Contents

Prince's Master
Prologue
Chapter One: First Impressions
Chapter Two: Unwanted
Chapter Three: Negotiations
Chapter Four: Tests
Chapter Five: Nameday
Chapter Six: A Merge
Chapter Seven: The Chapter
Chapter Eight: The Servant and the Apprentice
Chapter Nine: Ice Prince
Chapter Ten: Safe Place
Chapter Eleven: The Grandmaster
Chapter Twelve: The Queen
Chapter Thirteen: The Truth
Chapter Fourteen: Confrontation
Interlude
Chapter Fifteen: Something Lost
Chapter Sixteen: Captivity
Chapter Seventeen: Reunion
Chapter Eighteen: Snapped
Chapter Nineteen: Ill-advised
Chapter Twenty: Revelations
Chapter Twenty-One: Brother
Chapter Twenty-Two: A New Home
Chapter Twenty-Three: Masks
Chapter Twenty-Four: Broken
Chapter Twenty-Five: Indulgent
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Informant
Chapter Twenty-Seven: An Act of Kindness
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Thawing
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Rewritten
Chapter Thirty: An Act of Selfishness
Chapter Thirty-One: Master
Chapter Thirty-Two: Peace
Chapter Thirty-Three: Home
Epilogue
From the Author
An Excerpt from "Unnatural"
Calluvia's Royalty series
Straight Guys series
Glossary
List of Characters
 Book #4 in Calluvia’s Royalty series
Book #1 in Masters series

Alessandra Hazard

Other books in Calluvia’s Royalty series:

Book #1 That Alien Feeling
Book #2 That Irresistible Poison
Book #3 Once Upon a Time

Copyright © 2020 Alessandra Hazard

Editor: Eliot Grayson

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be
reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written
permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review. This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are
the product of the author’s imagination.

www.alessandrahazard.com

Warning: This book contains explicit MM sex and graphic language.

 Prologue

“It’s too early, you dimwit! We can’t kill the brats yet!”
Later, Prince Warrehn would be grateful that he’d decided to answer
the call of nature behind that bush and not any of the others.
But that would be later.
Now the boy stood frozen, not daring to breathe as his own bodyguards
argued about the best time to kill Warrehn and his little brother.
One of the bodyguards was insisting that they should do it now while
they were near the Kavalchi Mountains and communicators didn’t work.
Another bodyguard argued that waiting until dark would be better.
But it was when the third one spoke that Warrehn’s blood went cold.
“The sooner we do it, the sooner Her Excellency pays us.”
Her Excellency.
There were several people that title could refer to, but it wasn’t difficult
to guess who the bodyguard was talking about: Aunt Dalatteya. Warrehn
didn’t want to believe it, but—
But his aunt did have the most to gain if something were to happen to
him and Eri: her own son would inherit the throne.
Trying to suppress his shock, anger, and betrayal—now wasn’t the time
—Warrehn carefully moved away from the bushes, toward
the malfunctioning aircraft where he had left his baby brother. Distantly, he
wondered whether the aircraft was actually malfunctioning. It was
quite convenient that the transport broke in the middle of nowhere, forcing
their bodyguards to make an emergency landing in the Revialli Forest. But
even if the aircraft was in working condition, it would be of no use to him.
It could only be used by a certified pilot; its anti-theft system would never
allow a ten-year-old to fly it, crown prince or not.
 “We’re going to play a game, Eri,” Warrehn whispered, lifting his three-
year-old brother out of the aircraft. “You’ll need to be very quiet, all
right? We’re going to run, and we don’t want them to catch us.”
Eri grinned, his violet eyes wide with excitement, and allowed Warrehn
to gather him into his arms without making a fuss. Thank heaven for small
mercies.
Glancing back warily toward the bushes, Warrehn hugged his baby
brother close to his chest and ran.
He’d never run this fast in his life.
He didn’t know how long he ran. He didn’t even notice when the forest
floor began to slope upward as he neared the mountain. His lungs hurt, his
ribs ached, and the toddler in his arms seemed to become heavier with
every moment. Sharp branches scratched his face and his arms, tearing skin
and leaving bruises, gnarled tree roots tripped him, and his eyes stung with
sweat and angry tears, but Warrehn kept running. Sometimes he thought he
could hear the sounds of pursuit close behind. Leaves rustled and twigs
snapped, but that could be animals going about their business. Warrehn
could only hope.
But before long, Eri started complaining, and then he was crying.
“Shhh. Please, please, don’t cry,” Warrehn whispered
hoarsely, desperation clawing in his chest like a trapped
beast. The sounds of their pursuers seemed closer now, but he couldn’t even
hide, because Eri wouldn’t stop crying.
That was when he heard it: a sound coming from another direction. It
sounded like… an aircar?
Warrehn ran toward the sound.
And there it was, a small aircar passing just over the clearing.
Warrehn waved frantically, trying to attract the attention of the pilot. For
a moment, he thought it was all in vain, but then the aircar turned
back and started landing in the clearing.
It was the longest moment of Warrehn’s life. The bittersweet part was,
he knew that even if the aircar landed before his bodyguards caught up to
them, it wouldn’t save him. That model of aircar was meant for one person;
there would be no place for a tall ten-year-old. Even if he managed to
convince the pilot to lend him the aircar, he wouldn’t be able to fly it: he
didn’t have a license and the car wouldn’t allow him to pilot it without one.
 But the pilot could take Eri. At least his brother would escape. He
would be alive. Warrehn hated the thought of entrusting his brother to a
stranger, but it was his only chance. Their only chance. Without the crying
toddler in his arms, Warrehn would have a better chance of losing his
pursuers in the forest, and then he could come back for Eri.
He ran toward the aircar before it even fully landed. As the door opened,
Warrehn kissed the crying toddler on the forehead, whispering, “I’ll come
back for you,” before shoving Eri into the arms of the pilot—a
young man. “This is Prince Eruadarhd of the Fifth Royal House. There are
people after his life. Take him and hide him until I come back.”
Eri went quiet in the stranger’s arms, looking at him curiously.
“Wait,” the stranger said, but at that moment, there was the sound of
branches breaking, awfully close.
“Go!” Warrehn snapped, closing the aircar’s door. “They’re armed!”
Thankfully, the pilot seemed to take him seriously, and the aircar took
off. Warrehn didn’t wait for it to disappear out of sight. He dove back into
the forest just as his pursuers broke into the clearing. Blaster shots rained
down around him. Warrehn ran, his eyes burning and his chest tight with
anger and loss. Only now had he realized that he had no idea whom he had
given Eri to. All he could remember of the stranger was dark brows and
blue eyes. He had no idea where to find his brother.
I’ll come back for you, he swore. I’ll find you.
If he survived at all.

***

Castien Idhron didn’t like children. They were loud, obnoxious, and
whiny: qualities he had no patience for. He wanted to return the child to the
boy who had so rudely shoved him into Castien’s arms, but the boy had
already disappeared into the forest. He considered landing the aircar, but the
sound of the blaster shots quickly changed his mind.
Besides, if what the boy had claimed was true and the toddler really was
a prince of one of the Calluvian royal houses, refusing to provide assistance
would be more trouble than it was worth, since all members of the P’gni
Order of High Hronthar were supposed to be always willing to help.
 His lips twisting, Castien put the aircar into autopilot and finally studied
the child in his lap. He had to admit that the child in question was
remarkably adorable for a little monster. Chubby cheeks, a golden mop of
hair and huge violet eyes that were looking at Castien with equal curiosity.
Right now, the toddler was quiet, but Castien knew from experience that
it was unlikely to last. When Castien had been a senior initiate, he had spent
too much time teaching the children of the Order, which was where
his dislike for little monsters came from.
“What is your name, child?” he said, forcing his voice to sound nice and
patient. Unfortunately, he wasn’t exactly nice by nature and patience was
something he was still struggling with. No amount of meditation and mental
exercises could completely purge the teenage restlessness and aggression.
Master Kato, the Grandmaster of the Order, said that it was normal for a
seventeen-year-old to struggle with controlling his aggression, but Castien
didn’t need the old Grandmaster’s assurance to know that his peers were far
less disciplined than he was. His lack of control still didn’t please him.
Being just like his peers wasn’t enough; he’d always striven to be better.
Because he was. He was the youngest certified mind adept the Order
had ever produced, the youngest Master Acolyte, and the expectations for
him were higher than for others. Castien didn’t mind. He’d always been a
perfectionist, ambitious and driven, and the goals he’d set for himself were
far higher anyway.
“I’m Eri,” the toddler replied, sucking on his thumb.
Eri. Prince Eruadarhd of the Fifth Royal House.
Frowning, Castien reached out for his multi-device. The aircar was too
close to the Great Mountains and there was no reception for GlobalNet
here, but Castien had a small backup of royal records compiled by the
Order.
When he set the multi-device down some time later, he looked
thoughtfully at the toddler in his lap. He hadn’t truly believed that the child
was a prince, but everything had checked out. The child really seemed to be
Prince Eruadarhd, the three-year-old son of the recently deceased King and
Queen-Consort of the Fifth Grand Clan. The boy who had handed him the
toddler was Crown Prince Warrehn, his older brother. Castien was a little
annoyed that he hadn’t recognized him immediately, but in his defense, it
had all happened so fast and he hadn’t gotten a good look at the boy. Not to
mention that he’d had little interest in the royal children. The High Hronthar
had always stood apart from the twelve royal houses of Calluvia. The Order
did answer to the Council to some extent, but officially, the Order was
forbidden from meddling in politics. Officially.
Castien eyed the child as he considered and discarded different options.
It wasn’t difficult to see who would benefit from the assassination of two
orphaned princes. As things stood, he would gain nothing from delivering
the child to the Fifth Royal Palace, into the waiting arms of his aunt. If the
child’s older brother didn’t survive, Prince Eruadarhd would be in even
greater danger—and more importantly, returning the little prince
prematurely would be just a wasted opportunity.
“You are going to need a new name, little one,” he murmured. No one in
the Order needed to know who this boy was. All they needed to know was
that the orphaned boy had been given to Castien by his relatives, which was
true enough. Castien doubted anyone would question him or even take
interest in the child. They received dozens of orphaned and abandoned
children every month, to train from their early childhood. Castien had been
one, too, after all.
“I’m Eri,” the boy said with a confused little frown. “Don’t want a new
name!”
Castien sighed. It seemed the child was a stubborn one, and a quite
smart one for his age.
“Fine,” he conceded. “You will be Eridan, then.” It fit the nickname, but
it was different enough from the boy’s real name not to raise people’s
eyebrows. If there were no other children with that name in the Order, the
child would be able to keep the name when he was Named.
A voice at the back of his mind, a voice that sounded a lot like his old
Master, whispered, One day your ambition will be your downfall, Castien.
He ignored it, resolved to meditate once he got back to Hronthar. If he
was imagining voices of dead men, clearly meditation was in order.
“What’s your name?” the boy—Eridan—said, looking at him with his
curious violet eyes.
Castien studied him. The boy was behaving suspiciously well for a
three-year-old who had been left with a stranger. Too well. Perhaps…
He brought down his shields and tentatively touched the boy’s mind. A
bright, curious presence reached back. It was strong for such a small boy,
Eridan’s mind untrained but promisingly powerful—and very compatible
with his.
 Castien contemplated it for a moment, frowning, because mental
compatibility had its drawbacks. But he was confident in his self-control.
He was confident he wouldn’t allow some royal brat to emotionally
compromise him. Besides, he had no patience for children. It would be
decades before the little prince would be of use to him. A lot could change
in that time.
For now, he would deliver the child to the Initiates’ Hall and let the
Overseer handle his education until he was old enough.
Decision made, Castien looked at the child and said, “You can call me
Master.”
 Chapter One: First Impressions

Eridan’s earliest memory of his life at the Initiates’ Hall was that of an
unusually cold night.
He was shivering, his small body curled into a tight ball to preserve
warmth. He was so very cold. And so scared.
He could hear other children in the bedroom. Some were snoring softly,
some were crying. But they didn’t make him feel less lonely. They didn’t
make him less scared. Eri wanted to go home. He wanted his soft, warm
bed. He wanted his… someone. He couldn’t remember who he wanted to
see, but he knew something was wrong.
This was all wrong.
He didn’t belong here.
He’d tried to tell that to the tall, stern-faced woman who looked after
the children in this strange, miserable place, but she ignored him.
It took Eri a while to realize that the Overseer ignored him because his
words weren’t any different from other children’s: most of them used to
have homes and families before they ended up in this place for one reason
or another. Of course the Overseer wouldn’t pay Eri any mind. He was no
different from hundreds of other children under her care.
For some reason, the thought was… strange, as if he was supposed to be
something else.
Someone important.

***
 It would take Eridan several years before he would realize that he was
treated differently from the other children after all.
The Overseer seemed to pay extra attention to Eri’s studies, watching
him with her sharp, observant gaze and taking notes on his performance in
class. Senior initiates, who served as teachers to the children, seemed to pay
him extra attention, too, studying him strangely.
Eridan was seven when he finally found out why.
“You are all seven years of age,” Initiate Berunn said, looking at his
class with a haughty, bored expression. “You are now officially junior
initiates. That means Masters can speak to you now. However, you
shouldn’t expect it. Even if it happens, you shouldn’t think that it
necessarily means anything. Generally, at your age, Masters just take note
of promising initiates and track their progress if they find someone of
interest. It will likely be many years, likely more than a decade, before you
are chosen by a Master.” Berunn paused. “If you are chosen at all.”
A feeling of unease swept through the group.
Eridan squirmed, trying to tighten his rudimentary mental shields
against his age-mates’ emotions. He’d always been very sensitive to other
people’s emotions, and unpleasant ones affected him particularly badly.
In the meantime, Initiate Berunn continued. “I know right now you all
think that it can’t happen to you, but the truth is, initiates outnumber
Masters ninety to one.” He leaned forward, his lips curled into something
cruel. “The truth is, most of you will not be chosen by a Master. You will
never be a Master’s apprentice, which means you will never be a Master.
Most of you will end up in the servicing department of the Order, serving
Masters and their apprentices, so unless you want to be help, you should
start applying yourselves now. You’re not children anymore. You’re junior
initiates of the Order. You are all competing against each other for the honor
of being chosen by a Master.”
“Do you have a Master?”
When Berunn looked at him, Eridan realized that he was the one who’d
said that. He flushed.
Berunn’s eyes narrowed. “Not yet,” he said evenly, giving Eridan a hard
look. “But I have been approached by several Masters, and I expect to be
chosen within the next few months.”
Despite his confident, bored tone, Eridan could sense that the older boy
was far from confident. Initiate Berunn was actually feeling… anxious.
 Eridan cocked his head to the side. “When is an initiate too old to be
chosen?”
Berunn’s jaw clenched slightly. “Twenty-one standard years is the cut-
off age. If an initiate isn’t chosen by that age, they will be transferred to the
servicing department of the Order.”
Eridan dropped his gaze, realizing that his question had likely been
taken as a mockery. Berunn definitely couldn’t be much younger than
twenty.
He coughed slightly, not knowing how to make the situation less
awkward. He didn’t want the older initiate to hate him.
“What is the earliest age we can be chosen by a Master?” he said softly,
looking up again.
He had expected that the neutral question would relax Berunn, but
instead, a strong emotion, something angry and bitter, rolled off the older
boy as he glared at Eridan. “You should be careful, Initiate Eridan. Gloating
does not befit a member of the Order.”
Eridan frowned in confusion. “What?” he said. “What do you mean?”
Berunn’s lips twisted into something ugly. “Just because Master Idhron
already preliminarily claimed you, it doesn’t make you better than us,
Eridan. You are still a junior initiate. He might change his mind yet.”
Eridan stared at him, bewildered. What?
But before he could say anything, the class exploded with shouts, other
children’s anger, confusion, and jealousy quickly overwhelming Eridan’s
senses. He whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to protect his
mind from the onslaught, but it was useless. His head started spinning,
nausea rising to his throat, and the next thing he knew, everything was dark.

***

When Eridan opened his eyes, he was in the infirmary, and there was an
unfamiliar Master seated in the chair by his side.
The man’s gaze was on the datapad in his hand, so Eridan took the
opportunity to study him. Straight pale hair tied back, a sculpted face with a
chiseled jaw, a straight nose, and eyebrows much darker than his hair. The
stubble on his face was quite dark, too.
He was very young for a Master, Eridan noted with some surprise. The
man must be in his early to mid-twenties. Eridan would have never thought
such a young man could be a Master, but the heavy black robes with the
Order’s insignia that the man was wearing clearly denoted his rank. Only
Masters could wear them. He wasn’t even a Master Acolyte—he would be
wearing gray robes if that were the case. He was a full-rank Master.
Eridan stared at him in fascination. He hadn’t seen all that many adults
besides the Overseer. The senior initiates that taught children his age were
barely older than children themselves. Eridan knew that as he got older, his
classes would be taught by Master Acolytes, but that hadn’t happened yet.
“You should learn to shield your mind,” the man said, lifting his gaze to
him.
His eyes were deep blue.
Eridan shrugged, looking at him curiously. “I’m seven. We’ll learn
shielding at eight.”
The Master gave him an unimpressed stare. “Correction: mediocre
initiates learn shielding at the age of eight. You should push yourself harder
if you want to be better than just mediocre.”
Eridan opened his mouth and then closed it, uncertain. “Who are you?
Why are you here?”
The man gave him a look that was actually rather unreadable, but
Eridan could feel a spike of irritation coming off him. “I am Castien Idhron.
I would not be here if you had not ended up in the infirmary.”
Eridan’s heart lurched. “You’re my Master?”
Master Idhron’s lips thinned slightly. “Not yet. But I did claim you
preliminarily, so I am the one the healers contact if something happens to
you, so do try not to faint again. My time is of value. I have neither the time
nor patience to coddle children.”
Eridan’s heart dropped. When he’d imagined being chosen as a Master’s
apprentice, he’d always imagined his Master to be someone… kind and
warm, the opposite of this cold-eyed young man.
“Why did you choose me, then?” he said, trying not sound petulant and
hurt, and probably failing, judging by Idhron’s pinched look.
It took the man a moment to reply.
 “You show promise,” he said at last. “If you apply yourself, you will be
a good mind adept one day. If you apply yourself, which I am not sure you
are capable of.”
And with that, Master Idhron stood and strode out of the room.
Eridan stared at his retreating back, annoyance, anger, and hope warring
inside his chest.
But above all, there was determination. Determination to be better, to be
the best.
He would show him.
 Chapter Two: Unwanted

Eleven years later

“Concentration, determination, will: those are the key factors for

mastery of telekinesis,” Master Acolyte Ferev said. “Not all of you will
succeed in my class. In fact, most of you will not succeed. The majority of
telepaths have no talent for this field. Manipulating physical objects is one
of the most difficult abilities to master for a mind adept. In fact, if you do
not possess some natural aptitude for it, telekinesis is not something one can
simply learn by studying.”
Eridan let the instructor’s voice fade into the background as he eyed,
with great trepidation, the rock on the table he shared with Initiate Xhen. He
tried to ignore the smug smirk on the other boy’s face.
“You look scared, Eridan. But then again, I would be, too, if I were as
pathetic as you.”
Eridan clenched his jaw and said nothing. Xhen was a giant prick who
loved the sound of his own voice a little too much. Ignoring him would be
the best response.
But he’s right, isn’t he?
Eridan tried to push the thought away, but he couldn’t quite do it. Over
the past eleven years, he had tried to do better in his studies, he had tried so
hard, but he stood out among his peers for all the wrong reasons: he was too
emotional, too temperamental, too undisciplined. While he had learned
shielding, he was still susceptible to other people’s strong emotions. He was
also terrible at meditating and clearing his mind, the main reason he was
painfully mediocre in every subject they had learned at the Initiates’ Hall so
far.
 He knew he was a disappointment. All his instructors had implied it
countless times. Even when they didn’t say anything, Eridan could often
pick up their general emotions and thoughts.
Wasted potential.
It’s no use being a Class 5 telepath if you can’t be disciplined enough to
actually apply yourself.
They all were wrong. Eridan did apply himself. The problem was, it
didn’t work. His telepathy was too erratic, difficult to control, and prone to
reflecting his emotional state rather than his rational thoughts. Eridan knew
the problem stemmed from his inability to properly meditate and order his
mind. It was one of the first postulates that they learned as initiates: a calm,
orderly mind was a requirement for mastering mind arts. But there was just
too much noise in Eridan’s head. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t
get rid of the noise, so he remained painfully mediocre in all his classes, if
not worse.
Eridan had no reason to think telekinesis would be any different.
“It is not enough to imagine grasping that rock in front of you,” Master
Ferev continued. “Telekinesis does not work like that. You must be able to
sense it, to sense the air around it, the same way you were taught to stretch
your senses to sense other people. You must be able to feel it. It is an
inanimate object, yes, but it is still possible to sense it—and manipulate it if
you have the aptitude for it. Now begin.”
There was a murmur of discontent.
Unlike his peers, Eridan was unbothered by the vague instructions. He
always did better when he could just wing it. Rules and strict instructions
were so damn stifling.
He cautiously stretched his senses and winced, trying to block out his
classmates’ emotions.
“You look constipated. Don’t hurt yourself.”
Eridan gritted his teeth, determined to ignore Xhen. Fuck that dickhead.
“I’ve heard Master Idhron spoke to Initiate Daylinne yesterday. He’ll
probably ditch you for her. No wonder. She isn’t a failure.”
Eridan glowered at the rock, his hands balling into fists. Ignore him,
ignore him, ignore him.
“Your jealousy is showing,” Eridan bit out, pasting on a smile that
probably looked a little feral. “Piss off.”
 Xhen smirked. “Did I hit a nerve? Wait, is that actually true that he
hasn’t come to see you in years? Seriously?” He laughed.
And Eridan’s vision turned red.
The next thing he knew, Xhen was choking, his eyes bulging out as he
tried to breathe, hands wildly grasping at his own throat.
“Initiate Eridan!”
Master Ferev’s voice was like a bucket of cold water.
Eridan flinched and looked around, registering the stares of his
classmates.
He looked back at Xhen, who was taking greedy breaths now that he
wasn’t choking anymore.
Had he… had he done that? Choked Xhen? With his will alone?
With rising trepidation, Eridan lifted his gaze to Master Ferev’s.
The instructor was staring at him. His face was blank, but his emotions
were slipping through the cracks in his shields. Amazement, confusion,
and… apprehension.
Eridan swallowed.
“Class, you are to return to your assignment while I’m gone,” Master
Ferev said at last, still looking at Eridan. “Eridan, with me.”
His stomach in knots, Eridan followed the instructor out of the
classroom.
They walked in silence, Eridan a few steps behind the man, as was
proper. He had his eyes fixed on Master Ferev’s gray robes, his mind racing
as he tried to figure out what had just happened and where Master Ferev
was taking him.
They had already left the school’s building and were walking toward the
Inner Districts of Hronthar.
Eridan frowned, confused and curious in equal measure. In all his years
of living in Hronthar, he’d never been to the Inner Districts. The initiates
and younger children all lived and studied in the town’s Outer District, or
District O, as they called it. Immediately after District O, there was the
largest district, District One, where the servicing department of the Order
was located. The other four districts were for actual members of the High
Hronthar Order: Masters, Master Acolytes, and their apprentices. The
apprentices lived in District Two, with Masters living in the more central
districts. District Five, or simply High Hronthar, was the castle located on
the hill in the center of the town, inhabited only by the Grandmaster of the
Order.
Eridan stared at Master Ferev’s back, wondering if he should ask where
they were going.
A burst of wind made Eridan shiver and cross his arms over his chest,
trying to ward off the chill coming from the surrounding mountains.
Although Calluvia’s climate was artificially controlled and kept warm all
year round, it didn’t feel like it, not up here. Eridan had left Hronthar only a
few times in his life, and each time he was amazed how warm the rest of the
planet was.
It was beautiful up here, though. Hronthar was located in a highland
valley surrounded by mountains and forests. The scenery was breathtaking.
The sun filtering through the ancient trees made Eridan smile a little.
“I wouldn’t be smiling if I were you, Eridan,” Master Ferev said.
Eridan snapped his gaze to him. “What do you mean, Master?”
Master Ferev sighed. He was a man around thirty—pretty young for a
Master Acolyte—so he wasn’t as intimidating as most Masters were.
“What do you think you just did to your fellow initiate?” Master Ferev
said.
Eridan frowned. “I guess I did some form of telekinesis, right?”
Master Ferev laughed.
Eridan stared at him. “Did I say something amusing?” he said in a
bewildered voice.
“Do you know that only one percent of telepaths can do any form of
telekinesis?” Master Ferev said, without looking at him.
They were passing through District Two, and Eridan looked around
curiously. There were all sorts of houses and apartment buildings in here,
ranging in size and luxury. Eridan wondered how the apprentices were
assigned their living accommodations. The rumor said that it depended on
how high-ranking their Master was, but some claimed that it all depended
on how much the Master actually liked their apprentice.
“And?” Eridan said, unsure where Master Ferev was going with this.
“Out of that small number of telepaths capable of telekinesis, only a
fraction can affect the object for more than a few moments. Sustaining the
pressure like you did with your classmate is…” Master Ferev shook his
head. “It is unheard of, even for a Class 5 telepath like yourself.”
 Eridan frowned, not understanding. “I thought it was well known that
high-level telepaths could physically hurt a person?”
Master Ferev got into the t-chamber, gesturing for Eridan to follow him
in. “You are confusing two different things, but it’s not my place to explain
it to you. And frankly, I’m not qualified to deal with this. District Four,” he
told the computer and the transport started moving.
Eridan looked around curiously. The few times he’d used t-chambers in
the past had happened during his excursions to the mainland of Calluvia. In
his understanding, Hronthar’s t-chambers were a little different. Normal t-
chambers couldn’t function in Hronthar, because the korviu deposits in the
mountains caused too much magnetic disturbance to receive a teleporting
chamber from the other parts of Calluvia. Hronthar’s t-chambers had
special modifications that allowed them to jump between the local
addresses of the town, but they couldn’t teleport to the mainland of
Calluvia, either.
Hronthar was effectively an autonomous world within Calluvia. Not that
the rest of the planet had any clue about the town’s existence. As far as
Calluvians were concerned, the High Hronthar was a small order of monks
that inhabited a monastery in the middle of a desert, which, technically, was
true, Eridan supposed. The ancient monastery in the Araal desert in the
foothills of the Kavalchi Mountains was part of the High Hronthar, just a
very small part that the outsiders were allowed to see. A front. The tip of a
giant iceberg. Other Calluvians had no idea that the Order’s main settlement
was located high in the impassable region of the Kavalchi Mountains. The
korviu deposits prevented satellites from scanning the region and
discovering the town.
“Are you sure we’re supposed to be here?” Eridan said as they arrived.
He got out of the t-chamber and looked around curiously. He’d never been
to District Four: the Masters’ district. The atmosphere here was completely
different from the outer districts. The buildings were spaced out, and most
of them were big enough to be called mansions. High above the district,
Eridan could see the spires of High Hronthar, though the clouds obscured
the view of the castle.
“Supposed?” Master Ferev said. “Definitely not. But your Master lives
here.”
Eridan flinched. “You’re taking me to Master Idhron?” He added
belatedly, “And he isn’t my Master.”
 Ferev continued walking, as if he hadn’t heard him.
Scowling, Eridan reluctantly followed him. “He isn’t my Master,” he
repeated. “I haven’t seen him in years.”
“He may not have claimed you yet, but he does have a preliminary
claim on you,” Ferev said. “Unless he cancels it, he might as well be your
Master.”
Eridan pursed his lips. “Don’t I get a say in this? Maybe I don’t want to
be his apprentice.”
Ferev’s head whipped toward him. He stared at Eridan incredulously.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Eridan. Castien is one of the best mind adepts of the
Order—some say he is already the best, despite his age. Most of the
initiates would give their right hand to be his apprentice.”
“Then they’re idiots,” Eridan said with a scoff. “What’s so special about
him anyway? People always talk about him like he’s the next Grandmaster,
but no one ever says why he’s so special and great besides—well, besides
belonging to the Idhron lineage.” The Idhron lineage was one of the oldest
in the Order and famous for producing great Masters.
Master Ferev shook his head a little. “You do realize that I can hardly
gossip with you about my superior, right?”
Eridan rolled his eyes. “Who would I tell? Master Idhron?”
“Regardless,” Ferev murmured, radiating discomfort.
“Oh, come on. It’s not like he’s the Grandmaster. Isn’t he about the
same age as you?”
Ferev gave a tight nod. “We were in the same class as initiates,
actually.”
“Really?” Eridan said, looking at him with interest. “Then why are you
so scared to talk about him?”
Ferev glared at him. “You’re forgetting yourself, Eridan. And I’m not
scared. Has it not occurred to you that I don’t want to gossip about Castien
because I know him well enough to know better?”
Eridan considered it. He still couldn’t imagine being intimidated by one
of his classmates. “You’re a Master, too,” he said with a frown.
“Master Acolyte,” Ferev corrected him. “It doesn’t matter that we’re the
same age. Idhron is still my superior. If you weren’t so laughably naive,
you’d know that age isn’t what guarantees you respect in the Order. There
are full-rank Masters twice my age that treat Castien as deferentially as any
lowly initiate does.”
 Eridan’s forehead wrinkled. “But why?” That was what he didn’t
understand. How could a man who was barely over thirty command so
much respect and fear in the Order?
At first, he thought Ferev wouldn’t answer.
But at last he did, still looking straight ahead. “Castien has always been
different from the rest of us. Every single one of us hated him—and wanted
to be him, because he was perfect in every class. It didn’t make sense,
because he wasn’t even the most naturally gifted telepath in our year: he
was just Class 3.”
Eridan’s mouth fell open. “Master Idhron is just Class 3?” Much weaker
than him?
Ferev smiled. “He was Class 3 when we were seven years old. He was
Class 4 by the time we were eleven. He was Class 5 by the time we were
sixteen. Last I heard, he was Class 6.”
Eridan stared at him in puzzlement. “But that’s not—that’s not
possible!”
“Apparently, it is. Castien has found a way to increase his telepathic
strength—to do what has always been thought to be impossible—and he’s
obviously not sharing how he has done it. It’s understandable that most
people are wary of him. If he could do that, who knows what he’s really
capable of.”
“So that’s why there are all sorts of crazy rumors about him,” Eridan
said, frowning. “I thought they were bullshit.”
“Most of them probably are,” Ferev said. “But at this point, no one can
know for sure.”
He finally stopped in front of the tall gates of a picturesque mansion.
“Please state your name and your business,” said a pleasant female
voice, no doubt an AI.
“Master Acolyte Ferev. I am here to discuss Master Idhron’s claimed
initiate.”
“Master Castien is at High Hronthar,” the AI said.
Ferev’s lips thinned. Eridan felt a spike of frustration and reluctance
coming off him.
“We should just go back to class, then,” Eridan offered, perking up. He
didn’t understand why Master Ferev had been so set on delivering him to
Idhron anyway.
 Ferev gave him a flat look. “Don’t look so pleased, Eridan. If he isn’t
home, it just means we’ll just have to go to High Hronthar. An incident like
that should be reported either to your Master—”
“He isn’t my Master.”
“—or to the Chapter.”
Eridan’s mouth fell open. “The Chapter?” he whispered, blinking. “Eh.
On the other thought, let’s go look for Master Idhron.”
Ferev snorted, heading back to the t-chamber. “Don’t worry, you will
see your Master anyway. He is part of the Chapter, after all.”
Eridan scowled and reluctantly followed his instructor. “Yeah, and that’s
so weird. Who becomes part of the Chapter at thirty? It’s ridiculous!”
“It is not my place to discuss my superiors,” Ferev said evenly, but
Eridan could still feel a surge of jealousy mixed with admiration coming off
him.
Poor man. It must have been hard for him to bow to his former
classmate. Idhron being a full-rank Master must have stung enough, but him
also being a member of the Chapter must have been incredibly hard to
swallow.
The Chapter was the ruling body of the Order. It consisted of twenty-
two senior Masters, with the twenty-third member being the Grandmaster.
There were rumors that members of the Chapter had a different degree of
influence, but obviously lowly initiates were not privy to details. All
everyone knew was that the Chapter consisted of the most powerful Masters
of the Order, though it wasn’t very clear whether “powerful” meant
powerful telepathically or politically. Perhaps both.
Eridan was still mulling it over when the t-chamber arrived at High
Hronthar’s public wing. As far as Eridan knew, this wing of High Hronthar
was the only section of the ancient castle visitors were allowed to enter.
Most of the castle was for the Grandmaster’s personal use.
Their footsteps echoed in the large, empty halls.
Eridan could feel Ferev’s nervousness. Strange, but he seemed more
nervous than Eridan was.
“Why is it so quiet here?” Eridan said, breaking the silence. It felt like a
tomb here. A huge, luxurious tomb, but a tomb, nonetheless. “Where is
everyone?”
“There is likely a session of the Chapter,” Ferev said. “And the current
Grandmaster uses only robots and AI for the upkeep of the castle.”
 “We can still leave,” Eridan said hopefully.
Ferev shot him a sour look. “If I don’t report what happened to the
Chapter, someone else will, sooner or later. And then they will wonder why
I didn’t report it. Wait for me here.” And with that, Ferev disappeared
behind the huge double doors.
Sighing, Eridan sat down in one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs
and prepared to wait.
He didn’t have to wait long.
“Initiate Eridan, they are waiting for you,” an AI’s voice said.
Right.
Eridan stood, wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and went inside.
Behind the double doors, there was a grand circular room decorated in
chrome and black. Twenty-two identical seats were spread out evenly
around the room, with one larger seat placed higher, one level above the
others. There was an old man seated there, his kind, wrinkled face instantly
recognizable: Grandmaster Kato.
Eridan hastily dropped his gaze. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t allowed to
look at any member of the Chapter unless directly addressed. He walked to
the middle of the circle and bowed deeply, his gaze downcast, as he had
been taught—though he had never expected to stand before the Chapter
anytime soon.
“Masters,” he murmured, wondering where Ferev was. It seemed he’d
given his report and left through the other door.
“At ease, Initiate Eridan.”
Eridan straightened but kept his gaze downcast.
“Your instructor has told us most disturbing things, Eridan,” Master
Kato said, not unkindly. “He says you nearly strangled a fellow student to
death, with as little as a thought.”
Eridan pursed his lips but forced himself to stay silent. It hadn’t been a
question. He couldn’t speak until he was directly asked.
“How long have you been hiding this ability?” said a cold voice Eridan
instantly recognized, despite not having heard it in years.
Eridan’s head snapped toward the voice. A part of him, the part that
wasn’t busy glaring at Castien Idhron, was surprised by Idhron’s nerve. He
had spoken without the Grandmaster’s permission, interrupting Kato’s line
of questioning.
And yet, Master Kato didn’t reprimand him.
 “I haven’t been hiding anything,” Eridan replied, lifting his chin.
“Master,” he added as an afterthought.
Judging by the slight narrowing of Idhron’s eyes, he hadn’t missed the
slight.
“Do you mean to say you did not know that you possessed such
power?” Kato said.
Eridan dragged his gaze away from Idhron’s and replied, “I wasn’t
aware I could do it at all.”
There was a murmur among the Masters.
“That is clearly a lie,” Master Tethru said. “And I’m surprised you were
oblivious to your apprentice’s questionable talents, Castien. How remiss of
you.”
A strange, tense silence descended upon the room.
Eridan looked between Master Tethru and Master Idhron.
The latter’s eyes were fixed on Master Tethru with a flat expression.
“The boy is not my apprentice yet, and may never become one,” he said
evenly. “And I have more important matters that require my attention than
being interested in little boys.”
Eridan’s hands clenched into fists. But despite his anger, he could sense
an underlying meaning in Idhron’s words. They weren’t carelessly spoken.
Tethru’s lips thinned and he gave Idhron a glare, his telepathic aura
seething with his hatred.
Eridan blinked. Wait, was Idhron actually hinting at…?
“Castien is indeed not responsible for the boy yet,” Grandmaster Kato
cut in, breaking the tension. “Your criticism is unwarranted, Tethru.”
Another Master, a regal elderly woman whose name Eridan had
forgotten, spoke up. “Perhaps he should be, Grandmaster,” she said. “It is
high time for Castien to take responsibility for the boy, especially if the boy
is showing such… interesting talents.”
Eridan suppressed a scowl. Not that he expected the Chapter to ask for
his opinion, but he had no desire to be Idhron’s responsibility when the
bastard hadn’t spared a thought for him in eleven years—and judging by the
spike of irritation he could feel from Idhron, still didn’t.
“We cannot force a Master to take on an apprentice before they feel
ready,” Grandmaster Kato said, frowning slightly.
The female Master looked from Eridan to Idhron. “True,” she conceded.
“But perhaps Castien should release his preliminary claim on the boy, then.
Another Master might choose the boy and give him the guidance he clearly
needs.”
Eridan’s heart jumped. Although he didn’t want to be Idhron’s
apprentice, if Idhron actually canceled his preliminary claim on him…
Eridan could already hear the gleeful, gloating comments other initiates
would make. The mere thought turned his stomach.
“Indeed,” Master Tethru said, giving Eridan a long look that made
Eridan more than a little uneasy. Tethru’s shields were impeccable now, so
Eridan couldn’t sense his emotions, but Idhron’s earlier insinuations were
difficult to forget.
“What do you say, Castien?” the Grandmaster said.
Idhron’s expression was impassive. He didn’t even glance at Eridan, as
if he wasn’t worth his attention. “If it is your wish for me to claim the boy,
of course I will, Master,” he said, addressing the Grandmaster. The
respectfulness of his tone contradicted the coldness of his gaze.
He’s a two-faced snake, Eridan realized, looking at Idhron with a mix of
fascination and disgust. A liar, and an excellent one.
Master Kato smiled at Idhron. “Good, Castien. I had no doubt that you
would not let me down. You never have.”
Idhron bowed his head in a manner that was probably supposed to be
respectful but looked more like a haughty dismissal.
Eridan watched him curiously. Idhron had changed in the years Eridan
hadn’t seen him. Gone were the last traces of the young adult Idhron had
been; he was an adult now, a man in every sense of the word. His shoulders
were clearly broader under his black robes. If he were a shorter man, Idhron
would be called stocky, but his impressive height made his muscles less
noticeable. His facial features were much harder now too.
At that moment, Idhron turned his head and looked straight at him.
“Very well. I will take the boy on a probationary apprenticeship for a year.
If he impresses, I will take him on as my apprentice.”
Eridan was so busy glaring at Idhron—he hated being called “boy” and
hated being talked about as if he wasn’t in the room—that it took him a
moment to register what Idhron had just said.
Wait, what?
A probationary apprenticeship?
Eridan flushed with utter humiliation. Probationary apprenticeships
were considered insulting. They were incredibly rare. Usually the Master
either took on an apprentice or didn’t, no probationary period required.
Eridan didn’t think he could hate that prick more, but Idhron was
rapidly proving him wrong.
“That is not what I meant,” the female Master said, frowning at Idhron.
“Such a powerful boy needs a Master, Castien. If you do not want to be one,
let someone else claim him.”
Idhron’s inscrutable expression didn’t change. “If I do not claim him in
a year, someone else can, Master Amara.”
The female Master—Amara, apparently—glared at him. “You know as
well as I do that no Master will claim someone who has failed as another
Master’s apprentice.”
“That is hardly my concern,” Idhron said.
Eridan took in a deep breath. He would not choke Idhron in front of the
Chapter. He would not choke Idhron. Maybe if he repeated that often
enough in his mind, he would believe it.
He looked at Grandmaster Kato, hoping that he would interfere, that he
would forbid Idhron from making him serve a probationary apprenticeship,
but the old man was silent. Most of the other Masters had their gazes
downcast. It seemed all the rumors of Idhron already having immense
influence over the Chapter were true.
“It is decided, then,” Grandmaster Kato said at last. “You are dismissed
from today’s session, Castien. I am sure you will have your hands full with
your new learner.”
A muscle pulsed in Idhron’s jaw. He gave a jerky nod and strode out of
the room.
After a moment, Eridan followed.
 Chapter Three: Negotiations

“You could have just refused if you didn’t want me as your apprentice,”
Eridan said as he caught up to Idhron.
Idhron continued walking. He didn’t even glance at him.
Eridan gritted his teeth, his temper flaring.
“It has been years,” Idhron said, looking straight ahead. “Have you not
learned mental shields yet?”
Eridan glared at him, a hot flush of embarrassment spreading through
his face. “I have,” he said, lifting his chin.
“Have you,” Idhron said flatly. “You are projecting your emotions so
strongly they are testing even my shields, and my shields are perfect.”
“Of course they are,” Eridan muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.
They walked in silence for a while.
When they entered the t-chamber, Idhron told the computer their
destination and finally said, “I do not remember ever saying that I did not
want you as my apprentice.”
Eridan scowled, looking down at his boots. “You didn’t need to say that.
Actions speak louder than words. You have ignored me for eleven years.”
He felt a flicker of irritation coming off Idhron as they left the t-
chamber. “It has nothing to do with you. I am a busy man. I do not have
time for children.”
Eridan flushed. “I’m eighteen. I’m not a child!”
Idhron finally turned to him and gave him a pointed a look.
Eridan glowered at him, his face warming. All right, maybe he wasn’t
exactly being mature right now, but still, his point stood.
“I am not talking about your age,” Idhron said. “Age does not equal
maturity. I was seventeen when I became a Master Acolyte.”
 Eridan tried to hide his amazement. A Master Acolyte at seventeen?
Way to make someone feel inadequate.
“I am not telling you this to make you feel inadequate. I am telling you
this to show you that you could have achieved far more by your age instead
of being an emotional, temperamental child.”
Eridan looked at him suspiciously. “Are you reading my mind?”
“I hardly need to,” Idhron said, pausing long enough to let the security
scanner do its job. The gates unlocked and he gestured for Eridan to follow
him inside. “Your every emotion is written on your face, which only proves
my point.”
Eridan frowned. Absent-mindedly, he registered the spacious front yard
of the handsome mansion, but his attention was entirely on the man walking
slightly ahead of him.
“So you don’t actually hate me?” he found himself saying, his voice
smaller than he would have liked.
Idhron’s expression became rather pinched. He pushed the front door
open.
Eridan followed him into the house, into the large living room.
Idhron turned to Eridan with a slight frown on his face.
“I do not know where you got the idea that I hate you. First of all, I do
not know you enough to hate you. Second, if I hated you, I would not have
chosen you out of hundreds of initiates. I chose you because you showed
promise as a child. But your progress has not been as good as I hoped. That
is why I am making you serve a probationary apprenticeship.” He looked
Eridan in the eye, his gaze stern but not unkind. “It is not a slight, Eridan. I
want to help you improve, but I am a busy man, and I cannot commit
myself to an apprentice who may not suit me.”
Looking down, Eridan chewed on his bottom lip. That sounded…
reasonable. Could it be possible that he had been wrong about Idhron and
he was actually a good, kind Master?
But just as he thought it, he knew it was wrong. It was too good to be
true, considering what he’d observed of Castien Idhron.
Eridan lifted his gaze and said, “You’re lying.”
“Pardon?” Idhron said.
Eridan crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the man. “You can
drop this kind act. I’m not buying it. I always know when people lie to me.”
That was a lie, but there were telepaths that had such a gift, and how would
Idhron know that Eridan wasn’t one of them?
Idhron stared at him for a moment before something shifted in his
expression, any trace of kindness disappearing from his face. “Is that so?”
he said, eyeing Eridan with a strange new intensity. He seemed to somehow
become larger and taller.
The hairs at the back of Eridan’s neck stood on end. He suddenly felt
like he was in a room with a predator, dangerous and unpredictable.
“Yes,” he said, squashing down the urge to run away from this room,
from this man, as far as possible.
Idhron’s blue eyes seemed to sharpen. For the first time since meeting
him, Eridan felt like he actually had become something interesting to
Idhron. “You are a liar, too,” Idhron said, walking over. He gripped Eridan’s
chin and lifted it to make him look him in the eye. “You do not possess such
a talent.”
Eridan shivered, his stomach in knots. “Maybe not, but I can choke the
life out of you if you try to do something to me.”
Idhron smiled. It was a smile that seemed to lack any sort of emotion
besides cold amusement. “You do show promise, after all,” he said, letting
go of Eridan’s chin. “Sit down.”
It was impossible not to obey that voice.
Eridan sat down on the couch, a little glad to do so, because his knees
were shaking.
He stared up at this imposing man, who looked back at him with an
unreadable expression.
The silence stretched.
“Very well,” Idhron said at last. “I will speak frankly with you.”
Eridan looked at him skeptically but didn’t voice his doubts.
“I really do not ‘hate’ you,” Idhron said. “I do not ‘hate’ anyone. Hate is
an emotion. Emotions are a liability, and I have eradicated most of them.”
Eridan stared at him.
Was he serious? He really didn’t feel emotions? Why? How was that
even possible?
Master Idhron walked to the window. “Have you not been told by your
instructors that emotions interfere with your control over your telepathy?”
Eridan nodded, frowning. “Yes, but none of my instructors have ever
implied that eradicating emotions was something to strive for.”
 “For them, it isn’t,” Idhron said, gazing outside. “Most Masters do not
think that emotions are a big liability. They are wrong.”
“But how can you know that?”
Idhron turned away from the window and met his gaze. “The fact that I
am a Class 7 telepath is proof enough.”
Distantly, Eridan was aware he was gaping.
Class 7?
Idhron was Class 7?
“You are a Seven?” he breathed out. “But how— No one said you were
a Seven.”
“It is not something I advertise,” Idhron said, shrugging. “But the
Grandmaster and the Chapter are aware of it.”
Eridan licked his lips and leaned forward. “Can you really kill people
with your mind?” he whispered, his heart beating faster. A freaking Seven,
holy shit. There were no Class 7 telepaths on the planet, as far as everyone
knew.
The look Idhron gave him was extremely unimpressed. “Even if I could,
I would hardly tell you that, initiate. And that is beside the point.”
Right. What was the point?
Eridan forced himself to stop fixating on the mind-blowing fact that he
was in a room with a Seven and rewound their conversation in his
head. “Wait, do you mean that you’re a Seven because you don’t have
emotions? How is that even connected?”
Master Idhron eyed him for a moment before saying, “What I am about
to tell you cannot leave this room.”
It was a statement, but Eridan nodded anyway, looking at Idhron
curiously.
“Every telepath has an area of their brain dedicated to telepathy,” Idhron
said.
Eridan nodded, glad that he actually knew what Idhron was talking
about. “Yes, the atheus.”
“Indeed,” Idhron said, and for the first time since Eridan had met him,
there was something like faint approval in his gaze.
Eridan scowled, annoyed with himself for feeling a little pleased.
“The size of one’s atheus determines the strength of one’s telepathy,”
Idhron said. “That is why higher-level telepaths are so rare: it is extremely
rare that one is born with a large enough atheus. But what is not widely
known is that it is possible to make your telepathy stronger. Just like any
muscle, one’s atheus can be grown by training it.”
Eridan frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense. If it were true, everyone
would become a high-level telepath.”
“No, because most people lack the discipline and do not wish to
sacrifice what they see as essential.” Idhron’s lips curled into a derisive
smile. “They value their emotions too much.”
Eridan felt puzzled. “But why do you have to sacrifice your emotions?”
Idhron gave him a surprisingly patient look. “The brain’s capacity is not
unlimited. If one is not born a high-level telepath, increasing the size of
one’s atheus comes at a price. It can be increased only at the expense of
another part of the brain. Sacrificing the capacity for one’s useless emotions
and feelings makes the most sense.”
Eridan stared at this cold-eyed man and realized with a fascinated sort
of horror that Idhron really didn’t understand that the capacity to feel was
what made one a sentient being. He wondered if there had been time Idhron
understood that he was losing something essential in pursuit of more power.
If there had been, it clearly was no longer the case. The man in front of him
was something of a sociopath now, unable to understand or feel deep
emotions. It was both disturbing and fascinating.
“Do you expect me to give up emotions, too?” Eridan said with a
laugh. “Because I can tell you right now that isn’t likely.”
Idhron studied him. “It is not something I expect from you, but it is
something I expect you to make an honest effort to learn. If you do learn it,
good. If you do not, it does not matter. You are a Class 5 telepath. It is good
enough.”
Eridan smiled wryly. He couldn’t help but think that Idhron just didn’t
want him to become as powerful as him.
Idhron pinned him with a stern look, walking back to him. “What I will
demand of you is hard work and loyalty. You will do everything I say, no
exceptions.”
“If you wanted blind obedience, you picked the wrong initiate,” Eridan
said with a smile. “I have never been all that good at following the rules.”
Idhron narrowed his eyes. “Then you will learn,” he said coldly. “Or I
will cast you aside, and no other Master will choose a cast-off.”
Eridan glared at him, his good humor vanishing. He felt that sickening
lurch in his stomach again, the edges of his vision turning red as his hand
clenched into a fist. He knew what was about to happen, but this time he let
it. He imagined choking the life out of that asshole, imagined the life fading
out of his emotionless eyes—
And yet, nothing happened.
Idhron’s gaze turned positively icy. He said softly, “Lesson one: never
make an attempt on someone’s life if you cannot actually accomplish it and
not get caught.”
Eridan swallowed and looked down.
“Lesson two.” Idhron gripped Eridan’s chin hard and yanked his face up
to meet his eyes. “Your actions were extremely foolish and short-sighted,
given that you know that I am a stronger telepath than you. What were you
hoping to accomplish with this pathetic attempt at attacking me?”
“You made me angry.”
“I did,” Idhron said, looking unfazed. “And it was a test. One that you
failed.”
Eridan wet his dry lips. “What do you mean?”
Idhron held his gaze. “Getting rid of your emotions may not be a
requirement, but it does not mean I will not expect you to learn how to
control them. Your anger is a liability. I cannot teach you how to control
this curious gift you possess, but I can teach you how to control your anger,
so that your emotions do not control you. Unchecked emotions can be a
great weakness, Eridan. My apprentice should be smarter than that. If you
get angry with someone more powerful than you—socially, politically, or
telepathically—the right reaction would be to feign subservience and wait
until you become powerful enough to destroy them.”
Goosebumps ran down Eridan’s spine. There was something about the
way Idhron said that…
A nervous laugh bubbled up from his chest. “So I should have just
sucked up to you and plotted your death behind your back? Is that what
you’re saying?”
Idhron inclined his head. “Essentially. You will learn that to survive in
the High Hronthar’s social climate, you will have to do quite a bit
of ‘sucking up,’ Eridan. It has always been that way.”
Eridan looked at him skeptically. He couldn’t imagine this haughty, cold
man acting subservient.
As if reading his thoughts, Idhron said, “Yes, I did it, too. And I still do
it, to a degree, with the Chapter and the Grandmaster.”
 Eridan snorted, thinking back to the Chapter meeting he had seen. “If
that was you being subservient, you didn’t fool anyone, Master.”
Idhron’s lips twitched. “At this point, I do not need them to buy it,
Eridan. They are happy enough that I am still willing to keep up the
appearance of them controlling me.”
“But why?”
“You will learn that using people’s fear is always a balancing act. You
cannot make them too afraid or they will unite against you to bring you
down. I might be a Class 7 telepath, but I am only one man. Even I will not
be able to protect myself if twenty-two other members of the Chapter
decide that I am too dangerous. Hence the balancing act.”
Eridan’s brows drew together. “You are being very candid,” he said
suspiciously. “I’m certain you don’t trust me, so why are you being so
open?”
He felt something like cold amusement coming off Idhron.
“I’m glad you are smart enough to realize that,” Idhron said, his fingers
releasing Eridan’s chin and sliding along his jawline until they eventually
settled just below his left ear, almost touching Eridan’s telepathic point.
Eridan shivered, his body tense as he watched Idhron warily.
“You understand that I cannot trust you without any additional
assurances,” Idhron said. “Therefore, I will have to create a bond between
us.”
“What?” Eridan whispered, his eyes widening. Although a telepathic
bond between a Master and an apprentice was nothing unusual, it was
unheard of to form a bond with an initiate the Master hadn’t yet claimed. If
Idhron really cast him aside, no other Master would ever choose him. He
truly would be considered used goods. Eridan had always thought that it
was unfair that Masters only wanted apprentices with untouched telepathic
cores, but it was what it was.
“You can’t do that,” Eridan said, his heart beating faster. “I’m not your
apprentice yet.”
“Unless you want me to erase your memory of this conversation, you
will allow me that,” Idhron said, watching him with a strange
expression. “It is your choice, Eridan.”
Eridan glared at him, knowing that it wasn’t a choice at all. Although he
was apprehensive about allowing this man inside his mind, the other option
was even worse. He didn’t want his memories to be messed with, especially
by a Class 7 telepath. A bond seemed like the lesser evil.
“All right,” he said reluctantly.
Idhron pressed his thumb against his telepathic point, and Eridan
shivered again, something in him lurching, needing. “What is that?” he said,
looking at the Master suspiciously.
“Our minds are very compatible,” Idhron said in distaste. “It is
unfortunate, but there is nothing we can do about it.”
Eridan was confused. “Isn’t mental compatibility good for bonding?”
Idhron’s telepathic presence became rather sour. “Usually, yes. But a
higher mental compatibility also means a higher emotional transference. I
didn’t eradicate my emotions just to be subjected to yours.”
“It’s not like you don’t feel emotions at all,” Eridan said, scoffing. “I
can sense when you get annoyed, for example.”
Idhron looked at him flatly. “Your sensitivity to other people’s emotions
is just unusually high. And it is not as though I do not feel emotions at all.
My capacity for them is simply very limited, and the emotions I do feel are
very fleeting and shallow, like mild annoyance. I am not capable of strong,
lasting emotions that distract people like you. Now be quiet.” Idhron’s gaze
became a little unfocused. “I am going to establish the bond now. Do not
resist.”
Eridan did his best to bring his mental shields down and relax, but he
still gasped as he felt Idhron slip inside his mind. It felt… strange. Invasive
and intense, but weirdly good, too. He trembled as Idhron’s mental presence
touched his pulsing telepathic core and wove itself around it. Oh. This felt
absurdly pleasurable. Eridan could feel a golden thread start forming around
his core, connecting their minds: the bond. No one had told Eridan bonds
felt so good.
“Because they do not always do,” Idhron’s voice said in his head,
startling him. “My training bond to my former Master did not feel like this.
We were not so compatible.”
Eridan could sense that he didn’t consider that a flaw, as opposed to the
bond between them, which was clearly flawed, in Idhron’s opinion.
Eridan rolled his eyes. For some weird reason, he felt a lot more relaxed
around Castien Idhron now that he had him in his mind.
“It is the bond,” Idhron informed him, unprompted. “It provokes a false
sense of ease and intimacy. I advise you not to trust that feeling.”
 “Yes, our bond is horrible and disgusting—I get it,” Eridan told
him. “It’s a pity you’ll have to live with it.”
“Don’t get cheeky with me, Eridan,” Idhron said before pulling out of
his mind.
Eridan swallowed his disappointment, the feeling of ease and closeness
disappearing.
He opened his eyes and was momentarily disoriented, looking at
Idhron’s closed-off, icy exterior. Not that Idhron had felt warm in his mental
landscape, but he definitely hadn’t felt cold, either. He had seemed
more… approachable when they had communicated mentally. The man
Eridan was looking at didn’t look approachable in the slightest.
“It is done,” Idhron said. He frowned. “Since your apprenticeship is
probationary, you cannot be granted a residence in District Two yet.
They are only for registered apprentices. But you cannot stay in the Outer
District, either. It is too far and constantly fetching you would become
tiresome very fast.” His lips thinned. “You will have to live here for now.”
Eridan blinked. “Here? You want me to live with you?”
“Master,” Idhron stated, his eyes narrowing.
“What?” Eridan said, confused.
“You will always address me as Master now. I have had enough of your
impudence. And to answer your question, yes. You will stay here. There are
more than enough rooms in my house for your presence not to be too
bothersome.”
“I’m starting to wonder why you wanted an apprentice at all,” Eridan
said with a humorless laugh. “If I’m nothing but an inconvenience to you.”
Idhron gave him a long look Eridan couldn’t read at all. “I am not an
unreasonable man, Eridan,” he said at last. “Prove your worth to me, and
you will not be an inconvenience.” He glanced at his watch. “I am departing
for the Deniz Colony of the First Grand Clan in less than an hour. I will be
gone for three or four days. Make yourself at home while I am gone.”
“You mean… You mean I can pick any room I want?”
Idhron paused and looked back at him.
Eridan suddenly felt awfully transparent. Well, he probably was,
considering that the other man was a Class 7 telepath who had direct access
to Eridan’s mind.
“You may choose any bedroom but mine,” Idhron said after a moment.
His gaze swept over Eridan’s clothes. “And have my servant order you new
clothes. Initiates’ robes are no longer suitable for you. Although you cannot
yet wear apprentices’ robes, you will need a new set of clothes in neutral
colors. My apprentice cannot look shabby.”
Eridan flushed, feeling a little humiliated. Although he took great care
of his clothes, there was no hiding the fact that they were hand-me-downs
from numerous other initiates that had worn them before him.
“All right, Master,” he said, swallowing his pride. It was difficult. His
pride had always been one of his greatest flaws. Eridan didn’t even know
why he was so proud. Sometimes he thought that his birth family might
have been noble, though he hadn’t been able to confirm it. The information
on the birth families of the initiates usually wasn’t included in their records,
and Eridan only knew he had been a three-year-old when he was brought to
Hronthar. He remembered next to nothing from his life before the Order and
what little he could remember he didn’t trust, because it made little sense.
When the silence stretched and Idhron was still standing there, looking
at him expectantly, Eridan scowled, realizing what the man was waiting
for.
“You’re not officially my Master yet,” he grumbled, pouting.
The look Idhron gave him was uncompromising. “I will not demand it
every time we part, but you must get used to doing it while we are in public.
I do not tolerate disrespect, and it would be taken as a sign of disrespect by
others if you do not behave like a good apprentice should.”
Sighing, Eridan took the few steps that separated them, dropped to his
knees, and bowed his head. “Master. May you have safe travels.”
He didn’t lift his eyes, waiting for Idhron’s reaction. The High
Hronthar’s etiquette was—unnecessarily, in Eridan’s opinion—complicated.
Some Masters were more lenient, but Masters from old, traditional lineages
like Idhron usually followed the old customs. There were a number of ways
the Master could respond to a traditional farewell, depending on the Master-
apprentice relationship and how much the Master valued their apprentice.
He cringed a little on the inside, expecting that Idhron might make him
kiss the hem of his black robe, or worse, his boots—customs that were
considered outdated and unnecessarily demeaning by modern High
Hronthar’s standards, but still largely acceptable, especially if the Master
and the apprentice didn’t have the best relationship.
But to his relief, Idhron offered him his ring.
Eridan brushed his lips against the black gemstone and looked up.
 Blue eyes were watching him with an unreadable, fixed expression.
Something clenched in Eridan’s stomach.
“Thank you, Eridan,” his Master said.
As Idhron retrieved his hand, the tips of his fingers brushed against
Eridan’s chin, and Eridan shivered as his telepathic presence surged
forward, trying to draw his Master in, the bond between them pulsing with
need.
Idhron’s lips thinned slightly. “You will work on your shields while I am
gone,” he said before striding out of the house.
Eridan didn’t know how long he stayed there, on his knees, looking
blankly at the spot where his Master had just been.
Shields. Right.
 Chapter Four: Tests

Master Idhron’s servant was a young man called Javier. He was just five
years older than Eridan and was a pleasant, no-nonsense kind of person.
“How long have you been serving him?” Eridan asked curiously as he
and Javier ordered new clothes online.
“Just a few months,” Javier said, brushing his hair back.
He was a good-looking guy, Eridan thought. They looked a little alike,
actually. Javier’s hair was darker, and his face was a little rounder, but their
features and builds were similar enough for them to be mistaken for
relatives.
“What is it like?” Eridan said, curious despite himself. Everyone always
said how terrible it was not to be claimed by a Master and become a
member of the servicing department of the Order, but Eridan had never
actually spoken to a servant. There were no servants in the Outer District.
All he knew about servants was that they could specialize in a vast variety
of fields, some more important than others.
Javier shrugged. “It’s all right. Master Idhron is a decent enough
employer. He’s demanding, but I’ve had worse.”
“What do you mean?”
Javier made a face. “My previous employer wanted me to perform
services I don’t specialize in, services I didn’t want to perform, and I had to
file a complaint.”
Eridan cringed. “You mean they wanted you to service them sexually?”
Javier laughed. “That wasn’t the issue—I am a pleasure servant first,
after all. The problem was, she wanted me to perform acts I didn’t agree
with in my contract with her.”
Eridan opened his mouth and closed it.
 “You’re a pleasure servant?” he whispered at last, wide-eyed. If Javier
was a pleasure servant, that meant… “You have sex with Master Idhron?!”
Javier laughed at his expression. “Gods, you’re such a kid. Of course I
do. That’s my job.”
Eridan could only stare at him.
He didn’t know why he felt so floored. Every initiate knew that Masters
of the Order weren’t actually monks, as the rest of the planet thought of
them. After all, pleasure servants existed in Hronthar for a reason. But
Eridan still couldn’t wrap his mind around Master Idhron doing something
as undignified and emotional as having sex. It just seemed… wrong.
“Why would you even want to be a pleasure servant?” Eridan said, and
then flushed. “No offense.”
Javier shrugged. “None taken. But why wouldn’t I want to be one? It’s a
good job, and mostly pleasant.” He rolled his silver-gray eyes. “Unless
you’re stupid enough to fall in love with your employer. Then it obviously
sucks when they cast you aside for a shiny new toy, which always happens
eventually.”
Eridan listened to him talk about sex and love with a very surreal
feeling. He wasn’t as innocent as Javier thought—everyone in the Initiates’
Hall had at least some idea about sex—but he still couldn’t imagine offering
his body for a living. Even if the apprentice thing didn’t work out and he
was transferred to the servicing department of the Order, Eridan would have
never chosen being a pleasure servant as his profession. He could work in
the security department, as a memory-wiping specialist—he was decent
enough at erasing memories. Or maybe in the administrative department.
There were always Masters in need of stewards to manage their off-world
estates.
But a pleasure servant? Something about it turned Eridan’s stomach, the
same something that always made him too proud, the same something that
said I’m better than that.
Immediately, he was ashamed of his thoughts. Javier seemed like a nice
guy. Eridan wasn’t better than him.
He still couldn’t imagine Master Idhron doing something as emotional
as having sex.
“So, what is he like?” he said before he could stop himself.
Javier gave him an amused look. “You do realize that there’s a non-
disclosure clause in my contract, right?”
 Eridan chuckled. “Please. There are ways around it. You can still talk in
vague terms.”
The other guy rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I’m afraid I have
nothing juicy to share. He doesn’t even use me often enough.” He looked
vaguely affronted. “I think he finds sex a waste of his time, just a physical
function he has to deal with. He always looks like he has a million things on
his mind, more important than whatever I’m doing.”
Yeah, that sounds more like Castien Idhron, Eridan thought wryly,
though he blushed, imagining his Master sitting with a bored, haughty look
on his face as Javier sucked his—
Ugh. Why was he even thinking about it?
He really needed to work on his shields now.

