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The oldest memory that Desmond still clearly remembered was his father showing him his bearer-father’s portrait when he was very young.

Aita Bartholomew li Jupiter, third prince of the Isu Empire.

The last living child of the late Tinia Zeus li Jupiter before his death.

He died a year after Desmond was born, weakened by the stress that led to Desmond being born prematurely two months before he was supposed to.

Stress compounded by the news that the Isu Empire’s royal family had all been killed in a bloody coup by Juno Romania, distant cousin of Tinia Zeus li Jupiter.

She crowned herself empress and took the name Juno Hera vi Jupiter.

His bearer-father had been spared because he was married off to King William Miles of the Monteriggioni Kingdom, a small kingdom north of the empire. What they lacked in lands, they made up with their location and resources.

They had a thriving economy due to being the main exporter of mana stones used for magical devices, usually called mana devices, that non-magically inclined people could use, and any invasion proved hard. This was mostly due to the location of the kingdom itself, being at the center of a coiling mysterious mountain range called Dragontail Mountain Range.

Legend say that the mountain range coiling all around their kingdom for more than 600 kilometers was the tail of a powerful evil dragon that was vanquished several millennia ago.

And their kingdom was built over the corpse of the dragon with their bountiful mana stone mines being blessed by dragon blood that had seeped through the very soil.

His bearer-father survived a bloody coup because he was lucky.

Yet he died while holding Desmond in his arms.

Having drunk poison mixed into his favorite tea one sunny afternoon.

And everyone pointed their finger at Empress Juno.

Empress Juno answered such rumors with sweet poison of her own.

“Why would I kill my dear sweet Aita when his only sin was being born of that wretched man’s loins? His death gains me nothing.”

“Perhaps the kingdom should look into who would gain from his death in their own peaceful land.”

“Ah. I know… why don’t I show how much I love my beloved Aita?”

“I’ll make his son the next emperor consort.”

His engagement to Loki Laufey vi Jupiter was engraved upon his future when he was barely a year old and he had never met the child that was to be his emperor and spouse since.

He knew his place.

He was to be a political hostage, given freedom by the mercy of Empress Juno to stay in the kingdom until he was ten years old.

Nine years filled with training and lessons.

To be the perfect ‘consort’.

“They will attack you if you are weak so you must be strong.”

“They will mock you if you are a fool so you must be intelligent.”

“They will use you if you do not see their schemes so you must be wise.”

“They will find faults so you must have none.”

He met his father daily after his father had read his tutors and instructors’ reports.

Desmond had cried the first time his father was disappointed at him.

And he stopped crying in front of his father after his father told him that crying was a sign of weakness that he could not ‘afford’.

He learned to apply makeup on his face to hide the dark lines under his eyes.

He learned to smile even when he felt nothing.

He learned to smother any pain he felt watching his cousin, Ezio Auditore, visit the palace every weekend to be taught the duties and responsibilities of the crown prince of their kingdom.

He learned to accept the fact that Ezio Auditore was the son King William wanted.

Desmond was sent to the empire when he was ten years old.

It was a cold dawn when he walked the steps leading out of the castle for the last time. His father watched as he approached the carriage sent by the empress.

“Desmond.”

Desmond turned to look at his father.

“Remember, you are my son no matter what.”

Desmond could not afford to be a fool.

He knew that his father would not run down the steps and shout at the imperial delegates to leave.

Still, he had hoped for a heartfelt goodbye.

Maybe even a short embrace.

All he got was a reminder of his place.

“Yes, father.”

Desmond Miles, first son of King William Miles and the late King Consort Aita Bartholomew li Jupiter, would not return to his birthplace for the next fifteen years.

Loki Laufey vi Jupiter was the crown prince and only son of the empress with her emperor consort, Farbauti Jotunn.

Everyone knew it was a loveless marriage. A political move to appease the nobility.

Just as Desmond knew he was to be wed to Loki because he had more imperial blood than Loki himself.

“Hello, Desmond. I hope we can be friends.”

Loki had given him a warm welcome.

And Desmond wished that…

At the very least…

They could have an amicable relationship.

It wasn’t exactly a peaceful life.

His training only intensified after coming to the empire. The empress herself chose the people who would attend to him.

Count Jacques de Molay was in charge of everything in his life.

He was a trusted aide of the empress and he held every aspect of Desmond’s life in that ledger of his.

One could argue that Desmond was treated better than most noble children in the empire.

His budget was on par with the crown prince’s.

He never wore the same clothing twice.

He was guarded by the best the empire could offer.

That was because he was more important than Prince Loki could ever be.

Because he had more imperial blood than the crown prince himself.

The fact that he was a man who could bear a child just like his bearer-father was proof of that.

“Who do you think would wield the most power in this empire in the future?”

“You, your majesty.”

Empress Juno laughed at his answer.

Every afternoon, he would be summoned to have tea with the empress in the garden nearest to Desmond’s palace, the palace of Elysium.

It was called the Garden of Wings because it was open to any bird who wishes to enter from the many holes on the glass roof. Even if it rained, the water would simply wet the plants beneath before being carried off by an irrigation system built specifically to ensure the stability of the garden.

“It would be your child.” The empress corrected as she stood. She walked around the table and stood behind Desmond, placing her manicured hands on his shoulders.

“Your child would have the blood of the past and the present monarch. And you, as the child’s parent, will gain more power than Loki could ever hope for. Do you know why?”

“I apologize, your majesty. I do not know.”

“Because your child will remember that you were the one who loved them unconditionally. Do you know how I am sure that you would love your child unconditionally?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer this time, leaning close to whisper to his ear.

“Because you know what it is like to be left all alone by those who should have protected you.”

She stepped back as she ordered, “Drink your tea, Desmond.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

It tasted the same as his late bearer-father’s favorite tea as always.

Everyone knew that the empress treated Desmond better than she did the crown prince. Many even believed that the real crown prince was Desmond himself.

But Desmond knew the truth.

He was a prized broodmare.

What the empress wanted was for him to give birth to the next ruler.

Desmond knew her enough to know…

If she had her way, she would bypass her own son and crown Desmond’s child as the crown prince or princess once they were born.

And Desmond also knew…

It was only a matter of time before Loki learned of this truth.

Desmond was fifteen when Loki learned the truth.

It said a lot about the crown prince’s life that people were able to keep it from him for this long.

Before, Loki would treat him like they were friends.

Maybe even allies.

Now…

He wasn’t mistreated or bullied.

But Loki kept his distance.

And Desmond did nothing to close it.

He was sixteen when he got the scar on his lips.

Desmond had been taking a walk to take a break from his lessons.

A short walk to move his body and refresh his mind.

His palace was right next to the crown prince’s own palace, Anbarr.

It was an accident.

Someone threw the ball too hard and hit Desmond before anyone could shield him.

His lack of sleep had caused him to lose his balance and he hit his head on a nearby bench, the metal frame wounding him.

He was immediately rushed back inside and everyone feared for their lives.

His scar could not be healed by doctors. Even the magicians sent to take a look or any mana devices with healing capabilities could not heal the scar marring his lips.

The empress saw the scar and everyone feared for their lives.

In the end…

The empress executed the ones who had been playing with the ball that hit Desmond except for one.

The crown prince himself.

“He cannot do anything to you.” His maid-in-waiting, Lucy Stillman, whispered to him as she placed a side cape over his outfit.

It was heavy from the small gems and mana stones embedded all over the cape. They shined against the light, creating a shimmering depiction of the night sky.

After the death of his childhood friends, Loki treated him with a coldness that Desmond thought wasn’t fair to him.

He didn’t ask the empress to kill the prince’s friends.

He had thrown up when he heard of what had happened.

But he cannot say that.

To admit such a thing was a weakness.

“If he wishes to ascend the throne, he must marry you.” Lucy said.

Her words would have been treason if not for the fact that everyone knew it.

The empress herself had placed Desmond at the center of the political landscape of the empire.

The execution of innocent lives was the final nail in the coffin.

Lucy placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she said, “Don’t worry, my lord. Everything will be alright.”

Lucy Stillman.

Shaun Hastings.

Rebecca Crane.

Those were the three names of Desmond’s closest aides.

Lucy Stillman was both his maid in waiting and his bodyguard.

Shaun Hastings was his assistant, being capable of helping with any paperwork that Desmond needed to do as the betrothed of the crown prince.

Rebecca Crane was his other maid who would do whatever errand needed to be done.

But Desmond knew what their real jobs were.

Lucy Stillman was meant to watch his every move and ensure that he wouldn’t act in any way that could hurt his reputation.

Shaun Hastings was meant to ensure that he would know every single nobility that tried to contact him and to ‘assist’ in building proper political allies in the future.

Rebecca Crane was his eyes and ears in the castle, listening to every whisper and gossip that she passed by or was told by others who saw her as a friendly face.

They were all Jacques de Molay’s people.

In other words…

They were all the empress’ people.

Jacques de Molay was kind to him.

There was always a distance between them that neither of them tried to breach.

Until he was eighteen years old.

“You’re looking more and more like Prince Aita.”

Desmond looked at him. It was strange for him to visit Desmond outside their daily morning meetings.

Then again, maybe he wanted a book and simply saw Desmond in the library as well.

Count Molay stood in next to him and stared at the bookcase in front of them as he asked, “Did her majesty tell you to read more?”

“She did not.” Desmond answered, hiding his confusion with his perfected blank expression.

“Do you like… reading?” Count Molay turned to look at him and Desmond didn’t understand why he looked so concerned.

To be completely honest…

Desmond didn’t ‘like’ anything.

He could not afford to like anything.

Like… love…

Associating such words to anything could just as easily be used against him by those who wished him harm or wanted something from him.

Desmond didn’t like anything.

Desmond didn’t love anything.

Because he could not afford to.

“It passes the time.” Desmond answered instead.

“I… see…” Count Molay looked back at the bookcase.

Desmond continued to pick up books and flipped through them before returning them to the bookcase.

“Prince Aita enjoyed reading books about magic. He would spend hours discussing magic theories with her majesty when he was young.”

Desmond glanced at him.

He didn’t even know that Count Molay personally knew his bearer-father.

Count Molay’s expression darkened as he said, “It would be best if you don’t read anything about magic, my lord. Leave that to our magicians.”

Desmond closed the book he had been flipping through and returned it to the bookcase as he said, “Very well.”

Desmond closed his eyes as he said, “Pick a book for me, Count Molay. I will read what you recommend.”

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Count Molay had bowed to him, “Thank you for understanding, your highness.”

Their wedding was set on the last month of the year Desmond would turn twenty.

On Desmond’s nineteen birthday…

Prince Loki didn’t escort him, leaving Desmond to be escorted by Count Molay.

And the crown prince…

… entered the ballroom with Duke Vidic’s adopted daughter.

Aletheia Angrboda Vidic.

“What a delusional wench, desiring a crown that would never be hers. I wonder who is the real fool? That lowly baron daughter who caught the duke’s eye or Farbauti’s ungrateful mongrel?”

Desmond watched as the empress snipped one of the roses in the garden, crushing it in her hands and unfurling her hand, letting the petals fall to the ground.

Her face had darkened with controlled rage as she said calmly, “If he does not marry you then he will not be the crown prince.”

She turned to smile at Desmond as she said, “Don’t worry, my child. Everything will be alright.”

Five months after Aletheia became the crown prince’s lover…

The empress announced that she was pregnant with Count Standish’s child.

Emperor Farbauti remained emperor consort but Count Standish began to take over more and more of Emperor Farbauti’s duties and responsibilities.

And Desmond…

Desmond knew that the unborn child would become his spouse if Prince Loki didn’t marry him.

Everyone knew it.

This was the empress’ proclamation to the entire empire.

By loving someone else and insulting Desmond on his own birthday…

Prince Loki’s title of crown prince was now being threatened by his cruel mother.

Aletheia was kind to everyone and held a sense of justice that made her bold even against those who held higher titles than her adopted father.

Or she knew that the crown prince would protect her.

Desmond could see what was happening.

He wondered when the crown prince allied with Duke Vidic.

When did they bring so many noble families to their side to be considered a faction all by themselves?

Desmond didn’t do anything.

He believed he didn’t have to do anything.

There would be a fight for the throne between the crown prince and the empress’ unborn second child.

Whoever won would marry Desmond.

Nothing had changed.

Desmond knew what his future would be.

“Desmond Sigurn Miles, by the power I hold as the acting emperor, I hereby annul our engagement and banish you from our great empire!”

Desmond was surprised.

But he did not show it.

He could not afford to show it.

Instead, he stared at the crown prince calmly as the everyone in attendance watched them like it was some ridiculous play.

He was wondering why the crown prince had decided to host a party a week after the empress left for her pilgrimage to the empire’s Grand Temple to pray for a safe delivery.

Desmond was supposed to join her but something changed her mind two days before they were to leave and she ordered him to stay.

Perhaps the crown prince’s faction had done something to keep him here where he would become an unknowing cast member of this ridiculous play.

He would have preferred it if Loki hadn’t been so dramatic about his proclamation.

Everyone here could hear him just fine.

“I see…” Desmond said calmly before asking, “Have you informed the empress of this?”

“Of course.” The prince held his lover tightly with one arm while pointing at Desmond with his other.

He said nothing else concerning Desmond’s question.

Desmond wanted to sigh.

He assumed that Loki must have simply sent a missive or something similar, knowing that it would not reach the empress until she has left the Grand Temple.

No one but those of imperial blood could enter the Grand Temple, after all.

“Has the empress approved of this annulment then, your highness?” Desmond asked calmly.

“How rude. He’s trying to hide behind her majesty even now.”

“What can you expect from an outsider with delusion of grandeur?”

Desmond didn’t feel anything.

He couldn’t afford to feel anything.

He didn’t think it was strange that the party was filled with the nobility who was part of the crown prince’s faction.

He thought it was stupid. Alienating the other nobility would simply grow more resentment.

It seemed he had been a fool.

It had been a trap the entire time.

Whatever he said… no matter what it was…

The only people who could corroborate if he truly did say it or if he said something else were these people.

The people who wanted to drag his name through the mud in order to elevate the crown prince’s standing.

Ridiculous.

Loki himself should know that the empress would not care for him even if he shout that he was the perfect heir.

Desmond knew firsthand how futile it was to strive to be perfect in an uncaring parent’s eyes.

“She would have no reason to deny my betrothal to my love. Aletheia deserved to be the crown princess. She has contributed more for the betterment of the empire as the Dikastes of Atlantis than you ever did to the whole empire since you came here.”

Atlantis?

The capital of the Vidic duchy?

Desmond could feel a headache already coming.

He wondered if the empress would behead everyone in House Vidic once she returned.

He could see Loki growing to resent him for the empress’ actions but…

He knew more than anybody else that Loki was just as powerless as he was, dancing on the whims of the empress.

“Then we will have to wait for her majesty’s message-” Desmond said, not bothering to even say anything about Loki insulting the work he had done in assisting the empress since he was fourteen years old.

Loki was busy playing with his friends that he probably never noticed that Desmond’s signature had been appearing in documents and paperwork circulating all over the government for years now.

“I already have it.”

Duke Vidic walked out of the crowd to stand between them.

Desmond knew Loki enough to see the small twitch of his right eye to know that the prince did not know this.

The duke offered the letter to Desmond who took it and opened it.

It did say that the empress had agreed to the annulment.

But…

She didn’t write this.

Desmond had been helping for years now as part of his training as the future emperor consort.

No.

As the future emperor regent.

So he knew how the empress wrote.

She taught him how to perfectly forge her writings so he could write in her name after all.

This was a forgery.

And…

Desmond looked up to Duke Vidic and saw his smile.

Duke Vidic knew that Desmond would know it was a forgery.

But, if he said that it was a forgery, these nobles who wanted the crown prince to sit upon the throne will say that Desmond was being hysterical.

They would besmirch his name and call him a feeble-minded man who felt scorned and was throwing a tantrum.

What a pain.

He folded the letter and gave it to Duke Vidic, knowing it would do him no good to keep it.

If he kept it, everyone would just say that they never saw the letter and imply that Desmond had written it.

It would be burned to ashes by the duke even if he was to give it.

Duke Vidic probably had an annulment with Desmond’s forged signature on it that he would present to the empress once she returned.

Desmond was all alone in this ballroom.

None of the servants would say anything. They were either in on it or one of the nobles here knew they could be silenced by money or steel.

That would be how Desmond would have done this.

Well…

He wouldn’t have prepared such a shoddy forgery.

