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BUT HE THAT DARES NOT GRASP THE THORN, SHOULD NEVER CRAVE THE ROSE

⸶Night One: THORNS⸷

In a world of frequently broken magical alliances and centuries-old grudges, the annual Crystal Rose Festival offers a neutral ground for the powerful to forgive slights and negotiate truces. Weapons are ostensibly left at the door, and potential new pacts are signalled by picking and wearing magical roses that grow only during the festival.

This year’s festival holds optimistic, if naïve promise; the first in five years after the fatally disastrous outcome of the last one, with Swain’s reputation still not recovered and no one having seen Zyra since she’d gone into protective custody. The decision to move the fête to Ionia had been the necessary measure to put the aristocracy at ease once more; even though Talon himself remained behind bars, no one had wanted to risk holding the event again in territory with so much lingering Du Couteau influence, disgraced though the family was.

The selection of the host had been equally as essential. The man known as “The Boss” may have come from lowly origins, but it was his self-made influence and open—if profane—interest in simply making the best deals that had distinguished him as the ideal architect for the revamped festival. Sett wasn’t really seen as a man playing one side of the fence or the other, and that was what the upper echelons had valued. A neutral space controlled by a more or less neutral man, where no Family, other than the Solari who ruled everything anyway, would have the home advantage.

However, for one near totally forgotten Family, this couldn’t have been more bitterly further from the truth.

The massive front doors arch over Aphelios, and after silently relinquishing his weapons to a butler, he passes through them and out of the humid summer night, unconsciously holding his breath. The vial of noctum hidden in the pendant of his necklace goes undetected, as he had hoped it would. The mansion is mind-blowingly large, and every last inch of it screams of that tacky lack of taste signature to so many nouveau-riche . Hardly surprising. What Aphelios does know of Sett is unimpressive at best, despicable at worst. So, it follows that such a low-life, who, Aphelios thinks, wouldn’t know the integrity of tradition if it bit him in the ass, would spend vast portions of his excessive fortune on vulgar, showy displays of wealth.

Still, no one can criticize The Boss for a job half-done; every new room that Aphelios explores as he discretely maps the house and searches for his target is decorated from top to bottom in homages to the aesthetic of the first night of the Crystal Rose Festival: ‘Thorns.’ The assassin himself blends right in, his finery of the highest quality and his three-piece suit in darker, velvet tones in accordance with the first theme, and the half-mask he wears is a gorgeous abstract depiction of a tangle of briars. 

What the other partygoers do not know is that, unlike their masks—fanciful emulations of animals, or confections of dark lace and feather and crystal, but for the whimsy of costume only—the one Aphelios wears protects a dangerous secret, that if revealed, would cost the young man his life. For his mask happens to conceal the dark, indelible marks of a ritual tattoo, and a dead giveaway that he is a member of the Lunari Family.

He and his sister, Alune, should be able to be here at the festival of the Crystal Rose, unashamed of their allegiances and unafraid to reveal their identities. They were born to power, to nobility, to aristocracy—their Family was so old that the years of their lineage stretched back further than an upstart like Sett could count. And yet, after what the Solari had done and how much of their Family had been wiped out and disgraced, to such an extent that many were under the impression the Lunari no longer even existed… Aphelios necessarily degrades himself, pretending to be some unimportant, inconsequential guest just happy to partake in the merrymaking, while his sister cannot even risk leaving their manor. Though her grooming was cut short, she is still the only one alive that was tutored in the traditions and secrets of managing the Lunari. And so, she is forced to wait, a prisoner in her own home, for her brother to report back with whatever intelligence he’ll be able to glean from the three consecutive nights of festivities.

Well, that is… if he is unable to execute his primary objective; the one that he has the least chance of pulling off successfully, but which would have the greatest immediate impact for the Family. His fingers alight on the pendant of his necklace, wherein there is just enough noctum poison to kill a person, closing their throat up tight and inflicting a silent suffocation death of immense suffering. But he quickly, naturally drops his gloved hand back to his side, moving through the growing crowds with no haste, with the practiced carefree attitude of someone grateful just to be there and have the chance to enjoy himself… the only clue that might ever give him away are his cunning, violet eyes, taking in his surroundings with a glint that’s just a little too incisive to belong to someone there merely to have fun at a fancy party. He also does not immediately realize that he, too, is being observed carefully. A golden, animal gaze filled with its own canny intelligence follows the Lunari wherever he goes.

Entering into the salon, Aphelios looks around as if nothing especially holds his interest, but this dispassion belies two truths. For on every wall that isn’t the paned glass of the massive windows and French doors leading to the starlight-spangled garden, are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. And by the looks of it the library is a good one, he can tell by the bindings that these are old, rare, bonafide classics. Something like this, this wealth of knowledge that Aphelios would so love to lose himself within during his infrequent leisure moments, and that reminds him of the library of his childhood… he can't help but think it should belong to the Lunari Family. Not a money-grubbing thug like Sett, who may dress fancily, may have his mansion decked out to impress, but would never make more of himself than a goon everyone tolerated because he could get them what they needed. Treasures like these should be enjoyed by those who could appreciate them, not use them as props.

And the second thing that pulls Aphelios’ attention is a woman just outside the room, through the open doors and chatting with other guests by a fountain, whose auburn hair is instantly recognizable. She may be masked, but her attire is far from anonymous; everything about her costume indicates that she is the Solari Family representative, and if the magic flower buds held in her conversation partners’ hands are any sign, she is already receiving several offers of allegiance. 

A powerful flame of rage flares inside the Aphelios’ belly, but it gutters instantly, because he suppresses it, because he must. He’s achieved one of his goals—an easy one, to be sure—but a significant part of him risking attending the party in the first place was to keep stealthy tabs on what business Leona conducted. So long as he found ways to anonymously pass by her at key moments, such as this one, or read her lips from a distance, his attendance at the Crystal Rose Festival would be a success. If he was presented with opportunities to sew some doubts about Solari integrity without raising suspicion, he would take them, and of course… if there was somehow a divinely given opportunity for him to deliver the contents of his pendant into Leona’s drink without getting caught, he would take that too. But in formulating their plan, the Lunari twins had agreed that there was no rush. They were certainly not interested in risking the overarching redemption of their Family name for the chance at some easily botched, petty revenge on Leona, who was hardly the person the siblings held most responsible for their suffering and loss. Her death would throw the Solari Family into turmoil, which only meant greater opportunities for Aphelios and Alune, but assassinating Leona would not solve their long-term problems.

Purposefully, Aphelios takes his eyes away from her and lets them rove over the bookshelves for a few moments, confirming that the books are hidden gems, so much so he’d consider stealing some if it wouldn’t be such an egregious risk to his true purpose if he got caught. When he has acted the part of absorbed bookworm for long enough, he lets his gaze flicker to a point past Leona’s head, seeing with his peripheral vision that the magical flowers have not yet been given to her, without needing to stare. Several more times he repeats this little performance, and unsurprisingly, no one seems to even register some book-lover nobody’s presence. It’s finally after about five minutes of this that Aphelios detects a change in the body language of one of the men speaking with Leona, and he decides it's time to leisurely stroll out into the garden and find a way to unobtrusively eavesdrop, as it seems as if their deal is approaching its agreement.

“That ain’t even half the collection,” a confident voice comes from right beside Aphelios, nearly startling him and certainly interrupting him from going out into the garden as he’d planned. He turns to face its owner, realizing with dismay that the fur-covered beast ears that no mask could hide mean that this giant man in a dark turquoise suit is none other than the party host himself, the man Aphelios has so little respect for, if not active hatred. 

Sett.

“Want me to show you the library? Ya seemed like you were enjoyin’ lookin’ at the books. Can’t say I’ve read any of ‘em myself, but you seemed to like ‘em well enough.”

Sett’s mask is that of a stylized wolverine, cast in material the colour of dark iron. A family crest of sorts, except that Sett the beast-man bastard doesn’t have a family pedigree worth a crest. The contrast makes his creature eyes, golden with their predator’s slitted pupils, seem to glow. On his lapel is a crystal rose boutonniere, an un-bloomed magical flower whose true colour will not be revealed until it unfurls on the third night; provided Sett gives it to someone as a token of allegiance.

It would seem like bad luck to catch the eyes of the party host himself, but Aphelios has too much experience and has been punished by too much subterfuge to attribute this sudden interest to mere bad luck. There’s a remote possibility Sett knows who he really is, might even have been asked to keep an eye out for him, considering how deeply in Solari pockets the Vastayan seems to be as of late. The twins had never received any indication the Solari knew they had survived, but it was always prudent to assume your enemies were competent. In any case, made clear from Sett’s remarks, Aphelios has been watched attentively, which is bad.

Aphelios maintains eye contact for a moment longer before acting like he’s been overcome with shyness, giving a bashful smile and small shake of his head, wordlessly declining Sett’s offer. Hopefully Sett will let him be, leaving the impression in this oaf’s head that Aphelios is just a blushing partygoer without the guts to talk to The Boss, much less be carrying out any kind of sabotage. 

Aphelios is shocked when his little act seems to have the exact opposite of its intended effect, and Sett boldly but gently reaches to catch his arm, preventing the assassin from leaving.

“What are you, mute or somethin’? No need to be so shy when I’m talkin’ to ya.”

While he is able to keep the disgust out of his actual facial expression, Aphelios cannot prevent the way his eyes darken with disdain for this scummy thug who’s apparently willing to be this pushy with complete strangers. It also heightens Aphelios’ suspicions even further, but it’s just as likely Sett is a man accustomed to getting what he wants, when he wants, without the patience or class to respect when something (or someone) isn’t his.

“I can speak,” Aphelios tells him demurely, quirking his lips up in a way he knows will telegraph the false impression that his shyness comes from being intimidated and attracted by Sett. Aphelios has dealt with plenty of men just like this, and their inflated egos always made for the easiest of targets. “Your estate is lovely. I did not mean to get so side-tracked by the books, when such a well planned party is happening all around.”

Sett stares down at the smaller man, his wolverine mask obscuring much of the expression on his face. After a moment he emits an unexpected sound, something between a grunt and a scoff, and certainly not the receptive flirtation Aphelios was hoping to elicit. Perhaps the rumours are wrong, and Sett does not dally with men the way people say he does.

“The house is alright,” Sett says so candidly it’s almost a non-sequitur. “Thanks for the compliment, though. I just ain’t used to all this grandiosity yet, t’be honest with ya.”

Interesting, Aphelios can’t help but think. Perhaps it’s just false modesty?

“So, didja want to see the library? C’mon, I’ll take ya there myself.” Sett releases Aphelios’ arm to hold out his own, bent and held aloft, offered for Aphelios to take like some kind of virginal maiden being escorted. It may inflame his pride, but it’s also a gesture that leaves the assassin with no choice but to accept, or else he risks huge offense.

After a moment, Aphelios casts his eyes sweetly to the floor and reluctantly rests one of his gloved hands on Sett’s forearm, allowing himself to be guided through the mansion by the beast-man, distinctly away from Leona, his thoughts thrown into turmoil. 

As they walk through room after room, all decorated completely in the deep, romantic tones of the theme, all to be changed for the next night of festivities tomorrow, Aphelios pivots mentally. He may have zero respect for this meathead who got where he is by selling his integrity (if he’d ever had any to begin with), but it’s becoming increasingly clear that to underestimate Sett would be a mistake. The Lunari is not so naïve to let himself be fooled that it’s something like his exceptional beauty or how well his suit fits him that is the reason for The Boss’s sudden, concentrated attention; why he is, perhaps intentionally, being led away from his target.

