Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's mine, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed over my horrendously long period of absence. Your support got me through some rough times, even when I wasn't writing, and you have no idea how much it means to me. You guys are absolutely amazing, and I love you. :-)

Dun dun dun dun...

…...

Damian cocked his head to one side as heat rushed through him and ice and pure energy followed on its heels. His sister was dangerously close to an unleashing over something, and he and Tristan could not help but feel it. Clenching one fist and sending her as much control as he could spare, he glanced over at his twin. Tristan rose an elegant silver eyebrow and shrugged, as perplexed as he was. She was somehow still shielding, and unless they wished to try and force those shields to lower for them, they would have to wait for her to volunteer the information they sought. A tiny thread of rage shot through him, for no matter their teasing and jests, they loved and cherished their little sister…in some ways more than anyone else.

And whoever or whatever had brought her so close to the edge would pay, and pay dearly, should they deem it necessary. He felt her catch that thought, felt her latch onto it like a lifeline, and he let her. She pulled herself back from that perilous brink with it, hauled herself back into calmer waters, and he knew the instant that her roiling power began to recede. Slowly, so as not to startle her into silence, he sent out the barest hint of speculation, of curiosity, and was rewarded with a jumble of emotions and flashes of visions. What he saw inside her mind in those moments thoroughly shocked him, and he realized, however belatedly, that he had been far too wrapped up in his own problems as of late. He had failed to even notice that something was plaguing his beloved Blyss…and that was unforgivable.

"We are supposed to help her, protect her," Tristan whispered as though another might hear, though they were alone in a rainforest deep in the South American wilds. Hisses and odd chirps and croaks were his only reply before he continued. "Yet we did not even know there was a problem."

"We've cursed others for blindness over the years," Damian finally responded, pushing heavy green leaves out of his way and growling the local jaguar into submission when she came to investigate their intrusion, "but we've been as blind as any."

A rush of displaced air stopped whatever Tristan might have said and caused the great cat to leap from her feet into the nearest tree with a low roar. A second later, Luthen and Lithia stood before them with bright smiles and mischievous glints in their eyes, and Damian took an involuntary step back before he could stop himself. Instincts were instincts, after all, and his were much more finely tuned than most. But then Luthen laughed, a familiar, wrenching sound that had haunted Damian's dreams for years, and his prized instincts began to once again become smothered by something entirely different. Love is not fair or rational, nor does it always have one's best interests at heart. It simply is what it is, and all are its pawns.

"Come away with us, precious ones," Luthen purred, emerald eyes catching tiny bits of dappled sunlight and turning them somewhat golden. "Let us get away from this heat and go somewhere open, where we can see the night sky."

"You used to love the forests at dawn," Tristan commented, and Damian felt his hesitance through their link. Neither could explain why they stayed so continuously wary, even when their souls cried out and pleaded for completion. Lithia's smile faltered the slightest bit, but she was much farther gone than they were and it was back in an instant as soon as her brother wound his fingers around her own.

"Yes," Luthen agreed without the slightest bit of hesitation, "but I have my reasons for no longer being quite as fond of them…"

Remembrance hit, and Damian wished to scream and rip out his hair by the handful. Their last night together before…before…had been in a forest very similar. He had been so content, so thrilled with life and all its mysteries and promises, and now he only wished for peace, for oblivion, for an end to all of this. But he was the Storm Heir, and suicide was so far beneath him that it was barely even a vague concept in his mind. No, he would endure, he would survive…and if he lost so much of himself in the process that he could no longer recognize his own reflection…then so be it. Eyes narrowing as Luthen stepped forward, he wondered if he saw something in his beloved's face just then, he wondered if Luthen knew of their misgivings…

But then that loving grin was back, and his thoughts became foggier, his mind delightfully hazy.

"So, will you come? Will you join us on an island somewhere, perhaps, or—"

But Luthen never finished, because the shadows under the trees began solidifying, swirling, forming into a shape that resembled a woman or perhaps a very curvy man. The shadows did not draw back, however; no one stepped forth. Because as little sunlight as there was, it was just enough to keep a true vampire at bay. And only the Ancients or someone sent by them could travel in such a way, so a vampire it was. He'd seen his parents do it a few times, but they were anomalies, paradoxes, and he put nothing past them. The darkness formed a mouth, and the mouth spoke with the satiny voice of one of the long-dead.

