Our Little World II

Michael’s hand rose as Sai pressed his lips to his forehead. He caught a strand of Sai’s hair, rubbing it between his fingers, before allowing his hand to fall. A strained, pressured breath rattled from him, and he turned to hug the pillow. He waited until he heard Sai leave before allowing his hand to clench into a fist on the pillow. The taste of metal was still strong in his mouth.

Of course, a bitter thought taunted in his brain. Of course you’d bleed right out. Bloody heart, leaking insides. Body escaping you in bloody little chunks. Michael’s finger nails dug into his pillow, and he began to hear the threads rip. “Weak,” Michael muttered to himself, throwing the covers aside. “Dead on the streets, **** weak,” he stood shakily. He caught the table to steady himself, the other hand rising shakily to his face. Dead, and then they will be too.

Anger was easier.  If Michael truly thought about what was happening to him, the thought of leaving this world with so many he held dear so young and vulnerable… Anger was the only safe emotion. It bit away at emotions that would leave him weaker than he was. Michael’s gaze became unfixed, staring at the tile. Without thought, he reached into the end table. Sai wouldn’t go into Michael’s drawer, but still he reached to a hidden hatch. He pulled the bottle of dark liquid out. With a familiar flick of his hand, he twisted the top of and drank deeply in the morning light. He closed his eyes as the liquor’s strong taste overwhelmed the metal lingering in his mouth. He twisted the cap on, and returned the bottle to its hidden spot. What did it matter? His body was already poisoned.
 
“Nicholas,” he said and the manservant appeared. Without a word, Nicholas began to strip Michael of his nightgown. It was a simple robe, but Nicholas knew that this was a time for him to be a shadow. Michael’s glazed eyes turned to the window as Nicholas dressed him. Nicholas provided him fitted pants and a loose white shirt. Michael slid them on, his mind miles away. Nicholas then slipped on tunic and began to work on tightly lacing the loops on the arms. Michael liked it tight, guarded. Nicholas finished and stepped back.

Nicholas watched Michael. He watched Michael roll his neck, stressed, and then turn and leave the room without as much as a good bye. He could remember this man as a child, and it had been a long time since he had seen this caged look on Michael’s face. Michael didn’t use to have that bottle in his end table, and he didn’t use to have such a tightness in his face. Nicholas feared what he was watching come of Michael and to think of the boy he had once pushed down a vent just steps outside the grave… Nicholas stopped the thought. It wasn’t productive. It…
“Be quiet, Sol.”

“No, Sol, up, up!”

“He isn’t jumping on this comforter Mika, it is brand ne- Sol!”

Michael’s childish laughter.

Nicholas blinked, and a hand come to his face. That… he hadn’t been back to that harem mentally for years. He had escaped it physically and didn’t want to think of it mentally. But…

~~

Michael walked stiffly along the halls. His harem was made of marble, much of it hard and dark, but there were soft candles all over. There were many rooms, more rooms than Michael could account for, but Nicholas told him that the servants and concubines could rest easily in the harem. At one time, this had pleased Michael. He had wanted the workers to be at peace in the home, as there was enough turmoil in life. Now, he didn’t much care. His mind was on the difficulty he had walking, clinging to the small buzz the chug had given him. It eased his pain, but he felt more muddled and dull. Fine. He didn’t want to feel death anyways. Michael couldn’t remember when the illness transitioned from mere sickness to something more fatal in his mind. It could have been the weight loss, the violence of his sick nights. He could feel himself being taken away, bloody vomit by… Stop. Michael’s hand came to his forehead, trying to block the insidious thoughts from assaulting his mind. This is not how you will spend the end – by dwelling on it. You have strings to tie. Go.

He stepped into Lien’s room. His eyes briefly swept to the servant and then back to Lien without seeing Theo. He took in Lien in the early morning light. “Stop, you’re hurting me!” The ghostly memory came instantly as soon as he took in those sea-green eyes. He hadn’t stopped. Would that sin be what sends him to Hell? Probably. Michael couldn’t see how one could live his life and go somewhere peaceful to rest. His gaunt face took in Lien before moving in, stiffly sitting on his bed. “Good morning Prince,” he said slowly. He swung two fingers at the servant, dismissively. Get out.

~~

Nicholas was standing in Michael’s room. He was breaking his own rule. He should have been hidden until needed, but his mind was wrapped in memory. He looked up at Sai’s return, and Sai could see an expression on Nicholas’s face that he wouldn’t have recognized. Hell, Nicholas shouldn’t have been so visibly alone in Michael’s room. “Yo… you’ve missed him. He has gone. He couldn’t sleep.” His lips moved, as though wrestling with himself. He turned and knelt into a kneeling bow. “Master Sai,” he whispered urgently. “May I speak to you?” He swallowed, “I would like to speak to you about something that…” treason, “cannot be said to our King.” The manservant looked up, plain amber eyes pleading with the man so above him in station. It was a punishable request, even for someone of such importance as Nicholas.

