Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The stench of medicine permeates thickly in the dim room. The curtains are drawn tight over the windows, and the door has been sealed shut with an uncompromising lock. Four people exist in the candlelit space, but only one of them is actively moving around. Kaveh is not that person. He stands near the door, fingers twitching with the urge to unfasten the lock and flee like a spooked rabbit during hunting season. He would do so in a heartbeat if his feet were not heavier than an anchor thrown over the side of a merchant’s vessel. His chest is beginning to burn without a breath to pump his heart, but he hates the vaguely herbal but mostly sanitized smell ghosting through the private chambers. He keeps his breath shallow and quiet, and he suffers for it, but there is nothing else he can do.

Across the room, an older woman sits in a large plush chair. Her fingers are interlocked in front of her lips, and she murmurs airy prayers to the goddess. Kaveh doubts she is in the moment with the rest of them. Her eyes are unseeing, and she is lost in a similar memory of her sister— the former duchess— lying in a bed in a dark room with this stench in the air. The former duchess died, unable to cope with the loss of her husband, and she left her dear sister behind to run the duchy and care for her son. 

That same son is the one lying in the bed, hidden by opaque curtains from everyone but the physician. She is the only person in the room moving around. While her expression shows a margin of concern, she is mostly relaxed. When she stands in front of the older woman, ignoring Kaveh outright, she speaks in a quiet tone. The elder stares up at the physician with brightening eyes. She places a hand on her chest, sighing in relief. Kaveh bites the inside of his cheek, his grip tightening on his upper arm. When the physician is finished speaking, she steps to the side. Kaveh thought he would be ignored for even longer, but the elder glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “He will be alright. Everything looks fine, and he should wake up soon.”

Kaveh nods, ignoring the small part of his heart that is relieved at those words. He shouldn’t feel relieved. He shouldn’t care about that man at all, so he finally listens to the instinct in his gut trying to force him away. The noblewoman lifts from her chair immediately, her motions only a touch uncoordinated as she reaches a hand out to Kaveh. “Where do you think you’re going? Shouldn’t you stay here to—”

“Seeing me would only worsen his health, trust me. I will stay out of your way like I have always done—” Kaveh interrupts hurriedly, turning around to put his hands up innocently. He takes a few steps closer to the woman only so she can see the honesty in his carmine eyes. He knows she won’t believe him; she never does. He’s a fool to try, but he tries anyway because whether he does or doesn’t, it won’t change anything.

Kaveh’s words are interrupted but not by the woman. Her nephew— the man in the bed— throws open the curtain hiding him from the rest of the world. The entire room stares at him. His eyes snap to Kaveh immediately. Kaveh is seized with tension. His foolish, stupid heart jerks at those turquoise and orange eyes looking at him. His central heterochromia marks him as a member of the Haravatat household, and they also make him someone that all the young ladies and lords fawn over. Kaveh might have been like them once, but all he could feel was the cold claws of terror closing around his body as those eyes continued to stare wordlessly into his own eyes, his irises as red as freshly drawn blood or the petals of a forlorn mourning flower.

“I was leaving, Your Grace,” Kaveh whispers, finding his voice in the dredges of his soul. It sounds pathetic to him, but he must look and act pathetic to everyone around him so it doesn’t truly matter. All he needs to do is show his respect. They will still find fault with him if he does so, but at least they will find less fault if he does it properly.

“Who are you?” Duke Haravatat, Lord Al-Haitham, says. For someone who has been struck in the head during an expedition, his voice is surprisingly clear and pure. More alarmingly, his voice sounds… different, somehow. Kaveh knows emotions in the same way the sages know intellectual subjects, but he fears that his abilities have lessened without experience. He dared think for a second that Al-Haitham sounded fond of him.

Kaveh grits his teeth. He feels his temper rise to the surface like a beast ready to attack, but his voice dies when he meets Al-Haitham’s eyes. The duke is not a person of irrationality, so it would make no sense for him to ask who Kaveh is for any reason other than a cruel trick. But his eyes tell a different tale. His eyebrows knit together slowly, and he glances from his aunt to Kaveh as if subtly asking both of them who Kaveh is. Kaveh’s temper sputters out like a spark failing to start a fire, and he is left with something cold and bitter. A heavy breath leaves him. He knows now that his abilities to read people are broken because Al-Haitham looks concerned for Kaveh, in his infuriatingly indecipherable way. He, at the very least, doesn’t look annoyed at Kaveh, and that feeds into the twisting inside Kaveh’s stomach.

“This is your husband, Al-Haitham. Do you remember me?” The woman states. She steps between Kaveh and Al-Haitham to place her hands on Al-Haitham’s face. He allows it for a moment, but he eventually leans away. His eyes glance at Kaveh again, lips parted slightly as if he cannot understand the situation. Kaveh doesn’t understand it, either, but he is far less curious as he shuffles away from the Haravatat family and the physician who intervenes to assure Lady Haravatat that everything will turn out well.

The physician inspects Al-Haitham once more, gently probing him for answers. Al-Haitham answers each question immediately with only a hint of irritation. Kaveh watches this from afar, silently debating the chances he will be excused early. The reason he doesn’t excuse himself is because Al-Haitham keeps looking at him. His stare is so much lighter than it normally is, and Kaveh can’t do anything underneath the borderline kindness. When the physician is finished, she seems unconcerned about the matter. “It appears the duke has forgotten his memories pertaining to the lord. Luckily, this seems to be the extent of his amnesia. He remembers everything important.”

Kaveh scoffs under his breath. Yes, that could be the only reason Al-Haitham would ever look at him favorably. Kaveh wrings his hands subtly, and he opens his mouth to excuse himself. The physician doesn’t give him a moment. She gestures vaguely to the blonde-haired nobleman. “If they speak to each other, I am certain the duke’s memories will return to him soon enough. We should give them a moment alone, Lady Haravatat. I will speak to you about the medicine the duke must take moving forward.”

Kaveh’s words are spoken to deaf ears as the physician and Lady Haravatat leave the room together. Before the door shuts behind them, Lady Haravatat gives Kaveh a pointed stare. If she were a less dignified woman, it would have been a glare, but Kaveh knows that there is no less contempt in her stare than anyone else’s. She is warning him not to do anything. He should remain until her precious nephew returns to his natural state. Kaveh has no energy to wear any particular expression as he hears the door click shut. He waits a few seconds, and he takes a step toward the door to leave this chilly, dark room.

His motions are halted by a warm touch against his wrist. Kaveh whirls around to stare at Al-Haitham. The duke is surprised by the intensity of Kaveh’s actions, but he has incredible control over his expressions. He doesn’t release Kaveh’s wrist, but he does loosen his grip as if that was the reason why Kaveh nearly snapped his neck to stare incredulously at the man sitting on the edge of the bed. “What is your name?”

This is too cruel, he thinks, trying to find his voice again. He cuts himself over and over again searching in the darkness for it, but the pain is negligible as he opens his mouth to answer the question presented to him for a second time in his life by this man. “Kaveh.”

“Kaveh…” Al-Haitham’s voice is quiet as he repeats the name. A certain look flashes in his eyes, and Kaveh tugs his wrist out of Al-Haitham’s grip. Before the duke can get any ideas about memorizing that name, Kaveh continues. “Kaveh Rtawahist.”

Al-Haitham stops moving. “Rtawahist?”

“It was my name before we…” Kaveh trails off, unable to complete his own lie. Every part of his words is a lie. Although he did get married to Al-Haitham, it can hardly be called that considering the nature of the union and every subsequent action. Additionally, Rtawahist isn’t really Kaveh’s maiden name. It was just a gift he was never grateful for, a shackle he grew into over the course of a few months. “I’ll be leaving first, Your Grace. Get some rest.”

The name is not as much of a deterrent as Kaveh thought it would be like it was the last time Al-Haitham learned what Kaveh’s last name was. Al-Haitham reaches for him again, and this time, it is their fingers that slide together. Kaveh wants to vomit as he stares at their conjoined hands. Al-Haitham is much taller than him, and he’s always made Kaveh feel so tiny when he looks down on him. This time, Kaveh feels nothing like that. He just feels hollow as Al-Haitham says, “The physician said we should continue speaking to get my memories back.”

“What does it matter? She also said you hadn’t forgotten anything important. That should tell you enough about our relationship,” Kaveh pulls his hand away from Al-Haitham for a second time. He pulls his hand to his chest, cradling it like Al-Haitham broke his wrist instead of merely holding it. Kaveh takes several steps back to put some distance between him and Al-Haitham. “If Your Grace would like to know more about me, you can ask someone else.”

“Wait,” Al-Haitham commands, every bit the duke that everyone knows him as. Kaveh holds his breath, waiting for some sort of order. Al-Haitham is silent for a long moment. He coughs into his fist, and his voice is softer when he continues. “I would like to ask you. What were the circumstances of our marriage? How did we… treat each other?”

Kaveh takes a deep breath, and he wants to start crying as the medicinal flavoring rushes into his mouth. It reminds him of his mother, and he desperately misses her in moments like these. He shakes his head, ridding himself of such careless thought in front of this man. Kaveh glares at Al-Haitham, letting his resentment rise to the surface for the first time in their relationship. Kaveh’s hands close into fists, but he keeps the trembling appendages close to his side. “Even I know how to feel shame. I would rather not talk to you about this. I would rather not talk to you at all, Your Grace.”

Kaveh turns away from the man. He hurries out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind him. He nearly collapses on the other side of the door, but he knows that if he shows weakness in such an open place, someone will find him. They will see what he doesn’t want anyone to know about, so he hides his tears as he walks back to his room, shame and resentment and longing and loneliness shadowing every heavy step.

—

Kaveh stares into the dark red-brown liquid. Ripples appear across the tea as Kaveh’s hand shakes. He masks the shaking as best he can, knowing that Al-Haitham— regardless of the status of his memories— is a keen observer. Kaveh doesn’t know if he’s doing a good enough job because Al-Haitham isn’t saying anything about it. That would make Kaveh think he’s fine, but Al-Haitham hasn’t been criticizing anything about Kaveh: not his appearance, manners, or conversational choices. It unnerves Kaveh, but he can’t exactly ask Al-Haitham to nitpick everything he does. He’s not masochistic, no matter how much staying in this household would lead people to believe.

“Where is your guard?” Al-Haitham asks after the silence stretches on for too long. Kaveh glances up at the duke with a displeased frown on his face. Al-Haitham should prefer silence. He is always upset with Kaveh when the man tries to start a conversation. Kaveh has learned to live with the silence, and he was hoping that Al-Haitham would be the same as the him from before the accident.

“I do not have one, Your Grace,” Kaveh answers plainly, glancing toward the door as if there was someone on the other side of it. There is not, and there has never been. As a nobleman, there should be at least one suitably trained individual out there. Even the most minor houses have a few knights to watch out for their members, so obviously, the husband of the duke should have more than a few people watching out for him.

Al-Haitham wears a small frown as those sorts of thoughts flow into his mind. Kaveh takes a sip of the tea, ignoring how it doesn’t taste like anything to him. Nothing does, anymore. “I am content without one, Your Grace. There is no reason for me to have one.”

“Why would there be no reason for you to have a guard?” Al-Haitham questions, and Kaveh wants to throw the teacup at him. He hates Al-Haitham’s curiosity. He hates how the man has never shown an interest in him before. He hates being interrogated, and he hates how Al-Haitham doesn’t even have the decency to treat it like the interrogation it is. These aren’t the right emotions, neither the ones Al-Haitham or Kaveh are feeling.

Kaveh doesn’t answer. He leans his head to the side. He’s… tired. Exhausted, even. Something has settled into his bones, and he doesn’t have the energy to do anything. He wants Al-Haitham to leave, but the duke says nothing about the matter any further as he sips his tea. Kaveh almost wants to goad Al-Haitham. He wants the duke to be angry. Not because Kaveh likes being hurt, but because he knows how to deal with this man’s cold and cruel anger. Kaveh knows how to spit venom right back at him like a cornered animal searching for an out. If not outright kind, Al-Haitham is unusually understanding right now, and Kaveh doesn’t know what to do with that. 

Should he match Al-Haitham’s attempts? But what would the point of that be? Al-Haitham will regain his memories any moment now. Even if he does remember this time without them, there is no guarantee he will continue to care about Kaveh. In fact, Kaveh would willingly bet Al-Haitham would hate him more, especially if he treated Al-Haitham the way he is treating Kaveh right now. Al-Haitham will belittle him for his emotions, for tricking Al-Haitham, for anything that upsets him, and he won’t listen to Kaveh at all.

Kaveh thought he was living in hell on the Haravatat’s estate, but this must be true damnation. Someone is being nice to him— the person he was so certain he loved at some point, the person he wanted kindness from for months and months before he realized what this household was going to do to him— and Kaveh can’t even accept that kindness. He can’t even enjoy this fleeting moment, too torn apart by his fears and burned from his failed attempts to get Al-Haitham to look at him as a person and not a spy sent by Azar.

Kaveh opens his mouth to ask Al-Haitham to leave. He was going to use his tiredness as an excuse, but he realizes that Al-Haitham is no longer sitting across from him. Unfortunately, Al-Haitham has not left the room. He has gone in the opposite direction of the doorway to a little corner of the room that Kaveh set up himself the first night in this hostile environment. Kaveh has never thought about hiding it because no one comes inside his room. But Al-Haitham is standing in the space now, a neutral expression descending across his features as he looks at the objects littered around in the tight space. Kaveh slams his teacup down on the saucer, ignoring the way it shatters. The pain in his hand is distant as he rushes over to Al-Haitham, sliding between the duke and the unfinished landscape painting sitting on the easel. Kaveh feels his emotions bubble onto his face— anger, worry, regret, shame, pleading— as he stares breathlessly into Al-Haitham’s widening eyes. Kaveh’s entire body is shaking from fear. He is absolutely terrified that Al-Haitham will destroy this place, this tiny, quiet corner where Kaveh actually feels like a person, like living is an acceptable choice, like everything might be alright in the world. This is Kaveh’s comfort space, a safety zone, and he can’t bear the thought of anyone— Al-Haitham especially— destroying it.

“Your hand,” Al-Haitham observes. He reaches out for it. Kaveh flinches away, but Al-Haitham still takes his hand. He brings it to his chest. He is gentle as he examines the cuts across the skin made from the shards of the teacup. He reaches into his coat pocket, bringing out a handkerchief. Kaveh tries pulling his hand away ( “His Grace said you could keep his jacket since he considers it tainted. Burn it, shred it, do what you will with it” ), but Al-Haitham is far, far stronger than Kaveh for a myriad of reasons. He carefully wraps the handkerchief around Kaveh’s hand, staining the material red. “I will call for your physician. Please wait here.”

“Just… stop,” Kaveh breathes out. Al-Haitham, surprisingly, does as Kaveh instructs. He does not move, staring solemnly at Kaveh with a growing frown on his face. Kaveh refuses to meet those eyes as he stares at the handkerchief. Some morbid part of him enjoys the way the red overtakes the creamy color, but Kaveh can’t find it in his heart to smile. “I have no physician. I have no guard. I have no servant. I have no one, so stop already. I just have this, so you can’t take it from me. I don’t care what you think about art.”

“I was not going to take it from you, Kaveh. You are exceptionally good at painting. I only wanted to see more. I did not intend to make you think I was going to stop you,” Al-Haitham’s attempt to reassure Kaveh only weakens his ability to maintain appearances. Kaveh sighs so heavily that his entire body sinks with it. He feels miserable, and Al-Haitham presses onward like he doesn’t know he’s the reason Kaveh feels this way. “I will call for my physician until we get you one.”

“You don’t have to, Your Grace. I am fine.”

“That is not true. A handkerchief is not an appropriate substitute for a bandage, and there might be shards in your skin that will heal incorrectly if we do not take them out,” Al-Haitham cuts in, his voice as firm as his expression.

“Let it,” Kaveh shrugs, staring down at his hand. It has been a long time since he’s felt pain in the intensity he’s meant to. All of his senses are dull. Some, like his taste, are completely gone. He is going to lose motor skills in his hands at some point or another, so it doesn’t faze him to realize that he could be losing them sooner than expected.

“How could you say that? If it heals incorrectly, how will you be able to paint?” Al-Haitham gestures to the little area Kaveh stands in like a wandering spirit on a battlefield. For every horrible quality Al-Haitham possesses, he is not an idiot. He is one of the smartest men in the kingdom, and he must realize on some level that painting is what Kaveh cares more about compared to pain, which is why he mentions that rather than telling Kaveh it will hurt to keep the shards in his hand. Kaveh smiles wryly, a pathetic expression for a pathetic man like him, and Al-Haitham’s jaw tightens as he stares at Kaveh.

“I’m going to lose this when your memory returns, anyway. I might as well let go of it now,” Kaveh murmurs, reaching a hand up to touch the sky painted on the canvas. The land stretches out underneath, hills and valleys devoid of shadows or vegetation. Kaveh was excited to finish this one, but he pushes down that emotion like he does with all his other positive emotions. Excitement is ushered inside the box Kaveh buries his emotions in by hope and affection, and knowledge learned from experience locks the box once excitement settles inside.

“Was I that cruel?” Al-Haitham asks. To the people of the kingdom, Duke Haravatat is an intelligent and aloof man. To the people of the castle and dukedom, he is a strong and unshakeable leader. While he is not overflowing with generosity, there is no one who would attack his moral character. He does what is best for his people and land, and this has won him the respect of many. Kaveh, too, once held Al-Haitham in high esteem, like a trapped princess imagining the noble knight that would come to save her. Despite his strength and courage, Al-Haitham is not a knight, and despite his beauty and helplessness, Kaveh is not a princess.

“You hate me,” Kaveh murmurs with a shrug. His present tense does not go unnoticed by Al-Haitham, but Kaveh isn’t going to correct himself. Al-Haitham might not remember his hatred, but it’s there, underneath the surface. Memories do not define emotions, only justify them, and Al-Haitham must have felt an instinctual disgust toward Kaveh the moment they locked eyes after the accident. Kaveh will continue to treat Al-Haitham the same way until the duke’s memories return to protect himself, to save time, not to waste away waiting for someone to love him when they simply don’t.

“Do you hate me?”

There was a time, a long time ago now, a few months after Kaveh first came to this place, when Al-Haitham asked Kaveh if the blonde loved him. His voice then was cruel, mocking, and utterly disgusted. Kaveh had not yet learned that he would never earn Al-Haitham’s affections, so it was that moment when he decided that it was better to not feel anything at all than to let this stupid crush slowly kill him.

Al-Haitham does not sound like that right now. It’s difficult to tell when Al-Haitham is feeling emotions, but Kaveh hears it plainly. The question paired with the tone hurts Kaveh more than when Al-Haitham asked if Kaveh held affection for him.

“Yes.” No. No, I don’t. I don’t, and I hate myself for it.

—

Change should come slowly, but it doesn’t. It comes quickly, leaving Kaveh no time to react but plenty of exhaustion to carry him off to sleep without his pills. Kaveh knows he should be careful with his words, but he’s gotten so used to Al-Haitham not listening to him that he just doesn’t watch himself. He remains respectful, but that’s all he does. He shouldn’t have told Al-Haitham that he didn’t have anyone to serve him, but as he said, he didn’t think Al-Haitham would pay attention to that throwaway comment. It would be even less likely that Al-Haitham would do something about it, but he still considers the Al-Haitham who spends teatime with him to be the one from before the accident.

Tighnari is a Foxian with dark hair and bright eyes. He studied biology, botany, and medicine at the Akademiya. As far as Kaveh knows, he doesn’t have anything to do with the Haravatat duchy. The most Kaveh has been able to gather is that Al-Haitham and Tighnari were old friends. Kaveh had a mental image of Tighnari because of this fact, but he was very quickly proven wrong. Tighnari does not hate Kaveh right off the bat. He doesn’t seem to care about Kaveh’s former last name. What he does care about is Kaveh’s health, as any doctor should, but Tighnari’s care is a little excessive as he realizes just how unhealthy Kaveh is. The blonde frequently skips meals, and the meals that he does eat are small and unbalanced. He drinks more than he should for someone with nothing in their stomach. He has several scars on his body that wouldn’t be there if he simply cleaned the wound or bandaged it properly. The worst offense, of course, is the sleeping pills that Kaveh takes. They have several side effects including shortening his lifespan, and Tighnari lectures Kaveh for at least an hour when he realizes Kaveh knew about the side effects and took the pills anyway.

