Ceremus' heart palpitated violently against his ribs, his grip on the door handle tightening until his knuckles turned white.
His breathing grew uneven, each exhale more ragged as Hael's lips inched higher, closer—until they hovered just before his own.
Then, suddenly, he stopped.
Ceremus frowned, confusion flickering across his features as he looked up. Why had he hesitated?
That's when he saw it.
Hael's expression burned with passion, his cerulean eyes darkened with want, clouded with an undeniable hunger. They were a deep, swirling tempest—wild, all consuming. A storm waiting to pull him under. Fear took over Ceremus as he felt himself drowning under his heated gaze and yet, he found himself wanting to drown in those violent waters. Ceremus didn't waste a single moment. In one swift motion, he crashed his lips onto Hael's, devouring him whole.
For a fleeting second, Hael froze, stunned by the force of it. But then instinct took over. His arms wrapped tightly around Ceremus, pulling him in, returning the kiss with the same raw intensity.
Ceremus shifted, turning fully to face him. Their bodies pressed together, heat radiating between them. He could feel Hael's heart pounding just as fiercely as his own, the rhythm thrumming against his chest. A devilish smile tugged at Ceremus' lips—knowing he had this effect on the white-haired giant sent a thrill down his spine.
His fingers traced up Hael's neck before gripping it firmly, drawing him impossibly closer. Their mouths moved in sync, a battle for dominance neither seemed willing to lose.
The embrace stretched on, deep and consuming, until Ceremus finally pulled away, breathless.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, each inhale sharp and unsteady.
His gaze searched Hael's face—and satisfaction curled through him at what he saw.
Hael's eyes remained dark, clouded with longing.
"Don't think for a second that I've forgiven you for what you did," Ceremus finally said, his breath still uneven.
Hael gave a slow nod, his gaze flickering down to the king's now-swollen lips.
What an adorable fool. I want to ruin him. The thought sent a shiver of satisfaction through Ceremus as he leaned in, pressing another lingering kiss against Hael's mouth—teasing, fleeting—before pulling away.
"Now, get out of my sight," he said smugly.
Leaving the guard completely and utterly stunned.
~*~
The ship finally anchored in the warm and sunlit country after two long days at sea. The crew, weary from their journey, felt a wave of relief as they stepped onto solid ground. After nearly twenty-two days of travel, they longed to shed the exhaustion of their voyage, but duty called—there were still important matters to attend to.
At the port, knights of the kingdom stood in formation, ready to welcome them home.
Hael, Ceremus, and Loki disembarked, the golden sunlight warming their skin—a stark contrast to the cool, shadowed interior of the ship. The knights and officials bowed deeply, their gazes reverent as they addressed the man who had come to save their people.
"Welcome to Leacus, King Ceremus and Sir Hael. His Majesty awaits your arrival with great anticipation," an older man with dark brown hair and keen light brown eyes announced.
Ceremus cast a sweeping glance across the gathered crowd, his gold earrings swaying gently with the movement. Beside him, Hael wore a faint smile, his expression calm yet attentive. The onlookers, tasked with escorting them to the palace, stared in quiet admiration, captivated by the king's presence.
Dressed in a crimson tunic adorned with intricate gold patterns, Ceremus exuded effortless regality. The fabric draped over his shoulders, partially exposing his sculpted chest, while flowing white trousers—cinched at his waist with an ornate gold belt—completed his attire. His ensemble gleamed under the sunlight, further accentuated by a delicate gold headpiece tied around his dark hair, a gilded collar resting at his throat, and polished bangles encircling his wrists. The climate in Leacus was notoriously hot during this time of year, and he had chosen his attire wisely—light yet extravagant, befitting his station.
By contrast, Hael's attire was more understated, at the king's insistence. He wore a white tunic with subtle gold embroidery, paired with a black-and-gold neckpiece and matching bangles that rested on his forearms rather than his wrists. His long, silver-white hair had been left unbraided, cascading freely in the breeze. With Loki perched gracefully on his shoulder, he presented an image both striking and serene.
The two boarded the chariot prepared for them and set off toward the royal palace. As they rode through the city, Hael and Loki took in the sights, marveling at the beauty of Leacus.