***

Eridan looked in the mirror, eyeing himself critically. The clothes were
a good fit. They were made in the traditional style for apprentices; except
they were in white and brown colors instead of the shades of blue the
apprentices wore.
Eridan looked at his shoulder-length hair and scrunched up his nose. He
had never liked how wavy his hair became the longer it got, but initiates
weren’t allowed to tie their hair back. When—if—he became Idhron’s
apprentice officially, his Master would braid a thaal into his hair, which
would mark him as a claimed apprentice.
But for now, Eridan couldn’t do anything about his hair.
Fuck, he detested this hairstyle. It made him look… effeminate. Not that
there was anything wrong with looking effeminate, but it had always made
his life harder at the Initiates’ Hall. Being a throwback, a male who
produced natural lubrication when he was aroused, had always made him an
easy target for crude jokes about his “boy-pussy”—seriously, if Eridan
didn’t hear that word for another century, it would be too soon—but being
pretty just added insult to the injury.
 At least his classes with other initiates would be limited now, which was
the only good thing about the situation.
Eridan went still as something at the back of his mind tugged.
Oh.
Idhron was finally back.
Wetting his lips nervously, Eridan headed downstairs.
In the past four days since he’d moved into Idhron’s mansion, he’d
gotten used to it and could navigate it easily despite its size. Truth be told,
he already felt more at home in this mansion than he had ever felt in his
dormitory despite living there for most of his life. Something about living in
such a huge house felt… right.
Shaking off the strange thought, Eridan left the house and stopped on
the porch, choosing it as the middle ground between waiting for his Master
inside the house or at the gates. Waiting inside the house would be
considered too disrespectful, but he cringed at the thought of waiting for
Idhron at the gates like a domesticated animal for its owner. So the porch it
was. Eridan hoped Idhron wouldn’t get too offended. Idhron didn’t seem
like a stickler for stupid traditions just for the sake of it, but who knew what
kind of mood he was in after his trip.
But there was no reward without a risk. These first days of his
probationary apprenticeship would set the entire tone of his relationship
with his Master. He had no intention of being a pushover. He might make
Idhron displeased, but Eridan wanted to test the boundaries, to test how far
he could actually push them.
He kept his gaze down, but he didn’t need to see Idhron to feel him
approach. It was the strangest feeling. The bond that tied them seemed to
tighten and vibrate the closer his Master got. Eridan caught his bottom lip
between his teeth, breathing evenly, in and out. In and out.
As Idhron’s shiny black boots came into view, Eridan dropped to his
knees fluidly and said, “Master. Was your trip fruitful?”
A hand took his chin and tipped it up.
Blue eyes swept over his new clothes before focusing back on his
face. “It was,” he said. “I see you worked on your shields in my absence.”
Eridan nodded and dropped his gaze, the tips of his ears burning. The
desire to hide his conversation with Javier from Idhron had been a good
incentive.
 “Shall we test them, then?” Idhron said mildly, his thumb moving along
Eridan’s jawline until it was pressed against Eridan’s telepathic point.
Eridan shuddered, the bond between them pulsing with need.
“Not good enough,” Idhron stated.
Was it his imagination or did Idhron really sound a little breathless?
“I’m sorry, Master,” Eridan said, glaring at the wooden floor of the
porch. “I will try harder.”
Idhron released his chin. “You will,” he said. He headed inside the
house, clearly expecting Eridan to follow him. He did, of course.
Idhron led him toward his study. Along the way, Eridan quietly
instructed the house’s AI to have Idhron’s favorite meals delivered as soon
as possible from the kitchens. Personally, Eridan always found himself in a
better mood if his stomach was full, and he hoped that was true for his
Master, too.
Idhron sat in the chair behind his desk and gestured for Eridan to take
the seat to his right.
Eridan did as he was told and folded his hands in his lap, the picture of a
perfect apprentice.
Judging by Idhron’s narrowed eyes, he only managed to make him
suspicious.
“Have you done the assignment?” Idhron said.
Eridan pouted, thinking about the message he had received from Idhron
a few days ago. “About that. I’ve never heard of Masters assigning their
apprentices homework. I still have initiates’ classes I have to attend, you
know.”
Idhron didn’t look sorry for him. “Have you?” he said, his tone colder.
Eridan sighed. So whining his way out of doing homework wasn’t a line
Idhron would allow him to push. More was the pity, but good to know.
“I have, Master,” he said, smiling innocently when Idhron gave him a
hard, assessing look. “Thanks, by the way. I had lots of fun doing those
tasks.”
He had expected Idhron to be angry—or his unemotional version of it,
anyway—for attempting to play him, but the older man’s gaze seemed
almost… appreciative?
“Did you now,” Idhron said without much inflection.
Eridan nodded, trying to squash down the urge to impress him. What
was wrong with him? It wasn’t about impressing Idhron. Or rather, it wasn’t
about impressing Idhron for the sake of impressing him. He wanted to be
promoted to a real apprentice. That was the goal. Nothing else.
“I wasn’t sure what to do at first,” Eridan admitted. “You just told me to
learn five other people’s secrets without getting caught, and I wasn’t sure
what method you wanted me to use. And I’ve never been good at reading
people’s minds, so I was a little bit frustrated.” That was putting it mildly.
He had been fuming that Idhron had set him up to fail. It wasn’t as though
Idhron didn’t have access to his academic records and couldn’t see his poor
marks in mind reading. But when he calmed down, he had realized that
Idhron wanted to see how he would handle such a task. It was another test.
A test Eridan hoped he had passed.
“So I used your reputation,” Eridan said, watching his Master’s reaction
carefully. “All the initiates are scared of you. All I had to do was imply that
I wanted to enter their minds on your orders, and that if they resisted, you
would not be pleased.” He nearly laughed, remembering the other initiates’
faces at that threat. Eridan had picked the most horrible initiates he had
known, ones that always bullied throwbacks and younger children. He
couldn’t deny that he’d taken pleasure in scaring those assholes
shitless. “They let me enter their minds, obviously, and after I learned their
most embarrassing secret, I erased their memories of our conversation—
that I’m rather good at.” Focusing, he sent the memories of those
conversations to his Master through their training bond.
Idhron’s expression remained impassive. Unimpressed.
Eridan’s heart sank. He had thought Idhron wouldn’t mind his
solution…
“It is not your solution that is the problem, Eridan,” Idhron said, his
voice mild. “Using all resources available to you was a smart thing to do.
What I have an issue with is the fact that you picked five unpleasant boys
you did not like. You let your emotions rule your actions.”
Eridan clenched his jaw. “Well, that’s me. I already told you not to
expect me to turn into an emotionless robot. If you really expect it, you
should stop wasting our time and ditch me right now.”
“I hardly expect you to turn into an ‘emotionless robot,’ Eridan,” Idhron
said, giving him a steady look. “But I expect you not to be so squeamish.
When you eventually become a mind adept of the High Hronthar, it will be
part of your job to learn other people’s dirtiest secrets, and you will not be
afforded the luxury of choosing only people you dislike.”
 Eridan swallowed his annoyance, hating that Idhron’s point was valid
and hating himself for being pleased by his wording. Idhron had said “when
you eventually become a mind adept,” not if. It pleased him more than it
should have.
“So I failed your test,” he stated, dejected.
“Yes and no,” his Master said. “I will give you an opportunity to redo
your assignment, only this time you will choose five people you like. Your
closest friends.”
A laugh left Eridan’s mouth. “Then you’re out of luck, Master. I don’t
exactly have friends.” He said it in his most casual voice, but he probably
shouldn’t have bothered, considering that Idhron had direct access to his
emotions.
“Why not?” Castien said, looking faintly puzzled. “You are quite
outgoing and physically appealing. Boys like you are usually popular
among your peers.”
Eridan face warmed. “I’m a throwback,” he said, holding Idhron’s gaze
unflinchingly. He refused to be embarrassed about it. “You do know that,
right?”
When the other man just gave a nod, he relaxed slightly and
continued. “It has always been something other boys teased me about, and I
kind of developed a bit of a sharp tongue in response to all the teasing.”
Bullying. “And it also didn’t help that everyone knew about your
preliminary claim on me.” He smiled humorlessly. “It didn’t exactly make
me friends.”
Idhron nodded, his expression difficult to read.
Curiously, Eridan peeked into his Master’s mind.
He hadn’t tried to do it before, so he wasn’t sure what to expect.
He found… immense mental shields. They weren’t walls, the mental
defense most telepaths, Eridan included, tended to gravitate to. Idhron’s
shields were like a fog, dense and elusive, ever-changing and confusing.
When Eridan tried to enter the fog, he realized that he had no idea where to
go, where the exit or entrance was. These kinds of mental defenses were
designed to get the intruder hopelessly lost.
He would have been hopelessly lost, too, if he wasn’t able to sense a gap
in those defenses, a faint path into Idhron’s mind. It was their bond, Eridan
realized with some surprise. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised.
Although the Master had more control over the training bond, the
apprentice could still use it, too. But “could” didn’t equal “allowed to.”
Masters generally didn’t like giving their apprentices free access to their
minds, and he doubted Castien Idhron was an exception. Eridan was still
curious. So he focused and followed the bond until he finally slipped past
Idhron’s mental defenses.
Behind them, there was order. It might be a strange way to describe
someone’s mind, but Idhron’s mind really was incredibly orderly. Nothing
was out of place. All of his memories were locked behind countless mental
doors. No emotion leaked through.
He was suddenly pushed roughly out of Idhron’s mind, a headache
splitting his skull.
“Curiosity is not a bad trait,” Idhron said as Eridan massaged his
temples. “But one that could have gotten you killed if you were anyone
else.”
Eridan couldn’t even manage a glare. His eyes were still squeezed shut
as he fought nausea from his pounding headache.
He heard Idhron sigh and walk around the desk. “Let this be a small
warning, Eridan,” he said, laying a hand on the side of Eridan’s head and
pushing his thumb against his telepathic point. He pushed in, and Eridan
moaned in relief as his Master’s cool mental presence soothed the throbbing
pain in his head. “If you attempt to intrude into my mind again, I will not be
as merciful.”
Eridan nodded dazedly, too lost in pleasure to argue with his Master
about the unfairness of it.
He whined when Idhron started withdrawing. “No,” he said
breathlessly. “Just a little more.”
He felt that Idhron was less than amused.
“Please, Master,” Eridan said through the bond, pulling him deeper into
his mind. He needed—he needed—
Idhron pulled out abruptly, removing his hand. “Enough.”
Still feeling dazed, Eridan forced his eyes open. “But Master,” he said
with a pout, grabbing Idhron’s hand unthinkingly.
He froze upon seeing the icy look Idhron was fixing him with.
“You will need to build tolerance to our mental contact,” Idhron bit
out. “That was unacceptable. I cannot have an apprentice who gets high on
our training bond.”
Eridan flushed. “It’s hardly my fault it feels good!”
 “You foolish boy,” Idhron said. “Do you have any idea how vulnerable
you make yourself when you invite me in as you did just now?”
Eridan frowned, rather confused. “You’re a Class 7 telepath who has
direct access to my mind through our bond. It doesn’t get more vulnerable
than that, Master.” Not to mention that I don’t believe that you really care
about me making myself vulnerable to you.
He hadn’t expressed the latter thought aloud, but he was sure Idhron
picked it up through their connection, since he wasn’t shielding.
Idhron said, “I might be a Class 7, but you are Class 5, strong enough to
protect your mind from deep invasion if you really focus. By inviting me in,
you give me unlimited power to do whatever I want to your mind.” He
cocked his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling. “You are correct
that I do not really care that you are making yourself vulnerable to me. But
such… sensitivity is a weakness that can be—and will be—exploited by
other telepaths you might be mentally compatible with. I will never be able
to trust you with sensitive information if you are reduced to an
overstimulated, pleasure-drunk mess every time someone compatible
touches your mind.”
Eridan gave him a skeptical look. Mental compatibility was rare
enough. In all his years in Hronthar, he had never met anyone else he
reacted to in such a way. “You really think I might meet someone else I’ll
be this compatible with?”
Idhron pinched the bridge of his nose. “Our compatibility is strong, but
it is not perfect. One day you might meet a telepath who will be able to
reduce you to such a state simply by looking you in the eye. Perfect
compatibility is rare, but it can happen, and I can’t have you being a
liability if it does. So you will need to stop being so pathetic and build
tolerance to mental pleasure.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” Eridan said, crossing his arms
over his chest.
Idhron’s lips thinned in displeasure. “Controlled exposure. I will have to
spend a limited amount of time inside your mind every day until it stops
being so intense to you.”
Eridan blinked a few times, unsure how he felt about it. “I don’t get a
say in this, I guess?”
Idhron looked at him steadily. “You do get a say. But unless you get this
problem under control, you cannot become my real apprentice. I will never
be able to trust you, just like I will never be able to trust any substance
addict.”
Eridan bristled. He wasn’t an addict. “How come you aren’t affected by
this compatibility?”
He couldn’t read the expression on Idhron’s face at all. “Because unlike
you, I do not let my emotions control me. As I already told you, my
capacity for emotion is very limited.”
Eridan narrowed his eyes suspiciously, not sure he was buying it.
Pleasure centers weren’t located anywhere close to emotional centers in the
brains of Calluvians. If that were the case, Idhron wouldn’t even want to
have sex anymore, which clearly wasn’t the case, according to Javier.
Eridan shoved the thought to the back of his mind, his face warming. He
hoped Idhron hadn’t caught it.
“All right, Master,” Eridan said, dropping his gaze to make it more
difficult for Idhron to read his thoughts. Not that lack of eye contact would
stop a Class 7 telepath if Idhron really wanted to know his thoughts.
“You are dismissed, then,” Idhron said.
Eridan stood and turned toward the door, but then paused. Since they
weren’t parting for long, it wasn’t expected of him to kiss an item of his
Master’s clothing. Most Masters seemed to like being bowed to. He should
probably do that if he wanted to cultivate a good working relationship with
Idhron, which he did want, regardless of his personal dislike. The truth was,
he would get either Castien Idhron as his Master or no one. So pleasing him
was the smart thing to do.
Too bad Eridan had never been good at doing the smart thing.
Something about Castien Idhron made Eridan want to ruffle his feathers,
unsettle him enough to crack his perfect exterior.
“Good night, Master,” Eridan said, darting forward to brush his lips
against Idhron’s cheek.
When he pulled back, he almost laughed at Idhron’s expression.
Putting on his most innocent face, Eridan bowed slightly and hurried
out of the study.
He allowed himself to laugh only in the privacy of his own room.
 Chapter Five: Nameday

If Eridan had thought being preliminarily chosen by Master Idhron had

been isolating, it was nothing compared to how isolated he felt as a
probationary apprentice. He now didn’t fit anywhere: neither with the
initiates nor with the apprentices. The few classes Eridan still shared with
the initiates had become downright unbearable, the toxic jealousy of other
initiates making it hard to breathe.
As for the apprentices, they tended to look down on him, since he still
wasn’t good enough to join their ranks. But at the same time, they were
wary of him, because he was apprenticing under the great and terrible
Castien Idhron. That was the thing about being an apprentice: you were
always judged not only on your own merits, but on who your Master was.
An apprentice might be highly intelligent and powerful, but if their Master
wasn’t, they weren’t as respected as they otherwise could have been, and
vice versa.
It was all rather exhausting—and exhaustingly confusing. Eridan had
quickly grown to dislike the convoluted mess that was the social hierarchy
among the apprentices.
Truth be told, he much preferred spending time with his Master.
If seven months ago someone had told him that he would prefer Castien
Idhron’s company to that of his peers, Eridan would have laughed in
disbelief.
But he did like spending time with his Master, even though he wasn’t
sure he even liked him.
Castien wasn’t a good man. Eridan had been right to suspect him of
being a cold-hearted, manipulative bastard; he was that, and more. The
better Eridan had come to know him, the more confirmation of
Castien’s ruthlessness he had gotten. Castien was something of a sociopath.
His utter disregard for other people’s feelings was startling. He didn’t seem
to feel any guilt or remorse for mistreating others. To be entirely fair to his
Master, Eridan was pretty sure Castien often didn’t even notice that his
actions or cutting words might hurt others. Castien Idhron found people
interesting only when he could use them to achieve his goals. If his Master
had any feelings and emotions, they were so deeply hidden they might as
well not exist.
Eridan knew he should despise Castien—he was easily the most
horrible person he had ever known—and he did despise him, but truth be
told, at this point, he was kind of desensitized to his Master’s
horribleness. Eridan blamed their bond. Over the past seven months, it had
become so strong that he could always vaguely feel his Master on the other
end of the bond, something that should have felt invasive and creepy but
didn’t. Eridan found their bond weirdly comforting, especially since he
knew how much his Master disliked it.
Castien Idhron disliked anything he didn’t control, anything that wasn’t
something he had manipulated into existence, and that only made Eridan
like their bond more. And it was all Castien’s own fault, anyway. The
“controlled exposure” to his mental touch only strengthened their bond, and
Eridan’s “distasteful” addiction problem wasn’t going anywhere, to his
Master’s displeasure and Eridan’s amusement.
Though it did worry Eridan a little that he wasn’t making any progress
on that front. He might despise his Master, but he hated disappointing him
even more. Castien’s disappointment was the worst. It wasn’t at all like
normal people’s disappointment: it was one of the two negative emotions
his Master allowed himself to display. Unlike Castien’s displeasure, which
was his equivalent of anger, it wasn’t amusing in the slightest. His Master’s
disappointment made Eridan feel small. Inadequate. Unworthy.
He knew he shouldn’t feel this way—he shouldn’t strive to earn the
approval of such a horrible person—but he couldn’t help himself. Castien’s
rare praise never failed to put Eridan in a good mood, and his
disappointment never failed to ruin Eridan’s day. He hated himself for
feeling this way, but it was what it was.
At that moment, he felt a nudge through their bond. “Come here,” his
Master’s voice said in his head.
 Eridan frowned and headed downstairs, allowing the bond to lead him
toward Castien.
It appeared he was in his study.
Eridan didn’t knock, since he was summoned. He entered the room, a
little anxious. He couldn’t remember a single occurrence of his Master
actively using their bond in such a way. Castien usually liked to pretend
their bond didn’t exist when he wasn’t using it for training purposes. The
bond did make learning the mind arts easier: it helped Eridan to be more
focused, and he could actually meditate when he used the bond as his
anchor.
“You wanted me, Master?” Eridan said, trying to read Castien’s
inscrutable face as he walked closer.
“Sit.”
Eridan sat in his usual chair and looked at his Master curiously. “I
thought you had a Chapter meeting today.”
“It finished early,” Castien said, eyeing him with a strange
expression. “Today is your nameday.”
Eridan blinked. Was it? He’d completely forgotten.
It was custom for members of the Order to celebrate their nameday
instead of their birthday: the day they had gotten their new, unique name
and started a new life. Eridan, like most initiates, didn’t even know his
birthday. He only knew that he was registered as three years old on the day
he was Named. This was his sixteenth nameday, which made him
biologically nineteen years old, though he had probably been nineteen for a
while.
It was probably a little pathetic that he hadn’t even realized that this was
his nameday: it made it glaringly obvious that he didn’t have any friends to
congratulate him, which was pretty much why Eridan had always disliked
namedays. They just made him feel even more lonely than usual.
“Oh,” he said, averting his gaze.
“I summoned you to discuss your progress,” Castien said.
Eridan’s stomach dropped. It had been stupid to think even for a
moment that his Master actually cared enough to congratulate him. Castien
Idhron was the last person who would care about such sentimental things as
namedays.
“Your progress in most subjects has been satisfactory,” Castien said.
Eridan’s lips twitched. Satisfactory meant “good” in Castien-speak.
 “With a few notable exceptions,” his Master added.
Eridan pouted, which earned him a flat look.
“Your mind-reading ability isn’t where I would like it to be,” Castien
said. “And you are still abysmal at meditating without me.”
“But Master,” Eridan said. “It’s not my fault I can’t focus without you
guiding me. It’s a condition; it’s not something I made up!”
Castien gave him a pinched look. “You are going to milk this for all you
can, are you not?”
Eridan grinned. “Of course. Healer Zchen did confirm that I suffer from
a mild form of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.”
“I am quite certain the ‘mild form’ was the key part of your diagnosis,”
Castien said dryly. “In any case, I can hardly waste so much of my time on
meditating with you. Therefore, I have decided that from now on, you will
be meditating with Master Tker—”
“No!”
Castien’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I beg your pardon?”
Eridan swallowed. He was well aware that the Master had ultimate
power over the apprentice’s education. Technically, he had no right to
object to any decision Master Castien made concerning his studies.
But…
“Master,” he said, dropping to his knees in front of Castien’s chair. He
picked up his Master’s hand and kissed his black ring, looking him in the
eye. “I don’t want anyone else inside my mind. Only you. Please, Master.”
Castien’s face was completely still, his gaze unreadable as he stared at
him.
“This will not work, Eridan,” he said at last. “You can stop batting your
eyelashes. I will not change my mind.”
“I’m not ‘batting my eyelashes,’” Eridan said indignantly. “That’s my
face.”
Castien’s lips twitched. “Indeed it is.”
“Master, please,” Eridan said softly, dropping his gaze before looking
back into Castien’s blue eyes. “I really hate the thought of some stranger
touching my mind. It makes me sick.”
Castien’s lips thinned. “That is precisely why you need someone else to
guide you. You are too used to me. Master Tker might succeed in teaching
you to meditate where I failed.”
Eridan scoffed. “Right. You’re the best mind adept of the Order.”
 “That may be true, but unlike me, Master Tker specializes in
meditation. He might be able to help you.”
“I don’t want him to help me,” Eridan grumbled.
“Eridan,” his Master said coldly. “Stop being a child. My decision is
final. You have an appointment with Master Tker tomorrow evening at
eight o’clock.”
Eridan scowled and stormed out of the room, all etiquette forgotten. If
his Master had an issue with it, fuck him. Why should he care about the
opinion of someone who didn’t care about his? Who was so eager to pass
him to another Master and let another man mess with Eridan’s mind?
His eyes were stinging, and Eridan told himself those were tears of
anger, not hurt.

***

The appointment with Master Tker was as disastrous as Eridan had

expected.
“Drop your shields and let me in,” Master Tker said, looking at him
impassively.
Eridan tried, he really did, but as soon as he felt Tker touch his mind, he
slammed his shields down.
“Initiate Eridan!” Master Tker said.
Eridan ground his teeth, glaring at the man. He hated it when people
addressed him like that instead of as Apprentice Eridan. Although both
forms of address were valid while he was a probationary apprentice, most
people still addressed him as apprentice. Tker clearly wanted to put him in
his place.
“I’m trying, Master,” he ground out.
Your mind just feels wrong.
Eridan didn’t say it; he knew better. An apprentice was never supposed
to get attached to one telepathic presence, especially that of their own
Master. Training bonds were just training bonds; they weren’t at all like the
strong marriage bonds artificially formed between Calluvian couples. A
good mind adept of the Order was supposed to be able to navigate through
any mind, without feeling aversion to telepathic contact with strangers.
Admitting that Eridan didn’t want to feel any other mind but his Master’s
would be grounds for immediate expulsion to the servicing department.
So he clenched his jaw and tried again, trying to relax enough to drop
his shields.
He thought it worked for a moment—he could feel Tker enter the outer
layers of his mind—but when the man slid deeper, Eridan shoved him out,
nausea rising up his throat. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He opened his eyes and
stared at Master Tker warily, his muscles tense and shields back in place.
He couldn’t do it.
“I can’t do it,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t touch me.”
Master Tker shook his head, looking disturbed. “I’m surprised Master
Idhron has tolerated such a disobedient learner for so long. I will report this
to him, of course.”
“Do whatever you want,” Eridan said and all but ran out of the room.
He felt… He felt vaguely dirty. Violated, even though Tker had barely
touched his mind. He wanted…
He wanted his Master.
Eridan scowled at the thought. What was wrong with him? His Master
was the reason he felt like this. If Castien cared about him even a little bit,
he wouldn’t have done this. This was all Castien’s fault.
He still wanted his Master. Wanted his Master’s presence in him to
chase away the wrong, nauseous feeling in his mind.
Eridan sighed, exasperated with himself. He looked around and realized
that his feet had brought him to the castle. He could sense that Castien was
somewhere close. Right. The Chapter had a meeting that day.
He should leave.
But he wanted his Master.
He should leave, dammit.
Eridan chewed on his lip, torn between his anger and the terrible
yearning in his mind. Castien was a heartless bastard who didn’t give a shit
about him. He shouldn’t need him. Not to mention that Castien wouldn’t lift
a finger to make him feel better once he found out about Eridan’s less-than-
proper conduct with Master Tker. In fact, Eridan wouldn’t be surprised if
that would be the last straw that would finally make Castien send him to the
servicing department.
Because Castien wasn’t really his Master yet. It was just a test run. The
test run he was clearly failing.
 Eridan wandered out onto the terrace and sat down on an ancient stone
bench. Pulling his knees to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them and
stared out into the darkening sky. The twin moons were rising.
All these years, since he was seven, he had tried so hard to be better, to
prove to Castien Idhron that he was good enough, but it was clearly futile.
He would always have qualities undesirable for an apprentice: he was too
emotional, too temperamental, too proud, too squeamish. He would never
become a good mind adept if he was so squeamish about a simple joint
meditation—if a shallow contact with an unfamiliar telepath made him
want to puke and run to his Master like a big baby.
“Eridan?”
He flinched and turned his head, his eyes widening when he saw
Castien walking toward him briskly. “What is wrong?” the older man said,
his inscrutable gaze sweeping over him.
“What do you mean?”
His Master gave him an impatient look. “You were projecting misery so
strongly it was probably obvious to everyone in the area, much less to me.
What is the matter?”
Eridan shrugged and dropped his gaze. “Master Tker will probably
complain to you soon enough. There’s no point in making you listen to this
twice. You should go back to the Chapter meeting, Master.”
He could feel Castien’s intent gaze on the side of his face.
“I take it your meditation with Master Tker did not go well?”
Eridan snorted humorlessly, putting his chin on his knees. “You could
say that. He’ll probably tell you to ditch me.” He smiled crookedly. “And
he would probably be right.”
Silence.
At last, he felt his Master sit beside him on the bench. “You will look at
me when I speak to you.”
Reluctantly, Eridan did.
They just looked at each other for a while. Castien’s expression was as
unreadable as ever, but Eridan could sense… he could sense something like
displeasure through their bond, only stronger.
“Did he hurt you?” Castien said stiffly. “You feel… odd.”
“He didn’t hurt me,” Eridan said. “I just hated it. I feel dirty on the
inside.”
 Castien’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked away for a moment
before sighing and looking back at Eridan. He put his hand on Eridan’s
nape carefully, his thumb pressing over his telepathic center.
Eridan shivered, eager.
Finally, Castien pushed inside. A small sigh of relief left Eridan’s mouth
as his Master’s cool, familiar presence washed over him, chasing away the
lingering slimy, wrong feeling.
He made a protesting noise when Castien pulled out. “Master—”
“I have to return to the meeting,” Castien said. “Go back to the house
and wait for me. We need to talk.”
Eridan eyed him in confusion. He didn’t understand him at all
sometimes. Whenever he started thinking that he had Castien Idhron all
figured out, his Master kept completely surprising him. Although Castien
wasn’t a kind man at all, sometimes he could be… almost kind. Eridan tried
to think of any ulterior motive Castien might have for this kindness, but he
couldn’t think of any way this would benefit him. Though Eridan couldn’t
be sure Castien wasn’t just postponing his reprimands until they were in the
privacy of his mansion.
“All right, Master,” he said, giving Castien a small, tentative smile.
A muscle twitched in Castien’s jaw. He stood and strode away, his dark
robe billowing after him.
Eridan went home.
Home. It felt strange that he had already started thinking of Master
Castien’s mansion as home.
It was probably inadvisable, but Eridan couldn’t help himself. It was his
safe place. No one mocked him, hated him, looked down on him or sneered
at him in his Master’s house. He was largely left to his own devices, and by
an unspoken agreement, he was in charge of the house when his Master
wasn’t there.
Eridan went to his Master’s study and curled up in the chair by the
fireplace. Its warmth was comforting. Although Calluvia didn’t have
winters like most other planets did—the climate was artificially regulated—
it was always rather chilly up in the mountains, and sitting by the fireplace
in Castien’s study had become Eridan’s favorite pastime. His Master didn’t
seem to mind as long as he was quiet.
He wasn’t sure when he had dozed off, but he must have, because the
next thing he knew, his Master was shaking him awake.
 “Eridan.”
He opened his eyes blearily, his mind still hazy with sleep. “Master,” he
murmured, reaching out to run his fingers over Castien’s firm jawline. The
older man’s stubble prickled his skin. “Are you angry with me? You feel
angry.”
Castien straightened and stepped back. “I am never ‘angry,’ Eridan.”
Eridan yawned and sat up straighter, suppressing the urge to roll his
eyes. “So you’re ‘displeased’ with me.”
“That would be correct. Master Tker spoke to me.”
Eridan scowled. “I’m not letting him inside my mind again.” He met
Castien’s eyes. “If you keep insisting on it, you might as well send me away
to the servicing department right now, Master. I’m not doing it again.
Understood?”
Castien gave him a hard look. “You insolent brat,” he said, his voice
deceptively soft. “It appears I was too lenient with you or you wouldn’t dare
speak to me in that tone. Do you even know what will happen to you if you
end up in the servicing department?”
Eridan frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “There are
professions I wouldn’t mind. Being a servant isn’t as bad as everyone
makes it out to be.”
Castien’s lips twisted. “You are delusional if you think you will be given
a choice. With your face, you will spend all your time on your knees or on
your back, servicing Master after Master.”
Eridan flushed. There was something incredibly wrong about his Master
speaking to him about sex. It felt obscene. Castien had never given any
indication that he had noticed that Eridan wasn’t a sexless thing.
“Javier told me servants are given a choice,” Eridan said, lifting his
chin.
“Javier,” Castien repeated, his brows drawing together. “And who is
that?”
Eridan blinked in confusion. “Your servant?”
“Is that his name?”
Eridan gaped at him. “You don’t even know his name? You—you use
him for pleasure, but you don’t even know his name? He’s been your
servant longer than I have been your apprentice!”
His Master gave him a flat look. “He is a servant, Eridan. I do not need
to know his name to use his services. As long as he performs adequately, I
will not need his name to file a complaint.”
Eridan stared at him incredulously. “How did you even pick him if you
don’t know his name?”
“I’m not sure how that is relevant to the subject at hand, but if you must
know, I picked his picture. Which actually only proves my point: you do not
want to be a servant, Eridan. Do you want to be treated like one?”
“Javier told me he chose his specialization. It can’t be true that I would
not be given a choice.”
A humorless smile touched Castien’s lips. “Most unclaimed initiates do
get a choice. But in your case, the Coordinator wouldn’t even ask what you
want to do. Your ridiculous face would fetch too high a price for him to
allow you to do less profitable work. You are very naive if you think
otherwise.”
Eridan scowled, though he couldn’t deny that a part of him liked that his
Master thought of him as special, even if it was because of something
Eridan couldn’t take any credit for: his physical appearance.
“It doesn’t change anything, Master,” he said, looking at his hands. “I
won’t let Master Tker inside my mind again. If you can’t accept it, you
should cast me aside right now.” His lips curled into a bitter smile. “I’m not
your real apprentice anyway. Tker made it abundantly clear today.”
Silence.
It stretched and stretched until Eridan couldn’t bear it anymore and
looked up.
He found his Master eyeing him with a strange expression. He could
sense a complicated mix of emotions through their bond. It was so rare for
him to be able to actually sense Castien’s emotions that Eridan was
completely unused to it and couldn’t even decipher what they were. The
mere fact that he could sense them at all was bewildering.
Then Castien walked to his desk and opened one of the drawers. “Come
here,” he said, his back to Eridan.
Eridan frowned but did as he was told.
When Castien turned around, he was holding something in his hands.
Eridan’s breath caught in his throat when he saw what it was.
The thaal was simple enough but beautiful in its simplicity. The blue
ribbon held a single purple dethrenyte in the shape of a tear. The precious
gem glowed dimly in the firelight, but it wasn’t its beauty that held Eridan’s
attention. He could feel the telepathic energy the gemstone emanated—the
energy as familiar to Eridan as his own after months of sharing a bond with
its owner.
Swallowing, he lifted his eyes to Castien’s. He couldn’t speak.
The older man held his gaze steadily before saying, “Turn around and
kneel.”
Eridan did.
He stared at the fireplace as Castien’s hands wove the ribbon through
his hair carefully before letting the dethrenyte rest against Eridan’s neck.
The weight was slight but not insignificant. The gemstone’s energy pulsed
faintly, warming Eridan more than the fireplace did.
He had seen other apprentices wearing their thaals proudly, the marks of
their Masters, but he had never realized how grounding wearing one
actually would be. Castien’s telepathic mark in the gemstone would denote
Eridan as his apprentice for any other member of the Order who came close
to him. It was all the more precious because Castien Idhron knew how to
mask his telepathic mark and rarely left it anywhere he didn’t want to. But
he had given it to him, Eridan, willingly—just as he was giving him his
name. He was part of Castien’s lineage now. He would be called Apprentice
Idhron now, not just Apprentice Eridan.
Eridan swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat.
“Look at me,” Castien said.
Eridan turned around, still kneeling. He lifted his gaze to Castien’s,
whose face was unreadable.
“It suits you,” his Master said, touching the gemstone on Eridan’s neck,
his fingers brushing against his skin.
Eridan shivered and caught Castien’s hand with his own. Looking his
Master in the eye, he brought the hand to his mouth and kissed the black
dethrenyte in Castien’s ring, the gemstone that had once been Castien’s own
thaal. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this—far from it—but he had never
meant it more.
“I will not let you down,” he said softly. “I promise you: you won’t
regret this, Master.”
Something flickered in Castien’s eyes.
He stared at Eridan and gave a clipped nod. “The thaal has the
additional benefit of helping you focus. It should help you fight the nausea
you feel at the contact of another telepath’s mind. Just focus on my mark
and it should ground you. What happened with Master Tker today should
not happen again. It should not feel as intrusive, because the thaal will
shield you from the worst of it.”
Eridan bit his bottom lip and nodded, feeling stunned. It was the first
time in his memory that Castien had allowed someone to bend his rules.
Despite Eridan completely failing to follow his orders, his Master hadn’t
cast him aside but instead basically allowed him to cheat by giving him the
easy solution to his problem with Tker. It was so unlike him.
“Thank you, Master,” Eridan said, his voice thicker than he would have
liked. Looking Castien in the eye, he turned Castien’s hand and pressed his
lips against his palm. It was warm and dry. “I will not bring shame to your
name.”
The blue eyes bored into him for a moment before Castien retrieved his
hand and walked to the window. “I still expect you to stop relying on me in
the future. Now go to bed. It is late.”
Eridan nodded and turned toward the door.
“Eridan.”
He looked back. “Yes, Master?”
“Call my servant and tell him to come.”
Eridan pursed his lips, glaring at Castien’s wide back. It was the middle
of the night—Javier was almost certainly asleep—but he knew Castien
didn’t care about inconveniencing a mere servant.
Scowling, he bit out, “Yes, Master.”
He was still fuming when he called Javier and was still fuming as he got
into bed.
He was still fuming as he tried not to think about what poor Javier must
be doing for his Master at that moment.
With your face, you will spend all your time on your knees or on your
back, servicing Master after Master.
Was that how Javier spent time with his Master? On his knees and his
back?
Eridan squeezed his eyes shut and had to employ meditation techniques
in order to calm down.
Stop thinking about it, dammit.
The important part was, he was a real apprentice now. The fate of a
servant would never befall him now. He was an apprentice. The first
apprentice of Master Castien.
 His hand closed on the thaal on his neck. The gemstone felt warm to
the touch, emanating his Master’s telepathic mark.
Poor Javier would never know this.
Eridan could only pity him.
 Chapter Six: A Merge

One year later

“What are you sulking about, Eridan?”

Eridan flinched and looked at Gaina, and then at the other apprentices
beside her. Out of all his fellow apprentices, he liked Gaina the best, but he
wasn’t really in the mood to talk to her, much less to talk about what was
really bothering him. She wouldn’t understand, anyway. None of them
would. They would probably laugh at him—if they actually unclenched a
little and allowed themselves to laugh.
Eridan pursed his lips, feeling very much alone. He had thought—hoped
—that once he became one of them, he would feel more included, but he
still didn’t quite fit in, even after more than a year as an official apprentice.
Most of the time, Eridan didn’t mind—he didn’t spend enough time with
the other apprentices to care—but the chasm between him and them became
glaringly obvious when his Master was away and Eridan was forced to
spend his time with them.
Salah looked at him with barely contained disdain. “I’m sure he’s
moping because he misses Master Idhron. We all know what a big baby
Eridan is.”
Eridan gave him a pleasant smile. “There’s no need to sound so jealous,
Salah. It’s not my fault your Master doesn’t give a shit about you.”
An angry flush appeared on Salah’s face. Honestly, it was kind of
hilarious that all these hypocrites acted as though they were so much better
than him just because they could fake humility, control over their emotions,
and obedience better than him.
 “You’re delusional if you think Master Idhron cares about you,” Salah
said. “Master Idhron doesn’t care about anyone, much less about an overly
emotional, disobedient failure of an apprentice he was saddled with.”
Eridan counted to ten. Calm. He could be calm.
“My Master chose me,” he said evenly.
Salah snorted. “Come on, we all know how you got him to choose you.”
He leered, looking at Eridan’s lips. “You must be exceptionally talented at
cock-sucking to make him forget what a failure of an initiate you were—”
Something hot exploded in Eridan’s chest. Before he knew what he was
doing, Salah was writhing on the floor, his hands clawing at his throat
frantically as an invisible grip constricted his lungs, squeezing.
There were shouts, and then, “Apprentice Idhron! Cease this at once!”

***

Eridan stared sullenly at the desk in the Grandmaster’s office.

“This is your fourth such transgression, Apprentice Idhron,”
Grandmaster Tethru said gravely, closing Eridan’s file.
Eridan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hated the grandfatherly
act Tethru put on. It didn’t suit him. There was no grandfatherly bone
in Tethru’s body. Privately, Eridan thought Tethru just tried to act like
Grandmaster Kato, who had actually been ancient and grandfatherly. Eridan
kind of missed the old man: he’d actually smiled sometimes.
“Yes, Grandmaster,” Eridan said in his meekest voice. Tethru didn’t
tolerate disrespect. He also liked it when people called him by his title and
acted as submissive as possible around him. Eridan despised the man, but
he knew better than to show it. His Master had taught him better.
“I see that in the past Grandmaster Kato left it at Master Idhron’s
discretion to handle your punishment, but I will not be as lenient—”
“When is Master coming back?” Eridan said before he could stop
himself.
Grandmaster Tethru gave him a withering look.
Eridan hastily dropped his gaze. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Your
Grace,” he mumbled in his most respectful voice. “You know how much I
respect you.” For a moment, he was afraid he was laying it on a bit thick,
but he could faintly feel Tethru’s satisfaction at his words. Barely resisting
the urge to roll his eyes, Eridan said, “I’m just… somewhat concerned,
Grandmaster. Master said he would come back in a month, but he still isn’t
back. He hasn’t contacted me, either.”
“Hmm,” Tethru said, looking at him with his shrewd eyes. “I see now
what Master Deira meant when she said that you are too attached to your
Master, Eridan. Perhaps... Perhaps reassigning you to a different Master is
the key to correcting your behavior.”
Panic flared inside him. Swallowing his instinctive No, Eridan forced
his voice to sound calm as he said, “No Master would want an apprentice
who has a training bond with another Master.”
Tethru smiled genially. “Training bonds are breakable, Eridan. I am sure
there are Masters that would be willing to overlook that your mind was
touched by another Master.” His eyes swept over Eridan. “Perhaps I can
find time for you myself.”
Eridan felt dirty just from his gaze. “With all due respect, Grandmaster,
I’m too old to easily switch to a different Master.”
“Hmm. How old are you, again?”
“Twenty, Your Grace,” Eridan said. Too old for you, you pervert.
Tethru raised his eyebrows. “You do not look it.”
Eridan suppressed the urge to scowl. He was perfectly aware that he
looked younger, his features too pretty and refined to be considered manly.
It was the curse of most throwbacks. Eridan knew he looked like he was
sixteen instead of his actual age, which was less than ideal considering that
he was dealing with Tethru, who was rumored to have a predilection toward
young boys and girls. Eridan didn’t know how truthful those rumors were—
no one had ever been able to prove anything—but those rumors had been
around for ages, and there was no smoke without fire.
“I’m really twenty, Grandmaster,” Eridan repeated, putting on his
sternest expression in the hope that it would make him look older. His heart
was pounding, his nerves so frayed he barely stopped himself from
touching the thaal around his neck, to feel his Master’s grounding presence.
He fisted his blue robe in his hands, to distract himself from touching the
gemstone. Tethru hated his Master. Drawing his attention to Castien’s thaal
would only make the situation worse; Tethru might take him away from
Castien out of spite. Although Eridan had never heard of an apprentice
switching Masters, the Grandmaster of the Order had almost absolute
power. Anything was possible, considering how much Tethru envied and
hated Castien.
“If you are already twenty years old, your transgression is even more
serious, Eridan,” Tethru said, with the same saccharine, grandfatherly look
that just looked creepy. “You should know better by now. Perhaps I really
should handle your punishment myself—”
“That will not be necessary,” a familiar voice said from the doorway.
Eridan’s head whipped around. He broke into a wide, helpless grin. He
drank in the sight of his Master’s tall, proud form, not even caring about the
cold, warning look he received from Castien. “Master,” he breathed.
Castien walked over and laid a hand on the back of Eridan’s chair.
Eridan leaned back, trying to subtly get his Master’s hand on his shoulder
instead of that stupid chair. His Master, however, didn’t indulge him. Eridan
tried not to pout.
“Your apprentice nearly killed another apprentice today,
Idhron,” Tethru said sourly, the air around him full of dislike, no matter how
hard Tethru was shielding himself. Tethru could never quite hide his
jealousy of the respect Idhron commanded in the Order and his wariness of
Castien’s power and ever-growing influence.
Frankly, Eridan still didn’t understand why his Master allowed Tethru to
become the Grandmaster after Grandmaster Kato’s death. Everyone knew
Castien was the most powerful mind adept of the Order, both telepathically
and politically. And yet his Master hadn’t put himself forward as a
candidate when Grandmaster Kato had died. It still baffled Eridan a little.
Castien’s face remained impassive, his blue eyes fixed on Tethru. “Has
he,” he said flatly. “I will make sure to punish him accordingly,
Grandmaster.”
Tethru huffed. “I’m not sure I trust your judgment on the matter, Idhron.
It does not seem the boy has learned his lesson from the previous times
Grandmaster Kato allowed you to punish him. Perhaps I should take the
matter into my own hands—”
“That is very thoughtful of you,” Castien said, and Eridan’s stomach
dropped for a moment before Castien continued. “However, you have so
many responsibilities, Your Grace. I cannot possibly ask this of you. But
thank you for the kind offer. I have sent my report to your datapad for your
perusal. Come, Eridan.”
 Without waiting for Tethru’s response, Castien strode out of the room.
Eridan hurried after him.
“Master, I—”
“Not now,” his Master bit out, without looking at him.
Eridan shut up.
They walked in silence through the corridors of the ancient monastery.
Eridan looked around curiously. He hadn’t been here often, only the few
times he had accompanied his Master to a meeting with some high-ranking
outsiders.
The monastery was the oldest part of the High Hronthar, the place their
Order originated from. Thousands of years ago, it used to be the Order’s
home, their headquarters, but nowadays it was little more than a front. As
far as the rest of the planet was concerned, the monastery was the High
Hronthar, and that was why all meetings with the outsiders were held here.
Eridan smiled a little at the thought. It always amazed him how utterly
clueless the outsiders were. The Council of Twelve Grand Clans thought
they were ruling Calluvia, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. The
Chapter of the High Hronthar held the real power on the planet, since they
controlled the royals and politicians that ruled the planet. In the view of the
outsiders, the High Hronthar was just a bunch of monks that dedicated
themselves to mind healing and a peaceful, unambitious life. It was kind of
hilarious how utterly wrong they were.
Despite the late hour, Eridan and his Master still encountered a lot of
people in the corridors of the monastery, Masters and apprentices alike.
Wherever they went, they attracted looks, for different reasons. Eridan
smiled crookedly to himself. He was rather infamous for his “outrageous”
behavior as an initiate, while his Master was easily the most respected mind
adept in the Order: admired and feared in equal measure. Eridan knew his
age-mates envied him. His Master was the youngest Master in the Order’s
history, the youngest Master to have a seat on the Chapter. Although most
members of the Order didn’t know that Castien was a Class 7 telepath,
everyone knew he was one of the most powerful. Castien was incredibly
powerful, intelligent, and influential. Every initiate wanted to study under
Master Idhron.
But he was just his, Eridan’s.
Flushing, Eridan reinforced his mental shields, hoping to hide his
possessive thoughts from his Master. He had long given up trying to get rid
of them.
They finally reached the nearest t-chamber and got into it. Castien put
his hand on the control panel and said, “Hangar bay 14.”
The transportation room started moving, jumping through the teleport
channels.
Eridan tried again. “Master, I—”
“Not now.”
Pursing his lips, Eridan hung his head.
At last, they arrived and stepped out of the t-chamber into the hangar
bay. He followed his Master to his aircraft and climbed into the seat next to
him. Castien entered his access codes and the hatch overhead opened,
revealing the darkening sky.
Castien lifted the aircraft into the clearing in the forest.
Eridan breathed deeply in the clean, moist air, the mountains looming
over them menacingly. He quickly did some calculations and estimated that
the travel from this hangar bay to Hronthar would take at least half an hour.
The magnetic field around Hronthar might be incredibly useful to mask its
location, but it was also a pain in the ass, forcing them to use aircraft to
travel there.
Eridan winced a little. The long ride was going to be terribly
uncomfortable if his Master continued ignoring him.
“Was it really necessary?” Castien said, setting course for the town.
Eridan breathed out. At least he was talking to him. “Well, you know
me, Master,” he said in a light tone. “I can’t help myself when people say
stupid shit.”
Castien continued to look straight ahead, even though it wasn’t actually
necessary now that the autopilot was on. His expression was a little
tight. “Tethru is right. I am too lenient with you.”
“That prick deserved it. Didn’t you teach me that an insult should never
go unpunished or they’ll start thinking I’m weak?”
“Brute force isn’t the answer, Eridan. All you managed to prove was
that your emotions still rule you.”
“Can we not do this?” Eridan said with a sigh. “You have been gone for
thirty-nine days.” He added softly, “I missed you, Master.”
Castien’s jaw tightened. He still wouldn’t look at Eridan.
Eridan folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. He didn’t
exactly regret saying it—he wasn’t ashamed of his emotions—but his
Master’s strange reaction to his words always confused him. Castien didn’t
tolerate displays of affection and never was one to engage in them.
Although he had expressed his disapproval numerous times, he hadn’t
actually forbidden Eridan from expressing his affection. He could have, but
he hadn’t. It was rather baffling, this strange middle ground.
“How was your trip?” Eridan said when the silence stretched.
A barely noticeable frown appeared on his Master’s face. “Eventful,” he
replied. “The reports have been confirmed.”
Eridan looked at him in surprise. “You mean Tai’Lehr really wants to
come clean to the Council?”
Castien gave a clipped nod. “It is troubling.”
That was an understatement. If the Tai’Lehrians came forward as the
renegades that had once fled their grand clans after refusing to conform to
the Bonding Law, and the Council of Twelve Grand Clans forgave them
their transgressions, it would most likely draw unwanted scrutiny to the
Order. As far as the rest of the Calluvians were concerned, the Bonding
Law was introduced to protect them. But the renegades knew the truth: that
the Bonding Law was introduced to give the High Hronthar ultimate power
over the planet, since its members were the only telepaths on the planet not
bound by it. If the Council discovered that the Order was not actually an
apolitical organization of mind healers…
Eridan frowned. “What are you planning to do?”
“There will be a meeting of the Chapter in the morning,” Castien
replied. “The Chapter will decide how to handle the issue, not me.”
Eridan snorted. “Please, Master. Let’s not pretend the Chapter doesn’t
listen to anything you suggest.”
“I am not the Grandmaster. Tethru is.”
Eridan’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Did you know about the Tai’Lehrians?
Is that why you didn’t want to be the Grandmaster when Kato died? So that
Tethru takes the fall if the worst comes to the worst?”
Castien’s face was inscrutable. But he didn’t deny it, so Eridan took it as
confirmation. He shook his head to himself, marveling at how his Master
was always two steps ahead of everyone. It was a quality that had always
annoyed Eridan a little. He always felt terribly transparent, while it was
incredibly difficult to get a read on his Master.
“But how did you know about it before everyone else?” Eridan
said. “We hadn’t yet gotten those reports about Tai’Lehr when Grandmaster
Kato died.”
Although Castien’s face remained unreadable, some emotion flared in
their bond, too quickly for Eridan to recognize it. “I have my own sources.”
Eridan shot him an exasperated look. “Don’t you trust me, Master?”
Castien’s posture was very straight, his eyes fixed on the
mountains. “As much as I trust anyone,” he said.
Eridan pouted.
“Stop putting on that face,” Castien said.
“You aren’t even looking at me, Master. How do you know what face
I’m putting on?”
Castien didn’t deign to reply.
Eridan scowled, his fingers playing with his thaal absent-mindedly.
He had learned to navigate other telepaths’ minds without the grounding
help of his thaal a while ago; the gemstone was more of a comfort thing at
this point. Sometimes, when Castien was particularly distant and their bond
was too quiet, Eridan just needed a reminder that his Master had chosen
him, chosen him out of hundreds of initiates.
But did that really mean anything?

