, right? Those were your terms?”

“Correct.”

“But…you never stipulated that I could not kiss you.”

“Nonsense. The two things are one in the same.”

“Oh, ho ho! No, they are absolutely not! You, of all people, should pay attention to the specific wording of a verbal contract.”

“If they are not one in the same, then what is the difference?”

“The difference depends upon the subject and the object. The actor and the acted upon. Your ultimatum names you as the subject and me as the object. However, I as the subject, may kiss you, the object, and not be in violation of the terms, as stated by you. Honestly, I’m disappointed in you, Morax. You’ve left me a huge loophole, which I fully intend to exploit.”

So saying, Aether places his hands on the sides of Morax’s face and leans close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Morax does not return the kiss, but he makes no move to prevent it, either. Emboldened by his own brazenness, Aether draws the Dragon God’s lower lip into his mouth and tugs it teasingly as he pulls away. He feels Morax’s broad, hard chest rapidly rising and falling, as he lets his lips ghost along his cheek and then his jaw, depositing a little kiss here and there.

“Well, I believe now that you have no fear of me. None but you would dare to—ha!” Morax breaks off, with a sharply indrawn breath, as Aether catches his earlobe between his upper teeth and bottom lip, flicking it with his tongue before he lets it go.

“You see?” Aether says pertly, leaning back to look at him with a beatific smile. “Subject, object. An important distinction.”

“You are swinging your feet,” Morax observes. “The way small children do when they are pleased.”

“Well, I do it when I’m pleased, too.”

“A redundant statement, since you are a small child.”

He intends to be glib, but his luminous, amber pupils are dilated and his voice isn’t entirely under control, which entertains Aether to no end. He’s also still holding him in his arms, which Aether likes very much, though it costs him a deep pang when he tries and fails to imagine his husband ever doing the same. Well, c’est la vie. Better to enjoy the moment than let it slip away. With a contented sigh, he hangs his arms around his young, imaginary husband’s neck and tucks his head under his chin. Then it dawns upon him that this is a golden opportunity. There is no one he can ask for advice about his husband, because no one really knows him (except Venti, who seems to view Aether as some kind of prisoner of Rex Lapis and is no help at all). But he certainly knows himself.

“Morax? If you were mad at me, or just tired of my nonsense and didn’t want to see me, what could I do to soften you up? Like, is there some special thing that would make you happy?”

“Hm. I cannot see myself becoming tired of your nonsense. It seems to make up a large part of who you are. As for being mad at you, by which I assume you mean angry with you…I am not easily made angry.”  

“Nice try, you sneaky dragon. That’s not an answer, that’s a cop-out.”

“A cop…out?”

“Yeah. You’re just negating my premise instead of properly addressing the hypothetical. Pretend, for the sake of argument, that I did make you mad or you did get tired of my nonsense. What could I do to make you like me again?”

Morax frowns thoughtfully. “When my people fear they have displeased me, they visit my shrines and burn incense, and make offerings of wine and flowers and various trinkets. Though, I have observed that they often seem to think I am angry with them, when I am simply going about my business, not thinking anything particular of them, one way or another.”

“Well, obviously,” Aether laughs. “Ignoring a human is the surest way to make them think they’ve offended you.”

“Is it? I would think such fragile creatures would find my attention more distressing than my absence of mind.”

“Nope. Humans aren’t afraid to be punished nearly as much as they are afraid to be abandoned. To you, it might just be your solitary old dragon habits, but to the humans who love you, it would feel like rejection. Like you abandoned them, intentionally.”

“Then, by that same token, I might answer your hypothetical with one of my own. What if you believed I was tired of you or angry with you, when in reality, I was simply going about my solitary old dragon habits. How would you show me that you felt abandoned and were in need of my attention?”

“If it were me, I’d probably push you away harder, or do things to intentionally provoke you, hoping to get your attention, even if it’s negative. But that’s not normal human behavior. I have what we call daddy issues.”

“Daddy issues,” Morax repeats, pondering the words. “I am unfamiliar with many of your turns of phrase.”

“It means that my father was intermittently domineering and neglectful, and never showed me any affection whatsoever, and that created traumatic patterns in my brain, which lead me to behave in unhealthy ways in romantic relationships, because my sense of attachment is all twisted and janked up. He also slapped me in my face sometimes, which I recently found out was abuse.”

“Your father sounds like an unpleasant man.”

“He really is. I don’t want to talk about him, anymore. Can we just be here with each other and not talk, for a while?”

By way of answer, Morax leans down to let his cheek rest on the top of Aether’s wheat-blonde head. Unlike the cold austerity of most Celestials, the boy’s scent is warm and familiar, like osmanthus and glaze lilies in the summer sun, and a hint of something more animal and alluring. He is overcome by a sudden, primal urge to tear away this boy’s garments. To touch and taste all of his soft little body. To open him up and push himself inside…ah. This is what sexual desire feels like. It is an entirely new experience, and he becomes distracted, attempting to describe it to himself.

It aches like a physical wound. It pulls at the edges of his will, dragging him irresistibly toward the object of his fascination. When they kissed in the house in that village, his body responded to the touch, but not to any particularly urgent need within himself. Now he desires the boy in earnest. More than desires him, he feels it as the pain of having lost something precious that once belonged to him. Though he has never taken anyone to bed, let alone this strange Celestial child, he cannot shake the feeling that they have already possessed one another this way. How curious.

“I have missed you, Aether of Celestia,” he says, after a long silence. “In truth, I have longed for you. For your companionship. For the sound of your voice. For the scent of your skin and the taste of your mouth. But I cannot open my heart to you, if you will not open yours to me.”

Aether hesitates, then takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I…I’ll tell you. Next time. The next time I see you, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

“I will hold you to your word. Do not forget.”

“I won’t forget.”

The words have barely left the boy’s lips, when he vanishes. Unlike previous times, when he lingered and faded, he has simply blinked out of existence. For a long while afterward, Morax stands alone, atop Mount Tianheng, gazing down upon the city raised by his will, and sustained by a fragment of his heart, embedded deep within its foundations of everlasting stone. It will be both home to his children, and the seat of this realm.

From the corner of his eye, he spies a glimmer about his chest, and looking down, he sees that it is a long, blonde hair, left clinging to his vestments, where Aether had rested his head. He takes it between his forefinger and thumb, and holds it up to inspect it, in the light of the full moon. It shimmers as it flutters in the breeze, a delicate strand of finespun gold, standing out in relief against night sky. Turning his eyes upward, he looks past it, into the vast canopy of clear black, scattered about with glittering stars.

While he prefers the solid earth beneath his feet, Celestials choose to inhabit the sky, and build their dwellings in lofty towers, far above their lands. If a Celestial were to inhabit his world, what manner of dwelling would best please him? Perhaps a grand palace, suspended in the free and open air, high above his city, would appeal to such a creature. Perhaps he would even consent, one day, to call it home.

“Uh…your highness? Hey, princey pants? Prince Aether!”

“Huh? What?” Aether stammers, blinking about, attempting to make his eyes focus on the disorienting, multicolored blur around him.

“I asked if you’re alright,” Venti says, as his face resolves in Aether’s vision. “You kinda zoned out, there.”

“I did? Sorry, I don’t…uh. What’s going on?”

Aether’s mind is struggling furiously to recall where he is and what he is doing, but coming up blank. The last thing he remembers, he was standing with Morax, looking at Liyue Harbor. He must have been dreaming. So, why is he sitting in the Angels Share, with Venti’s concerned face peering into his, and Kazuha across the table, talking to a man who looks just like Ayato, but with black hair and grey eyes, and wearing a pair of fashionable spectacles and a dark grey suit, which Ayato would never wear.

“Yeah, no more wine for you,” Venti says, taking the half-empty glass from Aether’s hand. “I thought you Celestials could handle your booze.”

“We can and I’m not drunk,” Aether protests. “At least, I don’t think I am. I do feel like I lost some time, though. How long was I out?”

“You didn’t pass out, or anything. You were just sitting here, staring into your wine glass. I asked you a question three times and you just kept staring, like you didn’t even hear me. It was kind of creepy, honestly.”

As Venti is speaking, the fog begins to clear over Aether’s mind. He remembers that they parted from Diluc, who went to meet Barbara alone, and then…oh, right. They ran into Kazuha and Ayato’s evil twin, and Venti dragged everyone here for lunch, which for Venti, means several bottles of wine and maybe a pretzel. Now that he’s come back to his senses, it’s apparent to him that he was having one of his Morax dreams while wide awake. Is it even a dream, if you’re not sleeping? One of his Morax hallucinations? In any event, this has never happened before, and he needs to tell the alchemists about it, right away. Or, right after lunch, at least. Hallucinations are not an excuse for bad manners.

“Where are Thoma and Kaeya?” he asks Venti. “Aren’t they both supposed to be here protecting dark-Ayato? Or at least making a respectable show of it, since there’s no telling how many Shuumatsuban agents are in this actual room, right now?”

“I have no idea,” Venti shrugs. “Kaeya has been acting super weird lately. Spending a lot more time than usual at the winery, and out on night patrols. At least, he was before Lord Kamisato arrived. I haven’t seen him since then.”

“I had noticed he’s been acting weird. I don’t know what it’s about, either, though.”

Neither having any useful information to impart, at the moment, Aether and Venti turn their attention to the conversation at the table.

“You must ask my former official and unofficial lover,” the villain version of Ayato is saying to Kazuha. “I am not nearly so privy to the king’s counsels as he is.”

“What’s that?” Aether asks. “Who’s privy to what counsels?”

“Our dear friend Kaedehara-sama was just asking where His Highness King Diluc stands on Liyue’s wine and liquor tariffs,” evil-twin Ayato explains.

“I haven’t actually heard his opinion on that,” Aether admits. “But Captain Alberich, who owns the Dawn Winery and this tavern, calls the tariffs ‘protection money’ if he’s in a good mood, and ‘state-enforced highway robbery’ if he’s not.”

“As he is a preeminent exporter of the commodities in question, that does not surprise me,” Kazuha replies, with his usual knowing smile. “But, Prince Aether, you have your foot in both camps, so to speak. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“I definitely see Kaeya’s side of things, since heavy tariffs eat into his bottom lines, and he’s trying to run a profitable business. I also know Rex Lapis, and he is not fond of extortion, legal or otherwise. Liyue’s wine production is a perishing industry, since Mondstadt is close by and their products are inarguably superior. The Dawn Winery is well aware of this, as has been pricing their goods accordingly. If you look at the rise in their export prices over the past decade, you’ll find that the increased tariffs imposed by the Qixing correlate pretty much exactly with the rate of inflation. They’re just trying to avoid letting their own merchants get totally screwed by a burgeoning monopoly in Mondstadt.”

“Well put, my lord prince,” dark-timeline Ayato pronounces. “You see, Kazuha? I told you the Dragon Prince was more than just a pretty face and a perfect ass.”

“He did actually say that,” Kazuha informs Aether. “Unprompted and without context. Also, without explaining why he has been calling you the Dragon Prince.”

“It’s just something the Mondstadt people started calling me,” Aether replies. “I’m pretty sure they think that since my husband is the Dragon King, that title extends to me. Kuro-Ayato has been calling me that because he thinks it’s terribly funny.”

Ayato claps his gloved hands together and laughs delightedly. “Kuro-Ayato! An apposite appellation for me, since this cloaking enchantment chose raven-black hair and dark clothing for some reason. It was intended to make me look different, though, so I suppose it is a success.”

“I’d call it more than a success,” Aether remarks. “I like the black hair. And you are criminally sexy in glasses.”

“Speaking of criminally sexy, I did have a pair made with smoked-glass lenses, for when I’ve had a late night and it’s too bright out, but Thoma won’t let me wear them. He says the Kamisato Clan patriarch can’t go around looking like a yakuza boss. But if I can’t, then who can? That’s pretty much what I am.”

Venti’s huge eyes get even bigger. “Are you, really, Kamisato-sama? Do you…do you have tattoos?”

“Maybe I do,” Ayato says, with a coy smile at the bard. “I’ll leave it to your imagination.”

“He does not,” Aether interjects. “Trust me, I’d have seen them.”

Ayato crosses his arms petulantly. “You’re no fun. Just like that bully Thoma. No sunglasses, no tattoos, no milk-tea during official audiences. You know what? As soon as I get back to Inazuma, I’m going to get a tattoo of a koi or an oni or something, that covers my whole back. That’ll teach both of you.”

“I have a tattoo that covers my back,” Kazuha puts in. “I would offer to give you the name of my irezumi master, but I’m afraid he died, a long time ago.”

“That is thoughtful of you, but I was only talking nonsense about getting one,” Ayato says, with a laugh that approaches a giggle. “Thoma doesn’t like them, and I’d never want to disappoint him.”

Kazuha smiles. “You value Thoma’s opinion very highly, Kamisato-sama. Has he spoken to you about—”

“Wait a goddamn minute!” Aether interrupts. “I’m not ready to move on yet. Kazuha, you have a tattoo? That covers your whole back?”

“Yes. Hadn’t I mentioned it before?” Kazuha says, sounding as innocent as possible, which is something of a stretch for him.

Aether shakes his head, then instantly regrets it, as it triggers a wave of dizziness. “Ha. Just—just a second. I need to…sit down.”

“You are sitting down,” Venti says. “Are you sure you’re alright? Maybe that purification took more out of you than you thought.”

“The purif—that’s it! Venti, you’re a genius!” Aether exclaims, throwing his arms around the startled God of Wind.

Venti makes a face. “A genius? Ok, now I know you’re not well. I’m taking you back to the palace. Madame Ping will know what to do.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Aether insists, as he gets up to leave. “I have to go back and talk to Albedo, right now. I just figured something out that may be a huge clue as to what my weird dreams are about.”

“I thought King Diluc was the one with a dream problem,” Ayato frowns.

“No, he—well, yes, but this is different. Unrelated issue. Also, how did you know about that? Nevermind, tell me later. I’ve gotta go.”

“I can feel you swaying,” Venti says, taking hold of Aether’s arm. “Let me take you to your chambers to lie down. Albedo can come to you, there.”

“You’re the one swaying, Venti, and I am not going back to the palace, so you’d best just let me go.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord prince,” a man’s voice says behind Aether.

He turns to find a messenger in royal livery, bowing and holding out a little roll of paper to him, which bears the king’s seal. Aether takes it and thanks the man, then breaks the seal to read it, while Venti taps his foot impatiently.

“I’m going back to the palace,” he says, with a sheepish grin. “But not because you told me to! King Diluc wants me to come see him, immediately. He says it’s urgent.”

Venti looks annoyed, but can’t really argue with a royal summons, so with a promise to meet back up with them later, Aether bids his friends farewell and hurries away. The moment he is gone, Venti’s annoyed expression dissolves into an amiable smile. It’s not like the prince is going to get lost on the way to the palace, and it’s not his job to keep an eye on the kid twenty-four-seven. Besides, he’s having a really good time with his new best friend, Lord Kamisato, who has just called for another bottle of wine.

“So, sir bard,” Ayato says, leaning over to refill Venti’s glass. “I am very curious about this Captain Alberich, who almost singlehandedly controls the wine trade in Teyvat.”

“I guess he sort of does,” Venti laughs. “He’s a pretty interesting young man.”

“I have heard much about him, but I’m sure almost all of it is wild exaggeration.”

“That really depends on what you’ve heard.”

“Well, for example, I have heard that he has attained nearly legendary status for his sexual conquests.”

“Yeah, the Dawn Winery is pretty much a hot-people conveyor belt,” Venti says cheerfully. “I’ve stayed there a lot of times. Kaeya has all these sexy, fit, young men and women in and out of there constantly. They show up late at night, mostly. He’ll go into a room with them, sometimes two or three at once, and be in there for hours, with the doors locked. They’re never around for more than a night or two, though. And I’ve seen a lot of them leaving, early in the morning, looking pretty ragged.”

“That is very impressive, indeed,” Ayato laughs, refilling Venti’s glass again. “Perhaps I should build myself a winery. What do you think, Kazuha?”

“I think it is the type of man, rather than the type of building, that determines what activities take place therein,” Kazuha says, circumspectly.

When their leisurely lunch (meaning the wine) is finished, Venti excuses himself, pleading an appointment, and takes his leave. As the tavern door closes behind him, he steps into a gust of wind and vanishes. Almost instantaneously, he rematerializes in a similar gust, but in a very different place, hundreds of miles away. There is a fluttering sound, as the whirl of papers picked up from a desk drift down to settle like autumn leaves, all about the room in which he has appeared.

“Barbatos,” Rex Lapis says, not looking up from the document he has in hand. “You are aware of doors and their function, are you not?”

“Yeah, but your secretaries always give me a hard time,” Venti pouts. “You could at least tell them to let me in without hassling me.”

“I will give them no such instruction,” Rex Lapis answers flatly.

Unperturbed by this frosty reception, the bard saunters around behind the Dragon King’s chair and drapes his arms about him, resting his chin on one of his shoulders. The king continues his perusal of the document, making no sign that he has even noticed.

“Whatcha reading?” Venti asks.

“A proposal for a temporary tax increase of point-five percent on imported luxury goods, to fund the improvement and expansion of Liyue’s public schools.”

“Exhilarating. They gonna make a summer blockbuster out of that one?”

“That is not a concept that exists in my world, nor shall it.”

“Your loss. Movies are super fun,” Venti says, removing his arms from the king’s person, and stepping back around the massive, sandbearer-wood desk, to drop into one of the chairs. “You know they have whole companies that just make pornographic films? It’s a huge industry in some of the other realms. You should check it out.”

“I am aware of pornography. Had I any interest whatsoever in watching humans pretend to enjoy copulation with their coworkers, I would hire prostitutes to perform for me. Are you here for some reason other than interrupting my work and making a mess of my office?”

“Just wanted to chat. See what you’re up to.”

“I am working.”

“I can see that. What I can’t understand, is why. You have no reason to be doing all this mundane, administrative labor. Your people are far more than capable of doing it themselves. Congratulations, you raised them well. This nation practically runs itself. Now, why aren’t you out there enjoying yourself?”

“I am enjoying myself. This is what I like to do.”

“Why aren’t you with your husband?” Rex Lapis ignores this question, so Venti leans forward and puts his hands on his desk. “Morax. You have been waiting so long for this moment—this time, right now. Why are you wasting it? Why are you letting him get away?”

The king sighs and sets down the document. “I cannot force him to be what I want him to be. I cannot make him love me. I tried to fit him into the place I created for him in my life. But it was a mistake. The place I prepared was not for him, it was for the image of him I had created in my own mind. He hated it. He rebelled against me, with all his will, and he was right to do so. When I saw my error, I made the best choice I could, under the circumstances. I let him go, to shape himself according to his own will, without my influence. This is all I can do, now. Wait and hope.”

“All you’ve been doing is waiting and hoping! What if you wait too long, and all the sudden, it’s too late? What if he doesn’t come back?”

“That will be his decision. I must abide by it.”

“He’s falling for Diluc.”

“He has had many such infatuations. They pass.”

“This is different. They’ve spent half a year sharing a bed, without having sex. Actually getting to know one another. Becoming friends. Their attachment has slowly evolved into a romantic one, and it seems serious. They will become lovers very soon.”

“My husband has my leave to take what lovers he wishes.”

Venti leaps to his feet, beside himself with exasperation. “Are you even listening to me? Diluc is breaking his betrothal to Barbara! No Mondstadt king has ever broken an engagement contract!”

“I am glad to hear it. I hoped the prince would interfere in that doomed betrothal.”

“Well. I mean, I am, too. They would’ve been miserable married. But that’s not the point! Why are you not more worried about this?”

“Barbatos, you of all people should know better than to judge the state of my mind, based upon what is visible on the surface. That boy holds my heart in his hands. But if I am not willing to let him break it, have I truly given it to him? I have risked everything because he is worth nothing less than all that I have. I have given myself to him without reserve. If I lose him, I will suffer the consequences of my choices.”

“Morax…you’ll die. If all of what you’re saying is true—if you have really given yourself to him, all the way—and he does break your heart, it will destroy you.”

“I have accepted this possibility.”

Venti collapses back into the chair, with an aggravated sigh. “I don’t understand you, at all.”

“None of my children do,” Rex Lapis answers tranquilly.

“Please, don’t refer to me as one of your children. You’ve had your cock inside me.”

“Have I? Ah, yes. Now I remember. You found some beverage capable of intoxicating me, and I fucked you…somewhere outdoors. Where was it?”

“Cloud Retainer’s table. And that was not a beverage. That was the highly toxic concentrated form of a certain type of weaponized chemical, from another world.”

“That was certainly what it tasted like.”

“Welp. It’s been super fun reminiscing, but I’m gonna go do literally anything else.”

“Barbatos,” Rex Lapis says, as Venti rises to depart. “How is he?”

“He’s alright. Making friends, breaking up royal couples, foiling Snezhnayan assassination plots…you know. The usual.”

“Assassination plots,” he frowns. “Ajax has not been there, has he?”

“Nope, not as far as I know. This one reads more like il Dottore’s work, to me, but he hasn’t been back in Mondstadt since one of his prostheses was found tortured and dismembered in an underground dungeon in Decarabian’s old city.”

“Why do you say it seems like his work? What was the method?”

“It was an enchanted metal bug that released Abyssal poison into Diluc’s ear canal. Apparently, it’s what was making him suicidal. Aether zapped it with Celestial energy, so everything should be fine, now. Though…he was a little off today, afterward.”

“Off? How so?”

“He zoned out while we were sitting at the tavern together. Like, hard. It was just for a few seconds, but he was not home, at all. I suggested it might be exhaustion related to the purification. Then he called me a genius and said he had to talk to Albedo, right away.”

“A genius? He must’ve been feeling unwell. Why did he want to speak with Albedo?”

“Dunno. Something about dreams he’s been having.”

“Dreams?” Rex Lapis says, his eyes flashing on Venti with sudden intensity. “What kind of dreams?”

“I—I don’t know,” Venti stammers, startled by the abrupt shift in his demeanor. “He just said weird dreams. Is that important?”

Rex Lapis instantly resumes his usual cool composure. “It is nothing with which you need concern yourself. If you will excuse me, I would like to get back to work. Leave the papers. My secretaries will clean them up. And Barbatos…thank you.”

“Ok, you’re officially freaking me out,” Venti says, with a distasteful grimace. “I’m gonna go before you hug me, or something. See ya.”

Chapter Text

The palace is close enough to the Angels’ Share, that it’s not much of a walk, even for a normal human, and within ten minutes, Aether is being ushered into the king’s drawing room by Toland, the loyal chamberlain. He enters to find Barbara and Diluc loitering sullenly at opposite ends of the room, like primary school children having an argument.

“Prince Aether, thank the gods you’re here,” Diluc says in greeting, then points a black-gloved finger at Lady Barbara. “Please talk some sense into this woman. She is being completely unreasonable.”

“Oh, please!” Barbara pipes up, with an indignant toss of her platinum curls. “He is the one who is being unreasonable, my lord prince. If anyone needs sense-talking, it’s him.”

“You see? Utterly intractable. I cannot negotiate with such a stubborn woman!”

“And I can’t negotiate with such a pigheaded man!”

“Ok, everyone calm down,” Aether interposes, using his best grown-up voice. “I’m sure whatever it is, we can work it out. Now, tell me what the problem is, one at a time. Diluc?”

“It is quite simple,” Diluc answers. “I have devised a plan to release Lady Barbara from our betrothal, that will ensure no blame falls upon herself, but she absolutely refuses to cooperate. Perhaps you can make her see reason, because I am at my wits’ end.”

“Uh…huh,” Aether says doubtfully. “Lady Barbara?”

“He is right about that, at least. I do refuse to cooperate,” Barbara replies tartly. “I will never agree to such an outrageous scheme. If he tries to implement it in spite of me, I will publicly state that we have reconciled and the marriage is still on.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Diluc exclaims, looking deeply affronted.

Barbara narrows her bright-blue eyes and plants her little hands on her hips. “Try. Me.”

Aether has to clear his throat to stifle a laugh at the uncharacteristically spirited bickering, between two people he’s only ever seen handle one another as if they’re Fabergé eggs full of nitroglycerin. Ironically enough, one would actually be inclined to take them for a married couple, at the moment. This can only be a good sign, though. Arguing means the kid gloves are finally off and they’re talking to each other like human beings.

“Let’s back up a few steps,” he suggests. “What is this plan? Is it really so bad that you’d call off the whole deal, Lady Barbara?”

“The king must explain it to you, my lord prince,” Barbara sniffs. “It’s vulgar and I will not repeat it.”

Aether turns to the king. “Diluc?”

“It is not vulgar, it is pragmatic,” Diluc contends. “As we all know, in order to protect Lady Barbara from potential negative repercussions, the dissolution of our betrothal must be due to a breach of contract by me. I have proposed that you and I cause to be ‘accidentally’ exposed, the fact that you have shared my bed for the past six months. People will infer the rest, thus placing me in demonstrable violation of the fidelity clause of the betrothal agreement, as far as everyone is concerned, and releasing Barbara from any culpability, legal or social. If anything, she will be even more beloved by the public than ever, as a wronged innocent woman.”

“Hold on. Barbara, you knew we were sharing a bed?” Aether asks, taken aback.

Barbara looks confused. “Well…of course I did.”

“Have you known the whole time?”

“I have. After the first night you spent in his chamber, my lord the king came to me and told me what had occurred, and explained to me his reasons for asking you to continue to stay with him. I was so happy to hear that he had discovered a way to have some relief from his suffering. Mondstadt is deeply in your debt for having rendered such vital aid to our king, my lord prince.”

“Diluc, you told Barbara, that same day? After Toland asked me to help you?”

“Naturally.” Diluc’s scarlet brow furrows. “I would never have undertaken such a thing, without Lady Barbara’s knowledge and consent, Prince Aether. Did you truly believe me capable of such false conduct?”

“I have no idea what to believe,” Aether replies, bewildered. “Can a man that honorable and honest really exist? Are you real?”

“It troubles me that you are so surprised,” Diluc says gravely. “I do not like to imagine what manner of people you must associate with, if such basic decency seems incredible to you.”

“Yeah…you may have a point. Anyway, I think we’ve gotten to the heart of your dispute. It seems to me that you’ve already agreed to amicable separation, but you’ve come to an impasse, because neither of you will agree to allow the other to sacrifice themselves for your sake. Is that correct?”

“Well, if you must put it that way,” Barbara says, fidgeting with one of her long curls.

“I suppose that is the disagreement, yes,” Diluc admits.

“I think that’s a really good problem to have,” Aether encourages. “That means you two are of the same mind, where it counts, and that you’re both putting each other’s wellbeing foremost. That’s more than a lot of couples who actually go through with getting married could say. So, let’s start with why Diluc thinks his solution is best, and then hear Barbara’s specific objections.”

“My plan is best because it is straightforward, and comes with the groundwork already accomplished. You and I simply continue as we have done, and arrange to be caught in the act, as it were, by a party who would be certain to make it public. Once it is publicly known, the Gunnhildr Clan will not be able to sweep it under the rug. They will be forced to confront me and demand that I answer the accusation. I will not deny the affair. They will have no choice but to withdraw Lady Barbara from the engagement, or they risk appearing weak and losing honor. When the public hear the conclusion of the situation, there will be no doubt in their minds that I have been unfaithful to their beloved Deaconess. Thus, I will be held fully culpable by all parties, for the termination of the betrothal.”

“But that is why I object!” Barbara breaks in, her usually gentle voice hoarse with emotion. So saying, she approaches her fiancée boldly, and takes his hand in hers, looking up at him pleadingly. “You will be spoken of as an adulterer and an oathbreaker, when you have done nothing wrong. I cannot allow it. I will not see you sacrificed on the altar of public opinion, in order to save me. What a coward would I be, to use my king to shield myself?”

Aether looks on silently, staggered by the absolute faith Barbara has in Diluc’s integrity. She truly believes, without reservation, that he spent six months sharing a bed with another person, and did not violate the terms of his engagement contract. She is correct, of course, and he did not. But to be the kind of man in which others place such perfect trust…this must be why his own people worship him, and the other nations speak of him as one of the most righteous and respectable rulers in Teyvat.

“My lady, I am not so innocent in this matter as you think me,” Diluc is saying apologetically, with Barbara’s tiny, white-gloved hand clasped between both of his much larger, red and black-gloved hands. “It is true that nothing for which I must be ashamed has passed between the prince and myself. But in the time he and I have spent together, I have become…attached to him. In fact, I desire him to be my lover.”

“I see,” Barbara says slowly, drawing away from him and turning to Aether. “And you, my lord prince. You feel the same way? You wish to be my lord the king’s lover?”

Aether nods. “Yes, I do. If it had been up to me, we’d already be lovers, but you know him. He insists on doing things the honorable way, so here we are.”

“So you see, my lady, I have been unfaithful in heart, if not in deed,” Diluc says. “If the Gunnhildr Clan and our people believe the prince and I carried on a romantic affair, they will only believe what will eventually become true.”

“But what of His Divine Majesty?” Barbara asks Aether, in a hushed tone. “If your affair becomes public, he will hear of it. Will he not be angry? What will happen to you?”

“Oh…Lady Barbara, that’s very kind of you, but don’t worry about me,” Aether says, with a mirthless laugh. “My husband and I have both taken lovers outside our marriage. He did give me verbal permission to take what lovers I choose, but it’s actually written into our marriage contract, too.”

Barbara’s eyes go wide with bewilderment. “The Dragon King has taken lovers?”

“He has. Barbatos was very briefly one of them, like a thousand years ago, and he’s had one that I know of, since we’ve been married. I didn’t think you’d be so shocked. You’re the one who told me the gods are basically a bunch of horny, petty teenagers, aren’t you?”

“I did say that, but I meant elemental gods like Lord Barbatos, not Rex Lapis himself,” she says, sinking into a nearby chair. “I thought he was above all that. To be perfectly honest, I assumed your marriage was more of a spiritual union than a regular marriage, like humans have. Did you have sex? With each other?”

“Oh boy, did we ever. That was the one thing we were actually good at doing together.”

The furrow in Diluc’s brow deepens. “I’d rather not hear about it, if you don’t mind.”

“You jealous of me sleeping with my husband?”

“Yes. I am. You know I am,” Diluc answers petulantly, at which Aether laughs.

“You’re just making me like you more, with all that pouting. It’s ridiculously cute.”

Barbara rolls her eyes. “Oh, wonderful, you two are already disgusting. Wait till I’m out of the room, at least.”

“Whatever. You’re just mad because your ship didn’t sail,” Aether retorts.

“What! No!” Barbara stammers, blushing like a rose. “I don’t even—it was no such thing! I just thought you two liked each other!”

“What two?” Diluc wants to know.

“Barbara thought me and Kaeya were a hot, sexy item,” Aether explains.

“I’m not the only one who thought it!” she defends. “You two were always flirting.”

Diluc frowns thoughtfully. “Really? Huh. I just can’t see you and him together, that way.”

“I know, right?” Aether grimaces. “Yack. It’d be like kissing my brother. Gross.”

“Ha. Yeah. So…disgusting,” Diluc mumbles, tugging uneasily at his glove.

Barbara tilts her head to one side, regarding Aether curiously. “Come to think of it, my lord prince, you and Captain Alberich do rather remind me of one another. Maybe that’s why my mind kept putting you two together.”

“Pfft, sure, I get that a lot,” Aether snorts. “People are always telling me how tall and sexy and Khaenri’ahn I am.”

“You’re making fun of me, but I’m serious,” Barbara insists. “It’s not how you look, you just…you two have similar energy, or something.”

“Uh…thanks?”

“Since we’re all talking so freely together,” Diluc interjects. “Shall I assume, my lady, that you do not object to my relationship with the prince?”

“Object? No, not at all. Why would I?”

Aether crosses his arms. “Yeah, why would she?”

“I don’t know!” Diluc says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I just wanted to be sure we’re all on the same page!”

“I suppose, if the breach of contract is genuine, I can’t reasonably oppose your plan,” Barbara muses, putting her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands. “If you two were to consummate your relationship, and then the affair between you was discovered, there would be nothing I could really say about it.”

Diluc pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just a moment. My lady, forgive me if I misheard, but it sounds as if you are telling us that we—that the prince and I should, ah…”

“Fuck. She thinks we should fuck,” Aether assists.

“I would have phrased it less crassly, but that is the gist, yes,” Barbara agrees. “After all, I can’t in good conscience deny what I know to be true. It is only that I detest the idea of the people thinking any ill of you, my lord king.”

“That’s why this is a good plan,” Aether puts in. “It’s far more likely that the people will blame me for the whole thing. I’m an outsider, which already makes me a more comfortable target for criticism than their king, who they love and admire. Plus, my pre-existing reputation as a wanton Celestial seductress will add fuel to the blame fire, and ensure most of it is directed squarely at me.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Barbara says, with an expression of deep trepidation clouding her lovely face. “Why would you want to do such a thing for us? Why should you take any blame upon yourself, for the benefit of a pair of insignificant human children?”

“You’re not insignificant. Neither of you. I know Diluc and I got off to a rough start, but you’ve both become very important, to me. I would even go so far as to call you friends.”

“I have a feeling you’d have helped us, even if you and I remained cordial enemies,” Diluc remarks. “You’ve been taking care of me since Toland went to you behind my back and asked for your help, and we could hardly stand the sight of one another, back then. I always wondered why you were willing to do that, for me. There was no benefit to you, whatsoever.”

“I don’t know why, exactly,” Aether says honestly. “I just knew that if I could help you, I had to do it. It’s something I’ve been struggling to understand about myself. Celestials don’t think very much of humans, and I wasn’t taught any different. But soon after I came to Teyvat, my feelings began to change. It started as a reflexive loathing toward the suffering of innocent people. But more and more, I feel like it’s my duty, somehow, to extend my hand to human beings in need. It’s not that I just want to. I feel almost…compelled to stand between people and suffering. I can’t explain it better than that.”

“You really are like an angel of mercy,” Barbara laughs. “You have the wings, and everything.”

“Wings?” Diluc asks, not understanding the joke.

“Oh, my lord king, I’d forgotten! You didn’t see Prince Aether’s entrance at the costume ball. He descended from the skylight dressed as Lord Barbatos, with his magnificent wings unfurled, playing a replica of the Lyre der Himmel. He was so beautiful. It was an absolute sensation.”

Diluc arches an eyebrow. “I recall the Lord Barbatos costume, very well. You must show me these magnificent wings sometime, Prince Aether.”

“I don’t know about magnificent,” Aether says, looking down at his hands. “They’re just wings, all Celestials have them.”

Sensing Aether’s real discomfort, Diluc directs the conversation elsewhere. “So, my lady, it would appear that we are close to reaching an accord, in this matter. Would you agree?”

“I…I think so,” Barbara says. “I’m still not entirely enthusiastic about the way you want to do it, but it’s not as if I have a better plan. And at least this way, it will be a clean break, leaving little room for objection from the Gunnhildr Clan.”

“It will, and I believe that will be for the best. Once I have worked out the legal logistics with the Lord Seneschal, and decided upon the palace’s official response, I will contact you. If all is well, we will proceed then, with your blessing.”

Barbara takes a shaky breath, then nods. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

“Excellent. Thank you, my lady,” Diluc smiles. “Prince Aether, if you would excuse us a moment? I wish to have a private word with Lady Barbara.”

“Sure,” Aether says, hopping up from the couch. “I should get back to Ayato and Kazuha, anyway. I finally have guests, and I’ve neglected them completely. I’ll see you guys later. And congratulations, to both of you! I’m really happy for you.”

With bows and warm farewells on both sides, the prince exits the drawing room. When he is gone, Diluc turns to Lady Barbara and opens his mouth, as if he is going to speak. Apparently unable to find the words he wants, he shuts it again and stands looking at the floor, anxiously rubbing his gloved hands together. He gives a start and looks up quickly, as Lady Barbara takes them in hers. Her big, beautiful blue eyes are glistening and pink-rimmed, but she is smiling. The most genuine and lovely smile he has ever seen on her face.   

“If I may speak candidly once again, my lord king,” she says, in a tearful, but not unhappy voice. “I can never adequately express my gratitude to you, for showing me such kindness over these past years. You are truly the best man I have ever known. And though I could never feel about you the way a future wife should have, I have always loved you. Ever since the day of that reception at the palace, when I was little, and you came to me to offer your aid and protection.”

“I remember that,” Diluc laughs. “It was your first visit to court, with your father. I was a only child, myself, but it felt like the proper thing to do, since I’d been told you’d be my wife one day.”

“You were so serious and intense,” Barbara says, laughing as well. “My father worried that you’d frightened me, but I thought you were handsome and gallant. You may think it only a girl’s folly, but to me, you have been like a wise elder brother. I admire you and respect you, above all other men. I will be so sorry not to see you, anymore. I wish we could have become friends.”

“But, Lady Barbara, I am not leaving the country, nor are you. We will see one another often, in the natural course of our lives. Why should we not be friends?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that, once the weight of this unwanted engagement is off our shoulders, we will be free to interact as human beings and equals. Let us get to know one another, without all the obligation and ceremony between us. Let us really be friends. I mean, if you would still like to be my friend, that is.”

“I would—I would like that very much,” Barbara sniffles, bursting into tears again.

Without thinking, Diluc wraps his arms comfortingly around her. It immediately occurs to him that he has never taken such a liberty with her, in all the time they have known one another, but there is no retracting it, now. To his surprise, she does not appear offended, and leans gratefully into the embrace. Pleased with this development, he pats her back and speaks some soothing words, until she has done weeping and draws away. Once she has composed herself, he escorts her to the door, but before he opens it, he pauses and turns back to her.

“Lady Barbara, if I may request one small favor,” he says, with a visible wince. “If it would not be too much trouble…could you ask your sister not to kill me, when all of this comes out?”

“I can ask, but you know Jean,” Barbara replies archly. “Once she’s taken it into her head to do something, there’s no reasoning with her. She doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“Perhaps it would be a better idea to get ahead of it and speak with her directly. Before the story goes public.”

“If you want to put your head into the lion’s mouth, I can’t stop you, your highness. But maybe you should take Prince Aether with you, for protection. Just in case.”

“That is not a bad idea,” Diluc says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Were you aware that Celestials are far stronger than humans? Even vision-holders?”

“I heard something like that. But we can talk about it another time. Don’t you think you’ve kept your lover waiting long enough? Go get him!”

Despite Lady Barbara’s well-meaning admonition, Diluc leaves their conference and goes directly back to work. His first duty is to the people of Mondstadt, and as such, he has audiences and meetings and hearings, and all manner of other demands on his time, for what appears to be the rest of the foreseeable future. Due to his entire morning schedule being pushed back, his afternoon is jam-packed with proposals for community projects from the Mondstadt Beautification Society, reports from the Commerce Guild regarding the impact of inclement weather on quarterly tourism revenue, the Green Cross seeking funding to aid veteran adventurers, whose age or health prevents them finding gainful employment, and the like.

One of the things that makes Diluc such a capable ruler, despite his youth, is the fact that he genuinely enjoys this kind of administrative work, and devotes himself energetically to tasks others find dull and tedious. Today, however, he finds himself absent and distractible, in a way he hasn’t been before. He pretends to think it might be a side-effect of the destruction of the corrupting enchantment, but really, it’s the beautiful Celestial boy, who has dawned upon his bleak horizon like a new sun rising, and changed everything.

Prince Aether will leave him, one day. Of that he is certain. But whatever happens then—whatever pain the future may hold—the time they do have together will be worth it. He adores the boy to the point that he comes near to rivalling his one true love for the foremost place in his heart. Near, but not all the way. Having given his heart once, it is given forever, come what may. But his beloved has abandoned him to solitary suffering, refused his attempts to reconcile, and flaunted his other lovers in public, to the point where his sexual exploits are a topic of common conversation. All while Diluc betrayed neither his vow of eternal love to him, nor his betrothal contract to Lady Barbara, and remained celibate for years.

He is drawn from his reflections by Roderick giving him a subtle nudge, reminding him to at least appear to be paying attention. This is the final audience of the day, and Viktor and his lackeys from the Snezhnayan Embassy are here to present their case, having lodged a formal complaint against the Knights of Favonius. Since it’s technically a diplomatic issue, the king is obligated to hear the complaint, but he’d really rather not. It’s sure to be something ridiculous and petty, ginned up by the Fatui as another excuse to be in a constant state of offense with Mondstadt.

“As these reports have clearly demonstrated,” Viktor is saying. “Snezhnayan cargo transports are robbed, on Mondstadt’s highways, at a significantly higher rate than those of all other types, combined.”

“I can see that Viktor, thank you,” Roderick answers, with a forbearing sigh. “But you have lodged a complaint against the Knights of Favonius. Do you mean to suggest that the Knights are out there, robbing Snezhnayan caravans?”

“Of course not!” Viktor returns energetically. “What I am suggesting, is that Snezhnayan transports are given far less protection by the Knights of Favonius than that accorded to others. Look at page seven! In attempted robberies, where the bandits in question were interrupted by the Knights, the Knights succeeded in protecting the caravan and driving away or arresting the bandits, every time. Out of eighty such robberies or attempted robberies last fiscal year, sixty-two were perpetrated against Snezhnayan transports. That leaves only eighteen attacks on non-Snezhnayans. Of those, ten were prevented by the Knights. Whereas, the Knights only prevented twenty of the sixty-two attacks on Snezhnayan transports.”

