NINE

    The journey was short. Yver, with characteristic flair, kicked the carriage door open. He then held out his hands to Mars. Confused, Mars took them. “Woah!” he exclaimed as Yver easily lifted him out and set him down, leaving a light, proprietary arm around his waist.

    Keith had just disembarked, Charlotte’s arms wound tightly around his flexed bicep. The prince looked devastatingly handsome in his formal attire: a stark white kilt, a corselet of tooled, black leather adorned with rubies, and the heavy gold collar of his station, shaped like a sun-disc with a serpent’s head at its center. Charlotte was a vision in sheer, gossamer silk the color of a desert sunset, her curves displayed to perfection.

    The two men stared at each other, Yver with a playful grin. “Come with me,” he said, his arm still around Mars’s waist, and whisked him into the Great Hall of the Grandmasters.

    The hall was a symphony of light and opulence. The ceiling was a mosaic of lapis lazuli and gold, depicting the night sky. Water flowed through channels in the marble floor, filled with floating lotus blossoms. The air was thick with the scent of exotic perfumes and spiced wine. And along one entire wall was a buffet table that made Mars’s eyes gleam- a mountain of delicacies from honey-glazed figs and spiced lamb to delicate pastries that looked like edible jewels.

    Mars, of course, made a beeline for the food. He sampled a delicate, rose-colored macaron, and an involuntary, blissful moan escaped his lips. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.

    “Cute,” a voice commented from beside him.

    Mars turned, his mouth still full. “What?”

    Yver, now with two ladies fanning him with large ostrich-feather fans, ignored the question and glanced across the room. Mars followed his gaze.

    Keith was walking with his father, King Amenhotep. The king was a older, sterner version of his son, his own shorter red hair streaked with silver. Keith moved through the crowd with a palpable aura of dangerous power, being introduced to foreign ambassadors and high nobles. The Grandmasters' event was the social pinnacle of the season.

    The host, Grandmaster Way, an elderly man with a kind face etched with recent grief, stepped onto the podium. A hush fell over the assembly.

    “That’s the Grandmaster, right?” Mars whispered into Yver’s ear.

    Yver nodded, his voice equally low. “Yes. There used to be two- him and his wife. Grandmistress died a month ago. This event is in her honor.” Mars nodded, this piece of lore adding a new, somber layer to the glittering affair.

    As the Grandmaster spoke of his wife’s charitable works, Keith found his attention wandering. His gaze kept snagging on Mars and Yver, their heads bent close together. For some reason, it irked him. He tried to ignore it, but when he looked again, Yver’s arm was around Mars’s shoulders, his lips actually touching his ear whispering whatever it was that made the younger man laugh. A hot, unfamiliar coil of irritation tightened in his gut.

    When the speech ended and the mingling resumed, a waiter passed by with a tray of crystal wine glasses. Keith, with a sudden, brutal motion, shoved him. It was only a fraction of his strength, but it was enough to send the man flying. Glasses shattered, red wine splashed like blood across the marble, and the tray clattered loudly.

    No one questioned the Crown Prince. They simply hurried to help the coughing waiter and clean the mess. King Ahmenotep face turned red, "Prince Keith-" his son didnt give room for his scolding though.

    “Oh, here he comes,” Yver giggled, and with perfect timing, slipped away to intercept Charlotte, who was gliding toward them.

    The still-confused Mars jumped as Keith now stood before him, his eyes glaring daggers. ‘What did I do now?!’

    “Ah, shouldn’t you be with your partner?” Mars asked, trying to deflect.

    “Did you like flirting with Yver?” Keith’s voice was low and dangerous.

    “What?” Mars was dumbfounded.

    "You two, you seemed to have gotten awfully close in such a short time, hmm? You like him, hmm?" Keith asked, all Mars could think about was whether this man had actually gone mad.

    "Oh, I think I've got a phone call, BRB," he rushed out his words as he slipped past the confused man and ran out to the gardens where the carraiges were parked.

'Phone call? BRB?' Keith stood there wondering what those words, that were non-existent to him, meant.

    Yver noticed what had transpired between the two and made his way back to his friend, "oh your highness, what has got you so flustered?" He asked.

    "What does brb mean?" Keith asked instead, "what?" Yver could only ask back.

    "He... never mind, forget it," he simply said, "I will be leaving now," he said. Yver's eyes perked up, "the party's over anyways, might as well leave with you. The cutie's riding again with me by the way."

    When they arrived at the palace, Keith’s carriage was already there. He stood in the torch-lit courtyard, watching as Yver disembarked and then helped a downcast Mars down. Keith’s muscles tensed, a primal urge to stride over and rip them apart coursing through him. But the unfamiliar, chaotic storm of emotions made him feel unmoored and he stayed rooted, a statue of conflicted desire. This was the first time he felt something threatening to burst through the cold, controlled shell of his existence. He didn't do emotions; he extinguished them.

    That night, Mars lay on his thin mat, Anya sleeping soundly on another beside him. Their nightly ritual of him describing the wonders of his world- vacuum cleaners, air fryers, the boundless internet- had been a comforting escape. But tonight, his mind was elsewhere.

    How would he actually stop Charlotte from carrying out her plans and save this prince? Did he even need saving?

    One look from him alone would be enough to kill a hundred of those ghoul monsters.

    But of course, despite all those amazing characteristics, he still died at the hands of a woman.

    "Ack! That means i have to constantly follow him around," he silently cried, he was so not looking forward to his assignment.