***

Eridan’s mood lifted a little when they arrived at his Master’s mansion.
He followed Castien into the house, immediately at ease in the familiar
surroundings.
This was home. Or at least the closest thing to a home Eridan had ever
had. Well, it was likely he’d had a real home before he’d been given away
to the Order, but his memories of his early childhood were nearly
nonexistent. Eridan thought he remembered a beautiful woman with golden
hair, who kissed him goodnight and called him “my little angel.” He also
thought he remembered an older boy, a brother, but memories of him were
even more confusing.
Anyway, it didn’t matter. Those people had given him up. The Order
was the only home he had ever had.
Not the Order, his inner voice corrected him snidely. Your Master.
 Pushing the uncomfortable thought out of his mind, Eridan looked
around the living room. He hadn’t been here in over a month. Castien lately
insisted that when he was away, Eridan should stay in the house Castien had
bought for him in the Apprentices’ district, but Eridan still couldn’t think of
that house as home. Granted, it probably didn’t help that he barely spent
any time there, preferring his Master’s mansion. To his surprise, Castien
didn’t seem to object to his presence, only ordering Eridan to go to his own
house in his absence.
Eridan wandered out onto the terrace. He tried not to look down. He
wasn’t very good with heights, and the cliff the house was imbedded in was
almost a straight-up, rock wall tarsecs high. The view was awe-inspiring,
the setting sun coloring the clouds and the sea golden and pink. Eridan
knew it was the best view in Hronthar, his Master’s house the only one
besides the castle that offered such a view. He suddenly wondered how
much this mansion had cost Castien. That said, Eridan doubted the beautiful
view was the reason his Master had acquired it: owning the best house in
District Four was likely a power play of some sort.
Eridan smiled softly, thinking about how the rest of the world viewed
mind adepts of the Order. Everyone thought the “monks” lived in austere
conditions and didn’t care for material things or power. Granted, it was the
way of thinking that was carefully cultivated by the Order, but it was still
amusing how clueless the rest of the planet was. Castien alone owned
numerous estates and companies on and off Calluvia, and he knew other
Masters did, too.
“Tell me why you lost control of yourself,” Castien said, coming to
stand next to him. He looked not at the sun disappearing into the horizon,
but at the water far below them. His Master wasn’t afraid of heights—he
wasn’t afraid of anything, as far as Eridan was aware. He was so
damn perfect. Perfectly in control. Sometimes it made Eridan want to
scream and do something ridiculous, just to see that icy composure shatter.
Eridan pursed his lips, hating that Castien still wouldn’t look at him.
They had been apart for more than a month. Surely he deserved one look.
“There’s nothing to explain,” he said sullenly. “Salah was a dick.”
“Language.”
Rolling his eyes, Eridan stepped closer to his Master. “I don’t want to
talk about Salah when I just got you back.” He leaned his shoulder against
his Master’s, enjoying how solid it felt and breathing in his familiar scent. I
missed you. He didn’t dare say it aloud again.
Eridan glared at the sky, suddenly feeling a little bit pathetic. What if
Salah was right and he really was delusional? What if his Master didn’t care
about him at all?
He pulled away and leaned against the railing, looking into the
horizon. “Grandmaster said he might reassign me to another Master.”
He felt Castien stiffen. “What?” he said sharply.
Eridan studied him, a little surprised by such a visible reaction.
Normally, his Master was very difficult to read, even for him—and they had
shared a telepathic bond for years.
Eridan shrugged, watching Castien’s profile carefully, hope stirring in
his heart. Did his Master care after all?
“He said he might take me on as his apprentice himself.”
Castien’s face was like stone as he ground out, “I didn’t waste years on
teaching you to give you to someone else.”
Oh.
Eridan deflated. He looked away, fighting the sudden tightness in his
throat. He didn’t know why he felt like this. Castien had never lied to him
about this. He had never pretended to care for him. He had always been
clear that he was incapable of deep emotions.
“I was away for less than two months, but of course you managed to get
in trouble,” Castien said, a touch of irritation lacing his words. “Have I not
told you to stay away from Tethru?”
“But I’m twenty,” Eridan said. “Surely too old.”
“You will be too old for him when you start looking old enough. Tethru
does not care for your biological age.” Castien sighed. “I have been keeping
you away from him for a reason, Eridan. Once he sets his sights on
someone, he fixates. He obsesses. The fact that you are mine—my
apprentice—will only make you more desirable for him. You would be a
prized trophy for him.”
“But what can he do?” Eridan said, frowning. “Can he actually take me
from you?”
Castien was quiet.
His gaze on the water below, he said, “I do not know.”
Eridan stared. He had never heard his Master admitting that he didn’t
know something. Never.
 “There are provisions for reassigning apprentices that he can use. It
happens very rarely, but there are precedents.”
“But would he really bother to go through all the hassle?” Eridan said,
still skeptical. “I mean, there are plenty of young unclaimed initiates he can
get his creepy hands on much easier.” He cringed—he hadn’t meant to
make it sound that way—but it was the truth, nonetheless. Eridan was far
more protected than the hundreds of unclaimed initiates, and he didn’t
flatter himself by thinking he was all that special.
A cold smile touched Castien’s lips. “Of course there are. But he will
want mine. It is a power play, Eridan. Tethru’s power is not as absolute as
he would like. He does not have a fraction of the respect Grandmaster Kato
commanded. If he can take my apprentice for himself, that would certainly
make the Chapter respect his authority more.”
Eridan pulled a face. Of course. It always was some power play. In the
years as Castien’s apprentice, he had learned that the Chapter was pretty
much a pit of poisonous snakes, all determined to seize more power
and backstab each other. Though, maybe he was being unfair. There were a
few decent Masters among the Chapter members, maybe even more than a
few. The problem was, it was hard to tell if there were decent people behind
those cold, formidable facades.
“I still think you’re being paranoid, Master,” Eridan said as the sun
finally disappeared into the horizon. The twin moons were already visible
against the darkening sky. “I’m sure Tethru has more important things to do
thanks to the situation on Tai’Lehr.”
Castien hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps. And perhaps it will only make
him more fixated on the idea. There is little we can do about Tai’Lehr
besides planting seeds of distrust toward the rebels, but those things would
be delegated to lesser Masters. Tethru will want a distraction, and you just
might be one.”
Eridan made a skeptical sound, unconvinced.
He felt Castien’s gaze on him, at last.
Turning his head, Eridan found his Master watching him with a strange,
intense expression.
Castien lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over Eridan’s cheek.
Eridan shivered and held himself very still, stunned. It was so rare for
his Master to touch him voluntarily instead of simply tolerating his
affections.
 Eridan licked his dry lips. His skin felt prickly, too tight. “Master?”
“You should grow a beard,” Castien said, with faint irritation in his
voice.
“A beard?” he repeated blankly, looking into Castien’s eyes. The blue of
them seemed so dark at the moment they looked almost black.
“Yes.” Castien brushed Eridan’s jawline with his thumb, a displeased
twist to his lips. “You do not even have stubble. Your face is still
disgustingly pretty and boyish. No wonder Tethru wants you.”
Eridan scoffed, trying not to lean into the touch like some touch-starved
animal. “Well, I’m sorry, Master, for having the audacity to be born with
my face.”
“Don’t give me attitude, Eridan,” Castien said, his eyes flashing.
Eridan dropped his gaze. Although his Master wasn’t easily angered and
was surprisingly tolerant of his attitude, sometimes his patience was worn
thin and his displeasure could be very unpleasant.
“You know I’m right, Master,” he said in a more neutral tone of
voice. “I can’t help it. I’m a throwback, remember?” He wasn’t
exaggerating: throwbacks were physiologically different from the rest of
Calluvians. Most throwbacks had softer, more refined features, and were
usually incapable of growing any facial hair. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t
look his age.
“Yes, a throwback,” Castien said, as if he were tasting something
foul. “Which undoubtedly only feeds Tethru’s fascination. He likes them.”
Eridan glared at him. “I’m not sure what’s worse: people who fetishize
us or people who find us disgusting.”
A wry smile touched Castien’s lips. “I am not disgusted with you,
Eridan. I am many things about you, most of them not nice, but disgusted is
not one of them.”
Eridan blinked, unsure how to take it.
As always, when he felt confused, he found himself in need of
reassurance.
Tell me you care. I need you to tell me you care. I need you to care. I
need you.
He leaned into his Master’s hand, rubbing his cheek against it.
Castien allowed it, staring at him with an unreadable, fixated look in his
eyes.
 “I missed you, Master,” Eridan murmured, his eyelids becoming heavy
from the rush of endorphins.
“You should make friends your age,” Castien said in a clipped
voice. “You are touch-starved.”
“You don’t have any friends, either,” Eridan said.
“I do not need them. But you are not me.” Castien’s finger brushed
against his telepathic point, and a whine slipped out of Eridan’s mouth, his
telepathic core pulsing with need.
Fuck, it had been too long.
“Please,” he whispered, meeting his Master’s gaze. “Just a short one?”
A muscle twitched in Castien’s jaw. “You always say that, but it’s never
a ‘short one.’ You are addicted, Eridan.”
He shook his head with a faint smile. “I’m not. If I were addicted to the
merge, I would have been a wreck after a month and a half away from you.
But I was fine, Master.” That was a bit of a lie—he had been very far from
fine—but he wasn’t a wreck, either. Eridan was sure he was getting a little
better at controlling himself when it came to having his Master’s mind
inside his.
Or at least, he wasn’t getting worse. Having Castien inside him was just
his favorite thing in the world. He never felt more connected to his Master
than when Castien was touching his telepathic core. It was the only thing
that made him feel like Castien really cared for him. And although Eridan
knew Castien still held back, keeping some of his shields, it was still the
closest thing to honesty and affection Castien allowed.
“It is not a merge,” Castien grated out, shooting him an irritated
look. “What we do… is simply a deeper telepathic contact than mental
probing. That is all.”
Eridan rolled his eyes with a smile. “Whatever you say, Master.” As
long as he got his Master inside him, he didn’t care what Castien called it.
“Insolent brat,” Castien said, but his thumb was already pressing against
Eridan’s telepathic point.
Push, and his Master was finally inside him, slipping into him with
practiced ease. Eridan moaned, his hand grasping his Master’s dark tunic to
keep himself on his feet. It felt incredible after so long apart, Castien’s
mental touch soothing every ache inside him, the loneliness that ate him
from the inside. Castien’s shields weren’t as impenetrable as they usually
were, and Eridan could feel flashes of his emotions: relief mixed with
greed, dark and possessive. There was the sense of finally, as if his Master
was as thirsty for this as him, and Eridan felt a rush of euphoria at the
thought, his body shuddering in pleasure. His knees were too weak to hold
him up and he sagged against his Master, tucking his face in the hollow of
his throat as Castien slipped deeper and deeper inside him. Eridan whined
as Castien stroked his pulsing, hungry core, again and again. The tension in
him was building, his nerves coiling with each measured stroke.
“Master,” he cried out as the pleasure finally reached its peak, sending
ripples of ecstasy through his mind and his body.
Dazedly, he rode it out, and tried not to whine in disappointment when
Castien pulled out, leaving him empty.
His Master pushed him away, not roughly but firmly enough.
When Eridan managed to focus his gaze on Castien’s face, it was mostly
unreadable.
“Was that satisfactory?” Castien said sardonically.
Blushing, Eridan gave him a beaming smile and darted forward to brush
his lips against Castien’s stubbled cheek. “Thank you. You are the best
Master ever.”
Castien had a rather tight expression on his face when he pulled
back. “Good night, Eridan,” he said, before striding away and disappearing
into the house.
Eridan stood on the terrace for a long time, breathing in the night air and
trying to calm his racing heart.
Castien had never been so deep inside him.
Eridan had loved it.
But he wanted more.
 Chapter Seven: The Chapter

The sessions of the Chapter were usually closed affairs, even to the
Masters’ apprentices. Eridan could count the number of times he had
attended a meeting on the fingers of one hand.
That was why he was so surprised when the next morning his Master
told him that he was to accompany him to the Chapter’s emergency
meeting.
At first, Eridan had felt a little weird around his Master after last night,
but when Castien didn’t treat him any differently during breakfast,
projecting calm detachment while he read news on his multi-device, Eridan
found himself relaxing. His Master’s calm tended to settle his nerves, and
this time was no exception. Nothing had happened. Clearly he had imagined
how intimate the whole thing was. There was no use fixating on it.
“Are you sure you want me there, Master?” Eridan said as they stepped
out of the t-chamber into High Hronthar’s vast hallway.
Castien gave a clipped nod and strode toward the meeting chamber,
with Eridan walking half a step behind him.
Eridan sighed. “You know I hate the Chapter meetings. They’re boring
and last forever.”
“Which is why you need to get used to them if you want to become a
Senior Master one day.”
“Why would I want it?” Eridan said, scrunching up his nose.
The look Castien shot him was heavy with disapproval. “Your lack of
ambition is unacceptable. Regardless, you should learn more about how the
Chapter operates.”
Eridan chuckled. “Admit it: it’s my punishment for choking Salah.”
“It is not a punishment. It is a privilege.”
 “Privilege, my ass,” Eridan muttered under his breath. “I’d take
cleaning toilets in the Initiates’ Hall over listening to the mind-numbing
stuff you all discuss.”
An hour later, Eridan had to admit he had been wrong about this
Chapter meeting being boring. It was anything but.
The news Castien had brought from Tai’Lehr caused an uproar among
the Chapter and provoked a rather heated debate about what should be done
to protect High Hronthar if Tai’Lehrians really came forward as the
renegades that had once left their grand clans.
Eridan had to admit it was rather amusing to watch Senior Masters lose
their cool, and seemingly unflappable, facades. He could sense that some
Masters felt very uneasy, almost scared, and he suspected those would be
the first to flee to one of their numerous off-world properties if the
Calluvian Council were to discover what the High Hronthar really was. He
made note of those Masters, knowing that Castien would later drill him with
questions about what he had learned during the meeting.
A hand in his hair made Eridan go still. Glancing up at his Master, he
found Castien watching the discussion carefully, his fingers threading
through Eridan’s hair in an absent-minded manner.
Eridan dropped his gaze to his folded knees, trying not to lean into the
touch too much. He hoped no one noticed where his Master’s hand was. A
quick glance around assured him that everyone was too worried to care. He
relaxed and let himself enjoy Castien’s extremely rare public display of
affection.
Though it wasn’t necessarily a display of affection. Perhaps his Master
simply wasn’t aware of what he was doing. Sometimes Eridan thought his
Master regarded him as an amusing pet—his pet. Considering that Eridan
was sitting on the floor at his Master’s feet, the comparison probably wasn’t
all that far-fetched. Eridan knew he probably should mind more. If he were
forced to sit at anyone else’s feet, it would have rubbed him the wrong way.
His pride wouldn’t allow it. But kneeling for Castien was something he had
gotten used to over the years. Truth be told, he found… strange comfort in
it. When he was kneeling, he was his Master’s. He had no agency, didn’t
have to do anything Castien didn’t tell him. It felt oddly good.
The hand in his hair stopped moving, and Eridan almost made a
disappointed sound. Frowning, he focused on what had his Master’s
attention.
 The debate seemed to have settled. Grandmaster Tethru was
speaking. “…We need something that would remind the rest of Calluvia
that the rebels are criminals. A high-profile crime that would get them
arrested immediately if the Tai’Lehrians were to approach the Council. A
murder.”
A ripple of murmurs met his statement.
Beside him, Castien was quiet.
“Who do you suggest?” Master Amara said, her sharp eyes narrowed on
Tethru.
“Tai’Lehr is technically still the Third Grand Clan’s colony. I think
disposing of Crown Prince Jamil’ngh’veighli and framing the rebels would
be the perfect solution,” Tethru said. “That would be a huge blow to the
Third Royal House, since Prince Jamil does not have an heir yet. It also has
the added benefit of alienating Queen Janesh: she would never support
people who are behind her son’s death.”
“I like it,” Master Zaid said, his gray eyes gleaming with malice. Eridan
shivered and leaned closer to his Master. He had always found Master Zaid
more than a little disturbing.
Eridan looked around and, to his unease, he found that most Masters
were agreeing with Tethru, too. It made him feel a little bit sick. How could
they just decide to take someone’s life in cold blood? He had never liked
the Chapter much, but now he knew he would never want to be part of it, no
matter how prestigious it was.
“Master, you have to do something,” he murmured, just for Castien’s
ears.
Castien sighed. “You need to get over your squeamishness, Eridan. Your
bleeding heart is going to be your downfall one day.”
Eridan met his eyes. “Please, Master,” he said, taking Castien’s hand
and pressing his mouth against it.
Castien’s lips thinned. He just stared at Eridan for a long moment.
At last, he said quietly, “If you can give me a good, rational reason why
I should stop them, I might indulge you.”
Eridan shot him an exasperated look. Everything was always a test with
his Master. Luckily, after years of apprenticeship under Castien, he was
used to it.
He frowned, his mind racing. “Killing the heir to the throne is
unnecessary,” he said. “And needlessly risky. Why not simply make it look
like he was killed? Disintegrating his vehicle would work just as well.
There could be other opportunities he could be used for if he is kept alive.”
“Such as?” Castien said, his face inscrutable.
Eridan hummed in thought, nuzzling into his Master’s hand absent-
mindedly. “His security clearance, for one thing. His familial bond to the
Queen would also give you a key into Queen Janesh’s mind, make her more
easily influenced.”
“Passable,” Castien said. When Eridan smiled at him, his Master
murmured, “But you will work on not allowing your emotions to affect your
judgment, Eridan.”
“Of course, Master,” Eridan said innocently.
Shooting him a somewhat exasperated look, Castien removed his hand
and turned his attention toward his fellow Chapter members.
“Let us not be hasty,” he said.
He had raised his voice just a little, but it seemed enough for all
conversations to cease and everyone’s attention to turn toward him.
Eridan dropped his gaze, trying to look like a quiet, obedient apprentice.
He could feel someone’s stare on him, and he reached out with his senses a
little. He suppressed a grimace as he realized it was Grandmaster Tethru.
“What do you mean, Master Idhron?” someone asked. Eridan didn’t
recognize his voice.
Castien said, “Master Asai reported to me this morning that Prince
Jamil’s husband, Prince-Consort Mehmer, came to her, complaining about
his abnormally heightened senses and telepathy when he is away from his
husband. He was concerned that there was something wrong with his
marriage bond.”
A murmur went through the Masters.
“Why is Master Asai reporting this to you and not to me?” Tethru said
sharply.
Meeting his gaze, Castien shrugged. “I wondered the same thing,
Grandmaster,” he said mildly.
Tethru’s face reddened.
Eridan bit his lip hard to stop himself from smiling.
Master Amara leaned forward. “I do not think it is relevant why Master
Asai reported to Castien,” she said, frowning deeply. “Are you saying
Prince-Consort Mehmer’s marriage bond is becoming faulty, Castien? If so,
how is that relevant to the subject? Why has she not simply fixed the
problem instead of reporting it to you?”
“She has,” Castien said. “Or rather, she has tried. But the problem
became worse. His bond is weakening, and fast. It could not be fixed, no
matter what she did, and he is becoming suspicious of her and the High
Hronthar in general.”
This time the murmurs were louder. Eridan could acutely feel the
unease of the Masters and had to tighten his shields.
“Prince-Consort Mehmer is a throwback, if I remember correctly,”
Master Zaid drawled, sneering slightly. “It is not unusual for them to be
faulty in some way.”
Eridan’s hands curled into fists, and he had to hide them in the folds of
his robe.
At least Master Amara didn’t seem impressed with Zaid’s comment,
either. She shot him a withering look, her gray eyebrows furrowed. “It is
true that throwbacks have the highest rate of bond failure, but it has nothing
to do with them being faulty,” she said. “And everything to do with them
being naturally predisposed to having one mate of their own choice.
Artificial bonds are unnatural for them.”
“Indeed,” Castien said. “In any case, the cause is irrelevant. The prince-
consort should be dealt with, and soon.”
“Very well,” Tethru said, raising his voice, clearly wanting to remind
everyone who was the Grandmaster.
Eridan nearly rolled his eyes. How fragile was Tethru’s ego?
Tethru wasn’t even bothering to hide his dislike as he looked at
Castien. “We can switch the prince-consort with his husband in my plan.
That does not make much of a difference.”
“While your solution is ingenious,” Castien said flatly, “it requires some
amendments. Your plan is generally sound—there is no better way to pit the
Calluvian Council against the rebels than the rebels’ apparent murder of one
of the royals—but it is not foolproof, Master.”
A muscle twitched in Tethru’s jaw, anger rolling off him. “Please
enlighten me as to why, Castien,” he bit out.
Castien looked at him neutrally, his calm like a mockery of Tethru’s
lack of composure. Eridan had to admit he absolutely loved watching his
Master reduce that self-important dick to a clown. Maybe he should attend
more sessions of the Chapter if they all were so entertaining.
 “Every plan has a chance to fail,” Castien said, his voice quiet. “Your
plan assumes that the Tai’Lehrians would either decide against revealing
themselves to the Calluvian Council or would be unable to prove that they
had nothing to do with the murder of the royal. But what if they do? What if
they convince someone high-ranking enough in the Council to listen to
them? What if they are given a fair trial? The Ministry of Intergalactic
Affairs has Dalvars in their employ, a species that can detect if someone is
lying. What if they are used to question the Tai’Lehrians? Your whole plan
will fall apart if the Tai’Lehrians testify that they had nothing to do with
Prince-Consort Mehmer’s death, which would eventually lead to the
Council suspecting us.”
The chamber was dead silent, the Masters’ alarm apparent. Eridan
didn’t even need to stretch his senses to feel it.
“What are you suggesting then, Idhron?” Tethru bit off.
“A contingency plan. There is one person whose testimony would take
precedence over the Tai’Lehrians’ if they were to be questioned by the
Dalvars: the supposed victim’s.” Castien waited until the murmurs quieted
down before speaking again. “If Prince-Consort Mehmer testifies that
Tai’Lehrians had him kidnapped and tortured for information, and that he
barely escaped with his life, no one would listen to a word the Tai’Lehrians
say.”
“But it would require a full personality wipe to fool the Dalvars,”
Master Amara said, frowning. “There are no wipers in the Order anymore.
Well, there is an initiate that has that talent, but she is too young and
untrained to be much of a help now. Right now her talent is too erratic.”
Eridan winced. He had heard of her. Everyone in the Order had heard of
her. Telepaths with the wiper talent were incredibly rare, so of course the
girl was something of a curiosity now.
“Can’t Castien brute-force a wipe?” Master Zaid said idly, as if he were
talking about the weather rather than discussing what was an equivalent of
the most brutal mind-rape one could possibly imagine. “He’s a Seven, after
all.”
Eridan glared at him, his annoyance mounting.
“Castien might be a Class 7 telepath, but he is no wiper,” Tethru
snapped. “Theoretically, he might be able to do it, but it would take a lot of
time and his work likely wouldn’t be as flawless as that of a wiper. The
Dalvars are not easily fooled.”
 For the first time ever, Eridan approved of Tethru’s intervention. What
Master Zaid was suggesting was gross, even by the dubious standards of the
Order. It was true that high-level telepaths could brute-force pretty much
anything that telepaths with particular talents could do, but it would be
crude work, clumsy and extremely painful.
“I agree, Grandmaster,” Castien said. “While I could do it if I were so
inclined, I have little time for that. In any case, that is not necessary. There
is a wiper whose services we can use.”
Silence fell over the room.
“If you mean Master Sylas, he is no longer part of the Order,” Tethru
said, his discomfort obvious. “He left.”
Castien raised his eyebrows. “You know as well as I do that one does
not leave the Order.”
Nobody spoke; an eerie unease filled the room.
Eridan shivered, no longer wondering if his Master had noticed the
treacherous thoughts some Masters had been entertaining. Of course
Castien had noticed. He rarely missed anything.
Tethru cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, my point remains: Master
Sylas might be part of the Order technically, but he has long stopped
coming here and ceased all communications with us. He has made it clear
that he does not want to be part of this organization anymore.”
“Sylas owes me a favor,” Castien said. “He will do it.”
Eridan wondered about it while the Masters discussed the technicalities
of the plan. He had never met Master Sylas. He had left the Chapter—and
the Order—before Eridan became Castien’s apprentice. He had heard of
him, though, and each rumor was wilder than the last. He wondered what
kind of a favor Sylas owed Castien. It must have been something huge,
because Master Sylas had moved to another planet and effectively cut all
his ties to the Order—or so everyone had thought.
When the meeting finally ended, Eridan followed Castien out of the
room, deep in thought. At times like this, it became painfully obvious how
little he actually knew about his Master’s past.
“Are you not pleased?” Castien said when they returned home.
Eridan scoffed. “What should I be pleased about? Brainwashing
someone is hardly better than killing.”
“Brainwashing can be fixed. Death cannot be. Therefore, stop sulking,
Eridan. You got what you wanted.”
 Eridan laughed. “Please, Master. You hardly intervened for my sake.”
Castien’s eyes smiled. “I am proud you are no longer as naive as you
used to be.”
Eridan grinned at him. “Well, you were bound to rub off on me at some
point, Master.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Castien said, looking away.
Eridan simply gazed at his stern, handsome profile for a moment before
murmuring, “Why did you take me with you to the Chapter meeting? You
almost never do. And please, don’t feed me that bullshit about it being a
learning experience, Master.”
“It was Master Amara’s idea, actually,” Castien said. “She called me
this morning and told me that certain people have raised concerns about
your conduct, questioning my suitability as a Master to you.”
Eridan frowned, bewildered. “My conduct isn’t much worse than that of
most apprentices.”
Castien heaved a sigh, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “That is
almost certainly Tethru’s work. The problem is, other Masters see you only
when you misbehave, Eridan, so they form a rather biased opinion. Master
Amara advised me to stop coddling you and take you with me to more
meetings.”
“You don’t coddle me,” Eridan said with a snort.
“From a certain point of view, it might seem like that,” Castien said,
taking a seat in the armchair by the fireplace, his thoughtful gaze fixed on
the flames.
He looked worried. Tired.
It was a strange thought. Eridan had always thought of his Master as
someone so powerful he seemed indestructible; it was easy to believe that
when Castien was both physically and telepathically powerful.
But at that moment, he seemed just like any person.
Eridan watched him in silence. Castien’s broad shoulders seemed so
tense beneath his black robe. Something was bothering his Master; Eridan
could feel it despite Castien’s shields.
Quietly, he walked toward Castien and sank down to the plush carpet at
his feet. “My thaal is starting to get loose, Master,” he murmured, pressing
his cheek against Castien’s knee. “Fix it?”
Castien simply looked at him for a long moment before giving a clipped
nod and gesturing for Eridan to turn around.
 Eridan did, leaning back against the armchair and closing his eyes as he
felt his Master’s strong hands carefully work on removing the thaal from his
hair before starting to re-braid it.
This activity was one of his favorite things in the world. It always
soothed Eridan, grounded him, and made their bond fill with comfort and
quiet pleasure. He didn’t know what effect this had on Castien, if any, but at
least he didn’t seem to mind it.
Except after last night, his mind was still extremely attuned to his
Master’s, and their bond became hypersensitive, making Eridan desperate
for a deeper connection, crave it. He reached out into the bond—
“No, Eridan,” Castien said sternly.
“Just one more time, Master,” he said, painfully aware he was
practically whining. It was embarrassing, but he wanted this so much. “You
said it wasn’t a merge, so it doesn’t count, right? We don’t have to go deep
if you don’t want to.”
Castien finished braiding the thaal into his hair and let the gemstone
settle against Eridan’s neck. “I said no,” he said coldly. “Go to your room
and meditate.”
Shooting him a half-pissed, half-baffled look, Eridan strode out of the
room. He marched into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. The thud
of the door rattled the windows but failed to give him any satisfaction, his
entire being still crawling with need.
He fell into his bed with a groan of frustration. “I hate you,” he growled
into his mattress before flipping onto his back and shoving his pants down.
He was already hard and aching. He stroked himself hard and fast, trying to
sate one need with the other kind, biting his lips and trying not to make any
noise.
He didn’t think of anything. He definitely wasn’t thinking of Castien.
His Master was a cruel, manipulative asshole who refused to give Eridan
what he needed. Eridan hated him, and his stupid blue eyes, and his broad
shoulders and muscular chest—
He moaned, feeling himself getting slicker, both his cock and his hole.
He shoved two fingers into his hole and groaned. He almost hoped his
Master would enter the room and find him like this, finger-fucking himself
and trying to sate the hunger inside him. Castien would probably just give
him an unimpressed look and raise a haughty eyebrow. You are pathetic, his
Master would say, watching Eridan impassively. I thought I trained you
better than that, but like all throwbacks, you are nothing but a wet cock slut.
Eridan’s eyes rolled back and he came, squeezing around his fingers and
shuddering through choked-off sobs as his cock spurted ropes of come.
When the aftershocks of pleasure died away, he stared at the ceiling, his
face hot. Had he just really masturbated, imagining his Master
criticizing and humiliating him?
What was wrong with him?
 Chapter Eight: The Servant and the Apprentice

The next few months passed in a blur. Hronthar was buzzing with the
news of Prince-Consort Mehmer’s death. Although only people close to the
Chapter knew the truth, there were all sorts of rumors afloat.
Castien remained frustratingly hard to read, sometimes almost
affectionate with him and sometimes cold and harsh. Eridan alternated
between being pissed off at him and feeling things no apprentice should feel
for his Master.
He had also developed embarrassing, irrational animosity toward Javier,
something he had tried to hide but apparently failed to, because one day
Javier confronted him about it.
“Look, what is your problem?” Javier said, frowning at him from his
seat on the couch.
Eridan crossed his arms over his chest. “No problem,” he bit out with a
smile that probably was as fake as his cheerful voice. “Master just isn’t
home.”
“He told me to wait for him,” Javier said, watching him curiously.
“You have been waiting for an hour. Don’t you have anything better to
do with your time than wait for your employer to fuck you?”
Javier cocked his head to the side, his shoulders relaxing. “Ah. I see
now.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Javier gave a shrug. “You are not the first apprentice who has gotten a
little possessive and insecure over their Master. It happens.”
Eridan scowled. “I’m not possessive. And why would I be insecure? I
know my place. I am my Master’s first and only apprentice. You’re hardly
the first servant he has ever had.”
 The look Javier gave him was pitying.
Eridan flushed, deeply uncomfortable. Don’t say that, he pleaded
mentally. If they didn’t talk about it, it wasn’t real.
“You’re lucky I like you, Eridan,” Javier said after a moment. “You
should be more careful. Others wouldn’t be as understanding.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Eridan said.
Javier shook his head with a sad smile. “Have I told you about Kyran?”
“No,” Eridan said, confused and relieved by the change of subject.
“He got transferred to the servicing department just a few months before
you started your apprenticeship under your Master,” Javier said. “He was an
apprentice before.”
“What?”
“The scandal was hushed up, so I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of
it.” Javier winced. “Kyran was discovered in an intimate situation with his
Master. The fallout wasn’t pretty. Although Kyran said it was consensual,
Master Blaine was demoted to Master Acolyte and forbidden from any
contact with him.”
Eridan wrinkled his forehead. He had obviously known that any
fraternization between a Master and their apprentice was very frowned
upon, but he hadn’t realized the consequences would be that bad. “That
seems a little harsh if it was consensual. Just because of their age
difference? Why is it such a big deal when Calluvians can live up to two
hundred years?”
“The age difference in itself isn’t the problem,” Javier said. “Master
Blaine practically raised Kyran, so he basically groomed a child. That’s the
disgusting part, no matter what Kyran says.”
“All right, that’s a little icky,” Eridan said, making a face. He glared at
Javier when he realized why he was telling him this story. “But what does
that have to do with anything? My Master sure as hell didn’t raise me. I
properly met him only when I was eighteen.”
“I know,” Javier said with a placating gesture. “But Master Idhron’s
case is rather unique. He’s the youngest Master in history, and even if he
weren’t, most Masters don’t claim an apprentice that soon after graduating.
Most Masters are a lot older than their apprentices. The age difference
between Kyran and Master Blaine is actually much smaller than it could
have been—I think there were some medical reasons that allowed Master
Blaine to take on an apprentice when he was still a Master Acolyte. Most
Masters are fifty or sixty years older than their apprentices, and most
Masters usually do raise their apprentices. The power imbalance alone
makes any intimate relationship rather unhealthy—”
Eridan laughed. “I’m sorry, but that’s rich, coming from…”
Javier flushed. “What, a servant? I might be selling my body, but my
mind is my own. I don’t belong to any Master the way an apprentice does. I
don’t have to give anything but my body, and if my employer wants to do
something I’m uncomfortable with, I can tell them to fuck off. An
apprentice has no power over the Master; that’s why any fraternization
between them is forbidden.”
Eridan scoffed. “Please. Don’t be naive. You’re speaking as someone
who has no idea how the Chapter operates. I’ll have you know that most
Masters in the Chapter couldn’t care less about arbitrary rules. Grandmaster
Tethru would be the first to attest to that. Want to bet Master Blaine just
pissed off some member of the Chapter and they used his relationship with
Kyran as an excuse to demote him?”
Javier frowned. “I don’t believe you.”
Eridan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wish I had as much
faith in the Chapter as you do, but trust me, they don’t give a fuck about the
right thing. And by the way, you’re wrong about apprentices not having any
power over their Masters.”
Javier shot him a skeptical look.
“I’ll prove it to you,” Eridan said with a grin. “You’ll see.”
“And how are you going to do it?” Javier said, still exuding skepticism.
“Watch.” Eridan plopped down on the couch next to Javier and looked
expectantly at the door. “Master’s coming home.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
Castien looked tense as he entered the house. He came to an abrupt halt
upon seeing them. His gaze flickered between them before settling on
Eridan. “I told you not to wait up for me, Eridan.”
Eridan nearly scowled. Yes, because apparently you wanted to use
Javier’s services.
Suppressing his annoyance, he gave his Master a smile. “I wanted to
meditate with you.”
Castien stared at him. “Meditate? You?”
Eridan nodded solemnly, giving him his best innocent look.
 Castien narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And you have to meditate right
now, I suppose.”
Eridan nodded, dropping his gaze for a moment. “I have felt strange all
day. Off. My mind feels fuzzy, my thoughts weirdly disorganized.”
Castien walked over. Taking Eridan’s chin, he made Eridan look him in
the eye. “Have you seen a mind healer?”
Eridan scoffed. “Why do I need one when I have you?”
Castien said nothing for a long moment.
“You should not be so careless,” he said at last, his thumb pressing
against Eridan’s telepathic point. “You know those are the symptoms of a
foreign intrusion into your mind.”
Eridan leaned into the touch, his telepathic core pulsing with
yearning. “Master,” he whispered, licking his lips.
Castien stared at him.
“Leave,” he said curtly.
Eridan blinked up at him, unsure. “Master?”
“Leave,” Castien repeated, glancing aside—at Javier.
Right. Eridan had forgotten about him, forgotten about the point he had
been trying to make.
Javier shot him a strange look as he bowed to Castien and left.
As soon as they were alone, Castien removed his hand and regarded him
coldly. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Eridan said, feigning innocence.
A muscle twitched in Castien’s jaw. “You know as well as I do that you
lied to me. There is nothing wrong with your mind, Eridan.”
Eridan shot him a sullen look. “Maybe there is. How would you know if
you don’t check?”
“I do not need to get inside you to know that your mind was not
tampered with.”
Eridan looked at him in confusion. “What?”
Castien pursed his lips. “You thought I would allow such a potential
security breach? Your mind is a virtual fortress, Eridan. No one can get
inside it without your explicit encouragement. It is protected by dozens of
mind traps.”
Eridan frowned. “That can’t be true. I have joint meditations with
Master Tker and he has never encountered them.”
 For some reason, Castien seemed irritated by the subject. “Your
meditations with him are shallow. I warned him not to go too deep, and just
teach you patience and tranquility. He knows better than to touch your mind
in any meaningful way.”
Eridan considered it, not sure how he felt about his mind being full of
traps. On one hand, he appreciated it: mind traps were incredibly difficult to
set up and were considered the best form of mental protection out there. On
the other hand, he would have liked to actually be asked for his opinion
beforehand.
“You should have told me,” he said.
Castien looked unfazed. “I do not have to tell you anything. You are my
apprentice. You know too much. Protecting your mind is a necessity, not an
option. They do no harm to you, so why would you object to an additional
layer of protection?”
Well. When put that way, his Master was right.
“Still,” Eridan grumbled.
“You are just unhappy your lie was discovered,” Castien said. His eyes
were cold. “I do not appreciate being lied to and manipulated, Eridan.”
“Then why did you play along?” Eridan said, confused.
“I saw little point in discussing our private affairs in front of a servant.”
Eridan couldn’t help but smile, feeling viciously pleased. Our private
affairs. That was proof that he was far more important to his Master than a
servant. Javier could suck his Master’s cock, but it changed nothing.
Castien was Eridan’s, in all the ways that mattered.
He still absolutely hated the thought of Javier touching his Master and
having even a fraction of his attention. It should be only his, Eridan’s,
always.
“So, enlighten me on what it was about,” Castien said.
Eridan dropped his gaze before lifting it again.
“I want you to fire him,” he said.
Castien stared at him. His face became blank, the bond between them
going completely quiet as Castien brought his shields up.
Silence fell, thick and suffocating.
Eridan felt himself blush, his skin prickling the longer the silence
stretched.
“You do not want me to fire him,” Castien said at last, looking him in
the eye. “Trust me, that would be a terrible idea.”
 Eridan swallowed. “Why?” he murmured, his heart pounding in his
ears. Were they really finally talking about the unsaid thing that had existed
between them for ages? Or was he imagining it? “Don’t tell me you are
scared of breaking the rules, Master. I won’t believe you. You make those
rules.”
Castien’s fingers brushed against Eridan’s thaal. “Some rules are there
for good reason.”
Eridan grabbed his Master’s hand and squeezed it with his own, the
touch sending pleasant shivers through his body. “Bullshit,” he said
hoarsely, holding Castien’s gaze. “You don’t need him. I can give you
anything he does, and more.”
Castien’s throat moved. “You do not know what you are talking about,
Eridan.” His voice was cold and uncompromising. “This conversation is
over.”
Eridan said, “No.”
He felt the very air between them become charged with his Master’s
anger.
Eridan moved Castien’s hand up his neck, to his mouth. He rubbed his
lips against his Master’s palm before slipping his thumb into his mouth. He
sucked, looking Castien in the eye, challenging. The inside of his mouth felt
so sensitive, and Eridan nearly moaned from how good it felt. He felt blood
rush to his crotch, arousal pooling between his legs, hot and heavy. He
sucked harder on his Master’s thumb, relishing the sensation, the taste of his
Master’s skin, the feel of a part of his Master’s body inside him.
“Cease this immediately,” Castien bit out, his gaze fixed on Eridan’s
mouth, the blue of his eyes so dark his eyes seemed black.
“Why?” Eridan said through their bond, sucking on Castien’s
thumb. “Why did you suddenly acquire a conscience, Master?”
“It’s not about conscience, you insolent brat,” Castien said, pulling his
finger out of Eridan’s mouth with an obscene pop. He pressed the wet
thumb against Eridan’s bottom lip, his gaze a mix of fascinated and
disgusted. “If it were a matter of conscience, or lack thereof, I would have
stuffed you with my cock years ago.”
Eridan shivered, squeezing his thighs together. There was something
obscene about his Master, the high and mighty Master Idhron, who rarely
ever used contractions, saying such a vulgar word as “cock.”
 “Then what is the problem?” Eridan said breathlessly, flicking his
tongue out to lick Castien’s thumb.
“The problem is, that would be extremely idiotic in the long run.”
Despite his harsh words, Castien’s gaze remained fixed on Eridan’s
mouth. “Now stop this ridiculousness. This is the last we speak of this.”
Eridan glowered at him. “How is having sex with me ‘extremely
idiotic,’ but fucking Javier isn’t?”
A muscle twitched in Castien’s jaw. “Do not test my patience, Eridan.
Watch your tone and language.”
Eridan gave him a faux-innocent look, fuming on the inside. “Why,
Master, I’m simply confused. I’m better looking, more powerful, and more
compatible with you than him.”
“And humbler,” Castien said dryly.
“Pffft. Humility is overrated.” Eridan looked him in the eye. “You
already love fucking my brain, don’t you deny it. What’s stopping you from
fucking me with your cock?”
Castien’s nostrils flared. “You will watch your mouth. I do not know
where you have picked up such vulgar language, but—”
“Why, from your precious fuck-toy, Master—”
Castien yanked him to his feet, his eyes dark. “I’ve had enough of your
cheek, Eridan.”
Breathing hard, Eridan leaned into Castien’s personal space. “And what
are you going to do with me?” he said with a sneer, knowing that his
insolence would make his Master angry. He wanted it. He wanted Castien
to be angry. Anger was good. Anger was better than cold distance. “What
are you going to do? Spank me?” He smiled, their ragged breaths
mixing. “Why won’t you just shut me up with your cock? You know you
want to, Master. You’ve wanted it for years, admit it.” He cocked his head
to the side and smiled. “Javier looks a little like me. Is that why he stuck
around? I bet you imagine me in his place every time you stick your cock
into him.”
“You are delusional,” Castien said. “Delusional and foolish.” He glared
at Eridan, tension rolling off him in waves. “If I wanted to fuck you, I
would have. It’s as simple as that. No one would have stopped me, because
you are mine. You have as many rights as I give you.” Something cold and
mean flickered in his eyes. “Yes, I want you—physically. You are truly
delusional if you think that means anything. I am a healthy man, and you
are disgustingly pretty; that is all it is. You, Javier, someone else—it does
not matter to me. I will not be a slave to my base urges. If I choose not to
touch you, it is for a reason, and my body’s desires will not change my
mind.”
“Enlighten me, then,” Eridan said. “If there is no difference between
me, Javier, and some other whore, what’s stopping you from using me like
you use them?”
Something flickered in Castien’s eyes. “That is none of your concern. I
do not owe you any answers. This conversation is over.”
“Fine,” Eridan bit out, and smiled brightly. “I guess I’ll find someone
else to entertain me. My ‘disgustingly pretty’ face is good for something.”
Castien’s face was like stone. “I am sure it is,” he said flatly. “Except
you and I both know you cannot desire meaningless intercourse with a
stranger. You are a throwback.”
Eridan glowered at him, smacking him telepathically. “Fuck you. I’m
more than just my biology. You think I can’t get laid just because I’m a
throwback? I can. I will!” He stormed out of the house, fuming, hurt and
rejection making his chest tight.
Screw him.
Gods, he hated him.
 Chapter Nine: Ice Prince

Eridan barely remembered getting to the apprentices’ district. His house

was cold and dark and unlived-in. Eridan marched straight to his rarely used
bedroom and searched for the most immodest clothes he could find in his
closet.
Those happened to be a tight pair of dark pants that accentuated his ass,
and a half-sheer black shirt. He’d bought those clothes last year, but there
had not been any occasions to wear them. He didn’t have friends, so he had
never been to any of the nightclubs in the apprentices’ and initiates’
districts. But he had heard of them, of course. Everyone had. Eridan was
sure all Masters were aware of those nightclubs—they had been apprentices
once, too, after all—and just feigned ignorance. The Chapter wasn’t stupid:
so many teenagers and young adults would go crazy in an isolated town like
this and do something stupid if they weren’t allowed to unwind. Eridan
suspected there were such establishments in the Masters’ districts, too, but
he didn’t know where they were located.
He didn’t need them, anyway. The one in the apprentices’ district would
do just as nicely.
Pulling his hair into a bun, Eridan stared at the purple gemstone resting
against his throat with mixed feelings. He should probably remove it.
Castien’s telepathic mark would make it obvious who his Master was and
would likely scare off most men. But on the other hand, did he want to
sleep with anyone scared of his Master?
The mere thought of sleeping with some stranger made his stomach
turn, but Eridan pushed through his discomfort. He was more than his
biology. He could have sex if he decided to. So what if according to the
Order’s research, eighty-five percent of throwbacks needed emotional
intimacy for sex? Maybe he was among the lucky fifteen percent who could
fuck anyone they wanted. Ironically, those fifteen percent of throwbacks
were the ones who gave all throwbacks such a bad reputation. Wet slut,
boypussy, back whores: those degrading terms existed entirely thanks to the
fraction of throwbacks who biologically had an extremely high sex drive
and didn’t need any emotional intimacy for sex. And never mind that those
terms couldn’t have been more wrong for the majority of throwbacks.
Ever since Eridan could remember, he had hated it, hated being a
throwback. Children could be cruel, and the humiliating nicknames had
only bothered him more with the years, especially since they were so unfair
and inaccurate. Sometimes he almost wished he were as promiscuous as the
throwbacks’ reputation was: at least then he wouldn’t feel dirty for things
he didn’t do. When other teenagers had been making out and having sex,
he’d had no sex drive to speak of. He was a very late bloomer: he started
getting urges only after becoming his Master’s apprentice.
Eridan tried not to think about what that could mean. It was natural that
his body had mistaken their deep training bond for emotional intimacy. It
meant nothing. His Master was an emotionless bastard who wouldn’t
recognize emotional intimacy if it hit him in the face.
Stop thinking about him, damn you, he told himself, annoyed. He could
totally have sex with a stranger if he decided to. He was going to prove
Castien wrong and then rub it in his face, coming home smelling of sex and
some stranger.
Ignoring the unease churning in his gut, Eridan headed out.
The club was called Ice Prince, in honor of the Crown Prince of the
Third Grand Clan, one of the most gorgeous men on Calluvia. Eridan had
never met the prince, but he had seen him on the news. Prince Jamil really
was drop-dead gorgeous, but hilariously, he couldn’t be more different from
the establishment named after him. Eridan wondered what that prim, proper
prince would think if he found out that there was an illegal establishment
for sex, dancing, and drinking within the Order named in honor of him. The
thought was funny.
Eridan winced as he entered the club. He had never felt comfortable in
big crowds, his empathy becoming a huge disadvantage. Other people’s
emotions pushed at him from all sides, making him feel a little
claustrophobic. He reinforced his mental shields, his hand instinctively
flying up to his thaal. Fuck. Stop being so pathetic, damn it. He shouldn’t
need the comfort of his Master’s mark as soon as he was out of his comfort
zone, especially since he’d come here to prove to his Master that he didn’t
need him.
Forcing himself to let go of his thaal, Eridan moved forward, toward the
bar. Ordering a random drink, he looked around, trying to distract himself
from the onslaught of other people’s emotions. There was a surprisingly
large number of adults in the club, despite it catering to apprentices and
initiates. He wondered if those adults were Masters or members of the
servicing department. Since everyone was wearing casual clothes, it was
hard to tell. Either way, no one seemed to care for rank, which was both
very freeing and weird, considering how much one’s rank was important in
the Order’s social ladder.
“You look like you’re new here,” the guy beside him said, making
Eridan flinch.
He turned his head and eyed the guy. He looked a little familiar—Eridan
must have seen him around the town—but he was pretty sure they had
never spoken. He looked around Eridan’s age, maybe a little older. Curly
dark-brown hair, sharp amber eyes, a strong jaw. He was tall and broad-
shouldered with some nice muscles. He was very handsome, and didn’t
seem like a creep, but he wasn’t really Eridan’s type. Not that he had a type,
but theoretically, he wanted to sleep with someone… older. More built.
Besides, he didn’t like brown hair.
“Not interested,” Eridan said, turning back to the crowd.
The guy snorted. “Has anyone told you that you need to work on your
social skills? Not everyone who talks to you wants to bone you, friend.”
Eridan made a skeptical noise. “People come here to hook up.”
“Do they? You don’t look like you want to hook up. Your body
language is all wrong. You look like you’ve come here for some unpleasant
task.”
“One doesn’t necessarily exclude the other,” Eridan said, flicking his
gaze to the tall man some distance away who was staring at him. Those
pecs were nice. But his face… hmm… too soft and friendly. It was off-
putting.
“It’s pretty damn sad if you really think that. You should hook up only if
you really want to. But then again, wanting apparently isn’t enough,
either.” A wave of bitterness rolled off the guy.
 Eridan shot him a curious look. There was a story there. “What is your
name?”
“Kyran,” the guy said. “Yours?”
“Eridan,” Eridan said, trying to hide his surprise. It couldn’t be some
other guy named Kyran, because every child brought to the Order got a
unique new name. It was a pretty freaky coincidence that he’d stumbled
into this guy just after Javier told him about him. But then again, Hronthar
was a pretty small town.
Kyran glanced at him and snorted. “So you’ve heard about me, I take
it.”
Eridan just nodded, not knowing what to say.
For a while, they stood at the bar without talking, nursing their drinks.
Finally, Eridan’s curiosity got the better of him. “Did your Master really
take advantage of you?”
Kyran’s jaw worked. “No, he didn’t. That’s bullshit. Have you met my
Master? He’s the gentlest, kindest man in this whole fucked-up place. He
wouldn’t have been able to take advantage of me even if he wanted to: he’s
half my weight. And no, he didn’t fucking groom me, either. If anything, it
was I who took advantage of him.”
Eridan looked at him with interest. “What do you mean?”
Kyran heaved a sigh. “I literally climbed naked into his bed and put his
cock into my mouth while he was sleeping. If there was coercing, it was
done by me. But the Chapter doesn’t give a shit about the truth when they
have their own agenda. My Master annoyed too many of those assholes
with his reforms.” There was fondness in his voice, and annoyance too, as
Kyran launched into a tirade about his ridiculously idealistic Master,
but Eridan could barely hear what he was talking about.
I climbed naked into his bed and put his cock into my mouth while he
was sleeping.
The mere idea… was outrageous. Outrageous and wrong. Outrageous
and wrong and arousing.
If he dared to do that to Castien, his Master might literally kill him.
“It’s more than just idle curiosity, isn’t it?” Kyran said, probably
noticing the speculative look in his eyes.
Eridan hesitated. But Kyran was probably the last person who would
report him to the Chapter, all things considered. “I want to sleep with my
Master, too. But he’s being an ass.”
 Kyran didn’t look surprised. “Who’s your Master?” he said, sipping his
drink.
“Castien Idhron.”
Kyran choked on his drink and started coughing. “Seriously?” he said at
last, still sounding strangled.
Eridan was a little amused by that reaction. “You know him?”
“I know of him,” Kyran corrected. “Who doesn’t?”
Eridan had to concede the point.
“Don’t even think about trying to do what I did with Master Idhron,”
Kyran said, grimacing. “Are you crazy? My Master forgave me because
he’s a nice man, a very kind man, too kind for his own good. Master Idhron
is—definitely not one.”
Eridan nearly laughed. He definitely wouldn’t call his Master
a kind man. Eridan wasn’t sure Castien even understood the concept of
kindness.
“You’re right,” he mumbled, but the idea stuck in his head, refusing to
go away.
He was still thinking about it as he left the club hours later, his virginity
very much intact, to his annoyance. It wasn’t for lack of offers. He had
flirted with five different guys, but not a single one of them had spiked his
interest—or his libido.
The few older men that he found physically appealing had taken one
look at his thaal and quickly distanced themselves from him, clearly
recognizing Castien’s telepathic mark. It was beyond annoying.
So after swapping communicator numbers with Kyran, Eridan left,
deciding to take a walk.
He wandered the streets of the town, his mind racing. Try as he might,
he couldn’t quite let go of the idea Kyran had put into his head.
He was so busy arguing with himself about why he shouldn’t do it that
it took him a while to notice that he was being followed.
Eridan tensed, but before he could decide what to do, a gruff voice
said, “Halt.”
He stopped and slowly turned around.
Eridan’s stomach sank when he saw the helmeted face of a guard. The
Order’s guards were a cross between security and law enforcement. More
importantly, they were servants of the Grandmaster.
“His Grace is summoning you,” the guard said.
 Glancing behind him, Eridan saw another guard.
“Now?” he said, stalling. “It’s the middle of the night. I will go to him
in the morning—”
“Now,” the guard cut him off, grabbing his arm.
Eridan shot the hand on his arm a withering look. “Let go of me,” he
said coldly. “I can walk.”
After a moment, the guard let go but pushed him toward the nearest t-
chamber. The other guard took point. Reluctantly, Eridan followed him,
dread gathering in the pit of his stomach.
What could Tethru possibly want from him in the middle of the night?
Eridan had a few ideas, and none of them were particularly comforting.
By the time they arrived at the castle, he was a wreck of nerves, his
palms sweating and his heart beating fast.
“Master,” he called out mentally, but the bond remained quiet. He was
probably too far from Castien’s mansion for the bond to work as a means of
communication.
He was marched through the Grandmaster’s personal wing of the castle.
Finally, the guards pushed him into a room Eridan had never been in.
He had expected that he would be brought to Tethru’s personal
office. But it was a bedroom.
Eridan’s stomach plummeted.
“Leave us,” Tethru said, his gaze on Eridan.
The guards left and shut the door.
Eridan took a step back, his heart hammering in his chest. “Your
Grace,” he said, bowing. Maybe if he pretended that there was nothing
wrong with this, Tethru would behave decently, too.
But that hope was crushed when he saw Tethru’s gaze on his body.
Fuck. He now regretted dressing so provocatively.
“Does your Master know what a naughty boy he has for an apprentice?”
Tethru said.
“My Master will be here soon,” Eridan lied without blinking.
That seemed to take Tethru aback for a moment. But then he shook his
head. “If Idhron knew about this, he would not let you come here alone. He
has always tried to keep you away from me.”
Eridan frowned and said nothing.
“Truth be told, if he were not so determined to hide you from me—from
everyone—I would not be so interested in you. I have wondered for years
what he could possibly be hiding.” Tethru walked closer, eyeing Eridan’s
face in a way that made his skin crawl. “Some of my associates think
Idhron is just protecting you from my… attentions, but I do not think so.
Castien is many things, but he is no sentimental fool. He would not care
about such things. No, he is hiding something, and I think it has something
to do with your past.”
Eridan’s forehead wrinkled. What was he talking about?
Tethru walked around him, like a predator circling its prey. “You are
startlingly beautiful,” he said in an almost absent-minded voice, stroking his
beard. “Even for a throwback, your physical appearance is remarkable. It
makes me think you are the product of very expensive genetic engineering.”
What?
“Such advanced genetic engineering is usually available only to
members of royal families,” Tethru said.
Eridan laughed. “That’s quite a leap, Your Grace.”
Tethru smiled with just his lips. “Perhaps. But I find it curious that there
was a royal child about your age that went missing around the time Idhron
brought you to the High Hronthar.”
Eridan stared at him. “My Master brought me to the Order?”
Tethru chuckled. “Were you not aware of it? Poor child.”
Eridan glared at him. “I’m not a child. And if my Master didn’t tell me
about it, I’m sure he had valid reasons. It’s not my place to question him.”
Of course he was going to question Castien, but that was their business, not
this creep’s.
“Such loyalty is admirable,” Tethru said, stepping closer and taking
Eridan’s chin. “And foolish.” His grip tightened, becoming painful. “You
will tell me what he is planning, boy.”
“I don’t understand,” Eridan said.
Tethru glowered at him, his genial mask leaving him completely. “Don’t
play an idiot. Idhron didn’t even fight for the position of Grandmaster.
Why?”
“It’s just a word,” Eridan said. “What does he need the title for when
everyone already treats him as the Grandmaster?”
A punch to his gut wasn’t unexpected. Eridan grunted in pain, suddenly
glad that Tethru was too close to deliver a harder punch.
“You impertinent brat,” Tethru hissed into his face. “Perhaps I should
teach you a lesson.”
 Before Eridan could wonder what that could possibly mean, Tethru
slammed his mouth against Eridan’s, shoving his tongue inside it.
Nauseated, Eridan bit hard on his tongue, causing Tethru to howl and
remove his vile mouth. “You little piece of shit,” Tethru hissed, grabbing his
hair and yanking Eridan’s head aside. He latched onto Eridan’s neck, biting
so hard Eridan cried out in pain. Tethru laughed, shoving him against the
wall. “Cry. I like it when little boys cry.” He ground his erection against
Eridan’s stomach. “Can’t wait to stick it into your cunt.”
“MASTER!” Eridan screamed through the bond. “MASTER!”
Tethru laughed. “He will not come. He will not hear you. By the time
I’m done with you, you will be sloppy with my semen, and he will only
throw you away.”
Panic, rage, and disgust filled his body, his vision going red, and before
Eridan knew what he was doing, Tethru was making strangled noises.
When he came back to his senses, Tethru was a dead weight on top of
him.
His eyes wide, Eridan shoved him off and stared at Tethru’s still body.
Was he…?
Was he…?
Was he dead? Had he just strangled the Grandmaster of the Order to
death?
Eridan swallowed his nausea. He couldn’t bring himself to touch Tethru
to check his pulse.
Was he dead? He couldn’t sense Tethru’s telepathic mark anymore. Did
that mean he was dead?
The sound of the door opening made him freeze.
“Eridan?” said Castien’s voice.
Eridan exhaled, relief like no other washing over him. It would be all
right. Everything would be all right. His Master was here. His Master would
take care of everything.
His legs no longer holding him, Eridan sank to the floor. He was
trembling, he realized distantly. Maybe he was in shock.
Closing his eyes, he hugged his knees and rocked himself back and
forth, the words of a half-forgotten lullaby sounding in his ears. He didn’t
want to think. He didn’t want to look at… at the body. Was he dead? Or just
unconscious?
 The worst part was, he wasn’t sure which option he would prefer. He
had wanted Tethru dead. For that brief moment, he had hated that
disgusting man. But did being threatened with rape justify taking someone’s
life? He didn’t know.
His stomach was churning. He felt dirty. He was dirty.
There was the sound of footsteps, and then his Master crouched before
him. “Get up,” he said, laying his hands on Eridan’s shoulders. “You need
to leave. Now.”
Eridan bit his lip hard, knowing what that meant.
Tethru was dead.
He had killed him. He had killed a person.
“Eridan, move.”
Eridan didn’t move. “It was self-defense,” he whispered hoarsely,
squeezing his eyes shut. “It was self-defense, Master.”
He felt more than heard Castien sigh. “I know,” he said. “Look at me.”
Eridan opened his eyes. He found Castien’s gaze on his neck. Right.
There were probably bruises on it.
“It wouldn’t matter to the Chapter that it was self-defense,” Castien
said, finally tearing his eyes from the hickeys. “You still killed the
Grandmaster. You need to leave now.”
“But what about… What about the guards? They know I was here with
him. And there are probably security cameras that—”
“I will take care of it,” Castien said curtly, pulling him to his feet. “Go
home. Take a hot shower. Use a dermal regenerator on your neck. And get
some sleep.”
Eridan nodded mechanically, a part of him relieved to have simple
instructions that he could follow. He could do as his Master said. He could.
Everything would be all right. It would be all right.
“Eridan,” Castien said, his voice harder. “Snap out of it.”
He just looked at his Master, feeling lost.
Some emotion flickered across Castien’s face. He sighed and pulled
Eridan against his chest.
Eridan froze for a moment before tucking his head under Castien’s chin
and melting into him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, allowing his
Master’s familiar scent to fill his senses, feeling so very safe in his arms. He
never wanted to leave them.
 But all too soon, Castien pushed him away. “Go home,” he said, turning
toward the… the body. “Now, Eridan.”
Eridan went.
 Chapter Ten: Safe Place

