Location: The Palace Hotel, Room 402 - Afternoon

  Afternoon sun bathed room 402 in warm orange light, yet the topic of conversation between the two youths in the room was as cold as northern ice.

  Ellios sat on the edge of the bed, swirling a glass of wine in his hand. Opposite him, sitting in an armchair with his shirt's top button undone, Louis Ferdinand was laughing.

  It wasn't a happy laugh. It was a mocking laugh. The laugh of a master watching pet dogs being beaten by their trainer.

  In Louis’ hand lay the evening edition of The Ironseat Chronicles.

  "Look at this, Ellios," Louis said, tossing the paper onto the table. "Look at the headline."

  Ellios glanced over. Thick black ink screamed: "NATIONAL SOLIDARITY: CARTA UNITES FACING NATURAL ANOMALY."

  "Natural anomaly?" Louis snorted roughly, pouring more red wine into his glass until it nearly spilled. "Two days ago they called it 'Apocalypse from the Canyon'. Today it becomes 'Natural Anomaly'. A very... polite choice of words."

  Ellios sipped his wine slowly. "The Minister of Information has been working, it seems."

  "Not the Minister of Information," Louis corrected sharply, eyes glinting with amusement. "But Reine Blackmere. The Minister of Information is merely a puppet holding the stamp."

  Louis leaned his head back, staring at the room's ceiling while imagining the scene happening behind the curtains.

  "I can imagine it..." Louis murmured with satisfaction. "Those media magnates... ink kings usually so arrogant, thinking they can steer public opinion and blackmail the palace with sensational news..."

  Louis made a crushing motion with his hand.

  "They were forcibly bent to their knees. Reine surely summoned them one by one to that cold room, then pressed a metaphorical pistol to their temples. 'Change the news, or I burn your printing license along with your editorial building'."

  "And look now," Louis pointed at the paper with his chin. "They are all obedient like sweet puppies. Writing what is ordered. 'Don't cause panic', said Reine. And so they wrote fairy tales."

  Ellios smiled thinly. "That woman is indeed efficient. She knows a pen can be more dangerous than a sword if allowed to run wild."

  However, the smile on Louis’ face slowly faded. The amusement in his eyes was replaced by a serious dark fog. He set down his wine glass. The aura of the dangerous Northern Prince returned.

  "But ink cannot hold back monsters, Ellios," Louis said, his voice heavy.

  He looked at Ellios straight on.

  "Reine can silence newspapers. She can twist the tongues of nobles in Ironseat. But she cannot negotiate with what is in Mirror Canyon."

  Louis leaned forward, elbows resting on knees.

  "I received an eagle report this morning from my father," he whispered, tone dropping to a warning hiss. "Vibrations in Mirror Canyon are getting stronger. Frequency increasing."

  Ellios fell silent, letting the information sink in. "How long?"

  "Not months. Not weeks," Louis answered grimly.

  He held up three fingers.

  "A matter of days, Ellios. The Dark Gate will open. And when that happens... not a single newspaper editorial can save us."

  Ellios stared at the red liquid in his glass. Its color looked like blood soon to be spilled. Outside the window, Ironseat looked calm and peaceful in the twilight glow, lulled by sweet media lies, while at the border, doomsday was knocking.

  "In that case," Ellios raised his glass, looking at Louis with a fatalistic gaze. "Let us drink to the last drop, before the 'anomaly' comes to collect lives."

  Louis’ voice broke the silence, tone low and slightly husky, a mix of curiosity and suppressed desire.

  "Darling..." Louis called softly, eyes fixed on the slender figure standing near the window.

  The Northern Prince put down his empty wine glass. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, the posture of a predator waiting for a meal.

  "Have you obtained the information on Duke Rahgaras?" he asked directly. "Has the 'package' from Witch Blackmere reached your hands?"

  Ellios didn't answer immediately.

  He just smiled thinly, the kind of smile he usually gave before engaging in suffocating price haggling. He turned his body slowly, letting the dim room light refract through his thin white silk shirt.

  Instead of speaking, Ellios began to move.

  His steps were slow, deliberately dragged. He walked toward the armchair where Louis sat, not from the front, but circling behind.

  Ellios’ slender fingers touched the leather chair back, then crept down to Louis’ sturdy shoulder.

  "Sssshhh..." Ellios hissed softly right in Louis’ ear.

  He didn't give a "yes" or "no" answer. He gave a sensation.

  Ellios’ hand moved mischievously. He traced Louis’ neckline, playing with the Prince’s open shirt collar, then his fingertips slipped inside, touching the warm, hard skin of Louis’ chest. He drew abstract patterns there, light yet torturous.

  Louis looked up, trying to catch the teasing hand, but Ellios pulled away just in time.

