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Chapter Text

The sun was too bright. Towns in Zaun—including the capital city of Entresol—were half-underground. Even out in the air, Zaun’s mountains and foggy skies softened the sun’s blow. Silco squinted out the window at Piltover’s sea glare, and then he shut the curtain and leaned back in his seat.

“Remind me one more time what demands I’m making,” Silco said, though he’d been through the plan with his advisors a dozen times.

The coach clattered down a cobblestone path. Bright city noises reached them through the walls, reminiscent of Entresol’s ruckus as long as Silco didn’t draw back the curtain. Vendors hawked their wares. Horse hooves clopped on stone. Here and there, street musicians strummed lutes and tapped little drums.

On the seat across from him, Sevika scanned a scroll. “The biggest thing to push for is the reparations for damaging that mine. If you could talk them into export taxes on all our mining outputs, that would be excellent, but we at least want money for the victims’ families and to fund repairs.”

“And I want that mage,” Silco added. According to Singed, a powerful mage named Viktor practiced in Piltover’s court, a man originally from Zaun who’d apprenticed under Singed as a child. He’s brilliant, said Singed, a generational magical talent and creative to boot. But he was stifled in Piltover, forced to work on projects decreed by the ubiquitous authority of the Council.

One of Silco’s goals for his reign was to bring more artistic and scholastic talent to Zaun. Their nation was rich in land and resources, but as long as the scientists, scholars, and craftspeople were based in lands like Piltover, Zaun would just keep shipping its resources out of the country. What was the value of precious gems or seams of silver if richer nations grabbed them as soon as they were out of the ground?

Vander’s rule had been characterized by a policy of compliance and non-aggression toward Piltover; he feared Piltover crippling Zaun if they cut off trade. This policy had not been popular with everyone. Vander didn’t rock the boat, but he didn’t push back against Piltover’s bullying, either. Piltover saw Zaun less as a sovereign nation and more as a mercantile supply of raw materials. Silco, therefore, had branded himself as Vander’s opposite—a leader who would be aggressive in his foreign relations, who sought to create a powerful and independent Zaun. His coup several years ago had had strong public support, and support had only grown stronger in the years since.

“I don’t know how likely that is to happen,” Sevika replied, rolling up the scroll and tucking it into her armor. She didn’t bother with a gauntlet on her left hand, which was made of metal. “Why would they give a court mage to you?”

“They won’t care,” Silco said with more confidence than he felt. “He’s a Zaunite. He’s not titled. They don’t even trust him to pick his own projects. To them, he’s an ornament, just another mage to fill out their glorious ranks, not a source of power.”

Sevika grunted, which meant either that she disagreed with her king but felt there was no benefit to arguing or that she didn’t care one way or the other.

Zaun was a simple monarchy; in contrast, Piltover was ruled by a council of seven High Noble families, each of whom appointed a single representative to fill their ancestral seat. Politics involved complex squabbling between these families as they jostled for influence. Silco had a council, too, but he’d appointed most of the people on it, and it served an advising rather than a governing role.

The Council of Piltover ruled from a grand, wide palace that doubled as an academy. Scholars traveled from distant lands to study its libraries and to earn sponsorships from the ruling families. One day, Silco vowed, Zaun would be wealthy enough to throw money at schools of researchers; pilfering this mage was a start. One man, one scholar well-funded and allowed to run free could change the world. Consider the success of shimmer, distilled by the mad mage Singed.

The coaches halted in front of the grandest of the palace’s entrances, and a butler opened the door for Silco. Others let the rest of Silco’s entourage out of his remaining coaches. “Welcome to Piltover, Your Majesty,” the closest butler said. He wore white livery including gloves with embossed gold buttons. Had that gold come from Zaun? Had Silco mined it in his youth?

Sevika’s knights fell into formation around Silco. For maximum intimidation factor, she’d picked the ugliest of the lot, and a few of them had hit shimmer before this trip; they sported bulging muscles and glowing, purple eyes.

Piltover thought the denizens of Zaun were brutes, and Silco saw no reason to disavow them of this notion right before he made demands. Let them be afraid. Let them wonder at the consequences of poking a bear on chems.

“Thank you,” Silco told the butler. “Is the Council ready to receive me?”

“They are assembled and waiting, my lord. If you’ll please follow me?” The butler glanced at Silco’s burly knights and took half a step in the wrong direction before correcting himself and leading Silco inside.

The palace gleamed as white as a drake’s tooth. Silco’s boots clicked on marble floors. Crown molding of vines and flowers curled beneath ceilings and around doorways. Silco preferred the dark, rough quarry stone of his own palace. The walls of this gilded monstrosity were so polished, Silco could see his face in them, which ruined the spotless facade. Silco smirked to himself, twisting the scars on his cheek. He’d left his makeup off, and Silco couldn’t look less like he belonged here.

Guards in silver armor trimmed with gold opened the double doors to the council chamber. The table at which the councilors convened was circular—democratic. Seven high-backed chairs were occupied. Someone had added one shorter, wooden chair from a different set.

The herald announced, “His Royal Majesty, King Silco of Zaun, First of His Line.”

What a nice, subtle touch of venom they’d added to his title. Zaunites didn’t have last names; of course Silco had no lineage as these people thought of it. Silco strode up to the table and took the seat obviously left for him. Some of the councilors just stared, while others nodded to Silco.

He cast his eyes around the circle, putting faces to the names he’d studied prior to this meeting. There were Councilors Salo, Kiramman, Shoola, and Hoskel, each the heads of their respective Houses. As guardian of the little Damalion boy, Councilor Bolbok occupied the House Damalion seat and would until the boy grew up. Likewise, Councilor Medarda filled the House Kraxi seat; she was a Noxian princess who had, for some reason, been raised with the Kraxi family in Piltover. Silco didn’t know the story there. The last member of the Council was Heimerdinger—a Yordle and a mage. He was the first to welcome Silco.

“Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure to have you here!” Heimerdinger even sounded like he meant it. “Thank you for accepting our invitation.”

The other councilors looked less enthused. They eyed Silco with caution or open distrust.

“The pleasure is mine,” Silco replied. “It’s not every day that Piltover begs us for forgiveness.”

A crowd lined the periphery of the room, and at Silco’s words, they murmured amongst themselves. Knights in undented armor stood at every window. Nobles here to observe perched on cushioned chairs, accompanied by attendants. A couple of scribes scribbled the notes of the meeting.

Then Silco saw him: Viktor was here. Silco knew him by Singed’s description—a thin young man in a leg brace—but Singed hadn’t mentioned how striking he was. Magi shared a commonality of looking uncommon. They dressed in strange clothes. Their bodies sported magical modifications. But Silco was used to magi like Heimerdinger and Singed and the tattooed priestesses of Janna’s temple—odd, not beautiful. Viktor was both.

Purple webbing crept down his cheeks and neck and over his hands. His robes were cinched with an elaborate, criss-crossing leather belt, and from it hung a few pouches and corked jars. Bits of his shoulder-length hair were pulled back to reveal a shock of bleached strands on the underside.

Silco could have stared at him for hours, but Viktor locked eyes with him, cocking his head like a kestrel, and Silco returned his attention to the meeting.

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Hoskel dismissively. “We want the fighting to stop, in any case.”

The fighting. Two weeks ago, soldiers from Piltover had tried to capture a coal mine near the border. The attack hadn’t gone well. The mine was deep, complex, and better navigated by the miners than the invaders. The skirmish had morphed into a drawn-out conflict. After days of truces and digging, they finally got the trapped miners and foreign soldiers out—the ones still alive, that was—but both nations had gathered reinforcements, and tensions threatened to escalate into war.

Piltover were the aggressors and had the decency to admit it, so they’d invited Silco to peace talks.

“I am happy to pull my troops back from the border and resume peaceful relations with Piltover,” Silco said. “I have a few small requests to put in our treaty, and then we can sign and be done with it.”

“Of course,” said Medarda, a shrewd, elegant woman with thin gold face paint. “What are your terms?”

“Since the target of this heinous attack was a mine, a five percent export tax on all mined goods seems appropriate.”

“You’re out of your mind,” said Salo.

“What about three percent?” asked Kiramman, drumming her fingers on the table.

“What about a five percent tax, but just on coal?” countered Bolbok. “It was a coal mine.”

Silco shook his head. “Coal, precious stones, and precious metals. A tax paid by Piltover to the crown of Zaun, to be used at Zaun’s discretion.” He lifted a finger. “I also want reparations in coin now, for the rebuilding of the mine and to pay to the families of the victims.”

Kiramman spoke to Salo. “How about you pay these reparations and taxes, since your greed initiated this conflict?” The attacking soldiers had come from Salo’s lands.

Salo scoffed, but he looked nervous. “Scapegoat me if you’d like, but we all would have benefited if we’d acquired that mine.”

“We can discuss where the money will come from later, among ourselves,” said Heimerdinger. “For now, let’s iron out the terms of the treaty.”

“I’d like to iron out all the details,” said Bolbok.

The benefits of a singular king, Silco decided, included that in negotiations, Zaun could present one negotiator—one interest, a united front. These politicians couldn’t help their petty squabbling, even in front of an enemy sovereign.

How could anything be agreed upon if the governing body contained seven separate parties, each defending their own interests? How long would Silco have to listen to the Council argue? A king could say, “Enough!” and make a decision, whereas this group might debate for days while accomplishing nothing.

Silco hoped he wouldn’t be here for days. The stares of the gathered nobles dripped down him like slime.

Medarda raised a cool, manicured hand. “Reparations for the violence inflicted by Piltover are more than fair,” she said. “We’ll cover the cost of repairs to the mine, at a value agreed upon by a team of Zaunite and Piltovian engineers who will assess the damage together. In addition, we’ll pay a five-year’s salary to the families of the victims.”

Ah, Piltover did have a king. Silco understood, now, and he focused his attention on Medarda. “And cover the salaries of the time missed by all the workers affected by the attack,” he added, “who can’t work while repairs are underway.”

Medarda nodded. “Fair enough. But as for the five percent export tax, I worry that it will affect trade between our nations and hurt both sides.”

Hoskel laid crossed arms on the table. “Your terms are unreasonable. You’re asking too much.”

“You invited me here to sue for peace,” Silco said, standing. His chair scraped along the marble. “Or have I misunderstood?”

“Save the theatrics, trencher,” said Salo. He waved Silco back into his seat, as if Silco were a dog to obey his commands.

Silco asked himself what Vander would have done, and then he did the opposite. He braced his hands on the table and leveled a glowing glare at the councilors in their ivory tower who fancied themselves better than him. “My army is assembled and ready for battle. You aggressed. We’ll retaliate. When’s the last time your soldiers were truly tested in battle?”

“You wouldn’t,” said Hoskel. “If it came to all-out war, Piltover would win, and you know it. Our army is better trained and better funded.”

“Maybe,” Silco said, “and maybe not. My soldiers are miners and fishermen and mountain men. Yours are pampered second-sons.” He watched them glance at the knights behind Silco—at the metallic limbs, the magenta eyes, the tattoos. He watched them calculate the chances of a victory and the losses victory would cost. “Are you willing to risk it?”

“Please,” Medarda said, “sit. No one here wants war.” None of the others disagreed with her.

Silco sat. “Five percent,” he said.

The councilors glanced at each other. Then they began to argue again.

Silco resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands and groan. He kept a calm mask up while the debate raged on. Even some of the observing nobles grew bored with the proceedings and slipped out of the room. A woman hid a yawn behind her fan. Zaunites were called rude names, and smoke came out of Heimerdinger’s ears (literally) as he launched into a speech about tolerance and cooperation.

By the time the dust settled and the group had agreed on a four percent tax, a classic compromise that left everyone unhappy, Silco was ready to scream and burrow back underground like a fox. He felt as if he’d been awake for days. He’d been insulted, flattered, and treated like a child. Salo reminded him that his kingship was still relatively new, and added that “Vander would never have used his soldiers’ lives as a bargaining tool,” and Silco reminded him that Vander’s opinion didn’t much matter these days, since Silco had killed him. Hoskel had called Silco’s coup “uncivilized.” Silco had laughed at him.

So the meeting had dragged, and Silco’s fuse was short.

It just slipped out.

Medarda asked if Silco had any other terms, and Silco pointed to Viktor. “What’s your name?” he asked, just to be certain he had the right mage.

Heads around the room turned toward the young man sitting on the sidelines, behind Heimerdinger. Who? The mage? Why had Silco singled out this random onlooker after a whole meeting of ignoring the audience? What awful surprise were the Zaunites planning?

“It’s Viktor, my lord,” he said.

Good. Silco told the Council, “I want him, too. That’s my final condition.”

“For what purpose?” asked Heimerdinger as his fluffy eyebrows narrowed. “He’s a valuable assistant.”

Don’t reveal how much you want him, Silco told himself, lounging casually in his seat. Don’t let the Piltovians know how valuable Viktor truly is as a scientist and a powerful magician if all they’re using him for is assistance. “He’s handsome.” Silco shrugged. “I want to fuck him.”

The esteemed councilors competed to outdo each other in their expressions of rage.

“Preposterous!”

“We don’t sell our own people to monsters!”

“It’s out of the question!”

Viktor narrowed his eyes at Silco. He dragged an appraising look down Silco’s body, as if deciding whether or not Silco would be pleasant to fuck.

Silco looked instead at the councilors. He would apologize for frightening Viktor later, in private, but first he had to get these councilors to agree to hand him over.

“I’ll do it,” said Viktor, cutting through the shouting and quieting it instantaneously.

Heimerdinger said, “But, my boy—”

“If this is the price of peace,” Viktor said, “I’ll pay it. Make the treaty.”

Silco asked, “You’ll cut all ties to Piltover and swear fealty to me?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Token protests followed, but the councilors must have been as eager for the meeting to conclude as Silco was, and they must not have cared much about Viktor either way (all except Heimerdinger, who said, “I must voice my dissent,” at every opportunity) because they wrapped up discussions just a few minutes later.

A calligrapher wrote out the final terms of the treaty. One by one, the councilors and Silco signed it. Silco ordered three of his knights to help Viktor pack his things. “We leave tonight,” he told him.

“I’ll be ready,” Viktor said, and he led the knights away.

Chapter Text

Viktor took Lord Silco’s knights to his chamber, and without prompting, the knights opened his drawers and his trunks and began to pack up his belongings. A few seconds of observing their efficient movements with his hands on his hips, he nodded. They would take care of the effects from his room. With magic, he picked up an empty trunk and carried it to his workstation behind Lord Heimerdinger’s office.

Well, this wasn’t the way Viktor had expected this evening to go, but at least he was no longer bored.

He released the trunk onto a desk and flipped open the lid. Much of this room’s contents were Lord Heimerdinger’s or the Council’s property, but Viktor did own a few potion vials, jars of specimens, and crates of chalk, which he loaded into the trunk. He conjured hay to use as packing material so the glass would remain intact on the journey.

The King of Zaun wanted to have sex with him. The King of Zaun wanted so badly to have sex with Viktor, after meeting him once, that he’d made Viktor’s presence a condition of the peace treaty. Viktor didn’t know whether he felt more parts flattered or degraded.

He was going back to Zaun. He hadn’t been to Zaun in years. Was that little sweet shop still in the capital? Would the king let him do research, or would Viktor just be a plaything? A few of his favorite, most useful magical plants only grew in Piltover; how would he source them?

Viktor dropped into his chair and pushed his hair back from his face. He was to be the sexual thrall of a man who’d murdered his friend to take his throne. Were Lord Silco’s appetites violent? What had Viktor gotten himself into?

Everyone wanted to use him. The Council wanted faster boats. Lord Heimerdinger wanted an assistant to support his work (and, Viktor posited fondly, an intelligence to keep him company). Now Lord Silco wanted Viktor’s ass. Maybe that was life—being used by one person after another until you died. If Viktor could track down one of those djinns from legend, all he would wish for was the freedom to create what he wanted, to do good uninhibited by to-do lists and commands. He knew he could do so much good if someone would let him.

Perhaps agreeing to leave with Lord Silco was the great good of Viktor’s life, a sacrifice that secured a peace treaty. Perhaps the gods would weigh his heart and, for all Viktor’s faults, find nothing wanting because Viktor’s acquiescence to Lord Silco’s demand had prevented a war. Viktor closed his eyes and searched for the taction of the arcane, seeking its advice. He was no farseer, but on occasion, the arcane afforded him a subtle, extra sense that nudged him in the right direction. What am I to do? he asked his magic. What do you think of Lord Silco? He received no clear response. The arcane mumbled about choices and deception and optimism, which in terms of guidance was supremely unhelpful.

The door slammed open.

Oh, and there was Jayce to think about.

“Viktor,” Jayce said, voice ragged with unshed tears. He picked Viktor out of the chair and enveloped him in a hug. “I just heard what happened. I’m so sorry.” He released the hug to squeeze Viktor’s shoulder. Jayce wiped his eyes with his free hand. “We’re going to get you out of this, okay? He can’t just take you.”

Except that Viktor was sort of enjoying being a martyr. It was all so tragic, so romantic.

Viktor pulled himself out of Jayce’s grasp. Gently, now. Jayce was his friend as well as his fiancé. “Jayce, I don’t think we should fight this. I don’t want to be the reason a treaty breaks and war begins.”

“Fuck their treaty! They wrote it in your blood. You’re more important.”

Except he wasn’t more important than two nations’ worth of soldiers, not to mention what horrors war would bring upon civilians. His trunk lay open on the table, half-full of jars. He owned so little. He’d done so little. He said, “I’m a pawn, not a rook. The Council was right to sacrifice me, if they needed blood for ink.”

“I’m not letting you go without a fight. I’ll, I’ll talk to Lord Silco. I’ll convince him to let you go. He’s despicable for what he plans to do to you.”

Viktor closed his truck and flipped the latch. If Lord Silco’s plans were as despicable as they seemed, Viktor could always run away. He wasn’t helpless. He would give this adventure a try, anyway—fulfill his end of the deal at least until peace became more stable.

Two paths diverged in a yellow wood, but Viktor had never been indecisive, and one path was as good as the next.

“It’s the same deal as you offered me, more or less,” Viktor said: inclusion to a noble household for the price of his body.

Jayce looked like a kicked puppy. “How can you say that?”

“You’re right. That was harsh. There’s a lot going on in my mind right now.”

“Of course there is.”

“Forgive me?”

“Of course I do. I love you.” Jayce lifted Viktor’s knuckles and kissed them.

Viktor’s mind caught on the word “love.” Jayce’s love endured, but Viktor had already moved on to the past tense. He’d made his choice in the council room, and his magic hadn’t rebelled or made him sick, so the choice couldn’t be all bad. There was no point in dwelling upon might-haves or feeling sorry for himself. Viktor reached up to cup Jayce’s cheek. “You were kind to me—you and your mother both. I think I would have been happy.”

“Viktor.” Jayce heard the goodbye in those words. He closed his eyes in agony and pressed Viktor’s hand more firmly to his cheek.

Viktor allowed himself and Jayce one more moment of contact before the end. He let a warm trickle of magic leak from his fingers in consolation. “Please love again,” he said. “Don’t let this ruin you.”

Neither of them suggested that they maintain their relationship across borders. Viktor couldn’t have two lords, two masters.

Viktor slid out of Jayce’s grasp like shedding a skin, picked up his trunk, and left Jayce drooping in the workshop.

—

Lord Heimerdinger waited in his office with hands clasped behind his back. Viktor set down the trunk on a chair with a thud. He should have lifted it with magic. Viktor dusted his hands off. “Lord Heimerdinger,” he said, and he gave his mentor a bow.

“That was a very brave thing you did, my boy,” said Lord Heimerdinger. Like Jayce, he seemed to be holding back tears.

Viktor bowed again, meaning every inch of his respect. “Thank you for your tutelage and attention all these years.”

“Oh, stuff the formalities.” Lord Heimerdinger reached a hand out, and Viktor knelt to take it. Lord Heimerdinger squeezed Viktor’s hand. “If you ever need anything, Viktor, I’m a single letter away.”

Viktor felt something small and round in his palm, glass, passed discreetly from Lord Heimerdinger’s paw to his own. He knew without looking what it was: a tiny, specialized scrying ball of Lord Heimerdinger’s invention. It came in a pair. The scrying marble wasn’t large or sophisticated enough to send conversations or faces, but by changing the color of the smoke inside one, a mage could pass a basic message to the bearer of the other, such as everything is fine or help.

Lord Heimerdinger was justified in his caution. If Lord Silco were the paranoid sort, this tool might be seen as a means to spy on the Crown of Zaun. Any letters Viktor sent might be searched for suspicious contents; any alternate means of communication might be confiscated. If Lord Heimerdinger thought that he and Viktor shouldn’t even mention the scrying marble out loud, Viktor would trust his judgement.

Viktor said, “I’ll keep in touch, as much as my new lord allows,” and he slipped the scrying marble into a pouch at his belt, beside a few shards of chalk.

Lord Heimerdinger sniffed, and his mustache lifted and dropped. “You will be heartily missed, my boy.”

Viktor stood. Even if Lord Heimerdinger had stifled Viktor a tad, he’d been a generous mentor in other ways, especially to a poor, untitled boy from Zaun. Viktor was fond of him. He smiled. “You as well.”

“You’re a rare talent. It was a privilege to be your mentor.”

Viktor touched his heart. “Thank you.”

“Aurelion go with you, child. Is there anything else I can do for you, anything at all?”

Unbidden, his eyes flicked to Lord Heimerdinger’s bookshelf. Viktor suspected that the quality of Piltover’s libraries had Zaun’s beat; Viktor would miss his access to these books.

Lord Heimerdinger followed his glance to the bookshelf and laughed. With magic, he pulled a thick tome from the highest shelf and floated it to Viktor. Viktor reached out just in time for the book to drop into his hands. “Is this what you wanted, my young friend?”

It was a tome on some of the more esoteric runes that Viktor was about halfway through. The book was beautiful, embossed with a pattern reminiscent of brocade, and it was crammed with diagrams and dense text, which Viktor found as beautiful as the cover. It was a costly present. “Thank you,” Viktor said.

Perhaps Viktor could zone out and read while Lord Silco got on with it.

“Think nothing of it. Of course a pupil of mine would ask for knowledge over any other gift.” Lord Heimerdinger sounded proud.

The door to the workshop opened, and Jayce stepped out. He would need to cross Lord Heimerdinger’s office to access the exit. He paused upon seeing the two of them. “Ah,” he said. His eyes were red, but both Viktor and Lord Heimerdinger pretended not to notice.

Viktor said, “We’ve already said goodbye.” Would lingering in this liminal space between having Viktor and losing him only hurt Jayce more?

Jayce smiled wanly and set his shoulders. “I can bear another goodbye, if it means a little more time with you. Here, let me get that.” He picked up Viktor’s trunk off the chair.

Viktor could have carried the trunk with magic, but he let Jayce feel like he was helping. “Thank you.”

Viktor first darted into the workshop to grab a sheet of leather, and he wrapped his new book for the journey. Then he accompanied Jayce through the Academy and out to the courtyard where Lord Silco’s coaches waited.

They were dark and gothic—polished red wood and black trim. The Eye of Zaun, Lord Silco’s crest, was emblazoned on each coach’s side. A few knights strapped down Viktor’s trunks. One of them strode up to Jayce, gave a quick bow, and reached for the trunk in his hands.

Jayce frowned at the trunk, and then, begrudgingly, he handed it to the knight. She set it on one of the coaches and tied it into place with strips of leather.

Jayce said, “You should eat something before you go. There’s a feast going on right now to celebrate the treaty. You should be there.”

“Yes, all right. That’s a good idea.”

One of Lord Silco’s knights cleared his throat. “Pardon me, Mr. Viktor, Lord Talis.”

“What is it?” Viktor asked.

“We collected most of the belongings from your room, but there were a couple of pieces we didn’t want to touch in case we handled them incorrectly. There was a scrying ball…”

“Ah, I should have mentioned it to you,” said Viktor. “It belongs to Lord Heimerdinger, not me. Can you bring it to his office?”

The knight nodded. “Of course. The other item was your staff.”

“It’s not dangerous, so feel free to handle it. To non-magi, it’s just a stick of wood.”

“All right. That’s all, sir.”

“Thank you for your assistance with packing. Can you put this with my other things?” He held out the book.

“Of course.” The knight took it, tipped his head to them, and backed away.

Viktor followed Jayce back into the Academy and through the more palatial sections of the building to the Great Hall, where he paused outside the doors.

Viktor didn’t want to draw attention to himself or offend Lord Silco by arriving with Jayce. “I’d rather be alone from here,” he said. “Jayce.” He pulled Jayce into a hug, which Jayce returned with fervor.

“You have to write to me,” Jayce said.

“I will. Tell your mother goodbye from me.”

“Of course. I know she’d want to say goodbye in person, but this all happened so fast.” Jayce shook his head into Viktor’s neck. “He should have given you a few weeks to prepare.”

“Well, it’s done now.” Viktor released Jayce and straightened his robes. “We should part here. I don’t want them to think I’m cheating on Lord Silco.”

“That’s the most absurd…” Jayce took a deep breath. “Right. No, of course I don’t want to get you in trouble. Farewell, Viktor.”

“Farewell.”

Jayce walked off down the hallway. Twice, he paused and peered back over his shoulder with big, brown eyes. But at last, he rounded the corner out of sight.

That was Jayce dealt with. On to the next goal: food before the journey. Viktor could turn himself invisible to sneak into the feast, but the cost of the mana wasn’t worth it; he would rather go hungry than deplete his charge with big magics tonight.

He steeled himself and slipped into the hall.

Music accompanied a stiff dinner. The councilors and Lord Silco sat at the high table, and only Councilor Medarda, seated beside him, seemed to be engaging with the Zaunite king at all. The diners at the rest of the tables were more animated, but they kept shooting suspicious glances at Lord Silco and his various knights posted around the room. Between Piltover’s knights and Zaun’s knights, about a fourth of the hall’s occupants were dressed in metal and not eating. Servants flitted about, pouring wine and serving food.

Viktor crept along the wall, sticking to the shadows, looking for a buffet table from which he could steal a bite and then leave. Alas, this was a sit-down feast, apparently; you had to wait for a servant to bring you food.

There was no obvious seat for Viktor, no friends with an empty chair nearby. Most of these people looked noble, on reflection. Jayce had been sweet to suggest that they pop into the hall for something to eat, but Viktor couldn’t just invite himself to join any of these tables. Perhaps he should have let Jayce accompany him inside.

From across the room, Lord Silco caught Viktor’s eye, but Viktor dropped his gaze to the floor immediately. If Lord Silco tried to invite Viktor to dine with him, Viktor would be obliged to accept, and he was not prepared for the embarrassment of being paraded like a plaything in front of all these important people—at Lord Silco’s court, where Viktor didn’t care about what anyone thought of him, then maybe.

He retraced his steps and slipped out the door.

He visited his room: empty. The knights had left the place neat: bed made, drawers closed. It looked ready for the next occupant to move in. He loitered there until he thought the feast would be nearing its conclusion, and then he made his way to the courtyard.

Two knights and the coach drivers lounged around, waiting to be needed. Viktor sat on a bench nearby and counted constellations—they didn’t make his count unless the whole constellation was above the horizon. He counted three, no, four. He hadn’t done astronomy since his Academy days, and he was a bit rusty.

Would Lord Silco wish to begin their arrangement immediately? Would he expect sex from Viktor now, on the trip home? Viktor should have bathed. Too late. He didn’t want to keep the king waiting.

Struck with another thought, he shot to his feet and wove between the coaches, searching for the box of supplies from his workstation. Lord Silco, the Eye of Zaun, King of the Fissure Lands, the Tunnels, and the Sunken Cities, would not be expected to provide lube, so if Viktor wanted this to be in any way pleasant, he needed to find something he could use instead of spit.

“Excuse me,” Viktor told the nearest knight. “Could you grab that trunk for me?”

“This one?” She untied and lifted it off the roof of a coach.

“Yes, thank you.”

She set it on the ground. Viktor knelt and opened the trunk. He rooted around his potion ingredients, looking for something suitable. Sunflower oil? Elderflower oil? Sunflower would do. Viktor patted his hanging pockets, but since they all seemed full, he switched out the contents of a pouch for the vial of oil. He shut the trunk and got to his feet, dusting off his robes. 

“Thank you,” he repeated as the knight returned the trunk to the top of the coach. He returned to the bench and waited for the king and the beginning of his new life.

Chapter Text

Sevika followed Silco through the palace, half a step behind him, close enough for a whispered conversation. She asked, “What the hell was that, back in the council chamber?”

With dinner (four courses, plus dessert) over at last, Silco could finally get the fuck out of Piltover and wash its cleanliness from his body. Since dinner had directly followed his meeting with the Council, this was his first opportunity to speak candidly with Sevika. “I only wanted to startle them,” he said. “They were prissy and entitled and pissing me off.”

She snorted. “Well, you startled them, all right.”

“It worked, didn’t it? We got him.”

“Probably scared him half to death,” Sevika said. “Poor kid thinks he’s going to be a slave in a foreign court.”

“I will remedy his misunderstanding just as soon as we get out of here.” Silco picked up the pace, and his knights hurried after him.

Sevika said, “Are you still hungry after all that food? What’s the sandwich for?”

Silco had asked a servant for something he could take on the journey home, and she’d stuffed a sandwich with meats and crisp lettuce and wrapped it in paper. “It’s for Viktor,” he said. Viktor had arrived at the feast, taken one look at Silco, and left without eating anything—the sight of Silco had turned his stomach. Silco couldn’t blame him. He would hate himself, too.

Silco would simply have to work himself back into the mage’s good graces. The sandwich was his first small peace offering.

“My lord.” Of one Silco’s knights, a man named Katheer, spoke up. “Before you see him again, I think you should know…”

“What?” Silco asked.

“I overheard…”

“I’m not going to kill you for saying something I don’t like, Katheer. Spit it out.”

“I think he was engaged.”

Silco scooted to a stop on the marble, and his knights stumbled to do the same without bumping into him. “Engaged?” That was unfortunate at best and disastrous at worst. Viktor’s ties to Piltover were stronger than Silco had anticipated. Would the fiancé try to steal him back? “Engaged to whom?”

“Uh, a minor noble, I think. I can ask around and find out more.”

“No, let’s get out of here as planned. I can ask Viktor about it, or I can send a spy back to make enquiries.” Silco started to walk again. “Thank you for the information. Does anyone else have news they’d like to spring on me?”

None of them replied.

Silco and his knights emerged onto the main courtyard, where a contingent of Piltover’s knights waited to escort their group out of the city. Silco looked around.

“My Lord Silco.” Viktor stood from a bench. He approached Silco and bowed deep, as appropriate for their first true meeting. He carried no bags; all his belongings were packed, then. He was as pretty in the starlight as he’d been in the council chamber. Now that Silco looked closer, bits of his purple skin glittered gold, like pottery mended with precious metal. But the lines didn’t follow natural slopes; they were intentional and geometric. Why did Viktor have gold runes in his skin? Was this a strange, magi fashion, or did the symbols have a function?

“Please, be at ease,” Silco said, and Viktor rose from his bow. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, my lord.” He had a sweet accent, almost a purr.

“Good.” To everyone, “Load up the carriages, then, and we’ll be off.” The knights spread out to find seats. Silco gestured for Viktor to accompany him to his coach. Sevika tried to follow them (she’d sat with Silco on the ride over) but he shook his head at her, and she got the idea; he wanted some time alone with Viktor to talk.

Viktor gave the palace one more lingering look. His face hardened, his back straightened, and he stepped proudly into the coach. Silco climbed in after him, and the driver shut the door.

Viktor perched on the bench across from Silco, wearing a horrible, peaceful look, blank as new parchment. The air felt heavy—outside sounds muffled—as in a world covered with snow. Was Viktor doing that?

The coach jolted forward, rolling out of the courtyard.

Silco had to explain himself now, before any more time passed—before Viktor spent a second longer thinking Silco was a monster. “Viktor,” Silco said, “please accept my sincere apology for tonight’s lie before the Council. I knew who you were before stepping into that room, and I wanted to bring you to Zaun under any excuse, and I never intended to sleep with you.”

Viktor’s brows raised.

“I’m sure this whole evening has been a series of shocks,” Silco continued. “I apologize for my duplicity and that I couldn’t warn you of what was coming in advance. And that you spent several hours dreading horrible treatment at my hand.”

Viktor neither cursed Silco, shouted, laughed, nor cried. He appeared to be thinking. 

Silco added, “I also didn’t know you had a fiancé.” Apology on apology. Silco had wronged Viktor several times in succession.

“What do you mean, you knew who I was? Please explain further, Your Majesty.”

“Of course.” Silco leaned back in his seat. “I’ll tell you everything.” They made a sharp turn down a new road. “I believe you used to apprentice with a mage named Singed?”

Even higher slid Viktor’s brows. “Yes.”

“He’s worked for me off and on for several years. He’s been keeping tabs on you, following your career. Something about a ten-year contract?”

“Yes, with the Council. Ten years of work for them in exchange for sponsoring my Academy education. Thank you for releasing me from that contract, by the way.”

Silco nodded. “Well, he said if I ever had the chance to get my hands on you, I should take it, for the good of Zaun. I believe that investing in intelligent, driven magi is the key to advancing our society. He believes you’re the man for the job.”

“Ah,” Viktor said. His face went neutral again, and he looked out the window as Piltover’s capital rolled by. “I understand now. You want an artificer on your payroll, as the Council did. What will I be making for you, Your Majesty? Weapons, like shimmer?”

“I don’t really know yet. As for shimmer, Singed has that covered. What did Heimerdinger and the Council have you working on?”

“Crafting sails infused with magic for safer, swifter merchant voyages.” Grunt manufacturing work to fill their House coffers—those idiot Pilties had no idea of Viktor’s true value.

“And is that where your passion lies?” Silco asked. From the detached way Viktor spoke of the assignment, he thought not. “Increasing the efficiency of merchant ships?”

“What has my passion to do with anything?”

“Everything. I want to give you money and resources, a position in my court, and a place to work. I want you to pursue your interests to the service of Zaun, to make our lands richer or safer, or our people healthier, or whatever you want, really. No restrictions. I’m an investor. You’re my investment. I think you’ll come up with something great.” At last, Silco remembered the sandwich sitting on the seat beside him. “Oh, and this is for you, if you want it. You didn’t eat anything at dinner.” He handed Viktor the sandwich.

Viktor took the sandwich, though he didn’t unwrap it, and the odd muffling of the air vanished. The clatter of horse hooves and shouts of pedestrians grew suddenly more distinct. “No restrictions?” he asked. “I can work on whatever projects I choose?”

“No restrictions.” He added a slight amendment. “If I’m unsatisfied with your progress after several months, perhaps we can hold another meeting to discuss your direction. But my goal is to manage your time as little as possible. I want you to believe in your work. I trust your imagination far more than my own to know what needs doing and how to do it.”

“You’re not going to fuck me, and you’re not going to force me to make more fucking sails for you?”

Silco could only shake his head, momentarily stunned by the words fuck me from Viktor’s mouth, in Viktor’s accent. They were in a tiny, closed carriage together, and Viktor had thought they were going to fuck. He’d been picturing it…

“Why threaten it, then? Why tell the Council you only wanted me for sex?”

Silco got a hold of himself, blinking away the images that had arisen in his mind. “I feared that if I told them how important acquiring you was to me, they would have used you as a bargaining chip to undo the negotiations we’d just agreed upon. I wanted them to think I’d seen you and decided I wanted you on a whim. I thought if I played into their conceptions that Zaunites are brutes, they wouldn’t question my excuse for wanting you.” He shrugged. “It could have backfired. It didn’t.”

“Playing into their notion that Zaunites are brutes might not be the most effective political strategy in the long run, my lord.”

Silco smiled. “See? You were wasted in Piltover. You’re already more intelligent than they gave you credit for. This is going to be an excellent partnership: I can feel it.”

Viktor’s mouth turned up at the corners. “I have conditions. If I come up with anything good, I want to share it across borders.”

Silco crossed one leg over the other and tapped his fingers to his knee, thinking. “That’s noble,” he said, “and I admire your altruism, but the goal here is to improve Zaun. Piltover has its own scholars. Ionia has its own magi. Let them help their own people.”

“Priority distribution to the people of Zaun,” Viktor asked, “and then eventual dispersal of procedures or technologies to other nations? Maybe they can pay for them?”

Zaun could sell Viktor’s inventions to other nations. Silco liked the sound of that. “All right,” he said, “agreed.”

“And I want a big space in which to work.”

“We’ll clear out the largest office, and it’s yours.”

“Not an office,” Viktor said. “Or a workshop behind an office. A laboratory.”

Silco felt his face split with a grin, picturing Viktor distilling potions and mixing chems. He remembered gifting Singed his underwater lab and remembered how Singed’s long nights of experimentation had led to shimmer, granting Silco the power to overthrow the king with just a handful of fighters. How would Viktor change the world? Silco said, “Done.”

Viktor looked at the sandwich. He looked at Silco. Like a bird ruffling its feathers, he kicked his shoes off and pulled his feet onto the bench, tucking himself into a ball to eat. He unwrapped the paper and took a large bite. Sparks fizzled in the air around him like tiny firecrackers. For the first time, Silco realized, he was seeing Viktor happy.

Between tearing off bites of sandwich, Viktor said, “And here I’d already picked out my favorite flavor of lube. Your loss.”

Chapter Text

Entresol was a three day trip from Piltover’s capital. On the first layover night, they stopped at an inn just inside the border of Zaun. The innkeeper gushed over Lord Silco, but the king retired quickly to his room, and Viktor didn’t see him until the next morning, leaving the innkeeper to gush over Viktor, instead.

Viktor and Lord Silco had separate rooms.

Viktor didn’t know why this should surprise him. Lord Silco had admitted that his supposed attraction to Viktor was a farce, a stunt to make the Pilties uncomfortable; Lord Silco didn’t actually intend to keep Viktor around just to fuck. Viktor supposed he’d believed Lord Silco was going to fuck him for so long that he had a hard time believing Lord Silco now when he tried to take his words back.

If Lord Silco had swiped Viktor from Piltover under any other pretense, Viktor would have found nothing strange about sleeping apart from His Majesty. Viktor wouldn’t have known to miss his presence. He would have slept soundly, or if thoughts kept him awake, they would have been excited daydreams about his new laboratory and his new freedom.

(No more reports to the Council about ship speed! No more Lord Heimerdinger bursting into the workshop with a new idea he needed assistance with immediately! Viktor would have his own space, his own tools, and no oversight. If Lord Silco hadn’t frightened Viktor by implying he would take what he wanted from Viktor’s body, Lord Silco might have received an enthusiastic blowjob in the coach yesterday, out of pure gratitude.)

Instead of lying awake buzzing with hope for the future, Viktor was lying here picturing that other timeline—the one he had thought he’d lived in for several hours that evening—where Viktor was Lord Silco’s toy and nothing more. Would Lord Silco have made his way to Viktor’s room tonight? Would he have bothered lighting a candle, or would he have pried Viktor’s legs apart in the dark?

Did that eye glow? Would Viktor have been able to hold its searing gaze as Lord Silco took what he was entitled to, or would Viktor have cowered away? How large was Lord Silco’s cock? Would Viktor have enjoyed the press of it? Would he have pretended to?

Did the king lie awake, too, down the hall, picturing what would have been?

Viktor spent the second day of the trip with his nose pressed to the window, drinking in the sight of the land of his childhood. Lord Silco looked pleased every time Viktor showed enthusiasm for being back in Zaun, so Viktor asked many questions.

“I heard that there was a pretty bad avalanche last year,” Viktor said.

“All cleaned up,” replied Lord Silco. “And we rebuilt the town.”

“Does a mage named Sky still teach at the College of Techmaturgy?”

“I don’t know. I’m not familiar with the teachers there.”

“Is the air in the Sumps still toxic?”

“Has been for hundreds of years. Want to fix it for me?”

Viktor hummed. “Maybe. I haven’t picked a first project yet. I have too many ideas.”

A spire and a cluster of buildings passed by out the window. The town might be that small, or its above-ground face might be deceptive, hiding elaborate underground engineering. The surface was for farming. All other living could be done just as well below the surface, Zaunites commonly thought, where the only limit to space was your ingenuity.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Lord Silco said, “why did you leave? Was Piltover’s Academy just better funded?”

Viktor tipped his head against the window and traced the seam where glass met wood. “It was better funded and prestigious, but also I was fleeing a betrayal.”

Lord Silco sat straighter. “What? A betrayal from whom?”

“Singed. We had a… difference of opinion with regard to animal testing. It wasn’t really a betrayal, in the classic sense, because nothing about Singed had changed. My understanding of who he was and what he was willing to do just improved.”

Lord Silco was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I didn’t realize there was bad blood there. He always speaks so highly of you.”

Viktor had known that Rio was a lab rat, not a pet, and somehow, he just hadn’t been prepared to see Singed suspend her in liquid: a living specimen. The pink of the waverider’s scales, dimmed to gray as Singed siphoned off her magic, had haunted Viktor’s dreams for years. Viktor traced the glass window, leaving icy swirls behind that melted moments later and dripped onto the velvet. “I don’t mind working with him again. This time, I will be able to draw better boundaries in our collaboration.”

“You won’t have to see much of him at all if you don’t want to,” said Lord Silco. “You’ll live and work in the palace. His lab is beneath the river.”

“That’s good to know,” Viktor said. Lord Silco wouldn’t force collaboration between his two magi. “Thank you.”

—

They arrived at the City of Iron and Glass, the capital city of Entresol, in the afternoon of their third day of travelling, but the ride from the city gates to the city center took another hour. Lord Silco grew restless during the final leg of the trip, shifting between positions on the bench and tapping his foot.

Viktor had never been inside the palace. He recognized the outside, of course: the two above-ground floors that crowned the main body of the structure underground. Piltover’s palace and Academy sprawled lengthwise; Zaun’s palace was vertical.

The coaches circled to a stop in a cobblestone courtyard inside the palace walls. The knight Sevika, Lord Silco’s Captain of the Guard, opened the coach door. Lord Silco climbed down, and then he turned to offer Viktor a hand. Viktor took it.

While Lord Silco greeted the line of staff that had gathered to welcome him home, Viktor wandered awkwardly near the coaches, trying not to get in the way of the servants already swarming to unpack. “Do you need any help?” Viktor offered to one of them.

“Oh, no, sir,” he said. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

Viktor found his staff latched to the roof of one of the coaches, and he untied it, feeling better with it in his hands. It thrummed happily, as if it had missed him.

A shock of blue hair attached to a little girl sprinted out of the palace doors toward Lord Silco. Viktor turned just in time to see Lord Silco scoop the princess into his arms and lift her. “There you are!” he said.

She was about twelve or thirteen, almost too big to be carried like that, but she and Lord Silco both seemed perfectly content as they rubbed noses. “I missed you,” said the princess, winding her arms around Lord Silco’s neck.

Lord Silco said, “And I missed you. Were you good for the staff while I was away?” He turned to one of his servants, a man with a ring of keys on his belt. “Was she good?”

The man cleared his throat. “Princess Jinx made no trouble that we couldn’t easily fix, Your Majesty.”

“So that’s a no then,” said Lord Silco. He set the princess down and put his hands on his hips; she mimicked him, jutting her chin up. “What am I to do with you?”

Viktor had been dangerously out of the loop on Zaunite politics. He recalled as much as he could, trying to explain this strange scene. The previous king, Lord Vander (now resting in pieces), had had two daughters. During Lord Silco’s coup, the older girl had fled and the younger had stayed, adopted by Lord Silco and named his heir. He’d only needed one heir, Viktor had assumed, so he’d picked the princess he could most easily tolerate and let her keep living in the palace so that his reign could maintain a measure of continuity with Lord Vander’s.

But Lord Silco didn’t treat the little princess like a political ward or the child of his sworn enemy, whose head Lord Silco had cut off. He was touchy and affectionate. She clearly adored him.

Neither did she look how Viktor expected a princess to. The daughters of nobility and the landed gentry in Piltover wore ruffled dresses. This princess sported boy’s pants tucked into a pair of thick boots, adorably sized for a tween girl.

The princess caught sight of Viktor and tugged Lord Silco’s sleeve. “Who’s that?” she asked.

“His name is Viktor, and he’s going to work here now. Why don’t you practice introducing yourself to him while I go over a few things with Mr. Deprez?” The man with the key ring and Lord Silco stepped aside, chatting, and the princess zoomed up to Viktor.

“Hi! I’m Jinx,” she said, bowing deeply.

Lord Silco glanced over. “You don’t need to bow to Viktor,” he called. “You outrank him, sweetheart.”