Eridan woke up with a gasp, his heart still pounding, panic, anger, and
disgust making his chest tight.
He pressed his trembling fingers to his eyes and breathed, in and out.
Everything was all right. He was all right. Tethru hadn’t done anything
really bad. Nothing bad had happened.
Except he had killed a person.
A vile, perverted person, Eridan reminded himself. It didn’t help much.
He could still hear Tethru gasping for breath, radiating fear and then panic
—until there was nothing. A life, gone. Just like that.
He was a murderer.
Eridan ran into the adjoining bathroom and vomited as soon as he
reached the toilet. Sighing, he rinsed out his mouth with water.
He lifted his head and stared at his reflection. His wide, violet eyes were
the only color on his pale face. Even the ugly marks on his neck were now
gone, as if nothing had happened.
“He was a rapist,” Eridan said. “And a pedophile. He fucking deserved
it.”
He felt a little bit better after saying it, but the sick feeling in his
stomach was still there. He wanted to be told he had done nothing wrong.
He wanted to be told everything would be all right.
He wanted his Master.
Sighing, Eridan focused on the bond. Castien was back: he could feel
him in the house, but his mind felt distant, like it usually was when he was
asleep.
Of course he was asleep. Judging by the brightening sky, it was nearly
dawn already, and Castien must have been tired after spending all night
cleaning up after him.
Eridan still wanted him. Wanted him close.
Hating himself a little for being such a baby, Eridan left his bedroom,
his footsteps quiet as he moved through the large house. He followed the
bond until it brought him to his Master’s bedroom.
Eridan stared at the door for a while before pushing it open.
It opened noiselessly.
His Master was sleeping on his back. His face was a little softer in his
sleep, but not by much, a frown permanently etched between his brows.
Castien was wearing his night clothes, but his dark shirt wasn’t fastened,
revealing to Eridan’s gaze his broad, muscular chest and hard abdominal
muscles.
Eridan wet his dry lips, his childish need for comfort shifting into a
different kind of need, base and wanton.
“I climbed into my Master’s bed naked and put his cock into my mouth
while he slept.” Kyran’s words sounded in his ears again, terribly tempting.
No, it was insane. Utterly insane.
He shouldn’t even be considering it.
Consent issues aside, his Master would almost certainly be furious if
Eridan did that after Castien explicitly told him that anything between them
would be “idiotic.”
But fuck, just thinking about it… Of pulling his Master’s cock out…
licking it and taking it into his mouth while Castien was none the wiser…
sucking him off until his Master was hard and leaking… Just thinking about
it made Eridan’s lower body ache with want, his cock hardening and his
hole getting slicker.
He palmed his cock, looking hungrily at his Master.
In his imagination, after getting Castien hard, he would straddle his hips
and then sink onto him, sating this hunger, this emptiness inside him. It
would feel so good, to finally have his Master, take him inside his body and
slake this yearning in him. Of course, Castien would eventually wake up,
but it would be too late: he would be too far gone to stop. He would glare at
Eridan and say something scathing, but he wouldn’t stop him. He would roll
them over and slam into him, again and again and again, fucking him so
good Eridan would only beg for more. His Master would call him names.
He would slut-shame him, tell him he deserved better than an apprentice
who was such a whore for his Master’s cock. But then he would tell Eridan
that he loved him—
Eridan was pulled out of the fantasy, swallowing back his bitter laugh.
He should have stuck to more realistic fantasies. His Master calling him a
slut wasn’t very likely, but it was still infinitely more likely than him telling
Eridan that he loved him.
Fuck, this was so pathetic. Who the hell fantasized about being told that
he was loved?
Not to mention that he didn’t fucking want Castien’s love. He knew
better than to yearn for something his Master couldn’t give him. Castien
Idhron literally wasn’t capable of deep, meaningful emotions. He had told
Eridan that, years ago.
Why the hell was he even here? He wouldn’t get the comfort he wanted
from Castien. He should leave.
“Eridan?”
He flushed and yanked his nightshirt down to hide the bulge in his
pajamas.
“I’m sorry, Master,” he said, without looking at Castien. He reinforced
his mental shields. “I didn’t want to disturb your sleep. I’ll go.”
“Come here.”
Reluctantly, Eridan did as he was told, his gaze downcast.
“Why are you not asleep?”
I felt bad and wanted you to make it better sounded too pathetic, so
Eridan said, “I was wondering if everything was all right. Have people
already found out about…?” Fuck, he couldn’t even say it.
“Tethru’s death?” Castien said. “Yes. There was an emergency meeting
of the Chapter.”
Eridan’s gaze darted up to him.
He found Castien seated on the bed, watching him. His face was half in
the shadows, so it was even more difficult to read than usual. Eridan tried
not to look down, at his Master’s unbuttoned shirt, even though all he
wanted at the moment was to bury his face against that broad chest and
breathe.
He swallowed. “Do they suspect me?”
“There is nothing to suspect,” Castien said. “I told them Tethru died
from a heart attack.”
 Eridan stared at him in confusion. “But… but aren’t they going to
perform an autopsy?”
Castien sighed. “Only the Grandmaster can order it, and I have no
intention of doing so.”
“What? You mean…”
“I put myself forward as a candidate for the position,” Castien said. “I
was chosen by the majority of votes.”
Chewing on his lip, Eridan tried to wrap his mind around it. “But you
didn’t want to be the Grandmaster yet,” he stated, confused. Had his Master
done it just to… protect him?
Castien’s face was unreadable. “It was not the course of action I would
have chosen at this point in time, but my hand was forced. After covering-
up Tethru’s death, I am effectively an accomplice in the murder. I had no
choice.”
“Right,” Eridan said, hugging himself. It was an unusually chilly night.
He smiled crookedly. “I guess congratulations are in order? Your Grace.
I… I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep—”
“Pull yourself together, Eridan,” his Master said, a grimace crossing his
face. He emanated irritation. “Your guilt is illogical. Tethru was a piece of
work. He would have raped you, body and mind. You did what you had to.”
The tension inside him eased.
Eridan breathed out, for what felt like the first time in hours. What his
Master had said was nothing he didn’t know himself, but he had needed to
hear it.
“I know,” Eridan said softly. Thank you. “Good night.” He chuckled,
glancing at the brightening sky through the floor-to-ceiling window. “Or
rather, good morning.” He turned to go, but Castien’s voice stopped him.
“You may sleep here.”
His eyes wide, Eridan looked back at him. “Master?”
Castien lay back and closed his eyes. “Just this once,” he said. “Get in
the bed and sleep, Eridan. It will be a long day.”
Smiling a little, Eridan climbed into his Master’s bed. Although the bed
was very large, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity for some sneaky
cuddles. “Thank you, Master,” he said, brushing his mouth against Castien’s
cheek. You’re my safe place.
Castien stiffened. “Sleep,” he said tersely, without opening his eyes.
 Eridan reluctantly pulled back—but not far. He curled up by his
Master’s side, tucking his head under Castien’s arm and breathing in his
familiar scent.
After a moment, Castien’s telepathic presence wrapped around him,
calm and soothing, chasing away any lingering feeling of wrongness and
gently healing the cracks in Eridan’s mental landscape. Eridan smiled
sleepily, already feeling the effects of the advanced mind healing. He closed
his eyes, trusting his Master to take care of him.
He was safe. He was home. Everything would be all right.
He fell asleep almost immediately.
 Chapter Eleven: The Grandmaster

It was strange how differently people looked at him now that he was the
Grandmaster’s apprentice.
He was relieved when he finally left the public wing of High Hronthar
and entered the quieter part of the castle. Part of him expected to be
assaulted with the memories of last night, but there was nothing. He was
calm. Eridan smiled a little, greatly relieved. He’d never been on the
receiving end of advanced mind healing, and it was nice to know how
effective it was. His Master must have been up until morning, healing the
cracks in his psyche. It made Eridan feel warm on the inside.
He didn’t knock as he reached the large office the bond led him to.
Castien stood by the window, his unseeing gaze fixed on the mountains.
He was wearing a heavy white robe. The Grandmaster’s robe.
“White isn’t your color, Master,” Eridan said.
Castien turned to him.
All right, maybe he had lied a little: Castien looked good. He always
looked good, but the white robe combined with his silver-white hair made
the blue of his eyes and his darker eyebrows even more intense. He had his
hair down for a change, instead of having it pulled back at his nape, but that
didn’t soften his features at all, his sharp eyes and his firm, stubbled jaw
dominating his face.
“How do you feel?” Castien said, studying him with an unreadable
expression.
Eridan shrugged. “I’m okay,” he said honestly. “Why did you summon
me? I thought you would be very busy today.”
“I am busy. As a matter of fact, I am leaving for the monastery. The
service will be held there, of course.”
 The service. Right. The death of the High Adept was a big deal. The
members of the Calluvian Council would likely be in attendance.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Eridan said in his most neutral
voice, hoping that wasn’t why Castien had summoned him. Attending the
funeral service of the man he had accidentally killed wasn’t exactly his idea
of fun.
“There is no need.”
Eridan tried not to look too relieved, but judging by the long look
Castien gave him, he wasn’t fooling anyone.
Thankfully, at that moment Castien’s communicator chimed.
He answered, still looking at Eridan.
“…I will arrive soon, Irrene. Convey my apologies to the First Queen if
she arrives before me. There were some unforeseen circumstances I had to
deal with.”
“Who is Irrene?” Eridan said.
Castien switched the earpiece off. “A servant,” he said. “My secretary,
to be precise.”
“You have a secretary now?”
“Of course,” Castien said. “One of the downsides of being the
Grandmaster is that I will have to spend a lot of time at the monastery,
meeting various members of the Calluvian Council. A secretary is needed
to keep track of my appointments and come up with explanations for my
absence when I am unavailable there.”
“Hmm,” Eridan said, walking to the window and looking at the
gorgeous scenery below. “If you didn’t want me to accompany you, what
did you summon me for?”
He felt Castien’s gaze on his face. “We did not have time to talk
yesterday. What did Tethru want with you?”
He chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious, Master?”
“Tethru wouldn’t have dared to touch my apprentice because of
something as meaningless as lust,” Castien said, walking closer. He put a
finger under Eridan’s chin and tipped it up. “Did he tell you what he
wanted?”
Eridan cocked his head to the side, a little confused. Strictly speaking,
Castien didn’t need to ask him. He could have easily gotten the information
he wanted from Eridan’s mind. The bond between them gave him easy
access to his mind. Masters were allowed to read their apprentices’ minds;
it wasn’t considered a violation by the Order’s rules. But Castien had been
avoiding delving into his mind ever since their last not-merge. It was
puzzling.
“He asked me what you were planning, why you didn’t apply for the
position of the Grandmaster.” Eridan smiled crookedly. “He didn’t tell me
much. He was too busy slobbering all over my neck.”
Castien’s nostrils flared.
His gaze dropped to Eridan’s neck.
There was nothing there, of course. Eridan had used a dermal
regenerator—three times—to make sure the hickeys were gone.
Castien’s jaw clenched. “If you stayed home instead of wandering
somewhere at night, trying to prove a point, none of this would have
happened.”
Eridan pursed his lips, remembering their ugly fight before he’d
stormed out of Castien’s mansion last evening. Had it really happened just
yesterday?
Judging by the hard expression of Castien’s eyes, he hadn’t exactly
forgotten their argument.
The silence stretched, heavy and strained.
Eridan sighed. “I don’t want to fight, Master,” he said quietly. He hated
how small his voice sounded. He might not have been traumatized
anymore, but even the best mind healing couldn’t magically heal his frayed
nerves. He really didn’t want to fight.
Castien’s lips thinned. “All right,” he said, to Eridan’s surprise. It wasn’t
at all like Castien to let go of something.
Surprising him further, Castien touched Eridan’s thaal, rearranging it
slightly, his fingers brushing against his neck. “You still look tired. Get
some sleep until I get back. We will meditate together and work on
extinguishing any remaining misplaced guilt over Tethru’s death.”
Eridan gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Master,” he said, leaning in
and pressing his lips against Castien’s cheek. He inhaled deeply, letting the
familiar, comforting scent of his Master soothe him in ways very few things
did.
Everything would be all right.
He finally believed it.
 ***

Something changed about their relationship after Tethru’s death.

Eridan noticed that his Master was… a little gentler with him. A little
kinder. More tolerant of Eridan invading his personal space and leaning into
him.
Maybe he thought Eridan was still traumatized by what had happened in
Tethru’s bedroom. He wasn’t, at least not anymore. Thanks to the mind
healing and the joint meditations with his Master, Tethru’s assault and death
now felt very distant, as if it had happened to someone else years ago.
In any case, Eridan certainly wasn’t complaining about his Master’s
more indulgent attitude toward him. He soaked it up, greedy for every bit of
his Master’s attention and affection. He knew there were things they should
talk about, but he was too scared to break the current status quo and ruin the
uncharacteristic warmth filling their bond.
It wasn’t as though Castien was affectionate, exactly. By most people’s
standards, he probably still acted cold and distant, but Eridan knew him. By
Castien’s standards, he was positively touchy-feely these days. A hand on
Eridan’s shoulder or his lower back, the way Castien’s telepathic mark
lingered on him long after they parted, the way he kept Eridan close to him,
taking him with him to his meetings… If Eridan didn’t know better, if
Castien wasn’t Castien, he would think… he would think his Master was
feeling a little clingy. A little possessive. Or something.
They didn’t talk about it. Just like they didn’t talk again about their ugly
argument before Tethru’s death. Just like they didn’t talk about the fact that
they wanted each other in the basest sense of the word.
Eridan told himself it didn’t matter. Nothing was going to
happen. Castien supposedly had his reasons why he wouldn’t have sex with
him, and Eridan didn’t feel like humiliating himself again by bringing the
subject up.
But while they may not have talked about it, Eridan could feel the
unresolved tension in their every interaction, and he didn’t think it was one-
sided. He thought he sometimes caught his Master staring at him, his gaze
transfixed and hungry.
 Just as he was looking at him right now.
“I see you like your room,” Castien said, gazing down at Eridan, who
was sprawled on his bed in his new bedroom, a datapad in his hand.
Eridan smiled up at him, enjoying the way his Master’s eyes shifted to
his mouth. “I do. This is the softest bed I’ve ever had. Though I’m going to
miss the mansion.”
Castien shrugged slightly, his blue eyes flicking down Eridan’s
body. “The mansion is still my property, but as the Grandmaster, I must live
in the castle. You know that. I have been delaying moving here as it is.”
Eridan nodded, looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes, his chest
rising and falling unsteadily. They were in his bedroom. He was on his bed.
His Master was staring at him like he wanted to eat him. The moment
stretched—
Castien cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. “I need to go. I have
an appointment.” And he stalked out of Eridan’s bedroom, the door closing
after him.
Eridan stared at the ceiling for a moment before shoving his pants down
and wrapping his hand around his hard cock. He moaned in relief. He didn’t
even care if his Master could hear him. Let him hear him. Something about
that thought appealed to Eridan very much, his cock throbbing and his hole
aching to be touched, to be filled. He was already slick, had been from the
moment his Master walked into his bedroom. He shoved two fingers inside
himself, stroking his cock with his other hand. He imagined Castien’s blue
eyes watching him, imagined his Master’s cock becoming hard. He
imagined his Master ordering him to get on his knees and suck his cock.
He moaned, taking his hand off his cock and pushing three fingers into
his mouth. He sucked on them with relish, imagining what his Master
would taste like, would feel like inside his mouth, hot and pulsing, coming
deep inside him, filling him with his seed. He would take it, would take
everything, anything his Master gave him—
Eridan came with a muffled moan, sucking on his own fingers.
He didn’t even feel guilty anymore.
He felt wonderful.
 Chapter Twelve: The Queen

Of course, that uncertain state of affairs was unlikely to last, but it came
to an end in a way Eridan had never expected.
One morning, Castien told him that he was to accompany him to an
appointment.
In itself, it was nothing out of the ordinary: as a senior apprentice,
Eridan was supposed to learn mind healing by observing his Master’s work.
But when he asked Castien where they were going, the answer surprised
him.
“I have an appointment with Prince Jamil’ngh’veighli,” Castien said. “I
am the one treating his severed marriage bond.”
Eridan winced. Castien had taught him how to establish and break
marriage bonds that bound all the Calluvians, and he knew a snapped bond
was painful. Those bonds were not at all like the bond between him and his
Master; they were like a spider web, interwoven into one’s mind
and blocking entire neural pathways. Having such a bond snapped—which
usually happened when one’s bondmate died—was very painful. Of course,
Prince-Consort Mehmer wasn’t actually dead, as Prince Jamil believed, but
it didn’t change anything. The fact of the matter was, the bond Prince Jamil
had had since being a toddler was broken now, causing damage to his mind,
which required professional treatment.
And never mind that, unbeknownst to Prince Jamil, the man who was
treating him was the one who had snapped his bond.
“You have never seen a broken marriage bond,” his Master
said. “Simulations are not the same.” Castien steered him toward the t-
chamber, his hand on Eridan’s lower back. “Of course, you will not be
allowed into the room while I examine the prince, but if you are close, I will
allow you to see what I see in his mind.”
“What about Prince-Consort Mehmer?” he murmured quietly, hyper-
aware of his Master’s hand on his back.
“He is Master Sylas’s problem now,” Castien said. He dropped his hand
only when they entered the t-chamber. “Third Royal Palace, the Crown
Prince’s wing.”
They had to wait a few moments for his appointment with Prince Jamil
to be verified before the transport started moving.
Before Eridan could ask for any details, they arrived, and he knew
better than to talk about that subject in the Third Royal Palace.
Eridan followed his Master through the vast, luxurious halls of the
palace, looking around curiously.
It wasn’t as though Eridan was a stranger to such places. Many of
Castien’s properties off-world were grand and lavish, and High Hronthar—
the castle, not the Order—was as opulent as this palace. But something
about this palace felt different. Eridan could sense the pride of this
bloodline, could sense hundreds of generations of this royal family that had
left their telepathic marks in these walls. This palace felt old in a way even
the monastery or High Hronthar didn’t, even though it wasn’t more ancient
than they were.
“It is because of blood,” his Master explained, likely sensing his
confusion. “Closely related telepaths have similar telepathic marks. That is
the origin of familial bonds: siblings and parents share them because their
telepathic presences are similar enough for them to connect. And similar
telepathic marks leave stronger impressions as time passes.”
“His Royal Highness will join you momentarily, Your Grace,” the
palace AI cut in. “Please wait for him in his office.”
Castien’s lips pursed, and Eridan pulled a face, not envying Prince Jamil
in the slightest. His Master hated tardiness.
“Wait for me there,” Castien said, gesturing to the terrace before
disappearing into the prince’s office.
Sighing, Eridan did as he was told.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, gazing at the gardens below,
before he felt Castien open the bond between them. “Observe,” Castien
told him before intertwining their telepathic presences together so that he
could see what Castien was seeing in Prince Jamil’s mind.
 It was the strangest feeling. It was quite disorienting, so Eridan closed
his eyes, but the strangeness of the experience didn’t completely fade. This
technique was used rarely for a reason: it was only possible between highly
compatible minds.
He watched his Master examine Prince Jamil’s mind, studying the
withered remnants of the prince’s marriage bond. He could sense a spark of
interest from his Master, as if Castien had encountered something he hadn’t
expected. Castien delved deeper, searching. Eridan could also sense Prince
Jamil’s growing unease. It seemed he didn’t want Castien to see something
in his mind.
Eridan felt a pang of sympathy for the prince. The poor man had
recently lost his husband; his mind and his marriage bond were all messed
up. Surely he deserved some privacy?
Frowning, Eridan pulled out of the connection and sighed. His Master
was going to be angry with him for being too “soft,” but that would be
nothing new.
He left the terrace, opened the door to the office, and stuck his head
in. “Master, are you done? Can we go already?”
Castien’s gaze snapped to him. His lips pursed slightly, his eyes flashing
with irritation. “I told you to wait for me outside, Eridan.”
Eridan pouted exaggeratedly.
A muscle pulsed in Castien’s jaw. “My apologies for my apprentice,
Your Highness,” he said. “Where are your manners, Eridan?”
“Oh!” Eridan gave Prince Jamil a sheepish smile, flushing. He bowed.
“Health and tranquility, Your Highness.”
“You’re Master Idhron’s apprentice?” Prince Jamil said, shooting him a
surprised look.
Eridan flashed him a crooked grin. “I am, and I’m the bane of his
existence. You are even more stunning in person, Your Highness.”
The prince truly was stunning, with his shiny brown locks, beautiful
green eyes, and the kind of bone structure that most people could only
dream of.
“Eridan,” Castien snapped. “Wait for me outside.”
Eridan rolled his eyes. “Yes, Master,” he said. “But hurry up, would
you? I’m bored. You know that me and boredom are never a good
combination.”
 He closed the door again and smiled to himself. Mission
accomplished. Though he was going to be in a world of trouble for this.
Trying to delay the inevitable, Eridan wandered away.
He walked for a while, looking around curiously.
A female voice stopped him. “Are you lost, my dear?”
Eridan turned around and hastily bowed. “Your Majesty.” He had seen
Queen Janesh only on the news, but it would be impossible not to recognize
her. She was still a stunning beauty, despite having grown children.
He lifted his gaze, and to his surprise, found the Queen frowning, her
face pale.
Eridan cocked his head, confused. “Your Majesty? Is something
wrong?”
Queen Janesh shook her head, still frowning a little. “No. For a
moment, I thought I was seeing a dear friend of mine who died a long time
ago.” She smiled sadly. “The resemblance is quite uncanny. What is your
name, child?” She glanced at his robes and raised her eyebrows. “You are a
mind adept?”
Before Eridan could say anything, Castien caught up to him.
“Your Majesty,” he said with a small bow.
The Queen returned it. “Your Grace. Health and tranquility. You had an
appointment with my son?”
Castien just nodded, laying a hand on Eridan’s shoulder. There was a
strange wariness about him. Eridan looked at him sharply.
“How is he?” the Queen said. “Better?”
“His bond barely hurts him anymore,” Castien said. “But you
understand that I cannot say more than that, Your Majesty. Patient-healer
confidentiality.”
The Queen nodded. “Of course.” She glanced at Eridan curiously. “Is
this young man your apprentice?”
Castien gave a clipped nod, his hand on Eridan’s shoulder
tightening. “If you’ll excuse us, we have to go, Your Majesty.” He bowed
and steered Eridan away.
“What was that?” Eridan hissed. “You were so rude, Master!”
Castien didn’t reply, his face like stone.
He seemed to relax only once they were back in the monastery. “Go to
High Hronthar,” he said, without looking at Eridan. “I still have work here.”
 Eridan nodded, looking at his Master’s retreating back, beyond
bewildered.
Castien hadn’t even reprimanded him for interrupting him and Prince
Jamil.
Had he just forgotten?
 Chapter Thirteen: The Truth

Eridan returned to the castle, still feeling rattled and confused.

Something was niggling at the back of his mind and he couldn’t place it.
So he went to his room, sat down on his meditation mat, and closed his
eyes.
Achieving the state of meditation took a while when he was so anxious,
but finally he managed.
He sank deeper into his mind, searching for the source of that niggling
feeling.
I find it curious that there was a royal child about your age that went
missing around the time Idhron brought you to the High Hronthar.
I thought I was seeing a dear friend of mine who died a long time ago.
The resemblance is quite uncanny.
Eridan went still. He had dismissed Tethru’s speculations as ridiculous
at the time, but if Queen Janesh used to have a friend who looked so like
him that she had actually mistaken him for a dead person… Coupled with
Castien’s uncharacteristic wariness and tension…
Taking a deep breath, Eridan told himself it proved nothing. He needed
something more tangible.
He closed his eyes and fell into meditation again. He delved deeper and
deeper, searching for those elusive, half-forgotten memories of his early
childhood.
A tall, spacious room filled with toys. “He is old enough to get him
betrothed… Perhaps after the trip…”
A lanky boy, with blue, tear-filled eyes. “They are dead, Eri. They won’t
come back.”
 A much younger Castien, gazing at him in an assessing manner. “What
is your name, child?”
Eridan’s eyes snapped open. He stared in front of him unseeingly, his
heart pounding. Castien had really brought him to the Order. Tethru had
been honest, at least about that part. Could Tethru have been right about
everything else?
He strained his memory, trying to remember more, but it was difficult.
He wasn’t surprised. The day a High Hronthar child was Named, their
existing familial and betrothal bonds, if there were any, were broken, to
help the child let go of any previous attachments and adjust to their new
life. That generally made the earlier memories vaguer. He had been too
young to remember much, in any case.
I find it curious that there was a royal child about your age that went
missing around the time Idhron brought you to the High Hronthar.
Chewing on his lip, Eridan reached for his multi-device. He could look
up if there were any three-year-old royal children that went missing around
the time he was brought to the Order. Although the mere idea still seemed
ridiculous, he doubted Tethru would make up something like that for no
reason.
An hour later, Eridan set his multi-device down and stared at it blankly.
At the picture of the boy. Crown Prince Warrehn of the Fifth Grand Clan
went missing seventeen years ago—as well as his three-year-old brother,
Prince Eruadarhd.
There were no later pictures of the younger prince, since it was
forbidden to photograph young children of high-profile figures unless it was
for some official purpose. The only picture Eridan could find was from the
day of Prince Eruadarhd’s birth, when the royal couple had released a press
statement that included the Queen-Consort holding the newborn.
Eridan stared at the Queen-Consort, at her golden hair and violet eyes.
Just like his own.
I thought I was seeing a dear friend of mine who died a long time ago.
The resemblance is quite uncanny.
Then he looked at the ten-year-old Prince Warrehn. Looking at his
picture made something inside his chest squeeze. He was almost sure that
he remembered him, but it could be just confirmation bias.
Could this really be his family?
Eridan traced the Queen-Consort’s lovely face with his finger.
 “Does it matter?” he whispered.
If they were his family, they all were dead anyway. The King and the
Queen-Consort had died not long before their children’s disappearance.
Crown Prince Warrehn was presumed dead, supposedly killed by the rebels.
Eridan was skeptical about the latter part—that he was killed by the
rebels. The rebels were actually harmless. But in any case, it was highly
unlikely that Prince Warrehn was alive. It had been over seventeen years.
The elder prince would have turned up somewhere if he were alive.
His brother was dead, just like their parents.
Eridan’s vision was suddenly a little blurry.
It was so stupid, crying over strangers, his blood family he almost didn’t
remember.
He wasn’t Prince Eruadarhd. He was just Eridan, an apprentice of the
High Hronthar.
The Grandmaster’s apprentice.
Eridan frowned. Regardless of what he thought about this discovery, the
fact remained that his Master had been lying to him, or at least lying by
omission. Castien had never told him that he was the one who had brought
him to the Order.
Where had he even found him? These old reports said that the two
princes had been attacked by the rebels in the forest at the foothills of the
Great Mountains, which… made sense. It wasn’t far from one of the hidden
hangar bays of the Order. It was possible that Castien had been traveling
from the monastery to Hronthar on an aircraft and… and what? Found a lost
child and decided to steal him for the Order? That part didn’t make sense.
Eridan knew his Master found small children annoying. Try as he might, he
couldn’t imagine Castien going out of his way to help some lost child.
That meant Castien knew exactly who Eridan was. He had known
exactly who Eridan was when he claimed him preliminarily as his
apprentice.
He had known all along.
Eridan’s mind raced with the implications of it.
He had never had delusions about his Master. He knew Castien never
did anything on a whim, his every move carefully planned. Eridan had
always found it strange that his Master had claimed him so early and yet
had shown no interest in him when he was a child. Now it all was starting to
make more sense.
 Castien had shown no interest because he had no intention of keeping
him as his apprentice.
Eridan swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.
“Don’t be too hasty,” he whispered to himself. “There could be other
reasons.”
But deep down, he knew it was the truth. Castien had always known
that one day he would use Eridan as another piece in his game, so there was
no point getting attached.
A laugh, bitter and harsh, left Eridan’s mouth. He pressed his hands to
his eyes, hating himself for how much it hurt. It was stupid. He was being
stupid. He had always known what kind of a man his Master was. Castien
had never lied to him outright, never pretended to care for him or love him.
In the grand scheme of things, this was nothing. Castien’s plan was
hardly evil: if his parents and older brother were dead, Eridan would
become the rightful king of the Fifth Grand Clan when he turned twenty-
five. Having his own former apprentice as the king of one of the biggest
Calluvian grand clans would obviously be a huge boon. This plan was
hardly nefarious. Just cynical and cold-hearted.
It still hurt.
And it certainly rid him of any delusions he’d had before. He had
stupidly thought that the fact that his Master protected him from the
attention of other Masters meant that he was being protective of him.
Castien clearly just didn’t want them to prematurely figure out who Eridan
was. Even Castien’s rejection of him was starting to make so much sense.
Why would Castien want to start an unnecessary physical relationship that
had the potential to mess up his plans? After all, he would want his
apprentice to be loyal to him but not too clingy if he wanted to use him as a
puppet king.
Eridan chuckled, his eyes burning with unshed tears as he remembered
himself arrogantly telling Javier that he knew his place in his Master’s life.
He had known nothing. He was just an expendable pawn, nothing more.
Castien probably couldn’t wait to finally get rid of him and get an
apprentice he really wanted to teach.
Idiot. He had been such an idiot to crave the love of a man who was
incapable of it.
The question was, what he was going to do now?
 Chapter Fourteen: Confrontation

Eridan felt more or less calm by the time Castien came home.
Though “calm” seemed to be a grossly inaccurate word when his world
had been completely turned upside down. He had never felt so powerless in
his life. So anchorless. The Order was all he had ever known, and the
thought of being cast out of it and becoming one of the royals was, frankly,
more than a little terrifying. Discovering that his Master had chosen him not
because he wanted him as an apprentice but because he wanted to use him
as a piece in a political game made something in him burn with hurt and
anger.
So perhaps he wasn’t calm.
But he could pretend to be calm. He could smile when he wanted to
scream and rage. He would achieve nothing by screaming and raging; he
had learned that much from his Master.
Castien lifted his gaze from his meal when Eridan entered the small
dining room. “Have you eaten?” he said, glancing at the serving robot.
“I’m not hungry, Master,” he said. It was true enough. He would
probably puke if he ate.
Castien’s brows furrowed. “Why are you shielding yourself?”
Eridan smiled crookedly. “Aren’t you always telling me that my loud,
distasteful emotions distract you?”
Castien eyed him for a long moment before saying quietly, “What is
wrong, Eridan?”
Eridan’s throat closed up. A part of him wanted to punch his Master in
the face and walk out. A part of him, the part that wasn’t simmering with
rage, hurt, and betrayal, wanted to hide in his Master’s arms and be
comforted. A part of him wanted to pretend he hadn’t found out that his life
was a lie, that the man who had been his world considered him just a
disposable pawn.
“I know everything, Master,” he said quietly.
Castien went very still. “Pardon?” he said, his voice careful and his eyes
guarded.
“I know who I am,” Eridan said hoarsely. “I know why you took me on
as an apprentice.”
He had thought Castien would at least have the decency to look guilty,
but he couldn’t sense any guilt—just resignation and the same strange
tension he could sense back at the palace.
Castien regarded him calmly for a moment and gestured to the seat
opposite him. “Sit.”
“I don’t want to,” Eridan said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Castien sighed. “I suppose you are angry,” he said, his gaze on his salad.
Eridan laughed harshly. “You could say that. I feel like an idiot. Like the
biggest idiot in the world. I guess it’s my own fault—for thinking that I
could trust you. That you gave a shit about me.”
Castien’s expression became slightly pinched. “I have never lied to you,
Eridan,” he said, his eyes still on his meal. “It is hardly my fault that you
attributed to me qualities I am not capable of.”
“You’re right,” Eridan said with a brittle smile. “I’m angry, but mostly
at myself, for being so stupid. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you anymore
with my disgusting, illogical emotions.”
Castien’s shoulders tensed. He lifted his gaze, his blue eyes
wary. “What do you mean? Are you leaving?”
Eridan snorted. “Where would I go?” he said bitterly. “To my dead
family?”
Something flickered in Castien’s eyes. He said nothing.
“I guess I could go to the Fifth Royal Palace, try to claim my
inheritance. But while I’m not of age to rule, that would be largely
pointless, as I would be at the mercy of the regent who I bet had a hand in
my parents’ and brother’s deaths.” Eridan paused, taking a deep breath. He
gripped the back of the chair in front of him. “I will stay here until I’m of
age, and then I’ll be out of your hair. Just like you planned all along.”
Castien’s face was unreadable but his telepathic presence was tense and
agitated. “I could erase your memories of this,” he said conversationally.
 “You could,” Eridan said, hating himself for not even considering this as
an option, hating himself for still trusting this man not to hurt him. “But
why would you do this? I will be following your plan to the letter, after all.
You lost nothing, Master. Nothing but my stupid affections.”
Castien’s jaw clenched. “Eridan—”
“Don’t worry, Master,” he said. “I will not disrespect you in public. You
are still my Master. From now on, I promise to respect your boundaries and
try to imitate the behavior of other apprentices. I will be so quiet you will
barely even notice me anymore.” He smiled wanly. “You will finally get the
unemotional, respectful apprentice you have always wanted.”
He got a weird, twisted kind of pleasure from seeing the shift in
Castien’s expression.
Good.
This was the only weapon he had.
Eridan wasn’t sure Castien would even care if he put distance between
them—in fact, it was very likely that Castien would be pleased—but this
was something that he could take away. Maybe his affection and his trust
didn’t matter to Castien, but they did matter to Eridan, and taking them
away would at least preserve some of his pride and self-respect when his
Master inevitably threw him away like a used thing.
And maybe, just maybe, the distance would help him eradicate this
terrible, irrational yearning inside his heart.
Please, he thought, pleading to whatever deity might listen. Please.
 Interlude

Irrene was getting desperate.

Her boss was in an absolutely foul mood.
Some people might scoff at the mere notion of Castien Idhron having
moods, but Irrene knew better. Over the year since she’d become the new
Grandmaster’s secretary, she’d seen Master Castien in several different
moods. Roughly seventy percent of the time, he was absolutely calm and
unflappable. Twenty-five percent of the time, he was mildly irritated. And
five percent of the time, Irrene was scared of approaching her boss for fear
of him biting her head off.
Master Castien rarely displayed his anger on his face, but when he was
in a foul mood, his telepathic presence became so dark and oppressive it
was hard to breathe in the same room as him.
Irrene had learned to just avoid her boss when he was angry, but
unfortunately, in the past few months, the ratio of bad days to good days
had become decidedly not normal. She had sensed her boss’s growing
agitation for months: it had built and built and built, and she had been
dreading what was going to happen when so much tension finally found an
outlet.
She didn’t understand what was going on. Master Castien hadn’t been
that way in the first few months after assuming the role of the Grandmaster.
He had been a remarkably calm man—a freakishly calm one, even by the
Order’s standards—but something must have happened, because his
telepathic presence had become tenser with every month. As months
passed, she noticed the visible clues, too: the growing tension around his
eyes and mouth, the way he tracked his apprentice with his eyes, something
dark lurking in his telepathic presence.
 Speaking of his apprentice, the boy had changed his demeanor, too, and
even more drastically than Master Castien had. Eridan used to come to the
monastery all the time to bother his Master while he worked, but now Irrene
barely saw him. When she did, he was quiet and withdrawn. The few times
she’d managed to get him talking, Eridan smiled insincerely and told her
that everything was fine when she asked him if anything was wrong.
The most disturbing part was when she saw Eridan interact with his
Master. Eridan would barely lift his gaze, speaking very little and
murmuring only “Yes, Master” or “No, Master” when he was asked
something by Castien directly. It was a striking contrast to the boy who had
constantly sassed and talked over his Master in the beginning of the year. It
baffled Irrene immensely, and she could sense that such behavior only
served to irritate Master Castien.
In fact, she was positive Castien’s foul moods were directly linked to his
apprentice.
Irrene didn’t know what to think. There were all sorts of rumors about
Master Castien and his apprentice, and some of them were not fit for polite
company, but she had never believed that Master Castien and his apprentice
were in an inappropriate relationship. Not because she thought Master
Castien wasn’t capable of it—she had no delusions about him: men like that
took what they wanted, and damn the morals—but because she could sense
so much toxic, unresolved tension between them that it made her
uncomfortable just being in the same room with those two.
As days turned into months, and months stretched into a year, she could
sense that things were coming to a head. She had no idea what would
happen, but she knew that when that horrible, dark tension building under
Master Castien’s skin finally snapped, it would not be pretty.
She could only hope she wouldn’t be there when it happened.
Unfortunately, she was, and it happened in a way she had not expected
at all: Eridan was kidnapped right from the monastery’s gardens.
That in itself wasn’t enough to make Master Castien snap.
But when security cameras captured the image of the kidnapper, Irrene
winced, trying to shield herself from the icy, biting fury that filled the room.
“Blockade the area around Hangar Bay 4,” Castien ordered the security
guards, his cold eyes still fixed on the image of the tall man carrying his
unconscious apprentice away.
 Chapter Fifteen: Something Lost

Eridan didn’t remember being knocked out.

He just remembered that he had been enjoying a walk outside the
monastery, and then… nothing.
The next thing he knew, he was waking up inside this tiny room, bound
to a chair and gagged, with two strangers—a man and a woman—arguing
over him.
“Is the gag really necessary?” the man said gruffly. “We’re in the middle
of nowhere.” He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing blue eyes
and brown hair with streaks of gold. His age was hard to determine: he
could have been anywhere between twenty-five and forty-five. He would
have been a handsome man if the scowl on his face didn’t make his face
look so unpleasant.
The woman was a tiny thing, beautiful, blonde, and probably around the
same age as the man. “He could have woken up while we transported him,”
she said, shrugging. “The kid would have hardly kept silent if we asked him
nicely.”
Eridan said, “Unbind me!” but it came out as unintelligible
mumbling thanks to the gag.
His kidnappers turned to him and eyed him curiously.
Eridan glared at them.
The woman was the one to step closer and remove the gag.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Eridan spat out.
“What foul language for a monk,” the woman said, clicking her tongue.
Eridan opened his mouth and closed it as he realized that these people
were outsiders. This wasn’t some stupid prank by Xhen and his cronies.
These people thought he was a monk—something only the outsiders called
members of the Order.
And they had a strange accent, Eridan noted with growing
bewilderment. He’d never heard an accent like that. Accents were so rare
these days, considering how widespread the GlobalNet was. He wondered if
they were using translating chips—that could be the reason for the accents
—except that didn’t seem right, either. Translating chips gave a
recognizable cadence to one’s voice that sounded a little unnatural. These
people didn’t have one. They spoke like native Calluvians, except for their
strange accents.
“How old are you?” the man said, scowling. “We thought you would be
older.”
His accent was faint, nowhere near as obvious as the woman’s. Eridan
wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“None of your business,” Eridan said. “What is the meaning of this?
Release me at once.”
The woman chuckled. “Adorable. Isn’t he just the cutest, Warrehn?”
Eridan flinched, startled by the familiar name, before realizing how
ridiculous he was being. That name wasn’t all that rare. There were
probably thousands of people out there called Warrehn. Outsiders didn’t use
unique names like the Order did.
The man—Warrehn—pressed his lips together and crossed his arms
over his chest. “Shut up, Sirri. It isn’t amusing. What are we supposed to do
with him?”
Sirri sighed exaggeratedly. “You’re no fun.” She shifted her gaze to
Eridan. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you. You’re the High Adept’s
apprentice. You’re here because we want to talk to your Master.”
“Then you should have made an appointment, like all normal people,”
Eridan said snidely.
Sirri grinned. “You’re going to be a pain in the ass, aren’t you?” She
looked almost pleased. “At least this promises to be entertaining. I would
have killed myself from boredom if I had to be stuck in this tiny house with
that grumpy bore.” She motioned toward Warrehn.
The “grumpy bore” just glared at her before repeating, “What are we
going to do with him? We could be stuck here for ages. We can’t keep him
bound to the chair.”
“Why not?” Sirri said. “Don’t tell me you feel sorry for him.”
 Warrehn scowled. “He’s just a kid. He can’t be older than sixteen or
seventeen. The informant must have lied about his age.”
Sirri shrugged. “A little discomfort won’t kill him. You take the first
shift. I’m going to sleep. Wake me up in six hours.”
Warrehn glowered at her. “You’re not in charge here.”
Sirri smiled, all teeth. “Someone has to be.”
A muscle pulsed in Warrehn’s jaw, anger rolling off him in waves.
Eridan tensed and looked at the man sharply.
Cocking his head to the side, he reached out with his senses.
What he found made him stiffen.
These people’s telepathy wasn’t as bound as that of other
Calluvians. They both were powerful telepaths, the man more so than the
woman, but more importantly, their abilities were refined and tightly
controlled. They were well trained.
There were no Calluvians outside of the Order that received any formal
telepathic training—and definitely none that were so powerful.
Which meant… Which meant that they must be the rebels. They must
be Tai’Lehrians. The very same people that could cause a lot of problems
for the Order.
“What do you want from my Master?” Eridan said, suppressing his
unease.
“That is none of your business, kid,” Sirri said with a condescending
smile.
“I am not a kid,” Eridan ground out. “And you made it my business
when you kidnapped me.”
“We know about your Order’s machinations,” Warrehn said. “We want
the High Hronthar to stop manipulating public opinion against us.”
“Us, huh?” Sirri said, looking delighted for some reason.
The withering look Warrehn gave her was so murderous it made Eridan
curious.
Did that mean Warrehn wasn’t actually one of the rebels?
Tucking the thought away to examine later, Eridan let out a chuckle. “I
have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, giving them his best
bewildered look. “This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”
“Right,” Sirri said with a snort before striding toward the door. “Wake
me up in six hours, War. And keep an eye on the comm. Rohan might
contact us. If we are lucky, the blockade will be lifted soon, and we can
leave.”
“The blockade?” Eridan said when the door closed behind her.
Warrehn grunted something, settling in the chair by the window and
looking outside with a fierce scowl on his face. From his position, Eridan
couldn’t see what was outside the house, but surely it couldn’t be that bad.
“What blockade?” he tried again, adopting his softest, most innocent
voice. This man seemed to have an aversion to hurting kids, so acting like a
confused kid could be beneficial. Warrehn seemed somewhat kinder than
the woman.
Warrehn bit out, “The blockade your precious Order has put around the
Blind.”
The Blind?
The term sounded vaguely familiar… Eridan strained his memory,
trying to remember.
Right, one of the reports on Tai’Lehr had mentioned that they used a
narrow strip of land near Hangar Bay 4 for teleporting between Calluvia
and Tai’Lehr. It was one of the few places around the Great Mountains that
allowed for transgalactic teleporters to work without being detected by
Calluvian authorities, but it seemed the Tai’Lehrians thought it was the only
place. Eridan could remember asking Castien years ago why the Order
simply didn’t block the rebels’ access to Calluvia.
He could still remember Castien’s response. The false sense of security
makes one careless and vulnerable.
It was such a Castien thing to say that Eridan had scoffed at the time.
But now he understood what his Master had meant. The rebels had had no
idea that the Order was aware of how they traveled between Calluvia and
Tai’Lehr. Having their only means of escape cut off so efficiently must have
blindsided them.
“Are you a rebel?” Eridan said, figuring that learning more about his
kidnappers couldn’t possibly hurt.
Warrehn didn’t say anything, though Eridan could sense a strong
negative emotion rolling off him.
Eridan cocked his head to the side. “You are not, are you?”
“Quit talking or I’m putting the gag back.”
Eridan snorted. “Please. You can’t seriously think I’ll believe it when
you can’t even look at me without feeling guilty.”
 Warrehn turned his head and glared. “I’m looking at you. And I don’t
feel guilty. You are a member of an evil psycho cult that brainwashes
billions of people.”
Eridan wrinkled his nose up. “An evil psycho cult? Don’t be
ridiculous.”
“So you aren’t denying the brainwashing part?”
Eridan gave him an innocent look. “I’m neither confirming nor denying
it.”
Warrehn scoffed and averted his gaze again.
Eridan chewed on his lip, trying not to show that the guy’s words had
hit a little too close to home.
He’d always had… misgivings about the source of the Order’s power on
Calluvia. On one hand, was it right to have such enormous control over a
planet, control that was achieved by underhanded means?
On the other hand, the Chapter of High Hronthar wasn’t completely evil
or something. The unpleasant business with Prince-Consort Mehmer was
more of an exception than the rule. In essence, the Chapter was just a bunch
of very ambitious and power-hungry political figures. Yes, many of the
Masters were corrupt and selfish, but wasn’t that true for most politicians?
Eridan had seen enough of the members of the Calluvian Council to know
that they weren’t much different from the Chapter’s Masters: they were
greedy, and they all had their own agendas and ambitions. Even if the High
Hronthar disappeared, the Calluvian Council wouldn’t suddenly become
less corrupt. Without the High Hronthar’s supervision, they might become
more corrupt. Evil was relative, after all.
“What is evil?” Eridan said, looking at his own hands. “What are the
criteria?”
He felt Warrehn turn back to him. “Brainwashing billions of people
definitely counts as evil,” he said. “No matter how you try to swing it.”
Eridan scoffed. “First of all, even if you were right about the Order—
and I’m not saying you are—do you really think the Order brainwashes
billions of people? That’s just impossible considering the ratio between the
number of mind adepts and the general population.”
Warrehn’s eyebrows furrowed. “You still force the Bond on all
Calluvians,” he said.
“That’s not brainwashing,” Eridan said. “Binding the population’s
telepathic strength isn’t brainwashing. Their minds are still their own. One
might argue that if there were a lot of powerful telepaths just running
around, there would be a lot more brainwashing going on, because it
wouldn’t be controlled at all.”
“Of course you would think that,” Warrehn said with a sneer. “They
brainwashed you, too.”
Eridan rolled his eyes. “Yes, the Masters of the Order have nothing
better to do than brainwash toddlers. Come on, they can be total assholes,
but don’t be ridiculous. I can think for myself, thank you very much.”
The guy gave him a look that was a cross between suspicious and
curious. “You talk nothing like an apprentice of the High Adept.”
Eridan chuckled. “And how would you know how an apprentice of the
‘High Adept’ should talk?” He’d always found the title the outsiders called
the Grandmaster of the Order a bit strange. “How many members of the
Order have you actually met? We don’t do evil chants and plot world
domination all the time. We’re just people.”
“Right.”
Eridan heaved a sigh. “I don’t get why you have this idea that the Order
is some kind of epitome of evil. Sure, there are some ‘evil’ people in the
Order, but there are just as many good people. There is evil everywhere,
Warrehn. Your friendly neighbor might actually be a mass murderer, and
your loving relative might be plotting your death.”
Warrehn looked away. “It still doesn’t make what your precious Order
does okay.”
Eridan shrugged. “But what does the Order do? Give a person one
loving partner for life? Is it that bad?”
“Don’t try to make it pretty. You’re taking people’s choice away.”
Eridan’s lips twisted. “Choice? You mean their choice to cheat on their
partner and treat them like shit? The marriage bond weakens one’s
telepathy, I won’t deny it, but it also gives people a sense of belonging, a
bondmate who will always love them, who will never cheat or hurt them. Is
that so bad?” He looked away, hating how wistful his voice sounded. He
cleared his throat. “Calluvia has the lowest homicide rate in the Union of
Planets for a reason. Calluvia had the highest homicide rate before the
introduction of the Bonding Law. Millions of people would have died of
things like jealousy and adultery if it were not for the Bonding Law. That’s
a fact.”
 Warrehn opened his mouth and closed it, a deep wrinkle appearing
between his brows. “Shut up,” he grunted at last, looking annoyed—clearly
annoyed that he couldn’t find a flaw in that logic.
Eridan smiled, amused despite himself.
“What was your name again?” Warrehn said, breaking the silence.
“Eridan,” he replied, figuring it wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Warrehn turned back to the window, his shoulders stiff.
Eridan eyed him, curious about his reaction and wondering whether he
should try to read his mind.
He’d never liked delving into other people’s minds. Although his
distaste for it had lessened over the years under his Master’s demanding
tutelage, Eridan still found poking at other people’s minds unpleasant,
Castien’s orderly mind the only one he actually enjoyed touching.
Castien.
Eridan’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. He honestly had no idea how
his Master was going to react to his kidnapping. Part of him doubted that he
would even care, but if the Order blockaded the Hangar Bay 4 area already,
it implied that Castien at least didn’t want the rebels to take him off the
planet, which made sense. He wouldn’t want to lose his asset, after all.
The thought made Eridan’s lips curl into a bitter smile.
He and his Master… Their relationship had become terribly strained
over the past year. It was his own doing, of course: the distance he’d put
between them had completely changed their relationship. There were no
more kisses on the cheek, no more sneaky hugs. They were a Master and an
apprentice, nothing more.
The distance between them was supposed to help. It was supposed to
help Eridan get over his idiotic… fixation on his Master. Instead, it felt like
a punishment for him. Instead of helping him get over his stupid thing for
his Master, the distance just made him yearn for what they had once had—
for the easy companionship and comfort—and hate himself for it. How
could he miss something that had never existed? That had been a lie? A
delusion?
But how could he not? He missed the feeling of security and certainty in
his place in the world. He missed feeling important to his Master. He
missed feeling pride at being addressed as Apprentice Idhron—it meant his
Master had chosen him, had seen his worth and liked what he saw. Now
that those delusions had been taken away from him, he felt terribly
vulnerable, like a fraud.
The worst part was, it didn’t seem as though Castien even appreciated
the effort he’d put into distancing himself and playing the part of a perfect
apprentice. It seemed there was no pleasing him, no matter what Eridan did.
Part of him wanted to think that Castien just missed his affection, but
Eridan locked those foolish thoughts away. He was done deluding himself.
Stop thinking about him, dammit, Eridan snapped to himself. How are
you supposed to get over him when all you do is think about him? Instead of
obsessing about Castien, you should obsess over how to get out of this
situation.
Right. Okay.
Eridan forced himself to focus his attention on Warrehn.
Carefully, he stretched out his senses and poked at the guy’s mental
shields. He could sense anger, mixed with grief and regret. He probed
deeper, bracing himself for the usual nausea that he felt at the touch of
another mind.
It never came.
Eridan paused, confused. Perhaps Warrehn’s mind was just compatible
with his. It was certainly possible: telepaths didn’t have just one person
compatible with them. But he didn’t feel even a hint of the pleasure that he
usually felt when Castien touched his mind. Clearly there was something
else at work here.
Gently, Eridan withdrew. He didn’t want Warrehn to sense his spying.
Frowning, he eyed Warrehn’s profile. There was something… almost
familiar about him.
Pursing his lips, Eridan finally forced himself to examine the errant
thought he had pushed out of his mind when he’d first heard Warrehn’s
name.
No, Warrehn wasn’t that rare of a name.
But all the little tidbits of information he had learned about Warrehn so
far… It all fit.
It was widely presumed Prince Warrehn had been kidnapped and killed
by the rebels. Sirri had implied that Warrehn wasn’t actually a rebel even
though he was with them.
The man also emanated grief and loss when he heard Eridan’s name,
which was somewhat similar to Prince Warrehn’s younger brother’s.
 Warrehn’s hair and eyes were the right color. His face… it was hard to
compare a grown man’s face with a picture of a ten-year-old boy, but
theoretically, Prince Warrehn could have grown up to look like this man
did.
But all of this was circumstantial evidence at best. It didn’t prove
anything. And Eridan didn’t feel any familial bond to this man.
Then again, he wouldn’t feel one. All familial bonds were broken when
a child brought to the Order was Named.
Except… except it didn’t exactly matter, did it? Familial bonds were
natural. As his Master had once told him, they were the result of similar
telepathic marks.
Siblings were supposed to have similar telepathic marks.
His heart beating faster, Eridan closed his eyes and started breathing
evenly, trying to sink into a deep meditation. Meditation was still far from
his favorite pastime, but by now he was proficient. He didn’t even need to
focus on his thaal anymore. With such a demanding teacher as Castien, he
had been forced to learn. His meditations with Master Tker had helped, too.
Once he achieved the state of deep meditation, Eridan stretched out his
senses. They confirmed that there were only two other people in the small
house besides him. Outside the house, he could feel other minds, more
primitive and muted. Animals. The house must have been located
somewhere isolated, in a place with a lot of wild animals, perhaps a forest.
He stretched his senses further, looking for one telepathic presence he
would recognize anywhere. He found it, but it felt incredibly distant. This
house must have been a significant distance away from wherever Castien
was.
Giving up on connecting to his Master, Eridan focused his senses on the
telepathic presence closest to him.
Warrehn.
Carefully, he dissected Warrehn’s telepathic mark, stripping away all the
distracting emotions Warrehn was feeling and comparing it to his own. It
was long, tedious work, made more complicated by the fact that Eridan’s
own telepathic mark was hopelessly intertwined with Castien’s. Strong
bonds tended to do that. As years passed, Eridan had noticed how much his
mark had been affected by his Master’s. Much to his surprise, he had found
traces of his own in his Master’s telepathic presence, too, though it was
harder to tell with Castien, since Castien could completely mask his mark if
he wanted to. Even the distance between them lately hadn’t seemed to dim
their connection at all, and Eridan had trouble separating their telepathic
marks.
Finally, after what felt like hours of work, he succeeded at making a
mental replica of his own mark—what it would look like without Castien’s
—and then compared it to Warrehn’s.
The result made him inhale sharply.
It was unmistakable how similar their telepathic marks were. How
familiar. Such an uncanny similarity could exist only between close
relatives.
Eridan pulled out of his meditation and stared at the man who was still
moodily looking out the window.
At his brother.
Brother.
It seemed unthinkable.
Unbelievable.
Such a coincidence seemed ridiculous. What were the odds?
But one’s telepathic mark didn’t lie. Eridan knew he hadn’t made a
mistake; his Master had taught him better than that. A telepathic mark
analysis was almost as foolproof as a DNA analysis.
This man was his brother.
Eridan chewed on his lip, trying to understand how he felt about it. His
feelings were all over the place, a horrible mix of contradictory emotions
that ranged from anger to irrational elation.
Part of him wanted to snap at Warrehn, Where have you been all this
time? Why have you abandoned me? Why didn’t you come back for me?
Eridan squashed down the urge, trying to erase the hurt in his
chest. Blood was nothing. It didn’t matter. This man was a stranger. A
stranger who had abandoned a three-year-old him more than eighteen years
ago. They were nothing to each other.
Nothing.
“Do you have a family?” Eridan heard himself say. He winced, annoyed
with himself, but it was already too late.
Warrehn turned back to him, frowning. “What is it to you?”
Eridan shrugged. “Just wondering. We know very little about you
rebels.”
“I’m not a ‘rebel,’” Warrehn bit out, turning back to the window.
 Eridan stared at his profile, something about it vaguely familiar. He told
himself it was just confirmation bias. He told himself he was just imagining
that he remembered his brother’s face. He told himself a great many things,
but the part of him that had always craved belonging couldn’t help but feel
something when he looked at this grim-faced man.
What Eridan remembered of his brother wasn’t his face, but his bright,
infectious laugh and the way he allowed him to ride on his shoulders. This
man with unsmiling, hardened eyes was nothing like that.
“Then who are you?” Eridan said.
Warrehn was silent for so long he thought he wasn’t going to reply.
But he did.
“I don’t know,” Warrehn said, and there was something painfully
familiar in his eyes now.
Eridan’s stomach knotted up as he recognized that look.
He’d seen it often enough in the mirror.
 Chapter Sixteen: Captivity

Days dragged by.

