Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Oh,” he breathed in admiration. It was true what people said of Prince Seyn and Prince Jamil: Eridan thought they really were the most gorgeous men on Calluvia. Dressed in the Third Royal House’s blue and white colors, they looked rather alike but for Prince Jamil’s dark hair and taller form, and they both were difficult to look away from. They both were smiling, a reserved but warm smile on Prince Jamil’s face and a wider smile on Prince Seyn’s.
The latter looked radiant, happiness rolling off him in tangible waves as he took Prince Ksar’s hand.
“I’ve never seen my brother so happy,” Harry murmured, beaming.
Glancing at Ksar’s stoic face, Eridan shot him a skeptical look.
Harry chuckled. “He is, trust me. You just don’t know him well.” He added with something like wonder, “I can feel he is happy, and that’s rare.”
Eridan peered more closely at Ksar. He wasn’t smiling, but his silver eyes were only on his future spouse.
“That will be me next year,” Harry said, in a rather dreamy tone. “Though my wedding will be nowhere near as fancy as this one. Adam doesn’t want a big wedding.”
Eridan made a non-committal sound, distracted, his stomach churning as Castien started speaking.
Eridan knew the traditional wedding rites by heart, so he didn’t listen to what Castien was saying. All he could hear was his voice. The one voice he knew every inflection of. He’d spent years trying to determine Castien’s emotions through barely noticeable shifts in his voice. Four long years that voice—that man—had been his world. Hearing that voice again after so many months… it was…
Snap out of it, he told himself angrily. Castien was no longer his anything. They inhabited two different worlds now. Eridan would see him a few times a year at a high-profile wedding like this one, and they would still be separated by an invisible social barrier. He was a prince. Castien was the High Adept of the High Hronthar. For most people, Castien was just a very high-profile spiritual figure from an ancient Order of monks. They had no idea that under those impeccable robes of the High Adept, there was a man. A cold, ruthless man who wielded an enormous power over this planet, but a man, nonetheless.
All these people… they really had no idea. They were utterly oblivious. Eridan was the only one who knew. Even his brother didn’t. Warrehn would be furious if he found out just how intimately Eridan knew his Master. No one knew. And no one ever would.
Years from now, Castien probably wouldn’t even remember him. He would have more apprentices, the apprentices he would choose, real apprentices that would graduate and become Masters. Castien wouldn’t remember the emotional mess of a boy he’d once taught and fucked. Maybe he would remember him at Eridan’s wedding, as he would tie a marriage ribbon around Eridan’s wrist, tying him to his husband. Their eyes would meet for a moment, and there would be a flicker of recognition—and then nothing. Eridan would walk down the aisle, hand-in-hand with his husband, his wrist tingling where Castien’s hand brushed against it, and feel his heart ache. Ache for something he never really had.
His husband would be someone kind, good, and emotional. He would always tell Eridan that he loved him, he would make love to him, and he would give him beautiful children. It would be… it would be a wonderful life.
“Eridan? What’s wrong?”
Eridan lifted his gaze to his brother and opened his mouth to tell him that he was fine, but nothing came out. There was a thick lump in his throat he couldn’t seem to swallow. His chest hurt from lack of air, his ears ringing. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.
Warrehn’s confused frown turned into alarm. “Do you need some fresh air? Come, get up. The ceremony is over anyway.”
Was it? He must have spaced out.
Dazedly, Eridan got to his feet with the help of his brother. Harry was nowhere to be seen; he must have gone to congratulate his brother.
“I’m okay,” Eridan managed. Lied.
He wasn’t okay.
His vision swam, his mind aching, his chest tight. His lungs didn’t want to work. Neither did his heart. It was like someone had taken a hold of them and was wringing them, squeezing them of every drop of blood. Eridan made a few steps but stumbled and would have fallen if Warrehn hadn’t caught him.
“Bullshit,” Warrehn said, radiating worry-protectiveness-fear. “You’re barely breathing. Do you have some kind of illness you didn’t tell me about? An allergy?”
Eridan shook his head hazily, trying to clear the fog in his mind. He grabbed his thaal and focused on its calming, reassuring feel, and for a moment, it worked. Except then the dethrenyte started turning hot and he had to let go—just in time for it to crack and shatter. No!