Kaveh didn’t like being lectured, but there was something nice about someone caring enough about him to do it. Kaveh could blame Tighnari’s insistence on his status as a physician who didn’t want his patient to die, but sometimes, Kaveh felt like Tighnari cared about him more than strictly necessary. Of course, Kaveh has never had a decent physician looking after him, so maybe Kaveh is misreading the entire situation. It wouldn’t be his first time.

Tighnari also brought other people with him. Cyno was another old friend of Al-Haitham. At first, Kaveh thought they were similar since they were both apathetic by nature. As Cyno settled into his role as Kaveh’s guard, however, Kaveh realized that Cyno only looked serious on the outside. He was a big fan of jokes. He used Kaveh as a test to gauge how funny the jokes were since Kaveh rarely smiles, let alone laughs. Kaveh can’t forget the victorious expression on Cyno’s face when he made Kaveh snort at a silly joke about talking with Al-Haitham being like a circle ( “There’s no point” ). He’s also a good guard, a fact Kaveh saw proven true when Cyno threatened the servants that had been causing Kaveh problems since he moved here.

The last person Tighnari brought was his apprentice, Collei. She was a teenage girl with a positive attitude. She was technically the first one Kaveh meant since she came to wake him up one day as his new personal attendant. She brought him warm water to wash his face, and it was because of her that Kaveh ate breakfast in the early morning instead of skipping both breakfast and lunch because it was already so late in the day when he finally gained the energy to get out of bed. Collei continues to do that, probably at the behest of her master. Kaveh hates making someone else look out for him, but Collei is too energetic and high-spirited for him to deny her what she wants— even if what she wants is for Kaveh to finish his plate or eat Tighnari-approved snacks with her.

They are sweet, all three of them, and way too much for Kaveh. He tried speaking to Al-Haitham about it during one of their tea times, but the duke was adamant that this was the least he was supposed to do. In the end, Al-Haitham agreed to an ultimatum. He would send them away if Kaveh could convince them to go. Kaveh thought it would be easy, but it was impossible to talk to them about the matter. Cyno changed the topic. Collei looked two seconds away from crying (which Kaveh realized was a trick when her face snapped back to happiness immediately. He tried again, and her trick kept working on his soft heart). Tighnari blatantly told him that he wasn’t leaving until Kaveh was healthy, and that was going to take a few years minimum, so they were stuck together for a while.

Al-Haitham was smug about his victory, but it didn’t feel like he was rubbing Kaveh’s failure into his face when the blonde admitted defeat.

—

Kaveh tugs on the pendant attached to his necklace. The material is warm beneath his fingertips, and he listens to the soft sound as he moves the pendant across the thin chain. He glances over his shoulder. Cyno continues to follow behind him diligently. Kaveh glances away, biting the inside of his cheek. Cyno notices Kaveh’s eyes immediately. He raises an eyebrow, remaining silent until Kaveh chooses to explain himself. “You don’t need to escort me.”

“I’m your guardian knight,” Cyno reminds Kaveh. The blonde’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. It’s such a waste for someone as powerful as Cyno to be reduced to an escort for an abandoned lord. Even if Kaveh is slowly getting healthier, even if he doesn’t flinch around Al-Haitham nearly as much, there is no reason for Cyno to put up with this. If he wants to be a knight, there are so many more deserving people for him to look after. Kaveh shouldn’t be wasting his time with this, but he doesn’t know what to say to convince Cyno of that fact. It’s even more difficult when all his observations and prodding only reveal that Cyno enjoys his duty.

Kaveh sighs, a recent pastime. Kaveh rolls his shoulders as he activates the pendant’s ability. He feels the magic like a ticklish wave throughout his body. Kaveh reaches down to pull down a strand of his hair. He feels satisfied when the strands in his fingertips are a plain shade of brown. He moves the strand away from his vision, shoving it behind his ear.

“What are you doing?” Cyno asks incredulously, watching Kaveh use the magic device. If the necklace worked, Kaveh should look completely different from his usual appearance. If Cyno had not watched him transform, he probably wouldn’t have recognized his master.

Kaveh doesn’t answer as he pulls his hair into a ponytail. He takes a deep breath to steady his nerves as he steps into the village. As he moves across the dirt road, he hears people calling out to him. Well, they are calling out to his pseudonym, but Kaveh has grown used to that name referring to his person. He waves at them with a forced smile on his face that looks real enough that no one questions him.

“Pari!” A specific voice calls out from the crowd. Kaveh stops as a red-haired woman rushes toward him. Kaveh opens his arm, preparing for her hug. Nilou pulls back after squeezing his shoulders comfortingly. She leans back to look at his face. She places a hand on his cheek to assess the situation, and her smile grows even brighter. “You look so much healthier than the last time you met! Have you finally been taking care of yourself like I told you to?”

“Something like that,” Kaveh admits. Nilou is one of the few reasons he hasn’t killed himself already. They met during one of his escapades as ‘Pari,’ and she has a habit of befriending people she thinks look depressed. She wasn’t wrong in her assessment of Kaveh. When she realized that, it became her number one mission to keep tabs on him. Kaveh should have resisted growing attached to her, but he is a weak man and her kindness was genuine and unyielding. She wouldn’t be like this if she knew who ‘Pari’ really was, but Kaveh is willing to take his name to the grave if it means she will continue to feed his touch-starvation.

“Who is this?” Nilou asks good-naturedly, pointing at Cyno. Unfortunately, the pendant’s magic does not extend to other people. Cyno’s white hair and sharp eyes cannot be masked, and the villagers are whispering about his desert-tan skin. Fortunately, they are in a better place than most. The villagers are curious, but they aren’t trying to be rude. They don’t hate the desert-folk like the nobility do.

“This is Cyno… my friend,” Kaveh says, avoiding Cyno’s stare. Kaveh doesn’t know if he’s lying or not. He considers Nilou to be his friend. If he holds the others to the standard she set… they’re his friends. He doesn’t know if they consider themselves to be friends. He wouldn’t want to force that title on them, and he doesn’t want to get hurt by assumptions anymore.

“Look at you, Pari! You’re getting healthier and making new friends! I’m so proud of you!” Nilou excitedly states, clapping her hands together. She grabs onto Cyno’s hand, holding it near her chest. “Thank you for being friends with Pari.”

“Nilou,” Kaveh groans, embarrassment turning his face as red as his eyes are beneath the magic, the eyes Nilou will never see.

Nilou looks over her shoulder. She moves one hand away from Cyno but not the other. With her free hand, she intertwines her fingers with Kaveh. She squeezes gently with a smile so wide it makes her oasis-blue eyes close. “There’s no need to be ashamed, Pari. Anyone would be proud to be friends with someone as kind and smart as you. Oh! We need to go tell Dehya. She’s in town for a little while. She’ll be so happy to hear you have a new friend… or sad. I can’t remember which bet she took.”

“Bet?” Kaveh’s voice is airy as Nilou drags him forward, heading to the tavern where Kaveh frequently drowns his sorrows at. He almost died from alcohol poisoning several times in the alleyway right beside the building, but his fear of death is so distant that he continues to return to this place even with the bad memories. He wonders if he should tell Tighnari about this. The Foxian has already limited Kaveh’s wine consumption. If he learned about this, he would never let Kaveh touch alcohol again. He probably wouldn’t let Kaveh leave the estate, either, and Kaveh really needs an escape from that place for many reasons.

The other people of the estate still hate Kaveh for his connections with Duke Rtwahist. Lady Haravatat especially disapproves of him, and her influence is near absolute. Only Al-Haitham’s orders supersede hers. This isn’t normally an issue because they should be in agreement about Kaveh. They should be, but they aren’t because of this accident. It has been months, and Al-Haitham has not gained a single memory. He has, in truth, only grown more affectionate, in his own way, and Kaveh wishes Nilou and Dehya (and Candace, but she might not be here this time) hadn’t found him like a wet cat in the streets. He blames their kindness for his weakness, but he supposes he could never fully harden his heart against Al-Haitham.

Nilou pulls Kaveh into Lambard’s tavern. The bartender and owner, Lambard, glances up from where he’s pouring drinks to see who’s entering his tavern. Kaveh smiles slightly, wiggling his fingers in a slight wave. Lambard sighs, a mix of concern and fondness. He likes Kaveh in the same way he likes frequent customers, but there might be something more than that since he’s the one who frequently cuts Kaveh off and gives him free food to lessen the impact of his excessive drinking. 

Kaveh doesn’t want to think more about it as he hears people chanting ‘chug.’ He knows who is drinking their weight in alcohol even before he gazes upon Dehya’s form. She slams her mug on the wooden table with just enough force to make a thunder-like noise but not enough to shatter the table like she did once in the past. She throws her arms into the air with a victorious smile on her face. Several people reach over to give her high-fives, and her opponent falls into the closest chair with a dazed expression on his face. A handful of people rush over to him to check on his condition, but Dehya is not one of them as she notices Nilou, ‘Pari,’ and a stranger who seems to be from the desert like her.

“Dehya! Come meet Pari’s new friend, Cyno,” Nilou calls out, releasing Kaveh’s hand. She turns on her heel, twirling like the dancer she is. When she lands beside Dehya, she opens her arm like she’s presenting Kaveh and Cyno as a new show.

Dehya slaps her hand against Kaveh’s shoulder. It hurts, but only because Dehya both underestimates her own strength and underestimates Kaveh’s healthiness. Despite this, Kaveh’s pain tolerance is worryingly high, so he doesn’t even flinch as his arm falls to his side. Dehya doesn’t notice either as she looks Cyno up and down. “You have just won me so much money, Mister Cyno.”

“Ah, so you did bet on Pari making new friends,” Nilou laughs merrily.

Dehya snorts. She grabs Kaveh’s face with both of her hands, squishing his cheeks like an old grandmother. The action is far too familiar to what Kaveh’s father (his real father, not Azar) would do when Kaveh was a little boy. Dehya wouldn’t know that, however, as she babies him. “Why would I bet against this adorable little face? I knew someone else would notice all of his good qualities despite his insistence that he has none. Now, if only we could get him a husband, then I would really win big.”

“Dehya,” A voice calls out behind the mercenary. Dehya releases Kaveh’s face as Candace appears on Dehya’s other side. She reaches out to tap Kaveh’s cheeks, checking for damage. When she is content, she smiles at him. “You have done well.”

Kaveh is going to cry. He stops himself because while he acknowledges that he cries a lot, he never does it in front of other people. He did so once in front of Al-Haitham, and he found that the duke was much crueler to a crying man than an apathetic one. Kaveh wonders what Al-Haitham would do these days if he saw Kaveh crying. Would it be enough to snap him out of his partial amnesia?

“We should drink to celebrate!” Dehya cheers, though she would take any opportunity to drink. Kaveh, at least, agrees with her most of the time about drinking. Cyno looks like he’s going to disagree, but Kaveh gives him a reassuring smile. Since Cyno rarely sees Kaveh smile, it has the effect Kaveh intended. As long as Cyno starts playing Genius Invocation TCG with someone, Kaveh will have every opportunity to drink without the man’s knowledge. He just hopes he can control himself enough that Cyno doesn’t get word back to Tighnari.

—

Kaveh hates this alleyway. It never fails to smell like manure, garbage, and alcohol. There is even a subtle undertone of sex, but at least Kaveh isn’t back here while two people are rutting against each other. It’s just him, which isn’t exactly a pleasing thought. The alleyway is far colder than his chambers during the long nights when he cannot sleep, but it isn’t nearly as dark as his drunken thoughts.

Kaveh turns his head to vomit. It rips right out of him, burning like fire as it lands in a disgusting puddle of muddy water. Kaveh puts his hand on the ground, feeling the dirt stain his skin as he allows all of his entrails to fall out of him like water over a cliff. It feels that way, anyway, and Kaveh would be willing to tear his organs out one by one with his bare hands if it meant he would stop dry heaving. He hates the way his body keeps forcing out watery saliva and air like that is what is tearing him up inside, not the alcohol he continues to drink despite the threat to his life.

When Kaveh’s body finally settles, he curls up on the ground. The stench of puke is horrendous, but Kaveh minimizes the effects by only breathing when he absolutely has to. Dizziness spreads through him, and instead of feeling heavy with sickness, he feels light with delirium. This groundlessness increases his imbalance, and that certainly isn’t helping his dizziness. Kaveh doesn’t care, though. All pain is the same to him at this point. He’s too drunk to struggle against it, and he’s too awake to ignore it. He will just lie here until the morning dawns upon the tavern.

He must have lost consciousness for a moment or two because he is suddenly far warmer than he should be. His vision blurs as he blinks his eyes open. His mind is running slower than it should, but he eventually realizes that he’s lying in someone’s arms. He frowns, wondering who would care enough about him to pick him up. Even if a stranger was taking pity on him, why would they carry him like— one arm beneath his knees and the other wrapped around his shoulders— a bridal carry, in other words? As Kaveh thinks about that, he forces a hand onto the person’s chest. The material of their clothes is too soft and velvety for it to be a peasant. It must be a nobleman, but who—

The chest is rumbling. He can feel a heartbeat, but he also feels words. Kaveh shakes his head to pop his ears, letting noise trickle into his exhausted, aching mind. He can’t make out the words, but the voice is familiar. There is another voice, too, that responds to the first, and that one is familiar. Kaveh forces himself into complete awareness. It hurts worse than a stab wound, but the realization of who is talking hurts way more than both combined. Al-Haitham and Nilou.

In Kaveh’s pursuit to wake himself up enough to understand their words, he notices that his hair isn’t brown anymore. It’s back to its usual blonde. Kaveh doubts Al-Haitham is hiding Kaveh from Nilou, so she must see his hair. She must see his eyes, too. She must know. Kaveh’s eyes burn with tears. He can’t keep them from falling as he croaks. His voice fails him as he tries to drag the sandpaper up his throat. His tongue is heavy, the taste of vomit lingers, and Kaveh can’t explain himself to Nilou— explain that he didn’t mean to, that he was looking for an escape, it was never his intention to trick her, if he could go back, if he knew how to be honest, if… if… if…

Someone— Al-Haitham— shushes him patiently. There is a hand over his eyes. The darkness is strangely comforting when it’s warm, and Kaveh has no strength. He just slips away into unconsciousness, his excuses dispersing like sandcastles beneath harsh waves.

—

They are silent. Kaveh stares up at the ceiling, hands crossed over his stomach as he processes his most recent near-death experience. Al-Haitham, on the other hand, sits on a chair pulled close to the bed with a contemplative look accompanying his serious expression. Kaveh isn’t sure if they started holding hands when he was asleep or if he just didn’t notice once he was awake, but Al-Haitham refuses to let go no matter how many times Kaveh’s fingers twitch with an aborted urge to pull away.

“I was told how I treated you,” Al-Haitham starts, once again breaking the silence Kaveh learned to keep to protect himself from Al-Haitham’s wrath. But things have changed. It will change back soon, Kaveh thinks, but he lets Al-Haitham continue expressing himself verbally. “I have not been given a proper answer as to why. Even the people who work closest to me only say that I treated you that way because you came from the Rtwahist family, but I know that I never judge people based on their background. I should have treated you based on my own observations.”

Kaveh grits his teeth. He opens his mouth to argue that he never treated Al-Haitham— or anyone— horribly enough for Al-Haitham’s actions to be warranted. Al-Haitham interrupts him by clasping Kaveh’s hand with both of his hands. Kaveh closes his mouth, watching an odd sort of mournfulness appear on Al-Haitham’s face. “I don’t understand why I treated you that way, then, because when I first saw you all I felt was affection.”

Kaveh snorts tiredly at the word. Al-Haitham… affectionate? What a preposterous assumption to make. If anyone else was saying that the duke could ever hold affection for his husband, they would have been severely punished.

Al-Haitham removes a hand to cradle Kaveh’s cheek. He swipes his thumb underneath the blonde’s eyes, and Kaveh didn’t notice he was crying. What a fool he is, he thinks, and Al-Haitham continues to hold him gently. “I want to make things right if you will let me. I want to do what I was too cowardly to do before.”

Kaveh turns his body. He lies on Al-Haitham’s hand as if it were a pillow. Al-Haitham, worryingly, allows him to do this with only a small smile on his face that Kaveh wouldn’t notice if they weren’t so close together. He should be stronger. He should be, and yet, he really just isn’t. He closes his eyes, letting himself fall back asleep. Before he is completely gone, he whispers, “Fine.”

Chapter Text

Collei nudges the door open with her shoulder. She pushes a wheeled cart into the room. She uses her heel to close the door behind her as she moves across the room with her cart. She stops moving when the cart is right beside the bedside. She hovers her hand above the bowl to determine if the water is still warm. After confirming that it is, she moves away from the cart and the bed to the other side of the room. Collei grabs the curtains, shoving them to the side to let yellow-white morning light fall into the room. As she moves from window to window, she hears the shuffling of the person in the bed rising to wakefulness. A smile spreads across her face as she turns around to find her master sitting up in the bed.

“Good morning, Lord Kaveh. Was your rest pleasant?” Collei asks. She moves back to Kaveh’s bedside to blow out the incense Tighnari made for Kaveh’s insomnia to replace the pills he used to take. Kaveh presses his hands into the water, splashing his face with little care for the water that drips onto his clothing or the bed sheets beneath him. Collei grabs the towel beside the bowl on her cart. She hurriedly wipes Kaveh’s face off since she knows the man will not do it himself.

“Good morning, Collei,” Kaveh responds, looking into her eyes as he speaks. She keeps a smile on her face as Kaveh studies her expression. Sincerity is the only way to communicate with Kaveh, but Collei doesn’t particularly mind. She isn’t a dishonest person by nature. It isn’t a good quality when she embarrasses herself or wants to pull a prank, but it is the best way to accomplish her job. “It was fine. I didn’t have any dreams.”

“That’s good! I’ll tell Master Tighnari the good news!” Collei claps her hands. She sets the towel back on the cart. She pushes the cart to the side to give Kaveh enough space to stand up. While it took a lot of convincing in the beginning, Kaveh has naturally fallen into the habit of stretching as Tighnari instructed him to. Collei is glad to have so much good news to tell her master when she sees him later for her lessons. “Is there anything you would like to do today?”

Kaveh is silent. There is a moment of contemplation on his face, but it fades away as he starts focusing on stretching his arm. Collei doesn’t mention it as she moves over to his wardrobe to pull a set of clothes out. She folds it over her arm, glancing back at him. “Would you like to take a walk outside after breakfast? I heard the weather is going to be warm today. I can get some snacks from the kitchen… Oh, and we can bring your art supplies in case you want to draw!”

Kaveh tilts his head to the side. He seems incredibly tired as he thinks about it, but he finally gets a full night of sleep. Collei employs the one dishonest trick she knows: her pouting expression. Kaveh caves immediately with a soft smile that Collei takes incredible pride in. “Fine. Please tell Sir Cyno that we’re going out.”

“I will! I’ll also grab your breakfast from the kitchen!” Collei remarks as she sets the clothes down on the bed. Kaveh’s nose twitches with disgust, but Collei has learned from both of her father figures how to be stubborn. She can’t let Kaveh skip a single meal or else she’ll risk enabling his bad habits. As Collei leaves the room with the cart, she makes sure to list down a good amount of arguments to use when Kaveh rejects eating when she comes back. She stops thinking about that when she notices Cyno glancing at her. Collei smiles warmly at him. “Lord Kaveh is going to be taking a walk outside today. I was thinking about taking him to that hill the duke mentioned last time.”

“We should bring his art supplies, then,” Cyno agrees.