“So, according to your data, the Knights of Favonius prevented more bandit attacks on Snezhnayan transports than upon all other types of transports, last year,” Roderick replies drily. “And you’ve come to make a complaint, claiming this is unfair treatment.”

“No! You’re—you’re intentionally twisting the data!” Viktor fires back, beginning to grow red in the face, now. “It’s the percentage that is the issue, not the—look! A more than fifty percent prevention rate among all of these, non-Snezhnayan transports, and a less than thirty percent prevention rate on these, which are the Snezhnayan ones. Now do you see?”

“Viktor, the Knights aren’t culpable for bandits targeting Snezhnayan cargo disproportionately,” Roderick says patiently. “As for the numbers you cite, there are other factors at play, here. For example, the fact that there are more Snezhnayan transports on the roads than those from any other single source. If anything, Snezhnaya is creating a serious liability on our roads, by packing them with robbery targets. How can the Knights be expected to handle so much more protection of Snezhnayan transports than is necessary for anyone else, without dereliction of their other duties? Do I have to remind you that they are not your private security service?”

“No one is suggesting that they are, Lord Seneschal,” Viktor replies, looking very clever, as he is obviously winding up to the crux of his case. “In fact, we would be willing to withdraw this complaint and relieve the Knights of the burden of protecting our transports entirely. If the king will agree to it, we propose to have our own military personnel provide escorts to our—”

“Absolutely not,” Diluc interrupts, in a resonant, authoritative tone, startling the ambassador nearly out of his skin. “I will never allow armed foreign military detachments to patrol Mondstadt’s roads. What you are proposing is an intimidation tactic, designed to create fear in the local populace, and make it appear as if you have already established a strong military presence here. Unless you have a real proposal to make, our business is concluded.”

“First of all, your highness, I take great umbrage to the suggestion of such a devious ploy on the part of the Snezhnayan—” Viktor begins, but Diluc cuts him off again.

“You have heard my answer. If you have a problem with the way the Knights of Favonius attend to their duties, address it using the appropriate channels. Do not waste the court’s time annoying me with it.”

“B—but your highness!” Viktor sputters. “We have hard data! You can’t simply dismiss this out of hand!”

“I can and I have,” Diluc says, rising from his chair, which compels everyone else to do so, as well. “I’m done listening to this absurdity. Court is adjourned.”

With that, the young monarch strides briskly out of the room, leaving Viktor and his colleagues muttering amongst themselves whilst they hastily gather up their documents and their wits, and the Lord Seneschal staring after the king, dumbstruck by the sudden and extraordinary change in his manner. For just a moment, there, he’d almost thought he was hearing King Diluc’s father’s voice. Perhaps the boy will grow to fill those majestic shoes, after all.

The king returns to his chambers, exhausted, but not dispirited. He thinks he’s felt better today than usual, but he’s been so buffeted about with demands on his attention, he’s hardly had a chance to notice. The clock proclaims the hour of ten, as Toland takes his overcoat and exchanges it for a cup of hot tea. He falls into the sofa in front of his fireplace, and sips the tea without much tasting it, while Toland pulls his boots off and carries them away. No message from the prince. He’s certainly still with his visiting friends at this hour. He’ll come later, so there’s no need to fret about it. Diluc can’t help but feel a bit disappointed, though. He’d been hoping Aether would be waiting for him, as impatient to finally be intimate together as he is.

Downing the rest of his tea in one go and thanking Toland for his good work today, he heads to his bedchamber, intending to read while he awaits the prince. He opens the door and stops dead in his tracks, as the scene unfolds before him. The entire atmosphere is bathed in the dancing, golden light of candles, placed at strategic locations all about the room. Upon his bed is Prince Aether, lounging on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, which displays the curve of his lower back and the round swell of his taut little ass to the best possible advantage. His lithe, silky, naked body shimmers in the candlelight, like he’s been dusted with powdered gold, and there are gold bangles tinkling on his wrists, along with delicate gold chains around his neck and waist, complementing his long braid, which hangs over one shoulder.

“What are you…what are you doing?” Diluc asks, more breathlessly than he’d have liked.

“Having bad bed boundaries,” the prince answers pertly, arching his back to pose like a pinup girl.

The king steps to the edge of the bed. Slowly, as if mesmerized, he reaches out and touches the back of Aether’s thigh with his fingertips. “Are you really here? Am I dreaming this?”

The hand is drawn away. His gloves and waistcoat are tossed onto a chair, followed shortly by his shirt. Aether bites his bottom lip and spreads his knees invitingly, as the king’s weight pushes down on the mattress behind him. With his legs parted, the smooth bulge of his sack is just visible between them. Diluc’s hands slide up both thighs onto his ass, cupping and squeezing it, as his thumbs spread it apart.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, through a sharply exhaled breath.

Covering the prince’s asshole, there is a thick medallion of gold, set with a brilliant-cut crimson gem, that looks like a ruby. The base of a plug. Diluc prods it with his thumb, and Aether gives a soft gasp and rocks his hips, which pretty nearly undoes his human lover. Diluc takes hold of Aether’s narrow waist and rolls him over, leaning in to kiss him, but Aether stops him with a raised finger.

“Will you do something for me first?” he asks.

“Anything,” Diluc answers truthfully.

“Let your hair down?”

Diluc smiles at the sweetness of the request, as he reaches back and undoes the black ribbon, allowing his unruly, scarlet mane to fall free about his shoulders. Then he lowers his body on top of Aether’s. Aether buries both hands in his hair and at long, long last, their mouths find each other. Diluc moans involuntarily into the kiss, as Aether’s tongue caresses his. His head is fuzzy and overheated and his stomach is doing dizzy flips, like he’s tumbled off a cliff. He is finally kissing and touching him, holding him close, breathing the same breath and feeling his naked skin pressed against his own. His cock is rigid and aching to be inside him, leaking a wet spot into his underwear. There is no way he lasts more than a minute in this state, so he will make sure the prince is happy, first. To that end, he pushes himself up onto his knees, attempting not to be embarrassed by his own audacity.

“Can you…hold your legs up, for me?”

Aether complies, grabbing the backs of his knees and pulling them up to his chest, spreading them wide apart. Diluc stares, awestruck by his flawlessness, as he lies there looking up at him from beneath his long eyelashes, lips wet and kiss-bruised, and his body fully exposed and vulnerable to his lover. The crimson gem glitters in the cleft of his ass, and his small cock is ruddy and stiff and leaking clear fluid from the slit. Diluc’s mouth waters to taste him.

“Do you like it?” Aether asks, lowering his eyes and blushing shyly. “I got myself all ready for you.”

“You’re f—you’re fucking perfect,” Diluc says hoarsely.

Putting one hand on the back of Aether’s thigh, he takes hold of the the round base of the plug with the other. Aether gives a wail, arching his back hard, as Diluc bends down and takes his cock into his mouth in one slow slide, till his nose is pressed against Aether’s smooth pubis. Intoxicated by the scent and taste of him, he bobs on it, licking and sucking and swallowing, working the plug a little way out and feeling his hole suck it back in each time.

“Wait, stop!” Aether gasps. “Not so fast! You’ll…ungh! You’ll make me come!”

“Come in my mouth,” Diluc says, then goes on deep-throating his dick and fucking him with the plug.

Aether gives a hoarse cry, and grabs his head with both hands, his hips jerking involuntarily as his cock throbs, spurting salty fluid into the back of Diluc’s throat. He swallows it, without missing a beat, and then pulls off slowly, licking up the last drops. Still holding Aether’s thigh up, he pulls the plug firmly, till it pops out with an obscene squelch. Clear lubricant trickles from the boy’s swollen, convulsing hole. Fuck. He had intended to take his time, but his self-control is hanging by a very thin thread. Then Aether reaches down between them and unfastens his fly. Diluc bucks and shudders as the prince’s cool hand wraps around his painfully hard cock.

“Mmm, what to do,” Aether hums, pumping the shaft lazily. “I wanted to tease you, but I want you inside me so bad, I might actually die.”

“Pardon my impatience, my lord prince,” Diluc rasps. “I can’t wait any longer.”

Aether draws his hand away from his cock and Diluc guides it with his own, pressing the swollen head against Aether’s slippery, pink hole. Looking into his eyes, he penetrates him, sinking inch by inch into the lusciously squeezing heat, that stretches taut around his thick shaft. Aether gives a shuddering moan, as it finally bottoms out. It’s too much. Too good. He’s going to come so fucking fast. Holding his pelvis flush against his ass, Diluc rocks his hips gently, fighting desperately against the urge to thrust.

“You feel…so good,” he says, in a strained voice. “I’m not going to last long, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care, just fuck me,” Aether purrs. “Come inside me. Make me yours.”

Thus encouraged, Diluc pulls out and plunges sharply back in, all the way to the base, drawing a punched out cry from Aether’s lips. Aether hooks his legs around his waist and clings to Diluc as he fucks him fast and hard, until he gives a choked cry and lunges forward, covering Aether’s mouth in a sloppy kiss as his dick convulses, releasing a flood of pent up seed, deep in his velvety heat. He keeps thrusting in the slippery slick, riding out the spasms as long as he can, then finally, he withdraws and collapses on top of Aether. The prince laughs and strokes his back with his fingertips, while he regains command of his limbs. When he can move again, he rolls off him and lies there puffing for breath, as if he’s just run a marathon. Aether props himself up on one elbow and fans him with his hand, pleasantly cooling his sweat-damp skin.

Diluc turns his head on the pillow to look at him, and frowns. “How come you’re not a sweaty mess? You’re not even out of breath, are you.”

“It’s one of my Celestial superpowers,” Aether chirps. “So, how did you like fucking the Dragon Prince? Was it everything you hoped for?”

“Absolutely. Definitely worth being beheaded by the Dragon King.”

“Wow, high praise.”

“I had hoped I’d last longer than that, but I knew it was a fool’s hope,” Diluc laments, with a doleful sigh.

“After a six year dry spell, I’m surprised you didn’t come as soon as you put it in. Speaking of which, I have a bone to pick with you. You claimed you’d only had one lover, and since I can do math, I know that would mean you haven’t had sex since you were seventeen. But that’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible, it’s true.”

“Suuuuuure it is,” Aether says, narrowing his eyes cagily.

“What? It is! Why would I lie about that? To sound more pathetic?”

Aether still appears unconvinced. “Well, then, whoever this one lover was, you must’ve done it constantly, because you actually know your way around a bed. You had me all prepared for a bumbling novice, who hardly knew what tab to insert in which slot.”

“I will take that as a compliment. But yes, we were teenagers, we did it like rabbits in heat. Basically every single moment we could steal to be alone, we spent fucking, from when I was fifteen until I was seventeen. After the coronation, I told him I wasn’t going to break my engagement, and you know the rest.”

“I thought you became king at sixteen.”

“I did, but there were a lot of formalities and bureaucratic drudgery to be got through, so I wasn’t crowned until after I’d turned seventeen.”

“So, technically, for a little while, that teenaged boy was fucking the king.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not going to tell me who the lucky little bastard is.”

“It doesn’t matter. He has made it abundantly clear that he’s over me. It’s been over for a long time.”

“Why won’t you telllll meeeeeee,” Aether fusses, climbing up to sit astride his lap and jab his stomach with his index fingers, till Diluc arrests his hands. “Ooh, wait…is it because it’s someone super embarrassing? I bet Kaeya would tell me. Or Venti! He’ll definitely spill the beans, if I get him drunk enough.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Diluc chuckles. “Unless you have a line on some Fire Water. And don’t think you’ll get it from the Dawn Winery. Kaeya only keeps it for private use. It’s illegal to sell it, in Mondstadt.”

“I don’t need Venti’s help, anyway. I can figure this out on my own,” Aether retorts. “Who could it be…I only know a few men here, who are around the right age to—oh my god, I figured it out! I know who it is!”

“You do?”

“Yep! Who’s one of the hottest guys in Mondstadt, who’s about a yearish younger than you, and has been close to you, your whole life, thus giving him plenty of opportunity to get into your royal pants?”

Diluc’s ivory face goes half a shade paler. “I…uh…look, before you jump to any conclu—”

“Huffman! It’s Huffman!” Aether announces triumphantly.

“It’s—what?” Diluc blinks, then bursts out laughing in astonishment. “Are you serious?”

“There’s no use denying it, now. You are busted. I know he was a royal page, before he finished school and applied to the Knights, so you and him would’ve been together all the time, when you were kids. Plus, he’s hot and he’s a really good k—uh. He’s a really good…knight…” Aether trails off, twirling the end of his braid, studiously avoiding Diluc’s eye.

“He’s a really good what!” Diluc demands. Getting no answer, he rolls the prince onto his back and pins his wrists above his head. “What did you do to Huffman, you little demon? You better not have sullied his innocence.”

Aether pretends to struggle in his grasp. “Nothing! Almost nothing! We just made out a little bit, one time!”

“I really can’t take my eyes off you for a second, can I,” Diluc clucks, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Seriously, though, you leave Huffman alone. He’s very earnest and gets his heart broken far too easily. Also, he’s heterosexual.”

“He is? Well, pooh for my theory. Though, I’m not shocked that he kissed me, anyway. A lot of people here mistake me for a girl, but even when hetero guys know I’m also a guy, they approach me. Something about me makes human males not care that I have a dick.”

“Are you actually saying, with a straight face, that you’re so sexy, it transcends gender and no man can resist you?”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, unfortunately, you’re not wrong.”

“I’m glad we agree. Actually, it’d be easier for us both, in the future, if you just accept now that I’m never wrong, and declare me the pre-winner of all argu—ah! Hey! What are you doing!” Aether protests, as he is flipped abruptly onto his stomach, and dragged up onto his knees by his hips.

“I’m conceding the argument to you,” Diluc says innocently. “You are right. And since I am a human male, which by your logic means I can’t resist you, I must fuck you again.”

“But how can you already be ready?”

By way of answer, Diluc spreads his ass apart and slots his heavy shaft into the cleft, to slide it up and down over his freshly-fucked hole, in the slick of his own semen. Aether whimpers and digs his fingers into the mattress as he slowly impales him on it. One big, hot hand slips around to cradle his abdomen, the other planted on the bed beside his head, supporting Diluc’s weight as he leans over him. An intimate, possessive posture, in which he envelops the prince’s slender body almost entirely in his own. Aether reaches behind him and clutches his thigh, pushing back against him as he rocks into him, arching his back to tilt his ass higher, taking his dick as deep as he can.

Diluc runs his eyes along the alluring curve of his petite waist. Watches his round ass bounce against his hips, as it slides up and down his shaft. Listens to his voice, panting and begging for more. Something like anger washes over him, suddenly, causing his neck and face to flush with heat. Primal jealousy, at the fact that this pretty bitch has let so many men use him like this. This silky voice has called so many names in breathless ecstasy. This hot little hole has eagerly swallowed so many cocks. An image flashes into his mind, of Aether bent over and locked in a pillory in the city square, stark naked and spattered all over with semen, moaning lasciviously, as a line of anonymous men fuck his ass and mouth, two at a time, pumping their loads into him like he’s a public toilet. The thought makes Diluc so hard he can feel his dick pulsing. He takes hold of Aether’s arm and yanks it behind him, using it as leverage as he beats his hips against his ass.

“You’re too d—deep,” Aether chokes out, between savage thrusts. “I can’t…I can’t h—”

“Shut up and take it, you little slut,” Diluc growls, grabbing the scruff of his neck and pushing his face down into the mattress. “Come for me. Come on my cock.”

Instantly, Aether’s hole constricts tightly on his shaft and he gives a muffled wail, writhing and quivering, as his dick convulses and spurts all over the bedcover. Diluc holds him down, pounding into him with a violence that surprises himself, until all at once, the thread snaps and the tension explodes. His hips stutter at the top of his erratic thrusts as he comes hard, fucking his intense ejaculation into Aether in long, aching bursts. He holds his cock deep inside him, dazed and gasping for breath, as the spasms ebb.

“I’m so—I’m so sorry,” he pants, clutching Aether’s hips to steady himself. “I don’t know what—got into me.”

Aether twists halfway around to squint up at him. “Huh? Sorry for what? Making me come so hard I saw through time, or the super hot dirty talk?”

“Uh…neither, I guess?”

“Good. Now lay down, before you fall over. I want to snuggle you.”

Diluc makes a face, but does as he is told, holding his arm out for the prince to nestle into him and tuck his blonde head into the crook of his neck. They lie in comfortable silence for a while, Aether playing idly with the sparse trail of crimson hairs that creep up toward Diluc’s navel, and Diluc staring blithely into space, perfectly content and thinking of absolutely nothing, for possibly the first time in his life.

“When we were doing it, you pictured a bunch of other men fucking me, didn’t you,” Aether says, after a little while.

Diluc is too startled to bother denying it. “What—how did you know that? Can you read my mind?”

“No, nothing so impressive. You just started fucking me really hard, all the sudden, like you were mad, and you used some specific words. I put two and slut together.”

“I’m sorry I called you a slut. I really didn’t mean it. It’s just…the idea of other men fucking you…it got me all confused. It made me jealous and turned me on, at the same time. Like I wanted to fuck them out of you and fill you up with myself, till you were only mine. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does. Being sexually territorial is a fairly normal male mating instinct. Anyway, I already told you not to apologize. I liked it a lot.”

Diluc pulls him onto his chest and kisses him, then draws back to look into his face, laying a hand on his cheek. “Aether…thank you, for all of this. Especially for waiting for me and surprising me, all naked with the gold chains and that jeweled plug. That was just…wow.”

“Oh, good, I hoped you’d like it!” Aether says, wiggling happily on top of him. “I wanted to be sexy for you, but I’ve never done anything like that before. I wasn’t sure if it was too much.”

“It was perfect. It felt good just knowing you were thinking of me, that way.”

“Then be prepared to feel even better. I am literally always thinking of you that way.”

“Even when I’m trying to read, and I scold you for flopping around and distracting me?”

“Especially when you scold me. Why do you think I try so hard to distract you?”

“You’re going to be even more of a menace, now that you have sex privileges, aren’t you.”

“I am absolutely going to be even more of a menace, yes.”

“Well. Small price to pay, for getting to sleep with you every night.”

“Almost every night,” Aether corrects. “Eventually, we’re going to have to spend at least one night apart, to test whether removing the bug has had any effect on your dreams.”

“Yes, eventually,” Diluc sighs, wrapping the prince up tightly in his arms and burying his face in his golden-blonde hair. “But not tonight.”

Chapter Text

The king has changed. This is the current subject of whispered conversation at court, and all around the palace. Most say it is for the better, some are more skeptical, but all agree that something about the young monarch has altered palpably. Supporting this, are the accounts of his majesty finally standing up to the Snezhnayan ambassador, and in fact giving the obnoxious man a good dressing-down, which have spread like wildfire. Nearly everyone who heard the tale was delighted, as their nation’s subjugation to the will of the Tsaritsa has long been a point of pain in spikily independent Mondstadt, and all who heard it repeated it to others.

Equally significant, but less succinctly repeatable, are the impressions of those who have been recently in the king’s presence. His entire aspect is different, they say, then they struggle to explain exactly what it is that has changed. His personality? No. He is just as dour and reticent as always. His manner of dress? No. Same head-to-toe black. It’s that he seems…more present, they attempt. Then they try more vivid and tangible. Brighter. More alive. When better words won’t come, they wind up shaking their heads in frustration and repeating their assertion that he’s just different now, until their friends clap them upon the back and say something along the lines of ‘not everyone can be a poet’ and the person lapses into morose silence, vowing not to tell these idiots anything about the goings-on at court ever again, if they’re going to be cocks about it.

“I think I’m going to take a few days off,” Diluc says, as he and Aether lie idling in bed, one evening.

Aether pushes himself up and eyes him suspiciously. “You’re not the real Diluc. You’re a doppelgänger who replaced him while I was in the bathroom.”

“You’re joking, but I mean it,” Diluc maintains. “I’ve never taken a vacation, before. I think it’s about time. Also, I would like to spend some time alone, with you, away from the palace.”

“Sure, Doppeluc, whatever you say.”

“You think I’m being insincere?”

“No. I’m sure you think you’re being sincere. I’m just saying I’ll believe it when I see it. I don’t know if you’re actually even capable of leaving the palace.”

“I’m not a shut-in, I’m just busy. I am perfectly capable of going where I please.”

“Alright then, in the highly hypothetical event that you were to take a few days off, where would you want to go?”

“There is a royal hunting lodge in the mountains, that I haven’t visited since I was a child. It’s cold up there. Snow on the ground, all year long. It’s very solitary and quiet. I mean…it won’t be quiet with you there, but that won’t effect the cold and the snow.”

“Oh, you’re so funny,” Aether retorts. “I bet you’ll melt the snow just by being there and all we’ll have to look at will be a lot of wet rocks.”

“Wet rocks can be romantic, too, if you have imagination,” Diluc says, pulling him in for a kiss.

Aether returns his kiss, carding his fingers through Diluc’s heavy locks of silky, blood-red hair, which is just about his favorite thing in all of Teyvat, now, then he draws away and settles on his chest, resting his chin on his folded arms. “It’s cute that you want to go somewhere cold, instead of warm, for a vacation.”

“Cute? I don’t think that words means what you think it means.”

“When I say 'cute' I just mean I like that you’re different. Most humans bitch and moan when it gets down as low as fall temperatures.”

“They call stifling summer weather ‘nice’ and they are always going to beaches to sit in the sun. On purpose,” Diluc says, with a distasteful grimace. “What about you? Do you prefer warm or cold weather?”

“I don’t mind heat, but I like cold, better. Celestia is extremely cold, compared to Teyvat, and almost all the other worlds I’ve been to. There’s no sun to heat the atmosphere and no precipitation or clouds.”

“Where does light come from, without a sun?”

“There’s no need for external illumination. Everything there emits light. Trees, grass, rocks, the sea. That’s why no stars are visible from Celestia.”

“So, your sky is black, but your land is brightly lit?”

“Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“I was used to it, so I didn’t really think about it. Now that I’ve lived in both, though, I prefer Teyvat, with its bright-blue skies and green land. And the natural night and day cycle. The moon and stars are amazing.”

“You really do love this world, don’t you.”

“I do. I love it so much, it hurts. I get this feeling, sometimes, like it’s a living thing and my heart is connected to its heart. That probably sounds like hokey mysticism, to you.”

“No. I know exactly what you mean. I’ve felt it, too.”

“Really?”

Diluc nods. “Sometimes, when I close my eyes…I feel it breathing. I used to lie in the grass and put my hands on the earth, and know I was part of it and it was part of me, and that I was never alone. As if this world was…aware of me, somehow. I have never felt so profoundly loved as when I have been far from people, with Teyvat for my only companion.”

“That’s why you like to be alone. Because you don’t really feel alone.”

“Well, that, and I find most people insufferable.”

“You seem to tolerate Venti reasonably well. Is that because he’s not people?”

“Of course. He’s the breath of this world.”

“When did you find out who he was?”

“I always knew. I mean, I didn’t always understand that he was Lord Barbatos, or who Lord Barbatos even was, but my earliest conscious memory of him, is knowing in my whole being, without even having the words for it, yet, that he was that eternal breath I felt, in the wind and sky. When I was five years old or so, I tried to ask my father about him. I couldn’t figure out how to say what I meant, but he understood. Ragnvindr kings are blessed with the ability to recognize the God of Wind for who he is, no matter what guise he puts on. Keeping his presence secret is one of our sworn duties. So, while our people believe he watches us from afar, we have always known he is really right here, with us. Usually getting drunk as a sailor, on liquor someone else paid for.”

“But Albedo and Alius know about him, too.”

“I said we have to keep it secret. He’s free to reveal himself to whoever he wants.”

“Knowing Venti, it seems like he would’ve got drunk and blabbed to a lot of people, by now.”

“He could tell them right to their faces. They just wouldn’t understand him. That’s the way he works. He has to consciously reveal himself, to be recognized. Even on the very rare occasion that he does, though, he usually just erases the memory, anyway. Most people can’t handle meeting their god in person.”

“But tons of people meet Rex Lapis in person, every day. No one seems to break their brain about it.”

“I think it’s different because he’s never concealed himself, that we know of. Everyone is aware that he’s the god of this world and they are mentally prepared, when they see him. It would be another thing entirely to be talking to some stranger on the road, and suddenly find yourself facing Rex Lapis, unveiled.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Though, I think it helps that what he does show is only a tiny fragment of what he really is. Even I haven’t seen him totally unveiled. The brief glimpses I’ve had are…overwhelming.”

“It must be difficult, to be married to a being you can’t fully comprehend.”

“It was. But I should have at least tried,” Aether sighs. “I was so selfish and stupid. I’d give anything to understand him better, now.” He winces, seeing Diluc’s expression of pain. “Sorry. I know you don’t like to hear about him.”

“No, no, it’s not that. And I don’t really mind when you talk about him, I just like to play jealous. It’s right and fitting that you want to understand your husband better. I was thinking about how selfish and stupid I also was, and how it cost me the man I love, as well.”

“About Mr. Mystery Man. If he suddenly changed his mind and asked you to take him back, would you drop me like a hot potato?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” Aether laughs. “I’d be furious, if you didn’t.”

“I assume the same applies, in reverse. If your husband called you back to him, you’d leave me, without a second thought.”

“I…I don’t know.”

Diluc’s scarlet brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if belonging to each other is enough. I don’t want us to just settle for being chained to one another. I want to love him and I want him to love me, of our own free will. But at the same time, I don’t think I’m ready, for that. I don’t think I’m worthy of his love. Not yet.”

“But, isn’t it up to the person who loves you, whether or not you’re worthy of their love? Isn’t it their choice where they bestow their heart?”

“Yes, of course, but relationships have to go both ways. In order for me to fully accept his love, and not totally collapse under the weight of it, I would need to do some serious growing. Then maybe I could work on winning his heart back.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing with your visions?”

“Well…no. Those are just dreams. They’ve been really useful to me, because they’re helping me work out my internal tangles about him, by letting me interact with him in a different context, but that’s all they are.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Diluc says flatly.

“Do you?” Aether replies, arching an eyebrow. “Based on what, oh wise one?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just want to believe that love is capable of conquering time and space. That two souls can be destined for one another, and in defiance of thousands of years and the fathomless distance between stars—and even their own pain—find their way back to each other, somehow.”

“Fuck,” Aether says, blinking against the tears suddenly burning in his eyes. “I’m kind of in love with you, right now. Where has this poetic side of you been hiding?”

“I’m far from a poet. I’m just a naïve idealist. But I do hide most of myself, from everyone. You’re the first person with whom I’ve truly let my guard down, since my father died. It took nearly a year of you relentlessly pestering me and refusing to give up, even when I pushed you away as hard as I could, to do it, so I hope it’s worth it.”

“That was you pushing me away as hard as you could? Pfft. Puny mortal. You’re so weak.”

“Puny? You’re five feet tall!”

“Five-foot-four! And I’m still way stronger than you. Does that make you feel emasculated?”  

“No. I love that you’re so much stronger than me. It makes it all the more satisfying when you submit to me and let me fuck you senseless. Speaking of which…”

“Again? What are you, a fucking machine?”

“I’m a twenty-three-year-old human male.”

“So, yes—ha…ah!” Aether gasps, as Diluc’s finger pushes into his slippery, swollen hole.

“You’re dripping wet, still,” he breathes against his lips, between kisses. “I want to put it in you, so bad.”

“Do it. I want you ins—inside me. Fuck me…fuck me!”

Sweat pools between their bodies as they move together, glistening slick, bare skin against bare skin, fire and ice, milk-white and tawny-brown, fingers digging in, thighs flexing and backs arching, drunk on the breathless desire that only increases as it is indulged. They come together, again and again, the agonizing pleasure building to each shattering release, till their bodies can give no more and they collapse in each other’s arms. And through it all they cling desperately to one another, gaze into each other’s eyes, speak each other’s names in hoarse half-whispers, as if to pronounce them aloud might break the spell.

New to life and unused to the cruelty of living, these innocent children hold nothing back. They open their tender hearts to be pierced to the core, by the barbed hooks of unstinted love. They fall so fully into one another, that their individual selves become enmeshed and indistinguishable, like the roots of trees that have grown inextricably together. Being parted becomes more and more painful, till neither feels he can live any longer without swallowing the other whole, and becoming one in body, as they are in soul.

Without ever meaning to do it, these children hurt one another, and the pain becomes fear. In fear, they push and pull away from one another, each hurting the other more and more, as they strain harder and harder, till the roots snap and tear, and screaming in wordless anguish, they are rent back into two, wounded near to death, mutilated and bleeding, from the hollow, gaping wounds left by their innocent love.

Thus put asunder, they wander a bleak and joyless world, two crippled, broken halves. One a creature of glacial ice, seeking the warmth he aches for in strange beds or swallowed from bottles, the other a creature of annihilating fire, that hides himself away in a tower of ice and snow, to numb the pain of longing, for the soft and soothing cold of his beloved’s touch. Ever they resent one another for the bitter wounds they suffered, and ever they yearn to forgive one another and to be whole again.

Aether awakes weeping and trembling, racked with grief for the little creatures in his dream, who hurt one another so terribly, and were doomed to solitary suffering, simply because they had loved fearlessly and with their whole hearts. Unable to explain the dream coherently to Diluc, he abandons himself to despondent sobbing, held tightly in his lover’s arms, until at long last, he has exhausted his tears, and sinks back into the merciful abyss of sleep.

There are wounds that never heal. Scars too deep to fade. Hurts too profound to be forgiven. A heart broken can be mended, but it will never again be as it was. Placed under enough strain, the cracks show. Kaeya swallows another deep swig of Fire Water and hands the bottle to his companion, seated beside him, at the campfire. The man is a lanky, somewhat provincial-looking personage, in his early thirties, whose parents bestowed upon him the inauspicious name Nimrod, and who wears his dark-blonde hair in a long ponytail, and sports a rather sparse goatee. He very prudently replaces the cork in the bottle of Fire Water and sets it on the ground on his other side, out of the Cavalry Captain’s reach.

“If you’re not going to drink it, give it back,” Kaeya says irritably. “And you can spare me the reproachful looks. I know what I can handle.”

“Come on, boss, you don’t need to drink that Snezhnayan rotgut,” Nimrod cajoles. “We got a bunch of fancy booze from that last job. Spiced rum, straight from Natlan! Don’t you like spiced rum?”

“Spiced rum is for children. And don’t fucking call me boss.”

“Sorry, boss—er…Captain Kaeya. Sir.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Kaeya sighs, massaging his brow wearily. “Just tell me what you found out.”

Nimrod shakes his head. “Whole lotta nothin’, is what. Regular guard rotations, usual schedules, no one leaving or arriving unexpectedly. Not a hint of anything out of the ordinary. They’re either real stupid, or real clever.”

“Stupid is more likely, but we have to be prepared for clever. If they spring a trap and it turns ugly, the Knights will get involved. I can only protect your men so far, before I risk blowing my cover.” Kaeya rubs his gloved hands together, then shakes his head. “We’ll just have to ease off, for now. Wait and see what they do next. In the mean time, you’ll be hitting commercial and civilian targets. Here’s the information. Nothing too big. Those four marked in red are the botch jobs. Make it messy and amateur. And I know I don’t have to remind you to be damned sure your men follow the fucking rules.”

“Of course not,” Nimrod says, looking deeply affronted. “Give us a little credit.”

“There are too many new faces, lately, for me to take anything on faith. The local guys may know the drill, but newcomers don’t get my trust, till they’ve earned it. If you and the other crew chiefs don’t keep them strictly in line, you know what’ll happen.”

“You’ll let the Knights arrest us.”

“Goddamn right, I will. And if by some miracle of dipshittery, the Knights don’t catch you, I’ll haul you in myself. I’ll make sure your files get sifted to the bottom of the parole stack, too. You’ll have plenty of time to think about what you did.”

“Well, but—what if we follow the rules and get nabbed anyhow?”

Kaeya sighs again as he rises from the cedar log they’ve been using as a bench. “If you really need me to answer that question, after all this time, maybe you should go back to picking through monster-infested ruins, just to scrape together enough mora to avoid starving.”

“No, no, I don’t—sorry, boss. Captain. Sir,” Nimrod answers hastily. “I’m all square. We’ll do it by the books.”

“You’d better. I’ll be watching. And make sure your men smother these fires all the way, before you break camp. If they half-ass it and start a wildfire, they’ll all be coming to the training grounds to play a nice game of catch with Klee.”

His business concluded, Kaeya departs the camp and heads back north, toward the city. Off the side of the winding dirt road, a little way behind him, amid the deep shadows beneath the canopy of trees, a darker shadow flits silently along, keeping a good distance from the Cavalry Captain, but never quite letting him get out of sight. When he passes through the main gate, this same shadow, or another very like it, drops in over the high, stone wall, and vanishes into the bustling city streets.

A little later that evening, Kaeya is seated at the bar in the Angels Share, making a mockery of the no-feet-on-barstools policy that he himself instated, and holding a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, which he is cooling by way of forming ice crystals on the surface of the glass. A buxom young woman in black adventurer’s boots, knee-high stockings, and scandalously short-cropped hiking shorts, is leaning against him, whispering in his ear. She has a hand on his knee and his rests casually on the small of her back. She leans closer and he laughs at something she says. Patrons seated nearby pretend not to be looking, as his hand slips down onto the back of her supple thigh. He flashes a roguish grin, as she draws away.

“Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse,” he says, at a high enough volume to be heard generally. “I’ll be there. And, uh…wear that thing you wore last time. With the leather.”

The woman blows him a kiss as she saunters out the tavern door, at which the bartender chuckles and shakes his head.

Kaeya arches his visible eyebrow. “You got something to say, Charles?”

“I just don’t know how you do it, boss,” Charles replies, shelving the glass he’s been drying, and picking up another. “You’ve got a different guy or gal falling all over you, every night. Most nights, more than one.”

“What can I say? I’m incredibly handsome and overflowing with charisma,” Kaeya ripostes, managing to sound both bantering and blasé. “I don’t mind sharing the bounty, though. I’d be happy to introduce you.”

“Ha. Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t fool around on my husband. Besides, I’m not a young man, like you, anymore. Even if I were single and had spare time, I’d just spend it fishing or napping.”

“How’s the old ball and chain doing, by the way?”

“Well enough,” Charles shrugs. “He’s been complaining about stiffness in his joints, in the winter. I keep telling him his body can’t handle the abuse he subjects it to, but he wants to believe he’s still in his twenties. Hopefully he won’t get himself killed running off into some old deathtrap ruins, before he retires from the Guild.”

“He won’t be able to, if I break his legs,” Kaeya offers amiably. “Just say the word.”

“I’ll relay that to him and tell him I might take you up on it, if doesn’t behave himself.” Charles places the empty tray under the back counter, and returns with a whiskey bottle, from which he refills Kaeya’s glass. “Where’s that handsome kid, Thoma, tonight? You two have been inseparable, lately.”

“I imagine he’s with his fiancée,” Kaeya answers, downing the contents of the glass in one go, and replacing it on the bar. “I’m off to the winery, before I get too drunk to find my way. Take care, Charles.”

“Have a good night, boss,” Charles answers, looking after him as he departs, not failing to note his clear eye and steady steps.

Several hours later, the young woman from the tavern knocks on the door of the Dawn Winery. Her drab-colored cloak shields her from the late-evening chill, and conceals her clothing, which may or may not include the leather thing Kaeya made earlier reference to. A moment or two passes, then the door is opened for her by a maid, and she disappears inside. In the shadows of the grape arbors, well concealed from any potential watchers, she has left several companions, similarly hooded and cloaked. Rather than going to present themselves at the front door, like honest guests, they move swiftly and silently between the arbors, working their way round to the back of the manor house.

They count perhaps ten minutes in their concealed position, then the same maid who let the young woman in, opens the scullery door and steps out, bearing a crate of empty bottles, which she sets upon the stoop, before she goes back inside. The door swings gently into the frame and stops, appearing properly closed, but not quite catching in the latch. At a signal from one of the hooded figures, all of them emerge from amongst the vines and slip in the scullery door, the last one closing it silently behind him.

What business this group of questionable individuals had at the winery at such a late hour, no one could say. They were not seen departing the premises, at any point that night, but they were not seen entering, either, so no one was really watching for them. Anyone who visited the winery the next morning, however, would have noticed the unusual number of burly workmen on hand, today, carrying crates and barrels out of the cellar, which they are loading onto a cart, parked in the drive.

When the cart has been loaded and the workmen disperse, the young woman in the driver’s seat takes the reins and clicks to the horse, which clops off down the road, pulling its mistress and cargo behind it. Had anyone chanced to be riding on the cart, they may have noted that below her battered straw hat, the driver was uncommonly beautiful, in a severe, almost catlike way. They may also have noticed what appeared to be a sturdy, black-leather hauberk, peering out from neckline of her loose, linen shirt. They would not have been such reckless fools as to mention anything to her about it, having also observed the weapon callouses on her hands and the cold keenness of her emerald-green eyes, but they may have noticed, all the same.

“Ayato, where have you been?” Aether pouts. “Kazuha and Thoma, you too. I saw you a few times, after you arrived, then you disappeared. Did you all get lovers, or something?”

The four are strolling through the expansive, stone-paved courtyard, in the top tier of the city, between the Favonius Cathedral and the palace. The day is cool and windy, with puffy white clouds wandering here and there across the deep, blue sky, and the scents of autumn pervading the air. Ayato is using what is now affectionately called his kuro-Ayato enchantment, and the wind tousles his glossy, coal-black hair about his handsome face, leaving it endearingly disordered.

With his spectacles and wind-mussed hair, and the three-piece, charcoal grey suit the enchantment has chosen, he quite resembles a young college professor. The kind who has his nose so deep in his books, that he is utterly oblivious to the devastating effect he has on women, and to the trail of broken hearts and envious young gentlemen he leaves in his daily wake, while only wishing that so many female students wouldn’t fill up his office hours coming to him with such trivial questions, when he could be using the time to work on his analysis of some obscure and ancient bit of text.

“I have acquired no new lover, since we arrived in Mondstadt,” Kazuha answers, then ceases speaking, apparently not intending to offer any further information regarding his recent whereabouts or activities.

“I have acquired two,” Professor Ayato replies brightly. “Beautiful blondes, which happens to be my weakness, not to mention clever, highly educated, and perfect little devils in bed. I don’t think I’ve ever been with anyone so delightfully wicked, aside from Thoma.”

“I’m glad you’re getting along with Albedo and Alius,” Aether concedes. “Though, they really should be ashamed of themselves for playing with a man so young, at their age. What about you, Thoma? Who’s your excuse?”

“Me, my lord prince? Whatever do you mean?” Thoma asks, looking like a ray of virgin sunshine, gleaming on the purest driven snow. “I’ve been attending to my lord’s business, like a good and faithful steward.”

“He’s been spying on Captain Alberich for me,” Ayato says matter-of-factly. “All the sex they’ve been having is a perk of the assignment.”

“Spying on Kaeya? What for?” Aether snorts. “You trying to get a hold of the Dawn Winery’s secret fermentation methods?” His smile fades as Thoma and Ayato exchange a look. “Wait, what are you two not telling me? Is something going on with Kaeya?”

Thoma keeps his mouth shut and his eyes on his master, which is as good as a verbal confirmation that there is something going on. They have reached the bottom of the broad, stone stair to the city’s second tier, and are on the walk outside Favonius Headquarters. Aether stops Ayato, with a hand on his arm.

“Tell me what this is about, please,” he says, with an edge of anxiety in his tone. “I know you don’t do anything without a good reason, Ayato, so if you’re having the Shuumatsuban spy on my friend, I’d like to at least know why.”

Ayato removes his spectacles to rub the lenses with a handkerchief, which Aether did not know was a thing one could do, with illusory spectacles. His voice remains gentle and his manner languid, but his temporarily grey eyes fix keenly on Aether’s, from beneath his long, black eyelashes. “My lord prince…are you quite sure that Captain Alberich is your friend?”

Aether stares back at him, feeling as if the earth has tilted slightly on its axis. He never once stopped to consider whether Kaeya’s attitude toward him had genuinely changed, after their meeting at the Jade Palace, or if he has been affecting friendly rapport with him, in furtherance of some other goal. His mind flashes rapidly over all their interactions, since they arrived in Mondstadt. None of them ring hollow, when sounded.

Unless Kaeya is the most talented deceiver in all the realms of Light, his has not been the conduct of a false friend. Whatever acrimony there was between them had been truly snuffed out, at least for a while. In the very few times he has seen him recently, however, Kaeya has been cold and brusque, not bothering to conceal whatever new resentment he is harboring toward the prince. This is still not the modus operandi of a deceiver. One who wished to conceal their true motives and manipulate another would make their speech fairer and their manner more consistent.

But…what if Kaeya were a man capable of such deft and graceful deception? What if he were a man able to play, with immaculate virtuosity, upon the strings of human nature—their inconsistency and irrationality, their polite social obfuscations and ego-driven self-deception, their moments of impulsivity and honesty, of wrath and jealousy, of heartbreaking tenderness and astounding kindness—every note in harmony, to create a dazzling symphony of deceit.

No. He does not believe it. Kaeya Alberich is not such a man. He is a boy of twenty-one years old, who uses his reputation for indolence to call attention away from his diligent work, and his façade of self-interest to conceal his generous heart. And yet, in spite of these convictions, something nags faintly at Aether. Some small seed of doubt, that has been slowly germinating in the back of his mind.