But as they arrive in the library, a sprawling, two-floored room with more books than Aphelios has ever seen, it becomes fairly clear through the intensity of his lingering stares and the cutesy, flippant remarks he makes, that Sett is flirting and is sexually interested, which just further muddles the younger man’s conviction. While he is extremely experienced in handling targets, this is the first time he’s really felt like he’ll have to make a significant decision on his priorities on his own. He desperately wishes Alune could guide him right now; his sister had always had a much better grasp on the bigger picture than Aphelios felt he did. He wishes he could be confident what the right call is now… if he should find a way to politely disentangle himself from the interested half-Vastayan or if he should lean into the flirtation, essentially changing his target to the party host, with seduction as his goal.

…It’s not a terrible plan, considering how much Aphelios suspects of Sett’s involvement with the Solari, how essential he is in procuring what they need; Sett’s assistance in greasing the social cogs was what had enabled the meteoric rise of the Solari to aristocratic supremacy after the disgrace of the Lunari… and it’s even quite possible Sett himself had a hand in the crimes perpetrated again his clan. On the one hand, if Sett is truly the manipulable, dumb, greedy scoundrel Aphelios suspects he is, encouraging the beast-man’s ardour could be quite the advantage. And in the event that Sett is actually a bit smarter than he’s being given credit for, and he is pointedly and intelligently interfering with Aphelios’ subversion, well, then… keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as the saying went. He’ll just have to pray that Alune agrees with his call to let Leona go for this first evening, that he hasn’t made some mistake he’ll only fully comprehend with his sister’s insight.

“You look like you’re enjoyin’ yourself, I can see it all over your pretty face,” Sett smirks, which Aphelios finds irritating, but automatically he returns the flirtation with a coy smile of his own. “Your family doesn’t have books like this, I take it? ‘N hey, what should I call ya anyway?”

Even with his low opinion of the party host, Aphelios realizes that the question about books was not intended with rudeness, but it just proves that Sett doesn’t belong amongst the aristocracy. Aphelios answers back neutrally, dodging the question about his name as well.

“I am afraid I am not one of the guests from a lineage important enough to be here to make alliances,” Aphelios injects the perfect amount of chagrined modesty into his body language. “And I definitely do not come from anywhere that is so important it would boast a library such as this…”

He turns to face Sett where they’ve come to a stop in the middle of the massive room, letting a little smile play about his lips. “And,” he playfully inclines his head, an intentional glimmer in his eye, “does it not defeat some of the purpose of a masque-ball to inquire after people’s names? If I do not bear a crest, then I am no one.”

Sett seems to take the bait, and Aphelios can see the beast-man’s evident interest. His eyes take in Aphelios as if the young man is a riddle to be solved, a puzzle box to be pried open. Pathetic, really. All it took were a few smiles and self-deprecating remarks and it’s already enough to have Sett firmly on his hook.

“You don’t look like ‘no one’ to me,” Sett returns, gently guiding Aphelios with a hand on the small of his back through to the end of the room, where a set of doors leads somewhere outside. “Hell, out of all the people here, I saw ya ‘n thought to myself, that pretty bookworm is probably the only one worth knowin’.”

Clumsy wooing, Aphelios thinks before his instinct pricks. Clumsy wooing, or a disguised way to ask Aphelios more about himself, not that he would be tripped up by such ham-handed probing. He permits Sett to guide him through the doors to what turns out to be a first-floor balcony, bathed in the light of the full moon and fairly isolated from the rest of the attendees, though it’s not very high up at all. The fact that Sett has led them this far from the heart of the party also triggers more of Aphelios’ warning signals, but he’s vigilant about keeping any suspicion out of his face and body language.

“You call me pretty, but you cannot even see half my face for this mask,” the Lunari mocks playfully, a rare time when he has not thought through the implications of what he’s saying, and Sett doesn’t a miss a beat.

“You could always take it off ‘n show me I’m right.”

Even if it’s just coquetry, Aphelios’ blood runs cold as he considers the implications of revealing his facial tattoos. 

“Where would the fun be in that?” he recovers adeptly. “And shouldn’t the host be with his more high-profile guests? I feel guilty for monopolizing the valuable attention of The Boss.”

Both men come to stand side by side at the railing, looking out into the garden below; this section of it boasting a massive hedge maze. While they can hear the giggles of party guests ‘lost’ within, the green walls are too high for them to see over, even on the balcony. Consequently, it feels like no one can see them, either. Aphelios can’t help but notice the way Sett’s large animal ears flicker automatically, swivelling in the direction of the laughter.

“The host ain’t all that important at these things, really. Just provide the venue ‘n the food ‘n you're good to go.” Then, with much more self-awareness than Aphelios identifies, Sett continues, “besides… I’ve always been a believer in doin’ what ya want, when ya want, to get what ya want. Don’t you agree?”

Sett stares hard at Aphelios, and the younger man returns the intense gaze, holding the eye contact even as he watches Sett’s pupils slit as the moonlight brightens. Both the remark and this confrontation with Sett’s inhumanness reinforce Aphelios’ intuition that The Boss is actually very dangerous, and that this weird doublespeak flirtation they’ve been carrying on has been orchestrated just as carefully by the beast-man as by the assassin.

“Well, there are certainly many ways to get what one wants...” Aphelios confirms cryptically, deciding to use Sett's response to test just how dangerous he is.

With Sett’s reply, it’s clear the test has been recognized, and The Boss will respond, loud and clear. “Yeah. That’s also why I ain’t great with this fancy party, empty diplomacy shit. Sure, it feels like a way to accomplish somethin’, but me? I’m much more familiar with the straightforward options. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with usin’ force, right? Talk is cheap.”

The words send a shiver down Aphelios’ spine. It's incontrovertible. 

Sett knows. 

Accordingly, Aphelios takes the remark as a threat. He replies tentatively, choosing his words with excruciating care, deciding to break the eye contact finally. “Talk may be cheap… but force can backfire just as quickly. If you do not spend time talking, you risk not knowing… who, or what, it is you are dealing with.”

Aphelios’ heart is beginning to race in his chest, and he feels more confused than ever. He shouldn’t be having this conversation with Sett, and he has to do something that diffuses, or at least changes, the direction of the thinly veiled dialogue they’re having now. At a loss, he recommits to his earlier plan, one of seduction, because he can still sense Sett’s palpable sexual interest emanating from him, and it feels like the safest foothold to get things back on track. He calms himself, turning away from the railing and towards Sett, slowly pulling off one of his gloves as he speaks again, Sett’s rapt fixation on the movement of his hand and the exposure of his skin serving as the assurance Aphelios needs to escalate the flirtation.

“…After all,” he murmurs, reaching out a bare finger, pressing the pad of it onto one of the stylized thorns on Sett’s epaulette until it pierces. “Even beautiful roses have their thorns, do they not?”

The Lunari watches as Sett’s pupils blow wide, and as he tries to withdraw his hand, the dew-drop of blood looking black on his fingertip under the moonlight, the beast-man quickly reaches to catch his wrist, holding him tightly.

The little bead of blood seems meaningful, metaphorical almost; both men seem to have a very good idea of who the other actually is, the impact they may have already had in each other’s lives without yet meeting. Sett may have been one of the people most helpful in what the Solari had secretly done to the Lunari, and certainly, Aphelios would not hesitate to neutralize such a threat if this proved true. But Aphelios’ recommendation of being careful of who you were dealing with had been as much about the beast-man’s clients as it had been about his own concealed nature as an assassin. On the off-chance that Sett was not, in fact, aware of the depths of depravity the Solari were willing to descend, then this was Aphelios’ coded way of telling this upstart interloper to be much more discerning regarding with whom he made deals.

Aphelios had planned on licking his own blood clean, a gesture to get Sett to focus on his mouth, the way the half-Vastaya had fixated on his bared hand. Aphelios knew how and where to draw the attention of a target. But he does not resist as Sett brings the pale hand near to his own mouth, smiling as he pauses to speak, revealing his pointed teeth.

“I ain’t worried about thorns ,” Sett replies in a low, rough voice, and Aphelios understands incontrovertibly that Sett is a willing participant in this game. “I got the fangs to defend myself.”

Aphelios watches as Sett’s sharp teeth part to admit his injured finger… where he’d planned on igniting Sett’s interest in his mouth, the assassin finds himself transfixed by Sett’s instead. He wants those teeth in him, in his flesh. He spends a breathless moment anticipating the contact, and when his finger is pressed to the wet heat of Sett’s tongue, he cannot prevent the frisson that shudders through his entire body. 

Sett laps at the blood, his tongue rough. Warmth rises to colour Aphelios’ cheeks, and very not according to his little plan, he feels himself stiffen in his pants, and before he can help it, wonders if Sett is aroused as well.

However, before the thought can gain much traction, pain electrifies Aphelios’ hand; Sett has bitten down, enough to break the skin. Though he can’t help but wince, Aphelios makes no move to snatch his hand away, and if anything, he becomes even harder, a situation that is not improved when Sett begins to suck and lick at the new injury he's caused, an expression of admiration and enjoyment fairly easily readable on his handsome face, masked though it is. Aphelios understands that this was a test, and that he has naturally passed. It emboldens the Lunari, who moves his free hand to stroke Sett’s thigh, slowly moving upwards to his crotch, slow enough that Sett could stop him, if he wanted to. But instead Sett’s only response is to finally release Aphelios’ other hand, giving him use of both so that the assassin can unbutton the front of his suit pants, where the beast-man’s own thick arousal is plain to see and even easier to feel through the fabric.

This will be far from the first time that Aphelios has used sex as a weapon, but it’s one of the only times he can remember feeling a twinge of real, visceral hunger as he pulls Sett’s half-erect cock from his pants. The sheer size of it is a little intimidating, even only half-hard, but Aphelios trusts his experience, and on several levels is looking forward to utilizing his talents to earn Sett’s submission. He knows how to reduce a person to putty under his tongue and hands. He is determined that The Boss will be no exception.

It’s a task that’s made much easier, much more pleasurable when Aphelios privately acknowledges the sincerity of his excitement; he is physically attracted to Sett, is looking forward to tasting him, and since Sett has proven that he’s far from a dim-witted moron, the Lunari derives enjoyment from playing this game with a willing, worthy adversary.

Seemingly uncaring that they are out in the open air, Sett does nothing to stifle his moan as Aphelios kneels and without hesitation, takes Sett into his mouth.

It’s delicious ecstasy, the way Aphelios can feel Sett’s cock swelling, and he tests himself by deep-throating him while Sett is still half-soft, moving his tongue and constricting his throat until Sett is so erect that Aphelios gags harshly, which causes the beast-man to moan afresh. He clutches fistfuls of Aphelios’ purple hair, and the Lunari can’t help but notice that Sett doesn’t use the control to skullfuck him like he’d honestly expected and was ready for. He pushes down the weird rise of emotions that this small show of consideration causes within him, putting his whole focus into making this what is hopefully the most unforgettable oral sex of the Vastayan’s life.

He grips the base of Sett’s cock, restricting the flow of blood so that every ministration of his tongue is felt even more acutely. In response, a salty flavour floods his tastebuds, and before he can stop himself he moans around Sett’s cock. He can tell that Sett bathed that morning, but there is just enough of his distinct musk that, coupled with the taste of Sett’s precum, Aphelios is so turned on the tip of his own erection grows wet. He decides not to silence his own voice, and the way he feels Sett’s cock twitch in answer to the vibrations just exacerbates the crumbling of Aphelios’ inhibition. 

Suddenly he feels Sett’s hands move, and he starts, sure that the other is capitalizing on the Lunari’s lowered guard to tear his mask off for a fatal aha! moment. But it never comes; Sett’s moving his hands only to rake his fingers through Aphelios’ hair, pointedly avoiding the tied ribbon affixing the bramble mask to Aphelios’ face. Feeling Sett’s fingers across his scalp produces an effervescent full body blush within the Lunari, a sublime shiver so potent his tummy flips. It also makes Aphelios so hot that he gives in and does something he never has with a target before; he reaches into his own pants and begins to touch himself. But his attention to Sett doesn’t diminish, if anything, his own pleasure infuses his technique with raw passion. Low, purring growls are rumbling from the Vastayan’s chest, and when the tip of Aphelios’ tongue finds Sett’s slit, he tastes even more of the viscous saltiness.