Collei’s smile brightens as she admits, “We had the same idea! I think that’s the only reason Lord Kaveh agreed to go out, to be honest.”

“Whatever works,” Cyno shrugs. He lifts a hand up to pat Collei’s head. She tenses as his hand approaches, but she keeps herself still as he expresses his affection for her. Collei even finds herself smiling as she sinks into the comfort of the motion rather than thinking about familiar but dissimilar situations of her past. “I’ll listen for him, so you can go get his breakfast.”

“On it!” Collei salutes as she rushes away from the room. The cart’s wheels make odd noises at Collei’s speed, but she doesn’t slow down until she reaches the servant’s passageways. Collei is careful as she navigates those. She is technically not supposed to know about these because she’s a temporary attendant, but Collei has picked up a few skills in her life including observational. There are more reasons to know about a secret passageway than there are to not know about it, so Collei figured out where the servants go when they disappear around corners. No one has told her not to be here, and she knows that is only because of her proximity to Tighnari and Cyno. Collei shakes her head. If only they knew, she thinks humorously, and she finds her way into the kitchens at the heart of the manor.

A kitchen maid looks up at Collei with a confused expression in her eyes, but she recognizes Collei by the girl’s green hair and violet eyes. She gestures with her peeling knife towards a different cart loaded with food. Collei wears her gratitude on her face as she grabs the handles of the new cart. She carefully inspects the food, a habit developed after she realized that Kaveh didn’t get good food in the beginning. Thankfully, that has changed, but Collei needs to make sure that nothing goes wrong. She would be a pretty poor physician-in-training if she let her patient eat rotting or undercooked food.

Collei takes the cart back into the passageway. She finds her way back to the upper floors where Kaveh and Cyno are waiting for her. Collei waves at Cyno as she passes into Kaveh’s room. The blonde-haired man is standing in his private corner, the one area in the entire manor off-limits to Collei. Not because Al-Haitham doesn’t let her there but because Kaveh sees the little corner as somewhere safe. Tighnari explained why her entrance was barred, but Collei didn’t need the lesson. She already knew about this because she had her own safety nook in the form of a hollow tree near the village she and Tighnari used to live in before Tighnari got a letter from his old friend asking for a favor. While Collei knows she and Kaveh had different experiences, she knows a thing or two about the festering sadness inside him that makes it difficult to rouse him from his bed or make him eat his breakfast.

“I brought your breakfast, Lord Kaveh!” Collei calls out. She starts moving the dishes from the cart to a table she helped Cyno set up near the largest window. The view is always nice no matter the weather or time of day, so it is a good spot to eat one’s meals. Kaveh has lingered at the table many times to finish his paintings and drawings, so Collei thinks she and Cyno made the right decision.

“I think I’ll just bring my sketchbook. I could always transfer what I drew in here to a canvas if I wanted to paint it,” Kaveh explains as he steps out of the little area. He places the sketchbook he was referring to on the table with a few sticks of charcoal on top. Collei pulls a chair out for him. Kaveh hesitates near the table and chair, but Collei’s refusal to move away forces Kaveh to sink into the chair. Collei takes a step back to grab the other necessary components for going outside. She finds a parasol in the back of the wardrobe. It doesn’t look like it’s been used, but then again, she doesn’t think Kaveh goes outside very often. He doesn’t even attend many noble gatherings or parties, a consequence of being isolated from high society by Lady Haravatat.

Al-Haitham also plays a part in that, but Collei can’t understand how. He has visited Tighnari and Collei a few times since she became the former’s apprentice. She had an idea of who he was both by how he acted and by Tighnari and Cyno’s stories. She can’t imagine him as being someone to hurt Kaveh. He would never be intentionally cruel to a person. Even people who deserved his wrath were rarely on the receiving end of it since he possessed great control over his emotions. Even if his personality has been dramatically affected by this household’s abuse towards him, Collei doubts Kaveh was ever deserving of it. The other servants say it’s because Kaveh is a Rtawahist. Collei really doesn’t understand politics, and she knows for a fact that Al-Haitham doesn’t care much about it either.

If there is one thing Collei’s teacher taught her it is that there is always a logical explanation for everything. If Collei was to be a scholar like her master, she would have to find logic where other people might suspect there is none. While Tighnari never made this into a test, Collei is going to treat it like one. If she figures out why this is happening, maybe she’ll be able to graduate to phase two of her training.

“Collei?” Kaveh calls out. Collei startles, realizing that she’s been staring at the parasol for a while. She wears a sheepish expression as she rushes to Kaveh’s side with the parasol in her hands. She stops right beside him with a brighter smile on her face. His eyebrows knit together, but he doesn’t ask about what she is doing. He looks back at his plate, taking another bite. Since Tighnari requested smaller portions for Kaveh from the chef, Kaveh should be able to finish the entire plate. They aren’t going anywhere until he does, at least.

—

Cyno stands at attention underneath the shade of the healthy tree. A leaf lands on his snowy white hair. He picks it up, turning it around between his fingers. After the waxy texture rubs off across his skin, he drops the leaf. He watches it fall onto the ground beside Kaveh. The blonde blinks as he notices the motion from the corner of his eye. He picks the leaf up from the blade of grass. He sets it down on his sketchbook, drawing a version of the leaf floating in the breeze. Collei leans closer to see what he’s drawing, and Cyno smiles at them before doing another sweep of the area to make sure no one is coming to attack them.

The area is quickly determined to be devoid of unknown people. Cyno has to keep a careful watch. There are generally two types of people in this estate: those who ignore Kaveh and those who actively wish to hurt him. Collei deals with the first type, and Tighnari can fix whatever the second group does, but Cyno is meant to prevent that second group from putting Kaveh and Tighnari in that position. It is his only duty as a guard, though it would be a lie to say he doesn’t participate in helping Kaveh’s mental health as much as he preserves his physical health.

Cyno’s attention snaps back to the pairing sitting at the tree’s roots. Collei pulls a basket made of woven wicker into her lap. She opens the lid to bring out a container. She places the container near Kaveh, attracting his attention to it. Cyno is unable to see the blonde’s face, but he recognizes the pout on Collei’s face. Kaveh’s sigh merges with the wind as he sets his sketchbook aside to eat from the container. He either completely misses or doesn’t understand the victorious smile on Collei’s face. As she moves back to the basket, she gives Cyno an overly obvious wink. Since he’s in work-mode, he doesn’t laugh as he normally would at her antics, but Collei’s smile never dissipates. He has been told both by her and Tighnari that no matter what ‘mode’ he is in, there is a certain softness in his face that gives him away. Cyno believes them since they are both honest people, but he knows that the criminals he hunts down would have several arguments against that observation.

Collei starts babbling to Kaveh about the dishes the chef made for him today. Cyno distantly listens, not registering the specifics of her words. He does recognize, at least, that she’s very knowledgeable about the subject. He knows that he taught her to cook a few dishes and Tighnari taught her several more, but Collei wouldn’t know all this unless she specifically asked the chef. If he could, a wry smile would have appeared on Cyno’s face. Even after Cyno threatens punishment against the chef for providing Kaveh with rotten or undercooked food, Collei still puts in the effort to make sure Cyno’s threats haven’t softened in the chef’s mind. Cyno is thankful for the most part, though he wouldn’t mind a fair fight. It’s been a while since he’s crossed blades with someone worth his time. He should ask Al-Haitham to spar with him like they used to.

Kaveh doesn’t say much in response to her, but he rarely does. His passivity was one of the first hurdles they all had to find a way around. He didn’t interact with other people. He rarely interacted with the people around him, and when he did, there was always an odd sort of hesitance that came from a fear so familiar that it no longer filled the body with adrenaline or caused one’s heart to race. Their friendliness, however, is starting to wear him down bit by bit. Kaveh has gotten better at participating in conversations, and there seems to be a part of him that enjoys doing so when given the opportunity.

His eyes take him to a figure steadily moving closer to the group. Cyno reaches his fingers out, ready to summon his spear. His motions are stopped when he recognizes the central heterochromatic eyes of his close friend. Al-Haitham stops moving when Cyno stares at him. Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow, a question transmitted in the space between them. Cyno nods, looking away. Although Al-Haitham is rather silent, Cyno can hear him walking up the bump rising from the earth’s surface. Kaveh is distracted entirely by his food, and his fingers lightly trace his sketchbook with his unoccupied hand. Collei notices Al-Haitham when he steps around the tree, appearing at Cyno’s side. Her eyebrows burrow together curiously, but she doesn’t say anything to him. Cyno knows that expression. It is the exact same expression Tighnari wears when he’s solving a particularly difficult problem. It’s times like these when Cyno thinks that if he didn’t already know when Tighnari and Collei met, he would have assumed she was his biological daughter. At the very least, the second part of that assumption isn’t entirely wrong, just circumstantial.

“Collei,” Cyno states. Her eyes move toward him slowly. Kaveh looks up immediately from his food. His carmine eyes stay with Cyno until he realizes who is standing next to him. His eyes widen and his lips part, but he glances back down before any specific emotion can cross his face. Cyno closes his hand into a fist, but he doesn’t say anything out of turn. “We should give the duke and lord some space.”

Collei looks like she’s going to argue, but Kaveh places a hand on top of hers. He must give her a reassuring look because the argument fades from Collei’s face. She rises to her feet, leaving the wicker basket behind. She nudges with her foot, adopting another expression similar to Tighnari as she says, “You need to finish eating your lunch, my lord.”

Kaveh nods, putting his hand on top of the basket. Collei smiles kindly at him, an expression unique to her. She walks around the backside of the tree to regroup with Cyno. She crosses her arms behind her back as she follows Cyno down the hill.

—

Al-Haitham sits down in the spot Collei vacated. He leans his back against the tree’s trunk. It takes a moment to get comfortable, but once he does, he acknowledges how uncomfortable Kaveh is. It has gotten better over time, but there is still a tenseness in Kaveh’s body that Al-Haitham cannot simply will away. The only acceptable solution is persistence. He must stay close to Kaveh until the man is truly comfortable with Al-Haitham. It has been made easier with Kaveh’s resignation, his explicit permission that he will try to meet Al-Haitham in the middle. It is the most Al-Haitham can ask for given the circumstances.

His only other option, of course, is to regain his memories. His aunt brought several physicians to examine him, and they all tell Al-Haitham the same thing: they don’t know what’s wrong with him. Even Tighnari was clueless. Apparently, there has never been a case of someone forgetting about one specific individual and nothing else. Tighnari is the only one who tells Al-Haitham that he suspects foul play, and Al-Haitham is almost inclined to agree. Given how terribly he treated Kaveh— an educated guess based on what others have told him and how Kaveh reacts to him— it would make sense for someone like Azar to erase Al-Haitham’s memories and give Kaveh a fresh start at seducing Al-Haitham. 

The reason Al-Haitham isn’t sure about that is because of the emotions that continue to persist in his heart even without his memories. After he had first woken up, Kaveh was one of the first people he saw. His dim carmine eyes pulled Al-Haitham in, and he was struck with how unbelievably fond he was of this stranger. His aunt quickly brushed over the fact that Al-Haitham was married to Kaveh, but his mind caught on the word like a fish biting a worm on a hook. He supposed he just liked the sound of it, even when Kaveh’s face distorted with discomfort and sorrow. There was some urge to hold Kaveh, to make him smile because Al-Haitham was convinced it would be the most beautiful thing he would have ever seen. It struck a chord in him when Kaveh refused to speak with him on the basis of possessing shame.

If Al-Haitham felt all of that, why did everyone’s recollections provide so much counterevidence? Everyone was convinced that he despised Kaveh, including the blonde himself, and Al-Haitham couldn’t figure out why. Despite his aunt assuring him that his memories meant nothing— that it was for the best he forgot all about Kaveh— Al-Haitham wants those memories back more than anything. He doesn’t say this aloud because he knows the prospect will terrify Kaveh, but he would like to know why he treated Kaveh that way when his feelings are so fundamentally different. There must be a logical explanation, and Al-Haitham, ever the scholar, needs to find it.

But it will scare Kaveh off to learn about Al-Haitham's pursuits. The blonde is convinced that Al-Haitham will continue treating him the way he did before once Al-Haitham remembers. The man wishes he could ease Kaveh’s doubts away, but there is a possibility that he treated Kaveh that way on purpose. Could it have been to protect Kaveh? But it seems counterintuitive with how hurt Kaveh is. Al-Haitham keeps his sigh locked behind his lips, knowing now is not the time to vent his frustrations.

“I should draw you,” Kaveh murmurs suddenly. Al-Haitham glances at Kaveh at the same moment the blonde brings his charcoal stick into the air. He pokes Al-Haitham’s cheek with it. The childish gesture is juxtaposed with the exhausted, aged expression on Kaveh’s face. They have reached a new stage in their developing relationship. Kaveh is purposefully trying to annoy Al-Haitham to force a familiar reaction from the duke. Al-Haitham understands the intentions, so he isn’t bothered in the slightest by whatever antics Kaveh tries to pull. Al-Haitham actually sees this as a good thing. If he can pass Kaveh’s test, the blonde might finally start growing comfortable around Al-Haitham.

“I would not be opposed to it. Do you require me to sit still?” Al-Haitham asks. Unlike his friends and many of his peers, Al-Haitham does not possess a surplus of energy. While he is a generally active person, he can remain motionless for long stretches of time. He must do so all the time when doing paperwork at the estate, reminding him of his Akademiya days when he would write papers and reports in one sitting.

“It would be beneficial if you could, yes. But I must admit that I am terrible with portraits. I rarely do them… Actually, it must have been years since I’ve done one,” Kaveh notes, a wistfulness appearing in his voice as he recalls the last time he drew a portrait. He doesn’t share the memory with Al-Haitham, but he never does. Kaveh might mention a book he is reading or an interesting bird he saw in the garden, but he never talks about his past— not the one in the Haravatat estate or his life before he came here. Al-Haitham has a few assumptions as to why, and almost all of them are a byproduct of the time period he cannot remember.

Kaveh shifts where he sits to get a better look at Al-Haitham. He puts his legs on top of Al-Haitham’s, crossing his ankles over Al-Haitham’s. While touch is usually a sign of closeness, Al-Haitham knows this is part of Kaveh’s ploy to upset Al-Haitham since the duke is generally avoidant of touch. Unfortunately for Kaveh, Al-Haitham doesn’t mind it when Kaveh is the one touching him. He often has the urge to hold onto Kaveh himself, so he is quite happy when Kaveh is the one initiating the contact.

It helps that Al-Haitham is starting to realize Kaveh genuinely likes physical comfort. The more secure he feels around his new entourage, the more he relishes in moments of connection. Collei reported to Al-Haitham first that Kaveh often reaches out to take her hand when he wants to reassure her, and there was a time when he held her cheeks after she began crying to convince Kaveh to take a walk outside after saying holed up in his room for so long. Tighnari was the next to say Kaveh was responsive to pats on his head after medical sessions. Cyno is the only one that doesn’t have a report like that, but he does mention how Kaveh’s friends from the village treated him and Kaveh’s reaction to it.

For these reasons, Al-Haitham surmises that while Kaveh is partially doing this to annoy Al-Haitham, he is also doing it because part of him needs it. This makes Al-Haitham happier than it reasonably should, but who is he to refuse the positiveness in his chest?

“Why do you look like that?” Kaveh asks, looking up from his sketchbook to meet Al-Haitham’s eyes. Those irises were as dark as dried blood or the petals of a mourning flower when Al-Haitham first saw them, but they have since brightened like a candle’s light sliding through a thin rose petal. Al-Haitham is awfully curious about what shade they will turn out to be when Kaveh is at his happiest and healthiest. They are steadily approaching the latter condition, but Al-Haitham still has his work cut out for him regarding the former.

“You will have to be more forthcoming. I am incapable of looking at my own face, and you are not finished yet with the portrait that might serve as a mirror for me,” Al-Haitham responds. It’s easy to speak with Kaveh. Far easier than it is with anyone else, including the aunt he’s known all his life and the friends (family, even) he made at the Akademiya. He never knows what Kaveh is going to say, but it feels like it takes him no time at all to come up with a response. That might be part of the problem. He knows that there was a brief period of time when he and Kaveh would argue with each other. His vassals and subordinates have told him as much. The most honest of the bunch admit that in the beginning, Kaveh attempted to seduce Al-Haitham. This led to their period of arguments when Al-Haitham rebuked his attempts, and after a while, Kaveh gave up and Al-Haitham took to ignoring him.

That could explain their faulty relationship. Maybe Al-Haitham was mad that Kaveh tried seducing him (and apparently succeeded considering how Al-Haitham felt about the blonde), and their arguments nurtured his cruelty against Kaveh. Al-Haitham sees many problems in that explanation, including but not limited to the fact that he shouldn’t have been angry in the first place. Even if Kaveh ‘seduced’ Al-Haitham, why should Al-Haitham grow upset with someone else that he fell for such tricks? Additionally, whether it was a trick or Kaveh honestly held affection for him, why should Al-Haitham rebuke that when he clearly felt a similar way? Is it because Kaveh is a Rtawahist? 

No, it can’t be that. Al-Haitham has never once cared about people’s pasts. It is all about how they act in the present, and Al-Haitham doubts Kaveh could have done anything heinous enough that Al-Haitham would hate him. Even if he did, Al-Haitham doesn’t understand his irrational reaction to Kaveh. He doesn’t get overly emotional about anything, and he has never hated anyone enough to treat them the way he supposedly treated Kaveh.

This entire situation doesn’t make any sense, and Al-Haitham hates that more than anything. He is a man governed by logic, so what is he supposed to do when logic fails him? When his own mind is keeping him from accessing the answers?

“It doesn’t matter,” Kaveh sighs, shrugging his shoulders. He scrutinizes Al-Haitham for one long moment, and Al-Haitham does nothing in the meantime. Kaveh’s lips press into a tight line, downturning into a frown. He leans forward over his sketchbook, focusing on the lines. Al-Haitham is unsure if this is done on purpose, but Kaveh lifts his knees to balance his sketchbook. This brings him closer to Al-Haitham, but since there is no special expression on Kaveh’s face, Al-Haitham doesn’t think the action registers in Kaveh’s mind.

Al-Haitham is not, under any circumstances, an impulsive person, so when he lifts his fingers to touch Kaveh’s cheek, he does so consciously (if illogically). He expects Kaveh to flinch away, but all he gets is Kaveh’s eyes widening. Those irises dart between Al-Haitham's hand and his face. Kaveh moves very slowly, the hesitation etched into his bones, but he leans into Al-Haitham’s touch. He looks ready to bolt any second, so Al-Haitham keeps very still. Kaveh rests his cheek there, drawing more lines across the page.

Neither of them says a word about it, but Al-Haitham doesn’t miss the minuscule smile Kaveh draws on Al-Haitham’s face, informing the duke that he was probably smiling the entire time.

—

Nilou pats her hands against her skirt to wipe away any dust that might have collected while she stands in the foyer. She was explicitly told that she was going to wait here for a while, so she didn’t feel particularly impatient. She is a little unnerved by the looks the other servants throw her way when they pass through this area, but Nilou is accustomed to such looks. Every artist in Sumeru, no matter what specific craft they adopt, must become strong in these withering expressions. If Nilou wasn’t prepared for a few glares, she couldn’t in good conscience call herself a dancer.

She folds her hands together, letting her arms hang down. She shuffles on her feet. While she doesn’t feel any pain in her limbs yet, she does notice a restlessness echoing through her bones. She has never been one to stay still for long periods of time even in circumstances when she’s supposed to. She can manage with the resolve imbued in her by her teacher, but it is only a matter of time before Nilou wants to start dancing to release the excess build-up. If only she had someone to talk with, she could usually stay still when she’s communicating with someone. Alas, she doubts any of the servants would be willing to converse with her when they all look as if they cannot stand the sight of her.