The air itself felt alive, thick with warmth, wrapping around them like a sunlit embrace. Trojas had a naturally warm climate, but its temperatures fluctuated, especially in the high mountain regions. Leacus, however, seemed like a land untouched by cold, where summer reigned eternally.
The vast desert stretched endlessly before them, golden sands shimmering beneath the unforgiving sun. Jagged rock formations stood like ancient sentinels, their surfaces glowing with reflected light. The sky above was a flawless blue, its hue so rich it seemed almost painted on. In the distance, the ocean sparkled like liquid sapphire, offering a stark contrast to the arid expanse. For a fleeting moment, their journey felt like a passage through paradise—until they reached the royal district, where the weight of reality settled back upon them.
"Normally, entry into the country would be permitted only through the city gates," an official explained as they passed through the palace entrance. "However, with the gates no longer under our control—thanks to that beast—we had no choice but to arrange your arrival by sea. We sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this has caused."
The pair nodded in understanding, choosing to remain silent throughout the duration of the trip until they arrived at the palace.
The palace itself was a sight to behold, its architecture grand and intricate, a testament to the kingdom's rich history. Yet, despite its beauty, it paled in comparison to the wonder of the palace back home.
As they walked along the corridor leading to the throne room, Hael's gaze wandered over the walls, where paintings and murals adorned the passage like sacred relics. One fresco, in particular, caught his attention. It depicted a breathtaking goddess with flowing apricot-colored hair and brilliant emerald-green eyes. She stood beside a man whose presence exuded something far less divine—skin so pale it nearly appeared gray, wavy black hair that cascaded to his shoulders, and piercing blood-red eyes that seemed to follow Hael wherever he moved.
A sudden chill ran through his body as he stared at the sinister god. He couldn't help wondering what this strange feeling was, but didn't have time to dwell on it as they had arrived.
The two guards standing by the throne room doors stiffened at the sight of Ceremus approaching. Their serious demeanor wavered, an involuntary shudder running through them as an unspoken fear settled in their chests as they felt the King's piercing gaze on them. If looks could kill, they would have been buried six feet under, with no hopes of ascension or reincarnation. Without hesitation, they stepped aside, pulling open the grand doors and announcing his arrival.
As Ceremus and Hael entered the throne room, they could feel the weight of countless eyes upon them. The murmurs of nobles and courtiers hushed into silence, the air thick with anticipation.
Only when they reached the foot of the throne did King Aeson finally speak.
"Welcome to Leacus, King Ceremus. We are honored to have you here." His voice was smooth, laced with formal politeness.
Ceremus acknowledged him with a curt nod.
Aeson's lips curled into a measured smile. "I must also extend my gratitude for your assistance in this matter. Our gates have been inaccessible for some time now, as I'm sure you understand. This poses a serious threat to our kingdom's security."
Ceremus met his gaze, unblinking. "We are allies, are we not? Of course, we would lend a helping hand." His tone was flat, devoid of embellishment.
The King of Trojas had never been one for empty pleasantries or hollow decorum, and he had no intention of starting now—especially not in front of a man like Aeson, whom he held in utter contempt.
Aeson Cassius was the type to let others dirty their hands while he reaped the rewards. A man of words rather than deeds, more politician than king. He was no warrior, nor was he known for his honor. To Ceremus, he was the worst kind of ruler—a spineless schemer who wielded power not through strength or integrity, but through the slippery art of manipulation.
"…I see," Aeson murmured, his expression unreadable. "Before we address the root of the problem, allow me to introduce you to my queen—Apphia, and daughter—Emani."
He gestured toward the woman seated to his right called Apphia. She was striking—raven-haired, with pale, porcelain skin that contrasted the deep blue of her regal attire. Her gaze was sharp yet welcoming as she inclined her head in a graceful greeting.
Though her expression was warm, her eyes held the same calculating sharpness as her husband's. She regarded Ceremus with quiet intensity before shifting her gaze to Hael.
For the briefest moment, something flickered across her eyes—something pointed, unreadable—before vanishing just as quickly, and this sight did not go unnoticed by Ceremus.