Aphelios looks up, cheeks luminous and rosy under the moonlight, and Sett returns the eye contact, jaw slack, panting. But then his golden gaze drops lower, taking in Aphelios’ hand in his own pants, and his lips perk enough that his fangs peek out.

“…I’ll fuck you if ya want me to,” he rasps. “I wanna fuck you.”

It’s hopeless to try and rein his thoughts into pure rationality—what would be best for Aphelios’ mission, what would give him the greatest strategic advantage. He does attempt to clear the haze in his head long enough to process that this can only mean his seduction was effective, and there is no clear disadvantage to having sex with Sett that he can see. But when he pulls away from Sett and nods his head, it’s because he wants to.

Aphelios rises, pulling down his own pants and leaning against the railing, steadying his breathing as he hears Sett spit into his hand, the Vastayan’s slicked fingers against his hole a moment later. Having been both the giver and the recipient, Aphelios is intimately familiar with how to control his body, and very quickly, three of Sett’s thick fingers can fit inside, move in and out with ease. 

Aphelios knows it’s still going to hurt, Sett’s sheer size basically guarantees it, but he’s impatient, his heart is in his throat with need. Still, he manages to stay in character, and says something constructed to tantalize the beast-man even further:

“I can’t wait any longer,” he says, not keeping the pleading out of his voice even though his pride still flickers at the pretending. “I want you now.”

Truthfully, Aphelios was expecting some kind of uncontrollable reaction, a small cue that shows he’s shaken Sett a little, made him lose a modicum of his cool—a flick of his ears, a lick of his lips. But looking over his shoulder as he feels Sett’s swollen crown against his entrance, he sees that Sett’s Vastayan ears are rigid, alert and tuned forward. Something about this feels like defeat. Aphelios is determined to do something that makes The Boss’s ears relax, or better yet, melt low with submission or bliss.

They look at each other once more, and this time, the eye contact is so cerebral, its effect is chilling. Aphelios’ brief loss of discipline is inverted, all at once he’s too aware of where he is and why, why this isn’t just two men enjoying themselves, why it’s sexual, mental and political warfare they both happen to be physically enjoying. The eye contact is broken as Sett pushes inside, one hand on the Lunari’s shoulder, pulling him back onto his cock, and as predicted, there is pain, Aphelios shuts his eyes against it and focuses on relaxing. He still has it in mind to make this sex exceptional for Sett, and if he gets hurt in the process, he won’t be able to.

But something has shifted a little; the animal grunts and moans that Aphelios had drawn with his tongue seemingly from deep within Sett’s guts are now wholly absent, soon there is only the slap of skin on skin and heavy breathing. Aphelios is just beginning to feel comfortable enough to move against Sett when the beast-man withdraws all of a sudden, pulling out a handkerchief and finishing himself into it with a little gasp before Aphelios can even make heads or tails of how to react. Some small part of him registers disappointment; his preference with his actual lovers was for them to cum inside, to heat him up and soak his insides despite the mess… and Sett couldn’t even be bothered to give him a warning. The abrupt finish and Sett’s weirdly polite thanks just drive home that none of this had been initiated from any genuine place from either party host or assassin.

“Ahh,” Sett sighs, satisfied but not overly so, tucking himself back into his clothes and re-fastening his pants. “I enjoyed that, you felt great. Guess I was right about how well I’d get along with the pretty bookworm.”

Aphelios offers a weird, forced smile as he redresses himself, though it doesn’t seem as if Sett sees it anyway. A peculiar, unpleasant feeling is tugging on the floor of Aphelios stomach, and he identifies it, not a moment too soon.

He realizes he has no control over Sett—they may have fucked and had some fun, but certainly there was no advantage earned that Aphelios could be sure of. He feels like he let the handsome beast-man distract him, that if there is any ‘winner’ tonight, it’s Sett, who he’d been so sure was an uncultured moron up until an hour ago, until he’d understood the prowess of who he was dealing with.

“You alright?” Sett checks, and the fact that he has to ask feels like another defeat for Aphelios. His metaphorical mask has fallen long enough for the other to notice, even though his physical mask is steadfastly in place. “I didn’t hurt ya or nothin’, did I?”

Aphelios seizes on the pretext, misdirecting any potential suspicion. “It’s alright, I’ll return home and feel better after a bath. It’s just… you are the biggest I’ve taken.”

It might be low hanging fruit but what man’s pride wouldn't appreciate the compliment, and Aphelios thinks that this is why Sett approaches and begins smiling with satisfaction. He gets so close to where Aphelios is leaning with his back against the railing that the assassin assumes he’s going to come in for a kiss—their first of the night, despite their other intimacy—but the Vastayan does not. He stops a half-foot away, reaching to pull the magical rose from his lapel…tucking it behind Aphelios’ ear.

For a split second Aphelios is elated, the gift of any magical rose is hugely significant, and means that his attendance is mandatory on the third night, when the flower will bloom and reveal its distinct colour, signifying the nature of the alliance Sett has just offered him. A totally unforeseen outcome, after their gameplaying and toying with each other. Aphelios had never even dared to hope that somehow he’d seduce Sett into giving him a rose.

But any victorious relief is shattered in the next instant as Sett leans close, speaking into Aphelios’ ear.

“Be vigilant on your way home,” he warns. “They know who you are, and if you’re followed, they’ll see you ain’t the last of your clan after all. You understand me?”

Aphelios mouth goes dry, and queasy nausea surges. Sett’s tone may be of warning, but Aphelios takes it as a threat.

It’s no longer safe, it’s far too dangerous to be here, playing games like this when a misstep could be fatal, Sett has just told him so.

There’s nothing he dares to say in reply, and so he delivers a vicious, rebellious glare instead (and he can’t help but notice that Sett does seem surprised by this total dropping of his metaphorical mask) and in a swift decisive motion, Aphelios agilely swings over the balcony railing, hanging onto it for an extra second so that he merely needs to drop down the remaining few feet, landing safely and quickly sprinting into the shadows, lost to the darkness of midnight.

From the balcony Sett watches him leave. Yes, it had all gone as smoothly as possible and the other had done just as he had hoped—for it was exactly his intention that the younger man would leave suddenly and via a backyard balcony, since it was as close as he could get to guaranteeing no one would follow the suspected Lunari hitman until Sett figured out a better way to deal with all of this. But the beast-man can’t totally prevent the sliver of worry he feels, accompanied by the disappointed acceptance that, though he’d done the right thing by scaring Aphelios, it likely means that their paths will never cross again.

A shame, really.

⸶⁂⸷

Alune immediately identifies that something is very wrong; whether it’s through her abilities as the trained head of the Lunari clan, or just because she knows her twin so well, the outcome is the same. Practically in the same moment that he appears in front of her, returned to their secret manor in the small hours of the morning after ensuring he was not being trailed as Sett had threatened, she asks him what went awry.

He pauses, at a loss for where to start or how to diagnose exactly where the problems began, but after a few moments of standing in silent crisis, he joins her by the massive fireplace, sitting across from her in a plush armchair. Though they are alone in the room now, Aphelios knows anything he says will be relayed to their last remaining consigliere, Taric, an older man who had been the only one to see foresee the danger the Family was in those years ago, though even then, not in time to do aught but protect the two preteen heirs of the direct Lunari bloodline. Alune still relies heavily on him for guidance, though it is her word that is final.

Finally, Aphelios starts in the place that makes the most sense. The most crucial, unexpected thing he’d learned from Sett.

“They knew,” he tells her dryly, and though her facial expressions are reserved, he can see how her eyes harden in the firelight. “They expected our Family would send someone, and I believe they knew it was I who was at the Festival.”

Alune gathers her thoughts, before making her incisive inquiries. “You do not speak as if you are incontrovertibly sure, brother. For the Solari to know… did you have a confrontation with someone? Or did you discover this through some other method…?”

Aphelios has never lied to his sister, certainly not when it came to matters that concerned their safety and perhaps even the survival of their Family, whatever remained of it. He has no intention to leave out anything pertinent regarding Sett, especially since his sister is aware of and supports his tactical use of his physical charm as well as his strength.

“The host told me,” Aphelios reveals, and almost as an afterthought, he reaches up and pulls the crystal rose from where the Vastayan had tucked it behind his ear. “He gave me this, and told me to make sure I was not shadowed home, because ‘they know who am, and if I am followed, they will see that I am not the last of our clan.’”

Aphelios remembers the mask and strips it off too, rubbing his long fingers across his eyes and forehead, as if he can wipe away the frustrated exhaustion furrowing his brow. But after digesting what he feels is a monumental wrench in their plans, he sees Alune’s countenance has changed, and it’s clear she sees some advantage Aphelios has missed.

“The host himself gave you that rose and that information? Sett did? This is fortuitous, very fortuitous, I believe… under what circumstances did he disclose this information? Tell me what happened and how he came to speak with you.”

Factually, Aphelios recounts the night, describing how Sett had begun flirting with him in nearly the same moment he had decided to get closer to Leona, how the beast-man had intentionally isolated him, how he had been extremely receptive to his sexual advances.

“My aim was to seduce him,” he explains, “since I could not discern an appropriate way to get rid of him, with his interest so pointed. I was successful. But it became very clear to me that whatever physical act we shared, it held no emotional or strategic sway over him. I am sorry I was not able to get him more under my control, perhaps I… no, I did underestimate him. He is not the brainless pawn we thought him to be. I tried to gain some advantage, but I failed.”

“Did you, though?” Alune asks, her eyes gleaming and an intelligent smile on her lips. “We had assumed he was a game piece for the Solari, that he was either too stupid to know what he helped facilitate, or that he was a willing participant. But do you not see? I believe neither may be the case…”

Aphelios sits up, intrigued, relieved. He had been sure the night was catastrophic, and especially in allowing himself to get so caught up in what was supposed to be a purely cerebral game, he had made a fatal blunder.

“It is clear from his words and his actions that he was told to watch for you. It is likely the Solari tasked him with ensuring you did not sabotage anything, should you dare to attend in secret. And he intercepted you, yes, led you away, yes, but to give you that rose and to gift you with a crucial revelation. He was showing you he knows that the Solari cannot be trusted, that he may be willing to help us. The colour of the rose will reveal all. But for now it is clear to me that he wanted you to know you were at risk so you could be safer, and that he is willing to protect you, even if that means preventing you from getting too close to Solari.”

She leans forward, outstretching her hand, in which Aphelios places the unbloomed magical flower. She stares at it, and as if her moods are his own, the palpable excitement he can see in her mannerisms becomes his.

“Don’t you see, Phel? You were only safe at that party when we assumed that all, most especially the Solari, believed us exterminated. But in Sett warning you, he made us aware that this is not the case, that the Solari were concerned enough about our revenge that they made their ‘fixer’ run interference.”

She leans forward, handing the rose back to her brother delicately, treating it like a treasure.

“The oath that rose represents is a contract, Aphelios. I think it is Sett’s way of telling us he may be willing to rectify the way his involvement with the Solari helped destroy us.”

Thumbing the glassy outer petals of the rose, Aphelios nearly lets himself get carried away, almost believing they’ve managed to gain a formidable ally where they had expected little better than basic political intel, but he soon snags on a worry.

“How can you be sure that this rose is not the bait in a trap? It may be exactly Sett’s plan to use it to draw me back, to fool us into thinking we can trust him completely. Wasn’t that Noxian clan betrayed on a Crystal Rose oath? These allegiances are far from unbreakable.”