Ayato’s heavily loaded question still hangs in the air between them, when the door of the Favonius Headquarters swings open, and a squad of armed, armored knights troop out, to hurry away in formation, toward the central square. Aether is still looking after them, when there are more footsteps behind them on the walk, and another detachment come jogging down the steps.

“Huffman!” Aether calls out, to one of the men he recognizes. “What’s going on?”

“Oh—my lord prince, I didn’t see you,” Huffman pants, halting before them and bowing hastily. “There’s a disturbance at the main gate. They say there’s a demon trying to get into the city.”

“A demon?” Aether repeats, taken aback. “If that’s true, you’d be better off taking your men to gather vision-holders, because all you’re going to do is get yourselves killed trying to fight off a thing like that.”

“It is our duty and honor as Knights of Favonius to give our lives in defense of the city, my lord prince,” Huffman replies, drawing himself up. “Forgive me, but I must be going.”

“Not without me you’re not,” Aether says, summoning his bright-bladed sword to his hand.

“And us,” Ayato adds, which assertion is supported by Kazuha’s bloodthirsty Kagotsurube Isshin blade, and Thoma’s glittering, crimson and black polearm, appearing in their hands, as well.

Before Huffman can object, Aether dashes off after the other Knights, with Ayato, Kazuha, and Thoma close behind. They quickly catch up with the first detachment and pass them, followed doggedly but at an increasing distance, by Huffman, who, being a regular human in sixty pounds of steel armor, is not quite so nimble as the four lightly-clad superhumans he is pursuing. He begins to think, as he clanks heavily down the cobbled street, that maybe the Dragon Prince had a point, about the Knights being ill-equipped to face a demon.

Chapter Text

When Aether and his friends arrive in the square, there is a crowd gathered, murmuring amongst themselves and peering between the ranks of halberd-bearing Favonius Knights, attempting to see what is happening at the gate. A path through the throng opens automatically before him, and he steps out in front of the Knights, with his gold-bladed sword in his hand. Then he pauses, tilting his head curiously to one side, and lowers his weapon. Kaeya is already on the scene, along with Lady Eula. They are in the act of listening—or at least, attempting to listen—to a petite, green-haired woman, while a person who can only be the ostensible demon stands behind her, interjecting volubly in the Inazuman language, which none of the Mondstadters present appear to understand.

Aether immediately recognizes him as an oni. They are technically demons, but not particularly dangerous ones. Many of them have even integrated into human society, in Inazuma. This one towers over Kaeya by six inches or so, which isn’t big for a demon, but is huge as far as humans go. He has red horns and long, wild, snow-white hair, and there are crimson markings all over his body. These are visible because his coat is sleeveless and open, and his hyperbolically muscular torso is bare, but for the straps of a black leather harness. He is uncommonly handsome, and with his demonic features and big, muscular body, exactly Aether’s type.

“…tenkadaiichi Itto!” he is booming. “Arataki-ha no oyabun to shite, oresama no na wa sudeni yomo ni shirewatatteru!”

Itto…Arataki gang. This can’t be the Itto Ayato has spoken of so may times, can it? But what would he be doing in Mondstadt? Aether glances up at his companions, as he dismisses his sword. Thoma is pinching the bridge of his nose, as if he has a headache, and Ayato is observing the scene with a tranquilly amused smile, through the lenses of his illusory spectacles.

“These are our identification papers and travel visas, from the Tenryou Commission,” the green-haired woman is explaining, looking very harried and apologetic. “As you can see, they’re all in order, and the stamps are up to date.”

Eula scans the documents and hands them to Kaeya. “I’m very sorry, ma’am. You’re alright to enter, but your friend here is a demon. Even with proper papers, we can’t let him into the city, without a Mondstadt citizen to act as his surety, while he remains here.”

“What’s she sayin’? Is it about my hair? She better not be talkin’ about my hair!” the oni-man glowers, attempting to look menacing, without success (which, for six-foot-six inch tall demon, with pronounced horns and fangs, is quite the accomplishment, in and of itself). At that moment, he happens to glance in the direction of Aether and his companions. His scarlet eyes light up and he calls out in Inazuman, waving both hands, as if they might somehow fail to see him. “Hey, Thoma! Thoma-kuuuuuun! Ya gotta help me! Tell these country bumpkins I ain’t a criminal!”

“You are a criminal,” Thoma answers, with a smirk, as he walks up to stand beside Kaeya. “Just not the kind they need to worry about.”

Kaeya frowns, looking back and forth between them. “Thoma, you know this man?”

“I do,” Thoma says, switching to the Mondstadt dialect. “He’s nothing to worry about. He’s big and loud, but he’s harmless. I’m willing to act as his surety. I was never naturalized in Inazuma, so I’m technically still a Mondstadt citizen.”

“Are you sure you want to decide, right away?” Lady Eula offers, arching a disapproving eyebrow at the demon. “He has been very boisterously uncooperative. It might do him some good to cool off in the lockup, for a little while.”

The green-haired woman translates this for the oni-man, as Thoma rubs his chin, appearing to consider it.

“Aw, come on, Thoma-kun,” Itto pleads. “This is the one place I been where I ain’t been to jail, yet. You know I ain’t gonna cause any trouble. Not on purpose, anyhow. Tell ‘em, Shinobu.”

“Leave me out of it,” the green-haired woman says irritably. “I told you this would happen and you insisted on coming, anyway. If we’d waited and sent a message ahead of us, Thoma could’ve prepared these people for a visitor like you.”

“Tch. It ain’t my fault this little backwater town never had a oni in it,” he sniffs, crossing his arms. “These people could use a little culture, if ya ask me.”

“Ms. Shinobu, I apologize for the inconvenience,” Kaeya says, handing back her documents. “Mondstadters don’t tend to handle outsiders well, so there are a lot of ridiculous rules about it. You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, Captain Alberich,” Ms. Shinobu replies, with a bow.

“Thoma, Mr. Arataki is in your charge, while he’s in the city,” Kaeya goes on. “Just make sure he doesn’t do anything that might upset people. I don’t want them to have any excuses to complain about him to the Knights. And tell your friend I apologize in advance, for when they certainly do anyway, excuse or no.”

“Thanks, Captain,” Thoma says, also bowing.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on,” the oni wants to know. “I heard my name. They takin’ me to jail?”

“Does it look like they’re taking you to jail?” Ms. Shinobu returns. “They’re letting Thoma vouch for you, so calm down and stop being so loud, before they change their minds.”

Kaeya and Eula step away, to disperse the crowd and dismiss the Knights, and as Aether approaches, he nods to Kaeya. Kaeya looks right through him, not even acknowledging him with a glance, as they pass one another. So he’s still being like this.

“Your highness, may I present Ms. Shinobu Kuki, and Arataki Itto,” Thoma says, as he and Ms. Shinobu bow to Aether (and Itto after Ms. Shinobu smacks his arm).

“So, this is the big bad demon the Knights got me all excited about, huh?” Aether observes, looking the oni up and down.

“That’s right,” Itto grins down at Aether, with his white fangs bared. “What’s your story, chibi? You sure are pretty. Ya got a boyfriend?”

“A boyfriend?” Aether says, with a smirk. “What am I, sixteen?”

“Right, right, I bet you’re way too mature to use words like that,” Itto laughs. “How old are ya? Like seventeen, eighteen?”

“I’m a hundred and twenty-two, and were you actually flirting with me just now, while thinking I was a teenager?”

“Fl—flirting?” Itto sputters, suddenly going very red in the face. “I wasn’t—I didn’t…I just think you’re real pretty. Should I notta said so?”

Aether narrows his eyes. “Riiiiiight. You weren’t flirting. You asked if I have a boyfriend by way of making conversation.”

“I did, honest,” Itto maintains. “Thoma-kun, help me out.”

“He didn’t mean anything by it, my lord prince,” Thoma assists. “Itto’s not self-aware enough to flirt intentionally. He talks like a hooligan, but he’s a sweet, soft, squishy little mochi ball.”

“Hey! I ain’t squishy!” Itto objects, grabbing Aether’s hand and slapping his palm against his chiseled abdomen. “Feel that? My body is solid as a rock.”

“Yeah, including his skull,” Thoma adds.

“That’s…ahem. That’s very impressive,” Aether says, hastily drawing his hand away, and then using it to fan himself, as a sudden flush of heat has risen into his neck and ears. “To answer your question, yes. I do have a boyfriend. And a husband.”

“This is Prince Aether of Celestia,” Thoma explains to Itto, who looks completely lost. “His boyfriend is King Diluc, the ruler of this nation. His husband is His Divine Majesty Rex Lapis, Dragon King of Liyue and High King of Teyvat.”

“Wow, two kings, huh? I ain’t gonna lie, kyoudai, that sounds like a whole lotta bother,” Itto says, then he frowns, turning to Thoma again. “Hold up a second. I thought Prince Heather of Silesia was Kamisato-sama’s boyfriend. Ain’t that why y’all came here?”

“We came to visit Prince Aether, who is Kamisato-sama’s former lover, not his boyfriend. And nevermind what we’re doing here, why are you here?”

Itto clicks his tongue and pushes his hands back through his hair. “Oh, y’know. No special reason. I always wanted to see…this place, and since you and Kamisato-sama were here, I thought why the hell not? No time like the present, ya know?”

“So, you got in trouble with Kujou Sara again, and you’re hiding out till it blows over.”

“Tch. No. I ain’t scared a her,” Itto says, crossing his big arms on his heavily muscled chest. “Dumb tengu, thinks she’s so hot with her pointy shoes and her tiny wings and those two, huge—”

“Itto!” Ms. Shinobu exclaims.

“—biceps,” Itto finishes. “Huh? What?”

“I thought you were…nevermind,” she mumbles, looking embarrassed. “You were saying?”

“I was sayin’ we came to see the sights and hang around with Thoma-kun and Kamisato-sama. Where’s the boss at, anyhow? Up in that castle, over there, with the king and whatnot?”

“I am right here,” Ayato says, beside his elbow, making Itto jump and give a yelp. “And that is a church, not a castle.”

Quickly recovering his composure, Itto squints his scarlet eyes and cranes his neck, to peer down into Ayato’s face, not entirely convinced. “Aniki? That really you? Where’d ya come from, all the sudden?”

“I’ve been here the whole time, Itto-to,” Ayato replies (using his personal portmanteau of Itto and ototo). “I could have killed you twenty times, by now. I’ve only been away a couple of weeks, and you’re already slipping and letting your guard down?”

“B—but aniki! It ain’t my fault, for not seein’ ya!” Itto protests, apparently deeply aggrieved by this reproof. “You’re all dressed up like a fancy butler, how was I supposed to know!”

“All that has changed is my hair and eye color,” Ayato points out. “This isn’t even really a disguise. It’s just to prevent the public from identifying me, by description.”

“Glasses too,” Itto maintains. “And I never seen ya wear a black suit, in my life.”

“It’s not black, it’s charcoal grey.”

Itto scratches his head, apparently confounded by this distinction. “Ain’t charcoal…black? And why ain’t Shinobu gettin’ lectured, too?”

“I knew it was Kamisato-sama, as soon as I saw him,” Ms. Shinobu informs him. “He seemed to want to be overlooked, so I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, so ya say. Sounds pretty convenient, to me. Hey, all this standin’ around talkin’s got me kinda hungry. Any good grub around here?” Itto asks, through a yawn, stretching his long arms above his head, which causes more of his angular hip bone to become visible, above the waistband of his trousers, and makes it apparent that the black leather straps attach to his body somewhere well below that waistband.

“It’s a test,” Aether mutters, under his breath. “He’s been sent by the gods, to test my resolve to be faithful to Diluc.”

“You really like the big, hot, dumb ones, huh?” Venti says, almost right in Aether’s ear, though not producing anything like the startled reaction Ayato got from Itto.

Aether nods, still looking across the circle of people, at Itto. “I really do. Extra points for horns, fangs, claws, and body markings.”

“Super-sensitive demon hearing get points, too?” Itto calls over, with another fang-filled grin. “Cause I can totally hear ya.”

“Hey, bard, how’ve you been?” Ms. Shinobu interjects, nodding to Venti in greeting. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh, you know me. Drifting along wherever the wind takes me,” Venti says breezily. “Funny you’re here, though. I’ve just been meaning to pop over to Inazuma, for some of that lavender melon sake you told me about.”

“I’ve got a bottle waiting, for whenever you come to visit,” Ms. Shinobu bows.

“Hey, you always tell me you don’t have any,” Itto pouts.

“No, I tell you what I have is for company. You are not company.”

“Aw, I’ll share mine with you, Itto-chaaaaan,” Venti croons. “Only, you have to promise not to get me drunk and take advantage of me. I tend to lose my judgement and clothes, when I’m drinking.”

“What are you doing?” Aether demands, in a whisper.

“Keeping you on the straight and narrow. I’m your conscience,” Venti whispers back.

“You’re my conscience? Wow. That explains so much.”

“I have to…you lose all your—drinking…” Itto is stammering, blushing like a rose, as Venti skips over and hooks his arm into his. “Hey, it’s real hot out here, all the sudden. Didn’t you say Mondstadt was cold, Shinobu?”

“Oh, I can cool you off, no problem,” Venti chimes sweetly. “You just need perspiration and a steady air current, and I’m really good at blowing.”

Aether laughs aloud, as Itto’s blush intensifies from rose to apple. As if on cue, a strong breeze kicks up, whipping everyone’s hair and loose clothing about. This is nothing even remotely out of the ordinary, for Mondstadt, but Aether’s entire body responds to it, as if his guts have been suddenly gripped from the inside. Chills racing up his spine, he turns and looks rapidly about, in all directions, mostly at the rooftops and spires of buildings, silhouetted against the deep blue of the late-afternoon sky.

“What is it, my lord prince?” Thoma asks quietly, with a concerned frown.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Aether says, tearing his eyes away from the ridgepole of the Cat’s Tail tavern’s roof. “I thought…it’s nothing.”

The group (meaning Venti) has apparently decided upon the Angels Share, and they’ve begun walking that way, chatting and laughing sociably. Kazuha uses this opportunity to slip away, unnoticed, by anyone but Aether. Great, another one of his friends behaving suspiciously. Or…maybe he’s just taking a break from all the noise and activity. Kazuha is a serious introvert, after all. And maybe Aether is a little on edge, after what Ayato said about Kaeya today, and then Kaeya snubbing him at the gate, emphasizing the whole thing.

There’s nothing to do about the Kaeya issue but talk to him, so why hasn’t he? Once Aether acknowledges that he’s been avoiding it, he is forced to ask himself why he’s been avoiding it. It’s not like he’s conflict-averse. Quite the opposite, in fact. So, why is he afraid to confront Kaeya? Afraid is the right word, too, though he hates to admit it. The only person of which he has ever been afraid, is his father. That note strikes true. There must be something in Kaeya, that triggers a similar avoidant-fear response to the one he has to his father, but what?

His father is cold and hard, like a flawless diamond. A glassy-smooth surface, upon which there is no place to catch hold. Despite his play at indolent insouciance, there is something similarly adamant in Kaeya’s nature. Only, rather than being a perfectly clear medium for light to traverse, like ice or a diamond, it is jet black. Not opaque, but a black so deep only the most brilliant light passes through. Aether can’t think of a better metaphor than a black diamond, and gives up in disgust.

The comparison to his father is useful, though, because it finally resolves him. He’s done being afraid of his father, and he’s sure as hell not going to be afraid of this human child. He will stop dithering and he will go and talk to Kaeya. He will feel a little rude leaving Thoma and Ayato’s newly arrived friends so abruptly, but this is important. The group seem to be generally content to catch up amongst themselves, anyway, which mostly entails everyone laughing at Ayato’s recounting of Itto’s various ridiculous antics.

Aether is formulating a polite excuse to depart, when he feels a touch on his shoulder and looks up. “Oh, Kazuha. I thought you left. What’s going on?”

“My lord prince, if you would be so kind as to spare me a moment, I wish to speak with you privately,” Kazuha says, keeping his voice low.

“Sure, of course. There’s a balcony upstairs, that no one ever uses. You want to talk up there?”

Kazuha nods, and without giving any excuse at all to the others, who don’t appear to notice, he and Aether go up the winding stair to the top floor of the bar, then onto the little balcony, overlooking the cobbled city square.

“Is everything alright?” Aether asks, once they’re outside.

“I did not mean to worry you, your highness, there is nothing wrong,” Kazuha says, apologetically. “You wrote to me some time ago and asked me to visit Adeptus Xiao, and to let you know how he was faring. I have visited him, and I have been meaning to tell you about it, but there has been no good opportunity since we’ve been in Mondstadt. You are surprisingly busy, so I thought it better to simply ask for a moment alone, than to allow it to occur naturally, as I would normally do.”

“You’re being really weirdly formal,” Aether says, with an uneasy laugh. “Xiao is ok, right?”

“He is well, yes.” Kazuha takes a slow, meditative breath and lets it out, seeming to center himself. “There is no better way to approach such a situation than directly, so I will speak plainly. Some months ago, I went to visit Adeptus Xiao, as you requested. I apologize for not writing, regarding the visit. He does not trust the post, and strongly objected. When I arrived at Wangshu, he rebuffed me with hard words, and told me he had nothing to say to me. I have known him a long time, though, and I knew better than to be frightened off by his snarling. He knows me well enough, also, to recall how patient I can be. Knowing that I would not be put off, he finally came down to talk with me.

It was…difficult, at first, but we soon fell into our old easiness of speech together. I accompanied him on his patrols, and eventually, our talk drew near to the thing we had been avoiding. It was he, who breached the barrier between us, at last. In his forthright way, he demanded to know if I was happier, wandering the world, alone, than I had been wandering Liyue’s wilds, with him. This led us to speak of…many things, that are private between us. The conclusion we reached was that we had been wrong, back then, to cut ourselves off completely from one another, rather than seeking harder for a way to compromise. We were younger and more foolish, then, and acted from shortsighted ignorance. Despite the hurt and the years that lay between us, my heart has never changed, and I told him so. He said the same. I hadn’t intended to broach the subject, but he talked about you. He said—”

Kazuha stops short, as they are buffeted by that familiar gust of wind, brief and forceful, proceeding contrary to the direction of the ambient wind in the area, and carrying with it the sweet scent of summer, in the fields of Qingce Village. Aether squeezes his eyes tightly shut, covering them with his hands, too; unable to let himself look at the face he knows is there, behind him.

“I spoke of the attachment between you and I,” that voice says, low and husky, and achingly familiar. So cherished and longed for, and so heartwrenching to hear at last. “I confessed to him, that in my selfishness, I had betrayed my master and my honor, and in the end, I had caused only pain and regret.” A hand is laid on Aether’s shoulder, which is trembling as tears pour unchecked down his face, his head bowed under the weight of emotion. “But Kazuha is wise. Far more so than I. He asked me if I had any regret, that was not the result of my own choice to view our attachment as a sin. I became angry, and went away to cool my head. But finally, I had to admit that he was right. I came back to him and told him that I had loved you, and that I love you, still. And though he and I are halves of the same soul, bound together eternally, my love for you is not a thing of which I am ashamed. And now…I must beg your forgiveness, for the way I severed our connection. My beloved has helped me see that I had only used my honor as an excuse to…what was the way you said it?”

“I told him he was using his oath and his honor as a convenient shield for his broken heart, and that going out into the wilderness to pout about it was nothing but selfish petulance,” Kazuha says.

“Yes, that was it,” Xiao nods. “And that is why I must—”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Aether sobs, turning around and throwing his arms around his old friend and lover. “I will not forgive you, because you never did anything wrong, so shut up about it! God, you’re such a fucking asshole! Just let me hug you and be happy to see you!”

Xiao stiffens up for a split second, then he softens and returns the embrace, pressing kisses to the top of Aether’s shaggy, wheat-blonde head as he weeps in his arms. Kazuha joins the embrace from behind Aether, and the three of them stand entwined together, until Aether’s hiccupping sobs dwindle to sniffles, and then to shaky breaths. After a long while, Aether gathers his courage and draws away, to look up, puffy and tear streaked though he is, into those big, beautiful, pale-gold eyes, still lined with that carnelian pigment, the same as they ever were. Xiao’s expression, too is the same as ever, stony and unreadable, to those not intimately acquainted with him. Kazuha and Aether are among the very few who can detect the minute signs, that betray the turmoil beneath his smooth surface.  

“I don’t see or hear from you for a year, then you show up suddenly, out of nowhere, and talk more than I’ve ever heard you talk in my life, and it’s all about how you’re in love with another man,” Aether sniffles, wiping his face with the backs of his hands. “Kazuha, your boyfriend is a big fat jerk.”

“I am aware,” Kazuha says placidly. “It is something I have come to accept, about him.”

“I am neither big, nor fat,” Xiao asserts, his brows lowering. “I do not know this term, ‘jerk’, but it sounds pejorative. I guess it is something like ‘asshole’?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Aether confirms.

“Ah. That part of the sentiment was accurate, then. I am a jerk.”

Aether bursts out laughing at this, then immediately breaks down crying again, and squeezes Xiao in another crushing embrace. Kazuha does not join this one, but looks on with an amused smile.

“I missed you so much, you fucking Yaksha bastard,” Aether grumbles, after his tears subside again. “I can’t believe you and Kazuha are back together, and you didn’t come to me first and ask for my permission to be with anyone else ever again. You’re a terrible ex-boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend?” Xiao blinks, then scowls. “I see. You are joking. I can never tell when you humans are jest, or not. Kazuha is the same way.”

“I’m not human, Xiao, I’m Celestial,” Aether says glibly, stepping back to lean against the balcony railing. “So, now that you’ve got me all crying-ugly and emotionally bulldozed, what have you been up to, for a year? You and Kazuha do anything fun? I mean, aside from fucking like animals in heat.”

Xiao crosses his arms. “I do not know ‘bulldozed’ either. When we first went walking, together, you said you used strange turns of phrase because you had not yet learned Liyue’s expressions, but your manner of speech has not altered.”

“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, I guess. Which I just realized must sound ridiculous, to you two ancient grandpas.”

“Xiao is ancient, I am merely old,” Kazuha corrects.

“Why are you so old?” Aether asks, hanging his head to one side to squint at him. “I always wondered, but I never asked. Is it your vision? Or are you not all human?”

Kazuha shrugs. “There is an old tale in my family of some oni blood, in the Kaedehara line, but I cannot speak to its veracity.”

“You’re way too short for that to be true,” Aether smirks. “Although, you do have the white hair and red eyes. Huh. Maybe it is true and the oni traits that got passed down just didn’t include size.”

“I am not fully grown, either. Whatever arrested my aging, I have not progressed past the mortal age of sixteen. That is when I received my vision, so it is likely related.”

“So, you got a vision, and now you and Xiao get to go around looking like a teenaged couple forever. That’s pretty adorable, considering you’re two of the most dangerous people in Teyvat. I mean, I know Xiao and I looked like a teenaged couple, too, but you guys are way cuter together. Sigh.”

“Did you just say ‘sigh’ aloud?” Xiao frowns.

“Yep. Deal with it. You’re not the boss of me, anymore.”

“I was never the boss of you.”

“You sure acted like it. Is he a grouchy bossypants with you, too, Kazuha?”

“Kazuha is not a child, who requires constant correction and supervision,” Xiao defends. “I have no reason to boss him about.”

“Yes, he is,” Kazuha says to Aether. “I don’t mind it, though. Growling and fussing over the person he loves is how Xiao demonstrates affection.”

“He must have really, really liked me, then. It was pretty much nonstop scolding.”

Xiao continues to frown. “This is not at all the way I remember our interactions.”

“I know, Xiao, I’m exaggerating for humorous effect,” Aether retorts, then he looks down at his hands and fidgets with his glove. “Um. So. Have you seen—uh. Have you been to the Jade Palace, lately? Or whenever? Since I left?”

“Yes, I have,” Xiao answers gravely. “As I have said, before, you should return to your proper place, there. My master is…he is not himself.”

“What do you mean!” Aether exclaims, suddenly visibly distressed. He grabs Xiao’s arm, with a white-knuckle grip, looking frantically into his face. “Is there something wrong with him? Is he unwell? Can he even be unwell?”

Xiao fails to conceal a twitch of surprise, at the prince’s outpouring of concern for his husband. “I am neither qualified nor authorized to make any statement regarding His Divine Majesty’s person, so you must understand that this is my opinion, and nothing more. He appears to me to be…weary.”

“Oh. Oh, ok.” Aether’s held breath puffs out and his tensed muscles relax, somewhat. “You really scared me. I thought it was something way more serious than that.”

“I do not know what could be more serious than my master appearing weary. He never has before, in the millennia I have served him. Not even during the final, bloody years of the war, did his spirit falter, nor his energy flag. Not for a moment.” Xiao pauses and eases off a bit, at a silent look from Kazuha. “But, he was much younger, then. It is entirely possible that this is natural, and no great cause for alarm.”

A shadow falls over Aether’s brow. He feels suddenly sick to his stomach and cold all over, as if a deep chill has settled in his very bones. He turns away, twisting the gold and cor lapis ring on his finger, under his glove. When he speaks again, his tone is soft and musing, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Even if it is something to be worried about, my being there won’t help him. I have never been the comfort and support to him that I should have been. I’ve only ever troubled and disappointed him, to the point where he had to send me away. Seeing me would only make it worse.”

“You know your marriage and your husband best,” Kazuha reasons, diplomatically. “I trust that you will do what you judge to be right.”

“I think…I think I’m going to ask Diluc what he thinks. He’s shockingly wise and thoughtful, for a twenty-three-year-old infant.”

Xiao looks personally affronted. “The king of this land has lived only twenty-three years? How can he know anything about governing, at that age? How can he know anything?”

“I have no idea how anyone can even be that young, let alone be considered an adult,” Aether replies, shaking his head. “When I was twenty-three, I was still a toddler, though, so my perspective is skewed. You know what’s weird? Even though our puberty starts in our sixties, Celestials call it the teenaged years, too. Isn’t that odd?”

“It is a bit strange, yes,” Kazuha agrees.

“It makes no sense to me, whatsoever,” Xiao says, shaking his head dolefully.

“Now that I’m thinking about it, I bet it’s a cultural meme that traveling Celestial ‘teenagers’ picked up from human teenagers on other worlds. That’s where I collected most of the vernacular I annoy Xiao with.”

“I must go,” Xiao says, in his usual, abrupt way. “It is time for me to receive Verr Goldet’s daily reports and conduct my evening patrols.”

“Ok, but don’t just poof away,” Aether says, holding up a hand to stay him. “Hang on a second and let me say goodbye properly.”

“Very well.”

“Uh. Kazuha, I need your permission to kiss your boyfriend goodbye. I know that’s a weird thing to ask, but it’s a closure thing, that I never had the chance to do, and I—”

“You need not explain,” Kazuha interrupts, smiling sympathetically. “I understand. Take all the time you need. I will rejoin the others, inside. Xiao, till I see you next, farewell and fair winds.”

With a bow, he steps in through the door, leaving Aether and his Yaksha alone on the balcony, with the moon just peeking above Mondstadt’s high walls.

Xiao looks pointedly at Aether. “Well? What is the real reason you wanted Kazuha to go?”

“You still see right through me, huh?” Aether smiles sadly. “I wanted to talk alone, because before you go, I need to get something off my chest. The truth is…I’m the one who owes you an apology. I think I knew, deep down, what it would do to you, if we gave in to our feelings for each other. In fact, I’m sure I knew. And I pushed you into it, anyway, because I was lonely and angry at my husband, and I only cared about what I felt and what I wanted. Maybe I’ll forgive myself for using you that way, one day, but I haven’t yet.

But all my stupidity doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. I loved you. And I always knew you loved me. And we both knew we weren’t meant for each other. Your heart belonged to Kazuha then, and it always will. Mine belongs to my husband, and always will. That is the way it should be. But I’ll never stop loving you. I’ll never stop being your friend. So, I hope you can forgive me, because I can’t stand the idea that I’ll never talk to my best friend again.”

Aether looks up, to see an unaccustomed tear roll down Xiao’s white cheek, glittering like a gem in the moonlight. This is answer enough. Without a word, he lays his hands on the sides of Aether’s face, and rests his forehead against his. Aether mirrors the gesture, and for a long moment, they remain that way, eyes closed, breathing in harmony. Then Xiao presses his lips to Aether’s, and is gone, in a whirl of wind and ink-black shadows.

Alone again, Aether sits down hard on one of the balcony benches and holds his head in his hands. He feels eviscerated and raw, like an open wound, but one from which the sting has been pulled and the poison drained. Tender, but clean and ready to heal. All at once, a sense of relief, so poignant it takes his breath away, overwhelms his heart and sets him weeping afresh. And mingled with it, he feels something new. Gratitude. Gratitude for the experience of loving and being loved, and losing and being lost, and forgiving and being forgiven. He laughs, through his tears, knowing he wouldn’t change it, for the world. Not even the ugly and painful parts. It might have been different, but it couldn’t have been better.

Chapter Text

“I am…extremely disappointed in both of you,” Lady Jean Gunnhildr, Acting Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius is saying, standing tall, confrontational, hands on her hips and feet wide apart. She shakes her head and turns away from the sofa in the king’s study, upon which King Diluc and Prince Aether are seated, looking like chastised schoolboys.

“You can’t blame Prince Aether for this, it’s not his fault,” her sister, Barbara, who is seated on a chair adjacent puts in. “He was only helping King Diluc and me.”

Jean turns to her sister, blue eyes flashing. “I’m not blaming Prince Aether! I am talking to you! Barbara and Diluc! What the hell is wrong with the two of you?”

“It’s not wrong to not want to marry each other,” Barbara says, tossing her head defiantly.

Diluc puts a hand up. “If I may—”

“You may not!” Jean cuts him off. “I know it was you who cooked up this little scheme! My sister would never have thought of something like this on her own, because she cares about you too much to want to ruin your reputation! Ugh, I swear I’m getting an ulcer. You don’t want to get married and your solution is faking an affair and inciting public scandal? And you even got His Divine Majesty’s husband involved, you unbelievable idiots.”

“Diluc was just trying to protect me!” Barbara counters.

“I understand that Barbara! What I don’t understand is why my best friend and my sister didn’t just come and fucking talk to me!” Barbara, who has never heard her sister swear, gasps and puts a hand over her mouth. Jean shoots her a glare, but there is no fire in it. Her eyes are pink-rimmed, and her voice wavers, despite her anger. “Do you two really think that I would ever, ever put Gunnhildr political interests ahead of your happiness? You really think I would try to force you to get married? That’s your whole lives we’re talking about!”

“B—but the family heads,” Barbara falters. “You always say how they’re obstinate and won’t accept change, and how much work you have to do, just to appease them and keep things running.”

“Yes. I do, but that’s just diplomacy. I appease them because I don’t like to be harried by old relatives all day, on top of all my other duties. But really, all they can do is annoy me. The clan is not a democracy. I have the final say, no matter how much kicking and braying they do, and your marriage wouldn’t be something I’d be open to accepting their opinions on.”

“I’m so sorry, Jeanie, I just didn’t want to make things harder for you.” Barbara looks contritely down at the floor. “I…I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.”

Jean sighs and sinks into a chair, holding her head in her hands. “If you’d just come to me, we could’ve worked this out privately. Now it’s a huge nightmare and everyone is talking about it. You know a Mondstadt king has never broken an engagement, right? People are calling it a bad omen, and the Snezhnayan Embassy have taken that and run with it. Saying your reign was always doomed and the Ragnvindr family is cursed.”

“Cursed?” Aether snorts. “Seriously, that’s their play? That’s pretty weak.”

“You’d be surprised how effective superstitions can be on our people,” Diluc says. “Or, maybe you wouldn’t. I know you think of them as backward and ignorant.”

“They are,” Barbara and Jean say in unison, then Barbara continues. “But they’re not bad people. They just haven’t had much exposure to the outside world. They cling to the old ideas because they’re afraid and it makes them feel secure. That’s what ninety percent of my job is.”

“Perpetuating archaic rituals?” Aether offers.

“Comfort!” Barbara retorts. “Also…perpetuating archaic rituals.”

“Can we please get back to me yelling at you two?” Jean says, with her face still in her hands.

“Oops, sorry,” Barbara replies sheepishly. “I thought you were done. You’re usually done being mad when you sit down.”

“I’m still mad, I’m just too exhausted to stand, anymore. I still don’t know who tried to assassinate our king, the Lawrence Clan is furious that they’re being investigated, and are being duly insufferable, the Snezhnayans are stonewalling, Captain Alberich is nowhere to be fucking found, and I haven’t slept in twenty-six hours. And this morning, just when I was going to indulge myself in a much-needed nap, this scandal explodes. I could kill both of you.”

“Wait…why do you have to deal with this, at all? Isn’t this a matter for the palace to address?” Aether asks.

“All citizen requests for a hearing at court have to go through the Knights first. It’s a security measure, to discourage wack-jobs from clogging up the works and wasting the king’s time with petty or nonsensical things.”

Aether blinks. “Are people seriously coming to lodge formal complaints and request hearings about this?”

“It’s my fans,” Barbara says miserably. “They get a little…energetic, sometimes.”

“If by energetic, you mean rabid,” Diluc says, with a shudder. “Barbara is more worshipped than Barbatos, here, and her devotees have been known to be rather zealous in her defense. They harassed a culture critic who gave one of her performances an unfavorable review until he moved to Fontaine. But we knew this was a likely reaction to the scandal. As long as people are angry at me, not her, it’s not a total disaster.”

“Yes, her fans are rabid,” Jean agrees, as if she didn’t hear the rest of what he said. “Which is exactly the distraction someone needs, who actually wishes one or both of you harm. You’ll both have to have round the clock security details, now, plus extra guard rotations at the palace and the cathedral, and Barbara’s house, and my Knights are already stretched too thin.”

“If it helps, you can consider his highness fully security-detailed,” Aether puts in. “It’d be outright suicidal for anyone to try and hurt him, with me around.”

Jean eyes him with polite skepticism. “I’m sure you’re an excellent fighter, my lord prince, but even you couldn’t fend off a serious assault from multiple enemies.”

“Unless they’ve got several Harbingers with them, yes I can,” Aether says flatly. “I’m dispensing with the modesty for a moment, for the sake of cutting to the chase. I hide a lot of my power, here in Teyvat, because honestly, Teyvatan humans scare easily and I don’t want to be treated like a bomb that might go off. Unless we took Luc to the Jade Palace, he’s not going to get much safer than he is with me. So, I would suggest you dedicate as much manpower as you can to Barbara. It’s doubtful she’d be a target at all, since without her engagement to the king, she’s not a direct means to get to him, but better safe than sorry.”

“We should keep them apart, too,” Jean nods. “Double the targets to divide any potential hostiles and throw them off their game. Luc, do you remember the royal hunting lodge, up in Dragonspine?”

“Uh…yes, I do,” Diluc says, his eyes darting to Aether and back to Jean. “What about it?”

“The place is built like a fortress. It was made to withstand prolonged assault, in addition to Dragonspine weather and wildlife, so there are not a lot of windows or passages leading outside. The extremely prohibitive snow storms and dangerous creatures, could actually be an asset, there. I don’t know if you could ask for better deterrents.”

“I see where you’re headed. Before Durin fell, it was intended as a fallback, in case the city was besieged. It’s on exposed high ground, and the only access road is narrow and steep. Any potential assassins would have to trek up the mountain passes, which are difficult at best, lethal at worst, and easy to watch. So, I go up there, with the prince and a publicly small detail of hand-chosen companions, drawing potential danger away from Barbara and the city, and basically dare them to come at us.”

“Risky,” Jean says, keeping her keen eyes fixed on Diluc’s.

He raises an eyebrow. “But drawing them out, once and for all, might be worth the risk.”

“Yes. We are on the right track now,” Aether says, rubbing his hands together. “Ok, listen. We need to enflame this scandal even further.”

Jean gives him a weary look. “What?”

“For all intents and purposes, Diluc and Barbara have broken up acrimoniously, because he was fucking around with me. Her fans are rabid, the Gunnhildrs are angry, and public sentiment is against him. Since the city is too hot to hold you both, right now, your highness will do the gentlemanly thing, and retire to your hunting lodge for an undisclosed length of time.”

“Why does the hunting lodge require more scandal?” Jean asks.

“Since we destroyed the enchanted bug, whoever it belonged to knows we’re alert to the assassination plot. If he just went there suddenly, it’d look like the trap it very much is, and they’d lay low. Bide their time. But, with all of Mondstadt riled up and factions speaking out against his behavior, he will seem to be off balance and acting impulsively, hiding out with his illicit lover like a coward, because he can’t take the heat. It’s a perfect storm. We may never have a chance like this, again.”

“And when they come to strike, assuming we’re weak, we’ll be waiting for them in a strong position, wherein we can withstand even an open military confrontation,” Diluc says. “Jean, can you get some really furious dignitaries approved for hearings at court? Not a madhouse, just a couple, who will be likely to shout. And I need you to request one, too, as the head of the Gunnhildr Clan.”

“I can, but for what?”

“You and I are going to have a knock-down drag-out verbal confrontation, at court. It’ll be plausible, because you’re representing the wronged party, and everyone knows how close we were as kids, so it can get credibly personal and ugly. I’ll storm out, and then we’ll have Roderick announce my intention to spend some time at the hunting lodge. Also, I’m not putting the lives of your Knights on the line for this. If they hit us there, they’ll hit hard and they’ll be shooting to kill.  So, Aether, we’re going to need all your friends.”

“What?” Jean frowns. “Why them? It sounds a lot like implying his friends are expendable.”

“Not expendable. Vision-holders,” Diluc explains. “The Knights don’t have any, other than you, Amber, Eula, Kaeya, and Albedo. Most importantly, they’re all close personal friends of the prince. There’s literally no one we can trust more.”

She stares at him. “You think the loud demon and the girl in the ninja mask and shorts, and the guy from Mondstadt who wears Inazuman clothes, and the little one who’s always got red maple leaves blowing around him, even when it’s not fall and there aren’t any maple trees nearby, are the most trustworthy people you can find?”

“Yes. I do. Aside from you, but you have to stay here, with Barbara. Besides, it doesn’t really look like a public breach if we jump in the same carriage and fuck off to the mountains together, afterward.”

“Jump in…and fuck off? What has happened to your turns of phrase? You’ve never talked this way, in your life.”

“It’s identity theft, is what it is,” Aether grouses. “He keeps stealing the way I say things.”

Diluc crosses his arms. “Tch. No. Why would I want to talk like you, you sound like an illiterate mental patient.”

“And you sound like a poncey twat! Maybe you should copy my way of talking even harder, it can only be an improvement!”

“Poncey twat? You kiss the Dragon King with that mouth?”

“How about I smack you in yours?”

“How about I fucking dare you.”

“Oh, my god,” Jean, who has been looking back and forth between them says. “You two really are lovers. I…I thought that was all made up for your stupid plan.”

“We were,” Aether says, swatting Diluc’s hand away as Diluc grabs for his braid. “We won’t be anymore if he keeps being a prick.”

Jean’s brow furrows. Seeing that she looks genuinely upset, Diluc leaves off play-fighting with Aether and leans forward, looking at her earnestly. “Jeanie? What’s wrong?”

“We’ve been friends since we were born, and I didn’t know something this important about you. I guess I can’t fault you for not wanting to share that with me, but…it hurts. You didn’t trust me with that, and you didn’t trust me to enough tell me about not wanting the marriage, so…what do you trust me with?”

“No one knew. It’s not that I didn’t trust you, Jeanie, it’s that I had to live my life as someone else. I had to be the king. The heterosexual insurance policy on the continued existence of Ragnvindr kings. Having your sympathy, your pity, making you suffer with me, that would have just made it harder.”

“So, you’re…there’s no chance of producing an heir, in the future?”

“Unless some accommodating lady wanted to act as a surrogate, and even then, the child would be illegitimate, and its claim contestable.”

“Then Mondstadt dies with you. You’re taking the Ragnvindr line to your grave.”

“Whoa, that is extremely unfair,” Aether says, bridling up in defense of his young lover. “What kind of thing is that to say to your friend? Either sacrifice who you are and accept a sham marriage—be a public perjurer, for the rest of your life—or the kingdom dies and it’s your fault? Fuck that. You can’t put that on him.”

Jean’s lip trembles. “That’s—that’s not what I meant. I just meant that…look, you’re from a royal family, too, Prince Aether, you must understand what blood succession means to the people. It’s just like the old traditions Barbara maintains with her church. It makes them feel stable and gives them a sense of comfort and national identity.” She takes a deep breath and then goes on, her voice growing steadier as she picks up steam. “And forgive me for pointing this out, but a king does not belong to himself. I want my friend Diluc to be happy, more than anything. I want him to be free to be true to himself, and love who he loves. But as the king’s advisor, I have to remind him that he belongs first to his people. That is the burden of the crown. Stop, Prince Aether, let me finish! I’m not asking you to get married and have babies, against your will, Luc. I am telling you that many of your people will be unhappy when you don’t, and you have to prepare yourself for that. For what they’ll say about you and how they’ll treat you.”

“Will you stand by me?” Diluc asks quietly. “When that time comes, will you be on my side?”

