Chapter 437: A Faraway Soul

Zarius opened his eyes to the soft, grey light filtering through the sheer curtains. Beside him, Cherion was still dead to the world, his face half-buried in the pillow, his dark hair a tangled mess across the sheets. His breathing was slow and deep, his chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm that spoke of absolute, bone-deep exhaustion.

Zarius didn’t move. He lay on his side, anchored to the bed, just staring down at the pale curve of Cherion’s jaw.

So he wasn’t Cherion Antel.

It was a strange, almost absurd thought to hold in his mind, but as Zarius watched the quiet flutter of Cherion’s eyelashes in his sleep, he realized it made a terrifying amount of sense. The way Cherion spoke, the strange words that sometimes tumbled out of his mouth when he was flustered, the way he viewed this world as if he were looking at a stage play, he was a soul from a completely different place, thrust into a body that wasn’t originally his.

It was fascinating. It was incredible. And it frightened Zarius more than any blade or dark magic ever could.

Zarius closed his eyes, a heavy exhale slipping past his lips. He reached out with a broad, calloused hand, gently taking Cherion’s slack fingers where they rested on the blanket. He lifted Cherion’s palm, pressing the cool back of those fingers against his own jaw, feeling the rough stubble against Cherion’s skin.

He wanted to remember this touch. Every line of Cherion’s hand, the exact weight of it, the warmth radiating from his skin.

Because for the first time in his life, Zarius felt a cold, creeping fear in the pit of his stomach. If a god, whatever nameless, uncaring entity ruled the cosmos, could simply snatch Cherion’s soul from another world and drop him into this flesh, who was to say that same power wouldn’t tear him away just as easily? What kind of twisted deity worked like that? Why couldn’t that god have just given Cherion his own proper body in this world from the very beginning, instead of forcing him into another man’s skin?

Zarius let out a quiet huff against Cherion’s knuckles. Though... if that had happened, things might not have played out like this. They might never have met. Zarius might never have held him like this.

"Since when can you not sleep without someone stroking your face?" a groggy, raspy voice suddenly broke the quiet, "Should I sing you a lullaby, too?"

Zarius opened his eyes. Cherion hadn’t turned his head yet, but his eyes were cracked open, heavy with sleep, a small, sleepy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

A low, genuine chuckle rumbled in Zarius’s chest. Without a word, he shifted his hand, bringing one of Cherion’s fingers up to his lips and lightly nipping the soft pad with his teeth.

"I’m sorry," Zarius murmured, his voice thick with morning warmth. "I didn’t mean to wake you."

Cherion winced slightly at the soft bite, though his smirk didn’t fade. "That is definitely not a proper apology."

Before Zarius could ask what he meant, Cherion used that same hand, the one Zarius was still holding near his mouth, and wrapped his fingers around Zarius’s wrist. He dragged Zarius’s hand straight down his body, sliding it beneath the heavy blanket, over his bare stomach, and guiding Zarius’s broad palm right between his thighs, pressing it flat against the warm, aching heat of his core.

Zarius raised a single eyebrow.

Cherion gritted his teeth through the lingering soreness, a mischievous, thoroughly unrepentant grin spreading across his face. "Now that is how you apologize."

For a long second, Zarius just let his hand rest there, feeling the intense, throbbing heat radiating off Cherion’s skin. The sheer temptation to press his palm flat and grind upward was almost overwhelming, but Zarius let out a heavy breath and gently withdrew his hand, bringing it back above the blankets to rest over Cherion’s waist instead.

"We are pausing," Zarius said firmly.

Cherion blinked, his grin wavering into a look of genuine offense. "Why? Are you getting old?"

"Because you’ve been through too much," Zarius replied, ignoring the jab completely as his thumb stroked the soft skin of Cherion’s hip. "Physically and emotionally. You’ve had a ridiculous twenty-four hours."

Cherion groaned, flopping his head back into the pillow.

"I’m serious," Zarius rumbled, his brow furrowing slightly as he listed the absurd sequence of events. "First, you get cornered by the High Priest and handed an ancient journal about your bloodline. Then, you sit there and spill your entire soul’s secret to me. After that, I ruined you on this bed for hours. But the absolute crowning achievement? You somehow got yourself trapped in a secret passage that led straight into the royal palace before you even made it back whole."

Zarius recalled the brief, breathless explanation Cherion had tumbled through right before he had finally passed out the previous night, the hidden door, the pitch-black stone steps, and the cavernous tunnel choked with dust that led to a hall hung with massive, silent paintings.

Cherion let out a soft, dry laugh, turning onto his side to face Zarius fully. "Hey, it was just a little adventure. Cherion Hale’s Great Fantasy World Escape, Episode 696." Cherion paused, looking quite pleased with himself. "I made that number up, by the way. Sounds impressive, though."

Zarius’s expression remained as stone, utterly dead to the attempt at humor. "You can be as cheerful as you want about it now, but imagine if a royal guard had caught you there. Imagine if the King’s shadow guards had found a noble from the Grand Temple creeping around the palace’s private quarters."

Cherion’s smile softened a bit, a small sigh escaping him. "Yeah... I know. It was stupidly risky."

He shifted closer, turning around so his back was pressed against Zarius’s chest. Zarius instinctively opened his arms, pulling Cherion in tight, burying his face into the back of Cherion’s hair and breathing in the familiar scent of his skin.

"The King... he’s really good at painting, isn’t he?" Cherion murmured quietly into the dim room.

Zarius shifted slightly behind him. "He was. I heard he has been fond of painting ever since he was young. He was considered one of the best artists in the entire empire." Zarius paused, rubbing his thumb over Cherion’s shoulder. "What kind of paintings did you see in that room?"

Cherion jolted almost imperceptibly, his body going stiff for a microsecond before he relaxed back into Zarius’s hold.

"Oh... you know," Cherion said, his voice coming out a little too casual, a little too quick. "A lot of things. Animals, landscapes, portraits of random people. The usual stuff."

Cherion cleared his throat, subtly shifting the subject away from the canvas. "Hey, Zarius?"

"Hm?"

Cherion turned his head back slightly, looking up at the Alpha over his shoulder. Zarius’s eyes were already fixed on him, heavy, patient, and completely attentive.

"How... well off is the relationship between the King and House Valtrane?" Cherion asked, his tone dropping the playful edge entirely. "How do you two actually stand with each other?"