Alexios

  Year 65 - The Blackwood Estate

  Despite what I originally thought before we left for the Moving Waters region, I miss Mira Port. I miss the loud gulls crying out as they flew over the water. The smelly fish markets during my morning walks. I especially miss The Harbor’s Prawn. I feel the difference in my bones, by the changing texture of the roads, but to my surprise, it isn’t a land swallowed by swamps and humidity as I imagined. Sure, there are bogs and small streams littering the countrysides, but it in no way feels overwhelming.

  The manor, while not grand as some of Marquis’s homes I’ve lived in, rises beautifully in its pale-stoned body. The carriage slows as we make our journey through the main gates, lanterns glowing down the drive as the flowing willow trees welcome us through. To my surprise, servants are already waiting for us on the front steps of the manor.

  “How long have you been planning this?” I ask Marquis, who quietly sits beside me with one hand gently rested on my thigh.

  “I sent word ahead years ago,” he casually replies. “However, the servants arrived not too long ago.”

  As the carriage door opens and I step down onto the gravel, I finally can see the manor up close. It is… better than I expected. Much better. Even through the bones of the property, where farmland used to stretch, Marquis clearly had a hand in this.

  I turn slowly, trying my best to take it all in.

  “You… had all of this prepared?” I say, almost in disbelief.

  Marquis steps down out of the carriage, red cloak fluttering through the cool night’s breeze.

  “I did,” he says, gesturing politely to the front door. “Go. Have a look around and tell me what you think.”

  We’re ushered inside and with a heavy thud, the door closes as though it’s been expecting us too. I look at Marquis, then to the servants standing around us waiting for further instructions. With a gentle but silent command, Marquis raises his hand and the servants disperse. I step deeper inside, taking in the carved wooden beams and adequately polished floors. It may not be as ostentatious as Marquis’s other homes in Faer?n, and certainly not finished by any means necessary, but it is undeniably beautiful.

  Although the manor isn’t full of furniture just yet, I make my way into a room near the entrance to find a heavy wooden desk and a chair waiting for me. I trail my fingers over the polished surface of the desk, then the back of the chair before finally stepping towards a wide hearth in the center of the room. The walls around it have been kept bare for now, likely so Marquis can decorate with some of his paintings or even the numerous history books he says he “cannot be without”.

  I step down the long hallway and discover what I assume is meant to be a dining hall. A long wooden table and high-backed chairs with delicately carved arms greet me. Underneath sits a rug woven with almost the same greens and blues I saw under the moonlight outside. Maybe an attempt to capture the beauty of the farmlands through the textures. I wonder if that’s precisely what weaver meant to do.

  The manor isn’t much just yet, but Marquis’s vision is unmistakable and it seems like the servants must know him well enough to follow that vision without him needing to spell it out for them. Even in its near emptiness, nothing feels temporary. Although I can’t see much out of them right now, it seems even the windows have been placed with purpose of capturing specific aspects of the property around the manor. Whether that was done when the Blackwood family lived here or by Marquis’s design, I can’t say, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was a part of his vision too.

  Stopping near one of the tall windows in the kitchen area, I look out at the bare fields wondering what lies out there, patiently waiting for me to discover it. Marquis steps behind me, one of his hands gently rising to rest on my shoulder.

  “It’s beautiful,” I admit to him. “Even in this state.”

  I turn to him, catching his eyes as he gazes through the room, probably already putting together another part of his overall story for this place.

  “I want this to be your home, Alexios.”

  “You mean one of your homes,” I reply with a teasing chuckle.

  “No.”

  I scoff under my breath at the idea of “home”. Have I ever really had one of those? House Baenre was never a home, that’s for sure. It is a place of brutality and survival, not for… for growing old and building something of yourself.

  And of course, there are Marquis’s homes. Plural. The cities changed, sometimes due to my recklessness. Other times because the faces in those towns began to look into our world a little too closely.

  “I mean it,” Marquis says. “This manor… this estate… it belongs to you now, Alexios.”

  Before I can turn away at the weight of his words, he reaches into his robe and pulls out a rolled document.

  “This is the deed to the Blackwood estate,” he tells me as he holds the document out for me to take. I shake my head. “I have taken the liberty of transferring the ownership to you. The manor. The fields. Every inch of it belongs to you, Alexios.”