"Neithotep sends her greetings, Princes of the Crown, and wishes an audience with you at your earliest convenience."

Surprise was not the right word. They had spoken with the great lady before, mind-to-mind and through mirrors, but they had never actually met her, except for once, when they were very small. She stayed to herself mostly, and never attended any of the balls or conferences that they frequented. The only real memory they had of her was from when they were born, and those memories were hard to grasp and very vague. Looking at his twin, Damian nodded once and gave a short, yet somehow sincere, apology to Luthen and Lithia, both of whom appeared less than pleased. Once, Damian and Tristan would have asked that they be allowed to come as well; now, Damian simply took his brother's hand and caught the ether with a thought.

He felt Neithotep calling to them as soon as they were in that misty web of magic, and they followed her summons deep into Egypt and down, down, down, miles below Terra's surface. They came out in a large hallway made completely of gold; hieroglyphs, or medu netcher, "the language of the gods", were inscribed from floor to ceiling on the walls. They told a story, the story of the beginning, of how it all had started with Nu, Watery Chaos, and the Sun god, Ra. The call still pulled them forward, and as they began their trek down the dark, glittery passageway, they soaked in the old legends surrounding them on all sides.

Legends of how Ra grew lonely and mated with His own shadow to produce children. Of how His first two children were lost, and upon their return, He wept and life sprang forth from the earth. Damian particularly enjoyed the tales of Isis, Osiris, Horus and Seth, all of whom he had spent much of his childhood with. A smirk played over his lips as the hallway curved and the great battles between Seth and Horus sprang to life on the walls, for he knew all too well that those two would continue fighting for eternity. He was only brought back to the present when the shadow vampire took shape before them, and it was indeed a female. Hooded and cloaked, she pointed the way, and an archway in the gold began to shine with a light of its own.

"Enter, beloved of my beloved, and know safety in my Halls," a spectral voice slithered out of nowhere and everywhere, and the vampire before them shivered visibly.

Then the light was gone and a void of blackness waited for them, and with their fingers still intertwined tightly, the twins stepped forward and into the unknown. All was silent and dark for long moments, before a single sphere of blood-colored witchlight seemed to lead the way, and in the next breath, all became visible. The room was large, beautiful and full of priceless treasures that had not seen the sun for several millennium, but they noticed none of it, for one treasure stood out among all the rest.

She was a timeless work of perfection, small and dainty yet reeking of power, shorter than females were in modern times but ten times as feral. High cheekbones curved over a tiny, flared nose and unimaginably full lips, and her chin came to a gentle, rounded point that seemed to scream for lips to brush over it reverently. Her ebony hair was braided in the Egyptian style, tiny plaits resting still and silky on her shapely shoulders, and a pschent, a Double Crown of ancient Egypt, sat upon those braids for a mere second before it was simply gone and replaced by a circlet studded in gemstones, a gold cobra rising from the front, ready to strike.

She was thin, wisp-like under her loose, gauzy robes, which hung open to her waist and gave them tantalizing glimpses of small, firm breasts and a flat, muscled stomach covered in tattoos. She gave the visual appearance of helplessness, of weakness, until she moved or you caught a glimpse of her eyes. Because she moved like a lion, all sensual grace and predatory power, and those glassy black orbs had seen the dawn of recorded history. They held the secrets of the ages, they had seen mighty empires rise and fall, they had witnessed the birth and death and rebirth of the wizarding regime, they had watched countless millions die and plead and pray…and they had known love and hate and pain and joy so many times over the long, never-ending years that some part of them no longer shone the way they should have, and yet somehow blinded the eye with their brilliance at the same time.

To say they were awed was a bit of an understatement.

And strangest of all, she looked upon them with the same wonder shining just underneath the surface.

"So, it is true," she began softly, an unidentifiable accent that was both musical and husky coloring her words. "I felt it, sensed it, yet I somehow doubted that such creatures as yourselves would stay mortal, especially given who your parents are." Moving oh-so-slowly, she began crossing the expanse of gilded floor that separated them, and her skin was so pale that it seemed to give back the witchlight in soft hues. But her flesh was not purely white, not even after so long. It seemed to hold captive a golden glitter that sparkled as she walked, blinked, talked…and they could not stop staring.

