Our Little World II

It was without thought. The disrespect, the misinterpretation of what he was trying to do… he wasn’t trying to destroy their **** world – their world was wrong in its existence. Michael snatched Lien’s throat and slammed it hard against the wall behind them. The strength was surprising, but the adrenaline drove it. “You will not speak to me that way!” His voice snarled. “Such words will not be the last I heard. It is a gift!” He released Lien’s throat, but stood close. “I could have destroyed your world in so many other ways. I could have let you be King, and you would have failed. The other Kings would take you. You’re not savage enough, you have not fought the same battles. You are a pretentious child who has led nothing, killed  no one. You have no idea what I have loved, lost, and bleed for this place. They would have held no respect for you, and you would have died.

“I could have sold all of you. I could have broken Firesse up, selling each of you to the other Kingdoms, where you would be the newcomers and you all would have suffered. You mock me because I hurt you? Because I didn’t love you? How sad. My first crush, not even my love, was murdered for even being near me. I am done pitying you, avoiding you. This is the first thing I have asked you to do as Prince, besides spread your legs, and you cry? You cry!” Michael looked ready to grab him by the throat again, but, in his rage, he didn’t seem to notice the blood beginning to dribble down his lips. It started on one side of his mouth, and then the other. His eyes had an unhealthy yellow tint.

“Is this not an act of love?” His voice rose. He paused, one hand rising to his throat. His skin was beginning to become ashened. The energy his anger was stealing was clearly too much for his body. “You’re not going to steal the one good thing I have planned by spinning this pity towards yourself. Yes,” he stared at him. “It hurt to ask you,” the hand at his throat seemed to linger. Michael blinked, his raging tornando slowly slowing down and coming back under his control. “Only because,” he began again, swallowing. He realized it was a fistful of blood being swallowed down and the room began to shake. “I wanted to do it… myse…. Li…I…s…”  Blackness overcame his eyes. Michael fell. His head hit the bedframe and began to seep red.
 
~~

Nicholas rose his head alertly. It was the movement of a man meant to be in tune with the place he was in. “Did you hear something, Sai?” Nicholas said, standing.

Michael, suddenly, very much wanted to leave. He wanted Sai. The King desired to leave, and go to the simpler place, a place where he could feel. Instead, he steeled himself further into the heart of iron. Yes, this was who he was to Lien. It had been this way long before he reflected and knew what it was. How Lien could use this love against him, to bring those tears to his eyes, like he wasn’t the one dying or leaving this world.

“You will soon be free of me,” he said slowly, beginning to draw himself back. “The question is whether or not you will help me in my last wishes. In the world I ask you to build after me, there will be no more of this pain. You would not have been brought here and subject to my power or the expectations I put upon you. You could have been free. We both could have. You know this is a world of hurt, where people break and reassemble other people in their image. Help me stop it. This is the last time I will ask.” 

Michael’s face had been tense and hard the entire statement, but it relaxed and smirked at Lien’s response. He shakily stood, one hand lingering too long on the bedframe for balance, before reaching out and cupping Lien’s face. He stepped close, closer than he had been for years. Alcohol was on his breath.

“I am my father’s son,  Lien,” he said, his voice soft. It was nearly a lover’s voice.  “I fled, but I didn’t escape. Death at my door has brought that to my attention, and this is my last attempt to throw the spider off my back. I can’t do it though. Only you,” with that Michael brought cold lips against Lien’s cheek, “can do this for me,” the other cheek. Michael’s hand rose up into Lien’s hair. His dark eyes turned to look at the silver in his hand, letting the strands fall slowly. Coldly, Michael felt his hand shake, and strands jumbled out of his hand. He closed his hand, letting it drop to Lien’s shoulder. There was no passion in his face, despite the intimacy in the pose.

“Lien,” he took the other’s chin, looking him in his eyes. “You will be fine. They will be fine with you leading them out. You can do this,” one thumb went to Lien’s lips. Somewhere, that cruel voice taunting Michael. Someone as beautiful as Lien, someone whose strength he had suppressed for so long, wouldn’t want the touch of a skeleton. “Do this for me.”