Michael's mouth twisted at Sia's words. His grip didn't release right away, but gradually, as his words came to advocate for themselves. Michael leaned forward, gently kissing Sia before letting go. "Don't forget what I've said," he said, nearly to himself, as he looked Sia's hands over. He seemed to melt, as though the interaction took his remaining strength, he sank into the pillows, then slowly allowed himself to lay down. His eyes closed. "Tell Lien I will be coming to see him," he said so softly that it wasn't clear that he had said it. There was no excitement, eagerness, or anything in his voice. A simple flat order.

The sheets shifted, silken beneath Michael's thinning hand. His eyes did catch the pale leg of Sai, and his hand reached to stroke his inner knee as he slid into the bed. He fell back heavily into the pillows, eyes half closed. His stomach still felt sick - churning and bloody. One hand went to his mouth and he seemed to steady himself a moment, before looking at Sai. A smile crossed his face. Michael had never known the life of someone whose smile didn't open doors - his full lips and white teeth could inspire confidence, charm, and desire. However, his teeth were dimmed and the smile showed the gauntness of his face.

"Here," he said. He opened the white ivory end table next to them with a smooth and familiar slide. He handed something wrapped in sky blue silk, embodied lightly with white thread. Inside, Sai could feel two items jingle loosely together. 

Michael leaned against Sai as he opened the cloth. One arm fell familiarly around the others shoulders, and his head rested against Sai's locks. Two objects tumbled from the cloth. One was a wooden figure of a carved dog. It was clearly not professionally done and the details were choppy, but the figure was readable. Michael reached out with his long fingers, scooped it up to show Sai closer. "I tried my hand at woodworking. Not the best," he squeezed Sai to him, sitting up slightly more. "Still, I wanted to see the face of an old friend." He nestled into Sai, and went quiet for awhile. His fingers turned the wooden dog thoughtfully. He had carved small waves in the wood to show the weaves of the fur. The mouth was open, appearing to pant. Michael sighed, shifting Sai in his grasp. "Nothing special," he began dismissively, "just figured someone else should know him."

Again, a brooding silence before Michael picked his second gift. It was a wooden hair pin, the edge sharp and pointed. "Sai, my love," Michael began, turning the finger length pin in his hand. He seemed to struggle to start, then "Sai, your beauty is attracting. It has brought me to you like a fly, and I am willfully trapped." Tender lips against his neck. Hot words against his neck. "I am yours. But the knowledge of that isn't alone to this bedroom. Turn," he said, as a man used to getting exactly what he said. He shifted Sai around, his hands sliding down his legs. His hands found Sai's neck, rose into his hair, and then pinned it back into a messy bun, using the pin as a securement. Michael seemed to pause to look at him, hollowed eyes taking in the sight of his healthy love. His arms were scarred and pale, but they were still well formed and the ghosts of muscles remained.

"One day," he began slowly. "You will be alone and you will need to defend yourself. Someone as treasured as you by me will be sought by others." Michael's hand gripped Sai's controllingly, then brought Sai's fingers to the pin. He pushed the fingers firmly so that Sai gripped it. "I will not lose you twice," he breathed, "to my absence, or to another." Swiftly, Michael drew Sai's hand and the pin out, letting Sai's hair drop. Michael tilted his chin upward, pushing the pin against his jugular, gripping Sai's hand so that he couldn't let go. "You push here, and you push hard. There will be blood and it will be warm, but you must be hotter. Kill, then flee. Find Nicholas. That cockroach will live anything." Michael's light eyes tracked Sai's hotly and truly. He meant his words thoroughly.

The branch on the tallest tree had broken a few nights ago. It was a terrible loss. The captive stood on tip toe, his wings extended out for balance, to press his fingers against the domed glass. The star light twinkled onto his face, and the light sharpened his eyes to silts. This was the only section of the dome that the trees had grown enough for him to touch the glass barrier. The barrier made little sense to him. Jaan couldn't remember it as a child. However, the warmth of the stars and the moonlight rained on him. He closed his eyes, slowly resting back onto his toes, and then onto his hunches to stare up at the moon. A full moon, a born moon. He spent no time glancing below him. He perched at one of the highest trees as though it was nothing at all. His dark blue starry wings nestled slowly around him. They were not of a smooth shape. Hacked squares were cut from the thin membrane, and tight green lines followed along the cuts where he had bleed. There was a fresh cut on his cheek and arm from the resistance. Still, it didn't seem the outsiders knew of this high tree. Jaan didn't think he'd be allowed close enough to touch the glass otherwise. It was the only place in his forest that he had noticed such a gap.ear.  He leaned back and stared at the starlight. Time passed, and the Ezraela knew nothing of it. He felt he could hear his mother's voice among the stars, a soft song, singing, and his father's strong words at stories. They were there. He closed his eyes. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep on the thin, wirey branch high above the forest. His cut, but healing wings hugged the thin limb, and his practiced body lounged.