"Yes, you've stayed mortal, and I fear I know why, dear Princes," she continued as she drew ever nearer, and there was such knowledge in those spellbinding eyes, such wicked wisdom, that he didn't doubt for a second that she did. And she proved him right a moment later. "You have both hoped, until very recently, that something would happen, that the gods would take pity on you, and you could Pass with it being no fault of your own. That would have been much easier while mortal, would it not?"

Neither said a single word, nor so much as breathed.

"I had considered…" she trailed off, and something inside Damian whispered, "that voice, that voice is like blood, true Blood, when it slides along your tongue thicker than any wine and a million times more satisfying…and you want that Blood, don't you?"

"I had considered," she continued, unaware of his internal conflict or at least appearing so, "just drifting in on a breeze one night and taking you, bringing you here and giving you no choice. But you are not normal mortals to be so trifled with, considering your lineage and your own power. And besides, as of late your wills have changed."

She finally reached them, standing mere feet away, and that was when they saw the fangs. And those were not just fangs, oh no. Her two front top teeth were normal, though they were as smooth and perfect as polished white marble, but the next three on either side…those tapered into dangerous points, the smallest toward the front and each growing longer and more deadly, until the third was almost half an inch of curved, poisonous destruction. And poisonous they were—he knew that. Because the six pointed teeth alone set her apart and gave truth to a thousand whispered legends. There were tales, old tales from dynasties long fallen to dust, of an original vampire, of a Mother to the Ancients themselves.

And she, it was told, possessed those same, impossible fangs, which no other of her kind had ever had.

"Sweet Hades," Tristan hissed, his fingers tightening their hold until even Damian's fingers threatened to break. "You're…"

"The first Night Bride," she offered amiably, and her voice had suddenly taken on a hissing quality, though it was no less sultry and seductive. "The first human to ever taste the Blood of Twilight. The one the Egyptians called both Amaunet, the Hidden One, "the mother who is also the father", but also Kauket, "the darkness of primal chaos", though I am no goddess and I lived long before kingdoms were even a concept. I am a hundred different Queens that ruled Egypt, though I favor the name Neithotep, because Hor Aha loved me like no other. I created the Ancients, who are not even ancient by my standards, and I gave birth to my race. I turned your fathers and Anton, gave my Blood to your mother, and tasted the barest bit of you both when you were yet a night old."

The twins sucked in a breath. They hadn't remembered that.

"I would give you the gift if you asked it of me," she said softly, trailing her fingers over their cheeks and shivering just as they shivered. "Or, if you are not yet ready, I would give a different sort of gift."

"And what would that be?" Damian asked as he watched her hands fall gracefully back to her sides, bracelets clinking with a quiet music of their own and sparkling in the low light.

"A direct link to me, as well as the power to command any vampire alive, much like your parents and uncle possess, with a few exceptions, of course."

"And the price?" Tristan questioned, causing a small smile to pull at her sensuous lips.

"That when you do decide to take the Blood—and you will, sweet Princes, if you live long enough—you will come to me for it." She paused, letting her eyes run over them in a way neither could decipher, before speaking again. "But you must understand. This gift is not given with blood."

"Then what is it given with?" Damian asked quietly, knowing several ways such magic could be worked.

His question was answered when a mere tilt of her head had her robes falling to the floor, leaving her bare except for the artfully placed jewelry that seemed to make the aureate tint to her skin even more unreal and eye-catching. She seemed sprinkled in a light coating of gold dust, and he had never known skin could look so metallic, especially such pale skin, let alone so…so softly metallic. She glanced up at them through her eyelashes, something so primal and ferocious in her gaze that tingling sparks shot through the twins and began a slow burn somewhere deep inside them that hadn't been touched in much, much too long.

