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Sharp silver heels stormed against the blameless tiles of the hall, matching a dissonant sequence of steps that flirted between palpable exhaustion and mounting irritation, as the dragon king made his way to the next scheduled meeting of the day.
Or at least that had been the original strategy, before Malleus's taut nerves had usurped control over his sapped psyche, bypassing the chain of command to declare their owner had reached his limit hence forcing him on an impromptu respite.
Briar Valley was enjoying an extended era of peace and prosperity. Despite the nobility’s immense flattery and his serving officers’ blatant bootlicking, Malleus wasn’t naïve enough to attribute said blessed period of harmony to his own kingly skills. He might have bent the circumstances to his best ability by implementing timely policies that improved the nation’s chances, but the qualifying factors spinning out of his control had been favorable in the first place, as if someone had set a blessing over his reign on the day of his coronation.
That wasn’t to say, his reign had been a breeze so far. He’d had to face one assassination attempt after another, civil uproars on the outskirts of the land, the constant undermining of the senate and most of all, the unyielding rivalry between his own subjects, the remnants of the fae-human war pushing them three steps behind for every one they made.
However, out of the endless list of royal responsibilities ranging between military parades, charitable functions, public speeches and diplomatic trips, the fae abhorred by far the absent moments of reprieve. Before he’d assumed the throne, slipping out of his duties had been easy. The guards never paid him any mind and even if his grandmother had explicitly warned them from keeping their ward away from distractions -mostly consisting of extended visits at Lilia’s old cottage- their vigilance wasn’t anything Malleus couldn’t handle with the simplest of spells.
Now, putting his entire staff to sleep just so he could catch his breath felt a tad irresponsible if not outright childish.
Although he supposed some of them would highly benefit from it.
A small smile crept into his sharp features at the thought, and although his irritable pacing didn’t cease, his heeled assault towards the marble floor did mellow ever so slightly.
The king didn't frequent this part of the castle, nor was he particularly fond of it. Dragonscale was packed with maze-like twisting corridors, secret servant’s passages and massive luxurious halls, all conforming to the drab aesthetic of the Draconia line, but this wing was too stuffy even for Malleus’s gothic tastes.
It seemed that no one had bothered to pull those heavy curtains, embroidered with obsidian vines and inky roses blossoming over their velvet canvas, for ages. There wasn’t a speck of dust wafting across the air, so it was safe to assume that the cleaning staff did pay these corridors regular visits, but apart from the spotlessness of the place there were no other signs of life.
The emptiness would have normally brought Malleus a sense of ease. Afterall he’d always enjoyed the calmness of a long uninhabited place; his youth’s escapades were indicative enough of that. But, unfortunately, the beauty of the secluded corridors was lost on him, for as it was, he wasn’t alone.
The ghosts of his steps were filled by a legion of councilmen, and theirs by an army of guards, and theirs by extension, by a horde of valets making sure to trail five steps after their sovereign as per protocol principles. For all Malleus knew, they could be walking five miles away and yet their constant blabbering would still haunt the dragon fae, washing over him like rain, and even though normally the king was fond of a little tempest, now he was assaulted by its worst qualities.
To his sleepless mind it appeared as though their obnoxious chatter shifted the atmosphere’s barometric pressure, causing his head to split at the ambient imbalance, while their warm breaths brushed the nook of his neck, leaving it clammy with sweat and moisture that slid into his clothes causing them to cling uncomfortably to his tense silhouette.
Apparently, allowing the king a moment of privacy was a direct breach of national law, so if Malleus felt the need to ruin his swamped schedule by indulging in the briefest of breaks before subjecting himself to another hellishly monotonous meeting with the appointed beastmen dignitaries from Sunset Savanah, then so did his royal entourage.
Exaggerated theatrics were unbecoming of his status, but his pitch-black robe carved from the darkest depths of a starless night was long enough to conceal the tense way his hands curled and uncurled into inky fists with the rhythm of his steps.
He was about to call this mockery of a break off after reaping the exact opposite results than he’d intended, resuming the duties of the day with far more agitated than before, when his downcast ears perked up at the muffled echo of voices coming out of one of the corridor’s doors. The king was quick to disregard the unexpected sound as the prattle of the maids in charge of tidying up the floor, but when one of the voices was raised to its familiarly booming volume, Malleus’s steps were brought to a halt.
“I was under the impression that my grandmother had vacated those rooms decades ago.”, he said without so much as a tilt of the head that continued to face ahead, as if addressing an invisible audience. His stern voice coaxed a collective flinch out of his army of servants, so perfectly synchronized one would have thought it rehearsed, swallowing every trace of obnoxious mumbles under a thick ocean of silence.
“Indeed, my king.”, one of his advisors piped nervously, taking a hesitant step forward as the remaining entourage took a united step back ever so comedically, leaving the brave fae in the mercy of their king. However, every trace of a grin was gone as soon as the abandoned advisor mustered the courage to speak again.
“That's why we thought it best to transfer the king consort to these quarters, so he'd appreciate the peace and quiet. The thin air of the tower was deteriorating his stage.”
A paralyzing spell of stillness numbed ever cell of hid body. With the newly acquired information, he supposed that the echo of the Knight of Thunder’s distinct boisterousness made sense.
His councilmen’s unbothered behavior didn’t.
“I've told you to notify me immediately when the king feels unwell.”, he said, and even though his voice assumed the perfectly collected timbre instilled during a childhood founded on apathetic arrogance and reserved indifference, an emotionless reflection befitting of a levelheaded king, his eyes spoke of a different story, a tale molded in emerald flames.
“It is of no concern.”, the unaware servant continued, soaking his words with a generous dose of pride upon his brilliant initiative, “We wouldn't dare impose you with every one of the king consort's fits.”
And even though Malleus’s back remained obstinately still, obscuring his ire-stricken expression from the unsuspecting spectators, his mood became crystal clear when the temperature of the room plummeted, plunging the hall in an arctic climate.
“Fits?”, he muttered sluggishly, as if testing the sound of the word against his double-tipped tongue.
“Fits?!”, he repeated, his voice rising to the guttural properties of a growl, as he spun to face the petrified assembly with a sharp movement that had his thick cloak slicing the newly frozen air.
“To disregard the will of a royal is the highest form of treason!”, he seethed, pointing an accusatory finger towards the insolent advisor that had scrambled back to the crowd of trembling servants and hid behind the armed figure of a guard, “I should have your tongue for this!”
Malleus’s chest quaked along with the floor that shuddered with the force of an earthquake, not fierce enough to cause lasting damage to the building, but strong enough to cause lasting damage to his entourage that was knocked off balance and forced to their knees. His horns lit with lime stripes, his eyes burned with chartreuse hues, his scaly tail flickered with distaste behind him, as the dragon let his temper loose in the form of spreading ice that transformed the gloomy tapestries of the walls into translucent glacier lakes.
How dare they mess with what was his?!
It seemed as though the frost would grow enough to cover his impertinent vassals, until all was left of them would be frozen statues reflecting expressions of varying distress, a pack of unmoving grotesques to remind the rest where their rights ended and the king’s orders began, but just when the ice had started poking at their footwear, it dispersed.