“Always. I will die for you. You know that. Not just because I took an oath, but because you’re my best friend. I love you so much.”

The two rise simultaneously and clasp forearms, after the manner of brothers-at-arms. “I love you, too. And I know that whatever happens, I’ll be ok, as long as you’re with me. Because you were always the strong one. Let’s face it, we both know you should’ve been king, not me.”

“Well. That’s true,” Jean says, with a toss of her blonde ponytail.

“Hey, wild idea and stop me if this is crazy,” Aether interjects, “but you’re the most powerful people in this country. Why don’t you just change all these shit-stupid laws?”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Jean replies.

“But why isn’t it?” Barbara pipes up. “No one likes the old bigoted laws, here, except old bigots. Luc has the kingship, Jean is the head of the clans, and I have the biggest platform in the nation. Why don’t we use those things to do some real good?”

As she says this, Barbara hops up from her chair and joins her hands with those of her ex-fiancée and sister. A sudden thrill races up Aether’s spine, as he watches the three young people stand with one another, and an inkling of the immense power they hold, if they work together, begins to dawn upon them.

Barbara looks at her sister and Diluc, her blue eyes wide and bright. “We could…we could change everything.”

“After we deal with the scandal and make sure Diluc doesn’t get assassinated,” Jean adds. “Then we can change everything.”

“So, lemme see if I got this right,” Itto says, scratching his head. “Some people wanna kill the king here, on account of prince Heather’s fuckin’ him, and that means I gotta buy a winter coat?”

“Yes. Exactly correct. I’m so glad you were paying attention,” Ms. Shinobu replies drily. “But just for giggles, let’s go over it one more time. The king is under threat of assassination. People are also angry that Prince Aether is his lover. The two things are unrelated. However, we are going to accompany the king and Prince Aether to the mountains, where it is extremely cold, to attempt to draw out the assassins. Hence, you need a winter coat.”

“Ain’t that what I said?”

Ms. Shinobu sighs. “Just keep your mouth shut and do what I say, and everything will work out.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Itto laughs, clapping her heartily on the back, which somehow does not knock her to the ground. “You coulda just said that right from the…right from. Uh. Mountains.”

“Are you having an aphasic episode? What’s wrong with you?” She looks up at his unusually pink-cheeked face, and then in the direction he’d been looking. Her expression changes. “No, Itto. Absolutely not. You may under no circumstances—he’s Prince Aether’s boyfriend! And a king!”

This last part is hissed under her breath, as she drags her friend away to a corner of the massive, mahogany-and-overbearing elegance drawing room, where they have been busily sticking out like sore thumbs amongst the more formally-clad Mondstadters.

“I wasn’t doin’ nothin’, Shinobu, I was just lookin’,” Itto pleads. “He’s the prettiest man I ever saw. He’s the prettiest girl I ever saw—I mean, aside from you!”

“I don’t have any delusions, Itto-kun, I can see how much prettier he is, and I don’t care. My self esteem isn’t that fragile. What is that fragile is our relationship with these very superstitious humans, who have never seen an oni, and are definitely watching everything you do. If they catch you looking at their king like he’s a bento box, they’re liable to think you intend to eat him.”

“They’d be right. I would love to—”

“I mean actually eat him, you dick!”

“What? Eat his dick? Tsk tsk, Shinobu. You gotta be so vulgar, in polite company?”

“I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill you and leave you in the mountains, and tell Kujou Sara you fell off the ship, trying to use your reflection in the sea to comb your hair. She won’t even question it.”

“I ain’t sure I like how well ya got this thought out,” Itto says, eyeing her warily. “Hey, when’s this shindig kickin’ off, anyway? I’m hungry and a horse.”

“As a horse.”

“That don’t even make sense.”

“As if what you said makes any—forget it.” Ms. Shinobu steeples her fingers and takes a few meditative breaths, to regain her equanimity. “This is a dinner, not a shindig, so no singing, arm-wrestling, challenges of any kind, et cetera. Just eat your food and smile politely. And do not ogle the king of this nation at his dinner table!”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. You sure are cranky. Maybe you’re the one could use a roll in the—”

“If you finish that sentence, you will be returning to Inazuma in multiple shipments.”

Just then, dinner is announced, and the individuals who have been invited to this apparently exclusive function, file out and follow the attendants to the equally grand and impressive dining room, where they are shown to the places with their name cards waiting on the chargers. Itto sits stiffly in the shirt and jacket Shinobu made him put on, unused to wearing a covering on his torso, other than his sleeveless coat, which he doesn’t even button up because it’d be too stifling. He feels restricted and ungainly, and he’s sure these shirtsleeves will burst open if he bends his arms too much. Or even makes any sudden movements.

Shinobu warned him to be on his best behavior, and not to make any faces about the Mondstadt cuisine, which is famously heavy and bland to an Inazuman palate. Fortunately, he is far too distracted to even taste the food, so he follows her instruction quite by chance. All his attention is absorbed in surreptitiously observing the scarlet-haired king, and making sure Shinobu doesn’t notice him doing so. He would’ve gotten away with it, too, had it not been for the surprisingly alert king, with whom Itto has made unintentional eye-contact three times, now. One, he chalked up to curiosity. Two, to coincidence, and the third time made him sure the king is watching him now, because he caught Itto staring. He looks quickly away, and keeps his eyes studiously on the dishes before him, wondering vaguely if they still use the guillotine in Mondstadt, till the excessively lengthy meal is concluded.

As it is an unseasonably pleasant evening, those attending Diluc’s private dinner are served after-dinner drinks and coffee in the palace courtyard, rather than the drawing room. The guests consist only of people he and Aether have personally selected as trustworthy. Over the past few days, they have all been quietly informed of the king’s plans, and his request for their aid. Every one of them accepted and placed themselves at the king’s service. Venti, who will be staying behind to protect Barbara and keep her company, suggested what he called a mixer, to let them get to know each other, before the big event. Diluc didn’t care one way or another, and it seemed to please Aether, so he agreed to it.

The event has gone swimmingly, so far, and everyone seems to be getting along. So, why is he standing here with knots in his stomach and his pulse racing, like an idiot teenager with a crush? But he knows why. It’s because that infuriating, white-haired demon-man keeps catching him looking, god damn it. He just wants to appreciate the scenery in peace. Or, at least relative peace, considering that appreciating that particular bit of scenery is what is causing his agitation.

“I know,” Aether says, as if in reply to something, as he sidles up and leans against his arm.

Diluc looks down at him, confused. “You know?”

“Yeah. I mean, looking like that, out in public? It’s criminal. Literally, I hear.”

“Looking like…what?”

“Don’t give me that. You’re eyeing Itto like a lion eyes a big, scary gazelle.”

“A big, scary gazelle?”

“Uh. Well, I meant to evoke the predator-prey dynamic, but Itto is much bigger and scarier than you, so the dismount kind of got convoluted. I mean you’re looking at him like you want him to…look back.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t…I wouldn’t look at another man like that, while I’m with you,” Diluc protests, flushing nearly as red as his hair.

“Pfft. You should,” Aether laughs. “I would, and I do. There is nothing wrong with looking at other men. To be perfectly honest, I noticed before we even sat down to dinner. I didn’t say anything earlier because the way you two have been eye-fucking all evening is seriously turning me on.”

“You really don’t care, do you,” Diluc says, genuinely surprised, though he shouldn’t be.

“I really don’t. I’m with you, so I’m only with you, because you prefer that. I will only do what you want and what makes you happy. But, in case it were to come up at some point, I just want to put it out there that I am not jealous and I am…extremely open-minded.”

“If it were to come up?” Diluc repeats stupidly, his brain refusing to process the key he has just been handed to the most forbidden of all gardens.

“Yeah. Just in case,” Aether says, with a shrug and coy little smile. “You know what? I haven’t properly introduced you to Ms. Shinobu and Arataki Itto. How inexcusably rude of me. Let’s remedy that right now.”

Diluc finds his hand taken by his irresistibly strong Celestial lover, and sees himself being led across his courtyard, as if from outside his body, to where the tiny, green-haired woman and the big, white-haired oni are in conversation with Thoma and Kamisato Ayato. Thoma is tall and Diluc is even taller, but Itto dwarfs even him, by a good five inches. He’s not always the tallest person in a room, because Mondstadters tend to be vertically inclined, but he’s only ever seen one or two people Itto’s size.

Aether is introducing him to Itto and Ms. Shinobu, now. He thinks he says something courteous and appropriately kingly, but he can’t hear anything above the blood roaring in his ears. His instinct is to revolt against the very idea Aether so casually put forth. Monogamy is the highest expression of love. Anything less is a betrayal. Isn’t it…? But Kamisato and Thoma always look so happy, together, and the way Aether tells it, they have fucked their way through most of the eligible men and women in Teyvat. What if…what if sex with another person, in agreement or even in tandem with one’s partner, could be something acceptable. Even enjoyable. What if he could bury himself in Aether’s hot little body, while that big, muscle-bound demon man impaled him on his big, thick—

“I beg your pardon,” Diluc says. “I’m terribly sorry, I’m exhausted and my mind wandered. What did you say, Ms. Shinobu?”

“Arataki-san asked if you Mondstadters have any party games. I was translating.”

“Oh. Uh. Party games? Why?”

“Because he’s worried we’ll all get cabin-fever up at the mountain lodge, and he says games will keep us from getting bored.”

“I said they’ll stop us goin’ nuts, did ya say that part?” Itto says to Ms. Shinobu, in Inazuman, which Diluc now realizes they think he doesn’t understand.

He hadn’t spoken it in a long while, but he’s been back in practice lately, since Commissioner Kamisato has been visiting, and is confident enough to give it a go. “Mondstadt is known for long, cold winters, Arataki-san. We have many party games, to pass the time indoors.”

Itto stares at him, gobsmacked, with his mouth actually open. “Y—you speak Inazuman, your highness? Shinobu, he speaks Inazuman. Oh shit, I didn’t say nothin’ embarrassing, did I? I bet I did.”

Itto’s accent is hard for Diluc to parse at first, so it takes him a second to register what the oni’s grimace is about. Then he laughs. “The only thing embarrassing, here, is my terrible Inazuman. I apologize if it’s too much to bear. Kamisato-sama tells me I should never inflict it upon the unsuspecting.”

“And yet here you are, brutalizing my beautiful native tongue with your clumsy foreign one,” Kamisato observes, in his silky, flirtatious drawl. “So many better things you could be using it for, too.”

Itto opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again, as Ms. Shinobu has kicked him in the foot. A subtle enough gesture, but for the fact that his wood geta make an unmistakable sound when struck, and everyone hears it. There would have been an awkward pause, at this point, but this group is comprised chiefly of diplomats and royalty.

“The moon is so bright, tonight, I bet you could see the countryside just as well as in the full daylight,” Aether remarks. “Hey, Itto-kun, weren’t you just saying how you’d like to see the view from one of these turrets?”

Itto squints at him. “You losin’ your mind, chibi? I never said nothin’ abou—oh…I mean. Yes. I love turtles. And lookin’ off the top of ‘em. At countrysides.”

“Diluc, you know the landscape better than anyone, here,” Aether forges on. “Why don’t you take Itto up there and let him have a look?”

Diluc balks, at the bald-faced blatancy of what Aether is doing, more than any particular objection to the idea of a few minutes alone with the oni. “I’m sure our guest doesn’t want to climb up a long flight of stairs just to stand on top of a wall.”

“Nonsense, he’d love to,” Kamisato insists, as Shinobu prods Itto forward. “Mondstadt is beautiful in the light of a full moon, Itto-to, and you might never get a chance to see it like this again.”

Diluc’s royally-bred and court-honed manners avail him, and he laughs smoothly, as if he’s not the most embarrassed he’s ever been in his entire life. “Well, it’s obvious our friends are trying to get rid of us, for some reason, Arataki-san. Shall we do the gentlemanly thing and take the hint?”

Itto looks as out to sea as if the king had said all of that in the Mondstadt tongue. “Uh…”

“He means he wants you to go with him, you drooling idiot, go!” Shinobu says under her breath, giving Itto another shove.  

And that’s that. Diluc is leading Itto through the courtyard to a back passageway, then down to the end and the spiral staircase, which coils upward to the top of one of the crenellated towers that adorn Mondstadt’s high walls. His mouth is dry and his heart is pounding on his ribcage like an angry battering ram, and he has no idea what to do next. He finds himself actually pointing out landmarks and visible sites of interest, with a growing sense of embroiled ineptness. Itto, however, lights up like a firework. His genuine, unbridled enthusiasm for this information astonishes Diluc, who even forgets to be awkward and nervous, after a while, because he’s having such a good time talking to him.

“But if that fucker—oops. I mean, that uh…”

“It’s ok, he was a total fucker,” Diluc assists. “That’s why Barbatos overthrew him.”

“Ah, I get ya. So if that Decarabian fucker is dead, why’s there still a big-ass tower over there, with all that glowy swirly anemo magic around it? Ain’t that his whole scene?”

“Decarabian was extraordinarily powerful. When he died, his city fell to ruin, simply because his will was no longer holding it together. But his tower was so strongly imbued with his will, that the trace he left on it held it together. It stood after the battle, and has for millennia, now. No one can approach it, due to the wind barrier, but because of that, Dvalin makes the tower his abode, and watches over the people from there. It is no longer a symbol of the tyranny of Decarabian, but of the protection of the great wind dragon.”

“Wow, for real? There’s a dragon up there somewhereabouts?” Itto leans over the wall, in one of the low parts of the crenellation, straining to see the elusive dragon. “I don’t see nothin’. Maybe he ain’t at home.”

“He lives inside it, not on top of it,” Diluc laughs. “And you can’t see him unless he wants to be seen, anyway. He could be here, perched on one of the city walls, for all we know.”

“But he ain’t really, though, right?” Itto says, tensing and looking all about, like a rabbit that might bolt.

“Probably not. He doesn’t usually come near the city. If he did, we’d have felt a massive gust of wind. He can be invisible, but his wings still have to displace air to work.”

“Whew. Well, that’s good, then. I know he’s your protector guy and all that, but dragons ain’t keen on oni, and I ain’t keen on bein’ dinner.”

“I don’t think Dvalin eats p—” Diluc’s sentence is cut off by a sudden, suspiciously strong blast of wind, at which the oni gives a yelp and grabs hold of him, as if for protection from the ostensible invisible dragon. His heart lurches and his mind shuts down. All he knows is that he’s being clung to very tightly by big, heavily muscled arms.

Itto draws away hastily. “I was, uh. I was just makin’ sure you was ok. Ya know, cause the—” He breaks off with another startled cry, as a second, far stronger blast of wind knocks him directly into Diluc, and both of them into the wall.

Barbatos you interfering little shit, Diluc thinks, making a mental note to visit terrible vengeance upon his god, for this. Right now, however, Itto is pressed up against him, and he is trapped (very pleasantly) against the stone wall. He wants to let him stay like this, just to enjoy the heat and solid hardness of his body a little longer, but that wouldn’t quite be gentlemanly.

“It’s not a dragon, Arataki-san,” he says, through the white hair that is being blown into his face. “There are some anemo users in Mondstadt that are quite the little pranksters. I’d chalk it up to that.”

“Ya sure?” Itto says, pulling away enough to look at him.

Then he freezes, wide-eyed with dread, as it appears to occur to him that he has the king of this country in a rather compromising position. Diluc can see the apology rising to his lips, and if he gets it out, the moment will be gone, so he throws caution to the annoying fucking busybody jackass wind and stops Itto’s mouth with his. Itto makes a surprised sound, that turns into a low growl, as the king pulls him closer, his sweet, soft tongue pushing urgently into his mouth. His big, clawed hands slide down onto his ass, and lift him effortlessly off his feet, holding him really pinned to the wall now, as he devours his mouth, using his dexterous demon tongue to devastating effect.

Itto is a bit slow to pick up on social cues, and lives his life sort of fumbling his way through the human world, always a little too loud, too clumsy, too big, and totally out of place, wherever he goes. The exception is the bedroom (or a turret on a stone city in some backwater nation he hadn’t given a second thought till a couple weeks ago). He knows how to fuck. This is the one area in which he has absolute confidence in his skill. He can do things to this man’s body that he’s pretty sure a human who feels this young and inexperienced has never even heard of. But…shit. His heart sinks.

Itto pulls away reluctantly, to look at the beautiful young man. “Aether.”

Diluc’s scarlet eyes are hazy and his lips are wet and kiss-bruised, red in the moonlight, against his wax-white skin. “What? Is he…here?”

“Nah, I mean, he’s your boyfriend. Much as I want to, it ain’t right doin’ this, if he’s gonna be hurt.”

Diluc’s euphoric expression dissolves. “Are you kidding me? That little prick threw me into your arms, because he was getting off on the idea. He’s probably already in my room, jerking off to the thought of what we might be doing.”  

“Oh. Ohhhhh. I’m into it,” Itto says agreeably. “We can go help him out with that, if you want.”

“You are? We—we can?”

“Hell, yeah. I do it with Kamisato-sama and Thoma-kun all the time. I switch roles, I listen good, and I like everything. I mean no scat, obviously, but everything not gross.” He pauses, seeing the hesitation on the young human’s face. “Y’know, we don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t want. If you want me to suck ya off, up here, or go fuck your boyfriend together, or even if ya wanna just call it a night, I’m good.”

“I do want something. With my previous lover, we switched back and forth, pretty much equally. But Aether is exclusively a receiver. I need…” he pauses, agonizing, then blurts it out. “I need a cock inside me. It’s been years, and I miss it so much, sometimes, I think I might go insane.”

Itto nods sympathetically. “What’d Aether say about it?”

“I haven’t brought it up,” Diluc says, with a wince. “I know! It’s because I don’t want him to feel like he’s not satisfying me, or that I’m not happy with what we have. I am. I just want that, too.”

“Listen. Ms. Hina says communication is the key to everything, in a relationship. All ya done by not tellin’ him what ya want is deny yourself somethin’ he’da been more than happy to give ya, if you’d just said it out loud.” Itto leans in and presses another kiss Diluc’s lips, then draws away, releasing him from the embrace. “So. Before anything else happens, we’re gonna go find that chibi and have a real clear talk about what everyone wants. Then, hopefully, I’ll fuck you till ya can’t walk tomorrow.”

“You are not nearly as shy or awkward as you pretend to be, are you.”

“Ah, no, I really am. We all gotta be experts at somethin’, though, right? So happens I’m real good at bein’ a fulcrum.”

“A ful—” Diluc begins, then breaks off, as the meaning hits him. “Good god, I should have you thrown in the dungeon for repeating that abomination of a joke in the king’s presence.”

“Ooh, ya got a dungeon?”

“No, we don’t. The real kind, nor the fun kind.”

“Well, like Ms. Hina always says, any room can be a dungeon if ya ain’t coward and ya don’t have neighbors sharin’ a wall.”

“I read Ms. Hina’s columns. She has never once said that.”

“Not in print,” Itto returns, baring his fangs in a vulpine grin, then enjoys the astonished look on his human companion’s face, as they descend the spiral staircase together.

Chapter Text

“It’s kinda like bein’ with two people, anyway,” Itto is explaining to Diluc. They are lying on the king’s bed, Diluc on his back and Itto on his side, facing him, running his claws through his scarlet hair, which is loose from its tie. “Half the time he’s shovin’ his dick down my throat and callin’ me his bitch, and half the time she wants me to bend her over her desk and rail her till she forgets how write. But I don’t like one way any more or less than the other. They are both part of who he is.”

“And you two are not monogamous, either,” Diluc says, with a thoughtful frown.

“Ha! Hell no. He’s away on army business all the time, and even if he wasn’t, he’s way too much for me to handle on my own. Must be the Shiba thing. Always in heat, humpin’ anything amenable and convenient.”

Diluc arches an eyebrow. “Amenable and convenient?”

“Yeah, y’know. Willing and handy.”

“I know what the words mean, they just sounded a little…out of character, for you.”

“Well, I ain’t been a writer’s boyfriend all this time without pickin’ up a few things.” At that moment, the door opens, admitting Aether, who only looks mildly surprised to find them both in Diluc’s chambers. Diluc tries to sit up and Itto pushes him back down. “Hey, chibi, where ya been?”

“I was talking to Madame Ping about our plans,” Aether says, dropping his head curiously to one side. “Why are you two so…clothed?”

Itto’s fangs come out in one of those demonic grins. “We were waitin’ for you. Wanted to invite ya to have some fun.”

Diluc blushes to the ears. “If—if it’s something you’d want to—”

“Yes,” Aether replies, before Diluc even finishes the thought. “Also what kind of fun? But yes, regardless.”

“I wanted to ask if you’d…if you and Itto could…” Diluc trails off miserably.

Itto laughs, dragging the king into his arms, to rock him back and forth. “Ain’t it cute how he goes all pink like that? He’s tryina say he wants my dick in him and we want to know what you think.”

Aether’s eyes brighten. “Can I watch?”

“His majesty was hopin’ you’d get in on the action,” Itto points out.

“No, no, I will,” Aether says, almost breathless with eagerness, as he hurries over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Since the first time I saw him, I’ve wanted to see him get knocked off his high horse and fucked absolutely senseless. Sorry, Luc, it’s just true. With your pale skin and all that stubborn stoicism. The thought of you flushed and wrecked, growling and fighting it, and finally breaking…that has availed me when I’m on my own, more than once. So, in my scenario, I want to call the shots. Itto, that’d mean you’d be fucking him, but I’d tell you what to do and how, and also touch him, if I want. What do you guys think?”

“I think fuck yeah. But it’s up to the king. You want to get fucked, like that, for the prince’s amusement?”

Diluc nods. “Yes. I really, really do.”

“Question,” Itto says, raising his hand. “Safewords? Cause it sounds like you want him to struggle, and if that’s the thing, we gotta have a rip-cord, y’know?”

Aether considers this. “Hm. I just meant him fighting against letting his inhibitions go, but that is interesting. Luc, what do you think?”

“I…I’d like to…” Diluc pauses and takes a long, shaky breath, lowering his eyes as if he’s ashamed. “I want to be tied up. Blindfolded. Helpless. Handled roughly. Slapped around. No one—almost no one—has treated me like anything but royalty, my whole life, and I just…I want to be taken and used and have no say in it. I’m so fucking tired of having a say in everything.”

Aether is watching Itto’s face, while Diluc speaks. The way he’s looking at Diluc, with that attentive gaze and encouraging little half-smile…the sly bastard, he knew exactly what Diluc needed. That’s why he brought up struggling and safewords, in the first place. It would seem that the big, loud, gregarious oni is more observant and thoughtful than he seems.

“Roleplay, maybe?” Aether says lightly, arching an eyebrow. “How about this. Luc, you’re a prisoner and I’m the dungeon’s torturer, and instead of red-hot pokers and iron maidens and whatnot, I’m having my big snarly demon assistant work on you with his dick, because…I guess I’m not very good at my job.”

Diluc looks dubious. “Is the playacting really necessary?”

“Nope,” Aether chirps. “But it’s fun. And sometimes it’s easier to stop being embarrassed and really get into it, if you can be like, ‘I’m not me, King Diluc, and these are not my friends who deeply respect and care for me, I’m an anonymous captive and these are the bad guys who are about to wreck my asshole.’ See what I mean?”

“I want to be me,” Diluc answers firmly, growing more confident as he sees how seriously his wishes are being taken. “I do want you guys to be bad guys who are about to wreck me, but…it feels important for me, King Diluc, to be knocked off my high-horse, like you put it, and treated like I’m nothing but a hole for Itto’s cock.”

“Oh—fuck,” Aether puffs, going a little red in the cheeks. “I got hard just hearing you say that.”

“Can I request an edit?” Itto asks. “Prince Heather, you’re still the bad guy in charge, but I’m your pet, not your assistant. Cause, uh…I like to be bossed around, too. You captured the king and ya want to humiliate him and show him what’s what, so you’re lettin’ me do all kindsa twisted shit to him. That sound ok?”

“Ooh, multiple levels of dominance and submission,” Aether says, looking impressed. “I love it. Luc?”

Diluc swallows hard. “I like it, but is this…is it too weird?”

“Ain’t even a little bit weird,” Itto laughs, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I can’t tell ya the details, but some of the shit Ms. Hi—uh…I mean, my boyfriend thinks up, makes this look like pure vanilla.”

Aether suggests they all share a safeword, so there are fewer things to remember, in the heat of the moment. They agree upon ‘takoyaki,’ then the room is set up to accommodate their play, which boils down to putting out all the lights but candles, for dramatic atmosphere, and moving a chair to the center of the room. As Aether is stepping back in from the bathroom, he pauses in the doorway, and watches Itto stroking Diluc’s hair and murmuring something into his ear. He puts his big, clawed hands on the sides of Diluc’s face and leans down to kiss him, then slips the blindfold on and secures it behind his head, black against the scarlet cascade of his hair. When Aether sees the shuddering sigh of surrender and relief, that passes through the king’s entire body, his chest aches.

There are things Diluc needs that are taking time for him to acknowledge. Aether has watched him struggle with this one for months. Coming close to it and shying away, like a wary, woodland creature. He could have pushed him to recognize it, of course, but one doesn’t force the petals of a flower apart. Diluc is such a young man and so deeply wounded. The wrong amount of pressure on his budding sense of self could be disastrous, even if intended for the best. But Aether will be his eggshell, solid enough to protect him from harm while he develops, but permeable enough to let in as much air and light as he needs, until he hatches, strong enough to stand on his own.

Coming up behind him, he slips his hands around Diluc’s trim waist and slides his palms up the hard ridges of his abdomen, pressing kisses to his bare back. “How are you feeling? You ready?”

“Yes.” Diluc’s low, soft voice resonates through his chest. He sounds a bit nervous, but not afraid.

“Remember the safeword, and don’t hesitate to use it. Even if it’s something you think is stupid. There’s no such thing. This is only fun if everyone feels safe.”

He nods and Aether draws away. Time to begin.

Diluc opens his eyes to pitch darkness. God damn that oni thug, for being so meticulous with his blindfold. They’ve left his trousers on, at least, but the stone floor is cold under his bare feet. He growls through his teeth as his hands are yanked forcefully behind him, forearms folded at the small of his back, and bound tightly together with some kind of thin, smooth rope. He is shoved forward and made to walk ten paces or so, then forced to his knees. There is a laugh, from somewhere in the room, cold and clear, like a blade being unsheathed.

“So, this is the boy king. Let me have a look at him,” the owner of the laugh says.

The voice is almost androgynous, suggesting a male youth, but it is superior and disdainful, with the exact, cut-glass enunciation of Celestial royalty, and all the assurance of an absolute monarch. This is the voice of one born to a kind of power Diluc can’t comprehend. He gasps as his hair is yanked hard, forcing his head back and holding it in place. There is a long pause, as if his captor is examining him.

“Pretty enough. But so…human.” The note of aloof disgust in his voice is so palpable, it sends a chill up Diluc’s spine. Either Aether is one hell of an actor, or he’s actually disgusted by humans. “Well, let’s see the rest of him. Strip him.”

Diluc clenches his teeth as he is hauled to his feet, but he doesn’t bother fighting. Even with a vision, he is no match for the oni’s demon strength. The tips of long claws leave scratches burning on his skin, as the oni unfastens his trousers, and yanks them down and off. He is herded forward a few more stumbling steps, and pushed back to his knees.

“You like to play with humans, don’t you, my pet,” his captor croons. His voice is very close, now. The oni growls in answer, a low rumble that vibrates in the air and makes Diluc’s cock swell, even as his body recoils with instinctive fear. “Spread his knees wider.”

The oni kicks the insides of Diluc’s knees, till he has moved them apart sufficiently. Then he gives a real start, as the sole of a boot is pressed against his chest. Aeth—er, his captor—must be sitting in a chair in front of him. The smooth, rounded toe of the other boot hefts and rolls his balls. Diluc winces internally, and only just manages to avoid visibly flinching.

“Look at you, your highness,” his captor taunts, in a sing-song voice. “Naked and bound, kneeling before me, about to be despoiled by my pet, for my pleasure. And yet you still cling desperately to that ridiculous pride. Pathetic.”

“Fuck you,” Diluc rasps, mouth dry and body shaking with adrenaline.

His head snaps to the side, as a ringing slap from the oni sears across his cheek, accompanied by a warning snarl. At the same time, the boot gives his chest such a hard shove, that for a dizzy second, he thinks he’s going to topple backward and crack his head on the stone floor. But the oni is right behind him, and he finds himself pinned against his legs instead, his back arched to the straining point, with his arms bound behind him.

His captor’s voice is still cold and calm, but there is venom in it, now. “Allow me to disabuse you of any inflated ideas you may harbor, regarding your worth. You are lower than a dog, in my house. You are not even a slave. You are a hole. A thing I will deign to allow my pet to mount, when it pleases me. If you fail to amuse him, he will kill you and replace you, and no one will care. Understood?”

Every bladed word slices down Diluc’s body into his dick, which is so hard, now, it feels hot and distended, throbbing, like the slightest touch will set it off. He also has no idea what was asked of him.

“N—no,” he falters, which earns him another ringing slap.

“Pet, the hole is inattentive,” his captor announces. “Punish him.”

Diluc bites back a cry, as his very tender, very erect nipples are raked over with long claws, then grabbed and twisted viciously. His captor laughs again. The oni continues to pinch and pull them. His dick is leaking like a broken pipe, now, and he can feel the warm wetness running down the shaft and dripping off his balls. He whimpers helplessly, as his captor’s boot-sole compresses his aching, cruelly neglected cock against his abdomen.

“Look at him, pet, he likes it.” His captor’s voice drips with mocking pity. “Just another wretched animal, after all. Fuck my boot, hole. Make yourself come, rutting into the dirty sole that I walk on, all day.”

Shame engulfs Diluc in a dizzying torrent. Being bound and forced is one thing, but being made to do it himself, while they watch and mock him…he never imagined this depth of degradation. And he wants it. He wants to come like this. He needs to. Abandoning his pride to raw, animal need, he rocks his hips, fucking against the sole of his captor’s boot, while his nipples are brutally milked by the oni. It’s hard and not exactly slippery, and the heel is pressing into his balls, almost painfully, amplifying the danger and excitement of the situation.

“Pet, choke him,” his captor commands. “For fuck’s sake, though, don’t kill this one.”

Diluc’s entire body quakes as the oni’s big hands come up and wrap around his throat. They squeeze firmly, not quite restricting his breathing, and all of a sudden he is coming, so hard his balls ache with the intensity of the release, hips jerking, cock convulsing and spurting between his abdomen the hard boot-sole.  

“Blindfold off!” his captor barks, and the thing is yanked off his head. The boot is shoved into his face. Aether makes sure he sees it, spattered all over with milky fluid, then plants both feet firmly on the floor. “How dare you soil me! Remove your vile filth from my person!”

Diluc blinks about, breathless and hopelessly disoriented. The oni pushes his head down, bending him over so his face is almost pressed into his quickly coagulating mess on Aether’s boot. Without the use of his hands, he has to balance his weight on his head, against the shin of the boot. The oni takes hold of his ass spreads it with his thumbs, exposing him obscenely, while he licks his own semen from the polished leather, bit by bit, tears trickling down his cheeks as he gags against the acrid taste and slimy texture. The abject humiliation scintillates like hot liquor through his veins.

“Enough. Pull him up, pet,” Aether says coolly. “I’m going to use his mouth. Don’t whine, you may play with his hole, while I do it. That’s what you like, anyway.”

The oni grabs Diluc by his neck and yanks him up again, positioning him between Aether’s spread knees. If he thought seeing Aether’s face would break the illusion, he was dead wrong. The difference in him is so astonishing, he is nearly unrecognizable. He sits tall and proud, elbows on the armrests of the chair, knees spread wide, neck straight and head high. His normally mobile, expressive features seem to have crystallized into their native Celestial severity. His eyes are veiled windows, cold and unreadable. He looks like…he looks like a goddamned Celestial highborn, is what, and the for the first time in his life, Diluc is actually aware of what that means. Subsequently, it dawns fully upon him that for all these months, he has been sleeping with a god. The golden-haired deity in question looks at him like he’s an insect, until Diluc can’t withstand his gaze anymore, and casts his eyes down.

“Untie my waistband and get my cock out,” Aether commands.

There’s a wet spot on the white linen of the boy’s zhongyi pants, and his erection is tenting the fabric. Diluc cranes his neck forward, and manages to catch hold of the cord, which he pulls. That undoes the bow, but he is forced to press his face into Aether’s crotch to get it the rest of the way untwisted. The warm, musky scent of Aether’s arousal makes his head spin and his mouth water. He bites into the unpleasantly dry linen and tugs the fabric out of the way, freeing Aether’s cock to stand rigidly upright, against his face. Aether looks up at Itto and nods. Long claws rake down Diluc’s sides, so that he feels them retract, before the hands are drawn away. He hisses as one of the oni’s big fingers, slick with something wet and cold, circles his sensitive asshole.

Aether is watching his face again, leaning on the arm of the chair, his head tilted to rest against his forefinger, like a statue of an emperor. Aside from his exposed, erect cock, he is the very picture of genteel boredom. Diluc, however, is on fire. He can feel the heat radiating from his skin, as the oni’s fingers slide in and out, and knows his face and chest must be flushed crimson. With no warning, Aether grabs a handful of his hair and shoves his head down, forcing his cock abruptly down his throat. Diluc gags, his body trying reflexively to jerk away. Aether yanks him back up by his hair, cuffs him hard across the face, and pushes him down on his dick again.

The handprint throbs and burns on his cheek as he chokes on Aether’s cock, gagging and drooling when the head bumps the back of his throat. He wants to be slapped again, but Aether forcing him to bob up and down on his shaft like this is working on him like a narcotic. He pushes his shoulders into the boy’s knees and concentrates on relaxing his throat, in defiance of his touchy gag reflex, while the oni works him open, with those thick, calloused fingers. Aether’s shaft swells and gets hotter against his tongue. The acrid, salty taste grows stronger. He’s getting close.

Itto pushes what Diluc realizes is a third finger inside him, stretching and burning and—fuck! The fingers hook to connect with the sweet spot like a bolt of lightning. Diluc writhes and gives a sobbing moan, around Aether’s cock. In response, Aether grabs his head with both hands and thrusts, fucking his mouth hard and fast, while the oni strums his prostate like a harp string. He yelps as Aether shoves him roughly away and bursts of warm, viscous fluid splash all over his face. God. Fucking. Damn. He licks his lips dreamily as salty drops trickle down over them.

Aether slaps him backhanded, which rings out sharp and clear, with the wet slick of semen on his skin. “You are not worthy to taste my seed, hole. Keep your mouth shut unless I tell you to open it. Pet, you’ve toyed with this whorehouse castoff long enough. Fuck him, now.”

That slap should have stung a lot more, but Diluc is floating, drunk on submission, dazed and euphoric. That is, until the oni’s fingers slide out, leaving him raw and painfully empty. Then his reeling mind clears enough to take the opportunity to report his situation to him. He is currently tied up, on his knees, with semen all over his face, about to be fucked by a demon he just met. And he’s aching for it. It’s all he can do not to push back eagerly, when he feels the warm, blunt head of the oni’s cock pressing against his well-prepared hole.

It occurs to him that he hasn’t actually seen it, when the first of what feels like a set of very pronounced dorsal ridges pops in through the taut ring of muscle. His eyes go wide and unfocused, staring wildly into oblivion. His mouth falls open. Another. The thing is already impossibly huge. These ridges are going to tear him apart. Three. It hurts so much…and feels so good. Four. His entire consciousness is wrapped up in this one sensation and nothing else seems real, anymore. Five. The slow, stretching, burn, the awareness of being filled to bursting. Impaled with meticulous patience, on a dick that might, from the feel of it, reasonably seat six. Six. Beads of sweat roll down his face, stinging his eyes, so he squeezes them shut. Seven. His abdominal muscles tense up and his thighs start to shake. Eight. Fuck…oh, fuck.

“I’m—fuck! I’m coming! I’m co—” his voice chokes off in his throat.

He shatters beautifully. His back arches, every muscle taut and trembling, sweat rolling down his chest and abdomen and tears pouring down his alabaster cheeks, a strangled sob, as the ninth, tenth, and eleventh ridges wrench his climax out of him, in helpless, stuttering spurts. He collapses forward into Aether’s lap. But the oni is far from done with him. Diluc’s piteous cry is muffled in Aether’s zhongyi pants, as the ridges thrum back out over his sensitive rim and are pushed in again. He can’t breathe for a moment, and then realizes it’s because his face is pressed into Aether’s thigh. He rolls his head drunkenly to the side. Little, plaintive sounds are punched out from between his parted lips, as Itto fucks him at a steady, relentless pace, till he’s starting to tilt out of his senses.

Then suddenly, the oni grabs him and hauls him up, holding him in a headlock against his huge, hard body, exposing him to Aether’s icy gaze. Itto’s skin is hotter than Diluc’s, even, and his shaft feels like red-hot iron, hammering into him, over and over. Diluc wails hoarsely, his arms straining hopelessly at his bonds, as the oni bites down hard into the meat of his shoulder, his long fangs puncturing deep, hooking in and holding on, while his massive cock pulses, pumping a deluge of molten-hot fluid into Diluc’s stretched and swollen insides.

Time seems to halt for a moment, while Diluc listens stupidly to his own pulse, thumping in his ears. He is only hazily aware of what’s happening, after that. With what seems to be no effort whatsoever, Itto stands up, lifting the half-insensate king of this nation with him, and deposits him gently on his bed. Diluc hears voices murmuring words of praise, feels his arms being untied, hard hands massaging life back into the stiff muscles, gentle hands stroking and soothing his fevered skin, a cool, damp cloth cleaning him carefully. He is made to sit up, and a glass of cold water is pressed to his lips. He swallows it ravenously. Then he is being laid down, pressed between two naked bodies; a very big, very hot one, behind him, and a small, cool, silky one in front of him, around which he uses his last bit of conscious will to throw his arms, before he dives blissfully into the deepest sleep he’s had in years.

“God damn it!” Kaeya snarls, slamming his hand down onto the map in the middle his desk, along with the roll of parchment Adelinde has just handed to him. He falls into his chair and leans back heavily, pressing the heels of his hands to his eye sockets.

The young woman who has been standing beside him picks up the paper and scans it, then tosses it back onto the desk. “These things wouldn’t keep coming as surprises to us, if you’d stay in his confidence.”

He uncovers his good eye to glare up at her. “Is the dark lord not paying you enough to buy clothing? Is that why you’re walking around my house in your underwear?”

She puts a hand on her exposed hip, just above the garter strap upon which her vision hangs, in no danger of being obscured by her scant, negligee-like jumper, and raises her eyebrows, in a half-mocking expression of concern. “You’re fussy, today. You want to talk about it?”

“You mean, do I want to talk about how our carefully laid plans have to be scrapped, our forces divided, and two entirely new strategies developed, by Thursday?”

“Tuesday, if you want to have the passes covered before royal scouts are all over the mountain.”

“Fuck me,” he groans. “How many cold-weather experienced men do you have on hand, with pyro visions?”

“Two. What? You know how much snow we get in Liyue?”

“I know you have men who work in Snezhnaya.”

“I do. And they are in Snezhnaya. What about you? I’d have thought Mondstadt would be crawling with pyro-users.”

He shakes his head. “Not pyro-users who work for me. And so many of the Hoarders come from Liyue and Inazuma, now. The very few who have visions have never even seen a mountain like Dragonspine.”

“Ah, the eternal conundrum. Quality or quantity.”

“I’d prefer to take the quality with us and leave the quantity to deal with the city,” he says, leaning forward to consider the map, again. “The mountain itself is an enemy. It requires especially resilient, prudent, experienced men. We have one chance at this. We can’t afford to be slowed down by novices.”

She arches a questioning eyebrow above an emerald-green eye. “Don’t you have an alchemist you trust? Or, rather, two alchemists?”

“What does that have to do with—oh, I see. Albedo’s cave.”

“Bingo. Look how close it is to the lodge,” she says, drawing a line on the map with the tip of her finger, from the Royal Hunting Lodge to a geo-rune, drawn in pencil on the map, near a line indicating a cliff-edge path. “It’ll be a perfect reporting and fallback point.”

Kaeya’s expression softens with fondness. “Those little sneaks. I never thought of their mountainside rabbit-warren as a strategic location, but it looks like it’s about to be.”

“And if the mini-twins can alchemy up a few batches of pyro oil, while they’re there, we won’t be limited to men with pyro visions. We’ll have our pick of the best and brightest.”

“Only one twin. The other will be with the king’s party.”

“They’re ok with that?” she says doubtfully. “Taking sides between you and Diluc, that way?”

“They don’t take sides. Their world is divided into things they find interesting and things they consider irrelevant. That’s why I can’t even predict which one will be with us. It’s a toss of the coin.”

“Or, perhaps…a throw of the dice?”

Kaeya scowls. “No. A coin has two sides and there are two of them. Stop trying to work dice into every conversation.”

“Ugh. You’re so boring. I thought you were the fun brother.”

“He is not my brother, and your stupid jokes are not my idea of fun. No one likes them but you.” There is a tap at the office door, and Adelinde announces a visitor. Kaeya frowns. “A visitor on what business? I’m not expecting anyone.”

“He won’t say, my lord,” Adelinde says, stepping over to the desk. “He told me to give you this.”