"Yes," she hissed, eyes misting with desire until even the whites were as black as her irises and pupils, "catch fire for me. Let me see the flames, the Life, dance across your flesh; give me a taste and I will give you one in return. I will give you a small death, a piece of what you sought, something to carry with you and keep you cold…"

All three swore their oaths with lips and tongues and fangs and claws that night, and for several nights after. The twins learned many things from her during the days, when she couldn't summon the power for passion, and many more at night when she could. And they began to love her, and she them, in some twisted, morbid fashion that none of them quite understood. And they did die, just a little bit, enough to change them in several small, vital ways. But such was imperceptible when she was before them in all her golden glory (gods, they'd never have thought they could cherish the color so much), and when they finally had to leave, all they could think was that her eyes had changed again.

Though neither knew if the Void could weep, they imagined that if it could, it would have resembled those abyssal eyes right then. They didn't want to go (she was far too captivating for their own good, surely), yet they had to. Yule had passed and they were already expected back at school. They had been given a bit of an extended reprieve, all the Royal children had due to Luthen's return, but that time had passed. There were no goodbyes said; Neithotep simply turned away and was gone, melting into the closest shadow and vanishing. But she vanished with pieces of them, willingly given yet somehow stolen, just as each of them could distinctly feel a tiny bit of her that had been acquired in much the same fashion.

They'd damned their souls just a bit more, and for what?

For sanity, for flesh and lust and power…and perhaps, just perhaps, for the slightest bit of healing.

...

Madison stalked into the Royal family's dining hall, idly hoping the servants had laid out some fresh mango, which they had. Looking around after he had grabbed a slice, he saw Blyss lounging in one of the window seats, starlight playing over her sculpted features softly. Smirking and popping the slice of delicious fruit in his mouth, he went to her and lifted her legs before sliding underneath them and laying them over his lap. She didn't even glance up as he did so, lost in thought, and he left her to her mental dialogue, leaning his head back against the cool glass and waiting patiently for her to finally speak. Which she did after several more minutes had passed, her lovely face a picture of confusion and agitation.

"Madison?"

"Yes, love?"

"Do...Well, what do you think?" she asked, and he knew, of course, what she spoke of. How could he not? Rumors circled viciously, especially after the incident between her and Arion in the hallway the other day, although Arion himself had not said a word of it as far as Madison knew.

He sighed. "I think that you should do what makes you happy, regardless of others' opinions."

"Yes, yes," she agreed, "but what do you think?"

"I do not think that you could have chosen anyone more worthy. It is, however, unfortunate, given the circumstances."

She closed her eyes briefly. "I do not wish to hurt my aunt."

"I know." He stared at her for a moment, lost in thought. "Although, I must admit I am of the mindset that Pansy is hurting herself. Many are shocked at her behavior towards one who has been with her through so much and never led her wrong, one she is soul-bound to. Many are shocked at her anger with the Sovereigns, as well. She is not gaining much favor with the Court lately, but many also feel sympathy for her and her plight. Some, though, those that believe Luthen is not Luthen, they…"

"They what?" Blyss questioned with dark eyes, and he licked his lips slowly before answering.

"They fear the sickness will spread to her, maybe even to Lithia and your brothers."

Blyss sat in silence for a long while, but Madison could be quite patient when he wished to be, and Blyss needed patience now, not hasty words or ill thought-out statements and rumors.

"I do not know what is wrong with me, cousin," she whispered, leaning into his chest as he intertwined their fingers. "Something grips me, something has latched onto my soul…no," she rethought her words, and then corrected herself. "Something has sprung forth from within it, claws ripping and fangs bared, and I have never felt so alive, so vicious and primal and enlightened as I do when his eyes meet mine or his body brushes against my own. I have never felt so sure, so determined, so powerful…"

Her eyes took on a glazed sheen that seemed spangled with scarlet stars, with small bits of burning blood.

"You love him."

Madison did not truly mean to say what was swimming through his mind in dizzying circles, but the words echoed in his ears as he truly took this seriously for the first time. He couldn't deny or wave off the fire raging in her soul, fire he could almost taste, fire so full of desire and decadence and…and something else, something he could not name. Her lips tightened minutely and her fingers tangled themselves a little more within his own.

"Of course I do. I always have."

"Oh no, sweet cousin, you know what I speak of."