Eridan felt the tension in the house become more and more
uncomfortable with every passing day. Warrehn and Sirri had nasty
arguments several times a day, their words getting uglier and harsher the
longer they were stuck inside. They seemed to have a history. At first
Eridan had wondered if they used to be lovers, but he soon realized that
their relationship was closer to that of siblings after some ugly fight. Eridan
hadn’t been sure what that was about, but as they let their guard drop
around him, they became careless, and he was able to piece things together.
It seemed Warrehn had been living on Tai’Lehr all these years and
pretty much had grown up with Sirri’s distant cousin, Rohan. They had
known each other for years. Sirri’s problem with him seemed to be
Warrehn’s refusal to call himself Tai’Lehrian despite living most of his life
there. Sirri called him ungrateful. Warrehn told her to mind her own
business. It was all rather interesting—or would have been, if Eridan hadn’t
felt a little sick every time he heard of their childhood and teenage years,
every time he heard of that Rohan person, who was apparently “like a
brother” to Warrehn.
It shouldn’t hurt.
It shouldn’t.
But it did. He didn’t want to listen to this anymore.
He wanted to go home.
He wanted his Master.
Eridan hated himself for these thoughts, hated feeling this way, but he
couldn’t help it. No matter how strained their relationship had become
lately, he still associated the word “home” with his Master. Even when they
were fighting, there was still a certain comfort in being around Castien, the
sense of rightness under his skin.
Eridan told himself it was just a habit, but deep down, he knew he was
lying to himself. Even thinking about Castien made something inside
Eridan tighten with terrible, achy yearning—the pent-up yearning he’d been
trying and failing to extinguish for a year. He missed his Master. He had
been missing him for a long time now, but the actual, physical distance
between them pushed the feeling to the forefront of his mind. It was
impossible to ignore anymore.
He missed him.
He didn’t even want anything special. He just wanted to curl up by
Castien’s side while his Master worked on his datapad. He wanted to go to
sleep lulled by Castien’s telepathic presence wrapped around him and
delude himself into thinking that he was loved.
He didn’t want to be stuck in this tiny room, bound to the chair or
chained to a couch like some kind of animal. He didn’t want to listen to
Warrehn and Sirri arguing with each other or worrying about that Rohan
person. He wanted to forget he’d ever met his brother, this stranger who
worried about his pseudo-brother instead of looking for his real one.
He wanted to go home.
Eridan had tried to escape a few times, but after the time he’d tried to
mind-trick Warrehn into leaving him alone while he took a bath, even
Warrehn became pretty strict with him while Sirri became downright
paranoid.
They shouldn’t have bothered. Eridan felt too shitty after his last escape
attempt to try again. He was annoyed with himself for failing. If he had
managed to feel enough anger at Warrehn to use his gift and strangle him
into unconsciousness—which was the plan—he wouldn’t have had to resort
to mind-tricking him and would have escaped.
Your bleeding heart is going to be your downfall one day, Eridan.
His Master had been right. As usual.
“… what are you sulking about, brat?”
Eridan flinched and looked at Sirri. “I’m not sulking. I’m just sick of
listening to the two of you bitching at each other. What did you want?”
Sirri glanced at Warrehn, who stood silently by the door, frowning at
Eridan with a strange look on his face.
 “We decided we’re done waiting. It doesn’t look like your people are
going to give up anytime soon and end the blockade. We’ll have to act.
Warrehn and I are going to kill each other if we’re stuck here for another
month.”
A month? Had it really been a month already?
It seemed both longer and shorter than that.
Eridan pursed his lips in confusion. “What do you mean? What are you
going to do?”
“We will contact the High Adept—or rather, you will.” Sirri pulled
Eridan’s communicator out of her pocket and switched it on. “Unlock it and
call him. We’ll do the rest.”
Eridan looked at his communicator greedily. He knew he should
probably refuse to comply with the rebels’ plan, but the thought of actually
seeing his Master and hearing his voice, made something inside him ache
with longing.
He found himself nodding.
“Huh, I thought you would be a pain in the ass about it,” Sirri
said. “Though if you’re hoping your people would trace your location
through your communicator, don’t get your hopes up: there’s a jammer in
this safe house.”
Eridan shook his head. “Let’s get it over with,” he said. “Unbind me.”
Sirri did, and Eridan sighed, rubbing at his wrists before accepting his
communicator and unlocking it. Immediately, it chimed with the
notifications of missed calls and messages.
Ignoring them, Eridan tapped on Castien’s personal communicator
number and waited with bated breath for the call to connect. It might not
connect at all if Castien was at High Hronthar rather than the monastery.
Communicator coverage was spotty in the mountains.
“You will not talk to him,” Sirri said, snatching the communicator away
from him, binding his hands, and shoving a gag into Eridan’s mouth.
Eridan glared at her, but the infuriating woman ignored him, setting the
communicator on the table so it was facing him before stepping out of the
camera frame.
“He can see you, but you will not talk to him,” Sirri said.
Eridan glowered at her, but at that moment, the call connected.
His traitorous heart jumped as Castien’s face appeared on the screen of
his communicator.
 He looks tired, was Eridan’s first thought as he stared hungrily at his
Master.
Castien also looked angry, though it probably wasn’t noticeable to
anyone who didn’t know him. To Sirri, Grandmaster Idhron probably
looked as unemotional as it could get, but Eridan knew him, knew every
infinitesimal change to his normally blank expression.
Castien looked at Eridan’s gagged face for a long moment before saying
flatly, “What do you want?”
Staying out of the camera’s view, Sirri smiled. “I like a man who gets
straight to the point.” She put a blaster to Eridan’s temple.
It felt cold.
Eridan was very still, just looking into Castien’s eyes.
In the meantime, Sirri continued cheerfully, “Our demands are as
follows: You will remove your people from the forest. You will meet us
there tomorrow, alone and unarmed. You will turn on your identification
chip’s beacon the moment you arrive in the forest and wait for us at the
Blind. If you try to trick us, your apprentice will die.” Her voice
hardened. “I’m not joking, Your Grace. Frankly, he’s been a pain in the ass,
and it wouldn’t be a hardship for me to kill him. If you want to see his
pretty face again, you will do as I say.”
Not a single muscle moved on Castien’s face. He said, “Very well.”
Eridan blinked, a little surprised. It wasn’t at all like Castien to give in
to someone’s demands. His Master probably intended to double-cross the
rebels somehow; that was the only explanation he could think of.
Sirri shifted a little, emanating confusion, too. She clearly hadn’t
expected for it to be so easy. She cleared her throat and switched the
communicator off.
“It’s a trap,” Warrehn said gruffly.
“Shut up. It was mostly your idea, not mine,” Sirri said, but Eridan
could sense her unease. “That man is creepy as fuck. Are all mind adepts so
unemotional?”
Warrehn shrugged distractedly. “Some of them are more emotional than
others. The mind adept that handled our family was more normal—” He cut
himself off, grimacing, before stalking out of the room.
Sirri sighed. “Of course he storms off to sulk, and I have to be the one
who has to break the news to Rohan,” she said, sounding beyond
annoyed. “Warrehn!” She followed him out of the room, leaving Eridan still
bound and gagged.
But this time he could barely feel the discomfort.
Tomorrow.
He was going to see him tomorrow.
 Chapter Seventeen: Reunion

The Rohan person, Warrehn’s pseudo-brother Eridan had already grown

to dislike, was nothing like he had imagined.
He was a tall, striking man, with brown skin and penetrating dark eyes.
“I was starting to forget your face,” Sirri said the moment she saw him.
Ignoring her, Rohan looked at Warrehn and then Eridan.
He did a double-take, frowning.
“How old even is he?” Rohan said.
Warrehn shrugged. “He refuses to say.”
“Old enough to be a pain in our asses,” Sirri said with a scowl.
Eridan glared at her.
Rohan’s eyebrows crept up. “Are we sure he’s the Grandmaster’s
apprentice? I didn’t think they encouraged emotion.”
Eridan shot him a withering look.
Sirri snorted. “He’s touchy about it.” She glanced at her multi-device.
“We should get moving.”
“Everything clear?” Rohan asked Warrehn.
Sirri replied for him. “We checked. Their people really left. Everyone
but the Grandmaster.”
Warrehn kept glancing around warily. “Doesn’t mean we aren’t being
tracked somehow. Let’s get moving.” He put a hand on Eridan’s back and
pushed him forward.
Eridan complied.
He breathed in the humid forest air, already in a better mood. Being
stuck inside a tiny room for a month had given him a new appreciation for
being outdoors.
 His mood improved with every step that took him closer toward his
Master. Eridan could already feel him, faintly, but stronger with every
moment, their bond pulsing with terrible tension.
“Can you feel him, Warrehn?” Rohan said after a while. They obviously
could no longer trace Castien’s identification chip’s signal. They had
already entered the Hangar Bay 4 area. Only powerful electronic devices
like the TNIT could work within such areas.
Pulling out a blaster, Warrehn grunted in affirmative and changed the
direction they were going a little.
Eridan wondered about it. It seemed Warrehn was the strongest telepath
among the trio, though he could sense that Rohan and Sirri were at least
Class 4, perhaps higher. It was hard to tell with trained telepaths because of
their mental shields.
Eridan lost that train of thought the moment they stepped into the small
clearing.
“Master!” he said with a wide, happy smile, before he could stop
himself and remember that he was angry with Castien.
Castien’s expressionless face didn’t change, though his telepathic
signature reached out toward Eridan and pressed around him, almost
suffocating him with its force. His unreadable blue eyes swept over him
from head to toe before moving to the man gripping Eridan’s
arm. Something shifted in Castien’s eyes as his gaze locked on Warrehn.
Eridan wondered about it. Did Castien recognize him? Did he know
Warrehn was his brother?
Had they met?
The thought was startling. He had previously assumed Warrehn must
have abandoned him in the forest and Castien had simply found him, but
what if it wasn’t true? But then, wouldn’t Warrehn recognize Castien, too?
Eridan looked at Warrehn curiously. He was frowning and glowering at
Castien, but since Warrehn looked grumpy most of the time, it was hard to
tell if there was a particular reason for this grumpy look.
Castien looked from Warrehn to Sirri before his gaze finally settled on
Rohan. “Well?” he said. “What do you want?”
Eridan frowned, unsure why Castien was addressing Rohan when he
had barely even been involved in Eridan’s kidnapping. He felt like he was
missing something.
 “You know who I am,” Rohan said. “I’m sure you can put two and two
together.”
“Yes,” Castien conceded, his face still blank. “But I am not here to talk
about my suspicions. I am here to get back what you stole. Eridan, come
here.”
Warrehn let out a harsh laugh, tightening his grip on Eridan. “You
seriously think I’m letting the kid go, just like that?”
Castien didn’t look away from Rohan. “Tell him to release the boy.”
“Look,” Rohan said, heaving a sigh. “We didn’t want to get the kid
involved at all, but it was the only way to get you to talk to us on our
terms.”
“And what made you think kidnapping a simple apprentice would make
me more cooperative?” Castien said. “He’s just a boy, one of hundreds of
initiates eager to learn from me. I could have him replaced at a moment’s
notice.”
Eridan dropped his gaze and stared at his boots.
What his Master had said was a simple statement of fact, nothing
more. It shouldn’t hurt. He knew what kind of a man Castien Idhron was. It
shouldn’t hurt.
“Then what are you doing here?” Rohan said. “If he’s so worthless to
you?”
Eridan lifted his gaze.
Castien didn’t look at him, his eyes still on Rohan. “I didn’t say that he
was worthless. It would be a pity to have wasted years of my time on him if
I were to take on another apprentice. He is of some worth to me, but you are
delusional if you think I will not sacrifice him if you try to use him against
me.”
Of some worth.
He was of some worth to his Master.
Rationally, Eridan knew Castien had to downplay his importance in
order to not allow himself to be blackmailed. But Eridan also knew better
than to delude himself into thinking that it was anything but the truth.
Sirri chuckled.
“He’s lying,” she said. She was looking at Castien with a faint smirk.
“Oh, you’re good. I would have totally believed you. Except I have a
feeling that what you just said is a load of bullshit and if we believe you,
we’ll make a huge mistake.”
 “She has a gift for premonition,” Rohan clarified, looking coolly at
Castien. “So shall we try again?”
Castien’s lips thinned. He was silent for a while, looking from Rohan to
Sirri before saying, “What do you want?”
Eridan stared at him, stunned.
Castien still wouldn’t look at him.
“Stop twisting public opinion against us. That’s our first demand.”
“First? I presume there is a second?”
“You’ll clear our names of the murder of Prince-Consort Mehmer,”
Rohan said. “As long as we’re blamed for the murder of a royal, the
Council won’t even listen to us. We’ll be arrested on the spot.”
Castien just looked at Rohan for a long moment.
Eridan cocked his head to the side, sensing the shift in Castien’s
telepathic presence. It was changing, becoming like… like Rohan’s.
He was morphing his telepathic presence to imitate Rohan’s, Eridan
realized with morbid fascination. It should have been impossible. He’d had
no idea his Master had such a telepathic gift—heck, he hadn’t realized such
a gift existed. It was as creepy as it was fascinating.
The implications of it… were, frankly, terrifying, because a telepath’s
mark was the ultimate security measure that protected the telepath’s
mind. By imitating Rohan’s telepathic mark, Castien could theoretically
bypass Rohan’s mental shields as if they didn’t exist: they wouldn’t fight
him, because they wouldn’t recognize him as an intruder.
Rohan’s expression became a little puzzled, as if he sensed that
something was off but couldn’t quite figure out what.
Finally, Castien’s presence returned back to normal. Eridan could sense
something that felt a lot like amusement through their bond. Castien was
amused by something.
Frankly, Eridan felt kind of sorry for Rohan. When his Master was
amused, it was usually at someone else’s expense. Castien did have a sense
of humor, but it was rather twisted.
“Very well,” Castien said with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Now
let my apprentice go.”
“Not so fast,” Warrehn grunted when Eridan tried to free himself. “You
aren’t getting him back until you keep your end of the deal.”
Castien’s expression became stony. “I am not leaving without my
apprentice.”
 Eridan’s foolish heart jumped at those words, though rationally he knew
Castien likely was just unwilling to keep his end of the deal.
“Sorry, dear, but you understand that we can’t trust you,” Sirri said.
“I can hardly trust you, either,” Castien said. “How do I know that you
will let my apprentice go even if I do as you say?”
“You don’t,” Rohan agreed. “But the difference is, you can’t do
anything to us. It’s not in your interests to tell the Council where the rebels’
base is. You don’t want us to be found. That would destroy the social order
the High Hronthar spent millennia establishing. If other Calluvians see how
much stronger we are, they will be scared. There will likely be war, and
Calluvians won’t want to be shackled by their childhood bonds anymore
while the hated ‘rebels’ are so much stronger. You will lose the unlimited
power you now enjoy.”
Castien’s eyes grew colder. “Then why should I do anything for you if it
all ends the same way, either way?”
Rohan seemed to hesitate, his expression rather pinched.
“We could help each other,” he said.
Eridan frowned. He hadn’t expected that at all.
Judging by Warrehn and Sirri’s bewildered gazes, they hadn’t, either.
Rohan ignored them all, looking only at Castien. “The difference is, if
you help us restore our reputation, we won’t remind the Council of the
original reason our ancestors rebelled. We won’t remind them of the ex-
member of the High Hronthar who was disgusted by his Order’s thirst for
power, by the web of deception the Order wove for the Council, using their
fears against them. If the Council actually accepts Tai’Lehrians, there will
be no war, and if there is no war against powerful telepaths, Calluvians will
have little reason to want to break their bonds. We’ll leave the Order alone,
and you’ll be able to keep most of your power if you play your cards right.”
Sirri made a protesting noise and Warrehn glared at Rohan, but Rohan
ignored them again.
Eridan was confused. Who was Rohan? Why was he negotiating on
behalf of Tai’Lehr?
His Master seemed to know who he was dealing with and was similarly
ignoring the other two. Eridan could sense Castien was actually considering
Rohan’s offer seriously.
“As a show of goodwill, we’ll let your apprentice go,” Rohan said,
ignoring the protesting noise from Warrehn this time. “Think about my
offer. Working together would be beneficial for both of us. It’s the only way
that doesn’t involve heavy losses for both of us.”
Slowly, Castien nodded. “I shall think about it,” he said before finally
looking at Eridan. “Eridan.” Come here, he said more softly through the
bond, softer than he’d talked to him in months.
Eridan couldn’t help but smile at him.
His feet moved forward without conscious thought. He grabbed his
Master’s wrist, the simple contact making him shiver.
Castien activated his transponder, and they both teleported away.
 Chapter Eighteen: Snapped

Eridan wasn’t sure what he had expected when they reappeared in the
monastery, but it wasn’t for Castien to tell him coldly, “Go to Hronthar. I
have work here.”
And then, with a swish of his brown robes, he left.
Eridan stared at his retreating back, his heart somewhere at his feet.
All right. So much for getting a hug or a simple “welcome back.”
He felt stupidly blindsided, and he had no one to blame but himself.
How many times would his Master make it clear that he didn’t care for
him? How many times would he be treated like dirt before his world would
finally stop revolving around that cold, heartless man?
Anger filled his senses, and Eridan let it. Anger was better than this
pathetic, achy feeling in his chest.
Screw him.
He hated him. He hated him, hated him, hated him.

***

Eridan worked himself up into such a rage that by the time Castien
came back to the castle, he was itching for a confrontation. Initially, he had
wanted to give Castien the cold shoulder, except it wasn’t satisfying
enough. He had been giving him the cold shoulder for months, to no effect.
No, that wasn’t enough. He was burning for a fight, for a—
“What do you want, Eridan?” Castien said as he walked into his own
bedroom. He put the case he was carrying on the floor, without looking at
Eridan.
Eridan glared at him, his heart pounding with rage. “Screw you,
Master,” he said with relish and enjoyed the way Castien’s cold eyes
narrowed a little.
“I see you are in a mood,” he said.
“I can’t imagine why,” Eridan said. “Is it so hard to say: I’m glad you’re
back, Eridan. I was worried. How did they treat you? Are you hurt?” He
chuckled harshly. “But no, that would require you to actually give a damn.”
“Do not test my patience, Eridan.”
Eridan walked over and glared up at him. Although he wasn’t short, he
was still half a head shorter than Castien. He’d never minded before, but
now he hated it. His fingers were balling into fists, and he wanted to hurt
him, tear that emotionless mask off that face with his fingernails. “I hate
you,” he said, looking him in the eyes. “I can’t believe I was actually
looking forward to seeing you. I’m such an idiot.” He hated him, he really
did, and he hated that he still felt more alive in Castien’s proximity than
he’d had in over a month, his body burning with a horrible mix of
hormones, their bond like a tight rope, trying to pull them closer, hungry for
intimacy, for anything.
A large hand came up and gripped his chin hard.
Eridan shivered from the contact and glared at Castien defiantly.
“I know they did not abuse you,” Castien said, looking at him with a
strange, fixed expression. “I checked the woman’s mind. I know exactly
how they treated you. So why would I ask redundant questions?”
“To make me feel better?” Eridan sniped, though his anger and hurt
eased a little from the knowledge that Castien had actually cared enough to
check. But he was still angry. Caring a little wasn’t enough. He wanted
more. He wanted everything. He wanted to be his Master’s world in the
same terrible, unfair way his Master was his.
Castien’s jaw tightened. “You spoiled brat,” he said, his voice
deceptively soft. “Is it not enough that you have put me at a disadvantage
by getting yourself kidnapped? That I had to allow those people to
blackmail me? If the Tai’Lehrians didn’t need my help as badly as they do,
they could have asked for bigger sacrifices—and I would have been forced
to comply, because of you. We were lucky they were desperate.”
Eridan glared at him. “You actually have the nerve to blame me for
getting kidnapped? It wasn’t my fault!”
 Castien’s lips twisted. “Of course it was. If you were not—you, if you
were an ordinary apprentice, no one would notice you, and no one would
bother kidnapping you.”
Eridan clenched his fists, his breathing growing ragged as a fresh wave
of anger washed over him. It was always his fault, he was always not good
enough, not proper enough, not perfect enough.
He bit out, “I have been nothing but an ordinary, respectful apprentice
for a year—not that you appreciated it. So fuck you.”
“Mind your tongue, Eridan,” Castien said, his voice cold as ice, his
telepathic presence darkening.
“Or what?” Eridan murmured, leaning in and speaking almost against
Castien’s mouth. His heart was beating so fast he felt breathless. “What are
you going to do to me?” He could taste Castien’s anger. It was
exhilarating. “What happened to your ‘I can’t feel emotion’ shit, Master?
Are you slipping?”
Castien slammed their mouths together.
Eridan moaned and bit his Master’s lip. It wasn’t a kiss. It felt like
touching lightning, like a fight, their mouths angry and hungry, years of
pent-up want and resentment unleashed, teeth everywhere, Castien’s firm
body pulling him tightly to him as he tongue-fucked Eridan’s mouth like a
starved animal.
Eridan could only take it, his mind spinning, his body tingling all over,
his mouth oversensitive. Every swipe of his Master’s tongue sent sharp
shocks of want between his legs, his cock hard and his hole tingling with
need, aching to be filled.
“Master,” he breathed.
Castien’s mouth moved to his neck, sucking and biting, his hands
gripping Eridan hard.
Eridan moaned, shivering and pressing closer, needing more. This felt
right, he was his Master’s, no one else’s, he needed this, needed his marks,
his mouth, and his body.
“Master,” he gasped, fumbling between them. He groaned, a trickle of
slick running down his inner thigh as he palmed Castien’s thick cock
through his pants. “Want you.”
Castien went rigid against him, his powerful body vibrating with
tension. Eridan could feel him trying to get control over his body and pull
away. No. He wouldn’t let him, not this time.
 Eridan brought his mouth to Castien’s ear and whispered, “Fuck me.”
Castien’s body shuddered.
“Come on,” Eridan said. “I need you, Master.”
He was turned and thrown onto the bed. In an instant, Castien was on
him. Strong hands lifted his robe, then yanked his pants and underwear
down, leaving him naked from the waist down.
At the sound of a zipper being undone another gush of slick trickled out
of his hole. Fuck, he couldn’t believe it was finally happening. His
composed, civilized Master was going to simply stick his cock into him,
just like that. The thought was incredibly arousing.
Eridan pressed his flushed cheek against the bed covers and lifted his
ass for easier access.
Something blunt and thick pushed against his slick opening. His
Master’s cock. Eridan gasped and pushed back.
“Ever so impatient,” Castien bit out before pushing slowly into him.
Eridan moaned, relief like no other hitting him as the emptiness inside
him was finally filled. “Figures that you would criticize me even when
you’re balls deep inside me, Master,” he managed, trying to sound normal
and not at all like he was losing his mind from how good it felt.
Castien’s cock felt unbelievably thick, stretching him to the limit. He wasn’t
sure why he was surprised—it was as big as the rest of Castien’s body.
“I’m not balls deep yet,” Castien gritted out.
Oh fuck. That should have intimidated him, considering that he already
felt like he could feel his Master’s cock in his stomach, but instead, it
caused another gush of slick. He wanted it. He wanted everything his
Master would give him.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, his Master bottomed out, the
fabric of his slacks pressing against Eridan’s bare cheeks. Eridan moaned in
bliss, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. It felt so good.
Castien pulled out and slammed back in.
Eridan cried out.
The rest was something of a blur. Eridan was only vaguely aware of
how loud he was being—too loud and too eager—but he didn’t seem to be
able to control himself, pushing back on his Master’s cock and whining
when it hit something inside him just right.
Soon, there was only the obscene slick sounds of a cock moving in his
hole as their bodies moved together, fast and hard, Eridan’s world narrowed
to the cock inside him and the heavy, muscular man against his back
fucking him so good, their bond pulsing with the sense of finally.
He lost himself to the sensation, his moans growing in volume as
Castien’s thrusts became harder, faster, his cock brushing against that spot
inside him over and over and over. He couldn’t—he couldn’t—
His Master’s hand wrapped around his cock and stroked.
The force of his orgasm caught him off-guard, making him shout as
pleasure flooded him. Eridan threw his head back, toes curling, body
shuddering and squeezing around the thick length in him as intense pleasure
spread from his hole and his cock to the rest of his body, overwhelming his
senses.
Castien’s grip on his hip tightened, his cock thrusting faster and faster,
slamming into his pliant body until Castien went tense, his pleasure
bleeding into Eridan and making him moan weakly again. Gods, it felt so
good. He’d never felt better in his life.
Eridan had no idea how much time had passed when he finally opened
his eyes.
The heavy body against his back was gone. Something sticky and
cooling was running down his leg. Eridan flushed, realizing what it was.
This was his Master’s semen leaking out of him. His Master had fucked
him, no matter how surreal it now seemed.
It felt even more surreal when Eridan turned and found Castien looking
impeccable, fully clothed, not a hair out of place. He stood by the window,
looking at the darkening sky. “You should go to your room, Eridan.” His
voice wasn’t cold, but it sounded strange. He wouldn’t look at Eridan.
If Eridan didn’t feel pleasantly sore, he would never believe that they’d
just had sex.
“Right,” Eridan said awkwardly, pulling his pants up and trying to
ignore the bodily fluids on his thighs. He could wash later.
Feeling decidedly off-balance, Eridan headed to his room.
Once there, he leaned against the door, blinking dazedly, his body still
tingling all over.
What had they done?
What now?
 Chapter Nineteen: Ill-advised

“His Grace is busy, Eridan. You can’t go in there!”

Eridan stopped and looked back at Irrene. “I’m his apprentice. His
orders don’t apply to me.”
The woman looked between him and the closed door, clearly stressed,
so Eridan took pity on her. “I will tell him you’re not to blame.”
The anxiety on Irrene’s face eased. She nodded, looking at him
curiously. “I’m so glad you’re all right, Eridan. Your Master was very
worried.”
Eridan shot her a skeptical look and marched toward the door,
projecting confidence he didn’t really feel.
It had been four days since he’d last seen his Master.
The first few days Eridan had tried to rationalize Castien’s absence. He
had told himself that Castien was likely busy working on how to keep his
end of the deal with the rebels—or how not to. He told himself that if
Castien was needed at the monastery, it would be simply impractical to
travel back and forth between the monastery and High Hronthar.
But it was useless to deny it anymore: his Master was clearly avoiding
him, and it didn’t take a genius to guess why. Eridan would have liked to
say it simply exasperated or pissed him off, but there was a tight feeling in
his chest that couldn’t be as easily explained.
He entered the office, determined to behave as normal as possible. He
would be damned if he let it show that Castien’s avoidance bothered him.
The room was large but very plain. Eridan hadn’t been here often since
he’d started distancing himself from his Master, and he absently noted that
it still had no personal belongings of Castien’s despite him being the
Grandmaster for over a year.
 His Master was seated behind the massive desk that looked like it could
actually be as old as the monastery, his gaze on the hologram in front of
him. Eridan had only managed to glimpse an unfamiliar planet before
Castien turned the hologram off.
Castien lifted his gaze and regarded him calmly, his expression difficult
to read. “I see your proper apprentice act is over,” he said. Bizarrely, he
didn’t seem annoyed.
Eridan cocked his head to the side, considering his course of
action. There were several ways he could approach this, but… he was tired
of this game. Tired of pretending. Tired of doing the smart thing.
So he rounded the desk, straddled Castien’s lap, and said, “Let’s fuck,
Master.”
He watched Castien’s jaw tighten and his eyes darken. “Eridan… I
thought you understood that what happened was ill-advised.”
“Sure, I understand, Master,” Eridan said, burying his fingers in his
Master’s hair. He laughed a little. “I know exactly how ill-advised it is.” He
brushed his lips along Castien’s hard jawline, shivering from the contrast
between his soft lips and his Master’s stubble. He didn’t know why it turned
him on so much, but he was already achy and slick, his cock straining his
pants. He nipped at Castien’s jaw, felt his Master’s powerful muscles tense
under him, against him. Fuck, he smelled so good. “Let’s do it anyway.” He
murmured into Castien’s ear, “Come on, Master. You know you want to.
You’ve wanted this for years. We did it once already. Once, twice—what
difference does it make? I’m so ready for you already. So slick for you.”
Castien’s hands gripped his hips hard, his eyes glaring daggers at Eridan
even as his telepathic presence pressed closer, exhilaratingly oppressive and
greedy. “Eridan, stop—”
Eridan ran his fingertips over the growing bulge under Castien’s fly.
Smiled when Castien’s breathing hitched. “Don’t pretend to be a good man,
Master. You’re not. You’re selfish, and you take what you want. And you
want me.” He looked Castien in the eyes. “I’m your apprentice, aren’t I?
You can do whatever you want with me.” When Castien’s pupils dilated,
Eridan smiled, leaned in, and murmured against Castien’s lips, “So use me.”
Castien lifted him and shoved him onto his desk.
It was a matter of moments to pull Eridan’s pants off and open Castien’s
fly.
 Eridan moaned, looking at the ceiling dazedly as his Master pushed into
him in one hard thrust. He was so slick already he was dripping, his body
hungrily adjusting even to his Master’s considerable girth. Fuck, he’d never
get enough of this: feeling a part of his Master’s body inside his own, thick
and pulsing, having proof that his Master wanted him. It was intoxicating.
His hands gripping Eridan’s hips, Castien pulled out, leaving only the
head inside, and slammed back in. Eridan whined, tightening his legs
around his Master’s muscular middle.
Part of him, a distant part, wondered if Irrene could hear them. He
wasn’t even sure he cared; not at this moment. All he could feel was need:
need for this horrible, heartless man, the need he shouldn’t have felt but did.
He gripped the edge of the desk and held on as the older man on top of
him gave him a brutal fucking, all base, animal instinct and telepathic
marks twining hungrily. It was unbearable. Unbearably good. Eridan hadn’t
thought it was possible to feel so good, the pleasure spreading from his
crotch to the rest of his body, sending his hunger spiraling higher and higher
until all he wanted was more, harder, deeper.
He might have said that, but he wasn’t sure. He was too busy moaning
and making unintelligible sounds, the cock in him driving away all rational
thoughts. At that moment, all those demeaning slurs people said about
throwbacks were true: he felt like a whore, like he would die without that
cock in him, without his Master’s come inside him.
It was strange how much the thought turned him on. There was
something incredibly satisfying about the thought of his Master’s bodily
fluids inside him. He suddenly needed it, craved it, craved with the strength
of three years of desperate longing, his hole gushing with slick, his cock
leaking profusely as the thick cock inside him pounded him into the desk.
“You are dripping all over the desk,” Castien gritted out. “Do you know
how old it is?”
“Very?” Eridan guessed, moaning as Castien hit the spot inside him just
right. “Ah! There!”
His Master glared at him, his grip on Eridan’s thighs tightening, his eyes
feverish as his cock thrust into him at a punishing pace, hitting that spot
with cruel accuracy. Eridan completely lost it, whines and groans slipping
out of his mouth with every thrust of that cock, their bond full of pleasure
and burning need.
 “Come in me, come in me, come in me,” he heard himself murmur
deliriously. “Come in me, Master.”
Those words seemed to snap something in Castien, a low growl leaving
his throat, his jaw tightening as he slammed his cock inside him, once,
twice—and came, spilling deep into him. Eridan groaned, his Master’s
pleasure triggering his own, his hole clamping down like a vise around
Castien’s shaft and milking it of every drop of his semen as his own cock
spurted between their bodies, dirtying up his Master’s impeccable clothes.
Eridan sagged against the desk, his body and mind tingling with
pleasure. Fucking hell. He’d never felt so satisfied in his life. So fulfilled.
After a while, he felt Castien straighten up.
Then he heard the sound of a zipper.
He still didn’t open his eyes. Couldn’t. He felt too good. He didn’t want
to ruin it.
“Eridan.”
“Mm?”
“Eridan, get up and fix your clothes.”
Eridan didn’t move.
A sigh.
Then he felt wet tissues between his legs, wiping the bodily fluids.
Surprisingly gentle hands pulled his pants up and fixed his fly.
“Get up. You cannot lie on my desk all day.”
Reluctantly, Eridan forced his eyes open.
His Master’s cool gaze was the first thing he saw.
“It is useless to pretend that this is never going to happen again,”
Castien said, his expression slightly pinched. “It likely will. But I want to
make it clear that this does not change anything. You are my apprentice. I
am your Master. That is all.”
Eridan nodded.
“I expect you to behave like a good apprentice would. Do not presume
that our… extracurricular activities will make me lenient. They will not.”
Eridan nodded again.
Castien’s eyes narrowed. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, Master,” Eridan said. “This means nothing. Nothing will change.
Got it.”
Castien gave him a look full of suspicion. “Now go back to High
Hronthar. I have an appointment soon.”
 Eridan hopped off the desk but had to steady himself as his legs felt
unexpectedly shaky and he had aches in interesting places.
He looked at his Master and quashed the urge to kiss him goodbye: that
definitely would contradict the “nothing will change” policy Castien had
just outlined.
“Will you be coming home tonight?” Eridan said as he laid his hand on
the door handle.
After a moment, Castien said, “Yes.”
Eridan smiled and walked out.
He bid goodbye to Irrene, who treated him normally and not at all like
she had just heard him screaming as he came undone on his Master’s cock,
so all was good.
As he stepped into the t-chamber, Eridan found himself in a surprisingly
good mood. But why wouldn’t he be? He was well-fucked, and probably
would be well-fucked in the foreseeable future. Wanting anything more
would just be foolish when he knew that he wasn’t going to stay in the
Order forever.
He didn’t want anything more. He and his Master would just fuck for a
while and get it out of their systems. Eridan wasn’t masochistic enough to
want something more from a man who literally wasn’t capable of it.
Castien Idhron was just a… a disease he needed enough exposure to in
order to develop immunity.
By the time Castien would throw him out, Eridan would be ready to
leave him behind.
He would be.
Surely a few fucks would be enough.
 Chapter Twenty: Revelations

Castien did come home that evening, as promised.

They didn’t even make it to the bed, the vast hall of High Hronthar
echoing the moans as they kissed and groped each other.
It was pure madness, but now that they had done the deed, it seemed it
was impossible to fight this need, the years of pent-up sexual frustration
demanding an outlet.
Eridan sucked his Master’s cock right there, on the grand stairs of the
ancient castle. The hard stone hurt his knees, but he couldn’t stop, needing
it, needing to taste his Master and please him, relishing the feel of his
Master’s hand gripping his thaal. He opened his mouth wider, allowing
Castien to fuck his mouth. He couldn’t deny that pleasing his Master,
serving him, turned him on. It felt good. It felt right.
He reached down and shoved his hand into his pants. He stroked his
aching cock desperately as Castien fucked his mouth. It didn’t bring much
relief, only serving to make him more desperate, but he couldn’t stop.
“Master,” he begged through the bond, spreading his legs and pushing
two fingers inside himself. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what he wanted. He
wanted his Master’s cock, to sate this terrible hunger in him. He needed his
Master’s cock. He needed him. “Master, please.”
Castien looked at him with hungry, glazed eyes, his cock hot and hard
inside his mouth. Eridan didn’t know what was written on his own face, but
something shifted in Castien’s expression.
He yanked Eridan to his feet and gave him a hard, greedy kiss. Eridan
responded eagerly, if a little dazedly. He let Castien lift him and carry him
to Castien’s room, discarding their remaining clothes on the way.
 Laying him down on his bed, his Master stretched on top of him, his
weight making him breathless. Eridan moaned as the blunt cock head
pressed against his opening again. He tried to push back, but Castien held
him in place with a firm hold on his hip.
Eridan relented and relaxed, groaning as the thick cock finally pushed
inside him again. This is what he was made for, came a distant, hazy
thought. He wasn’t even sure who it belonged to; it didn’t matter.
His entire world narrowed down to that cock, pulling out of him and
then pushing back with an obscene sound of his slick. Their bond was
thrumming with terrible urgency, their minds trying to merge despite
Castien’s raised shields.
“Master,” Eridan gasped, digging his heels into Castien’s lower
back. “Come on, just once.”
Castien’s jaw clenched, his magnificent muscles straining as he
continued fucking into him at an unrelenting pace. “No.”
Eridan glared at him dazedly, but he felt too good to protest or make a
better argument in favor of a merge. His brain felt like mush. He couldn’t
think. He couldn’t think. All he wanted was that cock inside him, every hard
thrust satisfying him in a way he couldn’t explain. He would be happy to lie
under his Master forever, getting fucked on his cock, his belly full of his
Master’s come, stinking of sex and covered in his Master’s bodily fluids.
It didn’t take him long to come, clenching around Castien’s cock as his
orgasm was ripped out of him, his pleasure filling their bond.
Castien made a low, animal sound, his hips driving into him hard,
Eridan’s relaxed body like a rag doll in his hands, and then he was coming,
too, filling Eridan with his come.
Eridan made a pleased noise, his arms wrapping around Castien’s wide
back as the older man collapsed on top of him, heavy and perfect.
“Master,” he whispered, nuzzling against Castien’s stubbled cheek, their
ragged breathing slowly evening out.
Castien sighed, turning his head and kissing one corner of Eridan’s
mouth, then the other.
Eridan’s eyes widened at the chaste affection. His shock must have
echoed through the bond because Castien stiffened and rolled off him, to lie
on his back. He closed his eyes.
Eridan stared at him, watching the rise and fall of his broad chest, the
way Castien’s jaw tightened and his brows furrowed. Whatever he was
thinking about, it didn’t seem to be pleasant.
He seemed stressed in general, Eridan realized, frowning. He hadn’t
noticed it before, too distracted by the fact that he was seeing his Master
again at all, but now that he focused, he could sense cracks in Castien’s
normally impenetrable shields, as if they were hastily thrown together after
being ripped apart.
“Master?” he said uncertainly. “Did anything happen while I was gone?
Your shields feel off.”
Castien opened his eyes and just looked at him for a moment.
“Prince Ksar’ngh’chaali is a Class 7 telepath,” he said.
Eridan’s eyes widened. “What? You mean he turned out to be Class 7
when you broke his bond to his betrothed?” He had overheard Warrehn and
Sirri talking about it: about an amendment to the Bonding Law being
passed, an amendment that allowed bonded couples that were not yet
married to break their childhood bonds, though only a few petitions had
been approved so far. Apparently, Prince Ksar was one of the few telepaths
that had gotten permission from the Council to break his bond.
“No,” Castien said. “He was already Class 7. He must have been hiding
his telepathic strength all this time.” He frowned, looking thoughtful. “It is
possible his second childhood bond simply did not take.”
“I still don’t understand. What happened?”
Castien sighed. “He took me off-guard while I was busy examining his
betrothed’s mind. He ripped my shields while I was distracted.”
Eridan’s heart skipped a beat. A brute attack of a Class 7 telepath on a
distracted mind was an equivalent of a knife to one’s back. Had Castien
been a weaker telepath, it would have likely turned him into a vegetable.
“But why?” he said, completely lost.
“He clearly wanted me to forget that there was no bond to break in
Prince Seyn’s mind,” Castien said, a speculative look in his eyes. “Prince
Ksar must have broken their bond himself, and the amendment to the
Bonding Law was just a formality to make them legally free to marry other
people.”
Eridan frowned. “But what happened after he attacked you? Did you
fend him off?”
“No,” Castien said, his voice flat. “He overpowered me. The only
reason I still remember everything is because my training is far superior to
his, and I had safeguards if someone attempted to erase my memories.”
 Eridan blinked. “Overpower you? But you are—you. You’re a Class 7,
too!”
Castien’s jaw clenched. “I have been a Class 6 telepath for over two
years now, Eridan. I am surprised you have failed to notice that, especially
since it is your fault.”
Eridan stared at him, feeling completely blindsided. He had noticed
Castien being more emotional and expressive over the past few years,
but… Wait. Did his Master mean… that he cared for Eridan, and that was
why his telepathic strength had lessened?
“It’s our training bond,” Castien said, without looking at him, before
Eridan could say anything. “You have so many emotions that they
inevitably bleed over to me through the bond. Those secondhand emotions
have deteriorated my control over my telepathy.”
Oh.
Right.
Eridan sat up in the bed, looking at his fingers. Castien’s words
explained so much. It explained why he refused to touch Eridan’s mind
more than necessary—and why he wouldn’t allow them the intimacy of a
telepathic merge. Castien valued power more than anything. Being a Class
6 wouldn’t be enough for him.
“I’m sorry I compromised you,” he said tonelessly. I guess you
will be very relieved when you get rid of me. He raised his shields, not
wanting Castien to sense his hurt. “I’ll try not to project any emotions
through the bond if they’re so detrimental to your telepathy.” Eridan
frowned as something suddenly occurred to him. “But we have barely used
our training bond in the past year,” he said slowly. “I have hardly been very
emotional with you as of late. Should it not have helped you erase my
influence on your telepathy?”
A wave of irritation rolled off Castien. “Apparently not,” he said, his
blue eyes fixed on Eridan with an unreadable expression. “Keeping our
telepathic marks apart completely would be prudent.”
Eridan stroked his lips in thought, feeling confused, unsure—and more
than a little disappointed. Having his Master inside him, body and mind,
had always been something he wanted, but apparently it would always be
something unachievable.
Lifting his gaze, he caught Castien staring at his lips in a transfixed
manner.
 A glance at Castien’s crotch confirmed that he was already half-hard.
Eridan raised his eyebrows, smiling a little despite himself. “Eager,
Master?” he teased.
Castien’s eyes narrowed.
The next thing he knew, he was yanked down and kissed, Castien’s
mouth greedy and possessive. I’ll show who is the eager one, apprentice
mine.
Looping his arms around his Master’s neck, Eridan kissed back, losing
himself in pleasure, his hurt and doubts forgotten. For now. He felt warm.
He felt beautiful. He felt wanted, no matter what Castien said.
Part of him knew that this couldn’t last, that what they were doing
would only end up blowing up in his face spectacularly, but he couldn’t
bring himself to stop.
He wanted this man.
Wanted him more than anything in the world.
Maybe it was foolish, but he didn’t care.
 Chapter Twenty-One: Brother

Calluvian Society Gossip

PRINCE-CONSORT MEHMER ALIVE

THE GOLDEN COUPLE REUNITED
Prince-Consort Mehmer, who was thought to have been murdered by the
rebels more than a year ago, is alive! It appears the prince-consort has
been living all this time with a 202-year-old man, Dien Regbes, who found
him in the Kavalchi Mountains, unconscious and bleeding from a head
wound. Having lived away from civilization for decades, the elderly man
did not recognize him. The prince-consort had been suffering from amnesia
for over a year before his memories finally returned to him.
He is reunited with his husband, Prince Jamil, and their daughter,
Princess Tmynne, whom he has not even met!
We at Calluvian Society Gossip are delighted for the royal couple and
wish them all the best.

***

THE HEIR TO THE FIFTH GRAND CLAN ALIVE

Crown Prince Warrehn’ngh’zaver, who has long been presumed
kidnapped and killed by the rebels, is alive! According to our sources in the
Council, the long-lost prince has been on Planet Tai’Lehr all this time. As
our readers might or might not know, Tai’Lehr is a faraway, industrial
colony of the Third Grand Clan. Prince Warrehn claims that the rebels
actually saved him from assassination by his own bodyguards. Our sources
were not able to determine how Prince Warrehn ended up on Tai’Lehr after
being saved by the rebels, but it is obvious why he was not able to return
until now: Tai’Lehr is cut off from Calluvia by the Shibal-Kuvasi war zone,
and long-range communicators do not work because of the massive
deposits of korviu on the planet.
Many have been curious about the delegation that arrived from
Tai’Lehr a few days ago, but who would have thought that it would include
the long-lost heir to the Fifth Grand Clan?
Rohan’ngh’lavere, Lord Tai’Lehr and the governor of the colony,
personally accompanied Prince Warrehn.
“My father wasn’t willing to risk the prince’s life by making him travel
through the war zone, but after discussing it with the prince, we decided to
take the risk,” Lord Tai’Lehr told us. He’s a handsome, tall man with rather
exotic features, with a fascinating faint accent we could listen to forever.
When asked why now, Lord Tai’Lehr was refreshingly
straightforward. “We heard that Prince Samir’s coronation was
approaching and Warrehn felt he owed it to his people not to allow the
wrong person to ascend to the throne, even if he had to risk his life to get
here. Preserving the true line of succession is paramount for all clans, as
we cannot allow civil war to destroy our grand clans from within.”
This Author couldn’t agree more with Lord Tai’Lehr, but it brings up an
interesting point:
What’s going to happen to Prince Samir, who has been raised to be the
King for the past nineteen years?
We imagine the atmosphere will be rather awkward in the Fifth Royal
Palace…

***

BREAKING! THE REBELS COME FORWARD AND PUSH FOR

LEGALIZATION OF THEIR RIGHTS. TIMES ARE CHANGING?