  Ellios chuckled softly, then shifted position. He walked around Louis again, this time standing right between Louis’ wide-open legs.

  However, he didn't sit. He just stood there, close enough to touch, but far enough to dodge. His hips moved slightly, the rustle of his trousers sounding loud in the quiet room.

  He looked down, staring at Louis from above with a deadly seductive gaze.

  "Why the rush, Prince?" Ellios whispered, his finger now touching Louis’ chin, lifting the handsome face to look at him. "Are political affairs more interesting than what is right in front of your eyes?"

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  He saw Louis’ Adam's apple bob up and down.

  Louis’ breathing began to sound heavy. His patience thinning. He wasn't the type of man who liked being toyed with, especially in matters of war strategy—and bed.

  Louis tried to grab Ellios’ waist, wanting to pull the slender body down onto his lap.

  "Ellios..." Louis growled, a warning tone creeping into his voice. "Don't play games. Where are the documents?"

  Ellios instead took a step back, releasing himself from Louis’ reach while biting his own lower lip, feigning fear but eyes twinkling with mischief. He enjoyed this. He enjoyed seeing the calm of a war general crack just from a hip sway and a silence of a thousand languages.

  Ellios knew he was playing with fire, and he relished it.

  Slowly, as if performing a magic trick, his right hand hidden behind his back emerged. In his slender fingers, grasped several sheets of thick vellum paper rolled neatly and tied with a black ribbon. Authentic documents from Reine Blackmere’s desk.

  He saw it. Louis’ eyes instantly dilated.

  That gaze was no longer a lover’s gaze. It was the greedy gaze of a general seeing an enemy treasure map. Louis’ Adam's apple moved up and down, eyes locked on the paper roll as if it were water in the middle of a desert.

  Ellios lifted the roll high, keeping it out of Louis’ reach while tilting his head with a challenging smile.

  "If you want it, handsome Prince..." Ellios whispered, voice teasing but containing the poison of bargaining.

  He brought his face closer to Louis’, yet maintained a safe distance.

  "Answer my question first..." Ellios narrowed his eyes. "When will the Northern Alliance move? The exact date, Louis."

  Silence for a moment. Only the sound of increasingly heavy breathing.

  Ellios could feel the aura around Louis change. The Prince’s patience had burned out. Veins in Louis’ neck bulged tense. His breath hunted, rough, and hot—a volatile mix of withheld sexual desire and pressing military urgency. The desire was already at the tip of his head, ready to explode at any moment.

  Louis didn't answer with words. His predator instinct took over.

  Snatch!

  The movement was too fast for the eye to follow.

  "Ow... hurts!"

  Ellios jerked in shock. Louis’ strong hand—a hand used to wielding heavy swords—snatched Ellios’ wrist with an iron grip. The grip was tight, slightly painful, and accepted no refusal.

  Ellios’ balance vanished instantly.

  The world spun. His light body was pulled roughly, lifted as if he had no weight, then—

  THUD!

  Ellios was thrown onto the bed just like that. His back slammed into the soft mattress, making him gasp for breath. The paper roll slipped from his hand, rolling onto the carpet floor.

  But Louis didn't care about the paper anymore. He lunged onto the bed, pinning Ellios’ body, confining him under the dominance of his muscular frame.

  Louis’ hands worked fast and wild, pulling Ellios’ shirt until the sound of protesting stitches was heard.

  "Wait... wait!" Ellios cried in panic, hands trying to hold back the broad chest above him. This rhythm was too fast, even for him.

  Louis caught both of Ellios’ hands, pinning them to the pillow above his head with one strong hand. Louis’ handsome face came closer, eyes glinting savagely, a grin of victory decorating his lips.

  "I will tell you..." Louis growled, voice heavy and husky, hot breath hitting Ellios’ lips.

  Louis pressed his hips down, ensuring Ellios felt how hard the Prince’s desire was right now.

  "But information that expensive isn't free..." Louis whispered sharply. "Pay the change with your body, Ellios."

  Ellios stared into the hungry predator eyes above him. He couldn't move. He was locked.

  Damn it, Ellios swore internally, heart racing madly between fear and peaking arousal. I set the trap, but I am the prey.

  That afternoon turned into a storm inside a closed room.

  No more negotiations. No more clever wordplay or price haggling. There was only pure dominance. Louis Ferdinand wasn't making love; he was conquering territory. Every touch, every pressure, and every movement of his body was a statement of the Northern Prince’s absolute power.

  Ellios felt like a small boat battered by reef waves in the middle of a storm.

  His vision whitened. His breath came in gasps, stuck in his throat. His ears rang loudly, between his own frantic heartbeat and the sound of rough skin friction.

  However, amidst that sensory chaos, one whisper from Louis managed to pierce the fog in his brain. A whisper delivered right when Louis pressed the deepest point of his defense.