“Really?” The princess’s face was wide and incredulous as she spoke to Lord Silco and stared at Viktor. “But he looks so cool! Oh!” She bounced on her feet. “Can I try again?” She dashed a few paces away, spun on her toes, and approached Viktor anew. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jinx.” She gave Viktor a small nod of the head. “And what’s your name? Is it Viktor? Wait!” She slapped her forehead. “I’m supposed to let you introduce yourself.” For the second time, she spun around and approached Viktor once more. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She nodded. “My name is Jinx. What’s yours?”

The princess’s energy was dizzying at first, but Viktor was catching on fast. He bowed low to her and said, “My name is indeed Viktor. It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

Then, feigning bewilderment at his mistake, he slapped his forehead as the princess had done. “Eh! I was supposed to call you ‘Your Highness!’ Let me start over, please.” He turned, walked two paces away, and then returned to stand in front of her. “My name is Viktor.” He bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”

From the princess’s glee and the soft smile on Lord Silco’s face, Viktor knew he’d chosen correctly in matching the princess’s silliness.

She asked, “Are you a mage?”

“I am.”

“But magi are old!”

He shrugged. “Some of us were young once.”

“Can you do magic? Can I see?”

Lord Silco extracted himself from his conversation with Deprez and hurried over. “Viktor,” he said, “you don’t have to do party tricks for her if you don’t want to. It’s been a long journey.”

“I don’t mind,” he said.

Another servant pulled Lord Silco aside, and they moved away from Viktor and the princess.

Viktor placed both hands deliberately on his staff, inhaled, and closed his eyes. He made the staff glow and whipped up wind around himself, twisting his robes, as if he were summoning a great burst of power. Those two small magics looked impressive, intimidating, and the princess’s mouth fell open in shock.

Then Viktor halted the wind, ended the glow, and opened his eyes. “There,” he said. “I just made my bed back in Piltover’s palace.”

The princess closed her mouth. She narrowed canny eyes at him and crossed her arms. “You did what? Made your bed?”

“Yes. The sheets were untucked, but now they look perfect.”

They stared at one another, locked in a standoff. Then the princess said, “I don’t believe you. You’re messing with me.”

Viktor grinned. “Yes, I am. My apologies, Your Highness.” He knelt, helped down by his staff. “Would you like to see some real magic?”

She uncrossed her arms and leaned in. “Yes!”

Viktor loved small magics, tricks he could perform with negligible drops in mana. He delighted in the delight they brought to children, who were still filled with wonder. The arcane must have loved them, too, for his supply of energy seemed limitless when he was floating small animals and opening flower buds and making chalk drawings wiggle and dance. Other magi had described the arcane as fearsome or uncanny, but it had always felt cheeky to Viktor—joyful when it brought joy, stubborn when Viktor was bored.

He blew air from his lips, and a bubble formed, hovering just above his palm. The bubble turned to ice, still floating, and Princess Jinx gasped. Something moved inside it, though the frost hid the details. Then the bubble caught on fire and burned away to release a hundred tiny sparks of light that swirled around them and drifted on the breeze.

“Woah,” the princess said, her eyes following the sparks.

Viktor caught a snatch of Lord Silco’s conversation with the servant. Lord Silco said, “I want him here, in the palace. Find an empty suite of rooms somewhere we can clean out and assign him.”

“Right away, Your Majesty,” said the servant. “A suite near your own?”

“What?”

“Forgive me, my lord. There were rumors that you and the mage…”

Lord Silco glanced over his shoulder, and Viktor pretended not to be listening. Lord Silco pulled the servant farther away, saying, “No, that’s not—” Viktor couldn’t hear the rest.

Viktor pulled himself to his feet.

The princess said, “That was awesome. I wish I could do magic.” She tried to catch one of the sparks in her hands, but it vanished when she opened them.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

He chatted with her for a few more minutes before her father returned to claim her and to inform Viktor of the recently-decided-upon sleeping arrangements, arrangements that did not place Lord Silco’s bed and Viktor’s in close proximity, apparently. “They will have your rooms ready by this evening,” Lord Silco said. “I’m afraid the laboratory will take a few days longer. The staff wishes to scope out locations and then run them by you before they clean and clear them.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“I’m sorry that we didn’t have rooms ready for you.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Viktor said. Then, “Rooms? Plural?”

“You’ll want the space to retreat to when the palace gets busy,” Lord Silco said. “Now, I have a few more people I need to meet with, but the staff will take good care of you, I promise.”

“Of course.” Viktor bowed. “Thank you, my lord.”

Lord Silco walked off, accompanied by three members of his staff: one with a notepad (Deprez), one with a sword and an impressive mustache, and one in the palace’s asymmetric gray livery. Viktor overheard some of the conversation. The man with the sword said, “So how went the negotiations?”

“I’d call them successful,” said Lord Silco. “Piltover will pay to fix the mine, and they agreed to a four percent export tax on every product that comes out of a mine.”

The man touched his forehead. “That’s incredible! That’s more than I’d dared to hope for.”

“Call the soldiers back from the border. We’re at peace again.”

The princess ran up to Lord Silco’s side and took his hand, accompanying him through the palace doors.

“So what did you destroy this time?” Lord Silco asked.

“A curtain.”

And then the doors shut, and Viktor could hear no more.

Lord Silco and his adopted daughter—for surely, with such displays of affection, he thought of her as his daughter—had an odd relationship, to be sure. How often did an orphan latch onto her parent’s killer?

Lord Silco was a doting father. Viktor wouldn’t have guessed. He was beyond doting, really, almost uncomfortably physically affectionate with the princess. Did the rest of the staff notice, or were they used to it?

The captain of the guard directed traffic nearby, orchestrating a shift change of guards. “Get some rest,” she told the knights who’d accompanied them on the journey. A few saluted her with fists over their hearts.

“Pardon me,” Viktor asked her, not too embarrassed to go prying for information. “The king and the princess are… very close?”

“Oh, he adores that child,” Sevika said as if this were a personal affront against her.

A knight asked, “Where should Mr. Viktor’s things go?”

“Out of our hands,” replied Sevika. “The servants are in charge of that now. Just leave the trunks where they are.” The knight nodded and set down the trunk. “Anything else?” Sevika asked Viktor.

“No, thank you.” Viktor stepped out of the way of the knights and into the path of a young woman who appeared to have been looking for him.

“Mr. Viktor,” she said. She wore the same livery as the other butler. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry that your suite isn’t ready yet. I’m sure you must want to relax after your journey.”

“It’s really all right. You didn’t know I was coming.”

“In the meantime, would you like to take tea? Get a look at some of the palace? I can take you on a thorough tour later.”

He was a bit tired, even though he’d done nothing but sit in a coach for the last three days. “Tea would be nice, thank you.”

“Where would you like your service? The dining room? The garden? A study?”

“You have a garden?” Perhaps some useful plants grew there, and perhaps the gardeners would let Viktor steal a clipping now and again. He wouldn’t mind the opportunity to scope it out.

The servant smiled. “Indeed we do. Please follow me.” She led him into the palace.

Stepping along behind her, Viktor pulled Lord Heimerdinger’s scrying marble out of his pouch and fiddled with it between his fingers. White smoke swirled inside. With a thought, Viktor changed the smoke to green. I don't need rescuing, Lord Heimerdinger. Everything is good.

Chapter Text

Silco spent the next day in meetings as his heads of staff updated him on everything he’d missed since going away. Everyone wanted his time, and there was never enough of him to go around. He hadn’t gotten to check on Viktor properly to see if the move went well and if he liked his accommodations.

He sent a summons to Singed, requesting a visit from the mage that evening.

Jinx sat in his lap in his office through some of the meetings, just to spend time with him. She was quiet and unobtrusive, for her, and let him work without interruption. He liked that she could endure the day-to-day minutia of running the country; this would be her job someday.

He had a private dinner with Jinx, and then he put her to bed, tucking her in and kissing her goodnight.

Singed was waiting in Silco’s office when he returned. Singed sat on a couch perpendicular to Silco’s desk; as usual, his face was wrapped and his robes were tattered.

“Do you want a drink?” Silco offered him.

“I’ll pass, Your Majesty. Am I just here for a chat?”

“Something like that.” Silco picked a cigar from his desk drawer and cut the tip. “Have you heard that I acquired Viktor? Stole him from Piltover, brought him home?”

“I ran into him briefly on my way here.”

Silco opened the window behind his desk, letting in a breeze. “He said you didn’t part on the best of terms. You didn’t mention that to me.” Silco didn’t like being left intentionally out of the loop. He didn’t like surprises.

“I didn’t want to sour your opinion of Viktor before you met him. I said I believed he could be of use to us, and I still believe that, whether he likes me or not.”

Silco crossed the room. He lit the cigar in the flame of a candle. “You also didn’t tell me he was hot,” Silco said, pacing in front of Singed to return to the window. He put a hand on his hip and breathed smoke out into the night.

Singed spread his hands. “He wasn’t hot when I knew him. He was twelve.”

“I thought you were keeping tabs on your cherished pupil.”

“I hadn’t seen him in person until tonight.”

“But you see it now, don’t you?” Silco challenged, blowing more smoke. “He’s so fucking attractive. Or are you feeling too paternal to notice?”

Singed was quiet for half a minute, and Silco thought he wasn’t going to answer until he said, “His sense of style has certainly improved since he was a child. Do you think he bleaches his hair himself?”

Silco had to pull the cigar out of his mouth to laugh.

“On second thought,” Singed said, “I will take that drink.”

Silco fixed it for him and brought it over. “Here.”

Singed pulled down his face covering to sip from the crystal glass. “I will admit,” he said, “that there may be some truth to your observation, objectively.” Silco laughed again. Singed said, “But you’re not really going to… Are you?”

“No, Janna, no,” Silco said, swiping the cigar through the air. He was only teasing, only processing his feelings through the company of a friend. “No, Viktor is safe from me. He’s, he’s too young, for one thing.” And in a room full of councilors, Silco had threatened to fuck Viktor, which couldn’t have left Viktor with a good taste in his mouth. “And I told him I wouldn’t. I brought him here to work for me, not to sleep with me.”

“Who are you trying to convince: me or yourself?”

Silco ran a hand through his hair. “Can he read minds?” he asked Singed. He’d never heard of a mage who could do such a thing, but it never hurt to check.

Singed shook his head.

“Good. All will be well, then. He doesn’t need to know that I find him attractive, and we can have a professional, productive relationship.”

—

Viktor had a suite of three connecting rooms: a bathroom, a bedroom, and a sitting room at the entrance to his suite, where he could entertain visitors or read on a soft sofa. The rooms were furnished in a palette of cream and soft green. The windows of his bedroom looked out over the underground sprawl of Entresol. Outside, walkways and lifts of iron crisscrossed with bubbles of glass in a dizzying maze. But Viktor had known how to navigate the three-dimensional city as a child, and he would learn again.

He explored the palace. Glass-covered walkways brought him from one section of palace to the next—glass that kept a membranous separation between clean and dirty air.

The staff were good-natured and curious about his magic. A few of the braver maids asked to see him cast a spell, and he was happy to demonstrate. He doubted Singed had indulged them.

He’d run into Singed the day before. He and Singed had exchanged a few cursory words with each other, and all the while, the arcane had twisted his stomach like hunger.

I know, he told it, soothing it. We were burned before, and you fear being burned again. But I’ve learned to be cautious since leaving. Viktor could maintain a cordial, professional relationship with his former master.

His bedroom contained a small writing desk furnished with paper and quills. He penned a letter to Jayce, though every stroke of the quill ached as he formed distant, professional words to the man he’d thought he would marry.

“Lord Talis,” the letter led, and Viktor had to set down the quill and pace the room to let out some anxious energy. Viktor hadn’t called Jayce “Lord Talis” since the week they met. But there was clearly nothing else to be done; Viktor couldn’t maintain that level of familiarity with Jayce anymore. They would never be as close as they had been. It wasn’t appropriate.

The letter was going to break Jayce’s heart no matter how he wrote it, so Viktor sat back down and continued. He told Jayce, first and foremost, to quit worrying about Lord Silco taking advantage of Viktor. In truth, Lord Silco was respectful and generous, more interested in Viktor’s mind than his body. Viktor was settling in. He had a beautiful set of rooms in the palace, and he would be allowed to pursue his own lines of inquiry in his research.

He paused, wondering whether or not to mention Singed. A drop of ink fell onto the paper. He dabbed it away and kept writing, telling Jayce to give his mother Viktor’s best and thanking him for his friendship. He did not invite further correspondence. Jayce would either write back or he wouldn’t, and Viktor would be satisfied either way.

He folded up the letter, addressed it, and sealed it. Jayce would hate it. It was short and surface-level. But at least it might ease some of his anxieties over Viktor’s safety.

He found a butler to post the letter. Then, a page boy ran up to Viktor to inform him that Lord Silco had invited him to breakfast the following morning. “Thank you,” Viktor told the page who delivered the message. “I’ll be there.”

He hadn’t seen Silco in a few days, and the prospect sent a shiver of delight down his spine. Silco was handsome and powerful—and cruel for asserting his desire for Viktor and then walking it back. Viktor was reasonable enough to apprehend that if Lord Silco were keeping Viktor locked in the palace as some kind of toy for his personal gratification, Viktor would not be fantasizing about having sex with him. But in this reality, where Silco had revealed himself to be respectful and generous and yet those words in the council chamber hung in the air like a taunt, Viktor spent his nights dreaming of a clandestine visit from the king.

He could keep his desire under wraps, but he would enjoy seeing Silco again. After all Silco had put Viktor through, he owed Viktor some masturbation fuel.

—

Silco took breakfast that morning in the smaller, more intimate dining hall: just him, his daughter, and Viktor. He needed to check in on his new mage before Viktor thought Silco had forgotten about him.

Viktor arrived promptly to the meal, dressed in a set of robes Silco hadn’t seen before. They were forest green, open at the shoulders, and slit in the front so Silco could see peeks of the leg brace as Viktor walked. The color went well with his purplish skin.

“Your Majesty.” Viktor bowed to Silco and then to Jinx individually. “Your Highness.”

Silco stood and held Viktor’s seat out for him. “Please,” he said, “save the formalities when we’re not in public. It’s just Silco to you.”

Why had he said that? He’d just elevated Viktor to the same tier of friendship as Sevika, and she’d staged a coup with him.

Viktor smiled up at him. “Thank you, Silco.”

On second thought, he had no regrets. He liked when Viktor used his name.

Silco took his seat. “How are your accommodations?”

“They’re perfect, thank you. The staff showed me a few potential locations for the laboratory yesterday, and I picked my favorite. I’m very excited to start my work.”

“Have you seen it yet?” Jinx asked Viktor. Then she asked Silco, “Has he seen it yet?”

“No, he hasn’t seen the finished laboratory yet,” Silco said. “We were going to show him after breakfast, remember?”

Viktor looked delighted. “They cleaned it out already?”

“Yes,” Silco said. Viktor had chosen a storage room in the underground section of the palace, floored with slick stone that would be easy to clean in case of potion spills. It had a chimney, so he could light a fire if he wanted one. The staff had relocated the clutter to a different storage room, filled the lab with empty bookcases and desks, and dusted everything to the hells. “It’s ready for your inspection. We can walk over there after we eat.”

Trays of bread, a pot of jam, and slices of chilled meats sat before them. Jinx served herself first, making straight for the jam and dumping a scoopful of it onto her plate. Silco and Viktor served themselves after.

“Was there a particular reason you invited me here,” Viktor asked, “or was it simply to inform me that the lab was ready?”

“I wanted to check in,” Silco said, beginning to eat, and the others took that as a cue that they could start as well. “And I wanted to give you a chance to ask any questions—to clear up what I expect from you. I don’t expect you to work every day of the week. I do expect reports of your progress if I pop by now and again to check in. The position of Court Mage has always been amorphous and prone to the whims of the ruling body. For our purposes, consider yourself a high-ranking servant. You’ll draw a salary, and room and board is included, as well as anything else you need to make you feel comfortable and at home. Is there anything else you need?”

Viktor shook his head. “Everyone has been very kind to me. Am I expected to appear at state functions?”

“I don’t know,” Silco said. “I hadn’t thought about it. I haven’t had a Court Mage before. Singed does his own thing most of the time unless I hire him for a specific project.”

“I think you should come to all the dinners and parties,” Jinx said, “if only to keep me company.”

Entertaining Jinx was not an obligation of the position, and Silco had taken a breath to say so when Viktor said, “If I’ll have a friend there, then I would be happy to attend.”

“Yes! Let’s be friends. I think we’re going to get along great,” Jinx said.

“So do I,” said Viktor.

“And you can call me Jinx,” she said, mimicking Silco’s invitation from earlier.

“Thank you, Jinx.” He touched his heart. “I feel privileged by the intimacy I have been afforded with the royal family.”

Silco could think of plenty of new and interesting intimacies to afford him, but they weren’t appropriate for conversation over breakfast in front of his daughter. They were never appropriate, he reminded himself, so he turned his thoughts to employment, instead.

“Mage” was not a job title; it described a class of individuals with innate magical abilities. Magi were specialized to their own interests. Some were healers; some were fighters; some were scholars. Some were priests and priestesses, claiming their powers were gifts of one deity or another. Some magi were guests or employees of royal and noble families, performing for entertainment and serving as status symbols. A hospital, estate, school, army, or temple boasting a mage had a leg-up on competitors.

But not all magi were employed by institutions. Some preferred solitary lives in isolated locations. Singed had worked out of a cave until Silco had sponsored him.

As diverse as magi could be in their occupations, they shared a few traits in common: they were an odd bunch—feared, envied, and desired in equal measure. A strange energy stuck to them. Some people claimed they could identify magi just by looking at them. Physical peculiarities aside, they had a presence, a lilting way of walking, and a faraway look in their eyes.

Silco contemplated Viktor’s amethyst skin. It appeared soft to the touch, like mortal flesh. The only oddness was the color. Had he been born that way, or had a spell changed his appearance? Did the unnatural coloring extend over his entire body? If Silco peeled his robes off, what would he find?

After breakfast, Silco dismissed Jinx. “It’s time for your lessons. Your tutor will be waiting.”

“Can’t I stay with you again today?” She fixed pleading blue eyes on him.

He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll see you this afternoon, if you’d like. You can join my meeting with the Demacian ambassador.”

“In the throne room?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay. Don’t do too much politics without me. We all know I’m the real power behind the throne.”

Silco pushed her fondly toward the door. “Off with you. I’ll see you later.” She scampered down the hall. Silco told Viktor, “I give it about a seventy-five percent chance that she’ll actually attend her lessons. Some days, I pay her tutor just to run around the palace looking for her.”

Viktor wore a soft expression, and Silco wanted to kiss it brighter.

“Shall we take a look at your new laboratory?” Silco asked.

“I would love that.”

When they stepped inside, Silco was a bit underwhelmed. The room was mostly empty, the shelves bare and desks clean. A few jars of ingredients sat in a single row on a bookcase, ingredients which Viktor must have brought with him from Piltover. The maids had placed a singular, thick book on another shelf, like a suggestion. Here’s where books can go, if you’ve got any.

Viktor, at least, seemed pleased. He rotated in the center of the room with his hands over his mouth, imagining the possibilities for the space. Candles around the room flickered joyously.

Silco picked up the book. The title was in three parts. The first said, “Rare Runes: an Exploration,” and below that read, “A scholarly overview of the uses, origins, and characteristics of a selection of three hundred esoteric symbols in the Classic, Futhark, and Bound runic alphabets,” and Silco didn’t bother reading any more after that. By the Veiled Lady. Viktor enjoyed reading this?

“We need to get you some more supplies,” Silco said, replacing the lonely book on its shelf. “Tell me, or tell one of the staff, what you need, and I’ll buy it for you.”

“That’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Viktor said.

Silco blinked. Yes, he had heard that right, and now Viktor was stepping toward him. Silco took a pace back before he realized that Viktor was just approaching to hand him something: a roll of parchment pulled out of his robes. Silco took the scroll and unfurled it, glancing through the contents. “You had a list of materials ready to go?”

Viktor shrugged.

“Forceps?” Silco asked incredulously.

“For handling hot beakers, my lord.”

“Gunpowder?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Viktor was grinning; he hadn’t stopped grinning all morning.

Silco rolled up the list. “You’ll get everything you need. I’ll see to it.”

“Can I kiss you, my lord?”

Again, Silco thought he’d heard wrong as he stared in stunned fascination at Viktor’s lips. He shouldn’t. He’d resolved to leave Viktor untouched.

But, he realized a moment later, Viktor had been teasing him. He didn’t mean a kiss on the mouth; he knelt before Silco, helped down by a nearby desk, and took Silco’s hand, pressing his lips briefly to Silco’s signet ring.

Viktor’s expression gained a serious note as he looked up from his kneel. “I swore fealty to you the first time under duress,” he said. “I’d like to repeat that vow now, for real.”

Silco had been cruel and thoughtless to Viktor, and still Viktor wished to renew his allegiance to Silco. “That’s not necessary,” he protested, but Viktor continued anyway, distractingly on his knees.

“My affection for certain people in Piltover won’t vanish,” Viktor said, “but I am loyal to my king and country. Your Majesty, Silco, I’m not just pleased that you’ve gifted me a place to work and supplies. You gave me my freedom. You gave me a chance to make something good, something that will change lives, and I won’t waste that chance.”

Swear your loyalty to me again, Silco thought, but do it with my pants and your mouth open. Viktor looked so tempting, kneeling before Silco, peering up at him with big, lacertine eyes—face pale and cheeks flushed purple. Silco would slide his fingers into Viktor’s soft hair and shove his cock down Viktor’s throat…

Viktor’s inability to read minds was a blessing, but Silco still needed to control himself. Silco pulled Viktor to his feet.

Now standing, Viktor didn’t let go of Silco’s forearms. Instead, he squeezed, tilting closer—almost an embrace. “Forgive me if this is too informal, my lord. I’m just so excited.”

Silco squeezed Viktor’s arms in return. “It’s all right,” he said. Viktor was warm. Silco shouldn’t have been shocked; did he expect Viktor to be made of metal?

Silco retreated to his bedroom immediately after, leaving Viktor to settle into his space. He locked his door, leaned against the wall, and took his cock in hand.

He didn’t stroke it, just stared into space, at war with himself. Viktor was free with his affection. That didn’t mean he wanted Silco. Viktor was brand new to the palace, still an outsider in all but name. Silco shouldn’t throw another complication at him in the form of a proposition from the king. For all Silco knew, Viktor would think it his duty to accept, no matter how much Silco stressed the offer’s optionality.

And he was too young for Silco. Silco squeezed the base of his cock. So young and energetic—if Silco put Viktor on his cock and let him ride, he would make Silco come in minutes.

Silco shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be touching himself thinking about his young new employee. He let go of his dick. He went into the bathroom to splash his face with water and compose himself before he made a terrible mistake.

Chapter Text

Viktor hung clippings of plants from the rafters to dry. Boxes of supplies arrived daily. He organized the influx of ingredients and materials on bookshelves around the room. He stacked rows of empty jars, thrilled by a premonition of one day seeing them filled. He took two days to assemble and test the complex alchemical distillation equipment that arrived in parts. He placed a row of blank journals on a shelf and a single journal on his desk, ready for notes.

Lord Silco had made good on his promise. Everything Viktor asked for, he received, even some of the long-shot items, like two sets of scales: one for measuring small quantities and another for large.

Not a single item related to sails or merchant vessels could be found in Viktor’s new laboratory. He spun in the center of the room in a small dance of joy. This was his space, and his projects would be his own.

(One day, the sails that Viktor had enchanted would wear out and need replacing. Would the Council of Piltover find a new mage to carry on that work, or would the ships of every merchant on the Council slow down simultaneously? Either way, it was no longer Viktor’s problem.)

The king and the princess visited the following week, stopping by the laboratory while Viktor was heating a solution over a small flame. He blew out the flame when they walked in. He stood and bowed.

“Please,” Lord Silco said. “That’s not necessary when we’re alone. And we don’t mean to interrupt your work.”

“We just want to see what you’re up to,” Princess Jinx said.

Viktor beckoned her over, happy to demonstrate. “Watch closely,” he said, and Jinx leaned in, perched on her tiptoes. Viktor touched a hand to her ear and produced a silver cog as if he’d pulled it out of her head. “Did you know this was in there?” he asked, showing her the coin.

Jinx slapped her hand to her ear, searching for more cogs. “No!”

The coin vanished from Viktor’s hand, appeared in the other, and vanished again.

“Where did it go?” she asked.

“Look under that cup,” Viktor said. It was a good thing he’d prepared for this demonstration in advance. He’d anticipated Silco’s inspection of his investment and anticipated that Silco would bring his daughter along.

Jinx picked up the cup, and underneath sat a silver cog, a twin to the one Viktor now slid into his pocket. “That’s crazy!” she exclaimed. “Your magic is so cool!”

“That’s for you.” Viktor handed her the cog that had rested under the cup. “And I didn’t use any magic.”

“What? Of course you did!” She took the proffered cog. “You made it disappear and reappear over there!”

Lord Silco’s eyes narrowed. “Very interesting,” he said. “We’re all impressed by your sleight of hand, but how do coin tricks relate to your research?”

“As an analogy,” Viktor explained, speaking now to Silco. “I could have made the cog disappear and reappear under the cup with magic, but I didn’t have to because non-magical means worked just as well. I want to push the boundaries of what can be accomplished without magic. We turn to magic when we want miraculous solutions—understandably—but that inclination makes us vulnerable, artificially limiting our solution space.”

Silco looked, if not interested, then at least conflicted. “What do you think you can do better, or differently, than teams of non-magical scholars? Why not leave non-magic to them and focus on your unique abilities?”

“My unique abilities inform my research,” Viktor said, not discouraged by the king’s lack of enthusiasm. He picked up a beaker of glowing green liquid and handed it to Silco. “I’m studying the creation of healing potions. I want to know if it’s possible to create them without magic.”

Silco swirled the potion. “I’m no expert,” he said, “but I thought these were relatively simple for magi to brew. Why bother finding a new recipe?”

“They are simple, which makes them an optimal case study for learning to brew potions without magic. And they are extraordinarily useful. Any mage working at a city hospital can make them. But what if every apothecary in every small town could as well? What if healing potions were as common as water?” He tried not to look at Silco’s scarred eye as he said this. If Silco had encountered a healing potion sooner, he might have two working eyes. If Viktor had had easy access to healing potions as a child, he might not walk with a limp today.

Viktor continued, “I was thinking of trying to pre-assemble kits that non-magi could use to brew potions. Or perhaps I can discover a new process for brewing that requires no magic.”

“Impressive,” Silco said. He set the beaker down.

Jinx added, “That’s so cool! Maybe I can make potions sometime.”

Maybe someday, anyone could. Viktor buzzed with excitement. “Thank you. I’ll let you know as soon as I have demonstrable results.”

Silco took Jinx’s hand. “Keep up the good work,” he said, and the two of them left.

—

A chirean man brought Viktor a summons from the king one afternoon. “If you aren’t busy,” the chirean said, “Lord Silco requests your presence in the garden.” He glanced curiously around the laboratory, and his bat ear twitched.

“Ah, of course,” Viktor said. He was in the middle of an experiment, but a summons from the king overrode his day-to-day work. He blew out his candles, moved a beaker to a cooling rack, took off his goggles, and washed his hands. “I’m ready,” he told the messenger, who led him to the garden.

Lord Silco waited on a bench beneath a grove of willowy trees. Before him, on a metal table, lay a spread of snacks and tea. The palace gardens weren’t nearly as expansive as those in Piltover, but they were broken into little alcoves such as this one that afforded privacy, and Viktor liked them.

“Your Majesty,” Viktor bowed, “how can I help you?”

“Sit and chat with me,” Lord Silco said. “How is your research faring?”

Viktor sat beside him on the bench and poured himself a cup of tea. It smelled rich and floral. Viktor was suddenly hungry and suddenly glad for this break. “I’m still laying the groundwork,” he told Silco. “I’m studying the process of brewing healing potions, noting when and how magic comes into play.” He sipped his tea, added sugar, and sipped it again.

“Excellent,” Silco said. He stabbed a piece of fruit with a fork and ate it.

Viktor drank his tea and waited for Silco to say something else, and when the silence had stretched thin, he said, “Is that all, Your Majesty? Do you have any particular questions about my research?”

“Not really,” said Silco. “How are you settling in?”

“Very well. Your staff are incredible. I haven’t even needed to change a candle in my room.” As soon as a candle dipped lower than an inch, it seemed to vanish, replaced with a fresh one.

Silco smiled. “That’s the work of one man. His whole job is replacing the palace’s candles. He makes several rounds of the building every day. He’s very friendly, if you ever catch him, and likes to chat.”

“I’ll keep an eye out!” Viktor said. He sipped his tea again and glanced around the garden. Flowering bushes bordered this alcove, and birds twittered somewhere unseen. Tucked away in a corner as they were, the two of them wouldn’t be disturbed by other visitors to the garden unless those visitors made for this particular spot. “Romantic” was the word Viktor would use to describe the location; epiphany struck Viktor. “This is a date!” he said.

Silco sputtered into his tea. “What? What gives you that impression?”

Viktor gestured. “The flowers. The tea service for two.”

“I’m taking a break, and I invited you along to chat about your progress, that’s all.”

“You’re doing business on your break?” Viktor challenged. “That rather defeats the purpose, don’t you think? This isn’t a break. It’s a date.” Viktor was delighted. The king liked him. Viktor wouldn’t have to hide his attraction to Silco because Silco was attracted to Viktor in return.

Viktor kicked off his shoes and swung his legs over Silco’s lap. Would Silco be interested in fucking later? Viktor hadn’t gotten laid in a few weeks, not since his last night with Jayce. Jayce had offered, at the beginning of their engagement, to refrain from sex until the wedding, but while Viktor had admired his chivalry, chastity had never appealed to him and certainly didn’t appeal to him as much as Jayce’s muscles did. Jayce’s hand had nearly encircled Viktor’s thigh. Jayce was so big.

Viktor tore himself back to the present. He didn’t need to be drooling over past lovers when he was in the lap of a handsome man.

Silco gaped at him. “What are you doing?” His hand found Viktor’s legs.

“I’m not going to sit all straight and proper on a date, Your Majesty.”

“This isn’t a date.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Viktor grinned. “You don’t need to make up excuses to see me alone, you know. You simply have to ask.”

“If you keep talking like that,” Silco said, “there are going to be rumors about us.” But he didn’t push Viktor’s legs down.

“There are already rumors about us. You did call me handsome in a room full of councilors.”

Silco touched his forehead in frustration. One of his eyes closed. The scarred eye didn’t; maybe it couldn’t. “I am not initiating a romantic relationship with you. We’re just having afternoon tea.”

“Why not?” Viktor asked. He set his teacup down. “Is it because I’m common?” If Silco was worried about his image that much, then Viktor would back off.

“No!” Silco said. “Banish the thought.”

“Because I’m a mage? Are you worried about foreign relations? Demacia doesn’t approve of magic.”

“They’re one, insular nation. I don’t care what they think.”

“Why not, then?”

“I called you handsome in Piltover as a political stunt. I won’t make that cruel farce retroactively true by indulging in your company now.”

Indulging, he said. He wanted Viktor. Viktor knew it.

“You’re not my war prize,” Silco said. “You’re not my trophy from Piltover.”

“That ship has sailed, Silco. Some people will think that of me no matter how long you wait, and many probably think it already. So you might as well kiss me now and quit worrying about it.”

Silco’s hand on Viktor’s leg tightened. “You gave yourself up so easily,” he said. “In the council chamber. Why? Why did you agree to come with me when I seemed so heartless?”

Viktor shrugged and glanced away. He picked up his tea again. “The treaty was worth more than me.”

“It wasn’t,” Silco said. “You should have told me to go to the hells.”

Viktor ate one of the finger sandwiches set out on the tray. He didn’t know how to respond to Silco. Whether Viktor should have stuck up for himself or not, “It all turned out all right in the end, didn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

The sandwich was tasty, so he ate another. “Now feed me a piece of that fruit,” Viktor demanded. “You aren’t being properly romantic.”

“I don’t need to be romantic. You’re my employee.”

“Do it, or I’ll leave right now.”

Silco huffed, but he stabbed a slice of fruit and held the fork out. Viktor took the fruit into his mouth, barely holding back a grin. Juice burst along his tongue, bright as a rainbow. Silco said, “You’re a little tease, you know that, right?”

Viktor swallowed the fruit. “No, I’m not. A tease turns you on and then leaves you hanging, whereas I am perfectly willing to follow through on my implied promises. If either of us is teasing, it’s you.”

Silco took another bite of fruit from the fork with which he’d fed Viktor. “Now I know why the Council of Piltover protested so when I asked them to hand you over. Did you sleep with all the councilors?”

“Only Heimerdinger.”

Silco dropped the fork. It clattered on the cobblestone.

“Kidding.” Viktor grinned.

Silco bent over Viktor’s legs to retrieve the fork. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“We can’t have that.” He finished his tea and stood, slipping back into his shoes. “Well,” Viktor said, “this tea party—”

“Business meeting,” Silco corrected.

“—this date was very fun, but I should get back to work.”

“By all means.” Silco stood too and clasped his hands behind his back. “Good luck with your research.”

Viktor bowed and took his leave. He might not have succeeded yet in convincing Silco to have sex with him, but this date was a valuable beginning.

Chapter Text

A maid knocked on the door of Viktor’s laboratory, and he invited her in.

“I’m here to do a bit of cleaning, sir,” she said. She lifted her broom.

“Oh, well,” Viktor said, unwilling to pause his experiment, “can you do it while I’m working, or do you need me out of the room?”

“Oh, please, carry on.” She began to sweep the floor, and Viktor returned to his potions. The maid finished the floor and then cleaned out the fireplace. And then she petered about, examining the objects on the shelves.

Viktor lifted his goggles. “Is there something else you need?” he asked.

“Well,” she clutched her broom. “You can brew potions, right?”

“I do my best.” Did she need a healing potion? As a product of his research, Viktor had a surplus of them.

“I have an embarrassing favor to ask of you. Can you… Are you able to brew an abortifacient?”

Viktor set his current experiment aside. He wanted to maximize the good he left upon the world, and these experiments would help, but here was a real—not theoretical—person standing in front of him requesting aid, and Viktor couldn’t say no. “I’m fairly certain I could,” he said, “but I don’t have many potion recipes memorized. I would have to locate a spell, then collect the ingredients. Could you return for it tomorrow? I will try to have it ready by then, or at least I can give you a more certain answer of whether or not I have the materials.”

“Yes,” the maid said, “tomorrow is fine! Thank you very much, sir.” Visibly relieved, she left the room.

Following the call of a new, pressing mission, Viktor packed up his supplies and set out to see if the palace’s library held any books of potion recipes. He missed the grand library in Piltover already; the section on magic was familiar like a friend.

The Zaunite palace library was less grand than Piltover’s, but as Viktor explored the stacks, he realized it was by no means unrespectable. A section of the more expensive books were chained to their shelves. One entire wall held scrolls stacked in triangular alcoves. A short, smart librarian held court over the space, and she asked if she could help Viktor find anything in particular.

“Potions?” he said. She sat him at a desk and delivered three books and a few scrolls to him, seeming to pull them out of the air.

“Thank you,” he said. “Am I allowed to bring these out of the library?”

“We prefer that people don’t,” she said. “Would you like paper on which to take notes?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

The librarian set a tray in front of him on which sat a well of ink, a couple of quills, and sheets of parchment. Viktor poured through the books, locating several recipes for abortifacients; he compared them, chose his favorite, and painstakingly copied it onto a sheet of parchment, double and triple-checking that he’d copied the instructions down accurately.

Brewing the potion would be the work of ten minutes, but first he had to gather his materials. He had most of the items that the potion called for in his lab, excepting “saliva from a woman not currently pregnant,” which was a rather niche ingredient. Viktor glanced over at the librarian. The gray in her hair said she was past childbearing age. She’d been accommodating so far, but how would she handle this bizarre request?

Viktor returned the notes tray to her and asked, “Pardon me, ma’am. Would you mind spitting into a vial for me? I need the material to brew a potion. In return, I could dust the shelves for you. I can do it quickly with a spell. Or if there’s any other service you require, I’d be happy to try my hand at it.”

She was caught off-guard, but to her credit, she pulled herself together in no time. “It’s no problem, Lord Mage.”

“Viktor, please.” He wasn’t a lord. “Please wait one moment while I fetch a vial.” He hurried to the laboratory and back. The librarian dropped some saliva into the vial, and Viktor made good on his promise, disappearing dust from the whole library. Even the floors looked cleaner.

He made a final pass through the shelves, casting spells to protect the books from mildew and pests, and then he returned to his laboratory. He measured out his ingredients and brewed the potion for the maid, and then it was late enough that there was no point resuming his earlier experiment, so he packed up for the day.

Viktor’s meals were included in his contract. He could request that food be brought to his room, but he preferred to eat in the dining hall most days. Noble residents, guests of the palace, and high-ranking servants such as the steward and captain of the guard mingled at long tables. At the front of the hall, upon a dais, sat the king’s table. Silco and his daughter sat there now, chatting quietly as they enjoyed their dinner.

Viktor ate alone. He didn’t mind the solitude. When Silco finished his meal and stood, the whole room stood too, out of respect, then plopped back into their seats when Silco vanished through the door.

The maid returned to the laboratory the following morning for her potion.

“Whoever is taking it,” Viktor said, “you or a friend, it would be best to have someone with you who can keep an eye on your health. The potion should be perfectly safe, but just in case…”

“I understand,” she said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“It was simple,” Viktor said. “Don’t worry. And perhaps you can do something for me in return.”

“Anything.”

“I find myself in possession of lots of extra healing potions, since I’m brewing them every day. If you know of any staff with ailments, could you send them my way?” Better to use up the potions than let them collect dust on shelves.

“I’ll ask around.” She smiled. “Thank you, my lord mage.”

He waved his hands. “It’s just Viktor.”

She made good on her promise. The next day, Viktor received no fewer than four visitors to the laboratory, shyly asking after healing potions.

“There are limits,” Viktor explained to the old farrier complaining of arthritis. “Healing potions are more effective on some ailments than others.” Viktor knew better than anyone. “A condition you’ve had for a long time—”

The old gardener patted Viktor on the shoulder. “I know, lad. I’m not expecting a miracle cure. But it should help the pain, right?”

“Of course.” Relieved that the man’s expectations wouldn’t soar too high, Viktor handed him a potion and watched him drink it.

The farrier set the bottle down and turned his hands over in amazement, watching the swelling of his joints diminish before his eyes. He teared up. “That’s loads better,” he said. “Thank you, Lord Mage. Thank you!”

Viktor realized he was going to have to repeat himself a lot until these people stopped adding an honorific to his name.

The next visitor was the chirean man he’d met before. “Word is that you’re passing out healing potions,” he said. “Is that true?”

“It is!” Viktor said. He grabbed one off the shelf. “What’s troubling you?”

The chirean didn’t take the proffered bottle. “It’s not for me. It’s for my daughter. Is that allowed, or are you only distributing potions to staff?”

“That’s perfectly all right!” Viktor said. The more people he could help, the better. “But let me double-check my notes so you know how much to give her. How old is she?”

“Seven months. She has a cough that won’t go away.”

“Seven months.” Viktor consulted his journal of notes. “Two spoonfuls should be enough for her, but if she doesn’t improve, try one more spoonful.”

“Thank you.” He accepted the bottle in a clawed hand. “I’ve been so worried about her.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“How can I repay you?”

“Just let me know if she gets better. I want to hear if the potion worked. For science.”

The chirean nodded and bowed out of the lab. Less than an hour later, another knock sounded on the door. “Excuse me,” asked a young man with dirt on his pants. A gardener? “I heard you were handing out potions.”

Viktor wasn’t going to get any work done if this kept up, but he didn’t mind.

—

Wandering the halls one day, acquainting himself with the twists, turns, and levels of the palace, Viktor overheard someone talking about him. He paused his walk, listening.

“...the mage… currying favor with the royals already.”

Someone around the bend was speaking of a mage, and Viktor wanted to hear more. He cast a small spell to let the voices carry to him. Pressing his back to the wall, he listened.

“I don’t think it counts as currying favor,” said a second voice suggestively, “if you have a special relationship with the king already.” The sounds of water and bristle brushes carried, too. Viktor supposed he was hearing two maids as they scrubbed the floor. Maids ran palaces, so their gossip could tell Viktor what the staff truly thought of him.

“What do you mean?” asked the first woman.

“You don’t know? I thought everyone knew. The king and the mage are lovers.”

The first woman gasped, delighted by this nugget of gossip. “No!”

“The king met him on his trip to Piltover and fell in love with him on sight. The mage left the arms of his betrothed to return to Zaun with Lord Silco.”

“That’s so romantic!”

“I know.”

Viktor stifled a laugh against his hand. The story of Silco’s actions in Piltover had gotten reasonably twisted into this fairytale. But poor Viktor wasn’t actually sleeping with Silco; Viktor was getting all of the credit and none of the cum.

He ended the eavesdropping spell and tiptoed back the way he came.

—

Poor for company, Viktor decided he needed to stop being a hermit and find some friends outside the palace. As he walked toward the below-ground exit, he realized that this was his first time leaving the palace grounds since his arrival. Viktor had gotten so caught up with his new work that he’d forgotten to explore his new city.

A guard waved him through the gate, and Viktor stepped into Entresol.

He wandered toward the College of Techmaturgy, passing market stalls and stacks of buildings on the way. Above him, bridges and staircases crisscrossed, connecting the disparate levels of the city in a lattice maze. Some of the bridges were tunnels of glass, and others were open to the air.

Viktor coughed a few times on his trip. The dusty, stale air grated on his lungs. He made a note to wear a mask next time.

The city-dwellers were an eclectic bunch. They sported tattoos, flamboyant hats, thick-soled shoes, and fashionable face masks. A fox Vastaya with a fluffy purple tail chatted with a short woman covered in chainmail. Two fishmen argued over prices at a jewelry stall.

The buildings perched on top of one another like a child’s building blocks. Viktor walked under an awning formed by the jutting overhang of a house built on top of a store.

He was relieved to step inside the College of Techmaturgy and take a breath of magically-filtered air. This building housed a lobby, classrooms, and labs. Students lived in another building nearby. Viktor asked the clerk at the front desk if a Sky Young still taught there, and the clerk directed him to the third floor.

Her name was etched on a nameplate outside her classroom. Viktor knocked on the door, and a pretty young woman with black curls answered.

“Sky?” Viktor asked. He hadn’t seen her in years.

Her eyes widened, and a pair of iridescent dragonfly wings spread behind her. “Viktor? Is that you? Come in!” She ushered him into the classroom and shut the door. “It’s been ages! How are you? You’re not using a cane anymore? When did you return to Zaun?”

Viktor’s shoulders fell in relief at her enthusiastic greeting. “I was worried that you wouldn’t remember me,” he said. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Of course I remember you!”

Her classroom was arranged in an auditorium style with tiers of desks facing a large chalkboard. They stood on the top tier, in the aisle leading down between the desks. “To answer your questions,” he said, “I returned to Zaun only recently at the behest of King Silco. I’m serving as his court mage, and he’s sponsoring my research. I haven’t needed a cane, except on bad days, in years.” He drew his robes aside to show her that he still wore a brace. “I may have experimented on my body some in my Academy days, but it all turned out all right, and I’m far healthier than before.”

“That’s incredible!” she said. Ever curious, she bent to examine the brace. “Did you design this?”

“I did.”

She buzzed around him like a bee. “Those gold runes in your skin—that’s the experimentation you spoke of?”

“Indeed.”

“Fascinating. You’ll have to teach a guest lecture on body modification sometime.”

Viktor grinned. “I would be happy to.”

Sky grabbed his forearms and flipped them over, studying him like a specimen. “You’re so charged up!” she exclaimed. “How come you always seem to have more mana than the rest of us?”

Viktor laughed. “Do I? This feels normal for me.”

“You always did, even as a kid.”

“My old master, Singed, used to study the transference of mana from one creature to another. Maybe I’ll ask him if there’s a way for me to lend you some of my extra.”

Sky hugged him. “It really is good to see you. I knew you left for Piltover, and that was the last I heard of you. I can’t believe you’re working in the palace now!”

“And I want to hear all about your teaching,” Viktor said.

They chatted for half an hour, then Sky had to prepare for her next lecture, but they promised to meet later at a restaurant to catch up. That evening, over dinner at Sky’s favorite cafe, they continued their conversation.

“What are you researching?” she asked him.

He told her about his attempts to brew potions without magic. “But I haven’t gotten very far,” he said. “I keep getting distracted by requests for other potions.”

“Whose requests?”

“Palace staff. They’ve asked for abortifacients and sleeping potions and healing potions for their children, and I can’t say no.”