Kaeya holds out a hand and she places the object in his palm. It is a large, gold ring, very heavy, with a single, black stone, upon which is overlaid in gold, an emblem, which consists of either the Snezhnayan letter ‘R’ or the Mondstadt letter ‘P’—which are nearly identical—adorned by tiny Snezhnayan snowflake symbols.

Kaeya’s female companion lets out a hiss between her teeth. “I guess he picked up the trail of breadcrumbs, after all.”

Hearing, or at least imagining, a tremor in her voice, Kaeya looks up at her. Her expression is unreadable, but her already-pale skin seems to have gone half a shade paler.

“Is this is from who I think?” he asks.

“Yes, it is,” she nods stiffly. “So, we’re either fucked, or we’re saved. Send the visitor in, Adelinde.”

Adelinde looks to Kaeya for confirmation of the instruction, before she steps out of the room. Meanwhile, the two push a few papers over the map, to conceal the markings they’ve made. After a moment, there is another knock, and Adelinde shows the visitor in. He is a tall, slender man in a heavy, grey, hooded cloak, which conceals his face and garments, but for his black boots, and a flash of silver and crimson across his chest, when he moves.

“Good evening, comrades,” he says, with a sweeping bow, which Kaeya is just thinking is an oddly obnoxious gesture, when he throws back the hood of the cloak.

The young woman gives a startled exclamation, her hands instantly back on her scantily clad hips, posture transformed from apprehensive to confrontational. “What the hell are you doing here, Childe!”

“I am glad to find you as charming as ever, Ms. Yelan,” he replies smoothly. “Captain Alberich, you have a lovely home and, may I say, excellent taste in housemaids.”

Yelan makes a disgusted face and Adelinde tosses her head indignantly, turning on her heel to stalk out of the room.

Kaeya stands blinking at him. “Aren’t you the…cultural attaché to the Snezhnayan embassy in Liyue?”

“Formerly. May I have a seat?” Childe asks, as he takes one, without waiting for an answer, and sits grinning up at Yelan, clearly enjoying her reaction to his unexpected arrival.

Kaeya, who is still frowning, looks at the ring, then back at Childe. “I don’t understand why you’re here, Prince Ajax. And why do you have this ring?”

“I am acting as emissary for its owner,” Childe says, with a dip of his chin. “Lord Regrator sends his regards.”

“Uh huh. And what is the crown prince doing running errands for a businessman?”

“Ah. It seems you do not quite understand who it is, whose support your colleague has solicited. Ms. Yelan certainly does, though, so she can explain it to you, later. We have business to discuss.”

“Hold on a goddamn minute,” Kaeya objects. “You just expect to waltz in here, hand me a ring, and we’re in business together? Are you insane?”

Childe sighs patiently. “Or, we can go through the tedious explanations, now. Ms. Yelan, could you please enlighten our mutual friend, regarding the significance of this signet ring?”

Yelan speaks to Kaeya, keeping her eyes on Childe. “It means he is acting with the full authority of Lord Regrator—that is, the Harbinger known as Pantalone. Whoever bears that ring is Lord Regrator, for all practical and legal purposes. I’ve never heard of him giving it to anyone, before.”

“So, some Harbinger gave you his power of attorney. So what?” Kaeya says to Childe, stubbornly refusing to understand.

“You are holding the key to the entirety of the wealth of Snezhnaya, right now, Captain Alberich,” Yelan says, with that touch of shakiness in her voice again. “It’s a show of good faith. By sending it, he’s handed us positive proof that he’s involved in this. He can’t betray us without betraying himself, now.”

“This ring is the key to the Snezhnayan treasury?” Kaeya says doubtfully. “That doesn’t seem very secure. What if someone cut it off him, or killed him and took it?”

She shakes her head. “They can’t. It’s enchanted to never leave his hand, unless he gives it voluntarily. If it were forced off him, or if he were killed, it’d crumble to dust.”

“I see. And you believe we can trust him to—nevermind. I won’t insult you by asking.”

“How very sweet, but I’ll answer that question, anyway,” Childe puts in. “You may trust him to act in his own best interest, which happens to align with yours, at the moment. As long as it will profit him, he will support you.”

“But why should we trust you?” Kaeya demands. “And why didn’t he come himself, if he’s so keen to help us?”

“He is indisposed, at the moment. As to why you should trust me…well. You don’t really have a choice. You asked for his help. He sent me as his representative. And if you think I don’t know precisely what you’re doing, allow me to relieve you of that notion. I have eyes everywhere.”

“Bullshit. My people are solid. We don’t have any leaks.”

Childe smiles thinly. “We, unfortunately, do. Once I’d ferreted out what our own people were up to, it wasn’t difficult to make the connection to our lovely Orchid, here, putting out feelers to assess Lord Regrator’s position. By the way, Ms. Yelan, you’re fortunate it was him you chose to sound, on this issue. Not all the Harbingers are so pragmatically inclined. A fair number of them are madmen and true believers.”

“Oh, yeah? Which are you?” Kaeya asks.

“I’m…something else.” As he says this, Childe’s ice-blue eyes flicker to the cryo vision, glowing on Kaeya’s hip, then away again. “The point is, you now have the support of the best-equipped private military in all of Teyvat. You should wear that ring, until your business with Lord Regrator is concluded, by the way. It will ensure his men obey you without question.”

Kaeya slips the heavy ring onto his left forefinger, then, disliking how it looks, crosses his arms. “You said he’s a businessman. What does our benefactor want, in return for the generous service he’s rendering us?”

“You must understand that he already believes this enterprise to be a profitable one. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. There is, however, one very small thing he would ask. Call it a gesture of goodwill, from Ms. Yelan.”

“Well?” Yelan asks, already looking annoyed.

Childe smiles indulgently. “He merely requests the return to him of a unique and quite frankly, priceless, item that…went missing, from one of his shipping caravans.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in a gesture of supreme exasperation. “He’s seriously still on about that? Wait…please tell me this whole thing isn’t about getting the stupid pelt back, because that is what a crazy person does.”

“Who can say,” Childe shrugs.

“For fuck’s sake,” she grouses. “He can have the fucking thing, if it’s so important to him. I never thought he’d be this much of a pain in the ass about it, or I’d have left it where I found it.”

“No, no, don’t trouble yourself, now,” Childe says, holding up a hand to stop her, as she begins to unfasten the short cloak of snow-white fur and what appears to be silk, that hangs about her shoulders. “He desires that you place it in his hands, yourself.”

Yelan’s jaw works, as if she’s considering telling Childe where Lord Regrator can shove the cloak. “Fucking. Fine. Deal. But I’m not groveling or apologizing, or any of that shit.”

“I’d ask what a Harbinger wants with your hideous jacket, but I don’t really care,” Kaeya interjects, eyeing it distastefully. “Since we’re all in agreement, now, or at least bound by mutually assured destruction, can we get down to brass tacks? The situation has changed drastically, twice, and we’ve got a lot of reorganizing to do in very little time. Prince Ajax, I’m assuming Lord Regrator trusts the mercenaries he employs, to not betray him?”

“Trust is…the wrong word.” Childe leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. “I would say he holds their current and future livelihoods, and those of their families, friends, and everyone they’ve ever met, in his hands. A man may not fear torture or death, and yet shrink from the prospect of dooming his bloodline to eternal ruin.”

Kaeya stares at him. “You really could have just said yes. Here. This is the latest development. If you’re aware of what we’re doing, you’re aware of how this changes things.”

He hands Childe the communication regarding the king’s intention to remove to the Royal Hunting Lodge, then he and Yelan give him a quick rundown of the situation, so far. They are explaining the difficulty of the cold weather and icy terrain on the snow-driven mountain to their politely smiling Snezhnayan guest, when they simultaneously realize how ridiculous it must sound to him, and abruptly stop talking. At the sheepish looks on their faces, Childe bursts out laughing—genuine laughter, that lights up his ice-blue eyes and softens his face. Suddenly, Kaeya is keenly aware of how very handsome he is. He pushes the thought away and forces his mind to focus.

“Please, forgive me if I find your fretting over the cold weather amusing,” Childe is saying, apparently having got his mirth under control. “Our men do have a little experience with such climates. Speaking of which, I have a gift for you, from Lord Regrator. It is directly relevant to the obstacle presented by traversal of the mountain.”

If Lord Regrator desired to impress his Mondstadt and Liyue co-conspirators, he has officially done so. Dainsleif, who recalls the height of Khaenri’ahn technology, in its glory days, might not have batted an eyelash at such contraptions, but Kaeya had never seen anything like them. Nor had Yelan, who departed their meeting in reasonably high spirits, to organize her men. With her off and Childe, who has been invited to stay the night at the vineyard, wandering about somewhere on the property, Kaeya is left alone, for a while. This would be his time for meditating upon his strategies, but copper-red hair and devilish smiles, and Mondstadt words made new and novel by a lilting Snezhnayan tongue, keep intruding into his mind and derailing everything.

He shakes himself. This is not the time. Not now, when he needs more than ever to be sharp and clear and dispassionate. Diluc and that Celestial bastard have betrayed him in the most horribly painful way imaginable, but there is no use going into a self-destructive tailspin, over it. Despite his reputation as a profligate sexual decadent, carefully fostered and cultivated over the years to conceal his clandestine meetings with spies in his employ, Thoma was only his third lover in six years—the twins being the other two—and he had tormented himself with guilt over what little comfort he had allowed himself. At least, he’d thought he had. He knows now that he hadn’t even grasped what torment meant, yet. When his information network inside the palace informed him that the prince was spending his nights in the king’s chambers, it was a bitter blow. He couldn’t bear to look the little blonde prick in the face, after that. And now…this. Diluc has broken his engagement, and he didn’t even tell Kaeya, in person. He has publicly taken a lover. A lover who is not him.

He curls into himself, as the hollow, freezing ache of disappointment and betrayal carves out his insides. As the abyss inside him rises up to swallow the light he has been clutching at like straws, ever since he was left in this place and given his solitary mission. What if he just let it go? What if he embraced the other part of his nature and became…something else. When he closes his eyes, he can feel it, right at his fingertips. A cold more profound than all the ice and snow of this material realm. A blackness so deep it pierces light.

“Captain.”

Kaeya gives a jolt, at the voice speaking his name, and looks up confusedly, as if he’s emerging from deep sleep. Childe is standing between him and the fireplace, looking down at him. His smile is charming and menacing, all at once. Like he knows you want him and he’s going to fuck you, but with a slight suggestion that he might do it anyway, even if you didn’t want it. Dangerous. Thrilling. Kaeya can imagine him undoing his fly and ordering someone suck him off, without precursor. And he can imagine them doing it. He can imagine himself doing it. He really needs to stop imagining himself doing it. Right now.

“Prince Ajax. What is it?” he says, more hoarsely than he’d have liked.

“You fell asleep in your chair. I thought you might want to go to bed.”

“Yes, I…should do that,” Kaeya mumbles, rising awkwardly to his feet. “Thank you. Goodnight, Prince Ajax.”

He turns to walk away, but Childe stops him with a word. “Do they know it’s a fake?”

The words strike him like a cannon shot. The ground seems to tilt under his feet, as he wheels slowly around, but when he faces Childe again, he has mastered himself, and his expression is as placid as the surface of a frozen lake. Dead calm. “What, the Taishan vase? Everyone thinks that. It’s not a fake, it’s just ugly.”

Childe’s keen eyes hold his, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smirk. “If you don’t like it, and no one can tell the difference, anyway, what’s the point in keeping it?”

Kaeya wants to grab him, shake him, scream at him, demand to know how the fuck he has stripped bare his deepest secret. The one that no one, not even his adopted brother, his closest friend and confidante, the love of his life, knows. He shrugs carelessly instead. “Appearances. It was a gift from the king.”

“Current or previous?”

“Current.”

“But I hear he doesn’t visit the winery, at all, anymore. Would he really notice, if it were gone?”

Kaeya fails to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “No. But other people would.”

“Ah, yes. These Mondstadt provincials don’t like things they can’t understand. They’d ask questions. Stupid questions, granted, but wiser people might notice, and start asking harder questions.”

“Are you coming to a point, Prince Ajax, or are you just a zealous connoisseur of ancient stoneware?”

Childe’s eyes widen with astonishment, which settles quickly into a mischievous smile, as he realizes his host is not aware of the joke contained in his own words. “You could call me that, yes. But put your mind at ease. I won’t talk to anyone about your vase. I just find you intriguing. When I’m close to you, I sense something…familiar. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Whatever it is, it’s intoxicating.”

“It’s intoxicating. That’s your line.”

“Well, no, it was just true. If it was a line, I’d say there was something special and unique about you that addresses some humble-brag about an ‘unattractive’ quality in myself. Come to that, though, I doubt I’d need a line. I rarely do.”

“Are you being intentionally offensive?”

“I’m only ever offensive intentionally,” Childe grins. “Would you like to fuck?”

“In general, or with you?” Kaeya returns, hearing how weak the retort is, even as he speaks the words.

Childe nods, as if they’ve agreed upon something. “Right, good talk. Bedtime. Let’s go.”

“Are you delusional or something?” Kaeya’s last shred of self-respect demands, attempting to muster up some offended dignity. “You think you can just announce bedtime and I’ll jump into bed with you?”

“Of course not.” Childe beams beatifically and holds out a hand. “Captain Alberich, would you please do me the honor of jumping into bed with me?”

“God…damn it,” Kaeya sighs wearily. Then he reaches out to take the proffered hand. “Yes.”

Chapter Text

Yet another cart from the Dawn Winery. That makes seven, today. Huffman frowns at the logbook, as the guards on duty step aside to wave it in. Seven is quite a bit above average, for their usual Thursday deliveries, but it’s really nothing to be suspicious about. The Dawn Winery is a trusted partner of Mondstadt, and as such, have special tags from the chamber of commerce, affixed to their crates, which excuse them from inspections on cargo they have coming into the city. This is up to the discretion of the ranking officer on watch, but there is no reason for said officer to exercise this discretion. At least, there never has been before.

And there’s not now, of course. Captain Alberich would never allow the Dawn Winery to smuggle illegal cargo. He’s the Cavalry Captain and Huffman’s direct superior, for Barbatos’ sake. And what reason would they even have, to do so? There is no local sales duty imposed upon Mondstadt-brewed liquor being sold in Mondstadt, it being considered a commodity of traditional and/or religious significance, so it’s not like they’d even have tax evasion as a potential motive.

As the cart rolls in through the archway, he sees that the driver is Ansel Bernhard, a handsome young man with wheat-blonde hair and violet-blue eyes, and a former Knight, up till around two years ago. He and Huffman grew up together and joined the Knights at the same time. They were always close, and have remained friends, despite Bernhard having resigned his commission and always being away on winery work, these days. As pleased as Huffman is to see his friend, his presence means he can’t inspect the cart under the pretext of being an overzealous prick, using his petty authority to inconvenience people, like he could if it had been a stranger. Bernhard would only laugh at him, anyway.

For a moment, he stands wavering in the doorway, caught between not wanting to embarrass himself by causing a scene for no reason, and trusting his instincts. But even if he can’t inspect the cart, he can chat with Bernhard and try to casually find out what’s going on with all the extra deliveries, today. With a deep breath, he steps out of the gate house.

Waving and approaching with a smile, he calls out, “Hey, Bernhard, how’s it going?”

The horse eyes Huffman, switching its tail suspiciously, as the cart creaks to a halt. Swan and Lawrence peer idly at their captain, then, not particularly interested in what they assume is to be casual chit-chat, turn their attention back to Timmy’s displaced pigeons, who are in the act of regrouping outside the gate, warbling indignantly at being made to get out of the way, every time a vehicle wants to pass.

“Hey, Schmidt,” Bernhard answers affably, pushing back his straw hat, the reins slack in his hand, indicating his lack of any pressing desire to return to work. “I been better and I been worse. You know how it is. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way. Those captain’s wings treating you well?”

The wings he’s referring to are the brass ones affixed to the pauldrons of Huffman’s shiny, steel plate armor, signifying his rank. Captain of the Gate isn’t the most glamorous post in the Knights of Favonius, and many of the men from the forward-deployed companies have made it snidely clear that they don’t consider city guards to be real Knights, but Bernhard, at least, is sincere in his congratulations. He was a city guard, too, after all.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Huffman replies, with a half-sheepish smile. “Nothing very exciting happens in Mondstadt, but I’m still proud to be doing my part for my country, such as it is.” He winces internally, realizing how this might sound, given Bernhard’s career change, but his friend doesn’t appear to have taken any offense.

“Good ol’ Huffman,” Bernhard smiles. “I think you’re the most dedicated Knight in the order. What time are you off, by the way? You want to meet me at Angels Share, after your shift?”

“Sure, that sounds good. I’ll be off at six. Oh, speaking of the Angels Share,” he adds, as an afterthought. “There have been seven carts in, from the winery, today. What’s all that about?”

“Ah, now, I’m afraid it’s a trade secret, my friend,” Bernhard answers, with a sly smile. “All I can say is that Captain Alberich has a big surprise brewing.”

“I should have guessed,” Huffman laughs. “Well, I better get back to work. I’ll see you at Angels Share, around six-thirty.”

Huffman smiles cheerfully as his friend clicks to the horse and the heavily-laden cart lumbers away down the cobbled street, but once it’s turned the corner out of sight, his expression tightens into a frown. He should be satisfied with Bernhard’s answer. Captain Alberich has thrown impromptu festivals before. It’s not even a particularly uncommon occurrence. Still, he can’t shake the feeling of something being…off. Maybe it’s fatigue. He didn’t sleep well last night, at all, and he’s been on edge all day. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his black-gloved hands, as he returns the guard house.

He has just sat down and opened the gate log again, when Swan pops his auburn head in the door. “Hey, Captain, was there something wrong with the Dawn Winery delivery?”

“Uh…oh, no. Nothing wrong,” Huffman says distractedly, still flipping through the log. “Just chit-chatting with Bernhard.”

“Ok, then,” Swan replies, and moves to depart, but there is something in his tone that makes Huffman look up.

“Wait a minute, get back here. I can tell there’s something you want to say, so say it.”

The younger man steps back in and stands awkwardly in the doorway. “It’s not a big deal, Captain, I just…this is going to sound really stupid.”

“Spit it out,” Huffman prompts.

“Well, I just have a bad feeling about something, today. People seem weird and tense. The city is way more crowded than usual, for a Thursday morning, but it’s quieter than it should be, too. The whole atmosphere is kind of…”

“Taut,” he finishes for him. “Like the air pressure going up before a big storm. Yeah, I feel that, too. I wonder what the hell is going on.”

Swan shakes his head. “I don’t know, sir. I asked Lawrence if he felt it too, but he said I was just bored and told me not to see giants where there are only windmills.”

“He’s probably right,” Huffman concedes, trying to believe it. “This has been a pretty uneventful year. Maybe we’re just stir-crazy and hoping something will happen to break the monotony.”

Swan looks equally unconvinced. “Maybe.”

“You’d better get back to your post,” Huffman says, after a long, awkward silence. “But, Swan, uh…keep your eyes and ears open, today, ok? If you see anything or hear anything, you come tell me, right away. I’ll be at the Angels Share, after my watch.”

“Yes, sir,” Swan nods, then vanishes out the door.

The rest of the day is more of the same. Nothing remarkable occurring, while the atmosphere grows heavier and closer, stifling Huffman with a feeling of impending…something. This nondescript disquiet hangs over his awareness like black thunderheads, despite the bright sunshine and clear weather. The sky’s azure blue is deepening to indigo, and the western horizon is a riot of pinks and oranges, when he returns to his lodgings across the street from the Favonius Headquarters building. He opens his bedroom window to feel the bracing crispness of early winter, in the air, as he divests himself of the heavy plate armor that has been weighing him down all day. He usually enjoys being relieved of that burden at the end of his watch, but this evening he feels uncomfortably exposed and vulnerable, with only a white linen shirt and dark-grey waistcoat between him and whatever danger lurks in the shadows.

On his way out the door, he pauses at the hall closet. It’s not technically cold enough for a Mondstadter to wear an overcoat, yet, but he pulls one on, anyway, and immediately feels better. It is a Snezhnayan Navy coat, made of heavy, black wool. It is warm, sturdy, looks extremely good on him, and weighs very little, considering how thick the weave is. They can’t be gotten in Mondstadt, but this one was purchased for him in Snezhnaya and sent to him as a gift, by the woman he had planned to ask to be his wife, until she broke up with him in a letter, informing him of her intention to remain in Snezhnaya, to be married to some offensively wealthy count or baron, or something. He threw out her letters and all the pictures of the two of them together, but not being a petulant child, he kept the coat, which is of excellent make and fit, regardless of her romantic perfidy.

They say that this wool, harvested from…whatever Snezhnayan beasts produce wool, he does not know, is lighter than spider’s silk, but once woven, is so dense, that a garment made from it is water-proof and will turn the blade of a dagger. He hasn’t put that to the test, not wanting to ruin his coat in order to find out, but it’s a comforting thought, in his current frame of mind. Thinking in this same vein, he carries a boot dagger, in addition to the standard one on his belt, and under his shirt, a concealed holster is strapped across his chest, putting a stiletto within reach, but out of sight, a few inches below the open collar of the shirt—a trick he picked up from Captain Alberich. Then, with a twinge of conscience at this bit of personal vanity, he drapes a scarf around his neck that is the exact shade of his eyes, and suits his complexion perfectly. Thus outfitted, he departs his rooms, to walk to the Angels Share.

Bernhard is already perched on a barstool, chatting companionably with Charles, the bartender and manager of the tavern. His golden-blonde hair is pushed back from his face and his color is high, as if he’s been at some vigorous activity outdoors, or—more likely—drinking. Despite his uneasiness, Huffman can’t help but smile, as he feels a flush of genuine affection for the friend he has known his entire life, and has watched grow from a cheerful, boisterous boy, to a cheerful, boisterous young man. Huffman was always the serious one, even when they were children, and would have made few friends had it not been for Ansel, who was the gregarious sunshine to his friend’s premature gravity, and drew others into his orbit with natural ease. He let go of people with equal facility, and was constantly falling head over heels for some new girl or boy, and sloughing off the previous ones like layers of out-of-date clothing. Huffman was the only one who stayed, because he was the only one Bernhard seemed inclined to hold onto.

Then Bernhard just resigned his commission and fucked off to work at the winery, giving Huffman no warning or explanation but a casual, ‘Oh, by the way, we won’t be on guard rotation together, anymore, after this Friday. I got an offer from the Dawn Winery and I’m going to work there.’ Huffman had been annoyed, but not excessively surprised, being well acquainted with his friend’s character, and they stayed on good terms, promising to see each other as much as they could. That was two years ago, though, and they hadn’t met in eight months, until today.

Bernhard waves him over and leads him to a table on the upper floor, where there are fewer people, and they can talk more freely. A barmaid comes to get their order, and Huffman studies his friend surreptitiously, as he chats and flirts with her. He looks the same as ever. Or, almost the same. His face is a little thinner, and his body looks harder and more sinewy, even under that loose, farmer’s shirt. Huffman would have thought he’d get soft, sitting around on carts all day and living at the winery, with the best food and drink in Mondstadt profusely available, but apparently not. There’s something else, too. He looks…weathered. Not older, physically, but there is something like world-weariness, in his manner. As if that ubiquitous, sunny smile now conceals some secret heartache.

“Have you heard from your little brother, lately?” Bernhard asks, over the rim of his mug of ale.

Huffman shakes his head. “No, but I don’t really expect to. They don’t often send messengers back here, across tundras or deserts, or wherever they are, now. I’m sure he’s doing well, though. Mika could always handle himself.”

“True. Plus, he’s got a vision, unlike us lowly plebeians, who have to rely on the strength and wits we were born with.”

“I don’t think I’d want a vision. Everyone who has them seems kind of…insane.”

“I thought so, too, but then I saw people with delusions. Totally batshit. They don’t live long, though, so…” Bernhard trails off and takes a deep draught of his ale, leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken. “Speaking of batshit, I heard a rumor about you and a certain highly illustrious personage.”

Huffman’s cheeks color instantly. “No, I—we didn’t—it was nothing.”

“Nothing happened?” Bernhard’s eyebrow arches “Or nothing you want to tell me?”

“Whatever you heard, don’t repeat it, ok? I don’t want him to think I went around announcing it to everyone.”

“Knight’s honor,” Bernhard replies dutifully, laying a hand on his heart.

“I don’t think anyone actually saw us doing anything, anyway. I think they saw us walk out of here together, and just assumed.”

“Judging from how pink you are right now, it seems they assumed correctly. Come on. Spill. You have to, I’m your best friend.”

“Ok, ok. I was here after work, one night, and the prince came in with Captain Albedo and Captain Alberich. They invited me to sit with them. I was nervous to talk to the prince, but he’s not like you’d think, at all. He’s casual and approachable and funny…anyway, we were all drinking and having a good time and before I noticed, it had got really late. He asked me to walk him back to the palace—”

“Which you fell for, because you are the most innocent man on the planet, go on.”

“No. I didn’t fall for anything,” Huffman retorts. “I said yes, because he’s the prince and it’s my job to see to the safety of people in the city. As I was saying, I walked with him and when we got to the palace, I expected him to go in, but he stopped at the postern door and asked if I’d been in the bell tower, on the cathedral. Of course I hadn’t. He said, ‘are you afraid of heights?’ I said no. Then without any other preamble, he put his arms around me and all these glowing, white wings appeared, and he literally leapt into the air. I almost pissed myself, I was so scared. Once we were standing up in the bell tower, not flying through the air, I calmed down and started enjoying the view. By the view, I mean him. He is…so fucking beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I felt like such an idiot. He caught me staring and laughed, and asked if I liked boys. I said I didn’t know, because I’d never tried it. Then he stood there smiling up at me, all blonde hair and big, bright eyes, biting his bottom lip. I—I just grabbed him and kissed him. Fuck me, I can’t believe I did that. I’m so lucky he didn’t throw me off the tower for daring to touch his royal person.” He says this last bit into his palms, in which his face is buried, as if he can physically evade his embarrassment.

“Sounds to me like he couldn’t have invited you to do it any more clearly if he’d hung up open for business signs,” Bernhard encourages. “So, how was it?”

Huffman lifts his head and looks into the middle-distance, as if recalling the incident to his mind. “It was…scary.”

“Scary?” Bernhard frowns doubtfully. “Scary how? He’s like five feet tall and built like a teenaged girl.”

“Yeah, no, I know. He may look small and fragile, but don’t be fooled, my friend. He is not like us. Not at all. It wasn’t like with vision-holders, either, where you can feel their elemental power all over them, and you can tell they’re stronger than you. He’s just…not human. I have never felt anything like it. He’s soft, like a person, on the surface, but it’s like his skin and muscles and everything are wrapped around stone. His body doesn’t have any give, when you push against him. He has to consciously let you move him. And he’s cold. Not like a cryo vision-holder, where they’re cold on the surface. He’s warm on the outside. But in places like…the inside of your thighs and behind your ear—places where a human is warmer—he’s colder. His breath is cold. And there’s his power, too. I can’t tell what it is. It’s not electro, but it charges the air around him, like electricity. He’s really careful not to show it, but when you’re that close, touching him, it’s impossible not to feel it. It was just…terrifying. I can’t explain it better than that.”

“So, I’m guessing you didn’t fuck.”

“Gods, no. I was too scared.”

“And yet you touched his inner thighs and behind his ears?”

“You—shut up,” Huffman returns, flushing pink. “I only said we didn’t have sex. We did…other things. With our hands. I was convinced the Dragon King was going to come bite my head off, for just doing that much with his husband, let alone actually fucking him.”

“Well, he hasn’t bitten the heads off any of the prince’s other lovers, so that doesn’t seem very likely. At least, I hope not, since it’d be King Diluc’s head on the block, now. But what’s all this about you liking boys, though? Did you really tell him you weren’t into it because you hadn’t tried it?”

Huffman blushes even harder “Yes. It was the truth.”

“Wow,” Bernhard laughs. “I can’t believe I’m just learning this, now. I spent our whole lives thinking you were exclusively interested in women, you know that?”

“But so did I,” Huffman insists. “And I still don’t know if I am, or not. Like I said, he’s not human, so it wasn’t comparable to being with a man. I don’t think it’d be fair to judge based on that experience.”

“Well. If you’re still curious, I’d be happy to help you out.”

“What are you—oh. You’re fucking with me. Very funny, jackass.”

“Force of habit, sorry,” Bernhard chuckles. He is still grinning affably, but there is something else in his expression, now. Something with teeth. “Unless you don’t want me to be.”

“Don’t want you to be sorry?”

“Don’t want me to be fucking with you.”

Huffman blinks at his friend, suddenly aware of his pulse pounding in his ears. “Fucking…with me.”

“Shit,” Bernhard hisses, his whole demeanor changing as he hunches low, over the table. “I thought it’d take them longer.”

“What? Take who longer, to what?” Huffman follows Bernhard’s gaze to the lower level, where Acting Grand Master Jean Gunnhildr and a squad of Knights have just entered, and are speaking briskly to Charles.

“I gotta go, Huff,” Bernhard says, jumping up, just as Charles points to the stairs. “I’ll see you soon, though, I promise.”

“Wait, where are you—that’s not an exit, it only goes to the balcony!” Huffman calls after him, as he slips out the door.

The knights are already tromping up the stairs, shaking the floor with the falls of their heavy boots. A few of them rush out the balcony door, and Master Jean strides directly up to the table, where Huffman has already leapt to his feet, reflexively standing at attention. He opens his mouth to ask what’s going on, but she cuts him off.

“Captain Huffman Schmidt,” she says, stone-faced, holding up a document bearing a gold seal. “You are hereby arrested, on suspicion of collusion with the Treasure Hoarders crime syndicate, and conspiring with enemies of the king and the people of Mondstadt.”

Huffman stares at her, too bewildered to speak. He must be misunderstanding something. Or she must be talking about someone else. The three Knights who’d run out to the balcony return, shaking their heads.

“He wasn’t out there, Master Jean,” one of them says. “Must’ve hopped over the railing and run off.”

“Go after him!” Jean barks. “We can’t let any of them get away with this!”

The men hurry down the stairs. Huffman’s brain continues to refuse to process the situation. Arrested? What can this mean? Maybe he’s having a stroke? Can strokes cause massive, elaborate hallucinations? He comes back to himself, as two Knights he knows by name—Otto and Wood—take his arms and jerk them roughly behind him. He feels cold, steel manacles snap shut around his wrists.

“M—Master Jean,” he stammers, finally in command of his voice. “What is going on?”

“You are being arrested,” she replies grimly, though he sees real sadness in her expression, as if he has disappointed her.

“But…why?” he asks helplessly.

“The charges have already been read to you. The matter will be more thoroughly explained, at HQ. Get him out of here.”

With that, she turns on her sharp-heeled boot and stalks away. For Huffman—quiet, serious, fastidious, deeply devout and steadfastly loyal Huffman—this is the worst thing that could have happened to him. It is the worst moment of his life. Mondstadt citizens, people he is sworn to protect with his life, are watching him being herded down the stairs like a criminal, by other Knights of his own order.

The humiliation crushes him. His knees go weak and he nearly collapses, but just then, the gentlest hint of a breeze caresses his face and plays through his hair. He feels it breathing fresh, bracing air into his lungs. Suffusing him with the strength he needs to sustain him, in this moment of direst need. A soft voice in the back of his mind—no more than a whisper—reminds him that he is still a Knight. His oath to Lord Barbatos and to the people of Mondstadt is not absolved, simply because he is falsely accused. He holds his head up, then, despite the ignominy of his current position, and bears himself with the resolute dignity worthy of a true Knight of Favonius.

In the basement of Favonius HQ, he is relieved of his weapons, and without ceremony or even interrogation, shoved into a stone-walled cell. The iron door clangs shut behind him. In all his twenty-five years, he has never been so abjectly miserable. He doesn’t weep, but he wants to, and would have, if the bars of his cell didn’t expose him to the sneering glances of Otto and Wood, the two Knights who dragged him in here, and are now lounging on chairs in the hallway. They ignore him, when he demands to speak to legal counsel and explains to them that this is wrongful imprisonment, if he is not accorded the rights of a citizen who stands accused of a crime.

No one else comes. Hours pass. He is forced to use the urinal in the cell, despite his mortification at being seen and heard doing so. All the while, he is racking his brain till he’s nearly mad with it, attempting to understand how in the name of Barbatos anyone could possibly think he is guilty of collusion or conspiracy, or any of the absurdity listed on that warrant. His thoughts are becoming feverish and disordered, so he lies down on the stone floor, using his scarf as a makeshift pillow, and attempts to get some rest, while he can.

He starts back up again at a sudden commotion, coming from the archway where the stairs lead into the basement lockup. Voices growling and shouting, armor clattering, and a thunder of footsteps. For a soaring moment, he thinks his subordinates have come to demand his release, but it’s a detachment of Knights, escorting a dozen or so men in the type of sturdy, rough-wearing clothing Treasure Hoarders are accustomed to wear. They are protesting loudly and for some reason, the Knights don’t seem organized enough to handle so many at once. Of course, a row breaks out immediately, which compels Otto and Wood to hurry over and assist their brethren in subduing and locking up the rowdy miscreants. Huffman can’t really see much of what is going on, since the hallway is long and dim, and they are down at the other end, but the Knights get the better of it, and the men they’ve arrested are quickly quelled and locked into the row of cells.

Huffman squints into the dark, trying to make out what is happening now. He sees Otto and Wood, talking to another Knight, then they join the detachment as they hurry away, back up the stairs. He frowns to himself, as the clatter of armor fades into the distance, and semi-silence descends upon the jail once more. There must be some kind of emergency. Prisoners are never supposed to be left down here unguarded, certainly not when most of them are doubled or tripled to a cell. Just what exactly is going on? He can hear the men at the other end of the hallway, engaged in murmuring conversation with one another, but there’s no way to tell what they’re saying.

“Hey!” he shouts, banging on the bars of his own cell. “Hey!! What are you all arrested for!” The murmuring talk ceases and there is dead silence. They’ve heard him, but no one seems inclined to answer. He tries again. “I just want to know what’s going on! Are you Hoarders? Was there a raid?”

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business!” one of the men shouts back, which elicits coarse laughter from the others.

Huffman sighs and returns to lying on the floor of his cell. If there was some kind of city-wide raid on Hoarders, that might account for some of the irregular arrest proceedings, but it in no way explains how his name was mixed up in all this. Unless…a cold, sick feeling wrenches his gut. Unless it was a general warrant, and he was seen in company with a person already known to the Knights to be a criminal conspirator. But Bernhard would never. Would he? He had seemed different, tonight. Like something was wrong with him. And he ran off the minute he saw the Knights come in. And they went straight out to the balcony after him. And they didn’t find him. This part baffles Huffman. How would he have escaped from the balcony? By shimmying up and running along the rooftops? Like a ninja?

He leaps to his feet—nearly out of his skin—as a low voice speaks his name, almost right beside his head, outside the bars of the cell. A figure seems to materialize from the surrounding darkness, cloaked and hooded in very deep grey. When it reaches up to pull the black mask down from the lower half of its face, the cloak opens, and Huffman can see black leather armor underneath.

“What the fuck!” he demands, as the initial rush of adrenaline dissipates. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“Keep your voice down, ass,” Bernhard growls. “I came up the back passage, where they used to carry out the bodies, in the old days.”

Huffman stares at him. “The back—are you insane? What the hell are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?”

“These are my work clothes. Surprise, I’m not a delivery driver. Sorry I couldn’t tell you, before. We weren’t sure you could be trusted.”

“We? Who is we?”

Bernhard kneels before the door of his cell, drawing what looks like lockpicks from somewhere about his person. “That’s a long story and I promise I’ll explain, but right now I have to get you out of here.”

“Like hell you’re getting me out of here!” Huffman returns, reaching through the bars to physically cover the lock with his hands. “I’m not adding actual jailbreaking to the charges they’ve mistakenly brought against me. Once they realize this was an error, they’ll let me go, and I’ll be fine. I don’t need help from some ninja asshole who pretends to deliver booze for a living, or whatever you are now.”

“Look, I’m not supposed to be doing this. I’m risking my life and the lives of other people to rescue you, and I don’t have a lot of time, so please don’t make me leave you in here.”

“I told you I don’t want—” Huffman’s protests die on his lips as Bernhard looks up at him. His expression is grave and his face is strained, and almost haggard. He’s never seen his happy, carefree friend look so distressed, before. Nor so handsome, but that is not a thing he should be thinking about right now.

“Huff, they’ll kill you,” Bernhard says urgently. “You have no idea how big this is. I’ll explain, but not here. Just come with me.”

Huffman stands wavering for a beat, then his hands fall to his sides and he steps back. Bernhard has only spent a few seconds twisting his faintly squeaking metal pins in the lock, when he hears the clack, as the bolt gives. Pushing the door open, just enough for Huffman to slip out, Bernhard shuts it again, as quietly as he can, but doesn’t bother re-locking it. Fighting with his rising sense of guilt and panic, Huffman follows his black-clad friend down the row of empty cells to the side passage, where there are old, heavy doors made of time-blackened wood, festooned with enough cobwebs and dust to suggest they’ve not been opened in many years.

“These are the old interrogation chambers,” Huffman whispers. “I never had a reason to be down here, so I never saw them before. I always assumed interrogation was a euphemism for torture and it looks like that was the case.”

“Of course it was,” Bernhard replies flatly. “Why do you think they connect to the back passage, which goes straight out to the old boneyard?”

“Creepy.”

“One man’s creepy is another man’s escape route. Though, HQ is pretty fairly deserted, right now. I probably could have waltzed right in the front entrance.”

Bernhard shoves open the ancient, iron door, which should be shrieking like a banshee on these rusted hinges, only Huffman can see that they’ve been carefully oiled. They emerge two tiers below the Favonius courtyard, in a narrow, enclosed space, beneath a canopy of gnarled trees and nestled between the high wall of the city and the sloping green earth, which mostly conceals the formidable fortress that is Favonius HQ, once you get below the properly polished and genteelly furnished top floors. Across this small courtyard, there is an old archway in the city wall that has long been bricked over, with grey stones and mortar. Huffman gives a shudder. He has heard that a long time ago, the prison boneyard filled up, so they began sewing the bodies of deceased prisoners into sacks, which were weighted with iron shot, and tossed off the cliff into the lake. That archway was once the egress used for that grisly purpose.

The area itself is scattered with dead leaves and has the overgrown look of a courtyard in a ruined castle, in a state of perpetual disuse, but at least it doesn’t look like a cemetery, now. There were never any monuments, and when the Ragnvindr line took the throne and the inhumane treatment of prisoners was outlawed, the area was simply paved over. This is the moment Huffman’s anxious energy chooses to desert him, and he sways like a drunk. Bernhard steadies him with a hand on his shoulder, indicating to a cracked, stone bench, from which he brushes the pile of gold and orange leaves, before they sit. Huffman takes the flask Bernhard has produced and drinks from it, without hesitating. It’s some kind of bitter, aromatic liquid that burns like alcohol in his throat. He does not enjoy it, but he swallows a few mouthfuls, at Bernhard’s insistence. Very quickly, his head clears and he can feel the life coursing back into his stiff, exhausted limbs.

“It’s a revitalization tonic, made by Master Albedo,” Bernhard says, answering the question that had been on Huffman’s lips. He accepts the flask back and takes a swig himself, before he tucks it away again. “Saved my ass in the field, more than once.”

“It tastes like fermented flowers and river mud.”

“It might be fermented flowers and river mud, for all I know. I think Master Albedo could make pretty much anything into a useful tonic.”

“No more stalling. Tell me what the hell is going on,” Huffman says looking at him pointedly.

“You can’t trust the Knights. They’ve been infiltrated, and we’re not sure who is compromised and who isn’t. We are sure of a few who aren’t, but to be safe, we have to assume everyone else is, until we confirm one way or the other. You are one of the ones we can confirm as loyal, now, because you were arrested tonight. That means they know you’re loyal to the king. Don’t blame Master Jean, we know she’s not in on it. She’s being fed false information.”

Huffman looks sick. “What…what do you mean? By who?”

“People who want to make Mondstadt into their own little puppet kingdom. That’s all I can tell you, right now. They’re planning to assassinate King Diluc, take over the city from the inside, and hold Lady Barbara hostage, to make the officials docile until the successor, who they control, is on the throne.”

“What the fuck! We have to go help her! What are we doing hanging around here!”

“Don’t worry, we have our own people on top of the situation, already. We’ve been filtering into the city in disguise for days, so no one would notice a sudden increase in armed mercenaries, roaming the streets. That’s what all the extra carts were about, today. Those were weapons and armor for our people.”

“What about King Diluc? I assume you’re handling that, as well?”

“Yes. I hope so. That situation is more complicated, but our people are already on the mountain and the cavalry is on standby.”

“I assume you don’t mean the actual Knights of Favonius Cavalry, so who do you mean? Who the hell are you really working for?”

Bernhard leans close, his mouth almost touching Huffman’s ear, so his answer can’t be heard from even a few feet away, despite the fact that they are very much alone and unobserved in this small, high-walled courtyard, only accessible from a forgotten door in the bottom of a dungeon, and so overhung with hoary-headed trees as to be obscured from above, too. When he draws away again, Huffman is wide-eyed, ash-white and stricken.