"I—" But she never had the chance to finish as the doors swung open silently and Draco entered, bringing the fresh scent of a thousand salty oceans with him, his mercury eyes seeming to roll and twist, as though waves washed through his very soul.

So, Madison thought before eternal allegiance brought him from the window seat to his knees, he is water today, not ice. Somewhere below them on Terra, a storm raged and cleansed and destroyed, one large enough to capture the King's attention and aid. He could be like this for hours or days, depending. Blyss froze, and then slowly rose into a crouching position until her father looked at her. Then her resolve shattered and she was a ruby blur as she flew into his arms, her hands wrapping around his neck as his slid around her slender waist.

"Oh, papa, I know not what to do," she murmured into his hair, which today, due to the storm, was a silvery blue. Madison stayed perfectly still as his Sovereign's storm-struck eyes bored into his own. He looked away first, and when he looked back, Draco was no longer even glancing his way. No, his gaze was all for his darling daughter, and Madison knew, in that moment, that his King would do just about anything for her should she ask it, even if it meant unraveling some of the ties that held the inner circle together so tightly, ties that could be undone by nothing less than creatures as immensely powerful as he and his mates were.

"I know, my precious one, I know," Draco intoned with a voice that seemed to ripple along the very air, tingling over Madison's skin with both the gentleness of a caress and the crushing power of the deepest, darkest ocean. "And as much as I wish I could fix all of this for you, it is time for you to chose your own path and dictate your own destiny. Come now, both of you. There is a meeting being held shortly, and you are both to be there."

Curiosity rose within Madison like the tides in Draco's eyes, and he followed the High Royals out of the dining room and down several long corridors, before they reached the smaller throne room that was located between the Royal wing and the Family wing. The doors swung open the moment his King moved within range, and they entered in silence. Madison was not surprised to find all of the other Royals already there, everyone from Lycelle to Severus. All waited soundlessly, and none moved anything but their eyes as Draco ascended the dais and took his rightful place next to Blaise and their Queen. The torches dimmed as he lowered himself regally onto his throne, and Virginia spoke at once.

They obviously were not observing the least bit of formality.

"We have called you here," she said as her eyes swept over those assembled, "to inform you that we are leaving for the Underworld at dusk." No one said a word. Such was not unusual, but they didn't usually call everyone together in such a fashion for such a routine occurrence, either.

Blaise picked up where she left off. "Draco, Virginia, Padma, Fred and I will depart alone. But we will not be returning in a few days, or even a few weeks." Whispers would have broken out at any other gathering, but this was not a typical gathering, and they were not typical people.

"In fact," Draco continued, "we are not positive of when you can expect us. We have chosen who shall rule in our absence, and they are to be obeyed as you would obey us. Anything less is treason and shall be punished accordingly."

Finally, one dared speak.

"And who have you chosen, my son?" Narcissa's voice was cultured and smooth, but she looked the tiniest bit worried. The Sovereigns departing at such a tremulous time did not seem very fortunate in their family's eyes, but it was not their place to question, either.

"Anton and George."

Scattered nods were the only reply, and Madison caught a glimpse of Pansy's features as she sat upon her throne and turned her face away. Anger burned in those honey eyes, anger and imagined rejection, and he knew that she was not pleased to have been passed over. Fred was not staying to rule, either, but then again, he was not staying at all. Livia gave her mother a compassionate glance before shooting a livid glare at her father, who sat upon his own throne lazily, as if this came as no surprise to him. Which it probably didn't. But it was a surprise to Pansy, which said more than any words could do that she was not only falling out of courtly favor, but out of divine favor, as well.

And right then, in Madison's night-kissed eyes, she seemed smaller, even though she still sat proudly on the dais next to George.

"Well," Damian drawled softly, a smirk twisting his full lips, "all hail the Regents."

...

A week later, Morven, eldest son of Anton and Pansy and heir to the McGregor line, listened to his sister, Selene, as she once again complained about the injustice done to her. He tried not to smile every time he looked at her, as she was wearing a simple, dirty homespun dress of un-dyed wool that was splattered with bloodstains, had her hair in two loose, unkempt braids, and only worn, badly made leather sandals protected her scratched and bruised feet. And as she quietly screeched at him about her aches and ills and damaged dignity, he decided that working in the fields had not helped her disposition become any brighter.