After some time, the doors to the estate swing open. On agile feet, Nilou darts forward to meet the individuals entering the estate. The first one to enter is a person she recognizes from a single encounter and plenty of rumors. Duke Haravatat is the lord of the land. He is known for his intelligence and straightforwardness. He has done a lot for his land, and everyone, including Nilou, is extremely grateful for him. Unfortunately, Nilou did not meet him under the best of circumstances. While central heterochromia is unique to the Haravatat family, the alleyway is extremely dark. She could barely see his silver hair, let alone the shade of his eyes, and frankly, she was more worried about protecting her friend from a potential kidnapper than examining said kidnapper’s appearance. Nilou isn’t stupid for not immediately realizing that one of the highest-ranking men in the kingdom was standing in an alleyway smelling of puke, alcohol, and manure, holding who Nilou thought was one of the lowest-ranking members of the kingdom.

The person who enters after the duke is the one Nilou knows far more intimately. This is proven true because Nilou recognizes him immediately despite his appearance being different. While the Pari she knows has brown hair and dark eyes unlike Lord Kaveh’s blonde hair and red eyes, they both have a unique quality that Nilou has learned to notice in a crowd. No matter the appearance he presents, there is something unmistakably sad and wistful surrounding his body like a poignant aura. Nilou has tried her hardest to disperse the aura, and she knows she’s made headway. Not enough, though, which might explain why she’s here right now.

“Nilou,” Kaveh’s eyes widen as he speaks. His lips part with his shock, but he swallows quickly as shame reddens his cheeks. He fumbles with his hands, his eyes searching the ground for words he might be able to say. He is equally embarrassed and guilty, and it shows remarkably well on his face. His expressions are easier to see now that his cheeks are less hollow than they were when Nilou first spotted the depressed man drinking alone at the tavern.

“Since Collei needs to continue her studies underneath Tighnari, I hired Miss Nilou to replace her as your personal attendant,” Duke Haravatat explains, gesturing towards Nilou. Although Nilou was extremely disrespectful towards him before learning his connection to her friend, he seemed more impressed than upset. He sent her a letter the next day to thank her for being Kaveh’s confidant. While that was nothing anyone should thank her for, the rest of the letter stole Nilou’s attention. Al-Haitham needed someone trustworthy— or at least, someone who cared about Kaveh— to become his personal attendant. It mattered not that Kaveh was a duke’s husband and Nilou didn’t have a noble title at all. Al-Haitham, true to the rumors, didn’t care about status as much as he cared about ability and accountability. Nilou might be lacking in the skills right now, but she was determined, kind, and ready to help her friend in a brand new way. It helped that the pay and conditions were exceedingly good, far better than Nilou’s circumstances at the moment.

“You don’t—” Kaveh starts, looking between Al-Haitham and Nilou as if uncertain which person he is talking to.

Nilou makes the decision for him as she steps forward. It is definitely against etiquette rules, but Nilou captures Kaveh’s hands between her own, a surefire way to silence him. As expected, his lips snap shut and Nilou takes the opportunity to explain before any misunderstandings can crop up. “I’m doing this because I want to, my lord. I understand why you hid your identity from me, so please do not feel so guilty. I am willing to serve you to the best of my ability and the duke has given me permission. If I am to leave, it will be because you sent me away.”

It is a little cruel to phrase it that way, but Nilou knows it is the only way to keep him from arguing with her. Nilou smiles as Kaveh sighs and nods. He lightens up at her expression, and Nilou squeezes his hands despite what propriety might dictate. She needs to reassure him like this. While she’s always been vaguely aware that Pari had a horrible past, she knows for certain now what kind of life Kaveh must have led. Rtawahist is infamous even among the commoners. Nilou might have at one point or another believed the rumors about Duke Rtawahist’s illegitimate son and Duke Haravatat’s husband, but because she knows Pari, she knows those rumors are all wrong. It just means that someone has purposefully formulated those rumors, and she knows Kaveh has suffered for it. Plus, if the rumors about his alliance with Duke Rtawahist are wrong, she doesn’t want to know what Kaveh went through in that household.

“Will I still get to see Collei?” Kaveh asks quietly, looking up at the duke. Nilou glances at him, too. While she tries to make her stare as unobvious as possible, she doubts there is anything she can do to distract Al-Haitham from Kaveh. Even a fool can see the softness in Al-Haitham’s uniquely colored eyes, and Nilou wonders where the rumors about the duke hating his husband came from.

“You can. Since she will be working closely with Tighnari, you should see her when you go in for your check-ups. If not, I’m sure no one involved will be upset if you invite her out for tea or a meal. She will certainly try keeping tabs on your eating habits,” Al-Haitham answers.

“Good,” Kaveh murmurs, nodding firmly. He looks at Nilou, his face still torn with guilt over keeping his identity a secret from her. He says nothing about that, however, as he gestures, “Would you like to see my room?”

“Yes, my lord,” Nilou says, releasing Kaveh’s hand. She hurriedly grabs onto the bags she left behind and follows Kaveh deeper into the mansion. She glances over her shoulder once to see Al-Haitham nodding firmly at her. She smiles as she nods back, accepting the responsibility without a second of hesitation.

—

Even after a hundred years, the manor looks no different. Or, well, there aren’t any noticeable differences. Faruzan knows that there were inevitably more than a few changes. There might be rocks dislodged from storms or replaced shingles from rainwater. The garden, too, has more than a few differences that while she can pick out, it doesn’t particularly stand out. It is only that even after one hundred years— a few days from her perspective— the house has not changed enough for her to feel displaced from time any more than she already does. 

It’s inevitable that part of her is disconnected from everything around her. The people she once knew are gone. The bloodline she left behind has continued on. The world continued to morph while she was tortuously apart from it. A lesser person might have lost their mind or fallen into a depressive state, but Faruzan believes she is made from sterner material than that. So what if the world has changed? It is still the world. While the current dukes are different, the same six families ( five, but Faruzan doesn’t know that yet) work together to rule over Sumeru with the same god-king Faruzan remembers from a hundred years ago. New developments have been made in the logical world, but it is nothing too drastic. Among all of her qualities, Faruzan firmly believes in the importance of her adaptability, and she has been proven correct for holding that quality in such high esteem. It is most likely the only reason she has kept her sanity.

“Welcome to the Haravatat estate, Madam Faruzan,” A woman who looks older than Faruzan but is younger than her when accounting Faruzan’s displaced hundred years says, gesturing to the manor like Faruzan doesn’t recognize it. The turquoise-haired woman narrows her eyes at the gray-haired woman. There is something distinctly off about her that Faruzan cannot place. Maybe it’s the strangeness of meeting her younger sister’s descendants. Or, well, that isn’t the case. This woman’s sister married into the Haravatat bloodline. Perhaps that is the weirdness, for someone so disconnected from the family to be the one to welcome Faruzan.

“Yes, thank you for such a warm welcome. If it is not too much trouble, could I be directed to my rooms? My journey here has been quite long and arduous, and I would be a fool not to maintain a proper work-rest balance. While I would appreciate having my old room back, I understand why that might be an issue, so I will not argue for it,” Faruzan says, crossing her arms over her chest. A hundred years ago, Faruzan was the heir to the Haravatat name. If she hadn’t gotten caught in a trap that froze her in time, she would have eventually become Duchess Haravatat. As such, she has been trained for situations such as these. Well, not exactly like these, but Faruzan will remind everyone once again that she’s adaptable. There are other lessons that are similar to this one that Faruzan is simply reworking to fit her current purposes. She suspects she might have to do that frequently while staying at her old— in more ways than one— home.

“Ah, yes, I believe your room was this way. There is currently someone staying there, but we can easily remove him,” The woman says, leading Faruzan deeper into the house. Faruzan follows, but not before casting a look over her shoulder.

When Faruzan finally escaped the trap in the desert, the first family to find her was not her biological one. The Rtawahist family found her. They took care of her for a brief period of time. When she became fit for travel, she decided to return to Haravatat. Duke Rtawahist— a man named Azar who looks eerily like the duke Faruzan once knew— insisted Faruzan bring a servant with her. Faruzan eventually agreed, realizing that her health wasn’t completely back to what it should be. Faruzan was expecting a legitimate servant, but Azar sent a golden-eyed girl that Faruzan believes is the daughter of a branch family. While not as noble as Azar, she should still have some nobility in her blood, so Faruzan doesn’t understand why Azar would so willingly send her away. Despite being a nervous wreck, Layla never fought against her placement. She isn’t a particularly decent servant, but she is more than willing to attempt whatever Faruzan tells her to do and her intelligence makes her a good conversational partner. Faruzan has decided to keep her around, but she knows deep down that there is something amiss about the situation.

This is without mentioning the way everyone is treating Layla. Faruzan thought people would glare at her or treat her with skepticism, but every harsh whisper involves Layla’s name, not Faruzan’s. It unnerves the older woman, but she doesn’t know what she can do about it when Layla seems to accept the hate left on her shoulders with a sad but understanding expression. This is definitely a situation Faruzan will investigate as soon as she feels like her body and mind are in tip-top shape.

The gray-haired woman opens the door for Faruzan. Her gaze is downright venomous when it lands on Layla, and a subtle tremble shoots down the blue-haired girl’s spine. Faruzan shuffles between Layla and the woman while glancing around the room. As the woman said, someone else appears to be living here. It doesn’t look too different from when this room belonged to Faruzan, but there is a strange art set-up in the corner that Faruzan has never seen before.

“Is this Lord Kaveh’s room?” Layla asks, pressing close to Faruzan’s back to avoid the woman’s hawk-like eyes. Faruzan doesn’t know who ‘Lord Kaveh’ is, but it must be someone important if they are given the title of ‘lord.’

“It is, but as I said, he is easily removed—”

“Who is Lord Kaveh?” Faruzan asks. She would get a true answer from Layla, but Faruzan asks the woman instead. There is something about the way Layla and this woman say his name, the way they seem to treat the precious space they have entered, that makes Faruzan as curious as she is displeased.

“No one to concern yourself with, Madam Faruzan, especially not when you should be resting,” The woman firmly states, leaving no room for argument as she crosses her arms behind her back.

Faruzan narrows her eyes. She tilts her body to the side, letting Layla know she wants an answer without ever taking her eyes off the woman. Layla swallows thickly. She looks two seconds away from crying, and her voice adds to that with how wet it is. “Um, well, Lord Kaveh is… uh, the duke’s husband. Your sister’s grandson’s husband… or maybe great grandson’s? He’s also the illegitimate son of Duke Rtawahist.”

There’s a point of connection. Layla and Kaveh are both from Rtawahist, and they seem to be treated in similar ways. It isn’t good, either. While Faruzan doesn’t know Kaveh, she knows Layla. The young woman practically clinging to her back to protect herself doesn’t deserve to be treated the way the people here do, and Faruzan is almost certain Kaveh falls in the same camp, especially since the woman seems eager to kick Kaveh out of his room and refuses to say his name or position to Faruzan.

“Well, it isn’t right for the elders to usurp the positions or rooms of the youngsters. I want to make a good impression on my great-nephew, after all. How about I take the rooms next door? I remember they were once my sister’s, so I am as familiar with them as I am with this room,” Faruzan dictates with a smile appearing on her face. The woman’s face contorts because of Faruzan’s expression, and Layla holds her breath like she’s going to puke. Faruzan doesn’t wait for permission as she guides Layla out of the room, heading towards the one next door.

Faruzan thought she was going to get to relax, but it seemed she still had work ready for her to accomplish. She’s still having to take care of Haravatat. Well, it is the duty of the elders to protect and guide the youth. Faruzan doesn’t mind her new responsibilities. 

Chapter Text

The stream babbles merrily like a giggling child. The water is cool as it sloshes over the smooth stone, seeping into his shoes as he steps from one stone to the next. The stream is not so deep that he needs to keep his feet out of it, but Al-Haitham was insistent under the grounds that sickness would devour him like a foul beast. Kaveh was not eager to agree, but he did not voice his complaints as Al-Haitham took his hand like a kind-hearted knight escorting a princess. The metaphor is inaccurate on many levels, but Kaveh is unable to really think about it when Al-Haitham willingly treads through the brisk waters to keep Kaveh balanced on the stones. When the blonde shows signs of slipping, Al-Haitham is quick to steady him in a way that makes Kaveh’s heart lurch with emotions he thought he buried so far deep inside himself, that it would have been appropriate to construct gravestones.

Al-Haitham steps onto the shore. His wet shoes sink into the dirt, the beginnings of mud staining the leather material. Kaveh could apologize, but he didn’t tell Al-Haitham to walk through the stream or to take Kaveh’s hand. The duke did all of that himself, and Kaveh’s only crime is allowing it to happen. Despite this, it doesn’t feel much like a sin when Al-Haitham turns to face Kaveh with a gentle expression on his face instead of an annoyed or angry one at having his shoes partially ruined. Al-Haitham isn’t smiling, but he isn’t frowning, either. Kaveh is still unnerved by the easiness brushing across the handsome face, but he is slowly getting used to it. He’s no longer frightened by it, at least.

Al-Haitham lifts his other hand to Kaveh. The blonde actively takes it. When Al-Haitham takes a step back, lightly tugging Kaveh forward, the blonde mirrors his actions. He also feels the ground shift beneath his shoes, but there are no muddy stains on his shoes other than the soles. Kaveh could check on them, but Al-Haitham had only released one of his hands, not both of them. Al-Haitham intertwines their fingers, coaxing Kaveh to follow him through the sparsely forested area. The blonde pulls at his cloak, lifting it above the underbrush Al-Haitham fearlessly meanders through instead of following the vaguely defined dirt path. Kaveh says nothing, asking no questions about the circumstances he has unwittingly found himself in.

Al-Haitham stops suddenly, turning on his heel. Kaveh sucks in a tight breath, an excuse on his tongue. Al-Haitham gives him a wary smile. Kaveh tries to ignore the relief that thunders through him. Al-Haitham is no closer to regaining his lost memories. Many of the doctors have given up on trying to bring them back. Al-Haitham’s aunt wants them returned immediately, and Kaveh has a feeling the duke wants to regain them, too. Kaveh is among the very few who hope they stay forgotten forever, but then again, Kaveh doesn’t entirely care if Al-Haitham gets them back sooner rather than later. Kaveh is having a lot of trouble keeping his heart out of Al-Haitham’s hands. It is as if the metaphorical core of Kaveh’s emotions doesn’t understand that Al-Haitham is the one who will crush it mercilessly. If Al-Haitham remembers everything, they can stop this whole facade before Kaveh’s defenses come crashing down around him.

“May I cover your eyes?” Al-Haitham asks, standing in front of Kaveh. He has not gotten shorter, obviously, but it no longer feels like Al-Haitham is towering over him when they stand this close to each other. Kaveh is almost more terrified of not being intimidated than he is of the alternative.

“The lord may do as he wishes,” Kaveh murmurs, avoiding Al-Haitham’s eyes. While they are often the cruelest part of Al-Haitham’s appearance, they are also the most handsome in Kaveh’s opinion. When those eyes are happy, Kaveh feels like all his worries wash away in an instant. Those are the kind of eyes that make people put their lives in Al-Haitham’s hands without truly thinking about it. Kaveh, too, would willingly put his life in Al-Haitham’s hands if those eyes continued to stare at him with such fondness.

As Al-Haitham steps around Kaveh, putting a hand over the blonde’s eyes, he believes that he is giving his life to Al-Haitham. What other reason could there be for Al-Haitham taking him this far away from the manor while still being on Haravatat property? Al-Haitham is probably trying to dispose of him. Kaveh’s stomach twists at the thought. He has spent so long not bothering if his life was taken from him or not, so why does he feel hesitant now? Is it because he doesn’t want this kinder version of Al-Haitham to hurt him?

Al-Haitham puts his other hand on the small of Kaveh’s back. He nudges Kaveh forward, twisting his hand to keep the blonde from tripping over unseen tree roots or rocks left hidden in the underbrush. Kaveh feels the plants brush against his ankles. He suppresses the ensuing giggle since nothing else about this situation is funny. Kaveh wonders, fleetingly, if Al-Haitham is also tickled by the small plants growing at their feet. Kaveh doesn’t think he’s ever heard Al-Haitham genuinely laugh. He would have rather liked to at some point, but he supposes the duke wouldn’t find anything other than his misery hilarious.

Al-Haitham stops Kaveh’s movements. He shuffles a half-step toward Kaveh, standing directly behind the surprisingly calm blonde. 

“I will be removing my hand,” Al-Haitham warns, whispering into Kaveh’s ear. This closeness used to send chills down Kaveh’s spine, but this time, the heat from his stomach rose to his cheeks. He blames it on embarrassment and nothing else. Instead, he focuses on the light that creeps into his vision as Al-Haitham does as he said he would. Kaveh squints, blinking rapidly, and soon, his vision clears completely.

Kaveh’s lips part in surprise and awe. Instead of some random cliff-face or the entrance to a ravine, Al-Haitham has brought Kaveh to the top of a slanted hill. Tree roots poke out of the ground, mounds of dirt kept in place by them and the bundles of grass that grow. At the bottom of the hill, dozens of flowers form into an expansive multi-colored field. Darkness shrouds a thicker forest on the other side of the flower field, but the sun is just barely visible above the spear-like treetops. The sky is painted in rich reds and oranges. The flickering shades of purple exist on the edges, allowing night to creep above the horizon.

Al-Haitham wraps his arms around Kaveh’s shoulder. He leans his forehead against Kaveh’s shoulder. The blonde is surprised by that action. The view is so magnificent. He doesn’t understand how Al-Haitham could tear his eyes away from it. Kaveh’s fingers twitch at his sides with the urge to ink this scene onto paper even though he knows he will not do it any justice. He doesn’t have nearly the right hues, but he wants to make an attempt. Al-Haitham might be able to translate this scene into prose, and Kaveh has the audacity to feel a sprouting of jealousy in his gut.

“I found this place while hunting. I knew I wanted to show it to you the moment I saw it,” Al-Haitham explains. He tilts his head to the side, glancing up at Kaveh. Although he only sees the duke from the corner of his eye, Kaveh knows the expression on his face. He knows it, but he doesn’t believe it for even a second. His stomach twists painfully hard, trying to distract him from what simply cannot be. What shouldn’t be.

“I also have a gift for you,” Al-Haitham remarks. He lifts his head from Kaveh’s shoulder. He keeps his arms around Kaveh as he walks around to stand in front of the blonde instead of behind him. The strange look in his eyes has not dissipated in the slightest. It grows sharper as Al-Haitham puts his hands on Kaveh’s cheeks. His skin is cold, but the touch is pleasant. Kaveh has half a mind to start regretting initiating physical contact with Al-Haitham and giving the duke the impression it was fine to do so in turn, but Kaveh doesn’t have the strength to deny these unwavering touches. Despite steadily becoming more frequent, they are no less appreciated even with lessening rarity. Kaveh enjoys each and every one, though he refuses to admit as such under any circumstances.

Al-Haitham pulls his hands away for a moment to reach into his coat. He pulls something out from an inner pocket. His fingers close around the object. A pale green light shines through the cracks of his fist. He takes Kaveh’s wrist to place the object into the blonde’s hand gently. Kaveh stares at it for a long moment. The gift is a dark green rhombohedron made from glass that glows faintly in Kaveh’s palm. A symbol is carved into the surface, but Kaveh doesn’t recognize it. He just knows that it must be one of the languages the Haravatat heirs are forced to learn in their youth. Kaveh is curious about the symbol’s meaning, but he also has a feeling he doesn’t actually want to know.

“My grandmother gave it to me before she passed away. It is one of my prized possessions, one of the few material objects I hold in high regard. I wanted to give it to you in case my memories come back and I cannot remember the time we are spending together now. If this other version of me realizes you have this, I will know immediately that our time together is not a lie made up by my subordinates,” Al-Haitham explains. He puts both of his hands underneath the back of Kaveh’s hand. He slowly folds Kaveh’s fingers around the glass shard. He keeps his hands there, knowing immediately that Kaveh will try to give the shard back.