“I…I can’t believe this. I can’t understand how this could all be going on, right under our noses all this time, and I never even—no, I trust you. I’m not saying I literally don’t believe you. I’m just in shock.” He stares into the middle-distance for a moment. “So, one way or another, a lot of people are about to die.”

“I hope not, but…that is likely.”

“If it’s life and death and the loyalists need every man they can get, why’d you come back for me?”

Bernhard blushes and looks away, then back at Huffman, tense and uncertain, as if he’s wavering between choices. Then he takes a deep breath and lets it out.

“We’re probably both going to die, tonight, so fuck it.” He throws his arms around his friend and draws him against his body in a tight embrace, speaking rapidly, almost stumbling over the words as they simply overflow, out of his control. “I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you since we were kids. And I…I always knew you didn’t love me back. I didn’t want to lose your friendship, so I tried everything I could think of, to get you out of my heart. I drank and went on dangerous adventures, and wound up jumping from one shallow relationship to another, trying to kill the pain of not being loved by you. But nothing worked. I just fell more in love with you, as time went on. I know it hurt you when I left the Knights. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t tell you why. I couldn’t confess that it was because you were going to ask Elena to marry you. That your future with a woman you loved was my breaking point. I know how selfish and horrible it was, but I just wasn’t strong enough to face the rest of my life, seeing you every day, happily married, thinking of me as nothing but your irresponsible, slutty friend, who’d never settle down because I didn’t want to. I did want to. I do want to. With you. It was always only you.”

There is a long, unsettled silence. Huffman isn’t exactly returning the embrace, but he hasn’t pushed Bernhard away, either. It feels like he’s waiting to hear something specific and hasn’t, yet.

“I’m so sorry,” Bernhard goes on, his voice wavering with emotion. “I know it sounds like I’ve been lurking around hoping for my chance to be with you, but it wasn’t like that, I swear. You are my best friend and the best man I’ve ever known. Everything good I’ve done has been because I wanted be the kind of man who deserved your friendship. I don’t expect you to feel the same way I do, and I understand if you never want to talk to me again, but…I couldn’t risk dying, tonight, knowing I never told you.”

Another excruciating silence. Cautiously, as if his friend is a bomb that might go off, Bernhard loosens his arms and draws back a little, to look into his face. Huffman is pale and stiff, and his jaw is set. Bernhard’s heart sinks.

“You,” Huffman grinds out, at last, grabbing the front of his cloak with both hands, his blue eyes igniting with sudden, unaccustomed fury. “You…fucking asshole! Fuck you, for doing this to me! Fuck you, for fucking all those men and women, like it’s my fault for not returning your feelings! You didn’t tell me! How was I supposed to know!”

“I know. I was an idiot and a coward,” Bernhard pleads. “I am an idiot and a coward. I’m so sorry. I know how betrayed you must feel, but I promise, if you’ll just give me a chance and let me still be your friend, I’ll never—”

“Shut up! You don’t have any idea how I feel! You never asked me! You just fucking assumed, like everyone else assumes, because I look and talk a certain way. You don’t know how it feels to be automatically excluded by half the adult population, because I’m not what people think of as ‘that kind of man’, and I’m too shy to approach people on my own, so I’m left with whoever approaches me. No one has ever asked me what I want. Except the prince. He asked me. And he listened. I was still too scared to enjoy it all that much, because he’s a Celestial, but at least he made the effort!”

“Huff…I’m so sorry. I should have known. I’m such a bastard, for not asking. But you always seemed so collected and in control of the situation. I never imagined you were—”

“You never imagined I had feelings, too. Of course you didn’t. No one does.” Huffman laughs bitterly. “You know what was going through my mind, the whole time I was with the prince? The actual husband of our god? It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Elena and her stupid Snezhnayan baron. It wasn’t that girl that hangs around the flower shop mooning over King Diluc, and everyone keeps trying to railroad me into asking out on a date, because we’re both single and we have different sets of genitals, so we must be soul mates. It was you. I was thinking of you, and how much I missed you. Because I—” He breaks off and looks away, swallowing against the sudden tightness in his throat, then looks fiercely into Bernhard’s eyes again. “Because I love you, too. There, I said it. Are you happy, now? I love you. And I am so fucking angry at you, I don’t even know what to do with myself, right now.”

“Huff, I’m sorry,” Bernhard says, attempting to pull him close again, despite his resistance. “Please, please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t look sorry, you look like you just won the lottery,” Huffman grouses, though he relents and allows himself to be drawn back into his friend’s arms.

Bernhard buries his face in Huffman’s soft, mousy-brown hair, that could definitely do with a trim, but suits him well, in spite of that. “I can’t help it. You said you love me. I’ve been waiting sixteen years to hear you say it back, but I never really dared to hope you would.”

“Pfft, sixteen years. You haven’t loved me since we were nine, jackass.”

“Yes, I have. I fell in love with you the day we met. Ask my parents. I came home and announced in no uncertain terms that I was going to marry you. In front of my father’s new boss and his wife, who were over for dinner.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you were just as presumptuous and dramatic back then, as you are now.”

“Obviously.” Bernhard looks down at him, laying a hand on the side of his face. “Huff…let me kiss you. Just once, please.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You wasted our whole lives not kissing me, you better be planning on doing a lot more than that. If we live, I mean.”

“We will. Don’t you know, true love makes you invincible?”

“I know it makes you an idiot who feels invincible and thus more likely to get yourself killed. Which you are forbidden to do. I forbid you to die, is that clear?”

“God, I love when you boss me around,” Bernhard grins, nuzzling into the hollow behind Huffman’s ear.

“Then stop fucking around and kiss me. Once. Then we have to get to work saving this damned city.”

Bernhard cradles the back of his head in one hand and leans in, pressing his lips gently against Huffman’s. Then they tilt their heads and their lips part, as the kiss intensifies and their tongues caress one another, hot and impatient, expressing all the things between them that are too hard to put into words. When they finally break the kiss, they are both shaken and breathless, and their bodies seem to adhere to one another on their own, not wanting to be parted again, now that they have finally been together.

“God damn it,” Bernhard pants, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “I’m rock-hard, now.”

“Yeah, same,” Huffman winces, as he makes an adjustment, then rises to his feet, pulling Bernhard up, too. “We probably should’ve held off on kissing, till after we save city.”

“Tch. Not a chance. I had to make sure you know who you belong to, in case someone else sees you being all handsome and heroic, and tries to swoop in and poach you.”

“Who I belong to? Fuck you, asshole.”

Bernhard grabs his hand, earnest and serious again. “Huff, just in case we actually die, I want you to know I meant every word of what I said. I really do love you.”

Huffman turns to walk away, failing to entirely conceal a blush and a smile. “I know.”

Chapter Text

Childe rolls onto his side, squinting in the pale light of early morning, which streams in through the leaded-glass panes of the bedroom windows. The bed in which he has awoken is a high framed, mahogany four-poster, with carved embellishments in the baroque style, favored by Mondstadt’s hereditary gentry. Ironic, since the man it belongs to is neither one of their gentry, nor even from Mondstadt. He is, however, their wealthiest private citizen, as well as the owner of the largest revenue source in the kingdom, and the sole purveyor of their national beverage. Despite all of this, Kaeya Alberich lives like an outcast (albeit, a very wealthy one. Most vagabonds don’t have estates this size to return to, after a long day of roguery).

In Snezhnaya, of course, the Dawn Winery and its attached lands would seem a mere peasant’s share, but when taken in proportion to tiny Mondstadt, it is frankly enormous, encompassing nearly an eighth of the country’s land mass. The untitled, foreign owner of this imposing percentage of the kingdom is seated on the nearby windowsill, slouched and languid, his long, dark-marine hair hanging loose over his bare shoulders. His head rests on the window and he is gazing out over the vineyards, in the direction of the perpetually snow-clad peak of Dragonspine.

Childe lies silent, taking the moment to appreciate his long, lithe, naked body, with his velvety, dark-olive skin, and the sinewy muscles that make him seem wiry and agile, rather than thin. More like a gymnast and less like a consumptive poet. As lovely as he is to look upon in repose, Kaeya’s real charm comes alive when he does. He moves like a professional swordsman—part effete grace, part deadly precision, and all well-deserved arrogance—and looks on the world with the sharp eye of a man who learned early in life to observe everyone and trust no one. His is the beauty of the honed blade. The drawn bow, whose form follows the perfection of its simple, deadly function.

“You staring at anything in particular?” Kaeya asks, turning his head from the window, to cast his eye over his observer.

Childe smiles, both at the reflexive combativeness of his tone, and from the pure pleasure of looking at his beautiful, perpetually defiant face. He thinks he would prefer one curl of that perfect lip, to a thousand smiles on the lips of most others. “You’re sitting in the window, stark naked, framed with light, like the subject of a painting. I can’t help but look at you.”

“Tch. What kind of painting features a naked man with an eyepatch and blue hair?”

“The kind I’d paint, if I had a single iota of talent for it. But, alas, I do not, so I suppose I’ll have to make do with engraving your image in my memory, for future enjoyment.”

Childe gives a deep yawn, arching his back and stretching his arms above his head. As he does so, the bed linens slip down to his waist, uncovering his well-made torso. He is slender, but not nearly so thin as Kaeya. His body has begun to lose the gangly awkwardness of his youth, gradually replacing it with the solidity of male adulthood, manifested in muscular mass and definition that give him an athletic appearance. When he looks at Kaeya again, the elfin, frost-blue eye is traveling over his body. Grinning wickedly, Childe slides a hand down the taut ridges of his abdomen and over his hip, to throw the sheet all the way off. Kaeya’s eye widens noticeably.

“Now you’re the one staring,” Childe taunts, palming over his thickening cock. “Careful, or I’ll think you want me again.”

Kaeya turns and plants both feet on the floor, knees wide apart, and leans back against the window, so the sunlight pours over his naked skin, making the warm, tawny-brown seem to glow, as he draws the tips of his long fingers lazily up and down his shaft, till it stands rigid and ready. The wanton, hazy-eyed look on his face makes Childe’s cock throb.

“Fuck,” he says, half under his breath. “You’re so goddamned gorgeous. Come here and fuck my mouth.”

Drawing himself up slowly, very much evoking a lazy cat, Kaeya saunters over to the bed and straddles Childe’s chest, both hands on the headboard, letting the round head of his cock just touch his bottom lip. Childe opens his mouth. Kaeya eases himself in, groaning his approval, as Childe takes his cock to the back of his hot, wet throat in one swallow, grabbing his ass with both hands, to spread it wide. Two of his fingers push into Kaeya’s hole, still slick and swollen from being fucked last night. As he bobs on his shaft, his fingers work deeper, slowly and patiently. Kaeya gives a soft cry, hanging onto the headboard to steady himself, drunk on the exquisite pleasure of being licked and sucked, while his asshole is stretched around big, weapon-calloused fingers, hooked to prod his prostate, with just enough pressure to torment him.

He rocks his hips, fucking into Childe’s open throat, with no thought to his companion’s comfort or pleasure, feeling only the slick slide of his mouth and tongue, punctuated by light scrapes of his teeth. His balls ache and his dick is leaking like a faucet, as he hurtles toward his release. Childe looks up at him, his lips wrapped around his shaft and his ice-blue eyes alight with such eager desire, that it wrenches Kaeya immediately over the edge. His hips stutter and his cock pulses, as he comes, pumping intense bursts of hot fluid down Childe’s throat. His eyes are watering, but he keeps Kaeya’s spent dick in his mouth, greedily sucking up every drop, till Kaeya yelps and pulls away.

“Mmmm, delicious,” Childe hums, licking his ruddy lips. “My turn.”

Still panting and dizzy, Kaeya is rolled onto his back in the sea of plush linens. Childe’s strong hands push his legs apart and up, lifting his ass off the mattress to expose his throbbing, tender hole. He cranes his neck up to watch as Childe lines up his tree-trunk dick with his entrance, and pushes slowly inside. The sight of the big, thick, veiny shaft penetrating his body makes Kaeya instinctively tighten up, fearing the intrusion of something that size, despite having already had it inside him, a mere six or seven hours ago.

“It’s ok. Just breathe,” Childe murmurs, as if he has read his mind, continuing to press in. “You know how good it feels, when I fuck you. You know I won’t hurt you. Relax and let me in. Just like that. Good…fuck! You’re sucking me in, now.” He bottoms out and withdraws to plunge in again, without pausing, thrusting deep into Kaeya’s squeezing heat, his hips slapping against his ass as he fucks him harder and faster. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good, with your tight little hole wrapped around my cock. I’m gonna come so fast.”

“Do it. Not—ha! Not inside,” Kaeya pants.

A few more rough thrusts and Childe pulls out, wringing himself rapidly to climax, clutching Kaeya’s hip with bruising force as his cock convulses, spattering droplets of pearl white all over his fawn-dark skin. He stands over him on his knees, gazing breathlessly at him for a beat, then, with a theatrical groan of exhaustion, he topples forward, letting his solid weight come down on top of Kaeya, where he lies pressing kisses to his face and neck.

“Fuck’s sake,” Kaeya grumbles, writhing ineffectually beneath him. “Are you always like this?”

“Handsome, charismatic, and amazing in bed? Yes. Yes, I am.”

“You’re annoying, is what you are. Let me go. I want to bathe and have breakfast.”

Childe rolls off him to let him get out of bed, propping himself up on an elbow. “Are you always this brusque with men who have fucked you all night, and then sucked you off and fucked you again, the next morning?”

Kaeya ignores him, pulling on a black dressing gown, and steps into the en-suite bathroom. Childe chuckles to himself as he hears the shower start, then he sits up, rubbing his eyes as he looks about for his clothing, which is strewn all over the dark-wood floor, along with Kaeya’s. A glint catches his eye and he turns to see what it is. Kaeya’s belt and trousers are lying near the foot the bed, and just poking out from beneath a fold of the rumpled cloth, is his vision, shimmering with pale-blue light. Childe hops out of bed and retrieves it, unclipping the silver setting from the belt, so he can hold it up to inspect it. Laughing again, he tosses it and catches it, like one would a rubber ball.

“What the hell are you doing with that?” Kaeya’s voice demands, behind him. He is standing in the bathroom doorway, with a towel about his waist, hair still dripping from the shower.

Childe turns to him and smiles, continuing to toss and catch his vision. “I found it on the floor. Figured I should pick it up, so one of us doesn’t step on it and slip, or something. Safety first.”

“Stop that,” Kaeya snaps, his voice thin and strained. “Give it to me, before you damage it.”

“Oh, come on,” Childe snorts. “You know as well I do that visions aren’t fragile. They can only be destroyed by the god who bestowed them.”

With that, he turns and throws back his arm, as if to demonstrate by dashing the thing against the stone mantel of the fireplace. Kaeya shouts, lunging forward, a split second too late. The little glowing ball flies from Childe’s hand and strikes the mantel, where it explodes into glittering fragments, that fly outward and scatter across the floor.

Kaeya stands stricken for a beat, then turns on him savagely. “What the hell is wrong with you! Why did you do that!”

“You mean, why did I destroy your fake vision?” Childe rejoins, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him closer, to look into his face, all the playfulness evaporated from his demeanor. “Why don’t you tell me why you need one. What are you, really, Captain Alberich? Where does your power come from?” He lowers his voice to a menacing hiss. “And why do I smell the Abyss all over you.”

“Fuck you,” Kaeya spits.

Shaking him off, he goes to crouch before the fireplace, where he picks up the silver setting and sweeps together as much of the shattered vision as he can, and scoops the little pile into his palm. Childe watches with growing interest, as he goes about the room, collecting the glowing fragments, and fusing them together in his hand. Within a few minutes, he has the false vision fully reconstructed, as good as new.

“How clever,” Childe remarks, as he sockets it back into the setting. “You made the thing of ice, not glass, so you can repair it yourself, if it’s ever broken. But what kind of ice emits its own light, and never melts?”

“Here’s a thought,” Kaeya replies tartly, narrowing his frost-blue eye. “You don’t ask me about my vision, and I won’t ask you why you carry both a vision and a delusion, despite the fact that you need neither.”

“Touché,” Childe laughs. “I didn’t know you’d noticed. No one else has.”

“Maybe I’m more observant than other people,” Kaeya mutters, as he picks up his trousers to pull them on.

“I don’t doubt it. Just tell me one thing about your fake vision, then I promise not to ask any more questions. Did my mother have something to do with it?”

Kaeya looks at him like he’s just asked whether a troupe of circus elephants were involved in the matter. “Your mother? What the fuck are you talking about? Are you completely unhinged?”

“Ah, right. It’s not exactly common knowledge. My mother is the Tsaritsa, the cryo god and patron deity of icy-veined bitches. You know. The one who would’ve bestowed it, if you had a real cryo vision.”

“You’re the crown prince of Snezhnaya. Everyone knows the Tsaritsa is your adopted mother. That’s what I would call pretty common knowledge.”

“Right. Except the part that isn’t so commonly known, which is that the adoption story was a sham. She is my real mother.”

Kaeya’s fingers falter on the buttons of his shirt, then immediately resume buttoning it, nothing in his manner but cold indifference. “So, you’re a demigod. How nice for you. Is there a reason you’re telling me all of this?”

Childe shrugs. “Who better to confide in than a man who has secrets of his own, and far more to lose by their exposure?”

“If you’re planning to blackmail me, you can shove it right up your ass. I’d rather die than live under someone’s thumb. Besides, it’s not like you have proof of anything. No one will have any reason to believe a wild story about my vision being fake, from a known Snezhnayan spy.”

“Whoa, whoa, who’s talking about blackmail?” Childe says, in a half-laughing, half-conciliatory tone, holding his hands up. “I just meant that we can be trusted to keep one another’s secrets. That’s all. Since we’re both so accustomed to hiding who we are.”

“Fine. Then we’re in agreement,” Kaeya says, and turns to walk away.

“Or, rather…who our parents are.”

Kaeya stops short and wheels slowly back around. “My parents are a couple of dead Khaenri’ahns. I can’t hide who they were, even if I wanted to.” He points to his uncovered eye, with its telltale pupil-slit. “It’s written right on my face.”

“But you do hide your other eye. What must be written there, I wonder.”

“Nothing is written in it,” Kaeya says flatly. “There is nothing there. Just a black hole.”

Childe looks contrite. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. I didn’t realize you might be self-conscious about your missing eye. I mean, you must be, to wear a heavily-enchanted eyepatch that can’t be removed by anyone but yourself.”

“That is none of your fucking business,” Kaeya snarls. “I’ve officially had enough of this idiotic conversation. If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do, before Thursday.”

With that knowing smirk still on his face, Childe watches him stalk out of the room. When the door slams shut behind him, the smile fades, and apprehension of some kind tightens his mouth and furrows his brow. He continues frowning after Kaeya for a moment, as if in doubt, then he shakes himself and sets about collecting his scattered clothing.

Kaeya trots briskly downstairs and heads to the dining room, drawn by the aroma of coffee brewing. As he steps in the door, he balks, at the sight of a man seated at the head of his table, with a cup of tea before him, that he has clearly not been drinking. Perfect. This is the absolute last thing he needs, right now. His brow lowers and his jaw clenches tight. Refusing to meet the man’s gaze, he proceeds directly to the sideboard, to pour a cup of coffee from the silver samovar.

“Good morning, to you, too, Captain Alberich,” his visitor says, in that low, measured cadence, that never alters. Never wavers.

“What are you doing here, Dainsleif,” Kaeya returns, placing biting emphasis on the name.

“Do I need a reason to visit a kinsman?” the golden-haired Khaenri’ahn lord asks, with an injured expression that doesn’t fool Kaeya for a second. “May I not take an interest in your life?”

“You never have, before,” Kaeya says curtly, pushing some raisin buns onto a plate and setting it on the table with a bit more energy than strictly necessary, before dropping sullenly into a chair. “And you never visit without a reason, so what is it? What do you want?”

“Very well. If you want to proceed without the pleasantries, then so be it. I want to know why you are still playing children’s games with these bandits and knights. We are so close, now, to everything we’ve worked for, and every day that you waste in these idle pursuits—”

“They are not idle pursuits!” Kaeya cuts him off, slamming his cup down, and splashing coffee all over his hand and the table. “I don’t care what you think of what I am doing, it matters to me!”

The brilliant, aquamarine-blue eyes darken. “How can you speak this way. How can anything be more important to you, than your—”

“I didn’t say that. You never listen to me,” Kaeya interrupts again, beside himself with exasperation. “It’s not more important, I just want you to respect that it’s important to me. You expect so much of me and then treat me like I’m an idiot child. If so much depends on me, then why don’t you try trusting me, for a change. Why don’t you look at everything I’ve accomplished, all on my own, without any guidance or help from you, and see that maybe I’m not a child, anymore. Maybe I’m doing pretty goddamn well, for a twenty-two-year-old man, abandoned as an infant in a foreign land, to fend for himself, come what may.”

“You were not abandoned,” Dainsleif says tautly. “You were given into the protection of the king of this nation.”

“Yes. I was. In exchange for acting as their protector, when I came of age. When that oath was sworn, it became my duty to safeguard the lives and freedom of these stupid, ridiculous, precious people, and I am doing that, the best way I know how.”

“Kaeya…you are ruled by your heart,” Dainsleif sighs, leaning forward to fold his black-gloved hands on the table. “Your loyalties, here, even to those who have hurt you, run far too deep. Stop. Listen. It is not a judgement against you. I only fear that you will suffer gravely, from these human attachments. You must try to remember that you are not one of them. You can never be one of them. You will have to leave this place, one day, and where you will go, they cannot follow. That day is swiftly approaching. Will you be prepared to do what you must do? Will you be able to leave all of this behind, and step into the place designated for you by fate?”

“Do you really think I’ve forgotten who I am, or what was done to us? How could I? Every time I look in the mirror, the truth stares back at me. My entire life has been leading to this, and I want it as much as you do. But that day will wait, for a little longer. Celestia is not going anywhere. Right now, the nation under my protection is in grave danger and I am going to save it. I’m respectfully asking you to back off and let me do it. Then I will deal with the Celestial Prince.”

Dainsleif looks into Kaeya’s face for a moment, then sits back in his chair, with a resigned gesture. “I would attempt to argue with you, but I know you are stubborn and headstrong, and will do as you wish, regardless of what I say. You are…so very like your mother.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kaeya says, but there is no rancor in his voice. It is a simple statement of fact.

They sit in silence, not looking at one another, both appearing to be immersed in his own reflections, then at last, Dainsleif rises. Kaeya rises, too, as if to show him out. “I will leave you to your…whatever it is you’re planning, with those primitive machines and all the Snezhnayan soldiers. I wish you success, in your venture. But Kaeya…I implore you not to delay too long. Please.”

Kaeya replies by clasping Dainsleif’s gloved hand, before the man steps into a void-black rent in the air, and vanishes.

The towering mountain, colloquially known as Dragonspine, glitters white in the afternoon sunshine, under the clear blue sky. About halfway up the west slope, on a peak overlooking a narrow gorge, lies the Royal Hunting Lodge. It is a fortress of a structure, fashioned from massive slabs of stone, with crenellated turrets, archer’s windows, and walls so thick, they could weather sustained canon fire, for a reasonable amount time. This is no accident, of course. When King Diluc’s great, great grandfather had this place built, he called it a hunting lodge only as a euphemism. The country was under constant threat of civil war, due to the unrest of a rebel faction of the clans, back then, and the royal family needed a secondary location to which they might fall back, if the city were invaded.

Eventually, as the rebellion was quelled, and a long period of peace settled over the land, it came to be used as an actual hunting lodge. It is strange, to Diluc, that it is being used for something like its original purpose, again, but he is admittedly grateful to have the place. At the moment, he is reclining on the bed in the royal suite of rooms, facing the huge portrait of some ancestor or another, hung above the grand fireplace, and has been reading to pass the time. At least, he’s been trying to read.

“What are you, a cat?” he scowls, holding his place in his book with a finger, as Aether pushes it out of his way to sit astride his lap.

“I’m bored, pay attention to me,” the prince pouts, slumping against him.

“So, you are a cat. I’m reading, right now, go bother someone else.”

“But I want to bother you,” Aether chirps. “I thought you only read that book to put yourself to sleep, anyway.”

“No, I read it whenever I’m in doubt or distress. It calms me and helps me adopt a more circumspect frame of mind.”

“It puts you to sleep, too,” Aether maintains, wiggling about to nestle more comfortably into him. “So, do you believe Zhongli was one man? Or do you think it was a pseudonym used by multiple philosophers?”

Diluc intended to be annoyed, but Aether knows exactly how to draw him out and get him talking, and he takes the bait. “I know it’s popular amongst the intellectual set to say it must be the latter, because the accounts of people meeting him are spread across a period that far exceeds a human lifespan, and because of the lack of writing found in his own hand, et cetera, but I don’t believe it. I am certain he was one man.”

“Why is that?”

“Because between the lines, the book is a love story. It is the tale of a warrior falling in love with peace, but it’s also the tale of a man in love. It’s too deeply personal to be the amalgamated works of many men.”

“A love story?” Aether says, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve never heard anyone make that claim before. You really think so?”

“I do. When it’s taught to students, the emphasis is mostly placed on the analects regarding governance and diplomacy, and the poetry tends to be glossed over. But ignoring the poetry robs the philosophy of context. It’s a disservice to the work and to those reading it.”

“My tutors always glossed over it, too. Celestials tend to think poetry is childish and self-indulgent.”

“Master Zhongli’s poetry is about the furthest from childish I can imagine, but I don’t really understand the Celestial mind, so maybe it seems so to them. Self-indulgent…perhaps. A lot of the poems do read like a broken-hearted lover, yearning for his absent beloved.”

Aether frowns. “My tutors and I must’ve really glossed over them, then. I don’t remember getting that impression, at all.”

“I’ll find you an example,” Diluc says, flipping to a specific page and handing him the book. “Here, read this piece.”

Aether takes it and reads the lines as originally written, in Liyue’s elegant language and orderly characters.

The autumn moon is half round above Hulao Mountain;

Its pale light falls in and flows with the water of the Bishui River.

Tonight I leave Qiongji of the limpid stream for Minlin,

And glide down past Luhua, thinking of you, who I cannot see.

His brow furrows as he reads the last line. “This is different, in the original language, than the Celestial translation I studied. In my version, the last line was translated as ‘thinking of that which cannot be seen.’ And don’t ask if I’m sure. I remember everything I read.”

“I wasn’t going to. I’d say that small difference alters the meaning of the text significantly. Is it a translation error?”

“Not exactly. More of a discrepancy in shades of meaning. In Liyue’s language, the same phrase can express both ideas. The translators chose the impersonal abstract meaning, as they’d probably assume the original author intended. They were clearly wrong.”

“I wonder what else they got wrong,” Diluc says, his interest piqued.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Aether agrees. He thumbs through the book until he finds another poem. This one is titled ‘The Stream’.

A sword with the keenest edge,

Could not cut the stream of water in twain

So that it would cease to flow.

My thought is like the stream; and flows and follows you on forever.

That text is the same in the Celestial translation, so he keeps flipping until he finds another, entitled ‘The River.’

The water of the River Bishui is swift like an arrow;

The boat on the River Bishui slips away

As if it had wings.

It will travel in ten days three thousand li.

And you go more swiftly, my love—

How many days before you return?

“This one is different, too. The Celestial translation has ‘my love’ as ‘majhe praseni’. That means something like…bosom companion, without the romantic connotation. It should have read ‘majhe priyakaani’, which actually means ‘my love’.” He looks up at Diluc, who is staring at him, with his mouth half open. “What’s wrong with you? Why do you look like that?”

“I…I’ve never heard Celestial spoken aloud before,” Diluc says breathlessly. “Is it supposed to feel like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like the words had an electric charge and were being zapped directly into my skull.”

“Oh—oops. Sorry,” Aether winces. “It’s a kind of…forceful language. I forgot it can have that effect on humans. Don’t worry, though. It’s uncomfortable, when you’re not used to it, but it won’t actually do any damage, if it’s not intended to.”

“Uh. That’s good to know. If it’s…not intended to? Can the words actually inflict damage?”

“Well, yes. The accepted explanation is that it’s the language of the Light, only toned way down, so that corporeal beings can speak it without destroying their physical forms in the release of energy. I don’t know how true that is, but I do know it carries inherent power, and is more or less potent, depending on the bloodline and skill of the speaker. The art of debate in Celestia is said to be more dangerous than the art of swordplay.”

Diluc looks alarmed. “You mean figuratively, right? Not that people have actually died from arguing too hard.”

“None have died in the course of a debate that I know of, but a pure highborn, like my mother, could seriously injure a lower-order Celestial, with a skillfully spoken word.”

“That’s…terrifying, Aether. I’m sorry, but I can’t think of a more polite word for it. Your people are terrifying.”

“Yeah. I know,” Aether says ruefully. “Imagine growing up among them.”

“What I can’t imagine is how you turned out the way you are, despite being raised the way you were. Shouldn’t you be a lot more…I don’t know. Cold and aloof?”

“Probably. My sister and I are fairly abnormal, as far as Celestials are concerned. I’ve suspected for a while that the king isn’t our real father, and that it’s whatever our real father is that makes us the way we are. But it’s only speculation. I can’t prove it one way or another. So maybe we’re just flukes.”

“Have the twins found out anything about your brain thing? Maybe that’s a clue.”

“I think it might be, but they haven’t mentioned making any headway, yet. Either they’ve hit a dead end, or they’re just busy with other things.” As they’ve been talking, Aether has been flipping idly through the book. He stops on a page and reads it over, several times, then holds the book up for Diluc. “This poem…I don’t know it, at all. It was omitted outright from the Celestial version. I wonder how many more there are, that were expurgated, that way.”

Starting from the beginning, he and Diluc go through the entire book together. Aether finds several other poems that have been mistranslated, as well as three more that were fully omitted from the Celestial edition. They are entitled Beloved, The Dweller of Heaven, and The Summit Temple, and read as follows.

Beloved

Fair one, when you were here, you filled the world with Light.

Fair one, now you are gone—only an empty bed is left.

In my hand, coiled about my heart, a single strand of gold.

It is three-hundred years since you went. The perfume you left behind haunts me still.

Your scent strays about me forever, but where are you, Beloved?

The Dweller of Heaven

He is the flowering branch of the peony,

Richly-laden with honey-dew.

His is the charm of the vanished fairy,

That broke the heart of the Dragon King

In the old legend of the Star and Moon.

Pray, who in the Land of Gold

Could be likened unto him,

Save the lady, Ping Ehuang, newly-dressed

In all her loveliness?

The Summit Temple

Tonight I stay at the Summit Temple.

Here I hold a Star in my hands,

I dare not speak aloud in the silence,

For fear of disturbing the Dweller of Heaven.

“I’m starting to understand how you got such a different impression of the book than I did,” Aether observes, as he marks the page with the last missing poem. “For a philosopher-warrior, this Zhongli man was very much a lovesick poet. Frankly, it’s a little nauseating.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Diluc says, smiling sheepishly. “I like thinking that he fell in love, and that’s what made him forsake his life of violence and bloodshed, and go around teaching people how to live peacefully.”

Aether grimaces. “Gross, babe. You Teyvatans have a serious fetish for sappy legends where some warrior falls in love, and suddenly becomes peaceful and wise.”

“We do?” Diluc laughs. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. What other ones are there?”

“I heard one about Rex Lapis, which amounts to pretty much the same thing. The Goddess of Mercy catches him being an asshole and tells him off in public, and instead of biting her in half for her insolence, he changes his ways and becomes a just and benevolent god. Now I think of it, it’s probably just ripped off from legends about Zhongli. Or vice-versa.”

“Why couldn’t it be true? For that matter, why couldn’t they both be true?”

“Oh, please,” Aether scoffs. “Just try to imagine the Dragon King falling headfirst in love, like an idiot schoolboy, and completely changing his ways, just to make his new lover happy. It’s obvious that it’s total fiction. Besides, Xiao says there was never a Goddess of Mercy in Teyvat, in the first place.”

Diluc crosses his arms. “I think you just hate romance and happy endings.”

“Maybe. Also, I might be a touch bitter because my marriage never had romance, and likely won’t have a happy ending, either.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding visiting your dream-husband? No, don’t even start. I do know you, Aether. You don’t think I’ve noticed that you haven’t tried to do it, since you figured out how it works?”

Aether looks down at his hands, where he is turning his husband’s amber and gold ring on his finger. “You’re right. I have been avoiding it. Because…ugh. This makes me sound like a coward. I’ve been avoiding it because last time I dreamed of him, I promised him I’d do something, and I really, reeeaaaaallllly don’t want to do it.”

“Ooh, something like what?” Diluc asks, arching an eyebrow.

“You wish, pervert!” Aether retorts, grabbing a pillow to swat him, which Diluc catches. “He’s been asking me to tell him how we’re connected, and I know that if I tell him we’re married in real life, I won’t be able to hide the fact that things are bad between us. I’m afraid when he finds out how awful I am, it’ll ruin our happy dream times.”

“If they’re just dreams, like you keep insisting, why are you even worried about it? Can’t you just dream up a version of him from before you told him?”

“I don’t have any control of it. So far, they’ve been running chronologically, with relation to each other. When I see him, he remembers all our meetings from before, and tells me how long it’s been since I was there last.”

“Aether, listen,” Diluc says, taking his hands to press kisses to them. “And I am saying this with all the love and respect in the world. I don’t know if you’re being intentionally obtuse, or you’re just selectively stupid about things that pertain to your love life, but to me, all of that adds up to something more than just intense dreams.”

“You’ve told me what you think, Luc, and it’s a very lovely idea, but it’s just not—”

Diluc drops his hands, his expression hardening. “I know. I get that you think I’m a starry-eyed fool, and that it’s absolutely impossible for you to be actually visiting a past version of your husband. But you have wings and you can banish Abyssal corruption with your bare hands, and he is a dragon god who created our whole world. Things aren’t exactly normal, where you two are concerned. All I’m saying is that maybe you should keep more of an open mind about it.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re a fool. And I don’t mean to cast aspersions on your perspective, or suggest that you’re wrong for wanting to hope, on my behalf. It’s just that interference with the past isn’t a thing I can accept as a possibility. It would be a desecration of everything I’ve been raised to believe.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Aether takes a deep breath and lets it out. “The Light is the generative force in the universe, responsible for ordering all of reality, except time. Time is the one law that lies even above the power of the Light. The most terrifying creatures in Celestial mythology weren’t Abyssal. They were these beings called Travelers, that could manipulate space and time. Meaning they could go back to the past, to interfere with things. By doing that, they could create paradoxes, which are closed loops in fate, that violate the laws of reality. Once trapped in a paradox, not even the eternal gods could escape the fate created for them. That power was so dangerous, that the gods banded together and destroyed their home world, and anyone suspected of being a Traveler in any realm was instantly put to death. The stories say they were wiped out, but their ability to slip through space and time made it impossible to judge whether any had survived, so you know. Keep your guard up, kids, because some scary Travelers may still be lurking around somewhere, waiting to undo you from existence. You know how fairytales work.”

“If they were supposedly so powerful, how were they even killed? Wouldn’t they just space-time warp out of danger?”

“Like any good fairytale monster, their power was restricted by rules, so the heroes could defeat them. They weren’t immortal, and aside from their time control, not particularly powerful, so it was relatively easy to kill them. They didn’t develop their abilities till adulthood, which was convenient, because it meant the young could be slaughtered on their homeworld for plot reasons, and they could interfere with the past, but to do it, they had to leave their physical bodies and traverse the astral planes, which left them vulnerable. Oh, also, they could be trapped by their own paradoxes, somehow. Clever tricksters did that in some of the stories from other realms, but I don’t remember the details. They were usually convoluted morality tales, and I just wanted to hear about battles with the Abyss Lord and exciting things like that.”

“If Travelers are a myth intended to demonstrate to little Celestials that time is sacred, and trying to undo the past leads to destruction, why are the stories told in other realms, too? Most humans can’t use magic, anyway, and even the most powerful human sorcerers haven’t been able to manipulate time.”

“Don’t know,” Aether shrugs. “I assume it’s because Celestial myths get spread around to the other realms by travelers—not the evil time-warping kind, just the regular, teenaged Celestial kind.”

“Huh. I wonder why Teyvat doesn’t have any Traveler myths.” Diluc lies staring at the ceiling for a long moment, then shakes his head. “How did we get on this topic, anyway? Oh, right. Your dreams. Well, time-travel or not, you need to stop avoiding your dream-husband. Maybe he won’t be angry. Maybe he’ll help you understand how to talk to him.”

“Maybe. Either way, I can’t do it right now. Not till after we resolve the situation, here.”

“But after that, you promise you’ll do it then?”

“Ugh…fine. I’ll do it then. I promise. You are such a pain in my ass.”

“You’re the one who climbed into my lap, commandeered my book, and has been talking for an hour. I was perfectly happy minding my own business.”

Aether is about to protest, but at that moment, there is an urgent-sounding knock at the door. Diluc lifts him off his lap and jumps to his feet, straightening his clothing, then calls for the visitor to enter. It is one of the royal guard, and he has apparently come in great haste, directly from outside, as he is out of breath and there is snow still clinging to his heavy cloak and cleated boots.

“Highness,” he puffs, with a bow that encompasses both the king and prince. “Storm blowing in from the peak, my lords. Coming fast. Looks like a bad one.”

Diluc is already pulling on his fur-lined black coat and Aether his boots. All three men look up quickly, as a sudden gale of wind, howling like a thousand wolves, slams into the lodge, tearing across the turreted roof and screaming over the window casements. An icy gust comes down the chimney, at the same time, blowing smoke and soot from the fireplace into the room. The fire had died to low embers, and they hadn’t bothered to stoke it, since Aether doesn’t mind the cold and Diluc prefers it, but the king holds out his hand now, and brings it blazing back to life.

“Uh…is that wise, with the wind?” Aether asks. “Won’t it just blow the fire into the room?”

Diluc shakes his head. “The opposite. Keeping the fires hot stops the cold air pushing down the chimneys. Brandir, call your men in from patrol, and get the guards off the walls and watch towers. Send a few to stoke the fires, once everyone is accounted for. Prince Aether, come with me. We need to get everyone we can find to help close the storm shutters, as fast as possible.”

“Come on, Itto,” Ms. Shinobu pleads, jiggling the door handle again. “You know what? I have a bag of konpeito that I was saving for the trip home, but you can have the whole thing, ok? Just come out of there!”

“Morning Shinobu-san,” Ayato says, with a bow, as he and Thoma step out of their room, across the hall. “What’s going on?”

“Kamisato-sama,” she bows in return. “I can’t get Itto to come out of his room. Master Albedo was telling stories, last night, and now he’s convinced the whole mountain is crawling with dragons.”

“It is!” Itto’s voice insists, muffled and woody, as if it’s coming out of the door. “Why else’d they call it Dragonspine, Shinobu? Use your head!”

“Because of the bones of the very dead dragon that are lying on the side of the mountain, and are clearly visible from this lodge!”

“Itto-to, why don’t you come out and have breakfast with us,” Ayato cajoles. “I promise there are no live dragons up here, anymore.”

“But what if there are, aniki?” Itto’s door posits. “That tiny pale guy told us all about the one that attacked the mountain before, and it was way bigger and meaner than usual ones!”

“Even if there were, you don’t really think Thoma and I would let them hurt you, do you?”

“I don’t want you gettin’ ate, either! I’m protectin’ you, by stayin’ in here! Dragons smell a demon, they’ll come like bees to honey!”

“Why would honey attract bees?” Shinobu asks, squinting an eye. “Aren’t they the ones who have it?”

“If you won’t come out, why don’t you let us come in,” Thoma attempts. “We’ll be safer in numbers, anyway, right?”

“Ha! Nice try, Thoma-kun!” the door scoffs. “You’re just tryina get me to open up so you can drag me out! Y’think I was born yesterday?”

Ayato sighs. “Well, he’s clearly outwitted us. Thoma, Ms. Shinobu, I have a thought. Why don’t the three of us skip breakfast and go back to my room? We can have food sent up, after we…work up an appetite.”

“Been a while, Kuki-chan,” Thoma says, training his devastating smile on Ms. Shinobu. “What do you say?”

“Yes. Except my room and just you,” she replies, taking him by the hand, to pull him bodily down the hall with her. “No offense, Kamisato-sama, but I can’t handle you both. Later, Itto, good luck hiding!”

“Young people these days. Insatiable,” Ayato mutters, shaking his head in mock disapproval, as Thoma and the young lady disappear into her room, a few doors down. He’d intended to coax Itto out with the prospect of a group fuck, but this may work just as well. “You hear that, Itto-to? Thoma and Ms. Shinobu have left me all alone, while they—ah…while they play a game of chess. Won’t you let me in?”

The door is silent for a moment, then Ayato hears the bolt slide and click, and it opens a crack, to reveal Itto’s scarlet eye, peering warily into the hall. When he sees that Ayato is indeed alone, he opens it the rest of the way and steps back, to let him in.

“I don’t mean to sound suspicious, or nothin’, but I don’t think they’re really playin’ chess,” he says, as he shuts it and bolts it again, shaking it to see that it’s secure. “Shinobu hates board games.”

Ayato raises his eyebrows and lays a gloved hand on his bosom. “My goodness, whatever could they be doing, instead? Nothing indecent, I hope! Thoma is my betrothed, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re real funny,” Itto grumbles. “If you’re just here to mock me, I’m gettin’ back under the bed.”