Glad that the weekly visitation session was almost over and that he was almost free, he assured her that yes, of course he would write, and yes, he would definitely arrange for her to receive different shoes and a decent pillow. Rolling his eyes and finally escaping, he hurried back to Caliga, needing a long swim and bit of blood. He'd skipped lunch, after all, in order to see Selene. Once in the sprawling underwater Palace, which was surrounded on all sides by a much larger city, he stripped off his outer robe, which now smelled of old copper, and threw it to the waiting elf. It wasn't until he was soaking in one of the hot springs that the Queen had called up from under the crust that he heard two very familiar voices.

His father, he knew, was here on a routine visit as Regent while George stayed on Luna. But he had no idea why his mother was in Caliga; he hadn't even known she was coming. And he certainly didn't know why she was with his father, as they had not seen one another except in passing for weeks. They were speaking in low, almost inaudible tones, lost somewhere in all the mist. But Morven's keen ears caught the hushed noise, and though he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't help but listen. After all, they were his parents, and if they were discussing the issues between them, resolving things…

But they were resolving nothing.

"Do not say you love me!" his mother spat venomously. "Do not tell me such lies when you ran around after the Crown Princess as if she were a bitch in heat!"

"I ran around after no one, dear wife," Anton shot back, just as furious. "And you will not speak of our friends' daughter, of the heir to a throne that you serve, in such a way."

"Our friends?" Pansy speculated, her thick voice layered with sarcasm and spite. "Are you sure that you don't mean your friends?"

"Careful, wife of mine. The touch of treason doesn't become you."

"And neither does your touch, beloved husband. Not any longer."

Silence. World-cracking, soul-wrenching silence.

Then, "We had something beautiful, Anton. A family, a life, our love. Why can you no longer see it?"

"Because it no longer exists!" he finally hissed. "That child is not our child, that life can never be ours again, and that love…I do not know what has happened to that love."

"Because you love her?" It seemed more a demand than an inquiry.

"All love Blyss."

"Do not play the fool with me!" A pause, another agonizing silence, and then, "Fine. Keep your little whore, I—"

"Pansy…" The word was both a plead and a warning growl.

"What! Where are they, Anton! They are not here, they are nowhere near, and they are so distant from me that I highly doubt they caught that or that they even care at all anymore."

Anton's silence seemed to stretch into eternity, before it shattered around them as his next words flowed out like a damning tide of determined sorrow.

"Court blasphemy if you wish it, beloved. But remember, through whatever delusions have stolen your soul, that they will always love you. I will always love you." At her disbelieving snort, he hissed, "How many times during the first week of this nightmare did I try to reach you? I would move Hell itself for you, my lady, if you would but let me. But as you made so abundantly clear, you do not wish for the words of an ignorant fool who cannot see the miracle right before him; you shunned every glance, every touch, every endearment, until I finally stopped attempting them. So I've waited, I've watched, praying you would remember your strength, remember who you are, and go to the Sovereigns for aid – aid they would grant you in a heartbeat if you would but seek it. But you have not, you circle that creature like a vulture does carrion, you insult and belittle me every chance that you get, and yet...and yet even as I grow to dislike you, I love you still, as much as ever."

A pause, and the world seemed to stop its steady spinning, sucking in a breath as the Fates' fingers slowed their ceaseless weaving as if waiting, waiting, waiting for Anton to rewrite destiny.

"But I will not destroy my own soul for a love that is no longer pure, nor even returned. And even if it still were, I would never, could never, turn from my Sovereigns for it, or for anything else. My heart beats for them, because of them, and unlike some, I will not forsake such a gift. My love for you has never waned, beloved – I still feel as strongly as I did the day that I asked you to marry me – yet your love for me has proven a much more fickle thing. You have until the end of summer, sweet lady, to regain your senses or give me undeniable proof that you are right, or I will request a Dissolution…and then you will no longer have to worry over how I have changed."

And then he was gone, leaving both Pansy and Morven alone with their thoughts. And though Morven had no idea what was running through his mother's head at the moment, he was all too aware of what was racing through his own. His world was fracturing at the seams, splintering and tearing and falling apart, and he had no fucking idea how to stitch it back together again.