***
 Eridan was meditating in the monastery’s gardens when he felt a strong
disturbance through the bond.
He opened his eyes, frowning.
Ever since their conversation months ago, the bond between him and
Castien had been firmly blocked from both sides. These days Eridan could
barely sense his Master when they were in the same room, much less when
they were across the entire monastery from each other.
Something must have happened for Castien’s shields to start leaking
emotion. He could sense unease, cold anger, and something that felt a lot
like anxiety.
Eridan got to his feet and allowed the bond to pull him toward Castien.
He couldn’t deny that he missed this, missed feeling his Master through
their bond. Over the past months, the mental distance between them had
eaten him from the inside out, even though it was the smart thing to do.
They still had sex, and often—that was one thing Eridan couldn’t deny
himself, and Castien didn’t seem inclined to stop their physical relationship,
either—but now they both guarded their thoughts and minds, careful about
keeping their telepathic marks apart.
And it felt like hell. The sex scratched the itch only temporarily, leaving
the other hunger unsatisfied. Eridan had no idea if the mental distance
between them was working and Castien was Class 7 again or not. He hadn’t
asked. Truth be told, they didn’t talk much these days, spending most of
their time alone naked or half-naked. On the rare occasion they managed to
keep their clothes on, he caught his Master looking at him with a strange
expression Eridan wasn’t sure what to make of. He wasn’t sure of anything
these days.
The bond led him to Castien’s office.
“Eridan, His Grace isn’t alone,” Irrene told him.
Eridan paused outside the door, listening to his senses. He could sense
the other person in Castien’s office, their telepathic presence strangely
familiar.
It took him a moment to place it.
Warrehn.
Warrehn was in Castien’s office.
Eridan frowned, confused. What was that rebel, the new King of the
Fifth Grand Clan, doing here?
Ignoring Irrene, he pushed the heavy door open and entered the room.
 Castien was seated behind his desk, his expression inscrutable. If Eridan
couldn’t sense his emotions, he would have never even guessed that he had
them.
Warrehn was pacing the room, radiating rage and something else.
His head snapped toward Eridan, and he came to an abrupt halt, just
looking at him, his blue eyes strangely bright.
Warrehn opened his mouth and closed it, his throat bobbing. “Eri?” he
finally croaked out.
Eridan blinked and looked at him in bewilderment. He looked at
Castien, feeling lost.
His Master just looked back, something very strange in his gaze.
“I know it’s you,” Warrehn said hoarsely. “I felt—I started feeling
something like a faint familial bond by the time you left, but I thought I was
imagining it.”
Eridan tore his gaze from Castien’s and looked at Warrehn. “I have no
idea what you’re talking about, Warrehn.”
Warrehn took a step toward him.
Eridan felt Castien tense up, but he remained seated.
“Rohan just told me that you are my brother,” Warrehn said, looking at
Eridan intently. “I feel like an idiot for not realizing it myself. You look so
much like our mother.”
Eridan laughed a little. “What? I’m not your brother.”
Warrehn frowned. “Rohan said you knew. He said you already knew
that you were a prince of the Fifth Grand Clan.”
Eridan shook his head, feeling a dull headache. Something niggled at
the back of his mind, a sense of wrongness. “What are you talking about?”
he whispered, his heart beating fast. “What does Rohan’ngh’lavere have to
do with this?”
Warrehn scowled, shooting a glare at Castien. “Hasn’t he told you that
he blackmailed Rohan into remaining silent about the High Hronthar’s true
motivations and power?”
Eridan looked at Castien. “Master?”
Castien looked down before clarifying, “Lord Tai’Lehr is in a
clandestine relationship with Prince Jamil. By revealing that Prince Jamil’s
husband was not actually dead, I made sure that Lord Tai’Lehr needed me
to support the divorce bill he would want to push, to free his lover from the
unwanted marriage.”
 Eridan frowned. Now it made sense why Castien had let Prince-Consort
Mehmer go home, but he still wasn’t sure what that had to do with Rohan
claiming that Eridan was a prince—and Warrehn’s brother.
As though reading his thoughts, Warrehn said, “Prince Ksar told Rohan
about you—Ksar learned about your identity in Idhron’s memories, and
Ksar said you were aware of it.” He frowned. “But you didn’t know? I don’t
get it. How could Ksar have been wrong about it? He’s a Seven.”
Eridan stared at him. Something was wrong. He could sense that
Warrehn was being completely serious and honest—he somehow knew that
he was telling the truth, but… But he had no memories of it.
His stomach sinking, he looked at Castien.
Castien looked back, something uneasy about his telepathic presence.
“You…” Eridan whispered. “You erased my memories of it, didn’t
you?”
Castien’s silence said it all.
Something inside Eridan—it felt a lot like hope—shriveled up and died.
His throat closed up. “When?” he managed. “How much did you erase?”
“You bastard—”
Eridan lifted his hand, stopping Warrehn. “No. I want to hear it. He
owes answers to me, not you.” He glared at Castien. “I’m waiting.”
Castien leaned back in his chair, his gaze heavy with something Eridan
couldn’t quite identify. “About a month ago. All I did was erase from your
mind the knowledge of your birth name. That is all, Eridan.”
Eridan glowered at him. “Why?”
Castien averted his gaze for a moment, a muscle in his jaw working.
“There was no point. With your brother’s return and ascension to the
throne, the Order had little to gain from returning you to the Fifth Royal
House. I didn’t spend four years training you just to give you up for
nothing.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Warrehn growled out. “My brother was never
yours to give up. Eridan, let’s go before I punch that asshole.”
Castien didn’t even glance at him, his eyes back on Eridan. “Eridan—”
“Shut up,” Eridan whispered tightly. His eyes were burning. “I trusted
you. Despite everything—despite everything I knew about you—I still
trusted you not to mess with my mind.” He laughed bitterly. “I was an idiot
to think I was special. Why would I be? Who knows how else you have
manipulated me.”
 Castien’s shoulders tensed up. “I promise I have not manipulated you in
any way.”
Eridan laughed. “I guess I should just take your word for it, Master. I
mean, it’s not like you’d ever erase my memories, right?”
Castien closed his eyes for a moment. Eridan felt him reach out through
their bond into his mind and remove some kind of block—and his forgotten
memories snapped back into place.
Eridan sucked a breath in, a little disoriented as he tried to assimilate all
the memories. Queen Janesh. His research. His confrontation with Castien.
His analysis of Warrehn’s telepathic mark. Brother. Warrehn really was his
brother.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Warrehn cut in, taking another step to Eridan.
He laid a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “Eri, let’s go—you are coming
home with me.”
Eridan stared at him before looking at Castien.
“Don’t look at him,” Warrehn said harshly. “That man has no say in it.
You are a prince of the Fifth Grand Clan. He had no right to deprive you of
your birthright.”
“I deprived him of nothing,” Castien said coldly. “Unless by birthright
you mean being scared to return to one’s own home. You would know all
about that, wouldn’t you?”
Warrehn glared at him, his face flushing. “Shut up. We know that you
had my aunt under your thumb for years. You could have easily returned
Eridan home years ago without risking his life. That’s what I don’t
understand. Why didn’t you? Or did you want me dead first? Or maybe you
weren’t done brainwashing him?”
Castien stood, his eyes ice cold as he looked at Warrehn, his telepathic
presence darkening and filling the room. The air was so thick with it Eridan
could barely breathe.
Castien said quietly, “You should not insult someone in their own
home.”
Warrehn’s fists clenched. “I’m not scared of you, Idhron. Or are you
going to brainwash me, too, like you brainwashed my brother?”
“Enough,” Eridan snapped. “I’m right here. And Castien can be a total
asshole, and I despise him for what he did, but I’m not brainwashed, thank
you very much.”
 Warrehn gave him a dismissive look. “You would say that if you were
brainwashed, Eri.”
Eridan glared at him. “My name is Eridan. I’m not the child you
abandoned two decades ago, and I would appreciate it if you’d stop treating
me like one.”
Warrehn looked as though he’d punched him. “I didn’t want to leave
you, Eridan. I had no choice.” He glared at Castien. “Didn’t you tell him
how you got him? It was you, wasn’t it? I wasn’t sure at first—it all
happened so fast, and you were a lot younger back then—but now I’m sure
it was you.”
Castien’s face was blank, his eyes cold and unreadable.
Eridan looked at him, his voice wavering as he said, “Is that true?”
Warrehn grumbled, “Why do you still believe his word over mine?”
Eridan ignored him, looking at Castien, pleading with him to tell him
the truth, for once.
Castien stared at him for a long moment, his telepathic presence coiled
with tension.
Finally, he gave a clipped nod.
“See?” Warrehn said. “We are leaving. Do you have things you want to
take with you?”
Eridan blinked at him, feeling lost, and found himself looking back at
Castien. He hated himself for still looking at Castien Idhron when he felt
lost.
A muscle twitched in Castien’s jaw, his face otherwise inscrutable as he
gazed at Eridan. “He is right that I have no authority to keep you here. Your
brother is your legal guardian until you turn twenty-five.”
“Exactly,” Warrehn said gruffly. “You know you have no legal ground
to stand on, especially since I can accuse you of line theft—Eridan is my
heir.” Warrehn sneered. “And your Order’s unblemished reputation is more
important to you, isn’t it?”
Castien didn’t even glance at Warrehn, still looking at Eridan with that
strange, intense look on his otherwise blank face. “I made sure you have
been taught royal customs. You should not struggle too much.”
Right.
This had always been Castien’s plan, just a few years early—and with
an overprotective brother that wasn’t supposed to be in the picture when
Castien had devised the plan.
 Eridan pressed his lips together to stop them from trembling.
“How thoughtful of you,” Warrehn said flatly, scowling at Castien. “The
only reason I’m not getting your whole organization outed as a bunch of
power-hungry psychos is because I don’t give a shit about politics and you
did save my brother’s life and keep him safe—if you can call being raised
in this creepy place safe. Leave him alone from now on, and I won’t have a
problem with you. Eridan, let’s go. Eridan?”
Eridan stared at Castien’s emotionless face, waiting for… he didn’t
know what. A proper goodbye? For Castien to forbid him from leaving?
Or… ask him to stay?
A laugh bubbled up in his chest, harsh and humorless.
Fuck, he really was an idiot.
Turning away swiftly, Eridan bit out, “Let’s go,” and marched out of the
room.
He didn’t look back.
 Chapter Twenty-Two: A New Home

The Fifth Royal Palace was beautiful. Beautiful, obnoxiously luxurious,

and completely unfamiliar.
Nothing triggered a memory.
“It used to look different,” Warrehn said gruffly, breaking the awkward
silence that had descended between them since they had left the monastery.
Eridan made a non-committal noise, feeling decidedly uncomfortable.
He wasn’t sure how to act around Warrehn. It wasn’t as though he didn’t
think of him as his brother: during his month of captivity, he had come to
accept it as a fact, and now that his memories were back, he remembered it.
He didn’t even dislike the guy; Warrehn was right that they already had the
beginnings of a familial bond, which would undoubtedly become stronger
with more exposure and time. No, the problem was that he didn’t know
what Warrehn expected him to be. He had a feeling that Warrehn had built
up his missing little brother into some kind of angel, something Eridan
definitely wasn’t.
And in his current state of mind, Eridan wasn’t sure he could manage to
pretend to be someone he wasn’t.
“There used to be old statues in this hall,” Warrehn volunteered,
something pained flickering across his grim face. “Mother loved them.”
Eridan looked away, feeling irrationally guilty for not remembering
it. “All I remember of her is her hair—and her voice,” he said. “She had a
very pretty voice, didn’t she? I think.”
“Yes,” Warrehn said, radiating relief. “Kind of like yours, but higher.
You look a lot like her.”
Eridan pursed his lips, looking around the vast hall. “Could you show
me my room? I’m kind of tired.” And overwhelmed. And freaked out. And
so very lost.
It all still felt so surreal, but it was real, and it was happening. He
couldn’t believe he really was going to live in this palace from now on, with
his brother. With his brother who actually wanted him.
The mere notion seemed strange. It should have made him happy—
Eridan had wanted to belong all his life—but it just made him feel weird, as
if it was an absurd dream he would wake up from at any moment, to his
Master criticizing him for being a sleepyhead and skipping his morning
meditation.
Eridan pursed his lips.
Desperately looking for something to focus on, he said, “Where is the
regent and her son? Did you kick them out already?”
A shadow crossed Warrehn’s face. “No. It’s impossible for now. They
are still living here.”
Eridan blinked in confusion. “What? Why?”
Warrehn grimaced. “It’s a long story.”
He seemed reluctant to talk about it, so Eridan let it go, figuring he
would find out soon enough. He wasn’t all that interested in the inner
workings of the Fifth Royal House, truth be told. His Master would
disapprove of his lack of ambition, no doubt. If Castien were here, he would
—
Eridan winced and took a deep breath. Breathed out.
Focus, dammit.
“There’s no proof anyway,” Warrehn said with a deep scowl on his
face. “She’s had all her tracks covered. The evidence against her is
circumstantial at best. It would be my word against hers, and my memories
will be easily dismissed as the delusions of a traumatized child that just
misheard something. She has so many friends in the Council. My own
people adore her and her son.”
Eridan frowned, feeling a pang of sympathy for him. “Is that why
they’re still living here? Because you don’t want them to gain more
public sympathy?”
“Yes. Rohan advised it. I hate politics, so I trust his judgment.”
Eridan hummed thoughtfully. “He’s not wrong. If she plays her cards
right, she might cause a civil war.”
Sighing, Warrehn raked a hand through his hair. “I fucking hate it. Why
can’t it ever be simple?”
 Eridan’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. Yeah. “I’ll deal with her if
you want.”
Warrehn looked at him with a frown. He somehow seemed both worried
and pleased. “Are you sure? She’s very slippery.”
Eridan gave a chuckle. “Then I’ll feel right at home. After the High
Hronthar, she’ll be nothing.”
Warrehn didn’t exactly look reassured, his heavy eyebrows drawing
close. “Was it that bad? The High Hronthar?”
Eridan shrugged. “It’s not an easy place to grow up in, but I had it easier
than many. Master’s early preliminary claim kind of isolated me, but it
protected me too. No one dared to bully me.” Not physically. Verbal and
emotional abuse was another matter entirely, but Eridan knew he’d really
had it easy compared to some other throwbacks. “I’m lucky I didn’t end up
in the servicing department.”
“Servicing department?” Warrehn said. “Is that what I think it is?”
Eridan hesitated. “I’m not really supposed to talk to an outsider about
—”
“Eridan,” Warrehn said, boring his blue eyes into him. “You do realize
that you are an ‘outsider’ now, too, right?”
Eridan looked at him blankly before averting his gaze.
Right.
Thankfully, the click of heels on the polished floor saved him from
responding.
Eridan turned his head and found himself looking at the regent. Or
rather, the former regent.
He’d seen her pictures before, of course, but she looked even more
stunning in person. Dark-violet hair, dark-blue eyes and milky skin made
her look younger. She must be pushing sixty, middle-aged by Calluvian
standards, but she didn’t look a day over forty.
She smiled upon meeting Eridan’s gaze and bowed gracefully, radiating
warmth. “You must be Eruadarhd! Or do you prefer Eridan? How fortunate
it is that Warrehn found you so quickly after his return home! Now we all
can be a happy family again.”
Eridan blinked.
He looked at Warrehn, confused. After Warrehn’s words, he had
expected a cold, calculating woman, not… not this.
 Frowning, Warrehn shook his head slightly. “How did you know that I
found my brother?”
Dalatteya smiled, her warm gaze still on Eridan. “I just spoke with the
High Adept. He was kind enough to warn me of your arrival, Eridan.”
Oh.
Eridan’s suspicions were confirmed correct when Dalatteya’s gaze
shifted to Warrehn. Her expression considerably cooled, a hard glint
appearing in her eyes, though she was still smiling. “I’m very happy for
you, nephew.”
Warrehn’s answering smile was more of a feral grimace, all teeth and no
warmth. “I’m sure you are, Aunt Dalatteya. If you’ll excuse us. My brother
is tired.”
“Of course,” Dalatteya said, looking at Eridan warmly. “But you
absolutely must come down for dinner, Eridan. My Samir will be delighted
to see you, I’m sure.”
Eridan smiled back. “Thank you, I’m very much looking forward to it.”
He and Warrehn strode away from the woman.
When they were no longer in hearing distance, Warrehn said, “What the
fuck? Did Idhron screw with her mind to make her be nice to you?”
Eridan told himself he should be horrified. He told himself
brainwashing was the most terrible thing that could happen to a person, no
matter how bad they were. But he couldn’t quite eradicate the shameful
warmth that curled in his stomach. Maybe his Master cared for him, in his
own horrible, messed up way. The next moment, he felt angry with himself
for entertaining such thoughts. Stop. Just stop.
Looking away, Eridan said, “You accused Master of brainwashing me,
but that was what brainwashing looks like, Warrehn. It doesn’t quite look
natural. Brainwashed people can’t even think critically of the subject of
their brainwashing; they lose all their agency. If my Master brainwashed
me, I wouldn’t even be able to argue with him.”
When Warrehn didn’t say anything, Eridan looked at him.
Warrehn had a strange expression on his face.
“What?”
Warrehn pursed his lips briefly. “Stop calling him Master, kid. He’s the
High Adept of the High Hronthar; that’s all. If we’re unlucky, we’ll see him
a few times a year at some official functions. He’s not your Master
anymore. He’s no one to you.”
 Eridan averted his gaze. “I know that,” he said tersely.
Warrehn sighed. “Do you?” he murmured before stopping in front of a
door. “This one is yours. If you don’t like the room, you can choose any
other, obviously. My bedroom is two doors down the corridor.”
Eridan gave a clipped nod. “Thanks.” He entered the room and shut the
door behind himself.
He looked around.
The bedroom was large and beautiful, decorated in neutral colors. There
was a huge walk-in closet full of different types of clothes, approximately
his size. They all looked brand new. Warrehn must have ordered those to be
made for him.
Eridan would have been touched by his thoughtfulness if there wasn’t a
cold, hollow feeling in his chest, worsening now that he was alone with his
thoughts.
He drew a deep breath of air in through his nose and held it in his lungs
as he sank to the floor of his huge closet. He pulled his knees to his chest
and hugged them tightly.
He had no reason to feel this way.
He should be happy.
He was happy.
He’s not your Master anymore. He’s no one to you.
Today was the start of his new life. His real life. He finally had a family.
A brother who wanted him. Who cared for him. He should be ecstatic.
If we’re unlucky, we’ll see him a few times a year at some official
functions.
Eridan’s eyes burned. He squeezed them shut.
It was fine.
He was fine.
 Chapter Twenty-Three: Masks

Warrehn paced the terrace adjoining the ballroom where a party was in
full swing.
Pacing was an old habit from the time he had been a boy, an angry boy
confined to Lehr Manor. The angrier or more worried he got, the stronger
was the desire to do something, to act, and pacing worked like a moving
meditation of sorts. It helped him think.
He was worried for his brother.
His brother.
Part of him still couldn’t believe he’d found him, after almost two
decades.
Eridan wasn’t really what Warrehn had expected his little brother to
grow up into. Little Eri had been an adorable child, kind and quick to smile.
Not that Eridan wasn’t kind, per se. Warrehn was sure he was, under all the
prickliness. But the brightness of his eyes… It was completely missing.
At first, Warrehn had told himself that it was natural. All little boys
grew up into men eventually, and it was natural for a child to lose their
happy personality as they aged.
But as days shifted into months, Warrehn wasn’t sure anymore that it
was a natural state of mind for Eridan. It wasn’t as though his brother was
distant or detached; no, it was something else. Eridan had shown interest in
getting to know him and fixing Warrehn’s shaky political situation. He’d
even volunteered to take on the royal duties Warrehn hated: things like
going to balls and making nice with other members of the Council. Despite
growing up in a monastery, Eridan was still loads better at socializing than
Warrehn could ever hope to be, and over the past few months, had quickly
become a media darling.
 “I don’t get why you’re worried, War,” Rohan said, snapping him out of
his thoughts. He was watching the ballroom from a chair on the terrace,
sipping his drink idly. “He’s good at being a prince. He certainly looks more
comfortable than you.”
Warrehn scowled. “I’m not sure how real it is,” he said, eyeing his
brother. Eridan was smiling as he danced with some foreign politician, but
there was something wrong about that smile. It made alarm bells sound in
Warrehn’s head. “Our familial bond has become stronger, and I sense
something off. His emotions don’t match his smiles.”
“You think he’s faking it?” Rohan said, his dark eyes focusing on Eridan
in contemplation.
Warrehn brushed a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know. I
don’t know him well enough to know what his normal is.”
“You spent a month with him in a tiny safe house,” Rohan said.
“That wasn’t exactly a normal situation,” Warrehn said, shoving his
hands into the pockets of his dark jacket. “How can I know that something
is wrong if I don’t know what ‘right’ looks like?”
Rohan hummed. “I suppose the only person who would know is
Idhron.”
Warrehn scoffed. “I can’t exactly ask him when my friends are at war
with him.”
Rohan chuckled, his white teeth flashing against his brown skin. “That’s
an exaggeration. Ksar and I have something of… a disagreement with
Idhron, but I’m sure it will be resolved in due time. It’s a matter of
negotiations. We’ll come to a compromise eventually.”
Warrehn shook his head in distaste. “I fucking hate politics.”
“It’s not really a matter of politics,” Rohan said, his gaze softening as it
shifted to something else in the ballroom.
Warrehn followed his gaze and wasn’t surprised to see Prince Jamil
speaking to his younger brother.
“It’s a matter of protecting what is mine,” Rohan said, his eyes full of
affection and heat as he stared at his fiancé. “Idhron wants to control
everything, and all I want is to make him leave me, my family, and our
grand clan alone.”
Warrehn shot him a skeptical look. “I don’t think Ksar’s motives are so
selfless,” he said dryly.
 Rohan chuckled. “They aren’t, but you know Ksar. He doesn’t want the
illusion of power. He doesn’t like the extent of the High Hronthar’s control
over the Council.”
“You mean he wants a piece of the pie.”
“He does,” Rohan agreed, his gaze still on Jamil’s smiling face. “But
can you blame him when the pie is so giant? You have no idea how much
power Idhron actually wields. It’s bigger than Calluvia. It’s a huge network
that encompasses more than a dozen Inner Core planets. Interplanetary
multi-billion corporations, political organizations, industrial colonies: the
Order has its fingers everywhere. If Idhron wants, he can even easily
influence the Galactic Council and Chamber of Lords.”
Warrehn’s forehead wrinkled. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Rohan looked back to him. “What doesn’t?”
“I thought Idhron didn’t fight me for Eridan because he knew he had no
power to keep him in the Order. But you’re saying that his power is actually
close to unlimited.”
Rohan shrugged. “Idhron probably figured it was more trouble than it
was worth. Who knows how that man’s mind works? I doubt he cared for
the kid enough to actually fight for him to stay.”
Warrehn frowned, not sure he agreed. But Rohan must be right. What
other explanation was there? “Anyway, I don’t want him anywhere near my
brother. I’m still not convinced Idhron didn’t brainwash him in some way.”
Rohan sighed. “You know I checked Eridan’s mind, War. His mind is
his own. It’s actually full of mind traps that would attack anyone who
attempts to brainwash him.” He frowned faintly. “It must have taken Idhron
years to create that kind of protection for his apprentice. I’m surprised he
even bothered, because those kinds of defenses severely limited his own
ability to tamper with Eridan’s mind.”
Warrehn pressed his lips together, not entirely convinced. “If he created
those mind traps, maybe they don’t work against him.”
Rohan shook his head. “Mind traps don’t work like that. They would
attack anything they regard as hostile interference.”
“What about the mind traps in Dalatteya’s mind? He was likely the one
who created them but clearly he had no problem brainwashing her.”
Rohan shook his head again. “There are different kinds of mind traps.
The ones in her mind are rudimentary compared to Eridan’s. They’re
protecting the information the Order doesn’t want anyone to learn, not her.
The mind traps in your brother’s mind are different. They’re specifically
designed to protect Eridan’s mind from deep invasion and manipulation.”
Rohan took a sip from his drink. “It’s actually quite puzzling. Either Idhron
is far more short-sighted than I thought, or he didn’t expect that he would
ever need to alter his apprentice’s memories. He only made things harder
for himself: Idhron couldn’t even completely erase Eridan’s memories of
his birth name; he could only block them. So Idhron brainwashing your
brother is… extremely unlikely, to say the least.”
Warrehn scowled, not sure if he felt relieved or disappointed. “Didn’t he
brainwash Jamil’s ex-husband?”
“It wasn’t Idhron, and it wasn’t really brainwashing. Mehmer just had a
memory block that was lifted recently.” Rohan’s lips curled into a wry
smile. “Considering that Mehmer is marrying the man who’d done it to
him, he doesn’t seem traumatized.”
“That’s messed up.”
“Maybe,” Rohan said with a laugh. “But I can’t say I’m unhappy about
it. Don’t get me wrong: Mehmer seems like a nice enough man, but I’m
glad he’ll live on another planet. I don’t want him anywhere near Jamil and
our daughter. It’s bad enough already that my daughter will always carry his
name.”
“It won’t matter if she’ll know the truth.”
Rohan’s gaze softened. “She will. She does. Our familial bond is very
strong already.” He smiled faintly, his dark eyes fond. “Her face lights up
when she sees me. It’s—it’s the most incredible feeling, War.”
Warrehn averted his eyes. He was happy for his best friend. He was.
Rohan was his brother in all but blood. But he couldn’t deny that he
felt… lonely when he saw how happy and in love Rohan was. Rohan now
had his own family to think about besides being the governor of Tai’Lehr.
Being engaged to the Crown Prince of the Third Grand Clan was time-
consuming as far as social obligations went, so Rohan was rarely around.
Warrehn had never thought he would feel like an outsider on his own
home planet, in his own grand clan—that he would feel like a usurper in his
own home. He was the King, but he often felt like he was a fraud.
Having his little brother back helped, of course, but he and Eridan still
weren’t exactly close. Two decades apart couldn’t be magically erased, no
matter how hard they both tried. There were things about his brother that he
would never understand, and vice versa.
 Damn it, why couldn’t things ever be simple?
The sound of the door opening tore him out of his thoughts.
“Warrehn?”
It was Eridan, looking curiously between him and Rohan. A strange
expression appeared on his face, but then it was gone, his violet eyes clear
of any emotion.
They made Warrehn’s chest tight every time, those eyes. They were just
like their mother’s. Eridan looked a lot like her in general, inheriting her
grace and refined features. Looking back, Warrehn now knew that was why
he’d been uncharacteristically soft with the kid back at the safe house: he’d
reminded him of his mother. He hadn’t connected it with his brother at the
time: he’d come to accept that his brother was dead, and in his mind, little
Eri would always look like a chubby-cheeked kid.
Well, he was no longer the chubby-cheeked kid, but an uncommonly
beautiful young man—something Warrehn was reminded of every time
unbonded Calluvians and foreigners all but drooled looking at his brother.
“Eri?” Warrehn said. “Did you want something?”
“Yes,” Eridan said. “I want you to stop hiding here and actually mingle
with people. If you keep avoiding socializing, people will never get used to
you.”
Warrehn grimaced. “I hate socializing.”
Eridan rolled his eyes with a crooked little smile. “You hate a lot of
things. But you’ll have to suck it up and do it. Come on, it won’t kill you.
Lord Tai’Lehr, please tell him I’m right.”
“You’re right,” Rohan said with an amused look.
“Traitor,” Warrehn muttered.
“Don’t be such a grouch,” Eridan said. “If I didn’t know that you aren’t
even thirty yet, I’d never believe it. You are like a grumpy old man.”
Warrehn sighed, running a hand over his face. “Eridan—”
“Shut up and come with me. If I have to suffer through this, so do you.”
Frowning, Warrehn followed him back into the ballroom. “You don’t
actually enjoy this?” Although he had suspected it, he wasn’t exactly happy
to have his suspicions confirmed.
Eridan snorted softly. “I didn’t have a single friend in the Order,
Warrehn. Most of my peers resented me. So no, socializing doesn’t come
easily to me. I’m just much better at faking it than you are.”
That wasn’t reassuring at all.
 “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Warrehn said.
“Someone has to,” Eridan said with a bright smile that made something
in Warrehn’s chest twist. “Dalatteya and her son have everyone’s sympathy
on their side and they’re more than willing to play politics even if you
don’t. Master always says—” He cut himself off and cleared his throat a
little. “Anyway, if we aren’t careful, we are going to be kicked out of our
own palace.”
Warrehn’s lips thinned. It had been months, but Eridan still called
Idhron Master. The word grated on Warrehn’s nerves. He couldn’t help but
associate it with slavery and servitude. He understood that it wasn’t the
case, but it still rubbed him the wrong way.
Not to mention that the way Eridan said the word made him uneasy. He
couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he didn’t like it.
At least things weren’t as bad as they had been months ago, when all
Eridan said was Master this and Master that. Now the word appeared less
frequently, but Warrehn couldn’t help but notice that his brother became
more closed off as the word gradually dropped out of his vocabulary.
“They won’t kick you out,” Warrehn said. “Our dear auntie adores you.”
Eridan shook his head a little. “She likely knows the fondness she feels
for me is artificial. Even if she hasn’t realized it herself, her son has likely
told her about it. No one likes having their mind controlled. A strong-
minded person can fight it, to a degree. I’m sure she’s looking for a way to
get rid of it. Anyway, that’s beside the point: I can’t let those snakes take
your rightful throne.”
Feeling a rush of affection, Warrehn cleared his throat a little and looked
around the busy ballroom, searching for a change of subject. He’d never
been good at talking about emotions—or feeling them.
“Who did you want me to socialize with?” he said.
“Why don’t you start with Queen Tamirs?”
Warrehn grimaced but gave a reluctant nod. It was unfair that Eridan
was forcing himself to do all these things for his sake. He needed to start
pulling his weight.
Eridan smiled, his smile not quite as bright as it had been before, but a
great deal more genuine. “Great,” he said. “I’ll go mingle, too. If you need
rescuing, just give me a telepathic nudge.”
Warrehn watched him go, feeling like the most terrible big brother in
the world. Eridan shouldn’t need to watch out for him or rescue him from
politicians and socialites. He was just a kid in his early twenties, and one
who hadn’t even had a normal childhood. He should be able to relax and do
what made him happy.
The problem was, Warrehn had no idea what would make Eridan happy.
He watched his brother smile and laugh with someone, and it made
Warrehn’s stomach turn, because he now knew he wasn’t really having fun.
From time to time, Eridan’s hand flew up to touch the strange purple
gemstone on his neck, but other than that, he barely stopped, moving from
one group of people to another and smiling that bright smile of his Warrehn
was starting to hate.
Eridan smiled, and smiled, and Warrehn felt like punching something.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t.
So he turned to Queen Tamirs and put on a smile that probably looked
like a pained grimace, already wondering how soon they could leave.
 Chapter Twenty-Four: Broken

When he was a child, Eridan had always been fascinated with the stories
about outsiders, stories about life beyond Hronthar.
Those stories seemed like something from a fairy tale: the complicated
hierarchy of twelve grand clans, kings and queens, princes and princesses,
balls and parties. That outside world had seemed colorful and rich
compared to the mundane life in the Initiates’ Hall.
The grass was always greener on the other side.
Granted, the balls were somewhat fun. Eridan had found that he quite
liked figuring out the political climate between various grand clans just
from watching their interactions. But even the balls had become rather
tedious after the first month.
Part of him cringed at his own thoughts. He was well aware that his life
was very privileged and complaining about it would sound like the entitled
whining of a spoiled, rich brat.
No, he wasn’t complaining. He was just… He sometimes still wasn’t
sure what he was doing among these finely dressed royals and politicians.
He felt like he was playing a part in a play that had dragged on for too long,
and he couldn’t wait for it to be over so he could finally go home.
Home. He found himself longing for the quietness of High Hronthar, for
the old cobblestones under his feet and the crisp mountain air in his lungs.
He yearned for other things, too, but those things just made him angry,
so he ruthlessly squashed down those idiotic yearnings.
He was Prince Eruadarhd of the Fifth Grand Clan. He didn’t fucking
need the asshole who had messed with his memories and then cast him
aside at the first opportunity.
 Eridan made sure to avoid any social functions he might encounter
Castien at. It wasn’t hard: he knew what kind of social functions Castien
attended as the High Adept.
But three months after leaving the High Hronthar, there was a social
gathering Eridan couldn’t miss: the wedding of Prince Ksar and Prince
Seyn.
A royal wedding between the sons of such prominent grand clans was a
big deal, and it was doubly so because Ksar was the Lord Chancellor of the
planet. Not attending their wedding would make people—and the gossip
blogs—talk, and that was the last thing he and Warrehn needed.
Besides, Eridan still hoped that another mind adept might officiate their
wedding, not necessarily the High Adept, especially since last he heard,
Castien and Ksar were at odds with each other. Not to mention that Prince
Ksar and Prince Seyn wouldn’t need the traditional marriage bond that was
normally established during a marriage ceremony, so a mind adept wasn’t
really needed.
But of course, that was probably too much to hope for. Tradition was
everything on Calluvia, and it was tradition that only the High Adept should
officiate such a high-profile wedding.
When Eridan entered the great ballroom of the Second Royal Palace,
the first thing his gaze gravitated to was the tall man by the ceremonial fire
wearing the richly adorned robes of the High Adept, his hood covering his
hair.
Blue eyes met his across the room.
Eridan licked his dry lips, quickly averted his gaze, and forced himself
to continue walking.
Castien was nothing to him. Nothing. Just someone from his messed-up
past.
He had a new life now, a much richer, healthier life, with a brother who
cared for him, and even some tentative friendships. He didn’t fucking need
that manipulative, unfeeling man who wouldn’t recognize emotion and
honesty if they hit him in the face.
He was fine without him.
Just fine.
“Are you all right?” Warrehn said quietly, laying a hand on his
shoulder.
Eridan smiled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
 Warrehn’s brows drew close. He glanced at Castien. “Do you want to
leave?”
Eridan chuckled. It sounded forced even to his own ears. “Why? The
ceremony will start soon, anyway. Let’s go find our seats.”
Warrehn gave him a skeptical look and opened his mouth, but at that
moment, another voice interrupted whatever he was going to say.
“Eridan!”
Relieved, Eridan turned and smiled, this time more genuinely. It was
impossible not to like Prince Harht, or Harry, as he had asked Eridan to call
him. Harry was the nicest, kindest person he’d ever met. The fast friendship
between them felt real despite Harry living on another planet and visiting
Calluvia only sporadically.
“I’m so glad to see you!” Harry said, giving him a quick telepathic hug,
his smile wide and pleased. His violet eyes were the same shade as
Eridan’s, but it wasn’t all that surprising: they were distantly related, as
many Calluvian royal families were.
“And I, you,” Eridan said, smiling at Harry’s enthusiasm. He sometimes
wondered if he would have been like Harry had he been raised by his own
parents. He and Harry both were the youngest princes of their respective
grand clans, both had overprotective older brothers. They were close in age,
and they looked a little alike except for Eridan’s lighter hair. Eridan often
felt like Harry was the person he could have been but would never be.
Harry liked people for real. Harry was extroverted, nice, and happy;
Eridan… tried to be those things.
Belatedly, Harry bowed to Warrehn. “Your Majesty,” he said with a
sheepish smile. “I apologize, my manners have slipped since I started living
on another planet.”
“I don’t mind,” Warrehn said, his perpetual scowl softening slightly as
he looked at Harry.
Eridan would have totally played the matchmaker if he didn’t know
Harry was absolutely in love with his Terran. Warrehn needed someone like
Harry in his life, someone who would soften his hard edges and make him
smile more. Someone nice and uncomplicated.
“The ceremony will start soon,” Warrehn said. “Let’s find our seats.”
They followed Warrehn’s tall form, with Harry chattering excitedly
about the wedding. Eridan tried to listen, he really did, but the closer to
their seats they got, the closer to the ceremonial fire they were. Per
tradition, royal families sat at the front.
Eridan’s skin prickled with terrible awareness, his pulse quickening.
Desperately, he searched for something to say, to distract himself. As they
took their seats, he fixed his gaze on Prince Ksar waiting by the fire with
his mother, the Queen.
“I don’t understand why both grooms can’t just be there,” Eridan
said. “Why one of them has to be given away? Isn’t it a marriage of
equals?” He really was a little confused by the tradition. While he had been
taught royal customs, some of them didn’t quite make sense to him.
“Not really,” Warrehn replied. “They both might be princes, but Ksar
has a higher social rank. He’s the future King of the Second Grand Clan.
Prince Seyn is the younger prince of the Third Grand Clan, and he will
assume the position of a prince-consort when he marries Ksar. That’s why
he’s the one being given away—he’s literally being given to a more
influential family. If Prince Seyn were marrying you, he would be the one
waiting at the fire and I would be walking you down the aisle and giving
you away.”
It was the longest Eridan had ever heard Warrehn talk, and he would
have been pleased if his mind hadn’t fixated on the idea of marrying
someone.
As a member of the Order, it had never been an option for him, but
now… It absolutely was, wasn’t it? Eridan couldn’t wrap his mind around
it. The mere idea seemed… alien. Preposterous.
The sound of an orchestra tore him from his musings. Belatedly, Eridan
followed Warrehn’s and Harry’s lead and stood up, too. He craned his neck,
trying to see better, but there were too many people, and Warrehn’s bulk
limited his view.
He was able to see the other groom only when Prince Seyn and his older
brother walked past them.
“Oh,” he breathed in admiration. It was true what people said of Prince
Seyn and Prince Jamil: Eridan thought they really were the most gorgeous
men on Calluvia. Dressed in the Third Royal House’s blue and white colors,
they looked rather alike but for Prince Jamil’s dark hair and taller form, and
they both were difficult to look away from. They both were smiling, a
reserved but warm smile on Prince Jamil’s face and a wider smile on Prince
Seyn’s.
 The latter looked radiant, happiness rolling off him in tangible waves as
he took Prince Ksar’s hand.
“I’ve never seen my brother so happy,” Harry murmured, beaming.
Glancing at Ksar’s stoic face, Eridan shot him a skeptical look.
Harry chuckled. “He is, trust me. You just don’t know him well.” He
added with something like wonder, “I can feel he is happy, and that’s rare.”
Eridan peered more closely at Ksar. He wasn’t smiling, but his silver
eyes were only on his future spouse.
“That will be me next year,” Harry said, in a rather dreamy
tone. “Though my wedding will be nowhere near as fancy as this one.
Adam doesn’t want a big wedding.”
Eridan made a non-committal sound, distracted, his stomach churning
as Castien started speaking.
Eridan knew the traditional wedding rites by heart, so he didn’t listen to
what Castien was saying. All he could hear was his voice. The one voice he
knew every inflection of. He’d spent years trying to determine Castien’s
emotions through barely noticeable shifts in his voice. Four long years that
voice—that man—had been his world. Hearing that voice again after so
many months… it was…
Snap out of it, he told himself angrily. Castien was no longer his
anything. They inhabited two different worlds now. Eridan would see him a
few times a year at a high-profile wedding like this one, and they would still
be separated by an invisible social barrier. He was a prince. Castien was the
High Adept of the High Hronthar. For most people, Castien was just a very
high-profile spiritual figure from an ancient Order of monks. They had no
idea that under those impeccable robes of the High Adept, there was a man.
A cold, ruthless man who wielded an enormous power over this planet, but
a man, nonetheless.
All these people… they really had no idea. They were utterly oblivious.
Eridan was the only one who knew. Even his brother didn’t. Warrehn would
be furious if he found out just how intimately Eridan knew his Master. No
one knew. And no one ever would.
Years from now, Castien probably wouldn’t even remember him. He
would have more apprentices, the apprentices he would choose, real
apprentices that would graduate and become Masters. Castien wouldn’t
remember the emotional mess of a boy he’d once taught and fucked. Maybe
he would remember him at Eridan’s wedding, as he would tie a marriage
ribbon around Eridan’s wrist, tying him to his husband. Their eyes would
meet for a moment, and there would be a flicker of recognition—and then
nothing. Eridan would walk down the aisle, hand-in-hand with his husband,
his wrist tingling where Castien’s hand brushed against it, and feel his heart
ache. Ache for something he never really had.
His husband would be someone kind, good, and emotional. He would
always tell Eridan that he loved him, he would make love to him, and he
would give him beautiful children. It would be… it would be a wonderful
life.
“Eridan? What’s wrong?”
Eridan lifted his gaze to his brother and opened his mouth to tell him
that he was fine, but nothing came out. There was a thick lump in his throat
he couldn’t seem to swallow. His chest hurt from lack of air, his ears
ringing. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.
Warrehn’s confused frown turned into alarm. “Do you need some fresh
air? Come, get up. The ceremony is over anyway.”
Was it? He must have spaced out.
Dazedly, Eridan got to his feet with the help of his brother. Harry was
nowhere to be seen; he must have gone to congratulate his brother.
“I’m okay,” Eridan managed. Lied.
He wasn’t okay.
His vision swam, his mind aching, his chest tight. His lungs didn’t want
to work. Neither did his heart. It was like someone had taken a hold of them
and was wringing them, squeezing them of every drop of blood.
Eridan made a few steps but stumbled and would have fallen if Warrehn
hadn’t caught him.
“Bullshit,” Warrehn said, radiating worry-protectiveness-fear. “You’re
barely breathing. Do you have some kind of illness you didn’t tell me
about? An allergy?”
Eridan shook his head hazily, trying to clear the fog in his mind. He
grabbed his thaal and focused on its calming, reassuring feel, and for a
moment, it worked. Except then the dethrenyte started turning hot and he
had to let go—just in time for it to crack and shatter. No!
Eridan’s dismay was swallowed by the debilitating pain that shot
through his mind. He stumbled again.
“Get us a healer,” Warrehn bellowed out, to his utter mortification.
 “No,” Eridan tried, but it was too late. They were attracting attention,
people were stopping, crowding around them, radiating confusion-curiosity-
alarm so loud it made his head hurt more. Eridan panted like he’d run a
marathon, his vision darkening. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to
reinforce his shields against the mental assault and the splitting headache,
trying to remain conscious. This couldn’t be happening, this hadn’t
happened to him since he was a child—
And then there was a cool, calming touch of another mind, the mind as
familiar to him as his own. Castien’s mind wrapped around him tightly,
shielding him from others, and Eridan almost sobbed from how good it felt
after so long. “Master,” he whispered with parched lips, falling against a
broad chest and clinging.
 Chapter Twenty-Five: Indulgent

Warrehn hated feeling helpless. It brought back all the feelings he’d
wrestled with since he was ten.
So he settled on pacing the library of the Second Royal Palace, trying to
wrap his head around this bizarre situation. The fact that he could hear the
sounds of the wedding reception was only making him more agitated. Fuck,
they had sure given those vultures something to talk about. He could only
imagine what they were saying about Eridan after his brother had clung to
Idhron and called him Master.
Warrehn ground his teeth and glanced at his brother, hoping he had
finally recovered his mental faculties, but judging by the fact that
Eridan was still curled up in Castien Idhron’s lap, that wasn’t the case.
“Is it a telepathic merge addiction?” Rohan said, breaking the tense
silence. He was watching the pair curiously, a furrow between his dark
brows.
“No,” Idhron said. “I would never be so careless.”
Rohan raised his eyebrows. “Then what is this? And don’t tell me you
don’t know. You don’t seem surprised.”
Idhron looked back at Eridan.
Warrehn suppressed a shudder of unease. There was something about
the way Idhron looked at Eridan that made his hackles rise. Hell, the hand
Idhron had on Eridan’s lower back made his hackles rise, too. There was
something proprietary about Idhron’s body language. He didn’t look uneasy
or uncomfortable sitting in that armchair, with Eridan curled up in his lap
and clinging to him, Eridan’s head tucked under his chin.
The most disconcerting part was Idhron’s telepathic mark: it was
wrapped tightly around Eridan’s, caressing his mind with such casual
intimacy it turned Warrehn’s stomach. Just how close had his brother been
to this man?
“I am not surprised,” Idhron confirmed, still looking at Eridan
strangely. “This has been a possibility, however remote.”
“Care to enlighten us?” Warrehn bit out.
Idhron turned his cold eyes to him. “Are you not aware of your own
brother’s biology?”
Warrehn frowned, thrown off-balance. “What?”
“He is a throwback,” Idhron said. “Throwbacks are biologically
different from you and me. Their brains are different.”
Warrehn stared at him. “You’re talking about the myth that throwbacks
have only one true mate for life?”
Idhron’s expression became somewhat pinched. “That myth is not
entirely unfounded, though I would not phrase it like that. Our private
research has found that most throwbacks really fixate on one person, though
it has nothing to do with them finding ‘one true mate’ and everything to do
with the hormones that affect their brain and body once they fixate on
someone.”
“Are you saying you and Eridan— I’ll fucking kill you, you—”
Rohan grabbed his shoulder. “Warrehn, calm down,” he said, projecting
calm at him.
Warrehn took a deep breath, shaking with anger. He glared at Idhron,
who looked back at him steadily.
“That is none of your concern,” Idhron said coldly. “My point is, that
was a possibility, but I thought it was very remote. This should have
protected him.” Idhron touched the tiny piece of purple gemstone that was
still attached to the ribbon interwoven into Eridan’s hair. “It should not have
broken.”
“What is that thing?” Warrehn said, trying to distract himself from the
urge to plant his fist in Idhron’s face. “Eridan refused to tell me.” He had
suspected that it was more than just a pretty piece of jewelry, but his brother
had been very tight-lipped about it.
“It is an apprentice’s thaal,” Idhron replied. “The gemstone is infused
with the apprentice’s Master’s telepathic mark, so it is normally used to
denote who the apprentice belongs to. In Eridan’s case, it was also used to
help him center himself. As you know, he is not very good at centering
himself without assistance.”
 No, he hadn’t known about it. Warrehn hated that this man knew his
brother far better than he did.
“I thought that even if the throwback part of Eridan’s brain got fixated
on me, his thaal would be enough to fool his hormones into thinking that I
am close.” Idhron looked thoughtful, his hand stroking Eridan’s back in a
manner that seemed absent-minded. Warrehn wondered if the man was even
aware of what he was doing. Idhron murmured, “There is still a lot we do
not know about throwbacks, and it does not help that every throwback is
somewhat different from others.”
Rohan cleared his throat. “Even if Eridan’s hindbrain got… fixated on
you, can’t you fix it? Are you not supposed to be the greatest mind adept on
the planet?”
Idhron’s expression was unreadable. He dropped his gaze and was quiet
for a while.
Warrehn nearly growled with impatience.
“Theoretically, it is not impossible,” Idhron said at last. “It will be
difficult, but I believe I can block the part of his brain that is unique only to
throwbacks.”
“Then do it,” Warrehn snapped.
Idhron gave him a flat look. “Are you seriously suggesting that I modify
your brother’s brain without his consent?”
Warrehn scoffed. “Please. As if you haven’t done worse things.”
Although Idhron was still looking steadily at him, his telepathic
presence tightened around Eridan’s, to Warrehn’s annoyance. “I have,” he
said. “But not to my own apprentice.”
Warrehn didn’t like the possessiveness of that statement.
“You messed with his mind before,” he gritted out.
Idhron’s lips thinned. “Blocking a few memories is not the same as
modifying one’s brain. In your ignorance, you are comparing the
incomparable. Besides, the point is moot. Due to the extensive protective
measures on Eridan’s mind, such invasive modifications can be done only
with his explicit permission.”
He glowered at Idhron, but before he could say anything, Eridan finally
moved.
Rubbing his face against Idhron’s throat, he mumbled, “Master.”
Warrehn’s stomach twisted. Fucking hell, he was beginning to hate that
word. It wasn’t just the word; it was the way Eridan said it.
 Idhron’s attention turned fully to Eridan. “Does your head hurt?”
Warrehn’s brows furrowed. While he wouldn’t call Idhron’s tone soft
exactly, it was warmer than he’d ever heard it.
“A little,” Eridan said, sounding sleepy and dazed. “It’s better.”
Idhron’s fingers buried in Eridan’s hair and massaged his scalp. “Here?”
Eridan made an affirmative noise, still sounding completely out of it. “I
missed you, Master.”
The line of Idhron’s mouth tightened. He said nothing, something
almost like frustration flickering in his eyes.
Warrehn exchanged a look with Rohan before clearing his throat. “How
are you, Eri?” he said, walking closer and standing behind Idhron so his
brother could see him.
Eridan opened his eyes blearily and stared at him, his eyes a little
confused. His pupils were still blown, his gaze not quite focused.
“Sometimes I wish you never found me,” Eridan mumbled.
Warrehn flinched, feeling like he’d been stabbed in the gut.
“Or never gave me to him in the first place,” Eridan said, his eyes
glazing over. He put his head back on Idhron’s shoulder and sighed,
sounding absolutely miserable. “My thaal broke.” He pouted. “Will you
make another for me? I want another, Master.”
“I suppose I can.”
“Will you get me another purple one? I know they’re rare, but I want a
purple one.”
A sigh. “I will.”
Warrehn couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had never thought
Castien fucking Idhron, the Grandmaster of that creepy Order, could be
so… indulgent, but he couldn’t think of a different word to describe this.
He had known in an abstract way that Idhron must have been somewhat
fond of his brother if he had come alone to get Eridan from his kidnappers,
risking his own safety, but Warrehn had never actually seen them interact in
normal circumstances. Granted, Eridan’s mental faculties were definitely
impaired at the moment, but Idhron’s definitely weren’t. And yet he was
sitting there, with Eridan in his lap, putting up with Eridan’s inebriated
babbling and indulging his spoiled demands.
Wondering if he was going crazy, Warrehn looked at Rohan, but he
could see the same bewilderment on Rohan’s face.
Rohan shrugged.
 “Please, Master.”
Warrehn frowned and shifted his gaze back to Eridan.
He found Eridan and Idhron just looking at each other. They seemed to
be having a silent conversation between themselves, which only served to
irritate Warrehn further.
“No,” Idhron said at last.
“But Master,” Eridan drawled, all huge violet eyes and pouted lips.
Warrehn was honestly surprised Idhron continued to put up with this.
He had never thought that man had any patience for someone’s whining.
Instead of snapping at him as Warrehn had half-expected, Idhron took
Eridan’s chin, his fingers pressing against his telepathic point.
Eridan trembled, his eyes slipping shut and his lips parting. “Master…”
Warrehn couldn’t see Idhron’s face from that angle, but he could see a
muscle pulse in his jaw as it tightened.
“Look at me, Eridan,” Idhron said, his voice quiet but commanding.
When Eridan lifted his eyelashes, Idhron said, “I am going to open our
bond, slowly. I will open it only enough to make your hormones settle. You
will not be greedy. You will take what I give you and will not ask for more.
Is that understood?”
Eridan’s brows furrowed. He nodded eagerly.
Warrehn wished he could look away—this looked uncomfortably
intimate—but he couldn’t. He was responsible for his brother, and he didn’t
trust Idhron with him, especially when Eridan was in such a vulnerable
state.
He stretched his senses, trying to monitor what Idhron was doing, but he
could barely sense anything besides the fact that Idhron’s telepathic mark
became more interwoven with Eridan’s, wrapping tighter around him, like a
giant snake around its victim.
Except Eridan didn’t look like he was suffering. He gasped, his eyes
glazing over, his cheeks flushing. He looked absolutely blissed-out.
Warrehn averted his gaze, too uncomfortable to watch any longer. He
looked at Rohan and found him staring at the pair strangely.
“What?” Warrehn said, stepping closer to his friend. “Can you sense
anything?”
Rohan didn’t look away from Idhron and Eridan as he murmured, “Your
brother is in love with him, War.”
 Warrehn glared at him, hating him a little for saying what he’d been
trying very hard not to think about. “That’s just… some childish infatuation,
that’s all. It’ll go away when Idhron blocks the throwback part of his brain.”
Rohan hummed, his dark eyes full of skepticism.
Before Warrehn could say anything, he felt the shift in Eridan, felt his
brother’s mind clearing from that strange inebriated state.
“Master?” he said, this time sounding a little cautious—and something
else.
Warrehn walked back to him. “How are you?”
Eridan’s gaze flickered from Idhron to him, and Warrehn was relieved
to see that his eyes were clear and more guarded.
“I’m well,” Eridan said. “What happened?” He returned his gaze to
Idhron and flushed, as if only now realizing that he was in his lap. He
scrambled off it, avoiding Idhron’s eyes.
“Don’t you remember anything?” Warrehn said.
“I do remember, but it’s all a little hazy, to be honest.” Eridan licked his
lips and made a face. “Did I really have a panic attack in public?”
“I wouldn’t call it a panic attack,” Warrehn said. “You looked like you
were moments away from a cardiac arrest.”
Eridan shrugged, dropping his gaze. “You are exaggerating, War. It was
just a panic attack. I’ve been prone to them since I was a child. We should
return to the reception or I will be the talk of the gossipmongers.”
Warrehn snorted. “You already are, kid. With the way you clung to him,
it’s unavoidable.”
“It does present a problem,” Rohan cut in, his voice thoughtful. “We
have simply told everyone that you were raised in the monastery. Until now,
people had no idea that you were close to the Grandmaster.”
Eridan didn’t seem to be willing to look anyone in the eye. “Not all that
close,” he said with a faint smile. “It doesn’t matter. We should return to the
reception. I can handle gossip.”
He had turned to leave when Idhron said, “Eridan.”
Warrehn didn’t like how that single word affected his brother. Eridan
stiffened, his face going unnaturally blank. He took a deep breath before
finally turning back. “Yes?”
Warrehn frowned, sensing something off in Eridan’s speech pattern. It
took him a moment to realize that it seemed as though there should have
been a word after Eridan’s Yes, but Eridan had cut himself off at the last
moment.
Right. The blasted Master was missing; that was why Eridan’s speech
pattern sounded so strange. Warrehn wondered if Idhron noticed.
Something shifted in Idhron’s expression, but otherwise his face
remained unreadable as he and Eridan glared at each other.
“You cannot simply pretend that the problem does not exist,” Idhron
said. “You might feel better now, but you are going to have another such
episode if the issue is not handled.”
Eridan crossed his arms over his chest. “The issue? I do not know what
you are talking about, M—” He cut himself off again. Warrehn didn’t know
why he even bothered when it was so obvious.
“Cease feigning ignorance.” There was noticeable irritation in Idhron’s
telepathic presence now. “You are smarter than that. I taught you better than
that, Eridan.”
“Your Highness. I’m not your apprentice anymore, Your Grace.”
A muscle twitched in Idhron’s jaw.
Warrehn had never seen that man being so expressive with his emotions.
“Stop being a brat, Eridan,” Idhron said. “And your attempt to change
the subject is very transparent. This is a matter of your health.”
Eridan lifted his chin, his full lips pursing. “My health is no longer your
concern. My brother and I will handle the issue. Good day to you, Your
Grace.” He turned back to the door, but Idhron’s voice stopped him again.
“It is nothing to be embarrassed about, you foolish boy,” Idhron said,
his voice tinged with irritation. “Do you think you are the first throwback
who has imprinted on their Master?”
Two spots of pink appeared on Eridan’s cheeks. “I’m not embarrassed,”
he said, glaring at Idhron. “It’s hardly my fault that you were pretty much
the only person I spent time with. When the choice is so limited, one cannot
be faulted for their poor taste.”
Idhron’s face remained blank, but in a way that made it obvious that he
put effort into making it so expressionless. There was a tightness around his
mouth that looked unnatural. “Be that as it may, you need treatment,” he
said. “Now that you publicly called me Master, if anything happens to you,
it will reflect poorly on me—and the Order.”
Eridan scowled at him. “Fine,” he bit out. “What kind of treatment?”
 “The part of your brain that is unique to throwbacks can be blocked,”
Idhron said, without looking away from Eridan. “That is the normal practice
in the Order in such situations. After blocking it, you will not be any
different from Calluvians that do not have the throwback gene.”
Eridan frowned. “I have never heard of it,” he said skeptically. “Can
you do it now?”
Idhron’s expression was rather pinched. “It is not a simple procedure,
since the block has to be permanent to be effective. Doing it in someone
else’s home is inadvisable. You may not feel well afterward.”
“Fine,” Eridan said after a moment. “I will come to the monastery
tomorrow.”
“No,” Warrehn cut in. “Idhron will come to our palace. I want to
monitor what he does to you.”
“Very well,” Idhron said before getting to his feet and striding past them
toward the door.
As soon as it closed behind him, something changed about Eridan. He
seemed to deflate, the fight in him, the fire in his eyes—gone. It made
Warrehn want to punch someone, preferably Idhron’s haughty, emotionless
face.
He laid a hand on Eridan’s shoulder and said gruffly, “It’ll be all right,
Eri. He’ll fix it, and then it will be over. You’ll never have to see him
again.”
“Yeah,” Eridan said with a crooked little smile that made Warrehn’s
stomach twist into a knot of unease. “Let’s return to the wedding reception
and see how bad the gossip is.”
Warrehn exchanged a look with Rohan, who shook his head, and
Warrehn held back the questions he wanted to ask.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Eridan smiled wider, his hand flying up to his throat—to his broken
thaal—before stopping and curling by his side. “Right,” Eridan said. “Let’s
go.”
 Chapter Twenty-Six: The Informant

Calluvian Society Gossip

HIGH HRONTHAR DEMYSTIFIED: WHAT SECRETS DOES THE

ORDER HIDE?
Few royal weddings in the past centuries have been as lavish or
scandalous as the wedding between Prince Ksar and Prince Seyn. The
scandalous circumstances of the betrothal aside, the wedding reception was
a goldmine for most delicious gossip, as well.
As the grooms finished saying their marriage vows, there was a
commotion among the guests: King Warrehn of the Fifth Grand Clan was
fretting over his brother, Prince Eridan, who looked terribly pale and
seemed dizzy. By a stroke of good fortune, This Author was close enough to
them to hear everything that was being said.
It seemed Prince Eridan was in a great deal of pain and was having
trouble breathing, experiencing something akin to a panic attack. His
mental shields seemed to have failed, and he was emanating anguish to
everyone nearby. That in itself wouldn’t be newsworthy if it were not for
what happened later.
Truth be told, This Author was not certain what happened: one moment
Prince Eridan was exuding distress, and the next, he wasn’t.
Perhaps it would have remained a mystery if the High Adept didn’t
approach the prince and the prince didn’t practically fall into his arms. It
was delightfully scandalous, but perhaps that would have also remained a
mystery if Prince Eridan didn’t address the High Adept as “Master.”
Now, my dear readers, you must be wondering what it could possibly
mean, but fear not, Calluvian Society Gossip investigated it for you!
 A source has come forward and answered our questions. He wanted to
stay anonymous, and of course, we will respect his wishes.
Here is the transcript of our interview:
I: What does “Master” mean?
S: That’s the address for mind adepts who have attained the rank of
Master or Master Acolyte, though in case of Eridan, he’s most likely
addressing Master Idhron that way because Master Idhron was literally his
Master, his teacher.
I: Are you saying Prince Eridan was the High Adept’s pupil?
S: Apprentice. Apprentice isn’t a simple pupil. Many Masters teach
other initiates at the Initiates’ Hall, but claiming an apprentice is far more
significant. The relationship between a Master and their apprentice is…
intimate, I suppose.
I: Intimate?
S: Yes. Everything I’ve heard indicates that the relationship is close,
sometimes inappropriately so.
I: Are you implying what I think you are implying?
S: [seems to hesitate] The High Hronthar has its own rules, and our
rules forbid a sexual relationship between a Master and their apprentice.
I: I’m not hearing a no.
S: Look, I can only speculate. There were all sorts of rumors about the
Grandmaster and his apprentice, but sometimes gossip can be malicious
and misleading…
I: But what do you think? Give us your opinion. We understand that it’s
just speculation.
S: I don’t want to get in trouble. But… Yes, if I had to make a guess, I’d
bet on Eridan using his [censored] to make Master Idhron choose him to be
his apprentice. Eridan was nothing but trouble as an initiate. I’d never
believe a great Master like Master Idhron would choose Eridan for any
other reason.
Now, dear readers, you must keep in mind that our source might be
wrong or dishonest. We could not verify his claims as no one else from the
Order has come forward so far.
In fact, This Author is certain that our source must be mistaken, and the
source’s opinion in no way reflects that of Calluvian Society Gossip. We
have only the utmost respect for the High Adept and Prince Eridan, but we
thought it was our sacrosanct duty as journalists to keep the public
informed and tell the full story, from all perspectives.