Malleus took a large breath. And then another. And when his fangs had returned to their normal length and his claws were no longer swollen with additional sharpness, he opened his eyes again.
And even though the glinting flash of boiling rage had yet to fade from his dark green orbs, and the churning tone of unveiled accusation had yet to ebb away from the delivered words, his servants clutched the imaginary olive branch like their lives depended on it.
“Alas my husband has always promoted mercy, and I shall beckon his wise counsel. You’ll do good to remember to who you owe this debt.”, he warned before his voice dropped to its previous ominous timbre, “Now, disperse before I change my mind.”
“B-but what about the m-meeting-”, a stammering voice echoed from somewhere in the crowd and Malleus swore it came from the same shameless fae.
“I said now!”, the dragon bellowed, which seemed to do the trick, because a moment later the dragon was finally staring at an empty space.
Keeping his emotions at bay had always proved to be quite a challenge for Malleus. He’d grown better at managing his feelings with time, leaving behind the stage his grandmother had taken into calling, his rebellious years. If he concentrated hard enough, he could conjure the exact image of the late queen’s taut features creased in constipated disappointment only a ruler of her caliber could muster, frowning upon his unbecoming outburst, but, in truth, ever since Malleus had been stripped off his support, he’d reverted back to the pitiful state of that isolated fledgling that froze the skies over fallen tears, every level of progress he’d made gone, as if someone had pulled the rug beneath his feet and he was left reeling in the hard floor’s coldness.
“How irksome.”
He’d almost resumed his initial course, before the soft noise of muffled voices echoed once again.
He didn’t have to go in. Silver wouldn’t want him to anyway.
He could just go back to enjoying his break in solitude now that everyone was gone and then head back to the meeting hall to resume his kingly duties. He’d alert a servant to retrieve the stuff of the king consort and relocate him to his previous quarters, one corridor away from Malleus’s own room.
A single hall away, and yet out of all the treacherous trenches and the perilous peaks of Mount Dread, all the bottomless rifts and the darkest depths of the Coral Sea, the dragon had never faced such an insurmountable distance.
Somehow the oak door standing in front of him appeared just as daunting.
In the end, he wasn’t sure what possessed him to turn that doorknob, but when the impenetrable barrier creaked open and his feet abandoned the comfort of the carpeted hall to settle over wooden floorboards, he was greeted by a violent assault of light.
Of course, he’d been vaguely aware of the sun’s high position hiding behind the castle’s closed curtains, but he was still taken aback by the intensity of its blinding rays seeping through the open window. It took his fatigue-addled brain a ridiculous amount of blinking, one could only compare to that of a newly born feline, before his eyes had adjusted to the increased level of brightness, and Malleus was able to take in the room.
Or at least the parts of the room that weren’t obscured by towering piles of paper boxes swaying ominously along with the caprices of the wind slipping through the rose-paned skylight. Clothes, books and trinkets were strewn haphazardly across every horizontal surface, as if the entire place had fallen victim to one of Briar Valley’s notoriously destructive tornados.
It appeared that the extent of his counselors’ concern of the king consort’s well-being was limited to a mere relocation, rather than any efforts for a comfortable resettlement. Malleus swore next time he saw their pathetic faces he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from raising a hurricane large enough to obliterate his kingdom from the face of Twisted Wonderland.
Not that it’d impact this room any further than its disordered state.
But then his eyes trailed to the sole item that had been shown mercy, a rectangular object placed with unprecedented consideration on top of a sloppily composed nest made of silk bedsheets and embroidered pillowcases, and once he approached the treasured prize, the tension pulling his taut features in a displeased frown washed away, leaving behind a coast of peacefulness.
Malleus’s fingers traced the rough edges of the canvas with the gentlest strokes, claws retracted to the human-like appearance of blunted nails, in a necessary display of caution.
He’d had this artwork issued directly after Silver’s official adoption when the four of them were still attending NRC. Both figures of the painting wore traditional clothes customary to the people of Briar Valley, except for a cacophonous detail of modernity that fractured the image of matching harmony, one that could easily go unnoticed to the untrained eye, but one that provided a key element to the painting’s significance.
Silver’s new magical pen.
Malleus could never bring himself to ask the young man to part with it, even for the shake of the painting. Not when every glimpse of its scribbled engraving caused his alabaster face to erupt in pure joy reflected across the width of that blinding smile that put even the brightest celestial objects to shame. The fae had lost count of how many times he’d allowed himself to get lost in the depths of that smile, like a perched sailor getting drunk off a siren’s song.
The pen rested in a pocket of the man’s embroidered tunic, caged behind a boasting chest, just over his ecstatic heart.
Vanrouge.
It was a good last name; one Silver carried with honor and pride for many years. The dragon fae had almost felt bad to strip him of it, but in Malleus’s heavily biased mind, Silver Draconia had always had a nicer ring.
Nonetheless, the artist had done an amazing job in his portrayal, especially with Lilia. Afterall, the bat fae had said so himself once he’d beholden the final composition. It had been a while since the playful fae had joined his mother in the afterlife, but Malleus could still recall the exact words he’d used as if it were yesterday.
“Finally! It seems you have managed to capture the magnificence of my cute face.”
He’d also remembered how the painter, an ancient looking fae with pale eyes and a paler beard dragging across the floor, a man that had been in the employment of the Draconias since the time of his grandmother’s youth, had sagged his shoulders in relief at the fae’s praise, after having been forced to repaint Lilia’s features until they were up to the model’s standards which had taken the entirety of twenty four tries. The king hadn’t shown pity in the face of the artist’s struggle, but he’d rewarded his asinine patience and his divine craftmanship with the honor of creating the kings’ wedding portrait.
That painting was five times the size of this one and was currently displayed in the throne room, hanging just above the seats of the two rulers carved out of fragments of the darkest obsidian, slim enough to be mistaken for glass, and shimmering emeralds, dousing the room in the softest shades of viridian whenever the king bothered to pull the curtains.
It had come in handy in the face of the king consort throne’s vacancy. It was good for the people to remember his face. Even if it didn’t look exactly like that anymore…
As an aspiring painter himself, Malleus recognized the advanced level of artistry that guided the artisan’s hand to the gentle dip of the colors transitioned through a hazy fog of shades in the obvious technique of sfumato, the soft brushes of the textures reflected in matt fabrics and glinting regalia shaded in such a three-dimensional way that made them appear carved rather than drawn, the confident lines of the shapes molded in a perfectly proportioned display of anatomical knowledge from the slick slide of hair to the hyaline membrane of his wings. If he closed his eyes, he was certain he’d be able to recreate it to a turn.
But for all his artistic appreciation of it, it was far from a faithful representation, twisting the depicted into a state of lifeless perfection that robbed them of reality’s unparalleled magnificence.
A primal example of it was the pristine state of his husband’s makeup that remained loftily intact, painting his eyes in the Draconias drab palette of dark greens and glittering golds, when in truth, every trace of the aforementioned pigmented hues had been dripping down his cheeks, forming smudged rivers of darkness that popped over his foundation-infused visage meant to transform his peachy complexion to a fae appropriate paleness.