“Well, you have to say no sometime, right?”

“But how?” Viktor asked, pushing food around his plate with a fork. “If I’m able to help, how can I not?”

Sky hummed. She tapped her nails together in chitinous clicks. “What if you designate one day a week for making potions or spells for the palace staff? If they have a favor to ask of you, they have to come on that day, and the rest of the days you can devote to your research.”

“That is an excellent idea, Sky. Thank you.” Just like that, she’d solved his dilemma, finding a compromise between taking requests and pursuing his own lines of inquiry. “I’ve always admired your practicality. You have a good sense of scope.”

She blushed under her freckles. “That’s sweet of you to say.” She took a bite of her pasta. “I always admired you, too. You know, I had a crush on you when we were children.” She hurried to clarify, “Not anymore! Don’t worry.”

“Oh!” Viktor said, reviewing their childhood as apprentice magi together. “I didn’t realize!”

“I’m sure you didn’t. You were always so focused on your work.”

“It probably wouldn’t have worked out,” Viktor teased gently, “since I’m only attracted to men.”

Sky laughed. “That would have put a damper on our relationship, yes. Friends, then?”

“Friends,” he agreed.

Viktor left dinner pleased at having accomplished his mission, and he returned to the palace.

Chapter Text

Sevika was in charge of palace security, which meant that if the Noxian delegation killed anyone, Sevika was to blame.

This Noxian state visit had been planned for months, so Sevika’d had plenty of time to orchestrate guard rotations and assess the palace for weaknesses. Still, trepidation thrummed in her pulse as she made a final circuit of the palace, triple-checking that everyone was in place.

“Would you like the two of us on shimmer, sir?” asked one of the guards posted outside the throne room doors.

“Not a bad idea,” Sevika said. “Remember, we’re making a show of force. The Noxian wolves respect strength. Take a hit, bulk up, and put on your intimidation faces.”

The guards nodded their understanding, and Sevika pushed into the throne room.

Everyone had a part to play in convincing the Noxian queen that Zaun was not to be messed with. Half the guards had rubbed shimmer on their gums, and black veins rimmed eyes glowing the sick purple that made other nations whisper about the Zaunite freaks. The throne room flickered with torchlight, servants scurried around, and Silco stood at the center of the action, magnificent in dark armor and a cape lined with crimson.

Sevika parted the scuttling servants and caught Silco’s attention.

“Well?” he asked. “Are we ready?”

“We are on my end,” she replied. All the guards stood at their posts. Some were dressed down in servant’s disguises, with weapons hidden on their bodies in case fighting broke out. She had eyes on Silco and eyes on the Noxians through every step of this visit. The kitchen was officially on lockdown as a precaution against poisoners—even before the Noxians arrived—and only a select few servants were permitted in and out to serve dinner.

“Good,” Silco said. He adjusted the simple silver circlet on his head, set with Zaunite jewels. He seldom wore a crown, and he’d chosen a small one tonight. “Do I look as ridiculous as I feel?”

Sevika tilted her head and set her hands on her hips, and her katana sheath clinked against the cuisse on her thigh. Sleeves of dragonscale mail peeked out under Silco’s black breastplate. Practical black boots lent him an extra inch of height. His black gauntlets ended in points like claws. The scar was on full display today, seared across his skin like his own, glowing eye had burnt away the flesh around it. Silco’s ensemble read power and danger as clearly as if the words had been printed on his cape. “You look like you chopped the last king’s head off,” Sevika responded.

“Perfect.” Silco straightened. He glanced around on his way to the throne. “Where’s Jinx?”

“Here I am, ready to rule!” The princess zipped through the bustle of servants to take her place at her father’s side. Someone (probably that nanny, gods bless her) had wrestled Jinx into a more formal outfit than she typically wore. Her black tunic was sleeveless and extended longer in the back than the front. Neat, black and red pinstripe pants were tucked into her scuffed boots. Thick, twisting braids pulled her hair out of her face and entwined into a single rope of blue down her back. A diadem of slate and rubies capped the outfit. The colors identified her with Silco—his spiky, spunky Princess of the Underground.

Silco brought Jinx up on the dais with him, and she perched on the armrest of the throne like a falconer’s accomplice. They were an imposing pair, Sevika observed with satisfaction, like daggers: sleek, small, and teethed. Hopefully the Noxians knew better than to cause this royal family trouble.

“Pardon me,” Viktor said at Sevika’s arm. “I’m going to mess with the lights when the delegation arrives. Tell your guards not to react to anything spooky.”

What tricks did Silco’s pet mage have up his sleeve? Whatever he was planning, Sevika trusted him, so she spread his warning among her people. Then she made one last visual sweep of the room, pronounced it safe, and headed upstairs to wait for their guests.

—

The Noxian queen was a tall, fearsome woman, scarred from battle. Like Silco, she wore a dressed-up version of armor to impress and intimidate. Her guards carried wicked spears, and her entourage competed with Silco’s to display the most black and red.

Sevika escorted the twenty or so Noxian warriors, plus the queen, down to the throne room. Servants had scrubbed and decorated the route, and guards stood at every intersection.

The throne room had no windows. The Zaunite palace enticed guests down into the earth, swallowing them in cavernous halls of dark gray stone. Sekiva had worked in the palace briefly during Vander’s rule, back when she was a simple guard, and he’d done his best to make the building seem homey and warm. Little potted plants and bright drapes had dressed up the walls. Silco projected a different image. In every room the Noxians would visit, velvet curtains hid trace sunlight, and the plants had been tucked out of sight in favor of sculptures made of iron, cut crystal, and carved stone. He wanted the palace dark. He wanted the Noxians squinting in the dim like miners on their first day underground.

The foreigners stopped in front of the throne, and Queen Ambessa greeted Silco as a fellow sovereign. “Lord Silco, thank you for the invitation to your home.” She inclined her head while her back remained straight.

Silco greeted her in turn, and then the two began a dance of weighted small talk. Sevika followed the conversation with part of her attention while devoting the rest to observing the Noxians. She paced slowly around the perimeter of the room.

The torches in their sconces flickered with sparks and glowed shimmer-purple—a sick tinge that softened the yellow flame to ghostly gray. Was that what Viktor had meant by ‘messing with the lights?’

Some of the Noxian soldiers stood like statues, too well-trained to react to the uncanny lighting, but others sniffed the air and glanced around. What were they smelling, smoke?

“When I heard what you’d done to Vander,” Queen Ambessa was saying, “I knew you were a man after my own heart. When it comes to leadership, bloodlines are important, but when one vine rots, another will choke it out.”

“So you told me the last time we met,” Silco drawled.

“I hear good things about your regime. Except for a few isolated pockets of dissent, you have the support of the populace. Impressive after so short a rule and so bloody a beginning.”

“And who feeds your ears?” Silco asked. “Care to reveal who your spies in my country are?”

“Only if you reveal yours.”

They both laughed.

No one was dead yet, which Sevika counted as a win. She continued her prowl around the room as Silco proposed an exchange of ambassadors: a Noxian to live in the Zaunite palace and a Zaunite to live in the Noxian. Ambessa said she would think on it, but she was very protective of her borders.

Sevika ran into Viktor, poised at one edge of the room in a black cowled cloak. She asked him in a whisper, “Did you turn the flames purple?”

He replied in a whisper to match. “Yes. And I’m making it so that the Noxians, and only the Noxians, smell sulfur. Please let me concentrate.”

Sevika left him to his magic and continued her circuit. Now the sniffing of the Noxian soldiers made sense. Silco’s little mage was messing with them. Sevika stifled a smile. He fit right in with this court of tricks and treachery. Now Sevika understood Silco’s fascination with him.

Sevika tuned back into the conversation between monarchs.

Ambessa said, “Your lands are vast and your resources plentiful. For a price, I would be happy to lend you some of my soldiers to guard them. I understand you had a skirmish with Piltover recently. Backed by the might of the Noxian army, none would dare attack you.”

“We’re perfectly capable of guarding our own borders,” Silco said, “though I thank you for your generous offer.

“You might regret turning me down,” Ambessa said. “Tempting treasures glitter under your feet, treasures that mightier nations might attempt to steal.”

The hair stood up on Sevika’s neck as the temperature in the room dropped. Wind—sourceless and ethereal—rippled the giant Eye of Zaun banners behind the throne. Even Sevika glanced up and around, but no windows could have let in a breeze. Viktor was doing this, wasn’t he? This was another trick meant to unsettle the foreigners.

Silco’s voice matched the sudden chill of the room. “They would not find our treasures so easy to pry from our clutches. The Piltovian infiltration ended in the invaders begging for clemency.”

“So it did.” Ambessa nodded, and both the chill and the wind faded away.

Silco invited Ambessa to dine with him, and Sevika kept him in her field of view until the guests had taken their seats, he’d proclaimed a toast to the visitors, and the servants had brought out the first course. Sevika checked in with several guards and then posted herself behind Silco’s table, where she could keep an eye on both him and Ambessa, who sat in the place of honor at his side.

Sevika cringed to imagine what would happen if someone assassinated Silco. The country would fall into chaos. The princess would inherit the throne, if a foreign power didn’t get their claws on it first, and the nobles would throw a fit at someone so young in charge; they would have to appoint a regent, but no clear candidate came to mind, and the nobles would fight over that, too.

Not to mention that Sevika believed in Silco. She didn’t work to keep him alive for mere friendship’s sake (though she was his friend). Silco was a dreamer, imagining radiant possibilities for Zaun’s future, and he was willing to sweat and bleed for them. His stiff spine topped by a clever mind had made a traitor of her, pledging to follow him to prison, death, or the start of a new regime.

Posted behind Silco’s table, Sevika had a front row seat as Ambessa asked after the cloaked figure and Silco invited Viktor over to dine at their table. Ambessa tore a piece of bread off, dipped it in spiced oil, and said, “You’re a mage, aren’t you?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.”

“It was you making the wind and the other nonsense in the throne room.” She voiced it as a statement, not a question.

“Perhaps.”

“You’re too modest. You scared some of my men stiff.”

Viktor inclined his head in gratitude for the compliment. Silco shuffled in his seat, wary eyes on Ambessa. Sevika could guess his thoughts: what did Ambessa want with Viktor?

“An illusionist would be invaluable on the battlefield,” Ambessa remarked.

“I don’t know much about battle magic, Your Majesty.”

“You look like a man who could learn just about anything.”

“Careful,” Silco said, tapping his fork idly against his plate. “You almost sound like you’re trying to steal my mage from me.”

Ambessa leaned back in her seat. “Would I do that?” To Viktor, she asked, “You let yourself be stolen once. Why not again?”

“You flatter me with your offer that is not an offer,” Viktor said. “However, I am loyal to my king and country. I will work for Lord Silco only.”

Silco’s features relaxed a fraction at that, and Sevika could tell that Viktor’s response had pleased him.

But Ambessa didn’t lose interest. “That’s a shame,” she said between bites of food. “Now, correct me if I’m mistaken, but I’d heard that King Silco brought you to Zaun for, shall we say, a particular purpose.”

Sevika tensed, ready to intervene if Silco called for backup. Until he did, she had to trust that Silco and Viktor had the situation in hand. She didn’t like to stand by while one of her people was insulted, but she wouldn’t interrupt a foreign sovereign at dinner just for being impolite.

“Are you happy being a toy?” Ambessa asked. “I would elevate you among my ranks of soldiers. You would have respect.”

Viktor said, “I would rather be his toy than your tool, Your Majesty,” and his voice remained light and polite.

Ambessa chuckled. “Fine, then.” Her eyes traveled downward until Viktor’s body disappeared behind the table. Then she turned, ignoring Viktor to address Silco. “Is he available to rent or borrow for the night? I like the look of his face. I won’t make him perform any magic for me; you have my word.”

“He’s not my toy, and he’s not for sale,” Silco said. “Viktor, get out of here.”

Viktor hadn’t taken a bite that whole conversation, and his food sat untouched on his plate. He rose, bowed to the king and queen, and hastened away, tugging his hood back over his head. He blended into the shadows near the servants’ entrance, out of earshot but keeping his eyes on the hall.

“Don’t speak of my employees in such a careless manner,” Silco said. “And keep your hands off him.”

She smirked. “Want him all to yourself, do you?”

“That’s right. I don’t share.”

“I understand. If I possessed a boy that lovely, I wouldn’t let anyone else play with him, either.”

Thankfully, the conversation moved on after that because Silco looked a word away from strangling the insolent Noxian queen. He glanced behind him at Sevika.

Don’t let her get under your skin, Sevika tried to tell him with her eyes. Ambessa was baiting Silco, poking at him a hundred ways to see what garnered a reaction.

Silco turned back to Ambessa and slid into a conversation about tourism. Silco did not look at Viktor the rest of the evening, as if afraid of drawing Ambessa’s attention back to the mage.

Later, Silco quietly ordered Sevika to station a guard outside Viktor’s door to prevent nighttime visitors.

—

The Noxians left the following morning, and Sevika had to spend the rest of the afternoon listening to Silco gripe.

“She kept bringing up Viktor to me,” Silco told her as they lounged in the den, getting high on the mellow version of shimmer. Silco smoked it out of a thin pipe. Sevika sat at the card table, idly shuffling a deck, while Silco lay on a couch. “She could tell that mentions of him irked me, so she kept at it. And when she wasn’t harassing Viktor, she was probing for information about our armies and plans for the future.”

Sevika grunted to show that she was listening but didn’t really care. The Noxian visit had tried everyone’s patience, not just the king’s. Sevika’s back was sore and her patience thin.

Silco blew purple smoke at the ceiling. It curled like scrollwork on a manuscript. “That was the most miserable twenty-four hours of my life,” he said.

“Really?” Sevika replied, already done with his shit. “Including the whole…” She gestured to her face.

“I can have you killed, you know.”

“Respectfully, you can try.”

“I’m the king. I can do whatever I want.”

“Except for Viktor.” The cards poured together like two waterfalls, and Sevika split the deck to do it again. Really, Silco only had himself to blame. He’d made Viktor off-limits by his own choice. She didn’t understand why he didn’t just fuck the mage and be done with it.

“Remind me to schedule interviews for a new Captain of the Guard,” Silco said.

Sevika ignored him. She held out a hand for the pipe, and Silco passed it over. She took a hit and returned it.

“I can’t believe she wanted to fuck him,” Silco said to the ceiling.

“Why is that so hard to comprehend? You want to fuck him.” If Silco were trying to hide that fact, he wasn’t hiding it well. Sevika saw his eyes linger on Viktor at every opportunity. Sevika didn’t get it, but then again, Viktor wasn’t her type.

“That’s different.”

“Respectfully, it isn’t.”

Silco snorted. “You can’t just make any statement that comes out of your mouth acceptable as long as you tack ‘respectfully’ on to the beginning of the sentence.”

“Respectfully,” Sevika grinned, “if you were going to get rid of me, you would’ve done it ages ago.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Silco inhaled from his pipe again. “You’re stuck with me, too.”

“Just promise me something,” Sevika said.

“Anything.”

Sevika laced her fingers together and stretched them above her head, popping her back. “No more state visits for at least a month.”

“I’ll drink to that, too.”

“Cheers,” Sevika said.

Chapter Text

Another meeting with his council dragged on. Silco had been stuck in this room for hours, discussing what to do with the influx of taxes from Piltover.

“I still say that we shouldn’t dictate what each mine does with the money we allot them,” said one of Silco’s advisors. They were merchants, officials in the army, and nobles. Some of them had served as advisors since Vander’s day.

“So the foreman of a mine can just decide to keep all of it for himself?” said the marshal.

“Obviously not.”

The marshal brought his hand down on the table. “So then we must have some kinds of restrictions for what the mines can spend the tax money on.”

“I have yet to hear a coherent proposal for what those restrictions might be.”

Silco yawned. The dripping candles told the lateness of the hour. His thoughts were wandering from taxes to a pretty boy who’d swung his legs into Silco’s lap and showed his canines. Where was Viktor now? Was Silco on his mind?

From the seat to his right, Sevika said, “Can we reconvene tomorrow? The Feast of Kindred is tonight, and we’re going to be late for dinner.”

“Excellent idea,” Silco said. Everyone stood, gathered their things, and filed out of the room. Silco and Sevika walked in the opposite direction of the others, taking the long way to the dining hall so they could debrief. “What did you think of that?” he asked her.

“I think Renni has the right idea about the Crown holding some of the money back as disaster relief.”

“Anything else?”

“You’ve always got science projects to fund. Don’t let them talk you out of keeping some money for that.”

He appreciated her candor. He appreciated having a friend who’d been loyal to him since before he’d become king—someone he could trust. “I won’t.”

They paused at an intersection, where they crossed paths with Viktor and another young mage. She had raven hair braided back from her face, cascading into curls that reached her waist. She and Viktor were dressed for a party: each clothed as one of the two incarnations of the death god. The woman wore a lamb mask. The sleeves of her white dress were cut off-the-shoulder and draped almost to the ground. The dress was slit up a leg, revealing a crimson lining. White, slender arrows on her back completed the costume.

Viktor was the Wolf. Some of his hair was pulled back in his typical bun, and two strands around his face were braided. He wore silver crescent earrings and silver, twisted cuffs attached to a sheer black cape. His robes hung down his body like a dress, cinched at the waist by his crisscrossing belt. Today, instead of pouches of chalk, a black dagger hung from it. The two gave the impression, accurate of the god, that while the Lamb would end you gently, mercifully, the Wolf would make you suffer, and he would enjoy it.

Viktor lifted his mask and smiled at Silco, resplendent as a jewel. He and his friend bowed.

“Can you introduce me to your companion?” Silco asked, taking any excuse to linger here and keep looking at him.

“Certainly,” Viktor said. “This is my friend, Sky Young.”

She curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Silco said. “Where are you two headed?” Why had they gotten all dressed up?

“Into the city,” Viktor said. “It’s the Feast tonight.”

Right—the Feast of Kindred, a day to celebrate life and confront your own mortality. Parties raged all over Entresol and would until sunup. Viktor could be headed to any one of them to drink and dance and make the most of this short life. Would he meet someone? Would he go home with them?

The thought of Viktor under someone else, black silk pooling around him as some stranger pushed him into the bed with a kiss, made Silco furious.

Viktor cocked his head. “If that’s all, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, go enjoy yourselves.” Silco waved them off. Viktor fixed his wolf mask back in place and pulled Sky with him, glancing over his shoulder once at Silco.

When they were gone, Sekiva wolf-whistled.

“Hands off,” Silco said.

Sevika snorted. “I was looking at his pretty little friend. Don’t worry, your lordship, everyone knows that you have dibs on Viktor.”

“Good.”

“Do you think she likes women?” Sevika asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” He started walking again. He taunted his friend. “The whole innocent little lamb thing is doing it for you?”

“It is.”

Silco walked deliberately onward and deliberately did not think about Viktor. If he made himself too angry, he would go and do something idiotic like tell the guards to inform him when Viktor returned. Viktor could stay out as long as he liked.

“Have you fucked him yet?” Sevika asked.

“Certainly not. I’m not a monster.”

“Really?” She gave him a side glance. “You seem pretty into him.”

Silco expected the Pilties to think so lowly of him, but not Sevika. “You mean to tell me you would seriously consider going for sometime that much younger than you? You would sleep with Sky, for example, without any guilt?”

“I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it.”

Her perspective was interesting, but Silco’s mind remained unchanged. It was different for him and Viktor, he told himself. The circumstances of their meeting, and Silco’s position as king, made for uneven scales.

Silco had a nice dinner with Jinx, though he caught himself wishing Viktor were around to enjoy it. The kitchen had outdone itself preparing the feast. Courses of succulent roast vegetables, tender duck dripping sauce, and sugar-crusted fruit sat out on the table together so the feasters could sample them at their leisure.

Jinx perched directly on the table, musicians played in a corner, and alcohol flowed freely among the guests and residents of the palace. A festival atmosphere made everyone giddy.

He let Jinx stay up an extra hour, and after she was put to bed, he retired to his rooms.

His bedroom had a window, and through it came the sounds of a crowd cheering, music playing, and the general revelry of the festival. Viktor might still be out there in the bright, noisy night.

What if he and that young woman were a couple? They’d coordinated their costumes, but surely, many friends did tonight. Viktor and Sky would twirl through oceans of frolicking lambs and wolves on the prowl. The two magi weren’t necessarily romantic.

Silco didn’t want them to be. He wanted Viktor to be single and come home tonight drunk, happy, and alone.

Silco knew it was wrong, but he slid into bed and pushed down his pants enough to free his cock, and he took it in hand with Viktor on his mind.

In his mind’s eye, Viktor stood before him, illuminated on one side by the flickering fire. His back was to Silco, and as his head turned to a profile, the firelight made his earrings and the runes on his skin glow red. The angular wolf mask hid his face.

Silco stroked himself, picturing Viktor dropping his clothes: first the belt, then the robes, and then the cuffs holding up the cape, pushing them down over his arms and exposing his bare back. The cape billowed like black water as Viktor dropped it.

That was all it took. Silco came over his hand, eye closed and head tipped back. 

He should be ashamed. Viktor was Silco’s employee—was over a decade younger than him—and though Viktor seemed to have forgiven Silco for how they met, Silco hadn’t forgiven himself.

Silco wouldn’t take advantage of Viktor, even if Viktor was a shameless flirt.

Silco cleaned himself off in the bathroom. What Viktor didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. If Silco touched himself thinking about Viktor (made love to Viktor only in his thoughts and let him be in reality), Viktor would be none the wiser, and all would be well.

—

Again and again over the following days, his mind turned to Viktor as he took himself in hand. Silco tried to conjure images of himself with faceless other lovers, but they all morphed into Viktor. In his imagination late at night, he took Viktor bent over his desk. Silco had him in bed, surrounded by pillows, while Viktor clutched him close like a lifeline, moaning as Silco whispered dirty promises in his ear. Viktor sat at Silco’s feet, sucking eagerly at his cock and blinking honey eyes at him. Silco brought Viktor to completion with his mouth and his hands, and Viktor fell asleep in Silco’s bed.

The bed was plenty big for both of them. Silco could imagine Viktor in this room, lounging on the chaise or twisted in the sheets, sweating as if he’d run ten flights of stairs. He could imagine it so easily.

He wanted to keep their trysts a secret; he wanted the gossiping staff to discover them. His chamberlain would open the door one morning to find his master in bed with the mage, who was naked and blissfully asleep, and by the next day everyone in the palace would know that Silco had fucked Viktor stupid—fucked him until he couldn’t walk, until he couldn’t think.

One evening, Silco found himself on the floor of the palace housing Viktor, and he turned to walk past Viktor’s door. A laundress wandered down the hall, toting an armful of bedding. She stepped to the side and curtseyed as Silco passed. He nodded to her and continued to the end of the hall, pretending his destination wasn’t Viktor’s door. He rounded the corner, waited a moment, then peeked around to verify that the laundress was gone. She was.

He crept back down the hall to Viktor’s door and knocked.

Viktor answered. Thankfully, he was still dressed in his day clothes; Silco hadn’t woken him. “Lord Silco!” he said, astonished. “Would you like to come in?”

“Thank you.” Silco felt better once the door was shut behind him. No servants had seen him visiting Viktor’s rooms at night.

The antechamber was decorated in shades of pale green. A sofa and an armchair faced each other with a short table in between. A painting of a dragon dozing contentedly in a clearing hung on the wall; the dragon’s verdant scales blended in with the foliage, and a whiff of smoke curled up from its nostrils.

The door to Viktor’s bedroom was slightly ajar. At least while the two of them stayed in the antechamber, they could claim a measure of respectability for this meeting, but that gap between the door and the frame tantalized Silco.

“Won’t you have a seat?” Viktor offered.

“Thank you.” Silco took the armchair, and Viktor took the sofa.

Viktor waited for Silco to offer an explanation for his visit. He held his hands folded neatly in his lap.

“How are you?” Silco asked.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “I’m well. And you?”

“The same.” Silco crossed an ankle over his knee. He had to know. “Do you miss your fiancé?”

Viktor made a small, surprised sound. He leaned back into the sofa. “I wasn’t expecting that question.”

Shit. Silco had crossed the boundaries of propriety. His mind was dizzy with Viktor, rendering him incapable of navigating the simplest conversations. “I apologize. That was too forward.”

Viktor’s voice was firm. “Be forward. I want you to be forward.” Viktor took a breath. “Jayce has been in love with magic since he was a boy. His mother liked to say that she always knew he’d marry a mage. I was the easiest to get his hands on, I think.” Then Viktor rubbed his temples. “That’s unkind. Jayce was loving and doting the entire time we knew each other. He would have been a good husband to me.”

That wasn’t a love declaration. I miss him terribly, Viktor could have said, yet he didn’t. Emboldened, Silco asked, “Are you happy here?”

“More so than I could have imagined.”

Silco was satisfied. His jealousy assuaged, he could sleep peacefully tonight. He stood, and Viktor followed his lead. “I won’t keep you,” Silco said.

Viktor sounded stunned. “You’re not leaving already?”

“It’s late.”

“Plenty of activities are suited to the hour.” Viktor stepped forward and slid a hand up Silco’s chest. “Why did you come here, if not to proposition me? You’re confusing me, Silco.”

Silco stepped away, toward the wall behind him, pulling free of Viktor’s hand. “I don’t mean to confuse you. Or proposition you.”

“I’ll proposition you, then.” Viktor closed the distance, reeling himself in like yarn on a spindle. “We should be lovers.” Viktor wound his arms around Silco’s neck, holding fast even when Silco tried to retreat; the wall impeded Silco’s escape. “You’re attracted to me. I’m attracted to you. Let’s just work this out of our systems, no?”

Silco swallowed. “Who says I’m attracted to you?”

“I know you are. I see how you look at me.” Viktor leaned in, a breath away, but he hovered, waiting for Silco to close the gap between their mouths. His lips were parted in expectation.

He shouldn’t.

Viktor wanted it.

That was no excuse. Silco knew better.

When had a little thing like ethics stopped Silco from taking what he wanted? Blood ran in the streets at Silco’s word.

Tired of waiting for a kiss, Viktor found Silco’s neck, pressing slow, neat kisses up to his ear. Their bodies pressed together, warming Silco’s waist. “Well?” Viktor whispered. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Silco didn’t let himself reciprocate. He clenched his fists tight, holding himself back from grabbing Viktor and pinning him to the sofa.

Images he’d touched himself to flashed through his mind, quick as lightning: Viktor in a gossamer black cape, Viktor commanding Silco to feed him fruit, Viktor in the council chamber saying, “I’ll do it.”

Silco realized he’d erred when the temperature of the room dropped several degrees and sounds went muffled like they’d been in the carriage. Silco hadn’t noticed the tiny background noises of fireplaces and footsteps filtering through the walls until they vanished like mist on a fair day.

Viktor pulled away. “You actually don’t want me.” He unhanded Silco, stepped away, and ducked his head. His voice turned clipped and formal. “I apologize, Your Majesty, for coming on to you so brazenly. I thought… but I was mistaken. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“Wait.” Silco grabbed his arm. He couldn’t let Viktor think that Silco didn’t want him. Silco couldn’t bear the nervous lilt to Viktor’s voice.

Viktor looked at the hand on his arm. He looked up. The muffle disappeared, and the air warmed. “You do want me,” he said triumphantly.

“I shouldn’t,” Silco said, but his grip on Viktor’s arm belied his reservation.

“I knew it. Well, what’s stopping you?”

“You’re too young for me.”

“I’m old enough to decide that for myself.”

“I treated you abominably when we met. I traded you with Piltover like a commodity.”

“A farce you refuted as soon as you were able. You’ve been nothing but respectful since. If ever there were a sin to forgive, it’s forgiven.”

Silco stared at him. If Viktor truly held no grudges, and if Viktor wanted this, as he’d professed over and over again that he did…

“Please touch me.” Viktor slid back into Silco’s arms and resumed the press of his lips against Silco’s neck. He kissed Silco’s skin for long moments, and when he spoke, his voice cooled the wet skin where his tongue had been. “Please. Wherever you want it. However you want it.”

“Janna, you’re desperate,” he said as if he weren’t desperate, too.

“Guilty.”

“You’d fuck a man twice your age?”

Viktor’s hand slipped between Silco’s legs to knead his hardening cock. “You’re barely fifteen years older than me. That’s hardly twice my age.”

“Fuck. You’ve done the math already?”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

He was shameless, saying and taking exactly what he wanted, and his frankness was refreshing. If Viktor were at all uncomfortable, Silco knew he would voice his discomfort.

“Kiss me,” Viktor challenged. He tugged the lapels of Silco’s coat. “Like you want to. Do it now—”

Silco’s mouth met his.

Chapter Text

Silco grabbed Viktor’s face as he kissed him. Need kindled in his belly and built to a conflagration as Viktor returned the kiss with delighted fervor.

Viktor reached for Silco’s face, but when Viktor’s fingers met Silco’s skin, they sparked like the discharge of static. Viktor pulled bodily away. “Sorry,” he said. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Silco, eyes still half-closed, tried to pull Viktor back into the kiss. He needed Viktor. He needed Viktor’s skin warming his.

But when Silco made contact, another spark shocked his fingers. Viktor bit his lip. “Sorry,” he repeated, darting a step back. “This happens sometimes when I’m excited.”

Silco felt a smile form. “It’s all right,” he said. Silco could handle a few small shocks of pain if they indicated Viktor’s delight. “It’s cute. Come here.”

Warily, Viktor stepped back into range and let Silco pull him into another kiss. He moaned and parted his mouth for Silco’s tongue.

Pressing, laving him open, Silco dug himself deep into the cavern of Viktor’s mouth. He grabbed a handful of Viktor’s ass to keep him from darting away again.

Hesitantly, Viktor touched Silco’s face. After a short, sharp discharge of static, he grew in confidence, locking his fingers together behind Silco’s neck and pressing into the kiss. He mumbled Silco’s name into his mouth.

He smelled like aniseed and ozone. His soft lips moved against Silco’s in a skillful kiss.

Silco couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. If a servant had burst into the room, Silco would have ordered them out and continued inhaling Viktor, gossip or none. Silco kissed down Viktor’s cheek to his jaw, sucking his skin where the paleness of his face met the purple of the rest of his body. “I wanted you,” he said.

“I know.”

“I want you now.” Silco pushed him toward the sofa, walking him backward until he could set Viktor on the soft cushions.

“Here?”

“Here.” Now that he’d ended his exercise in restraint, Silco couldn’t wait a moment longer to get Viktor into his mouth and discover what he tasted like everywhere. Silco bent himself to the task of extracting Viktor from his clothes as efficiently as possible. He knelt in front of the sofa and pushed Viktor’s robes up his legs. Silco salivated in expectation of seeing Viktor’s cock, of giving Viktor pleasure. He would have Viktor sparking like a firecracker by the time Silco was through with him.

Viktor wore leggings under his robes, presumably to serve as a barrier between the leg brace and his skin.

Silco ran his hands down the metal. “Can I take this off?” he asked.

“Yes. Here, allow me.” Viktor bent to show Silco the latches. The brace opened, and Silco carefully slid Viktor’s leg out of it.

He set it aside, tugged off Viktor’s shoes, reached up to Viktor’s waist, and pulled the leggings and underwear off together.

Viktor unfastened his belt and wiggled out of the robes, and then he was naked on the sofa.

Silco spent a moment just looking at him. Gold runes decorated his entire, trim body. Even his cock was tinged with the purple coloring that stretched from his neck to his toes. It listed to the side, half-hard.

He glittered like an amethyst—like a jewel from Zaun’s deepest mines, carved out of the stone just for Silco. Silco slid his hands up Viktor’s thighs, parting them, and bent forward to lick at the tip of Viktor’s cock.

Viktor protested, “Your Majesty, you don’t—”

“Silco,” he corrected.

“Silco, you don’t have to do that.”

“Let me.” Silco guided Viktor’s tip into his mouth, gently sucking. Viktor was warm and salty with sweat. Silco licked him to hardness and then pressed open-mouthed kisses to Viktor’s balls. “However I want it, you said.”

Viktor ran a hand through his own hair, pushing the blond strands out of his face. “I thought…”

“I know what you thought.” Viktor thought Silco was going to take his ass, perhaps after some slight preparation. Maybe that was what his previous partners had done. Viktor didn’t expect Silco to get on his knees for him.

But Silco needed this like air. He needed to make Viktor come—all mouth and hands and intention. He needed to show Viktor just how deep the seam of his desire ran. No quick fuck and disappearing into the night—Silco wanted Viktor to keep coming back to him.

Silco slipped Viktor into his mouth and took him as far as he comfortably could on this first pass. He gave himself time to get used to the weight of Viktor on his tongue, licking gently, before he tried to push down farther. Viktor’s cock was only slightly smaller than Silco’s own, now that it was teased to full hardness. Silco might not fit him all the way—he’d never excelled at this—but he was determined to make Viktor come nevertheless.

He set a slow, sucking pace, sliding up and down in a rhythm gentle both for himself and for Viktor.

Viktor moaned and sank into the sofa. He grabbed aimlessly for the armrest.

Silco added a hand, cupping Viktor’s balls as he sucked. They were warm against his palm.

He hadn’t done this in a while. He hadn’t fucked anyone in years, he realized, so taken up with ruling the country. Silco had been lucky in adopting Jinx; she eliminated the need for Silco to produce an heir, so Silco had felt no political pressure to find a woman and fuck her. He did this now—warmed Viktor in his mouth—solely for his own pleasure—because Viktor was handsome, soft, salty, and mischievous, and Silco wanted him.

“Silco!” Viktor put a hand on Silco’s head and pushed him down, bucking into his mouth.

Silco’s body jolted with the implied terror of drowning, but he got a hold of himself and capitulated to the hand on his head guiding him further onto Viktor’s cock.

Was Silco feeling more electricity from Viktor’s fingers, or was his body tingling in pure, unadulterated delight?

He would unwind Viktor like a string. He would unravel him like a frayed rope. Silco would make Viktor lose his mind. Viktor was halfway there already, pulling at Silco’s hair and pushing at the sofa.

He took a break to lap at Viktor’s balls, cradling them with his tongue before returning to Viktor’s cock and sliding up and down. When Viktor’s leg trembled, Silco spit onto his fingers and pressed one to Viktor’s entrance, rubbing saliva around until he could work the finger inside.

“Ah!” Viktor cried out when Silco rubbed against his spot.

Silco kept one hand around Viktor’s cock and used the other to stimulate him from the inside. He rubbed and stroked until Viktor was gasping.

Viktor opened glassy eyes and stared down at Silco. “You know how to fuck boys?” Viktor asked wondrously.

“I know how to fuck boys,” Silco confirmed with a growl. Pleased, he replaced the hand on Viktor’s cock with his mouth. He was defying Viktor’s expectations—exceeding them—and he loved it.

Most of his experiences were with boys—with men. Silco had always been inclined that way. Though he’d had several lovers, none of them had stuck. Since Vander, Silco had lost hope of meeting someone who held his attention, and now, here was Viktor, looking like a god, sparking like flint, and whining under Silco’s mouth.

Silco had never met anyone like him. Vander’s company seemed banal in comparison. Silco could live here, he was sure, sucking on Viktor’s cock and rubbing his prostate so Viktor kept making those little noises and clutching Silco closer.

“Please!”

Silco pressed his free hand against the front of his trousers, rubbing himself through his pants. He was hard as a rock, and the friction was enough to get him off. He kept moving his mouth on Viktor’s dick as he stuttered quietly through an orgasm.

Silco added another finger in Viktor’s ass.

“Ah!” Viktor moaned. “Silco!”

“Fuck,” Silco said, pulling off just long enough to get the words out. “You’re so tight. You’re going to choke me when I get inside you.” He swallowed Viktor back down. Later, Silco would feel the squeeze of Viktor around his cock the way it felt around his fingers. Another night, another time, he would come back for more. And more. And more.

“Fuck, I’m going to come.” Viktor didn’t ease up the pressure on Silco’s head, despite his declaration.

If he wanted to come inside, then Silco would let him. Silco took a final, deep breath and held it while Viktor spilled into his mouth, tasting like the ocean.

“Fuck!” Viktor collapsed. He released Silco and touched his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had begun to bead around his hairline. “Fuck.”

Gently, Silco removed his fingers from Viktor’s hole and his mouth from Viktor’s cock. He swallowed the cum in his mouth. He sat back on his heels, relieving his knees. He was getting too old for this.

“I’ll return the favor in a minute,” Viktor said, catching his breath.

“No need.” The front of Silco’s pants was wet. “I already finished.”

“What?” Viktor peered down. “Just from that?”

Silco nodded.

Viktor grinned. He leaned forward and swept Silco into a kiss, pushing his tongue into Silco’s mouth to taste himself. “You keep surprising me,” he said between kisses. Then, “We should go into the bedroom.”

Silco nodded. As much as he wished to linger in this moment, his knees hurt, and kissing Viktor would be far pleasanter in bed than on the sofa.

Viktor pulled him to his feet, took him by the hand, and led him into the bedroom. The door closed behind them with a click.

The room was dark, lit by a single, triadic sconce of candles. Silco felt overdressed in Viktor’s naked company, so he shrugged out of his coat, vest, and pants. After a thought, he took off his underwear, too, since it was sticky with cum. His shirt billowed enough to cover himself until he joined Viktor under the covers.

Viktor wrapped an arm around Silco and rested his head on Silco’s chest. Silco’s hand found his hair, stroking through the soft, ombré strands. “This won’t be a one-time event, I hope,” Silco said, speaking quietly in the darkness.

“Certainly not,” Viktor mumbled into his shirt. Silco felt him smile. “I haven’t even had you properly yet.”

“Good. Is your leg all right?”

“It’s fine. You’re sweet to ask.”

“May I ask…?”

“I’m not offended,” Viktor said. He lifted his face to look at Silco. “You want to know what’s wrong with it?”

Silco nodded. “And if strenuous activity will hurt you.”

Viktor bared his teeth in a grin, slipping a hand toward Silco’s cock. “What sort of activity did you have in mind?”

Silco caught his wrist. “You know what sort. Don’t let yourself get distracted.” He released Viktor’s wrist.

“When I was younger,” Viktor said, “I was ill. Singed tried to cure me when I apprenticed with him. I have memories of him drawing my blood and feeding me strange potions. He helped, but I didn’t completely cure myself until I studied healing at the Academy.”

Silco listened. Viktor had been ill until young adulthood?

“By that point, healing potions can only do so much. You know how adventurers—who down them like wine—still bear scars?”

Silco nodded.

“Healing potions won’t fix everything. If a wound has already healed, the potion won’t re-heal it. If bones form in an odd shape, a potion won’t regrow them. In a similar way, magic cured me, but the effects of growing up with my illness left my body underdeveloped and weak. My solution was to carve runes of strength and dexterity into myself.” He showed Silco the marks on one arm. “A miniscule portion of my mana feeds them at all times, so magic is animating my body to a normal level of mobility. Even so, I walk with a limp on bad days.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Not really. And sex won’t hurt me, so feel free to be rough.”

“That’s good to know.”

Viktor crossed his arms and rested them on Silco’s chest with his chin on top. His eyes reflected light like an owl’s, uncannily bright in the dark. “I had fun tonight.”

“So did I.”

“Do you plan to walk back to your chambers with soiled pants?”

Fuck. Silco ran a hand down his face. “I hadn’t considered that.”

Viktor chuckled. “I believe I can help there.” He pushed himself up and out of bed, throwing on a dressing gown. Silco hadn’t meant for him to leave the bed. ‘Come back’ sat on the tip of his tongue. Viktor took a piece of chalk from a desk drawer and drew an archway on the stone wall. He lined it with runes that Silco didn’t understand.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a gateway,” Viktor answered. “It won’t work until I draw the other one in your room, but then we will have a quick, secret passage to visit one another. Here, I’ll sneak over there now and create it.”

Silco sat up. “Won’t the staff get suspicious if we have matching doors drawn on our walls? What kind of secret is that?”

“No one will think strange marks on the mage’s wall anything to write home about. But you have a point. Hmm. Is there a tapestry or something in your room that I could draw the gateway behind?”

“Nothing that wide.”

Viktor tapped the chalk to his chin. “I wonder if I could…” He touched a finger to the chalk drawing, and it vanished. “I’ve made the marks invisible. Will an invisible chalk drawing still work as intended? What does it even mean to draw an invisible line?” His face lit up with excitement. “If this works, it will be a breakthrough. Let me draw the other half of the gateway now. I’ll be right back.”

Before Silco could say another word, Viktor disappeared—vanished into thin air. The door to the bedroom opened and closed, and then Silco was alone.

Silco let out a breath of air in a huff. He supposed he was just going to have to get used to Viktor’s eccentricities, if they were going to keep seeing one another.

If Sevika, in all her paranoia, knew a member of the palace staff could turn invisible, she would seize with panic. Silco just wouldn’t tell her.

Silco studied the room. Viktor’s staff leaned in a corner. An open journal sat on the writing desk. Crystals, vials, and a pair of goggles cluttered the top of the dresser.

After about fifteen minutes, Viktor materialized out of the wall, startling Silco. “It worked!” he said. “Even invisible, the chalk drawings function as intended.” He gathered Silco’s clothes off the floor and handed them to him. “Now you can return to your room without anyone catching sight of you. Just step into the wall where I was.”

So there would be no more cuddling tonight. Silco recognized a dismissal when he heard one, so he picked up his things and stood from the bed, hiding his dismay. Perhaps Viktor didn’t like to sleep with company; he was well within his rights to kick Silco out. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“I’ll see you.”

At the wall, Silco reached a hand out, but it disappeared as if the stone were a mirage. He stepped through the wall and emerged in his bedroom. He turned around. The wall appeared solid behind him, but he smiled, knowing that Viktor lay just beyond.

Chapter Text

Sky flittered down from one level of Entresol to the next. Her wings were invaluable in navigating the city, which perched on platforms that seemed to float one on top of the other. Though she couldn’t sustain flight for long periods, her wings let her skip the staircases and hop between platforms.

In her arms, she toted a half-dozen scrolls: accounts of potion research she thought might be helpful to Viktor. Excited by his course of study, she’d looked through the College’s stacks to see if anyone else had attempted brewing potions without magic, and she’d found a few resources that looked promising, though she failed to find any accounts of it working.

Let it be known that Sky Young did not still harbor a crush on her childhood love. She was a bright woman with her own interests, her own career, and years apart from him under her belt. If she had perhaps felt a flicker of interest upon his sudden return to her life, that flicker was extinguished by the revelation that he was gay. Viktor couldn’t return her romantic affection; he’d never been able to. The door she’d tried so desperately to open in her youth had been locked from the other side.

So Sky was not bringing Viktor research material out of some misguided hope that he would fall in love with her out of gratitude. He was her friend, and she wanted to help. That was all.

She skipped over a puddle on the cobblestone, fluttering her wings to carry her safely across. She adored her wings. Magi were curious by nature, and most of them had tried their hand at body modification during reckless youths, brimming with power and heedless to masters who advised them to refrain from growing new limbs until they were at least fifteen. She’d discovered the spell in a dusty old tome when she was twelve and tried it after only a week of contemplation; she’d never regretted it for a second.

The wings lay flat against her back most of the time, thin and unobtrusive. If Sky had wanted wings to carry her long distances, she would have had to have grown massive, feathered monstrosities, but her dragonfly wings were perfect for improving navigation in the city and the occasional hovering to reach high shelves. The only inconvenience was finding tops with low enough backs to accommodate them, but in the worst cases, she simply had to pay a tailor to alter her clothing, and the problem was solved.

Her pace slowed as she approached the underground gates of the palace. On her last visit, Viktor had met her at the gate to usher her inside. Would the guards let her through without him?

Should she be here alone? People said that the king’s palace was dangerous—that the walls dripped blood, that Lord Silco ruled with an iron fist, that his men would fall on their own swords for him—but if Viktor worked there, it couldn’t be all bad.

A guard with a spear frowned at her—not as if she were a hated adversary, but as if she were a nuisance, which was almost worse. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you,” she said. “My name is Sky. I’m here to see Viktor.”

“Is he expecting you?” asked the guard. “You aren’t on today’s list.”

Sky’s heart sank. “No, he’s not expecting me.” She lifted her armful of scrolls. “I have some material I thought he’d be interested in taking a look at.”

“One moment.” The guard stepped away to chat with another guard through a window, and Sky despaired of fulfilling her errand.

A knight in half armor rode up to the interior side of the gate on a mountain of a tar-black horse. Half of her hair was pulled back in a bun, and her left arm was made of metal. On the war horse, she was easily twice as tall as Sky.

The knight pulled her horse to a stop, swung a leg over the side, and dropped to the ground, billowing dust around her boots. She kept hold of her reins while she called to Sky through the iron gate. “Sky, isn’t it?”