  I turn away, refusing to even look at the rolled document.

  “I… I can’t take that,” I try to tell him through tear-filled eyes. “I’ve never been given something like this, Marquis. Please.. don’t make me accept this. I can’t.”

  “You can,” he says, stepping forward to catch my wrist. “Let this be different, Alexios. Let this be a resting place for you without the idea of moving on when it becomes inconvenient looming over you.”

  My heart beats faster than it should, but I make myself meet his eyes anyway. I don’t answer him. Truthfully, I don’t fucking know how.

  “Come,” Marquis commands, placing the deed on the dining table before holding his arm out for me to take. I do. Hesitantly… but I do.

  Stepping back out into the hallway, Marquis leads me towards the staircase before the silence between us turns a bit sour. The slightly worn wood beneath our feet creaks, possibly due to the other servants of the past, as we make our way upstairs. At the top of the staircase, my attention falls to the door sitting closest to us. Another lies further down the hall, waiting for us as Marquis guides us towards the nearest one first.

  He pushes the door open to uncover a small room with a single window overlooking the bare fields below too, with the glass half-fogged from the cool night breeze. Resting near the window is an easel, its bare canvas untouched and waiting for a brush to glide over its surface while jars of brushes line the table just inches away. Marquis steps through the humble room slowly.

  “I thought this could serve as a studio,” he mutters. “We could paint together… if that would please you. Surely, I would enjoy the company.”

  “You know I don’t paint, Marquis. I don’t even think I could even if I tried.”

  I turn away from the easel, smiling at the idea of us painting together despite my poor talent for it.

  “That may be,” he speaks after a moment. “Then this room can serve as something else or nothing at all.”

  “You should paint in here anyway,” I cut in politely and reach for his hand. “I may not be a painter like you, but I don’t mind watching and providing… valuable commentary.”

  “Ah,” Marquis chuckles. “I am curious to know what ‘valuable’ commentary sounds like coming from you.”

  Together, we step back into the hallway, but I take a final look at the untouched canvas. Marquis and I step closer to the second door near the end of the hall, the wood carved with similar delicacy as the chairs and wooden frames of the home itself.

  Marquis opens the larger door and it feels as if the room itself breathes on its own. It’s far larger than the other and immediately warmer than the rest of the manor. Centered against the far wall, a large bed sits, draped in dark silks that almost dance with the moonlight peeking through the tall windows of the balcony.

  “And where exactly are you sleeping?” I huff out with a laugh, jokingly taking possession of the large room before he can claim it. “It’s a shame you’ll have to sleep in the guest rooms below.”

  “We would sleep in here together,” he says, lips almost shaping into a smile. Or something close to it. “This is your bedroom, of course. But I would like to sleep here with you as well.”

  Suddenly, the balcony windows pull my attention towards them, perhaps as a way for me to deflect.

  “Right,” I mutter before making my way over the balcony and pressing the doors open. I take a step forward, drawing a deep breath in.

  The railing of the balcony is cool underneath my hands, while the breeze wraps around my shoulders as if it’s wanting to claim me as its own, curious about me just as I am of it. A bog waits in the distance, water gleaming finely under the moonlight. To the right of it rests a river, gently breaking from a canal further in the distance.

  Well, the Moving Waters region certainly lives up to its name. Even the bog itself seems to have a life of its own. Despite what I initially believed about the land, I find that I like it more than I’d care to admit.

  “That… is Kipbo Bog,” Marquis reveals, joining me on the balcony a moment later before gesturing to the river just beyond it. “And that is Beddingdown River. If you look closely, you will see le Canal du Borveil. Both the river and canal connect to Irodon Lake.”

  “It’s incredible,” I whisper. “I see why you want to build something here.”

  My eyes narrow, tracing the lines of the canal as it kisses the lake. Marquis’s hand brushes mine on the railing.

  “Now you can see why I want you to build something here, Alexios,” he tells me quietly, keeping his attention on me instead of the flowing water in front of us.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He leans in, one hand coming up to caress my jaw just before I feel his lips on mine. Before I know it, he’s pulling me closer into him, hands caressing my neck and shoulders before coming to rest on my waist. Greedily, I kiss him back without a single thought as my fingers drift into his hair. His lips trail from mine down to my neck, fangs nipping gently at the skin there when I feel the all too familiar press of his cock gently rubbing against mine. It’s an infectious feeling. One that I can never not fall into it.