Every cursed time those glorious orbs made of the dawn’s first light and the sunset’s last glow had shed lilac tears, had been engraved into his bitter soul, and even though the total was mercifully low given Silver’s aversion for dramatics, Malleus recalled the instance as if it had occurred yesterday.
He’d always thought his ethereal knight in shining armor had looked like a dream, one carved out of morning dew and syrupy nectar molded in calloused flesh and savory sweat, but on their wedding day, Silver had waltzed into the palace gardens looking like an absolute nightmare.
A younger version of Malleus would have felt a surge of possessiveness upon the sight of his human bathed in his family’s rich shades, but greediness was a trait of the wanting, not the having, and the days of guilty longing and quiet yearning had long since passed.
Silver’s uneven bangs had been slickened and pulled back to reveal a bejeweled forehead adorned in onyx stones and emerald gems that clashed against the soft hues of his downcast gaze. Black tulle hung over his shoulders, decorated in velvety roses that climbed his strong arms like vines, brushing over the high collar of his shirt that burst in a bush of raven feathers, the same that peaked over the end of his dragging gown.
The fae had been uncertain whether he’d loathed more the disgusting way his servants had attempted to bend Silver’s human features to resemble that of his kind, concealing his rose palms beneath silky black gloves, stitching asperous extensions to the back of his cloak meant to be slithered across the floor similarly to a tail and worst of all caging his round ears in a silver cuff meant to give them the desired elf-like effect, or whether he’d hated more the way they’d styled his long hair, falling freely like glassy waterfalls over his taut shoulders ever so resembling of his biological father.
After Lilia’s untimely death, Silver’s hair had reverted back to their original hues of gold for the entirety of a week, before the knight had begged his lord to change them back to the silvery shade of moonlight, and Malleus wasn’t about to refuse the sole request his guard had ever made. He had kept them long, the way the general had worn them during the war, out of a noble sense of respect, but Malleus had only seen them loose during sleep, thrown into ponytails and braids as soon as their owner rose from bed.
Overall, Silver looked like a fish out of water, a foreigner in a place that was going to be his home. It was customary for fae couples to look a certain way during wedding rituals, but it was also customary for couples of all species to seek each other’s happiness. And despite his best efforts to hide his feelings beneath a mask of neutrality, Silver did not look happy.
“Are you ready?”, the high priestess had asked, to which Silver had nodded placatingly, extending a gloved arm towards Malleus as ordained by the handfasting ritual.
The dragon inside him was ever so eager to grasp it, but if he were to be deserving of his groom, he would have to do things right.
So, he pulled the silken pair of gloves off and flicked the atrocious ear accessories into the floor, before his fingers traced those moon-kissed rivulets of hair, pulling them in a ponytail with trained gentle movements.
He couldn’t restrain himself from adding his personal touch, afterall an artist was always ever so set to display his own approach, as a swarm of fireflies of varying colors rested over his love’s head.
Pink for family.
Green for friendship.
And blue for love.
“Yes, I believe we are.”, the fae had conceded and Silver’s eyes hadn’t stopped leaking until every guest had gone home.
Tears of joy were similarly salty to their glum counterparts, but when Malleus had kissed them away, he discovered an aftertaste of sweetness clinging to his tongue, one that would take eons to erase, kingdoms’ rising and empires’ falling to forget.
At the end of the day, no amount of craftmanship and no degree of experience could ever wish to capture the beauty of those watercolor orbs, melting against the softest rays of sunlight, thriving below the coldest gleams of the moon. He’d tried himself, but his skills proved unfitting for the task, one that required he’d cage the skies, for the only way to capture Silver’s gaze would be by trapping dawn herself.
“Your highness I told you, you can't get up!” Sebek’s voice declared somewhere behind a pile of unopened boxes, and for all its restrained professionalism, Malleus could tell from the boisterous desperation that his knight of thunder was one step away from combusting.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”, a second voice piped confusedly, hoarse with age and brittle with fatigue, and the king’s steps towards the mayhem were brought to a halt.
How long since they’d last reunited? When was the last time he’d heard his lover’s voice?
It echoed so foreign compared to that of the young man monopolizing the fae’s mind, a figment of a long gone past.
It wasn’t too late to turn back.
But to run away now, to tuck his tail between his legs and scurry out of the room, as if jolted by the cruelest of nightmares, and seek refuge in the mundane haze of reality’s repetitive tasks, was blatant cowardice befitting of a bedwetting child rather than the ruler of a nation.
So, chased by the shadow of exceeding pride, fruit of a scaly heritage, Malleus allowed his hands a final sequence of curling and uncurling before stepping out of his paper-box hideout and into the light.
“Did father put you up to it?”, the gravelly voice echoed again, and even though every trace of confusion had been banished with the clarity of the new hypothesis, he recognized the familiar lilt of exasperation dragging the words ever so slightly yet impossibly prominently.
Silver may have always had a monstrous reserve of patience but after a lot of trial and a lot more error, the fae had discovered said deposits were far from bottomless.
Sebek’s on the other hand, leaned on the wee side, a fragile porcelain teacup filled to the brim with extra flammable oil waiting to be lit.
“YOUR HIGHNESS BE REASONABLE!”, the crocodile fae begged, but Malleus’s eyes weren’t on him, rather at the person his knight’s pulsating vein directed, the figure sitting amidst a heap of blankets on the double bed.
Although he supposed that sitting was not the appropriate word to describe the restless movements of his husband, wrestling with his bed sheets until he found himself trapped beneath a tangled nest of silk and his fuming caretaker until he found himself on the receiving end of Sebek’s ever so distinct fiery gaze.
Silver’s cheeks had turned into a flushed ruby color laced with a sweaty icing that glimmered under the light of the sun. Short pearly bangs clung onto his glossy forehead, the same uncomfortable way the collar of his nightwear licked his clammy neck, as his hands pressed against Sebek’s outstretched ones, summoning his whole strength to push against the half-fae’s stable grip that stranded him into the soft confines of his bed, in display of obvious physical strain that would have reminded Malleus of his knights’ training sessions had Sebek been applying a remotely substantial amount of resistance.
As it was, the scene was more similar of that of an aggravated mother easily overpowering her rebellious offspring.
“Stop calling me that!”, the human demanded, and the dragon shook his head, forcibly pulling his mind out of its addled trance that had transformed the figures in front of him into the inanimate canvas of the painting, forsaking, as he so regularly did, to tug along the jostling string of life.
“FOR THE THORN FAE’S SAKE SILVER-”
“What's going on here?” Malleus interjected with a politely curt cough, finally drawing attention to his presence, willing his voice into a level disinterested tone one would direct to a professional anonymous audience rather than a casual family setting.
“Your majesty!” Sebek exclaimed, as he pulled his body into a deep servile bow, releasing his prisoner from his fleshy manacles so abruptly, Silver’s face came slamming into the knotted den of bed sheets.