...

Feeling sick, Anton leaned against the nearest solid object he could find after getting as far from Pansy as possible. His stomach roiled and salt burned his eyes as tears threatened for the first time since five had returned when it should have been six. His lost son's face flashed through his mind, pale and perfect and glowing with dark love, and a longing, desperate whimper escaped his lips as his nails dug into the stone he was clutching at so fiercely. He missed Luthen more than he had ever thought possible, more than any but three truly knew, but he had become too powerful to fall prey to the deception his wife had.

His wife…

Gods, how he loved her. It was with him always, a constant ache where it had once been a constant joy, and he wished for nothing more than to help her, shield her…but he could not fight this battle for her. He could only pray that in the end she would find her own power, her own forgotten strength…that she would not be found as weak as she was beginning to seem. They'd both known that over the long years, he'd eclipsed her in power, but he'd had no idea it had been to such a drastic degree. He'd been advancing faster into the dark than she ever since his first wandless unleashing when they were still little more than children, but she had never appeared as though she were all that far behind.

Perhaps he'd simply been too dazzled by her to notice. He'd always found her captivating, entrancing, in everything from how she spoke and smiled and sung to the way her hair would sometimes curl just so until it framed one stunning eye perfectly. A sob began its treacherous path up and up and up until he thought he was choking on his own sorrow. Sinking slowly to the pebbled earth beneath him, a wave of dizziness consumed all for a long moment before his head cleared and he finally realized what he was leaning against. It was a statue, one he'd seen a thousand times.

There was Draco, lips curved in an arrogant smirk and one hand outstretched as though holding the crushing water all around at bay, and Virginia stood portrayed beside him with a bow in hand and a vicious smile, Blaise at her side and their fingers entangled as his storm-swept eyes stayed glued towards the sky. Tingles shot through Anton from his eyes to his thighs and he was on his feet again in seconds. A mere thought, a breath, and the Regent was in the ether and riding fast and furious for the only safe haven he'd ever known. Seconds later, hours later — what did it matter? — he spun out and straight into waiting, wanting arms. Silver obscured everything, the scent of mint invaded everything, and every muscle in his body seemed to sag and tighten at the same time.

"Dread it not, darling," a voice like liquid love and endless divinity slid over his skin and into his soul, "I have you, now and always."

"I've lost her, Draco. We've lost her."

"Perhaps," his King responded bluntly, yet not without compassion and sorrow, "or perhaps not. But consider, lovely one, what you still possess."

And Anton did. He thought of the one holding him so tightly, of the other two who stood bare inches away, of Morven, of Cyan, of Livia and Lithia (who he wasn't sure he hadn't lost completely, as well), of Fred and George and Padma, of Sebastian and Melody, of Mira and Daphne, of Madison and Arion and Atreus. He thought of Damian and Tristan, who he knew could be more than worthy of the Thrones should they fight what must be fought…and then, as though drowning beneath the confusion of it, he thought of Blyss, of her fire-bright hair and intoxicating eyes, of her lean, muscled curves, and morbid, mischievous spirit, of her power and purity and innocent love…

Innocence.

Much too innocent for this madness, his madness.

"She will not be innocent forever," his Queen intoned in a neutral way that spoke of acceptance and lack of judgment, "no more than I was."

"But Pansy…"

"We miss her, too. But we will not strip her free will away, nor belittle her by interfering. And sometimes, as of late, it is difficult for us to...feel, as we become more and more the embodiments of our elements. It would kill part of us to lose her, but it would destroy us to lose you both. And your life and your love are yours to give however you see fit."

"I cannot love them both!"

Silence met that outburst, and he brushed Draco's smooth hair from his eyes and saw his Sovereigns looking at him with such exasperated affection that he almost wished to weep. Then Draco stepped back and Blaise moved in with the silky grace of a snake, alabaster fingers brushing over Anton's lips and drawing a moan from his throat.

"Can you not?" his King questioned before slyly sliding his eyes over first to Virginia, then to Draco. "Can one not love two equally?" Then those beguiling blue eyes were back on him, and Blaise's next words stunned Anton so thoroughly that his head swam. "And very nearly three?"