Even if the empress would be given the annulment papers with Desmond’s actual signature, she would simply use it to push Desmond into being engaged to her unborn child.

This was all futile.

“I understand.” Desmond didn’t bother to bow and simply stared straight at Loki as he said, “I will return to the kingdom then. I wish you and Lady Aletheia a happy marriage.”

He turned around and walked out of the ballroom.

He didn’t run with his tail behind his legs.

He simply left because there was no reason to continue to talk to such people.

The empress would take care of it once she returned.

“Your highness, I implore you…” Count Molay went on his knees, barring him from entering the carriage that Lucy had prepared for him.

“If you must leave the imperial palace then let me have the honor of offering my humble home to you!”

Desmond stared at him.

He should feel something, right?

This powerful man who had taken care of him for years was begging on his knees, acting so pathetic just to stop him from leaving.

It wasn’t like there was no merit to accepting the man’s offer.

The Molay County was near the Grand Temple. Desmond could send a letter to the empress there or even travel to the Grand Temple himself with less worry that his efforts would be sabotaged.

The empress had given him the freedom to do as he wished as long as he stayed in the beautifully crafted glass cage called the empire she created around him.

“Get up, Count Molay.” Desmond ordered instead, “Such an act is unbecoming of a man as great as you.”

The count stood and remained silent.

“The crown prince ordered my banishment as the acting ruler of the empire.” Desmond reminded him, “If you harbor me in your lands, you will give them an excuse to call you a traitor to the crown.”

“Our county can withstand such lies.”

“But your people will suffer.” Desmond gave him an empty smile that Rebecca once called ‘sweet’, “And you are far too kind to do such a thing to the people of your lands.”

He walked around the count and stepped inside the carriage. He looked back as he said, “I’m merely visiting my place of birth. Once her majesty returns, I will be sent back here and…”

“Perhaps the prince would have his happy ending. Perhaps not.” He continued to smile as he said, “It doesn’t concern me.”

Even if Prince Loki was to be executed for this, it only meant Desmond would be betrothed to the unborn child developing in her majesty’s belly right now.

He understood the desperation that shaped this foolish plan.

Desmond didn’t need to lift a finger.

Empress Juno would cut off all the snakes’ head once she heard of what had happened.

Desmond knew more than anyone that the empress thought of Desmond like her favorite dancing toy.

He was, undeniably, more precious than her majesty’s own flesh and blood.

“Your highness…”

“I will see you soon, Count Molay. Please take care of yourself before then.” Desmond said as Lucy entered the carriage, “I will be borrowing Lucy for now. I’m sure you’d allow me this one selfish request?”

“Your highness-” The count glanced at Lucy before he took out his dagger, presenting it to Desmond as he said, “Then please take this with you.”

Desmond stared at the dagger for a moment before he took it, “Thank you, Count Molay.”

“Please stay safe, your highness…” Count Molay bowed as he said, “No matter what happens.”

Desmond simply looked away as he said, “I will do my best.”

He nodded at Lucy who bowed before knocking on the wall behind her.

Their carriage began to move, guarded by a platoon of knights that Lucy herself had chosen.

And Desmond…

Desmond felt nothing as he left the home he’d had for the past nine years.

The dagger was light in his hands. It didn’t look special at all. If anything, it was strangely too plain to be on the belt of a count.

He did know that the Molay County rose to prominence due to Jacques de Molay’s military prowess.

He was the one who led the army that placed the empress on the throne after all.

Count Molay probably didn’t care for ornaments in his weapons.

The weapon was light, making it easy to wield.

Function over looks.

That sounded like the count, that was for sure.

“We’ve reached the mountain range, your highness.” Lucy informed him as she kept her eyes on the window to her left.

Desmond turned to look outside.

Rocks and dirt littered the only path leveled enough for horses and carriages in the mountain range.

It was just as Desmond remembered it.

Soon, they’d reach the start of the snaking path, the imposing mountain wall on one side and the dangerous cliffs that led to a river underneath on the other side.

Desmond had felt nothing when he first traveled this path.

He couldn’t afford to feel anything.

That was a sign of weakness he could not afford, especially when he had been sitting in the same carriage as the man he would later know as the person in charge of him.

Count Molay didn’t say anything back then and Desmond had found the silence more comforting than any words the older man could have said back then.

Did he wanted to cry back then?

Desmond couldn’t remember anymore.

All he remembered was Count Molay’s silence throughout the entire ride.

“You must be excited, your highness. You’re finally returning after all these years.” Lucy commented in the same gentle tone she would use whenever she believed that Desmond needed to be coddled.

Not that she could ever coddle him nor did he wanted to be coddled by anyone.

Excited?

Desmond didn’t really hold any strong emotions to his supposed return.

The empress would never let him leave the empire permanently and Ezio Auditore already took his place as the kingdom’s heir.

He no longer has any place in the kingdom.

The only place left for him was the cage the empress had carefully crafted for more than a decade.

“I’m sure you’re more excited than I am.” Desmond said instead, turning to look at her as she said, “You are, after all, the spy sent by the kingdom to keep an eye on me, right?”

Lucy froze as she continued to stare outside. It took a second before her shoulders relaxed and she turned to look at Desmond as she asked, “How did you know?”

Desmond hummed and looked at the dagger in his hands.

It would be stranger if there wasn’t at least 2 or 3 spies planted near him.

Lucy was simply the one he found out.

It was hard to keep it a secret considering Lucy had been close to him since Desmond was ten.

He knew that Lucy thought of him more like a younger brother even though they were only a year or so apart. She tried to support him even if it meant whispering unflattering things about other nobles and the empire itself.

But never had Desmond heard her insult the kingdom. Whenever they talk about the kingdom, she would pose her knowledge as questions, as if she needed to stress that she didn’t know if what she was saying was true or not.

It was too consistent in Desmond’s ears.

“Your highness…” Lucy gripped the fabric of her dress tightly as she said, “I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine.” Desmond looked outside, picking the window that would show him the cliffs instead of the mountain walls.

The sound of rain accompanied the creaking of the carriage as it traveled an uneven road. The sky was darkening as the rain grew stronger with each passing minute.

The road had a railing to stop horses from straying too close to the cliffs but it would have been better if the road itself was illuminated using mana stones.

Apparently, it used to be illuminated by mana stones but people kept stealing them so…

“We should light the mana lamps we brought.” Desmond said instead of accepting her apology.

He didn’t need to hear such apology. He knew that his father would keep an eye on him to ensure that he wasn’t a danger to the kingdom.

It was what Desmond would have done.

“Of cours- Ahh!”

The carriage rattled dangerously and Lucy almost lost her balance as they heard the dying scream of the horses.

“Protect his highness!”

Desmond dropped to the floor of the carriage in time and placed a hand on the hilt of the sword resting on his belt as an arrow pierced the window and struck the area where his head had been seconds ago.

“Your highness!” Lucy jumped out of her seat and used her body to cover Desmond before Desmond would say anything. More arrows struck the carriage and Desmond could hear the dying screams of the guards.

Desmond gritted his teeth.

The right thing to do was to use the guards as a distraction and run away.

He could check if any of the horses used by the guards were still alive and make a run for it

Maybe he could find a hiding place by the mountain walls.

But…

“Don’t let them near the carriage!”

“Protect his highness!”

He remembered all the guards who joined him in this journey.

They would greet him whenever he passed them by during their patrols.

He never held a proper conversation with any of them. It would be improper according to the nobles but…

He heard their conversation in passing. He knew that many of them had families and loved ones.

Yet…

They still agreed to join him in leaving the empire.

“Your highness, don’t!”

Desmond ignored Lucy’s plea and pushed her aside as gently but as quickly as he could. He opened the door and stepped out of the carriage, unsheathing his sword and striking down one of their attackers wearing a black cloak.

It was too dark to see anything, the rain having turned into a storm that washed away the blood of his guards and horses.

Desmond grabbed one of the mana lamp on his carriage and threw it in the air, his body moving before he could process that he had evaded an arrow aimed at his head while he had been throwing the lamp.

As he expected…

They must have some kind of magical device or a magician must have cast something for them to clearly see in the dark.

Which meant…

Desmond threw his sword and struck the mana lamp in the air, the magical properties of the sword that the empress gave him collided with the mana lamp, causing a blinding light to erupt from the shattered mana stone inside the lamp.

The blinding explosion illuminated the entire area and gave Desmond enough time to see all the attackers. He unsheathed the dagger Count Molay gave him and rushed to his enemies, knowing that one of the drawbacks of seeing in the dark through magical means was that the user’s eyes would burn for a few seconds when they see bright light.

He quickly struck down three of them as he made his way to the area where the archers were, his movements as silent and as quick as Sir Gavin, the knight that his father had ordered to train him, had taught him.

He was slower than he wished, the clothes Lucy had picked for him too encumbered by useless gems and embroidery, but he ignored it.

He felt nothing as he killed them.

There wasn’t even any anger over the death of his guards.

Maybe something was wrong with him.

Or maybe all of these emotions would come crushing down once he felt he was safe.

Desmond couldn’t afford to think about it.

He had things to do.

Desmond dispatched the archers easily, the dagger light in his hands with a blade sharper than the sword he had been using.

By the time the rest had recovered from the pain in their eyes, Desmond had already closed the gap and stabbed the nearest enemy on the neck. He kicked him on the chest to pull the dagger out and stepped to the side to evade an incoming strike from one of the two remaining enemies.

Desmond could barely see anything, the darkness and the rain not helping one bit.

But…

He also knew all of them only had melee weapons with them. They’d have to get close to kill him.

So he waited.

And they didn’t disappoint him, attacking him and making it easier for Desmond to guess where their body parts were.

Instead of going for the biggest part of their body for a sure strike, Desmond dodged and weaved around them, slicing their wrists and piercing their legs along the way.

Count Molay taught him the swordsmanship of the empire.

One of honor and chivalry.

But Desmond’s body remembered the grueling lessons Sir Gavin gave him using every and any weapon that he may find in the battlefield.

Even a lesson of how to use a dining knife or a fork to inflict as much damage as possible.

It was that ruthlessness… that lack of hesitation or remorse… without any honor or chivalry that he remembered.

He had no need for honor and chivalry in this dangerous situation.

All he needed was for one of them to stay alive so he could ask who in that idiot faction ordered his death.

It was almost anticlimatic how easy it had been to kill everyone but one of them.

He even struck the man’s tendons so he wouldn’t be able to escape.

“It’s safe, Lucy.” Desmond called out as he picked up a nearby sword.

“Check the guards and see if any of them are still alive.” Desmond ordered. He swore he saw some of them twitch even as they laid on the ground but…

It could have been a trick of the light.

Or a foolish hope in his heart…

“Now, tell me…” Desmond placed the blade by the man’s throat as he ordered, “Who sen- hngn!”

He gasped as his breath was taken out of him. He could feel the blade strike him from behind, missing his spine but thrusting hard enough that he could see the tip of the blade protruding out of his stomach.

The blade pulled back and Desmond coughed blood as he staggered, turning to look at his attacker.

The rain drenched her heavy dress and destroyed her makeup as she whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-”

Oh.

Desmond placed a hand on his stomach, feeling the rain and his blood drenching his hand.

He didn’t think about that.

It wasn’t just the crown prince’s faction of the empire…

The kingdom had much to gain from his death as well.

This must have been Lucy’s true mission all along.

To ensure Desmond never returned to the kingdom.

He felt water drops leave his eyes and he didn’t even know if it was raindrops or actual tears.

His death would give the kingdom an excuse to close all its doors from the empire.

The loss of a political hostage was a good enough excuse.

Perhaps…

This had been his father’s plan all along.

A task that even a disappointment like Desmond could do.

But he still…

He began to stagger backwards, his body slowly giving up on him after he had over exerted himself.

He thought he heard it but he could have just been imagining it…

The sounds of galloping horses.

Reinforcements?

Desmond slipped and crashed into the railing.

The railing creaked dangerously.

“Desmond!”

An unfamiliar male voice shouted through the rain…

As the muddy ground underneath him gave up.

And pulled Desmond into the raging rivers below.

He heard that life flashes before one’s eyes when they were about to die.

Nothing flashed before his eyes.

He was cold.

He was in pain.

He was drowning.

He tried to swim upward even as the river pushed him in every direction.

He managed to gasp for breath only to be pulled down once more.

His body was growing heavy.

The cold was numbing every part of him.

Why was he trying so hard to live?

Dying here meant that he would finally be able to accomplish something that his father wanted of him.

Dying here meant no longer having to care about the politics of the empire.

Dying here meant being free from this life of his.

His life…

Could Desmond even say that he had a life of his own?

Could he even say that he even lived at all?

He lived as King William Miles’ failure of a son.

He lived as Empress Juno’s favorite doll.

He had never lived as ‘Desmond’.

What was he thinking?

‘Desmond’ didn’t exist.

But even if that was true…

The water pushed him upward and he quickly managed to grab a log. He coughed out the water inside him, clinging for dear life as the river continued to push him further away from where he had fallen.

Even if he had never lived at all…

“I want to live.” Desmond mumbled, his entire body shaking and his hands bleeding from the splinters that dug into his fingers and palms as he kept a death grip on the log.

He didn’t know why he wanted to live.

There was nothing in his life worth clinging to but he still…

He held onto the log even as his eyes grew heavy.

He shouldn’t fall asleep now.

He had a stomach wound and he was cold.

It was dangerous to fall asleep.

It would be a quiet death.

But Desmond didn’t want that…

He wanted…

The log smashed into a rock and threw Desmond back into the waters without any support.

He swam blindly even as his body grew heavy.

Just when the water had filled his lungs, he felt rocks beneath his wounded palm.

He gripped the rocks tightly and pulled himself up. Underneath the rocks, he dug his nails on roots.

The river threatened to drag him away but he pulled himself up, gritting as he felt the rocky shore grind against his chest.

He felt something hit his leg, a stray rock perhaps that had been dragged by the river just like him.

His leg was numb so he didn’t even know if he was bleeding or if he was just bruised.

He dragged himself out of the river, ignoring the pain of rubbing against rocks.

The pain was returning.

The numbness was fading.

His leg throbbed but he did not feel any blood pouring out of it.

He was breathing heavily and his vision blurry.

From the cold?

From the blood loss?

Desmond didn’t know.

Everything was blurry from the storm that pelleted him with uncaring rain.

He saw a light…

A pair of golden light…

Mana lamps?

“Help…” Desmond mumbled, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

He tried to drag his body towards the light.

They were coming closer.

“Please… help…”

People from the empire.

People from the kingdom.

Bandits.

The devil himself…

He didn’t care who heard him.

Desmond’s arms finally gave up as he begged, “I want to live.”

Desmond had never been sick.

Back when he was in the kingdom, every morning before his day started, he drank a medicine that boosted his immunity to harmful substance.

… including poison.

It tasted like copper and rotten egg but Desmond still drank it.

Every time he had to drink it, there would be a small jar of candy next to it and Desmond ate the candies throughout the morning.

He tried to save some when he first had it and his mouth was filled with the burst of sweetened fruit surprising him and making him want to savor it.

The jar was gone by the time he returned from dinner, alone as usual because the king was busy either eating in his office or having dinner parties.

When he came to the empire, Count Molay did everything to protect him. He changed all the cutlery and cups to silver. He had multiple people tasting Desmond’s food an hour before it was even served and a few minutes before it was placed in front of him.

Knights, not guards, were stationed in the kitchen and followed Desmond more efficiently than his own shadow.

After every dinner, Count Molay would give him a small rolled up ball of herbs and medicinal plants, ground and covered by a layer of sweet chocolate, and paired it with a glass of fresh fruit juice. Both of which Count Molay had prepared himself.

At night, he would sleep in a room with a mana device that let out a low hum, covering the entire room with a light mist of healing magic that different magicians would charge up every week. An expensive piece of magical innovation that the empress made herself.

Count Molay checked the device each night.

Desmond supposed the count had ever right to be paranoid.

His bearer-father was poisoned and…

Lucy Stillman betrayed the count.

Ah.

That was right.

Lucy stabbed him.

He wondered if it was normal for him to focus on such a specific part of his life while he shivered from a cold he knew instinctively came from inside him.

Oh…

He just realized it now that he thought about it.

He was cold.

But his face was hot.

He couldn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t move.

Was this what they call a fever?

Was it something more?

Was his wound infected?

Desmond’s breath hitched as he felt some kind of liquid being poured over his stomach.