  He knows it too.

  --

  With my nerves lit up and far too oversensitive, I try desperately to steady my breathing. I fail pathetically, sweat damp body still shuddering through my orgasm. Marquis doesn’t give me a second to retreat either as I feel the rough tug of his nails run down the lines of my back, lips capturing mine again to kiss me until I’m made into even more of a wreck.

  “Marquis…” I manage to gasp, weakly laughing as I drop my head into the crook of his shoulder. “That’s certainly… one way to break in a bed.”

  “I presumed you would prefer that way as opposed to the others,” he tells me through a smile.

  My chest rises and falls violently, but he keeps indulgently kissing me anyway, leaving small ones on my cheek before returning to find my lips. Maybe he knows if he stops, I’ll disappear back into my head, wondering how a weak pleasure servant who once served House Baenre turned into this. Eventually, I catch my breath, my weight settling against him as I let the breeze moving from the open balcony doors dry the sweat coating my body.

  “What do you see this place becoming, Alexios?” he thoughtfully asks, one hand moving absently down my spine while he keeps one leg wrapped around my hip.

  I scoff. Always Marquis with the “perfect” timing.

  “Can you wait until I’m not inside of you to ask something like that?”

  “Humor me then.”

  Lifting my head away from his shoulders, only enough to look around the bedroom with its empty walls and untouched hearth. Even though I’ve lived with Marquis in a few of his many homes for sixty-five years now, home still feels like a foreign word in my mouth.

  “I’m… not sure,” I admit, almost pitifully. “I don’t know what permanence is supposed to look like.”

  Slowly pulling out of Marquis with a gentle gasp, I rest my head in the crook of his shoulder again. His arms of steel wrap around me, tightening up to keep me present.

  “Then in time, it will become what it should,” he says before dragging a fang over his thumb.

  As the small wound draws blood, he drags it across the fresh bite on my shoulder. The feeling of my skin stitching back together is pleasant enough.

  “You know I hate when you heal them,” I remind him with a sigh.

  “Allow me to heal your wounds, Alexios. Allow me to heal the inner wounds as well.”

  I smile at the idea, realizing how much I love the idea of him staying here with me.

  --

  One thing about Marquis that I should've fully expected?

  He must have a bathtub fit for more than one person and the manor is no different. Although not as gaudy as the large baths in previous homes which seem more as if they were made to serve a bathhouse rather than someone’s home, we fit perfectly in the tub together with additional room to relax. Regardless, I choose to sit between Marquis’s knees, back against his chest while his fingers gently move through my hair.

  “I think you missed a spot, old man,” I teasingly whisper, gripping his thighs tightly when he pours warm water through my soapy strands,

  “I believe you are mistaken, Alexios. About both aspects.”

  “Oh, really now?”

  Clearly amused in this moment of peace, he jokingly scoffs and pulls my head back to give me slow kisses while he works, warm water running through my scalp and down my neck. Echoing from somewhere below, the sound of a crash shatters the calm between us.

  Marquis’s hands go still in my hair.

  “Alexios…” he starts hesitantly. “Stay here with me.”

  Do not listen to him, Alexios. Go.

  Go now.

  Water sloshes over the edge of the tub as I stand, pushing away Marquis’s hands as he tries to hold me in place. Grabbing the nearest robe, I pull it around myself and tie loosely as I step through the manor, damp feet slipping slightly as I descend too quickly.

  The moment I spot far too many servants hurled together near the entrance, my heart drops and as soon as I see what lies on the floor… my blood runs cold. Lying shattered across the wooden floor is Nykky’s urn, now broken into meaningless fragments. I search frantically for the cloth bag, finding it still tied carefully lying near the wreckage. Still intact and safe, but the urn…

  “We… we were cleaning, sir,” one of the servants nervously stammers.

  “You fucking touched it?!” I scream, voice cracking into something feral and cruel as a piece inside of me snaps. “Do you understand what you’ve done?!”

  Punish them. They harmed your beloved Nykolai.