They’d met? This intimidating woman knew her? At last, Sky placed her, remembering the burly figure standing behind the king when she’d met him for the first time. “Yes, sir,” Sky said, then she curtsied as low as she could with her arms occupied. This woman must be important if she were a companion to the king.

“What are you doing here?” The knight glanced around. “They won’t let you in?”

The guard saluted and stood at attention. “I was just conferring with the gatekeeper, sir. This woman claims to know the mage.”

“Let her pass,” said the knight. “I can vouch for her. She is indeed a friend of Viktor’s.”

The guard nodded and signaled the gatekeeper, and the gate grumbled and lifted enough for Sky to slip through.

The knight looked somehow bigger up close, decked in metal and giving Sky an amused half-smile.

“Thank you, sir,” Sky said, curtseying again.

“Enough of that. My name’s Sevika. Where are you headed?”

“I need to find Viktor, if he’s not busy.”

“Do you know how to get to his laboratory? The palace can be a maze to those unfamiliar with it.”

Sky shook her head. Viktor had led her through last time.

“I’ll take you there,” she said. Out of nowhere, a stableboy appeared, and the knight handed her reins off to him.

“Oh, I don’t want to bother you.” This knight was clearly too important to be concerning herself with Sky.

“I always have time to help a beautiful woman. Come with me.”

So Sky followed her into the palace.

The knight waited for Sky to catch up and then walked at her side. Sky kept her eyes on the floor, and the knight kept her eyes on Sky. “What have you got there?” she asked.

“Some scrolls for Viktor to look at. I thought they might aid him in his studies.”

“You’re a scientist, too, then?”

“Of a sort. I’m a teacher.”

“Have you known Viktor long?”

“Since we were apprentices. Have you known the king long?”

“Long enough,” the knight said.

“What do you do for him, if you don’t mind my asking, sir?”

“Sevika,” she corrected gently. “And I’m his Captain of the Guard. I oversee his personal security and the security of the palace and the city.”

That was why the guard at the gate had treated her so deferentially. Sevika was his highest superior, save the king. “And the army?” Sky asked. “Are you in charge of that as well?”

“The Marshal heads the army.”

“I see. That sounds like a power struggle waiting to happen.”

Sevika laughed. “Astute.” She led Sky down a flight of stairs. “And he has nothing to do but bicker with me these days, since we’re at peace. I almost wish war would break out if only to kick him out of the palace.”

Sky smiled. She liked this captain of the guard. King Silco had a fearsome reputation, and his closest confidants were rumored to be just as bloodthirsty, but Sevika didn’t seem like she would mount Sky’s head on a spike if she said the wrong thing.

That wasn’t to say that Sevika wasn’t intimidating. She towered over Sky. Her chainmail and sword glittered silver. Her metal hand could probably close around Sky’s waist.

They turned down another stairwell, a spiral, and in the tight, enclosed space, Sevika’s arm brushed Sky’s. Sky flinched away.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Sevika said, her voice low and sonorous. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Still, she put deliberate distance between them so their arms wouldn’t touch again.

Sky’s wings chittered a moment. She wasn’t used to being called sweetheart, or any pet names, really, and her cheeks went hot.

After they emerged into a hallway, Sevika said, “Is Viktor your lover? I’m asking for a friend.”

Sky halted. Sevika took a few more steps, noticed that Sky wasn’t walking any more, and turned to face her. “He’s not my, my…” She couldn’t even say the word without blushing.

“Do you have a lover?” Sevika asked. She grinned. “Now I’m asking for myself.”

Sky’s brain buzzed. “No.”

“Pretty girl like you? No one?”

“I liked someone,” she said, and she didn’t know why she was telling this woman about Viktor except that he’d been on her mind, and then Sevika brought him up. “Viktor, actually. But he’s not interested.”

Sevika’s grin widened, and she moved closer, until Sky felt behind her for the wall. “You mean you actually were into that twig?” She put a hand on the wall beside Sky’s head and leaned in to speak the words against her ear. “My fingers are bigger than his, sweetheart.”

Sky’s breath came in short, quiet bursts. “I don’t…” She glanced at Sevika’s fingers, but the hand that wasn’t made of metal was hidden behind a leather glove. It did look big. But Sky had never been attracted to women, and she certainly didn’t plan to entangle herself with the Eye of Zaun’s entourage.

“I bet my cock is, too,” Sevika whispered. Her breath ghosted against Sky’s neck.

People just didn’t flirt with Sky—not so brazenly as this. She didn’t know what to do with herself except tilt her head down and away, but the motion simply afforded more skin for Sevika to nuzzle with her nose.

The palace was dangerous. Sky had been warned, yet she hadn’t listened.

“I don’t want any trouble,” she said. “I’m very sorry, but I’m straight.”

“That’s a shame,” Sevika said, glancing down Sky’s body in a way that made her want to cover herself. She clutched the scrolls tighter to her chest. Then Sevika stepped away, freeing her, and Sky could breathe again. “Viktor’s lab is just through that door.”

Sky darted to the door and turned the handle. She glanced behind her.

“Find me if you change your mind about being straight,” Sevika said. “Or if you want some help changing it.”

“Okay,” Sky said, and then she ran into Viktor’s lab and shut the door tight behind her—and locked it for good measure.

Viktor looked up from swirling a bubbling beaker. Goggles magnified his eyes. “Who are you running from?” he asked curiously, taking in her breathless panting.

“Lord Silco’s Captain of the Guard. I think she wants to eat me.”

Viktor hummed and returned to examining the beaker. “And are you amenable to being eaten?”

“What? Certainly not!”

Viktor laughed at her. “All right. What brings you here today?”

She set the stack of scrolls on a free spot of his desk. “I have some material for you to look at. These are accounts of scholars who either studied the process of brewing potions or attempted a feat similar to yours.” She bit her lip, lost now that her mission was complete. “That was all. I just came to drop these off.” She smoothed her hand across a scroll. “I guess I’ll head back now, but what if I run into her on my way out of the palace?”

“Chomp, chomp,” said Viktor.

Sky looked for something to throw at him, but the only object in range was an inkwell, and she didn’t want to ruin his experiment by shattering glass and ink all over it. She resorted to sticking her tongue out at him instead.

Chapter Text

Silco whistled a jaunty tune while he applied his makeup at the vanity, covering the worst of his scarring and filling in the singed eyebrow. His chamberlain, a chirean man with bat-like features, laid out his outfit for the day.

“You’re in a good mood, Your Majesty,” observed the chamberlain.

It was all due to Viktor. Silco was still riding the high of having gotten a taste of him two days ago. “Why shouldn’t I be?” Silco asked. He finished with a spritz of cologne (would Viktor approve of this scent?), and then he picked up his shirt of dragonscale mail. “Any reason you’re putting me in armor today?”

“You have that meeting with the duke later. I thought you should look properly intimidating for it.”

“Way to ruin my mood,” Silco said. Normally, he only had to put up with idiot nobles at scheduled state functions, but Smeech had made a surprise visit to the capital, and the gods only knew what he wanted. Silco slid into the chainmail.

“Apologies, Your Majesty.” The chamberlain set out boots and a cape that draped over one shoulder, black lined with red, matching the red of the dragon scales.

“You can make it up to me by adding a pleasanter meeting to my schedule. I’d like a report from the mage on his progress.”

“I’ll let him know. Anything else I can do for you?”

Was Silco the only person in the palace under Viktor’s spell? “Tell me what you think of our new mage.”

The chirean’s face brightened. “We like him very much, my lord.”

“We?” Silco sat on the chaise to buckle his boots.

“I can’t speak for all the staff, but everyone I know thinks he’s intelligent and generous with his time.”

That sounded like Viktor, all right. Silco smiled to himself. “Good.”

—

Silco held his audience with Smeech in the throne room, high on a dais from which he could look down his nose at the Yordle. Velvet drapes crested with the Eye flanked him on either side. Torches lit the stone, spitting smoke until the room smelled like a dragon’s lair.

Before the meeting began, Jinx skipped up to the throne, high-fiving a guard on the way. “Heya, Hubert!”

“Hello, Princess,” the guard replied. After she passed, he returned to staring out over the hall, silent and at-attention.

Jinx hopped up onto the armrest of the throne and perched there in a tailor’s pose with her elbows on her knees. “Hey, Daddy. Can I be here for this meeting?”

“If you’re quiet,” he said.

She mimed zipping her lips. “As a bell.”

Better to get this over with. Taking a deep breath, Silco straightened in his seat, slipping into the mask of a stone-cold despot. Flanked by guards and fire, and with a strange, cackling girl on his arm, Silco knew he painted an intimidating picture. Silco gestured to the guard at the entrance to the throne room. “All right. Let him in.”

The massive door swung open, and Smeech entered, flanked by servants. Robotic limbs let him stand taller than the average Yordle, but he was still short enough for Silco, lounging on his throne, to look down upon. “Your Majesty,” Smeech said, creaking through a deep bow. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been far too long.”

“I wasn’t expecting you until the Winter Ball. To what do I owe this visit?”

Smeech tapped two metal index fingers together. “As you are well aware, Your Majesty, winter is just around the corner, and winter is a difficult time for the people in my little corner of the kingdom. I wondered if the Crown could spare a few extra coins from its coffers.”

Silco scowled, feeling the last dregs of his high spirits vanish. He had little patience for the scheming of nobles, desperate to line their pockets with aid money intended for the people. “The Crown sends you a monthly allowance already. You don’t mean to tell me you’ve misplaced those funds?”

“Not misplaced,” Smeech said, “but as the cold sets in, there are always surprise repairs to make,” he gestured vaguely, “and a slowed economy to boost.”

“How can these disasters come as surprises if they always occur? This feels like a budgeting issue on your end, not a problem for me to solve.”

“I heard that Zaun recently struck a deal with Piltover, and more money was incoming.” Smeech blinked beady eyes. “When are we going to see it?”

“That money is being divided up as we speak and will go directly to a number of public works projects and back to the mines. If you have a specific project to fund in your dukedom, you can draft a formal request, detailing precisely how the money will be spent.” He slowed his voice for emphasis, saying, “As you have already been informed.” Smeech wasn’t going to leave today’s meeting with a pocketful of untraceable gold.

Smeech scowled. His ear twitched. “I was hoping to appeal to Your Majesty’s generous spirit.”

Silco glanced at his daughter, feigning curiosity. “Have I a generous spirit?” he asked.

She grinned—dagger-sharp, like he’d taught her. “Not the last time I checked.”

Silco extracted a bone-pale knife from its ceremonial holster and played with it, twisting it and passing it from hand to hand. This arrogant duke needed a reminder of just what sort of ruler Silco was. This might be a productive visit after all; Smeech would leave with a lesson, if not coin. “Do you know what this is?” he asked Smeech.

“Uh… a knife?”

“This is the knife with which I stabbed Vander in the back before I beheaded him. The blade is carved from a single drake tooth. I’m very fond of it. I’m thinking of a new name for it, in fact: something like, Purges Incompetence.”

Smeech swallowed.

Silco let his wrist drop, pointing the knife at Smeech. “You’re replaceable. If you can’t manage your own dukedom effectively, I’ll give it to someone else.”

“I understand.”

“It’s not hard to be a duke. You sit on your ass and eat crêpes and hire a competent accountant. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes, my lord.” Smeech bowed.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Silco sheathed the knife. “I have a few more meetings to attend to, but let’s do dinner and cards before you go.”

Smeech bowed again, properly chagrined. “I would be honored to spend more time with you. I’ll see you tonight then, my lord.” He backed out of the room, and his entourage backed out behind him, stumbling over themselves to find the door while facing Silco.

The door shut.

“You scared his pupils off,” Jinx said delightedly.

“I don’t know what that means, but I’ll take it.” Silco checked his pocket watch as a thought occurred to him. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a riding lesson?”

“I did it earlier.”

The door opened again as a guard let Viktor into the room. Silco straightened at the sight of him and put his pocket watch away.

“Greetings, my lord,” Viktor said with a bow. “I was told you requested a report on my progress.”

Silco smiled at him. He wanted to ask how Viktor was and if he’d thought about Silco—about that night together, when Silco’d touched him for the first time. Silco had thought of nothing else since. But they were in public with an audience of guards (not to mention his daughter) so Silco stuck to business. “I did.”

“I wish I had more to show for these weeks of research, but the nature of my work is that I simply don’t know how long a breakthrough will take, and I can’t guarantee one at all. If you are unsatisfied by the lack of progress, I can switch projects to something I know is within my power to accomplish. Is there something else you’d rather I work on?”

“No,” Silco assured him. “I don’t have a particular project in mind. I hired you to push boundaries, and I understand that boundaries don’t break overnight.”

Viktor relaxed.

“I don’t claim to know much about potions,” Silco said. “Would switching away from healing potions yield better results?”

“I don’t see why it should. Healing potions are simple, the ingredients are easy to come by, and we can never have too many of them.”

“All right.” Silco was satisfied. “Carry on with this line of research, then. Changing subjects, what have you done to ingratiate yourself so thoroughly with my staff after so short a time? They sing your praises.”

Viktor grinned and clasped his hands behind his back. “Hand out free healing potions, my lord.”

“That’ll do it,” Jinx said. She slid to a stand without using her hands and hopped from one of Silco’s armrests to the other. “People love free shit.”

“I swear you have somewhere to be right now,” Silco said. “You already finished your riding lesson? And your fencing practice?”

“Yep! I moved them earlier in the day so I could see Ekko this afternoon. He has some new invention or something to show me.”

Silco crossed his arms, and not even Viktor’s presence could keep the scowl from his face. “I don’t like that boy.”

“He doesn’t like you much either, but that’s probably because you’re so mean to him.”

“I’m stern. I’m not mean.”

Jinx stage-whispered to Viktor as if he were a co-conspirator. “Daddy doesn’t like my boyfriend just because he’s a boy. Pretty prejudicial of him, don’t you think?”

“I know what boys are like,” Silco said in his defense.

Viktor’s grin widened. “And who is this young man, Your Highness?”

Silco answered for her. “Some shopkeeper’s boy in the city. And,” he told his daughter, pointing a finger, “I would be suspect of anyone trying to get close to you. You’re the crown princess, after all. He might be using you to climb the social ladder. Does he understand that—”

Before Silco could finish his question, Jinx replied, rolling her eyes. “Yes, he understands that if he marries me, he wouldn’t be king, just a consort.” She hopped across Silco’s lap back to the first armrest. “Like if Viktor married you.”

Silco coughed into his fist. Did Jinx know about his tryst with Viktor? How could she? They’d been discreet, and they hadn’t so much as spoken since. “What? Where did that come from?”

“Oh, just making conversation,” she said with false innocence.

Silco avoided looking at Viktor. “Well, at least Ekko understands the chain of command. Do you think he would respect your authority if you did marry him?”

“Eh.” She wiggled her hand in a so-so motion. “He’s not big on the concept of authority structures in general, actually.”

Silco put his head in his hands. “Excellent. An anarchist. This keeps getting worse.”

Jinx kissed the top of his head. “You’re right, Dad. You should just arrange a marriage for me. Maybe Smeech or some other noble has a son my age.”

“Point taken.” Silco lifted his head and tried to ignore the amusement on Viktor’s face at their family squabbles. “Go have fun with Ekko.”

Jinx hopped off the throne and then the dais, waving to Viktor on her way out.

“Take Babette with you!” Silco called after her.

“I was gonna!”

“Don’t return an anarchist!”

She lifted her middle finger at him.

When she was gone, Silco sighed and returned his attention to Viktor. “Don’t have children,” he said.

“It wouldn’t work between us, anyway,” Viktor said.

Silco laughed. Viktor was so like Jinx in the way he said things out of the blue that he knew would send Silco into a tailspin. Few people got to tease Silco and live, but he didn’t mind teasing from Jinx, nor from Viktor. “Say, do you want a dukedom? Smeech’s might become available if he annoys me tonight.”

“I appreciate the offer, my lord, but I’m far too absorbed in my research.”

“And on that note,” Silco didn’t want to let him go, but he was out of excuses to keep talking to Viktor, “I should let you get back to it.”

Viktor bowed again. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have any real progress to report.”

Come see me tonight, he wanted to say. Let’s sneak around like teenagers. You make me feel young again. Instead, he said, “Thank you. You’re dismissed.”

—

Silco made Sevika join him for dinner and cards with Smeech, since he needed a buffer of company and she would never turn down an opportunity to gamble. But he needn’t have worried; his conversation with Smeech must have scared the duke, for he made his excuses and left after just two rounds of cards.

“We could call it a night,” Silco said when Smeech was gone, tapping the cards into a stack. They sat in his den, which housed a card table, a billiards table, and a fine selection of alcohol. Silco used the room to entertain his close circle and as an escape when he needed time alone. People often dropped by his office, but he was rarely disturbed here.

“Afraid you’ll lose more money to me?” Sevika challenged.

“Never.” He dealt the cards and set the remainder in a stack face down. “Want a smoke?”

“Thank you.”

He fetched a cigar for her and one for himself, and finally, in the easy company of a friend, he let himself relax. They began to play. Sevika didn’t mind the smoke, so he didn’t bother opening a window. “I have an update,” he said, “on my romantic life.”

“Don’t tell me you fucked Viktor.”

Silco took a long, self-satisfied drag on his cigar.

“You did!” She lifted her cigar in a toast. “Good for you!” Then she said, “Raise you three,” and dropped a few coins on the table. “I thought you’d sworn off him. What changed your mind?”

Silco traded a card for a new one and called her bet. “His begging, mostly.”

Sevika chuckled darkly.

“It’s very pleasant having a sweet young boy beg for you. It’s good for the ego.”

“I bet it is. That’s why you’ve been prancing around all pleased with yourself these past few days.” She raised the bet, barely glancing at her cards.

Silco called.

She asked, “So? How was he?”

They both laid down their cards, and Silco’s score was higher, so he swept the betting pool to his side of the table. “I don’t know what to say without edging into graphic territory. He was good.” He’d gasped Silco’s name and sparked like a flintstone. “And he must’ve liked it well enough because he promised a repeat of the occasion.”

With fresh sets of cards, they began another round. Silco had a magician in his hand, and all he could see was Viktor.

Silco asked, “What about you? Do you have your eye on anyone?”

Sevika blew out smoke and spoke with the cigar still between her teeth. “Coincidentally…”

Silco was delighted. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for Viktor’s pretty friend! What was her name, Sky?” This would be too much fun. “Are there double dates in our future?”

“Gods, I hope not. But before you make any plans, I still have to win her over.”

“Invite her to the ball,” Silco said. “Some dancing, some drinking…”

“Maybe I will. Are you taking Viktor?”

He hadn’t considered appearing with Viktor on his arm. “He merits an invitation either way,” Silco said, “but we haven’t discussed whether or not to make our relationship public. It’s still new.”

“I understand. It’s your turn.”

Silco returned his attention to the game. He discarded a paladin and kept the magician in his hand, close to his heart.

Chapter Text

Silco forced a moment alone with Viktor by visiting him at his laboratory. As usual, Viktor was busy, but as usual, Viktor brightened when he saw Silco. He was taking notes on a line of test tubes in various shades of glowing green, but he set the notebook aside and stood. He gave a slight bow.

“Forgive me for staying away so long,” Silco said. “I didn’t mean to abandon you after that night.”

That night—when Viktor had whispered “However you want it,” and Silco had pushed him into the sofa like he would drown if he didn’t inhale him.

“I didn’t feel abandoned,” Viktor said. “I’ll always welcome a visit, though.” He sorted through small, corked vials of potions on the shelf behind him.

“How are you?” Silco asked.

“Fit as a fiddle.” Viktor selected a vial of glowing yellow-green liquid and handed it to Silco. “Here. Drink this.”

Silco knocked it back. It tasted like a healing potion, mostly. He set the vial and cork aside.

Viktor was frozen, staring at him, eyes wide as an owl’s. Then, delightedly, he grinned. “That was a very stupid thing to do. That potion could have been anything.”

“You wouldn’t hand me poison.” Silco’s face grew hot. That had been foolish, but at the same time, Viktor was Silco’s paramour—the man who made potions for the staff and blew bubbles for Jinx—and Silco trusted him.

Viktor said, “I might. I’m a stolen sorcerer from another court.”

“You’re from this court. My court.”

“I could be a spy. Perhaps my secret goal was to assassinate you, and I just accomplished it.”

Silco recognized this pattern from debates with Jinx. They would go ‘round and ‘round forever if Silco didn’t interrupt the cycle. “You’re not a spy. So what was in the potion?”

Viktor, still grinning, sashayed up to Silco and grabbed the front of his pants. “Oh, it’s just to ensure you don’t get me sick.”

Silco wouldn’t have gotten him sick anyway, but there was no reason to protest. Viktor wanted to be fucked. Viktor wanted Silco to fuck him.

Viktor massaged Silco’s cock through his pants. “If you add any other partners, tell me, and I’ll tell you.”

Silco wouldn’t need other partners. “All right.”

Viktor released Silco, stepped back, and smirked at the state he’d left Silco in, breathless and blushing. “If there’s nothing else, Your Majesty, I’ll return to my studies now.”

Silco nodded. He straightened his pants and made sure he wasn’t tenting visibly, and then he left Viktor alone.

—

The woman butler who’d given Viktor the tour of the palace upon his arrival knocked on his chamber door one morning with a letter.

“It arrived just now, sir,” she said. The letter sat, pristine and crisp, on a silver tray. The red seal was stamped with the Talis crest.

He brought the letter into the inner room to read. With trepidation pooling coolly in his gut, he broke the seal and unfolded the letter. He didn’t know whether to expect short, formal words, a misguided marriage proposal, or elaborate purple prose of sorrow.

Dear Viktor, it began, which was too friendly but a common enough greeting that Jayce could get away with it.

This is my third draft of this letter. There are so many things I want to say to you and so many I’ve decided not to. I thought we would be planning our wedding by now, and instead you’re in another country, gone like dew on a scalding day.

My mother misses you. She says to tell you to remember to eat, and she wishes she could feed you more of her cooking. I miss you too, if that even needs to be said. I miss you, I miss you.

I won’t ask if you’re sleeping with him because I can’t bear to hear the answer. I’ve decided that there’s no point torturing myself.

I wish I could say that I was glad that King Silco is treating you well. A horrible, cruel part of me wants you to be miserable and missing me as much as I miss you. If you’re happy, then there’s no call for me to show up and fight to get you back. If King Silco isn’t a villain, then I can’t sweep in and rescue you.

I hope you’re happy, of course. I hope everyone is kind to you and that you’re fulfilled in your work.

Jayce

The postscript was penned in a less tidy hand, scrawled in like Jayce had added it later, unable to help himself.

Are you sleeping with him? Torture me more. I’m tortured anyway. Does he fuck you as well as I used to fuck you?

Viktor reread the letter, and then he incinerated it in his hand, letting it dissolve into ashes. He didn’t want to have to explain the letter to Silco. He didn’t want Silco to make Viktor answer the letter’s closing question. Viktor couldn’t compare the two men; he didn’t like ranking partners in that way.

Jayce was a sweet man. He didn’t deserve to suffer. Viktor hated the anguish that bled through the paper. He hated to think of his friend in pain.

He hated how little he’d thought of Jayce before this moment. While Viktor had been prancing around the city and playing with potions, Jayce had been mourning.

Would a perfunctory, polite letter lead Jayce on? Viktor wrung his hands. He didn’t want to hurt Jayce further—to torture him when he was already tortured—but Jayce needed to move on.

Viktor sat at his writing desk to pen an honest, difficult reply.

Lord Talis,

You can’t imagine how much I regret that my happiness comes at the expense of yours. I only hope you can find the fulfillment I’ve found in my work and companions, and soon. I care for you, and it pains me to think of you suffering.

I am romantically involved with Lord Silco, by my own choice. Please don’t trumpet that fact abroad. I’m only telling you so you understand that there can be no more romantic correspondence between us. I truly am sorry to cause you pain, and I sincerely wish that you’ll find someone who makes you as happy as he makes me.

Thank Lady Ximena for her thoughtful concern, and assure her that I am eating well. I hadn’t realized I’d missed Zaunite food until I returned here.

All my best,

Viktor

He folded up the letter. Should he incinerate it and write a safer, blander reply?

No. Viktor needed to be transparent with Jayce: their relationship was over. He sealed the letter and wandered the halls until he found a butler who could mail it for him.

Viktor was happy. He never could have imagined, living in Piltover, just how happy it was possible to be. He was invested in his work. He was rekindling a friendship with Sky that grew closer by the day. And Silco’s attentions added a dose of excitement to his life that kept Viktor guessing.

Silco hadn’t approached Viktor for sex since that first night, but Viktor didn’t feel neglected. Silco was busy, and Viktor never wished to get in the way of his duties or his rest. He was sure that Silco still desired him, if his smiles and flirting could be trusted, and Viktor trusted them.

Silco was strangely shy—not shy like Sky was, so perhaps cautious was a better word. Careful. Viktor’d had to throw himself at Silco until the king had finally caved. Since Viktor had initiated their last sexual encounter, maybe he was waiting for Viktor to initiate the next. Maybe he was giving Viktor space in case Viktor changed his mind about being lovers. Silco was sweet and thoughtful, almost like Jayce, and Viktor made the comparison fondly.

In case Silco were waiting for Viktor’s move, Viktor took it upon himself to orchestrate another romantic encounter.

He saw his opportunity one day when Silco, dining at the high table, growled and grumbled all evening at an endless line of servants interrupting his dinner. Silco’s temper was short as he dealt with visitor after visitor to his table. Something must’ve been going on in the palace—some preparations or catastrophe that required so much of the king’s attention—because people usually left Silco alone during dinner.

Viktor picked up his plate and moved to sit beside Sevika. “What’s all the fuss about?” Viktor asked her.

“Getting ready for the ball,” she answered. “We’ve been in meetings about it all day. They want his opinion on everything from the guest list to the flowers to the number of musicians, and he’s too polite to tell them to fuck off. I swear that no one here can make a damn decision about what shoes to buy without consulting three others.”

There was no tragedy then, which was good, but Silco looked ready to burst into flames. He desperately needed some cheering up.

After dinner, Viktor visited the kitchens and, with the help of some very giggly and very accommodating kitchen staff, made up a little tray to bring to Silco’s room.

He didn’t say who the tray was for, but when he inquired politely if he were allowed to take a bottle of wine from the palace’s store, one of the assistant cooks nudged her friend and said, “We can do better than that.”

The girls took him to the cellar and deliberated over which bottle to choose. “Red, obviously,” said the first.

“Obviously. The ‘56?”

“Cook said this one is a leftover from a batch we ordered for the king’s birthday last year.”

“Ooh, grab that one, then. And we need chocolates. It’s not a properly romantic evening without chocolates.”

Viktor protested, “I didn’t say the wine was for a romantic evening.” The girls were getting far too excited.

“You’re not bringing this to the king?” asked the second girl, and the first elbowed her again.

“Idiot. He can’t just say he’s going to bed the king.”

“Officially, I deny that that is what I have in mind,” Viktor said.

The first girl said, “Good. We’ll send chocolates, then, and wish you luck. The king needs to get laid so badly.”

The girls led a bemused Viktor up from the cellar. “How can we get our hands on some rose petals?” the second asked, all but ignoring Viktor in her schemes.

“There’s roses in the centerpiece of the small dining room. Go grab one.”

“I don’t need rose petals,” Viktor said, waving his hands. “You’re making too much of a fuss.”

Then he imagined himself spread out in Silco’s bed, surrounded by petals like a raunchy portrait. On second thought, that would be hilarious.

“Well, you’re getting them!” The assistant cooks put together a tray with a rose, chocolate truffles, the bottle of wine, a bottle opener, and two glasses. “Do you need anything else?”

“You’ve been massively helpful,” Viktor said. “Thank you. If I might request your secrecy?”

The girls giggled behind their hands. “Surely!”

“Don’t worry about us!”

They were going to gossip, at least with each other, as soon as he left, but Viktor chose not to worry about it.

He brought the romance kit to his room and changed into a loose dressing gown. He prepared himself with oil and slid a smooth glass plug in to ease the way for Silco. He moaned softly to himself as he inserted it, imagining Silco stretching him even further.

Then he traveled to Silco’s suite through their portal. Silco’s bedroom was empty, and the doors to his other chambers were closed. With a wave of his hand, Viktor lit a candle; the meager light seemed suitably romantic. He set the chocolates on the bedside table and poured two glasses of wine. He tore petals off the flower and scattered them over the bedsheets.

This was too much fun. Silco was either going to love this surprise or loathe it. Either way, what a story.

How long had Silco’s dry spell been if even the cooks were rooting for him to get laid? Or perhaps their enthusiasm was an observation of his temperament; they hoped their sovereign would be less grouchy and inclined to snap at the staff if he were getting action on the regular.

All that remained was for Viktor to pose among the sheets, but before he could, the door to the antechamber opened. Viktor had time only to grab one of the glasses of wine before Silco entered the bedroom.

Chapter Text

Silco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He hated days like today, when everyone needed something from him and he was pulled a thousand directions. He hadn’t spoken to Jinx more than once, and he’d been on his feet for hours. Even while eating, they hadn’t left him alone.

Tomorrow would be just as busy. At least Silco could get some rest before he did it all over again.

He pushed open the door to his bedroom, and he stopped short in his tracks. Viktor stood beside the bed, dressed in a loose robe that tied at the waist and opened in a tempting V down his chest. He held a glass of wine, and the offer of his body was clear. Rose petals dusted the coverlet of Silco’s bed.

“It seemed like you had a long day,” Viktor said by way of explanation. He gestured with the wine glass. “I took a guess. However, if this doesn’t interest you, or if you’re tired, I perfectly understand, and I won’t be offended at all.”

All thoughts of rest and sleep dissolved like snow in the sun. How was Viktor so sweet? How had he looked at Silco from afar and decided to cheer him up and chosen this of all gifts? Silco appraised the mise en scene with wonder. Viktor hadn’t simply shown up to offer sex; he’d made an event of it.

“I want it,” Silco said to pacify the slight nervousness on Viktor’s face, and as soon as Viktor realized his gift was well-received, he relaxed into a grin.

“Good,” Viktor said. He proffered the wine.

Silco ignored it in favor of pushing Viktor against the bed in a kiss.

“Omf,” Viktor went before smiling into the kiss and winding his arms around Silco.

His mouth was warm and pliant under Silco’s, and Silco couldn’t get enough. Silco pulled at the knot around his waist and tugged the robe off his body. He needed more. He needed to be closer. He needed Viktor’s body pressed tight against his own. Silco felt himself harden as he ground his hips into Viktor’s; he didn’t care how desperate he looked. Why pretend he didn’t ache for Viktor?

Viktor pulled out of the kiss and laughed. “So eager. This is doing wonders for my ego.”

Silco’s hands slid down Viktor’s back to cup his ass, and Silco mouthed at his neck. Would Viktor bruise purpler if Silco sucked hickies into his skin? How would his skin discolor?

“Silco,” Viktor pushed against his chest.

Silco growled in disappointment but capitulated, leaning back enough to look at Viktor’s face. “What?”

“You haven’t even tried the wine or the chocolates,” Viktor complained.

Fine. Silco took the glass from his hand, downed its contents, and set it aside. “There. Are you happy now? Can we get on with it?”

Viktor played with the buttons on Silco’s vest, naked, hair tumbling to his shoulders. His chest rose and fell in quick little breaths. “All right. Kiss me again, like you did before. Hungry.”

Silco pushed him onto the bed, guiding him to the middle, among the rose petals. “Stay right there,” he ordered, as he sat on the edge of the bed to unbuckle his boots.

Viktor stretched out like a painting, a jewel among slate-gray sheets. His keen eyes followed Silco’s movements as he stripped off his shoes and clothing.

Then Silco climbed on top of him and kissed him just like he’d demanded. He kissed him like he was starving, but each flick of his tongue and press of his lips only made him hungrier. His bare cock pressed against Viktor’s, hot and heavy, and he ground his hips down to slide them together.

Viktor moaned. His fingers slid up Silco’s back, and he pushed his hips up into Silco’s thrusts.

Silco dragged the covers down, working them under Viktor’s body and his own until the sheets bunched at his feet. Petals fluttered to the floor.

“You smell nice,” Viktor murmured, nuzzling his nose into Silco’s neck.

Silco would never wear any cologne but this one. He wanted to keep Viktor in this palace—in this room—content and spoiled as a cat. If Viktor never made a breakthrough in his research, Silco wouldn’t mind, as long as Viktor was happy. “What do you want?” Silco asked.

He clutched Silco’s back. “I want you to fuck me properly.” His owl eyes glinted in the dark, yellow-bright.

Silco would take him gladly, as thoroughly as a man on his wedding night. He kissed down Viktor’s neck to the sharp point of his collarbone. He kissed Viktor’s chest, smoothing his hand over the flat skin of his belly.

“Poor Silco,” Viktor said, running his fingers through Silco’s hair to push it out of his face. “Poor little king of the country. Did you have a long, hard day picking out music and flowers?”

“Little tease,” Silco taunted in return, wrapping his hand around Viktor’s dick and stroking. “Did you think about this all day, hmm? How long did you plan this ambush?”

“I only got the idea an hour or so ago, but I’ve been thinking about it constantly since.”

“How do you want to be fucked, then?” Silco kissed the tip of his cock. “How do you like it?”

“Hard.”

Janna’s breath, Viktor became more enticing with every word out of his mouth. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk. Let me know when you’ve had enough. How else do you want it?”

Viktor flipped over. “Like this.”

Silco sat back on his heels and pried Viktor’s cheeks apart. A clear glass plug was nestled in his hole, and the skin around it glistened with oil. “Fuck,” Silco exhaled, pressing two fingers to the base of the plug just to hear Viktor moan. “You got yourself all ready for me?”

Viktor peeked over his shoulder. “So I could get you inside more quickly.”

Viktor spoke of his ego getting stroked, but Silco felt powerful now, high on Viktor’s desire. Viktor was in Silco’s bed; he’d prepped himself dreaming of Silco’s cock. “Let me stretch you out next time,” Silco ordered as he pulled the plug out and immediately dug his thumbs inside to prevent the hole closing. He pulled his thumbs apart and spit into Viktor’s ass. The way was already slick, but more lubrication couldn’t hurt.

“Janna,” Viktor cursed. “Silco, you have to fuck me now. Now, Silco.”

Silco guided his cock to Viktor’s hole and pushed into him, relishing the tight squeeze of his flesh. He slid all the way inside in one firm push, punching another moan out of Viktor. When he was fully sheathed, Silco drew a sheet around them from some perverse sense of modesty, balls-deep in his younger lover.

Would the gods punish him? This felt good enough to merit punishment. Viktor’s back heaved underneath him. Viktor was young, strong, and supple as a willow, bending where Silco bent him.

“Like that?” he asked, beginning to move.

“Yes, gods, Silco.” Viktor clutched a pillow, fingers and neck curling inward in obscene arches. 

“You’re such a slut,” Silco said, emboldened by Viktor’s obvious enjoyment of the way Silco’s hips moved, pushing into him again and again. “Been trying to fuck me for weeks. So needy.”

“You’ve needed it just as much; don’t deny it. But keep talking dirty to me.”

Silco ignored the jab. He tested the waters, letting loose a thought he’d touched himself to late at night. “Bet you would’ve upheld your end of the bargain, if I’d really meant it.”

Viktor sucked in a breath. “I would’ve.”

Viktor liked that line of thought, then, so Silco kept at it. “Bet you would’ve enjoyed it.”

“I would’ve. What else would I have done?”

Silco groaned and fucked him deeper. Viktor was filthy. Silco couldn’t have predicted it—maybe he could’ve, from the first moment Viktor eyed him up in the council chamber. Viktor was as desperate for cock as the cheapest hooker. Silco should’ve just kept him for sex. Silco should’ve fucked him in that coach, bent over a seat, rocking the carriage so everyone knew what was happening inside. “Would’ve jumped on my dick the night we met.”

“Yes!”

Silco pounded him into the mattress. The sheet formed a warm tent around their bodies, trapping the sweat and heat of their desire inside. “You’re a fucking slut. You want more?”

“Don’t hold back,” Viktor begged. “Call me what you’re thinking.”

“You’re a whore. Selling yourself in the treaty. Letting me use your body. Fuck. You’re a slut. How many men have you let fuck you, hmm?”

“I’d—” Viktor gasped. “I’d need two hands to count.”

“Janna.” He really was desperate for cock. How often did Viktor bend over? How often did he need his desire slaked? Who’d fulfilled his needs before Silco? “Would you have fucked Ambessa?” The accusation didn’t even make any sense. To Silco’s knowledge, Viktor hadn’t fucked Ambessa.

Viktor shook his head.

“How about your fiancé, hmm? The little lord? You let him fuck you?”

“Yes. Silco.”

Silco stabbed into Viktor’s ass. What did the fiancé look like? Had he known what Viktor liked? Had he satisfied him? “So I get his sloppy seconds. Is that what you think of me? That’s what I deserve?”

“No!”

Silco would take care of him now. Viktor didn’t need to chase any other men. “No one else but me fucks you from this point forward, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir! Whatever you want.”

“You don’t so much as come without my say-so.”

“I understand.” Viktor’s voice was ragged and his breath short.

Silco pushed himself up to a kneel and pulled Viktor’s hips up to meet his, and then he slid inside and resumed his brutal pace. Silco grabbed a fistful of Viktor’s hair to hold as leverage as he fucked him deeper. “Call in the terms of the treaty whenever you want. Quit your research, and I’ll pay you just to laze around in my bed all day, waiting for me to return and fill up your ass.”

Viktor groaned. The candlelight flickered wildly, throwing shadows across the wall. Viktor asked, “May I come?”

If anything else in the room went crazy or started floating, Silco didn’t see it because he leaned down and buried his face in Viktor’s neck. He fucked down into him. “Beg me.”

“Please, let me come. Please, Silco. You can use me as long as you want!”

Before Viktor could come, he had to swear this wasn’t the end; Silco needed this the rest of his life. “You’re all mine now?”

His voice was velvet. “Just yours! Please, Silco.”

“You beg so prettily. Go on, then.” Silco kissed his neck and wrapped a hand around Viktor’s cock, stroking it with long counterpoints to his own thrusts. He felt Viktor convulse under him, coming on the sheets.

Silco released him. Viktor was still tight around his dick. Silco pushed himself up and pulled Viktor back against his hips, speeding up his pace until he found himself close to completion. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room.

There it was. Silco tasted the end. He finished slowly, lingering in the last few thrusts into Viktor’s warm body. He gave one final smack to the skin of Viktor’s ass and pulled out.

Viktor rolled over, breathing heavily, an arm thrown above his head. His eyes glinted in the dark, reflecting light. He blinked, and for a split second, his eyes disappeared. “Silco,” he said like it was all he could say.

Silco dropped to his side. Was that what Viktor had wanted? Had Silco lived up to his expectations? Had Silco been too much; had his conversation gotten too intense?

Viktor’s eyes followed him. “I knew you’d be good,” he said, still panting. “I didn’t realize how good.”

Silco set a soft hand on Viktor’s thigh. “I’m glad I didn’t frighten you away.”

“Janna, no!” His face shone. Then, “Only each other? You mean it?”

Silco rubbed his leg. “If you want. I do.”

“I want that, too.”

Silco leaned in for a kiss, and Viktor met him with closed eyes. Silco cupped Viktor’s face to hold him at the perfect slant. When they parted, Silco said, “Someone’s going to catch us eventually.” He smoothed his thumb over Viktor’s cheek.

“Does that bother you?” Viktor asked. He was still distractingly naked next to a pool of his cum.

“No. Here. Stand up, and I’ll strip the bed.” Silco changed the sheets with a spare set from the closet and left the soiled ones on the floor for the maids to take care of in the morning. “Will you stay the night?” Silco asked.

“All right.” Viktor used the bathroom and then climbed back into bed with him.

Silco lit a cigar and sat up against the headboard to smoke. Viktor settled his head in Silco’s lap, happy as a clam that had just been fucked. Silco drew his fingers through Viktor’s hair.

“Can I try one of the truffles?” Viktor asked.

Silco had forgotten about the tray of chocolate and wine. “Certainly.” He reached over, grabbed the dish of truffles, and sat back against the headboard. Viktor tried to grab the dish, but Silco stopped him with a tug of his hair, and he settled back into Silco’s lap. “Allow me.”

Viktor accepted a truffle into his mouth with a delighted smile. After he swallowed, he said, “Now you’re being properly romantic. This is good.”

Silco fed him another truffle. He puffed on his cigar. A cloud of peace hazed the room, settling in Silco’s chest and softening the night. He inhaled the scents of tobacco, sex, and Viktor, and he exhaled smoke, satisfied.

Chapter Text

Babette sat in her rocking chair in Princess Jinx’s nursery (less a nursery now and more a playroom), crocheting a shawl. As the princess had aged, the room’s purpose had shifted, and so had Babette’s duties as nanny. She was companion, caretaker, and chaperone, keeping Jinx company when the other adults were busy. It took a palace to raise a child, especially a child as energetic as the princess, but Babette loved her charge.

Princess Jinx slunk into the room in her nightgown and plopped down at the table, chin on crossed arms.

“What’s the matter, love?” Babette crooned.

Jinx traced a finger along the edge of her checkerboard. “Nothing’s the matter, exactly. Do you think my dad likes Viktor?”

Babette’s fingers paused. She had heard a rumor along those lines (well, a crude joke actually), but she was too old to pay attention to such nonsense. She was far more concerned that her baby had overheard something similar. Jinx did not need assistance in learning new dirty language. “What makes you say that?” Babette asked.

“Someone called them ‘lovebirds.’ That’s gotta mean they’re doing a romance, right?”

“Not everything that everyone says is true, love,” Babette said, returning to her crocheting. “If your father were entering a romance, how would you feel about that?”

“It would be weird if it wasn’t Viktor. I like Viktor. He’s funny.”

Babette made a non-committal sound, unwilling to raise Jinx’s expectations one way or the other. She liked the mage, too, but it wasn’t her place to comment on the king’s relationship (or lack thereof).

“Do you think Viktor likes me?”

“Oh, baby, I’m sure he does. What’s not to like about a little bundle of trouble?”

Jinx grinned into her arms.

Babette put her yarn aside and took the seat opposite Jinx. “How about we play a game of checkers before your father comes in to say goodnight?”

“Good idea.” Jinx straightened the pieces. “Ready to get beaten again?”

“Are you?” Babette challenged. She moved the first piece.

“Hey! Black goes first!”

“Want to spin the board?” This was a home rule of theirs that Jinx had made up. A player could attempt to switch places with the other at any point in the game by initiating a round of rock-paper-scissors, but if she lost, she had to give up two pieces of the winner’s choice.

“Nah, not worth it.” Jinx moved a black piece, and the game began in earnest.

—

Huck was a nervous, suspicious man, which made him (in his opinion), the ideal gatekeeper. When it came to the security of the royal palace, caution was as valuable as gold. Huck was scrupulous in only permitting designated persons into the palace, and he prided himself on keeping the tidiest records of all the gatekeepers.

Huck had impeccable performance reports but few friends, so on days like today, when traffic was slow and other servants paused to chat, he settled for eavesdropping on the guards.

Two stood outside the iron gates, passing a water canteen back and forth. Huck listened in on their conversation through the window of his booth, from which he controlled the mechanism to open the gates.

The first guard said, “Is it true what they say about the court mage?”

What was this? A new piece of gossip? Huck leaned forward, better to hear. Huck didn’t need to spread tales (passing gossip was uncouth); he just wanted to know what was going on.

The second replied, “You better watch what words come next out of your mouth. He cured my ma’s pneumonia.”

The first guard lifted his hands in surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t going to say anything impolite. Just, you heard what they’re saying about him and the king, right?”

“What, that they’re fucking? Of course I heard.”

“You think it’s true?”

“Hubert said they were flirting like nobody’s business in the throne room some days back.”

“Huh,” said the first.

The second took a swig of water and closed the canteen, returning it to his belt. “Why’s that come as a shock? If you thought they were sleeping together, why can’t they flirt?”

“I didn’t know if the mage was into it, to be honest. Didn’t know if he liked men like that or if he was just going along with what the king wanted.”

“Oh, he’s into it,” said the second guard with a confidence that Huck found presumptuous for a man recounting hearsay. “Hubert said he was making little jokes and shit, and the king was eating it up.”

They stood in silence long enough that Huck thought the conversation had lapsed and he’d nearly convinced himself to reorganize the logs just to give himself something to do; then the first guard said, “If he likes men, then do you suppose…”

“Quit that,” the second said firmly. “Uh uh. Bad idea. You want the Eye of Zaun mad at you for stealing his man?”

