Chapter Text
Caine Wise hates it, the touch screen before him, how it's blinking urgently, it could only be worse if there was sound. The symbols displayed are ancient, too old for him to read. Regardless, Caine knows what they spell.
Balem Abrasax holds the contract out to him with care, his eyes deep pools, unreadable. It's in them that Caine sees age, archaic imprints in colour far too many times renewed; Balem has lived hundreds of thousands of millennia, even the wrinkles that gather like crows feet fail to reveal that.
Royalty is not to be trusted, especially royalty as old as this.
Caine's back itches as he presses his finger to the screen against his better judgement, it's a fair trade, protection for his wings – the pad wavers in Balem's grasp, Caine steadies it before it falls entirely from trembling fingers.
He knows this fragility, the long suffering sighs coming from Balem, how compared to Titus and Kalique he is sickly, fading far more quickly between doses.
He sees the tremor in Balem's fingers just before Chicanery Night appears, nasally and muttering information on the latest harvest of a planet called Astora; one hundred percent yield but not of the finest quality or grade. The mousey creature takes the contract before scurrying away.
Balem presses his fingers together, anxiety perhaps.
Caine tries not to stare, averts his eyes because Balem is no fool and it would be unwise to start off on the wrong foot so early on. So he ignores the trembling and low shaky breaths and follows Balem when he makes to depart the roomy area they stand in.
Caine follows a respectable two feet behind out of courtesy for the exalted position Balem holds, and maybe, if he's being honest, out of wariness. Balem is the most unpredictable of all the Abrasax dynasty, while Titus only wants the pleasures of the flesh and Kalique cares for nothing but her own beauty, Balem is as cold and as distant as the space his ship floats through.
There's a danger in that but right now Caine only scents weakness, maybe fear in the sweat that now plasters Balem's hair to his temple. The trembling becomes worse as they walk, Balem's easy glide turned into a stumbling affair that catches Caine off guard – yet he maintains his distance, unwilling to help unless asked.
When they reach their destination he chastises himself for not thinking of the obvious.
The bath is large, more like a pool. It spreads out like glass, unaffected by the ships movement. The gravity for this room is tailored to it's existence. Running along the waters undisturbed length is, well, space. From where Caine stands it looks like the water melds into the void beyond, a fiery looking planet dominating the majority of the view.
He's never liked space travel, always too cramped, contained and trapped. Here, however, Caine finds it beautiful and he almost misses the sweet scent of bared skin in his daydreaming.
Balem sheds his robes with a shrug, revealing too pale flesh, the nape of his neck heavily freckled. His body tapering to narrow hips and an equally freckled buttocks.
Caine stares though Balem must feel his gaze, he stares openly, hungrily at the delicate body revealed – a dying body, Balem stumbles before catching himself and sinking into the seemingly tepid water.
Caine watches him disappear beneath it's surface, a ripple ruining the illusion of glass. For a long moment he thinks Balem may be dead but no sooner does the water shift and glow and he sees tendrils of colour peaking. They twist and turn in the dark liquid. When they subside some seconds later Balem emerges, smelling of petrichor, his youth renewed. Caine notes his eyes still hold the haunted look only an immortal could have, a weariness that betrays the smooth features and lack of physical defects.
“I didn't contract you to stare,” Balem says evenly, his voice so broken Caine almost has mind to ask what went wrong with the serum.
“Sorry,” Caine mutters quickly, his gaze falling. He hurriedly adds: “Your majesty.”
“That doesn't mean I forbid you to.”
The tips of his ears feel like their on fire, burning with embarrassment at Balem's strained words. He bares his teeth at his reflection in the black tiled floor, regaining his composure before raising his eyes – but not quite to Balem's level, status dictates his submission so Caine stares at the hollow at the base of Balem's elegant throat.
He has mind to apologize again, or test the waters, see how far Balem will let him tread but Chicanery interrupts. Caine almost starts, been too distracted to realize the weasels presence.
“Apologies, your majesty,” he chimes, Caine hears his clothing rustle as he bows curtly. “But there's an urgent message.”
“Continue,” Balem murmurs.
Caine hears Balem's pulse quicken.
“It's not exactly good news,” Chicanery says sounding nervous. “Sources confirm Titus' cyber hunters have found a natural, complete recurrence.”
“Of whom.”
Caine watches Balem pull a near translucent robe seemingly out of thin air, draping around himself in a poor excuse for decency.
“Your mother.”
Chicanery's words were met with silence though Caine doesn't understand their weight.
Balem appears to ponder this for a few long seconds. He presses the tips of his fingers together before him, inhaling slowly.
“This of course threatens your entire inheritance, Gods the forms this will involve..”
Chicanery trails off.
“On what planet was she found?”
“Earth, due for harvest in a few decades, so far yield is slated to be high above average. It will render priceless serum.”
“However, my mother wrote her future self into her will,” Balem paces now, aggravated, his face twisted angrily. “Titus has mind to do one thing and one thing only. He looks to bind her to his will then kill her. It will all become his, my rightful inheritance.”
Caine shifts. From where he stands he is practically suffocating in Chicanery's fear scent.
“Send Greeghan. I want her dead before Titus can lay a finger on her.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
Caine listens as Chicanery leaves. His fear scent lingers a while longer but even that disappears moments later.
“I want you close,” Balem says, voice barely above a whisper. “At my side until I harvest Earth.”
Caine nods. It's a fair trade, he reminds himself. Protection in exchange for his wings. It's worth it even if he's in contract for years to come.
Balem brushes past him and he follows without question.
tbc