Both fae winced at the sight, the first one out of sympathy, the second out of alarm, as Sebek rushed to pull his friend’s sprawled body into a sitting position.
“His royal highness is feeling stubborn today.”, he hurried to explain, and Malleus couldn’t tell for sure whether the pinkish veil dusting his pale cheeks was to be ascribed to his previous flare of anger or to his current blunder, allowing the king consort to plunge into an untimely death by his lethal blankets on top of calling him by his first name, a mortal sin according to Sebek’s obstinate flawed logic, an error he kept succumbing to at the slightest rise of his temper.
Judging by the way those canary slitted eyes kept avoiding his own, the dragon was willing to bet on the second.
It took a moment for Silver to recover, a moment spent in silent observation.
Observation of the way the skin framing his husband’s cobweb eyelashes hung limply over his unclouded gems, like a fleshy drape caging his glorious gaze in a constant state of half-liddedness. He watched the way his ashen complexion creased in dry waterless rivers, and the way it dipped in blue tinted overflowing streams in a sequence of veins that made his visage look as if it’d had been stitched out of gauzy tulle and sheer chiffon. His lips were thin and colorless, his cheeks hollow and pallid, his prided silver hair thinning here and there, his lounging robes enormous against his sickly slim frame, beige sleeves ghosting over palms marred with age spots.
He didn’t recall them spreading so much.
However, his scrutiny ceased when the man’s amethyst gaze focused on him, and he allowed himself the curtest of breaths, bracing for the incoming silent treatment.
“Lord Malleus finally!” Silver exclaimed, and if the lightness of his name made his eyes widen in their milky confines, then the small sigh of content that brushed past those chapped lips left him entirely unbalanced. It only lasted a moment, before Silver’s thankful visage was overcome by a stroke of suspicion, “Wait, are you in on the prank?”
“I'm afraid not.”, he replied earnestly although his odd behavior did feel like a practical joke, if not a cause for concern, “Care to entertain your husband?”
“My husband?” Silver queried confusedly, shifting his attention to the wooden rafters of the ceiling, scrutinizing a hanging family of slumbering bats, before glancing at the oak door, as if expecting for someone to burst in, “I don't understand how that is supposed to be funny. Where is father anyway? He was looking forward to visiting the gardens.”
And for all his praised eloquence and his esteemed poise, Malleus was reduced in a blinking mess, opening and closing his jet-tinted lips without so much as a word escaping the clogged border of his throat.
Oh…
He caught sight of Sebek stirring from his peripheral vision, the distinct sound of a deep inhale warning him for the upcoming volume of his soon-to-be hollered words, but before his knight of thunder got the chance to engulf the room in his verbal storm, Malleus was moving towards the bed, resting a hand on its carved rails that travelled over the canopy in a ladder of cherry vines, and offering a reassuring smile.
“I'm afraid he couldn't wait for you to wake up. He's already left hours ago.”
“Oh…”, the human mumbled dejectedly, his fingers clenching around the soft bed sheets, as his downcast gaze focused on the soft sparks of whiteness dusting his flexed knuckles. Malleus had seen that expression plastered across Silver’s alabaster face a million times, which was a million times too many. He could tell with astute clarity where the wrinkles of age ended and the ridges of guilt began, “You shouldn't have stayed behind my lord. I apologize for having ruined your morning.”
“On the contrary my love.”, the fae blurted, forsaking to filter the term of endearment that slipped ever so easily into his words in his rush to prevent his husband from spiraling, a habit he’d grown out of in his adult years in the palace, but one the fae recalled indulging in a little too much during his teenage phase.
Luck was on his side, for Silver failed to notice his blunder, and beneath the calm surface of the day’s half full glass, Malleus decided to indulge the surge of spontaneity that seized his mind, “It’d be my honor to share your company. Are you up for a walk in the gardens now?”
“Yes.” Silver nodded instantly, turning his head back at Malleus to reveal a grateful smile, every trace of self-doubt put to rest similarly to the manhandled bed sheets released from the man’s tight grip, “We might be able to catch up with father if we rush.”
“There's no rush Silver.”, the dragon lamented, his eyes softening ever so slightly.
“We'll catch up eventually.”, he relented, for if there was a singular truth in life it was that the time spent beneath the clouds of the morning sky was limited, and even though Malleus’s gray horizon stretched centuries further that Silver’s cerulean own, the clock was ticking for all.
He’d just hoped his husband would be less eager to see the hours pass until his family reunion.
“What about staying with me and Sebek for now?”
“Of course, my lord.” Silver bowed his head respectfully and Malleus moved closer, his hands reaching for his husband’s reclined form.
“My king?” Sebek questioned expectedly, hovering awkwardly at the edge of his peripheral vision, arms lingering indecisively towards the pair, itching to break the spell of apathy and serve, but regretfully his aid would not be needed today.
“The weather is quite lovely Sebek, don't you agree?”, the king observed, not once glancing towards the sunbathed shimmering gardens stretching outside the ajar window, “Perfect for a morning stroll.”
One arm rested against Silver’s back, the other wrapped beneath his knees, as his lover’s body was pulled against his chest. The gesture was familiar, engraved in Malleus’s unconscious, as he moved with experienced precision, and a dash of personal indulgence, adjusting his grip to secure the comfort of the treasured cargo, as he so regularly did over the years whenever his knight of dreams had succumbed to his assigned realm.
“My lord you don't have to-”, the freight sputtered nervously pushing against the carrier’s chest in a feeble attempt to escape that caused Malleus’s frown to deepen.
“Save your strength my knight.”, he ordered, raising his voice in the commanding timbre of the all-powerful monarch, and to his satisfaction, this naïve and compliant version of Silver that had yet to develop a backbone against Malleus’s underhanded tactics -yet to push him away- was quick to oblige by clamping his mouth mercifully shut, “Otherwise, who's going to guard me when a threat appears?”
Silver shot a fleeting glance behind his shoulder, seeking his peer’s support, but when it became clear that Sebek would not interject, his lilac eyes darted back at Malleus with a glint of determination.
“I have been feeling unreasonably tired this morning. Like my limbs are heavier and there's this constant pain in my lower back. I must be coming down with a cold.”, he explained so impassively one might have thought he was stating the weather’s condition.
“Staying in my proximity would be unwise.”
Oh, Malleus had come to the same conclusion.
But now it was too late for tardy strokes of wisdom...
“What human ailment could ever harm a mighty fae?”, the dragon challenged, cocking a teasing eyebrow to his stubborn human, daring him to protest.
But even though Silver held his gaze for an honorably extended moment, the disinterested expression plastered across his face betraying nothing of his mental gears’ hard work to the untrained eyes and yet spilling everything to the experienced slitted pupils of this particular spectator, the battle was never tipped in his favor.
For all his disdain for petty arguments and unnecessary tension, a childish part of Malleus had always relished his victories in the couple’s few squabbles -despite most of them being a conscious product of his opponent’s surrender- and that warm snaking feeling of content seized him once again when Silver submitted his defeat, allowing gravity to overtake his body as he melted into the fae’s strong arms.