“Open.”

The voice sounded muffled and Desmond wondered if he was going deaf.

He didn’t know what the voice meant until he felt something sharp and large tap his lips lightly.

He opened his mouth weakly, the very motion tiring him more than it should.

He could feel his conscious slipping once more.

The last thing he could recall was a liquid tasting of copper and rotten egg being dropped into his open mouth.

Desmond stopped dreaming after he left the kingdom.

Before that, he had lots of dreams. All of which he remembered but all of them were useless to him in the waking world where everything that has happened to him and will happen to him were just a series of busy moments all stitched together by the schedules that his father approved.

But there was one reoccurring dream he had when he was a child.

He dreamed of being on top of a mountain, feeling the wind against his skin and staring at the clear blue sky above him.

Underneath him, his legs were wet from the pool of blood that drenched the entire mountain top.

He would open his arms and laugh.

A triumphant sound that echoed all around.

Before he felt something pierce his heart.

And then he would wake up.

And now that he was back in what was probably the boundaries between the kingdom and the empire, he dreamed once more.

It held a certain ‘feeling’ that was similar to that reoccurring dream of his.

Except there was no blood nor was he on top of a mountain.

He was in a meadow filled with white flowers.

Desmond recognized the flowers underneath him.

It was hard not to, after all.

It was the symbol of the royal family that Desmond was born into.

And… he was named after this flower.

Desmondes, the world flower.

It was extinct now, only preserved in old paintings and House Miles’ family crest.

House Auditore, as the main branch family of House Miles, had a crest of a sword with the buds of the Desmondes wrapped around it, signifying its solemn oath to be the sword of the royal family.

House Auditore’s Desmondes were white.

But the royal family always used gold for their Desmondes.

Because these extinct flowers…

Glow gold at night.

It was a beautiful sight, as if the stars of the evening sky stretched to the very ground itself.

A starry night sky above him and an entire meadow of stars underneath him.

It was so wonderful that Desmond could not understand why he was… sad.

Unlike the dream on top of that mountain, filled with triumph and victory…

This dream was more melancholic.

Full of sorrow and loss.

Yet…

It was the kinder dream of the two.

He woke in a very warm bed softer than the one in his room in the empire. Some kind of blanket was placed on top of him haphazardly. It was a bit heavy but also warm.

He was still wearing his clothes and they were dry as well.

From the smell though, it was obvious that they had dried while he was sweating from whatever sickness he had.

He knew he wasn’t saved by any normal person because he was staring at the tall ceiling of a cave of some sort.

Stalactites had formed above him…

Made of mana stones.

A single stalactite could probably provide for the salary of twenty servants for an entire year.

He must be in kingdom lands or near their territories.

The kingdom was the only one that would have such an abundance of mana stones.

“Do you think you can sit?”

The voice echoed all around the cave.

A loud voice that was neither screaming nor raising its voice.

Desmond turned to look at where the voice came from and…

Oh.

A dragon.

A living dragon with golden eyes that Desmond must have mistaken for mana lamps in his delirious state.

Desmond had read stories of them.

The empire didn’t care about dragons, seeing them as beasts long gone.

The kingdom thought of them as bearers of great calamities or fortune and wisdom.

The most well known legend about them was about an evil dragon who learned he could become more powerful by eating his own kind.

He grew too big that devouring the world was no longer an impossible dream.

But as he ate the last of the dragons, he was struck down by the heavens by a pillar of golden light.

His corpse together with his brethren fertilized the land scorched by the pillar of light.

And in that holy land, the kingdom was born.

“Can you not sit, child of man?”

“I can.” His voice was hoarse but he managed to stay calm, “My apologies, great ancient one.”

He slowly sat, wincing as his body gave up on him. Instead of hitting the ground, his back hit something warm behind him.

He could feel the dragon’s scales against his back, thrumming lightly to a tune that reminded Desmond of the beats of a heart.

“You are weakened. Do not try to move if it is too much.” The dragon said as it used one of its nail to push a box as big as Desmond’s chest towards him.

The chest was placed in front of him and the dragon’s nail settled on top of it.

“I read that children of men liked to eat a thing called porridge when they are sick.”

Desmond blinked.

Porridge?

The box glowed and it made a strange noise that seemed to sound like something being spat out.

The side that was facing Desmond opened and Desmond blinked once more.

Every side inside was covered by magical runes that Desmond couldn’t even begin to understand.

All he knew was that it was much more intricate and complicated than even the healing mist device he had in his room.

And in the middle of the box was a bowl of porridge.

Desmond took the bowl out.

The bowl was simple but elegant looking. Not that pricey but would look good in a restaurant catering to the middle class.

He took a sip, seeing no spoon he could use.

It tasted good. He could taste the beef broth that had been used.

The kingdom used beef broth instead of chicken broth for their porridge like the empire.

And…

Desmond drank a bit more and found another common ingredient added in the kingdom’s tradition porridge.

Beef tripe chopped small enough that it could be eaten in one bite.

Desmond lowered the bowl and turned to look at the dragon as he asked, “Did this mana device… steal this from a restaurant in the kingdom?”

The dragon’s golden eyes shined and his voice became lively as he asked, “You realized it immediately? Did you not think that this box could simply recreate things?”

That would be too much for a mana device.

“I think it’s more reasonable to first assumed this box steals things.” Desmond took a sip of his porridge before he asked, “Am I right?”

“Yes, you are.” The dragon nodded its large head before explaining, “An alchemist made this to transport his equipment but he failed to take into consideration that this box would take the nearest thing that he was thinking.”

Such a device would have revolutionized mana technology.

What was it doing in this cavern?

The box was part of the dragon’s hoard.

And the dragon’s name was Altaïr.

“The star you see above you was named after me.”

There was an arrogance to his voice befitting his legendary lineage.

But more than anything…

Altaïr would grow more animated and his tone would lighten when he explained the mana devices in his hoard.

Desmond always found himself being entertained when he heard the change of tone in Altaïr’s voice.

It meant Altaïr would talk about the device in length and answer any questions Desmond might have with an enthusiasm that the great dragon rarely showed.

The first time Desmond told him that he had a wonderful hoard, Altaïr’s wings, white flecked with gold that glowed like stars shining brilliantly even on a cloudy day, vibrated and Altaïr puffed his chest.

Desmond had been amused.

It was the first time he ever saw someone show their true feelings with their actions, instead of hiding it with barbed and vague words.

And Desmond didn’t lie.

It was a wonderful hoard.

The cavern itself was comparable to a noble’s summer villa by the coast, comfortably two stories high. As a dragon as tall and long as a commoner’s one story home, Altaïr could move around without any problem in his cavern.

And his hoard littered the entirety of the cavern itself.

Desmond had to look down every time he moved as the floor was covered of gold coins, gems or stalagmites made of mana stones.

The gold was okay to step on but the gems and mana stones?

Desmond was worried he’d cut his foot if he stepped on them.

But the riches covering the floor paled in comparison to the other items in Altaïr’s hoard.

There was a small garden at the deepest part of the cavern where Desmondes still bloomed.

Desmond was certain House Miles and House Auditore would pay a fortune for even just one seed.

And even that was just a drop in the ocean of this mighty hoard compared to the mana devices and books that made up the majority of the hoard itself.

Desmond had never seen any of the devices before and he was in charge of the mana technology research and development teams in the empire.

He followed the empress every time she inspected the prototypes and listened to the proposals.

The kingdom also developed mana devices but they made cheap ones that the commoners could buy.

The empire strove to create devices that not even a wealthy viscount in the capital could dream of owning.

All of them paled to the devices in Altaïr’s hoard.

And the funny part of it all?

All of these were made back when dragons flew the sky and coexisted with the humans.

“Back when this graveyard used to be filled with Desmondes as far as the eyes could see.” Altaïr once described it and Desmond couldn’t even imagine how this lifeless mountain range of dirt and rocks could ever be filled with flowers.

Desmond had only been in the presence of the dragon for about two months and he already knew the dragon wasn’t exaggerating.

The melancholy in his tone was all Desmond needed to hear to know that Altaïr would not lie about such a time.

But that meant…

Their mana technology had reverted from the beginning (or close to the beginning) without even a single record.

It was highly unlikely that a great calamity could do such a thing.

This meant it was deliberate.

This cavern preserved the old world but it was impossible for this to hold the entirety of the old world’s records and technology.

Which meant…

Someone must had led a purge.

And it wouldn’t be Altaïr.

Altaïr valued these all too much to destroy it.

Desmond hadn’t really thought about dragons all that much. They were the stuff of legends.

Of books about chivalrous knights and honorable nobles.

Desmond lived in the real world where knights’ loyalty could be bought or threatened and where nobility was fueled by greed and lust.

It was only befitting that books that had dragons in them were lies, writing stories that portrayed them either as beasts with no sense of self or monsters who toy with human life.

Altaïr was always calm when he answered Desmond’s questions that made it easy for Desmond to understand what each mana device could do. He never shied away from asking Desmond questions himself whenever their conversations turned to Desmond’s work in the research and development in the empire.

He held a curiosity that he tried to hide and always looked embarrassed whenever he realized how eager he was to listen to Desmond’s answers.

His eyes would shine when something interested him. His scales would remain as white as falling snow even though he moved all around the cavern.

The scales of his tail was a gradient of white slowly becoming red halfway through.

Not even the large scar that sliced through the right side of his lips could mar his beautiful form.

But all of that paled in comparison to his intellect.

Desmond knew that the empire’s entire mana technology research and development team would willingly betrayed the empire if it meant having even the fraction of the knowledge and insight that Altaïr possessed.

Altaïr’s memories were impeccable. He remembered the world where dragons and humans walked the same path, creating magical devices that Desmond couldn’t even fathom the existence of.

All of them one of a kind.

Mass production was something no one had ever thought about back in the day.

It seemed unbelievable that intelligent creatures like humans and dragons would not think of mass producing any of the wonderful devices in this cavern.

From the melancholy in Altaïr’s voice, Desmond guessed that it wasn’t that they didn’t think about it.

There was a reason why they never dared to do it.

Like… someone ordering them not to, perhaps.

“Why did you take them?” Desmond asked as he waited for the meat that Altaïr had hunted, sliced and cooked for him after Desmond said that he didn’t want to steal food from people who may need it using the mana device that once served him porridge.

He didn’t ask the real question he wished to know.

‘Why did you let the humans forget such technological advancement?’

“Do you know what powers these devices?” Altaïr asked and, normally, Desmond would assume that the person he was talking to was asking another question instead of answering his own because they had low expectations of him.

They thought of him as stupid.

But Altaïr never thought of that.

He asked questions because he wanted to know how much Desmond knew. All Desmond had to do was answer truthfully and Altaïr would elaborate based on what Desmond already knew.

“I know it’s powered by mana stones. Even the runes written all over the devices were created using ink made of crushed mana stones.”

Altaïr looked at the direction that would lead outside of the cavern as he answered, “The ones humans make nowadays use mana stones. But these…”

“They were made by drawing the runes with the blood of my kind.”

Desmond’s eyes widened.

“Our blood hold magic that defies the very laws of this world.” Altaïr calmly sliced the back of left hand with the sharp talon of his right hand, letting the blood drop to an empty part of the hoard where Desmond had swiped the gold and gem away so he could sit comfortably.

The blood pooled into the ground and seeped to the very soil.

And a small mana stone, just big enough to fit on Desmond’s palm slowly formed from that blood.

Desmond’s breath hitched.

Altaïr licked the wound and it closed immediately.

“This one…” Altaïr poked the mana device that stole things, “… was made with Rauf’s blood. Rauf had laughed when they learned of how it worked and took it away from the human to ensure no one would dare use it for nefarious schemes.”

“This one…” Altaïr pointed at the blanket that Desmond had woke up in, “… was made with Jabal’s blood. He gave it to a human he had been fond of because her old bones did not enjoy the winds of winter.”

“What about these clothes?” Desmond asked the robes he now wore.

It was simple white robes with a hood that was paired with a red sash that Altaïr had pushed to him after telling him to bathe in the underground spring that was behind Altaïr’s cavern.

The clothes remained clean and dry no matter what happened. Any kind of liquid just… slipped off it.

And it always smelled like Desmondes.

Desmond had wondered how clothes could be infused with magic without any mana stones. The ones he wore that had shield magic imbued in them had small mana stones embroidered to the fabric.

Now that he learned that dragon blood could be used…

No.

That dragon blood was the source of mana stones…

“Mine.” Altaïr answered, making Desmond blink.

“I had them commissioned for my reader.” Altaïr paused for a moment before continuing, “She died before they could be finished.”

“Oh.” Desmond looked down where his half-eaten slab of meat was still waiting for him.

“She lived a full life. I had planned to gift it to her so she may spend her elder days not thinking about laundry.” Altaïr said, making Desmond blink at such a… ‘simple’ reason. Then again, Desmond had never received a gift so charmingly sweet and uncomplicated so he really had no reason to question Altaïr’s choice of gift. He simply remained quiet and listened to Altaïr as he continued, “Reading for me paid for the educations of her grandchildren and their future children. Had… dragons continue to live, I would have employed her children’s children to be my reader as well.”

“What was her name?” Desmond asked, wondering if perhaps her descendants still existed. Maybe they even wrote the books about dragons…

“Maria Thorpe.” Altaïr answered before correcting himself, “Apologies. That was her maiden name. She took her husband’s last name when they were married.”

“Her name was Maria Miles.”

Desmond stared at him quietly.

“Desmond?” Altaïr tilted his head, noticing Desmond’s wide eyed expression.

“I think… I might be her descendant.” Desmond said before frowning as he asked, “Was one of her grandchildren… Sigyn Miles?”

Altaïr nodded as he answered, “Yes. She was the youngest of her grandchildren. I taught her a bit of magic myself.”

“I’m named after her.” Desmond stood and bowed at Altaïr, “I apologize for the late introduction, our dear benefactor.”

He stood as he said, “I am Desmond Sigurn Miles, a descendant of your reader.”

“If it’s alright with you…” Desmond’s lips curved into a polite smile as he asked, “I would be honored to take over my ancestor’s job and read to you.”

According to Altaïr, dragons didn’t care about books because they had perfect memories. It was both a boon and a curse.

The worst part of having perfect memories was that dragons tended to remember every slight they have received and they were too proud to fully appreciate the meaning of ‘forgive but never forget’.

That was why they never bothered to record anything. Most dragon families would just tell their entire family history to their children and that would be it.

There was a dragon lineage that remembered the entirety of their kin’s history.

It sounded stupid to Desmond’s ears but he didn’t want to be rude.

He did choke on his own saliva when Altaïr dryly stated that it was a stupid tradition.

That was why Altaïr employed Desmond’s ancestor as a reader. Books were too… ‘fragile’ for Altaïr to read by himself.

“You do not need to feel indebted to me because I was your ancestors’ ‘benefactor’.” Altaïr told him calmly as he watched Desmond looked over the stacks of books all piled very far away from the ‘road’ that would lead to the underground cavern. Along the way, Desmond was already organizing them based on their title.

They were treated with as much care as a large dragon like Altaïr could.

Honestly, Desmond was more curious how Altaïr managed to take all of them with minimal damage but…

He saw that underneath all these books and parchments was a large piece of cloth.

Someone must have helped him put all these books and parchments on top of the cloth that he could carry.

He wondered if it was another one of his ancestors.

“I’m not a good enough son to feel indebted to you for something you’ve done for House Miles.” Desmond answered as he kept his focus on the books in front of him.

There was a wide range of topics here.

History, philosophy, technology…

Desmond saw a diary of a ship captain and even novels ranging from mystery to romance.

It was like Altaïr’s hoard was a museum of a past that humanity had forgotten.

“I want to read to you because… I want to show my gratitude.” Desmond turned to look at him and bowed, “Thank you, Altaïr.”

“There is no need to show such gratitude.” Altaïr said as Desmond raised his head to stare at him, “I’ve not fulfilled your wish, after all.”

“My wish?” Desmond tilted his head, wondering what Altaïr was talking about.

“The desire you asked of me when we first met.”

Desmond’s brows furrowed.

His memories of that time was shrouded by mist. He remembered mistaking Altaïr’s eyes for mana lamps and asking for help but he didn’t necessarily remember what he said exactly.

“You told me you want to live.”

Desmond blinked.

Oh.

“I see.” Desmond’s lips curved into a practiced smile, “And I’m here right now, alive and well.”

“But you are not ‘living’.”