“I agree, it is a possibility.” Aphelios notices the smile on his sister’s face has not waned, and so he waits for the additional information that’s positive enough to give her such confidence. “But not an immediate one. The magic in those flowers is not merely some parlour trick, it is binding. At least, for long enough that Sett has effectively eliminated himself as a threat for the near future, and with his Vastaya blood… this may be magic the aristocracy appropriated for their own uses, but it is still nature magic. Sett will be bound by it much more potently than any human would. Of course, these spells fade with time, as all things do, but for now, you are safe. You can trust Sett.

“…So find a way to use him, brother. Let him make himself our pawn.”

He poorly understands why, but Aphelios’ heart clenches in his chest when he hears his sister demand this. But it somersaults giddily again when he hears her further instruction:

“You will go back tomorrow. You must seek him out. Find a way to acknowledge what he has given us, and let him know that we will accept his help, with gratitude. He is your only concern now, he has offered us so much more than whatever crumbs we might have collected from spying on Leona. You did well, Aphelios.”

⸶Night Two: BUD⸷

The second night of the Crystal Rose Festival is muggy, and the summer air is thick. Fluffy clouds occasionally cover the moon, waning from full. The humidity is so intense it makes Aphelios uncomfortable, bordering on claustrophobia, not helped in the slightest by his formal clothing; it’s hard to keep the irritation out of his voice when the butler doesn’t immediately understand he has no weapons to relinquish, that he ‘forgot’ them here yesterday. But eventually he’s allowed to pass through into the foyer, where the party is already proving to be in full swing. In accordance with the new dress code, he is attired in another three-piece suit, this time in tones of burgundy and pink, reflecting the second theme of a flower bud. His mask of briars has been exchanged for an aubergine-coloured relief of leaves. It couldn’t be further from his mind right now, but the fact remains, in these hues and with the exquisite tailoring of his suit, he is stunning.

There is someone who does notice this fact immediately; Sett catches sight of Aphelios a moment before the Lunari’s searching gaze finds him, and he hides the pleased smile, wide enough to reveal his fangs, before Aphelios can see.

It’s not the right time to admit it, and perhaps it never will be, but Sett is selfishly glad he was wrong about Aphelios. After seeing the rage and terror in the other’s violet eyes, the beast-man had been sure he would never set foot here again, no matter what protocol demanded of a rose-holder. It may have been safer for Aphelios to stay away, it’s true, but his return opens up so many possibilities. It’s impossible not to be excited.

Sett’s expression is carefully schooled under the same wolverine mask as he lets the assassin approach, though he really has to make the effort to keep another smile off his face as he sees the younger man’s eyes roam from the tips of his ears, all the way down, and slowly, back up again. The Vastayan likes the feeling of being stared at by this stranger, and with concealed pleasure he remembers how good that beautiful mouth felt around him. But he’ll hide all of it, he can maintain the dumb thug act again if need be… he wants Aphelios to play his hand a little first, to give some indication of where he stands after Sett’s gesture last night. 

“Good evening,” Aphelios greets him, giving a respectful little bow of his head. “Your house is even more spectacular than last night. And…”

Sett takes the bait, finally allowing a bit of smirk to colour his features. “‘And’?”

“And those deep reds and purples really suit you,” Aphelios concludes, making no effort to hide how he looks over the fit of Sett’s tuxedo a second time.

“You clean up pretty nice yourself,” Sett returns, meaning it. But then, a cue their game has started again if Aphelios wants to play, Sett draws closer and with a clawed finger, brushes the unbloomed rose adorning the other’s lapel, feeling the faint tug of its magic already. “Your getup wouldn’t have been complete without this, though.”

Aphelios licks his lips and swallows, almost like he’s taste-testing what to say next. Sett waits.

“Am I lucky enough to be able to monopolize the attention of The Boss once more, as I did last night?” An expectant, questioning look.

Sett tilts his head a little, staring down at Aphelios with a purposefully unreadable gaze. The assassin doesn’t need to know that, for reasons he’s not especially motivated to interrogate, the moment he showed up at the party, the Vastayan had lost interest in everyone and everything else anyway. 

“Well, we’ll see. I won’t make ya any promises ‘bout the rest of the night, but I have enough time I can take ya on a tour of the gardens, if ya want.” Then, leaning a little closer and dropping his voice to a low murmur Aphelios barely catches, “I’ll show ya all the stuff you woulda missed while runnin’ off yesterday.”

He is rewarded by a visible blush that emerges from the edge of the leaf mask, and he knows he’s succeeded at getting Aphelios off-step. It’s not that he wants to anger Aphelios or mock him excessively, but until he figures out more of the assassin’s angle and why he’s returned to the party, Sett will play to win.

He watches as the younger man undergoes a visible process of mastering himself, reconfiguring his expression so that his embarrassment no longer shows. Sett likes that the other’s metaphorical mask isn’t so tightly in place as it was last night, and wonders if that’s on purpose.

“Aren’t you going to offer me your arm again?” 

With an amused little huff of air through his nose, Sett obliges, and holds out his bent arm in the gentlemanly gesture Aphelios seemed to hate so much last night, though this time it’s accepted immediately.

Together they emerge into the heady outdoor warmth, almost tropical; Aphelios is already feeling a little breathless between the intense humidity, the raging anxiety he has to contend with considering he is still amongst his enemies, and the nervous excitement to be able to talk more with Sett. For this time, after speaking with his sister and getting her agreement, Aphelios has decided to change the rules of the game a little, too. Instead of concealing with doublespeak and empty flirtation, he’ll play his hand, and let Sett’s reactions to the revelations guide him.

“Shall we try to solve the maze?” Aphelios suggests, with myriad motivations for doing so. The hedge walls he recalls seeing last night will afford a lot of privacy, and hopefully, it will be a time-consuming activity that allows him to keep the Vastayan’s attention solely on him. “Provided the owner of the estate does not already know it like the back of his hand.”

“Nah, I don’t,” Sett admits freely. “That maze wasn’t my idea. A lotta this place has just been kept the way I got it when I bought it all from that bankrupt noble. The one with a ‘V’ in his name, … Kevin or Virgo or some shit. His taste was okay, I guess.”

“So, you lied to me last night?” Aphelios teases, putting in enough pretend indignation that Sett glances over at him to check his sincerity. “The books, the library… it’s all from the old estate you bought. They were not yours.”

Sett grins in response. “Nope, I didn’t lie to ya. I never told ya they were mine, you assumed. I just offered to show the collection to ya. You’re the only person I’ve seen, myself included, who gave a rat’s ass about any of it so far. Books ‘n shit ain’t my thing, but they oughta be enjoyed by the people who do like ‘em.”

Aphelios puts his free hand to his chin, pretending like he’s thinking about it hard, while he tightens the grip he has on Sett’s forearm with his other. 

“No, I suppose that’s true, you did not expressly say they were yours. But you have an awfully counterproductive way of encouraging people to enjoy literature… giving them time only enough to look at the spines but leading them out to secluded balconies before they can actually read a word.”

Sett gives a non-committal laugh as his only response, when Aphelios had hoped for more reciprocal flirting. The truth is that after the conversation with his sister had assuaged his anxieties, Aphelios had not been able to stop thinking about what he’d done with the beast-man. He had touched himself to climax twice while thinking of Sett, but it hadn’t been enough. 

He is very lucky that the strategic nature of his mission to pull The Boss fully into the hold of his orbit coincides so well with the unfulfilled desires of his private heart. But he will not insist on flirting if the Vastayan is going to respond so lukewarmly, as he just had. Aphelios changes tack. 

“You brought me to the balcony to help me,” he says lowly, though he has already prudently confirmed that any partygoers around are much too far to hear their conversation, not that it would be hugely significant for most of them anyway.

This gets a reaction.

Sett’s gait catches a little, though he does keep walking, but slower than before. He stares hard at Aphelios, ears rigid and alert, clearly evaluating this sudden candour from the Lunari who is steadfastly returning his gaze.

“Well,” Sett says finally, mirth in his voice as he looks back to the path, the entrance of the maze in front of them. “I’ll be honest ‘n say I ain’t gonna miss you talkin’ to me like I’m some kinda creepy dumbass too terribly. But there ain’t nothin’ wrong with fallin’ back on our secret language, either. I got all that you were sayin’ last night, without you havin’ to say it. ‘N it’s not a bad idea to be careful. You get me?”

Aphelios’ heartbeat is suddenly pounding in his ears, and his palm feels like it’s burning where it’s making contact with Sett’s arm. It wasn’t as if Aphelios hadn’t realized Sett wasn’t an idiot; the warning he’d given him had shattered that misconception pretty quickly. But hearing Sett’s particular brand of cleverness now, along with the intimate word choice of ‘our secret language’… it sets the assassin’s pulse racing.

“I understand,” he confirms gently, and is rewarded with a cute little flicker of Sett’s ears, and the softening of his cunning golden eyes. 

…No, Aphelios can’t say he minds this specific mission at all.

Concentrating, he thinks of a way to express his concerns in neutralized, veiled code should there be any concealed eavesdroppers hiding behind the walls of the maze, as they make their way inside.

“Can I trust you… to not get us lost?” he asks, but he is not talking about the labyrinth. 

Sett understands, as he promised he would, and answers with metaphors of his own. “Bein’ real honest with ya, we might get into some tight corners. But I think you ‘n I’ll be able to find our way out.”

Aphelios considers this. Coupled with the oath already partially enspelled into the rose in his lapel, Sett does indeed seem to be committed to helping Aphelios, if not more generally the Lunari clan, for some reason. He wants to know why, when all the indications the twins had ever gotten before were that Sett was the lapdog of the corrupted Solari Family.

“Do you know what is inside the maze? This can’t be your first time. Unless you admit you have not seen all the parts of the maze, yet.”

They are properly inside now, the 20ft emerald green hedge walls towering above them, muffling sound, casting dark shadows in the summer moonlight. Somehow, it feels even hotter and more still within, and both men begin to perspire as they follow the first turn to the right.

“Ya got me,” Sett concedes, basically admitting that he had entered into partnership with the Solari without understanding what they were truly capable of. “I figured it had to have some tricks ‘n traps, ‘n I ain’t opposed to some o’ that stuff, but I found out later that, uh… legend has it there was once a whole family who got lost in this maze. Never came out again, no one really knows what happened to ‘em. ‘N those aren’t the kindsa games I play.”

Quite to his surprise, with the earnestness in Sett’s voice and the fact that it’s the first time he’s seen those furry ears lower at all, this pseudo-apology causes a powerful rise of emotion within Aphelios. He suppresses it, he knows it’s foolish to trust someone at their word so quickly, but he cannot help but have a strong reaction to Sett validating what the Solari had done was despicable, and that he hadn’t wanted to help them do it. Aphelios realizes… he wants Sett specifically to have clean hands in this. Or, as clean as possible. It would have caused him pain to hear Sett confess that he “knew the maze” but now wanted forgiveness, to make amends. He’s relieved that the beast-man was more or less uninvolved. It’s still a possibility that the Vastayan is seeking to minimize or sanitize his true involvement, maybe he was the one who helped the saboteurs infiltrate the Lunari clan… but Aphelios finds that he wants to believe in Sett’s transparent sincerity. Unconsciously, he grips at Sett’s ruby sleeve, wrinkling the suit fabric in his fist.

Significantly, the pair have come to the first ‘T’ in the path, and they must decide whether to turn left or continue straight. Their steps halt automatically, and Sett looks down at his companion.

“Your choice, doll. I may not know much, but I do know that if we go left, that’s the path that could lead us right into the centre of the maze. We might really get lost together. ‘S up to you.”

Aphelios thinks hard, before deciding to ask, “what would you do?”

The Lunari’s heart fibrillates as he sees Sett break out into a grin, sharp teeth flashing.

“Me? Well, I’d take my chances goin’ left, ‘cause I think there could be somethin’ really worthwhile if we can find a way to reach the heart of it all.”