Malleus traversed the gloomy halls of the castle with a slow yet firm pace, making sure to minimize the jostling of his precious cargo to his best ability, as Sebek trailed behind the pair insistent to keep the pre-ordained distance of five steps. The rhythmic pitter-patter of gliding feet was joined by the cacophonous symphony of a storm when they reached the busier parts of the palace bustling with rushing valets and hardworking maids. They all strayed away from the trio with no signs of acknowledgment other than fleeting glances, curt bows and hushed murmurs.
Gossip rolled across the Draconia court the same way waves reeled across the ocean. Much like the Coral Sea’s abyss there were levels to it, with the harmless tattling between servants ranking at the bottom of an imaginary pyramid, rendering Malleus’s verbal interjection worthless. Nonetheless, discipline was essential and even though his mouth remained hermetically shut, the cold glare of displeasure held similar results, causing the tattling servants to scramble back to their duties.
In the height of spring, the gardens were lush, fragrant and mercifully empty. Not that the fae expected otherwise, afterall with the sun standing so high over their heads, the only ones up and about were the guards and the maids of the morning shift, as well as the foreign dignitaries unaccustomed to the circadian rhythms of the nocturnal realm.
Malleus was uncertain how many sleepless nights he’d spent couped inside his office, reviewing senatorial laws, administrative reports and financial analyses, traversing between conference rooms and hearing halls plunged in the thin veil of nightly darkness scarcely interrupted by dim flames of emerald, but when he felt his spine shiver under the freedom of the heavens, he knew with unabashed conviction that it had been way too long.
He paused on the precipice of the gardens, basking in the coolness of the morning breeze and the gentle warmth of the soft sunrays. On a normal day, the mere presence of the sun would have dragged his body with the overbearing weight of its anchoring company, causing his skin to prick and his eyes to twitch, a reminder that his twisting horns were not meant to reflect anything other than the moon’s dusky light, but right now all it seemed capable of doing was wash his body’s tension away, peeling every fragment of his kingly mask and leaving behind his raw soul.
Malleus was unsure when he’d closed his eyes, but when he felt the weight between his arms shift, they fluttered open, bringing him face to face with the most brilliant shade of an amethyst dawn. Silver’s lips remained shut, pressed in a thin wordless line, but his milky eyebrows twinged with worry.
The dragon dismissed his concern with a fond shake of the head, before resuming his course towards the small pond. He settled him down with such tenderness one would have thought Silver was made out of glass, making sure to place him close to the calm surface of the water were he to wish to dip his legs, right beneath the dense foliage of a willow tree providing ample shade for all three of them.
Not that Sebek was ever planning to join them. With a curt glimpse behind his shoulder, Malleus found him standing vigil next to the copper door, close enough to intervene in the event of a threat, yet far enough to provide the couple with a sense of privacy.
A flock of birds carrying every color of the rainbow materialized out of thin air, as if Silver had magically summoned them, and before the fae had had the chance to take a seat next to his husband, a herd of bunnies -that had sprung similarly mysteriously into existence- had snuck their way into his seat, raising a fluffy barrier between the two. Malleus sighed annoyedly, but Silver seemed comfortable in the midst of his furry blanket, hence there was nothing to be done other than surrender to nature’s forces.
The fae’s attention was diverted when he felt a small weight perching against his shoulder. His eyes widened slightly when they came face to face with the form of a gray bluebird with a singular blue fin nestled comfortably across his silk blouse.
Animals were not fond of him. They always stirred away from his presence. The few times he’d been approached by them, it had always been under the prompting of their silver-haired shepherd and even then, the dragon fae could tell that his touch no matter how tender and soft, always made them tense rather than purr, and his voice even though identical to the kind whispers of their herdsman, always made them flinch rather than rest.
The king reached a hand towards the rebellious bird, but before his blunt nails got to scratch its feathery softness, the sound of a voice made him freeze.
“Malleus.”
Over the years Malleus had developed an uncanny number of endearing terms to address his partner.
Darling. Dear. Love. Moon. Star and light of my universe.
The list was endless, for in the throes of his muse’s breathtaking gaze even the most mediocre artist could draw miracles.
A deep-rooted part of him, carved of a childhood deprived of emotional displays, chiseled in between the cold unfriendly environment of his grandmother’s court, longed to stake claim on the kind soul that had shown him he was capable of love, the unblemished psyche that deemed him deserving of saving even when he’d been consumed by rot. Unchained by youth’s constipated doctrines, those buttery terms of affection that dropped from his mouth as smoothly as droplets on a waterfall’s slide, were Malleus’s way of professing his love, echoing louder than it would if he were to scream it between the gargoyles of the castle’s towers or sing it across the fields of his kingdom’s land.
During the first period of their courting, watching Silver’s fair visage combust in every shade of red at the sound of his sugary words was one of his deepest indulgences, and even though after years of exposure, his partner’s cheeks would hardly darken at his scandalous antics, a dazzling smile was sufficient compensation.
And yet all his literary efforts to encapsulate his lover’s place in his heart paled in front of the mere call of his name.
Unburdened by titles.
Spoken like a love confession whispered between panting bodies becoming one under the starlit sky.
Spoken like an everyday greeting that had lost its shimmer in the cozy altar of routine.
Spoken like a poisonous insult honed against the whetstone of eternal regret.
And even though there was no visible change, no haze being lifted from clouded orbs, no light of recognition flashing across perplexed features, when Malleus turned to Silver, he knew he was facing the man he’d grown old with.
Or at least, the man he’d seen grow old.
Somewhere along the line of their blissful marital life, Silver had simply stopped remembering.
It had started of small with trivial occurrences that could have easily been written off as regular fits of fatigue. Afterall, for someone whose reality was founded on the continuous haze that came with reoccurring sleeping episodes of no consistency, confusing the dates of social gatherings, forsaking nobles he’d already been introduced to or mixing the sequence of ceremonial steps during the eleventh waltz of the night was not a matter of concern.
Or at least that’s what Malleus told himself to ease the weight that had found permanent residence in his heart, pulling its gracious host into a bottomless pit of guilt. For if he had been attentive of his partner’s patterns, if he hadn’t dismissed the most obvious of cues, if he hadn’t allowed himself to be lulled into a deceitful sense of peacefulness, he might have discovered Silver’s sickness while it was still treatable.
Or maybe the conclusion the army of physicians he’d hired as soon as he’d realized the extent of his husband’s mental damage was right and there was no need to beat himself up over the inevitable.
In any case, Malleus recalled with haunting clarity the dawning of Silver’s situation when one of his old classmates during their carefree days in NRC had paid the Draconia court an impromptu visit. The fae didn’t know much about Kalim al Asim, other than the fact that he was a shared friend of his two most treasured companions and that he happened to be one of the very few people his husband had kept in contact with years after he’d graduated.
The lively human had burst through the castle’s door with the brightest smile and rushed towards his old classmate with a childish fervor entirely unfitting of both his position as head of the Scalding Sands’ most influential merchant family and his snow-white bejeweled beard that rolled past the bump of his bloated stomach and hovered a couple menacing inches above the flat surface of the castle’s marble floor.