"Three?" Anton hissed in disbelief. "Who else could you possibly hold in nearly so much regard as you do your mates?"

His only reply was highly hallowed lips meeting his own in the softest, most chaste kiss that he had ever received from the one before him. The gentleness shocked him, not for its lightness but for the impact that it had. Swooning and very nearly falling, wonder engulfed him. He had never known so much could be said with a meeting of lips on lips, yet volumes were contained in that simple show of devotion, and he had begun to weep. Then that magnificent mouth was gone and replaced by one so cold, yet so supple and adoring, that the tears flowed ever faster and completely unheeded. Then it, too, disappeared, only to be replaced with such heat that his soul felt scorched to the core.

When he could breathe again, every trace of moisture had evaporated and he was left speechless as Virginia spoke with a soft, twisted smile.

"Never fear, beloved, for we love you more than you know and would allow you anything you ever desired, no matter how depraved or wretched or selfish it may seem."

But to chase stars was to chase true madness, because wishing after something you had no hope of ever having could drive even the mighty to death.

"So sad, love, so pessimistic and yet so pretty," Draco crooned, before sweeping his hair back with a pale hand and revealing an equally pale throat. "Drink, and know the gods are with you. We wish to wipe that look from your eyes in waves of wicked pleasure. Drink."

So he did, taking comfort and strength from them as only they could give it. Devotion is a double-edged sword that cuts deep, so deep, but he enjoyed seeing his blood run at their touch, enjoyed the hint of silver that had grown inside the purple.

He left with new power, new resolve, and a feeling that no matter what tragedies were still to come, it would not break him, for he had the love of gods to guide him.

...

'Silly, stupid, ungrateful little shit.'

The hoarse, rasping voice seemed to slide out of the very walls, and Luthen froze, his eyes widening and fear choking him. Not now, what was left of him pleaded. Not when I'm finally so close…

'You cannot kill what is already dead, you witless fool. Now drop it, drop it…Drop it!'

And he did. The chunk of ragged glass fell from his shaking fingers and shattered on the marble floor. He had no willpower where the voice was concerned; he had his loved ones to thank for that. But he didn't blame them, oh no. They had done what they believed was right, what he would have done in their place. They had thought they were saving him, yet they had damned his very soul. Very little of him was left, but the part that was could rarely do anything except wail in protest and violent pain as the corruption filling him began to spread. And it could be a subtle thing, slow and quiet in an almost gentle way, virtually undetectable. A glance here, a push towards infidelity there, morphing desires usually restrained turning into so much more; he doubted his father and his cherished Blyss even knew what had kindled the potentially disastrous situation they were finding themselves in.

It could also move more swiftly, a snake it the grass, ready to strike. His beloved sister was gone, being wholeheartedly devoured, and his precious mother wasn't far behind. His lovers, though, seemed to be fighting it better, but he feared for them as each night passed. Not that he cared the majority of the time. Because for twenty-three hours of every single day, he was as vile and infected as the voice that plagued him. But the remaining hour was his blessing, his most cherished and reviled curse. Staring at the bits of glass littering the ground, he prayed to the gods that one day he would find the strength to slice open an artery and end this. Maybe the voice was right. Maybe he couldn't die. But he could certainly fucking try. Sweet Isis, how he wished he could run to his father, but Anton would as soon kill him as touch him these days, and who could blame him? He had been defiled.

But it hurt. For one achingly long hour at the end of each never-ending day, it hurt so viciously that it alone would have made him wish to die. To see his idolized father's eyes fill with disgust at the smallest glimpse of him was crushing. As though he didn't loathe himself enough already…But that was redundant. What was important was that he find a way to keep the taint from eating the Court from the inside out. And to do that, he had to find a way to kill himself, as unnatural as the idea was. Perhaps he could provoke one of the Sovereigns into a rage…But they had departed. Perhaps he could—

'Enough! Think of what must be done, you useless sack of flesh! Do you wish to rule or grovel at the darklings' feet forever?'

"At least I have flesh, you-" his sarcastic remark died on his lips, he knew a moment of anger and fear, of disorientation, and then a sadistic smile came out to play. His hour was up.

"I wish to rule."

…...

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