Aphelios gives a little sliver of a smile himself. “Left it is, then.”

He feels a giddy shiver glide through him as they take their first steps together, heading deep into the snaking paths of the labyrinth.

Metaphors and allegories aside, Aphelios finds it sweet when it quickly becomes apparent that Sett truly doesn’t know the maze that well and it’s not very long before it really feels as if they are lost, though neither are even remotely bothered by it. Sworn enemies the night before, tonight they seem content to meander, and to get to know each other underneath the masks. It’s far too easy to feel alone in their own little world, a very dangerous thing if they were not willing to trust each other, and it’s only when they pass one or two other bewildered couples that the illusion they are the only two people currently living diminishes at all.

They’ve dropped most of their doublespeak too, because the risky subject matter has been addressed. Sett respectfully does not ask Aphelios anything about himself not safe to discuss in public, but soon the Lunari finds that the Vastayan is a more or less open book about who he is, and he is addicted.

“I am surprised you do not redecorate,” he tells Sett, but with kindness, once they reach the conversation topic of the mansion again. “I don’t mean for the Festival. I just would think that having someone else’s relics and their taste and aesthetic all around you… it would not feel like home.”

“You’re right,” the beast-man agrees breezily as he randomly chooses to turn right at a fork, and Aphelios happily follows. “It doesn’t feel like home. But it never will, ‘cause the only home I’ll ever have is my momma’s cottage. It’s the only home I want, too. All this super fancy shit is just good for keepin’ up appearances, gettin’ people to take me more seriously.”

He turns to Aphelios, grinning cheekily. “Don’t get the wrong impression, though. I definitely ain’t sayin’ I don’t care for luxury. My problem is that the kinda luxury I like doesn’t land too well with you old bloodline richie-riches. ‘N I’m willin’ to chameleon a little if it means you aristocrats’ll take yer noses outta the air long enough to trust me with your business.”

Aphelios half-smiles at the accurate criticism.

 ‘’N that’ll mean that me ‘n my momma’ll never have to want for anythin’ ever again,” Sett continues. “I never want that woman to wonder where the money for tomorrow’s meals is gonna come from. I promised her those days were over, ‘n I keep my promises.”

This gives the younger man pause, because it’s such a simple, pure motivation. Sett doesn’t hide that he likes the flashy perks of being rich and influential, but Aphelios chooses to believe what the beast-man says, that this is not some kind of amoral power game to him like it is to so many; he’s doing it to protect and cherish what he loves.

Most knew that Sett was a bastard, he made no effort to hide that either, not that he could have if he’d wanted to. His mixed heritage was spoken of amongst the aristocracy as a quaint curiosity at best, a shameful taboo at worst. Earning the rights to host the Crystal Rose Festival was just about the best thing Sett could have done to finally dismiss the misgivings of the Families, who now largely tolerated him and readily used his business services, even if they would never truly accept him. But it’s not that hard for Aphelios, unfairly disgraced himself now, to imagine what kind of scrounging and suffering Sett and his mother must have endured before he’d changed their fortunes.

And it makes Aphelios hesitate. As emphatic as Alune’s encouragement to involve himself with the Vastayan had been, it was equally clear that she intended for her brother to get Sett totally under his control, so they could use him as their own pawn to regain their reputation and prestige of old. Aphelios has done a great many things for the Family; he’s taken life, given his own blood, his own body. Suppressed many—if not all—of his own private desires or goals in order to help his sister restore their Family and expose the treachery of the Solari. And he would do it all again, is ready to do it all again, over and over, until they reach their goal.

But using Sett feels too wrong. He’s not even sure Sett can be manipulated like that, but he doesn’t want to try. He wants to work together, mutually, with The Boss. And he doesn’t think it’s fair… it’s not right to involve Sett in something as big and as unpredictable as taking down the Solari without extending him extreme caution and respect. The few remaining who were loyal to the Lunari, other than Aphelios himself after last night, had the advantage of the anonymity that came with everyone thinking you were dead. They could strike, unseen, from the shadows. But he can offer Sett no such protection. If The Boss was ever caught playing both sides of the fence in order to help the Lunari with their revenge… it would be a near guarantee that Sett himself would be killed… taken out in ‘an accident’ or something similar, and then, there would be no one left to protect his mother, either. 

Sett must know this, and ultimately, it’s his decision to do what he feels is right. Though the doubt and reservations he’s suddenly harbouring against his sister’s methods are no small source of guilt for him, neither can Aphelios bring himself to maintain blind faith that thinking of Sett like an expendable tool is the right way.

His inner conflict might not be obvious, but still Sett picks up on the fact that something is a little off.

“Lost in thought, huh? Tryin’ to think of a ‘momma’s boy’ joke I won’t’ve heard before? It’ll be tough.”

Aphelios chuckles, both because Sett’s self-deprecation is funny, but also with the irony of knowing he can’t tell the other what is actually so heavy in his thoughts right now. He decides to pivot a little again, gently steering the conversation in another direction, and he wants to test once more how flirting lands, now that they’ve been strolling through the maze, chatting with each other for over an hour now. They’ve found themselves in some kind of statue garden; if it’s not the centre of the maze, it must be awfully close.

“No,” Aphelios answers coquettishly, “I merely had to take a break from conversing. My jaw still aches from last night… elsewhere, too, but my jaw the most.”

To his dismay, Sett immediately stops again, dropping his arm so that Aphelios has no choice but to release his hold too. He turns to face the Vastayan, wondering what on earth could have changed so profoundly from less than twenty-four hours ago, when Sett had literally asked to fuck him… trying to figure out why the beast-man’s apparent loss of sexual interest feels so profoundly threatening to him, too.

“I was thinkin’,” Sett starts, and the Lunari doesn’t like his tone at all. “I was thinkin’ that last night was actually a mistake.”

He doesn’t understand why, but that word, mistake , hits Aphelios in his gut with the force of a punch. He fights the urge to flee, humiliated. 

…He still has a mission. And it can be accomplished without seducing Sett again. Who knows what the Vastayan’s reasons are for his reversal, especially when they seemed to be enjoying each other’s company even more tonight, but Aphelios thinks he’d rather not have to hear them.

And so, when Sett advances closer, he has to force himself not to shrink back, it’s almost like his impulse is to react as if this is some kind of lover’s fight instead of the reality that they are still basically strangers. Potential business partners, if you wanted to be kind about it. People who happened to have had sex, once.

“Last night was a mistake,” Sett repeats, voice gravelly with an abrupt influx of desire, “because you gave me one of the best blow jobs I ever had, ‘n I didn’t even make you cum.”

The wave of lust that crashes through Aphelios washes away any indignation he might have felt at Sett playing with him like that, he can’t bring himself to get mad, not when Sett’s sudden carnivorous grin is so sexy, and when the Vastayan comes even closer, close enough to kiss if their masquerade masks would not hinder it, he distantly admits to himself how badly he wants Sett to fuck him again (and again and again), and properly this time.

Somehow, he still manages a coherent repartee. “Seeking to make amends, then?”

Sett’s cocksure smile becomes even more smug as he nods. But then the smugness falls away a little bit, becoming affectionate earnestness. “Can I touch ya?” 

Aphelios’ heart palpitates with a potent mix of ardour, respect and gratitude; that even though the Lunari feels as if he’s almost desperately offering himself on a silver platter for Sett to partake from, that Sett will still ask permission first.

“Yes, but…” he looks around them, at their surroundings. “Here, in the middle of the path like this? Aren’t you worried about getting caught?”

“The threat of gettin’ caught is kinda hot,” Sett weighs his considerations aloud. “But you’re right that we ain’t the only ones in here. ‘N I don’t wanna get interrupted. I guess I could show ya the master suite—”

“I’m not waiting that long,” Aphelios tells him firmly, the idea of having to find their way out of the maze and through the throngs of partygoers when Sett’s already got him this hard with just words is intolerable. “You can show me next time.”

Sett grins again at the implications, and decisively turns Aphelios around, guiding him from behind to a deep alcove in part of the hedge wall, home to a series of plinths with marble busts, but enough of a nook and in shadow that, provided they are silent and unmoving, will mean people just walking through on the path probably won’t see them. Still very much out in the open, much riskier than when they fucked on the balcony, but not outrageously so. It’s thrilling.

Aphelios gladly lets himself be steered from behind to the more discrete alcove, but is surprised when Sett does not permit him to turn around, using one thick arm to hold the Lunari to his chest instead, his free hand lowering to knead Aphelios’ thigh, and stroke his erection through his pants. Held this close and this firmly in the summer heat, combined with the hot rush of blood through his body, Aphelios feels too warm, in a pleasant, drunken way. He grips onto Sett’s forearm where it’s locked across his chest, beginning to pant, grinding his ass into the Vastayan’s growing hardness as the beast-man undoes the front of Aphelios’ suit pants, slipping his hand underneath the slackened fabric and making skin to skin contact. 

The feeling of Sett’s hand on his cock, touching, squeezing, fondling; it’s amazing. And Aphelios loves being able to feel how rock-hard Sett is behind him. But he doesn’t want to cum from just a hand job, certainly not before they even start having sex, though it’s like Sett reads his mind because just as the Lunari is about to say something, he’s turned around, and he gets to watch as the Vastayan sheds his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, licking the first three fingers of his right hand, making them slick with saliva while he pulls Aphelios’ pants down with his left. Aphelios steps one leg out of them, not caring that they crumple around his ankle and onto the dirty ground, his only priority is making sure that he can move or be moved in a way that lets Sett deep inside him. It feels so forbidden and pleasurable when one of Sett’s wetted fingers finds his hole and gently pushes inside, a quaking shiver of arousal shudders through him, violent enough that, pressed up against Sett as he is, the other must have felt the tremours. In fact it’s clear he did, when he laughs softly and gives his instructions to Aphelios.

“Hold on to me, sweetheart.”

Aphelios obeys, reaching his arms around Sett’s shoulders, lifting a leg to wrap around Sett’s hips, pressing them so close together, and closer still when the beast-man holds the leg in place, using it to help spread Aphelios as his fingers scissor and probe. 

His eyes are shut tightly against the consuming, blissful overstimulation, and so Aphelios doesn’t see how Sett’s ears swivel to catch the full sound of every heady sigh, all of the heavy, tumbling breaths that usher from the Lunari’s mouth and throat.

It’s easy to lose themselves to this mutual euphoria; Aphelios’ hold around Sett’s shoulders becomes a desperate cling, the leg he’s standing on is struggling to support his weight, wobbling as the rest of the Lunari starts quivering as Sett finger fucks him with abandon, the goal of stretching Aphelios for safe sex temporarily forgotten because the sounds and shudders and heat produced by the smaller man are like the world’s most powerful aphrodisiac, tailored specifically to arouse Sett to his upper limit. The Vastayan is wet inside his pants, but still he has no coherent thoughts for his own physical release, because the experience he’s sharing vicariously through the Lunari is inebriating enough. There is a part of him that feels the amorphous, dangerous desire for this moment to never end.

“Gods, Sett,” Aphelios groans, nearly slurring. It’s the first time he’s called the beast-man by his name, and it does something irrevocable to both of them. “Please…”

All of a sudden, Sett’s physical need is overwhelming and immediate, and not even bothering to pull them down, Sett unbuttons his pants and pulls his cock free, hastily but liberally lubricating it with the contents of a vial he’d stashed in his pocket for this exact purpose, on the outrageous hope that he’d see Aphelios again. The smaller man notices and would remark on the preparation, but Sett is already lifting him up fully, guiding his gorgeous legs around his waist, pressing the Lunari against the wall of a lattice training the hedges. Unlike the night before, Sett slips inside easily, their bodies fitting like they were made for each other, both men gasping as the Vastayan spreads and fills Aphelios, filling him up so completely that the Lunari can feel him in his stomach. It may be crude but it’s the truth: just as Sett had said oral sex from Aphelios was exceptional, Aphelios has never taken anyone that felt better than Sett.