Malleus was hardly able to keep up with the boisterous flow of Asim’s conversation that had quickly shifted into a solitary monologue, and even though the man’s excitement was reminiscent of a certain bat fae’s spirited antics, the king was grateful for the peace of quiet that reigned after his swift departure.
“Was that a new dignitary from the Scalding Sands?” Silver’s voice had rung inquiringly, and every muscle the dragon’s imposing frame possessed had frozen in place.
Malleus had tried his best to keep Silver’s condition under wraps, but as his symptoms escalated, it was impossible to keep the news of his mental deterioration from circulating across the court. Hushed whispers exchanged secretly between the servants, bold remarks shared recklessly among the nobles, until everyone was talking about the mad king, a caricature of man starring in ludicrous gossip.
During that first transitioning period, Blackscale castle had been engulfed in the permanent embrace of storm clouds, mirroring their master’s inner state, immersing the valley in thunder and torrent at the slightest comment on Silver’s condition. The court had become accustomed to draconic fits of rage and the earthquakes that accompanied them, to threats of banishment and the revocations of centuries-old titles that escorted them, the same way their king had become accustomed to lingering behind closed doors and extending a perked ear to private conversations, to wandering off the halls under the guise of invisibility spells and keeping an observant eye out for insolent conspirators.
In the end, the circulating rumors about the king going mad were far from baseless.
They had simply missed their target.
At some point Silver had suggested he moved out of their shared bedroom. It wasn’t unheard of for couples to sleep separately, in fact when it came to royalty it was the norm, another ancient rule their unlikely union had shattered, but Malleus had turned the offer down immediately. It had taken years of coaxing, of waking up at the shrill sound of breaking glass and the heart wrenching cries for a father that had long passed, of filling their only sanctuary, the sacred place where slitted eyes ceased their prying, with more bad than good memories, until the fae had relented.
And every one of his forever promises of becoming the beacon amidst his mind’s storm, of carving a shelter for the two of them at horizon’s end, of standing between the heavens and the earth had been silently revoked, broken as soon as the cosmic collision grew too heavy to bear.
Of course, Silver’s new room was created upon Malleus’s unbending guidelines that called for palatial luxury, guaranteed security and pleasant companionship, but most importantly, expert medical attention, all of which were provided at the end of the hall. Afterall, the king’s plan had been founded on the principle of regular visits. Malleus would visit whenever he managed to steal a moment of reprieve from his ample duties and Silver would visit… well, he’d visit whenever he wished.
Somewhere along the line of this new arrangement, it had dawned at the fae that Silver just never wished that.
In the beginning he’d been quick to discard the thought, throw it out of the stained glass window and let the wind whisk it away, but when his husband repeatedly refused his persistently desperate offers for company, when he shut down every chance at a conversation, when he went as far as to chastise Malleus for the mortal sin of paying him a visit, what other conclusion was he to draw?
Malleus had always been more prone to dramatics, the king of holding a grudge, the champion of reaching the last straw, the worst to contain his despair. Yet his amassed feelings, tangled in a conflicted knot, thrust upon a wall, as the unstoppable force met an immovable object and for all his patient attempts, all his anguished outbursts and ire-driven single player screaming matches, his lover, the one he’d held and kissed and traced a thousand times, returned nothing, and in between the coldness of nothingness, the distance grew.
The bitterness festered within the fae’s battered soul until he was dripping with rage and rotten thoughts. And once he found himself clinging to the sole version of Silver that was not behaving like an empty shell of a man, the delirious part of him stuck on different phases of a past, staging performances of varying roles -from the son waiting at the cottage and the student falling asleep at school, the picture perfect knight proving himself to the court and the grieving child feeling left behind, to the bashful object of his affections and the wise man who’d always stood by his side- breathing the wilted corpse with life, Malleus decided it was better for the both of them that he stopped visiting.
“What are you doing here?” Silver inquired, his voice bordering a territory between confusion, irritation and something heavier Malleus failed to decipher, before the human broke into a coughing fit that caused the woodland creatures to tense and the night creature to wince.
“My morning schedule was unexpectedly emptied.” Malleus lied, hoping Silver would be far too preoccupied with the hacking episode currently raging war against his chest to call him on it, “It’s been a while since we’ve spent some time together. I thought it would be most appropriate.”
Once again, he should have known better.
“I thought fae couldn't lie.” Silver challenged and Malleus held the odd conviction that he was deliberately trying to push that unreadable heaviness from his words.
“And I thought we’d established well into our marriage the difference between fables and reality.”, he quipped, and even though his husband’s features preserved their displeased frown that made those violet eyes pop comedically over balding brows, a flash of mirth tugged his thin lips into a semblance of a smile.
He had indeed missed the sight of that soft grin that shone undeterred by the distorted curves of the added wrinkles, but most of all he’d missed being the cause behind it.
“I noticed you have changed rooms.”, he started diplomatically, barely keeping out of his voice the underlying tone of anger that seized his body at the mere reference of the incident, “Was the one on the tower not to your liking?”
The frown deepened, erasing the mercifully light smile, as suspicion overtook the human’s watercolor features, along with a familiar crease of guilt.
Silver wasn’t naïve enough to believe he was the one held on trial here, nor was he soft enough to feel pity at his scheming advisors’ extent. In another lifetime, back when Malleus was still gazing at the starlit sky over the antefixes of Ramshackle dorm, that pure child of spring would have been upset at the punishment of his own aggressor. But even though the fae had always reserved a silky spot in his heart for that gullible awfully forgiving boy, he wasn’t the man he fell in love with.
The man who overcame every adversity when all odds were stuck against him.
The man who carved his own path instead of asking for a permission to exist.
The man who did not shy from his glare but faced it with a glower of his own.
That man albeit gracious and just, had no tears to spear for greedy advisors and bootlicking servants who held nothing but resent towards his very own nature, so the dragon was entirely lost at the sight of regret that laced his words.
“I grew up in a cottage.”, he argued, averting his gaze to the pond stretching beyond their feet, and Malleus felt a childish sense of envy over the bucolic scenery of bentgrass and poppies that had beat him to Silver’s attention, “I am not fussy when it comes to decorations, but… the air up the tower was thin.”
“Understandable.”, the fae relented, because despite his inexperience in the field of war, one thing Malleus had picked over the years spent in the fae court was that strategic retreat worked wonders compared to frontal assaults, and a false sense of peacefulness was the most fertile ground for a sudden attack, “Did the royal physician come to that conclusion or was it one of my meddlesome advisors?”
“I like my new room.” Silver insisted stubbornly, but two could play this game and when it came to obstinacy, as told time and time again, the dragon commanded the domain.
“Splendid.”, he exclaimed, clapping his hands in an unconvincing display of delight that had the entourage of fur scrambling back to the depths of the gardens. All apart from his gray bluebird with the singular blue fin, that was still observing the couple’s little quarrel from Malleus’s shoulder, “Since my husband enjoys the new living arrangements then I will as well. I’ll have the servants fetch my things to the room next to yours.”
