Work Text:
Amante diurno, para un Señor de las Tinieblas
Caricia nocturna, envuelta en seda.
Bebiendo hidromiel y agua bendita.
Viene de mi carne. Como un hombre hambriento.
Bebes de mi sangre, como si yo fuera tu salvador.
El beso del alba, mi gota de sol.
Envuelto en mi calor, me hundo en tu calidez.
Comes de mis dedos, bebes mis suspiros.
Suspiro por mi existir; anhelo tu pecado.
Quiero verte deshecha.
Verte ser mi trono, verte ahogarte en mis lamentos.
Yo seré tu manzana, para que puedas servir como Eva.
Para que puedas adorarte como Venus adoró a Marte.
- Anónimo
Everyone in the Sphere knows that chaos will soon be unleashed when the Master’s consort appears, seated upon his own black throne—a stark contrast to the vastness and pristine nature of the palaces. He does not speak; he contributes nothing. He simply remains there, watching the scene as if everyone belonged to a strange race he does not comprehend.
Where marble and gold trace perfect lines as symbols of wealth, the trash and jagged metal that form the second chair interrupt the beauty of the hall. Some say it is in poor taste, a terrible reminder of the world he left behind. Poets and artists, however, view it as an enigmatic paradigm of how beauty requires horror to stand out—just as goodness requires acts of extreme cruelty to be noticed and appreciated.
Perfection craves sin.
In any case, the consort rarely attended the sessions held in the throne room, and his presence seldom signaled any change. Some of the wealthy complained, claiming to feel a deep, reddish gaze fixed upon them.
Rudo Surebrec remained aloof. Half-reclined in his throne with his face resting on his fist, he admired the unfolding chaos. At times, his gaze was empty; at others, his eyes gleamed in such a way that he seemed to be invoking his jinki while fiddling with the metal fragments protruding from his throne.
Tamsy Caines, at his side, maintained his posture, allowing a smile of pure confidence and honesty to show. Kind, compassionate... like an angel. A fair monarch. Rudo knew it was all a facade. A lie. And that he, more than a consort, was Tamsy’s war banner, ready to be hoisted and used.
His first session as consort had been chaos. Rudo had remained silent while everyone praised the perfect story Tamsy told them with affection, suffering, and pain. He spoke of tragedies as if he hadn't conjured them himself, and of accidents premeditated since ancient times.
Rudo had learned to keep quiet, to mock under his breath, and to observe with disdain. He toyed with the edges of his throne of trash, searching for a way to sit without feeling uncomfortable. If he played along, perhaps he could find a way out of this. Of course, it had been a year since his false comfort had turned into a cage.
Rudo didn’t remember how much he hated the Sphere until he was at a ball "for everyone." A stupid fantasy Tamsy staged every now and then to prove he was on the side of the sinners, that he kept them in mind and that they would be part of his Reign when the time came. Risky, yes, but it made perfect sense.
Oh, sweet and pious prince. Who descended into hell for a sinner, a beggar, solely out of mercy and love. Oh, sweet and modest prince, who collaborated with the infernals to keep the sinner alive. Oh, what a son of a bitch—a traitorous cleaner who manipulated everything around him to be the hero of his own perfect story. A cruel and imperfect vermin who killed his father and used Rudo as his perfect weapon.
Rudo would be treated like an ungrateful madman. But he would rather starve to death than be another one of Tamsy Caines' sycophants. He had tried: starving himself locked in his room, barricaded with a dagger. It was useless; Tamsy, with Tokushin's help, disarmed him in less than three seconds, and he ended up forced to eat.
It wasn't much different from his posture at that ball, refusing to give the signal of honor for the inaugural dance. He wasn't going to give that satisfaction to anyone, and as long as they hated him in the Sphere, the better he would feel at the end of the day.
The ballroom was a complete waste of materials: a crystalline ceiling reflecting the stars and grand glass walls adorned with marble columns. The thrones stood imposing, twenty steps above the dance floor. The musicians had a large private balcony above the monarchs' heads, playing a dull melody that sounded nothing like the thundering songs of Too Lily.
The newcomers lined up to bless the monarchs, boring Rudo to the extreme. He had already unbuttoned his black jacket, and his trousers weren't even tucked in properly. He exhibited his battered skin, as his boots were short. A thick cloak covered his shoulders; the silk at least soothed the fever in his bare hands.
His crown tilted sideways on his hair. He was lying back completely, in a way that would cause long-term back pain, listening to the introductions of the nobility with all the attention in the world.
Or of the sinners, it seemed.