Manically, Sett thrusts inside, rapturously fucking Aphelios against the wall, sweating and beginning to moan loudly, his inhibitions burnt up in the heat of passion, a situation not improved when Aphelios, perspiring profusely too, unbuttons both of their shirts, trying in vain to cool down without interrupting Sett’s strokes—which is the last thing either of them want—and he traces Sett’s bare chest, finding and tweaking his nipples.

Unfortunately for them, female laughter suddenly emanates from the other side of the hedges, which means they are very close to not being alone, and without thinking Aphelios claps a hand over Sett’s mouth, stifling his vocal enjoyment—the Vastayan had heard the indications of the other maze visitors a while ago but couldn’t bring himself to quiet or slow, he was too completely surrendered to the carnal paradise of Aphelios’ body.

But it's the unintentional cuteness of the shocked, conspiratorial look in Aphelios’ purple eyes, how he shushes Sett sweetly, giggling silently as the woman and her partner continue on, their laughing and flirting growing quieter as they take turns away from the statue garden—two other lovers finding their own private delight within the dream world of the maze… it’s the way that Aphelios smiles and giggles again when he realizes, in his rush to not get caught, he accidentally knocked Sett’s mask askew when covering his mouth… Sett stops moving though he does not withdraw. It’s because there’s a new, unexpected emotion overtaking him. And it’s what makes him press his lips impulsively to Aphelios’ ungloved palm, it’s what makes him shift Aphelios’ weight temporarily to be supported between one of his arms and the wall, so he can remove the crooked wolverine mask completely, letting it drop from his hand to the ground at their feet.

It’s what makes him reach, so slowly, for Aphelios’ mask, it’s what makes his heart pound when the assassin does nothing to stop him from taking it off, revealing his tattoo.

The Vastayan stares, smitten; the fact that Aphelios’ cheeks are bright red from heat and exertion and his bangs are plastered to his forehead and temples with sweat do absolutely nothing to reduce his beauty in Sett’s eyes. If anything, these human attributes, and how Sett knows he’s the reason for the heat in Aphelios’ body… it just makes Aphelios even more handsome.

“I was wrong,” Sett murmurs, holding Aphelios with both arms again and pulling him in tightly, knowing how the Lunari will feel how Sett pulses inside him with renewed arousal. “You ain’t just pretty under that mask, you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

It should be impossible, but Aphelios’ cheeks turn even redder in the scant moonlight.

“Speak for yourself,” Aphelios whispers back, equally lovestruck, instantly and especially fond of the dark scar that bisects Sett’s nose, before he leans close, moving one of his hands to cup Sett’s jaw.

For the first time, they kiss.

Their kisses start out modest; petal-soft presses against each other’s lips, blooming into open-mouthed tasting of each other, their tongues roll together and catch the moans that issue freely from their throats, Aphelios producing an especially loud one when Sett’s teeth nip at his lower lip, a delicious sting. Sett is moving in and out of Aphelios again, something inarticulate and deep within him soothed now that Aphelios has permitted him the real intimacy of knowing his face, of kissing him. When Sett notices how the Lunari’s long fingers comb through his hair but conscientiously avoid his animal ears, he decides to reciprocate the trust—he pulls away from the kisses long enough to tell Aphelios this:

“Go ahead ‘n touch ‘em. I want you to.” And then, as a wry qualifier when he sees how intently Aphelios is staring at them, “fair warnin’ though that if you do, I might cum real soon.”

They smile at each other, renewing their kissing which is now enriched with the purring growls rumbling up from Sett’s chest as he feels the delicate, respectful caresses of long, white fingers on his hypersensitive ears.

As Sett picks up his pace once more, climax approaching, their kisses break apart because both men are so breathless that they’re beginning to feel woozy with the heat and pleasure. Aphelios clings to Sett, their bared chests pressed together, slick with sweat. He loves that he can smell Sett’s exertion, a scent that reminds him of the taste of Sett’s cock on his tongue the night before. A thick, masculine, warm smell with the pleasant, animalistic spice of musk. The idea that, after being embraced so tightly by the Vastayan that Aphelios will smell like him for hours after, until he bathes, produces a glistening thread of pre-cum from his erection, smearing across the skin of Sett’s bared abs where Aphelios’ cock is rubbing between them. Mindlessly he reaches for it, touching himself and hoping that he and Sett will cum at the same time.

“Inside,” he instructs hoarsely, he can feel how Sett is swelling within him and it’s clear that the Vastayan is getting close to climax. “Finish inside this time.”

His demand is rewarded with the flattening of Sett’s ears against his head, conveying the surprised delight that his glassy eyes and fucked out expression cannot.

“I didn’t wanna mess you,” Sett explains in clumsily formed words.

“I’m a mess already,” Aphelios laughs, before murmuring, “and I want to feel you cum inside me.”

Sett has to inhale deeply and expend a moment of prodigious concentration to avoid bursting upon hearing that from his lover’s mouth, but he manages to postpone it for a moment longer, because there is one last thing he needs. He knows it’s unfair to ask it, but he can’t help himself, and considering the assassin’s willingness to reveal his distinct tattoo, this doesn’t seem like an unforgivable request. Sett’s nearly certain of the answer anyway, having gathered his own intel, but he wants to hear it directly from this man who he has been so enchanted by.

“Sweetheart,” he purrs, placing a kiss on swollen lips with tenderness that is at odds with the vigour he’s fucking him. “Tell me your name, please. Tell me who’s managed to get me like this.”

There is a moment of pause and Sett wonders if he’s asked too much, before his sensitive hearing picks up the tentative syllables, spoken like a confession.

“Aph… Aphelios…”

“Aphelios,” Sett repeats back. A magical word, an incantation. 

He can feel how close he is, and the tight heat of Aphelios around him and the fervour with which Aphelios is masturbating shows he is close, too.

“Aphelios,” the Lunari says again but almost like it’s accidental, like he doesn’t fully realize he’s speaking aloud, strain clear in his voice and Sett pounds coherence and rationality out of him with every stroke. “I’m… my name… Aphelios, Aphelios… Aphel… Ah!”

And with his own name on his lips, Aphelios cums.

Sett follows immediately after, bursting inside the Lunari, cumming with force and with a brainless, euphoric growl that anyone in the maze likely heard. Aphelios’ fainter voice joins his; the Lunari moaning as Sett empties in spurts inside of him, both men straddling the line of consciousness and unconsciousness, feeling dizzy and faint but incomprehensibly satisfied, catching their breath in each other’s arms and slowly regaining some steadiness before Aphelios untangles his legs from around Sett’s waist and the Vastayan's grip is firm and supportive until he’s sure the Lunari is alright on his feet.

Nothing they can reasonably do now will make them look like they aren’t covered in sweat or will take the pronounced wrinkles out of their suits, but they do help each other try to clean up. Sett produces another handkerchief that Aphelios uses to wipe off the worst of the mess seeping slowly down his thighs, and the mess he made on Sett’s chest and stomach. They rebutton their shirts, affix their masks to their faces once more, although Sett steals a last, sweet kiss before their masks will get in the way. Aphelios checks that the magical rose is still safe on his lapel, and lets Sett pick a twig and a couple of leaves out of his disheveled hair. But as the Vastayan is rolling his shirt sleeves down, Aphelios notices countless little scratches covering his forearms; angry red lines etched there.

“Are you alright?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

Sett looks at the scratches like it’s the first time he’s realized he’s got them and shrugs, uncaring. “Worthwhile price to pay for hot sex in a hedge maze, I think.”

But, Aphelios thinks to himself, that it is a big deal, because now with a clearer head and without Sett’s dick practically splitting him open, he realizes that Sett had shielded him from the sharp branches. Despite being fucked against the lattice, he’d hardly noticed the twigs against his back; Sett had kept himself between Aphelios and the worst of it. Realizing that, the Lunari’s stomach twists, but he says nothing, desperately ignoring the implications. Deep down, he’s scared. It’s too buried for him to consciously identify the fear, but even if his brain doesn’t understand, then it’s in his bones that he knows what it all means… knows what it means for him, and his heart.

⸶⁂⸷

Aphelios is home safe; it turned out that Sett was a cheeky little liar after all and had known the immediate way out of the maze, he’d never been disoriented or lost. He’d just pretended to be, so they could have time to talk. Emerging out of the maze and looking wretched but feeling amazing, they had parted ways, with Sett recommending Aphelios leave through the garden and over the boundary wall once more.

“Dance with me tomorrow,” Aphelios had requested instead of saying goodbye, knowing that the third night of the masquerade was dedicated to lavish and lengthy ballroom dancing.

His heart had leapt when Sett had smiled and nodded, telling him that there was no one else at the party he’d dream of having as his dance partner anyway.

But some of the magic wears off as Alune scrutinizes him; the state of his clothing and the flush in his cheeks that still hasn’t cooled speak eloquently of what had happened.

“It seems as if the night was a success, brother,” she provides her assessment neutrally, and Aphelios knows she’s mincing her words a little. “But I cannot help but worry for you, that you have lost some of your focus.”

He scowls. “What would give you that impression? I am perfectly capable of separating emotions from anything physical I might need to do for a mission.”

“I know that… I know that. But remember that your goal is to convert Sett totally to our side, he must be for us to use as we need him, and not only would… a ‘loss of focus’ make that much more difficult, I would grieve for you, to be hurt avoidably.”

This time, he scoffs. “You must trust me, Alune. Nothing anyone could do would make me lose sight of our goals. You and I have sacrificed so much to learn what we have discovered, to maneuver into a position where we can even contemplate exposing the Solari Family. That is the only thing I care about. Trust me when I tell you that I am able to numb myself to all else.

“And I will do what I need to, whenever it is demanded of me.” He says this with firmness, persuading himself ably that it is all true, even though it was mere hours ago he’d nursed serious doubts about their methods.

Alune digests these emphatic promises, staring at her brother who’s turned glacial again; she recognizes the cold assassin that she does not want him to be, but needs him to be. She decides to leave the matter there, for now.

“You must rest, then. Tomorrow you may not be able to escape to the gardens or balconies, your presence and that of Sett will be expected at the dancing, so you must be vigilant. But it will be a good opportunity, for anyone watching you can be watched in return, if you are careful. But do not linger there, any more than is necessary.”

“I understand,” Aphelios tells her. “I will leave as soon as I can and report back. I must stay at least till midnight to see what colour the rose blooms, but after that I will return.”

“Do you remember what the colours mean? And you recall that the colour is not determined upon giving; the rose will reflect the giver’s intentions at the moment of unfurling only.”

Aphelios hesitates, dredging his memory for what he’d studied about the Crystal Rose Festival. 

“…Red for mutual partnership, yellow to indicate the giver’s protection, white for further negotiations… purple for… purple for a truce between Families, and pink for the total loyalty of the giver, asking nothing in return.”

His sister nods, her body language as she sits once more by the lit fireplace is strangely resigned, even though objectively, things are going better than the twins had ever hoped.

“You learned well. And should the promise bound within the rose be broken, the colour would darken to black, and only then would the rose begin to wilt. But as I advised you, that is not an outcome we need worry ourselves with, for the time being. For now, our focus is on tomorrow. I will pray for your safety, Phel. Go, rest.”

Aphelios agrees, departing to bathe, disciplining his thoughts away from how he’s washing Sett off him, away from why his body hurts so deliciously, inuring himself against the excitement tomorrow holds. He numbs himself to the warmth of the glow his time with Sett ignited in his soul, as if to prove the sincerity of his singular dedication to his family’s vindication, even if just to himself.