The fae pretended to jerk up, composing a magnificent performance of shifting his weight in preparation to rise to his feet to presumably notify a string of servants of his glorious decision, before a hand latched into his own, pulling him back to the softness of the grassy floor. Malleus could have easily broken away from Silver’s hold had he wanted to and judging by the pleading spark flashing over that timeless gaze, the human knew that as well.
But the fae had no desire to leave, and so with the feeblest guidance from that shaky limb, Malleus settled between the curve of the willow tree’s twisted roots once again.
“That’s unnecessary.” Silver declared, and it seemed that the fae’s little stunt had crowned him king in the quest for attention, for now he found himself bathing into twin lilac lakes and under the prickly iciness of their creased disappointment, Malleus’s felt his own forehead wrinkle into a defensive scowl.
“I deem it essential.”, he grumbled petulantly, and if he’d thought Silver’s gaze had been cold, then the disappearance of his pale spotted hand that had settled just over his own, left his skin entirely frozen.
“The king can’t sleep outside the royal quarters Malleus. That’s a breach of security protocol.”, his husband explained clearly and slowly as if addressing one of his foolish advisors that possessed the brain capacity of a peanut.
“One king already does.”, he bit back.
“Quit being so stubborn!”, the other snapped.
“I’ll cease once you will!”
His voice ruffled the leafy curtain that draped around the willow tree, bouncing off the dense emerald walls until its echo died and, in its absence, silence reigned. Malleus hadn’t realized he’d raised his voice this high until the thick fog of quietness poked its humid whisps against his flesh, absorbing his body’s tension like a sponge, as it slipped through the collar of his shirt in an awkwardly humid way that raised a chilling array of goosebumps at the back of his neck.
However, the metaphorical cloud of silence was not to be blamed for the prickling droplet of water that landed on top of his nose, and as Malleus blinked away the traces of blurry anger that amassed across the edges of his eyes like sleep crust, he saw that beyond the shelter of the foliage, it was beginning to rain.
The sizzling noise of the soft drizzle meeting the surface of the pond, sliding across tall blades of uncut grass before embracing the soil, rolled over the pair, and even though the natural ceiling made of lace-shaped leaves and crooked branches offered enough coverage, Malleus cast a shielding spell for a good measure.
Silver shifted next to him, and the fae was convinced he’d attempt to walk into the rain thinking that stumbling over unsteady legs weakened with age and unuse was a better alternative to staying warm and dry if it meant staying in Malleus’s presence, but instead of stretching his limbs, the human pulled them closer, bringing his knees against his chest and unfastening his shoes. His bare feet straightened across the barbed grass, poking out of the willow’s drape, dipping into the coolness of the rain, as his head leaned comfortably against the bark.
Malleus hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, until a puff of relief escaped his bitten lips.
This was the longest conversation they’d had in years.
“Care to feed the ducks with me?”, the fae offered timidly, as if afraid the mere volume of his voice would shatter their fragile truce and even though Silver was not one to cower in front of his anger, the same could not be said for the raw expression Malleus was sporting right now that caused his husband’s gaze to trail to the ground.
However, the fae refused to leave him from his sight. Because there was no guarantee that if he tore his eyes from his partner’s shrunk frame for even the briefest moment whether Silver would still be here next time he decided to look. The next time he summed up the courage to cross that hall.
“A king’s time is valuable.”, the man recounted soullessly, as if trying to remind himself, “Keeping you to myself when the kingdom is hanging from your shoulders is unsound if not selfish-”
“I’d hope you developed a little bit of selfishness when it comes to your husband.”, the fae interrupted, light words paired with a disappointed sigh dragged a little too deeply to convince anyone, to which said husband blinked, struggling to grasp the thread of his memorized tirade. Not that Malleus had any intention of letting him continue with his foolish train of thoughts.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cornered Silver like that, pinned him into place and forced full-fledged if not ridiculous responses out of him.
He’d utilized his chance the best he could with an awfully self-indulgent attempt at teasing.
“You wound me, Silver. And here I thought age had mellowed your rigidly noble ideals.”, he mocked, placing one forlorn hand upon his chest, while the other reached for his face, a careful talon reaching to wipe a nonexistent tear across his pale cheek.
And if a part of the fae had begun questioning this unbelievable anomaly of their lonesome routine, treating Silver’s feeble attempts at pushing him away as a figment of a wild imagination, a delusional outburst of the true mad king, then what came next solidified every suspicion that today was but a vivid dream.
Because after his partner was done blinking dumbfoundedly at Malleus’s smug face came the unimaginable.
He laughed.
And it was neither uproariously boisterous, the type he reserved for Sebek’s unconsciously humorous antics, nor was it surprisingly spontaneous, the kind he saved for his late father’s terrible jokes, and it was definitely not discreetly complacent, the one he’d indulge in light of Malleus’s childish pouts -a fragment of his human imagination, for kings did not pout! - but it was a laugh nonetheless.
“It will take more than age to mellow down my oath of fealty.”, he said, his voice ringing raspy and gruff, yet Malleus recognized the underlying lightness for what it was. Silver’s familiarly pathetic attempt at teasing back.
“A knight’s oath over our wedding vows?”, the fae mulled scandalously, barely keeping the giddiness out of his voice, much less his face that struggled to remain neutral under the pull of his lips, “What a crooked line of priorities.”
Silver’s smirking visage turned away from the rainy sky and towards him, a biting remark hanging from the edge of his tongue ready to be released, and Malleus edged to continue their little banter, before his husband’s deflated like a toddler’s balloon bursting at the spikes of the roof.
“Have you been neglecting your sleep?”, he asked, cocking a concerned eyebrow, as his arms crossed over his chest like a mother hen fretting over her fledglings. Malleus often wondered what kind of parent Silver would make. It was a shame they’d never find out.
“Fae don’t need sleep.”, the fae lied, impressed by the human’s ability to always tell when he’d reached his limits, even when he himself was unaware, yet not surprised. Afterall Silver had become an expert at identifying his exhaustion, even when it was buried below generous applications of eyeshadow across his dark circles and foolproof glamours casted over his rattled frame.
“And here I thought we’d established well into our marriage the difference between fables and reality.”
“Twisting my words against me? What a defiant knight.”
“It has come in handy once or twice.”, his husband reminded him, and even though the traces of disapproval clung obstinately, Malleus didn’t miss the familiar twinge of a grin that caused his lips to crease in quiet reminisce.
The fae’s smirk shifted into something softer at the reminder of their high school years. If it wasn’t for Silver’s rebellion, he’d never get to witness this life, he’d never get to sit under the willow tree and listen to his heartbeat accelerate at every word that slipped past his lover’s mouth. And perhaps another day, a bad day, he’d be less appreciative of the gifts he’d received, but now, under the gentle drizzle of the heavens and the lulling rhythm of Silver’s breaths, he was grateful for this life.
“You shouldn’t forgo your rest just because I’m not around to remind you.”, the human mumbled and Malleus felt himself shatter under the kindness of his voice, waves of fatigue rolling over heavy limbs, as if the acknowledgment of his tiredness had breathed life to it.