“No, no, wait. I’m sorry, Itto-to, I didn’t mean to upset you. But if you want me to take you seriously, you have to refrain from burrowing beneath the furniture and talk to me. Are you really this worried about dragons?”

“All’s I know is I got a real bad feelin’, aniki,” Itto says, rubbing his clawed hands together anxiously. “There’s somethin’ big and mean close by, and we’re sittin’ ducks in this place. Maybe it ain’t dragons, but what else could be up here, big enough to scare—uh…I mean. Ya know. Rile me up.”

“We are here to lure out the people who want to assassinate King Diluc. Perhaps what you’re sensing has to do with them.”

“I sure hope it ain’t that. If it is, we better get ready, cause whatever’s comin’…I don’t know if it’s a fight we can win.”

“Hm. I have never known your sense for danger to lead you astray. We should alert Prince Aether and King Diluc, immediately, regarding your concerns. But you will have to leave the room to do so.”

Itto wavers. “Well…we did come up here for a fight. And I don’t want that pretty little king to get hurt, if I can help it. Not after he’s been so hospitable, and all.”

“Hospitable? Is that what you call it?” Ayato asks archly.

“Above and beyond,” Itto grins, baring his white fangs. “Ya shoulda seen your chibi, by the way. That kid can be damn scary, when he takes a mind to. Gave me chills.”

“I’m not surprised to hear it. He is a century-old Celestial highborn.”

“Whatever he is, he’s got a—ah! Dragons!” Itto yelps, clutching at Ayato, as a sudden gust of wind shrieks and shakes the windows.

“It’s just the wind, you ridiculous demon,” Ayato laughs. “But you can keep holding me like this. Your body is deliciously warm, and I am convinced I’ve been slowly freezing to death, since we arrived here. My constitution is not suited to these northern climes, I’m afraid.”

“Hold up, I hear somethin’ else,” Itto frowns, then his eyes widen. “Oh no! Shinobu’s in trouble—wait. She ain’t callin’ for help, she’s…” He trails off, flushing pink, to Ayato’s immense amusement. “Maybe we better find somethin’ to do that ain’t so close to her room, for a little while.”

Just then, the voice of one of the royal guards echoes down the hall, calling for anyone unoccupied to come and assist in closing the storm shutters, which shield the larger windows on the lodge from the deadly mountain winds. Itto, his desire to leave the immediate area apparently outweighing his fear that there are dragons lying in wait everywhere but inside this room, hurries out with Ayato, to volunteer their help.

The guard directs them to the main hall, where they find a group assembling, listening to the king explain how to secure the shutters, as they pull on coats and gloves. They are informed that they will have to go in two-man teams, for safety reasons, and are warned that the protective window coverings are very large and heavy, and the hinges may be frozen and difficult to move. If there is ice, they will have to melt or break it, before the shutters will be able to close. Itto does not think this will pose much of a problem for him, since he’s a demon and far, far stronger than these humans, even the vision-holders.

The king asks those with pyro and cryo visions to come forward, so they can be distributed amongst the teams, and anemo visions, as they are least likely to have trouble reaching the higher windows. There is only one anemo vision present—a small, nervous, green-haired woman with thick spectacles—and Itto doesn’t think she looks like she’d be much use for this task, high windows or no. She looks like she’s about to faint, just from being directly addressed by the king, is what. That kid with all the bombs would be pretty handy, about now, but she wasn’t invited on this excursion. Probably with good reason.

King Diluc is assigning everyone into teams, when there is a collective shout of surprise, as all at once, every single chandelier, torch sconce, candle, fireplace, and oil-lamp in the place goes out. No smoking, no sputtering, nothing. They’ve simply been extinguished. The cavernous main hall is plunged into semi-darkness, the only light now seeping in from the high, narrow windows, pale and grey as the storm gathers. The hairs on Itto’s neck prickle up, suddenly. He touches Ayato’s arm and they both summon their swords. The others have drawn their weapons, too, as if moved by the same instinct.

For a long, breathless moment, there is tense silence, broken only by the howling of the wind, outside. Then with a spectacular, cracking boom, the huge, iron-barred double doors, fashioned of impervious Mondstadt oak, burst open, slamming into the stone walls on either side of the arched doorway. A blast of boreal wind roars into the main hall, driving tiny ice particles into Itto’s face, making him blink and shield his eyes. All the vision-holders brandish their weapons and stand at bay, as a human form resolves from the grey blur of snow, outside the door. It is a woman, tall and fair, and clad all in white. She steps across the threshold into the lodge, tearing through some warding spell, like a razorblade through cobwebs, and stands looking them all over, with a haughty sneer curling her crimson lip.

“Thank you all for attending my little party,” she announces, in a mocking, sing-song tone. “I’m afraid the storm will make outdoor recreation impossible, for the moment, but worry not. We are going to have such fun, together.”

Chapter Text

“Signora,” Ayato growls, stepping forward, just as Prince Aether and King Diluc do the same.

“If it isn’t my old friend, the Yashiro Commissioner,” she replies, her voice dripping with sweet venom. “How very convenient. Now I can deal with you, the brat, and the whelp king, all at once.”

She turns her icy smile on Diluc, then Aether. He isn’t paying attention, which so clearly annoys the Signora, that Ayato has to stifle a laugh. Instead, he is scanning the shadowy reaches of the hall, eyes narrowed, as if he’s expecting to find someone else lurking there.

“Scaramouche!” he shouts, giving everyone a jolt, with the volume and resonance of his voice. “I know you’re here, you fucking prick! Show yourself!”

All eyes are on Aether, now, or glancing about the hall, attempting to see the person he is looking for. There are a few gasps, as what can only be described as ball of ink-black shadows curls out of thin air, a few feet to the right of the Signora, and from it steps a second figure. Small and slight, dressed in black and gold and crimson, and wearing a large, ceremonial, Inazuman hat, that makes him look a bit like a decorative lamp.

The hat tilts to one side and he spreads his arms, with a deranged laugh, as cruel-looking black blades materialize in both his hands. “Missed me, princess? My cock has certainly missed you.”

“So, it was you two,” Aether says, not taking the bait. “The bug planted in the king’s head was your doing, all along. And since I destroyed it, you’re here in person, to finish the job you fucked up. I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea, though. You’re no match for all of us. If I were you, I’d make my escape, before things get ugly.”

“I think not, my dear imp,” the Signora returns, in a pitying tone. “Today, the Ragnvindr line dies. The boy king will be replaced by the Lawrence heir, who I assume you have already guessed, is under our control.”

“Those bastards!” Lady Eula exclaims, angrily. “I knew they were up to something!”

The Signora looks at her as if she is a particularly revolting insect. “Ah, yes, the clan’s little defector. Pity you chose the wrong side, my dear. Your family will be ruling Mondstadt, after today. Subject to our gentle guidance, of course.”

“Just how do you intend to accomplish that,” King Diluc demands. “Killing me won’t put your pretender on the throne. The Lawrence Clan has been suspected of disloyalty and collusion with the Fatui for a long time, and now they are party to open treason. The other clans will never accept the Lawrence heir as legitimate.”

“How precious, that you think the plan is that simple,” the Signora answers, with another poisonous smile. “Killing you is but one piece of the larger picture. An important piece, I grant, but only a piece. The clans will confirm the accession of the Lawrence heir. That is, if they don’t want their precious deaconess to be gutted and hung from the city gates, as an example.”

“Don’t you fucking touch Barbara!” Diluc roars, taking a step forward, only to be stayed by Aether.

“She’s just trying to provoke you,” Aether says to him. “Jean and the Knights will protect Barbara and the city.”

The Signora laughs again. “You have far too much faith in people, brat. It is the Knights who are going to betray her.”

Ayato looks at Thoma, who has just arrived with Ms. Shinobu. Thoma gives the slightest dip of his chin. Believing Mondstadt to be in the grip of a wide-reaching conspiracy, he has had Shuumatsuban agents covertly placed about the city and surrounding villages, for weeks, watching and reporting. They discovered Captain Alberich’s machinations, and from him, Thoma learned of the treachery afoot among the Knights. Thoma and Ayato haven’t reported this to the king, at Captain Alberich’s insistence. He believes that the only way to expose all of the traitors is to allow the confrontation to play out, thus forcing them to reveal themselves. A risky gambit, but Master Jean and Lady Barbara have been warned by the Shuumatsuban, by now, and have hopefully withdrawn to a safe location, to weather the inevitable bloody battle, when the Lawrence Clan-led Favonius traitors come up against Captain Alberich’s covert forces, in the guise of Treasure Hoarders and mercenaries.

“You’re bluffing,” Aether says, to the Signora. “We have no reason to believe the Knights would betray the king.”

Her malicious grin widens. “Oh, am I? Tell me, where are the royal guards?”

She raises her hand in a fist, which is apparently a signal. The cloaked and armored members of the king’s royal guard come trooping in the open doorway, to form up in ranks behind her, two rows of ten men, and draw their blades. Twenty, which means five are missing, including Brandir, the man who warned the king of the storm, earlier. They are either elsewhere, doing the Signora’s bidding, or they were loyal to the king, and are already dead. At the hands of their own comrades. Diluc doesn’t bother to conceal his pain, at finding traitors among his most trusted retainers.

“You have broken your oaths,” he says, his voice low but resonant, carrying throughout the cavernous hall. “You have sold yourselves to our enemies. I am…disappointed.”

“The Ragnvindr tyranny is finished!” one of the guardsmen shouts. “The Lawrence Clan is taking its rightful place, as the rulers of Mondstadt!”

Diluc’s scarlet eyes blaze. “So, you are fools as well as traitors. The Lawrence Clan will be nothing more than puppets of the Tsaritsa.”

“This is so fucking boring,” Scaramouche pipes up. “Can you get on with it, or are you going to stand here talking, all day?”

Before the words are all the way out of his mouth, a magenta-hued bolt of electro erupts from Aether’s bright sword, aimed squarely at the Signora’s head. She dodges out of the way, just in time, and the fight is on. The guardsmen rush forward with a battle cry, and the vision-holders ready their weapons to defend. Lady Eula freezes the ground beneath three of them, and as they are attempting to steady themselves on the slippery surface, she swings her massive claymore round in a heavy arc, connecting with all three at once, and sending them flying into the stone wall, like ragdolls. Albedo is literally above the fray, hopping across golden geo-flowers, and harassing the guardsmen with exploding blooms. Ayato and Itto ignore the humans and engage directly with the Signora, who sends a barrage of ice-spears at them, with a wave of her hand. The missiles shatter against Thoma’s fiery shield, but they are all staggered, by the kinetic force. Ms. Shinobu is incapacitating guardsmen with her spinning electro aura, and Aether is standing at bay before Diluc, who is clearly unhappy about it, but can’t get past him to join the fight. Scaramouche is leaning on the wall, arms crossed, observing the chaos with bored detachment. Within a very few minutes, all the guardsmen are dealt with, leaving the vision-holders free to concentrate on the two Harbingers.

As they do, a swarm of scarlet flame-moths spark to life, and go fluttering through the air, all about the hall. Aether barely has time to shout at his friends to get down, before a huge gout of fire erupts from the Signora’s hands. Before it reaches them, a whirling vortex appears, concentrated in the center of the room, and sucks all the fire into itself. The tornado spins and swells, pushing the fire upward, until it bursts into the shape of a titanic butterfly of flame, that encompasses nearly the entire vaulted ceiling of the hall. Then Aether understands that this is not a trick of the Signora’s, but the work of Sucrose, the shy, green-haired alchemist, who has just saved them all from being burned (or in his case, a bit singed). The Signora’s confident sneer fades, as they all advance upon her.

“Scaramouche, god damn you!” she barks, at her indolent cohort. “Were you planning to get off your ass and do something, at any point?”

The small Harbinger sighs, pushes himself off the wall, and makes a show of cracking his knuckles, as the Signora fumes. Then, to the puzzlement of all present, he draws his shamisen from his back, where it has been hanging on its strap. As the first strains of the achingly beautiful melody are plucked from the strings, Aether realizes with a sickening lurch of his stomach, what is about to happen, and that it's too late to stop it. The notes are reverberating off the stone walls, and the vision-holders are lowering their weapons. Scaramouche’s eyes ignite with violet fire, as he plays the meandering tune with increasing energy and intensity. Everyone but Ayato, Diluc, and Aether, raise their weapons again. Their eyes are vacant, and their movements jerky and unnatural, as they turn to face the king and his two remaining friends.

“What devilry is this?” Diluc murmurs. “What is happening to them?”

“They’re puppets. Scaramouche is controlling them, now,” Aether says, his voice rising with his wrath. “He knows that I can’t break his hold on them, without risking destroying their minds, along with it. He wants us to either kill our own friends, or let them kill us. You fucking monster.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Scaramouche grins, as he stows his instrument.

The Signora’s malevolent laugh rings out, like the harsh and strident cawing of crows, after those mournful strains from the Balladeer’s Shamisen. Ayato and Diluc stand frozen, horrorstruck at the impossible cruelty of the situation. Aether, whose talent for thinking on his feet has never failed him before, has no idea what to do. For the first time, in any battle he has faced, he is utterly at a loss. All he feels now is the black maw of despair, opening beneath him, threatening to swallow him whole.

Then, as if from a dream of some long-forgotten spring, a soft breeze stirs, and ruffles the hair about his his face, carrying the scent of Cecilias and windwheel asters. He imagines he hears a voice—barely a whisper—reminding him that despair is only an empty threat. The darkness cannot take him, who was made from the Light. In this moment of dread, he finds himself calm and his mind clear, aware of his place in this universe. The place intended for Celestials by the Light. They were given power and immortality, not so they may dominate and subjugate their mortal brethren, but so they may act as guardians. They exist to stand between the weak and innocent, and the evil that would devour them. This is his purpose.

His heart aches for Diluc and Ayato, who are standing with him, backs to the proverbial wall, facing their deaths with hopeless courage. These children should never have to bear such a burden of conscience, so he will bear it for them. He will make the impossible choice. Do the necessary thing, so they won’t have to. Protect their souls, as well as their bodies. As the puppeted group of their dear and loyal friends converges upon the three young men, Aether steps forward to meet them, his gold-inlaid sword gleaming in the pure, white light, that is gathering in the palm of his other hand, growing rapidly in brilliance and strength.

“Aether, you can’t,” Diluc says hoarsely, grasping his shoulder, to look into his eyes.

What he sees there makes him start back, as if he’s been struck. Ayato, also shying from Aether’s incandescent gaze, throws his arms around the young king, and bows his head in mute grief. He can’t bear to watch his beloved die. The Celestial Prince turns again, to face the Harbingers and his friends. Thoma, Itto, Shinobu, Lady Eula, Albedo, and his assistant Sucrose, who Aether just met yesterday. The light in his hand blazes like a descended star, illuminating the entire hall, with the brilliance of midday.

Somewhere in the distance, above the howl of the storm, he becomes aware of a strange sound. At first, it seems to be thunder, but thunder cracks and rolls, in discrete bursts. It does not emerge gradually, remaining steady as it increases in volume. Aether and his two companions look upward, as if the ceiling will have any useful information to relay. The Signora looks, too, seeming to be as confused as they are. Scaramouche, however, appears neither confused, nor particularly interested.

“Now or never, Rosalyne,” he calls to his fellow Harbinger, in a mocking tone. “You’ve got about thirty seconds, till all of this was for nothing.”

She shoots a venomous look at him. He returns a wild-eyed smile, of the kind one might expect to see on the face of an escaped lunatic, and abruptly releases his control of Aether’s friends. Like marionettes with severed strings, the tension animating their bodies goes slack, and they crumple simultaneously to the floor, where they lie unmoving. Diluc and Ayato are already hurrying to the aid of their fallen compatriots.

“What the fuck are you doing!” the Signora shrieks, flame-moths whirling about her in a maddened frenzy.

The Balladeer shrugs. “You’re not playing fair, so I leveled the field a bit. More interesting that way, don’t you think?”

“I will kill you, you little bastard!”

“Twenty seconds,” he taunts, as the Celestial Prince turns all his deadly attention on the Signora. “You can kill him or me.”

She wavers, for a beat, then folding her hands on her bosom, she draws her power into herself, pulling the flame-moths in with it. The atmosphere becomes suddenly thin and tight, as if all the air has been sucked out of the immediate area. There is a beat of dead, eerie silence, then she releases her charged fury all at once, in an explosion of fire. Ayato, who has faced her before and guessed what she was doing, has thrown out a wall of water-lilies, which is just enough to protect himself and their unconscious friends from the white-hot blast. Diluc, in the act of rushing to Aether’s side, and thus only partially shielded, takes the diluted force of the shockwave, and is knocked backward. Ayato catches him and sits down hard with him on the ground. At the same time, Aether’s arm comes up reflexively, to shield his eyes. The Signora uses his split-second of distraction to flicker out of sight and reappear right behind him.

Before he has a chance to react, one of her hands clamps down on his throat, and the other around his wrist. They burn like iron manacles, heated glowing-red in a forge, and far stronger. He gives a strangled cry and his sword falls clattering from his hand. The molten heat of her touch is igniting his flesh, racing through his veins, searing deep into his bones. His vision goes brilliant red, as it fills with fluttering flame-moths, that seem to have got in behind his eyes somehow, and are setting his brain ablaze. He struggles weakly in the Signora’s grasp and then goes limp, his mind a feverish jumble, and his body unresponsive, as it devotes all its resources to mitigating the system-wide damage from the elemental attack.

This won’t keep him down for long, but a moment is all she needs. Tearing off a long glove with her teeth, the Signora uses a sharp, crimson fingernail to scratch a circular symbol and some ancient-looking runes into the white flesh on the back of his neck. The bloody marks kindle and burn bright, for an instant, then they fade and vanish, leaving no visible trace upon his smooth skin. There. It’s done. The brat prince and his band of merry fools can do their worst. There is no stopping it, now.

She sways, suddenly, and staggers, drained near to the point of death, from the massive amount of power she wove into that spell. Probably too much. Her head is spinning, muscles trembling, as if from sustained overexertion. She nearly drops the insensate prince onto the floor, as she clutches at her bodice, gasping for breath. This goddamned corset is suffocating her, and her long gown feels as if it weighs hundreds of pounds. In her disordered state, it takes her a moment to realize that she is not hearing the blood roaring in her ears, but that thundering sound from outside, which has grown to a deafening volume, until the force of it seems to shake the walls.

Through the wide-open arch of the doorway, the source of this auditory disturbance can now be seen. Descending from the grey sky, is a fleet of hulking, ungainly machines. There are six of them, all exactly the same, constructed of black metal and shaped somewhat like the overturned keels of ships. Atop each end of their bulbous, oblong hulls, are sets of rapidly spinning blades, which are creating the thunderous din, and seem to be what is keeping them airborne. Like the wings of titanic birds, these powerful blades kick up a whirlwind of snow, as the nightmare machines touch down, with surprising grace, on the frozen ground before the lodge. A seventh of these outlandish constructs is hanging back, at some distance from the rest, and hasn’t prepared to land yet. It is larger than the others, and bears a heraldic symbol, emblazoned on its side in gold, but being focused on the six that are landing, no one observes it. The Signora turns her ice-grey gaze from the flying machines, back to Scaramouche.

“What have you done, Balladeer,” she hisses, through her clenched teeth.

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “I’ve been playing my own game, you fucking idiot. Did you really think I’d help you do anything, without an ace up my sleeve?”

She stares at him in speechless fury, as a horde of black-uniformed and helmeted men, carrying what appear to be an updated version of the projectile weapons used by pyroslingers, swarm out of the flying machines, and storm into the lodge. The clatter of their heavy boots on the stone floor rouses Diluc, who gives a plaintive groan in Ayato’s arms, as his eyes blink heavily open. Scaramouche resumes leaning against the wall, looking on with unconcealed amusement, as the armed squad assumes combat posture, weapons raised, all trained on the Signora. She is still clutching Aether in one arm, and looking more and more like a cornered beast, every second.

“Stay back!” she roars, brandishing a fireball in warning. “Stay back, all of you! I’ll burn you to cinders!”

“Give it up, Signora,” a young man’s voice calls from the doorway. “Let the prince go.”

Ayato glances in that direction, and is bewildered to find himself looking at the copper-haired Snezhnayan prince, late of the Snezhnayan embassy in Liyue. Following directly on his heels, is Captain Alberich, who Ayato is less surprised to see, since he commands Mondstadt’s covert defense force, and really should’ve been here sooner. Captain Alberich spots the king immediately and dashes over, falling to his knees to relieve Ayato of his half-conscious burden. Ayato gives Diluc into his arms, then turns away discreetly, declining to observe the tears spilling down the Cavalry Captain’s tawny-olive cheek, as he holds the king tightly against his chest, pressing kisses to his scarlet hair.

“Tartaglia, you treacherous shit!” the Signora bellows. “I knew you’d stick your nose into this. Leave it to you to betray your own, to save this little Celestial piece of trash. Not another step! I’ll incinerate him, I swear!”

“Come on, Signora, Let’s be reasonable,” Childe says, hands raised palm-outward, in token of parley. “You’re out of options, here. You’re weakened, and we both know you can’t fight all of us and get out of this alive. But listen, since you’re an old friend, I’m willing to make a deal. Let the prince go, and I’ll personally intercede with the Tsaritsa on your behalf. She might not even have you executed.”

“What the hell are you talking about!” the Signora fires back, as Childe inches closer. “I have been following Her Highness’ orders!”

He stops in his tracks. His expression goes hard and cold, and he points an accusing finger at her, raising his voice like a herald, so that his words are clearly audible to everyone in the vicinity. “How dare you slander the name of Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa! She denounces your illegal, despicable, and unilateral actions, of which she was entirely unaware, until your scheme was reported, by Her Highness’ most loyal servant, the Balladeer! I, Prince Ajax of Snezhnaya, Lord Tartaglia, the eleventh Harbinger, declare you a traitor, to your empress and to your people!”

It is then that Aether, apparently having regained consciousness, wrenches himself forcefully free of the Signora’s grasp, and twisting about like a serpent, strikes her dead-center, with bright white bolt of energy, that sends her tumbling backward across the stone floor.

“I don’t like—being grabbed from—behind,” he pants, swaying drunkenly on his feet.

The Signora is only stunned for an instant, then she is up again, raging and out for blood, her hair askew and her white dress smudged with soot. She flies at Aether, throwing bolts of fire as she hurtles toward him. One misses, and leaves a smoking crater in the wall behind him, and the other strikes him in the stomach. He doesn’t fall, but he curls inward, clutching his midsection protectively, and reels to one side. She draws her arm back, readying another missile, then stops short, with an odd expression on her face. The firebolt in her hand fizzles and winks out, and her arm drops to her side. Blinking in perplexity, she looks down at her chest, from the center of which, a wickedly curved blade, composed of swirling hydro, is jutting. Around the blade, a crimson blotch is blooming in the white silk of her bodice.

Aether gives a cry and lunges for her. “Ajax, stop! Don’t—”

It’s too late. The words die in his throat, as the hydro blade’s twin flashes out, slicing cleanly through flesh and sinew and bone, in a single, deadly stroke. Aether turns quickly away, so he does not have to see her head and body fall separately to the stone floor. Childe dismisses his hydro blades and steps indifferently over the Signora’s body, hurrying to take his lover in his arms.

“Ajax—no!” Scaramouche yelps, twisting and kicking in vain, as Childe scoops him up and holds him in a crushing embrace, knocking his hat off his head, as he presses kisses to his face. “Cut it the fuck out! Let me go, you asshole!”

“You’re not going anywhere, you mischievous little godlet,” Ajax scolds, in an indulgent tone, as if he’s speaking to an errant pet. “Not till the commander has had a few words with you. Then, if you’re very good and don’t stab anyone, you’ll be released to my custody.”

“Commander?” Aether repeats. “What the fuck is going on, here, Ajax? Who is the commander?”

“That would be me, my lord prince,” another voice says, from the doorway.

Aether turns to see who it is, this time, and frowns. He’s not sure who this man is, aside from being so obviously a Harbinger, that it’s almost farcical. He is tall and slender, clad in a heavy, white cloak, that hangs almost to the floor. It is lined with black fur, and has wide, black chest plackets, ornamented with silver clasps and chains. One side of it is thrown back over his shoulder, to reveal his immaculate, jet-black garments, also embellished with silver, perfectly tailored and clearly expensive, despite their apparent simplicity. His hair, too, is black, long and wavy and luxurious, and swept to one side, where it reaches all the way down to the top of his collar. His pale face is angular and aristocratic, but his expression is placid, and his eyes seem to smile, behind his silver-framed spectacles.

“Your Royal Highness. Lord Regrator, at your service,” he says, with a deep bow, then turns and proffers the slightest dip of his head to Childe and Scaramouche. “Prince Ajax. Balladeer.”

“Pantalone,” the Balladeer replies sullenly.  

“You never said you were coming in person,” Childe observes, with a smirk, as he sets the little Harbinger on his feet. “I’d have dressed up.”

“Ah, yes. I hadn’t intended to, but when I described the situation, my partner insisted we come to provide…let us call it…damage control.” His smooth voice curls up at the end of the phrase, matching the serpentine smile on his lips. “It appears his judgement was correct. Between the three of you, you have made quite the little mess, here. Not to worry, Your Royal Highness. I will put everything right again.”

“Why are you here, at all!” Aether demands, beside himself with exasperation. “And why are you guys with Kaeya! Someone tell me what is going on!!”

“Doctor!” Kaeya shouts, beside Ayato, giving him a start and making the others look that direction. “Over here! The king is hurt, he needs help!”

Yet another man is entering the lodge. This one is also tall and slender, though not so tall as Lord Regrator—or Pantalone, or whatever they’re calling him. He is wearing a long, white coat, black trousers, and tall boots with gold buckles and embellishments. His dress is not much like a doctor’s, being too military and ornate, and crisscrossed with black leather straps, strongly redolent of a gold-buckled bondage harness. His hair is a paler, very slightly warmer shade of blue than Ayato’s, and is cut in a similar asymmetrical style, with long strands hanging about his face. It is wavy, where Ayato’s is straight, however, and the rest is a tousled mess, pushed back haphazardly, as if he can’t be bothered with it. His mask, which covers the top half of his face, is black and white, gold-accented, and shaped somewhat like a hawk’s beak. Most notably, it has no visible eye-holes. Aether can’t exactly say whether he is handsome or not, with his face half obscured, but his chin and mouth certainly look handsome. Despite a bit of a cruel twist to his lips.

“No. No, I don’t believe it,” Childe says, with a hysterical edge to his voice, that draws Aether’s gaze back to him. Apparently it is his turn to be confused by what is going on, and accordingly, he is staring at the new arrival, ashen-faced, his features drawn taut with rage. “How the fuck are you here, you son of a bitch! You died! They tore you apart! I saw your body!”

“You saw a body, yes,” the man replies tranquilly, and in a deeper, more gravelly voice than Aether would have expected. “Mine, technically, but not me, specifically.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t care! I’m going to make sure as hell you stay dead, this time!” Childe snarls, re-summoning his hydro blades as he advances, to attack the man.

He is stopped, strangely enough, by the Balladeer, who grabs him by the arm, shaking his head. “Ajax, don’t. It’s not him.”

Childe looks down at him in bewilderment. “That’s…not il Dottore?”

“No, it is, but he’s not the one who—” Scaramouche falters. “There are multiple versions of him. You killed the version who…did those things. This is not the same man.”

“Semantics. We are all the same man, and not the same man,” the subject of their discussion, who is apparently the Harbinger il Dottore, says, with a dismissive wave of his hand, as he continues into the hall, stepping over the bodies of royal guardsmen and unconscious vision-holders, to kneel at the king’s side.

Ayato studies him surreptitiously, as he sits nearby, cradling Thoma’s head on his lap. The man must be able to see out of that mask, because he immediately sets about examining Diluc, holding his eyes open with two fingers, to peer into them, taking his pulse, and speaking to Captain Alberich in a soft, patient voice, that sends icy needles prickling up the back of Ayato’s neck. Soft and patient, though it may be, it is neither kind nor compassionate, in the least. It is a voice calculated to communicate clearly and exude calm authority. Nothing else.

“The king was struck by the Crimson Witch’s elemental power. The only reason he is alive, is that he happens to carry a pyro vision,” Dottore says to no one in particular, but loud enough to be heard generally, as he rises back to his feet. “He has also sustained a severe concussion. Fortunately for him, he is young and healthy, as well as being a vision-holder. I will monitor him for signs of his condition degenerating, but with a few days of bedrest, he will be back on his feet. Unless he wants to be an infant about it. Then we will give him a week. Any other injured?”

“The rest of the unconscious are people upon which the Balladeer used some manner of mind-control,” Ayato answers, since Kaeya wasn’t here for that part. “They are all vision-holders. I don’t know if they’re injured, otherwise.”

“The Balladeer’s little puppet trick is exhausting to humans, but it does no permanent damage,” Dottore replies, almost contemptuously. From somewhere in his coat, he draws a crystal tube, filled with glowing, turquoise liquid, and capped with silver on both ends, which he hands to Ayato. “This will restore them. A drop or two each, on the lips. Except the demon. Under no circumstances is he to touch any of that.” He produces another tube, filled with a sludgy purple substance. “Give him this. He won’t like the taste, but see that he swallows it all.”

Ayato accepts these things warily, looking to Kaeya, for his judgement. Kaeya nods, so Ayato unscrews the cap on the first tube and dips a finger into the glowing liquid, touching it to his own lips, first. If it’s poison, he’ll die before he gives it to his friends. For a moment, he feels nothing. Then a sudden, intense flush of warmth, that spreads over his face and through his body, clearing his mind, energizing his muscles, dispersing aches and tension, and generally making him feel well-rested and at ease. The effect is rather astonishing, and not at all like other elixirs he has used. This is how he feels at his absolute best, not after he’s been in combat and under stress, for hours.

He glances up at Dottore, but the man could be looking anywhere, for all he can tell. He has been warned that the three foremost among these Harbingers possess power equal to that of the elemental gods. As powerful as she was, la Signora was not named as one of the three. But il Dottore was. That would explain the extraordinary potency of the elixir. Suppressing a shudder, at the chilling thought that he is in a room with five Harbingers, one of whom has just been slain by another, Ayato shrugs off his coat and rolls it up, placing it under Thoma’s head as a makeshift pillow. Once he is satisfied that Thoma is comfortable, he dips his finger into the tube again and applies a drop to his beloved’s lips, before he sets to work on the others. Across the room, the soldiers have covered la Signora’s body with a black cloth, and are preparing a bier to carry her away.

“Lord Pierro will be displeased, to learn of Rosalyne’s fate,” Lord Regrator is saying to Childe, in the same silken tone he used before, only colored with a hint of solemnity. “But I suppose it couldn’t be helped. She did attempt to assassinate His Royal Highness the Prince Consort. Lord Pierro’s displeasure at her death will in no way compare to what Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa’s displeasure would be, had we allowed the Prince Consort to come to harm. She is most solicitous regarding his safety and wellbeing.”

Aether squints up at the man. “The Tsaritsa’s displeasure? You’ve got to be joking. Since when does she care about my…my safety and…”

He trails off mid-sentence, as his eyes roll back in his head and he pitches forward, to be caught by Scaramouche, who has darted in and out of a whirl of ink-black shadows, to reach him just in time.

“Ah, a Celestial patient. I’ve not had the privilege of working on one, before,” Dottore says, rubbing his gloved hands together, with a cold-blooded eagerness that makes Ayato’s skin crawl. “Lay him down, there. Carefully, if you please. He is not a sack of rice.”

Childe throws his cloak down, and Scaramouche, uncharacteristically compliant, carefully lowers the prince to lie upon it, then backs away to stand with Lord Regrator. Dottore crouches beside Aether, and Childe does the same, muscles coiled tight, watching his fellow Harbinger like a hawk, as he examines the prince.

“Hm. Low-grade fever,” Dottore mutters. “Pulse is slow for a human, but that may be normal for a Celestial. Pupils responsive. No jaundice. No evidence of organ failure or cellular deterioration. His body appears to be in a regenerative cycle, repairing the damage he sustained in his confrontation with la Signora. Not to belabor a prescription, but what he needs is rest, as well. The fever, though…that will require monitoring.”

“What do you mean?” Childe says impatiently. “Do you know what’s wrong with him, or not?”

“In any other human species, with this kind of mild but widespread internal damage, the natural immune response would account for elevated body temperature. Celestials, however, are something of an unknown quantity. I will have to monitor his condition, until I learn more.” When Childe continues to glare at him, Dottore gives a sigh that strongly suggests an eye-roll. “In all likelihood, he will be fine. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Dottore and I will convey the Prince Consort and King Diluc in my private vehicle, along with Captain Alberich, Prince Ajax and Lord Scaramouche,” Lord Regrator instructs the soldiers. “I imagine Lord Kamisato will wish to remain with his betrothed. As soon as their companions are alert and on their feet, get them into the other transports and make ready to return to the city. Our men there should have things well in hand, by now.” The soldiers salute and go bustling about their business. “Prince Ajax, Balladeer, once things are settled here, il Dottore and I will attend la Signora’s remains, back to Snezhnaya. I do not expect you to accompany us, but Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa will wish to speak with you, at once. I suggest you do not keep her waiting. And Prince Ajax, I would advise you to return in time for the obsequies, and to wear proper mourning, for the prescribed period. She is the first of our order to fall, and she has fallen by your hand. It is…the least you can do.”

While the assault on the Royal Hunting Lodge is proceeding, Mondstadt’s eponymous city is descending into chaos. Having abandoned secrecy and declared themselves in opposition to the traitor Knights, the army of mercenaries and bandits in the employ of Captain Alberich have opened their battle. Since they wear no uniforms, they have attached sashes, scarves, or strips of fabric to their persons, in Kelly green, which is the color of Lord Barbatos’ personal banner. These improvised emblems are handy for identifying the un-uniformed combatants, particularly since no one not affiliated with them would be stupid enough to wear one. They and the traitor Knights of Favonius have been engaging one another in skirmishes all over the city, and it is not going well for the Alberich faction. The Knights are entrenched, better armed, and trained in siegecraft and pitched battles, whereas the Alberich faction are more accustomed to guerilla tactics and small-scale assaults, where they have the advantages of cover and mobility. Only by sheer determination has their resistance lasted this long, and it is strained, near to the breaking point.

Bernhard, who has been tasked with going about the city and guiding civilians into safehouses and out of danger, is finding it useful to have the well-known and universally liked Captain of the Gate at his side, when attempting to convince said civilians to trust him. Word quickly spread that the Knights are traitors to the king, and the men in green sashes are the true defenders of the city, but many don’t believe it, and many others are simply confused and frightened, and don’t know what to think. Huffman’s reassuring presence, with his familiar face and bright-green Barbatos sash, tied round the arm of his black coat, goes a long way toward gaining their confidence.

Bernhard peers around the corner of the building, and quickly pulls his head back in. “Patrol coming. Six men.”

Huffman nods and they crouch behind a stack of crates, backs pressed to the wall, practically holding their breath, as the clatter of heavily-armored feet on the cobbles passes by, and then fades down the street. The civilians they are currently escorting—a woman, her three children, and her elderly father—are concealed a little deeper into the alley, behind a hay wagon, with a convenient tarp hanging over the side. When they are sure the patrol has gone, Huffman retrieves their huddled charges, repeating his admonishments to keep close and be as quiet as possible. Bernhard double-checks that the coast is clear, then they venture out of the alley, their gaggle of civilian ducklings in tow, as they make their cautious way down the street.

The safehouse in this neighborhood is a cellar beneath the blacksmith’s shop, which means they must come uncomfortably close to the main the gate, to get there. When they are near enough that the top of the portcullis is visible, above the roofs of the lower buildings, Huffman’s stomach turns, and he has to swallow against a strangling tightness in his throat. The gate is heavily guarded by Favonius traitors, of course, but they don’t tend to wander about. So long as his little flock keeps quiet and close to the walls, beneath the shop awnings, they’ll make it to the safehouse. That is not why Huffman feels sick. His condition is due to his visit to the gate with Bernhard, much earlier this morning, before the tide of battle turned so heavily in favor of the Favonius traitors.  

At the time, they believed the main gate to still be actively disputed, and were sent with a company of men, to assist the gate guards in fending off the traitor Knights. When they arrived, they found no battle to join. No one at the gate, at all. Only blood. A crimson pool, running into the spaces between the cobbles, and a smeared trail leading into the gatehouse, where Swan had dragged himself, as he bled out. They found him, lying facedown on the threshold, with an arrow through his neck, his cold hand still clutching his sword. Huffman pushes the image to the back of his mind and smiles encouragingly at the mother, who has entrusted her children and elderly father’s lives to him. He may have failed to save Swan, but he will not fail them.  

The arrow that felled his friend should have made him more wary of this area. It should have at least warned him to keep his eyes to the rooftops. But he is understandably focused on the immediate threat of patrols passing down the streets, and thinks nothing of it. Not until they have almost reached their goal. Just as they come to the side street, across from the forge, that contains the blacksmith shop, he hears the unmistakable whistle of an arrow, a split second before the hollow thunk, as it embeds itself in the wood paneling of the building in front of him. He looks back, to see four archers atop a roof, across the main street. They are all nocking arrows to their bows. Around the corner, out of sight of the archers, the blacksmith is at the door of his shop, waving them in.

“Go, go, go!” Huffman urges, in a stage-whisper.

His gaggle of civilians obey instantly and make a mad dash toward the safety of the shop, but that fucking idiot Bernhard turns around, to see what the problem is. Huffman leaps on him, throwing him to the ground, just in time to save him from the volley of arrows. At the same moment, there is a cry from another rooftop. The Alberich faction’s far superior archers have appeared, and return fire, killing two and hitting another in the meat of the thigh, then taking down the last one, while he foolishly attempts to escape by climbing down a drainpipe. He drops two stories to strike the cobbles with a dull crack, and doesn’t move again.

“Fuck, yes!” Bernhard laughs, shaking Huffman, who is still lying protectively on top of him. “Our guys got the bastards.”

“Thank…Barbatos,” Huffman pants, his voice shaky, as if from adrenaline. “Are the civilians safe?”

“Yeah, they’re inside already. Now, get off me, you weigh half a ton. Come on, Huff, move. Huff…?”

It is then that Bernhard moves his hand down Huffman’s back, and feels the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his coat. No. The shafts of four arrows, sticking out of his coat. And something warm and wet, soaking through the wool. His world spins sideways. Time slows to a crawl, seconds swimming sluggishly by, as if his reality has been plunged into deep water. He can’t move Huffman without possibly making his injuries worse. He can’t call for help without alerting the Favonius patrols. So he clings to his friend and pleads. Begs him to stay. Reminds him that they made each other promise not to die. That they have their whole lives, ahead of them, to be together and love each other, and he’ll be damned if he’s losing him, now. Please…please, don’t go. Don’t leave me. Not yet.

Huffman makes no reply.

Chapter Text

Shadowy figures loom over Bernhard, silhouetted against the too-bright sky, in the haze of unreality produced by shock and grief. Favonius traitors? No. The blacksmith and his assistant. They are lifting Huffman off him. Taking him away. He tries to protest, but he can’t make them understand. There is sticky, crimson stuff on his hands, where he had them pressed to Huffman’s back. His mind rejects it. It can’t be his friend’s blood. That is not possible. So it simply doesn’t exist.

Someone is leading him to the shop, where they’ve carried Huffman. He reels like a drunk, half-blind with tears, but they manage to get him inside. He hears the scrape of heavy things being dragged across the floor, to barricade the door. Someone says something about the kitchen. Bernhard finds himself standing in a doorway at the back of the shop, staring dumbly at his friend’s body, which is lying facedown on the kitchen table. The arrows are still in him. A short, slight-framed man of about thirty, good looking, if a bit hawkish, is cursing under his breath as he does something to Huffman’s coat. There is a flash of metal in his hand. It’s scissors. He’s trying to cut it off.  

“Stop! Why are you doing that!” Bernhard demands. “What’s the point of destroying his coat?”

“Destroyin’ it? In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s fulla fuckin’ arrows,” the man retorts, in a strong northland accent, and with more flippancy than Bernhard thinks is appropriate to the situation. “Can’t do shite to it, with these, anyway. Damned Snezhnayan wool. I’ll have to take the arrows out with the coat on.”

“Can you do it?” Wagner, the blacksmith, who has put a comforting and restraining hand on Bernhard’s shoulder, asks.

“Got no choice. Can’t bloody well leave ‘em in.”

Bernhard looks back and forth between the two men. Are they completely unhinged? Why in the name of Barbatos would it matter how one removes arrows, from a dead…from a dead man. A wave of dizziness makes him stagger again, and Wagner herds him out of the kitchen.

“If you don’t have the stomach for it, you’d best stay out here while Julian works,” he says, in a firm, but not unkind tone. “There’s gonna be a good bit of blood.”

“Julian?”

“Julian’s my husband. The little fella with the spectacles, who’s tending to your friend. You’ll only be in his way, in there, anyhow. If you faint and fall on him, you could make things a whole lot worse.”

“Worse? How can anything get any worse? He’s dead.”

Wagner squints an eye at him. “Who’s dead, now?”

“My best friend. The love of my life,” Bernhard chokes out, leaning on the counter with both hands for support. “And he—he died saving me. Worthless, idiot me.”