“Would you not simply assume I had stolen it?” Kaveh asks, glaring up at Al-Haitham. Truthfully, he glares because it is a thoughtful gift. Possessing this object smooths over Kaveh’s lingering fears, and he can’t deny that Al-Haitham giving him something so sentimentally valuable sends a giddy feeling throughout his body. A creeping guilt lingers in his body at the idea of having the last gift Al-Haitham’s grandmother gave him, but Al-Haitham’s face is contorted with as determination as it was when he asked Kaveh to give him a chance to right the wrongs he cannot remember.

“I have kept this object on my person at all times since I received it. There is no feasible way for you to have stolen it without my knowledge. If I despised you as much as others say I did, I would have punished you greatly for stealing this from me,” Al-Haitham notes mildly, putting his hand back on Kaveh’s cheek. Kaveh presses his closed hands against his chest, letting the green light shine across his heart. Kaveh could think about the punishments that will befall him when the version of Al-Haitham that remembers Kaveh returns, but he doesn’t. He just leans forward, putting his forehead against Al-Haitham’s chest and letting his worries seep away from him.

—

There are two new people in the household. Nilou told Kaveh about it first, mentioning that he had neighbors now. Cyno confirms this matter, giving a visual description of the two women he has seen entering and leaving the room. Tighnari explained to Kaveh and Collei about one of the women. She was trapped in a time prison for 100 years. She only recently found freedom, and she returned to her childhood home. She was surprisingly healthy for someone displaced out of time. Al-Haitham confirmed everyone’s testimonies, and it was through him that Kaveh finally met the two individuals.

Faruzan Haravatat was both similar and vastly different from Al-Haitham. They were both rather serious with dry senses of humor, and a determination that could shake the foundation of the kingdom. Faruzan was more forthcoming with her emotions, however, and she valued a person’s position far more than Al-Haitham did. Her haughtiness was smothered by her almost vicious caring attitude. One look at Kaveh was all it took for her to take him under her wing. Kaveh was not sure what that entailed until she took over his lessons and pestered him during every mealtime to eat more. Al-Haitham was willing to kick her out, but Kaveh asked Al-Haitham to let her stay. Kaveh wasn’t going to admit it aloud, but Faruzan was kind in her own way. She was brilliant, helpful, and motherly, though Kaveh would never, ever tell anyone that last one.

The other person who came with Faruzan was not someone who was displaced by time. Layla Rtawahist was born in this era. Although she was often aloof and unsociable, she possessed the same kindness and integrity as the woman she came with. Layla was quick to befriend Kaveh as they were the only Rtawahists in the entire household. Luckily, Kaveh found as much comfort in her as she did in him. They were both very unlike the man who sent them into this household.

Layla’s skills as a servant were, for lack of a better word, atrocious. Nilou was eager to help her out, but her shortcomings were many and her aptitude for improvement was lacking. One of the few reasons Faruzan kept her around other than her genuinely pure heart was because Layla was a genius astronomer. No one could come close to her speed at drawing and reading star charts. Her comprehension levels were faster and more accurate than the students at the Akademiya or the astronomers working for the royal family. There was even a chance she was greater than Azar, but Layla would never admit that and Azar would never let that happen. Probably why she ended up in this household despite being as terrible at spying as she was at being a servant.

Layla and Kaveh took classes with Faruzan during the day. It was a way for them all to fill their time since they didn’t exactly have jobs. Layla’s only objective was to serve Faruzan and observe the Haravatat household. Kaveh should have been acting as the caretaker of the house, but Al-Haitham’s aunt usurped his power a long time ago and Kaveh didn’t have the motivation to earn it back. Faruzan, too, could have taken on the responsibility, but she often went on and on about leaving the duties of the present to the younger generation rather than her generation. So, to that end, they assembled together so that Faruzan might teach them more about subjects they would otherwise never get to learn about.

“You are doing better at this than I thought, Lord Kaveh,” Faruzan remarks, tapping her screwdriver against the machine Kaveh was tinkering with. Through unknown means, Al-Haitham acquired many machines left behind by an ancient civilization. Faruzan confiscated them, bringing them to class with her. She spread many of the machines across the table Kaveh and Layla jointly used as a desk. Faruzan sat at the head of the table, bringing out a toolbox for her students to borrow from. As expected, Layla was really only good at machines that seemed to serve some astrological purpose. Kaveh, on the other hand, was unexpectedly great at whatever machine landed in his hands. “With those skills, I would have thought you came from the Kshahrewar family, not Rtawahist.”

Kaveh’s lips part, but he doesn’t respond. He instead narrows his eyes at the machine. He moves one of the wires out of his way. He doesn’t look at Faruzan to avoid her questioning stare, and he doesn’t look at Layla because he senses her awkward anxiety. Kaveh knew he could break down no matter which pair of eyes he glanced into. Kaveh has spent so long refusing to cry in front of other people that it has become one of the few truths he clings to in this household.

When Kaveh and Layla fall silent, Faruzan takes it as a cue to keep talking. They are normally fine with this, but Kaveh’s body trembles faintly as she keeps going, entirely distracted by the mechanical core resting in her palm. “You resemble that family, too. Blonde hair isn’t exactly rare, but the brunette roots are as indicative of Kshahrewar as central heterochromia is for Haravatat. I suppose your red eyes are not too far off from the orange shade most Rtawahist heirs have, though. Could one of your parents be from Kshahrewar? Did Kshahrewar and Rtawahist have an alliance before Rtawahist and Haravatat did?”

“Umm… Madam Faruzan… Kshahrewar is, er, well, gone,” Layla answers, whispering and leaning closer to Faruzan as if she doesn’t want Kaveh to overhear. Kaveh raises an eyebrow at her. While most people know he’s the adopted son of Azar, they all assume he came from a distant branch family. Kaveh cannot deny Layla’s intellect, but he doesn’t think she could have figured his situation out on her own. She either did his fortune to discover the truth, or Azar told her the truth for reasons that the duke alone must know.

“How can that be? Sumeru is built upon the pillars of the six darshans. The removal of one is tantamount to removing the supporting wall in a house. It will collapse, but Sumeru seems fine to me,” Faruzan asks, her face whitening with shock. While a lot can change in 100 years, the collapse of a prominent noble house must be something not even Faruzan could anticipate.

“There were a lot of factors that led to its decline. Eventually, the royal family revoked their title and confiscated their assets. The decree was made nearly forty years ago, but no one treated it like a ducal house for many years before that point,” Layla is next to silent as she speaks. Her fingers fidget together. Her eyes roam across the room, pointedly avoiding both Faruzan and Kaveh. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she genuinely squeaks when they make eye contact for a moment. Kaveh frowns; he doesn’t want to frighten the poor girl.

“How could this have happened, though? Should the royal family have not helped the family as soon as the decline began? Did the other ducal houses not participate in the revitalization? Do they not realize how much Kshahrewar does for this nation?” Faruzan’s nose scrunches together as she demands answers at full volume. She is not a naturally loud person, but her voice echoes in the large room transformed into a regularly used classroom.

“Well, about that, umm... It was– most people assume— there’s minimal proof, but— it was probably done on purpose. The decline was, er, orchestrated by—”

“As Layla said, there is minimal proof. Kshahrewar is gone. Maybe one of my parents was a member of the fallen house,” Kaveh interrupts. This is partially to relieve Layla from her stressed ramblings, but also because he doesn’t want to hear them.

“Hmph,” Faruzan’s frustration is evident as she leans back in her chair. She crosses one arm over her chest and uses the other to twirl her hair. As Faruzan descends into her thoughts, Layla and Kaveh make eye contact with one another. Layla looks apologetic and sick. Kaveh reaches across the table to grab her hand. It isn’t their fault what happened. They just have to live knowing what kind of blood flows through their veins. She arguably has it worse than him, in any case, so Kaveh feels more sympathy for her than she should feel for him. Still, Layla squeezes his hand tightly, trying her best to smile at him. In moments like these, she looks nothing like Azar, and Kaveh finds himself smiling back at her.

—

There are many responsibilities the nobility have. They are meant to lead their lands, spreading prosperity and good health to every home. They should handle their households— assets, titles, properties, etc. During wartime, they contribute to the effort through monetary means or by assembling enough soldiers to tilt the scales in their kingdom’s favor. During peacetime, they are meant to build an image of unity that the common folk will aspire to emulate. This final responsibility has many ways it can be performed, but one of the most favorable is grand parties thrown at the nobility’s lavish houses.

Kaveh has been to a few parties since becoming Lord Haravatat. The first was his wedding, but it barely counts since there wasn’t a reception and no one was having any fun at the ceremony itself. The first gathering he went to after that was by himself, and he will never do that again. The humiliation he suffered was enough to make him want to become a shut-in. The next few parties were manageable since no one dared mess with him when he came with Duke Haravatat, but Al-Haitham was not eager to stay with Kaveh. They would get into an argument every time about it, especially the first time when Kaveh legitimately begged Al-Haitham to stay with him for just a few moments longer. When the love in Kaveh’s heart dwindled into a pathetic spark best left to be smothered, he didn’t attend any more parties. Al-Haitham went alone, if he went at all, and Lady Haravatat went to any functions that were mandatory to attend.

Kaveh stays in the carriage for a moment longer than he should. He stares at the royal palace. He had been here once before when Azar adopted him, but it was daytime then. Night has fallen across the world, so the palace is lit up in several shades of gold and fiery orange. Music trickles out of the many open windows, and Kaveh can hear a few nobles giggling as they head inside. Kaveh should be among them, but his chest feels tight and his legs won’t move no matter how many commands he sends their way. He hunches over his knees, wondering how much trouble he will get in if he pukes on the carriage’s floor.

Kaveh hates how pathetic he’s being right now, but he hates Al-Haitham witnessing this even more. The duke got out of the carriage first, but he didn’t leave Kaveh behind like he usually would. He stayed behind, reaching a hand to help Kaveh out. Even though Kaveh disrespectfully didn’t take the hand, Al-Haitham remains at the carriage’s doorway. Kaveh would rather Al-Haitham abandon him here. Kaveh doesn’t know how long he’s going to take, but it is going to be much longer than anyone would have the patience for.

“We don’t have to go,” Al-Haitham’s voice is quiet as he sets his hands on Kaveh’s knees. He moves his hands until they are holding onto Kaveh’s, keeping the blonde from digging his nails so far into his palms that he draws blood. The gloves would have been enough to keep Kaveh from doing something like that, but Kaveh finds solace in squeezing Al-Haitham’s hands as if they were a pillow and not human flesh. Al-Haitham, at least, doesn’t say a word about it. He doesn’t wince or jerk his hands away, letting Kaveh relieve part of his anxiety in a way that must surely pain him.

“Yes, we do,” Kaveh argues. He sounds close to tears, and the prickling in his eyes double-downs on the sentiment. The royal family has summoned everyone. Kaveh cannot avoid this. Al-Haitham can’t, either, but he isn’t nearly as daunted by the large palace bustling with people as Kaveh is. It’s expected, of course. Al-Haitham is Duke Haravatat: intelligent, strong, and highly respected. Kaveh is nothing next to him. He’s a punching bag, a laughing stock, and Kaveh hates having all those eyes on him. He isn’t even in the ballroom yet, and he can already feel them all boring into his soul like he’s the main attraction to mock and scorn.

“We can make an excuse. I can go in alone. We can enter at the very end of the party when everyone is either drunk, asleep, or gone. You do not have to force yourself to do this,” Al-Haitham promises. Kaveh stifles a nervous laugh. Al-Haitham always does funny things to his heart. Who would have ever thought Al-Haitham would use the skills he learned at the Akademiya to come up with ways to ease Kaveh’s panic and paranoia? Who else would lie to the royal family— effectively commit treason— for Kaveh’s sake?

“No… No, I’m doing this,” Kaveh swallows thickly. He might get stared at, but no one will mess with him if he sticks to Al-Haitham. As long as something at the party doesn’t make Al-Haitham’s memories come rushing back, he will stay with Kaveh. The blonde will force him to, though he doubts Al-Haitham will desert him after witnessing Kaveh’s mini-anxiety attack in the carriage.

Al-Haitham frowns. He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t argue. He only sighs his assent. He puts his foot on the carriage’s step, placing a warm kiss against Kaveh’s forehead. He stares at Kaveh as he falls back onto the ground. “If that is what you want to do, my love.”

The nickname is enough to distract Kaveh. His face flushes, and he is about to argue that he is not Al-Haitham’s love when his feet leave the ground. Al-Haitham cradles Kaveh against his chest, using his shoulder to shut the carriage door. Kaveh’s arms move around Al-Haitham’s neck instinctively, but he kicks his feet to protest the position. He hisses against Al-Haitham’s ear, “What are you doing? Put me down!”

“I do not want to. Given your nervousness, I am inclined to assume you are vulnerable to tripping or losing strength in your legs. I would not want you to fall on our way there,” Al-Haitham’s logic is rather sound, but the expression on his face is far too smug for this to be entirely for Kaveh’s benefit and none of Al-Haitham’s interests.

“What if someone sees us?” Kaveh asks quietly. He’s stopped kicking, however, relaxing as much as he can into Al-Haitham’s hold. He doesn’t think it’s going to hurt too much if Al-Haitham suddenly drops him. This version of Al-Haitham probably never will, but the other one… Kaveh just doesn’t know.

“So what if they do? We are a legally married couple. This is tame behavior compared to the other scandals that the nobility perpetuate for their own entertainment. Let them find whatever reverie they can in the duke’s care for his husband,” Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow at Kaveh. The blonde hides his face in Al-Haitham’s shoulder. He didn’t want rumors to spread that Al-Haitham and Kaveh were getting closer. First and foremost, he didn’t want Azar to hear about this. Secondly, he doesn’t want these rumors to continue when Al-Haitham and him are no longer anything to each other.

Logically, Kaveh should push Al-Haitham away and insist on his body’s ability to move. Rationally eludes Kaveh, however, because he feels so much safer in Al-Haitham’s arms. No one can say a word to him when the duke is physically protecting him. Kaveh is a fool to enjoy this, but he has long since acknowledged the foolish behavior Al-Haitham effortlessly coaxes from Kaveh.

When they reach the palace’s main entrance, Kaveh stretches his legs onto the ground. He keeps one arm around Al-Haitham, letting strength return to him slowly. Al-Haitham holds him closely, moving a hand to run through Kaveh’s blonde hair. It trails down to his cheek, and Kaveh stands up straight without anyone’s assistance. The pit in his stomach gnaws at his resolve, but he doesn’t let his fear drive him to flee. He tries to emulate the visage of Lord Haravatat. He thinks he gets somewhere close as he puts his hand through Al-Haitham’s inner elbow. Al-Haitham covers Kaveh’s hand with his own, and the two of them step into the opulent palace.

The servants are dutiful as they direct the nobility to the ballroom and take their coats. There is not a single pair of eyes that linger on Kaveh and Al-Haitham from the working class, as drama is far above their pay grade. In contrast, the nobility instantly drowns Kaveh with their attention. He has trouble controlling his breathing, and he can’t stop his hands from trembling. He attempts to remove his cloak for the awaiting servant. Frustrated tears fill Kaveh’s eyes, but his struggles swiftly end when Al-Haitham unties the knot for him. Al-Haitham hands the cloak to the servant. As the man scurries away, Al-Haitham dusts off Kaveh’s shoulders with a soft look. He leans forward for another forehead kiss. He pulls away, dropping his hand into Kaveh’s hand. “Stay with me tonight, okay?”

Kaveh almost laughs at the irony. How many times did he ask Al-Haitham that same question? The cruel part of Kaveh wants to answer the way Al-Haitham would have before the accident, but he doesn’t have enough strength to speak. He squeezes Al-Haitham’s hand. The duke’s expression turns even more tender. He starts to lead Kaveh through the hallways to the ballroom in the distance. The nobility’s eyes continue to burn Kaveh’s body. There is an undercurrent of their curious murmurings that make Kaveh want to find the nearest potted plant or powdering room. He should have asked Tighnari for some nausea medication before they left.

A servant waits at the entrance to the ballroom, ready to whisper names and titles to the herald at the top of the stairs. The servant’s eyes widen when they notice Kaveh next to Al-Haitham. They do not need to ask who the two individuals are. The herald is less expressive than his companion. He clears his throat with a cough, and with his naturally booming voice, announces the next pairing to enter the ballroom over the music, “Introducing Duke and Lord Haravatat.”

Al-Haitham’s grip on Kaveh’s hand strengthens, keeping Kaveh from fitting them into a more appropriate position. Kaveh should be holding Al-Haitham’s arm, not his hand. This is a symbol of mutual love, and Kaveh doesn’t want Al-Haitham to regret this. But Al-Haitham doesn’t wear any discernible expression as he escorts Kaveh from the top of the stairs to the bottom. The herald continues introducing couples behind them, but Kaveh can feel the predatory eyes on him. He bites the inside of his cheek, holding his breath to distract himself from the pain inside his chest. He is, obviously, replacing one sort of pain with another, but Kaveh likes the illusion of control it gives him.

Despite every good quality he possesses, Al-Haitham is not an approachable person. He is naturally intimidating with his resting face resembling annoyance and boredom while his posture reveals that he is ready to fight physically should any untoward words linger too long in his ears. He glares at anyone who dares approach him, and those who can make it past his glare will find that he isn’t a particularly good conversationalist unless the topic broaches some fairly heavy subject matters. Al-Haitham is the sort of man that one only talks to when they have to or when the matter is of great importance.

Kaveh despised this as much as he hated everything else about Al-Haitham, but he can now confidently proclaim that he loves using it as a shield. Tucked into Al-Haitham’s side, Kaveh can borrow the strength and meanness in Al-Haitham’s gaze. While others would have approached him to belittle him if he were on his own, those cowards remain far, far away when Al-Haitham puts an arm around Kaveh’s shoulder as if they were alone and not in observant company. Kaveh hates relying on Al-Haitham like this, but he lost his natural charisma a long time ago.

It feels so far away now, but there was a time when Kaveh was a lively, sociable person. He liked people at one point. He still does, really. Kaveh enjoyed the festivities. He liked interacting with strangers, turning them into friends. He liked dancing, spinning around until he felt drunk without even touching a drop. He liked the bubbly atmosphere as if they were all water in a pot set over a fire. Parties were forever ruined for Kaveh in one fell swoop, but he likes to think that enough good experiences will reawaken what he thought was lost. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t suspect he’ll ever learn.

Al-Haitham turns to Kaveh. The blonde looks up at him, frowning slightly as he waits for Al-Haitham to say something. The gray-haired man is silent for a long moment. He only stares. Kaveh swallows, unsure what he’s supposed to feel at the moment. A strange sort of embarrassment rises from his gut to his cheeks, but there is something else in his emotions that he prays Al-Haitham doesn’t notice or understand. It would be much better for everyone involved if Al-Haitham would look away so Kaveh could sort himself out, but the duke does no such things. His expression just shifts minutely with a sigh. “So, that is why everyone is staring at you.”

Kaveh startles. Shame forms words on his tongue, but Al-Haitham looks away, glaring at the other people in the room instead of looking at Kaveh. “They must realize how beautiful you are.”

Kaveh nearly flinches away, but Al-Haitham keeps his arm around Kaveh’s shoulder. The blonde flounders, trying to form an intelligent sentence. He shakes his head, putting his hands over his cheeks to feel the heat between his fingers. “You can’t just say things like that, Your Grace.”

“Why not? I find the truth to be much easier to keep track of than lies are,” Al-Haitham shrugs with one shoulder. He continues glancing around the room, his face taking on an expression that almost seems sour. Kaveh would say it is similar to jealousy, but that would be stupid. Al-Haitham is not capable of such irrational emotions— his self-proclaimed fondness for Kaveh aside. “It is becoming a problem, however. I do not like so many people looking at you.”

“I assure Your Grace that I dislike it even more, but there is nothing we can do when we are standing together like this,” Kaveh responds, gesturing to the arm around his shoulder and the small distance between their bodies. Even in the darkness of the corner of the room, the nobility can tell that the Duke and Lord Haravatat are closer than they have been at past functions. 

