Tephras stared blankly at the letter on his desk. His son had been attacked on orientation day, and still, he had not written to him. Tephras had sent him letter after letter after he had been sent to the Holy Empire, and still, there was no response.

Tephras didn’t understand what the point was. Why be an emperor if you were going to be powerless in the end? His youngest son was likely gone for good, if the reports from his spies were to be believed. The Crown Prince had a strange fascination with him, and reports were that they did not believe this was a brief teenage infatuation. No, it went deeper than that, and he couldn’t believe this. His son was the spoils of war, there in the Holy Empire to be a mistress to the future Emperor, and he could do nothing about it.

He could do nothing.

His hands curled around the edges of his chair, and he breathed in and out.

He knew he had made mistakes with Meduso. The boy was brash, abrasive and prickly, and once Tephras had realized he did want a relationship with him in the way he had a relationship with his other sons, it had been too late for forgiveness. It was too late for recompense. And he had to stand by as Trivas signed him away as the spoils of war, because he had given Trivas that permission, not knowing he would abuse it to that extent.

His youngest son would go down in history as the greatest military commander of the war, the only decent one they had. His tactics would be studied by generations of nobles as they sought to understand how he did it. And they would look on this time with shame. This was shame. Because his brothers had betrayed him in the end, despite all he had done for them, and the gods would not look on their lack of loyalty kindly.

Gremory was a coward.

Trivas was a shortsighted fool.

Meduso was the only one he could trust this empire with, and he was gone. He would have to pass on this great empire to his incompetent son and pray he wasn’t assassinated in his early days. He already had a son born, so the line was secure for now, but… But. It was clear Meduso should have been the Crown Prince. Even now, there were murmurs in court that they should go to war again to reclaim him as their prince, overthrow Trivas and his incompetent mind, and force Tephras to instill his youngest son as the Crown Prince. He wondered if Meduso had any idea how many people he had willing to go to war for him.

But, they couldn’t go to war. Not now. Their armies were decimated, and Trivas had stupidly given up Triton Bay out of spite, so they would have to seek alternative lines of supplies. He was a fool, blinded by his hatred of Meduso, and he probably wanted Meduso more dead than ever, because he was losing supporters.

Tephras was half tempted to depose him and put Gremory in his place. Gremory would have failings as Emperor, but not as many as Trivas. Trivas hadn’t always been like this. Before Meduso had reappeared, he had been stable, level headed, the perfect heir. But, when Meduso returned, he lost his damn mind. Tephras didn’t even recognize him nowadays.

Tephras slumped in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Why had Trivas done something so colossally stupid? People were thinking now that he had gotten rid of Meduso to consolidate his power, and Tephras was so tired. He was so damn tired.

His house was not in order.

No, the best he could hope for was Trivas would reflect on his shortcomings and come to the realization that he had failed on his own, and this stupid scapegoating was pointless when it was more than clear that it was his own military tactics that had caused the problem in the first place.

Tephras breathed out.

Meduso would probably never write to him. He had thoroughly burned that bridge, and now he had to deal with the consequences. His son probably wouldn’t return even if he was told to. But, Tephras couldn’t take the shame. His son was going to be a mistress. A mistress.

It was insane. It was perverted. And the worst part was, if Meduso was smart, which he was, he would take Tristan up on that offer. It was protection. And he desperately needed protection from Trivas. Tristan was Meduso’s best bet, and it was a bleak outlook.

Tephras should have just made him the Crown Prince when he had the chance. He had been toying with the idea of deposing Trivas after the war and putting Meduso in that spot instead, and then Trivas had to go and do that. Their navy was effectively crippled now, and there was no getting out of it. They wouldn’t have a genius like Meduso again in their lifetime.

He was so frustrated with his sons. Meduso had been victimized again and again, and now he was not writing back. He was done with this family, this empire that had continuously failed him, and---

“You look upset,” someone said from behind him, and Tephras stiffened up.

Verence. He looked the same, though there were streaks of gray in his silky hair, and he walked around the side of Tephras’s chair.

“You should know better than to show your face here,” Tephras growled, and Verence sat on his desk like he belonged there. Once upon a time, he did belong there.

“I’ll keep coming so long as you don’t fill my vacancy,” Verence said, and the translation was clear: you will still let me, so why even bother posturing?

“I don’t want to see you right now,” Tephras said, and Verence drew his finger over the report from Tephras’s spy on his desk.

“No?” he asked and picked it up, scanning over the document like he still had a right to read Tephras’s mail. “You always want to see me.”

Tephras was reminded of a time where he would bury his face into Verence’s middle, breathe in his scent, wrap his arms around him and try to calm down. He had always found solace in Verence in a way he couldn’t find in Trina. She was his Empress, but Verence was his great love. And he knew that.

“Still angry with me?” Verence asked mildly, and Tephras slammed his hand into the desk.

“How many people did you kill to get your child?” he asked, and Verence tilted his head.

“It’s the cycle of life and death,” he said, and Tephras shook in place.

“I bet you told him that he’s cursed because the gods thought our union was unnatural,” he spat out, and Verence grinned.

“What, did you want me to tell him the truth?” he cooed, and Tephras realized that no, he didn’t want him to tell the truth. He had killed dozens of people for the ritual to hijack Trina’s womb, and Tephras could not, would not, forgive him.

