Chapter 415: A Mess of Our Own Making

The study looked like a war zone.

An overturned inkwell had left a dark stain across the corner of the desk, dripping steadily down onto the floor below. Official border reports, stack after stack of carefully organized ledgers, and blank parchment sheets were scattered wildly across the rug, half-crumpled, torn, and tossed aside during the chaotic hours of the night. A small side table near the window had been shoved out of place, its flower vase knocked sideways and spilling water across the floor.

Cherion stood in the middle of the mess, his silver hair slightly damp from all the cleaning as he hurriedly gathered the scattered documents. He was wearing one of Zarius’s white linen shirts, the shoulders hanging entirely too wide on him and the sleeves rolled up three times just to clear his wrists, paired with dark trousers as he moved around the room barefoot.

He grabbed a dry cloth from the washbasin stand and began wiping the desk like his life depended on it, his jaw tight as he scrubbed at a lingering splash of dried ink with aggressive, frantic energy.

On the long couch across the room, a heavy, exhausted groan echoed through the warm, heavy air.

Zarius shifted slowly beneath the thick velvet throw blanket, rolling onto his back with an agonizing slowness. He blearily blinked open his eyes, shielding his face with his broad forearm as the thin morning light filtered through the curtains. He looked thoroughly disheveled, his dark hair sticking up in every direction, his skin still bearing the faint, warm flush of a lingering rut, and his chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths.

"What in the world are you doing?" Zarius grumbled, his voice raspy, low, and thick with sleep.

Cherion didn’t stop scrubbing. "Cleaning," he spat out, tossing a wad of ruined parchment into the brass wastebin with a sharp thud. "Cleaning like my life depends on it."

Zarius squinted at him through half-closed eyes, propping himself up on one elbow with a lazy stretch. The blanket slipped down his chest, revealing his bare torso, the tense lines of his shoulders, and the faint, reddened scratches running along his ribs and collarbone. "Did we run out of servants and maids overnight? Why are you working yourself over a little mess?"

"Are you serious right now?" Cherion snapped, throwing both hands into the air like he was personally appealing to the gods for patience, the ink-stained rag still clenched in one hand. "I am not letting a single person step foot inside this room today. You think I want them walking into this utter disaster? They aren’t blind, Zarius. They’ll know exactly what happened here the second they open the door and take a single breath."

Zarius let out a low, amused huff, dragging a heavy hand down his face as he yawned. "Just tell them a wild bird flew in through the balcony window and we had to chase it around the room to throw it back out."

Cherion froze, then slowly turned to him with the most offended look imaginable. "A bird? The only person in this entire household gullible enough to believe a story like that is Elios. Everyone else has a working brain."

"Hey, it’s a solid story," Zarius muttered, swinging his long legs over the side of the couch. He was wearing his dark trousers, but he hadn’t even bothered to fasten them properly, leaving the fabric sitting dangerously low on his hips as he stood up, acting as though his bare chest and the chaos around them were perfectly normal.

He walked over to Cherion at an easy pace, his bare feet silent against the thick rug.

"And what about the rest of it?" Zarius added. "What are you going to do about all these pheromones lingering in the room?"

Zarius chuckled softly, stepping right into Cherion’s personal space before Cherion could even think about taking a step back.

"Ugh," Cherion groaned under his breath, realizing he had no actual physical defense as Zarius’s large, warm arms wrapped easily around his waist, pulling him firmly against his chest.

Zarius held him close, resting his chin on Cherion’s shoulder and breathing slowly against his neck. His body was still warm from the rut, and judging by the way he refused to let go, so was his determination to remain attached to Cherion for the foreseeable future.

"Stop worrying about the mess," Zarius murmured, his warm breath tickling the side of Cherion’s neck. "Nobody is going to come in here and scold you for what we do in here. You’re acting like a guilty thief caught in the act."

"I am trying to maintain a shred of basic human decency," Cherion grumbled, though he didn’t make any real effort to pull away, his hands coming to rest lightly against Zarius’s bare, warm sides. "Which is clearly a concept you’re entirely unfamiliar with."

"Then it’s fortunate I have never cared much for decency," Zarius hummed, his arms tightening affectionately around him as he nuzzled deeper into Cherion’s collar.

"Ekhem!"

A sharp, surprisingly loud clearing of a throat echoed right from the other side of the study door.

Cherion froze instantly, his jaw snapping shut. Zarius’s eyes opened slowly, a faint, annoyed crease forming between his dark brows as he held his breath.

"Your Grace? Lord Cherion?" Flio’s voice carried clearly through the door, painfully polite despite the exhaustion underneath. "This is Flio speaking. I do not know if you are awake yet... or, more accurately, I hope you are awake, but currently not doing what I suspect you were doing for the past twelve hours."

Cherion flushed bright red, his hands shooting up instantly to push against Zarius’s chest, but Zarius held his firm grip without budging an inch, merely tilting his head toward the door with a deep sigh.

"I must kindly request that you pull yourselves together and stand up as quickly as humanly possible," Flio continued smoothly from the corridor. "Lady Marielle is currently pacing the main hall downstairs, demanding to see both of you immediately. I am doing my absolute, level best to keep her from wandering down this wing, but God only knows what she will do or see if she realizes the exact nature of your... current situation."

A brief silence followed before Flio added one last remark.

"That is all. Excuse me."

The faint, hurried sound of Flio’s quick, decisive footsteps faded down the stone hallway, leaving the study in a dead, suffocating silence once again.

Cherion slowly turned his head to look at Zarius. Zarius stared right back at him, his unfasten trousers still resting loose on his hips, his hair a complete and utter disaster, and his bare arms still wrapped firmly around Cherion’s waist.

Neither of them moved an inch, staring at each other as they both silently wondered whether Marielle had already made a decision.