“Ah. Well. I’m sorry to hear that, fella,” Wagner replies, with a sympathetic pat on Bernhard’s back that nearly knocks the wind out of him. “Lots of folks lost loved ones today. But don’t worry about your friend, in there. Julian’ll see to it you don’t lose him, too.”

Bernhard blinks stupidly. “My…what? In where?”

“Your pal, in the kitchen. Lucky about that Snezhnayan Navy coat, or there’d be nothing we could do to help him, apart from getting him ready to be buried.”

Bernhard is still staring at the man blankly, his mind struggling to comprehend what is being said to him, when there is a shout from the kitchen. Wagner hurries back in, followed closely by Bernhard. He blocks the doorway with his hulking form, still thinking Bernhard’s dizziness was the result of blood-related squeamishness, but he slips in past him, anyway. There is blood all over Julian’s hands and apron, and there are three arrows lying on the floor.

“Hold still, ya big baby,” he is saying encouragingly, as he takes hold of the fourth arrow. “If you thrash about, it’ll hurt a damn sight worse. On three again. One…two…three!”

Huffman gives a hoarse cry, as the last arrow is plucked from his back, and Bernhard sits down hard on the floor, shaking with silent sobs of joy and relief, and about a hundred other emotions.

“Get him outta here!” Julian scolds. “I ain’t moppin’ sick off the floor, along with all the blood.”

“It ain’t the blood that’s bothering him, sweetheart,” Wagner explains, having finally comprehended the misunderstanding. “He thought his friend here was dead. He’ll be alright, in a minute.”

“Dead? Don’t count on it…jackass,” Huffman rasps from the table, managing to sound combative, despite the weakness of his voice, which makes Bernhard’s chest ache with affection.

“You shoulda been dead, jumpin’ in fronta arrows like a lunatic,” Julian informs him. “Thanks to your coat, they only stuck about an inch in, but you’re still proper perforated, so no more heroics, today. ‘Sides, your fella can’t take another scare like that. I think he’s worse off than you.”

“He is going to be ok, right?” Bernhard asks, looking up with sudden alarm. “He’s not in danger?”

“They didn’t get deep enough to hit anything vital, but he needs a doctor, soon. The real danger’s infection. We keep first aid supplies in the shop but we ran out quick, with all the injured, today. I can bandage him up, but we got nothin’ to disinfect wounds.”

“I have a restorative tonic from master Albedo,” Bernhard offers. “I use it on cuts and scrapes in the field sometimes. I don’t know how much it’ll help with wounds like these, though.”

“Let me see it.” Bernhard pulls out the little flask and hands it over. Julian unscrews the cap and sniffs the mouth of the bottle, then takes an exploratory sip. “Hoo, boy! That’s got a bite, don’t it. That’ll do, for now, far as keepin’ infection away. May help him heal up a little faster, too. Only thing is, it’s meant to be swallowed, not used as a poultice. It’ll hurt like bloody hell.”

“I can take it,” Huffman mumbles drunkenly. “Bring it…bring it on.”

“Pipe down, you,” Julian advises. “Save your strength for gettin’ well. My love, run and fetch a leather strap for him to bite on, would you? Blondie, help me get his coat and things off.”

Wagner goes to fetch the requested item, and Bernhard helps Julian sit Huffman up, supporting him as best he can, while the man carefully slides his coat off his shoulders. The movement sets Huffman’s wounds bleeding afresh, but he bites back his cries and looks defiant and determined, even with his clammy, ash-grey face and trembling body. When they’ve got his top half undressed, they lay him back down on the table. His waistcoat and shirt are soaked with blood, not to mention being punched through in four places, where the arrows went in. Julian tosses them into the waste bin, then goes off to see what’s taking Wagner so long. Bernhard stares stupidly at the four puncture wounds in his friend’s back. They look so small, somehow, to have bled so much.

“You can go,” Huffman chatters, shivering, though the room isn’t that cold. “Don’t have to babysit me.”

“You can shut the fuck up,” Bernhard offers. “I thought I watched you die, Huff. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a single minute. Not ever again. So, you better get used to me being around, because you’re stuck with me sticking to you.”

“Such an…ass,” Huffman murmurs, but he reaches out to take Bernhard’s hand in his.

When their hosts return, Julian bathes Huffman’s back with clean water, then measures out the linen strips for bandages. Wagner holds Huffman down and he bites on the leather strap, as Julian applies the tonic from Bernhard’s canteen to the arrow wounds. His face contorts and his body jerks reflexively, but he doesn’t scream or pass out. When he is bandaged and can sit up, Julian makes him swallow all the remaining tonic. Bernhard feels an absurd swell of pride, about how manfully his beloved is bearing his injuries, and the heroic way he received them, then hastily exits the room, to compose himself.

He is out in the shop, dabbing away evidence of his emotional overflow, when he hears it. An otherworldly, thundering sound, rising to fill the air outside. It is coming from high overhead, and is rapidly getting closer. A thrill of hope rushes up his spine, as the mechanical roar shakes the windows, and multiple, massive shadows go racing over the streets and rooftops, headed north, toward the city center. He hurries back into the kitchen, where Julian is helping Huffman into one of Wagner’s comically oversized shirts.

“What the hell was that noise?” Huffman asks, as Bernhard steps in.

“Hopefully, it’s the goddamned cavalry.”

Barbara straightens up and wipes her brow with her sleeve, taking a moment to stretch her stiff back, between patients. She and the sisters have transformed her beloved cathedral into a field hospital, as is tradition, when war comes to a city, and it filled up with patients as fast as they could admit them, as is also tradition. As of now, the transepts contain rows of improvised beds, some nothing more than choir robes, spread out for the patients to lie upon. In the nave, the walking injured dot the pews, along with women and the elderly, sharing food and other necessary items, comforting one another, or sitting alone in silent prayer. Sister Rosaria stands sentry in the apse, guiding newcomers in through the back door, as the heavy bars have been lowered across the main entry doors in front, for safety purposes.

Since this nightmare began, before dawn this morning, Barbara and the sisters have been working without stopping, giving aid where they can, and comfort, when the patient is beyond aid. Countless times today, she has been on the verge of collapsing, from grief and fatigue, but every time she is certain she is at the end of her tether, she feels the presence of Barbatos, as if he is right beside her, supporting her, encouraging her, breathing new life into her exhausted limbs, and speaking words of hope and courage to her heart. She knows most people think of him in the abstract, but she has always felt his presence as a tangible reality, for as long as she can remember. Even so, she has never felt it so strongly as now, when she needs him more than she ever has, before.

Glancing up, she spies her best friend, Venti, in the quire with the children, entertaining them with a jaunty (hopefully not too ribald, that naughty bard) tune. He happens to look down, at that moment, and they lock eyes. He touches his green cap, shooting her a mischievous grin. She narrows her eyes. She bets he is playing a bawdy song, in front of the children, the rascal. This thought makes her laugh, and suddenly she feels fully energized, and ready to soldier on. Smoothing her platinum curls and straightening her crimson-spattered white frock, she takes a deep breath, dons her most encouraging smile, and moves on to her next patient.

She is just finishing soothing the man’s burns and applying a healing plaster, when there is a loud thumping, at one of the main entrance doors. The civilians fall silent, instinctively huddling together, and the sisters look to Barbara. She holds up a hand, bidding them wait. A moment passes. The thumping sound booms through the cathedral again, this time accompanied by voices, shouting what sounds like demands to be let in. Sister Rosaria comes running from the apse, to stand by Barbara. The civilians are terrified, now, and the other sisters are having a hard time keeping them calm. Barbara beckons to Sister Rosaria, who follows her to the main entrance.

They are banging on all three doors, now, and a man’s voice is bellowing, “Open these doors, in the name of the Knights of Favonius and the Lawrence Clan!”

At a nod from Barbara, Rosaria lifts the heavy bar from the center door. It swings slowly open, and Barbara stands framed in it, small and lovely and shining white, facing the horde of armed, disorderly, soot-streaked men.

“This is a holy sanctuary,” she says, in a clear, resonating voice. “No combatant may enter, here, save for the gravely wounded, and no enemy of Lord Barbatos may pass its threshold. Leave this hallowed ground, while you still can.”

The men return a din of ugly, raucous laughter. When that has died down, the apparent leader steps forward, to loom menacingly over Barbara. “Your holier than thou routine won’t save you, now, you little bitch. The boys and I are gonna have a lot of fun with you, and the rest of those pious cunts. If your god don’t like it, he can stop us.”

Barbara stands unmoved, as the other men press in behind him, crowding densely about the doorway. As the leader grabs for her, she raises her hands and a looses a blast of hydro that knocks most of them sprawling to the ground. Stunned and soaking wet, they give shouts of anger and dismay, squirming and scrabbling over one another, to get back to their feet.

“It seems that you did not hear me the first time,” she says sweetly, stepping out to stand before them, with Rosaria at her side, spear raised. “I said this! Is a fucking! Sanctuary!”

Whip-fast, Rosaria flips her spear over and slams the head into the ground. With noise like a glacier cracking, a gale of blinding snow explodes outward, into which Barbara flings bursts of hydro, that freeze into huge, needle-like projectiles, as they fly at their targets. The intruders find themselves under a barrage of freezing sleet, filled with razor sharp icicles that impale some of them, including the leader, through the throats and eye sockets. The smarter, or simply luckier ones, manage to get away with only battered, deformed armor, shredded clothing, and lacerations all over their exposed skin. Howling in terror, all that are left alive scramble to run away as fast as they can, screaming about ice witches and water demons, as they clatter away down the broad, stone steps.

“Gross,” Rosaria says, making a face. “Now there’s blood and dead guys all over the courtyard. I am not cleaning this up.”

“Oh, neither am I. That is absolutely not our job,” Barbara laughs. “By the way, sister, that was pretty impressive work,” she adds, as they pull the door closed and lower the bar back into place. “I had no idea you could do full-on blizzards, now.”

Rosaria shakes her head. “I can’t. That’s the thing. My cryo and your hydro is enough to knock them around and do some damage, but that huge blast of wind, that made all the deadly icicles? That wasn’t me.”

“I guess Lord Barbatos really is with us,” Barbara chimes, beaming up at her, which earns her an eyeroll, as Rosaria stalks back toward the apse.  

“Hey, is everything alright?” Venti asks, as he comes trotting up. “I heard the commotion out there and came down to see if you needed help.”

“Oh, it was nothing. Just some men with poor listening skills. We took care of them.” So saying, she turns to address the people, who are looking to her for reassurance. “Everything is alright, everyone! There is nothing you need fear, while you shelter in this holy place! Trust in Lord Barbatos, who is our shield!”

With that, she presses a kiss to Venti’s cheek, and hurries off to tend to her patients. He leans on a pillar and watches her for a while, bustling about, comforting people with her soft voice and healing touch. And yet, for all her gentleness, she doesn’t balk at even the most grisly of wounds and she is fearless in defense of her flock. Like a warrior priestess, in the old days. When people are near her, they are better, too. She elevates everyone in her orbit, with the sheer force of her irrepressible spirit. There are times when even he is awed by her strength. He’ll tell her, one day, who he is. And that as much as she has loved him, he has loved her, too—his priestess, his child, his voice’s perfect harmony—with infinite, unfathomable tenderness. He chuckles to himself, as he turns to head back upstairs, where the children are clamoring for more stories. Who would’ve thought, such a small, young, human girl could hold the heart of a god in her keeping.

“The Adventurers Guild report minor casualties,” Amber says, standing at attention before the long table in the palace’s grand dining room, which has been converted into a makeshift war room, over which Master Jean presides. She is leaning on the table with both hands, gazing at a map of the city, covered with green and red game pieces, which represent the general positions of friendly and enemy forces. “They’re holding their HQ, and Bennett and Razor are guiding civilians to the guild safehouses. The traitor knights still control the main gate and the west gate. They’ve closed the portcullises and barricaded the postern doors.”

“So even if some kind of miraculous help were to come, they’d be bottlenecked at the gates,” Jean sighs. “Damn it.”

“It looks like they’re beginning to withdraw from turf conflicts in the lower boroughs,” Amber continues. “A large number of them are gathering on the second tier.”

“They’re getting ready to make a move on the palace,” Lisa observes. “That’s what I’d do.”

Jean nods slowly. “Which means they’ve got the rest of the city well enough in hand, that they don’t fear being caught in a pincer attack at the palace walls, by Alberich forces coming from behind. What about the cathedral?”

“About an hour ago, a company was seen marching on the courtyard. No word on exactly what happened, but they retreated almost immediately, with heavy casualties.”

Lisa smiles. “Sounds like Sister Barbara and Sister Rosaria are what happened.”

“Good,” Jean says fiercely. “They’ll hold out a little while longer than the rest of us, at least.”

Alius (acting as Albedo) hurries into the room just then, bowing hastily. “Grand Master Jean. They’ve begun the attack on the palace gates, my lady. The Lawrence faction and the traitor Knights have Fatui vanguard with them, now. Cryo-gunners, electro-hammers, and a few cicin mages.”

“Thank you, Master Albedo.” Jean draws herself up proudly and lays her hand on her sword hilt. “Well. I suppose it’s time we go and greet our guests.”

The clamor and roar of the battle reaches their ears as the four walk to the main entry of the palace. Jean throws open the doors and they draw their weapons, standing side-by-side, ready to face their deaths together. Across the courtyard, outside the palace walls, lies a roiling sea of men in Favonius armor, Lawrence tartans, and Fatui uniforms. The last bastion of Mondstadt’s rightful government is besieged. The gates won’t hold long, under a determined assault. Two arrows fly from Amber’s bow in quick succession and go sailing through the iron bars, to embed themselves in the skulls of two of the attackers, setting their bodies ablaze as they fall. Jean immediately follows with a burst of anemo, swirling the fire into the crowd, inciting a wave of panic. Lisa electrifies the gates, which zap men like bugs as they are shoved against them in the chaos.

It doesn’t take long for them to back off, making way for the Fatui heavies. Delusion users belonging to the vanguard, all with pilfered elemental power. A massively muscular man, clad in a black and purple uniform, stands forth, towering above the melee. He lifts his his idiotically oversized hammer and brings it down against the gates, with an earsplitting clang. The iron rattles in the stone and shrieks as it gives, a little. Another swing. The gates groan and buckle. Another strike and they’ll be down.

Jean raises her sword above her head, then looks at her friends. “It has been an honor to know all of you. For Lord Barbatos and the king!”

They repeat her battle-cry, brandishing their weapons as they brace themselves for the wave of attackers to break upon them. Just as they are making this desperate, final stand, all hope is extinguished in their hearts. With a noise like the rumbling of a thousand ancient war-horns, a nightmare swarm of what look like titanic, misshapen dragonflies, come roaring in above Mondstadt’s high walls, dimming the light of the sun, as their hulking forms cast the city in shadows. Clearly visible on their black hulls, emblazoned in white, is the Snezhnayan snowflake crest. A cheer goes up from the traitor army, as the things begin to descend, all over the city, their spinning blades creating a tempest of leaves and debris. The foremost of the machines lands right inside the palace courtyard, touching down with a bizarre lurch. Jean and her friends stand at bay, as the door slides open, and a woman hops out. A woman with emerald-green eyes, an oddly asymmetrical haircut, and an even more oddly designed blue and black leotard-outfit.

“Acting Grand Master Jean Gunnhildr!” she calls out, holding her hand up in greeting. “The cavalry has arrived! Sorry we’re late!”

A squad of black-uniformed and helmeted men carrying projectile weapons, as well as a few men and women in bandit and mercenary gear, are disembarking behind her. The same appears to be happening outside the gates. The mood has suddenly shifted amongst the traitors and Fatui, who have stopped cheering and turned their attention away from the palace, entirely. Rapid, staccato pops of weapon-fire ring out, followed by screams, plunging the scene into total pandemonium. Alius doesn’t look particularly put out by any of what’s happening, but the twins rarely show much reaction to anything. Jean, Amber, and Lisa, however, stand utterly bewildered, unable to comprehend what they are seeing. It appears as if the Snezhnayan special forces have just arrived, in a fleet of flying machines, and rather than joining the Fatui on the ground, and dealing the loyalists the killing blow, they are…attacking their own men?

“Who the hell are you people!” Jean demands, as the blue-clad woman approaches. “What is the meaning of all this!”

She bows briskly. “Special Agent Guhua Yelan, of His Divine Majesty Rex Lapis’ Clandestine Service. These uniformed troops are members of the private security force belonging to Lord Regrator of Snezhnaya. He learned of the plot against your nation, orchestrated by a rogue member of the organization known as the Harbingers, and felt it his responsibility to lend you aid in defending your city, and seeing that the perpetrators of this criminal act are brought to justice.”

Jean stands her ground, weapon at the ready. “He felt it his responsibility to aid us. Right. And I imagine you have some way to prove all of this, and don’t expect me to simply take your word for it.”

“I can vouch for Yelan’s identity, Grand Master,” Alius puts in. “She is a longtime associate of Captain Alberich, and we’ve met on several occasions.”

“Also, I have this document explaining everything, signed by Captain Alberich, who with any luck, should be along shortly,” Yelan adds, producing a rolled parchment from somewhere on her person, and proffering it to Jean.

Within a few hours, to the relief and jubilation of the people of Mondstadt, the insurrection has been effectively quelled, and peace returned to their fair city. Lord Regrator’s troops, as it turns out, are focused, ruthless, and chillingly efficient. Jean and her ragtag band of vision-holders don’t have much to do but stand back and watch, as the surviving traitors are herded into the dungeons beneath Favonius HQ, which has been under friendly control since the beginning of the affray. It appears that a group of Captain Alberich’s covert agents got themselves arrested, in order to break free and secure the building from the inside, protecting countless volumes of invaluable records from being destroyed, or falling into enemy hands.

Soon after the city is declared secure, and the all-clear for civilians to return to their homes has been sounded, another fleet of the black flying machines thunders in. These are all unmarked, save for the largest one, which bears a coat of arms, painted in gold. It lands in the palace courtyard, and the others just outside the gates, which now stand open. Master Jean and Special Agent Yelan come out to meet the newcomers, flanked by Lisa and Amber and Alius, as well as several Inazuman men in plain, peasants’ garb, who no one seems to know and no one asks about.

From the foremost vehicle, Captain Alberich disembarks, followed by King Diluc and Prince Aether, who are both being carried on stretchers, and are both alert and clearly annoyed that they are not being allowed to walk. With them are the Snezhnayan prince, two tall men, introduced as Lord Regrator and il Dottore, and a teenaged Inazuman boy with black hair and violet eyes, who glares sullenly at everyone from behind Prince Ajax. Commissioner Kamisato and King Diluc’s other vision-holder companions are close behind, alighting from the flying machines outside the gates.

In the brief interval between the all-clear and the king’s return, Madame Ping has marshalled the palace staff and turned them into a well-oiled machine. The candelabras and sconces and lamps and chandeliers blaze bright, there are welcoming fires crackling in all the rooms, tea and hot baths are ready and waiting for everyone who wants them, a lavish supper is being prepared, and several cases of the Ragnvindr Royal Reserve vintage have been brought up from the cellar, to be served with it. Madame Ping eyes the Harbingers with undisguised repugnance, as she stands at the head of her army of smartly-uniformed domestics, but they are guests of the king, so she keeps her opinions mostly to herself.

Diluc is forbidden by Dottore to attend supper in the dining room, which suits him just fine, as his head still aches like his skull is being clamped in a vise. Aether, who had awakened from his swoon before the air transports even left the mountain, is pronounced perfectly well and free to do as he pleases. He attends the supper, out of respect to the people who risked their lives for their friends, today, but immediately afterward, he excuses himself and goes up to the king’s chambers, to see how Diluc is getting on.

The young monarch is reclining in his bed, against a snowdrift of pillows, his scarlet hair aflame in the glow of the fireplace, beautifully framing his ivory-pale face. Beside his bed, seated on a wooden chair, is Captain Alberich. He looks up, when Aether enters, then rises from the chair and walks past him, out of the room, without a word or a second glance.

“What the fuck is his problem?” Aether asks, taking the chair he just vacated. “He’s been cutting me like that for months, and every time I try to talk to him and find out what’s wrong, he is nowhere to be found.”

“We need to talk about what happened at the lodge,” Diluc says, bypassing the subject of the Cavalry Captain, for the moment.  

“You mean, the thing where two Harbingers were plotting to kill you and take over your country, and they were stopped by three other Harbingers? I did think that was a tad strange.”

“Well, sort of. The Balladeer was the one who reported the Signora to the other ones.”

“Did he? I was wacked out of my gourd for half of it, but that does sound like a thing he’d do. He’s the one who fucked her over and helped me and Ayato free the Shogun in Inazuma, too. I guess if his goal was to be permanently rid of her, he finally got what he wanted.”

Diluc looks doubtful. “Seems like a roundabout way of getting it done, though.”

“Unless he planned to let her kill me before the other Harbingers showed up to deal with her, thereby getting rid of us both at once.”

“But how could he be sure they’d kill her?”

“Ajax is violent, impulsive, and almost entirely above the law. He is also…rather attached to me. Scaramouche would’ve known that if he told Ajax the Signora was planning to kill me, he’d come in person, and it’d be pretty safe to bet on him killing her, too.”

“Did you know Prince Ajax was a Harbinger?”

“No. I knew he was the Tsaritsa’s pet spy, though, so I’m not all that shocked.”

“Not that I’m not glad they showed up when they did, but Lord Regrator said the Tsaritsa sent them to stop the Signora killing you, not me. I got the distinct impression saving you was the real goal, and saving Mondstadt was something of an afterthought, in the situation.”

“So did I. And I don’t buy that bullshit about the Tsaritsa having been in the dark about what Signora and Scaramouche were doing in Mondstadt, for a second. I think that had been her plan and something changed her mind, at the last minute. The Signora was a convenient patsy, since she’d been already caught meddling with another nation’s government.”

“But what could have changed the Tsaritsa’s mind?” Diluc muses. “Maybe she suddenly developed a conscience.”

“Or maybe there’s someone scarier than her in Teyvat, who wants me to live.”

Diluc’s eyebrows go up. “You think your—”

“No, I don’t. Not really,” Aether says, with a rueful smile. “That was just a bit of wishful thinking. I’m sure she just had some reason to change her plans that benefitted her more than getting rid of me and taking over your country. Ugh, why is it so hot in here? Can I open a window?”

“Be my guest. I told Toland I didn’t want it to be a sweat-lodge in here, but apparently Dottore told him I needed to stay warm, and of course he obeyed the masked Harbinger weirdo, instead of me.”

“What is that mask about, anyway? He looks like a plague doctor,” Aether laughs, as he goes over to unlatch the window, and pushes it open.

“I don’t know what a plague doctor is, but it sounds appropriate. He wore it last time he was here, too. When he delivered the head of the Abyssal beast that attacked my father and me. Speaking of which, I don’t much like the idea of him being here, in the palace, let alone in charge of my medical care or yours. Considering he’s the one who set the stage for all this trouble in the first place, by strong-arming me into allowing a Snezhnayan embassy to operate, here. I’m letting him stay because they just saved us and very visibly saved the city, but I’m watching him.”

“Did you notice he’s wearing a bondage harness?” Aether says distractedly, tugging at the collar of his yisan.

“I noticed that he’s wearing two of them. He wasn’t wearing either, when he was here last time.”

“That is a commitment to kink of which I am frankly in awe. I wonder how he looks in just the one under his clothes and the mask—oops. I said I wouldn’t lust after other men, while we’re together, didn’t I.”

Diluc makes a little grimace. “You could at least pick men whose whole faces you’ve seen and who we know for sure aren’t sadistic mass-murderers. But…since we’re on the subject, we should talk about that. About us, I mean.”

“Oh god, are you breaking up with me?” Aether gasps, leaning on the bed and clasping his hands theatrically. “But my darling, how will I live without you? What will I do?”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Diluc scowls.

“No, no, spare me your words of pity. Leave me to languish in my sorrow.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“I shall retire to a convent, to live out my days in solitude, till I perish alone in my cloister, clutching a picture of you to my bosom—”

“Alright, shut up, you little asshole!” Diluc laughs, dragging him into the bed on top of him. “I was trying to say that you’d better keep your promise, and go see your dream husband. But also…I think it might be time to start thinking about going to see your actual husband.”

“Oh, you are breaking up with me,” Aether says, as he pushes himself up, to sit astride his lap. “What happened, you get a taste of that oni cock and decide you’ve had enough of me? Not that I’d blame you.”

“You’re making a joke of this, but I’m being serious.”

“I’m sorry. I deflect with humor, when I’m feeling vulnerable. Luc…I love you. You will always have a special place in my heart, but when we began this thing, we both knew that it would be temporary. My heart belongs to my husband and yours belongs to your mysterious—” He breaks off and his eyes go wide. “Holy fucking shit, it’s Kaeya! I am the world’s biggest idiot, how did I not see this before!”

Diluc casts his eyes down. “No one else ever has, so it’s not that surprising.”

“Wow,” Aether breathes, letting the realization sink in. “This is—wow. So you two have been in love since you were kids. How romantic.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting morally outraged that my brother and I would have such a perverse and twisted relationship, and storming out of my room in disgust?”

Aether looks perplexed. “But…he’s adopted. Are there laws in Mondstadt against adopted siblings, who have no blood relation—”

“No. It’s obviously illegal between adoptive parents and their adopted children, because parental position and power abuse and all that, but not siblings. But Kaeya used to ‘jokingly’ tell girls we were together, when they’d express interest in me, and they always acted horrified by the very idea. That was a difficult thing to deal with, as a kid.”

“So it’s your knee-jerk reaction to be defensive about it.”

“Yes. And it’s not just about what my teenaged classmates thought, years ago. A lot of people only see things in that juvenile, black-and-white way, and like to feel righteous and superior, behaving as if there is only one rule by which to measure all circumstances, with no room for examination or judgement. I’m sure there are a million adoptive siblings who are like real brothers and sisters to one another, but Kaeya and I were not. Besides, even if the law had something to say about it, my father never legally adopted him.”

“Wait, what?” Aether frowns. “He didn’t?”

Diluc shakes his head. “The first time I heard someone call Kaeya my brother was at school. I was very upset by the idea. When I went home, I asked my father if that was true, and we were brothers. My father said he considered himself to be fostering Kaeya, and we could think of each other as brothers or not, but either way, he wanted us to always love each other and stick together. I doubt he understood how literally we’d take that. Or maybe he did. So much of his mind was a closed book, to me. I still wonder, sometimes, if he was protecting me because I was child, and he’d have opened up to me, as I got older. I guess I’ll never know.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, I know Kaeya was brought to Mondstadt as an infant, but who brought him? Because if his parents died in the disaster, that would mean someone else had their newborn son with them, outside the country. That seems strange.”

“I don’t know who brought him, but Kaeya wasn’t an infant, when he got here. I was six years old, so he was five. My father claimed to have found him as a baby and raised him in seclusion, due to the condition that took his eye, and he had the twins falsify the medical records.”

“Oh. But why?”

“It came down to bigotry, just like every other problem Mondstadt does. There was even stronger anti-Khaenri’ah bias, here, in the years following the disaster, because of a big scare about all the problems refugees would cause. The Lawrence Clan was spearheading the anti-refugee sentiment, and they would’ve tried to force the king to deport Kaeya. They wouldn’t have succeeded, but they’d have dragged it out and made it a big, ugly, public battle. My father, very understandably, didn’t want to put Kaeya through that.”

“How did he actually lose his eye? He’s told me like, five different lies about it.”

Diluc lifts his hands helplessly. “Your guess is as good as mine. He could have a perfectly normal eye behind that patch, for all I know. He always had it and he would never talk about it. My father just told me to stop asking.”

“Well, great. If he wouldn’t tell you, there’s no way in hell he’s telling me. But back to when your father took him in. How did he do it? Just show up with a kid in tow and tell you he was part of the family, now?”

“It was almost exactly like that, actually. One day, he called me into his study, and there was this boy standing with him. My father said his name was Kaeya and he’d be living with us, from now on. He was like nothing I’d ever seen. I’d never seen a child with an eyepatch before, but it wasn’t that. He was just…beautiful. His skin was this gorgeous brown color and his hair was long and dark, dark blue. It’s lightened a little since we were kids, but it used to be so dark, it looked almost black, except in bright light. When I got closer, I saw that his good eye had the Khaenri’ahn pupil-slit. I welcomed him to our home and tried to hug him, as children do. He jerked back like I tried to stab him and shoved me away. He was just startled. He didn’t mean to hurt me. But he was so strong, he knocked me flat on my ass. Then he covered his face and started sobbing.”

“Oh, no! Poor babies! Were you hurt?”

“No, I was just confused. This kid I never met before pushed me down, for no reason, and now he was the one crying. My father picked me up and dusted me off, and told me Kaeya didn’t mean it, he was just scared because he’d never been hugged before, and didn’t know what I was doing to him. Then I felt sad about that, and that he was so upset about pushing me, so I tried to comfort him. He let me hug him, that time, and once he did, he wouldn’t let me go. So I petted his beautiful blue hair and told him it was ok, I knew it was an accident and I wasn’t even hurt, so he had nothing to feel bad about. He said he was tired, then he just collapsed. My father carried him to his room, which was next to mine, and adjoined by the playroom. It had been meant for a younger sibling, but since my father wasn’t married and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get me a mother, any time soon, I was happy to let Kaeya have it. It was his room till my coronation, when he moved permanently to the winery.”

“Did you ever ask him about his parents?”

“Not really. I brought it up once and he got angry and wouldn’t talk to me for a whole day. When I was old enough to understand what fostering meant, I asked my father if Kaeya’s real parents were going to come and take him away, some day. My father said no. They were in the Khaenri’ah disaster and they wouldn’t be coming back. But he said that one day, Kaeya would want to go and find his own people, so he was caring for him as best he could, until then. I said when Kaeya went to find his people, I’d go with him, to keep him safe. My father said he wished I could, but I would have to stay at home, because I was going to be king.

That’s when I felt the first inkling of that crown tightening around me, like a noose. Soon after that, I was told about my arranged marriage. The second turn of the screw. On top of that, I was under immense pressure, as the royal heir, to outperform all my peers in school, and excel in riding and archery and close combat, and basically be a small adult. I hated my life. I felt like I was sinking into a mire, and if I faltered for a single second, I’d drown. But when Kaeya and I were alone together, it didn’t seem so bad. It felt like nothing could really touch us. Like no matter what happened, we’d be together and be happy.

It’s easy to dream when you’re a child, before any of those hypothetical whats actually happen. Then my father died and everything came crashing down on top of me. I was suddenly a king and an orphan, at the age of sixteen. My safe little bubble shattered, and the world became real to me. It was hard and cruel and senseless, and nothing was going to be the way Kaeya and I had dreamed, when we swore to love each other forever. But I didn’t stop loving him. I didn’t stop wanting things to be that way. I just found out that they couldn’t, so I tried to do the most right thing I could.”

“What about now?”

“I still love him. More than anything. And I still want to find some way to be happy together. We talked for a while, before you came in.” Diluc laughs ruefully. “I guess realizing I could have died shook him up, pretty badly. For the first time since we were teenagers, I feel like he lowered his shields a little and was more like Kaeya, again. He is…very hurt and very angry. And so am I. There’s no guarantee that we’ll reconcile and even less guarantee that we’ll ever be able to be together. But…it was our first step closer to each other, in almost seven years.”

“And you can’t keep hurting him by being with me, even if you never get back to the way you were. Because you love him, and you have to think of him, first.” Aether smiles through unexpected tears, and takes Diluc’s hands in his, to press kisses to them. “That is absolutely the right decision, and I support it, one-hundred percent. Of course I’ll miss you and of course I’ll be sad. But I only want what’s best for you and—let’s not kid ourselves—I am not what’s best for you. I will always be grateful for the time we spent together, though, and I will always be your friend.”

“So will I. Always,” Diluc says, smiling as well, though there are tears in his eyes, too. He pulls Aether into a slow, deep kiss, then wraps him up in his arms to hold him, one last time.

After a few minutes, Aether begins to squirm and then pulls away, fanning himself with his hands. “Seriously, how the fuck is it still so hot in here? I opened the window like, twenty minutes ago and it’s below freezing, outside.”

Diluc’s brow furrows. “It doesn’t feel hot to me, at all. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I don’t feel sick, or anything, I’m just hot,” Aether says, as he gets up to pour a glass of water from the bedside pitcher. While he is swallowing it in deep gulps, he pushes his hair back from his face, then jerks his hand away and stares at it. “What the fuck? I…I’m sweating. I didn’t even know my skin could do that!”

“Your face looks flushed, too. I don’t like this. I’m calling for the twins, right now.”

Aether refills the glass with cold water and then holds it to his overheated forehead. “Good. I’d rather see them than Dottore. Is he even an actual doctor? Or is he called that because he’s a doctor in the academic sense. Though, he might be both, I guess.”

By the time Albedo arrives, Diluc has smothered the fire and opened more windows, and the bedchamber is nearly arctic. Aether has stripped down to his white zhongyi underclothes, which are soaked with sweat, and he is lying on the cold, stone floor, with a wet cloth on his forehead. His cheeks and neck are flushed rosy-pink, and his eyes bleary and unfocused, as Albedo crouches to examine him.

“How long has he been like this?” he asks, pushing a glass probe into the prince’s mouth, to read his temperature.

Diluc kneels at Aether’s other side. “Ten minutes or so. We were talking and he kept complaining about being hot, but when I sent for you, he was still feeling alright. It got worse so fast.”

Albedo reads the marking on the probe as he withdraws it. “I have no way of knowing what a normal Celestial body temperature should be, but his is twenty degrees higher than the baseline we established when we were monitoring his vitals, a few months ago. Aether? Can you hear me?” He says this in that raised tone of voice everyone seems to use with people whose consciousness is in doubt, then aside to Diluc, “Just for scale, a body temperature four or five degrees above normal is enough to seriously endanger a human’s life. Aether? You with us?”

“Bedo, it’s…it hurts,” Aether slurs, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Can you tell me where it hurts?”

“All over. My skin hurts and my…bones and everything. I’m burning…please…” His voice dissolves into a whimper and he curls into himself, twisting with pain.

Albedo curses to himself as he lays mist-flower compresses on his forehead and neck. “These aren’t going to do anything. I need—”

“Cryo-infused saline solution. Directly into the vein,” a voice interrupts, from behind them.

Diluc and Albedo and Toland, the chamberlain (who had come in to change the prince’s forehead cloth), turn to see Dottore, looming over them like a blue-haired angel of death, in a harlequin plague-mask. He is holding a crystal tube out to Albedo, like the one he gave Ayato, only this one is glowing white, and there are wisps of vapor curling from its surface as it sublimates, even in this frigid room.

“This is no time to stand on ceremony, do it now!” he barks, imperious and impatient, as one addressing an erring subordinate. They all stare at him, uncertain whether to be alarmed that he slipped in here unnoticed, or affronted by his manner. He sighs irritably and depresses one the end of the tube with his thumb, causing a short hypodermic needle to pop out on the other end. “Or, by all means, dither about. But be aware that if you insist upon wasting time, or attempt to hinder me, I will eject you all from the room by force, and attend the boy alone. I have no intention of allowing him to die of provincial incompetence.”

Albedo is already on his feet, sword drawn. “If you think there is any way in the nine hells you’re getting near Prince Aether with a needle, you’re in for a rude awakening, Harbinger.”

“Stand aside, little Doll,” Dottore returns, with a savage grin, that bares his sharp, white teeth. “And put that toy sword away. This is not playtime.”

“Bedo, you can’t…he’ll kill you,” Aether pleads feebly, from the floor. “Whatever he says. Let…let him do it. I want him to.”

Albedo looks down into the prince’s face, drawn with pain, his cheeks flushed scarlet, and tears rolling down his temples into his sweat-damp hair. Then to Diluc, who is gazing at the prince, too, white as a sheet and wavering. He gives a start, at a plaintive moan from Aether, and seems to come back to himself.

“Stand down, Master Albedo,” he says, sounding as authoritative as he can, with the tremor in his voice. “The prince has stated his willingness to be treated by il Dottore. We have no choice but to respect his wishes.”

Albedo backs away, lowering his sword, but not dismissing it. He and Diluc and Toland look on warily, as the Harbinger kneels beside Aether and jabs the needle into a blue vein in his forearm. There is an audible hiss, as the pressurized syringe delivers its contents. Aether groans and tries to turn over, but Dottore is holding him still, so he can only roll his head side to side. After about ten seconds, the unnatural flush in his cheeks fades a little, and he stops writhing in agitation. After another moment, his eyes flutter open.

“Recording on,” Dottore says. At this command, a little silver orb, with what appears to be a red eye-lens on one side, materializes, hovering above his shoulder. Its eye emits a red beam, that quickly scans Aether, from head to toe. “Administered one dose of cryo solution. Patient’s body temperature has begun to decrease. Prince Aether, how are you feeling?”

“A little better,” Aether says, his voice weak and cracking. “Still hot, but…better.”

“Excellent.” Dottore rises to his feet and turns to face Diluc and the others, with his hands folded behind his back, as if he is a professor addressing students. “I have assumed care of this patient, with his verbal consent, and will be supervising his treatment going forward. I would prefer to remove him to a sterile environment, but making such an attempt now would needlessly endanger him. This will suffice as a treatment room, for the time being. You two, lift him onto the bed and remove his clothing, then kindly vacate the premises. Doll, you may remain and assist, since you can be trusted to be objective, and you have medical experience. No one else is to enter these chambers, without my permission. Are we clear?”

“Outrageous!” Toland sputters, going nearly as red in the face as Aether had been. “These are His Royal Highness King Diluc’s private chambers! You have the audacity to order the king about, like a servant, and to forbid him his own rooms, without so much as a ‘by your leave’? I will not hear of it!”

Diluc lays a hand on his old chamberlain’s shoulder. “Toland, it’s alright. The Harbingers are known to be ill-bred and insolent, particularly this one, but it does not mean I am required to take offense. If he can help my friend, I am happy to tolerate his appalling manners. And so we understand one another, Dottore, I will consider Mondstadt under no obligation to you or to Snezhnaya, for your assistance, here. Anything you do to help is only in mitigation of all the damage you people have done.”

“Naturally,” Dottore assents, sounding supremely bored. “Now, if you please, your highness, do as I asked and then make yourselves scarce.”

Diluc and Toland do as they’ve been so discourteously instructed to do, though Toland glares daggers at Dottore as he walks past him to the bed, to pull back the bedcovers and fluff the pillows, as the king collects Aether from the floor.

“Your scanner-recorder is of Khaenri’ahn manufacture,” Albedo observes, following Dottore into the bathroom. “A superb piece of work.”

“As are you,” Dottore returns, with a serpentine smile. “But that is no surprise. I have always found Khaenri’ahn workmanship to be of the very finest quality.”

Far from seeming offended, Albedo actually chuckles at this, as they peel off their gloves and wash their hands. When they return to the bedchamber, Aether is lying in Diluc’s bed, as Dottore ordered, naked and covered to the waist by the white bedsheet. The scanner orb darts over to hover above the bed, and Dottore shoos the reluctant king and fuming chamberlain out the door, just in time for them to miss a cry of pain from Aether, who begins writhing and panting again, as the color rises back into his cheeks.

The scanner’s ruby-red beam flickers over his body. “His temperature is increasing.”

Albedo frowns. “Already? How is that possible? What could be causing a fever to behave this way?”

“I have my suspicions. For his sake, I hope I’m wrong. And for my own.” The last bit is muttered, as if to himself, then he raises his voice and enunciates clearly, for the recorder. “Administering second cryo injection, doubled dose.”

“What happens if the cryo solution doesn’t work?” Albedo asks.

“Then I’ll have to try something stronger.”

“You have something stronger?”

“Nothing I want to discuss with the general public,” Dottore replies, as he tosses the empty syringe into the fireplace. “But as a fellow man of science, I imagine you do not suffer from the same…moral qualms, that seem to afflict the humans in this realm.”

Albedo arches an eyebrow. “I should hope not.”

The cryo solution produces little effect, this time, only temporarily curbing the rise of Aether’s temperature. Dottore’s next suggestion involves laying a diverting enchantment, to shunt the focus of whatever spell is causing the fever, to a single point of concentration. There are two potential problems with this, which Albedo points out. First, if the fever is not being caused by a spell, an enchantment of that nature will have no effect whatsoever, and the exorbitant amount of time spent laying it will be wasted. Second, if the fever is mystical in nature, and provided the enchantment even works, there are no ways to shunt the energy that do not carry the risk of severe and permanent damage to the tissue and organs near the concentration point.

They debate the issue for nearly twenty minutes, and coming to a hopeless stalemate, decide to table it, while they consider other options. While they confer, Albedo takes one of Dottore’s cryo-solution syringes in hand and tweaks the chemical structure, aiming to make it more effective. This one only lowers Aether’s fever very slightly, but altogether halts the rising of his temperature, which is the best result they’ve gotten so far.

Of course, now that they’ve made any kind of progress, Dottore is out of cryo solution. Grudgingly, he relates the formulation to Albedo, who departs for his lab, promising to return as soon as the new batches are ready, and bring everything he has that they might use to augment them. The heavy, oak door swings shut behind him, leaving the weakened, fever-ridden, half-insensate Celestial Prince alone with the Second Harbinger.

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