~~

Nicholas watched Sai. The love of the King. Nicholas had, at times, believed it was because Sai was so complicit. He didn’t challenge Michael, and Michael always sought to challenge. Sai just being himself, kind, a good person let Michael be. Nicholas feared it though. He didn’t believe Sai added strength, and strength was what would need to be to keep Firesse alive. “He must mean Lien to be King, despite what he says. There is no one else. That does put you in an interesting position, however,” he drifted off, not wanting to dive into the full politics of the situation. It would look poor for a newly appointed King to have the old King’s lover around. After all, Michael had undermined his relationship with the Prince for years due to his love for Sai. Nicholas stared at Sai, imagining, before shaking his head. “I’ll call for the doctor again. Michael has been to several, but perhaps another opinion could buy him more time.”
What bullshit. They both knew it.

As the the liquor poured, the clear liquid hitting the bottom of the glass, Michael’s turned his head to watch. His throat burned, and that disconnected feeling hadn’t quite lifted. He took the glass from Lien’s graceful hand. He couldn’t look at Lien. The Prince’s beauty was beyond words, though he knew of poets who had tried, and Michael had selfishly kept it to himself. My caged bird, he thought bitterly to himself as he took a deep drink of the vodka. The liquor burned his throat, as though his esophagus was some open bloody wound. Michael’s face pulled into a grimace, but he continued to tip the glass until the liquor was gone. He extended the empty glass back to Lien, requesting an additional pour without words.

“I will be dying soon, Lien,” Michael said with firm finesse. This was the truth. His body relentlessly forced him to feel the failure of his veins, his lungs laughed with the labor each breath took. How ashamed Michael was. He was meant for more than this, more than a blasted decay. The gentle tone left Michael’s words, as he needed to bring himself back to who he knew, and he didn’t know or allow that previous, coughing, dying man.

“You know of me, my life,” he began. He still couldn’t look at Lien, so he looked straight at the window. The light of the morning couldn’t chase the darkness under his eyes or brighten the dark under his cheekbones. “I was once a child, like you were. I ran from a darkness and have ran from it ever since. I fear that once I die, I will wake in Sanguinaria, like I never escaped and breathed free air.”

“I had a chance, Lien, and I never took it. I stayed in the city. I went right back to the life of a harem, of a Prince.” His face tightened in resentment, whether towards Rhys or himself, it was hard to tell. “It was easier,” he slowly shrugged, “I knew what to do, how to run it.” Finally, he looked at Lien. “People have lives outside of harems. People who don’t live in the caste system of power or beauty or body. I should have tried harder to live freely. I will die a King, just like him. I’m disgusted,” Michael took a long drink again, nearly emptying the second. He let a silence fill the space.

“Lien, you will never be King.” The statement was clear, hard.

“Upon my death, I am dissolving Firesse. It will be no more. As long as places like this exist, people will be used. Churned out, dehumanized, and discarded once they are no longer use to the King and the King’s gold. This isn’t an easy task, as the world is cold, and the other Kings will likely prey on the void that my death will cause.”

“Firesse is filled with money, and servants who will fear a life outside of a harem. We have gems and valuables by the dozen, but no freedom. Not one person here is a man or woman of their own will. Necessity is the only reason why people would stay in such a place. We will raz it. We will sell all that we have. The gems, the furniture, the golden tiles lining the walls. This will have to be you, Lien. This is your part. You must organize it, and gather our funds like a dragon clenches treasure. Still, we cannot keep it for ourselves. That is what we have been doing, and the cycles continues. Every concubine or servant who pledges to not go to another harem will be offered their part.  With all our money gathered, they could be given a handsome stipend, and a train pass to wherever they want to go. All of us are in this life because we don’t have the means to do something else. We will give them these gifts, if they chose to leave the city, and become respectable members of society. Get mine out of this city, give them the opportunity at a free life, and give one to yourself too, Li. Harems are violent traps disguised with security, power, and gold. For mine, I wish freedom from this. It is my dying wish. Do not fight me on this, as even a dying snake has venom in its fangs.”