Desmond continued to smile and remained relax, stomping out the instinct to freeze.

That was what he enjoyed in being in Altaïr’s company.

He never tried to sweeten his words.

He said it like he saw it.

“Am I not?” Desmond asked, keeping his voice even.

“Not once have you showed a true smile…” Altaïr stared at him with his golden eyes, “… nor have you talked about why you almost died or even showed any emotions about it.”

“Anger… sorrow… joy…” Desmond could only describe Altaïr’s eyes as piercing through every carefully crafted barriers Desmond had placed all around him, “You don’t… feel them at all.”

“Maybe there is no reason to. Perhaps I simply accept whatever happens to me and asking to be rescued was simply a moment of weakness.” Desmond countered and it sounded empty even to his own ears.

“I doubt it.” Altaïr shook his head slightly before continuing, “Someone who has consumed so much dragon blood doesn’t really scream ‘I accept my fate’ to me.”

“What?” Desmond’s mask broke at such revelations, “I… I’ve been drinking dragon blood?”

Altaïr stared at him for a moment before he nodded, “Yes. Your body has gained a dragon’s immunity to poison and sickness.”

“But I was sick.” Desmond reminded Altaïr, “You even nursed me to health.”

“Ah. I’m afraid that sickness was my fault.” Altaïr admitted, “I didn’t know how to broach the subject before but…”

“Dragon saliva can force a body to heal faster. I licked your stomach wound to heal you before you lost too much blood but your body reacted negatively to my saliva because you’ve drank the blood of a different dragon enough times that my saliva was considered a ‘foreign substance’.” Altaïr explained and Desmond remained rooted, listening intently as Altaïr continued, “The dragon blood inside you tried to burn it away but that only meant ‘burning’ you as well.”

But he felt… cold back then.

“So I gave you my blood.” Altaïr continued, “My blood removed the dragon blood you’ve consumed and had fused into your own body and replaced it with my own. The coldness you must have felt was due to the destruction of your previous dragon blood. To be completely honest, you managed to survive such ordeals because you were drinking dragon blood that had been preserved. It must have lost most of its magic by then.”

“Copper and rotten egg.” Desmond remembered.

Altaïr’s expression turned a bit sour as he commented, “We prefer to call it ‘sulfur’ but, yes, our blood does taste like rotten egg.”

Desmond wondered if he should laugh.

He had drank dragon blood every day as a child.

Why?

To make him immune to poison and sickness?

Altaïr called it ‘preserved’ and he said that he was the last dragon so that meant that whatever dragon blood he consumed was of a finite amount.

So why…

Why would William Miles go through the trouble for his failure of a son?

“So you can sulk.”

“It’s not sulking. I’m thinking.” Desmond corrected immediately as he stared at the flower patch of Desmondes for the past hours.

“Well, you can sulk and eat at the same time.” Altaïr reminded him and Desmond sighed.

He was feeling hungry.

Should he appreciate Altaïr letting him skip only one meal so he could ‘think’ in silence?

Altaïr would probably just flap one of his wings as a way to show that he was dismissing such gratitude as unnecessary.

Altaïr was a dragon who didn’t seemed to care if he was thanked for the things he did.

It made it easier for Desmond to tell him things.

After all, he was a dragon.

There was no political backslash that Desmond could fall into if he did say something wrong.

Then again…

He was probably already considered dead at this point.

He’d been with Altaïr for two months and there was no reason to leave.

But also…

“I don’t have any reason to live.” Desmond said out loud as he took the slab of meat that Altaïr had cooked for him.

Altaïr controlled his fire breath really well so Desmond never received burned food.

He was also sure they were eating the monsters that plagued the mountain range but Desmond didn’t mind.

It was already tasty even without adding any seasoning.

Desmond heard that monster meat was poisonous to eat but… well… He had been fed dragon blood long enough to be immune to poison.

“Do you have to?”

Desmond looked up at Altaïr who was staring at him with those large golden eyes of his.

He probably shouldn’t skip meals moving forward. The hunger seemed to have made it harder for Desmond to understand what Altaïr just asked.

“I know you enough to know that this ‘reason’ you believe you don’t have is not necessarily the right description of the word itself.” Altaïr commented calmly as he nudged the meat in Desmond’s hands. He waited until Desmond took a bite before continuing, “A human who lives to bring food to their family is an admirable reason to live. A noble who lives to protect the people of their lands from being taken over by their incompetent greedy relatives is an admirable reason to live.”

“But that doesn’t mean that people who do not live for such lofty reasons are not ‘living’. They themselves have reasons to live as well and no one should be allowed to compare one’s reasons to others.” Altaïr used the tip of his claw to lift a stray hair away from Desmond’s right eye, “Someone who spends their days toiling away at their job to survive each day. Someone who left behind everything to go on a journey with no real goal in sight. Someone who stays at home for an entire day because they don’t have any strength to face people right now.”

“They deserve to live just as much as those with lofty ambitions because they have wishes and dreams.” Altaïr dropped his hand, his claws digging through the coins and gems underneath them, “Some want to find a purpose in their lives. Some of them spend their days trying to survive but that doesn’t mean they don’t have dreams of their own. A day off to relax. A hot meal. A new book. No matter how small it may be, if it makes them happy then it is worth ‘living’ for.”

“It is a ‘reason’ that no one should be allowed to deny.”

Desmond lowered his hands.

He suddenly didn’t feel hungry anymore.

“What about those who don’t have dreams or wishes. Someone who doesn’t…” Desmond looked at the food in his hands.

He already forgot the taste of every other meal he had.

No matter how delicious they might be…

They were just sustenance to him.

A hot meal…

Desmond never ever thought of wishing for something as simple.

Desmond…

“… have anything that makes them happy.” Desmond gripped the meat in his hands, its oil drenching his hands and falling onto his robes. The oil simply dripped off his robes without dirtying it.

“Then we can start looking for one right now.” Altaïr said with the finality of a great one that will make his words a reality through sheer willpower if he needed to, “I will grant your wish, Desmond.”

Desmond’s breath hitched as Altaïr leaned forward. Desmond could feel Altaïr’s hot breath as he said, “I will help you find a ‘reason’ to live.”

Desmond assumed that Altaïr would have a grand plan to back up his proclamation.

Instead…

“I think you should just be honest and say you want me to read to you.” Desmond said politely before reading the title of the next book he picked up.

“I have a reason to why I’m asking you to read out loud to me any book we pick.” Altaïr defended and Desmond knew the dragon long enough to know that the dragon was a bit embarrassed. He always spoke a fraction of a second faster when he was embarrassed.

“Of course.” Desmond nodded politely and Altaïr glared at him, knowing that the ancient dragon realized that Desmond wasn’t truly agreeing with him.

“Books let the readers into worlds they are not part of. They are full of information and lies woven together to help us live a life not ours.”

Desmond stared at him as he held a bright red book of what Desmond approximated to be around 50 pages while asking plainly, “Even this book called ‘How to make your man beg on his knees in 10 minutes flat’?”

Desmond and Altaïr stared at one another for a second before Altaïr said, “Many of these books were gifted to me.”

“Of course.” Desmond nodded politely once more as he placed the book down.

Altaïr never lied to him.

But he did have a habit of having excuses that could count as the truth.

“You need to read them out loud so I can hear the changes in your tone. People tend to change their tone when they are interested in something without even realizing it and, since you admit that you have never been interested in anything, you might not immediately realize that you’ve found something quite interesting but I would be able to hear it.”

Desmond also learned from that pitiful excuse that Altaïr tended to say longer sentences when he knew he wasn’t exactly saying something irrefutable.

Or maybe it was because Altaïr didn’t lie that his excuses tended to become unnecessarily long.

Desmond only agreed because Altaïr proudly presented him with a mana device that looked like a bottle made of metal.

It was surprisingly light and every inch of it was covered with runes that Altaïr proudly said was made of his blood.

Desmond learned of its purpose once he started reading for Altaïr.

The bottle created a kind of drink that Desmond had never tasted before. It only needed to be refilled with water from the underground spring whenever it was empty.

The runes turned the clear water to the perfect drink for anyone reading out loud of hours, with mandatory breaks in between that Desmond was sure Altaïr had perfected thanks to having employed readers before.

The drink was always the same temperature, cooling and soothing his throat. It usually tasted like a citrus that was a blend of orange and lemon with a hint of grapefruit and lime.

If Desmond didn’t know better, he would assume that Altaïr was feeding him a bit of his blood to heal him.

But no.

The healing properties were all thanks to the runes engraved on the bottle.

Altaïr even explained him that it had seven more ‘flavors’ and that the sweetness can be adjusted by trailing a finger through specific sequences of runes. It was simply done to ensure that whoever drank this for a long time wouldn’t get tired of the taste.

It was…

… such a ridiculously unnecessary mana device.

But it suited Altaïr so much.

Desmond couldn’t help but treasure the bottle.

Desmond already knew that Altaïr’s hoard was a trove of knowledge long forgotten by the passage of time but…

It really struck him just how much humanity had lost while reading.

Altaïr suggested that Desmond read books of different topics.

History.

Philosophy.

Economics.

Altaïr gave him a summary of each book and Desmond learned early on how to know if Altaïr had ‘read’ a book before.

Normally, Altaïr would use his impeccable memory to say the summary included in the first page of a book, a widely used practice back in the old world according to the ancient dragon. Sometimes, Altaïr would just move his wings up and down and Desmond realized it was his version of shrugging, telling Desmond he honestly didn’t know what the book was about (maybe it was a gift from someone else) without saying anything.

But the books he read? Altaïr tended to start it off with ‘ah, that one is quite entertaining’ or something similar. A little comment to show how he felt about the book before iterating the synopsis in the first page.

That was how Desmond managed to always read books that Altaïr have not ‘read’ before.

Days turned into months in such a manner.

Reading to Altaïr was much more soothing and relaxing than all the other times Desmond had read to pass the time.

Altaïr was always quiet whenever Desmond read but Desmond started to develop a habit of watching his reaction from the corner of his eyes. Altaïr always gave all of his attention to Desmond whenever he was reading. He was large enough that the smallest of movements were visible.

His tail would flicker lightly whenever he was getting excited, reminding Desmond of a cat trying so hard to restrain himself from swishing his tail.

Or maybe he had been scolded quite a lot for swishing his large tail like a cat before. It looked like he could make a gust of wind just by swishing his tail as much as he could.

It would have been quite a pain reorganizing everything that got blown away by said gust.

Desmond could imagine a younger Altaïr being that cute.

Well…

Desmond knew himself enough to confess to himself that he still thought Altaïr, as large and imposing as he was, was cute.

Altaïr’s knowledge was vast and he filled the gaps left in those books. Most gaps were from previous books that Desmond had not read but some were what the old world considered ‘common knowledge’ that the world Desmond lived in didn’t adhere to.

One of which was the history of the kingdom Desmond hailed from.

House Miles was part of an order of dragon knights, serving under a dragon lord of their choice.

Dragon knights served as guards as well as soldiers, protecting their territory as well as moving on the ground while their dragon lord dominated the sky.

Skirmishes between dragons were rare but they were recorded as ‘calamities’ that heralded emergency evacuations farther than the empire’s evacuation protocol if a time came that their lands would be invaded.

Dragon knights also served to help in said evacuation and, according to Altaïr, the head of the dragon knights usually served as what could be equivalent to a proxy lord of the lands in Desmond’s time.

In other words…

The nobility might have descended from the heads of this dragon knight orders.

But the strangest of things was that, according to Altaïr, House Miles wasn’t a proxy lord.

They were a family of simple dragon knights.

“Did any of your knights ever ride you?” Desmond asked after finishing a textbook that aspiring dragon knights were required to study.

It was a bit interesting because it showed Desmond how the empire’s military actually evolved from the practices of the dragon knights.

He wondered if the kingdom’s military was the same. His father never let him learn about the kingdom’s military or its political landscape.

Why would the king teach state secrets to a future hostage after all?

It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

These past couple of months…

No.

This past year…

Reading with Altaïr was all that mattered.

So he focused on the dragon in front of him who kept staring at him quietly.

Desmond tilted his head.

Was it rude to ask such a thing?

Altaïr loomed over the book stacks that Desmond had organized and started pushing books off so he could see the next one underneath using the tip of one of his claws.

Desmond simply sighed.

It was fine.

He’d just reorganize them later. He had a lot of free time after all.

It took a few minutes and a mountain of books that needed to be reorganized before Altaïr used the same dastardly claw that had destroyed the order Desmond created to push a specific book towards Desmond.

Desmond sighed once more and took the book as he said, “You could have just told me the title and I’ll-”

Desmond opened the first page and read the title of the book.

He raised his head to stare at Altaïr.

An Unbound Wish.

‘An eternal love forbidden by the world itself’ was the phrase underneath the title.

So Altaïr wanted him to read a romance novel?

Desmond supposed he could indulge the dragon.

He must have needed something different after all those heavy topics he requested Desmond to read.

And this would be the first romantic novel that he ever read with Altaïr.

The only other novels he read with Altaïr had been ‘who dunnit’ mysteries.

They would usually go over their usual break time between chapters discussing what clues they believe they gleamed in the pages of those books.

Desmond didn’t necessarily enjoy the mystery and sometimes it was too troublesome to try and solve the mystery of these books but…

Listening to Altaïr and watching him be so serious about a made up story brought Desmond a warmth he had never felt before.

He would feel his lips curve into the smallest of smile.

And he knew Altaïr saw it.

But neither of them said anything.

That was fine with Desmond.

He was not greedy.

And no words were necessary.

They both knew that this past year…

Desmond had found his ‘reason’.

And it wasn’t anything grand befitting his lineage.

He wanted to live because…

He wanted to be with Altaïr.

Alexios gulped, knowing if he did not, he would have drooled all over such a magnificent rod in front of him.

Full of vitality, hot and throbbing in his hands…

Desmond paused briefly before continuing to read.

He had expected this to be a normal romantic novel.

When he learned that the main love interest was a dragon, he assumed that it was normal for Altaïr to request for such a book.

Maybe this was his way of trying to tell Desmond that he knew of his feelings.

But this wasn’t a romantic book.

This was an erotica.

A very descriptive one at that.

Was this a sign?

Should he take this as a sign?

Did Altaïr wish to… mate with him?

Like this wanton man and his virile dragon?

Did Altaïr wish to do to Desmond…

… everything written here?

The erotica was short, all things considered.

To be more exact, it was short on the plot. The main conflict was already done by the 117^th page mark.

119^th if Desmond was counting the first page with the title and the table of content on the second page.

The rest of the 181 pages left could be summarized as how many ways an author could write a human and a dragon mating.

At some point, Desmond had started not to take a break until he was done reading the current sexual encounter these two… ‘horndogs’ were participating in.

Afterwards, he would leave for the underground spring to spend the rest of his break.

Desmond knew Altaïr could smell what he did there.

Dragons had heightened senses, after all.

To be completely honest…

Knowing that the dragon could hear every sound he made only made it faster for him to reach his completion.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Altaïr was enjoying his voice even if he wasn’t reading to him right now.

“What did you think of the story?” Desmond asked as he closed the book.

Altaïr was quiet for a moment before he said, “It was… entertaining.”

Desmond’s lips twitched at such a vague comment.

“Was it?” Desmond pressed as he placed the book on the top of the ‘read’ pile. He’d organize them later with the rest.

Instead, he focused all his attention to the dragon who wouldn’t meet his eyes as he asked, “What entertained you the most?”

Desmond finally smiled when he saw Altaïr freeze.

He was used to resting his back against Altaïr’s tail. It was easier to feel him purring when he was pleased and feel his tail swish lightly when he was excited.

“Did you know…” Desmond trailed his fingers across the scales of Altaïr’s tail, “You grow hotter whenever I read those parts.”

Altaïr had always had beautiful eyes. They shone brighter than any gold and gem in this hoard.

“To hear you say such words…”

‘Words’ was quite vague but Desmond knew immediately what Altaïr meant.

He wasn’t talking about what Desmond just said about his body temperature.

He was talking about the words he read out loud.

Including such vulgar words that warmed Desmond’s insides more than any fire that had been lit in the room he had in the empire.

“Did you imagine me saying them…” Desmond turned to fully look at Altaïr, resting his hand on Altaïr’s tail as moved his head to come closer to Desmond.

Just as Altaïr’s snout was right next to his head, he scooted closer as he removed his hand from the tail. He placed both of his hands to cup the side of Altaïr’s face. His hands were so small compared to Altaïr’s head but Desmond didn’t mind.