  Show the servants what happens when they touch what belongs to you.

  I grab him by the front of his shirt before he can even mutter out some pathetic excuse, shoving him hard into a side table. Crying out in pain as the wood scrapes loudly across the floor, his back slams into it. Senselessly, another servant tries to step in and I strike him with nothing but rage flowing through my fists. He hits the ground, blood spilling between his fingers as he sobs in pain.

  “Alexios, stop this,” Marquis calls out from down the hall.

  “They fucking broke it!” I yell back through gritted teeth, chest heaving violently as my hands shake. I drop to my knees beside the shards of the urn, desperately trying to piece it together with no success. “Your useless cunts hurt him!”

  My hands reach for the bag, still safe and tied, but the only thing I had left to pretend… gods. My breathing turns into frantic gasps as I pull the bag to my chest.

  “You fucking idiots,” I choke out, tear-soaked eyes desperately moving through the terrified servants around me. “Why did you touch it?!”

  “Sir…”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me right now!” I shout and point at the broken shards littering the floor. “You broke him! Do you understand?! You broke my Nykky!”

  “Alexios,” Marquis finally steps forward with his robe loosely tied.

  “No!”

  “Alexios,” he repeats. “Look at me. Look at me now.”

  Do not.

  “They broke the urn!” I say as I rise to my feet, still keeping the cloth bag held tightly against my chest. “They destroyed it and you’re just… just fucking standing there trying to control me!”

  “They did not destroy Nykolai. We will replace the urn with a stronger one.”

  “A… a new one?!” I laugh cruelly, completely unhinged in my rage. “You think that will fix this? He isn’t a cracked plate, Marquis!”

  “Alexios, lower your voice.”

  “Fuck you!” I yell, stepping in his direction as I turn my anger on him, the latest target in my vicinity. “That one was his! They broke the only thing I had left of him!”

  Although the servants flinch from my shouting, Marquis stands there, watching me burn myself out like a wildfire tearing through a village. Just as he always has.

  “The only thing you have of him is right there,” he says, gesturing to the bag still cradled in my hands. “They merely dropped a container. That is all, Alexios.”

  “It’s not ‘all’!” I bite back as a fresh wave of anger surges. “How dare you say that to me!”

  “I know,” Marquis tells me, just as calm as the streaming water outside. He steps towards the wounded servant and presses a hand against his face to heal where I let my rage strike. “I know that it meant to you which is why we will replace it. Though it will not fix what has happened, we will give him something worthy.”

  “I wanted that one,” I say, moving my head towards to scattered pieces on the floor. “They touched him, Marquis. These bastards touched him.”

  Marquis takes a hesitant step forward with both hands raised to show he means me no harm.

  “We will make sure they never touch him again,” he tells me.

  I look down at the bag held tightly against my chest. He’s still here. Although my hands won’t stop shaking, my shoulders sag as the last bit of rage leaves me.

  --

  Ever the wise, Marquis has left me alone to cool off on the veranda. Even the walls of the manor know better than to intrude, as do the servants. With my elbows on knees, I sit on the top step with the cloth bag held tightly in my hands as I listen to the humming insects.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper to Nykky, even though my throat still burns from my earlier fit. “I shouldn’t have left you downstairs. I should’ve taken you with me upstairs. This is my fault, isn’t it?”

  The wind dries the remaining dampness from my hair.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt them,” I tell him. “But… they hurt you, Nykky. Marquis is right anyway. Gods, don’t tell him I said that. We’re going to find you a better one, alright?”

  I pull the bag to my chest again, thinking maybe he’ll be able to hear me better this way.

  “Something beautiful like you,” I add. “Even though nothing could ever come close to your beauty. What kind would you want?”

  Lowering my head, I kiss the bag and let out a pitifully broken laugh.

  “Good point. You wouldn’t ask for something fancy, would you?”

  With nothing but the gentle night breeze answering now, I stand. Without knowing why, my feet start moving. I step off the veranda and into the yard, still barefoot and with my robe kept rather loose around my shoulders. It seems as if there’s no clear direction at first. Just thoughts of Nykky and breathing his memories in as if I could simply reach into some void and hold him in my arms again.

