Fourteen years. A decade and a half. The innumerable days on which Fulgur had been at a hair’s breadth from giving up, from slinging that silk sash over the ceiling beams and drawing the curtains on his misery, all blurred together into a ball of hurt like a fist enclosed over his heart. He’d survived them by clinging onto the fantasy that someday Vox would finally come for him, come to bring him home. That the next time his husband aimed the back of his hand at Fulgur’s cheek or moved to empty a cup of scalding tea over Fulgur’s head, his big brother would burst through the intricately carved doors, a trail of fire on his heels, his sword poised to strike down the decrepit wisp of a man that had dared steal Fulgur away from him.

And that time had arrived, at last, his faithful waiting had borne fruit, and Vox had kept his promise, had stormed the mansion with the wrath of an aggrieved god and laid to waste an entire rival clan like an offering at the feet of his beloved. Vox had burned with the desire to end the scum’s life with his bare hands, but they were otherwise occupied with an armful of his brother’s trembling figure, Fulgur’s face buried in Vox’s neck, the collar underneath his armor completely soaked, Fulgur’s knuckles white from how hard he pushed against his brother’s chest plate, his fingers desperate for any kind of contact. The limp, unresponsive weight of Fulgur’s legs across one of his forearms broke something inside Vox.

When one of Vox’s soldiers brought the blade down and Fulgur felt the bond tethering him to the despicable man shackled on the ground snap, Fulgur couldn’t hold back the sob of relief that shuddered through him.

Fulgur thought he’d left it all behind in the scorched ruins of those fourteen years, the earth he’d salted with his tears in the silence of his bedroom, the cold tiles his knees had knocked against in the echo of countless apologies. And yet that suffocating shroud of dread had somehow infiltrated the sanctity of the harem, threatened to swallow him whole through the inquisitive stares of the clan elders who had him trapped here. Under normal circumstances, they were forbidden from setting foot in here, but Vox was out on business and Ike was home visiting his family, and Fulgur was now the last remaining body between them and Mysta, whom they detested as well for growing up a street urchin in a brothel.

Broken, soiled and unworthy, both of them, yet few were the things of this world that could compare with the beauty of Mysta’s warm silhouette against the light of day that stained Vox’s private gardens in gold. Fulgur walked over to pull a cloak over Mysta’s shoulders and scolded him for sauntering off in such thin clothing, his voice so gentle it was hardly convincing.

This moment of peace would be dispelled later, like a ripple across the pristine surface of a pond, when the Council would storm through the harem gates with their threats and their demands, but for now, Fulgur wanted to enjoy the quiet sanctity of early morning and lovely company.