  "Soon..." Louis sighed heavily beside Ellios’ ear, voice raspy and terrifying.

  "...The King will die."

  BOOOOM!

  The sentence exploded inside Ellios’ head louder than thunder.

  Ellios’ eyes widened, staring blankly at the swaying room ceiling.

  The pressure came simultaneously. Mental shock hearing the King’s death sentence, and the forced physical sensation slamming his nerves without mercy. Ellios’ body arched spontaneously, back leaving the mattress, fingers gripping the sheets until knuckles turned white.

  His mouth opened soundlessly. A scream stuck in his throat.

  Damn... damn... damn! he cursed frantically inside.

  His brain tried to process the information. King die? Carta will collapse? Coup?

  Ellios tried to gather the scattered remnants of his consciousness. He gripped Louis’ muscular arm holding him down, nails digging into the Prince’s skin.

  "Wh... what..." Ellios gasped, voice broken and weak.

  He forced his eyes to focus on Louis’ sweat-drenched face above him.

  "What will... you do... with the King?" he asked desperately.

  However, Louis didn't answer.

  Louis’ eagle eyes were pitch black, fully controlled by primal instinct. He didn't care about Ellios’ political question. He didn't care about the King’s fate right now. To him, the only real thing was Ellios’ body under his power.

  Instead of giving an answer, Louis accelerated his rhythm. He punished Ellios brutally, physical chastisement silencing the youth’s mouth instantly.

  "Ahhh...!"

  Ellios’ question vanished, swallowed forcibly by a long moan. The Northern Prince gave him no room to think, no pause to breathe. He dragged Ellios deeper into a vortex of painful passion, forcing him to forget the King, forget the country, and remember only the name Louis Ferdinand.

  Night had fallen late, leaving a heavy silence in room 402.

  The only sound heard was Louis Ferdinand’s soft snoring. The Northern Prince slept on his back with arms spread wide, fast asleep like a bear that had just finished its prey to the bone. His face looked satisfied, burdenless, as if he hadn't just passed a death sentence on his own king.

  Ellios was still awake.

  He lay on his side facing away from Louis, eyes staring blankly into the darkness under the bed. His body felt crushed. Every joint and muscle screamed in protest from the "storm battering" that had just passed. His waist felt like it was going to break.

  His thin, pale hand hung limply off the side of the bed, fingers almost touching the carpet floor.

  There, lay the object that triggered all this.

  The vellum paper roll from Reine Blackmere. The object was discarded just like that by Louis after glancing at its contents before the second round began. Now it looked like useless trash.

  Ellios stared at the roll with a bleak gaze.

  His lips moved soundlessly, forming a curse.

  "Animal..."

  He didn't just curse Louis for his roughness. He cursed the Prince’s naivety.

  Louis thought he got the authentic list of Duke Rahgaras’ affiliations. He thought he held the key to the East's secrets.

  "Fool," Ellios thought, the corner of his lip lifting to form a cynical smile amidst his pain.

  Ellios remembered what he did an hour before Louis arrived. He did copy the document from Reine, but he didn't copy it raw.

  He was Ellios Randar. He was never an honest postal courier.

  "He changed several names when writing on the new sheet," Ellios thought, recalling the ink still wet this afternoon.

  He deleted the names of nobles truly dangerous and loyal to Rhavas, then replaced them with names of nobles who were enemies of House Randar.

  If the Northern Alliance used that list to conduct assassinations or political maneuvers, they would attack the wrong people. They would waste energy hitting wind, while the real enemies remained safe in the shadows.

  And House Randar needn't dirty its sword to exterminate its enemies.

  Ellios massaged his throbbing temples.

  "Damn..." he hissed softly. "Is that enough?"

  His cunning brain spun again, looking for gaps to create greater chaos.

  "Should I change it again?" he weighed. "Maybe I should insert the names of their own allies into the enemy list? Let them eat each other? Let the North destroy itself from within due to paranoia?"

  The idea was tempting. Very tempting. Pitting wolves against wolves.

  But then, the memory of Louis’ whisper hit him again.

  Soon the King will die.

  Ellios squeezed his eyes shut tight. That was too big a variable. If the King died, the chessboard would be flipped. All strategies he devised could turn to ash.

  "Father..." Ellios murmured softly.

  Godric Randar had to know this. The Old Fox had to know a great storm was coming from Mirror Canyon and the Palace would be empty without a master. But imagining having to write a coded letter in a body this wrecked, explaining this crazy political complexity...

  "Ahhhh... headache..."

  Ellios buried his face in the pillow, wanting so badly to strangle Louis still snoring peacefully beside him, while he had to bear the burden of a secret that could collapse a nation.