***

Master Amara Ghyn Idhron had been part of the Chapter for so long
that she liked to think that nothing could surprise her anymore. In her
hundred and fifty-two years of life, she had outlasted four Grandmasters,
and she had to admit she had become rather detached from the petty politics
of the Chapter. She still interfered when needed, but mostly she kept herself
apart.
Thankfully, Castien had little tolerance for gossip and favoritism, and
the Chapter under his leadership was far more bearable than it used to be in
the past. Castien had always been a smart boy, Amara thought. Well, he was
not a boy anymore, she supposed, but at her advanced age, anyone younger
than sixty seemed like a boy. And in her defense, it was difficult to see him
as anything but a boy, because he had been an apprentice of Amara’s own
apprentice. Something of a grandchild. A grandchild that both exasperated
her and infuriated her at times.
Castien had always been too ambitious for her liking, too manipulative,
and absolutely ruthless when he thought it was necessary. That precious boy
of his, Eridan, had softened his edges somewhat in ways no one else had
been able to do, which was what Amara had hoped for when she had all but
forced Castien to finally claim the boy all those years ago. She had been
pleased to note that her instincts were correct and that that emotional mess
of a boy complemented her grand-apprentice nicely. That was why Amara
had been so saddened to learn that the boy had left the Order. Such a pity.
She had been subtly pushing Castien to take on another apprentice, but
so far, her efforts had been in vain.
And she was finally beginning to understand why.
Amara looked around the Chapter Chamber, noting the expressions of
unease, confusion, and disapproval on other Masters’ faces, before
returning her gaze to Castien. His face was as calm and stoic as ever, as if
he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in their midst.
 Master Zaid cleared his throat, finally breaking the silence. “Let me get
it straight,” he said, his voice dripping with lazy sarcasm. “You fucked that
boy into imprinting on you, and yesterday he made a spectacle of himself in
public, and now everyone on Calluvia is curious about your relationship
with him and the Order in general. Marvelous.”
Amara took a deep breath. She was quite fond of Zaid too—he was also
her grand-apprentice, the apprentice of her second apprentice—but that boy
could be absolutely impossible, as infuriating as Castien was, though in a
different way. The fact that he dared to talk to the Grandmaster of the Order
in such a tone wasn’t even born of his familiarity with Castien as a fellow
Master he shared a lineage with; Zaid had been that way with every
Grandmaster, not just Castien. That boy was so undisciplined.
Judging by the slight narrowing of Castien’s eyes, he didn’t appreciate
Zaid’s insolence, either.
“What I did with my apprentice is none of your concern,” Castien said
coldly. “I am merely informing you all, so that you are not surprised by
people’s increased curiosity on the subject.”
“With all due respect, but you made it our concern, Master,” Master
Kuli said, her voice quiet but firm. “While I do not agree with Zaid’s
phrasing, the subject matter is troubling and might have ramifications for all
of the Order.”
“Exactly,” Zaid said, his gray eyes focusing on Castien. “I couldn’t care
less that you fucked that pretty boy of yours—I would have been more
surprised if you didn’t—but I don’t understand why you didn’t wipe his
memory of you and any sensitive information he possessed before letting
him go. That was the easiest route you could have taken to avoid this
mess.”
Amara pressed her lips together, unsurprised by Zaid’s lack of ethics.
But no matter how distasteful she found his solution, she had to admit it
was a solution, however morally dubious. She was rather surprised Castien
hadn’t taken that route.
Castien stared Zaid down. “That would have been a waste of our
resources and time,” he said. “Eridan might have been returned to his
family, but he was still raised and taught by us. We did not spend two
decades training him just to wipe his memory and be done with it.”
Zaid raised his dark brows. “I’m sure that’s why you didn’t erase his
memory.”
 Castien’s eyes narrowed, his anger flaring, cold and biting. “If you have
something to say, say it.”
Before her two grand-apprentices could come to blows, Amara cut
in, “This is not the time for us to fight among ourselves. With the increased
scrutiny on the Order, we cannot afford it. We must present a united front.”
The tension around Castien dissipated as he turned to her. “I agree,
Master Amara,” he said, dismissing Zaid with a derisive glance.
Zaid’s jaw tightened.
Amara looked away from him, making a note to herself to monitor that
situation. Castien and Zaid had always butted heads when they were boys,
like two brothers that were too different to get along, and that hadn’t
changed much as they grew up.
“We have a traitor among us,” Castien said, looking every Master in the
eye, one by one. “Likely an unclaimed initiate or a member of the servicing
department who resents that they have not been chosen by a Master.
Though, it could also be a way to divert attention from their identity. That
‘source’ of the article, whoever they are, must be identified as quickly as
possible. If they were willing to gossip about me and Eridan for financial
gain, there is no stopping them from betraying all secrets of the Order next
time.”
Unease filled the room.
“Look for people who were not in Hronthar after the wedding
reception,” Castien said. “Weed out those who had a valid reason to be out
and have little reason to resent Eridan. Get me the names. I will handle the
rest.”
Amara shivered. She had little doubt how Castien was going to handle
it. Castien had always been less than merciful to those he perceived
as traitors.
“How can you be sure Eridan was the target, and not you?” Amara said.
Castien’s gaze traveled over the Chapter members, sharp and
penetrating. “My enemies are not stupid enough to think an article like that
would do anything to me. Eridan is the one the article was aimed to hurt,
and the one whose social standing will be affected. When you look for
potential suspects, pay closer attention to the initiates who have had
conflicts with Eridan in the past.” He glanced at his watch and stood
up. “You are dismissed. I’m almost late for my appointment.” And he strode
out of the chamber as the Masters bowed.
Amara frowned, troubled.
There was something… off about Castien.
 Chapter Twenty-Seven: An Act of Kindness

“He’s late,” Warrehn gritted out, pacing the room.

Eridan looked down at his hands. “He probably had to deal with the
fallout of that article.”
His words only made Warrehn scowl. “I’ll sue them for libel.”
“No,” Eridan said. “That would be fruitless, because that gossip blog
always phrases things like it isn’t their own opinion and they’re just the
messengers. Besides, suing them would only give them more publicity. We
should ignore them.”
“But we have to make it known what they wrote about you is bullshit.”
Eridan felt a surge of affection for his brother. Not even once had
Warrehn doubted that the article was lying.
“People are going to talk anyway. Let them.”
Warrehn frowned at him. “How are you so calm about it?”
Eridan shrugged with a crooked smile. “Years in the Order made me
grow a pretty thick skin. When you’re an apprentice of the Grandmaster,
you’re always target of gossip. It isn’t the first time I’ve heard someone
insinuate that my Master chose me because I sucked his cock.”
Warrehn flushed, looking deeply uncomfortable. “Eridan…” he said,
sounding uncharacteristically hesitant for him. “He didn’t… He didn’t force
you to—”
“No. Sucking his cock wasn’t the requirement for making me his
apprentice, War,” Eridan said calmly, dropping his gaze. “He preliminarily
claimed me when I was still a child.”
Look at him, lying without lying.
Eridan suppressed a twinge of guilt, telling himself that such a little lie
of omission didn’t matter. Whatever he and Castien had been to each other,
it happened years later. And it was over, anyway. It was over.
“The High Adept is here, Your Majesty,” their AI announced.
Eridan tried not to tense up, aware that Warrehn was watching him
carefully.
He took a deep breath. “Could you leave us alone, War?”
“Why?”
“There are things he will not talk about with you in the room. The High
Hronthar stuff.”
Warrehn pressed his lips together. “I don’t trust him alone with you.”
Eridan chortled a laugh. “Warrehn, I’ve been alone with him for years. I
can handle him. I can handle him far better than you can.”
Warrehn scowled but gave a clipped nod and left the room. Eridan could
hear him exchange a few terse words with Castien in the hall. Eridan
swallowed, his stomach squirming.
Calm. He could be calm. He could calm and collected. He was a prince.
He was—
Castien entered the room.
His heavy black robes and boots were the first thing Eridan saw. He
couldn’t help but feel a rush of fondness. It seemed Castien still didn’t like
wearing the Grandmaster’s white robes.
Slowly, he dragged his gaze upwards, reinforcing his mental shields as
his telepathic mark surged forward hungrily.
Their gazes locked, and Eridan licked his dry lips. It felt like his mind
was full of white noise, and he couldn’t form any thoughts besides want
you-need you-why are you so far away?
Castien stared at Eridan, almost grimly, before finally walking forward.
Eridan got to his feet, his legs distastefully shaky. He felt a heaviness
between his legs, slick running down his thighs the closer his Master got.
He fucking hated his body.
“Your Grace,” he heard himself say.
Castien glared at him coldly. “Stop addressing me like that. There is no
one here but us. If you expect me to address you as Your Highness, you will
be waiting for a long time.”
Eridan lifted his chin and crossed his arms over his chest. “But that is
what you should address me as,” he said, hating how badly he wanted to
step closer to his Master and bury his face against his broad chest, feel his
arms around him, and his mind inside his.
 “I am not interested in talking to Prince Eruadarhd,” Castien said,
stepping closer until they were face to face.
He could smell him, the scent of crisp mountain air, pines, and
something else, the scent he associated only with Castien.
Eridan swallowed, wetting his lips with his tongue as he tried not to
stare at Castien’s firm mouth. He’d never wanted to be kissed so badly in
his life. It had been so long.
A muscle twitched in Castien’s jaw. “You are nothing but trouble, even
when you are not part of the Order,” he said tersely. “Turn around.”
Eridan turned around.
Only after doing it, did he realize how much the simple action had given
away. He hadn’t even thought to question the order.
He felt Castien’s hands in his hair, moving it away and baring his neck.
Eridan caught his bottom lip between his teeth, his stomach doing flip-
flops as he felt Castien’s breath on his nape. He was trembling, faintly, his
skin oversensitive, his lower body aching with want.
“You are not a member of the Order anymore,” Castien said, his voice
pitched low. “You cannot wear it as a thaal.”
Eridan blinked, feeling confused until he felt a weight around his neck.
Looking down, he stared at the purple dethrenyte on a delicate gold chain.
He could feel the warmth of Castien’s telepathic mark inside it as the
gemstone rested against his chest. The chain was longer than the traditional
ribbons of a thaal: not to be displayed proudly, but to be hidden away from
everyone else.
Eridan’s throat was suddenly too tight. This was something only the two
of them would know about. He both loved and hated the idea.
He loved that Castien was breaking the rules for him by giving him
something a Master gave only to an apprentice. He hated that while this
gemstone was perfectly functional for the purpose of centering him, it
wasn’t a thaal. He could never again wear a thaal that would mark him as
his Master’s to everyone who cared to look.
Fucking hell, how messed up was that? He finally had a family. Why
the fuck did he still feel this way? So unanchored, yearning to belong to this
cold, unfeeling man who had never promised him anything of the
sort. Eridan had never hated himself more. His eyes were stinging, and he
had to blink the angry tears away. He was glad his back was to Castien, and
his former Master wouldn’t see how pathetic he was being.
 Biting the inside of his cheek, Eridan said tersely, “Thanks. Though I
suppose I will not need it once you block off the throwback part of my
brain.”
He felt the tension in Castien’s body behind him, almost as acutely as if
it were his own.
“Are you certain you want to do it?” Castien said. “That could affect
your telepathy. Not to mention it will affect your body too—quite
drastically, since the hormones responsible for some of your bodily
functions will no longer be produced.”
Eridan’s lips twisted. “You mean I’ll stop leaking like a bitch in heat
when I’m aroused? Good riddance.”
Putting a hand on his shoulder, Castien turned Eridan around. His face
was grim, his blue eyes intent as their gazes met. “It is not a joking matter,
Eridan. I obviously have no personal experience with this, but I am familiar
with the reports of throwbacks that went through such a procedure. All of
them reported significant disorientation, and for some of them the
experience was very traumatizing. They said it felt as though they were in a
wrong body.”
Eridan smiled humorlessly. “Don’t tell me you are worried for me.”
Castien’s face went blank. “I said no such thing. You are no longer my
apprentice. Worrying for you is not my job anymore.”
“Exactly. Let’s get it over with. But before we start, I have a
request.” He looked Castien in the eye and forced the words out. “I want
you to erase all my memories of you.”
Castien’s nostrils flared. “You cannot be serious.”
“I’m very serious, Master,” Eridan said softly.
Castien stared at him.
The silence stretched, tense and thick.
“You would lose a significant amount of your knowledge, everything I
have ever taught you.”
Eridan nodded. “I know. It’s fine.” As long as I don’t remember you. He
didn’t say it aloud, but he knew Castien knew what he meant. He could
sense it from the way Castien’s telepathic presence tensed and pulsed
around him, restless.
“This is ridiculous, Eridan,” he bit out. “Just because you are
embarrassed by your imprinting—”
 “I’m not embarrassed,” Eridan said quietly and finally admitted
something he’d been denying even in the privacy of his thoughts. “It hurts,
Master.”
Castien went very still.
Eridan gave a humorless little laugh. “You may not have those pesky
feelings, but I do. You know me, you know that my emotions rule me. I
can’t…” He swallowed. “I’m not at all sure blocking off my throwback
instincts will do anything. It’s not just my hindbrain. It’s—”
“Don’t,” Castien said, his expression slightly pinched.
“No, I need to say this.” Eridan smiled brightly, as if his eyes weren’t
burning and his throat wasn’t uncomfortably tight. “I will have to
inconvenience you with my icky emotions just this once. I…” He looked
around the luxurious room. “I finally have a family. A brother who loves
me. I want to be happy. I want to be genuinely happy instead of needing a
man who doesn’t give a shit about me. I don’t want to need you.” He
looked Castien in the eye. “I don’t want to love you.”
Castien’s jaw tightened.
Eridan chuckled. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know, Master. You know
everything. You use other people’s emotions to manipulate them, so I’d
never believe that you have somehow missed that your own apprentice is
stupidly in love with you.”
When Castien said nothing, Eridan took it as confirmation.
He nodded to himself, his chest aching. Or perhaps it was his foolish
heart.
“Do it,” he said through the lump in his throat. “Don’t worry, I recorded
a message for my brother, so he would know that you just did as I
requested. He won’t blame you.”
Castien looked away, his jaw working. Despite the raised shields on
both ends of their bond, Eridan could sense some dark, unpleasant emotion,
something ugly and poisonous. No, that feeling said, but Castien remained
silent.
“Please,” Eridan said, looking at his profile. “If you ever cared for me
even a little. Grant me this one kindness. I want to move on with my life.”
The darkness in their bond went away. In its stead, there was another
emotion, heavy and grim.
Castien closed his eyes for a moment before saying, “Very well.”
 Eridan’s vision swam as he finally lost his battle against the tears. There
had been a part of him, an irrational, foolish part that had hoped Castien
would tell him that he loved him back. Stupid. So fucking stupid. At least
soon he would no longer remember how stupid he was.
The thought failed to bring him comfort.
He stared greedily at his Master’s face through his blurring vision, as if
trying to imprint it into his memory. No matter what his rational side said,
there was a part of him that didn’t want to let go. That part of him wanted to
cling to his Master, kiss him until there was no air left in his lungs, and beg
him to take him home.
No. This was for the best. This toxic unrequited love would only hold
him back, prevent him from enjoying his life to its fullest. He wanted to
learn what it felt like to love and to be loved back. He wanted to have
children with the person he loved. He wanted to feel like he was someone’s
world, not beg for crumbs of affection. He wanted to love a man and grow
old with him, feeling loved and cherished.
If his memories of his Master were erased, the thought of that
man being someone other than Castien would stop making him nauseated.
He would simply forget. He would simply not know. He would simply not
know what it felt like to crave this man inside him in every possible way,
what it felt like to live for his approval and attention.
And when Castien eventually officiated his wedding to another man,
Eridan’s heart wouldn’t hurt—he wouldn’t even know that the Grandmaster
of the High Hronthar had been his first, hopeless love.
It would be all right.
Everything would be all right, even though right now he felt like
throwing up.
This was the right decision.
It was.
“It will be better if you are unconscious for the procedure,” Castien
said, his voice slightly clipped. “I’ll have to remove the mind traps in your
mind first.”
Eridan nodded.
Castien gestured to the couch, and Eridan moved toward it and lay
down.
His Master knelt beside him, and then there was a hand on his telepathic
point, making him tremble uncontrollably with need.
 “Open your mind to me,” Castien said. “Drop your shields completely.”
Eridan did as he was told. He wasn’t afraid. Even after everything, he
trusted him. The realization was bittersweet as they stared at each other, a
Master and an apprentice, one last time.
Sleep.
He felt a sudden heaviness in his eyes and slowly, very slowly he shut
his eyes.
The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was Castien’s blue
eyes.
Were they glistening?
And then everything was black.

***

He woke up slowly, feeling sluggish and disoriented.

He also had a bad headache.
Eridan opened his eyes and slowly sat up, groaning miserably when it
made the headache worse. Fuck. What was wrong with him?
“Are you all right?”
He turned toward the low voice.
There was a tall man standing by the window wearing the black robes
that denoted him as a Master of the High Hronthar. His face was… vaguely
familiar in a way one would remember something from a dream. Eridan
didn’t recognize him.
He frowned, confused, and got to his feet. “Who are you?”
Although the man’s face remained unreadable, something about his
telepathic presence changed. It… dimmed.
The man just stared at him for a long moment, his very blue eyes
roaming over Eridan’s face with a strange, intense expression, before he
said in a terse voice, “No one.” He strode toward the door.
Utterly confused, Eridan blocked his path. “Wait,” he said suspiciously,
putting a hand on the man’s chest. “Did you do something to me? Why was
I asleep with you in the room?”
The man tentatively put a hand on Eridan’s wrist, as if he were holding
a poisonous snake, and removed Eridan’s hand from his chest.
 Their gazes met, and something shifted in the other man’s eyes. They
seemed to soften, just a little.
The mind adept leaned in and brushed his dry lips against Eridan’s
forehead.
Eridan’s eyes widened.
“I hope you have a happy life,” the man said, his voice quiet. “Goodbye,
Prince Eruadarhd.”
And he strode out of the room, leaving Eridan staring after him in
bemusement.
 Chapter Twenty-Eight: Thawing

Amara was irritated.

She was not a young girl anymore to run from place to place in search
for her wayward grand-apprentice. Her mind might be sharp, but her bones
were no longer as strong as they had once been. Castien should have told
her he wasn’t at the monastery when she had called him, informing him of
her desire to talk. She’d had to travel from the monastery to High Hronthar,
but Castien hadn’t been in the castle, either, his communicator turned off.
After extensive inquiries, she had been able to determine that he was in
his personal mansion in District Four. It puzzled her to no end. Usually
Grandmasters completely relocated to the castle after their promotion.
Amara couldn’t fathom what he could possibly be doing in his old home.
The answer turned out to be rather banal: he was working.
Castien was in his study, his attention entirely on the holographic text
hanging in the air in front of him. From this angle, Amara couldn’t see the
text well, but it seemed to be a report on the growth of the Order’s influence
on Planet Vergx.
Amara cleared her throat, and he murmured, without looking away from
the holodata, “Give me a moment, Master Amara.”
She nodded, and for lack of anything better to do, looked around the
room. She hadn’t been here often. In all the years Castien had lived in this
mansion, she could count the number of times she had been in this room on
the fingers of one hand. Castien had another office in this house that he
used for meetings.
This room was… cozy. It was probably even cozier when the fireplace
was lit. It felt lived in. She could sense a lot of telepathic fingerprints.
Powerful telepaths tended to leave them if they spent a lot of time in one
place. They weren’t just Castien’s. She could sense Castien’s former
apprentice, too. The boy’s telepathic mark was all over the room, but it was
especially focused on the couch and the comfortable-looking armchair to
Castien’s right. In fact, Eridan’s telepathic presence was so strong there
Amara wondered how Castien didn’t find it distracting; she would have if
she had to work with all that background noise in the room.
Frowning, Amara walked to the armchair and sat down—or tried to.
Castien’s terse voice made her pause. “Sit in the other chair. That one is
dirty.”
Amara shot the armchair in question a skeptical look—it looked
perfectly clean to her—but she didn’t argue and did as she was told.
She gazed at the man across the desk and thought that he looked tired. It
was a strange thought. Castien had always been relentless. He was one of
those people who never seemed anything less than put together and ready
for anything life might throw at them. But he looked tired now. Or perhaps
stressed.
“Is everything well?” she said, breaking the silence.
“Of course,” he said, his gaze still on the holodata in front of
him. “Though our control over Vergx still leaves a lot to be desired. Their
republics are too different, and each requires a different approach.”
Amara hummed noncommittally. “I am not here to talk to you about
Vergx, my dear.”
That made him actually look at her. He was aware that if she was
addressing him so informally, she had come here in the capacity of the
living leader of his lineage, not a subordinate member of the Chapter.
“I am listening,” he said, turning the report off.
“It is Zaid,” she said.
Castien made a dismissive sound. “I have neither the time nor the
patience for his antics, Master Amara.”
“This time he has crossed a line,” she said with a sigh. “He is running
an unofficial competition among the initiates for the honor of being chosen
as his apprentice.”
“And?” Castien bit out, his impatience clear. “That is not forbidden by
the rules as long as the initiates are unclaimed.”
Amara pursed her lips. “I have heard rumors that some of the initiates
are servicing him sexually in order to earn his approval.” The mere thought
made her grimace. Her only consolation was that for all Zaid’s faults, he
was not Tethru and had never been attracted to children. At least those
initiates must have been old enough. It was small comfort. Such outlandish
behavior wasn’t appropriate for a Master of the Idhron lineage.
Castien pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know as well as I do that if
I forbid Zaid from running that competition, he will come up with
something even more outrageous just to spite me.”
She sighed. “Probably. He has always been in your shadow, always
compared to you, and he has always resented it.”
Castien said nothing.
“What about you?” Amara said at last, breaking the silence. “Will you
take on another apprentice? I have a few wonderful candidates if you would
like to consider them.”
“No, thank you,” he said, shifting his gaze to the unlit fireplace. “I find
that I enjoy the silence.”
She looked at him skeptically. He didn’t look like a man who enjoyed
anything, but she didn’t argue.
“Very well,” she said, getting to her feet. “I trust you will find a subtle
solution for the Zaid issue. You always do, no matter what you say,
Castien.”
He remained silent, still looking at the fireplace.
For the first time, Amara felt a flicker of doubt. She would normally be
certain that he would handle Zaid and put a stop to his antics, but this time
she could sense that Castien’s attention wasn’t all that present. His mind
seemed to be elsewhere.
Perhaps he really was tired.
“You need rest, Castien,” she said. “Go get some sleep. The Order will
not fall apart if you do.”
He nodded—and turned to the reports again.
Shaking her head in dismay, Amara walked out.
In some ways, Castien was as bad as Zaid.
They certainly shared their lack of respect for their elders.
Well, it was a good thing she knew what would help. She might be old,
but she knew a thing or two about men.

***
 Javier took a deep breath before knocking on the door of Master
Idhron’s study.
He was nervous.
He was a servant with experience, and he was rarely nervous before a
job, but this time the circumstances were a little unusual. Normally his
services were hired by a Master who wanted them, not by a third party.
He had no idea how Master Idhron would react, though in Javier’s
experience men didn’t turn down the offer of sex with him.
He told himself he had nothing to worry about. All right, he had
something to worry about. After all, he hadn’t serviced Master Idhron in
nearly two years, and the man’s tastes could have changed.
“Enter,” Master Idhron said.
Javier entered. He dropped to his knees, dropped his gaze, and
murmured, “Master.”
He felt Master Idhron tense up. The air in the room seemed to thicken
with something terrible. It wasn’t desire or lust, but something else,
something that made Javier’s skin prickle with discomfort.
“What are you wearing?” the Grandmaster gritted out.
Javier’s stomach dropped. Master Amara had been so certain that he
should wear an apprentice’s blue robes.
“Do my clothes not please you, Master?” he said shakily. “I can take
them off.”
There was a long, strained silence.
Finally, Idhron sighed. “That interfering old woman,” he muttered under
his breath before saying more loudly, “Get up.”
Javier got up, his eyes still lowered respectfully.
Idhron made an irritated noise. “Look at me.”
He lifted his gaze, unsure what the hell was going on.
Javier wasn’t stupid. He might be just a servant, but he could put two
and two together. Master Amara had clearly thought that Master Idhron
would appreciate it if Javier looked like his former apprentice. The physical
resemblance between them was quite obvious as it was, but in an
apprentice’s clothes and with his hair styled with a mock thaal, he looked
even more like Eridan; Javier knew it.
If the rumors about Master Idhron and Eridan had been true, Idhron
should have liked his attire.
 And yet there was no lust in Idhron’s cold eyes. Instead, there was
something almost hateful in them.
Javier licked his lips. “Do you want me to leave, Master?”
Another long, terrible silence.
Finally, Idhron said, “No.” He motioned toward the armchair by his
desk. “Go sit there.”
Confused, Javier did as he was told.
He looked expectantly at the Grandmaster, waiting for more orders, but
there were none. The man seemingly returned to his work, paying him no
attention.
No, that wasn’t correct: he could feel that part of Idhron’s attention was
always on him, Idhron’s telepathic presence agitated and tense. It made
goosebumps run up Javier’s spine, and not the pleasant kind. He felt like he
was in a room with a dangerous beast that might attack him any moment.
The tension built, and built, and built until Javier felt almost sick to his
stomach.
His fear seemed to anger the man even more, his telepathic presence
becoming darker. Scarier.
“Get out,” Idhron bit out.
Javier flinched so badly he nearly fell out of the chair. “Master?” he said
uncertainly.
“Get out,” Idhron snapped, his eyes blazing as his telepathic presence
lashed out.
It felt like he was struck with a huge wave of ice-cold water. Javier
staggered out of the room, gasping for air and so damn scared he nearly wet
himself.
He slammed the door shut and literally ran out of the house.
He ran and ran until he could breathe normally again, and the
nauseating feeling of wrong inside him finally disappeared.
What the hell was that?
 Chapter Twenty-Nine: Rewritten

He’s walking through the Initiates’ Hall. Everywhere he goes, other

initiates give him hostile looks, exuding jealousy, bitterness, and
resentment.
Eridan knows there must be a reason for that, but try as he might, he
can’t remember. All he knows is that no one wants to be his friend. Others
talk about him behind his back, speaking in derisive, bitter tones, and fall
silent when he approaches them.
He just wants a friend. One friend. Is that too much to ask?
He just wants to have someone who will want him around, who will care
for him.
Someone who will like him.
Someone just his.
But there is no one. There will be no one for years and years and years
until his brother comes back for him.

***

A mouth slams against his, a tongue forcing its way into his mouth.
Nauseated, he bites hard on the tongue, causing Tethru to howl and
remove his vile mouth. “You little piece of shit,” Tethru hisses, grabbing his
hair and yanking his head aside. He latches onto Eridan’s neck, biting so
hard Eridan cries out in pain. Tethru laughs, shoving him against the
wall. “Cry. I like it when little boys cry.” He grinds his erection against
Eridan’s stomach. “Can’t wait to stick it into your cunt.”
 “Help!”
Tethru laughs. “No one will come. No one will hear you. By the time
I’m done with you, you will be sloppy with my semen, and no one will ever
want you.”
Panic, rage, and disgust fills his senses, his vision going red, and before
Eridan knows what he is doing, Tethru’s making strangled noises.
And then he is dead.
Eridan shoves the body away, shaking so badly he feels like crawling
out of his skin. He feels dirty. He is dirty.
A murderer. He killed him. He killed a person.
Eridan sinks to the floor as his knees give out. He hugs his knees and
rocks himself back and forth, staring at the dead body in horror, tears
blurring his vision.
He will be arrested and locked up for this. He killed the Grandmaster.
He is dirty. Dirty, dirty, dirty.
The door opens—
And no one enters.
There is no one there.
No one will help him.
No one will hold him or comfort him.
He is alone. There is only him and the body.
Eridan woke up with a sob, breathing hard and shaking uncontrollably.
Just a dream, he told himself. Just another nightmare about something
that had happened ages ago.
He hugged his pillow to his chest, trying to breathe through his panic
and only succeeding in short, sharp gulps.
It was all right. He was all right.
He was all right.

***

Warrehn stopped pacing when Ksar entered the room. “Thanks for
coming on such short notice,” he said. “I know you’re busy.”
Ksar just gave a nod, his silver eyes flickering toward the closed door to
Eridan’s room. “I’m not sure I can help him. What you described sounds
like a severe case of depression. That’s not exactly something I can fix.”
Frustrated, Warrehn ran a hand over his face. “I know. But can you at
least try, see what’s wrong with him? He refuses to talk about what’s
bothering him and doesn’t want me to see what’s inside his mind. I want to
know if Idhron damaged him somehow when he erased his memories.”
Ksar gave him a steady look. “Did your brother actually agree to this?”
Warrehn heaved a sigh. “He did. I guilt-tripped him into allowing you to
take a look at his mind. He’s still not exactly happy about it, but…” He
shrugged. “He isn’t happy about anything these days anyway, and I figured
it can’t get worse. He’s waiting for you.” Warrehn gestured toward the door.
Ksar disappeared inside, and the wait began.
Time seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, Ksar emerged, a frown on his
face.
“Well?” Warrehn said impatiently. “Did Idhron mess up?”
Ksar shook his head. “From what I could tell, Idhron did exactly what
your brother requested. I couldn’t find a single memory of him. And that’s
the problem, Warrehn.” He grimaced. “Your brother’s mind… physically,
it’s completely healthy, but the problem is Idhron was such a prominent part
of Eridan’s life for years that taking him out of Eridan’s memories seems to
be too traumatizing. The brain is a complex organ that tries to mend the
gaps in memories by coming up with something that didn’t actually happen,
something that’s usually based on one’s subconscious fears. That’s why
your brother is suffering from a severe depression.”
Warrehn rubbed his forehead. “Can’t you help him?”
Ksar gave him a flat look. “Of course I can’t. I’m a Class 7 telepath, not
a therapist. He needs a mind healer.”
Warrehn bristled. “You can’t seriously suggest—”
“Look, Warrehn,” Ksar said, his expression a little tight. “I have no love
for the High Hronthar, but even I have to admit that there are things mind
adepts are legitimately good at, and that’s healing mental trauma.” He
looked Warrehn in the eye. “Are you aware your brother was the subject of
an attempted sexual assault and that he killed his assaulter?”
What?
“I don’t have to tell you how traumatizing that would normally be,”
Ksar said. “Luckily for Eridan, at the time, he was bonded to the best mind
adept of the Order. For all Idhron’s faults, he did the kid good and healed
his trauma. Until now. With every memory of Idhron gone, everything even
remotely related to him was erased from Eridan’s mind, including all the
healing and trauma treatment. That’s why he’s falling apart now. He needs
help. As soon as possible.”
“You’re a Seven,” Warrehn ground out in frustration. “You really can’t
help him?”
Ksar’s lips thinned. “Raw power isn’t everything. I’m no mind healer. I
have no experience with something like that. If it were as simple as you
think, I would have healed my own brother when he was suffering from a
mental illness that was slowly destroying his mind. I might be more
powerful than Idhron, but I don’t have a fraction of his knowledge and
expertise.”
Warrehn sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I know you’re
right.”
Ksar turned toward the door. “Give Idhron a call. I doubt he’ll refuse to
help his former apprentice.”
Warrehn frowned. “But Eridan must have wanted to erase his memories
of him for a reason.” He had his suspicions about it, even though he tried
not to think about it too much.
“Whatever those reasons may be, they can’t be more important than his
mental health,” Ksar said dismissively. “If Idhron restores at least a few
memories relevant to the assault, that alone should help significantly.” Ksar
glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, but I’m running late. I’m supposed to
leave for Planet Eila and help them resolve their civil war.”
Warrehn nodded distractedly. “Thanks for coming,” he said, already
thinking about how he was supposed to convince Eridan to see a mind
healer.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
Damn it.
 Chapter Thirty: An Act of Selfishness

Warrehn was an overbearing prick.

A well-meaning prick, but an annoying one, nonetheless. No matter
how many times Eridan had told him that he was fine, Warrehn wouldn’t
leave him alone, hovering over him like an overprotective mother hen.
Eridan had refused to see a mind healer. He was sick of someone
constantly messing with his brain and body. It was bad enough that he felt
like he was put together wrong, which, according to Warrehn, was the
consequence of having the throwback part of his brain blocked off. It raised
another question: Why would he do it? Why would he consent to modifying
his brain, and essentially his body? Sure, he had never liked being a
throwback, but it was part of what he was. He didn’t understand why he
would do it, especially considering how wretched he now felt, both
physically and mentally. His body felt strange, and his mind was full of
disjointed, depressing memories that didn’t quite make sense. The
nightmares didn’t help, and the way he felt shaky and small after them for
hours wasn’t exactly fun, either, but it wasn’t the worst part.
He felt like he was missing something, as though whoever had messed
with his mind had forgotten to put back something essential when they
remade him.
It sounded so over-dramatic, but it really felt that way. It felt like there
was an emptiness inside him that he couldn’t explain. A hollowness that
nothing could fill.
An ache for something he couldn’t name but wanted just the same.
 ***

Eridan stared at the purple gemstone in his hand, frowning deeply.

There was something about it that felt almost familiar, teasing a memory he
couldn’t quite grasp. He had no idea where he had gotten the gemstone. It
was immensely frustrating. He had no idea why he felt so attached to it,
either. It made no sense. It was far from being the prettiest piece of jewelry
he owned, but there was something about it… Something comforting. He
felt a little bit better when he wore it, his mood inexplicably lifting and the
unease under his skin lessening. It was just one more thing he didn’t
understand about his own mind. His own past. He wanted to punch the
person who had messed with his memories, except apparently that person
had been him. It had been his own idea, according to Warrehn.
“Your Highness, you have a visitor,” the palace AI announced.
Eridan slipped the gemstone back under his shirt, letting it rest against
his chest. “I’m not accepting callers, Rasul,” he said.
“That is what I told him, but he was quite insistent, Your Highness.”
Sighing, Eridan said, “Who is it?”
“The High Adept, Your Highness.”
Eridan frowned. He searched his memories, but he didn’t seem to even
know who the new Grandmaster was after Tethru… had died.
Shoving the thought out of his mind—it didn’t matter, it happened years
ago, he was fine—Eridan forced himself to focus on the present. Whoever
the new Grandmaster was, he was unlikely to be paying him a social call.
What if… what if the Chapter knew?
Swallowing, Eridan breathed deeply, in and out.
Everything would be fine.
They couldn’t possibly know, after all this time.
“I will see him, Rasul,” he forced out. Whether they knew about him
killing Tethru or not, turning away the new Grandmaster would just piss
him off.
Eridan wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
The sound of the door opening made him look up.
There was a man staring at him from the doorway.
To Eridan’s surprise, he was familiar. It was the very same man who had
kissed him on the forehead and wished him happiness. The one with blue
eyes. Eridan had thought of him more than once in the past month,
wondering, but Warrehn had been very tight-lipped about his identity.
So this was the new Grandmaster.
Slowly, Eridan got to his feet, unsure.
He knew the customs. As a prince, he was supposed to give the High
Adept of the High Hronthar a shallow bow, but for some reason, it felt
wrong.
He was rooted to the spot as the man finally moved toward him.
“Your Grace,” he managed. The title felt strange on his tongue. He felt
strange, too, his skin tight and his telepathy oddly restless.
Something flickered in those blue eyes. “Your Highness,” the
Grandmaster said.
It sounded as unnatural as Your Grace did.
Eridan pursed his lips, feeling terribly off-balance, but also inexplicably
comfortable at the same time. He knew this man.
“I know you,” he said. It was a statement, even though it felt like a
question.
The Grandmaster’s nostrils flared, his eyes peering into Eridan’s face
intently. “You remember me?” he said, his telepathic presence reaching out
and brushing against Eridan’s in a way that was shockingly intimate and
greedy.
Eridan stepped back, a little disconcerted both by this man’s shocking
conduct and the fact that he didn’t feel disconcerted.
“No, I have no memories of you,” Eridan said. “Except for the time
you…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the mind adept who
messed with my mind.”
“I did it at your request,” the other man said. “My name is Castien
Idhron. I am—was your Master.”
Eridan frowned. What was he talking about? “I never had a Master. I
was never chosen.” He tried not to sound bitter. He wasn’t sure how
successful he was.
Idhron’s expression became a little tight. “You were chosen, Eridan.
You were my apprentice for nearly four years.”
Eridan pursed his lips, looking at him uncertainly. This man didn’t look
like someone who would joke about such things—would joke about
anything. But…
“Then why don’t I remember it?”
 “You made me remove all your memories of me.”
“Why?” Eridan bit out in frustration, his heart speeding up. Warrehn
had claimed that he didn’t know why he had done it, but Eridan could see in
his brother’s eyes that he had a theory that he simply refused to share with
him. This was his chance to finally solve the mystery. “Tell me. Please.”
Idhron gave him a long, intent look.
Eridan tried not to show how flustered that look made him feel. There
was something almost… greedy about that look. Something almost
indecent. One wasn’t supposed to look that way at a prince, especially when
one was the High Adept of the High Hronthar.
It should have repulsed him.
It should have.
“You and I were… involved,” Idhron finally said.
Eridan stared at him.
He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. Castien Idhron was an
attractive man, in a cold and intense kind of way. There was clearly a
strong, muscular body under those black robes, and his face was definitely
handsome, his dark stubble and eyebrows a striking contrast to his pale hair.
His mouth was finely shaped…
Licking his lips, Eridan halted that line of thought in its tracks before it
could get out of hand. It didn’t matter how attractive this man was.
“And?” he said coldly. “Why did it warrant messing with my mind?”
Idhron’s expression became a little pinched. “It was your idea, not
mine,” he said tersely. “You wanted to forget me and ‘start a new life.’” He
said it like he was tasting something foul.
Eridan stared at him. He said slowly, “You mean I was in love with you,
but you broke my heart.”
Idhron’s lips thinned, but he didn’t deny it.
Eridan sat down on the couch and picked up his multi-device. He stared
at its unlit screen. “Thank you for clearing it up for me. Now it all makes
sense. You may go, Your Grace.”
Idhron didn’t move.
“I did not come here for that purpose.”
His jaw tight, Eridan lifted his gaze to him. “Then to what do I owe the
pleasure, Your Grace? Your actions were successful. I don’t remember you,
and I definitely don’t love you.”
 A muscle pulsed in Idhron’s cheek, his telepathic mark reaching for
Eridan greedily again.
Eridan glared at him, more flustered than he would have liked. “Well?”
he said haughtily.
Idhron walked over.
Eridan tried not to tense up, even though his heart started pounding, his
skin prickling with awareness.
“You asked me to grant you this one kindness: make you forget me,”
Idhron said, brushing the lock of hair from Eridan’s eyes with a gentle
touch, his gaze on him so intense it was as scary as it was exhilarating. “I
tried to be kind. To do the ‘right’ thing. But kindness does not come
naturally to me. I am a selfish man.”
Eridan held himself very still. There was a part of him that yearned to
lean into this man’s touch.
“What do you mean?” he managed, looking into those blue eyes.
“Let me restore your memories,” Idhron said. “And come home with
me.”
Home.
Something about it was terribly tempting.
Eridan forced himself to shake his head. “I am home,” he said, his voice
wavering. “I hate High Hronthar. I have nothing but bad memories of it.”
Idhron frowned. “It is likely just the false impression you have after I
altered your memories. You will feel differently if you allow me to restore
your memories. Your brother has brought to my attention that the loss of
those memories affected you negatively, making some events in your past
more traumatizing.”
Although Eridan had bristled and denied it every time Warrehn had
alluded to his “trauma,” talking about it with this man didn’t feel as
invasive. It felt surprisingly comfortable, even though he didn’t know this
man at all.
Except he did, didn’t he? That was the issue.
“Maybe,” Eridan said, looking down at his own pale hands. “Since I
don’t know what memories I lost, it’s hard for me to judge how much the
loss of those memories is affecting me.” Eridan lifted his gaze back to
Idhron and found him watching him with a fixed gaze, as if Eridan was the
most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. It made something warm curl in
Eridan’s stomach. He… liked having this man’s attention on him. Liked it a
little too much.
“Your brother said you refused to see a mind healer,” Idhron said.
“Why?”
Eridan scoffed. “Forgive me, Master, if I don’t feel too trusting after
having my memories—” He cut himself off when he noticed the very
strange expression on Idhron’s face. “What?”
Idhron’s gaze was dark and searching. “You called me Master. Are you
starting to remember?”
“No,” Eridan said, a little confused himself. Maybe it was his
subconscious.
“Then allow me to fix it,” Idhron said. “I will fix your memories, and
everything will be as it should be. I will take you back to High Hronthar,
where you belong. You are miserable here. I can see it, Eridan. Even your
brother can see it.”
Eridan pressed his lips together. “You do realize that you have given me
no incentive to consider your offer, right?”
Idhron’s brows furrowed. He seemed genuinely puzzled. “What
incentive do you need? I suppose I could fast-track your promotion to a
Master Acolyte. Or perhaps I could give you the estate on Vergx—you like
it very much—”
Eridan laughed. “Stop. Just stop.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I
fell in love with such an emotionally stunted man. If I had you erase my
memories because of unrequited love, a fancy present wouldn’t fix
anything. Or was that your idea of a love confession?”
Idhron’s face went blank. He averted his gaze. “Love is not something
I’m capable of feeling,” he said. “If you had your memories, you would
know that.”
Eridan narrowed his eyes. “Oh, really?” he said pleasantly. “Then why
do you want to restore your apprentice’s memories so badly? If all you feel
is superficial lust?”
Idhron’s jaw worked. He said nothing.
Eridan waited.
At last, Idhron said stiffly, “I find that I dislike living in a world where
you do not remember me.” Something rueful and self-deprecating appeared
in his telepathic presence. “Apparently, I am that selfish. I need you to need
me. Therefore, calling your… love for me unrequited is not accurate. It is
very much requited.”
Eridan found himself softening a little. Although it wasn’t exactly a love
confession, he could sense that it was as open as this man would be with
him. After all, he was not Castien Idhron’s apprentice at the moment. He
was just someone wearing his face. Maybe when he got his memories back,
he would be able to make him talk more openly, but…
And that was how Eridan realized that he had already made the
decision, for better or for worse.
“All right,” he said. “You may restore my memories.” The elation that
rolled off Idhron made him feel a little less apprehensive. Whatever this
man felt for him, Eridan clearly was important to him. That was something.
Eridan hoped he wouldn’t regret this decision once he got his memories
back. He still didn’t really think he would want to go back to the Order, but
he would still like to have all of his memories. No heartbreak could
possibly be worse than this wrong, hollow feeling inside him.
Idhron sat down on the couch next to him. He just stared at Eridan for a
long moment before lifting his hand and laying it below Eridan’s ear. His
thumb brushed against his telepathic point and Eridan inhaled sharply, a
shiver running through him.
Push and Idhron was in his mind.
Eridan had thought it would feel invasive.
He had been wrong: it wasn’t invasive enough. The moment Idhron’s
mind entered his, it felt like it awakened some starved thing inside him that
reached out for him hungrily and dragged him deeper inside. Someone
groaned, but Eridan wasn’t sure who. It didn’t matter; it felt so good,
beyond good, the way this man fit inside him, the way his telepathic
presence filled every corner of Eridan’s mind. And yet, somehow, it wasn’t
enough.
“More,” Eridan begged, trying to pull him deeper into him, needing to
feel him deeper, inside his aching, hungry core.
“Eridan, no,” Idhron said, but his mind was pulsing with tension, as if
he was stopping himself by sheer force of will.
“Please. Master.”
There was a roar inside his mind, a storm of emotions and wants that
were not his own as Idhron let go of his control, pushing deeper inside him,
like a predator closing in on its prey.
 Eridan could only relax and open up, pleasure like no other filling his
entire being as Idhron’s mind brushed over his pleasure centers as he slid
deeper and deeper inside him, touching him, stroking him, soothing him.
The moment Idhron touched his aching, needy core Eridan cried out,
burying his face against Idhron’s throat. He felt arms around him, strong
and so familiar, holding him tightly as his body shook with pleasure that
was difficult to describe. He felt both overstimulated and satisfied as he
cradled this man deep inside his core.
He floated on the cloud of pleasure for what felt like forever and not
long enough.
At last, he felt Idhron sigh. “This was highly inadvisable.”
“Don’t care,” Eridan murmured with a small smile, nuzzling against his
throat. A part of him, the part that could still think beyond good-right-mine,
was kind of horrified that he was practically in the High Adept’s lap.
He found it difficult to care.
“We got sidetracked,” Idhron said, putting a finger under Eridan’s chin
and tipping his face up. His blue eyes were significantly softer now. “Now I
will restore your memories. You will be good and will not distract me again.
Understood?”
Eridan nodded. He could be good. He liked the idea of being good.
When Idhron pressed his fingers against his telepathic point and slipped
inside him again, this time it wasn’t as overwhelming. The pleasure and the
need were still there, but they weren’t as debilitating, because he already
felt satisfied.
Eridan closed his eyes and just relaxed, quietly enjoying Idhron’s
presence in his mind. It was fascinating: the confidence and familiarity with
which this man navigated his mental landscape. And care, he noted with
wonder. Idhron was very careful, his mental touch soothing and never
hurtful as he trudged through Eridan’s memories.
“Do you remember the theory behind restoring memories?” Idhron said
quietly as he worked.
Eridan shrugged. “Just the basics that we were taught as initiates. I don’t
remember anything you may have personally taught me.”
Idhron hummed thoughtfully, examining a murky area in his
mind. “Restoring memories can be tricky. It is delicate work, and the
margin for error is very thin. Sometimes it is not possible at all. Fortunately,
I know your mind very well.”
 Eridan made a noncommittal noise. There was something comfortable
and familiar about this, about this mentoring tone. It felt right. Everything
about having this man touching him so intimately felt inexplicably right.
He put his head on Idhron’s wide shoulder and just listened to his voice
as Idhron explained to him the theory behind memory restoration.
He felt… He felt better than he had in forever. Just sitting in this man’s
lap, listening to him talk.
“I am ready,” Idhron said at last, his presence going still in Eridan’s
mind. “I am going to do it now. It will likely feel somewhat disorienting.”
“All right.”
“Brace yourself,” Idhron said.
It was disorienting. One moment, Eridan didn’t remember, and the next,
he did.
He did.
It was strange how everything had clicked into place. The jealousy and
bitterness of his age-mates now didn’t seem mindlessly cruel but actually
made sense. He had been chosen while they weren’t. The bullying, the
cruelty—in the end, it was all worth it, because he wasn’t alone. He had a
Master. He had the best Master in the Order.
And his Master cared for him, in his own reserved way, no matter what
he actually said. Heck, even when Eridan had killed the Grandmaster of the
Order, Castien had covered for him. His Master had come for him. He had
taken care of everything, and then taken care of him when Eridan had
crawled into his bed later that night: wrapping him in his telepathic
presence and slowly healing him in his sleep through their bond, healing
him so well that the next morning Eridan barely even thought about the
attempted assault or Tethru’s death.
His Master had always taken care of him.
Eridan sighed. He did feel the new sense of calm and comfort under his
skin, but he remembered the bad parts, too. Castien’s distance, his
unwillingness to allow a full telepathic merge between them. Castien’s
insistence that their sexual relationship changed nothing. Castien blocking
his memories of his birth name and his lack of remorse over it. Castien’s
lack of reaction when Eridan had told him he loved him.
The question was, did the bad outweigh the good?
Eridan opened his eyes and met his Master’s eyes.
 Chapter Thirty-One: Master

Castien’s gaze was searching, almost wary.

Eridan looked back at him, hoping… He didn’t know for what. To feel
any differently? Unfortunately, just as he had feared, having his throwback
hormones blocked didn’t change a thing about his feelings.
He still loved this man: desperately, hopelessly, stupidly, no matter
what.
“Eridan?” Castien said, peering into him. “Do you remember me?”
Eridan’s hand curled into a fist. “You’re such a selfish asshole,” he said.
It came off more affectionate than he had intended. He chuckled, hating
himself for his inability to be properly angry. “One would think you’d be
happy without me and my distasteful emotions constantly compromising
you, but no, apparently not. What is the matter, Master? Did you get
attached?”
Castien didn’t look fazed in the slightest. He continued staring at Eridan
with the same intense, greedy look. Then he lifted his hands and cradled
Eridan’s face. “You remember me.”
Eridan glared at him.
“You still love me,” Castien stated with the same unnervingly greedy
look. “It is fine, Eridan.”
All right, Eridan was definitely angry now. “Fuck you, Master,” he bit
out. “Being graciously allowed to love you isn’t enough for me. Get out. I
won’t go with you to Hronthar. Since I still have my throwback hormones
blocked, I can get over you. I will get over you. Leave. I’m sorry for
wasting your precious time and asking you to erase my memories for
nothing. As always, you were right: it was a bad idea. It’s better if we just
avoid each other from now on—”
 Castien kissed him.
Eridan wanted to push him away; he really did. But it felt like he had
been dying of thirst and had just been handed a glass of water. A small
moan slipped out of his mouth, and he surged forward, kissing back
hungrily, unable to quench the thirst inside of him. Their bond flared open,
pulsing with missed you, need you, missed you, need you.
When they finally broke apart for some much-needed air, they both
were flushed and breathing raggedly.
“You talk too much,” Castien said into his cheek, his hands still cradling
Eridan’s face. “You talk too much, and you are excellent at irritating me. I
must be insane to actually like it.”
Eridan blinked, unsure he was understanding that correctly. “You
missed me?” he said, his voice smaller than he would have liked.
Castien pulled back, his expression a little tight. He remained silent.
Eridan scoffed, turning away. “I need words, Castien. Your ‘I don’t feel
emotion’ shit isn’t going to cut it anymore. Talk or leave me alone.” His
voice wavered and he hoped Castien didn’t notice that. He had to be firm.
“I don’t know how to talk about such things.”
Contractions. Castien used contractions only when he was angry—or
uneasy or very bothered by something.
Eridan cocked his head to the side and regarded him for a
moment. Maybe it wasn’t that Castien didn’t have deep feelings; maybe the
problem was his inability to communicate about them after years of
carefully eradicating any strong emotions. Maybe he just needed to loosen
up first. To lose that ironclad control.
“All right,” he said, his voice softer. “Let’s have an honest conversation.
I’ll start, to make things easier for you. Do you know I was eighteen when I
started touching myself thinking about you?”
Castien’s nostrils flared. He stared at Eridan with blown pupils.
Eridan suppressed a smile. “I couldn’t even stand you back then, but
something about your awfulness, and your cold, high-handed attitude made
me so frustrated and horny I touched myself all the time, stuffing my
fingers inside me and imagining it was your cock.”
A faint flush appeared on Castien’s cheekbones. He swallowed and
opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.
Eridan leaned in and pressed his nose against Castien’s cheek. Breathed
in. Felt Castien stiffen, his body practically vibrating with tension.
 “It was really fucked up,” he said. “I didn’t even like you back then, but
you were the only thing I thought about when I masturbated.” He whispered
against Castien’s ear, “You made me so wet, Master.”
Castien made a low sound, his hands grabbing Eridan’s ass and yanking
it against his clothed crotch. Eridan gasped at the feel of the hard bulge of
Castien’s arousal pressed insistently between his legs. His body felt weird.
It wanted, his hole clenching, dry but oversensitive. It felt off. His entire
body felt off. It was immensely frustrating and disorienting. He felt so
aroused, but only his cock was reacting as expected, becoming hard and
slick with lubricant, but his hole remained dry.
“Oh,” he whispered breathlessly. “I feel strange.”
“I did warn you about that,” Castien said, his voice tight as he peppered
Eridan’s neck with hungry kisses and hickeys. “Blocking the throwback
part of your brain would affect your physiology, too.”
Eridan shook his head, fighting the disoriented feeling. “Fix it. Fix me.
Take the block off. Wanna have you inside me.”
Castien’s muscles went rigid. He was breathing unsteadily, his hands
still holding Eridan against the hard bulge of his cock.
“No,” he said in a clipped voice. “I’m in no state to do it now. I need a
clear head. I might hurt you.”
“I trust you, Master.”
He made a startled noise as his back hit the couch.
Castien climbed on top of him, bracketing his head with his forearms,
his gaze dark and glassy. “You’re terrible for my control,” he muttered. And
then he leaned down and kissed him, if that could even be called a kiss. It
felt like Castien was trying to consume him, to devour him, to get inside of
him through his mouth, the kiss so hungry and intense that it quickly
overwhelmed Eridan. He could only take it, sucking happily on his Master’s
tongue and moaning in utter bliss.
He slipped a hand between them and jerked Castien’s fly open. When
his hand closed around Castien’s thick, leaking cock, he groaned, his hole
tingling. There was still no slick, but at this point Eridan kind of didn’t care.
He wanted him inside. Castien’s cock was coated with lubrication, which
betrayed how aroused he was. It would be enough. It would be more than
enough.
“Fuck me,” he whispered against Castien’s mouth. “Want you inside of
me.”
 Castien shuddered on top of him, his erection becoming even harder in
Eridan’s hand.
What happened next surprised him. Eridan had expected that Castien
would simply take his pants off and stick it in, but Castien stripped him
completely and then just stared at his naked body with glazed eyes.
It made Eridan feel beautiful and wanted, his skin tingling and his cock
aching. He spread his legs and said, “Master.”
Apparently, that was enough to make Castien move. He trailed kisses
down Eridan’s neck, sucking bruises into his skin and then licking his
nipples. He sucked on them for a while, making Eridan whimper
breathlessly. His nipples had always been so very sensitive, and when he’d
jerked off, he’d always imagined his Master sucking on them. The reality
was better than any fantasy. Each gentle suckle seemed directly connected
to his cock and his hole. Soon, Eridan was writhing under Castien, clawing
his back and holding Castien’s mouth against his nipples.
Finally, his Master moved lower, his lips tracing his abdominal muscles,
and then lower. Eridan cried out as Castien took his hard cock into his
mouth and sucked.
“Be quiet or someone might hear us,” Castien told him telepathically,
bobbing his head up and down, his mouth relentless and wet.
Eridan couldn’t be quiet. He had to bite his own hand to muffle the
sounds he was making, his other hand burying in his Master’s hair and
pushing him down on his cock. It felt so good.
But soon, it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed something else.
As if hearing his thoughts, Castien pulled off his cock and moved his
mouth lower, kissing and nipping the insides of his thighs. His stubble
scratched the sensitive skin there, making Eridan whine in mild discomfort
and sharp pleasure. He moaned as Castien’s tongue finally pressed against
his hole. He had always been extremely sensitive there, too. It felt weird not
to feel himself getting slick, but the pleasure wasn’t any less. He loved
getting eaten out, and from how often his Master had done this to him, he
knew Castien enjoyed going down on him, too. It felt unbelievably good,
his hole quivering at every touch of that wet, glorious tongue. Burying his
hand in Castien’s hair, Eridan tried to pull him deeper, tried to impale
himself on that tongue—and failed. He sobbed out, wanting to be filled,
needing it so badly he could barely focus on anything but more-now-cock-
Master.
 “Patience,” Castien’s voice said in his mind. Slicking his fingers with
lubrication from Eridan’s cock, he pushed two fingers in, making Eridan
moan in relief. It was better but still nowhere near enough.
“I’m ready,” he snapped. “Just put it in, Master!”
Castien didn’t listen.
It felt like he tortured him for hours, stretching him with two and then
three fingers, his mouth alternating between sucking Eridan’s cock and
kissing his sensitive thighs.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Castien pushed his cock into him.
Eridan moaned in relief, his hole squeezing him greedily. He dug his
fingernails into his Master’s muscular back as Castien bottomed out. “Kiss
me,” he said.
Castien leaned down, folding him in half, and kissed him hungrily.
Eridan sighed in bliss and kissed back, feeling embarrassingly needy. His
Master started moving in him, the girth of him so satisfying that every slow
thrust made Eridan moan against Castien’s mouth. He could feel that
Castien was trying to be gentle, but his body was getting tenser with every
moment.
“Come on, I can take it,” Eridan murmured, nipping on Castien’s
bottom lip. “I can take everything you give me, Master.”
Castien shuddered, his heavy body driving harder into him, his cock
practically pounding him into the couch.
Eridan was distantly aware of the whines leaving his mouth, shameless
and slutty, his body on fire. It just felt so good: the scent of his Master, his
mouth, his hard body on top of him, the thick cock inside of him. But
something was still missing.
“Master,” he whispered, reaching out mentally. “Please.”
He felt Castien’s telepathic mark vibrate with tension before it moved
forward and pushed into him, too. The noise that left Eridan’s mouth was
embarrassingly high. He welcomed his Master into his mind, their pleasure
doubling as a full merge snapped into place. He could see himself through
Castien’s eyes: his flushed face, his pretty, swollen lips, his naked body,
writhing under him, on his cock—so tight around him, so beautiful, his
Eridan, his, just his—
Eridan went very still, just allowing himself to be kissed, feeling
stunned. He soaked up the hungry desperation and
the overwhelming affection pouring into him from Castien. But affection
wasn’t the right word. It felt all-encompassing, unstoppable, and limitless. It
felt like a necessity. He was a necessity.
His Master needed him.
His Master. Needed. Him.
The thought was enough to make him come with a confused moan,
Eridan’s vision blurry with overwhelmed tears. Castien shuddered and went
still on top of him, spilling his release deep inside him.
Master.
Eridan.
He felt Castien’s lips on his face, kissing it softly, reverently.
It was almost too much. His chest felt like it was about to burst from
affection, love, and need. He felt like he was choking on them.
I love him, Eridan suddenly thought. I will always love him. I will never
love another person as much as I love him.
Any other time the thought would have been disheartening, but not at
this moment. Not when he could feel how much he mattered to Castien.
Their minds were still joined in a deep telepathic merge, and it was
impossible to lie in a merge. He could feel everything Castien was feeling.
He felt precious. He was precious. The most important thing in the world.
Eridan blinked his eyes open, having trouble believing what he was
sensing. Was this why Castien had denied him a full merge for years?
Because he didn’t want him to sense this? Or was this a recent
development? He didn’t understand.
“Sometimes I think about it,” Castien said quietly, breaking the silence.
His voice was slightly muffled by Eridan’s cheek. “I think about what if I
took a different route to Hronthar that day nineteen years ago. Or what if I
ignored the boy with a toddler in his arms trying to get my attention. What
if I just delivered you to the Fifth Royal House instead of taking you to the
Order.” He nipped at Eridan’s jaw, no doubt leaving a hickey. “If you lived
to adulthood, you would be just another prince for me, one of many to
manipulate and control. I wouldn’t even pay you a second thought. I would
marry you to someone else and not give a damn.” Another hickey. “What a
nice concept. A nice fantasy.”
Eridan stared at the high ceiling, his heart beating so fast he felt nearly
dizzy. “Master?” he whispered shakily, unable to believe what he was
hearing. What Castien was implying.
 “You are mine,” Castien said, sucking a hickey into his neck. “You will
always be only mine. I will kill anyone who touches you.”
Eridan shivered. Coming from any other man, that would have sounded
like melodramatic exaggeration. Coming from Castien, it was just a
statement of fact.
“If you didn’t kill Tethru yourself, I would have done it anyway.”
Castien nuzzled against his collarbone, nipping at the skin
there. “Therefore, your guilt over his death is not only foolish, but
misplaced and irrational. He was dead from the moment he touched you.”
“This is still hardly a love confession, either,” Eridan said dryly, not
knowing whether to laugh or be horrified. His heart felt like it was about to
burst.
Castien lifted his head and gazed at him. “I… I’m trying, Eridan,” he
said, his voice quiet. “Frankly, I am not sure what love is. But you are the
only thing—the only person—I care about deeply. The only person more
important to me than my Order.” He smiled ruefully. “Which is not
something I have ever thought I would say. The Castien Idhron from five
years ago would have thought someone had brainwashed me into this
foolishness.” He stroked Eridan’s cheek with his thumb. “Maybe you have,
and I just have not noticed. I’m rather irrational and short-sighted when it
comes to you.” He grimaced a little. “My blocking your memories of your
real name was proof enough of it.”
Eridan swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat. “So you didn’t do it
because of the Order?”
Castien let out a humorless laugh. “The Order was the last thing I
thought about when I did it. I was…” He met Eridan’s eyes. “For years,
without your knowledge, I was preparing you to claim your birthright. But I
was the one not prepared to let you go when the time came.” A muscle
twitched in his jaw. “I know I should not have done it, but I’m not perfect,
Eridan. And fear was the one emotion I had never experienced until I
realized you would stop being my apprentice—that you would stop being
mine. I was irrational. Rash.”
Eridan blinked a few times, feeling stunned. He hadn’t even thought
Castien could feel fear, much less fear over losing him—and admit it.
“All right,” Eridan said, clearing his throat. “You’re forgiven for that.
But if you mess with my memories again, I…” He paused, trying to think of
a suitable threat. “I’ll never forgive you again,” he finished lamely.
 To his surprise, Castien seemed to take the threat seriously. He simply
nodded.
Eridan looked at him, warmth filling his insides as it hit him anew that
Castien really had feelings for him. That Castien needed him, cared for him
deeply, and wanted him around, always.
Eridan smiled helplessly. “Admit it: you totally checked your mind for
any outside influence when you first noticed those icky emotions.”
Castien averted his gaze.
“You did!” Eridan laughed, slinging his arms around his neck and
pressing his mouth against Castien’s. “You’re so ridiculous, Master. Only
you would think having feelings isn’t normal.”
Castien kissed back for a moment before pulling back to look Eridan in
the eyes. “So will you come home with me?”
Eridan stared at him. “You were actually serious about it?”
“Of course.” Castien’s expression was somewhat uncomfortable. “The
castle is too quiet without you. I don’t… I suppose I have become used to
your chattering over the years.”
Eridan cocked his head to the side and smirked teasingly. “Are you
saying you missed me terribly, Master?”
Castien’s expression became rather pinched. But the denial Eridan had
half expected didn’t come.
“Yes,” Castien said tersely. “I missed you terribly. Are you happy now,
you insolent brat?”
Eridan’s smirk softened into a smile. So maybe Castien could learn to
communicate his feelings.
Leaning in, he gave him a chaste kiss as a reward, which Castien
immediately turned into a hard, greedy one, all tongue and want.
Sighing in pleasure, Eridan returned the kiss happily for a while.
When they finally parted, he pushed Castien onto his back and stretched
on top of him, relishing the way their bodies fit together, their minds as
entwined as their limbs. Putting his head on Castien’s chest, he breathed in
his familiar scent, feeling achingly, toe-curlingly happy.
He murmured, “Can I even be a member of the Order again when I’m
such a public figure?”
Castien made a thoughtful sound, running his fingers through Eridan’s
hair. “There is no precedent for a member of a royal family being a member
of the Order, but there is no rule against it: neither in the Order rules nor in
the Calluvian laws. It will most likely cause a scandal, but your reputation
is not exactly good right now as it is.”
Eridan scrunched up his nose and chuckled. “Yeah, let’s make a bad
situation worse. I have nothing to lose, I guess.”
“No,” Castien said. “Your return to the Order can be spun in a positive
light. We have many media outlets under our control. Pushing the narrative
we want will not be difficult. You will be protected from public scorn.”
Eridan scoffed at Castien’s unashamedly corrupt ways, but he couldn’t
erase the warm feeling that curled in his stomach. He had missed this: this
feeling of absolute security and trust. He trusted that his Master would
protect him, always, by any means necessary. No matter how much he and
Warrehn had grown close, he hadn’t felt a fraction of such trust and safety
in months.
Warrehn.
“I can’t abandon my brother,” Eridan said, lifting his head.
Castien heaved a sigh. “You would hardly abandon him, Eridan. You
can get from Hronthar to this palace in less than an hour.”
“I guess,” Eridan said, frowning. “It still doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t
have anyone but me, and this palace still isn’t home for him. Dalatteya and
her son hate him.” He narrowed his eyes at Castien. “Speaking of which,
can’t you make her like Warrehn, too? Like you did with her attitude
towards me?”
Castien hummed, stroking his back absent-mindedly. “It is not that
simple. I have carefully manipulated her mind for years, in preparation for
your eventual ascension to the throne. I wanted to make her harmless when
it came to you. But your brother… I had not even known that he was still
alive until a few years ago. And even if I knew he was alive, I obviously
would not have bothered to make Dalatteya predisposed to like him. Your
brother’s death would have been convenient for me.”
Eridan wished he could be angry, and part of him was, but mostly he
just felt exasperated. He’d had no delusions about his Master. He
had known what kind of a man he was when he fell in love with him. At
least Castien was being honest. That was something, he supposed.
“You’re a terrible person,” Eridan said with a sigh, kissing the hollow of
Castien’s throat. “I guess I’m a terrible person, too, for loving you anyway.”
Castien’s arms tightened around him.
“Will you come home with me?” he said, his voice not quite steady.
Eridan smiled and spoke against his neck.
“Yes, Master.”
 Chapter Thirty-Two: Peace