There was something moving in the forest. His eyes shot open. Clouds had covered the stars. His eyes widened as they injested the darkness, and he looked below. Something moving, something alive. A sharp gurgle went through his stomach. Jaan scrambled up to a hunching position and tracked the darkest shadow below. The shadow stopped, circled, and seemed to feed below. Jaan pushed off. His wings could glide his descent, slowly him, but it was nothing like flying. His body tackled into the shadow, and his claws dug into it. His teeth found the neck, and bit hard into it. Blood swelled into his mouth. The creature kicked, kicked, the life leaving it, and then stopped. Jaan paused, slowly unclenching his mouth, and looking down at the fawn. Now that he was closer, his eyes could identify it. His hands quickly found the neck, and twisted it. Even if it was already close, he would not have it suffer. It was against his father's stories. His fingers paused. The fawn had a plastic... thing... in it's ear. He knelt his face near it, biting it slightly. It was not of the creature. It seemed to have symbols on it. With a shuddder, he ripped it off, muttering in his language, "Not of life,". The deer's meet was cut, dried, and hung for jerky. No fire would be made in Jaan's presence. He straightened as he finished, the blood dripping from the trees. He looked amongst the large forest. From where he stood now - it seemed endless in all directions. He could run, glide and run into nothing. It was only when he went up that he found that glass barrier... but it was also where he had found the stars and the moon. The Ezraela slowly sighed, sitting down on the grass, then laying down. His eyes turned to his wounded wing, running a hand along the cut and healing part. Fire briefly came across his mind, and he shut it down. No nightmares tonight, only stars.

~~

Michael turned over in his silken and thick bed, and vomited profusely into the bucket next to him. His dark, ungelled hair fell over his face. He never slept with anything, but it seemed especially useful now as he barely made it to the bucket. There was hardly any food in the vomit, just bile and blood. He sat up, one hand immediately coming to his mouth, and the other to the  still body next to him. "Sorry," He muttered as he pushed the covers off. He took a step or two, then returned to the bucket for a final spit. "****..." Michael wobbled over to his bathroom. Everything was steely modern, by no means inexpensive, but when the King looked at himself, he found a man that he hadn't recognized a year ago. Hollow cheeks, hollow hazel eyes. His hair was a mess and unkempt. He was rapidly losing weight and he could see it in him. His chest heaved up and down, and there was a small rustle of curtains. Michael turned aggressively, furious someone would interrupt him in such a vulnerable time, but it was only Nicholas. Nicholas was nothing. The man servant looked him up and down, and his face darkened.

"Your majesty.."

"Don't call me that," Michael grabbed a silken towel, wiped his mouth, and threw it away before Nicholas could pay attention to the crimson stain.

"Michael," Nicholas said more firmly. "I will wake up Master Sai. You must do something," his voice was still low, firm.

"He knows something is happening."

"Everyone knows something is wrong, Michael, look at you!" Nicholas hissed, stepping into the restroom and closing the door. "All the concubines are terrified of being thrown on the street if you are sick and lose yourself. The other Kings notice you not coming to the engagements. You're going to be hustled out before you go if you don't make some sort of public appearance that suggests some stre-"

"I am going to suggest some strength into your face if you don't get out of my **** restroom, Nic," Michael growled, pinching his nose between his fingers. Nausea still cramped his stomach and the grip on the marble counter was less out of anger than support.

"Michael..." Nicholas's voice calmed, but it was urgent, "Lien is your Prince. If you... if... would he be ready to..."

"Stop," Michael whispered. It was the terrifyingly weak whisper of a strong man. The King's eyes rolled over to Nicholas. "Lien is not to be anything, but what he is right now. Protect Sai."

Nicholas stood there, his modest servant clothes undermining the advise the man had given over the years. "If you leave just those two, it will be for naught. It will become the Three Kings. When you were with..." Michael glared. "You were both Kings as Princes. Neither of your Princes have become Kings. You... You can't... You need to do something, Michael. Go to another appointment."

"They can't do anything."

"Everything will be lost," Nicholas said, firmly. When Michael looked at him, he believed the manservant's advise. Still...

"Get the **** out of my sight, Nic, before I beat that smart mouth off of yours." Michael had looked away. He was leaning over the sink, his hair hanging over his face, chest breathing deeply with every word.

"Master," Nicholas started slowly. He began to reach one hand for Michael's back, then paused, slowly withdrawing it. "Sir, I think this is the only time in your life, that I would best you. Don't let the others see it." With that, Nicholas swept from the restroom, closing the heavy door behind him.

Michael bowed his head. His hands reached forward to cup his forehead. His forehead was sleek with sweat, his mouth tasted of bile, and everything was crumpling around him. He was too young for this. He should be able to live longer, to protect his, but... his insides were bleeding. Surgery would cause more bleeding. The taste of blood was strong in his throat.

~~

When morning broke, Michael was sitting next to his bed. He hadn't returned to sleep, and the blackness under his eyes proved that. Still, one gentle hand rose, shaking Sai awake next to him. When it didn't wake him entirely, Michael leaned forward and rubbed his nose against him. The King's hair was due for a trim, and hung far past his eyes. "A gift," he whispered softly through chapped and bleeding lips. "Sai, wake up."

It begins.