“My son is cursed because of you,” Tephras hissed, and Verence laughed.

“And? You act like you actually care about him,” he teased, and Tephras’s heart stilled in his chest.

“Do you think I don’t?”

“You sent him to his death. Twice. And turned a blind eye to his brothers trying to kill him over twelve times,” Verence pointed out, and Tephras trembled in place.

That was… true. It was true. Tephras had not shown a shred of care for Meduso, and his son had paid the price. Now he wouldn’t even speak to him, and it was all squarely Tephras’s fault.

“What if I told you you could start over?” Verence purred, and Tephras went very, very still.

“What?”

“Not completely, of course, but I have a ritual I’m perfecting as we speak,” Verence said, and Tephras could scarcely believe. “Of course, there’s a price to it. There’s always a price.”

That was the problem with witchcraft. For small spells, you didn’t have to worry about equal exchange. For the magic Verence did? The prices were heavy indeed.

“I know you too well to agree with anything you say,” Tephras said, and Verence’s eyes twinkled.

“And, yet, you still love me,” he purred, and Tephras tried to inhale, but his throat was closed up.

“No, I don’t,” he hissed. “You’ve done too much for me to look at you the same.”

“And, yet, you mourn our son,” Verence said, and Tephras could barely breathe. Verence had a presence to him, an inexorable pressure, and Tephras suddenly seized him by the shirt and dragged him in for a kiss.

Their teeth clashed, fangs scraping against each other, and Tephras seized Verence by the face and held him in place as he kissed him deeply. Verence kissed him back, his black tongue flicking into Tephras’s mouth, and Tephras kissed him until he couldn’t breathe.

“Get out,” he hissed when he came to his senses, and Verence slid off the desk.

“We truly do need to stop meeting like this,” he said, and then he turned for the door. Two steps, and then he vanished, like ink wiped across a page of paper. Tephras was left devastatingly alone in his absence, and his heart ached.

Verence, gone. Meduso, a plaything for an enemy prince. It was colossally unfair, and Tephras slumped down to his seat and buried his head in his hands.

He was never going to get Meduso back. He likely wouldn’t even see him before he died. And he had to live with that.

He didn’t want to live with that.

….

Meddie sat down at the table with his tray full of bland, tasteless food and picked at it listlessly. The quail was cut into and placed on his tongue, and he really did not want to eat. It would be better to call for food to be brought up to his room, which he could apparently do. He would probably start to do that regularly.

There was a lot of noise in the cafeteria. Students were chattering up a storm, way too loud, and he stared down blankly at his food. Tristan had let him walk away, and he hadn’t followed him, but everyone had to eat at some point. He probably---

A tray dropped on the table next to him, and he looked over at Corina.

“You look upset,” she commented lightly as she took a seat, and Meddie swallowed.

“Ah… I’ve just been studying all morning. My brain is fried,” he said, and she hummed.

“Where’s Tristan?”

“No idea,” he replied, because he truly did not have a clue, and she stuck her fork in the roasted potato pieces and took a bite. Her plate was mostly potatoes, and he wondered if she was afflicted with autism.

“Mm,” she said, and glanced at him. “I thought he went to the library to find you.”

Oh. Caught.

“Oh… We got into an argument,” he said, a bit stupidly, and she blinked.

“Bad enough he ran off?”

“It was more me running off and him letting me go,” he muttered as his ears heated up.

“Ah,” she said, and braced her chin in her hand. “I heard your dad’s been writing you, and you haven’t even read the letters.”

“Do you have to be so blatant about the fact that you’re spying on me?” he asked, unamused, and she laughed lightly.

“What, would you prefer me to beat around the bush?” she asked, and he twitched. Definitely some variety of autistic.

“No,” he mumbled and put some more quail in his mouth. “But, I don’t want to discuss my father.”

“Not even a little?” she teased, and he twitched.

“Not in the slightest,” he assured her, because he was not about to have that conversation in this crowded lunch hall.

“Pity,” she said. “I would like to hear it before Tristan does. It would get under his skin.”

“I’m not interested in being a chew toy between you two,” he muttered, and she blinked.

“You’re feeling feisty today,” she commented lightly. “You sure you don’t want to talk about whatever happened with Tristan?”

“No. I really don’t,” he bit out, and she tilted her head.

“It must have been pretty bad…” she murmured, and he stared down at his food.

“He told me I’m never leaving this empire,” he muttered under his breath, and she blinked.

“Ah. So, he came across as a raging asshole because he doesn’t know how to properly romance someone,” she said, and he wished she didn’t put it so flippantly. “Understood.”

“Something like that,” he mumbled, and she sighed.

“He does mean well, he just…” she trailed off. “I think the war broke something in him.”

The war broke something in Meddie, too, but he sure as hell didn’t act like that. But, he didn’t say as much.

“He probably wishes you were still a girl so he could just marry you…” she said, and Meddie twitched.

“I think I’m going to go take a nap,” he said and came to his feet, because he could not cope with that conversation.

“Oh, did I upset you?” Corina asked, and he said nothing as he picked up his tray and made his way over to the trash. Corina watched him go, her brow furrowed in concern, and he trashed the practically untouched food before he headed out the door.

All of this was getting too close to comfort. He didn’t know what he had to do to survive.

He just knew he had to survive.