“Good point.” The first guard dragged his sleeve across his brow. “I prefer to keep my guts on the inside.”

Then an applicant for entry arrived, and Huck picked up his pen to get their name.

—

A chamberlain’s job involved anticipating the needs of his master to ensure his comfort in those private hours he spent in his suite of rooms. Embarrassment had no place in this line of work. So when Silco’s chamberlain heard a rumor, he tucked a bottle of oil into the Louis XIV beside the bed, just in case.

—

Two apprentice cooks giggled while they kneaded dough side-by-side at two in the morning, preparing the palace’s daily allotment of bread. Though the winter nights cooled near to freezing, ovens kept the kitchen toasty, so the girls rolled up their sleeves. Firelight flickered on the stone, bathing the room in the glowing orange of sunset.

A tea kettle sat on the stove. Cook let the apprentices steal some sugar for their tea when they woke up for the early shift. The sugar was the best part of baking duty—that and having a chance to chat away from Cook’s prying ears.

“Do you think they enjoyed the wine?” one of them asked, and they both dissolved into giggles.

“Do you think the king is… good?” asked the other when she could speak again.

“Oh, most definitely.” The first apprentice nodded knowingly. “You didn’t see the way he held himself the day he took over. He was so commanding. He offered everyone in the palace the same deal: join him or die on the spot. And he followed through, slitting the throats of dissidents himself.”

“I don’t understand how that relates to the king’s prowess in bed, or why that interests you.”

“You just don’t understand because you weren’t there.”

“I think there’s something wrong with you, fundamentally, if you think slitting a bunch of throats is attractive.”

“He only slit a few! And then everyone else fell in line. It’s about the power, you know? He’s unapologetic.”

“This isn’t helping your case.”

The apprentice cook threw a bit of dough at her friend, and they both laughed again.

—

A laundress sat in front of the tub during the final hour of her shift. Her hands were chapped and her hair was stuck to her scalp with sweat. She rolled her shoulders. She wanted to go home and see her kids. She wanted to escape the smell of soap and the oppressive steam.

A maid carted a basket of sheets down the steps, and the laundress had a free bucket, so she gestured for the maid to bring the lot straight to her. The maid tipped the basket into the laundress’ bucket of suds, saying, “These are from the king’s room,” like that would impress her.

“All right,” said the laundress. She’d washed the king’s sheets before. The process was the same as washing everyone else’s.

The maid waited, expecting more of a reaction in light of her pronouncement. When she didn’t get one, she leaned in. “They smelled to me like they saw some action, if you know what I mean.”

So what? The laundress was used to cleaning cum off bedding. Lots of men lived in the palace. Men were messy brutes. “I don’t much care,” she said.

The maid said, “Oh,” and then left her alone, at long last, and the laundress returned to her work.

—

Deprez possessed a steward’s pride in perfection, especially for state events, wherein the dignity of the royal family was on the line. He’d trained in Piltover and served as steward of a grand duke before his recommendation to the palace at Zaun.

Zaunites were perfectly civilized, no matter what anyone said about them, and the job was a promotion that Deprez sought to live up to during every day of his service.

Presently, that meant seeing that the annual Winter Ball went off without a hitch. Deprez ordered two butlers carting a giant vase of flowers to set it on a table in the entry hall of the palace. “Yes, there,” he said. “No, in the middle. Perfect.”

A Vastaya woman cleared her throat at his side. “Mr. Deprez?”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking of setting out some water for the musicians. They’ll be playing all night, you know.”

He respected servants who took initiative rather than following orders like automatons. “Splendid idea,” he said. “Grab one of the drum tables from the third-floor storage room and cover it with a green tablecloth so it matches the rest of the party. You can set refreshments for the musicians on that.”

“Understood.” She left at a speed walk, and he respected her swiftness, too.

Deprez stepped to the front of the hall and pictured himself entering as a guest. What drew his eye? Did the tableau scream elegance and sophistication? The frosted greenery dripping from the ceiling was a nice touch, if he did say so himself.

The head butler joined Deprez. The two men considered themselves friends and partners when it came to the management of the palace household. “I’ll be glad when this ball is over and packed away,” said the head butler, picking a stray thread off his livery.

“So will I,” agreed Deprez. “Far too much commotion for my taste. Far too much to do.”

“Are you certain about the green tablecloths?” the butler asked. “Blood will stain on green.”

“I’m still holding out hope that we’ll get through one of these events without a single severed limb.”

The butler laughed. “In Zaun?”

A servant interrupted them. “Excuse me. I’m working on a timeline. Do you expect the guests to linger after dinner is served or move straight to the ballroom?”

The butler answered before Deprez could. “A few people will probably want to stay in the dining hall to chat over an after-dinner coffee, especially the guests to whom dancing doesn’t much appeal, so have coffees and more dessert trays ready to go. But the majority of the guests will retire to the ballroom after His Majesty’s dessert is cleared and he announces the ballroom opened.”

The servant nodded and walked away, scribbling notes in a book. Another approached immediately, looking chagrined.

“Don’t tell me we’re out of centerpieces,” Deprez said, recognizing the servant.

“We’re out of centerpieces.”

Deprez followed him to the dining hall to mitigate this disaster. “How could this have happened?” he moaned. “We reused the centerpieces from last year! How can we be short? You’re telling me one just vanished?”

As sure as Janna’s winds blew, each of the long dining tables held seven crystal trees save the last, which held six. Glittering ornaments in the shapes of snowflakes and snow hares littered the spaces between the trees.

“We could just put six trees on each table,” the servant suggested meekly.

“We’ll have to. There’s nothing else to be done. Use the spares to decorate any bare-looking foyer tables in the open section of the palace.”

“Right away, sir.”

Deprez wiped his brow with a handkerchief. Staging magnificent parties was a daunting task, made more so by Zaun’s lack of supplies. In Piltover, each grand estate possessed scores of decorations for every season and festival, but the Zaunite palace was equipped with a single set of decor per holiday, forcing Deprez to his creative limits mixing and matching pieces to keep the parties feeling fresh each year. At least after the Winter Ball, he’d be blessed with a two month reprieve before the next major event.

“Right,” he said, spinning in place to discern where else he was needed. The keys on his belt jingled. “Right. What’s next?”

The list of to-dos never shrank. Deprez wouldn’t get a wink of sleep until this ball was through. Were the kitchens on schedule? Had Princess Jinx set anything aflame? Would the glittering beads that the mage had enchanted to float near the ceiling stay floating as promised, or would the spell run out and rain glass on the partygoers?

Deprez tingled with nervous delight at the possibilities an in-house magician afforded. If Deprez could get Viktor on board with party-planning, he could breathe fresh life into the recycled decorations.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Deprez said sternly in his mind. First, see if the glass beads float or if the spell ends in disaster. Then you can request more enchantments of the mage.

Two of Captain Sevika’s knights reclined against a wall nearby, watching the commotion of the decorators. Deprez stood close enough to catch a snippet of their murmured conversation.

“...the king… fond of him.”

“Fond of whom?” Deprez asked the pair of knights. If they were going to gossip in earshot, they had better be prepared for questions.

The knights exchanged a look. One of them (Katheer, Deprez thought his name was) rubbed the back of his neck and said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Like Ashlesh, it doesn’t! It’s my job to know every particular of the goings-on in this palace, especially regarding matters of the royal family! If the king is becoming fond of someone, I need to know about it.”

“The mage,” Katheer said. “That’s who the king is fond of.”

Deprez sighed his relief. Crisis averted. Deprez already knew that the king thought highly of Viktor; His Majesty had ordered the staff to extend him every courtesy. So there was no one newly in the king’s good graces whom Deprez had to worry about. “And why did you hesitate to tell me that?” he asked Katheer.

The knights exchanged glances again. Katheer said, “Because of the way Lord Silco is fond of him, if you catch my meaning, sir.”

Deprez processed this statement for long moments. The mage held a particular place in the king’s affections. The knights spoke of that relationship in cautious whispers. Comprehension struck Deprez like lightning, and he clutched his exquisitely-pomaded hair. “I have to plan a wedding?”

Chapter Text

The Winter Ball was Viktor’s first public appearance as Court Mage. He’d been to parties in Piltover and had seen magi perform, showing off at the behest of their lords and ladies; magic facilitated spectacle, and the greater the spectacle, the better the party. Expecting to be called on to entertain, he prepared a story to tell via a magical puppet show.

He invited Sky to the ball. “Just as friends. But I warn you,” he told her, “I’ll be a poor companion. With my bad leg, I’m not much of a dancer, and I won’t be able to spend every minute by your side.”

“That’s all right, Viktor,” she said. “I’d love to attend as your friend.” She covered her mouth. “A ball at the palace. How exciting!”

“Are you sure you want to come as my guest?” he asked nervously. “You might have a better time with a different partner.”

“Who else would invite me? Do you see suitors lined up at my door?”

He relaxed. “Well, if you find someone to dance with once we get there, I won’t be offended.”

He picked her up at her apartment on the evening of the ball. Snow fell on the surface, but down underground, sans wind, the winter chill was crisp and pleasant. He’d skimped on spells the past several days to save charge for tonight, and magic buzzed under his skin like a delightful fever.

“You look amazing, Viktor,” Sky said.

“Do I? Thank you.” Viktor wore a new set of robes he’d commissioned specifically for the ball. A long, loose tunic fell over long, loose pants that gathered at the ankle. Ribbons of stretchy fabric wrapped his arms like a mummy and crisscrossed into a belt. “You look especially lovely, yourself. Where did you get that dress?”

Sky’s pine-green gown glittered like blown glass, and so did her coat. The dress’s back was cut deep enough to be comfortable on her wings. A lacy layer of skirt peeked out from under the hem, and a beaded hair net held her curls. At the praise, her wings fluttered, stirring up dust. “I made this, if you can believe it! I found a scroll of tailoring spells in the College’s library.”

“You’ll have to show it to me sometime!” Viktor offered Sky his arm. “Shall we?”

She took it and let him lead her to the carriage he’d rented for the night so they could arrive in style. Why go halfway for his and Sky’s first ball? “I’m so excited,” she said. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“Think nothing of it.” As he helped Sky into the carriage, Viktor asked, “Do you think you’ll find someone to dance with?”

“I don’t know. What are the chances I’ll meet a handsome man tonight who’ll whisk me off my feet?”

“You never know! If I see any bachelors, I’ll send them your direction.”

The carriage rode slowly through the underground traffic and waited in a long line to drop Viktor and Sky off at the entrance to the palace. Viktor flashed his official invitation at the door, and a herald announced them as the Esteemed Magi, Viktor and Sky. A servant swept away their coats.

They pushed into the crowd that mingled and meandered toward the dining hall like a lazy river. Around them, guests glittered with jewels and preened with feathers. Velvet capes and gowns trailed on the floor. Candles dripped wax onto silver plates. Winter greenery decorated the walls. A servant offered Viktor and Sky goblets of spiced wine.

“This is stunning,” Sky said, turning to take in the splendor. Viktor had seen the finished decor, but not in its full glory when guests brought the room to life. He agreed with her.

A woman’s high laughter cut through the noise like a knife. A man held a thin pipe to his lips; purple smoke curled from the end and hung in suspended animation before a waving hand dissipated it.

Upon closer observation, an undercurrent of violence flowed through this river of guests. Viktor had attended balls in Piltover, but this was no Piltover party. Jeweled swords and daggers hung from hips. Daring cutouts in the guests’ clothing revealed slivers of skin. Prosthetics glinted on the nobility: lynx claws and shark teeth. Some of their eyes glowed pink, and Viktor smelled shimmer on the air. The crowd reminded him of nothing so much as a nest of vipers. “Stay close,” he told Sky.

How had the last king, a good king, ruled this mob? The nobility were pleasure-hungry and the gentry were a step removed from gangsters. They needed a firm hand—a vicious hand—to guide them and to punish offenders who stepped out of line. How had Lord Vander balanced morals with authority?

He hadn’t, Viktor reminded himself. People had called him weak, and he’d ended up with a knife between the ribs.

Silco could rule this throng of serpents. Silco was cunning enough to impress the cunning and strong enough to impress the strong. It took a predator to lead predators.

A woman approached. Viktor saw the tell-tale signs of potion use in her youthful face, and he couldn’t guess her true age. She wore a corseted black sheath gown and long, silk gloves. The dress was slit up both legs and shimmered with a faint pattern of snake scales.

“Lady Margot,” Viktor bowed, and Sky mimicked him with a curtsy.

“I was hoping we would meet tonight,” Lady Margot said in a voice as sweet as rotting roses. “Viktor, what does the king have you cooking up in that laboratory?”

“Oh, this and that,” he said, evading her question. “How was your trip to the capital?”

“Boring,” she said. Then another guest caught her eye, and she moved on.

The servants subtly corralled the masses into the dining hall. Placards indicated the seating chart, placing Viktor and Sky at the end of one of the long tables, as close to the king as it was possible to be without actually seating them at the high table. Sevika and two other knights sat across from them. The knights introduced themselves as Katheer and Saru.

When most of the guests had found their places, Silco stood, and the hall followed suit. “Thank you for coming,” he said. He spoke of winter as a time for rest and reflection. He told an anecdote about enjoying winter sweets during his youth in the mines. He listed accomplishments of the preceding year, including the treaty with Piltover, breakthroughs in medical applications of shimmer, and the opening of a new level in Entresol. He kept the speech short, and then servants carted in the first course of the feast, and the hall exploded with chatter.

When they’d returned to their seats and had salads before them, Sevika spoke to Sky. “I’m so happy that you were able to attend tonight.”

Sevika had flirted with Sky before, hadn’t she? Did her interest remain? Viktor scrutinized Sevika’s face. Her gaze lingered on Sky’s bare shoulders. She was interested, then.

“Thank you,” Sky said, smiling prettily. “Viktor had an extra invitation, so he let me come along.”

“Let you is the wrong choice of words,” Viktor said. “I’m grateful to have a friend here.”

Sevika caught Viktor watching her; he raised an eyebrow. She broke eye contact and sipped at her wine.

“Have either of you ever been to an event at the palace?” asked Knight Saru.

“This is our first time,” Viktor answered. “Have you?”

She nodded. “Don’t accept drinks from anyone but servants, and if you want to sneak away with someone, by the gods, check that the room is unoccupied before you get down to business.”

Just what sort of party had Viktor dragged Sky to? He glanced at her, and she was blushing, so he answered for them both. “Thank you for the advice. We’ll keep it in mind.”

After the awkward start, conversation with the knights was pleasant. Sky asked questions about their training, and they asked questions about her teaching. The knights and Sky discovered that they had an acquaintance in common. One of Sky’s colleagues used to teach history at the military academy. Swapping stories of this acquaintance carried them through the main course.

When an hour or so and four courses were past, and wine had settled into the bloodstreams of the feasters, Duke Smeech called for entertainment. “Where did that mage get to? Can we see some magic?”

Folks around him echoed the call. Sevika whispered, “You don’t have to indulge them, Viktor.”

“It’s all right.” He’d anticipated this. He was Court Mage of the palace. Viktor stood to a chorus of cheers and stepped to the far end of the hall, near the doors, which had the most room for him to pace if he got nervous. He bowed to Lord Silco, who watched him with careful attention. Then he put his hands together, and the room fell into a hush as the lights dimmed; candles on the tables and their wall sconces faded to thin flickers of flame.

Viktor paused a moment, readying himself, touching his magic to see if it would cooperate. Want to put on a show? he asked the arcane, and the arcane warmed him elatedly in reply.

Viktor pulled his hands apart, and a dense cloud of mist formed high in the middle of the room. Eyes lifted, and a few guests gasped. Viktor began his fairytale with the traditional phrase. “I heard a tale from a friend who heard a tale…” His voice carried through the hall, and he was pleased to discover that it neither wavered nor stuttered.

He continued, “...of a kingdom buried under the stone,” and the mist condensed into shapes: a forest, craggy hills, and a dark palace with spires like the spikes of a crown. “It was an insular kingdom, a mysterious kingdom, and outsiders called its denizens goblins, elves, demons.” The mist melded into wispy, shadowy figures in finery, dancing in a great hall. Their silhouettes were old-fashioned. The men had shoulder-length hair, and the women wore tall, conical hats dripping chiffon.

As Viktor spoke, the mist continued to illustrate his words with loose enough shapes and spare enough colors to let imagination fill in the rest. He said, “The kingdom was as beautiful as it was strange. The trees were made of silver, gold, and diamond. In the absence of a breeze, placid lakes rippled only when the creatures inside swam near the surface. The ruler of this kingdom was a man as pale as slate and as sharp as obsidian. They called him the King Under the Mountain.”

Silco’s eye seemed to burn through Viktor, fixed on him from across the room. Viktor ignored that searing gaze, afraid he would lose track of the story if he let himself get distracted. Did Silco know this tale was for him? He must. The rest of the hall did, casting glances at Silco and whispering behind their hands.

“He ruled a rich court,” Viktor said, and several people cheered. Viktor grinned slyly at his audience. “A wicked court.” More people cheered and lifted their glasses. The mist showed laughing partiers, churning in a dizzying dance, watched over by a dark silhouette on a throne.

“But up above,” Viktor continued, “on the surface, stood another kingdom—white and bright and magnificent.” He gestured, and the mist coalesced into a cityscape. The illustration resembled Piltover, and a few guests booed. “The princess of this land grew bored of her peaceful, sheltered life. When a portal appeared in her room one night, she didn’t hesitate to enter it, and she found herself in the court of the King Under the Mountain. She ate his fae food and drank his fae wine and danced with him until dawn, when he returned her safely to her bedchamber.

“Every night after, the king opened a doorway between their worlds, and every night, the princess journeyed to the Underground and danced with the handsome king until daybreak. Each morning, her servants found her shoes worn through. The princess slept all day and danced all night and would answer no questions about where she’d been. Eventually, her father grew angry with her elusiveness and locked her in her bedchamber, but her imprisonment altered nothing. How was she escaping, even from a locked room?

“Her father ordered a contest. If any man could discover where the princess’s nightly wanderings took her and why her shoes were danced to shreds, he would earn her hand in marriage and inherit the kingdom. Any man who tried and failed to discover the secret would be put to death.”

Viktor now possessed the undivided attention of the room. He moved his hands to direct the images of his magical puppet show. The room’s candles turned ghastly red, and the mist glowed. “Suitors lined up to die. One by one, they spent the night in the princess’s room, vowing to stay awake and keep watch. But she did not want to give up her dalliances underground, so she fed each suitor drugged wine, and he slept while she escaped through the portal and back.

“In the morning, the men awoke, embarrassed by their naps, and they were put to death… every single one.

“Now enters the hero of our tale: a strapping young man from the white kingdom, with skin bronzed by the sun.” The mist formed a figure, and the figure resembled Jayce. It happened unintentionally. The crowd booed some more.

Jayce had wanted to rescue Viktor. He’d wanted to swoop in and save Viktor from Silco’s clutches, and when the fairytale didn’t play out according to his expectations, he’d been confused and humiliated. Viktor hadn’t meant to harm him. He hadn’t meant…

The mist started dissolving along the edges, and Viktor pulled himself back together.

He continued the story. “The man possessed a cloak that rendered him invisible. When the princess handed him the drugged wine, he pretended to drink and pretended to fall asleep. When the portal opened, he donned his invisibility cloak and followed her to the King Under the Mountain’s glittering hall. He stole branches of gold and silver and diamond along the way. He pilfered a goblet encrusted with jewels. In the morning, he showed these treasures to the princess’s father and explained where she danced each night, and he was declared the winner of the contest.”

“That’s it?” cried out Jinx, sounding insulted. Silco shushed her with a whisper in her ear.

Viktor smiled. “No. The night before her wedding, the King Under the Mountain opened the doorway a final time and invited the princess to live with him and rule the magical kingdom at his side.” The mist showed a man outstretching his hand. The candlelight turned a mystical purple. “The princess accepted the offer, and she was never seen again. They say she dances with him still—immortal as glass, merry as midnight, and cruel as her lover.”

The image vanished, the candles flickered back to full brightness, and the room erupted with cheers. Viktor bowed to the king and the audience in turn, and Duke Smeech stood on his chair, lifting a glass in Silco’s direction. He was visibly drunk, but his enthusiasm caught on as he called for a toast to “our very own King Under the Mountain!”

The salute echoed around the hall then dissolved into chatter. A few more guests tried to start toasts, but their voices were lost in the general revelry.

Viktor made his way back to his seat.

“That was beautiful!” Sky told him.

“Impressive,” agreed Sevika. 

“Where did you learn to form pictures like that?” Sky asked.

“Practice.” Viktor glanced up at Silco, who was already watching him with hunger, as if he hadn’t just finished a feast. Viktor took short, quiet breaths to steady his pounding heart.

Servants set dessert before them: pears wrapped in strips of pie crust and glazed with sugar. Sky exclaimed, “Doesn’t this look delicious?” She turned toward him. “Viktor?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” He broke eye contact with Silco and focused on the dessert, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of a burning eye on the back of his neck, hungering.

Chapter Text

The ball commenced in earnest after dessert was cleared away and the guests relocated to the ballroom. Pillars supported a high, vaulted ceiling, and mirrors made a dizzying spectacle of the walls, like portals to identical balls. Here and there along the perimeter of the room, little alcoves jutted into the stone—alcoves bordered by curtains, where partiers could retire for a moment of respite from the commotion.

Or to fuck, Viktor thought as he watched a couple make a beeline for one of the alcoves and close the curtains behind them.

Beside Viktor, Sky stretched a hand toward the ceiling. Glass beads glittered high above their heads and floated in lazy swirls like rivers of stars. “Did you do that?” Sky asked.

“Yes. It looks much better now that all the candles are lit—more sparkly.”

“It’s beautiful.”

The ballroom did look rather lovely, dark and magical like the King Under the Mountain’s fairy hall. Musicians in the corner played a lilting waltz, and couples paired off to spin to the music. Viktor and Sky moved nearer to the wall to give the dancers room.

Someone tapped Viktor’s arm, and he turned.

“Dance with me,” Silco said.

He wanted to. He did, but… “I can’t dance.” Viktor gestured to his right leg. The fabric of his pants hid the brace, but Silco knew it was there. “I’m truly a frightful dancer.”

“Nonsense.” Silco pulled him onto the floor. “You’re very graceful. Give it a try for me, will you?”

How could Viktor say no to his king? Chuckling, he let Silco take his hand and tug him close with a hand on his waist. “You’re leading?”

“What, you want to?”

“Perhaps someday.”

Silco’s red eye glittered with interest. The mirrors obfuscated the boundaries of the party as Silco guided Viktor in a slow waltz. The dance had no end and no beginning. The moment stretched, thick like taffy. Silco said, “Just like that. See? You’re doing fine.”

Viktor fumbled a step here and there, and his right leg was slow, but Viktor wasn’t as abysmal as he’d feared. Silco’s firm guidance kept him on track. He refrained from adding any fancy moves to the box step, for which Viktor was grateful.

Silco’s hand was warm on Viktor’s waist; soft, dark hair peppered his skin. Both eyes stayed locked on Viktor, as intense as Viktor imagined the King Under the Mountain’s to be. Of course, Silco wasn’t magical, but Viktor had magic enough for the both of them.

Flutes and strings carried over the burble of conversation. Glass beads swirled above them like stars, or like snow, in time to Viktor’s pulse.

“I’m going to start sparking again if you keep looking at me like that,” Viktor said.

“Good.” Silco stepped closer into Viktor’s space, holding him tight to prevent his retreat. People were watching them now, whispering behind fans and goblets of wine; Silco didn’t seem to mind. “I liked your story,” he said.

“Thank you.” Viktor’s pulse thrummed.

Silco said, “In particular, I liked your stolen princess character.”

“Is it stealing if she went willingly?”

Silco hummed. After a few more steps, he said, “She was a bit villainous herself, wasn’t she? She let all those suitors die. She drugged them to sleep, just so she could dance.”

“Maybe she had a wicked streak. Maybe she didn’t even know it until she met her fairy king.”

They danced close enough now that their chests touched. Silco’s body warmed the front of Viktor’s. They weren’t subtle; they breathed each other’s air like lovers. Silco set his mouth against Viktor’s ear. “What did they do together when the dancing ended? When the morning came, and she was still in his kingdom, sleepy and satisfied, did he lay her in his own bed?”

“Quit the metaphor,” Viktor said. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

While other couples moved in and out of their orbit, Silco spoke against Viktor’s ear, his breath wet. “I want to fuck you so well you never think another man’s name. I want to tie you to my bed and stick the hilt of my sword in you until you beg me to stop. I want to put you on your knees in front of this court and let them know who you belong to.”

“You’d dance with me in front of them,” Viktor said. “Would you kiss me in front of them?” Would Silco claim Viktor publicly, or did he want their dalliance to remain in the shadows—the palace’s worst-kept secret? A new thought interrupted his fantasies. He glanced around the ball. “Where’s Jinx?” Was she seeing Viktor and her father dance?

“In bed. This isn’t an appropriate party for a child. I sent her off with her nanny after dinner.”

Viktor knew the name of Jinx’s nanny—Babette—but not what she looked like. Jealousy had him tightening his grip on Silco’s hand, and a spark made Silco jolt. Jinx’s nanny would be an integral part of the royal household, a step removed from family. Had Silco spent years watching a pretty young woman raise his child and eat at his table? Had he fucked her?

“What’s that?” Silco asked, looking up and around. “Are you messing with the lights again?” Candles on the wall spit out sparks.

“Are you attracted to Jinx’s nanny?” Viktor demanded. “Are you sleeping with her?”

“Babette?” Silco laughed. “She’s in her sixties, Viktor.”

“So? I’m in my twenties.”

Silco’s nails dug into Viktor’s back. “She’s a woman, Viktor.” Silco must not be attracted to women.

But Viktor’s jealousy was only half-appeased. He’d had a few glasses of that spiced wine, and Silco was dancing with him in public, and Viktor had a wicked streak he was only just discovering. “You’re not allowed to sleep around. Swear you’re not fucking anyone but me.”

“I’m not fucking anyone else, and I don’t want to. I swear it.”

Good. Viktor tilted closer into Silco’s embrace and licked Silco’s jaw, just below his scarring. “I’m a little drunk,” he said.

Silco made a small, subvocal sound. “You’ll come to my room tonight, won’t you? After the ball?”

“Why wait?”

“Good point.” Silco took Viktor’s hand and dragged him off the dance floor toward one of the alcoves. Two women sat on a bench inside it, chatting and sipping drinks. “Find another spot,” Silco ordered.

With much hurry and a few backward glances, the women vacated the alcove, and Silco pulled the drapes shut, closing them off from the party. This nook wasn’t completely private (anyone could open the curtains and expose them), but it was private enough for some heavy petting.

Silco backed Viktor into the wall. Noise from the party drifted through the curtain: laughter, footsteps, music, and conversation. Silco’s lips found the soft skin under Viktor’s ear, and he sucked.

Viktor made a breathy, wanton sound and cupped the front of Silco’s pants. Would Silco let Viktor get him off right here and right now? Would Silco put Viktor on his knees to show him who he belonged to?

“I like you jealous,” Silco growled. “It coddles my own jealousy.”

“What cause have you for jealousy?” Viktor asked. “You’re the king. I’m sure you get more offers than you could ever indulge. I’m just some mage.”

“What cause?” Silco kissed Viktor on the mouth, hard. His body pressed Viktor into the stone. Viktor couldn’t retreat an inch; his head already rested against the wall. After a biting, thrashing kiss, Silco said, “You’ve had two lovers or potential lovers just in the time I’ve known you.”

“Don’t be jealous of Jayce.” Viktor slid his hands down the front of Silco’s doublet. Silco didn’t move far, and his lips hovered near Viktor’s. “Or Sky. Both of them know I’m unavailable.”

“Sky? Your mage friend? Is she a potential partner, too?”

Silco hadn’t been referring to Sky, then. “Well, not really,” Viktor tried to explain, but he didn’t feel like he was doing a good job of it. The wine slurried his thoughts. “I don’t like her in that way, and she knows it. Who did you mean, if not her?”

He growled, “Ambessa tried to rent you for the night.”

Viktor laughed. “The Noxian queen? You can’t seriously think I was interested. She’s in her fifties, Silco.”

“So? I’m in my forties.”

Viktor echoed Silco. “And she’s a woman.”

Silco leaned in again and devoured Viktor’s mouth with a vengeance.

Privileged and powerful, Viktor heated. The swirling in his core had nothing to do with wine or magic and everything to do with the pride of possesion. Who else could evoke such a response in the king? Silco was Viktor’s alone to touch and to kiss. He whispered dirty promises in no one else’s ear. “I need it,” Viktor breathed. “Silco.”

Silco moaned and rucked up Viktor’s tunic, trying to get a hand under it and into Viktor’s pants.

Then glass shattered out in the ballroom, and the sound carried into their alcove, and Silco said, “Fuck.” He and Viktor paused, waiting to see if the commotion would right itself and settle down.

“Insolent little beast!” someone shouted.

Silco stalked out through the curtains. Viktor straightened himself and followed.

A man in an elegant wheelchair faced off with Duke Smeech. Glass lay in shards between them. Wine stained both their shirts red.

“What in Kindred’s name is going on here?” Silco demanded. Conversation around the ballroom paused, and people crowded close for a better view of the impending altercation.

“The baron spilled his wine on me,” said the duke, “and he refused to apologize!”

“So you throw your glass at me?” said the man in the wheelchair, who must be the baron. “You’re dead, Smeech.”

“Look at this mess,” Silco said with contempt. “You can’t behave yourselves for one night? I invite you into my home, and this is how you repay my hospitality? By making fools of yourselves in front of the assembled Zaunite court?”

Viktor hung back with the crowd, admiring Silco’s eloquence in light of what had transpired mere moments ago behind the curtain. Viktor ran a hand through his hair a couple of times to tame down any flyaway strands.

A noblewoman beside him whispered, “You’re Viktor, aren’t you? I’ve heard so much about you.” She extended a hand.

He took it and pressed his lips to the back of it. “It’s a pleasure,” he said. He let magic leak from his fingertips, tingling her skin.

She giggled.

Viktor’s attention returned to Silco as he laid down the law.

The baron grumbled, “These clothes might be stained irrevocably. Do you know how much this suit cost?”

Silco drew a knife from the holster on his belt. “Which stain would you rather remove: wine or blood?”

The crowd leaned in, carrion crows drawn gleefully to the threat of violence. The noblewoman at Viktor’s side tightened her shawl around herself and whispered to her friend, eyes on Silco.

How was Sky faring as the party turned perilous? Viktor glanced around. He saw no sign of her.

The duke and the baron were groveling, and Silco was putting away his knife, so that situation seemed well in-hand. Silco would expect to return to his make-out session with Viktor, but the arcane whispered that Sky needed him more. As soon as he paid the whisper attention, it swelled to an unignorable urge to find Sky. Viktor stepped back, out of the ring of spectators, to search for his friend.

Chapter Text

Sky watched Lord Silco pull Viktor away, puzzled. The two of them seemed oddly close, and Viktor hadn’t even bothered to bow at Lord Silco’s approach. Was Viktor important? Was Court Mage a more prestigious title than she’d realized?

Good for Viktor, if he were climbing the ranks of servants. He deserved recognition for his talents.

Sky wandered along the edge of the party, people-watching. The stunning gowns of the women sported panels of sheer fabric and layers of gathers, and Sky took mental notes so she could attempt to recreate some of the designs later. Could she sew any garment with magic, or did she have to follow the patterns laid out in the tailoring scroll? She would have to do some experimenting to see how far she could push the limits of this new skill.

A handsome, striking man approached Sky and bowed at the waist. Geometric tattoos covered his face, and he wore a gold false jaw. “You’re enchanting,” he said in an accent. “What is your name, beautiful lady?”

“It’s Sky,” she said. Was this her chance at romance? Was this her fairytale king come to sweep her off her feet?

“May I have this dance, Sky?”

She took his hand and let him lead her onto the floor. She settled into his arms in the first pose of a waltz, but when he tried to step forward, she hadn’t been ready, and she fumbled to catch up with his steps.

Sky had danced before. She was no expert, but she could keep time and follow the lead of her partner. Unfortunately, this partner had never learned to lead correctly. His stance was too loose. He seemed to change course at random, and instead of indicating the next move with his body language, Sky was forced to guess or play catch-up.

“I’m Finn,” he said.

“Right.” Sky realized at the last second that he was trying to spin her, and she hurried through the move and back into his arms.

“Earl Finn.”

Impressive, but Sky was occupied with not tripping and didn’t have time to coo over his title. Sky would have to make him take dancing lessons if she were going to marry him.

“How is it that I’ve never seen you before?” Lord Finn asked.

“This is my first visit to the palace,” said Sky. “Well, my first official visit. My friend works here.”

“Who is your friend?”

“The mage Viktor.”

“Ah,” Lord Finn chuckled. “The one who is sleeping with the king.”

“What?” Sky tried to find Viktor through the crowd, but too many couples danced, obscuring her view. Was Viktor sleeping with Lord Silco? If so, why hadn’t he told her?

Well, she might not tell him if she had a private romance with the king. He was entitled to his secrets. Still, was it true? Could she ask him, or would that seem like prying?

Also, Sky could hardly keep up with Lord Finn’s dancing. His arms were far too loose to lead, and Sky couldn’t tell which direction he was trying to point her. She stared at their joined hands, concentrating on looking as graceful as possible despite the circumstances.

“Ah, are we pretending it is a secret?” Lord Finn asked. “Apologies, madam. Only, word travels fast at a party such as this. Everyone seeks to know the business of the king.” He brought his head closer to hers. “So who has the privilege of taking you home tonight? If your partner is engaged, are you free?”

She wasn’t going home with anyone. She had just met this man. “No, I am not free.” Did he think Sky was going to let him under her skirts after one night? Was that all he wanted? Whatever had happened to romance?

His eyes glinted like an oil slick. “Give me a chance to change your mind,” he purred.

Another figure came up behind Sky and interrupted their dance. “Excuse me,” said a voice Sky recognized—a voice that made her heart soar.

She whipped around. It was Sevika, the captain of the guard.

“May I cut in?” Sevika asked.

“Yes!” Sky said, shifting to Sevika’s arms and out of Lord Finn’s. “Forgive me, my lord.”

He scoffed and stalked away.

Sevika waited a beat for the music to reach the start of its rhythm, and then she started to dance.

This was what dancing with Lord Finn should have been like. Sevika’s grip was gentle, but her arms were firm, and at last, with a leader who knew what she was doing, Sky settled easily into the steps. “Thank you for rescuing me,” Sky said with genuine relief.

“Anytime.” Sevika smiled.

Sky returned the smile. Sevika could be intense, but there was something about her that put Sky at ease—a sturdiness, a substance, a weight to hold onto. At last, she could enjoy the dance. At last, she could indulge in some friendly conversation. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Much more, now. You look beautiful.”

And just like that, Sky was untethered again. The anchor of Sevika’s arms never faltered, but their hold no longer grounded her. The other couples churning through the waltz were too many and too close. “Oh.” Sky’s stomach swam. “Thank you.”

“So who is taking you home tonight?”

Sevika wanted the same thing as Lord Finn. Why did Sky feel like she was defending herself against an onslaught? Should she have arrived at this party ready for battle? “No one.”

“Haven’t met the right boy then?”

“That’s right.”

Sevika’s smile looked more like a smirk, now. “Maybe you don’t need a boy.”

Sky stepped out of her arms, coming to a stand-still in the middle of the dance floor. Dismay twisted her gut. “I think I need a drink.” She’d say anything to make this stop. She’d been so busy being relieved at having a competent dance partner that she hadn’t braced herself for more flirting.

“All right, sweetheart.” Sevika placed a hand on the small of Sky’s back and led her to the edge of the room, where a servant stood with a platter of goblets. Sevika plucked one off his tray and handed it to Sky.

Sky sipped it. Wine. She’d meant to get water, but this would do just as well as a distraction. She sipped her wine and glanced around the party. There were the king and Viktor, dancing uncommonly close. It did seem like something was going on between them.

Sevika’s presence was heavy at her side, sedate and strong like a panther, with keen eyes fixed on her prey. At least she was no longer being crass with Sky; silent, restrained desire, Sky could handle. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” Sevika asked. Her thumb stroked along Sky’s back.

“Oh, yes please.” Escaping the din of the party seemed perfect. Sky couldn’t hear herself think over the music and the chatter. Maybe Sevika knew of a balcony or something where they could get a bit of air.

They could talk, like they’d talked at dinner. Sky could sip her wine. She could catch her breath and arrange her swirling thoughts and contemplate what exactly she felt for this knight.

Sevika, still with a hand on Sky’s back, took her not to a balcony but to an alcove bordered by curtains. Before Sky could take a seat on the velvet bench, Sevika backed her against the wall.

Oh no. This again.

Sevika tugged a loop of rope free, and the curtain fell shut. Her dark eyes gleamed like Lord Finn’s. She stepped into Sky’s space, close as breath. Her fingers brushed Sky’s throat as she leaned in, lips hovering near Sky’s cheek.

Sky tucked her head down and away. Oh no. This was just like the hallway, when Sevika had first shown her interest. Sevika loomed over her, trapping her against the cold stone. Sky’s hand touched the wall behind her, fingertips digging into grooves in the rough-hewn rock. She squeezed her goblet of wine.

“You look so pretty tonight,” Sevika said. Her metal arm rested on the wall. She dragged the fingers of her other hand down Sky’s throat and then her bare shoulder. Goosebumps followed the tail of her touch.

“I don’t…” Sky bit her lip. She didn’t know what Sevika was doing to her. She was going to turn invisible just to escape Sevika’s heavy gaze.

“Pretty girl.” Sevika’s eyes lowered to Sky’s cleavage. “Would you let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

Sky shook her head. Her pulse thrummed. Her fingertips pressed deeper into the rock, leaving little dents in her skin. Sky’s brain was a cloud—insubstantial.

Sevika thumbed the ties at the front of Sky’s dress. “I think you’re attracted to me. I think you feel something when I touch you like this. Is that right, baby?”

Sky’s chest heaved. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for what, she didn’t know. Another rescuer?

“I’ve dreamed of putting my mouth on you. Bet you taste so sweet. I want to lick you ‘till you cry.”

Sevika’s, Sevika’s mouth on her… licking…

Sevika asked, “What do you want me to do to you, sweet girl?” Sevika’s lips found Sky’s cheek. She murmured, “You should come back to my room with me. You can finish that wine, and I can finish you.” Sevika’s lips drifted lower to caress the skin of her throat.

Sky’s eyes stung. All anyone at this ball wanted was her body. They all just wanted to get off and get gone. They didn’t care that she was shy. They didn’t care that she wasn’t interested.

Sky flung her wine out, spilling it all down the front of Sevika’s shirt.

Sevika sprang back and glanced down at herself then back up at Sky with confusion.

Sky tried to catch her breath. She’d just thrown her drink at the king’s right hand. She was so stupid. Sevika had a sword.

Suddenly, like sunlight through a storm, Viktor appeared at the entrance to the alcove. He reached for Sky.

She zipped into his embrace, aided by her wings. Free from Sevika’s clutches at last, Sky could hardly stand to look at her. She tucked herself against Viktor’s side.

Viktor glared at Sevika and the wine still dripping on the floor. Was he going to get in trouble with the king for defending her? Was Sky ruining his important position? Viktor said, “Let’s go,” and he took Sky away from Sevika and through the ballroom to the dining hall.

“Are we leaving?” Sky sniffed.

“Yes. I’m sorry for bringing you here. I didn’t realize how it would be.”

They entered the entryway. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “I need my coat.”

Viktor told a servant, and the servant brought both their coats. Viktor wrapped Sky’s around her shoulders before he slipped into his own. He took Sky’s hand. They waited outside for the carriage, and their breath misted in front of their faces.

“I’m sorry for ruining your night,” Sky said. “It looked like you were having fun.”

“Think nothing of it. You’re more important.”

More important than dancing with the king? She wasn’t. Guiltily, Sky released his hand.

—

He waited until they were back in her apartment, sipping tea in new clothes, to ask her about it, for which she was grateful.

“What happened?”

Sky let out a long breath. Her hair was out of its net, now, and it fell in long curls down her shoulders, bouncing as she moved. “First someone named Finn flirted with me, and then Sevika did.” Sky’s face heated as she recalled all that Sevika had said to her. “I don’t want to be treated like that! She was lewd. She thought I was just going to run off with her tonight!”

Viktor’s brows were drawn together in concern. “This isn’t the first time she’s flirted with you, no?”

Sky shook her head. Sevika had called her sweetheart before. Sevika had pinned Sky to the wall and looked at her body greedily, like a man—like Sky was a fruit Sevika wanted to peel open and sink her teeth into.

“I’m sorry. I won’t invite you to the palace again, so you don’t need to run into her. When we get together in the future, we’ll do it here or in the city.”

“Thank you, Viktor.” Sky sipped her tea. She pulled her feet up onto the chair, and some hair slid off her shoulder. “It wasn’t that I wouldn’t ever consider…” She trailed off, timid. “It’s just that she wanted it so fast.”

Viktor continued to frown at her.

“Let’s just forget about it,” Sky said. Sevika had surely found another girl at the ball to torment. “I don’t want to think about her anymore. She’s probably not thinking of me.”

Chapter Text

She’d messed up. Sevika stalked back to her room for a change of clothes. She had known as soon as she’d seen Sky in that dress that she was going to be making some stupid decisions tonight. Fuck, she’d looked so good, glittery and green like a beetle, poised to curl up in her shell at the slightest shock.

Sevika could make her uncurl. Sevika could make her scream.

She was with her little crush, but she gave Sevika those looks throughout the evening, big brown eyes, pouty lips, and freckles—freckles all over her cheeks, her shoulders, disappearing under those laces and that lace. Sevika made her laugh over dinner and watched her shamelessly throughout Viktor’s presentation, admiring her in the magical, crimson light that made her skin glow and her green dress disappear.

She spoke to no one but Sevika through dessert. Her chest was plush under her corded bodice. She’d smiled so coyly. Doe eyes—little fawn, little doe waiting for Sevika to bite her and hold her down and—

And there was Finn, and Sky dancing with him, looking anywhere but his face and cringing in his arms.

She’d intervened, and then she’d gotten carried away. She’d misinterpreted. She’d wanted to think Sky was reciprocating, and so she had. Until Sky made her disgust apparent once and for all.

Back down at the party, Sevika ran into Silco, looking as cross as she felt. “Have you seen Viktor?” he said.

“No.” Sevika’s mouth tasted foul with regret. “He’s probably off consoling his friend.”

“Why?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you do something to Sky?”

Sevika began moving again, and Silco tagged along. “I made a mistake.”

“And ruined my night, too, apparently!” Silco scoffed, as if his blue balls were as important as Sky’s frightened eyes and trembling lip.

Sevika was fresh out of sympathy. “You can fuck Viktor whenever you want, Your Majesty.”

They stopped by an open arch, and Silco crossed his arms. “What are you going to do? Going to try to win her back?”

“I think I have to try.” Sky probably loathed Sevika right now, and Sevika couldn’t bear it. She searched the party without hope.

Sky and Viktor were gone. In all likelihood, she was crying and he was comforting her. Sevika hated herself for distressing the women she wanted and hated herself more for picturing what a pretty crier Sky would make.

—

The first step of atonement was talking to Viktor, the friend who’d pulled Sky away from Sevika that night—her self-appointed guardian. Sevika spoke to Viktor in his lab the morning after the ball. While most of the court was in bed, sleeping off the party, Viktor was back at work. The goggles he wore enlarged his eyes like a bug’s. Sevika thought of Sky.

Would Viktor help her or rebuke her?

Sevika leaned on one of the worktables and asked, “Do you know how I can get in contact with Sky? I made a fool of myself at the ball, and I want to apologize.”

“That’s good of you,” Viktor said, immersed in his experiment and barely glancing her way, “but I think you’re better off moving your romantic attentions elsewhere.”

That was easier said than done. Sevika had thought of nothing but making up for her behavior toward Sky since last night. “I know better, now,” Sevika said. Viktor was her only line to Sky, and without his approval, Sevika knew her chances of winning Sky over were slim. “I came on far too strong.” Everyone else at the party was drowning in alcohol and undressing each other with their eyes, and Sevika was too caught up in the moment to realize that Sky was at a different party than the rest of them. That wasn’t an excuse for her behavior.

Viktor shook his head. He crumbled a dried leaf into his beaker. “You chose the wrong target. You made her feel small.” He stirred it carefully. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get laid, but you want someone like me, not her. I’m down for a casual fuck. I already know that I’m gay. I’m not a virgin. Go find your version of me.”

“Jan’ahrem,” Sevika cursed. “She’s a virgin?” Of course Sky had been unsettled by Sevika’s innuendos. Poor, nervous little thing. Sevika had scared her half to death.