"What is your name, dear?" Tamsy’s voice sounded ridiculously sweet and understanding as he waited for the other girl to forget her shock at Rudo and introduce herself properly.
The girl—a young lady, if Rudo had to guess—blinked a couple of times before apologizing. Effusively, she bowed, taking the edges of her simple white dress, and mentioned the only name that could send shivers down Rudo's spine:
"Chiwa! From the Valley of Sinners."
"Chiwa..."
"Rudo?" The girl's already large eyes widened so much they hurt, filling with tears. An "oh" escaped her lips when Rudo sat up; someone gasped at the sight of Tamsy’s consort moving from his throne for the first time.
A pang of pain shot through Rudo, remembering his fall, remembering the small stuffed animal he had given Chiwa before descending.
Rudo, without any decorum, rushed to take Chiwa’s hand to drag her onto the dance floor. People stopped, absorbed in the strange scene. Even more confused by Tamsy’s neutrality.
"Is this not a dance? Play, damn it!" Tamsy, known for his impulsive temperament, shouted at the musicians. A soft melody echoed through the room as Rudo and Chiwa took their positions.
Chiwa spoke first.
"Oh, Rudo. All this time I believed... it was a myth, that you had died." Rudo made her dance clumsily, following the turns late and moving slowly in the center. He felt a pang of discomfort in his chest when his old friend sobbed.
"They said you had died in the fall, that Lord Tamsy didn't find you until months later."
Of course, Chiwa clung to the first thing they told her.
"What an honor, Rudo—a member of royalty who descends from a sinner. Isn't it poetic? Just like those stories you used to rescue from the trash, the ones about the princess rescued by her knight. And look, it turned out well, don't you think? Now you're the consort, you're like a Great Lord!"
Rudo couldn't take it anymore.
"There are no seas, you fool, Chiwa."
She blinked once, twice, three times. Her mouth formed a perfect "O" before her expression turned sad, as if Rudo were a wounded little animal rejecting help.
"It’s okay, Rudo. Don't worry."
"Excuse me?" Rudo didn't even realize the music had stopped and that Tamsy was approaching carefully.
"Lord Tamsy said you were confused, that you lived with demons down there for a long time. Don't worry, Rudo, you're not there anymore."
"Demons?! Who the hell told you that?! It’s a lie! There are people living there, suffering because of our trash, Chiwa!"
His hands tightened on Chiwa’s waist and hand, preventing her from escaping. Anguish and pain gave way to fear; Rudo's hands began to burn as if submerged in boiling water.
"He’s a liar! He killed Regto! He planned my fall, my ascent, everything! Don't be a fool, Chiwa. He—"
"Forgive him, dear." Tamsy’s hands surrounded Rudo like a stifling blanket. "Come honey, the pain must be bothering you."
Rudo was carefully led out of the hall, and Tamsy made a vague gesture for the event to continue in the monarchs' absence. The corridors felt eternal while his heart threatened to burst; tears ran down his cheeks until they reached a secluded room.
Tamsy placed his hands on his face and cooed to calm his crying.
"Oh, dear, have you become confused again? The dance has stressed you out a lot." Affection and endearment—no matter the temperament or tone Tamsy used, they all disturbed Rudo.
He held his own hands, carefully tracing the reddish cracks. The battered, raw skin trembled under scrutiny; on his ring finger sat a single golden jewel with a heavy ruby at the center. Rudo had tried to mutilate that finger too many times, leaving it useless: a piece of soft flesh that matched the tip of Tamsy’s missing pinky.
Rudo's eyes shone, furious and full of hatred. He wanted his vital instrument; Rudo knew his anger could even transform his sighs into a divine weapon to rid himself of Tamsy forever.
To fall again, by his own choice, even if he died with no one to slow or cushion his fall. He wanted to see Riyo, Enjin, Follo. To hoard Dear's sweets, to draw with Remlin while Corvus watched. To talk to Amo, to hear her ramble. Hell, he would even endure a week of exhaustive training if it meant hearing Zanka's petulant voice again.
To be free among the trash, instead of a useless little bird in a golden cage.
"Let's go to sleep, dear. Perhaps I’ll even read you poetry."
"I hate you."
"It's okay, dear. My love can cover us both."
A sob escaped his lips. The first since his kidnapping.
There was no longer any trace of the little Sphere, the Die, or the Cleaner.
Only the blurred silhouette of a sinner remained, condemned to reign over a people who loathed him. Forced to love a man he hates.
Long live the Monarch's Consort. Good luck to Rudo Caines, formerly Surebrec. Formerly truly loved.