“… to you?” Desmond whispered before kissing Altaïr’s lips.

“Desmond-”

Desmond licked one of Altaïr’s largest fangs once he opened his mouth, feeling the heat of his breath against his skin.

He wasn’t sure if Altaïr could see him this close but he continued lick his teeth, the brightness of his face both from the undeniable anticipation coursing through his veins and the embarrassment of recreating such scene from a novel.

Desmond felt Altaïr’s tongue press against his lips and he leaned back to give Altaïr more space to move his tongue out of his mouth.

Desmond sucked on the tip of his mouth, closing his eyes as he moaned.

He opened his mouth wide and Altaïr took the invitation.

Desmond moaned as he felt Altaïr slip further into his mouth. He began to suck as he felt Altaïr thrust deeper inside his mouth.

He could feel drool dripping from the side of his lips but any feeling of embarrassment had completely left him.

He pressed his tongue underneath Altaïr’s as he began to move his head forward and backward slightly, trying to copy Altaïr’s movements.

Every time Altaïr thrust deeper, he would move forward. Every time Altaïr would pull back, Desmond would do the same.

He knew how to breathe through his nose but it was hard to remember that right now because…

Because…

More.

He wanted more.

He wanted-

He wanted.

The moment Desmond realized that, for the first time in his life, he actually wanted something…

He gasped and pulled back, losing his balance because of his sudden movements.

Altaïr’s tail quickly caught him, letting Desmond fall onto it and Desmond instinctively grabbed onto the end of his tail.

Altaïr’s head pulled back to give Desmond space before he said, “Desmond, I apolo-”

“I didn’t stop because I was afraid or anything like that!” Desmond cut him off before his hand touched his lips, eyes going wide as he realized that he just shouted.

“I…” Desmond’s entire face was red and hot. And his body…

There was no hiding the state of his body right now.

There was clearly a tent that his robes could not hide.

“I was surprised by…” Desmond looked at the ground as he admitted, “… how I wanted more.”

“Des-”

Desmond didn’t wait for Altaïr to say anything, quickly standing up as he hurriedly mumbled, “Please excuse me.”

And dashed deep into the underground spring for a tactical retreat.

Desmond took care of it himself.

He was thinking of Altaïr’s tongue the entire time so it had been quick.

The quickest he had ever taken himself to be completely honest.

Desmond didn’t even feel embarrassed at this point.

He didn’t know what love was meant to feel like but he did know that he wanted to stay with Altaïr for as long as his mortal life would allow him.

He wanted to leave a mark that was deeper than the perfect memory that Altaïr would have of him.

“I hope the book answered your question.”

Desmond tilted his head.

Things were a bit awkward between them after Desmond returned from his quick retreat to the underground springs.

Even if this was Altaïr’s way of breaking the tension, Desmond was unsure if Altaïr meant a question about his feelings for Desmond (which Desmond was curious about) or if Altaïr found him physically attractive.

Altaïr cleared his throat before saying in an almost mumbling way, “If… humans rode… dragons…”

Desmond blinked.

While there was a chapter or two where the main character did ride his dragon lover, it was only a small part of that chapter.

Desmond didn’t understand why he had to read the entire book if all Altaïr wanted was to answer his curiosity.

Unless…

Desmond’s cheeks reddened and he spluttered, “I didn’t mean in a sexual way! I meant how one rides a horse!”

Oh.

Was that insulting?

He just compared Altaïr to a horse.

Before Desmond could apologize, Altaïr let out a small “Oh.” of his own that froze Desmond.

That day…

Desmond learned how a dragon would look like when they were embarrassed.

Smoke was literally coming out of his ears.

Things began… to change.

Slowly.

It was as if the both of them were trying to feel each other out, trying to see how far they would be allowed to go.

Kisses became a daily thing that Desmond couldn’t help but look forward to.

At first it was short, just a few seconds of Desmond sucking on Altaïr’s tongue before they go on their separate ways.

Later on, they started to kiss longer and Altaïr’s tongue would hit the back of Desmond’s throat. The first time it happened, Desmond embarrassingly came without even touching himself.

It was more embarrassing than the bout of puberty he had to go through back in the empire.

Then he saw the way the black iris in Altaïr’s eyes threatened to engulf the gold surrounding them and Desmond found out an easy way to figure out if Altaïr was aroused.

The next time they kissed, Desmond lifted his robes and took out his cock, slowly stroking himself.

He thought he would die of embarrassment. He kept his eyes closed in fear of seeing Altaïr’s reaction.

He could feel Altaïr’s hot breath against his skin as he timed his strokes with the movement of his head.

He came quickly.

By that point, he was too tired of being embarrassed the entire time that he simply let go.

He was sure he was making noises as he continued to suck Altaïr’s tongue.

He didn’t bother to open his eyes until he had soiled his robes.

The fact that his robes would remain clean flew out of his mind when he opened his eyes and saw Altaïr’s erect…

Oh.

There was no way that could ever fit Desmond.

Sometimes, Desmond did think that their relationship wasn’t exactly normal.

Even if he ignored the fact that Altaïr was a dragon and he was a human, there were a lot of things they didn’t do that Desmond was raised to believe was proper in terms of engaging in a relationship.

They never courted one another.

There was no contract between them that detailed what their relationship would entail and any clauses that they must adhere to.

But the stories he read…

Not just the dragon fucker book he last read but the other ones, mostly historical books that talked about how someone famous had given up their title and power to be with the one they loved.

Desmond had always assumed that they were being romanticized. A ploy by those in power to manipulate the dreams of the common folks.

‘It may have been an arranged marriage but they fell in love along the way.’

‘Even a maid can be loved by her master if she is loyal enough.’

They were meant to give hope.

Or more truthfully…

They were meant to keep the populace in believing that the people holding the power ‘cared’.

Romanticizing the noble life when it was truly a cesspool of shit and viscera called greed and lust.

“I remember him. He was a crybaby. He cried and begged Malik to help him become powerful enough to ask for the hand of a dragon knight’s daughter in marriage. They were childhood friends that lived in Malik’s territory. Malik said that they were in love but her father didn’t approve of their relationship.”

Dragons had perfect memory.

Desmond wondered if humanity became more disgusting after the dragons disappeared.

No.

Maybe it was because his ‘world’ was small.

As small as the gilded cage the empress made for him.

He only saw the worst side of people.

And he thought of the worst of people as well.

That was why he covered his ears and closed his eyes from seeing any kindness given to him with no malice, calling it pity to reinforce his view of the world.

It was only after being with Altaïr that he realized how tired he was of his old life.

Of being Prince Desmond Sigurn Miles, the empress’ powerless doll.

“Do you not wish for revenge?”

“Is there no one you wish to see, to comfort and tell that you are alive?”

Those have been questions that Altaïr asked him early on.

Revenge?

Desmond didn’t feel the need for that.

The kingdom wanted him dead to finally destroy their connection with the empire. Desmond understood that. Without a hostage, the kingdom could finally renegotiate with the empire about the treaties in place. His death gave them an upper hand in the negotiations.

He didn’t mind.

To be more exact…

He had let go of any strong feelings he had about his birthplace.

The childish desire to be loved by his father.

The ugly jealousy of hearing praises about Ezio Auditore.

The sorrowful longing to know if his bearer-father had ever loved him.

The death of ‘Desmond Sigurn Miles’ would be his final act as their prince.

His apology for harboring such unnecessary emotions.

What about the empire?

He didn’t have to do anything.

Once the empress learned of his supposed death, she will execute all who participated in planning his banishment.

Loki will be stripped of his status as crown prince.

Would he be executed?

No.

That would be a mercy that the empress would never give her own son.

Desmond believed that the empress was cruel enough to keep him alive and make him watch as she executed everyone, including his lover, in front of him.

Loki would be spared, not out of mercy but to suffer until he wished for death himself.

And even then… the empress would not grant him such an ending.

Desmond didn’t have to do anything at all.

As for someone to comfort…

He remembered that he answered ‘no one’ back then but…

After a year and a half learning how to understand and accept his feelings.

He had one regret.

He wished he could send a message to Count Molay.

The old man had been nothing but kind to him.

Remembering their time together now, Desmond realized that Count Molay had always cared for him.

Lucy’s betrayal tainted Shaun Hastings and Rebecca Crane because they were close. Desmond could never be sure if Lucy was the only traitor who wanted him dead.

But Count Molay?

He did his best.

He always tried his best.

And Desmond realized now that Count Molay must have known his bearer-father. They must have been close.

Because he realized that Count Molay tried to treat him like a grandson.

He kept his distance but…

His kindness had been pure.

He was the only ally that Desmond could be certain of back in the empire.

And Desmond realized it too late.

It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

Prince Desmond was dead.

And everyone would move on.

Just as he did.

To be completely honest, the most pressing thing for him was…

“That book was a lie.”

Altaïr stared at him for a moment before teasing, “Are you sulking, Desmond?”

Desmond turned to glare at him half-heartedly as he said, “The book called dragon dick huge-”

He took the time to enjoy seeing Altaïr choke on his own spit and instinctively shook his head as if looking for the perfect angle to dislodge the saliva trying to kill him.

Once Altaïr managed to get a hold of himself, Desmond started once more, “… but it didn’t say it would be-”

Desmond looked Altaïr’s body where his dick retracted from as he continued, “… that big. How did the protagonist even take the entire thing in the first place?”

Altaïr curled around himself as if to hide his body from Desmond, making Desmond raise an eyebrow at him. Light steam was coming off his ears but neither Altaïr nor Desmond acknowledged it.

The same way they didn’t acknowledge Desmond’s bright red face whenever he was embarrassed.

“I believe the author has never… mated with a dragon before so many of the things they’ve written was…” Altaïr paused, as if looking for the right word to use…

“Horseshit?” Desmond dryly suggested and Altaïr shook his head once more as he stared at Desmond with wide eyes. Desmond tilted his head as he teased, “What? Is my vocabulary too much for you?”

“I don’t mind.” Altaïr answered immediately. His voice was calm and Desmond wondered if he was just hearing what he wanted to hear when he believed Altaïr sounded fond. Altaïr used one of his claws to caress Desmond’s cheek, the gentleness of his touch removing any doubt Desmond had about the fondness of his tone as he said, “I’m glad that the books we read gave you words that you can use to describe how you feel and what you think more accurately.”

“Even if I’m not as polite as I was before?” Desmond asked as he pressed his cheek against the side of Altaïr’s claw.

His claw was smooth and hot. It was a comfortable kind of heat.

Or maybe Altaïr was simply comfortable in general as far as Desmond was concerned.

“You weren’t exactly polite.” Altaïr said gently, “You were guarding your words, making sure that you didn’t say anything that will offend anyone.”

“I think the way you talk right now is much better.” Altaïr leaned close as he dropped his claw. Desmond closed his eyes as Altaïr pressed his head against his, “Be true to yourself, Desmond. Say what you believe and think. There is no need to fear anyone because…”

Desmond placed both of his hands on either side of the dragon’s head, pressing his cheeks against the hot scales between Altaïr’s eyes as he listened, “… I will always be by your side. Anyone who tries to harm you with their actions or their words will answer to me.”

Desmond’s lips curved into a small smile.

It probably looked a bit strange. Desmond had to practice smiling for years before his etiquette instructor deemed that he was smiling good enough.

Smiling genuinely…

It was still a foreign concept but Altaïr made it easier.

Spending time here with Altaïr made finding what he liked and didn’t like easier.

That was why…

“So you’ll do anything I want, right?” Desmond asked as he pulled away to look at Altaïr’s eyes directly.

“Of course.”

“Then…” Desmond’s entire face was red but his voice was clear and his eyes were determined as he requested, “I want you to teach me how we can fuck.”

Altaïr was in deep thought for three days.

Desmond normally wouldn’t have counted but it was entertaining watching the small ways Altaïr’s body betrayed his thoughts and emotions.

His tail was the worst offender, swishing back and fro in various speed depending on where Altaïr’s thoughts had brought him.

Desmond didn’t personally know what Altaïr was thinking but he could guess the emotion behind those thoughts.

The faster his tail swished from side to side, the more excited he was.

Then his entire body would freeze for a second before relaxing, his tail becoming still.

That was the moment Altaïr realized his thoughts had gotten the better of him and forced himself to ‘relax’.

It was interesting.

Altaïr usually kept a calm disinterested air around him and Desmond recognized it as something he had practiced for years.

Maybe even centuries.

Desmond wanted to see more.

He wanted to see what Altaïr hid underneath all that practiced indifference.

But he wasn’t going to force him.

Altaïr was the very first person that Desmond could treat as his equal. While he was a powerful dragon, Altaïr made it easy for Desmond to feel that they were on equal footing. That they were standing side by side, experiencing the same world around them.

So he let Altaïr think about it for as long as he wanted.

There were many books in his hoard that Desmond could read in the meantime.

On the third night since Altaïr had been thinking quite hard about Desmond’s request, he finally received an answer.

“I’ll… teach you.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Desmond said immediately.

“I’m not hesitating because I don’t want to. I…” Altaïr went quiet once more and light steam left his ears.

Desmond didn’t say anything even though he was finding this side of Altaïr quite adorable.

“I’ve never been with anyone like you before.” Altaïr admitted as he stared at the ground.

Desmond stared at him.

Altaïr continued to stare at the ground.

Silence reigned between them for a few seconds before Desmond asked curiously, “Do you mean you have never been with a human…”

“I have. Once.” Altaïr admitted, his wings coming closer to his body as if to cover him.

“Oh.” Desmond lowered his head.

Then did it mean…

“Is it because I’m a man?” Desmond asked cautiously as he raised his head, “It’s okay if you don’t want to…”

He should have taken in consideration Altaïr’s preferences. Perhaps the fact that he got hard watching Desmond pleasure himself had nothing to do with any physical attraction he might-

“I do!” Altaïr answered immediately, forgetting how loud he could be. Desmond only managed to not fall off because he had been sitting. More steam left his ears as Desmond combed his ‘windswept’ hair. Altaïr cleared his throat and laid on the ground near Desmond as he said in a softer voice, “I do want to. I am simply… worried that my inexperience would make it an unpleasant time for you.”

Desmond blinked before he smiled, “I worry the same thing.”

Seeing Altaïr’s curious eyes on him, Desmond could feel his entire face heat up as he admitted, “I’ve never been with anyone at all.”

It wasn’t like he was saving himself up for marriage.

The truth was…

He was afraid.

Afraid of bearing a child out of curiosity of how warm another person could be.

Afraid of what the empress would do to such a child if he did bear one that did not have her own blood.

Afraid of being a father like his own.

But with Altaïr…

There was nothing to fear.

He didn’t know if he could even bear a dragon’s child and he knew it was ridiculous to think of such thing right now.

But he also knew…

That Altaïr cared for him.

He was fond of him.

Maybe even…

‘Like’ was easy to believe.

But love?

Desmond himself didn’t even know if he loved Altaïr.

He didn’t know what ‘love’ was supposed to feel like.

What he did know was that…

He wanted to be with Altaïr.

He wanted to feel Altaïr inside him.

But more than that…

He wanted a future with Altaïr.

For as long as his mortal life allowed it.

“Then…” Desmond placed a hand on Altaïr’s head, just above his nose as he whispered, “Shall we learn together?”

Desmond had read about a dragon’s secondary dick, of course. It was part of the erotica book.

But it was mainly passed over because the main character was too busy losing his mind over the primary dick.

“The dragon that fucked him must be a small one.” Desmond mumbled as he stared at Altaïr’s two dicks.

They were limp at the moment but he could see that they were becoming harder while he was staring at them.

As usual, his primary dick was dangerously too big.

His secondary dick though…

Hidden in view underneath the primary dick, it was still bigger than Desmond’s.

If Desmond was to consider himself to be average, then the secondary dick was definitely bigger than average.

Maybe even bigger than most dicks currently populating the world.

But it was a perfect size to get fucked on.

… with lots of preparation.

Maybe.

Desmond wasn’t entirely sure but he was willing to try.

Desmond touched it cautiously, not out of fear of the dick itself but because he didn’t want to hurt Altaïr.

It twitched under his touch and Desmond’s breath hitched as he felt the small bumps all around it.

His lips twitched.

Just imagining how these would feel inside him.

“Desmond…”

Desmond raised his head and stared at Altaïr.

His entire body was frozen as he laid on his back, neck curled in a way to be able to see him but would have probably not been all that comfortable.