“Nothing we can do, then,” Al-Haitham agrees with a firm nod. Kaveh didn’t exactly mean it like that, but he didn’t think he could argue with Al-Haitham about this. He genuinely doesn’t like arguing with Al-Haitham due to past memories, but he also knows when there are verbal fights he cannot win.

The music changes to a different set of songs. Kaveh watches the other couples line up near the middle of the room. He glances at Al-Haitham from the corner of his eye. Al-Haitham is staring at him already. Kaveh tenses, but Al-Haitham only lifts a hand to Kaveh. “Would you like to dance with me?”

It is a terrible idea. Everyone would definitely look at Kaveh if he were to dance with Al-Haitham. They would get confirmation that something has changed between Al-Haitham and Kaveh. It is, again, the worst idea possible.

But Kaveh has always wanted to dance with Al-Haitham. More than that, Kaveh likes dancing in general. He’s reluctant, but he ultimately puts his hand in Al-Haitham’s palm. For a moment, Al-Haitham smiles at Kaveh. The smile disappears as Al-Haitham leads him to the center of the room, but that smile alone makes this choice worth it as they get into position. A rare silence hushes the room, but Kaveh focuses only on the partner in front of him and the music all around him. Kaveh takes in a quick breath as he takes the first step of the dance. Al-Haitham mirrors his actions, and they soon begin moving across the room with the same grace as the other dancers despite this being their first time dancing together since their wedding day.

As Kaveh fades into the space between each note, he momentarily forgets about all the eyes on him. He breathes a little easier as he enjoys his time. He doesn’t notice until he sees the awe in Al-Haitham’s eyes that he’s smiling. Kaveh is just as surprised. He cries more often than he smiles, and he decidedly very rarely cries. Still, he likes smiling again, even as it makes his cheeks hurt. Al-Haitham, after a moment, returns his smile with something smaller but no less joyous. No less intimate.

The song comes to an end. Kaveh steps away from his partner to bow. His smile is gone when he stands back up, but the happiness inside his chest continues to warm his spirit. He feels as content as a cat napping in the sunlight, but his positive feelings are doused like water thrown across a flame as he recognizes the person walking towards him and Al-Haitham. The duke grabs Kaveh’s hand as he turns around, preparing for whatever force could so quickly and completely shatter Kaveh’s happiness.

Azar is wearing his classic blue, complimenting his burnt orange eyes. His gray hair is slicked back beneath a hat that he takes off, setting it against his chest as he greets Al-Haitham and Kaveh with a prominent but fake smile on his face. He gestures to the dance floor with his other hand, a smile pointing towards Kaveh. “I did not know you were so skilled at dancing, but I suppose that everyone must have something they are good at. The goddess would not be so cruel as to make you incompetent at everything.”

Al-Haitham tenses, but Kaveh only returns Azar’s smile with a fake one of his own. “Yes, we must give our thanks to the goddess. It would be unfortunate if I did not possess even a single skill worthy of the station you graciously gave me.”

“It seems I have learned great generosity from the goddess,” Azar notes with a half-laugh. Kaveh carefully controls his breathing, and he starts to feel light-headed from how little of it is entering his brain. Azar continues, “Forgive me for interrupting your time together, but I wanted to confirm the conditions of Lady Faruzan and my kin, Layla. I have not heard a word from either of them. While I am certain Lady Faruzan will find her way in the Haravatat household, I am quite worried for Layla. She is a dear family member of mine, after all.”

“They are both in good health. I frequently spend time with both of them, so you may trust my word,” Kaveh answers, putting a hand over his heart. An odd shape presses against his palm through the fabric. He remembers the glass shard Al-Haitham gave him. It makes him feel better, giving him the strength to look into Azar’s eyes.

“I will take your word for it, but please tell Layla I will be waiting for a letter from her. I would like to know how she is faring. You might not have noticed, but she is quite a shy child. She would not say if she were eager to leave,” Azar remarks carefully, his smile growing wider and tighter. It unnerves Kaveh, and Al-Haitham is only growing more agitated at his side.

“I will speak to her on your behalf,” Kaveh confirms. He grabs onto Al-Haitham’s elbow. He starts to pull the man along, bowing respectfully to Duke Azar. “If you will, please excuse us.”

Azar nods, putting his hat back on his face. Kaveh looks over his shoulder, meeting Azar’s displeased glare. Kaveh quickly looks away. Either by accident or by instinct, Kaveh leans into Al-Haitham’s side. He is going to have a proper anxiety attack at this rate, but Al-Haitham is quick to bring them to a balcony devoid of people. He hides Kaveh behind a pillar, and then stands in front of Kaveh to protect him from the cold. The gesture is sweet— romantic, even— and all it does is loosen Kaveh’s resolve. He forces a breath in and out of his chest, staring up at Al-Haitham. The man is looking away from Kaveh, towards the glass doors they came through. Kaveh glances that way, too, but he doesn’t see anything worth seeing. This must mean Al-Haitham wants to go back inside. Kaveh should let him. It is the only rational and responsible thing to do.

But like a foolish, stupid child, Kaveh grabs onto Al-Haitham’s jacket with both hands. The fabric is warm, and his hands are cold. Al-Haitham looks back at him with worried eyes and his lips set in a grim line. Kaveh doesn’t cry, but it feels just as vulnerable as if he were when he whispers, “Please don’t leave me.”

Al-Haitham’s eyes flicker across Kaveh’s face. They settle somewhere. Then, he closes his eyes. He wraps his arms around Kaveh’s shoulders, pulling the blonde close. He completely hides Kaveh between the pillar and his body, but the warmth and darkness are so much more bearable than the cold and blinding party. Kaveh wraps his arms around Al-Haitham’s waist beneath the man’s overcoat, ignoring whatever backlash may come from this decision in the future. Right now, he lets Al-Haitham’s comforting arms around his body and the heated breath tickling his scalp ease him into a place more comfortable than this one.

—

Kaveh is still half-asleep as he tilts his eyes open. It takes longer than it should for him to realize that he’s inside the carriage. A few moments after that, he recognizes that he’s lying in Al-Haitham’s lap, the duke’s hand beneath Kaveh’s head to protect him from the bumpy roads. Kaveh should jerk away in a panic, but he’s too tired for that. He just turns closer to Al-Haitham, settling his cheek against the man’s upper arm. Al-Haitham’s eyes seem to glow in the dark as he looks away from the window to Kaveh. He’s as silent as a mouse in Lesser Lord Kusanali’s church as he whispers, “Go back to sleep. We’ll be home soon.”

Kaveh doesn’t remember leaving the party, but he supposes he must have lost consciousness as soon as Al-Haitham gave him enough comfort to combat the emotions that held him up like a puppeteer. Kaveh feels bad about it, but his exhaustion makes that feeling distant. What isn’t distant is the strange look in Al-Haitham’s eyes. Kaveh reaches a hand up to brush his fingers against Al-Haitham’s jaw. “What are you thinking about?”

Al-Haitham hums distractedly. He uses the hand not holding Kaveh’s head to cover his eyes, urging the blonde to fall back asleep. As if realizing it won’t work, Al-Haitham answers solemnly. “I met someone at the party. She gave me a lot to think about.”

“Met someone as in—”

“I understand that it might be difficult for you to comprehend my affection for you, but please do not doubt my personal integrity. Whether I love or hate you— and I assure you, it is love— I am not going to cheat. I signed a contract and went through a ceremony of my own volition, so I will not break such vows so carelessly. For better or for worse, I am yours,” Al-Haitham reprimands him. A familiar fear surges through Kaveh, but he eases it away with a tired smile. He likes hearing that Al-Haitham loves him, that Al-Haitham is his and no one else’s.

With all that out of the way, Kaveh leans further into Al-Haitham’s hold. He falls right to sleep.

—

The situation reminds Kaveh a lot of the expression ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back.’ 

Layla is a very anxious individual by her very nature. She expects a lot out of herself, and she tends to hate herself easily for failing to live up to her self-imposed expectations. She is pessimistic about the future, especially her place in it. Additionally, she is not in the healthiest environment. While Faruzan and Kaveh take up most of her time, there are plenty of moments when she is left alone with the servants of Haravatat. They despise Rtawahist— for good reasons, sure, but none relating to Layla directly. She incurs their wrath simply because she carries that blood in her veins, and their wrath is as mighty as that of their master.

Between all of that, it is little surprise that Layla would break down at some point. Kaveh just wishes he wasn’t indirectly the cause of it.

After resting well into the day after last night’s party, Kaveh finally found the energy to engage with Faruzan and Layla. Unlike other times when Faruzan would be teaching them, Layla was teaching Faruzan more about astronomy. Layla seemed calm as she helped Faruzan, so Kaveh thought it was the perfect opportunity to tell Layla what Azar had said about sending a message. In hindsight, he should have been more tactful. Even without Azar there in the room with them, Kaveh felt immense pain just talking about him. He should have known Layla would be in a similar— if not, the same— boat as him.

As soon as Kaveh stopped speaking, Layla froze where she stood. She stared at the table with nothing in her eyes. Kaveh and Faruzan shared a look. Faruzan reached a hand to touch Layla’s shoulder. Layla violently flinched away. Her breath quickened as she looked around the room. Something must have clicked in her vision because she stopped moving again. This time, however, tears were in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks like gushing waterfalls. She looked absolutely miserable as her arms crossed over her chest. “This isn’t fair! I didn’t do anything! I just liked the stars! I would have pretended to be stupid if he told me to, but no! He has to send me here to die instead of killing me himself. Except now I think he is going to personally kill me because I haven’t sent him anything. I’m either going to be killed for being a spy by Haravatat or for being a bad one by Rtwahist. I don’t want to die!”

Every other word is punctuated by a hiccup or a shudder, and her sobbing nearly turns her words incomprehensible as she keeps repeating her desire not to die. Faruzan remains frozen where she stands, hand hovering in the air where it would have settled on Layla’s shoulder. Kaveh, on the other hand, is quick to reach her side. Layla grabs his shirt, fisting the fabric as she keeps sobbing. Kaveh is immobile for a second. 

At first, he doesn’t understand Layla’s crying. For one thing, it isn’t going to save her life. For another, Kaveh doesn’t know why someone would want to live so badly they would cry about it. Except, after a second, he does understand. He has people he cares about. He has a room he likes sleeping in. He has paintings left unfinished that he wants to continue. He even has Al-Haitham, and although it might not be for much longer, Kaveh still loves Al-Haitham. He still wants Al-Haitham to love him. He doesn’t want Al-Haitham to kill him. He doesn’t want anyone to, not anymore.

As if to show his understanding, Kaveh realizes that he’s crying, too. The tears are warm and thick as they slide down his cheeks, plopping onto Layla’s dark blue hair. She doesn’t notice as she buries her face into his shoulder, probably getting snot into his clothes. Kaveh also doesn’t notice too much as he wraps his arms around Layla and sobs despondently with her. Either Azar or Al-Haitham is going to kill the both of them for what they are and aren’t, so they take solace in each other’s misery.

Faruzan sighs tiredly. She moves quickly, grabbing onto the sides of their heads. She pulls them down to cry into her shoulders. She pets both of their hair comfortingly, her voice sure and firm as she speaks, “Cease this useless crying at once. I will not allow harm to befall either of you, no matter if it is Duke Rtawahist or Duke Haravatat who comes after you. If you want to live, live you shall. I swear it will be so, and you must respect your elders by believing in them.”

Although she tells them to stop crying, neither of them do for a long time. Thankfully, Faruzan doesn’t push them away or scold them further for their actions. She holds them until they decide to leave her embrace. Kaveh feels a lot better after crying, and Layla looks dead on her feet. Kaveh imagines the inverse statement is also true, though. Faruzan, however, does not look at either of them as if they are sniveling children. Her compassion shows on her face— a tender love that makes Kaveh want to cry again because of how much it reminds him of his mother. Faruzan brushes the last of their tears away with her thumbs. She squeezes their shoulders and escorts them to their rooms. As Layla nearly slobbers against her shoulder, Faruzan promises Kaveh once more that she will not let anyone kill him. Cyno, at the door frame, recoils at the statement, and agrees with it immediately. Kaveh thanks them both as he goes inside to rest.

—

Kaveh opens his eyes to a strange presence in his room. His panic is smothered by the familiarity of the stranger. Kaveh raises an eyebrow as Al-Haitham approaches his bedside. Al-Haitham kneels beside the bed, reaching for Kaveh’s hand. Kaveh lets him take it, waiting for Al-Haitham to explain why he is entering Kaveh’s private chambers at the same time the moonlight creeps in from the windows. Al-Haitham doesn’t leave him waiting long, “No matter what I feel, I am not going to kill you.”

Kaveh snorts, watching the sound sour Al-Haitham’s expression. Kaveh pushes down the rumbling laugh in his chest. “And Layla?”

“I’m not going to kill her, either. I do not care where you two came from. You both deserve to live,” Al-Haitham promises, squeezing Kaveh’s hand. He seems both sad and fond, reminding Kaveh of all those months ago when Al-Haitham begged for a chance. “You deserve to live. I’m not going to kill the man I love.”

It isn’t the first time Al-Haitham has said something similar to ‘I love you,’ if not that phrase in its entirety. It’s only that this time, the words seem softer and truer. Maybe it’s because of how those words sound that Kaveh pulls Al-Haitham into the bed with him. He burrows his face into Al-Haitham’s chest, a new habit that is steadily developing. Al-Haitham is quick to wrap his arms around Kaveh’s shoulders, keeping him close as the blonde moves the blanket to surround them both. Regret will greet him in the morning, but for tonight, Kaveh sinks into the warmth. When he wavers on the cusp of sleep, he whispers into the silent room, unsure if Al-Haitham is even awake to hear it. “I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

Al-Haitham sits in the bed. He uses a propped-up pillow to keep the wooden headboard from digging into his back. The blanket hardly covers his lower body, but the air is not so chilly that he feels the need to cover his legs completely. He holds a book in his lap. The contents of the book are negligible in the long run, just some random facts about interesting plants that grow across the continent. Al-Haitham doesn’t strictly need to know about these plants, but he thought the book would be interesting. Additionally, he genuinely loves to read from physical books, feeling the weight in his palms and the crisp material of the parchment against his fingertips. Ever since his childhood, Al-Haitham would have a book somewhere near him to appease the boredom that frequently flits across the edges of his mind.

There is only one unique detail about this occasion compared to the rest. Well, a few details, but they all amount to the same conclusion. Al-Haitham is not reading in his personal chambers despite dawn having only begun moments prior. The candle he lit to read carries a faintly floral scent that eases his mind with each breath, and Al-Haitham only keeps scentless candles in his room. The blanket wrapped around him is lighter than his blanket is, but he doesn’t particularly mind when an arm wraps loosely around his waist. Kaveh rests his head on a pillow, but his nose brushes against Al-Haitham’s thigh. His entire body is close to Al-Haitham actually which is probably why Al-Haitham doesn’t perceive the room as being cold. Kaveh must feel it is, even if he’s unconscious, which is why he clings to the closest source of heat available to him. Al-Haitham could grow frustrated with the touch, but he can’t blame Kaveh since Al-Haitham is reading in the blonde’s room, in his bed, while any normal person would be asleep. 

Al-Haitham rationalizes it with those words, anyway. Even if they were in Al-Haitham’s chambers, he would have let Kaveh cling onto him in whatever way the blonde deemed fit. As he discovered fairly early on when Kaveh began trying to get a rise from Al-Haitham, he really didn’t dislike physical touch when it was Kaveh. In fact, he would dare say he liked it. He sought it out, at the very least, though Al-Haitham is curious if Kaveh has realized this fact yet. If he hasn’t, he is trying extremely hard to anger Al-Haitham. If he has realized, he is using Al-Haitham as a means of getting his affection quota for the day. Whatever the case, Al-Haitham is reaping the benefits so there really isn’t a reason to explain to Kaveh what is factually happening. The blonde is smart enough to figure it out on his own eventually, if he hasn’t already.

Kaveh mumbles in his sleep. He shifts his body, moving from his side to his back. He pulls his arm with him, untethering himself from Al-Haitham. To remedy this, Al-Haitham trades which hand is holding the spine of his book. He uses the back of his fingers to gently touch Kaveh’s forehead. The touch shouldn’t be firm enough to wake him up, but Kaveh’s eyes flutter open a second later. Those carmine irises are hazy for a long moment. He must not recognize Al-Haitham immediately because a sleepy smile creeps onto his face. He looks just as peaceful as he did when he was unconscious. Al-Haitham’s chest seizes with emotions, each one so familiar that he can hardly believe he ever despised this man leaning into his touch.

Al-Haitham expects Kaveh to suddenly come into full awareness and realize what they are doing. Although Kaveh has whispered once that he loves Al-Haitham back and left Al-Haitham a space in his bed every night, the morning always brings fragile regrets that Al-Haitham has to coax away from the forefront of Kaveh’s mind. Al-Haitham wishes he could erase the anxiety, but it is not a one-step process. Al-Haitham has to keep working at it every day, and he knows that it will never truly disappear until he regains his memories and proves that his love for the blonde isn’t a passing fancy. The love must prove to be more deeply rooted than the hate is, even if Al-Haitham doesn’t understand where the hate could have come from in the first place.

Kaveh, always one to defy expectations, closes his eyes once more. He shifts his entire body, curling up into a ball with his head on Al-Haitham’s thigh. It only takes a few seconds for his breathing to even out. Al-Haitham leaves his hand against Kaveh’s forehead during the process. When the blonde has delved back into the realm of dreams, Al-Haitham moves his fingers up to the long blonde hair. He moves the strands as he pleases, looking back at the book in his hands. His eyes dart across the printed words and inked recreations of the plants’ appearances, but his eyes stop when they catch on a specific flower.

Something clicks in his brain, a passageway lit up by a mere glance at the purple petals. It is more of a stagnant image than a genuine memory, but Al-Haitham has seen Kaveh wearing these flowers before. They were braided together like a crown and placed on the darkened roots of Kaveh’s hair. Kaveh was smiling in this memory, more ebullient than he ever had within Haravatat estate’s walls. His eyes, too, were as lustrous as freshly cut rubies. Al-Haitham can’t figure out where they are standing. He thinks they are both relatively young in the image, but he doesn’t know when the first time he met Kaveh was. Maybe this is that moment.

Al-Haitham shakes his head. It is only a picture in his head that he is partially certain is a true memory. It doesn’t tell him much, and what it does tell him isn’t worth anything. The only value this image provides Al-Haitham is a chance to remember a beautiful moment with Kaveh when the blonde seemed livelier and the contrasting thought that Al-Haitham might be starting to remember.

Al-Haitham leans his head back against the headboard. He frowns as he stares at the ceiling. He wants to remember. He wants answers. He needs to know what he’s done to Kaveh so he can officially apologize. He needs to know why he would do something so cruel to someone he loves so deeply. But he also knows that remembering might hurt Kaveh more than anything else he has done. If Kaveh is convinced Al-Haitham will leave him again, would it be better to leave these memories in the forsaken corners of his mind? But if he remembers and treats Kaveh the same as he is doing now, wouldn’t that alleviate some of Kaveh’s worries?

Al-Haitham knows it won’t happen, but he cannot pretend that the possibility of his memories returning in the same stroke his hatred for Kaveh does. Al-Haitham might not understand it now, but surely, there must be some logical reason for him to treat Kaveh so cruelly despite having all this love buried underneath. Al-Haitham simply doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to hurt Kaveh any more than he already has.

Kaveh turns in his sleep again, nuzzling into Al-Haitham’s thigh like a cat seeking comfort. Al-Haitham huffs a humorous breath as he continues moving his fingers through Kaveh’s hair. He turns his attention to his book, hurriedly skipping over the page with the flower. He doesn’t need to think about it too much right now. What will be, will be, and Al-Haitham will deal with the future rationally when it arrives.

—

Al-Haitham’s parents died when he was very young. It was to the point that he hardly remembered them, and the few memories he did possess were fuzzy and uncoordinated. Everything he knows about his parents has been told to him by other people, so Al-Haitham is sure some of these memories he views as accurate are actually reconstructions his mind is passing off as true to appease the somberness that rushes through him when he remembers his missing parental figures.