“You didn’t know that?” Viktor asked. “Here, come drop this into the potion for me.” He handed her what looked like a piece of tree bark and picked up a journal to take notes.

Sevika stepped forward without a clue what she was doing, but Viktor had some sort of plan, so she followed his orders and dropped the bark into the vial. “Was something supposed to happen?” she asked.

“Hmm.” Viktor scribbled into the journal and didn’t answer her question. Instead, he said, “You must understand that Sky is very shy.”

“I know that, now,” Sevika said.

“And you’re the king’s right hand who slays people at his behest. You’re intimidating.”

Viktor wasn’t intimidated. He didn’t even look at her, just bustled around his workroom, gathering new ingredients and fussing with the candle under the beaker. Sevika understood why Silco liked him so much. There was something charming about his lack of reverence for authority (not as charming as Sky’s wide, darting eyes and parting mouth whenever Sevika stepped close to her).

“Viktor,” Sevika said, “please let me apologize to her. I want to start over.”

“She’s not a toy you can use and discard. Like I said: find someone else.”

“I don’t think that of her. I swear it. I want to court her properly.”

Finally, Viktor looked up. He pushed his goggles up his forehead. “Court her? With the intention of marriage, you mean?”

“I do,” Sevika said. She imagined having Sky beside her forever, teasing little smiles out of her until she was comfortable enough to fall into Sevika’s arms. “This isn’t about getting laid for me. I want Sky as a partner.”

“And how would you go about apologizing to her?”

“Flowers and groveling, to start. And I would make it clear that we can take things slow. That was my mistake the first time.”

Viktor tapped his fingers against the desk, thinking. Then he tore a sheet of paper from his journal and wrote an address on it. He handed it to Sevika. “Here’s where to send the flowers,” he said.

Sevika grinned as she took the paper. “Thank you.”

—

Sky slept in that morning because she hadn’t slept much after that horrific ball. She laid in bed for an hour, languidly waking from a dream of running through dense foliage, chased by a panther. The dream seemed too obvious to be a portent, so Sky ignored it.

She made herself breakfast, ate, and cleaned her teeth before realizing there was a gift at her doorstep. She opened the door to the balcony that connected all the apartments on her floor, and there, on the mat, was a giant vase of roses, complete with a note informing her they were a token of apology from Sevika.

Sevika was thinking about her, or at least, she felt guilty enough about how things had ended to check in.

Sky tucked her hair behind her ears. She rubbed her arms. A Sevika who was cold and disinterested, Sky could safely ignore; a remorseful Sevika was more difficult to put out of her mind. Had Sevika simply made a mistake last night? Were the roses acknowledgement of her error and a promise to change? Or did she think flowers were enough to land her in Sky’s bed?

Sky used magic to carry the vase inside and set it on her table. She fluffed up the roses with a bit of magic, too, opening the closed buds. She didn’t know what to do with the card. She didn’t know what to do with any of Sevika’s attention.

Sky turned her back on the roses and left the apartment as planned, dwelling on them no longer.

—

A week later, Sky met Viktor at a local sweet shop, where they ordered fudgy chocolate cake and sweetmilk. Sky poked at her cake with her fork. “You gave Sevika my address, didn’t you?”

“I did.” He winced. “Was that a bad decision?”

Every day this week, something had arrived—some little gift or note. Sky had flowers in every room, now, and love letters quoting poetry about brown eyes and quiet longing. She hadn’t known one of Lord Silco’s knights could be so thoughtful, so romantic. She told Viktor, “It’s all right. I’m not angry.” She blew on her sweetmilk to cool it. “But I’m still not ready to see her yet.”

“You don’t have to be. She seems eager to make up for her mistake. Let her work for it and prove herself.”

Sky could do that—she could passively accept Sevika’s gifts and wait to see what other moves she would make.

The next gift was a bottle of pink perfume in a cut crystal glass. Sky dabbed it on her neck and her wrists, and a floral fragrance filled the air.

Then it was a note that formally and officially asked Sky if Sevika could court her. Primed with the previous notes’ love poetry floating around her brain, Sky was at last ready to receive this declaration of Sevika’s intentions. She wrote a reply in the affirmative and sent it to the palace, in care of Knight Sevika.

Then she taught a class. Then she graded assignment scrolls. Then she had nothing to do but watch the sand sink through a timer and wonder how long the letter would take to reach Sevika and how soon she could expect a reply.

This was ridiculous. Sevika was just across the city, a walk away. They weren’t going to exchange letters throughout their entire courtship. Sky should just go see her.

At the gates of the palace, the guards recognized her and let her pass without delay. She stopped a passing stablehand and asked if she knew where Knight Sevika would be at this hour.

“Probably with the king,” the stablehand said. She called across the courtyard to a guard. “Hubert! Where is the king right now?”

The guard civilly crossed the courtyard to reply at a normal volume. “He’s in his office.” Hubert asked Sky, “Do you need to see him?”

Sky said, “I’m looking for Knight Sevika.”

“She’s probably there as well. I’ll take you.”

“Thank you so much,” Sky said.

Hubert accompanied her through the palace to the king’s office, and he left her outside the door. She knocked.

“Come in,” called the king’s voice.

Was she committing a grievous breach of civility? Who was she to interrupt the King of Zaun on a whim? Sky might have turned and run home, except the king had already answered her knock. She opened the door.

Across the room, Lord Silco sat at a desk. Sevika stood behind him, near an ornate window. She looked up as Sky walked in, and her face lit up.

Sky curtseyed. “Greetings, Your Majesty. I apologize for the interruption.”

“No need,” Lord Silco said. He glanced sideways at Sevika. “As much as I value your company, I assume you’re not here for me.”

Sky fidgeted with her skirt. She looked at Sevika.

“Would you like to go somewhere to talk?” Sevika asked.

“Yes, please.”

Sevika took her out of the office and shut the door.

“Did you get my letter?” Sky asked.

“I did.” Sevika’s eyes were soft like the greenish-gray light out the king’s window. “You can’t imagine how happy it made me. But I’m sorry, I haven’t had time to reply yet.”

“That’s all right. That’s why I wanted to talk to you in person, so we don’t have to do this over letters.” Sky fisted her skirt. “I would like to court you. Well, you know.”

Sevika’s dark lips turned up in a smile. “I’m so glad. Can I take you back to my room? Not for any ulterior motive. I have a gift for you, and it’s there.”

“Another gift?” Sky asked. Sevika had bought her so many things already.

“Yes.” Sevika led the way down the hall, and Sky stepped into place at her side, heart pounding. Sevika said, “I want to apologize again, in person, for my behavior at the ball. I should have been able to tell that you were uncomfortable.”

“Thank you.” They walked down a flight of stairs. “And thank you for all your gifts and letters. I’m wearing the perfume now.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Sevika held the door to her rooms open, and Sky stepped bravely into the antechamber and sat on a bench under a mirror. She was not going to enter Sevika’s bedchamber on the first official day of their courtship.

“Wait here,” Sevika said. She entered her bedroom and returned with a velvet jewelry box, sized for a necklace. She knelt in front of Sky to match her height and opened the box. Nestled in silk was a silver necklace with a dragonfly pendant. The wings of the dragonfly shimmered with opal and mother-of-pearl—iridescent and variegated. Matching earrings accompanied the necklace: single, glittering dragonfly wings to dangle from each ear.

“It’s beautiful,” Sky said. The jewelry would look stunning on her, like tiny versions of her own wings.

“I bought this hoping to give it to you if you agreed to let me court you. May I put it on you?”

Sky nodded, touching her collarbone.

Sevika extracted the necklace from the box, moved behind Sky, and brushed Sky’s hair aside to fasten the clasp around her neck. “You smell beautiful. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Sevika’s fingers lingered on the nape of her neck, skimming Sky’s baby hairs. “Can I take you somewhere for dinner?”

A date in public, where Sevika would be on her best behavior, sounded perfect. “I’d like that.” She slipped the earrings into her piercings. They were as light and delicate as hope.

Chapter Text

One of Viktor’s favorite games to play was to pretend that children had magical powers. Observing a group of children running through the green, playing magi and miming shooting bolts of energy from their hands, he would cast a quiet spell, and then the play fight would turn into a real fight with zaps of water or light and shrieks of joy.

A group of children was at play now in the lot behind the stables. As Viktor wandered past, they waved at him. A page boy, Lady Renni’s son, called, “Viktor! Come play with us!”

How could he resist? He approached, and the group dashed up to him, excitement on their faces.

“Can you give me water powers?” one of them asked.

“You got water powers last time,” Lady Renni’s boy said.

“Can I have fire powers, then?”

“No,” Viktor said. “No fire. I can do light, water, sparkles, and speed.” The children claimed their respective roles, and then they struck up an elaborate, magically-fueled game of tag.

Viktor’s role was simple and complicated: whenever a child called his or her power out, Viktor had to cast a spell to create the desired effect. With four kids running around and screaming at all times, the pace of the game was quick and chaotic. By the end, Viktor was breathing heavily, the children were soaked, and all were happy.

As Viktor cast a gentle wind to help them cool down, Renni’s boy wheezed in a way that caught Viktor off guard. Viktor waited a moment as the boy coughed and cleared his throat. Viktor only relaxed when the phlegm cleared and the boy rejoined his friends, laughing.

The children gave their goodbyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Viktor!” said the littlest girl.

“You’re very welcome.”

The others thanked him, too, and ran off. Viktor placed a hand over his chest, remembering tight, suffocating pain. Only the memory plagued him now.

Viktor pictured slim fingers around a cigar, smoke-yellow teeth, and stained fingers. He hadn’t noticed Silco wheezing or coughing, but his health might be worth looking into.

—

His favorite child to play with was Princess Jinx, who had quickly caught on that Viktor would aid her in pretending to cast spells whenever he was around. Unlike the other children, however, she didn’t announce the spell she was trying to cast, forcing him to anticipate her desires based on body language.

She would frown in concentration at a candle until Viktor lit it, and then, without a glance his way, she would carry on, as if she’d sparked the flame herself.

Or, she would cup her hands in front of her and blow into them, and Viktor would form a bubble in the space there. Jinx would lift her hands and watch the bubble’s trek toward the ceiling.

Today, she skipped up to him in a palace hallway and said, “Hi, Viktor!”

“Hello, Princess.”

She snapped her fingers at wilting flowers in a vase.

What did she mean… Ah. Viktor perked the flowers back up, returning color to their petals.

Satisfied, Jinx skipped away.

What would happen if her father perished? The arcane sent him a vision of Jinx without Silco: tetherless and mad as a hatter. Viktor shivered the vision away. Zaun and Jinx both benefited from Silco’s continued presence (not to mention, Viktor was rather fond of him). Resolved now, he set off to find Silco’s steward.

—

Viktor’s research into brewing potions without magic was not going as well as he’d hoped. He had little to show for the hours and coin he’d poured into his experiments except a more complete understanding of how magical healing worked on the body. He was already familiar with healing magic via his studies at the Academy, when he sought to heal his terminal illness and augment his body. Now he was something of an expert, and he felt confident enough to apply healing magic to others.

Through the steward Deprez, Viktor made an official appointment with the king. He abstained from magic for a few days until his veins were ripe with it.

“You want to do what to me?” Silco asked when Viktor, Deprez, and Singed descended upon him one day in a throng.

Viktor had invited Singed along to observe and intervene if necessary. The older mage was skilled, and Viktor could endure his presence for Silco’s sake. “I want to take a look at your lungs with magic,” Viktor said. “You smoke every day.”

“My lungs are fine,” Silco said from his throne, scowling.

“Your Majesty, how can you know that?” asked Viktor. “I know firsthand how painful breathing can be when one’s lungs fail, and I don’t want that to happen to you. Let me heal the smoke scarring before it becomes a problem.”

“You’re going to get cancer,” Singed added in his typical blunt fashion.

Silco scowled harder and gripped the armrests of his throne. “I’m not giving up smoking.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Viktor said gently. “I would never pressure you like that. In a few years, I’ll simply heal you again. And again and again, so you have a long and healthy rein.”

Silco’s face softened as he looked at Viktor.

Viktor waited patiently for his decision. Silco had already given Viktor so much trust, but letting Viktor poke around his body with magic was a lot to ask of him. Viktor hadn’t expected immediate acquiescence.

“Your Majesty,” added Deprez, “if I may, Mr. Viktor is offering personalized, targeted magical healing. People cross national borders to receive that kind of service.”

“I know that, Deprez,” said Silco. He checked his pocket watch. “Don’t I have more meetings? How long is this going to take?”

“I cleared the rest of your schedule for the day,” Deprez said promptly. “So Mr. Viktor can take his time, and you can recuperate after the operation.”

“I feel like I’ve been ganged up on.” He glanced at Viktor. “My lungs, eh?”

“I can show you textbook drawings of the lungs of smokers after they’ve passed,” Viktor said. “They aren’t pretty. I think you should let me fix yours for you.” Viktor wasn’t sure if Silco would give in, even ganged-up on. If it weren’t Viktor asking, he might have no chance at all of getting the king’s approval for the procedure.

“Fine! Fine. I’ll do it.”

That was how they got the king onto a white sheet on his bed, surrounded by servants, Singed, and Viktor. The king was shirtless. He scowled at everyone to make his distaste  for the proceedings clear, and Viktor was extra cheerful to counter his glumness.

“Thank you,” Viktor told a maid who brought him a chair and set it beside Silco’s bed. “That’s perfect. Is everybody ready to begin?”

“What are the chances you kill me messing around in there?” Silco asked.

“A mild three percent, Your Majesty.”

Silco pushed himself up to his elbows in a panic. “What?”

“I’m teasing. Lay back down.” Viktor pushed his chest, and Silco went.

Deprez bustled around the perimeter of the room, organizing servants to fetch blankets and glasses of water for the healers—his version of showing concern.

“Relax,” Singed said. “Close your eyes. When you wake, we’ll be finished.”

“You’re putting me to sleep?” Silco demanded. “What? Why can’t we do it while I’m awake?”

“Because you’d kick up a fuss and distract us,” Singed said.

“Not to mention,” Viktor added, “you would be in pain. This way, all the nastiness will happen while you’re unconscious, and you’ll wake right as rain.”

Singed shrugged, like this detail was unconcerning.

Viktor brushed a hand down Silco’s arm and said, “Before Singed puts you under, know that I won’t hurt you. I’ll do my best to fix anything that needs fixing, all right?”

Silco grabbed Viktor’s hand and kissed the back of it, heedless of Singed and the servants. “I trust you,” he said, warmth in his expression. “Have at it, then.”

Viktor brushed Silco’s hair back from his forehead. He would take care of Silco: his lord, his king. “You’ll need to rest afterward for at least several hours. Don’t try to get up as soon as you wake.”

“You heard him,” Deprez told his contingent of servants. “The king is on bedrest today. Someone tell the kitchen that dinner will be served in his room.”

“On it,” said a butler, darting off.

“Do you have enough mana?” Singed asked.

“I didn’t cast a single spell yesterday, so I’m all charged up.”

Singed reached out. “May I?” Viktor let him touch his arm and feel the energy pulsing under his skin. Singed nodded and removed his hand.

“Ready?” Viktor asked Silco. He nodded.

Singed touched Silco’s forehead, and the king nodded off. Singed picked up and dropped Silco’s arm, which fell limp to the bed. “He’s out,” Singed said.

Viktor double-checked Silco’s consciousness through the uber-scientific means of snapping in front of his face and prodding his stomach. “I suppose I’ll get started, then,” he said.

“Do you need more light?” Deprez asked.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Viktor placed both hands on Silco’s chest, one on his sternum and one on his belly, for the first piece of the healing process: observation. Viktor closed his eyes and sent tendrils of exploratory magic into Silco’s body, flooding Viktor with sensory input. Veins, ligaments, lymph, heartbeat, heartbeat, heartbeat, breath—Viktor focused on the important information and dropped the rest. He lost himself in the interior rhythms of Silco’s body, conversing with all the tiny creatures that worked together to animate him.

“How is it going?” a maid asked in a whisper.

“It hasn’t yet begun,” Singed replied for Viktor.

Viktor acquainted himself most familiarly with Silco’s respiratory system. He strayed in Silco’s breath for a while, floating in this receptive, curious state. He noted the scarred and damaged tissue. He isolated it and began, slowly and carefully, to replace it with healthy tissue.

He was careful not to interrupt Silco’s breathing as he worked. Viktor didn’t want to suffocate him. He worked in small patches, dissolving bits of lung and regrowing it better. His eyes stayed closed; he saw with his magic. The process took over an hour, and Viktor’s concentration never wavered.

The arcane poured through him, solemn for once, as if it felt the seriousness of the task. It made no mischief and obeyed Viktor’s will.

When Viktor finished working on Silco’s lungs, when the tissue was new and pure, he spent a while testing its function, verifying that it worked as intended. Exhaustion pulled at his limbs like gravity. He’d spent and spent, and now his store of magic was nearly depleted.

“I finished the lungs,” Viktor announced into the silent room; it had been silent the last hour or so. A couple of people jumped. “Now I am scanning the rest of his body to see if anything else is glaringly wrong.” He shifted his hands, searching through each of Silco’s bodily systems in turn.

His bones were fragile. That was expected in a heavy smoker. Viktor strengthened them, and the process was much simpler than replacing lung tissue, so it took him less than fifteen minutes to reinforce every bone in his body.

“Viktor,” Singed said. “If you’re done, then be done. How much mana do you have left?”

Viktor blinked open his eyes. They watered in the harsh candlelight. “I’m not completely out,” he said.

His mentor’s face, as always, was unreadable. He studied Viktor.

Silco was here, under Viktor’s healing hands, and Viktor may never get this opportunity again. He needed to make the most of every second of healing, every drop of mana.

Viktor’s limbs were lead, but he dragged his hands in another pass over Silco’s stomach. “He has a small kidney stone. Let me just dissolve it.” That would be easy, and it would save Silco some pain down the line.

“Viktor.”

He had focus enough for this. “It’ll take five minutes,” he told Singed firmly. Viktor wouldn’t put Silco in danger. He would never. He wouldn’t cast spells on Silco’s body if his mind were too fuzzy with depleted mana to concentrate.

Singed let him dissolve the kidney stone. It was easy, but Viktor still did it carefully.

Now he was finished. He cracked open his eyes again and leaned against the bed, breathing heavily. Now he was at his limit, close to passing out. He wouldn’t cast any more spells.

Silco lay peacefully on the bed, good eye closed. Viktor had come to care so much for Silco after so brief a time. Silco was more than a king and more than a good lay. Viktor reached a shaking hand for Silco’s scars. Did they hurt?

Singed rounded the bed and took Viktor by the shoulders. “Viktor. That’s enough.”

Viktor let Singed pull him away. “I wasn’t going to heal his face,” he explained quietly. “I was just…” …just trying to touch him. Viktor plopped into his chair. He would never presume to erase Silco’s scar without permission, and he hoped Silco didn’t ask it of him. The scar was so distinguishing; Viktor couldn’t imagine him without it.

Singed ordered a servant to bring Viktor back to his rooms. “Fetch him some water and some food. Keep him in bed the rest of the day. He wore himself out.”

“I’m fine,” Viktor mumbled, but he let the servant help him up and guide him toward the door. He glanced back at Silco. Viktor asked Singed, “You’ll take care of him?”

“Yes. I’ll wake him up and make sure he isn’t in pain. If anything is wrong, I’ll call for you.”

“All right.”

The servant opened the door. “Let’s get you to bed, sir. You did incredible work.”

Viktor looked at Silco until the servant closed the door on his body.

Chapter Text

Silco woke to a room full of servants but no Viktor. He sat up.

Singed was by his side immediately, talking his wrist and feeling his pulse.

“Where’s Viktor?” Silco asked his friend. Surely, if Viktor were all right, he would be here, smiling at Silco and asking him how he felt post-procedure.

“Resting,” Singed said. “He consumed a lot of mana.”

What did that mean? Was Viktor physically worn out or only magically? What happened to a mage short on mana? Surely Viktor wouldn’t hurt himself in service of Silco. “I need to see him,” Silco said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

Deprez hurried over. “Mr. Viktor was clear that you were to rest for the remainder of the evening,” he said. “And if you bother him now, then he won’t get any rest.”

Silco scowled. The steward made sense. “Can I at least get a shirt?” he asked. A servant brought him one, and he slid it over his head.

Stupid kingship. What ever had happened to privacy? Why in the hells were there so many people milling uselessly about in his bedchamber?

Singed drew Silco’s attention again. “How do you feel?”

Silco took stock. He inhaled and exhaled and felt no pain. He stretched. Whatever Viktor had done, he’d done well. “Good,” Silco said. “Better than before, maybe. I don’t feel like I need rest. I feel like I could run a race.”

“Hold off on the races until tomorrow,” Singed said, stepping aside so that a servant could bring Silco a tray of food.

“Fine.” Silco accepted the tray with a word of thanks and resigned himself to an evening in bed.

—

The next morning, he visited Viktor’s laboratory, but what he found made him worry that Viktor had over-extended himself the day prior.

Viktor was slumped over a desk, laying on sheets of parchment. Every chalkboard was out and covered with complex equations that Silco didn’t understand because some of the characters were runes. When the door opened, Viktor raised his head. He started to push himself to his feet.

“Don’t get up,” Silco said. “It’s all right.” He walked over and put a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “I heard you wore yourself out yesterday.” Surely Viktor shouldn’t be back at work so soon, but Silco had no ground to stand on in that regard; he would be a hypocrite to insist that Viktor take a break.

Viktor smiled wanly. “I’m all right.”

“You don’t look all right.”

Viktor pushed stray hairs out of his face. “The healing took a lot of mana, yes, but I’m mostly upset because my research isn’t going as well as I’d hoped. But how are you? Any side effects?”

“None. You did a good job. Breathing is even easier than it was before, so you have my thanks.” But enough about Silco. “What’s wrong with your research?”

“I can’t figure it out. I can’t make it work. I’ve tried brewing potions while holding back my magic and tried having non-magical people brew them under my instructions, but nothing works.”

Perhaps Viktor’s lofty goal was out of reach. Sometimes, no matter how much effort one put to a task, a feat simply couldn’t be accomplished. “No one has ever made potions without magic?” Silco asked for clarity.

Viktor shook his head. He gestured at a chalkboard. “But I haven’t proven mathematically that it can’t be done. There’s a chance that I’ll discover the answer if I keep at the problem.”

“And there’s a chance you’ll work on this for years and get nowhere, is that right?”

Viktor sagged like a willow branch. “Yes.” He crossed his arms on the desk and rested his head on them.

“Maybe it’s time we discussed moving to a different problem.”

“Just give up?” Viktor’s arms muffled his voice.

“Try something new. The healing potion idea was a good one, but there’s no point wasting your life chipping at a diamond wall with a steel axe. If it can’t be done, it can’t be done.”

Leaving this course of research would not be easy for Viktor; Silco could tell. Viktor was like him—the type to whom all barriers could be broken, all ceilings shattered. Admitting defeat wasn’t in his nature.

Viktor sighed. “I’ll think about it. Thank you for the visit.”

Silco squeezed his shoulder and then released it. “Any time.”

“I’m very glad that you’re feeling better.”

Silco kissed the top of his head. “All thanks to you.” Then he added, “You know that I would feel just as strongly for you whether you accomplished anything in this lab or not, don’t you?”

“That’s kind of you to say.” Viktor smiled into his arms, and Silco left him to his thoughts.

—

The following evening, Silco received Viktor in his rooms. Well, Viktor appeared through the hidden portal, scaring Silco’s skin off with his reflective eyes, and when Silco’s heart finally stopped pounding, he greeted him.

“What do you need?” Silco asked, hoping for sex.

“I’d like to request some time off. Forgive me for taking advantage of our personal connection for a business request.”

Silco waved this worry away. “Think nothing of it. I know how tricky it is to get an appointment with me. And I think a vacation is a wonderful idea. Take a break, get some mental distance from your work, and brainstorm new ideas.” Furthermore, if Viktor weren’t holed up in the lab, Silco would get to see him more often.

“Thank you,” Viktor said. “I was thinking of taking ten days or so. Is that acceptable?”

Very. Silco approved Viktor’s request enthusiastically, looking forward to ten straight days of Viktor’s undivided attention.

And he did get sex, after. He bent Viktor over his bed and put a load of cum in him, and Viktor even agreed to stay the night, cuddling up to Silco under the covers.

—

Silco was in for a rude awakening. The next day, as he daydreamed of Viktor following him around and keeping him company, Sevika plopped down at his lunch table with a sigh. Silco asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, I’m going to miss Sky, that’s all,” Sevika said. “I wish she didn’t have to make this trip so early into our courtship. We’re still getting to know one another, and now we have to be apart.”

“Where is she going?” Silco asked, still oblivious.

Sevika looked at him like he’d inhaled mercury fumes. “To Ionia. With Viktor.”

Ionia? Viktor? Silco set down his silverware.

“He didn’t tell you he was leaving?” Sevika asked.

“He told me he was taking a vacation,” Silco said as dread set upon him. He wasn’t in for a delicious ten days of Viktor’s company, after all. Kindred smite him. “I assumed he would still be hanging around the palace. That was my mistake, not his. Ionia, you said?”

“Yes, Ionia. You’d better catch him before he leaves. The carriage is outside.”

Silco left his meal on his plate and dashed through the palace to the above-ground entrance, and he was panting by the time he emerged into the sunlight. A coach waited, just as Sevika had said, and a footman tied a trunk to the top of it. Viktor and Sky conversed nearby, wearing practical travelers’ clothing. Sky bore a satchel slung over one shoulder. At Silco’s approach, they bowed and curtseyed respectively.

“I’m here to say goodbye,” Silco said.

“That’s kind of you,” said Viktor. “I was going to come to you before we left.” His face was bright with energy, excited for the trip.

Silco buried his disappointment and congratulated Viktor. “Good on you for planning a sojourn between nations. Why Ionia?”

Sky answered. “It’s typical for magi to make pilgrimages there every so often, and neither Viktor nor I have been in years. When he suggested we journey together, I was delighted.”

“It’s the perfect place to regroup, reset, and think about what I want out of my magic,” added Viktor.

Silco said, “Just don’t decide you’re fonder of that magical land than you are of home. Remember what court you belong to.”

Viktor gave Silco a private, lover’s smile. “I belong to your court. Worry not, Your Majesty. I’ll be home before you know it.”

Silco bid his final farewell, and Viktor and Sky loaded into the coach, and then they were gone.

Silco had survived for years without Viktor’s presence. Surely he could manage ten days. He slunk back inside to finish his lunch.

Chapter Text

The boat dropped them off at a bustling port city. A lilac sky arched above them, and the ocean shimmered yellow and pink. Viktor and Sky stepped onto the planks of the pier, and a uniformed guard with brass buttons checked their tickets.

“You’re magi?” he asked, handing them back their paperwork.

“Yes,” Viktor said. “From Zaun.”

He nodded. Magi were as commonplace as carpenters in Ionia, and the guard was already losing interest. He waved them forward. “Enjoy your visit.”

“What should we do first?” Sky asked Viktor as the guard moved on to the next guests disembarking from the boat.

“Check into the inn, perhaps,” Viktor replied.

Glancing around, he didn’t know what to focus on first. Magic drifted through the air on a glittering current, perceptible in the corners of his vision. Two women with fox features embraced, newly reunited on the pier. An old mage busked with a flute, dressed only in tattoos and crisscrossing strings.

The servant who’d accompanied them from the Zaunite palace was a young Vastaya butler who’d jumped at the opportunity to visit her homeland. Her name was Chrell. Viktor turned to her. “Is that all our luggage?”

“Yes!” Chrell replied. She toted a wheeled cart stacked with three trunks: one for each of them.

“Let’s bring it to the inn, and then you can find your family. We’ll explore the city on our own.”

“Whatever you’d like, sir.”

A hired carriage brought them to the inn, which was built inside a giant tree. Circular rooms stacked inside the massive, hollow trunk, and a spiral staircase along the outside carried guests between levels.

Was this a living tree? Viktor laid a palm against the trunk and felt the slow, deep rhythms of the tree’s life—the water drawn upward and the sunlight inhaled like breath. “Incredible,” he said.

Earth tones decorated their suite. Viktor gave Sky the largest bedroom. His room was comfortable: a green couch, circular windows in the tree trunk wall, and a hand-woven tapestry for a door. After he’d unpacked, he brushed it aside to enter the living room of their suite. Chrell waited by the door, tail twitching. He released her with instructions to meet back here at the end of the week. “We are grateful for your assistance with the luggage and the travel paperwork,” he told her. “Go visit your family.”

She thanked him and darted off down the staircase.

Sky emerged from her room a few minutes later refreshed and dressed in a light green tunic and loose pants. Her boots were of a fine make—leather embroidered with colorful string. “Where to first?” she asked.

“I don’t know!” Viktor said with a grin. Already, the mana inside him buzzed like a hive of insects waking after a smoke-induced nap. Ionia was the ancestral wellspring of magic, and his magic recognized this place. It awoke. It was curious, nudging Viktor to seek out new sensations. He offered, “We could relax for the remainder of the day here. We’ve been traveling for a while.”

Sky shook her head and smiled. “I’m rested. Let’s explore.”

“Excellent.” Viktor linked their arms and escorted her down the spiral stairs.

From their vantage point halfway up the massive tree, they surveyed the city. A coniferous forest hid much of the landscape. Viktor blinked and refocused, realizing that many of the trees were buildings like the inn. The forest and the city melded together as one harmonious ecosystem. Far away, he could just make out glints of ocean, flashing like shards of glass.

Sky paused, and Viktor paused with her. She stretched a hand out over the railing, and an insect like a butterfly with three sets of wings flittered curiously near her hand. Sparkles trailed behind it as it flew.

“What is that?” Viktor asked.

“I don’t know.” The insect fluttered off. Sky beamed at Viktor. “I feel refreshed just being here, and we haven’t even visited a temple yet!”

“I know what you mean.” Even in the touristy port city, magic abounded, and Viktor’s magic sang out in recognition. If Viktor lived in Ionia, he bet he would never run dry. “Do you think it’s possible to deplete our mana here?” he asked.

“I don’t know! We should test it.”

“Let’s put that experiment on the schedule for tomorrow,” Viktor decided and pulled her eagerly down the staircase. “Now, should we look for the wind temple or get some food?”

“Food,” Sky said.

He remembered passing street stalls on every corner during the ride to the inn. Food would not be difficult to source. “Perfect.”

—

They wandered the city. They visited the Temple of the Four Winds, which had an alcove dedicated to Zaun’s patron goddess, Jan’ahrem. The building was cut with notches in the walls so that the wind played an eerie melody as it blew through. Statues of air deities and spirits nestled in alcoves ringing the main room. The ceiling was a glass dome high above them, and a second layer of alcoves rimmed a second story of the building accessible only to visitors with the power of flight.

Sky visited the second story, but she wouldn’t tell Viktor what was up there.

He asked, “Are you refusing just to pull my leg, or are there truly secrets up there meant only for winged creatures?”

She smiled and said nothing.

The statue of Janna was small but beautiful, formed out of glass. Rippling glass robes adorned the wispy goddess—robes that seemed to float around her. The statue’s craftsmanship would have been enough to hold Viktor’s attention even had he not felt an affinity for his homeland’s patron.

Lady of Gales, Lady of Breezes, reach me wherever I roam and flow in each breath I take. He spared a moment for Silco and his newly-healed lungs.

What was Silco up to now? Did he miss Viktor? Did Viktor cross his mind as he went about his day or as he fell asleep at night?

Viktor missed him. Viktor missed him more, in fact, than he’d expected. His heart twisted in his chest. He told himself to get a grip. He’d been apart from Silco for barely three days, far too soon to be pining over his absence.

Did Silco think about Viktor’s lips the way Viktor thought about his? Did he remember every sound of their tussles under the sheets? Viktor would have kissed him in front of the court at that ball, if Silco had asked; Viktor would have fucked him behind that curtain. He would do anything Silco asked of him.

Next, Sky dragged him to a store selling fabrics. He was skeptical that he’d find anything of interest to do there, but he was happy to tag along as she shopped. However, as soon as they entered the shop, he found himself engrossed in examining the fabrics.

They glittered with inlaid patterns of gold and silver thread; others slid like water through his fingers, so light as to have almost no texture. Magic had to have been used in their creation. Viktor held one up to the light, and no matter how closely he looked, he couldn’t make out any threads. What material was it woven from? Was it woven at all?

At last, Sky had to pull him away.

They continued strolling down the street. Flowers scented the air. The market teemed with life. “What did you buy?” he asked her as they wandered, peeking in windows.

“Some thread that’s supposed to be invisible, and some fabric and trimmings to make a ballgown.”

“Lovely! What color will it be?”

“A soft blue-green.”

Viktor spotted a bookshop and dragged Sky in just as she’d dragged him off to look at fabric. She giggled, but she seemed happy enough to browse spell scrolls as Viktor perused an illustrated guide to magical fungi. The illustrations were carefully inked by hand, showing delicate underground lattices of mycelium and mushroom caps that glowed purple. He ended up buying it. Silco’s generous wages clinked in his coin purse, and what was the point of his first vacation in years if not to return with souvenirs?

As they meandered down a cobblestoned path, following a thin green river through the city, Sky said, “I feel like I can breathe, here.”

“I know what you mean.” Potential built under his skin. The pulse of the arcane thrummed all around them. He couldn’t imagine living in a land such as Demacia that had stamped magic out. He would drown in the fresh air.

They spent the second day in the forest, following game trails. In a land so dense with magic, every twisting path brought them eventually to some delight or another. A nest of fairies traded them a charged moonstone for a well of ink. A witch in a moss-covered cottage served them tea and grilled them on discoveries from Sky’s college. A carved stone beside a wishing well instructed them to drop a token related to their wish into the water—something they would miss.

“For what do I wish?” Viktor mused aloud with his hands on his hips. “And what would I miss?” He had everything he could want: a lover, a friend, and a position in court. The only desire that came to mind was the urge to discover a new course of study, one that would bear more fruit than his first try. But he didn’t have a token to represent that wish.

Sky unfastened the dragonfly necklace she wore and held it over the water. She maintained that pose. The dragonfly swung gently below her hand. “I can’t,” she said. “I don’t want to get rid of it. What if this is just a stupid trick?”

“What if it works?” Viktor asked. “Is your wish worth the sacrifice?”

Sky dropped the necklace. It plopped into the water and sank. Though the water appeared to be crystal clear, the necklace vanished immediately from sight.

Valiantly, he managed not to ask her what she’d wished for.

—

One night, he lay awake thinking about Silco. Though Viktor’s trip brought him out of Zaun, the king wouldn’t leave his mind. He caught himself wondering what Silco would think of the food, what shops he’d visit, and what trinkets he’d sacrifice to a wishing well.

They’d pledged their loyalty to one another, but they’d put no formal name to their relationship. Viktor was left speculating what Silco thought of him. Was Viktor a fling? A partner for the long-term? Would Silco move Viktor into his rooms someday, or would they sneak around forever, pretending no one knew about their trysts?

Unfamiliar insects chirped outside. Chrell was still with her family, and Sky was asleep across the hall. If he touched himself thinking of Silco, no one would know.

He snuck his hand into his pants.

Oh, what if Silco had meant it, all that time ago when he’d bargained Viktor from Piltover just to fuck him? What if he’d found Viktor handsome enough to risk a treaty for?

He could have had Viktor’s mouth in that coach and then had him fully that night, when they stopped at an inn. He could have kissed Viktor in that dark, grubby room. Viktor would have kissed him back just to try it.

In his mind, Silco was on top of him, quiet, with a glowing eye like a murk wolf. He touched Viktor’s clothing a piece at a time, and Viktor obeyed the unspoken orders, stripping awkwardly in the space underneath him until he was naked. Not that Silco could see much—the window was shuttered and the candle was out.

The king stared at Viktor’s cock, just stared at it, until at last he pressed a thumb between Viktor’s balls. Viktor moaned. Silco wrapped a hand around his shaft.

Viktor said, “I have oil.” Silco didn’t have to stroke him dry.

“Where?” It was Silco’s first word all night.

“In one of the pouches on my belt.” He pointed.

Silco left Viktor on the bed to rifle through Viktor’s pockets until he found the vial. In the near-darkness, he stripped his own clothes off, but Viktor couldn’t make out more than his silhouette. He was on the bed again before Viktor could get a good look at his cock, and instead of returning his hand to Viktor’s dick, he flipped Viktor over by the waist, putting him on his belly.

He was impatient because Viktor, stroking himself to the imagined scene, was impatient. In his mind’s eye, Silco slicked up his cock and pushed into Viktor without preparing him. Silco panted in his ear, fucking down into him and heavy against his back. He didn’t talk. He didn’t explain himself. Viktor merited no courtesy; he was here just to pleasure Silco until Silco’d had enough.

At least Silco expected little energy from Viktor. At least it felt good—so deep and pounding in his ass Viktor might come untouched. He rocked into the mattress, pinned under Silco.

In real life, Viktor came when he imagined Silco finishing deep and stilling inside him to catch his breath.

The fantasy image melted away. The sounds of the night insects returned. Viktor cleaned himself up with a rag and climbed back into bed. With Silco on his mind, his sleep came easy.

Chapter Text

Viktor was home again before he knew it. He dropped Sky off on the way to the palace, and the first question he had for the servants upon his return was, “Where’s Lord Silco?”

“In the throne room, sir.”

“Thank you.” Viktor left the servants to bring in the luggage, and he hurried off to find his lover.

On the way through the palace, he ran into Singed.

Both men stopped in the middle of an empty hallway and stared at one another. The only decoration adorning the dull wall was a suit of armor standing sentinel over their first interaction since Viktor had healed Silco’s lungs.

“Viktor,” Singed said.

Did he expect them to talk? What did they have to talk about? Viktor wanted to walk on and continue his mission to locate the king, but he wasn’t going to be the first one to move. “Singed.”

Singed made awkward small talk in his rasping voice. “How have you been doing?”

“Well. And yourself?”

“Oh, well enough.” Singed tapped his fingers together. “A minor setback in my work. But I’ll figure out a solution.”

Viktor could sympathize with work troubles. He let out a breath. “If it makes you feel better, my experiments haven’t been any more successful.”

“It does not.”

Viktor laughed. He never could predict his old mentor. He recalled years of Singed’s dry humor, the deadpan delivery startling grins out of Viktor every time. “But I did actually make a discovery.” Years ago, Singed would have been the first person he told. “You can sketch portals in chalk and then make the lines invisible.”

“Curious,” Singed said. “And to what clandestine purposes have you applied this knowledge?”

Viktor shrugged ruefully. “You know me. Always getting into mischief.” He started down the hall again. “Maybe we’ll talk about it sometime.”

Singed stopped him with a word. “Viktor.”

Viktor faced him.

“For what it’s worth,” Singed rasped, “I’m sorry about Rio.”

He would have preferred that Singed articulate in his apology precisely what he’d done to Rio (drain her magic until she died), but Singed was a man of few words, and this was probably the best Viktor could hope for. “Thank you,” he said. He did feel better, actually, as if all he’d missed to move on were acknowledgements of Rio’s death and of Viktor’s grief. “And thank you for helping with Silco.”

“Any time.” Singed stood in the middle of the hallway and watched Viktor vanish around the bend, his eyes never straying from his former pupil.

Silco, as foretold, sat on his throne, conversing with the head butler. When the men caught sight of Viktor, Silco perked up, and the head butler said, “We can finish this conversation at another time, Your Majesty.” He bowed out of the room.

A guard still stood by the door, but this was as much privacy as Viktor could hope for until the evening, when they could slip between their rooms, and Viktor didn’t want to put off their reunion that long.

“You’re back,” Silco observed.

Viktor crossed the room and sat sideways on the wide arm of his chair, leaning closer than was entirely appropriate. “I am.”

“And how was your journey of self-discovery?” Silco asked. His finger tapped against the arm of the throne and his body leaned towards Viktor’s.

“Enlightening.” Viktor said. “I missed you more than I thought I would.”

“Oh?” Silco asked hopefully.

“And I figured out what I want to try making next. But my work requires a present from you.”

Silco looked ready to give him anything: a dukedom, if he requested it. “What do you want?”

“A greenhouse. Not a section in the kitchen greenhouse—my own greenhouse where I can grow magical plants without worrying that someone will accidentally pick one and turn blue.”

“Done.” Silco leaned up, narrowing the distance between their mouths. “Now come here. I missed you too.”

A thought struck Viktor, and he threw up a shield of solid air between the king and himself, separating them. “Wait.”

Silco’s nose bumped the hardened air, and he recoiled, rubbing it. “What do you mean, wait? What is this?” He touched the invisible barrier then huffed a breath of laughter that Viktor would resort to magic to keep Silco from kissing him.

Viktor looked up and around. “Where’s Jinx?” What if she walked in on them? What if she caught Viktor feeling up her father? They weren’t exactly in private. For Janna’s sake, the room still had a guard in it.

“Get rid of this.” Silco tapped the shield.

With a wave, Viktor dismissed the conjuration, and as soon as Silco was able, he pulled Viktor fully into his lap. “Silco!” Viktor straddled Silco’s legs, and Silco’s arms landed around his waist.

Silco smirked up at him. “My daughter is at her riding lesson. Now kiss me, before I—”

A girl’s shrill voice said, “Do not kiss him! Ew!”

The voice sounded like it came from the rafters, and sure enough, as Viktor and Silco whipped their heads up, searching for the owner, Jinx swung from beam to beam and then plopped onto the ground, bouncing off an armrest of the throne on the way.

Silco clutched his chest, and Viktor scrambled out of his lap. Silco said, “Janna’s balls, Jinx. Viktor will have to heal my heart, next.”

“What about my heart, huh?” She grinned at him with hands on her hips. “I don’t want to watch you mash lips with your boyfriend.”

Viktor pressed his hands together and his fingers to his lips like he was praying. “Your Highness.” He’d never been so frightened in his life. If he messed up this conversation he might lose Jinx—and Silco—forever. “Please allow me to say how… how…”

“Ah, don’t get your feathers in a twist.” Jinx turned her grin on him. “It’s not like I didn’t know.”

Viktor nearly fainted. Silco just looked tired, dropping his head into a palm. Viktor asked, “You knew?”

“Someone should define ‘discretion’ for you two.” With a playful bounce, she approached Viktor, stopping a mere two feet away. “Don’t look so scared. I’m happy to let you romance. As long as you romance far away from me.”

“Jinx,” Silco sighed, “we should probably discuss this.”

Jinx squinted at Viktor, deep in thought, and then she nodded. “Welcome to the family, Vikki.”

“Jinx,” Silco scolded. He lifted his head. “Viktor, would you mind giving my daughter and me the room?”

“Of course.” Viktor backed away and stepped off the dais. Welcome to the family, she’d said. The princess didn’t loathe him after discovering his secret.

“You and I will talk later,” Silco said.

Later. Good. All right. Viktor bid them farewell. “Your Majesties.” He gave a hasty bow and hurried out the door.

—

That night, after Viktor had eaten supper and dressed for bed, Silco visited him via the portal, slipping into the room with a soft smirk.

Viktor’s heart pounded all over again. How had the conversation gone? Did Jinx feel embarrassed or slighted? Had her good humor been an act?

“Don’t look so worried,” Silco said. “Her intention was to tease me, not frighten you.”

“Are you certain?”

“She approves of you, Viktor.” He kissed Viktor on the lips. “She said I have good taste.” His hands reached up to cup Viktor’s face. “Now. Where were we?”

Viktor kissed him back for a minute before pulling him toward the bed, and Silco willingly followed his guidance. Viktor lay back on the mattress and tugged Silco down on top of him.

Between kisses and removing his own clothing, Silco worked Viktor out of his. His belt buckle clinked. His breath came in quiet pants as he shucked off his vest. When they were naked enough to rub their dicks together, Silco pressed his hips tightly against Viktor’s and ground down in a slow roll.

Viktor moaned. He clutched Silco’s shoulders.

“You missed me?” Silco prodded.

The trip had clarified Viktor’s feelings for Silco; Viktor couldn’t bear being apart from him. “Desperately. I touched myself to the thought of you.”

Silco rolled their hips together again and again, their cocks trapped between the heat of their bodies. “What did you picture?”

“The day we met. When you lied to Piltover’s Council. I imagined it were real—that you wanted to fuck me.”

Silco groaned and squeezed his eyes shut in ecstasy. “It wasn’t a lie,” he confessed.

Viktor’s heart raced with delicious fervor. He prompted Silco for more. “No?”

Silco closed a hand around both their dicks, giving them something to thrust into. “I wanted to fuck you the moment I saw you. The moment, Viktor.”

“You didn’t even know me.”

