The morning sun cast a dusty gold glow over the ruins of the grand council chamber.
Marble pillars still stood tall, but the divine energy that once radiated through them now buzzed uncertainly, like a hymn sung off-key. Blood had dried on the dais. The council was gone, save for one unconscious figure still bound in fuchsia silk rope—our prize from last night's impromptu mutiny, and what a lovely mess it had been.
I adjusted my cravat and sighed, standing at the center of the dais with a goblet of consecrated wine that I'd stolen from the altar. The taste? Earthy. Slightly heretical.
"Remind me never to negotiate with zealots before breakfast," I muttered, letting the wine slosh between my teeth. Elian stood to my right, posture perfect, hair tousled from our earlier skirmish. Lysaria was lounging on a toppled cherub statue, legs crossed like he was waiting for room service.
"They're sending the emissary," Elian said. "She'll arrive within the hour."
"Of course she will. I offered them Hollow. He's like divine currency to them."
Behind us, the captive moaned softly. Councilor Virel, all pomp and powdered wigs, now looked a little less omnipotent and a lot more gagged. A true shame I didn't have time for an interrogation scene.
But alas, the exchange came first.
We waited on the outer balcony of the Sanctum, wind tugging at our cloaks. Hollow stood nearby, his frame tense, pale hands twisting nervously. He was back in his ceremonial whites, marked with a velvet sigil stitched just above the heart. Mine, of course.
"You don't have to go through with this," he murmured softly, his voice cute and non-threating now that he was half his previous size.
"Oh but I do."
He looked up at me, uncertain. I reached out, adjusted his collar with care, and leaned in.
"From now on, you're my divine little spy. Chin up. Look professional," I said softly before kissing him on the lips. He did not resist, rather a furious blush came over him as he cusped his hands to his face in surprise.
The emissary arrived draped in gold-threaded robes and accompanied by twin armored paladins, each glowing faintly with holy warding. She looked like she'd smelled something foul and expensive. Her gaze lingered on me with a mix of distaste and dread.
"The council has officially accepted your terms," she said stiffly.
"Excellent. Shall we do the exchange like civilized heretics?"
I beckoned, and Hollow stepped forward. Councilor Virel was dragged out by Elian, still bound but now adorned with a flower crown I'd placed on him for...extra flair. The emissary's nostrils twitched.
We walked toward each other slowly, the air thick with divine tension. The exchange was silent. Hollow brushed past me without a word, giving one last glance over his shoulder. I winked.
Then it was done. The church had its prodigal son, and I had immunity.
Returning to the Velvet Court was like slipping back into silk sheets after a week in shackles. Familiar, indulgent, and just the right amount of morally compromising. The halls were lit with floating candles and perfumed smoke. Velvet draped every wall. Murals of saints doing unspeakable things to each other in tasteful chiaroscuro adorned the ceilings. Home.
I didn't go straight to the war room. No, first came the bath.
I slid into the steaming onyx tub and let out a sigh that echoed off marble. A moment later, gentle footsteps padded across the tile. It was Aurel, the quietest of my collection I'd picked up last week. Raven-black hair, long lashes, and a voice like rain on glass.
"You summoned me, Master Cecil?" Aurel's voice was soft at the doorway, careful, as though stepping into my chambers without permission might invoke some terrible curse.
I didn't bother turning my head. "No need for titles in the tub," I said, letting the steam curl around my words. "Just wash my back." It sounded like an indulgence, but really it was an order, the kind of command that draped itself in silk but still cut like steel.
He obeyed without hesitation. His robe slid from his shoulders with delicate ease, each fold collapsing to the floor as though gravity itself was complicit in our sins. He joined me at the edge of the wide basin, dipping the silk sponge into the water before running it reverently down my spine. His touch was patient, deliberate, almost liturgical in its devotion. Every careful stroke carried that strange quality of sin masquerading as worship, or perhaps worship masquerading as sin. It was always hard to tell with Aurel.
"You were gone long," he murmured at last, as though he couldn't quite stop himself.
I rolled my eyes even though he couldn't see them. "Oh come on—it was only a few hours, don't be dramatic." I let the water lap lazily at my collarbones, my body reclining like I'd been born to lounges and luxury instead of daggers and desperation.
"Are you done now?" His question was soft, but I heard the tension beneath it. "Dealing with the church, I mean."
That was enough to make me turn, slow and deliberate, water rippling outwards like liquid silver. My smile stretched across my lips—slow, devilish, the kind of smile that promised far more than anyone could survive. And then I broke, laughter spilling out of me in uncontrollable, wild peals, echoing off the stone walls.
"I'm just getting started."
He blinked at me, the sponge pausing against my shoulder. I could see the unease flicker across his face, but also that hopeless fascination that kept him tethered to me.
"Hollow's reinstatement wasn't mercy," I explained, settling my grin into something sharper, crueler. "It was strategy. The church has swallowed him whole, convinced he's theirs, unaware he still belongs to me in every sinful sense. That seed I planted will bloom into something… exquisite."
Aurel rinsed my shoulders in silence. He had always known when not to interrupt, though I could hear his breath change, the rhythm of it trembling faintly as though each word of mine unraveled a stitch inside him.
"For now they worship past vows and celibacy," I whispered, my tone dipping into conspiratorial delight. "But I will make them worship femboys." The laugh ripped out of me again, mad and melodic, scattering through the steam like sparks thrown from a fire.
His breath caught. "How so?" he asked, though the question came out hushed, almost reverent, as though he was afraid of the answer but hungrier still to hear it.
"One sweet seduction at a time," I said, savoring each syllable as though they were sugared fruits dissolving on my tongue. I leaned back, letting the steam thicken around us, fragrant with sacred oils that bled slowly into the water until it darkened with their weight.
And then, because indulgence without escalation is simply bad manners, I pulled Aurel into my lap, my movements slow, purposeful, letting anticipation be its own kind of touch. Candlelight flickered across his pale skin, gilding him, turning him into something caught between angel and idol.
"You ready?" I asked, though the question was more for effect than necessity.
His nod was small but earnest, cheeks flushing with the kind of color I never tired of dragging from him.
Our lips collided, not polished or delicate but wet and messy, a kiss that was all hunger and no etiquette. From there I descended with deliberate reverence, pressing my mouth to each section of his body, top to bottom, like a priest consecrating holy ground. With every kiss his back arched a little more, his hands clawing at air and water alike, leaving sweet-scented moans suspended in the steam and bubbles around us.
Outside, the Velvet Court began to stir with its usually activities.
Inside, I had finally laid the foundations for divine blasphemy.
Well then, this is going to be fun.