“Does it hurt?” Desmond asked he stroke Altaïr’s cock.

He felt Altaïr rumble as he sat on top of him, just inches away from his two dicks.

He would need to prepare himself before he can take his secondary cock and feel its size inside him.

But he could imagine how it would feel right now as he stroke it.

Precum began to drip out from the tip, helping Desmond’s along. He leaned forward and kissed Altaïr’s other dick, feeling it harden against his lip.

His right hand wasn’t large enough to wrap around the secondary dick so he used both of his hands while kissing and sucking whatever part of the primary dick he could get to.

Altaïr was hot but he didn’t burn Desmond. His primary dick was smooth with a flared tip like his secondary dick. It didn’t really taste like anything. The best Desmond could describe it was… it tasted like sunlight and smelled like Altaïr.

He wondered if the secondary dick was the same.

Feeling and hearing the low rumbling from Altaïr made Desmond hard.

He let go of Altaïr’s secondary dick and took off his robes.

“Desmond…” He could hear both the concern and lust in Altaïr’s voice.

Desmond’s lips curved into a smile.

Any doubt about Altaïr not being attracted to him physically disappeared like mist.

It was clear Altaïr wanted to fuck him but he cared for him too much so he was worried about hurting Desmond.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to put it in.” Desmond mumbled before he began to press his dick against Altaïr’s secondary dick. He wrapped his arms around Altaïr’s primary dick and began to rub against him, the precum making his movements smoother and more pleasurable. He began to kiss and lick Altaïr’s primary dick once more as he set a fast pace.

There was no way he was going to last long, surrounded by Altaïr’s scent and heat.

But he wanted Altaïr to cum as well.

To cum with him.

It was embarrassingly short when they finally came.

Altaïr came first, both his primary and secondary dicks twitching at the same time. Desmond even felt the secondary dick wriggle for a bit before cum fell all over him.

He came soon after as he drank Altaïr’s cum.

Desmond wasn’t sure what happened next.

He might have fallen asleep between Altaïr’s dicks…

And honestly?

He didn’t feel any embarrassment at all.

Things changed after that.

Desmond still read to Altaïr whenever they were relaxing. Altaïr still went out and hunted for their food.

Altaïr still invited Desmond to come out and Desmond always declined.

He liked the safety of this cavern and there was even a device there that supposedly recreated sunlight so it wasn’t like he was going to have some kind of vitamin deficiency.

He knew that Altaïr requested he read those basic medicinal books so he would know how important it was to get a bit of sunlight regularly.

Maybe later down the line, Desmond would step out of their cavern.

But right now…

Desmond preferred to stay inside, surrounded by Altaïr’s hoard.

Being part of his hoard.

The most precious of all.

And every night, he would feel how much Altaïr cared for him, helping him prepare for the day that he would finally take his dick.

His voice echoed all around the cavern even as the sounds of Altaïr’s tongue fucking him threatened to drown it all out.

Desmond had tried with his fingers first but they were simply too small. Altaïr had been the one to suggest his tongue since it was a bit smaller than his secondary dick.

Longer.

Wetter.

“Aaahhh…” Desmond gripped the fabric underneath him. They learned early on that it was best to ‘prepare’ Desmond on the bed than anywhere else in the cavern. The marks left by the golden coins had worried Altaïr even though Desmond himself didn’t mind it at all.

Every night, before they go to bed, Altaïr would fuck Desmond with his tongue before cumming all over him.

The funny part was that it was Desmond who begged Altaïr to cum on him.

After the first time it had happened…

Desmond realized he enjoyed being covered in Altaïr’s scent.

It was a shame that Altaïr only agreed to it if Desmond promised he’d take a bath afterwards.

Well… Desmond knew how much of a pain it was to have dry cum on his naked skin but still…

A part of him wanted to keep it there.

It seemed he was more of a deviant than he had expected.

And he didn’t even care.

It wasn’t long before Desmond felt like he was ready.

To be completely honest, it was more accurate to say that Desmond couldn’t take it anymore and wanted that dick inside him.

Altaïr’s tongue was good.

Too good, in fact. Desmond found himself more often than not begging Altaïr to fuck him whenever he was drowning in pleasure.

He could now understand why the main character of that erotica was so wanton and shameless.

Altaïr himself enjoyed seeing Desmond at such a state.

His favorite was watching Desmond wake up moaning and writhing while Altaïr fucked him in his sleep.

The first time he asked if he could do it, Desmond had been curious why Altaïr would want to fuck him while he was asleep, unable to participate and show Altaïr how much he enjoyed it.

But he still gave his permission because he wanted to try it as well.

He didn’t regret it.

It made waking up more enjoyable even if it left him a bit weak afterwards, his legs unwilling to cooperate with him.

Altaïr seemed to enjoy taking care of him like this, bringing him things even though his large stature meant he usually had to gently pushed them towards Desmond. He even started rumbling (or maybe purring would be a more accurate description) whenever Desmond rested against him after a very satisfying ‘practice’.

It was a night like all others. Desmond could hear the distant sound of heavy rain coming from outside.

Perhaps it was a storm? He didn’t hear any thunder though…

He had no painful feelings for heavy rain.

Maybe he should, considering how he almost died during such heavy rain but…

Two years were enough for him to let go of everything that molded Prince Desmond Sigurn Miles.

He was just Desmond.

Altaïr’s Desmond.

He was happy with his life here.

So having his first time with Altaïr during such dreary weather had not been planned.

It wasn’t some kind of symbolic way of rewriting a sorrowful connection to heavy rain into a more pleasurable one.

It just happened.

They didn’t plan it at all.

Altaïr was fucking him with his tongue as usual and Desmond had been left begging, rambling barely coherent words about how much he wanted Altaïr’s cock.

Desmond didn’t know what possessed Altaïr to finally give in.

He pulled his tongue out, making Desmond whine at the loss of his tongue inside him.

Desmond watched with bleary eyes as Altaïr laid on his back, his two cocks proudly on display.

“Slowly.” Altaïr reminded him through gritted teeth and Desmond could see his claws digging through the ground underneath his hoard of gold and gems.

Desmond crawled towards him, feeling his legs to be too weak for him for him to stand and walk towards Altaïr. From the way the black part of Altaïr’s eyes had grown, Desmond was going to assume he liked seeing Desmond crawl towards him.

Desmond climbed on top of Altaïr until he was sitting just in front of his dicks. He thought about turning around before taking Altaïr’s second dick but…

He didn’t want to simply ignore Altaïr’s primary dick.

So he raised his body and used one hand to grab onto Altaïr’s primary dick to keep himself balanced while he held Altaïr’s secondary dick with his other hand, guiding it towards his hole.

His entire face was red and his heart was beating so hard it was threatening to burst.

Altaïr’s dick.

He was finally going to be fucked by this large dick and-

“Slowly.” Altaïr repeated and Desmond could hear how hard it was for him to keep still.

If he wanted to, he could have taken charge and fucked Desmond to the ground.

But Altaïr wanted Desmond to take charge, to decide how their first night would go and how far.

Altaïr believed that Desmond would stop if necessary.

Unfortunately for him, Desmond didn’t want to stop.

He waited far too long for this.

It was all Altaïr’s fault.

He showed Desmond that it was okay to want things then spoiled him rotten by never saying no to any of Desmond’s desires.

So this was more of a punishment.

And a reward.

Desmond gasped as he felt the flared tip kiss his wet hole. He slowly dropped, his back arching as he let out a moan. He could feel his open mouth form into a smile as he felt Altaïr slowly fill his empty hole.

His dick was hot and the bumps all over it made his entire body shiver. He held onto Altaïr’s primary dick with both of his hands and shamelessly rubbed his dick against it as he continued to slowly took more and more of Altaïr’s dick.

He could feel Altaïr trembling underneath him and it must be taking his entire willpower to try and not move.

Desmond knew that Altaïr wasn’t moving because he believed Desmond’s slow movements were a precaution.

But it really wasn’t.

Desmond wanted to feel everything.

He wanted to feel Altaïr’s dick slowly fuck him, feel every bump rubbing inside him…

Feel that flared tip open him and prepare him to take more…

Feel the precum inside him, unable to escape because of how much Desmond’s hole was greedily gripping onto this wonderful dick inside him.

It was as agonizing as it was pleasurable.

Desmond pressed his forehead against Altaïr’s dick as he breathed heavily, sweat drenching his hair and making it stick to his face as he continued to slowly fill himself with Altaïr’s dick.

Desmond let out a loud moan when he finally took all of Altaïr’s cock inside him, staying still as he let go of Altaïr’s primary cock to place his hand over his stomach.

He could feel the bump of Altaïr’s cock inside him, his hands trembling slightly as the image of him, pregnant and heavy with Altaïr’s child came into his mind uninvited.

But welcomed.

He took a few moments to take deep breaths, trying to keep himself from cumming immediately. He pressed his body against Altaïr’s primary dick and began to kiss and suck on it. A few seconds later, he began to push himself up before his legs gave up on him and he sat on Altaïr’s dick so quickly that he let out a loud moan and threw his head back.

He heard Altaïr growl and felt his dick twitch inside him.

A fast deep fucking.

Yes.

That sounded good.

Desmond forced himself to move, leaving open kisses on Altaïr’s primary dick as he rode him, enjoying the taste of precum dripping off the large dick in front of him. His own dick rubbed against Altaïr’s but the pleasure he received from it was inconsequential to the feeling of Altaïr’s cock abusing that spot inside him that made his vision go white from pleasure. He chased after it, shamelessly moaning Altaïr’s name.

He could see Altaïr watching him with such intensity in his golden eyes and Desmond licked his dick in front of him as he fucked himself with his other dick.

He opened his legs wide and pulled back, showing Altaïr how much he was enjoying himself. Drool stained the corner of his lips but he paid it no mind, pressing one hand on his stomach as he said, “Look.”

He had no experience with dirty talk. At times, he was embarrassed even reading it.

But he knew that Altaïr would understand what he was trying to show him.

His stomach had become a bit swollen, from both Altaïr’s cock and the copious amount of precum that had nowhere to go until Desmond raise his body enough for some to drip out and stain both Altaïr’s cock and Desmond’s thighs.

Altaïr took a deep breath and Desmond cradled his stomach with both hands. He hoped his face showed both the happiness he felt of the very idea of bearing Altaïr’s child and the wanton desire of being fucked by him.

It must have because Desmond felt Altaïr cum inside him.

Desmond had to let go of his stomach and place his hands behind him to quickly keep himself balanced, throwing his head back as he moaned loudly.

Altaïr’s cum was hot and there was so much.

Desmond’s entire body began to shake as he felt the base of Altaïr’s cock grow. Desmond came as Altaïr’s knot filled the entrance of his hole, sealing them together as Altaïr continue to cum inside him.

Desmond’s smile grew bigger as he focused on the feeling of being filled by Altaïr more and more.

At this rate, he was going to look like he was carrying more than one.

Desmond let out a breathless giggle at his own thoughts before slowly holding onto Altaïr’s primary cock, still hard and heavy.

“Desmond…”

“It’s okay.” Desmond mumbled, knowing Altaïr wanted to apologize for knotting him without telling him anything yet. He was sure Altaïr wanted to knot him but he was thinking that they shouldn’t for their first time. So Desmond kissed his primary cock as he said, “I want this.”

“I want everything.” Desmond whispered before he began to suck and kiss Altaïr’s primary cock.

It wasn’t fair that Altaïr only came with his secondary cock, after all.

It would take some time before Altaïr’s knot would grow smaller so…

Desmond had all the time to take care of Altaïr’s huge cock.

With the amount of sex scenes in that erotica, Desmond had thought that it was the author’s wild imagination going all out.

But he and Altaïr proved that it was actually quite tame in terms of… ‘duration’.

They didn’t fuck every hour though. At least once a day. Sometimes, Desmond sucked Altaïr off. Sometimes, Altaïr used his tongue to fuck Desmond.

Most of the time, they did fuck.

Desmond finally got his wish to be fucked to the ground by Altaïr but it had been uncomfortable. Altaïr was worried he’d squash Desmond with his weight the entire time and that only meant Altaïr would stop every so often to ask if Desmond was alright. He was also slower than usual which Desmond didn’t really enjoy. He supposed this meant that he wasn’t into edging or anything similar to that.

After their first foray to what the erotica book called the ‘doggy style’, they both decided that Desmond riding Altaïr was going to be their go to sex position.

Desmond once asked Altaïr if dragons really did fly while knotted with their human paramour holding onto their primary dick and Altaïr had spluttered and shook his head so furiously that a small gust threatened to throw Desmond off his feet.

Not taking in consideration how dragon tradition was more on the side of ‘keep your genitalia hidden in public’, it was absolutely too dangerous to do such a thing. The time for knots to go down wasn’t exactly consistent and holding onto a primary dick that was lubed considerably with precum was already courting death.

Not to mention, it would be rude to shoot out cum in the sky, even if it’s precum.

Desmond agreed on the last part.

There was no need to share Altaïr’s cum with any (lucky) passerby below them.

Altaïr also groaned that he was not going to let Desmond’s first trip outside the cavern to be that dangerous.

Desmond just shook his head and chuckled, agreeing that it would be too much.

Truthfully? He had no plans to leave yet.

Maybe later down the line, he’d feel like leaving.

But right now?

He had everything he ever wanted.

A warm home, a devoted lover and enough books to last him lifetimes.

And whenever he was bored, he’d just look over some of the mana devices he hadn’t tried out yet.

It was a beautiful life that Prince Desmond Sigurn Miles would have never dreamed of.

But life itself was filled with ups and downs.

And Desmond’s latest down came in the form of food poisoning.

“Desmond…”

“I’m alright.” Desmond managed to say before he began to puke onto a mana device that destroys everything placed inside it.

It was used to destroy damning evidence that a dragon had given his blood for because he was engaged in illegal activities with a criminal organization.

Altaïr apparently stole it from an evidence storage or something after all the dragons had died.

And he might have destroyed all references to dragons during that time. Desmond wasn’t sure.

There was a possibility the same human who helped Altaïr take all these devices and books was the one who destroyed those references.

All Altaïr said was that everything was destroyed.

And it didn’t matter right now because…

“How about we get you some medicine?” Altaïr suggested as he watched Desmond vomit once more.

Half a year.

A blissful half a year with Altaïr, sharing each other’s company and indulging in all possible sexual acts that they could think of, not as something akin to friends but an actual romantic and sexually active couple.

He could even be shameless and call it their honeymoon phase.

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s just food poi-” Desmond couldn’t even finish his sentence, vomiting once more.

“But…” Altaïr turned to look at the mushrooms growing in one corner of the large cavern.

Desmond was fine eating them a month ago and there was no way a poisonous mushroom could have sprouted among them.

Desmond would know. He studied a book about mushrooms and what was poisonous and what wasn’t.

But seeing Desmond throw up everything he ate last night…

“I’ll burn them all.” Altaïr announced as he glared at the mushrooms.

It took Desmond trying to soothe Altaïr between throwing up both yesterday’s dinner and lunch to stop him from destroying the mushroom patch that Desmond had been cultivating.

Desmond was banned from eating mushrooms for the foreseeable future but he knew that he had to compromise somewhere to ensure the survival of his mushroom patch.

Altaïr started bringing vegetables and fruits that Desmond could plant in the cavern a month after Desmond ‘arrived’ in his cavern. He knew that humans needed vegetables and fruits to remain healthy and deliberately picked vegetables and fruits that wouldn’t take too much space.

… like needing a tree…

Desmond didn’t comment on the fact that Altaïr’s way of bringing these plants meant grabbing the entire thing, roots with soil and all, and hoping that they wouldn’t be squished beyond saving once he released them.

It took a few trips but Altaïr had always been a very stubborn dragon even back when Desmond was still getting used to being in a cavern all those years ago.

It was all for this big master plan of making sure Desmond had all the necessary nutrients to stay healthy even when the human that needed to be cared for refused to leave the cavern even for just a bit of sunlight (not that Desmond needed it, considering there was a mana device that gave off artificial sunlight that Altaïr liked to sleep underneath like an extremely large cat).

One of the mana devices in his hoard was a glass container as large as an average man’s coffin and as tall as Desmond. The temperature inside could be set and the glass itself had runes etched onto it that mimicked the effects of a day and night cycle. It had been called a prototype for ‘self-sustaining glasshouses’. A project pioneered by Altaïr himself.

… because he wanted to see how plants grew.