Al-Haitham was raised by his grandmother. She was the matriarch of the Haravatat dukedom, so she was a strict and orderly woman. Her rough exterior was unable to hide the love she felt for her grandson, however, especially after her son’s death. She wasn’t the best at expressing this love, but Al-Haitham was an intelligent child. He understood that when his grandmother allowed him to read the precious books in her private study, it was because she trusted him. When his grandmother personally taught him while he sat in her lap, she was preparing him for the future because she cared about him. When she would linger in his rooms the only time he had gotten sick as a child, it was because she loved him. In a million little ways, his grandmother expressed her love for him without ever saying it, and in the same way, Al-Haitham showed his love for her in a way she would understand.

His grandmother’s death was not unexpected. She was, after all, fairly old, and being a duchess was not an easy job by any stretch of the imagination. She took good care of herself, but death comes after everyone without remorse or mercy. For these reasons, Al-Haitham did not pray for his grandmother to suddenly gain immortality. He only hoped that death would not ravage her but instead gently take her hand and lead her to the eternal oasis. He would meet her again one day, he promised, as he watched the light leave her usually sharp eyes.

His aunt came to stay with him after that. She was his mother’s sister, and she had been a frequent visitor since his birth. He knew his aunt. He cared about her, and she cared about him. It was nothing deeper than that, however. In most ways, it felt more like his aunt was an assistant rather than a family member. She helped him manage the Haravatat household. When he became the head of the household without any voices of dissent, she took on the responsibilities that the lady or lord of the house would have had if Al-Haitham were married.

This next part is something Al-Haitham cannot remember. He has only been able to look at the facts of the situation based on reports and the accounts of his servants and vassals. Even after Al-Haitham got married, his aunt continued to run the internal structure of the house. There was mention that Kaveh made a single attempt to receive his dues, but it was thwarted immediately. Al-Haitham kept his aunt from being ousted from the house, and the servants would never be loyal to someone from Rtawahist. Kaveh gave up immediately. The story ends there with only a few hiccups of Kaveh attempting to have a social life outside of the house that failed as spectacularly as his attempt at running the household did.

Al-Haitham didn’t need anyone to tell him about that second part when he was there to witness Kaveh’s panic at the royal palace. Al-Haitham hated watching it, but Kaveh didn’t let the duke give some excuse to the royal family.

The other part, however, is something Al-Haitham was vaguely aware of when he realized how much free time Kaveh had. Before his memory loss, Kaveh spent most of his time painting in his room or sneaking out to drink alcohol as Pari in the nearby town. No one sought him out other than a few servants leaving dead birds and mice at his door. The bullying could have been worse, but Al-Haitham was still revolted hearing the reports. He was going to reprimand the servants, but his aunt promised him she would take care of it.

He stares at her now. She sits in the chair on the other side of his desk. She sits up straight with her ankles crossed and hands folded neatly in her lap. She seems extremely calm, but there is a faint tremble in her eyes that Al-Haitham recognizes. He doesn’t understand it exactly. As far as he’s aware, he has a good relationship with his aunt even if they don’t have a strong familial bond. He raises an eyebrow to steady her nerves. She smiles politely at him. “Aunt Marana. What business have you come to see me about?”

“There is no business in particular. I only wanted to see how my nephew was holding up,” Marana shifts in the chair. She is smiling again, but it doesn’t reach her eyes in the way it should. She seems to be in a pleasant mood, but there is an undercurrent of anxiety that Al-Haitham cannot find the source. The people are entering a prosperous age, and the estate has been in higher spirits than usual due to the influx of people. 

Al-Haitham doesn’t quite remember what his home was like before his memory loss, but he knows it was dark and rather depressing. He didn’t mind it back then, but he can safely conclude that he does not want to return to that time. While the noise can be annoying, if not overwhelming, at times, Al-Haitham enjoys having his friends from Akademiya with him. Additionally, the other people he has brought to the estate— Nilou, Faruzan, Layla— are worthy of being there. Nilou is good at serving Kaveh. Faruzan is intelligent despite a 100-year gap in her knowledge, and Al-Haitham never has a boring conversation with her— only a few tedious ones. And despite being from Rtawahist, Layla is a soft-hearted child who outshines everyone around her in her field of study, including the duke that Al-Haitham greatly dislikes.

“I am doing well,” Al-Haitham tells his aunt without hesitation. More than anything, Al-Haitham’s improved mood can be attributed to his husband. Even if everyone else were to leave the estate, Al-Haitham doesn’t think he would mind too much if Kaveh remained with him. Especially now that he’s getting Kaveh to start smiling. They aren’t large smiles— nothing like the stagnant image in his head— but it is progress and Al-Haitham would be a fool to ignore what has been done in favor of what could be done.

“I am happy to hear it. You would not believe how worried I was when the soldiers brought you back,” Marana puts a hand over her heart with a pained look crossing her face. Al-Haitham nods slowly. He vaguely remembers participating in a monster subjugation. There were snippets of people yelling around him underneath a blood-red sky, but Al-Haitham wasn’t completely certain those weren’t dreams. The next complete memory he has is waking up in a dark bed, and his eyes immediately landing on a handsome stranger who made his heart ache with both emotions and unknown scars. The many physicians who came to see him told him that there was nothing wrong with him. He didn’t even hit his head. His memories were simply gone.

“My physician has cleared me of any lasting wounds. I am not expected to die from disease or injury in the near future. You may put your worries at ease,” Al-Haitham tries reassuring his aunt. He doesn’t know how well it works since he is only giving her half his attention. The other half is devoted to the many papers made into stacks across his desk. Al-Haitham is an efficient worker, though, so he doubts it will take him too long. It takes him even less time when he has something in the evening to look forward to like he does today.

“I know, Your Grace. I have privately spoken with all of them. I only worry about your memories. They have yet to return,” Marana sighs. Her concern for him seems genuine, but something about this whole situation feels a little off. It has been some months since his accident. Most of his physicians have told him to give up on trying to remember his past. Tighnari even agreed with them. His aunt told him he forgot nothing important, so why in recent weeks has she been so keen on unlocking what might be forever lost?

“You are correct. My memories involving my husband have not returned. I suspect that they never will. I have given up on trying to return them, so you do not need to worry about that,” Al-Haitham lies to his aunt about giving up, the words leaving his lips in a smoother fashion than he thought they would. While Al-Haitham knows that honesty does not realistically work in every situation, he doesn’t think it would be so easy to lie to his aunt. Even if they aren’t close, they are family. Al-Haitham used to be incapable of lying to his grandmother even when it was arguably the better solution. Is it just because of the type of person his grandmother was instead of being because of the relationship they had?

“I understand that it might be frustrating, but you really should keep trying to remember,” Marana tells him earnestly.

“Why? Was it not you who told me that I had not forgotten anything important? Did you not inform me that I would be fine having completely forgotten about my relationship with Lord Kaveh?” Al-Haitham tears his eyes away from the paper in his hands to raise an eyebrow at his aunt. He observes her reaction. She is unsettled for a moment, but she is quick to school her features into an impassive expression.

“I wish for you to remember because you are attempting to grow close with that son of Rtawahist. I believe that even if your memories of him were gone, some part of you would remember what kind of person he is. My only intention is to protect you from what you do not currently understand,” Marana’s head tilts to the side as she puts both of her hands over her heart.

“What kind of person is he, then?”

“He is like every other Rtawahist. He is manipulative, cruel, and ominous. He will cause misfortune to befall this land after poisoning your heart. He has already begun the process,” Marana’s voice takes on a bitter edge. Her eyes flash with the same coldness she is accusing Kaveh of.

Al-Haitham laughs under his breath, startling his aunt. The only manipulation Kaveh can be accused of is touching Al-Haitham to get the duke to insult him (if not strike him, something Al-Haitham has been assured he’s never done— one time by Kaveh, the blonde promising in the moonlight that Al-Haitham has only broken him down with words). Kaveh isn’t cruel in the slightest. He is too kind for his own good, honestly. He isn’t ominous, either. His presence alone makes Al-Haitham feel like he’s bathing in sunlight, and nothing brings more fortune to him than Kaveh’s quiet smiles and shimmering eyes. Other than causing misfortune to spread across the land (since neither of them does that), Marana’s words more accurately describe Al-Haitham in the relationship than they do Kaveh.

“I am being serious, Your Grace. He has already begun tainting you—”

“I understand being concerned for your nephew, but you are taking this too far. Your words are plainly untrue. You would know as much if you gave Kaveh a chance instead of assuming he was like the duke,” Al-Haitham silences his aunt swiftly. Since she desires all of his attention, he gives it to her in the form of a harsh glare. “Even if all of your words are true, I have gone through every document and report. The one who proposed this marriage was House Haravatat, not House Rtawahist. I was the one who wanted to marry Kaveh. Duke Rtawahist might have pushed for a sooner wedding, but I am the one who agreed to it. If Kaveh truly is trying to hurt the land and myself, why would I have willingly brought him here? Explain that to me, aunt.”

“You were forced into this marriage for the sake of your people. The royal family was pressuring you to get married. The commoners were suffering from frequent monster attacks. You used this opportunity to free yourself from the burdens of the royal family and to help the common folk out using Rtawahist’s soldiers,” Marana explains to him, narrowing her eyes slightly the longer she listens to her nephew try to defend Kaveh.

“Surely, there were better options than that. I do not care what the royal family says or thinks about me. I would have taken care of the monsters myself, and if I really needed to, there are three other families I could have allied with instead of getting involved with Rtawahist. No one will tell me why, but I know that I must have wanted to marry Kaveh because I lo—”

Al-Haitham’s eyes slowly open. He blinks warily as light painfully fills his pupils. His movements feel sluggish and disconnected from the rest of him, but he brings an arm to throw over his face. The darkness gives him the opportunity to adjust to the light. As his eyes adjust, he realizes belatedly that someone is talking to him. His vision slides to the side until he sees a teal-haired woman standing right next to his chair. As the blurriness clears, he recognizes Faruzan lightly shaking his arm. She is frowning at him, multi-colored eyes shimmering with concern. “Are you conscious now, Your Grace?”

“What happened?” Al-Haitham asks. He removes his arm from his face. He looks around his office. Marana is no longer in the room with him. There is a half-finished paper on his desk. It is the same one he was working on while talking to his aunt. There is light filtering into the office from the nearby window, implying that it is early afternoon. It doesn’t make sense because he was talking to his aunt during the late morning. He must have been out of it for a few hours, but if that were the case, why didn’t his aunt call for a physician if he… what? Passed out while talking to her? Lost his mind for a short while?

“I am afraid I do not know. I came into your office to ask about using the training grounds, but you were… Well, it looked as if you were asleep, but your skin was extremely pale. When you first woke up, your eyes were red, too. It took a minute to wake you up,” Faruzan explains to him. She releases his arm. She walks around the side of the desk to the other side. She glances around the office, intent on finding a culprit when Al-Haitham doubts there is one. Falling asleep while talking to someone is unusual for him. His eyes being red and his aunt not seeming concerned is nigh impossible. But the probabilities aligned, and Al-Haitham— for reasons he doesn’t understand— was unconscious with momentarily red eyes and his aunt disappeared in the meanwhile. “Might I ask what your last conscious memory is?”

“I was arguing with my aunt about my marriage with Kaveh,” Al-Haitham tells her. He pushes his palms against his desk. He rises onto his feet with a deep breath. His body feels a tad like mush, but he forces himself to walk across the room. He isn’t looking for clues; he is trying to fully wake his body up after his impromptu nap.

“I have been curious about that. Back in my time, Rtawahist was not treated with such prejudice. Then again, during my time, Kshahrewar was one of the six darshans,” Faruzan sits in the chair his aunt was sitting in what must have been a few hours ago even though it only feels like a few moments ago to Al-Haitham. Faruzan raises an eyebrow at him. “I deserve some explanation, especially after I had to reassure my ward and your husband that they would not be killed simply for sharing blood with the duke. In fact, Lord Kaveh’s case is stranger since he was adopted.”

Al-Haitham sinks into his desk chair. He picks his quill up, but he has trouble ignoring Faruzan. He looks right into her eyes as he speaks. “Yes, you deserve at least that much. It began many years ago when the royal family and Rtawahist worked together to dispose of Kshahrewar. Many of the family members were slaughtered. Only one or two branch families escaped persecution. With their refusal to fight against their oppressors, the lands once belonging to Kshahrewar were divided between the royal family and Rtawahist. The royal family turned their portion into another vacation palace. On the other hand, Rtwahist was cruel to the people they acquired in the deal. Rtwahists became known for their tyranny, but the royal family secretly supported them as long as their cruel actions did not undermine the royal authority. The other houses are unable to stop Rtwahist since it has gained so much power. All we can do is deal with its many decisions, especially those of the current duke. He is smarter than his predecessors, but he is also far more greedy. He has committed many sins, yet no one can convict him for anything. I do not presently know why he adopted Kaveh. It must have been because I believe my interest in Kaveh predates his adoption into the family. He wanted an in with House Haravatat, and now that he has gotten it through my marriage with Kaveh, the people of Haravatat are anxious about what the duke might do. They satiate their emotions by indiscriminately hating anyone from Rtawahist, including Kaveh and Layla.”

“How foolish. It is as though everyone in this country has gone mad in the last hundred years,” Faruzan huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. She eyes Al-Haitham suspiciously. “Were you part of those who indiscriminately hated Rtwahist?”

“I am not certain. I cannot remember anything from my time with Kaveh. I had an accident a few months ago that took away my memories of him. I have been unable to get any of them back except for an image of Kaveh wearing a flower crown and smiling,” Al-Haitham’s honesty with Faruzan surprises him. They are too many generations apart for anyone to expect a realistic familial relationship between them, but Al-Haitham feels like he is in the presence of his grandmother again. Or, well, a grandmother, since Faruzan only has a handful of similarities with his grandmother.

“Memories again… You are beginning to forget select portions of your life. We need to discover the common variable between your accident and what happened in your office. I say this, but of course, you are going to take a rest,” Faruzan twirls her hair with her finger as she begins thinking.

“I have work to do—”

“You should not argue with your seniors. You have experienced a sudden gap in your memory, and when you were discovered, you looked sickly. It would be better for you to rest for the time being. I will handle any pressing matters as an elder of the house. I will also begin conducting an investigation into your memories. Is there anything I should know before I have the guards escort you to your chambers?” Faruzan asks, standing in front of her chair. She puts her hands on her hips. She isn’t particularly imposing, but Al-Haitham feels the same authority from her that he felt from his grandmother.

Al-Haitham considers his words carefully. There is only one moment that comes to mind. “When I went to the royal palace with Kaveh the other day, he fell unconscious. As I was carrying him back to the carriage, I met a little girl in the hallway with white hair and green eyes. She asked me if I was doing as I desired. I didn’t understand what she meant. She told me that she was almost finished. Everything, including my memories, would be returned to me when she was done. She ran around the corner before I could ask her anything else. I looked for her, but she wasn’t around anymore as if she disappeared.”

“Interesting. It could have been an envoy of the goddess of wisdom… but why would she interfere in this matter?” Faruzan murmurs to herself. Al-Haitham doesn’t mention that the little girl felt familiar. For a brief moment, while staring at her, Al-Haitham was certain he was going to remember everything. If she remained in his presence for a moment longer, all the memories would have come flooding back to him. “Now, do I need to call for the guards, or will you be a good youngling and return to your chambers?”

“I will rest,” Al-Haitham nods. She smiles at him, returning the nod. Al-Haitham leaves Faruzan alone in his office. He worries for a moment about leaving someone he only met recently to handle the private matters of Haravatat, but he pushes that worry away. Faruzan was once going to be the duchess, so she knows how to do the work. She also seems keen on helping Haravatat prosper. She loves this place even if she was removed from it for a long time.

And, though he doesn’t admit this aloud, he trusts her.

—

While Al-Haitham swore to rest, he didn’t strictly say he would go to his chambers. He makes the quick walk to Kaveh’s chambers. He crosses paths with Nilou. She gives him a friendly smile, mentioning that she’s going to prepare some tea. She asks if Al-Haitham will want some, too, and Al-Haitham confirms it. Nilou bows to him, and she hurries off to follow her master’s orders. 

Al-Haitham steps into Kaveh’s chambers. The blonde is sitting on the couch with a book open in his lap. He glances up from the pages to meet Al-Haitham’s eyes. He wears a faint smile. Al-Haitham returns the smile. He takes a step forward to join Kaveh.

A sudden flash of pain strikes Al-Haitham’s head like a hammer hitting a metal sheet. Al-Haitham grits his teeth. He reaches his fingers to massage his forehead. Someone has set his body on fire, and the main source of the pain is within the confines of his skull. His vision darkens, and he stops breathing for a second. The pain subsides enough for him to start seeing the colors in front of him. He heaves a deep breath, trying to steady the heart in his blistering chest.

Someone is standing in front of him. Al-Haitham glares at them, something dark and poisonous rising in his throat. The person stumbles away from him. Al-Haitham blinks at them. His vision clears enough for him to remember who he’s looking at. Al-Haitham flounders, trying to cover his eyes. His breathing is rough, and Kaveh’s breathing is shaky. Al-Haitham feels regret, but more of that negative emotion lingers in his soul, intensifying his headache. Al-Haitham takes in a ragged breath. He looks between his fingertips at Kaveh’s half-concerned, half-scared expression. Two drastic emotions war in Al-Haitham’s heart, but the love he feels for Kaveh wins in the end. “Sorry. I just have a headache. I didn’t mean to…”

He didn’t mean to… what? Glare at Kaveh? Feel something sick and mean for a moment? Forget who his husband was? It was an odd experience. Al-Haitham hopes he never has to go through that again. Looking back on the brief moment, he already knows that he doesn’t like it. He especially hates the expression lingering at the edges of Kaveh’s face.

“You can… um, well… come over here for a moment,” Kaveh murmurs, sinking onto the couch on unsteady legs. Al-Haitham’s movements are slow and heavy as he comes to stand in front of Kaveh. The blonde avoids eye contact as he tugs on Al-Haitham’s wrist. The gray-haired man sits on the couch. He gives Kaveh complete control over his body, and Kaveh puts Al-Haitham’s head on his lap. Kaveh puts one hand over Al-Haitham’s eyes to protect him from the light. He uses the other to gently scratch Al-Haitham’s scalp. In a few motions, Al-Haitham’s headache— and all the bristling cruelty inside of him— disappears, leaving Al-Haitham exhausted and guilty.

He would say something, but he was asleep before he could think about the right words to say.

—

Al-Haitham sits on the edge of the bed. Tighnari scrutinizes him with narrowed eyes. The entire space is completely silent. Al-Haitham meets Tighnari’s eyes, and the Foxian’s tail sways gently as he comes to a conclusion. This conclusion is not a happy one considering the immutable frown on his pale face. “And these headaches are becoming more frequent?”

“Yes,” Al-Haitham answers. It has been two weeks since Al-Haitham began experiencing these painful headaches in Kaveh’s presence. They are beginning to last longer, and the effects are growing more permanent. Even now, Al-Haitham feels a small sprouting of hatred blooming in his chest at the thought of the blonde. The rest of his body rejects this notion viscerally. This intense reaction within his body is bleeding into the rest of his days. He feels agitated and exhausted all the time. The worst part is that Al-Haitham has been distancing himself from Kaveh. He told the blonde a few half-truths about the situation, but he knows Kaveh thinks Al-Haitham’s memories are coming back.

And maybe they are. Maybe the emotions associated with the memories are filling his body before the memories themselves do. Al-Haitham doesn’t understand it all, though, which is why he’s come to Tighnari without telling anyone about it. While everyone in the estate knows about his headaches, Tighnari is the only one aware of the emotions that come hurtling into his chest each time these headaches flare.