Finally, Michael turned and looked Lien straight in the face. “If you ever loved me, if you love me still, then let me fix the biggest sin of my life. This is my plan, my will, but it will need to be you who follows through, steadily giving opportunity to the concubines, and fixing a blight on this world.”

~~

Nicholas’s slumped at that. “No,” he agreed. “Michael would rather end his life than go to Rhys, especially for something in this manner.” He hesitated, turning his long ringless hand over and over. “Still,” he said softly, “this place needs a King. Michael has said that he will not allow Lien to be King. I have no idea why, but we must think of a future without Michael. There is grave danger from the other harems once his protection passes. Something must be done.”

“I imagine my time is short,” Michael said. His eyes lingered on Lien. The youth was a picture of health – clear skin, full face, healthy hair, bright eyes. Michael had once considered himself a healthy man, and now the presence of seeing a truly healthy man when he wasn’t gave him an uneasy feeling.

Michael sat on the bed, turning his eyes to his hands. He had to look away from Lien. He wished he had taken a deeper drink of the liquor, and he wondered if Lien had any stashed. It was unlikely. “Lien,” he said, breaking the formality. “I… am no longer myself. I’m sure you’re not surprised,” his voice caught a rye edge, almost, but not quite laughing at the situation. Physically, it was so clear that Michael was not the man he had been six months ago. “I cannot promise my days. I cannot promise a week,” his dark eyes bore into his clasped hands. “Perhaps the idea of me being gone pleases you. I wouldn’t blame you,” he flicked a blank look at Lien, perhaps weighing a response. He looked away again. “Still, we have matters to discuss.”

Michael’s gaze was fixed on his hands, but suddenly he felt disconnected from himself. He tasted metal, and his vision blurred. He blinked several times, then lowered his mouth to his arm. The wet coughing fit filled the room. Pathetic, pathetic, stop, ****, pathe- pain. Michael’s hand dug into his arm tightly, struggling to gain control. When the coughing fit subdued, Michael lingered there. His throat was dry, burning.  He hadn’t wanted to show this in front of Lien. He took a shaky breath as he leaned back, trying to ignore the dark smeer on his ebony tunic that was certainly nothing else but blood. His hand rose to his mouth, wiping the crimson.

His eyes closed, and his shoulders slumped. “Do you have anything to drink, Li?” He asked in a tone he hadn’t used with the Prince for years. Gentle, sad, and pleading.

~~

Nicholas sat tightly in the chair. He didn’t let his body relax, his eyes were going around the room wildly. Still, Nic could feel warmness for Sai. Michael didn’t deserve such kindness, but perhaps being around a man like Sai was what held back Michael’s darkness that Nic had certainly seen in the past. He looked up at Sai, and let out a rattling breath. “You’re going to think I’m so foolish,” he said.

Nic looked down and began to roll his knuckles along the table. “I… I’ve never had a family, yes? I have never had stories told to me at night, a present from a caregiver, a pet, or anything of the like. I’ve never had a lover. None of this bothers me, as it wasn’t my cut in life. However, hearing and seeing such novelties catch my attention. As a young child, at the harem Michael escaped, at the harem led by his most hated, I was doing my rounds. I made sure each concubine was either booked or in their beds, that the servants had completed their duties. I passed Ma-…” Nic stopped, and his eyes darkened. A hand went to his clothed arm, as though remembering old pains. “I passed Rhys,” he said the name without a title and his face became steely when he did. “Rhys’s and Michael’s room. Michael was a child then, and the love between them was pure. No hand of the King or Rhys’s own jealousy had destroyed it yet. Rhys was telling Michael a story. I… I am ashamed to say this, but I stopped. As I said, I have not been blessed with stories to ease my nights. I selfishly stole a listen to the story Rhys told Michael, and I feel I should share it to you now.”

Nicholas sat, with his arms hugging his knees to his chest, small and young, as he listened to the voices behind the door. Light flickered into the dark hall, and Nicholas closed his eyes.