It was meant to be self-sustaining and part of its design was a smaller box inside where Desmond could place any kind of plant life and it would analyze it before breaking down the components to make as many seeds as it could.

That box was one of the most precious mana devices in Altaïr’s hoard. The improvement it could have on the daily lives of everybody and market prices for necessary items…

Unfortunately, it had one main problem.

Breaking down plant life did not mean it would have all the components to create seeds. It simply just wasn’t how things were.

So, for the missing components, Altaïr would use his blood to compensate.

Dragon blood had the power to change into whatever was necessary to keep things whole.

That was how the blood healed Desmond and granted him immunity to poison and sickness, by changing into what his body was ‘lacking’.

Mana stones were the byproduct of dragon blood that did not combine with anything that needed to be ‘whole’.

That was why they could be used as substitute in powering mana devices.

That also meant that mana stones could also provide the necessary missing components but Desmond already tried it once when he was making for seeds for the strawberries. Raw mana stone took too long to be combined so he had to grind them up first. He ground enough mana stone into powder that would be priced around the monthly expenses of buying for food for one person. Of course, Desmond was basing the price of food during a bountiful harvest based on the last market report he handled back in the empire.

That amount of powder was only able to make four seeds.

This fatal flaw made this device unsustainable.

Altaïr didn’t mind bleeding for Desmond but there was no way Desmond would agree in any way to make Altaïr some kind of ‘life stock’.

And now…

Those precious vegetables and fruits that Altaïr had made multiple trips for…

They were now making Desmond sick as well.

They were nice to look at but the smell and the taste…

They no longer sit well with Desmond.

It was small blessings that Altaïr didn’t immediately try to burn the glasshouse.

But now Altaïr believed that Desmond was truly sick.

Only able to consume the cooked monster meat that Altaïr hunted…

Vomiting everything he ate every morning.

And being tired most of the time.

With a heightened need to urinate.

Desmond had read about this.

No.

He was taught of this back in the kingdom.

It had been an uncomfortable lesson. He had been too young back then but…

The uncomfortable feeling clawed its way into him, making it a memorable lesson.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

Altaïr swiveled his head to stare at him so quickly it caused a gust of wind to hit Desmond. Desmond was used to it by now and simply began to comb his windswept hair with his right hand.

“You can get pregnant?” Altaïr didn’t shout. He knew how loud it would become if he shouted. But Desmond heard the surprise in his tone and blinked.

“Oh.” Desmond tilted his head as he realized, “I never told you that I’m a bearer.”

Desmond nodded before explaining, “The empire south of this mountain range has a royal family. According to legends, the first king, Jupiter, was granted a boon by the old gods. To ensure that the royal bloodline would never die, male members of the royal family can bear children.”

“Jupiter…” Altaïr mumbled.

Sensing that Altaïr would not be saying anything else for now, Desmond continued his explanation, “The bloodline has diluted though. For the past three generations, only one prince of the direct royal line could bear children and I’m…”

Desmond placed a hand on his stomach as he said, “I supposed I can say I was the last one with direct royal line.”

To be more accurate, he was the one with the ‘most’ royal blood in him left alive. His bearer-father had been the child of the last king and his sister-queen.

Even though half of his blood was of the kingdom’s royal blood, he still had more royal imperial blood than the current empress.

Desmond assumed that he was needed to ensure the legitimacy of the future emperors and empresses after Empress Juno.

“His name was Jupiter?”

Desmond nodded.

Altaïr tilted his head as he said, “It must be another Jupiter then… because the Jupiter I know died before he could sire any children using his own body.”

“What… do you mean?” Desmond asked with a frown. It wasn’t surprising. Maybe Altaïr knew a different Jupiter. Maybe Jupiter was a common name.

But, for some reason, Desmond felt that there was more to this story.

“Many dragons ruled over south of this graveyard before.” Altaïr started, changing his position so Desmond could rest his back against Altaïr’s tail, “One of them was a dragon named Abbas.”

Altaïr paused for a moment before continuing, “He had a… ‘favorite’ human, I suppose you can say that. They weren’t exactly friends but they weren’t lovers as well. The human was more like a companion than anything else.”

Altaïr’s tail waved slightly to show his dismissal of that running thought as he continued, “The human’s name was Hades. He took care of all the affairs in Abbas’ domain and was his human representative.”

“I suppose in today’s time, he would be the ‘king’.” Altaïr commented lightly before continuing, “Abbas let Hades do whatever he wanted. He didn’t think it was necessary to pay any attention to humans.”

“He sounds like a handful.” Desmond commented. Out of all the times Altaïr had told him stories of his dragon brethren…

This was the first time Altaïr actually spoke ill about any of them.

“He was… ‘focused’.” Altaïr commented and they both knew that there was a better word that Altaïr had simply refused to use.

“The story I heard was that a strange woman appeared on Abbas’ territory and started tending the gardens.” Altaïr continued, completely ignoring Desmond’s raised eyebrow at his sad attempt to pretend that this Abbas wasn’t a jerk, “Hades let her do whatever she wanted and they slowly fell in love during her time there.”

“Until her family tried to take her back.” Altaïr rested his head on the ground, exhaling to push the coins out of the way so he could look at Desmond without anything obstructing his view, “Hades begged Abbas to help him and Abbas did just that.”

Altaïr let out a sigh and Desmond could guess what happened next.

“That woman’s family included someone named Jupiter?” Desmond asked, earning a small nod from Altaïr, throwing coins, gems and dust everywhere just by simply moving.

“Her father’s name was Jupiter.” Altaïr answered before adding, “And Jupiter was Hades’ older brother.”

Desmond blinked.

Oh.

“I see…” Desmond nodded, “So Abbas killed Hades’ brother?”

“And his sister who was also the mother of his lover that was his niece-” Altaïr shook his head before lifting his head up as he summarized, “All I’m saying is that it’s probably not the ‘Jupiter’ I know.”

“But I do know that they had a son named Zagreus who wanted to bear the child of his male lover.” Altaïr continued, completely ignoring the incestual implication of the entire thing.

Not that Desmond could say anything about it. He knew that the imperial royal family had a long line of ‘in-house’ marriages after all. Not to mention, the empress wanted him to marry a distant relative of his.

It was small mercies that the kingdom didn’t practice such a thing.

“So Abbas helped change his body so he can bear a child?” Desmond asked curiously.

“No. I did.”

Desmond blinked.

What?

“Abbas didn’t think it was important so he ignored Zagreus’ pleas.” Altaïr explained, “Everyone back then knew that Abbas hated me so Zagreus and his lover eloped and went to my domain. Maria’s husband found them and brought them to me.”

“You’re not the type of person who would help someone as a way to say fuck you to another person.” Desmond commented, lips curving into a smile when he saw Altaïr freeze for a moment in surprise of Desmond’s choice of words, “You helped them because it was interesting, didn’t you?”

“That’s right.” Altaïr nodded before admitting, “I managed to change his body using my blood and a mana device prototype that blew up after one use but I never expected it to become part of his bloodline.”

“Does this mean that we also have an incestual relationship?” Desmond asked curiously and enjoyed watching Altaïr splutter.

“What?”

“If your blood had been flowing through the imperial blood line then, in some ways, isn’t any child born out of the change you made to our blood count as your descendant?”

Altaïr stared at him and Desmond burst out laughing at the quick changes in Altaïr’s expression as he seriously contemplated Desmond’s joke.

Desmond crawled closer and raised his head. Altaïr quietly leaned down and closed his eyes when he felt Desmond’s hands on either side of his face. Desmond pressed his forehead against Altaïr’s head as he said, “Thank you for granting my ancestors’ selfish wish, Altaïr. Because…”

Desmond leaned back and smiled at Altaïr as he said, “It led me to you and…”

“To our child.”

Desmond had been worried that he’d have to ask Altaïr if he was alright with Desmond carrying his child. They got sidetracked with how the bearer-fathers came into existence and didn’t really talk about how Altaïr felt.

Desmond wanted to have the child, of course. But he also wanted to know how Altaïr felt.

His silent worry was erased their following meal when Altaïr presented him with a perfectly cooked monster meat and a box.

“What’s this?” Desmond asked as he lifted the box. It was half the size of his chest. The entirety of the chest was etched with runes that Desmond could barely read.

One of the runes was some kind of preservation rune, that was for sure though.

Desmond had seen it in some of the other mana devices in the hoard.

“It’s tea.” Altaïr answered as Desmond opened the lid.

To be more exact, Altaïr had just presented him with a box filled to the brim of smaller boxes, all organized neatly.

“They’re all teas that someone pregnant can drink.” Altaïr explained as he laid his head to the ground, “I had it commissioned for Maria since she said those kinds of tea helped with the morning sickness. They’re not nutrient supplement and they can’t replace the vegetables and mushrooms that our child refuses to eat.”

Altaïr glared at Desmond. Desmond’s lips curved into an amused smile because he knew that the dragon was really just glaring at his stomach to show his disapproval over their child’s pickiness.

Desmond placed a hand on his stomach as he said, “Maybe it’s because he’s a dragon. You don’t eat vegetables and mushrooms too.”

“It’s probably that. Anything that isn’t meat might not be sitting well with him.” Altaïr agreed easily with his guess, “That’s why…”

Altaïr moved his eyes towards the fire pit that Desmond had made back when he just started living in the cavern. He thought it would be impolite to use Altaïr’s body heat to warm himself at night so he made the fire pit.

He hadn’t used it in… maybe 2 years or so?

But Desmond could get the hint. He let Altaïr watch him as he picked up a small cauldron made of some kind of shiny metal and filled it with water from the underground spring before placing it on top of the fire pit. Altaïr let out what would be a dragon equivalent to a short whistle, igniting the fire pit.

Desmond poked the fire with a long stick before adding another log from the stack of jagged uninformed logs Altaïr got him all those years ago.

He took out the first tea box his hand touched and opened it. The preservation rune kept it in pristine condition.

“Two balls.” Altaïr said and Desmond took out two balls from the box.

The water was already boiling so Desmond just dropped the two balls into the cauldron.

The balls remained floating up and the water slowly turned light red as it absorbed the color of the dark red balls. Desmond watched as the balls began to unfurl, revealing dry flowers that bloomed as they slowly sunk.

It was fascinating.

He was used to using dried leaves and petals for his tea. This was the first time he had ever seen an entire flower preserved and used in this way.

Was this how the old world made tea?

Desmond had been too focused on the tea that he didn’t see what Altaïr was doing above his head until he saw a drop of Altaïr’s blood fall into the tea. Desmond’s eyes widened and he looked up just in time to see Altaïr lick the small cut on his hand that he made.

He sighed and looked back at the cauldron. The light red color of the tea had turned into golden red.

“I supposed it makes sense that your blood would serve as a substitute for any nutrients I’d be missing with my meat-only diet.” Desmond said as he grabbed a nearby cup and used a ladle to fill it with the tea. He looked at the tea as he said, “I wish there was a better way though. I don’t really like seeing you bleed.”

Altaïr stared at him for a moment before he said, “There is… a way.”

Desmond raised his head and saw Altaïr’s eyes held a certain… hesitation to it.

“Altaïr?”

“If you take a piece of my heart, your body will effectively be more similar to a dragon than a human.” Altaïr informed him. Seeing Desmond pale, Altaïr hurriedly explained, “You won’t turn into a dragon, of course. You’ll retain your human body and-”

“But what about you?” Desmond placed the cup on the ground and walked towards Altaïr. He touched Altaïr’s tail as he asked, “I’d be taking a piece of your heart. Doesn’t that mean…”

“Oh. No.” Altaïr shook his head and stopped as soon as he saw that the gust of wind his movements had created blew out the fire. He leaned his head closer to Desmond as he explained, “It’s just a small piece. It won’t grow back but my heart will heal itself before I could die or anything like that.”

“Have you… ever done it before?” Desmond asked and he knew that the ugly feeling inside him was called jealousy.

For someone he didn’t even know.

“No.” Altaïr answered and it took all of Desmond’s years as the doll prince for him to keep himself from sighing in relief. Altaïr didn’t seem to notice it or perhaps he didn’t acknowledge it because he knew Desmond would be embarrassed. Instead, he continued his explanation, “A friend of mine, Kadar, did it with his human lover. It’s the ultimate show of one’s love for dragons and they can only do it with humans.”

“To give a piece of one’s heart is to share one’s life with that human. They will no longer age and their life depends solely on the dragon mate.” Altaïr hesitated for a moment before he said, “Desmond… if you take a piece of my heart, we will forever be bound. You will watch the other humans live their lives and die while you remain with me. As long as I live, you will live. If I die, you will die. I understand if this is too m-”

Altaïr stopped as he felt Desmond touch his head.

“Yes.”

Altaïr’s eyes widened for a moment before he tried to speak, “Desmond…”

“If it means I can be with you for as long as I live…” Desmond smiled, “If it means we’ll be together forever…”

“My answer will always be yes, Altaïr.”

Altaïr didn’t exactly explain how Desmond was to get a piece of his heart. All he requested was for Desmond to remain in the underground spring until he calls for him.

A part of Desmond wanted to believe that this whole ‘getting a piece of his heart’ business would be something magical. Maybe they’d press his foreheads together and Altaïr would transfer it to him.

But he also knew that there was a more literal explanation to the phrase.

Altaïr also mentioned that his heart would heal itself so… Desmond was bracing himself to eating a piece of Altaïr’s actual heart.

But he didn’t brace himself enough when he heard Altaïr call for him and he returned to the hoard.

Near the tunnel entrance that would lead to the underground spring, large stalagmites made of mana stones had sprouted all of a sudden.

Desmond knew what they meant.

Altaïr had bled quite a lot.

And he bled right near the entrance which meant he kept quiet as he most probably clawed his own chest and-

“Desmond…” Altaïr lowered his hand where a small red gem sat on the middle of his palm. Mana stones began to sprout underneath his hand and Desmond couldn’t see any wounds.

The blood was dripping from the gem itself.

Desmond walked towards Altaïr’s hand. He wanted to scream at Altaïr for doing something so painful.

If he had known…

If he had known that…

Desmond couldn’t even lie to himself.

Even if he knew that it would hurt this much, he would still beg Altaïr to do it.

Because he was selfish enough to wish an eternity with Altaïr.

“I’ll make it up to you.” Desmond mumbled as he took the gem from Altaïr’s palm, “Even if it takes a decade, a century, my entire life, I’ll-”

“Desmond…”

Desmond raised his head as he held the bleeding red gem in his hands.

“Don’t cry.” Altaïr gently said, making Desmond blink.

Oh.

He didn’t even realize that tears were falling from his eyes.

“It doesn’t hurt as much as you think. It just bleeds a lot.”

Desmond wanted to laugh but couldn’t even do that.

Altaïr was trying to console him but his words didn’t even really make that much sense. Was he really talking about the wound he inflicted as ‘it’?

As far as Desmond could see, Altaïr must be a bit tired from what he had to do.

“I’m not doing this to make you indebted to me.” Altaïr continued to say in the same gentle voice. His talon twitched and Desmond crawled towards it, pressing his cheek against it. His talon slowly moved back and fro, caressing Desmond’s cheek gently, “I wanted to do this because imagining a future without you… hurts too much.”

Desmond closed his eyes as he said, “I was willing to give you what remains of my life. To stay by your side until I die.”

He opened his eyes and placed a bloody hand on his stomach. The robes remained clean and white, the blood simply slipping off of it, as he admitted, “I was worried that you’d feel lonely and sad once I die. That’s why I was so happy that we will have a child.”

“I was hoping this child would remind you of me even after I die.” Desmond raised his hand to hold the gem with both of his hands once more as he continued, “But now…”

Desmond raised his head to smile at Altaïr, “I’m selfish enough to want a distant future with you.”

“So… no take backs, okay?” Desmond said before closing his eyes as he moved his hands closer to his face. He swallowed the gem without any hesitation and a little bit of hope that it didn’t taste like copper and rotten egg.

It had no taste. It was just… hot.

Not burning hot but an insistent heat that started at his throat, traveling downward to his stomach.

There was a brief moment when he was worried of their unborn child inside him but the heat dispersed throughout his entire body before he could even say anything.

And then…

Desmond blinked.

“That was it?” Desmond asked as he opened his eyes to look at his hands.

He didn’t feel anything different other than… feeling a little hotter than usual.

“Altaïr…” Desmond looked at Altaïr and his breath hitched. Altaïr’s entire body held a golden shimmer to it that Desmond had never seen before.