“I remember it the other way around.”, he muttered, recalling all the times he’d dragged Silver from overtime training, overnight working and overall activities of self-draining his lover had always had a penchant for.
“As if I ever had trouble sleeping.”, he chuckled in response, and even though he momentarily tensed at the weight of the fae’s head pressing against his shoulder, he quickly recovered, rearranging his position until Malleus’s head was resting against his lap.
He remembered how firm they once were, coated with taut muscles that shuddered at his lustful touch.
“That’s sensible.”, the fae proclaimed at the gesture, nuzzling against the bony uncomfortable pillow, as he gazed up at Silver’s sheepish face. “You can hardly protect me from that distance. We wouldn't want me dying on your watch.”
“I think the kingsguard has that handled.” Silver replied with not an ounce of bitterness. Malleus barely resisted the urge to purr when a spindly finger pushed aside his bangs to draw circles over the dragon mark adorning his forehead in the most tantalizingly pleasing way.
“Oh, the palace is swarming with traitors. You can't possibly abandon my safety to the hands of a string of liars.”
“I handpicked and trained each and every one of these liars.”
“They're still light years below your level dear.”
“Well, they have all the time in the world to catch up.” Silver provided encouragingly, gaining a displeased frown from the fae. Because it was the truth. The fae lining to be accepted as his personal guards had decades to hone their skills, centuries to climb the ranks, eons to serve the king, whereas Silver’s existence waned, a scheduled eclipse that grew closer with the day.
Suddenly, the comforting circles came to a halt and Malleus jerked up at the sight of discomfort marring Silver’s face.
“Are you in pain?”, he sputtered worriedly, his hands moving to grasp his lover’s pinched visage, “Do you want me to call the physician?”
“No, it’s fine. It doesn't hurt more than usual.” Silver replied, and even though Malleus knew the words were meant for comfort, they seemed to bring the opposite result, for the usual amount of pain should be no amount of pain. But even if he itched to spell his husband’s discomfort away, even if he was willing to bargain with the fates and take every bit of that horrid pain, as he came to learn, the inescapable curse of aging held no regard for royal status and magical prowess, and neither did Silver, who pushed the obsidian hands resting over his cheeks, coaxing the fae to his previous place.
“Besides I couldn't possibly abandon you in a time of need. Both the knight’s oath and the wedding vows concur with that.”, he said, before his gaze shifted to the pond, his pale eyes assuming a distant tint, as if he were staring at something beyond the span of the fae’s enhanced senses.
“Let's stay here for a little longer.”, he whispered. Malleus knew that if Silver was in pain, a visit to the royal physician should take priority, but he couldn’t bring himself to part from this dream where his lover finally asked him to stay, and in his selfishness, he remained still, emerald eyes drifting between the ruffling ceiling of lance-shaped leaves, and the storm brewing sky.
“I love you.”
The words never reached their recipient for Silver had expectedly fallen asleep, but perhaps that was for the best. Because if he were awake, if the fae was facing his reflection over his lover’s glass-stained gaze framed by wrinkles and age spots that grew with the day, maybe the words wouldn’t come as easy, spoken with no weight. Perhaps if he paused to think them, to allow their mass to settle against his soul, they could meet the wind with a heaviness unbecoming of love. Glazed with bitterness, coated with sadness, dusted with a sprinkle of fatigue, not the type that formed circles below tired eyes, rather the kind that accompanied the hollowness of an immortal’s life.
Malleus didn’t wish to taint the words, the way he’d tainted his heart.
So, he fell asleep, content to bask in the silence of the gardens, and when his eyes fluttered open, his head was no longer resting against Silver’s lap, rather against the bark of a willow tree, and when his gaze searched for his partner, he found him laying snugly against his leg, their positions entirely reversed.
Only the Silver resting on his lap was not the same he’d dragged out of his room this morning. This version of his lover had no wrinkles marring his face, no lines paving veiny rivers across ashen cheeks. This was the man Malleus had fell in love with.
“I love you too.”
Silver said, but the fae’s trained ear caught more than love coating his words. Glazed with guilt, coated with loneliness, dusted with a sprinkle of fear, not the type that sprung over a nightmare, rather the kind that festered upon the closeness to a mortal’s end.
This version of Silver, brimming with life boiling with youth, had never professed his love this way. As if it were an anchor, a burden and a curse.
And suddenly they were facing each other with bleeding hearts laid in the open and it was too late to worry about tainting words when the rot had already set in their souls.
“You know you shouldn't exert yourself.” Malleus mumbled, breaking past the cottony barrier of conflicting emotions clogging his throat.
“You're always taking such good care of me Malleus.”, Silver breathed, as the dam over his eyes’ misty surface broke and a watercolor downpour painted his cheeks in the pastel shades of the early dawn.
“It’s unwise to stay in my proximity.”, he warned shakily, trembling hands shifting to push the fae away, only to nestle against Malleus’s own, as the fae pulled them against his chest, leaning down to press his lips against those merciful rivers of sadness.
“I’ve never been wise in your absence.”, he whispered in between kisses.
“I’m sorry.” Silver whimpered like a child.
“I am not.”, the fae lied, feeling his senses dissolve in the lulling ambiance of the dream and his soul rest at the familiar tug of Silver’s unique magic.
More tears kept coming, more choked apologies carried with the wind.
The lit windows of the humble cottage were the sole source of light beneath the moonless sky and from its general direction Malleus heard the gentle melody of an old lullaby and smelled the crude stench of his late friend's cooking, but he refused to lift his eyes from his tear-stricken knight.
Because any moment now, Silver would regain enough courage to break his spell, to return to the distance of that cursed hallway, and resume pushing Malleus away.
And worse, Malleus would allow it.
For if he tore his eyes away from his partner’s withering frame, he didn’t have to be reminded of his ephemerality. If he never visited the end of the hall, maybe Silver would reside in it forever. If he clung to this dead version of an eternal lover, this timeless frame painted with fireflies on silver hair, he wouldn’t have to face the empty shell of his partner.
And maybe it was monstrous of him to live in the past when it had yet to pass, but Silver was just as guilty as he was. Because he may have broken the first clause of the contract, he may have neglected his partner in sickness, he may have allowed him to shunt himself away from everything and conceded to be pushed aside, but Silver was the one to break the second condition from the start.
Until death did them apart.
What a silly notion that was. What an utterly cruel lie.
For Silver will fade and Malleus will remain, hanging from a love that was promised to come with an expiration date. And when those auroral eyes rot and those moon-kissed strands decay, when maggots eat his lover's flesh and flies sneak into his knight’s hollow frame, there will be nowhere for their love to lay, nowhere to bury it but his empty chest and under the weight of its owner's unimaginable pain, Malleus will be lonely once again.
Fae can lie and so does Malleus when he parts his night-touched lips and utters soft words of reassurance, accepting every pearl of apology dripping over Silver’s gaze. But the truth is, he'll never forgive his lover for leaving him behind, for teaching him the joys of life only to die.
How horrible to mourn someone that was simply down the hall.
How cruel to know you’ll be haunted by leaking amethyst orbs at the sight of every future dawn.