“Be quiet, Sol.” The golden puppy was whimpering around the lavish bed, backing onto his hind legs and pawing at the top. Small Michael, long dark and braided hair hanging over his shoulder, was laughing merrily. He leaned over the side of the bed, trying to pet the dog. The child playfully encouraged the dog.

“No, Sol, up, up!” Rhys, a young man, whose face was gentler by far, rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around Michael to bring him close.

“He isn’t jumping on this comforter Mika, it is brand ne- Sol!” The puppy had leaned back at Michael’s urging and, with a tremendous leap, managed the jump into the bed. Michael immediately burst into peels of laughter as the dog jumped onto them both. Michael’s arms wrapped around the dog proudly.

“Good boy! Good boy! See, Rhys, he learned!”

“He learned how to ruin my bed,” Rhys said, but a smile was on his face. Soon, both boy and dog settled down. Michael leaned against Rhys, and Sol laid across the both of their laps. Michael was still giggling every few minutes, excited by the incident.

“Go to bed.” Rhys groaned, but his voice held a light cheer.

“I can’t. I can’t sleep if Sol is awake.” Nicholas listened quietly. The laughter, and Rhys’s easy voice, both seemed so far from his world. He felt like a sinner for listening, but he couldn’t tear himself away. “Tell me a story!” Michael insisted.

“Mika…”

“Please!”

“The dog and now this?”

“Yes, yes!” Michael said.

Rhys let out an audible groan, but Nicholas smiled to himself. He could feel the happiness in that room.

Rhys was quiet for awhile. Then, began.

“There once was a people, a people who lived by the stars and moon. They had wings made of starlight, and in those wings were immortal life. They were called the Estraela, and they lived peacefully amongst themselves. Still, peace isn’t meant to live long in the world. When their secrets were discovered and their powers realized, naturally people wanted to save them and theirs from death and aging. Humans caged the creatures, as they wouldn’t willingly share their gifts. The Estraela proved difficult to keep alive – their population had always been low, but captivity and their slow rate of children made the slaves precious.” Sol must have fallen asleep, as a small snore began to come from the room. Nicholas’s eyes were now open, rapt, listening to the first bedtime story of his life. “The humans didn’t know all of this at the time. They wasted the fairies’ lives needlessly. They killed one of the Estraela for killing a human attempting to snip his son’s wings. Young wings were always so potent. They burned him, you see, for the sin of standing against humans.” Rhys seemed to pause, “My father told me that the fairy father took a long time to burn. His powers worked against him. They had cut off his wings, wanting to use them later, but when the slave died, the wings turned to dust. A waste, my father said. After that, the lives were treated more preciously, but still the Estraela died. The adults fell, and the children did ill without their parents. One survived though. The humans realized that the survivor would not survive long if he wasn’t given more freedom than his ancestors had. A large cage was built, encircling a forest that had been sacred to his people. A small team was formed, and were taught how to hunt that Estraela down monthly – to tie him down safely, and how to dissect the wing to make a powdered potion that would grant a longer life. That team handed their secrets down to their children, and keeping that Estraela alive and in became their sacred responsibility. The humans kept their sole survivor, knowing that his gift would prolong the lives of the most privileged and powerful. He is kept from the knowledge of the outside world, and hidden from the stars. His wings are harvested to this day for their eternal life and death defying powers.”

Michael snuggled into Rhys’s chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. “What happened next?”

Rhys shrugged lazily, wrapping his arms tighter around Michael. “Nothing, Mika. It is just a story.”

“Will I grow wings?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But Rhys-“

Nicholas opened his eyes, smiling slightly. He staggered to his feet. He felt ready for bed, gifted with a story, to soar his imagination to sleep.

Nicholas looked across the table at Sai. He felt suddenly embarrassed at the story, at asking for help from such a powerful, and beautiful man. Nicholas swallowed, and averted his eyes. “They… and this is just rumor, Master…. They say that Rhys has remarkably kept his youth. Wrinkles avoid his eyes, and he has not lost his vigor.” He paused, swallowing. “I’m sure it’s just a story, but it is eating at me, as we see our King waste.”