⸶Night Three: BLOOM⸷

The final night of the Crystal Rose Festival puts the others to shame, which only makes sense, given that the theme is 'Bloom.' Even if Aphelios’ opinion of the Vastayan hadn’t already completely changed since the first night, he would still have been forced to admit how thoughtful and impressive the decorations were. The colours of the night—black, lavender, seafoam and pearl—lend a dreamy, ethereal quality to the party, like it’s all taking place within a faerie kingdom. The lighting of the manor has been dimmed in favour of innumerable lanterns, all with hand-crafted panes of coloured glass, casting myriad beams of hued candlelight. Gossamer curtains hang everywhere, especially along the wall of massive French windows in the ballroom, crafted of fabric so fine that the slightest breeze stirs them, and they shimmer with the iridescence of butterfly wings. It is in the ballroom that the masterful event planning is most apparent, where the low lighting is refracted by the crystalline and opalescent outfits of the attendees, diffusing a soft, magical glow everywhere that shifts slightly as the crowds move in time to the various dances. A twelve-piece orchestra provides the soundtrack for the masquerade, the music haunting and regal, resonating through the hall at the perfect volume.

Aphelios spends the better part of an hour admiring all the thought put into this last night, and he has plenty of time to look around and take it all in, for the host is nowhere to be seen. That’s unusual, with an event like this that has protocols, but Aphelios refuses to read into it or get wound up over the beast-man.

For he’s promised himself to go into this night with the clearest head possible; his sister’s criticism of him getting carried away was well-taken, and upon reflection, he’d agreed wholeheartedly. What he had done in the maze with Sett was fine, and it couldn’t really be helped if he’d enjoyed himself. But there was no excuse for how he’d let Sett take off his mask, how he’d told him his name… it wasn’t as if Sett hadn’t known who he was anyway, but it was his lack of hesitation that makes Aphelios feel ashamed. It was clear evidence he’d let himself get swept off his feet. But after spending the entire day in restrictive meditation before he’d had to get ready for the party, he is sure he’s smothered the little spark of feelings for the Vastayan, quelled any temptation, and successfully reminded himself of his priorities... of the deceptive nature of any illusion of affection that might be felt between the two men...

…He was sure he had it under control.

But as the hour stretches into two and there is still no sign of Sett, anxiety mounts. Aphelios tells himself it’s because this is less than ideal; he’ll still be able to see the promise of Sett’s intention when the magical rose blooms at midnight, but he has no idea how to proceed with the next steps of any alliance, they still had to discuss that tonight. It’s a source of stress to think of not seeing Sett at all this night, how up in the air that will leave things…

Aphelios begins aimlessly roaming the ballroom again, needing to move because standing by the wall as he had been seemed to be read as an open invitation for people to ask him to dance. After a painfully awkward waltz with a noblewoman, where she’d assumed that the rose on his lapel was his to give and not one given to him, he’d lost his appetite for even pretending to enjoy the ball. It might have been mildly amusing to be subjected to her intense flirting if he hadn’t noticed the desperate way her eyes went to the rose every few moments, which he’d just found irritating. He knew it was common practice for some of the lower-ranked men to gift roses as a sort of prop to help secure a tryst, but Aphelios would never take something like the binding magic of a crystal rose that lightly. It had felt different with Sett, if anything, the sex had been a prop for the nascent alliance and not the other way around.

But now, it’s only an hour before midnight, and Aphelios is in turmoil. He has nothing to take back to his sister other than the colour of the rose, he has no idea of next steps. And even though it’s treading dangerously into the “Feelings” category, he can’t help but experience deep disappointment that Sett hadn’t kept his promise. Perhaps something unforeseen had come up, but the Lunari can’t help but feel like, as the host of the party, there is not very much at all that should be capable of keeping Sett so busy on the most crucial night. The broken agreement is confusing, Aphelios wonders if it means Sett can be trusted after all… and it definitely makes him feel a grand fool for having asked Sett to be his dance partner in the first place.

The turbulent, conflicting emotions bring one of his worst attributes to the surface—it is extremely rare that someone or something can rattle him to the point where it manifests, but Sett has managed to elicit it three times now. Aphelios has always been predisposed to avoidance, and in the face of something that scares or upsets him, he has to fight the desire to run. He’d literally run from Sett on the first night, but that had been prudent… the shame and embarrassment and disappointment he feels churning his guts right now means he has to expend real emotional energy keeping himself calm and staying until midnight. He channels it into sour anger instead—anger at Sett being unreliable, at feeling like the beast-man is once again playing games, to who knew what end. And even though it was clear Aphelios was playing too, it was for the sake of his own survival and the survival of the fragments of the Lunari Family. It’s insulting to not have that taken seriously. 

He has the most success with this coping mechanism, and his mood becomes foul but stubborn instead of anxious. He observes the partygoers, his brow furrowed. It all feels intolerable; intolerably empty, intolerably artful, calculating. He is insensible to the merriment, he considers the dancers moving about the ballroom the way he'd watch chess pieces being slid across a board. He sees some members of the Solari family across the floor from him, doubtless they too observe the machinations of the party so that they can even better prepare for their checkmate. Aphelios deliberately moves his eyes away from them before the surging vitriol in his belly brims over, but his sulky gloom deepens when he realizes his eyes have roved the ballroom, searching, seemingly guided by their own intention. And, very not according to plan, he registers yearning and disappointment when his gaze does not alight on the one he seeks.

He glowers as a procession of waitstaff bring in a fresh round of cocktails to which he automatically gravitates. It's only a little while longer that he has to endure this now, but a drink will make it easier. He has it in mind to throw one back and take another glass to nurse, when all of a sudden, he is seized roughly around the waist. He whirls around with venom in his gaze to see who it is that thinks it’s okay to manhandle him, ready to deliver a winding blow to the lout’s solar plexus.

He is met with a rueful golden gaze, staring out from behind a familiar wolverine mask.

“Sett,” Aphelios utters before he can stop himself, and whatever desire he had to play it cool and conceal the profound relief and elation he feels at seeing his lover is pointless. The eagerness and near gratitude clear in his voice has already exposed it all.

The Vastayan smiles. 

“I’m sorry I kept ya waitin’, sweetheart. I couldn’t get away from… it was the maze, the maze pulled me in for a bit.” He sees the concern darken Aphelios’ eyes at this use of their codeword for the Solari, and so he clarifies. “Don’t worry, though. I didn’t get lost. I ain’t never gonna get lost in the maze again.”

“I see,” Aphelios says, somewhat inadequately, but it’s because he’s experiencing a revelation and struggling to conceal it.

He knows… he knows that if part of the essential goal of this mission was not to get personally, irrevocably involved, he’s failed. That’s just the plain truth of it.

The affectionate, genuine smile Sett is wearing doesn’t help matters at all, it makes Aphelios feel like he’s sinking in quicksand, and yet it’s so difficult to be upset about it.

“Is your offer to dance still on the table?” Sett asks hopefully, gratified as Aphelios nods.

“You are lucky I am not a hothead, and that I forgive insults to my pride so generously,” Aphelios teases wryly (and definitely not entirely truthfully) as he lets Sett guide him onto the dancefloor proper with a warm hand on the small of his back. 

“Yeah, real lucky,” Sett agrees, but with earnestness. “’Cause I dunno what I’d do with myself if I blew my chance to dance with the most beautiful person on the continent, who offers such stimulatin’ company, too.”

Aphelios chuckles. “For someone with such sharp teeth you like to bite with, you certainly are a honey-mouthed smooth talker.”

Sett laughs back, configuring their bodies together in position for a waltz, before he inclines his head lowly so he can speak for Aphelios’ hearing only. “Well, you’re the one who’s tasted my silver tongue for yourself. So, you tell me. Is it effective’?”

The Lunari considers his options as Sett straightens and stares down at him, his stomach home to a hurricane of butterflies and his bones feeling like they’re sparkling. 

Aphelios chooses honesty. “Yes, it is.”

Sett looks pleased with this answer, but not triumphantly so. His slitted pupils widen a little as he regards his radiant dance partner in the lambent lanternlight, drinking in the sight, reflecting on if he’ll be able to effectively protect this man, especially when he knows that after the secret conversation he’d just had means all eyes loyal to the Solari will be trained on the young man’s every action. But he’s also not interested in being some white knight saviour; he knows Aphelios has been able to survive and fend for himself and his Family thus far, so if needs be, he’ll hedge his bets and let Aphelios protect himself, too.

The little orchestra concludes the current song, and the men configure themselves for a waltz. Electric warmth radiates where Sett's rests one hand on Aphelios' shoulder, and when the Lunari gently grasps the Vastayan's waist and feels the hard muscle and the thick soft flesh of Sett's hips, vivid memories of experiencing the other's body in the maze the night before detonate like fireworks. Aphelios can't help but consider how much he hopes he will have more chances to discover the shape of his lover, to find more softness. And from where they are joined, holding hands, an anchoring sensation settles pleasantly… while prudence would beg not to trust such a new ally so quickly, neither man is capable of totally dismissing the feeling of safety bonded within this simple connection.

The music starts, and the pair begins to dance, gliding across the floor with Aphelios leading ably.

“What’re the chances...” Sett begins, voice a low, coaxing rumble; he sees the way Aphelios is staring at him, enspelled, and is loath to change the subject... he’s careful to keep confidence in his body language, but there’s a nasty, heavy, anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. “...That me ‘n this silver tongue of mine can persuade ya to stay the night?”

Aphelios’ sceptical hesitation is immediately apparent, this was absolutely not part of any plan he’d made with Alune, and he’s a little indignant that Sett would ask so much just for the sake of having more fun, just in a bed this time. Unless… there was some other reason for the bold request…?

Without breaking the graceful rhythm of his steps, Aphelios rises to place a kiss on Sett’s cheek, using the action as a pretence to whisper for Sett’s Vastayan hearing only, and ensuring no one will be able to read his lips:

“Am I safe?”

“Nah,” Sett replies, his tone purposefully casual to deflect any suspicion, but Aphelios can see how his golden eyes harden and his pupils slit again. “’N I think I need your help with the maze again.”

Aphelios feels cold, enough that a shiver might have streaked through his body, the only source of warmth now is Sett’s hand on his shoulder. In a gesture too small to be seen even by prying eyes, Sett gives him a little squeeze of reassurance. 

Aphelios clears his head, considering the risks to himself. He’s still confident that he can find a way to leave the party without being followed, he’d already made note of several stealthy possible exits through windows or balconies during his walkthrough the first night. And the idea of leaving Alune by herself with only their consigliere for protection is almost intolerable. Aphelios would rather take the risk of going home, than of telling Sett the secret location of their house. Because even if Aphelios finds himself considering trusting Sett, he does not trust the integrity of any messengers The Boss will have to use to reassure Alune that her brother’s unexpected absence does not mean he’s come to any harm.

“Silver tongue ain’t gonna work this time, huh?” Sett confirms as he sees the resignation in Aphelios’ eyes, and he gives a little tsk sound as Aphelios shakes his head.

Sett can’t think of a coded way to give this warning, so all of a sudden he takes control in the waltz, cradling Aphelios in his arms and bending him into a daring dip, much to the amusement of some onlookers who think that the host is just showing off.

His breath tickling the shell of the Lunari’s ear, Sett says, authority in his quiet voice: “they can’t see the colour of the rose. You have to be alone when it opens.”

Sett had been desperately hoping he could leave Aphelios with a trusted butler to be guided up to his private chambers before the clock struck midnight, and as soon as was possible, Sett would be able to join him, and they could talk about the colour of the rose and the content of the discussion that had kept him from the festivities for so long tonight, without having to worry about who might be listening in or watching. But if Aphelios will not stay, then the only thing keeping either of them even remotely safe right now is that the beast-man can still lie about the colour of the unbloomed rose. 

As they pivot according to the waltz’s choreography, they can unsuspiciously check the time: it’s only half an hour till midnight.