“I know. I know.” He sounded agonized.

Viktor kissed him, bit his lip, and tugged it between his teeth. He murmured, “That turns me on, Silco.” He pushed his hips up into Silco’s hot hand. “When we stayed at that inn, the night you stole me away, I thought about you visiting me. I lay awake and pictured you on top of me, taking what you owned.”

Silco groaned. “So did I. That night, I hated myself for it, but I thought about you down the hall. I thought about you sleeping, your breath soft. I wanted to wake you up with kisses and prove myself the monster everyone thinks me to be.”

Viktor rolled them both over, putting Silco on his back, and kissed down his chest until he could take his cock into the warm cavity of his mouth.

—

Silco strolled happily from breakfast to his office, holding hands with Jinx.

Last night had been perfect. Viktor gave head better than Silco had ever had it. He’d kissed Silco’s balls as if they were a mouth—open and tongue-first. His lips were wet as a peach.

Jinx swung their hands. “Do I have to do lessons today?”

The revelation that her father was romantically tangled with another man hadn’t strained their relationship, to Silco’s great relief. “Two hours, and then you’re free. That’s the deal.”

“Fine.”

“What are you learning about right now?”

“History. It’s boring.”

“Wars are boring?”

She clicked her tongue. “It’s not all about wars. It’s like, ‘Where did different foods come from?’ and ‘Why does that trade route go through a mountain instead of around it?’”

“Sounds fascinating.”

“I’ll give you a run-through of today’s lesson at lunch and see if you still think so.”

Silco laughed. “Have a good time. Don’t give your tutor too much trouble.”

She promised she wouldn’t, and then she darted off.

Silco rarely had a moment to himself. The instant his daughter vanished, his steward appeared at his side, walking and talking simultaneously.

“Your Majesty,” said Deprez. “Do you have a moment?”

“How can I help you?”

“I don’t mean to pry, but do you have a date in mind for the wedding?”

He couldn’t make sense of the question. “What wedding?” Silco asked.

“Again, I don’t intend to intrude into your private life, but weddings take a long time to plan, especially the wedding of a monarch, and it would be helpful to have a little advance notice of when you decide to marry Viktor.” He swished his hand sharply through the air. “You are not committing to a firm date. But if you have an estimate, Your Majesty?”

He meant Silco’s marriage—to Viktor—which Deprez seemed to believe was coming with such certainty that he wanted to begin preparations now, before Silco had even thought to propose. Did all the staff think…? Silco recalled giggling maids, guards like flies on the wall, and Sevika’s teasing.

He remembered Viktor blowing bubbles for Jinx to hit with her slingshot; Viktor in Silco’s bed, smelling like sweetmilk; and Viktor perched on the arm of Silco’s throne, holding in a laugh at something Silco had said. Of course the staff all thought that Silco marrying Viktor was an inevitability. It was.

“If you wish for an estimate,” Silco said, “I would say we’ll shoot for a summer wedding. I still have to propose, but I think summer, realistically.”

Deprez pulled a notepad from his pocket. “Ah, perfect. Thank you very much.” He pronounced very much like one word and started scribbling into the notepad.

Silco would ask Jinx’s permission to propose to Viktor, and once he received it, he would make Viktor his.

Chapter Text

Sky and Viktor drank floral tea in her apartment before her date with Sevika. Sky needed the company because she planned on propositioning Sevika tonight. She buzzed with nerves. When she set her teacup on the saucer, it rattled.

Viktor quirked a brow. “Are you all right?” He sipped his own tea.

“Fine, fine!” she said. With the finality of a judge, she declared, “I think I’m going to sleep with Sevika.”

Viktor choked into his teacup. He coughed and set it aside. “What? A month ago, you would barely let her hold your hand. Two months ago, she asked to court you via a letter.”

The beginning of their relationship was marked by misunderstandings and spilled wine, but now, Sky knew Sevika better. She wanted to know Sevika in every way. “Well, yes. But we’ve come a long way since then.”

Viktor leveled a stern look at her. “She isn’t pressuring you, is she?”

He was sweet to worry, but she reassured him. “No. She’s been nothing if not respectful. I’m just getting, well…” Sky twisted her hands in her lap. She recalled the last few dates she’d spent with Sevika, gawking at Sevika’s arms and her height. She’d watched Sevika lead her knights in a drill outside the palace, and the straining fabric of her tunic, damp with sweat, had kept Sky up at night. “...curious,” she finished.

Viktor grinned. “My, oh my. Have you told her the train of your thoughts as of late?”

“Well, not in so many words.”

“She has no idea she’s getting laid tonight?” Viktor couldn’t stop grinning. “This is incredible. Is this your seduction outfit?” He wiggled his fingers at Sky’s dress.

Her cheeks burned as she glared at him. “What’s wrong with my outfit?” Plum purple fabric gathered in bunches around her arms, slit so her shift peeked through.

“Nothing! It has nice… lace,” he tried lamely, unabashed. “And cleavage.” He gestured again. “I’m not really into that sort of thing, but I’m sure Sevika will be.”

Why did she always want to throw things at him? And why did his teasing somehow ease her nerves? Sky turned the conversation back on him. “And tell me, how is your relationship with Lord Silco?”

To her satisfaction, his grin dimmed with embarrassment. “Ah, you know about that? It’s nothing, really. He comes to me every so often for affection. It’s nice.”

“Just nice?”

“Very nice,” he amended. He sipped his tea. Then his voice changed, becoming more genuine. “Actually, I don’t know precisely where I stand with him. I knew our rendezvous wouldn’t be secret—it’s far too small a palace for that—but Silco has been blatant with his public affection recently.”

“You two aren’t courting? I thought everyone knew he was courting you.” If they were attempting to keep their dalliance a secret, they weren’t doing a very good job of it, as Viktor had already surmised. Sky had been told of their romance by a stranger at the ball. “Sevika thinks you two are serious.”

He stiffened. “What? What did she have to say about it?”

“Well.” Now Sky was second-guessing herself. “We’re playing a game of hearsay now, so please don’t be offended if my recollections of someone else’s interpretation of your relationship are false.”

“I understand, Sky. I won’t take offence. What did she say?”

Sky bit her lip. “She said the king is enamored with you. She said he ordered a greenhouse built in one of the gardens at your behest.”

“Yes, I asked for a greenhouse, but that gift could fall within the realm of supplying me with research materials. Its purpose is for studying plants.”

“She said he talks about you constantly. Viktor, I think he thinks that you two are in a relationship.”

Viktor’s mouth made an “o.” He stared at Sky.

At last, Viktor was the clueless one, and Sky was there to point out embarrassing truths for him. She was as gentle as she could be. “The king is courting you. Maybe. You thought…”

“I thought I was the palace’s worst-kept secret. His bedmate. I knew he enjoyed my company, he’s made that plain, but…” Viktor downed the rest of his tea like liquor. He swallowed and set the cup and saucer aside. “Courting? You think so? He aims to marry me?”

“I have no idea. It’s possible. How do you feel about the prospect?”

“Like I might faint, to be honest.”

She softened the revelation. “It might not be true. The relationship might be as casual as you supposed. But Viktor, you should probably talk to him and clear up the confusion.”

“Right.” He rubbed his brow. “But, he’s the king, Sky. How can it be true? Imagine me, married to the king. It’s a ridiculous notion.”

They were already sleeping together. The fact that the king doted on Viktor, danced with him at parties, and bought him expensive presents was just as ridiculous to her. “Is marriage that much different than what you’re already doing?”

“Yes,” Viktor said definitively. “A marriage to the king would upend my life. I would have to play politics and appear on his arm at official events. I would have less time for my work in the lab—perhaps none at all. And he has a daughter. What if she loathes me?”

“Oh,” Sky said. She hadn’t considered all the ways a marriage to Lord Silco would differ from a marriage to Sevika. Viktor had to figure more than love in his equation. For Sky, marriage meant moving in with her partner and presenting themselves as a united front. For Viktor, marriage meant playing the part of royal consort for the rest of his life.

Viktor rose from his seat, and with a rustle of skirts, Sky did the same. Viktor said, “This was lovely. If you don’t mind, I’m going to head back to the palace.”

She smiled. He was going to take her suggestion and go talk to the king. “I don’t mind at all. Thanks for coming.”

“Good luck with Sevika tonight. I expect to hear details later. As many as you’re comfortable sharing.”

“As long as you tell me how your talk with the king goes.”

“I will.” He bid her farewell with a kiss on the cheek and rushed off.

—

A marriage to the king. As Viktor strolled through the palace gates, he shook his head and mumbled to himself. “Ridiculous.” Silco and Viktor would part some day, and Silco would arrange a political marriage to someone who would strengthen the kingdom’s position. He may have liked rolling in the hay with Viktor, but he was practical. He would never put his own desires above the good of Zaun.

Unless…

Viktor thought over all he had accomplished or tried to. He was working on plants that could filter particulates from the air so that people could breathe freely deep underground, and the new line of work was already yielding promising results. He’d healed Silco’s lungs and promised to heal them again when cigar smoke ravaged them over the coming years. Viktor cared about Zaun and cared about Silco. Keeping Viktor close would be a smart political move, from a certain point of view.

Did Viktor care for Silco? Absolutely. Did he care for Silco enough to marry him—to subject the rest of his life to the whims of his king and country and take a place as a political piece on the chessboard? If Viktor married Silco, he would belong to Zaun.

He already belonged to Zaun. Whatever she asked of him, be it alchemy or smiling at parties, Viktor would give. He already belonged to Silco—mind, body, and soul.

Still, Viktor returned again and again to the fact that Silco had a daughter. Silco’s life was not his own. Jinx was beloved of the king, and Viktor held no doubt that if Jinx did not approve of Silco’s marriage candidate, that candidate would be crossed off the list. Fooling around behind closed doors with a partner was one thing; inviting that partner to dine with the family for the rest of their lives was another.

As if thoughts had summoned her, the young princess bounded across the green toward him and grabbed his hand. “Can we play with the candles again?” she asked.

He smiled down at the child of his partner, this girl with bright blue braids and sparking humor, whom he was coming to love almost as his own. (Wasn’t that a frightening thought?) “No more fire for at least a week. We almost burned the carpet last time.”

She scoffed. “But we didn’t. You caught the candle.”

“Still.”

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” Her smile turned sly. “Going to see my dad?”

Viktor had been off to visit Silco, so he blushed. What did she know? What did she guess? Silco said she approved of him, but he had yet to hear so from her mouth. “Jinx, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“The target’s up. Shoot.”

He squeezed her hand and mustered his courage. Sky was being courageous this night, so he could be, too. “You know that your father and I have affection for one another.”

“You mean you two kiss when I’m not around.”

“Right.” That was what he meant. “Does our relationship bother you? I never want to intrude on your time with him or feel like I’m forcing myself into your family.”

She swung his arm and pulled him toward the palace in the direction he’d been walking before. “You don’t bother me. I really like you. I hope he marries you so you stick around.”

The world spun like he’d stepped into a cloud of noxious gas. “Truly?”

“I mean, you could do a lot better, but if you feel like settling, then yeah.”

Viktor choked out a small laugh. Jinx liked him. Jinx wanted Viktor around. They entered the palace, heading in the direction of Silco’s office, and he tried one more time to give her an out. “I promise I’m not trying to steal him from you.”

“I know you’re not.”

“Then I have your blessing?”

“Duh. Why wouldn’t I want a dad who can shoot fire out of his hands?”

A dad. Viktor dropped to his knees in the middle of a hallway and pulled her into a hug. “If you mean this, then you’re never getting rid of me.”

She hugged him back with fervor. “Promise?”

“I promise.” She was warm in his arms, and his heart was helium. He’d been missing her his whole life, and he hadn’t even known. “I’m going to propose to him.”

Jinx gave a long, dramatic gasp. “When? Now?” She scrambled back from the hug and bounced on her toes. “You should tell him now.”

“I don’t have a ring yet.” He’d only made the decision this moment.

“I don’t care! He won’t care! Let’s go tell him that you want to get married, and I’ll bully him until he gives in.”

Viktor laughed at the image of stern Silco talked into marriage by his bubbly daughter. “All right. Let’s tell him.” He stood and took her hand again. “No more waiting.”

They would find Silco, and Viktor would explain how he felt—all cards on the table. If Silco felt the same (and Viktor had a feeling he would), then they could start plans for their new life together.

—

Silco gaped at Viktor and his daughter. They must be apparitions sent to torture him with fantasies. “Is this a dream?” he asked. “A hallucination, perhaps?”

Viktor stood there in Silco’s office, hand in hand with his daughter. Their faces were alight with energy and expectation. “It’s not a dream,” Viktor said. “I think we should get married. Jinx agrees, so all that’s left to do is sign the paperwork.”

His two favorite people in the world had conspired behind his back! “I don’t believe this,” Silco said. He stalked behind his desk and yanked open a drawer.

Viktor’s face fell. He touched the collar of his robes in a nervous gesture. “You’re angry?”

Jinx said, “Don’t look at a gift horse’s teeth or however the saying goes. This is good news for you, Dad.”

“I’m only angry because you two scoundrels ruined my plans to propose by beating me to the punch.” He plucked a small, hinged box out of the drawer and carried it to Viktor.

Viktor covered a grin with his hand. “Is that…?”

Silco opened the box, showing him the band of silver speckled with rubies. “For you.”

Jinx tugged his arm. “Ooh, let me see!” He showed her the ring, and she exclaimed over it. “It’s so pretty.”

Viktor’s eyes were wet. He wiped them with the meat of his palm.

“It was going to be romantic,” Silco lamented. He’d planned the evening with meticulous detail. “Dinner by a lake and then a boat ride in the dark.”

“I don’t care. Just put it on me.” Viktor held his hand out, and Silco slid the ring home.

He brushed his thumb over the rubies. They caught light like drops of iridescent blood, enriched by the purple of Viktor’s skin. There. No more hiding Viktor in the dark. No more pretending Viktor was a passing fancy. Viktor was his—sealed, stamped, and sanctioned.

—

Sky sat beside Sevika on a bench in the garden. Fireflies blinked around them in the cool night air. Leaves rustled overhead, the foliage a dark silhouette against a backdrop of starlight. The women perched at angles to face each other on the bench.

Sevika picked up one of Sky’s hands. “Truly? You want to give me this?”

Sky had thought it over for days and was sure of her decision. “It’s yours. It was always yours. I just needed a little time.”

Sevika cupped her face and leaned in. She’d kissed Sky before, but the warm, soft press of her lips stunned Sky every time. It stole her breath. A tongue flicked into her mouth, and she gasped.

“Sevika.” Sky touched her shoulder, corded with muscle.

Sky had been fooling herself all her life that she wasn’t attracted to women. This strong, capable knight cradled Sky in her arms, and Sky’s body reacted like a lover’s, going hot in unspeakable places and thrumming like hummingbird wings.

Insects chirped, calling to mates. Sevika’s hand slid down from Sky’s cheek to her shoulder and then her waist. It burned through Sky’s clothes, alight like a brand. She tugged Sky closer. Her lips trailed to Sky’s neck to taste her fluttering pulse. “I knew, the moment I saw you, that I had to have you.”

A whisper of fear entered her heart. Would Sevika leave in the morning, finished with Sky now that she’d gotten what she wanted?

“I’m going to marry you, just so you’re aware,” Sevika said. Her hand smoothed over Sky’s waist. “I’m going to marry you, and take you home, and put babies in you. But we can take our time with that, sweetheart. We go at your pace. If you’re not ready to be tied down to me formally, then we can wait.”

The fear melted. Sevika was all in, like Sky was. She grabbed Sevika’s face and pulled her back into a kiss.

She must be crazy for thinking about marrying a woman she’d only been courting for a few months, but Sky wanted nothing more than this, forever—Sevika’s soft mouth against hers, her hands on her body.

“Take me to bed,” she said.

Chapter Text

Sevika couldn’t believe her luck. The most beautiful woman in Runeterra stood before her, in Sevika’s bedchamber, glowing in the candlelight like a goddess in a painting. Whether a quirk of fate or the whim of a deity had blessed Sevika, she wouldn’t waste this chance; she would worship Sky’s body with the reverence of an acolyte.

Sevika stepped into Sky’s space and set hands on her waist. She kissed Sky’s brow, then her nose, and then her mouth.

Sky pushed up into the kiss, hands grabbing at Sevika’s clothing to keep her close. Sky made a soft sound in the back of her throat—almost a whimper. After moving her mouth against Sevika’s for nearly a minute, she took a break to breathe. “Sevika,” she gasped. Her eyes were white and wide. Her irises had shrunk to a thin line of color around dark pupils. She tilted back into the kiss, moaning into Sevika’s mouth.

This time, unlike that fateful day of the ball, there was no mistaking; she wanted Sevika.

Before she knew it, she had Sky in just her pretty white underthings, clutching Sevika’s arms as they knelt together on the bed. Sevika was down to a breastband and pants. Sky’s long-sleeved slip dress gathered into ruffles at the neckline and cuffs at the wrist. Sevika rubbed Sky between her legs. “Does that feel good, baby?”

Sky whined and nodded. Sevika had one arm around Sky’s waist, holding them chest-to-chest, and the other tucked between them, prodding at Sky’s sex. Sky’s shift hid Sevika’s hand from view. Lace trimmed her décolletage. Pretty virgin. Sweet, precious thing, tearing up as Sevika slid a finger inside her.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” Sky gasped, clutching Sevika tighter with nails painted pink. “Oh please, keep, keep doing that.”

Sevika slid her finger in and out, and Sky shuttered through an exhale. She was a warm, slight weight in Sevika’s arms; Sevika handled her like a peach, careful not to bruise. She lowered her voice in a lover’s croon. “Do you ever touch yourself, sweetheart? Know what coming feels like?”

Sky nodded. Her eyebrows pulled together, and her eyes fluttered closed. Sevika pushed a second finger in beside the first, wiggling them to dig them deeper. Sky was vice tight around her. Sevika kissed Sky’s neck as she breached her, warming and relaxing her with pressure against her pulse point.

More. Sevika wanted more. She wanted Sky’s pulse pounding like hoofbeats, so she dragged her incisors along Sky’s jaw. Was this what Sky had pictured when she’d offered Sevika her body: fingers between her legs and teeth in her neck? What fantasies did she touch herself to when she was alone in bed, when she dared for the first time to imagine a woman on top of her?

As Sevika pushed deeper into her pussy, Sky jolted up, wrapping her arms around Sevika’s neck. Sky moaned again, rocking into Sevika’s hand. She bit her lower lip.

Sevika could get high on this. Sky smelled of floral perfume—perfume Sevika had bought her—and as Sevika kissed her neck, loose curls tickled her cheek. Sky was young, small, and soft, pressed tightly against her chest. Sevika murmured, “That feels good?”

“Uh huh.”

Sevika kissed her ear and moved her fingers faster, rubbing and fucking into Sky.

“That’s good,” Sky gasped. “You’ve really done this before? With girls?”

Sevika chuckled. Poor Sky’s nerves needed assurance that Sevika knew her way around a woman’s body—that Sky could give in to the waves of pleasure and let Sevika steer the night. “That’s right.” She kissed Sky’s throat. She was practiced. She would savor Sky as she devoured her bite by bite. “I know how to fuck sweet little girls like you.”

With the metal arm around Sky’s back, holding her steady, Sevika pulled out her fingers. She dragged slick up to Sky’s belly button. Then she let the shift drop over Sky’s legs and tugged the ties at her neckline to loosen them. The neckline of the shift slid down a tantalizing inch.

Sevika hadn’t had a virgin in years. She would be gentle, like handling sparrow eggs. She would be reverent. Sky deserved every drop of beauty in the world and every pearl of pleasure.

“I like when you call me that,” Sky said, dragging her nails down Sevika’s shoulders.

“Call you what, baby?”

“Sweet.” Sky ducked her face into Sevika’s neck like a moth hiding under a leaf.

Sevika traced the peach fuzz of her arm. “You are sweet. Sweet, pretty girl.”

Sky whined.

“Come here.” Sevika fell back on the bed and pulled Sky over to straddle her. Sky’s shift dress tumbled off a shoulder, and Sevika pushed it up her thighs. Her hands met a plush handful of flesh; Sevika squeezed Sky’s ass. “You’re so beautiful.”

Sky rubbed her pussy against Sevika’s abs. “What now?” She looked like a nymph from a story: hair loose and wings glittering like a rainbow. The dress fell far enough down her shoulder to expose a breast.

Sevika pulled the shift down on the other side, letting it pool around Sky’s midsection. Sevika cupped Sky’s round, perfect breasts and brown, perfect nipples. Her left hand felt little sensation, but Sevika could still watch her metal fingers dent Sky’s flesh and make her moan. Sevika sat up and sucked one of Sky’s breasts into her mouth, licking and biting until the nipple was stiff and the flesh around it was cherry red. “I can’t believe I’m the first one that gets to fuck you.” Her mouth attached to the other breast and sucked it, too. “Fuck. I’m going to be sweet to you—good to you—just like you deserve.”

Sky worked the shift dress over her head and tossed it aside. Then she was naked in Sevika’s lap. She touched Sevika’s breasts, thumbing over the nipples where they hid under her breast band. She looked mesmerized.

Then Sky gasped as Sevika pulled her up with hands on her ass until she sat just over Sevika’s face.

“Sevika,” Sky gasped, hovering on her knees. “I can’t just…”

Sevika would introduce her to every sort of pleasure, so even if Sky woke up skittish and stole off in the dark, Sevika could keep all her firsts. “Yeah, you can. Let me lick your pussy, sweetheart.” Sevika would treat her so sweetly that running never crossed her mind.

Sky grabbed the headboard with both hands. She breathed heavily, poised over Sevika’s mouth. She looked rapturous from this angle—all thighs and pussy and the underside of her breasts. Slowly, she shifted her hips downward, and Sevika pulled her the rest of the way. “Oh!” Sky said when Sevika closed her mouth over the whole length of her slit and licked bottom to top.

Sky was tart as a strawberry, pooling on her tongue. Sevika slipped her right hand between her own legs, touching herself as Sky rubbed into Sevika’s mouth.

Sky bit her lip and made a pained sort of sound. Her thin brows tilted upward.

Had she ever felt anything like this? Sevika dragged her tongue around and around, the first person ever to eat Sky out. She was the first person, besides Sky herself, to make Sky come. Sevika was adamant on accomplishing the feat several times over the course of the night.

Sevika wasn’t just Sky’s first woman; she was her first anything. No one had tasted her. No one had coaxed these sounds from her. No one had flicked their tongue over her pretty little clit until she said their name at a higher and higher pitch, rocking her hips into their mouth. If Sevika had her way, Sky would never know what it felt like to lay with anyone else.

“Please don’t stop!” Sky said. “Please don’t stop!”

Sevika came grinding on her fingers and watching Sky unravel. Sky’s hands clutched the headboard tight. Her curls rasped against Sevika’s tongue as she licked faster and faster. Sevika barely noticed her own orgasm except with relief that she could use both hands again; she grabbed Sky’s waist and her breast and tugged her close, closer, until Sky’s wings lifted a foot or so off her back and Sky gave a full-body shudder.

Sky cried out, the sound torn from her throat. A radiance gathered around her body like the light of a firefly. Her eyes stayed shut, hiding from Sevika. She thrust her hips once more into Sevika’s churning mouth and then went still, puffing for breath.

Sevika slowed her tongue to a stop and gave one last lazy lick up her slit. Fuck. She’d made this sweet girl come so hard she glowed.

“Oh,” Sky moaned. She breathed in and out. In and out. The glow faded. “Just give me a moment, please, and then I’ll return the favor.”

“No need,” Sevika said into her thigh before pressing a kiss to the skin. “I already finished.”

“What?” she panted. “Just from that?” She glanced over her shoulder then returned her gaze to Sevika’s. After only a moment of considering Sevika’s mouth, she ducked her head like a fawn. She climbed off of Sevika’s torso so she could lay beside her.

She flopped onto her back. Her breasts rose and fell, and her kiss-swollen lips were parted. “Is it always like this?”

“It can be.” Sevika touched Sky’s chest and squeezed a breast into her palm. She could eat Sky out just like that whenever she wanted, or they could try something else. “How do you want to come next?”

“Next? What do you mean, next?”

“I mean do you want to come on my fingers, my mouth, or my strap?”

Sky’s mouth parted, lips glossy. She let Sevika fondle her breast in a confused stupor. “There’s more?”

Sevika laughed and kissed her, rolling on top of Sky and tugging their bodies together. “We can go as long as you want, baby. Do you want to be done?”

“No.”

Sevika pushed herself up on her elbows, hovering over her pretty young lover. “Then how should I make you come next?”

“How would you…” She bit her lip, peering up at Sevika like prey that wanted to be eaten. “What would you even get out of… a strap?”

She wanted Sevika to fuck her like a man. Now the picture of her daydreams became clear. Luckily for Sky, Sevika was happy to indulge this fantasy. She smiled maliciously. “I get to watch you splitting open on my cock. I get to listen to you moan as I take you like no one’s ever taken you before.”

Beneath her, Sky breathed through her mouth, dazed as a flower in the wind.

Sevika’s smile widened. “You like that? You want to try it?”

Sky nodded.

Good girl. Sevika climbed off the bed and assembled her dick without undressing so the black buckles and straps blended in with the detailing of her pants like a natural extension of her body. Then she covered Sky’s naked form and kissed her until she was loose and limp. She murmured, “You can touch it, if you’d like.”

Sky peered between their bodies and closed a tentative hand around the fake cock. She explored it with touch, acquainting herself with its length and breadth. She thumbed the slit at the tip.

“Is it too big?” Sevika asked. “I can go down a size.”

“No. I want to try it.” Sky released the dick and laid back down, returning her attention to Sevika’s face. She wiggled to get comfortable, and then she opened her knees.

First, Sevika would stretch her out. She dipped a finger into Sky’s sex, pleased to find it wet still. She inserted another finger and worked them in and out, slowly opening her up. She bent down and kissed Sky’s clit then took it into her mouth as she fingered her. The flesh made a slick, salacious sound as Sevika beckoned, tracing the contours of her channel. She removed her hand, dragged her knuckles up and down the wet slit, then pressed her fingers against Sky’s lips.

Sky’s eyes and mouth went wide, and Sevika slid her fingers along Sky’s tongue, letting her taste herself. Maybe the taste was familiar; maybe Sky was learning the flavor of a woman for the first time. Her wet, soft tongue licked Sevika’s fingers clean, and Sevika returned them between her legs.

On the third finger, Sky winced, and a bit of blood streaked her fingers. Sevika paused the fucking motions of her hand and let Sky breathe through the stretch. “Are you all right?”

Sky nodded. “Just give me a moment, please.”

Sevika waited. Then, carefully, gently, she pressed her three fingers deeper into the warm, wet place between Sky’s legs. “Take your time. Relax.”

Sky melted into the sheets. She closed her eyes.

Sky’s virginity had ceased when Sevika put her mouth on her, but something about the blood on her fingers—a definitive sign—put heat in Sevika’s stomach. She was the first to ease this girl open, to be inside her. She kissed Sky’s belly. “You’re doing so well. You look beautiful.”

Sky whimpered.

“Can I keep going?”

“Please.”

Sevika pushed her fingers farther into Sky’s body and twisted them, stretching her out to take the strap. She didn’t want to hurt her. She wanted to give her bliss and nothing more.

When Sky was ready, Sevika wiped the slick from her hand onto the cock. Then she knelt between Sky’s parted legs and rubbed the tip on her entrance. “Now,” she warned, “I can’t feel it, so you have to tell me if it’s too tight. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Sky said, “All right.” She wiggled her hips, trying to draw the dick inside.

Sevika pushed forward. The cock breached Sky’s entrance. Sevika rocked it deeper in tiny pulses, as gentle as she could manage.

Sky’s breath caught. She tossed her head to the side and lifted her hips like she was trying to escape the intrusion and work the cock deeper all at once. She moaned, and her chest resumed its rise and fall. A tear of overstimulation leaked from her eye.

Sevika took a nipple into her mouth as she eased the strap in and out. She was careful, restrained, using just enough length to make Sky moan but not enough to hurt her. “Is that good?” she asked.

“So good.”

Sevika picked up the pace.

Now a little whine was punched out of Sky with every thrust. Her eyes closed, and her eyebrows tilted up in pleasure. She grabbed Sevika’s back and tugged her close. “Please,” she babbled. “Please keep… Oh.”

Sevika filled her, fucked her, and claimed her. She made her writhe and drip heady little noises.

She balanced on her metal arm, careful not to pinch Sky’s wings, and dipped the other hand down to rub Sky’s clit. She’d never seen anything as beautiful as Sky’s skin flushed with sweat and her body tensing as she came.

“I’m… Oh gods, I’m—”

Sevika rubbed harder. “That’s it.” The cock slid in and out, glistening. “Just let it happen. You look so pretty.” Would Sky glow for her again?

Sky came with muted gasps, digging her nails into Sevika’s back and shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered, and her skin shone like sunlight through honey, lighting up the sheets.

—

Afterward, Sky insisted on tasting Sevika. She said she’d been longing to try it, and who was Sevika to deny her?

Sevika watched Sky dip between her legs and eat her out like she’d practiced, licking over Sevika’s sex and darting her pretty brown eyes up to check that she was doing it right. Sevika slid a hand into her curls. “Just like that, sweetheart,” she praised. She kept her hand still, supporting but not guiding Sky’s movements.

Sky whimpered and licked at her even harder.

Sevika fought the urges to close her eyes and toss her head back. She wanted to see. She wanted to down the sight of her pretty lover like wine, drinking every last drop.

One day, Sevika would put a ring on Sky. One day, she would make love to her in a field of wildflowers, with pollen scenting the air and leaves stuck in Sky’s curls. She would have her by the ocean, peeling Sky out of a dress soaked with seawater. She would have her any way and every way.

Later, Sky fell asleep with an arm and a leg slung over Sevika’s body. She was naked, still, her hair wrapped in a silk scarf. Sevika lay awake for a long while, drifting, cherishing Sky’s warm weight and her soft breaths.

This isn’t over , she promised Sky, willing it to be true. Sevika would be her first and her last, the only lover Sky needed for the rest of her life.

Chapter Text

Silco had no meetings scheduled for the rest of the afternoon. Now if he could only avoid his servants, he might procure some time to himself. In his office, he opened a desk drawer to reveal a box of neat cigars. He picked one up.

Viktor had promised to heal him and heal him again for the rest of his life, fixing the damage of the ravages of time. He’d worn himself to exhaustion mending the scarring of Silco’s lungs. He’d demanded no promises from Silco to avoid the cigar smoke and gritty Zaunite air that had caused the scarring in the first place.

“Damn it,” Silco muttered to himself. He replaced the cigar and shut the drawer.

He would occupy himself with other distractions. Perhaps wandering the palace grounds, he might run into Viktor or Jinx while eluding any servants searching for him. He climbed staircases to the above-ground section of the palace.

It was a spring day—an anticipatory day—the weather cool but on the cusp of change. Clouds gathered here and there in fluffy bunches, thick enough for shadows but not enough for rain.

He passed Viktor’s new greenhouse and peered inside; the mage lay on a bench, sunning like a lizard.

Silco pushed open the door and let it shut behind him, trapping warm, wet air inside. Neat rows of saplings carpeted the ground, trimmed by paths of clean cobblestone. “Did you plant these yourself?” Silco asked. He knelt to examine a budding vine, growing a slight two inches up a trellis.

Viktor lazily opened his eyes and rolled over on his bench to view Silco. “I did.” He smiled. “You like them?”

“I don’t know what I’m looking at.” Silco had no head for plants. “Which of these will turn me blue?”

Viktor laughed like a bell. He pointed to a plant like a teal cabbage. “That’s a potion ingredient that might stain your skin.” He pointed to the saplings with trellises. “Those are normal vines, indigenous to various regions of Zaun. They won’t bite.”

Silco touched a vine leaf. Then he approached his fiancé and bent to kiss him on the forehead. “What are they for?”

“My new project. I’m attempting to enchant flora that can clean air.”

Silco saw the vision like Viktor had planted it in his brain: tufts of weeds sprouting through Zaun’s sunken cities, naturally filtering out toxic gas. No more glass bubbles of oxygen—just clean, breathable air wherever people lived. “That’s brilliant,” he said. “Can it be done?”

Viktor’s smile widened. “I’ve already had some success. I have potted plants cleaning the air of several rooms in the palace. Now I am experimenting to broaden their reach and to apply the enchantments to different species.”

He sat up. “The problem is that if I make one plant to be widely distributed across the country, I might disrupt local ecosystems. So what I’m really searching for is a process for enchanting the indigenous growth for air purification.” He gestured around the greenhouse. “Some of these plants clean the air naturally, and my enchantments take more easily. Some of them pass the enchantments on to their progeny, and others don’t. I’m still trying to figure out why.”

But the enchanted plants worked, at least some of them. Here was the breakthrough, the stroke of genius, that Silco had hoped would arise when he stole Viktor from Piltover. “That’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

Dirty air, low on oxygen, was the bane of all Zaunites, but Viktor was well on the way to solving the problem that had plagued their nation for generations. Possibilities swam through Silco’s mind. They could dig deeper and develop more infrastructure underground as long as they planted enough magical air filters along the way. “These plants can grow without sunlight?”

“Not these,” Viktor corrected. “I have underground growth in pots in my lab. These are for spots near the surface.”

Silco kissed him. What would he do without Viktor? He tried not to let his optimism spiral out of control, but in all likelihood, Silco and Viktor’s reign would go down in the history books as the reign that banished Zaun’s foul air and made the Sumps habitable.

Viktor’s soft lips pressed up into Silco’s. He hummed into the kiss. The ring on his finger glinted as a cloud freed a burst of sunlight.

Someone knocked on the door, and they broke apart. “Come in,” Silco called.

A butler opened the door and bowed.

“What can I do for you?”

“A visitor from Piltover, a lord, is here to see Mr. Viktor, Your Majesty.”

They weren’t expecting a delegation. “Who?”

“His name is Lord Talis, Your Majesty.”

Viktor frowned at Silco. “I didn’t know he was coming,” he said. “What does he want, do you think?”

Lord Talis was Viktor’s ex-fiancé. His unannounced visit could not bring good news. “I don’t know. Is he in the habit of crossing borders to make social calls?”

Viktor said, “Maybe he just wants to see me.” But he waited for Silco to choose when and where the meeting would take place. Silco was his lord, not the Talis boy.

“We’ll meet with him in my office,” Silco decided. He told the butler to bring Lord Talis there and then to fetch a tea service.

Hand-in-hand, Viktor and Silco made their way through the palace. Viktor said, “I truly had no idea he was coming. I would have told you if I did.”

Silco kissed the back of his hand. “I know you would have. Be at ease. I’m not angry.”

“Jealous, then?”

“Perhaps a little.”

“You have no cause to be. I’m loyal to you alone, Silco.”

They entered the office: empty, yet. The assurance did ease his worries, so with a calm demeanor, he posed himself by his desk. Viktor paced behind him, by the window.

His daughter skipped into the room, startling them. “Is that your old boyfriend?” she asked Viktor.

“You saw Lord Talis?” Viktor responded.

She skipped circles around him. “Only in passing. Then I came straight here to look for you. He’s cute.”

“You’re not dating a Piltie,” Silco said at the same time as Viktor said, “He’s too old for you.”

“Great!” Jinx lamented. She stopped skipping and flopped into Silco’s chair. “Now there’s two of them. And don’t worry. I’m going steady with Ekko.”

For the first time, Silco was glad for it.

The door opened, a servant announced Lord Talis of Piltover, and Silco forgot to worry about his daughter. Talis stepped hesitantly into the office. His eyes found Viktor, and then he made the proper greeting to Silco. “Your Majesty. Thank you for accepting me on such short notice.”

He was handsome, which Silco didn’t like at all—tall, muscled, and clean-shaven. “You’re welcome,” he said bluntly. “What’s the purpose of this visit?”

“To see an old friend.” Talis’s eyes returned to Viktor.

Viktor bore a reserved expression. “It’s good to see you,” he said.

Did Viktor miss his old lover? Did he miss his old life? Did he regret how abruptly he’d had to part with Talis?

“How long are you in town for?” Silco asked.

“I… don’t have firm plans,” Talis said. He glanced nervously between Silco, Jinx, and Viktor. None of them moved—puppets on still strings.

Silco’s finger tapped against the desk. “Come here to steal Viktor away, did you?” he said.

His words broke the tension. Viktor’s shoulders relaxed, and he stepped up beside Silco to nudge his arm playfully. “Oh, don’t be like that, Silco.”

In public, in front of foreign visitors, he normally referred to Silco by his title. That he used the name now was a message of some kind: perhaps that Silco and Viktor were familiar enough to be casual with one another. The gentle nudge was another sign of their intimacy. Silco took Viktor’s hand and kissed it. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Talis looked wounded. “Viktor…”

Silco should have married him by now so that he could correct Talis and insist on a formal title. Viktor should outrank Talis. He would in a few months.

Viktor didn’t release Silco’s hand. “Lord Talis, if you’ve come here to check up on me, your concern is sweet, but as you can see, I’m doing well. Silco and I are getting married.”

“Married,” Talis echoed.

“It was my idea,” Jinx said. “I’m full of good ideas.”

“That you are,” Viktor agreed, smiling at Silco’s daughter—at their daughter.

A servant brought a tray of tea and snacks, and the four of them sat in chairs around the desk, using it as a table. Jinx reigned over the little party from Silco’s big chair. Viktor poured and served. Talis looked despondent.

“What news from Piltover?” Viktor asked.

“My mother is dating again. I like the man she’s seeing. He’s sweet to her.”

“That’s wonderful,” Viktor said.

“What news here?” Talis asked. “Besides the engagement.”

Viktor told Talis about his research. Jinx’s suspicious eyes never strayed far from Talis. Silco stirred his tea and dampened his jealousy. The faster Talis left the palace, the happier Silco would be.

The four of them chatted aimlessly for half an hour, and then Talis made his excuses. He picked himself up, and the others stood as well. Talis took Viktor’s hand. “It was good to see you,” he said. “I’m glad that you’re happy. Truly.”

“Thank you,” Viktor said. His expression was soft and vulnerable.

“I expect an invitation to the wedding.”

“We’ll squeeze you in somehow,” Silco said.

Talis gave Silco a long, appraising look. Then he asked Viktor, “Could we have a moment alone?”

“I’ll walk you out,” Viktor agreed.

“Thank you for receiving me, Your Majesty,” Talis told Silco.

He gritted out, “You’re welcome.” Then he watched his partner and the interloper disappear through the door.

Calm down, he told himself. Even if Silco didn’t trust Talis, he trusted Viktor. If Talis attempted to reinsert himself as a romantic option in Viktor’s life, Viktor would deny him. Silco drained the dregs of his tea.

“You’re just letting them run off together?” Jinx asked, incredulous.

“Viktor is only walking Talis to the door.” Then Talis would be gone and forgotten.

Jinx huffed and kicked her boots up on the desk. “All I know is if the pretty ex-boyfriend of my pretty boyfriend were in town, I would be keeping an eye on the rascal.”

Silco crossed his arms. Viktor was a grown man. He didn’t need Silco hanging over his shoulder, keeping him in line. Silco trusted him. Talis, however… “I’ll be right back,” Silco said, and he dashed through the door.

The hall was empty. Silco headed in the direction of the entrance and found his quarry just inside the double doors. Talis had a hand on Viktor’s arm, and he was speaking to him in low, urgent tones. Silco couldn’t make out the words; he clenched his hands into fists.

As he watched, Viktor lifted Talis’s hand from his arm and stepped out of reach. “I assure you, I…” He caught sight of Silco. “My love,” he said, and Silco’s heart stopped, “tell Lord Talis that I’m not your prisoner.”

His love.

Talis turned gloomy eyes on Silco and dipped into a perfunctory bow. He must have made a move or confronted Viktor the second he got him alone; his good humor in front of Silco was an act. Silco couldn’t fault him for his suspicion, but he could set the record straight.

Viktor had called Silco his love. He’d done it, perhaps, to reassure Talis that genuine affection resided between the two of them. Silco didn’t care why Viktor had said it. He pulled Viktor against his side with an arm around his waist, claiming him just as surely as Viktor had claimed him. If Viktor wanted to play lovely-dovey fiancés in front of the visitor, Silco would happily oblige. He pecked Viktor’s cheek. “He was never my prisoner,” Silco explained to Talis. “I understand your concern, but Viktor wouldn’t be here if he didn’t wish to be.”

“I had to make sure,” Talis said.

Silco turned to Viktor, “Our daughter is worried that you’re going to run away. She sent me after you.”

Viktor laughed. He touched Silco’s hand on his waist. “I’m not running off. I’ll rejoin her in a moment.”

Talis took a step back. “Goodbye then, Viktor. I’ll let you return to your… daughter.” He formed the words like they were in another language. “I can see that you’re happy. Happier than I ever made you, maybe.”

Viktor winced. “Jayce—”

Talis shook his head. He gave a wan smile. “Farewell.” He left through the double doors to the courtyard. Viktor stared after him.

Silco kissed Viktor’s cheek again. “Are you certain you don’t want to run away? Now’s your chance.” If Viktor had doubts, he’d better voice them before he and Silco tied the knot.

Viktor straightened on a deep inhale. “I’m certain. Let’s go see Jinx.”

Chapter Text

In the room where Silco met with his council, he, Sevika, Viktor, and the marshal convened. “What news?” Silco asked Sevika, since she’d called for the meeting.

Silco sat at the head of the table, Viktor on his right. The marshal sat halfway down, at his typical spot, playing with his mustache. Sevika stood at the table’s foot, hands on the back of a chair. She said, “Word from the mountains is that some of the little towns want you replaced with Princess Violet.”

The marshal dropped the hand from his mustache and gaped at Silco.

He pushed into the armrests of his chair to straighten. “She’s not a princess any longer, so don’t refer to her that way.”

Sevika shrugged. “That’s how the townsfolk are talking about her. Some of these people miss Vander. They think putting Vi on the throne would return the succession to its natural order.”

“Jinx is Crown Princess,” Silco insisted. “Jinx is Heir Apparent.” He seethed. Would all his work be for nothing? Would his beloved daughter be passed over in favor of an unstable teenager who hadn’t lived in the capital for years? “How large is this faction you speak of?”

“Not very. It’s a fringe movement. I still think we should get on top of it before it grows.”

“I agree,” said the marshal. “I know, I know. Me, agreeing with the Captain of the Guard? Ridiculous. Even so, we must squash this threat to your authority, Your Majesty.”

Yes, these rumors of dissent needed to be addressed. Silco tapped his armrest with his nails. A servant carried in a tray of tea and snacks and set it in front of the group. Viktor and the marshal poured themselves cups. What did Viktor think of the rumors? Would he support Vi’s bid for the throne?

Don’t be ridiculous, Silco told himself. Viktor was going to marry Silco. He was on Jinx and Silco’s side.

Vander ghosted into his thoughts. A memory surfaced of Vander’s gentle, carrying voice. Authority had sat easy on him. He was humble but large enough to make humility look impressive. It was no wonder that some Zaunites missed him. “I’m not kingly,” Silco said. “That’s the problem.” He was small, scrawny, and mean as a sumprat. He wasn’t handsome—not like Vander had been. Zaunites might fear him, but they would never love him.

“You’re kingly,” Viktor said, stirring sugar into his tea. “I’d kneel for you.”

“Everyone here knows that, Viktor,” said Sevika.

Viktor’s laugh and Sevika’s banter pulled him from his gloom. He cracked a smile at his people. “All right,” he said. “Anyone have any bright ideas for addressing this pocket of dissent?”

Viktor asked, “Does Violet herself want the throne? Without her cooperation, the movement to make her queen won’t gain much traction.”

“That’s a good point,” Sevika said. “I’ll track down her mountain hideout and talk to her.”

“Counterproposal:” said Silco, “We should invite her here. I want to speak with her myself.”

“Absolutely not,” Sevika said.

“How do you plan on tracking her down? If the mountain towns are protecting her, you’ll never find her. They have miles of caves and tunnels to hide her in. We should issue an invitation and meet on our ground.”

“She’s an enemy. She’ll try to kill you on sight. My job is to keep you alive, Your Majesty, and it’s hard enough with all the backstabbers out in the world without you running deliberately into danger.”

Viktor pointed at Silco without lifting his face from his tea. “He’ll take strange potions from whoever hands them to him.”

Sevika glared at Silco.

Silco glared at Viktor.

Unbelievable. Silco protested to Viktor, “I took a potion you handed to me one time!” He turned to Sevika. “And it’s my decision. Invite Vi here, and we’ll work this out face-to-face.”

They sat in thought for a minute of silence.