Tighnari hums. They have been trying to solve these headaches for a week now. None of Tighnari’s usual remedies are working. Even the pain relievers are doing nothing to offset some of the mental turmoil Al-Haitham is going through. This has led Tighnari to believe that the effects are not born from an illness or disease. The only other option, then, is magic, but Tighnari can’t find any traces of that, either. There is only one other kind of magic it could potentially be, but no one in the palace practices dark magic. Al-Haitham, especially, wouldn’t indulge in the forbidden practices since he barely likes regular magic as it is.

“Are you certain there are no other symptoms you can tell me about? Is there anything that appears in your environment every time you get a headache?” Tighnari asks. As someone who cares about Al-Haitham and Kaveh, he is eager to heal Al-Haitham. As a proficient doctor, he is also someone who greatly dislikes when there is something he cannot heal.

“Nothing that I am aware of. I thought Kaveh might have been the common factor, but I’ve continued experiencing these headaches even while I have been avoiding him,” Al-Haitham responds. Tighnari’s tail flicks like a dancing flame. In other circumstances, Al-Haitham might have teased Tighnari about him caring more for Kaveh than he cares for Al-Haitham, but the urge disappears before even an exhale can leave his lips.

“We can try—”

The door slams open. Tighnari’s entire body startles as he whips around. Al-Haitham frowns with displeasure. Nilou stumbles into the room with wide eyes and a heaving chest. She points at the wall—perhaps intending to point beyond it— as she regains her breath. When she does, words spill out of her in a quick rush. “Lady Haravatat put Collei in the dungeon. Lord Kaveh is arguing with her about it in the foyer while Sir Cyno tries to free her.”

Tighnari rushes out of the room like a fox hearing a hunter’s rifle. Al-Haitham isn’t that far behind him. He hears Nilou behind him. Tighnari turns down a hallway, trying to rescue Collei and Cyno. Al-Haitham passes that hallway. His attention focuses on Kaveh and his aunt as they stand in the foyer. Kaveh finishes saying something. Al-Haitham doesn’t catch it as he hears a strange noise punctuate the air. His eyes are the last to register that Marana has slapped Kaveh. His legs, decidedly, are not, as he is standing between his aunt and husband in a matter of seconds. Kaveh’s eyes widen as they glance up at Al-Haitham. Nilou wraps her hands around Kaveh’s shoulders, pulling him further away from the scene.

“What are you doing?” Al-Haitham demands. His words are harsh enough that the gathered crowd of servants stumble back, a few of them darting away into the various hallways to escape his judgment. Others are braver, wishing to see the argument between aunt and nephew.

Marana brings her hand to her chest, flexing her fingers like she’s the hurt one. She glares at Kaveh behind Al-Haitham. She refuses to meet Al-Haitham’s eyes, but she speaks in defense of herself. “I am disciplining him.”

“You just slapped Lord Kaveh, my husband, so I’m going to need a better excuse than that,” Al-Haitham’s voice is cold, almost emotionless, but his eyes are a teal-and-orange flame threatening to burn the entire estate to the ground.

“It’s fine—” Kaveh reaches to grab Al-Haitham’s arm. His touch is hesitant, and his eyes water with either fear of pain. The expression on his face makes Al-Haitham want to hold him close, promising not to let the world hurt him again. Another, more sinister part of Al-Haitham that stabs into his flesh like an external knife, thinks Kaveh is pathetic, and Al-Haitham hates himself in this moment far more than he hates Kaveh. He might not understand why his emotions are doing this, but he needs to find a solution quickly.

“It isn’t fine, Kaveh,” Al-Haitham whispers back. He moves his fingers to hover over Kaveh’s reddened cheek. He doesn’t touch it, though, only watches Kaveh’s carmine eyes contemplate what that hand might do. Al-Haitham brings his arm to his side, turning his glare back to his aunt. “She has imprisoned my physician’s apprentice without my impression, and she slapped Lord Haravatat. Neither is acceptable behavior, even for an elder of the house. I will give you one opportunity to explain yourself, so I advise you to think long and hard about what you are going to say as it is the only chance you will get.”

“That girl was spreading rumors throughout the household. Her tongue would have caused avoidable chaos for no reason other than her own misunderstandings,” Marana answers, allowing herself only a second or two to think. Al-Haitham narrows his eyes. Marana presses onward, finally meeting his eyes. “I was doing my duty as a member of this household.”

“And you slapped Kaveh because it is your duty?”

“I will admit it was a hasty decision, but it was a necessary one. I cannot fathom how you do not understand the evils of that family. Even an adopted member will be poisoned by that filth. I cannot stand by while you throw away your life and this household to side with that—”

“As an elder of the house, you should not curse in front of the children,” A voice comes from the hallway behind Marana. Everyone’s attention shifts to Faruzan. Layla stands beside the woman. She is breathing shallowly from anxiety, but she doesn’t back down even when everyone looks at her and the teal-haired woman beside her. Faruzan beckons Layla to follow alongside her as they cross the foyer. Faruzan waves a packet of papers in the air. Marana’s eyes widen minutely, and a victorious grin spreads across Faruzan’s face. Layla seems a little surer of herself as she nods at Al-Haitham. He raises an eyebrow at them. Faruzan sets the folder into his hands, slapping away Marana’s reaching hands. Faruzan taps the folder as she addresses Marana. “You should not lie to them, either. For as much as you complain about Rtwahist, you sure do a lot of business with them. Not the most savory kind, might I add. I’m of the opinion that if you hate someone, you should avoid them, but it seems our esteemed lady has a different tactic.”

Faruzan’s words carry some weight as Al-Haitham flips through the papers. He doesn’t read the whole thing, but even his cursory skimming reveals that his aunt has been negotiating with Rtwahist about acquiring land and mines. There is even a section detailing the slaves she has bought, and Al-Haitham’s fingers tighten on the papers. Slavery has been abolished in Sumeru for hundreds of years, but it lingers in some places. He never thought his aunt would be helping perpetuate it.

“And w-we know why you put Collei in the dungeon. It wasn’t because she was spreading rumors. It was because she was telling the truth,” Layla interrupts, drawing attention to her. She wrings her hands, but she doesn’t stop talking. “I double-checked it using your constellation. Collei was right.”

“About what?” Al-Haitham asks at the same moment Marana flounders, “What could that child possibly know?”

“I’m not a fool. I wouldn’t lie about someone using dark magic,” Collei calls out as Cyno and Tighnari escort her out of the hallway Al-Haitham, Nilou, and Tighnari came from originally. She is covered in dirt and dust, but she doesn’t seem to be hurt as she points her finger between Marana and Al-Haitham. “I knew you were trying to keep me away from Duke Haravatat on purpose. You must have done your research.”

“What?” Al-Haitham blinks, looking around. Nilou hugs Kaveh tighter, and the blonde’s eyes are wide as he tries half-heartedly to reach out for Collei. The green-haired girl is stuck glaring at Marana, so she doesn’t notice Kaveh’s concern. Tighnari does, stepping over to help Nilou keep the blonde from wandering around. Cyno stands behind Collei, in a silent vigil with dark eyes threatening violence against Marana. Faruzan’s eyes widen as she stares at Al-Haitham. Layla shuffles closer to Collei since they must have realized the same truth. The other servants in the foyer whisper amongst themselves, and Marana glares at them to silence their quiet musings.

“There is a lot of dark magic surrounding you, Duke Haravatat. I was kept away from you because I can sense it, remember?” Collei glances at him. Al-Haitham does partially remember. Tighnari mentioned it once when Al-Haitham asked where he got his apprentice from. Collei was experimented on using dark magic. These tiresome years spent writhing with pain honed her ability to sense dark magic, no matter what form it took. She doesn’t get to use this ability often since dark magic is forbidden— and for good reason— but Marana must have known about it.

“And I know it was your aunt who was putting the dark magic on you. It’s a bunch of astrological calculations, but I can say that the alpha star in her constellation is growing dimmer. This means she’s been using dark magic. If she’s using dark magic and you are covered in it…” Layla trails off, waving her hands around as she tries to explain herself without over-explaining. While it’s true that someone else could be responsible for the dark magic around Al-Haitham, it is highly unlikely.

Al-Haitham steps toward the woman he once considered his aunt. He puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing firmly. She flinches but refuses to show how much pain she’s in. Al-Haitham looks directly into her eyes. His voice is nearly inaudible as he asks, “Why? What did you do to me?”

Marana refuses to speak. Al-Haitham is not above resorting to over means to get answers, but he feels a hand around his wrist. He glances to the side. Cyno is shaking his head. He nods his chin over at the people behind Al-Haitham— namely, Kaveh, Nilou, Collei, and Layla. Al-Haitham removes his hand from his aunt’s body. Cyno takes his place immediately. He escorts Marana to the dungeon. She glares at everyone from over her shoulder. Al-Haitham watches her go, wondering what happened to his aunt.

Tighnari starts pushing Al-Haitham. “We need to immediately purify you. Any amount of dark magic is bad, but it’s been affecting you for two weeks. If not longer. Collei?”

“On it, Master Tighnari!” Collei salutes her teacher as she rushes to the medicinal room. Al-Haitham wants to deal with his aunt personally or talk to Kaveh, but he knows how terrible dark magic is. He just exhales out of his nose. He lets Tighnari push him onward, making eye contact with Kaveh for a long moment. The blonde’s lips part, but he doesn’t say anything as he looks away, focusing on Nilou trying to assess his cheek.

—

His childhood was filled with many books. While his grandmother enjoyed nonfiction more than the alternative, she had a few fictional stories that Al-Haitham had read at least thrice each. One of these stories spoke about the jinn from the desert. They were spirits born from water lilies with otherworldly beauty and intelligent minds. It wasn’t Al-Haitham’s favorite story. It wasn’t even his favorite among the fictional ones. But he liked it well enough. He liked it enough that he remembered the description of the jinn as he set his eyes upon one.

Of course, the man is not actually a jinn. They do not exist. If they did, they went extinct a long time ago. But Al-Haitham feels a strange lapse in his rationality as he meets a pair of carmine eyes. Hair as golden as the sun frames a face carved by the goddess herself. The jinn wears a luminous smile that lights up the dimly lit street, and he wears a crown made from padisarahs, the closest shade to vivid purple they have ever been. There is a split second when the jinn looks at him, and for the first time since he’s read that fairytale book, he realizes why mortals fell in love with these supernatural beings with only one look at them.

The jinn speaks to him. His voice is like the jingling of silver bells and the serenades of the nightingales. The words blossom like blood-red roses, but they cannot compare to the twinkling in his eyes. The jinn reaches out to him, decorating his silver hair with flowers. The jinn tells him in the quiet street of the early morning to call him ‘Kaveh,’ and like the fool he has become, he tells the jinn to call him ‘Al-Haitham.’

—

Al-Haitham’s eyes slowly open. The memory is fresh on his mind, but so are thousands of other memories that make him want to vomit. He remembers now. He first met Kaveh in the streets. He fell in love at first sight. He wanted to marry Kaveh, but it seemed like Azar found Kaveh before Al-Haitham could. Al-Haitham settled for marrying the adopted son of Rtwahist, but the memories get fuzzier from there. Al-Haitham assumes this is when his aunt started using dark magic on him.

“You could have died,” A voice remarks to him. He blinks warily, but he relaxes when he recognizes the white hair and green eyes of the child sitting on the bed beside him. He remembers her now, too. After fighting monsters, he met this child in the forest. She showed concern for him, claiming that he was cursed with dark magic. He gave her permission to take his memories in exchange for her returning them after she purified them. It seems she did, which is why he can remember his first meeting with Kaveh… and every other occasion with the blonde. She smiles grimly at him. “I did the best I could to purify the memories. They might still be a bit hazy, but there are consequences to using dark magic even if you don’t want to be influenced by it.”

“Thank you,” Al-Haitham tells her.

She puts a hand over his face. Darkness fills his vision. Her words echo in his mind even as he’s already fallen asleep. “You don’t need to thank me. Protecting the people of Sumeru is my duty. And right now, your duty is to rest longer. I can guarantee only sweet dreams will find you.”

—

When he opens his eyes again, Kaveh is standing at his bedside. Kaveh’s fists clench the blanket covering Al-Haitham. His eyes firmly glare at the air in front of him, but he doesn’t seem to be aware of himself. Al-Haitham shifts, and Kaveh flinches. He tries to dart away, but Al-Haitham grabs his wrist, reminding himself of the last time he woke up after an accident. “Please, stay.”

Kaveh sighs. He stops moving, but he’s still facing away from Al-Haitham towards the door. Al-Haitham swings his legs over the side of the bed. He sits up, pulling Kaveh’s wrist against his chest. Kaveh refuses to look at him. Al-Haitham exhales out of his nose. “I remember everything now. I know how I treated you now. I know why I did it, too. I would like to formally apologize. I—”

“Don’t.”

“Kaveh, I—”

“Just don’t!” Kaveh yells, whirling around to look into Al-Haitham’s eyes. His carmine eyes are filled with tears. Al-Haitham’s heart drops. He wants to wipe the tears away, but Kaveh is glaring at him. “You don’t have to apologize. It wasn’t your fault, after all.”

“Kaveh—”

“It’s not fair.” The tears come bubbling over. They slide across his cheeks. Kaveh doesn’t wipe them away, but this seems to be more of an attempt to ignore them than anything else. He looks angrier now that he’s crying, and Al-Haitham wishes he could say all that anger is directed outwards, but he knows it isn’t. He knows it in the way Kaveh refuses to look him in the eyes, staring at the way Al-Haitham cradles his wrist. “I went through… all of that suffering. You hated me, and I made myself hate you. I gave up on everything. I wasted so much time pretending to be fine and trying to find a reason to live and then… Then, you were kind. You were kind, and the others were, too, and I thought for a while that maybe I was going to turn out alright. But then you started avoiding me again, so I told myself to resent you. I told myself not to expect anything anymore. But it doesn’t matter. Because it’s not your fault.”

Kaveh exhales shakily. His entire body is shaking. The tears stream down his face faster than before. “It’s not your fault. I should get over it. I shouldn’t hate you for something you couldn’t control. I shouldn’t hate anyone for being cruel to me because they were just following her orders. I should just—”

Kaveh stops talking. It doesn’t seem like he wants to stop, but he just gives up mid-sentence. He hiccups quietly to himself. Al-Haitham bows his head. “You’re right. It isn’t fair. The reasoning doesn’t matter. You still went through unimaginable pain. I know my apologies won’t do anything to help you, and I know that I’m in no position to ask for any favors. But if you are going to hate anyone, hate me. Hate Marana. Hate this house. Do not hate yourself, not anymore.”

Al-Haitham looks at Kaveh, right in the eyes with a bittersweet smile. “I won’t make you stay here. If you want to leave, I will do everything in my power to assist you. I will let any of the others follow you. But if you can, I would like you to stay, even if it’s just because you want to make me suffer for what I’ve done in person.”

“I do hate you. I resent you for everything you’ve done to me and everything you haven’t,” Kaveh whispers. Al-Haitham’s expression doesn’t fall since he expected as much, but his eyes do widen slightly when Kaveh puts his forehead against his shoulder. “But I’ve also loved you for a long, long time. Foolishly, I still do. So, I’m going to stay here, and I’m going to keep hating and loving you, and this time, you are going to treat me right no matter what I do.”

“If my love says it, then it must be true.”

Kaveh cries into his shoulder for a while longer. After some time, Al-Haitham is given permission to hold Kaveh. The blonde sinks into him, forcing him to hold up his entire weight. Al-Haitam imagines this is the first of many punishments Kaveh will have for him over the years, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. He would carry Kaveh from anywhere to anywhere. And he’ll love him all the while.

Chapter Text

Diagonal beams of golden, afternoon light slant into the office from the window. Duke Haravatat—Al-Haitham—uses this light and the illumination coming from the candles to do the work laid out across his desk. These sources are also used by his husband, Kaveh. The blonde sits in Al-Haitham’s lap, leaning against one of the chair’s arms and hooking his knees over the other arm. He holds a sketchbook against his thighs, sketching out a portrait of Al-Haitham’s face with charcoal. Although Kaveh continually lifts an intense gaze to the side of Al-Haitham’s face to absorb all the details and features, Al-Haitham does not pause in his work. Document after document, signature after signature, he steadily lessens the amount of papers he has to process by the day’s end.

For a long while, Kaveh was content with this. The mixture of their body heat beneath the sun’s warm gaze paired with his own slow movements relaxes Kaveh in a way that he never thought would be possible at the Haravatat estate. The reconciliation of how at ease he is compels Kaveh to act—to test the limitations of his current fortune as he is wont to do at almost every opportunity.

Kaveh sets his charcoal stick down. He lifts his fingers to Al-Haitham’s face. He hesitates when he notices the charcoal had rubbed off on the side of his palm and fingers. He’s about to drop his hand when Al-Haitham presses into it. The gray-haired duke doesn’t look away from his work, but the warmth of his cheek wraps around Kaveh’s fingers. The blonde gently coaxes his digits across the smooth surface of a well-shaven face. Soon, he brings the pads of his fingers to Al-Haitham’s jawline. It doesn’t take much pressure to get Al-Haitham to finally look away from his work. With Kaveh’s coaxing, Al-Haitham stares right at Kaveh—right into his carmine eyes.

Kaveh regrets his decision almost instantly. He doesn’t want Al-Haitham to be annoyed with him, but that outcome would certainly unnerve him less than the adoration wrapped up in curiosity. To escape that gaze, Kaveh’s eyes tear away. They eventually drift to Al-Haitham’s lips. The straight line is enough evidence for him to trick himself that Al-Haitham feels nothing for him right now. The position of these lips is familiar in that way. 

What is less familiar is the way Al-Haitham leans forward. He gets closer than Kaveh thought he would yet still not close enough. Half-panicked, Kaveh’s eyes wretch upward. He locks eyes with Al-Haitham in an instant. The expression locked between the rings of orange and teal in his eyes frightens Kaveh as much as it makes him giddy. These high-strung emotions guide him to close the distance between him and Al-Haitham, taking the excuse to close his eyelids and cut off eye contact for what it is.

Al-Haitham does not hesitate to return the kiss. He even takes control of it. Kaveh is helpless to prevent this from happening. He isn’t certain if he wants it to or not. Al-Haitham’s lips are warm, and the kiss is kind, and there’s a million unspoken truths lingering between each shared breath that makes Kaveh’s eyes burn with tears. He despises it, yet his entire soul sings with a joy greater and sweeter than anything he’s ever known before. It is something he thought would remain denied to him until the end of his days; it is something he never thought Al-Haitham would be the one to give it to him. There is something undeniably loving in every methodical, determined movement Al-Haitham’s lips do against his own. Kaveh can’t ignore what’s so blatant, even if it leaves him reeling and light-headed.

Al-Haitham pulls away first, and Kaveh can’t help but feel like it’s out of concern for him. The egotistical assumption doesn’t go away when Al-Haitham looks at Kaveh like that. A breathy, quiet not-quite-a-laugh leaves Kaveh’s lips, the noise ghosting along Al-Haitham’s lips and chin. Al-Haitham tilts his head forward, pressing their foreheads together in a gesture packed with all the love the stupid curse didn’t allow Al-Haitham to freely give. Torn between his emotions, Kaveh smiles at the same time tears start dripping from his eyes, sliding down and landing against the hands he has folded over his sketchbook.

Al-Haitham’s brows twitch very slightly. He moves his head away. At a different angle, he easily kisses the teardrops. Another startled, spooked laugh escapes Kaveh. Before he can start hiccuping with it, Kaveh pushes his face into the crook of Al-Haitham’s neck. He hides himself, his tears, and his happiness. He can hardly believe that he’s done this. He wanted to prove that Al-Haitham doesn’t hate him even when Kaveh annoys and interrupts him, yet he can’t handle the results when he finds out that Al-Haitham really loves him. It’s too genuine and pure; Kaveh doesn’t doubt it’s going to kill him slowly.

As Al-Haitham adjusts the arm he had loosely wrapped around Kaveh’s waist to fully embrace the blonde, he thinks that this wouldn’t be an awful way to go.