  Eventually, I come to a halt at a stretch of ground surrounded with delicate wildflowers. Although a few trees hang overhead, the branches part ever so slightly. Enough that the moonlight kisses the soil. It’s enough to tell me that the sun’s rays would likely do the same. I look at the bag held possessively in my hands, then back down to the ground.

  As carefully as I’ve ever wanted to be, I kneel in the grass and use one of my hands to press at the dirt below my feet, keeping the bag held safely in my other hand. It’s soft. Likely soft enough to move with my hands.

  “You could rest here, couldn’t you?” I ask him, placing the bag down softly on the ground as I begin to dig through the cooled dirt. “The shade would keep you cool in the day, but you’d still get to see the sunlight. Would you like that?”

  I stop when the hole seems deep enough, hands shaking as I hold the bag right above it.

  “You’d get to bask in the sun… and the moon.”

  Sighing as the tears fall down my face, I lower Nykky into what I can only hope will be his final resting place. I hope he’ll be happy here.

  “I’m sorry I failed you so many times,” I whisper to him before pushing the dirty over it and packing it down tightly. Using the flat of my hand, I smooth the surface and by the time I’m finished, the ground looks practically untouched.

  Kneeling in silence, my palms rest flat against the ground, hoping that maybe Nykky’s hands are on the other side, trying desperately to reach back out to me.

  “I think you’ll like this spot,” I mutter, voice wearing thin now from all the shouting and crying earlier. “You can even see the house from here.”

  Just out of my reach lied a stone half-buried near a few pale-yellow wildflowers. It’s no bigger than my hand, but maybe it’s enough for now. I move closer, reaching out to pull it free before settling it softly over the burial area.

  With one hand resting on the stone’s surface, I turn towards the manor cautiously waiting for my return.

  “I’m going to plant flowers around the house for you,” I reveal to Nykky. “Bright ones, just for you. Maybe even a garden like we talked about. I’ll put them everywhere, if that’s what you’d like.”

  I shake my head, lip trembling as more tears blur my vision.

  “Being without you…” I stutter through a shaky breath. “Gods, it tears at me, Nykky. I should have died with you. Or in place of you, I don’t fucking know. You should be here… living in a pretty house on the surface. But I promise you this…”

  Taking a deep breath in, I wipe my tears with the sleeves of my robe.

  “I will carve this place into something beautiful for you,” I promise Nykky quietly. “I will succeed for you. I will become powerful… for you. You’ll get to watch it happen now too.”

  I swallow sharply.

  “Will you watch over me too?”

  The branches above sway with the gentle breeze. Maybe it’s only delusion, but I choose to believe it’s Nykky answering me anyway. I lean down and press a kiss to the dirt, wishing more than anything I could just feel his lips one last time.

  --

  Pausing just before the stairs leading up to the veranda, I wipe the dirt from my bare feet, unable to tell if the manor suddenly feels different now or if I do. When I step back inside, the lamps have mostly been extinguished and thankfully, one of the servants has already taken initiative to clean the broken pieces of the urn from the floor. Marquis waits for me at the bottom of the staircase.

  “Are you alright, Alexios?” he gently asks.

  After a pause, I nod.

  “I buried him.”

  He raises his eyebrows, curiously.

  “You buried the ashes?”

  I nod again, finally brave enough to meet his eyes now.

  “There’s a field full of wildflowers just past one of the fields,” I explain, pointing in that direction. “The sun will keep him company during the day when I can’t be there with him. Then he’ll have the moonlight overhead at night.”

  Marquis reaches for my hand. I let him.

  “What of the urn?” he questions.

  I shrug and lean against him, propping my head on his shoulder as he pulls my arms around him.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I tell him, much calmer than I expect to in a moment like this. “I put a stone over the spot so I can visit him again.”

  “Then it seems you have guided him to peace.”

  “He can even see the house from there,” I mutter against Marquis’s shoulder. “I told him I’d plant him flowers.”

  “That will comfort him,” he answers while running his fingers through my somewhat damp hair. “As I suspect it will comfort you as well.”

  “I asked him to watch over me,” I admit, almost embarrassed at the admission, but Marquis doesn’t laugh or even correct me.

  Marquis pulls back, taking a few steps up the stairs while holding his hand out for me to take.

  “I believe he already does, just as I will continue to do.”