The entirety of the cavern held a similar shimmer as well. It wasn’t overpowering. It just looked like there was a bit of golden dust on everything.

Oh.

‘Dragons see something that humans cannot. This tells them if something is part of another dragon’s hoard.’

It was one of the vaguest lines he had ever read and Altaïr had to explain that each dragon’s hoard had a different ‘glow’ to them.

Desmond was assuming that glow was something big and bright, not…

Desmond wiped the blood on his hands on his robes, letting it drip off his robes, before looking at his hands.

He held the same golden shimmer.

He was part of Altaïr’s hoard. Of course he was.

That was already given.

But for Altaïr to have the same shimmer…

Desmond placed a hand on Altaïr’s head. His lips curved into a grin as he said, “You’re my hoard now, Altaïr.”

Altaïr blinked before gently pressing his head against Desmond’s hand as he said, “What a fantastic hoard you have then. The best in the entire world.”

Desmond couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Desmond learned that he was going to give birth to an egg early on. They had to check every book Altaïr had in his hoard which took a while… an entire week and a half to be more exact. A human giving birth to dragons was only noted in one book.

It was a diary that belonged to the human lover of a dragon named Kadar. Altaïr sounded solemn when he talked about Kadar.

From what Desmond learned from Altaïr, Kadar died a hundred years before the death of all dragon kind except Altaïr. Altaïr himself had helped Kadar’s brother raise Kadar’s son, Tazim.

Altaïr didn’t say how Kadar died but the diary’s last entry talked about how Kadar was going to visit the dragon king.

Desmond assumed something had gone wrong during Kadar’s travels or his visit.

Or maybe his human lover was unable to write after that because of some other reason.

In any case, Altaïr didn’t seemed to be uncomfortable with Desmond reading the diary so this must have come to his possession with permission, either from Kadar’s human lover, Tazim or maybe even Kadar’s brother.

Desmond skimmed through the pages until the writer began to talk about her experience carrying a dragon inside her.

Humans delivering a dragon share a similar experience to a pregnant dragon. The dragon would form for the first three months before they leave their parent’s womb as a flimsy egg shell protects them from the rest of the world. Dragon blood must cover them immediately (this happens naturally when they are being born from a dragon) which would create a hardened mana stone-like egg around them so they could continue to grow for the next four months.

After those four months was the period in which the eggs would hatch. The hatching itself could be as short as a few seconds or as long as a few weeks, maybe even a month. The longest hatching Altaïr remembered was two months. The dragon that took two months to hatch didn’t have any problems growing up.

He was apparently a bit of an asshole (not Altaïr’s exact words) but Altaïr believed his hatching had nothing to do with his horrible personality.

Dragons born of human ‘mothers’ tend to be smaller when they leave their shells but, according to Altaïr, Tazim was about average height when he was considered an adult dragon by the rest so there was no need to be concerned.

Desmond’s belly grew bigger in the next three months. Having no reference to how big his belly should be, Desmond assumed that this was normal. Altaïr wasn’t concerned as well because he had never seen Kadar’s lover pregnant. Dragons became overly protective once they learned that they were expecting a hatchling so it was normal to not see any pregnant dragon or human lover out and about. They usually stay with their hoard while their partner took care of everything.

Desmond had been diligently marking how many days had passed since he learned that he was pregnant. They couldn’t exactly pinpoint when Desmond got pregnant and how long it took for him to actually conceive since they both knew there was an incubation period of some sort. Because of this, they decided that they would assume that Desmond was pregnant for about ten days before he started throwing up.

It was to give them a bit of leeway in making sure their cavern was ready for when the egg would be delivered.

A small part of the cavern had already been cleared of every gold coin and gem nearby. Desmond had built a makeshift chair using golden rods he found in Altaïr’s hoard with Altaïr’s instructions on how to tie them securely to one another and build the frame of a chair with bars above Desmond’s head if he sat down so he could grab hold of them and grip them tightly.

Soft pillows were placed at the bottom to soften the egg’s fall and Desmond had asked Altaïr if it was normal back then to give birth while sitting down.

Altaïr seemed more perplexed to why the common practice in Desmond’s time was to lie on their back and spread their legs wide as they push. Wouldn’t sitting down help with the pushing due to gravity?

They both guessed that there must have been a logical and reasonable explanation that they couldn’t know at the moment because they lacked the necessary medical knowledge.

For now, Desmond agreed to using it as long as Altaïr promised to not cut him open and take the egg out that way. Even if Desmond begged him, no matter how long he had been in labor, Altaïr must never cut his belly.

Cutting the belly to take the baby out had been the tradition of the imperial family for men who could bear children. Desmond expected it to be the way that he would give birth as well.

But… that had been the reason why his late bearer-father’s health declined after giving birth to him. It wasn’t the reason for his death, of course, but Desmond always thought that his weakened body couldn’t fight off the poison he drank back then.

That, in some ways, Desmond was the reason why his bearer-father died.

He didn’t want to suffer the same fate and he would never want their child to ever think that.

If this was the way Kadar’s lover had given birth then it must have worked considering she never wrote about any complications after giving birth.

It wasn’t a foolproof plan but it was a better ‘possibility’ than the hundreds of records about imperial bearers dying young after giving birth.

There was also a bed right in front of the chair frame which Desmond could fall on after he finished giving birth. That way, Altaïr could drench the egg in his blood as soon as possible.

They had prepared as much as they could…

But they didn’t prepare enough for a certain little surprise that ‘appeared’ the day Desmond gave birth.

Desmond didn’t want to remember how hard it had been to give birth. He started to go onto labor two weeks after the supposed third month mark.

Not long enough for them to worry that something was wrong but long enough that they were walking on eggshells, wondering if today was the day.

Desmond didn’t even feel anything at first.

Just his legs suddenly becoming wet.

Then he saw the blood between his legs and thought…

Either he was going into labor or he was dying.

Both of them assumed it was the first one and started ‘operation labor’.

… which was really just Desmond resting until he felt the need to push.

It was a long wait. They had the time to eat lunch. An hour before dinner, that was when Desmond felt it.

An insistent squirming inside him.

The same way it was described in the diary.

The labor took hours. Hours of pain with small moments of rest mingled in between. He could not find the desire to eat but he did drink water as much as possible.

By the time their child had agreed to fully leave him, he was covered in sweat. His hair was sticking to his skin and he had to remove his robes because he believed they were clinging onto him even though he knew that was impossible considering the robes were meant to slide off any kind of liquid that came into contact with it.

Altaïr heard their child drop to the pillows below and was about to help Desmond lay on the bed before Desmond screamed.

There was another egg inside him.

They didn’t realize that Desmond was carrying two of them and now, Desmond had to push the other dragon out as well.

He didn’t even know if he should let Altaïr drip blood on their child already underneath him but he wasn’t given a choice. Unlike the first one who didn’t seemed to want to leave, their second child wanted out.

As soon as possible.

It probably only took a minute or two before it was finally over.

He fell onto the bed and weakly turned his head to look at the pillows underneath the makeshift chair.

Desmond only saw them a few seconds before Altaïr cut his entire arm and drowned them both in his blood.

There was so much blood that there was now a bush of mana stones as tall as Desmond’s knee where he had given birth. The entirety of the chair frame was coated in mana stones as well.

Before they were encased in their dragon scaled eggs, they looked like small dragons that were covered in some kind of partially transparent liquid.

They curled right next to each other before the blood covered them and Desmond lost consciousness.

When Desmond came to, the bush made of mana stones had broken in two. Altaïr’s head was swiveling between him and the bush repeatedly and Desmond grunted as he crawled out of his bed, ignoring Altaïr’s worried protests.

His entire body was aching and his ass felt like it was on fire but he wasn’t necessarily in pain.

Well… that much pain anyway.

He looked over the bush and saw two beautiful red eggs, a golden shimmer wrapped around the both of them like light mist during an early morning. He held them, one in each hands.

They pulsed in a way that reminded Desmond of heartbeats. His heart soared and his lips curved into a smile as he raised his head to look at Altaïr.

Seeing the awe in Altaïr’s face, Desmond felt tears fall from his eyes.

He never understood what happy tears could mean… until this very moment.

They were hot to the touch as he held them close, feeling Altaïr curl his tail around him. Even though they were hot, they didn’t burn Desmond even though he knew they should.

It was a comforting heat.

A wonderful heat that reminded Desmond that they were alive.

… that they were safe.

Every night, the four them slept together with Desmond holding each egg in one arm and Altaïr curled around them, letting Desmond use the side of his body as a pillow.

There was a storm raging outside when they heard the sound of something cracking.

Both of the eggs began to crack as they watched, enraptured by the prospect of meeting their children.

The one on the left left his shell first, poking a hole with the tip of his tail. He was a small dragon, just the size of Desmond’s forearm. Shaking off the fluids that had been inside his egg, he showed off his white form. His wings fluttered and stretched and shone like prism when the light hit them at the right angle.

He let out a small trilling sound and walked towards Desmond before tipping to the side, making a disgruntled sound as he looked up at them as if the entire world had done him a great disservice and needed to be destroyed.

Just when Desmond had taken him in his arms, the other egg rolled over and smashed to the ground. Their second child smacked what remained of the shell with a flurry of her wings before rolling to Altaïr’s tail. She gripped Altaïr’s tail with her talons and shook her entire body like a dog trying to shake its wet fur.

She was white as well with spots of dark brown all over. Her wings were smaller but she had two pairs of wings. One was white with gold glittering at the back and the other was dark brown with golden lines that seemed to follow the wings’ bones.

She looked up at Altaïr and opened her mouth before biting Altaïr’s tail and growling as she tried to take a chunk off.

“I think she’s hungry.”

Desmond laughed at the wonder in Altaïr’s voice.

That stormy night, their twins, Elijah and Minerva, were born.

“I should have killed you the moment you stepped into that ballroom with that harlot.”

Loki kept his eyes on the carpeted floor, wearing clean clothes after being bathed by maids who looked at him with quiet contempt and helped him with cold professional hands.

His mother arrived from the Grand Temple three days after his ex-fiance left the empire. An hour after she returned, news of his ex-fiance’s death resounded all over the empire.

An announcement from Prince Ezio Auditore, heir to the throne and cousin of the late Prince Desmond, appeared all over the empire by the use of multiple flying mana devices that showed the prince like a mirage.

He proclaimed that his cousin was assassinated by a woman named Lucy Stillman, a turncoat that pledged her loyalty to House Vidic and Crown Prince Loki.

Loki didn’t even remember who that woman was.

Prince Ezio ended his announcement with a declaration that their kingdom would close all borders and would no longer provide mana stones as part of the deal between their two countries in exchange for Prince Desmond’s safety and protection.

These countless mana devices exploded afterwards, sending a wave that destroyed all mana stones in the vicinity, rendering many mana devices unusable.

Without the regular shipment of mana stones from the kingdom, the empire was now suffering from mana stone shortage. Prince Ezio’s message turned the citizens’ anger towards their own monarch instead of the kingdom.

Many wouldn’t have cared that Prince Desmond died. Most of them would probably feel sorry for a moment then return to their daily lives without giving it much thought.

But learning that they were now suffering because of the acts of the nobility?

They wouldn’t aim their anger at the kingdom grieving the loss of their prince but the supposed mastermind behind the prince’s death.

And Empress Juno only fueled that rage, executing every single one who had been in the party where Loki had annulled his engagement and ordered the banishment of his ex-fiance.

… a banishment that led to his death.

Loki didn’t plan any of that. What Duke Vidic told him was that they were just sending the prince home.

Prince Desmond had never been home the entire time Loki knew him. He thought it was a good final gift-

“Did you know that she was pregnant?”

Loki paled as he looked at the carpeted floor of the throne room.

All surviving nobles stared at him from the sides.

All except one…

Count Molay.

After Prince Desmond departed from the empire, the count returned to his territories and secluded himself.

The same county where the late Prince Aita grew up.

He resigned from his post after learning of Prince Desmond’s death, making a distant relative his successor while he banished himself into a monastery where people believed he’d live what remained of his life.

The rumor going around the entire palace was that Count Molay prayed day and night for the soul of the late Prince Desmond, dedicating the remainder of his life not to the safety of his soul but to the soul of the departed.

Loki couldn’t afford to acknowledge the guilt that pulled him from his sleep every night like the count.

It didn’t matter how humiliating it was, Loki went down on his knees and pressed his forehead against the carpeted floor as he begged, “Please… please spare her and our unborn child.”

The maids who ‘served’ him in his confinement told him that Aletheia was being kept in the late prince’s room, surrounded by guards and servants who took great care of her.

They said it with no emotions but Loki knew his mother enough to know that Aletheia was being cared for…

To serve as a future punishment for Loki.

“She bears your first grandchild. Please-”

“How can I be sure that it is your child?”

That question made Loki raise his head and he stared at his mother with wide eyes.

The empress stared at him with cold rage in her eyes, “She’s a woman who willingly agreed to have a relationship with a betrothed man and you…”

“How can I be sure you don’t have any other illegitimate children from other past betrayals you’ve made? How can I be sure that you haven’t been spreading your seed in every corner of this palace?” She stood, holding her round belly with both hands as she said, “Did you think you’d take the throne if Desmond is dead?”

“You are useless!” Juno shouted as she threw a nearby cup at him. He didn’t dare move and clenched his fists tightly as the cup hit him on the head, drenching his head with red wine.

His forehead throbbed but he didn’t think the cup broke his skin.

“Your only use was to be my seed! To give a seed that will bear a child of mine and Aita’s!” She fell on her throne once more as she covered her face, “And now… now…”

“I’ve lost Aita’s final gift.”

Loki could hear the grief in her voice.

The mania.

He trembled as he realized that she wasn’t grieving the death of a young man she had raised more than she ever raised her own son.

She was grieving the fact that she lost the last thing Prince Aita Bartholomew li Jupiter left in this world.

He watched as she lowered her hands and his heart began to beat faster as he saw the blankness of her expression.

“I’ll keep that woman alive.” She announced as she looked down at Loki, “And you’ll see her give birth to your supposed child.”

“Then I’ll give you a knife.” She continued, “Once your child draws breath, you will choose which throat to slit, the woman you supposedly love or the child that is supposed to be yours.”

“Mother-”

“If you don’t choose, both will die in front of you.” She proclaimed coldly.

“Whoever you don’t kill, I will keep alive in this palace. You will see them from afar. You will never talk to them.” She continued, “And you will stay alive. The day you die, they die.”

Loki opened his mouth even though he didn’t know what he was going to say.

It didn’t matter though because the door to the throne room opened and a knight rushed inside, going on his knees as he announced, “Monteriggioni has declared war!”

“We can mobilize our army and fortify our defenses. Our kingdom had withstood every and any attack since our founding. This will be no different.”

“I wished I met you sooner, William.”

Ah.

He truly knew what words to use to hurt William this much.

When they first met, his eyes were filled with frustration and anger.

It took years before they became filled with happiness and fondness.

When they first held their child in their arms, his tiredness could not hide the love in his eyes.

“She won’t stop. She’ll never stop until I’m fully and completely hers again. And…”

His lips curved into a resigned smile.

“She’ll burn any and every trace of me here.”

William was prepared to take anything. Even that cold indifference from before.

Anything to erase the determination in his eyes that seemed to contradict the resignation of his smile.

But no…

They were connected.

“And that includes our child.”

William wanted to stop him. William wanted him to believe that they could win.

Even if William himself knew it would be a lie.

William was willing to fight a losing war…

“William… it’s alright. This past five years I’ve shared with you has been the happiest I’ve ever been.”

William saw a glimpse of a small bottle in his hand but he said nothing.

Maybe if he had said something…

Maybe if had gone down on his knees and-

“Please… let my life protect our child.”

“Uncle.”

William turned away from the only remaining painting of Aita to stare at his heir, clad in armor made of mana stones.

“The army will be marching in an hour. I’ll be joining the front lines in one of our airships and…” The young man bowed as he announced, “I promise to bring back Empress Juno and Prince Loki’s heads.”

His words held anger and guilt.

William was sure his heir still had nightmares of being too slow and only being able to watch his cousin fall to the merciless rapid waters below.

“Do what you want.” William turned to look back at the painting, “You’re the king now, Ezio.”

Ezio stared at him with anger and pity but William paid it no mind.

There was no use to avenge the dead.

He already failed to stop his husband from sacrificing himself.

It was only right that he would be punished and lose their son as well, even after trying so hard to teach him how to protect himself.

Killed by a spy that he himself sent to protect his son…