For a moment, Warrehn thought he had misheard. Surely his brother

couldn’t be saying what he thought he was saying.
“What?” he said.
Eridan was blushing, radiating guilt. “I’m going back to High
Hronthar,” he said. “I will be Master’s apprentice again.”
Warrehn narrowed his eyes. “Apprentice,” he said skeptically.
Eridan blushed harder, glancing back at Idhron. “Well… Yes,
apprentice.”
Idhron stepped forward, laying a hand on Eridan’s shoulder.
Warrehn couldn’t help but notice how possessive that gesture was. He
bristled, but Eridan seemed to lean into the touch, his telepathic presence
becoming warmer and lighter.
Warrehn stared at him and realized that he had never before seen his
brother happy. Truly, genuinely happy.
The thought was gut-wrenching, but Warrehn couldn’t be upset by such
an abundance of happiness. He took a deep breath and let it out. Calm. He
could be calm. His brother’s happiness was more important than his own
disappointment.
He looked Idhron in the eye and said, “You will take care of him. If you
ever hurt him—”
“I won’t,” Idhron said simply. “I will not allow any harm to come to my
apprentice.”
Apprentice. Right.
“And when he isn’t your apprentice anymore?” Warrehn said.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Eridan looking at Idhron, too, waiting
for his answer.
 “He will always be mine,” Idhron said, his hand on Eridan’s shoulder
tightening. “Whether he is twenty, fifty, or a hundred years old.” Idhron’s
eyes were dead serious. Warrehn probed him mentally, and, try as he might,
he could sense nothing but sincerity.
Warrehn sighed, running a hand over his face and hair. “Eridan, could
you leave us for a moment? Just for a moment.”
Eridan hesitated, looking between them, and then nodded and left.
Once they were alone, Warrehn looked at Idhron grimly. “How am I
supposed to be okay with my brother, a prince and my only heir, being your
fuck-toy?”
Idhron’s jaw clenched, something dark and dangerous appearing in his
telepathic presence. “I have had plenty of ‘fuck-toys.’ Eridan is not one of
them.”
“Then what is he to you?” Warrehn ground out. “Are you saying you’ll
give him a family? That you’ll give him children?” Were the mind adepts of
the Order even allowed to have children?
Something flickered in Idhron’s eyes. Warrehn had the strangest feeling
that this was the first time the idea had even occurred to him.
Idhron was silent for a moment, a contemplative look on his face.
“You know nothing about the Order,” he said at last. “We have lineages
that function in the same way traditional families function for you. We may
not be related by blood, but we do take care of our own.” He
shrugged. “However, there are Masters that have traditional families and
children. I am not very fond of children, but if Eridan wants to have
some…” Something wistful appeared in his expression. “I am not entirely
opposed. In any case, that is something that is between Eridan and me.” He
looked Warrehn in the eye. “I understand that you are his brother and that
you worry for him. But you have nothing to worry about. He is no longer
the child you entrusted to me nineteen years ago. He is capable of thinking
for himself and he knows what kind of a man I am. Frankly, your concern is
ridiculous. Eridan has an abundance of power over me, because I will do
anything to keep him safe and pleased. He is—he’s my greatest weakness.”
Idhron’s expression became tight, as if the word was physically painful for
him to say.
Warrehn sighed. He could sense the sincerity in Idhron’s words. He
wasn’t lying for once.
He looked at Idhron, and Idhron looked back, his gaze firm and calm.
 Warrehn didn’t like this man much. But if he could make his brother
look so happy, Warrehn would have to learn to like him.
“All right,” he said, and after a moment’s hesitation, brushed his
telepathic presence against Idhron’s. Peace?
The answering touch of Idhron’s telepathic presence was rather guarded
but not entirely unfriendly.
Warrehn nodded, turning away. “So, how are we going to handle the
press?”
 Chapter Thirty-Three: Home

Calluvian Society Gossip

PRINCE ERIDAN: I MISS MY HOME

In an unexpected turn of events, Prince Eridan of the Fifth Grand Clan

doesn’t wish to be a prince. Raised by the mind adepts of the High
Hronthar, the prince reportedly feels more at home at the austere monastery
than he does at the lavish palace of his brother.
“I love Warrehn very much, and I’m ever so grateful that we have found
each other again,” Prince Eridan said. “But the Order has been my home
since I was three years old, and I’m so grateful to my brother for allowing
me to return to the life I’m used to. My greatest ambition is to become a
certified mind adept of the Order, but it doesn’t mean I will stop being
Warrehn’s brother. I support him in everything.”
When asked about the malicious rumors that have been spread recently
about the High Adept and him, Prince Eridan laughed. “I think I know the
source of those rumors. It’s likely one of those initiates who wanted to be
Master Idhron’s apprentice and were very disappointed when he chose me. I
don’t blame them. I would be envious and bitter, too.”
When asked about whether he will stop participating in social events,
Prince Eridan’s expression became thoughtful. “I suppose it depends on
how busy I am with my studies as an apprentice. If I’m free, I see no reason
why I wouldn’t attend some social events. I am a prince, after all.”
He is, indeed!
We at Calluvian Society Gossip wish Prince Eridan all the success in
his chosen path!
 ***

The early morning air was crisp and slightly chilly, smelling of old
forest, mountains, and home.
Eridan took a deep breath and exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he
gazed down at Hronthar situated in the mountain valley. The town looked
magical from the distance, its yellow lights illuminating it merrily.
He smiled wistfully, imagining young initiates hurrying to their morning
lessons, still sleepy and grumpy. He had been one, too. It felt like it had
been a lifetime ago.
A strong hand clasped his shoulder. “It is chilly, Eridan. We should have
landed closer to the town. And you should have at least worn a cloak.”
Eridan shook his head with a smile. “Why do I need a cloak when I
have you?”
Castien sighed, a long-suffering sigh that didn’t convince Eridan at all.
Castien didn’t truly feel annoyed; he would sense it through the bond if he
did.
Castien pulled Eridan against his chest and draped his own heavy cloak
around them both.
Eridan smiled, leaning back into him, breathing in his Master’s familiar
scent and feeling so very warm and happy as he gazed at High Hronthar in
the distance. Their bond pulsed with contentment-rightness-mine-mine-
mine, Castien’s arms around him solid and so very safe. He could stay here
forever, in this man’s arms.
“I love you, Master,” Eridan said softly. He didn’t expect to hear it back;
he just felt so happy he needed to say it.
Castien’s arms around him tightened to the point it almost hurt.
He felt his Master bury his face in his hair and take a deep breath. “I
think it would not be inaccurate to say that the sentiment is returned.”
“My head hurts from the double negatives,” Eridan said, his vision
turning blurry. He grinned, looking back at Castien. “One day I’ll get you to
say those icky words, Master.”
 Castien’s blue eyes smiled at him. “We shall see,” he said, and kissed
him.
The angle was awkward, Castien’s lips were cold, and the air was too
chilly, but the kiss warmed Eridan down to his toes.
When they finally managed to break the kiss, he was tingling all over, a
familiar heat building in his lower stomach.
Castien stared at him for a moment, his gaze transfixed. Then he took
his hand and pulled him toward the castle. “We have loitered here long
enough. Let’s go, Eridan.”
Smiling, Eridan intertwined their fingers and let his Master pull him
toward their home.
The sun was rising.
 Epilogue

Castien Idhron didn’t like children. They were loud, obnoxious, and
whiny: qualities he had no patience for. Bizarrely, when it was his own
child, those qualities were somehow endearing instead of aggravating.
“Sinead,” he said in his sternest voice.
His three-year-old daughter peered up at him with her wide blue eyes
and blinked innocently. “Do you want to play with me and Lola, Papa?”
Castien looked at “Lola”—the small cleaning robot that was dressed in
Sinead’s own dress—and mentally counted to ten. “No, I do not want to
play. This is not a doll, my dear. It’s a droid for cleaning dust in your room.
Let it do its job.”
Sinead’s bottom lip wobbled. “I know it’s not a doll! It’s my friend!
Don’t be mean to her, Papa!”
Castien pinched the bridge of his nose and suppressed a sigh. “I would
not mind you playing with a droid, except it is the third cleaning robot you
turned into a doll. Your room is filthy.”
Sinead pouted and turned back to the robot, clearly deciding to ignore
him.
A chuckle made Castien look up.
Eridan was leaning against the doorway, smiling widely and radiating
amusement. “If only the Chapter could see the great and terrible
Grandmaster Idhron having an argument with a three-year-old—and losing
it.”
Castien gave him an unimpressed look. “This is all your fault,” he
said. “She inherited your most charming traits: your lack of respect for
authority and your propensity to pout and throw a temper tantrum if you do
not get your way.”
“Maybe,” Eridan said, still grinning. “But she inherited your most
charming traits, too: your tendency to think you’re always right, and, of
course, your manipulativeness.”
“She’s a child, Eridan. She does not even know the word manipulative
yet.”
Eridan snorted and walked over, slipping his gray robe off. “Don’t be
naive. She absolutely does. She knows she can get you wrapped around her
little finger if she just widens her eyes and makes her lip wobble.” He
dropped a kiss on Sinead’s forehead. “Isn’t that right, Princess?”
Sinead blinked at him, looking all confused. “Don’t know what you’re
talking about, Daddy.”
Eridan chuckled. “I’m not your papa, young lady. This isn’t going to
work on me. Now turn the robots on before the dust monster comes here.”
Sinead frowned. “The dust monster?”
Eridan nodded solemnly. “Haven’t I told you the story about a little girl
who didn’t allow her cleaning robots to clean her room and all the dust in
the room turned into a giant dust monster?”
Sinead shook her head, her eyes wide.
“Come on, turn the robots on while I tell you the story,” Eridan said
with a smile, and Sinead quickly obeyed.
Castien settled in the armchair and closed his eyes, sinking into a
shallow meditation. Part of his attention was on Eridan telling their
daughter some bizarre, fictional story. Part of him simply luxuriated in the
feelings of warmth, comfort, and affection swirling in the room, in his
bonds to Eridan and their daughter.
If a decade ago someone had told him this would be his life, he would
have scoffed derisively and thought that person was insane.
If twenty-seven years ago someone had told his seventeen-year-old self
that the little prince he’d been saddled with would become the center of his
world, he would have never believed them, either.
Life was strange that way.
“What are you thinking about?” Eridan murmured, climbing into his lap
and kissing him softly on the lips.
Castien opened his eyes and looked into Eridan’s beautiful eyes.
 You, he thought, wrapping his arms around Eridan and pulling him
closer. Tighter. He could never hold him tight enough.
He pressed their foreheads together. “I was thinking… that I love you,
apprentice mine.” The words that had once been so difficult for him to say
rolled off of his tongue easily enough. He’d had years of practice.
Eridan grinned. “I’m a Master Acolyte, Castien.”
He snorted. “You will always be my apprentice.”
Eridan’s smile became softer. He slotted their mouths together and
kissed Castien, his affection, need, and happiness filling their bond and
making Castien dizzy with the desire to possess him. His. This was his.
“Yes, Master. Always.”

The End
 Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I would like to thank my wonderful editor, Eliot

Grayson, who has been an invaluable support to me. Thanks for helping me
get this story in the best shape possible.
Special thanks to Linda and Grace—thank you for brainstorming with
me and being very patient with me through the very long process of writing
this book.
Thanks to my little daughter for being my inspiration. You can be “loud,
obnoxious, and whiny,” but I love you so much.
And last, but never least—thank you to my wonderful readers who
follow me from book to book. I love you. I hope you enjoyed Castien and
Eridan’s story.

What’s next?

Warrehn will finally get his happy ending in Dearly Despised, which
will be published in 2021.
Book #2 in the Masters series, Wicked Game, will likely be published in
2021 or 2022. It’s Zaid Idhron’s story.
Book #11 in the Straight Guys series, Just a Bit Cruel, will be published
in late 2020. It’s a story about Derek Rutledge’s brother-in-law, Andrew.
And I have another book coming out soon. In Chapter 29, Ksar
mentioned leaving for Planet Eila in order to help them resolve their civil
war. I’m starting a new series loosely connected to my other series. The first
book in the series, Unnatural, is close to being finished and will be
published later this year, most likely in August 2020. If you’re curious, you
can read the first chapter of Unnatural right now, as well as a snippet of
Dearly Despised.
If you want to be notified when my books become available, you can
subscribe to my mailing list: http://www.alessandrahazard.com/subscribe/
You can always contact me at my website
http://www.alessandrahazard.com or email me at
[email protected].
Thank you for coming along on this ride! I hope you’ll consider
dropping a quick review on Amazon or Goodreads.
 COMING SOON:

UNNATURAL
(The Wrong Alpha Book 1)
Alessandra Hazard
A planet at war. An arranged marriage between an alpha prince
and a beta politician. Two men with something to hide. What could go
wrong…
The Kingdom of Pelugia and the Republic of Kadar have been at war
for decades. Peace isn’t popular, but the planet can’t survive without it.
A diplomatic marriage between Senator Royce Cleghorn of Kadar and
Prince Haydn of Pelugia could end the war, but Haydn is a very unusual
alpha, and Royce isn’t what he appears to be: he's an alpha, too.
Royce doesn’t like his husband, his alpha scent, or his damned pretty
blue eyes. More than anything Royce hates what Haydn makes him
become: a primitive alpha cliché who’ll do anything to mark his territory,
even if that territory is his alpha husband. Royce likes omegas; he isn’t into
alphas, no matter how blue their eyes are. It’s just a weird territorial
instinct. It has to be.
Everyone knows a marriage between two alphas is a recipe for disaster.
Neither of them expects their marriage to become more than a political
arrangement.
But when loyalties are tested, which bond will be the strongest: their
marriage, or their allegiances?
 An Excerpt from "Unnatural"

Chapter One

It was pouring heavily on the day Haydn Schaefer’s life was turned
upside down.
Haydn was soaked by the time he returned to the palace, and he was
thinking longingly of a hot shower when the butler intercepted him
and informed him that the King wanted to see him.
“Where is he, Dylas?” Haydn said with a sigh, wincing at the puddle
growing under his feet.
“In his study, Your Highness.”
Haydn looked down at his filthy boots and equally filthy military
uniform. Leading his troops in vigorous physical training had made him as
tired, cold, and dirty as the soldiers under his command, and he wasn’t
exactly in the mood for his father’s shit. “I’ll see him after taking a shower.
I stink.”
Dylas shook his head. “His Majesty said you must go to him
immediately after your return.” His tone was apologetic but
uncompromising. The old butler wasn’t going to budge. This must have
been important.
Frowning, Haydn headed toward his father’s study.
He knocked once before entering.
“Your Majesty,” he said respectfully, but not too respectfully. It was
always a balancing act. If he was too respectful, his father started thinking
he wasn’t alpha enough. If he was too disrespectful, his father bristled,
immediately suspicious that Haydn didn’t respect him and actually wanted
to usurp his throne. It was beyond annoying. Not for the first time in his
life, Haydn wished he had been born a beta.
Or an omega, he thought, before quickly pushing the thought
away. Such thoughts were pointless. And ridiculous. He was an alpha.
Alphas had it easy, compared to betas and especially omegas. Well,
Xeus alphas had it worse than either betas or omegas, but Haydn wasn’t
one, so he had nothing to complain about.
King Stefan lifted his gaze from his computer, his dark gold brows
furrowing slightly. “You’re finally back.”
“You wanted to see me, Father?” Haydn said, straightening himself to
his full height, which may not have been as impressive as the King’s but
certainly made him taller than most people.
Except it wasn’t most people he was usually compared to—and found
lacking. Haydn couldn’t help but think that in his father’s eyes, he would
always be the smaller, blonder version of his dead brother. The other son.
Not quite as good as his first one.
“Sit,” King Stefan said shortly.
Haydn did as he was told.
The King regarded him from across the desk. “I had a meeting with the
Galactic Council representative this morning. You were aware of it, I
presume?”
Haydn just nodded. It would have been difficult for him to be ignorant
of it when the entire palace had been preparing for that visit for days.
Judging by the King’s scowl, the meeting hadn’t gone as well as he had
hoped.
“The Galactic Council isn’t pleased with us,” Stefan said. “They don’t
think our planet deserves to be part of the Union of Planets until our
‘barbaric civil war’ is over.”
“Civil war?” Haydn said, his brows drawing close. “There is no civil
war in our kingdom.”
“Civil war on our planet,” the King said. “For the Galactic Council, Eila
is one entity, and they don’t care that we’ve had two different countries with
different governments for thousands of years. They want us to make peace
with Kadar and choose one Lord Chancellor to represent our planet. They
don’t want two.”
Haydn stared at him in amazement. “You can’t be seriously considering
it.” Pelugia and the Republic of Kadar had been at war all his life; he
literally couldn’t imagine them not being at war. Not that Haydn wouldn’t
welcome an end to this war. Of course he would welcome it. He was tired
of leading his men to their deaths, over and over and over. He had lost two
thousand men just this past month. Two thousand and thirty-one.
So no, Haydn would be fucking delighted if the war finally ended. He
just didn’t believe it was achievable. There were too many grievances on
both sides.
Stefan grimaced. “We have little choice. If we don’t do as they say, the
Galactic Council will revoke our membership in the Union of Planets, and
we’ll lose access to the TNIT network, and most importantly, lose
the protection we have as a member of the Union. We will be fair game for
any filthy pirate coalition out there.”
Haydn leaned back in his chair, frowning. “The Galactic Council can’t
do that, can they? It’s not like Eila is the only planet in the Union that
doesn’t have a unified government. There are some very powerful Inner
Core planets that have multiple kingdoms or republics: Vergx or Calluvia,
for example.”
The King sighed. “We aren’t Vergx or Calluvia, Haydn. By galactic
standards, we’re small fish. We don’t have those planets’ political and
economic power that allows them to be exceptions to the rule. Besides,
those planets still have some kind of unified government—and one Lord
Chancellor. We can’t say the same about us. So the Council is giving us an
ultimatum: make peace with Kadar and choose one Lord Chancellor within
the next few months, or they’re kicking us out of the Union.”
“But how are we supposed to make peace with them, exactly?” Haydn
said, drumming his fingers over the armrest. His mind was racing, trying to
think of how they could possibly achieve peace with Kadar. All attempts at
peace over the decades had failed, the war resuming within months.
His father scowled again. “Apparently, the Kadar Prime Minister has
already offered a perfect solution: a marriage between two high-profile
political figures of our countries.”
Haydn felt dread curl in his stomach.
He told himself his father couldn’t possibly mean what he thought he
meant. Surely his father didn’t intend to use him as a piece in a political
game.
“Obviously, you, as my heir and a renowned general in my army, are not
expendable,” the King said.
 Haydn breathed out.
But his relief didn’t last long.
“So I offered your cousin Devlin, but Prime Minister Taube rejected that
offer.” Stefan sneered. “For obvious reasons.”
Haydn pressed his lips together. He’d always hated the prejudice against
Xeus alphas, but there was nothing he could do about it, no matter how
unfair it was to Devlin and other alphas like him.
“The prime minister insists that for the marriage to truly unite our
countries”—Stefan’s expression turned sour— “a marriage between my heir
and a Kadarian senator is the only solution. I had to agree.”
Haydn’s stomach dropped.
Fuck.
He opened his mouth to voice his protests but then closed it, knowing
they would be futile. There was no point. Once his father made a decision,
he never changed it.
“What senator?” Haydn said, forcing his voice to sound calm. “Have
they already chosen?”
“Don’t worry, I have made it clear that you should have a say. You can’t
choose someone specifically—unfortunately, the final choice will be the
prime minister’s—but I insisted that you should at least choose your
spouse’s sex and designation. You are the Crown Prince of Pelugia. My heir
should have a say in the matter.”
Haydn had never felt more grateful for his father’s pride.
“Thank you, Father,” he said. “I don’t care about their sex, but as for
their designation…” He hesitated. Since he was an alpha, most people
would expect him to choose an omega. But.
Haydn had always felt strange around omegas. They were so small.
Vulnerable. Needy. They expected him to take care of them. He didn’t like
it. He didn’t find it attractive, no matter how good they smelled to his alpha
senses when he was in rut. Having sex with omegas had always felt like
something of a chore: vaguely unsatisfying and wrong. Something about it
made his skin crawl. He couldn’t imagine being married to an omega.
“They must be a beta,” Haydn said.
The King raised his eyebrows. “A beta? Why not an omega? Omegas
are easier to control, son. They’re very malleable as long as they get a hard
knot in their holes.”
 Haydn’s jaw tightened. He looked the King in the eyes. “I don’t want
easy, Father. I like a challenge. I prefer betas, you must know that.”
Stefan hummed, looking skeptical, but nodded. “It’s probably for the
best,” he said after a moment. “I don’t think there are any omegas in the
Kadarian Senate. Even if there are, the fact that I can’t think of any proves
that they’re not of any import. Omegas rarely are.”
Haydn kept his expression blank. His father’s disgusting prejudice
against omegas was well documented, and he’d learned to ignore it, no
matter how much he disagreed.
“Then it is settled,” Stefan said. “I will request a beta senator. You’re
dismissed, Haydn.”
When Haydn got to his feet, his father’s gaze fell on his dirty uniform.
“How was the inspection? I trust everything is in order?”
Haydn smiled, a cocky smile that hurt his cheeks a little. “Naturally,
Father.”
Bowing to the King, he strode out of the room, exuding confidence he
didn’t really feel.
He allowed himself to relax only once he was in the safety of his rooms.
“Dammit,” he murmured, running a hand over his face. Not that he had
been hoping for a love match, but marrying a politician from the country
they had been at war with forever hadn’t been his idea of a marriage.
At least they would be a beta.
That was something.

***

Senator Royce Cleghorn knocked on the door and entered without

waiting for a response.
“Ah, you are just in time, my boy!” Prime Minister Taube said, smiling
widely.
Royce suppressed a surge of irritation. He was thirty-six years old;
hardly a boy.
“Your Excellency,” he said evenly.
“None of that, son! Call me Caius, as all my friends do. Take a seat.”
 Royce sat down and looked at the prime minister expectantly,
displaying patience he didn’t feel.
“You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you to come,” Taube said.
Royce just nodded. The prime minister could talk all day if he was
given the smallest encouragement. Sometimes Royce couldn’t help but
think the man was a babbling fool, except a fool wouldn’t remain the head
of the Kadarian government for two decades. Caius Taube had a sharp mind
and equally sharp instincts, contrary to his friendly, harmless demeanor.
“How long have we known each other, my boy?”
“Over a decade, Your Excellency.”
Taube hummed thoughtfully. “Indeed. Time flies, doesn’t it? I suppose
that’s life. It seems only yesterday you became the youngest senator in
history.”
At times like this, Royce almost thought Taube suspected him and that
was why he annoyed him on purpose, testing his patience and waiting for
Royce to give himself away. Despite Taube’s seemingly warm attitude,
there was no love lost between them. He knew Taube was wary of his
growing influence and power in the Senate; he would have to be a fool not
to be, especially considering the upcoming elections next year.
Royce breathed through his nose, carefully. The prime minister was an
alpha, and his scent never failed to aggravate Royce a little, which was a
normal enough reaction, but that day the man’s scent was stronger than
usual. Taube was worried about something. Or excited. It was hard to tell.
Royce’s scent-blocker messed with his own senses, too, making them duller
—something he usually didn’t mind at all, but now he would have liked to
be able to determine Taube’s intentions through his scent.
But that would have been too easy. He hadn’t gotten as far as he had by
relying on his instincts.
So he remained calm and waited. Taube would get to the point
eventually.
And eventually, he did.
“You were there when I told the Senate about the ultimatum the
Galactic Council had given us,” Taube said, looking at him intently. His
gaze was serious now. “So I will not bore you with the particulars again.
You’re one of the few senators who actually understand the seriousness of
the situation.”
Royce said nothing.
 Taube sighed. “I know most of the Senate doesn’t trust the Pelugians to
actually maintain the peace. That’s why I suggested a diplomatic marriage
between a prominent member of the Senate and someone from Pelugia’s
nobility. To my surprise, the Galactic Council representative supported my
idea, and he already secured King Stefan’s agreement.”
“That’s good,” Royce said. As someone whose estate was close to the
border between Pelugia and Kadar, he had always been an outspoken
supporter of peace.
Taube nodded. “Indeed. King Stefan’s only condition was that I must
choose a beta to represent Kadar.”
Royce’s blood pressure spiked. “Your Excellency?”
The prime minister looked him in the eyes. “I’m asking you to do it for
your country, son. You know better than anyone how ravaged Kadar is by
this never-ending war.”
Royce’s first instinct was to refuse.
Of course he wanted to refuse.
But then he thought of his mother’s red-rimmed, fearful eyes every time
Royce’s younger brother failed to message her from the front line. He
thought of his pretty omega sister, living in the house so close to the border
that it could be overrun by the Pelugian army any day. Royce’s lands were
heavily guarded, but security guards would be nothing against an army. And
one day the army would come. They had just been lucky that the Pelugia-
Kadar border was very long and all the major battles happened away from
Cleghorn—so far. One day, their luck would run out.
But peace, if it actually held this time, could put an end to it once and
for all.
He’d made bigger sacrifices for his family. What was one more?
Royce’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I will do it, Your Excellency.”
Taube grinned widely. “I knew I could count on you, Royce. Truth be
told, you were the only candidate I could think of who is a beta and is high-
profile enough to marry a prince. Everyone in the Senate respects you, and
the press loves you—”
“A prince?” Royce cut him off, stiffening. “You mean Prince Haydn
Schaefer?”
Taube blinked. “Of course! Do you know any other prince? The
Schaefers have only one prince since King Stefan’s eldest son died.” He
cocked his head to the side and studied him with shrewd eyes. “Is
something the matter? Do you have any objections to Prince Haydn?”
Royce barely suppressed an instinctive growl, already regretting
agreeing to this without asking who the other party was.
Haydn Schaefer. He was known by many names. His reputation
preceded him, even in Kadar, maybe especially in Kadar. The Golden
General. The Death Bringer.
And an alpha.
“No objections,” Royce ground out, because any objections to marrying
the prince would sound ridiculous—and suspicious. Prince Haydn was a
media darling. He was exceptionally handsome, athletic, and by all
accounts, he possessed a brilliant mind for strategy. It was mostly thanks to
his efforts the Pelugian army was able to secure six Kadarian counties in the
past few years.
A beta wouldn’t have any objections to marrying such a fine specimen
of an alpha.
The problem was, he was no beta.
But he couldn’t backtrack now. His political career would be ruined if
he admitted that his presentation documents had been falsified—not to
mention the legal trouble his mother would be in. No matter how angry he
was with her, Royce had to protect her.
His mind racing, Royce looked down at his hands. He found his fingers
clenched so hard his knuckles stood out white against his sun-bronzed skin.
He breathed in deeply, forcing himself to relax.
It wasn’t necessarily a disaster. It would be a political marriage, a means
for good publicity, and meant to convince the hesitating senators that the
peace would be sustainable—and to ensure that the Pelugians wouldn’t
stick a knife in their backs.
So in theory, the prince’s designation didn’t change anything.
Royce nearly laughed at himself. Who was he kidding? A marriage
between two alphas was unheard of for a reason, and it wasn’t because
alphas couldn’t want other alphas. Although Royce wasn’t one of them,
there were alphas that were attracted to other alphas. It was very rare and
taboo, but such things happened. The problem was, sustaining an alpha-
alpha relationship was impossible. It was biologically difficult for two
alphas to live together without trying to establish dominance over their
partner, and such rare relationships tended to quickly turn violent, abusive,
and toxic. Considering that the alpha in question was an enemy general
responsible for countless deaths in his country and Royce already disliked
the man before even meeting him, this was a disaster in waiting. And since
he was pretending to be a beta, everyone would expect him to defer to his
alpha husband—or at least the traditionalists would expect it. Not that
Royce gave a fuck about their opinions.
As far as the traditionalists were concerned, an alpha was supposed to
mate only an omega and keep the omega pregnant year in and year out.
They would consider a marriage between a male alpha and a male beta a
waste, since they couldn’t have children the traditional way.
“I’m surprised Prince Haydn requested a beta,” Royce said. “From
everything I’ve heard of him, he sounds like a traditionalist.”
Taube shrugged. “I’ve heard rumors that he likes the challenge of betas
and considers omegas too easy.”
Royce almost laughed. It was kind of ironic. If Haydn Schaefer liked a
challenge, he was going to be in for a nice surprise—if they managed not to
kill each other within a week.
“All right,” Royce said, getting to his feet. “When is the wedding?”
Taube smiled. “In two days.”

Coming Soon…

If you want to be notified when the book is released, you can subscribe
to my mailing list: http://www.alessandrahazard.com/subscribe/

A sneak peek from Dearly Despised, Book #5 in Calluvia’s Royalty

series:

Dalatteya’il’zaver stood on the grand staircase of the palace—her

palace, regardless of the upstart boy who called himself King.
She was watching the scene unfolding downstairs. That sweet boy
Eridan was hugging his brother goodbye. They were too far for her to hear
what they were saying, but Warrehn was clearly sad and frustrated, no
matter how hard he was trying to hide it as he bid farewell to his brother
and the High Adept.
Dalatteya averted her gaze from the High Adept. She could never look
at him without shuddering. She had her suspicions why, and she was
already working on ways to overcome that problem if her suspicions turned
out to be correct.
“Look at him,” she murmured. “He feels so angry. Lost. Lonely. His
brother has abandoned him. He’s so alone. Now is the perfect time to act,
my dear.”
The young man beside her stared at Warrehn’s hunched shoulders for a
long moment before nodding.
Dalatteya smiled.
Soon, everything would finally be all right.

To be released in 2021
 Calluvia's Royalty series

#1 - That Alien Feeling

He's the most precious human being Adam has ever seen. Too bad
he isn't human.
Banished by his parents to the third planet in the Sol system, Prince
Harht’ngh’chaali of the Second Grand Clan is completely fascinated by its
inhabitants. Assuming the human name “Harry,” he tries to pass for a
human to survive, but being human is so much harder than Harry expected.
Humans are so confusing.
Adam Crawford isn’t looking for love. Financially secure and good-
looking, he’s in a good place in his life. He doesn’t mean to fall in love with
the quirky guy working at the coffee shop near his office. Harry is
ridiculous—and ridiculously endearing. He wears ugly shirts and flowers in
his hair, and he has a kind word for everyone. Adam falls hard and fast.
Little does he know that Harry isn’t what he seems and anything
between them is impossible.
Star-crossed love between a human man and an alien prince from a
world half a galaxy away.

#2 - That Irresistible Poison

“I hate you.” Please touch me.
“You sicken me.” Hold me closer.
“I want to be free of you.” I can’t live without you.
The messed up part is he means everything he says.
The youngest prince of his clan, Seyn has been betrothed to the crown
prince of another clan since birth. Everyone says he’s so lucky to marry one
of the most respected, powerful men on the planet, but Seyn knows better.
 He hates him with every fiber of his being. Ksar is a cold, uncaring,
overbearing bastard who uses underhanded tactics to achieve his goals and
who either ignores Seyn or criticizes everything about him. Seyn can’t stand
him, and he’s willing to do anything to get out of the arranged marriage to a
man he abhors.
But the line between feverish hatred and passion can be very thin, and it
turns out that freedom isn’t as appealing as it once seemed.
Is it messed up to miss a man you loathe?
Is it sick to want his hands on you?
Seyn knows it’s insane. He knows he should stop going back.
But knowing something and doing it are two different things.

#3 - Once Upon a Time

A very proper prince and a rude, dangerous man who may or may
not be a stableman: a fairy-tale love story...
Ice Prince.
Prince Jamil of Calluvia has always disliked that moniker, but he is
responsible and proper, and it’s probably accurate to say that he isn’t good
at emotions. After being widowed, Jamil’s life has revolved around his
duties as a crown prince and little else.
But one night, everything changes.
One night, Jamil meets a man at the royal stables, a man who is the
opposite of proper, a man with eyes as black as sin.
Rohan di’Lehr is everything Jamil should despise.
He’s a rude, lowborn criminal. He’s terrible for Jamil’s self-control.
He makes Jamil behave like a wanton creature, not the crown prince.
They have nothing in common. They have no future together. He still
can’t stay away.
A story of forbidden, twisted attraction and love that defies all odds.

#4 - Prince’s Master
A master manipulator and an orphaned prince caught in his
schemes: it wasn't supposed to be a love story…
Separated from his family after an assassination attempt, Prince Eridan
is rescued by the reclusive Order of monks who control High Hronthar, an
isolated school for telepaths. Eridan believes he's an ordinary orphan, one of
hundreds of initiates of the Order trying to survive in a nest of intrigue,
rivalry, and corruption, but he's more important than he knows.
When Castien Idhron, the most powerful man in the Order, claims
Eridan as his apprentice, Eridan's confused and wary. Corrupt, heartless,
and calculating, Castien plays with the lives of those around him as if
they're just a game. Eridan's just another pawn.
Eridan despises his Master, and yet he finds himself craving his
attention and approval like a drug he can’t live without.
Castien has never understood the concepts of kindness and love, but to
his displeasure, his insolent apprentice has a way of getting under his skin
like nothing else.
Will the master manipulator win the game, or will he play himself?

#5 - Dearly Despised - to be released in 2021

 Straight Guys series

Currently the Straight Guys series includes the following books:

#0.5 - Straight Boy: A Short Story (Sage and Xavier)

Young, blond and handsome, Sage attracts unwanted attention in prison.
When his cellmate offers him protection, Sage accepts the offer, even
though he doesn’t trust the guy. Little does he know how much it will
change his life.
When he’s released from prison, Sage finds himself needing and
wanting things he shouldn’t want. Sage is straight. He is. He has a
girlfriend. What happened in prison stayed in prison—or so Sage tells
himself.
Until he meets his former cellmate again. Xavier. The guy he hates and
craves.

#1 - Just a Bit Twisted (Shawn and Derek)

Professor Derek Rutledge is hated and feared by all of his students.
Strict, reserved and ruthless, he doesn’t tolerate mistakes and has little
patience for his students.
Shawn Wyatt is a twenty-year-old struggling to provide for his younger
sisters after the death of their parents. On the verge of losing his
scholarship, Shawn becomes desperate enough to go to Professor Rutledge.
Everyone says Rutledge doesn’t have a heart. Everyone says he’s a
ruthless bastard. Shawn finds out that everyone is right.
He strikes a deal with Rutledge, but unexpectedly, the deal turns into
something so much more.
Something all-consuming and addictive.
Something neither of them wants.
 #2 - Just a Bit Obsessed (Alexander and Christian)
Alexander Sheldon likes order and control in his life. He isn’t happy
when his girlfriend invites another guy for a threesome. Alexander believes
in monogamy, and he’s never been good at sharing his things. It doesn’t
help that Christian rubs him the wrong way from the beginning.
But what starts as animosity turns into something else. Something
unexpected and very wrong.
He was never supposed to touch Christian. He was never supposed to
feel possessive of the guy. And he most definitely wasn’t supposed to want
Christian more than he wants his girlfriend.
It’s a recipe for disaster.

#3 - Just a Bit Unhealthy (Gabriel and Jared)

When the line between "need" and "want" gets blurred…
Gabriel DuVal, a rising soccer star.
Jared Sheldon, a team physician.
To the outside world, they’re just good friends. But the truth is, Gabriel
isn’t entirely sure what they are to each other.
Some call their relationship unhealthy. Some call it codependency.
Gabriel calls it confusing. He knows Jared wants him – as more than a
friend. He doesn’t want Jared. He’s straight, he has a girlfriend, and he
loves her. But Jared is… Jared is more. Jared is his. He needs him – his
touch and his strength.
But is it enough for Jared?

#4 - Just a Bit Wrong (Tristan and Zach)

Zach Hardaway is one of the best physiotherapists in Europe.

Tristan DuVal is a young soccer star with a groin injury.
They despise each other from the moment they meet.
As far as Zach is concerned, Tristan is a rich, spoiled brat who is too
used to getting his own way.
As far as Tristan is concerned, Zach is a bossy, presumptuous prick.
Tristan hates Zach. He does. The problem is, he also wants to shove Zach
against the nearest wall and climb him like a tree.
 #5 - Just a Bit Confusing (Ryan and James)

Best friends, inseparable since childhood, one in love with the other, the
other straight and in love with a woman.
Stories like this don’t have a happy ending; James Grayson knows it. He
puts on a smile, he laughs, he jokes, and he pretends he’s fine when Ryan
kisses his girlfriend in front of him—until he can’t.
Except nothing is easy and letting go turns out to be much harder than
one might think. Some bonds are too strong to be broken, even for a straight
man. And sometimes love and desire can have different faces and layers.
A story of two men trying to function without each other and failing.

#6 - Just a Bit Ruthless (Roman and Luke)

Stockholm syndrome or Love?
When you want someone completely wrong for you…
Luke Whitford has always dreamed of meeting Mr. Right. A hopeless
romantic at heart, he dreams of falling in love with a nice man, getting
married and having a bunch of adorable babies. The problem is, Luke has
the propensity for being attracted to men who are anything but nice.
Roman Demidov, a homophobic, cynical billionaire who has a grudge
against Luke’s father, is certainly not Mr. Right. Cold, manipulative, and
ruthless, he’s not a nice man and he doesn’t pretend to be.
Luke is fully aware that Roman is all wrong for him. His attraction to
the guy is just some sort of Stockholm syndrome; it must be. If life were a
fairy tale, Roman would be the main villain, not the hero.
But even villains can fall in love. Or can they?
The story of a boy who dreamed of Prince Charming and ended up
falling for the Beast.

#7 - Just a Bit Wicked (Vlad and Sebastian)

He’s sure he’ll never fall for a man…
When it rains, it pours. After losing his prestigious job, Vlad discovers
that his girlfriend has cheated on him. Angry and hurt, he’s determined to
find her lover and teach him a lesson. When he finds out that her lover is
bisexual, it only makes him angrier. Raised by an extremely homophobic
family, Vlad is convinced he’s straight and holds nothing but contempt for
people who aren’t.
 But sometimes contempt and anger can turn into obsession, and then
into something else entirely—something Vlad has always considered sick
and wrong.
He’s sure he’ll never fall for a homophobic bully…
Sebastian is a successful English model who has always detested
bullies. When a man shows up on his doorstep accusing him of sleeping
with his girlfriend, Sebastian isn’t interested in being a punching bag.
However, provoking a homophobic man is probably not the best idea…or
the safest. But then again, Sebastian has never been good at playing it safe.
Things get a lot more complicated when Vlad has to bodyguard
Sebastian. Can they stay professional?
They can’t. They bicker and fight, and they hate everything about each
other.
Now if only they could figure out how to keep their hands off each
other.

#8 - Just a Bit Shameless (Dominic and Sam)

Sam Landon is a homeless eighteen-year-old thief who is desperate for
a different life. When his skills attract the attention of the Secret
Intelligence Service, Sam eagerly grabs the chance.
Sam’s determined to prove himself when he gets his first mission–to
steal a flash drive from a paranoid crime lord–and is sent undercover as
another agent’s sugar baby.
Dominic Bommer, his “sugar daddy,” is outrageously handsome,
charming, rich, and pretty much perfect. Dominic is kind, generous, and
protective of him.
Except “Dominic Bommer” is nothing but a role performed by a cynical
MI6 agent, who is actually straight, aloof, and manipulative.
Sam is perfectly aware that everything Dominic does is carefully
calculated, every emotion faked. He knows that men actually do nothing for
Dominic and he doesn’t really want Sam.
But despite knowing all of this, Sam still finds himself falling hard for a
man who doesn’t exist.
Or does he?

#9 - Just a Bit Gay (Nick and Tyler)

 Tyler Meyer is totally straight. But then the hot woman he’s hooking up
with sticks her finger where she shouldn’t, and suddenly he’s not so sure…
Straight guys can like that sort of thing too, right?
Except things get confusing–and frustrating–when fingers and toys
aren’t quite enough.
Enter Nick Hardaway, Tyler’s best friend. What’s a little fun between
bros, right?

#10 - Just a Bit Dirty (Miles and Ian)

A ruthless CEO of a large company.
A British student confused about his sexuality.
They have nothing in common.
The attraction between them makes absolutely no sense.
When Miles Hardaway decided to spend the summer in America to get
away from his overbearing family, the last thing he expected was to end up
falling for a man he should dislike—but doesn’t.
Ian Caldwell is the most arrogant, bossy man Miles has ever met. He
drives Miles absolutely crazy. Although Miles has been warned that Ian is
playing some dirty, underhanded game, he finds himself caught between his
friends and a man he shouldn’t want.
Who will he choose when his heart and his mind are telling him two
different things?
 Glossary

Calluvia: A technologically advanced planet, one of the most

influential members of the Union of Planets, inhabited by a telepathic race
known as Calluvians.
Calluvians: a humanoid species with telepathic powers. A small
percentage of the Calluvians have physical mutations, and those Calluvians
are called “throwbacks.”
Union of Planets: An interstellar union of planetary governments that
exist semi-autonomously under a single central government; ruled by the
Galactic Council and the Chamber of Lords.
Galactic Council: The judicial branch of the Union of Planets.
Chamber of Lords: The legislative body of the Union of Planets. Each
planet has a Lord Chancellor that represents them in the Chamber of Lords.
Lord Chancellor: An elected politician that represents the planet in the
Chamber of Lords, also the head of the planet’s branch of the Ministry of
Intergalactic Affairs.
Ministry of Intergalactic Affairs: an interstellar organization that
regulates foreign affairs and the use of TNIT; a branch of the Galactic
Council.
TNIT: Transgalactic Nearly Instantaneous Teleportation — the
preferred method of travel between planets of the Union. Spaceships do
exist, but they are used only for short trips, because the technology is
considered obsolete and slow compared to the teleporters. Planets like Earth
that have not invented TNIT are called pre-TNIT planets.
Calluvian Council of Twelve Grand Clans, or simply the Council:
The unified government of Calluvia. It consists of elected members and
twelve royal families. Each royal family has two seats: the monarch and the
heir to the throne each have one vote. In some cases, if the heir is not of
age, they might be represented by a regent, who is usually (but not always)
their other parent, the Consort of the monarch.
Grand Clans: Twelve independent kingdoms of Calluvia, ruled by
royal houses. For example, the First Grand Clan is the largest kingdom,
ruled by the First Royal House.
First Queen: The Queen of the First Grand Clan.
Queen-Consort or King-Consort: The spouse of the ruling monarch of
a grand clan.
Heir to the Throne: the Crown Prince or Crown Princess of the royal
house, the second most important person in the Grand Clan. Until the age of
twenty-five, the heir is represented in the Council by a regent.
T-nulls: Telepathically null Calluvians that have no active telepathic
abilities.
Korviu: Invaluable chemical element necessary for the use of
transgalactic teleporters. Large deposits of korviu cause magnetic
disturbances that prevent the use of the TNIT and other electronic devices.
Childhood Bond: A telepathic bond between two Calluvian children,
usually established at the age of two or three. It binds children together,
making them life-long partners. The bond makes the bondmates
predisposed to like each other and allows them to communicate
telepathically. The bond has a side-effect few know about: it weakens
people’s senses, including their telepathy and ability to feel arousal. When
the youngest of the bondmates turns twenty-five, the childhood bond is
transformed into a marriage bond by a mind adept of the High Hronthar.
Marriage Bond: A transformed childhood bond that allows bondmates
to feel sexual arousal. The invasive nature of the bond usually makes people
incapable to feel arousal for anyone other than their bondmate, though
sometimes the bond can become faulty.
Faulty Bond: A childhood/marriage bond that either doesn’t take or
weakens for seemingly no reason; statistical abnormality.
Bonding Law: The law introduced four thousand years ago, supposedly
to protect the population from forced telepathic bonds.
Tai’Lehr: A small planet, an industrial colony of the Third Grand Clan
that has been effectively cut off Calluvia by the Shibal-Kuvasi war zone for
centuries. Unbeknown to Calluvia, it’s a home to the rebels, the Calluvians
that fled their grand clans after refusing to conform to the Bonding Law.
Due to the huge deposits of korviu on the planet, the colony cannot use
transgalactic teleporters and long-range communicators.
High Hronthar: An ancient Order of monks that specialize in the mind
arts. The mind adepts of the High Hronthar heal mental trauma, create
telepathic bonds, and officiate marriages. They are the only people on
Calluvia not bound by childhood bonds; therefore, they are the strongest
telepaths on the planet.
Hronthar: a secret town of the High Hronthar Order located in the
Kavalchi Mountains.
Kavalchi Mountains, or Great Mountains: One of the tallest and
steepest mountains in the galaxy. Due to the deposits of korviu in that
region, many electronic devices do not work well.
Throwbacks: a small percentage of Calluvians that share biological
traits with the surl’kh’tu, their primitive intersex ancestor that lived a
million years ago. Although throwbacks are not intersex, male throwbacks
produce natural lubrication when they are aroused.
 List of Characters

Second Grand Clan

Queen Tamirs, or Tamirs’shni’chaali: The Queen of the Second
Grand Clan, the mother of Ksar, Sanyash, and Harry.
King-Consort Zahef or Zahef’ngh’chaali: the King-Consort of the
Second Grand Clan, the father of Ksar, Sanyash, and Harry.
Ksar, or Ksar’ngh’chaali: The Crown Prince of the Second Grand
Clan and the Lord Chancellor of Calluvia. A Class 7 telepath. Betrothed:
Prince Seyn.
Sanyash, or Sanyash’shni’chaali: A princess, the sister of Ksar and
Harry, lives on a colony away from Calluvia.
Harry, or Harht’ngh’chaali: The youngest prince of the Second Grand
Clan. A Class 4 telepath. Fiance: Adam Crawford.

Third Grand Clan

Queen Janesh, or Janesh’shni’ veighli: The Queen of the Third Grand
Clan, mother of Jamil, Seyn, and Gynesh.
Queen-Consort Faryda, or Faryda’shni’veighli: The wife of Queen
Janesh, mother of Jamil, Seyn, and Gynesh.
Jamil, or Jamil’ngh’veighli: The Crown Prince of the Third Grand
Clan. First husband: Mehmer. Second husband: Rohan.
Seyn, or Seyn’ngh’veighli: The youngest prince of the Third Grand
Clan, the bondmate of Prince Ksar. A Class 5 telepath.
Gynesh, or Gynesh’shni’veighli: Jamil and Seyn’s sister, the Queen-
Consort of the Eighth Grand Clan, married to King Farhat.
Mehmer, or Mehmer’ver’veighli: The first husband of Prince Jamil.
 Rohan, or Rohan’ngh’lavere: The Governor of Tai’Lehr, the leader of
the “rebels,” belongs to a secondary royal line. A Class 5 telepath.
Husband: Prince Jamil.
Tmynne, or Tmynne'shni'veighli: Jamil and Rohan’s biological
daughter, but officially her parents are Jamil and Mehmer.
Sirri: A Tai’Lehrian politician and “rebel,” Rohan’s very distant cousin,
friend, and former lover.

Fifth Grand Clan

Warrehn or Warrehn'ngh'zaver: The Heir, and later the King of the
Fifth Grand Clan. A Class 6 telepath. He was betrothed to Prince Aedan of
the Sixth Grand Clan as a child, but the bond was broken.
Eridan or Eruadarhd’ngh’zaver: The youngest prince of the Fifth
Grand Clan, raised by the mind adepts of the High Hronthar. A Class 5
telepath.
Dalatteya or Dalatteya'il'zaver: “Il’zaver” means that she was adopted
by the Fifth Royal House. She married into a secondary royal line of the
Fifth Grand Clan, the Lavettes, and produced one son, Samir. Although
Warrehn and Eridan call her “Aunt,” she is not related to them by blood.
She has been a capable regent of the Fifth Grand Clan for two decades in
Warrehn’s absence.
Samir or Samir’ngh’lavette: Dalatteya’s son, a distant cousin of
Warrehn and Eridan, belongs to a secondary royal line. With Warrehn
presumed dead, Samir has been raised by his mother to assume the position
of King.

Sixth Grand Clan

Zeyneb or Zeyneb’shni’waari: Queen-Consort and Regent of the Sixth
Grand Clan, Prince Aedan’s mother. She has been pushing for the
amendment to the Bonding Law for years, wanting to break her son’s bond
to Warrehn.
Aedan, or Aedan’ngh’waari: a prince of the Sixth Grand Clan, the
former childhood bondmate of Warrehn. Currently unbonded, soon-to-be
betrothed to the King of Planet Zicur.

Members of High Hronthar:

 Master Amara Ghyn Idhron: The eldest Master in the Chapter, the
living leader of the Idhron lineage.
Master Blaine: A Master who was demoted to the rank of Master
Acolyte after his relationship with his apprentice was discovered.
Master Castien Idhron: The youngest Master in the High Hronthar’s
history, later the Grandmaster of the Order.
Master Kato: The Grandmaster of the Order before Tethru and Castien.
Master Sylas: The former Master of the High Hronthar, a renowned
wiper that left the Order.
Master Tethru: A senior member of the Chapter, becomes the
Grandmaster after Kato’s death.
Master Tker: A Master that specializes in meditation, assigned to teach
Eridan.
Master Zaid Idhron: A prominent Master and a member of the
Chapter, part of the Idhron lineage.
Irrene: Castien’s secretary after he becomes the Grandmaster.
Javier: Castien’s pleasure servant, a member of the servicing
department.
Kyran: A former apprentice of Master Blaine who was transferred to
the servicing department because of his relationship with his Master.