Aphelios realizes this means that the colour of the rose Sett has given him will be significant enough that it will ruin whatever double-cross the Vastayan is planning against the Solari, and he can’t help but feel effervescent excitement at the implications. But as easily as he can escape and watch the flower blossom in secluded safety, neither have they been able to form any plans for how they’ll actually be able to do anything with their new alliance. 

All of a sudden, Aphelios has a brilliant idea; Sett’s warning about the rose has provided a bolt of clarity that illuminates what he feels confident the Vastayan is trying to do.

“Can I visit you again? Even when you are no longer the party host?” he murmurs, exaggerating his act by making doe eyes and sounding for all the world like Sett’s heartsick new boytoy. 

“Here?” Sett checks, and seeing Aphelios nod, thinks for a second, before the glint in his eye is restored and he flashes his trademark smug grin. “Yeah, sure. I still have lots to show ya anyway.”

There, Aphelios thinks. That settles it, he understands his character in Sett’s performance perfectly, and now that he does, it’s hard not to appreciate the simple genius of it. It was risky, but it was smart, and it means that the two can meet openly under the (very realistic) pretext of new lovers, with relative safety.

The Vastayan sees that the pieces have fallen into place for the Lunari, and Aphelios is treated to an approving, fond grin; the affectionate golden warming of gleaming yellow eyes. The music is beginning to slow, signalling this waltz will end soon. He’s just about to reluctantly recommend Aphelios make his getaway, when he is cut off.

“One more dance, Sett. You lead this time. I will follow.”

⸶⁂⸷

Hidden within the thick vines covering an arbour, bursting with luminous, fully opened moonflowers, Aphelios can still see the spectacle of the masquerade through the magnificent windows of the ballroom, though the floating, gauzy curtains create the illusion almost like he’s viewing the scene through a dream. Somewhere, a clock begins chiming midnight, and the music quiets, giving way to noises of delight from the crowd as one by one, the jewel-toned crystal roses unfurl.

In his hands, softly illuminating his features with a blush of light, Aphelios’ rose opens, revealing its incandescent pink petals.

The colour of unwavering loyalty, the oath of the giver’s complete, faithful service, and asking nothing in return.

⸶⁂⸷

It’s a frosty day in late winter when a disguised figure makes their way to a stately house, once grand but now past its prime. The visitor is familiar with the home, how to arrive there without being detected or followed, how to knock so its occupants feel safe opening the door. The secret code is rapped with the knocker, and within moments, the door opens, admitting the expected guest. 

Inside, the caller pulls their hood off, revealing furry ears.

“Hi mooncake,” Sett smiles at the man who greeted him, who’s eagerly taking his snow-covered cloak to hang up by the fire.

“Hello Boss,” Aphelios smiles back, reaching up to embrace Sett tightly, gently pulling his head down to kiss him. The beast-man’s hands run up and down the Lunari’s back affectionately, but they respectfully break apart as Alune enters the hall.

“Greetings, Master Sett. You’re just in time for tea, but will you be joining us for supper as well?”

The Vastayan reaches to hold Aphelios gently by the waist. “Actually, if it’s okay with you guys, I ain’t got anywhere to be till tomorrow…”

Alune suppresses a cheeky grin and dips her head in generous agreement. Once Aphelios had confessed to her, a few months into the relationship with Sett, that he had fallen hopelessly in love, she’d learned to trust the beast-man as an equal ally. “I see no issue with you staying the night, provided my brother is amenable.”

Aphelios pretends to have to really think about it, but the truth is his stomach feels filled with fizzy bubbles, it’s been a while since he’s been able to spend any personal time with his boyfriend outside of the strategic meetings.

“I suppose I have no other obligations,” he allows, and Sett jostles him with good humour, and the trio heads to the parlour to meet with Taric and continue their plans.

It’s been a little over half a year since the Crystal Rose Festival, and Sett has made good on the oath imbued in the rose he gave Aphelios. He hadn’t been immediately sure what to do when he’d first figured out that the Solari were truly corrupted, he was in so deep with them already, and though he might have the information and moral desire to take them down, he did not have the aristocratic pedigree for anyone to rally around him should he initiate an insurrection. It had only been in meeting Aphelios that it had felt like the stars aligned.

The accepted understanding of the catastrophic implosion of the Lunari family had been that they’d become involved in despicable practices, and despicable by the standards of the nobility meant that something truly egregious was occurring. The rumours had been of widespread drug dealing, but with contaminated products fatal to the user; of torture, blackmail, racketeering, even human trafficking. Every Family was expected to dabble in a bit of shady business, but when the ‘truth’ of the Lunari clan’s depravity had been exposed by their greatest enemy, the Solari, the aristocracy had been horrified. It was one thing to engage in the chess game of business and manipulation with your peers, but another thing entirely to be coercing, selling and even killing innocents. And then, just as the allegations had come to light, when the ruling class had looked to the Lunari to deny it, to prove the innocence of their prestigious Family, instead the world had woken to the Lunari mansion ablaze, with seemingly every member of significance reduced to ashes, betrayed by their own and unmourned in their disgrace.

The Solari rise to the very upper echelons of power had been as smooth as Ionian silk, with their only competition lost to dust in ruins, and aided by the savvy, well connected half-Vastayan who helped them negotiate their business dealings, manage their assets, seize upon new opportunities. But Sett had been truthful when he’d told Aphelios that this was the extent of his services for the Solari clan; the most illegal things The Boss messed with were casinos, off-the-books gambling, and underground fighting rings. He liked having fun and making money, but he had absolutely no interest in helping oppress the less fortunate, or helping get them killed.

The first whiff of something rotten had wafted when Sett had been confirmed as the host for the Festival; too eagerly and too readily the Solari had come to him, concerned about ‘saboteurs’ and ‘threats.’ After the fiasco of the last Crystal Rose Festival with the Du Couteau Family it was only natural for them to be worried, but the Solari had pressed Sett too hard, dissatisfied with his assurances there would be tight security and all would be above board at the party. It had become clear to him they were worried about a specific threat to them, suspiciously so, and after wracking his brains for an answer, the Lunari had been the only thing that made sense, the only clan powerful enough to have ever offered the Solari any issue.

But that only made sense if the Solari knew what the rest of society did not… it only made sense if they weren’t under the impression everyone else was, that the treacherous Lunari had wiped themselves out completely. And the Solari knowing that secret only made sense if their involvement had been much more intimate than mere whistleblowing on a corrupt clan.

As he’d prepared for the Festival, Sett had also begun sniffing around, conducting his own investigations. That was how he’d been able to piece together most of the truth—that the alleged crimes of the Lunari were actually the crimes of the Solari, that they’d infiltrated and set up their rival Family as a misdirection away from their own guilt. Families regularly hired or accepted the oaths of distinguished individuals outside their bloodline, making these individuals bodyguards or consiglieres, though true control always stayed hereditary, and it had been through two disguised Solari that the Lunari had met their undeserved, ignominious end. Pretending to be the loyal councillors of the Lunari for years, it had been them to leave the false crumbs of dirty business, it had been them that had murdered the Family and set the house ablaze to annihilate true evidence. They’d returned to the Solari expecting a reward for faithful service, only to be rumoured to have met their own demise on the end of Solari daggers, their bodies destroyed, assumed by almost everyone to have merely perished in the fire as the other Lunari had… loose ends cruelly tied up.

The rumours had also whispered of two Lunari children—twins—who had survived, spirited out of the mansion just in time, though initially these stories had been so hard to verify they’d felt like an urban legend. But that was how Sett had come to learn of Aphelios and Alune, though truthfully he was much more intrigued by the reputation of the brother. It was said he possessed incomparable talent; that he’d stolen, seduced or tricked anyone with information about the Solari out of their secrets, that he’d even been the one who had killed two of the men most responsible for the Solari human trafficking racket. Before his investigation, all Sett had known about that incident was that two scummy pieces of underworld shit had turned up in the gutter, poisoned, and that the horrific crimes they’d been facilitating were derailed for months. At the time, Sett had thought good riddance, society didn’t need monsters like that, whoever had poisoned them had done the world a favour. He hadn’t realized that the scum had actually belonged to his employer.

And so, when he’d seen a lone man, looking a little too anonymous and so handsome in his finely tailored suits, absent of any clan markings—though not unusual in itself, but coupled with his disinterest in actually mingling—Sett’s instincts had told him this might be the male twin he’d been told by the Solari to watch for. He’d hoped he was right, and by the time he’d forced him away from Leona and into the library, he’d been sure. Lucky intuition perhaps, but nevertheless, Sett had been fascinated immediately.

That had been part of the problem actually; his fascination hadn’t gone unnoticed, and he’d hated himself for the dangerous attention that had brought on the Lunari assassin. He’d truly fucked up, giving that rose so impulsively to Aphelios. He’d fully intended on his exaggerated warning scaring Aphelios away from the Festival completely. The other would have been safe then, even if it meant they’d never have the chance to meet again. The rose had merely been a gesture, the only way Sett could think of to convince Aphelios that he wasn’t his enemy.

But when Sett had seen him in the hall, the rose in his lapel that second night, he’d also realized that he’d unwittingly lured Aphelios into the very trap he’d meant to protect him from. If Aphelios’ rose bloomed for all to see, the truth of Sett’s feelings would be exposed, and after Sett’s scandalous reappearance in notably mussed clothing on the second night, the Solari suspicions had to be managed.

That had been what delayed him from joining the final night until nearly too late; representatives of the Solari, far more important than Leona, had interrogated Sett over the young man who’d evidently dominated his attention. After realizing that there was no way their trusty beast-man would merely be so careless as to forget the mission the Solari had charged him with, they had deduced that Sett’s singular attention was evidence that he had in fact detected the Lunari saboteur, and had used flirtation and seduction to kept him managed and distracted from Leona without causing a scene.

Sett had had no choice but to admit to it in half-truths. But it had taken hours of persuading that his sexual dalliances with Aphelios were successful initiatives to manipulate the young man into his control, he’d assured them that the Lunari was already hopelessly in love with him, and soon he’d crack him open and collect all his spilled secrets, which, of course, he would be sure to turn over to his Solari benefactors the moment he discovered them. One of the hardest things Sett had ever had to do was keep his cool while convincing the Solari that he’d neutralized Aphelios as a threat through false seduction and honeyed lies designed to lower the other’s guard, that he had the gullible, pathetic Lunari wrapped around his little finger. He’d felt weirdly awful about having to say such a thing aloud and with such confidence, even though he had good reason to do so. But then... Aphelios had so smartly deciphered the story Sett had had to sell, playing the role of melty, obsessed new lover so convincingly at the ball. The Solari had indeed been watching, and that performance had persuaded them to believe Sett after all.

And, as far as the Solari are concerned, Sett is still keeping up his end of the bargain. The four of them—Sett, Aphelios, Alune and Taric—have had these secret little meetings, deciding on which intelligence the Vastayan can pass on to the Solari, stringing them along and keeping Aphelios, who they think to be their unwitting informant, mostly out of danger. The reality is that Sett has, in exchange, told them all he knows about the Solari, and has worked closely with Aphelios to gather incontrovertible evidence proving not only the guilt of the Solari in the murder of nearly an entire innocent Family, but that the heinous crimes they’d pinned on the Lunari were their sins instead.

And so, they bide their time, though they are fast approaching the point where they feel ready to reveal the truth to society, restoring Alune as the rightful face of the Lunari, with her resourceful, faithful brother at her side, and Sett at his.

And Sett intends to keep the pledge imbued within the magic of that pink rose for as long as Aphelios will have him. Aphelios still keeps the flower at his bedside, its unwilting, eternal glow a comfort to him on the frequent nights they must still remain apart.

Often, when things seem so precarious or heartbreakingly lonely, Aphelios dreams about this year’s Festival, where he will find a way to gift Sett the emblem of his own heartfelt promise, in the form of an undying pink rose.

⸶THE END⸷