Jinx wouldn’t like seeing her sister again—the sister who’d betrayed her by fleeing and never again sought Jinx’s company. Jinx hadn’t received so much as a letter from Vi since the coup. Silco would let the girls meet (supervised) if Jinx asked, but he would advise her to skip the meeting and forget Vi.

“Respectfully,” Sevika said, “if you weren’t going to adopt her as well, you should have killed her during the coup.”

Privately, he agreed. He would have killed her if he’d encountered her that day. But she’d snuck out the back door, and killing her now, years into a peaceful reign, carried a stench. Her existence gave Vander’s supporters a champion to back, but Silco needed to approach the ex-princess non-violently, escalating only if Vi escalated. If she attacked, then Silco would kill her, neatly cleaning up the little mess that her life had left.

“Send the invitation,” Silco decided. “Let’s see if she’s open to talk.”

—

Vi accepted the summons and came out of hiding for the first time in years. Silco and his entourage greeted her at the gate. Servants and citizens out for a stroll paused to stare at the ex-princess in her grimy boots and leather coat that hung to her ankles. Her hair was shaved on one side of her head.

“Your Majesty,” she said, pronouncing the words with distaste. She shoved her hands in her pockets. She glanced up at the palace’s facade. Did she miss her old home?

“Violet.” Silco greeted her simply. “Thank you for coming so far to speak with me.”

She scowled but nodded.

Silco let her through the gate and into the palace. Once inside, Sevika patted her down, checking for weapons.

“I’m clean,” Vi said. “Can we get on with it?”

Sevika nodded her approval, and Silco led Vi and the others to the throne room. He sat on his throne, and Viktor took a seat on the edge of the dais—Viktor wasn’t the equal of the king, but he was close. Sevika and her guards stood around the wall. Vi stood in the room’s center and kicked off the meeting with a blunt, “Why am I here?”

“After I took the throne,” Silco said, “you fled to some mountain town, where you’ve lived in hiding ever since.”

She snorted. “You didn’t take the throne. You killed my father.”

“Just so,” Silco said, refusing to rise to the bait. “You’re here because I’ve recently caught word that some Zaunites would prefer you on the throne to me.”

Vi glanced at Sevika. “Are you guys going to kill me; is that it? Are you going to stab me in the back like you stabbed Vander?”

Jinx darted out from behind Silco’s throne, startling him and startling Vi. Silco had invited her, but last she’d told him, she’d been undecided on whether or not she wanted to reunite with her estranged sister. “You want to talk about backstabbing?” Jinx stomped up to the edge of the dais, looking down at Vi. “Why’d you run away? Why’d you leave me?”

Silco clutched his armrest, heart pounding, ready to leap to his daughter’s defense if Vi attacked. Viktor, too, sat up straight, paying close attention to the reunion. If things turned nasty, perhaps he could form one of those invisible shields around Jinx. A mage who loved his daughter was handy to have around.

Vi’s face twisted with anger and grief. “Why didn’t you come with me? You’re a traitor, playing house with the man who murdered our dad.”

“He’s…” Jinx glanced back at Silco, blue eyes welling with tears. Silco had murdered Vander. It was a political murder, but even so, she was justified in hating him, if she chose to. Would she choose to now, at her sister’s behest? Would this visit be the downfall of Silco’s relationship with Jinx? “He’s my dad, too,” Jinx said.

Vi spit at their feet. Viktor and Silco didn’t flinch, but Jinx took off through a back door.

Wonderful. Silco envisioned a month of rocking a sobbing Jinx to sleep. He would go to her later and see if he could calm her down. He wanted to go to her now, but he needed to see this visit with Vi through. “Are you mounting resistance against me?” Silco asked. No more beating around the bush. “Do you have aspirations of taking the throne yourself?”

Vi sagged, the fight leaving her like a breath. “You’re safe from me, Your Majesty. I don’t know who’s whispering about putting me in your place, but it’s not going to happen.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “The throne, the whole princess thing—I don’t want it. I never wanted it. Vander said that leading was my duty, and I never got the chance to tell him…”

Silco rubbed his chin. He was inclined to believe her. If she’d wanted to mount her own coup, she’d had years to. “So what am I to do with you?” he mused. She had a claim on the throne; she was technically the firstborn. Her life was a threat to Jinx’s authority. The cleanest solution would be to kill her, but the time for killing had passed.

Viktor spoke up. “Make her an ambassador,” he suggested.

Vi and Silco both frowned at him. Silco asked, “What do you mean?”

“Keep her close, and keep her far,” Viktor said. “She’ll be in your employ, officially reporting to you, but free to live her own life in a new country. If she’s stationed in another kingdom, I bet the rumblings about usurping you will die down. If she works for you, she’s admitting tacit approval of your reign.” He turned to Vi. “Do you approve of his reign?”

She scowled. “It’s all right.”

“That’s the spirit! I think you would be an excellent ambassador. It’s not the leadership role you feared. It will be like starting over.”

“Where?” Silco asked, though he had a suspicion.

“Piltover,” Viktor suggested.

“Fuck, no,” Vi said.

“I’ll write to my old acquaintances,” Viktor said, “and see if one of them would house a Zaunite ambassador. You may not believe me, but there are good people there.”

“Like who?” she demanded.

Viktor glanced at Silco. “My old fiancé’s family, the Talises. Or their friends, the Kirammans. I believe the Kirammans have a daughter your age. Perhaps they would host you.”

“I’m not a Piltie,” Vi said. “I’m not a traitor. I won’t abandon Zaun to play with some rich kid in Piltover.”

“You can help improve their opinions of Zaunites; that’s a good thing.”

Viktor had always disapproved of Silco’s strategy of playing into the Piltovians’ negative stereotypes about Zaunites. But would sending Vi to live among them really improve those perceptions? Silco would have to wait and see.

“I know that moving from one country to another can feel like a betrayal,” Viktor said kindly, and Silco hung onto his every word. “I had a life there that I left. I would have been loyal to my husband in Piltover. That doesn’t mean I’m not loyal to my new lord and husband. It’s not betrayal. It’s just… a change.”

“Who are you again?” Vi asked.

“My name is Viktor.”

“He’s my fiancé,” Silco said.

She frowned at Silco. “So you’re marrying a Piltie brat?”

“He’s from Zaun,” Silco said. “Didn’t you listen to a word he said?”

Vi kicked the floor, a move that Jinx must have picked up from her years ago. “All right. I’ll be your ambassador. I was getting pretty bored of hiding, anyway.”

—

After the meeting, Silco found Vi leaning on the railing of an underground balcony, observing the bustle of Entresol through the glass. He stood beside her with his arms clasped behind his back.

Vi broke the silence first. “Somehow, I thought she’d apologize to me.” She didn’t need to specify who “she” referred to.

“I think Jinx expected the same.”

“Her name is Powder.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

Vi huffed. “What do you want? I already agreed to ambass’ those Pilties for you.”

He’d spent the last twenty minutes comforting a crying Jinx. He’d left her in Viktor and Babette’s capable hands to see if he couldn’t mend this rift. “Against my better judgement,” he said, “I’m here to see if you’ll talk to Jinx. She misses you.”

Vi peered at him suspiciously. “You want us to make up?”

“Not really. But she does.”

At his honesty, she hid a smile. 

He never expected himself to play apologist to get these girls back together, but he’d never expected to get married, either. Circumstances changed. “I know you feel betrayed, but so does she.”

Vi’s smile dropped. “She stayed and cozied up to the man who—”

“—killed Vander. I know. She knows. But look at things from her side.” Silco gripped the railing with a hand. “What did you expect her to do that day when I strode through the palace, slaughtering my opposition? She was nine, Violet. I had a sword.”

Silco recalled his measured approach, those moments before Jinx had turned around and flung herself into his arms, when he’d planned to hold the sword to her throat. The memory still made him ache.

Vi said, “I expected her to run with me. We could have, I don’t know, regrouped and fought back.” She sounded unsure, so Silco pressed.

“You wanted your little sister to live in exile? To leave behind everything she knew? I offered a child stability, and she took it. I know that it’s not the choice you made, but it wasn’t a wrong choice. Can’t you see that?”

“You gave her stability, but adopting her gave you legitimacy, too.”

“Yes. We used each other. That’s what love is, sometimes. I do love her, Vi, if that’s any consolation. She’s my daughter.”

“You manipulated her. You made her love you.”

“And she made me love her right back. She manipulates me most days.”

Vi rested her elbows on the railing and her head in her hands.

“I understand that I’ve earned your lifelong enmity,” Silco said, “but even if you can’t forgive me, try to forgive her. Please.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll try.” She was a grown woman, but she looked and sounded like a child when she asked, “Can I see her?”

Silco sighed his relief. He might be saved from a month of Jinx’s tears, after all. “Yes, you can see her. Come with me.”

Chapter Text

Silco had lunch with Sevika, catching up. “How is life with your young lover?”

“Never better.” Sevika smiled to herself, a shy, reflective smile, as if she were viewing a memory in her mind.

“You look happy,” Silco said.

“I am.”

If young Sky brought the same joy into Sevika’s life that Viktor brought into his, then Silco was glad for it. “Who would have thought we’d both end up partnered with magi?”

“I wouldn’t. Say, does Viktor ever, you know?”

Sevika wasn’t often mysterious, but she left her sentence adrift in innuendo, pushing chicken around on her plate. Silco asked, “Ever, what?”

“Glow? When he…” Sevika trailed off, expecting Silco to catch her meaning, but he shook his head. He didn’t understand. Sevika sighed. “When he comes?”

Silco was delighted. Sky must do this. “She glows?”

Sevika grinned, simultaneously sheepish and smug. She shrugged.

“That’s adorable.”

“I think so. Viktor doesn’t?”

“No. Good on you for making that happen.”

“It must not be a mage trait, then. I was wondering.”

“Viktor’s eyes glow in the dark. Well, reflect, really.” Viktor had scared Silco shitless several times by materializing in front of him, eyes glowing like an owl’s.

“I’ve never seen Sky’s do that.”

“And he can turn invisible,” he added without thinking.

Sevika set down her fork and leveled a severe look at Silco. Her voice turned hard—the tone she used for business rather than pleasant conversation. “Do you want to run that by me again?”

Shit. The Captain of the Guard did not want to learn that the castle housed residents who could sneak around unseen. Silco had vowed to himself never to tell her, but he’d forgotten. Hurriedly, he scooped food into his mouth, clearing his plate. Then he dabbed his face with a napkin and stood. “Well, that’s all for me.”

“What do you mean, he can turn invisible?” She didn’t stand, and the insult was a deliberate indication of her displeasure with him. “How long have you known about this?”

“We’ll catch up later,” Silco said, heading for the door. He’d hate to ruin his lovely mood with her ire.

“Silco!”

—

That night, Silco met Viktor in the den, with lube and a rag hidden in his pocket and plans swirling around his mind. Just how far could he push Viktor’s indulgence tonight? Could Silco make him glow?

He locked the door, tugged Viktor’s belt to drag him closer, and kissed him. Viktor’s lips were the sweetest indulgence. His gentle noises made Silco want to fuck him speechless. “I want to try something,” he told Viktor, speaking a breath away from his lips.

Viktor was splendid and receptive. “I love trying things! What is it?”

Silco bent him over the billiards table. He worked Viktor open until he could fit a fist inside him. Then Viktor, to Silco’s delight, offered only token resistance when Silco shoved a slicked-up billiards ball into his ass.

Viktor’s mouth opened in a silent scream; he had one hand on the green velvet and one hand on his dick, slowly stroking. How did the ball feel buried inside him? Was he full? Did the ball press against that sensitive, stimulating place in him?

Silco picked another ball—a yellow one—and poured oil onto it. Just how full could Viktor become? Silco pushed carefully on the second ball, pressing it into Viktor, whose hole was already slick and red from taking one.

“Another?” Viktor gasped nervously. His robes hung listlessly from one arm, tangles of cloth squished between Viktor and the table’s wood. “Silco.”

“You can take it,” Silco said, pressing the ball and twisting his palm to wiggle it into Viktor. His ass stretched more easily this second time.

Viktor let out a pathetic moan, tugging his cock. The ball slipped inside, and Viktor cursed and dropped his forehead to the green velvet.

“Got it,” Silco said. He admired the sight of his young lover, laid out like a painting, ass stuffed with billiard balls. He pulled Viktor’s cheeks apart, just looking. Gods, Viktor would let Silco do anything to him.

“You’re filthy,” Viktor huffed. “You’re perverted.” Viktor continued to touch himself, stroking his cock in quick twists of his wrist.

“I’m perverted? Only one of us is getting off right now.”

Viktor moaned.

“You can take another,” Silco decided.

“What?” Viktor tried to push himself up, but Silco tipped him right back down with a hand on the center of his back. “I can’t, Silco.”

“You can.” Silco slicked up another ball with oil. He pushed against the resistance at Viktor’s hole. Slowly, the ball moved, stretching Viktor around it. When it reached the widest point, Viktor breathed in quick little huffs. Then Viktor’s ass closed over the ball, and he came into his hand.

Viktor slumped against the billiards table, chest heaving. “That was so good.”

“I’m glad.” Viktor didn’t glow when he came, but Silco preferred the sweaty realness of Viktor’s orgasm anyway.

“You have good ideas.”

“It was fun to watch.” Silco wiped his hand clean on a rag.

Viktor insisted on removing the balls in private in the bathroom, and when he returned, he pulled Silco into a kiss. His mouth was open and receptive as Silco violated him—dug his fingers into the flesh of Viktor’s ass and grabbed at his hair.

Silco tried to drink him. Silco wanted Viktor with him always. He backed Viktor into the edge of the billiards table. “What else do you want?” he asked. Silco could go for a round, if Viktor were amenable.

Viktor bit his lip. “That other thing I mentioned you could do?”

Silco remembered. “You want me to put my cigar out on you while I fuck you?” Had that been a real desire of Viktor’s, not just a lie made up to haunt Silco?

Viktor’s lashes fluttered as his eyelids drooped. “Fuck. Yes.”

Silco dove his tongue back into Viktor’s mouth. He licked into his agreeable, generous, perfect partner. Gods, Viktor was perfect. Silco wanted to move Viktor into his bedroom and kiss him in public now. Fuck the wedding. Fuck propriety. They shouldn’t have to sneak off after hours for some alone time, afraid of being caught by the staff. Silco was the king; he should be allowed to do whatever he damn well pleased.

When Silco had memorized the taste of him, Silco bent a naked Viktor back over the table. “Wait there a moment.” He leaned down and bit Viktor’s ass before he was off to search through the bar. He found a cigar and a lighter, lit the tip, and returned to stand behind Viktor. “Look at you.”

Viktor’s ass was still shiny with oil, inviting Silco inside. Silco easily guided his cock in, pressing past the rim with hardly any effort.

They both moaned. Silco started pushing his hips into him in a slow roll, puffing occasionally on the cigar. Viktor accepted his cock so easily. He was moaning again, even though he wasn’t hard, and then he urged, “Do it. Come on, let me feel it.”

Silco fucked him harder. Then he paused, buried deep inside Viktor, and pressed the burning end of the cigar into the dimple at the small of Viktor’s back.

Viktor’s next exhales trembled. His nails scratched the green tabletop. “Ah,” he gasped in a tiny voice.

Silco lifted the cigar, leaving a scalded, red mark on Viktor’s flesh the size of a small coin. Branded, Viktor belonged to him, wedding or none.

He knew what burns felt like, and he could picture Viktor’s agony mounting, even though the source of the burn had been removed. Silco put out the cigar on an ashtray and used both hands to steady Viktor as he fucked him for real. Their skin slapped together. His ass must be sore, but he took both kinds of pain without complaint.

“You’re doing so well,” Silco groaned. “Fuck. What does it feel like?”

Viktor made a pained noise. “Like everything else is distant.”

He didn’t feel like examining why Viktor liked being hurt or why he himself so enjoyed dealing pain. Their interests aligned, and Silco was satisfied. “Can you come again?”

“Probably not. It’s all right.”

Silco fucked him harder, trying to get off as quickly as possible so he could tend to Viktor. Almost there. Almost…

Once and for all, Silco thrust into him as far as his body allowed and emptied himself. He groaned. Pushing against Viktor’s hole in pulses, he worked the last drops out.

Fuck. That had been too much, hadn’t it? With the orgasm draining away, regret slid into Silco’s stomach, and he pulled out. Viktor held a loose hand around his cock. How much pain was he in? Silco said, “I hurt you.”

Viktor stretched. He pushed himself off the table, arching his spine, and then he turned to face Silco. “It’s fine. Burns are uncomfortable, but I can just take a potion.” Looking at Silco’s skeptical face, he said, “It’s fine, Silco. I wanted it.”

“How’s the pain?”

“I’ll live. Kiss me.”

He didn’t believe Viktor totally, but he wouldn’t protest. Silco kissed him, dipping in with his eyes closed to taste Viktor’s mouth once more. Then he dressed Viktor and marched him to his laboratory to find a healing potion.

—

They met with Deprez the next day to talk wedding plans. Deprez and three assistants scurried about the private dining room, carting samples of cake, centerpieces, and tablecloths.

“Don’t expect us to settle every decision today,” he warned them, but Silco couldn’t imagine what other decisions remained. He hadn’t known that weddings required so many meaningless choices. White flowers or red? Lace trim on the tablecloths or none? White napkins or cream?

Who cared?

Viktor seemed to; at least, he participated in Deprez’s exhibition with enthusiasm. “I like the look of the layered tablecloths,” he told Deprez, pointing to one of the arrangements. Two white cloths of different patterns covered a square table, crossed at an angle so the corners fell in asymmetrical triangles. “Do you like them, Silco?”

They were tablecloths. “Yes, fine.”

“We can do better than just ‘fine,’ Your Majesty,” said Deprez.

Before Deprez could start the tablecloth conversation all over again, Silco said, “They look wonderful. Viktor likes them, so let’s go with that design.”

Deprez didn’t seem convinced, but he made a note anyway. “Back to the conversation about cakes, if I may…”

Viktor sat up straighter, and the china on the table before them rattled like bells. “Oh, good.”

“We settled the question of design but not of flavor,” said Deprez.

“Another taste test would help,” Viktor suggested.

Deprez nodded, delighted, and ran off with a servant to fetch more sample cakes.

“You have far too much energy,” Silco told Viktor.

“My mana is high today,” he explained. “I’m feeling manic.” He laughed at his own joke, and Silco hid a smile.

“Is that why the silverware is going crazy?” He picked up a trembling fork, and it stilled in his hand.

“I can’t help it. I’m so excited. Aren’t you?”

“About marrying you, yes. Not so much about the minor details. But I’m glad that you’re having fun.”

Viktor took a deep breath, and the tableware went still just in time for Deprez to return and serve them slices of five kinds of cake. Silco vetoed one of them, and Viktor made the final selection from among the remainders.

Silco took idle bites of sample cake while Deprez talked about invitation stationary with Viktor. The paper alone—never mind the calligraphy upon it—would cost upwards of 4,000 cogs. Apparently, the invitations needed to include three sets of embossed stationary—had to, insisted Deprez—plus matching envelopes and ribbons. Then Deprez tried to talk them into ordering a new set of vases just for the wedding, and Silco put his foot down.

“We have vases.”

“They don’t match our color scheme.”

“Make it work,” Silco said.

Deprez was irritated with Silco by the conclusion of the planning session, but the feeling was mutual. At least Viktor was there to keep the peace and suggest cheerful compromises; otherwise, Silco would have murdered or fired someone.

—

An unlikely visitor waited for them outside the dining hall: Singed, whom Silco hadn’t invited to the palace in weeks. “Do you need something?” Silco asked.

Singed folded his hands neatly in front of him. “Pardon my intrusion,” Singed said. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your meeting.”

“We just finished,” Viktor said. “What do you need?”

Were the two magi getting along now? They were cordial to each other, at least. Silco watched Viktor carefully for signs of distress in the presence of his former master.

“Your assistance,” Singed told Viktor, “if you’ll grant it.”

Viktor frowned. “What can I help you with?”

“Would you return to my laboratory with me? This pains me to admit, but I’ve hit a wall with my research, and I can make no further progress on my own. Your magical talents would be much appreciated.”

Viktor didn’t have to help Singed if he didn’t want to, though helping was in his nature, but Silco couldn’t think of a way to say so in front of Singed that wouldn’t come across as rude.

Viktor glanced at Silco. “We don’t have any other plans for the day, do we?”

“Not unless Deprez pulls us back into the fray.”

Still, Viktor hesitated.

“I would not ask were it not important.” For once, the reticent Singed sounded emotional, as close to begging as Silco had ever heard him. What was his project? What was this research that required aid?

“I’ll come,” Viktor said, and Silco was too curious to stay behind, so he added, “So will I.”

Singed nodded. “Thank you.” He sounded relieved. He turned and led them to the underground palace doors.

His lab was within walking distance, so they didn’t bother with a carriage. Viktor and Silco followed Singed hand in hand.

Chapter Text

Viktor and Singed sat in chairs on either side of the corpse of a young girl. Viktor did his best to hide his skepticism as Singed explained his theories. Returning life to a body after life had departed had never been accomplished—not by any magic or science—and he worried about giving Singed false hope for his daughter’s revival.

Silco stood in front of a shelf with his hands behind his back, appraising the specimens floating in jars. Several of the jars glowed, casting eerie, neon shadows on the cragged wall.

“Our magic can restore life,” Singed explained. “I’ve been experimenting and refining the process of mana transference for decades. By pouring magic into a specimen, its spark of life can be relit. It works on small animals.”

The last sentence caught Viktor’s attention. “You mean you actually revived a corpse?” he asked with appropriate incredulity. “You brought something dead back to life?

“A frog and two rats,” Singed said. “It’s time to move on to human trials.”

Viktor looked at the closed eyes of the little girl. Maybe this mad theory could work. Maybe Singed was just crazy enough to pull off the impossible.

“I’ve been feeding her my energy,” Singed continued, “but it hasn’t been enough.”

“That’s why you need me.” Singed needed more mana than a single mage could provide.

Singed nodded.

Well, what was the harm in trying? Viktor looked up at Singed with new hope. Perhaps between the two of them, they would be strong enough to work a miracle. “Explain it again,” he said. “Tell me what to do.”

—

Singed and Viktor placed their hands on opposite arms of the little girl and fed her steady, tiny streams of mana. One healing session might not be enough, Singed explained, but Viktor was not deterred. He knew that breakthroughs, especially at the magnitude of reviving the dead, didn’t occur overnight.

They worked for an hour or so, chatting quietly before slipping into silence to concentrate.

Silco wandered over to watch. By the end of the hour, he was restless, crossing his arms and frowning. He asked, “How are you feeling, Viktor?”

Sluggishly, Viktor took stock of his body. At the moment, he was a conduit for the arcane, more vessel than person. How did he feel? “I’m all right.” Singed probably felt even worse if he’d been feeding his daughter mana on his own for who knew how long.

After a few moments of staring at Viktor’s hands on the body, Silco said, “That’s enough. Viktor, it’s enough. You’re exhausted.”

Viktor was running low on mana, but he could feel the treatment working. There was something stirring in the little girl, not life yet but a potential, and if Viktor just gave a little more, he could spark that wick into a flame. What was his magic for, if not for this—if not for helping? “I don’t need to do magic the rest of the day,” Viktor said. “I’ll rest this afternoon.”

“Please,” Singed said, “let us work. I want my daughter back.”

No argument could face that statement, so Silco wandered away. He looked stiff and disapproving, but Viktor knew he would understand once the girl sat up and took her first breath in years. Silco had a daughter. Some things were worth the sacrifice.

Viktor drooped. He rested his head on an arm while his free hand stayed in touch with the corpse. He slipped into a half-sleep, feeding the girl a slow trickle of magic as he dozed. His breaths were small and wet against the hairs on his arm. Nausea swirled in his gut. Minutes passed. A half hour passed.

Finally, he peeled himself off the slab. His mana was nearly depleted. He blinked himself awake. He looked forward to a long nap and a good dinner back at the palace. Perhaps in the morning, his charge would be refreshed enough for another try. “That’s all I can give today,” he said. “I’m sorry, Singed. I can come back tomorrow, and we can—”

Singed grabbed Viktor’s hand, pressed it to the girl, and forced the last bit of magic out of Viktor’s body and into hers. His magic was torn from him in a violation so profound Viktor had never experienced it before. What mage knew how to steal another’s mana? What mage would dare?

Viktor cried out, empty, truly empty as he hadn’t let himself get in years. His vision swam.

“And that’s it. You’re out,” Singed said. He stood. He gestured to Silco, and a ring of air around Silco rippled and went still.

Silco tried to rush toward Viktor, but he bounced against something firm and unyielding: Singed had thrown an invisible shield up around him. Viktor watched in growing horror as Silco felt along the boundaries of the shield. Silco shouted, “Singed! What in the ten hells has gotten into you?” The shield surrounded him, trapping him in a four-foot cylinder.

That was the king. Singed had dared not only to attack Viktor but to imprison the King of Zaun.

Singed ignored Silco to address Viktor, eminently calm. “Resist, and I’ll kill him. You’re out of magic, and I am not.” He demonstrated by flickering all the candles in the room off and then back to life. “I have won, and you have lost. Do you understand?”

Viktor reached for the arcane inside him, but it was asleep—no aid was available to him, no guidance. Viktor was a powerful mage but not physically; without his magic, he was helpless. Numbly, he nodded. Singed would kill Silco if Viktor didn’t play along with whatever game this was. Singed could do it with a thought, in myriad horrific ways that he’d probably planned out in advance.

“Singed!” Silco slammed his fists against his cage. His voice wasn’t muffled the way it would be behind glass; the barrier seemed only to exist when Silco came in contact with it. “Get away from him!”

Singed rolled a gurney and then cart of tools beside his daughter. “Get on this,” he ordered, “and we’ll get started. Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you.”

Scalpels, long tweezers, corked vials, and several runestones lay on the cart. Straps on the gurney were placed to hold down a patient’s hands, feet, torso, and head. “What are you going to do to me?” Viktor asked.

“We could waste our days feeding my daughter bits of magic, and I have. What she needs is her own well, a kick of life residing inside her to wake her up and feed her weak body. I’m going to extract your source of magic and put it in her.”

Extract Viktor’s source of magic? Was that even possible?

If anyone could accomplish such an unnatural feat, Singed could. Singed had studied mana for decades. No mage but Singed could rend another’s magic from his body. Of course this was the inevitable, inexorable conclusion of all his research into enchanting objects and shifting mana between vessels.

Viktor clutched the sides of his chair. He believed Singed could do it. “You said that taking my magic wouldn’t kill me.”

“It won’t. You won’t be a mage anymore, but you’ll live.”

His magic, gone. Viktor couldn’t imagine reaching for the familial caress of the arcane and sensing… nothing. “Why me?” Viktor asked as a lump formed in his throat. “Not that I’d rather you do this to any other mage, but…”

Singed approached him and touched his chin—a touch that might have been comforting, once. Viktor shied away from the contact. “I picked you a long time ago,” Singed said. His dull dark eyes regarded Viktor with detached amusement. “I made you powerful so that one day, we could break boundaries together.” He dropped his hand and moved to the gurney as if he hadn’t just shattered Viktor’s reality.

Yes, Viktor and his mentor had had their disputes, but once, Viktor had looked up to him like a father. Viktor swallowed. He protested, desperate to reason his way out of this nightmare. “You didn’t make me magical, though. I’ve always been a mage.”

Singed’s rasping voice held traces of humor. “Bright boy, stupid boy, who cuddled with arcane creatures and ate moonflowers with them, sharing spit.” Singed slid open the buckles of the restraints, preparing them for use. “The arcane blessed you, chose you for greatness. I just helped her plans along—augmented your development with my own formulas to boost your mana creation. Your illness was convenient. You let me inject you with whatever I wanted.”

Viktor’s core was hollow. His mind flashed back to a happy childhood, babbling theories at Singed while the older mage mixed his weekly medicine. “This was your plan for me my whole life.” Singed’s protection, his mentorship, and his love had been lies.

“One of several plans. It is good to have backups. Keep that in mind. My first plan was simply to use your abundant fount of magic to revive her a bit at a time, but that isn’t working, so I’m switching tactics. It’s all going in her at once, like a lightning strike.”

“Singed!” Silco called. “You want a mage to experiment on? I’ll give you three. Just let Viktor go.”

The magi paid him little heed. Ignoring Silco was easier than worrying about him. He couldn’t help, and the best way for Viktor to get them both out of here alive was to focus his attention on Singed.

“You could have healed me,” Viktor said, voicing his revelations as he made them. “When I was a child. I healed myself after just a few more years of study. But you could have done it the entire time.” Somehow, this hurt worse than Singed stealing the last dregs of Viktor’s magic, than learning he’d been experimented on without his knowledge. Tears ran down his cheeks. He clutched his trembling hands to his chest and shuddered through an inhale. “I was in so much pain. I thought you were trying to help. I trusted you.”

This was betrayal—true betrayal. Viktor had thought he’d discovered the worst of Singed when Singed stuck Rio in a vat of fluid and sapped her magic, but the truth was so much worse. Singed had purposefully kept Viktor ill so that Viktor would let Singed keep feeding him potions.

He had never cared about Viktor. The child he’d raised from adolescence was a specimen to him, nothing more.

Silco spoke up again, slamming his palm against the shield to catch Singed’s attention. He exchanged bargains for threats. “I’m going to kill you,” he told Singed. “Slowly. You’ll pray for death after just an hour under my knife.” The threats of a man imprisoned seemed pathetic and desperate.

“You won’t kill me,” Singed said. “I’ll take my daughter to start over somewhere new, and you and Viktor can continue your carefree lives together.”

Viktor stared at the slate of the cave floor, feeling as empty as his magic. He couldn’t imagine a life without his magic. He would be weak again, for one thing. Without a constant stream of mana to feed the runes carved in his skin, strengthening his limbs, he would be as frail as the day he’d healed himself. He wouldn’t have magic as a crutch to accomplish all the difficult little tasks he now took for granted—lifting objects and fusing metal and climbing stairs. Worse, his research would grind to a halt. No more potions. No more rune charts. No more vines enchanted to filter toxins from the air.

“Let’s begin. Get on the table,” Singed said. He glanced pointedly at Silco to remind Viktor of his hostage.

Viktor pushed himself to his feet. There was no point fighting. Singed had won. He’d won when he put Silco in a cage; he’d won when he’d tricked Viktor into loving him, all those years ago.

Viktor was wobbly already, a taste of his life without magic. He limped toward the gurney. His right leg trembled.

“Viktor, stop!” Silco shouted. Both of his hands pressed flat to the invisible cage, and his muscles worked like he was pushing.

“I don’t really have a choice, here,” Viktor said. He took a steadying breath and forced lightness into his voice for his lover’s sake. “It’s just my magic, Silco. I’ll be all right. I’ll be human; plenty of people are.” What could he do but make the best of the situation, as he’d always done? “And at the end of all this, a little girl will be saved. That’s good, isn’t it?”

“That’s the spirit.” Singed picked up a scalpel.

The gurney swam in his vision. Those straps would render him immobile while Singed… While he…

“No!” Silco dropped to the ground and clawed at the rock, trying to dig under the barrier. On his knees now, he threw his shoulder against it, trying to break the magic. “Stop draining yourself dry. Stop serving yourself up on a platter! Singed can go ahead and kill me. Better that than you giving up your magic.”

Viktor turned his head slightly toward Silco in the cage. Silco’s words were irrational—incomprehensible. “You love my magic that much?” Was Silco like Jayce, enamored with the arcane, with the romance of the unknown?

“I love you. Your magic is part of you. I love you scampering through the palace, lighting things on fire with Jinx, even though it scares me to death. I love you giggling on a mana high. I love you free, and happy, and powerful.”

More tears leaked down Viktor’s face.

What was his magic? It helped him walk. It sickened him when he was stretched too thin or about to make a choice he knew was bad for him. It was playful, delighting Jinx and mystifying Silco. It looked out for him. It told him things he already knew, deep inside—that Jayce was kind, that Sky needed his aid, and that Silco was more trustworthy than he seemed upon their first meeting. Viktor’s magic was the part of him that cared for him, aided him, loved him, like Silco.

“Viktor,” Singed warned.

He didn’t have magic. Fighting Singed would be dangerous. But Silco was right; Viktor was worth fighting for.

He lunged at Singed, knocking him into the cart of tools. Viktor landed on top of his former master. Instruments and runestones clattered on the floor. He tried to grab a tool off the ground to use as a weapon, but Singed snatched his right wrist with a burning, searing grip. His palm glowed. Viktor’s flesh started to smoke, and he screamed.

Another sharp pain made itself known in Viktor’s abdomen. Singed had stabbed him with the scalpel. But now Viktor had a weapon. With his left hand, he tugged the scalpel out of his stomach and stabbed Singed desperately, over and over again. The hand on his wrist released, and Singed shot a blast of fire at Viktor, but Viktor kept tearing at him with the blade, again and again until Singed’s torso was a mess of blood and shredded tissue and Singed went limp. Viktor lodged the scalpel in Singed’s neck for good measure.

Something smelled like it was burning—Viktor’s clothes and skin. He crawled and stumbled toward the lake and dropped himself into the water.

—

Silco could only watch in horror as Viktor attacked Singed and the magi wrestled on the ground. His hands and shoulder were bruised from trying to force his way out of the invisible cage. Silco watched Singed wield flame against Viktor, watched Viktor kill him, and watched Viktor disappear into the lake.

He didn’t breathe until Viktor emerged, coughing and no longer on fire. Viktor might have been crying, but with all the water pouring off his body, it was impossible to tell.

Was it over? Had Viktor won his power and Silco’s freedom back? Silco reached into the air in front of him but found the barrier intact. No.

Viktor dragged himself to Silco’s cage and tried to set his hand against Silco’s. He left a bloody handprint suspended in the air. “The cage isn’t gone,” Silco said. “Why isn’t it gone? Are you certain he’s dead?”

Viktor glanced behind him. “He looks pretty dead to me. It must not have been a sustained spell. He put the barrier up, and it won’t come down until a mage takes it down.” Viktor clutched his side. One of his wrists sported a vivid red handprint, and his robes had burn holes in them exposing areas of smooth, shiny, or scorched flesh. Blood pooled out between his fingers.

“You’re hurt,” Silco said. “Viktor, can you get me out of this? Then I can help. We have to get you help.”

“I’m out of mana, remember?” He looked down at his stomach and lifted the hand for a moment, but when blood welled out, he pressed his palm back into place.

“Viktor…” Silco was so useless trapped behind this nonexistent wall. His partner was bleeding out, and Silco could do nothing. He’d been worthless to Viktor when Singed tried to steal his source of magic, and he was worthless now.

Viktor glanced between the cavern exit and the paraphernalia of the laboratory. “I need healing,” he said.

Singed had potion supplies aplenty. He even had a few potions mixed in jars on a rock shelf. “What are those?” Silco pointed.

Viktor followed his gaze. “I don’t know. I don’t recognize them, and they’re not labeled.” Taking them would be a stupid idea, then.

“Can you make a healing potion without magic?” Silco asked desperately. After all those months of study, had Viktor learned anything that could help him? If ever there were a moment for a miraculous breakthrough, it was now.

Viktor shook his head. His face twisted in pain.

Viktor had worked on this problem for months. He couldn’t solve it now just because he needed to. “All right,” Silco said. “Is there anything you can use to break this cage?”

“I don’t have much time,” Viktor said. “I can’t…” He peeked at the wound in his abdomen again. “I can’t waste any trying to free you. I need to climb out of here and fetch help before I pass out, or we’re both fucked.”

If Viktor passed out in this cave, Silco would spend the last few days of his life in this cage, dying of thirst, watching Singed and Viktor’s bodies decompose in front of him. Well, he would watch until the candles burned out. Then he would die in darkness.

Viktor stood, wincing and making a horrible pained sound deep in his throat as he did so. He stumbled step by slow step to the alchemical set-up on one of the counters. He picked up a silver tool of some kind and held it over the flame of a candle.

Silco realized what he was doing after only a few moments. He was going to sear his wound closed to prevent himself from bleeding out. He was going to burn himself more, deliberately, though he had to be in unbelievable agony already. Why had the fire missed that specific spot? Why had all luck abandoned Viktor?

Silco didn’t protest because he didn’t want to make this any harder on Viktor than it already was. If Viktor thought he needed to close the scalpel wound, Silco would trust him.

Viktor faced away from Silco while he touched the tool to his stomach, as if he were trying to spare Silco the pain of watching, which was absurd. Viktor’s chest shook, but he didn’t scream. Finally, he dropped the tool with a clatter. He wiped his eyes. “Is there anything in here I can use as a cane?”

Silco cast his gaze around the cave, but he saw nothing like a pole or a staff. “I don’t think so. I’m so sorry.”

“All right.” Viktor wiped his eyes again. He limped to the wall and, bracing a hand on it, moved slowly toward the exit to the cave. Each step was shaky from pain or the weakness inherent in his limbs or both. No magic meant no artificial strengthening of his muscles. The golden runes in his skin were dull.

How long would he take to reach civilization? He would have to climb over boulders and up an incline in this weakened, depleted state. And he would be out of Silco’s sight for most of the trip, so if he fell or passed out, Silco would have no idea.

Before he disappeared behind the bend, he met Silco’s eyes. “I’m going to get help,” he said. “I promise.”

“I love you,” Silco said firmly. “You can do this.”

Viktor nodded. Balancing against the wall, he limped away.

Chapter Text

Silco waited. He shifted to a seat, which was more comfortable than the kneel, but his skin itched with anxiety. Every few minutes, he rechecked the boundaries of his prison, imagining the invisible walls closing in around him, squeezing like a giant’s fist. His only company was a bloody handprint floating in the air, the body of a child, and the corpse of a man he’d once considered a friend. Viscous blood from the mage’s corpse leaked down the incline and into the lake, staining the water red.

Time tracked slowly. Silco tried to guess how long the trip out of the cave would take to a stumbling Viktor. Would he take breaks? Would his pace slow as he traveled? How long before a rescue team could return?

The arresting fear was that Viktor wouldn’t last the journey out of the cave. His body might give out, and Silco would wait and wait, and they would both die down here.

A spider crawled across the rock toward the puddle of blood. The blood glinted a poisonous green, illuminated by glowing, neon specimen tanks.

Silco had played right into Singed’s plan. All that time, Singed had praised Viktor’s accomplishments just so that Silco would bring Viktor back to Zaun and Singed could drain him of mana. In stealing Viktor from Piltover, Silco had delivered Viktor to his doom.

If Viktor and Silco died down in this cave, Silco was to blame.

Would Jinx go mad? She’d tipped on a knife’s edge of sanity now and again, and though she was stable for now, Silco’s passing might push her over. She was a child. She wasn’t ready to assume the responsibilities of the throne. Silco had too much left to teach her and too much left to say.

When they got free—if they got free—Silco would take Viktor and Jinx both into his arms and never let them out again.

The leak of blood from the body of Singed stilled. Time flowed on. Silco waited.

—

Minutes seemed like hours, and hours upon hours later, footsteps thudded down into the cave. Torchlight threw up hulking, writhing shadows of people in armor. Silco stood. “Down here!” he called.

The group rounded the bend, coming into view. A burly knight headed the party, accompanied by a torch-bearer and a woman in mage robes. “Your Majesty!” called the knight. All three made hasty bows.

“Never mind that,” Silco said. “Is Viktor all right?”

The mage was already at his side, examining the invisible cage with palms held outward a few inches from the barrier. Her palms began to glow.

The knight and the torchbearer investigated the room, stooping to check the body of Singed and to peer under tables for hidden adversaries. The knight spoke as she searched. “The mage Viktor is alive and being treated at a hospital. I can’t make any more specific pronouncements as to his condition, but I’m sure the healers are paying him every attention.”

Silco sagged with relief. If Viktor were in the reach of magical healing, he would surely be all right. The surgeons and healing magi in the capital were the best in the country, and Viktor was the partner of the king; they would look after him. Burns could be cured. Stab wounds could be knit together. Couldn’t they?

Silco recalled the reek of burnt flesh when he’d held the tip of his cigar to Viktor’s skin. Had that been only days ago? The pain—the infliction of it—had seemed exciting, then. Viktor had assured Silco that the discomfort of the burn was worth the pleasure. A healing potion had removed all traces of the mark. Silco imagined the pain of that single burn amplified all over Viktor’s body when Singed lit his clothes on fire. Viktor must have been in agony.

“Forgive my slowness, Your Majesty,” said the mage in front of him. “I want to ensure that I won’t set off a trap when I take this down.”

“Of course.” As much as Silco wanted to rush to Viktor’s side, they shouldn’t forgo caution now. Singed was dead, but who knew what magical tricks lingered? “How long have you been looking for me? How long has Viktor been at the hospital?”

The knight replied again, examining the body of Singed’s daughter on its funeral slab. “We came as soon as we could locate a mage. I believe Lord Viktor was taken away for healing around the same time. Perhaps half an hour ago? He insisted that a mage was necessary to free you.”

The mage touched the barrier at last, and then her hand pushed through it. “Done,” she said.

Silco reached out. His hand encountered nothing but air. Without waiting a moment longer, he hurried out of the circle of stone that had almost been his coffin. Now to find Viktor. “Someone bring me to the hospital where they took my fiancé.”

“I can,” said the torchbearer. Plenty of candles illuminated the cave, so the knight could continue her investigation.

“Good,” Silco said. “You two stay here until we can get a larger party of magical researchers down here to clean up this mess and figure out what’s safe to touch.”

“May I stay?” asked the mage. “I’m curious about this research.”

She’d earned the right to entangle herself in the work of Singed, if she wished to. “Of course.” He left them to their explorations. Someone else would deal with Singed’s body. Someone else would decide what to do with the daughter he’d attempted to revive. Silco had other priorities.

The torchbearer led Silco up the sloped path out of the cave.

—

Viktor was groggy. A face faded in and out of focus. The movements around him were too quick to catch, and sounds arrived in slow motion. Someone held his hand.

Viktor tried to concentrate. The person beside him was important, somehow. He was saying Viktor’s name.

“...Are you awake? Can you hear me?”

Viktor nodded. He blinked a few times. Silco’s blurry image coalesced, worry written into his features. “Hello,” Viktor said.

Silco cracked a smile. He was haggard, the scars on his face more pronounced than usual. “Viktor. How do you feel?”

Viktor assessed. His body was surprisingly pain-free, given that his last memories were of clutching his abdomen in agony. He looked down at himself. White bandages wrapped around his arm and his midsection. He touched the place where the scalpel had entered his body. A faint sensation of pain, like touching a bruise, spread from the spot. He’d had intensive healing. “I’m all right, I think,” he said. “My skin feels much better, and they seem to have repaired the wound in my stomach.”

His partner looked unconvinced. “Are you certain? I can call the healer back if you’re in pain.”

“I’m not. Whatever they used on me did its work well.” Viktor touched Silco’s face. “I’m fine, Silco. Truly. What happened to Singed?”

“Dead,” Silco said with distaste. “And good riddance.”

Singed had tricked Viktor, using him his entire life as a backup plan to heal his daughter. Viktor had thought he’d been like a son to Singed; instead, he was little more than an experiment.

What would happen to Singed’s daughter?

Viktor lay back and stared at the ceiling. He’d spent hours upon hours pouring energy into a corpse. He’d drained himself of mana for a course of treatment that might not have worked at all. Singed might have lied about resurrecting those animals. Viktor no longer trusted a word out of his mouth.

He would have poured mana into her for days, if Singed had asked it of him. He would have wasted away in that cave, giving all his energy to a corpse that could make no use of it. He hadn’t been close to resurrecting her at all, had he?

Viktor had spent his whole life in service of an amorphous good: some greatness he could accomplish that would give his life meaning. Where had all his noble sacrifice gotten him, in the end? He’d nearly let Singed steal all his mana, and for what?

“Viktor.”

He refocused on Silco, who was more nervous than Viktor ever remembered seeing him.

“Are you certain that you’re all right? Has your magic returned?”

Viktor felt the low, thrumming pulse of it, deep in some tissue of his body that didn’t have a name. He felt it in the runes carved into his skin. “It’s faint, but it’s there,” he said. “Despite everything, I seem to have escaped without any lasting harm. We both did. It’s over.”

Silco picked up Viktor’s hand in both of his own and kissed it.

“Thank you,” Viktor said.

“For what? You rescued yourself. I just stood there.”

Viktor shook his head. Silco’s words had saved him. “You told me to fight for my magic. You told me I was worth fighting for.”

“You are. You’re everything.” Silco kissed Viktor’s knuckles again. “Jinx is on her way. You don’t have to see her if you aren’t up for the visit, but she’s worried about you.”

Jinx and Silco both here beside him? “I can’t think of anything better,” Viktor said.