Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Viktor slipped his fingers between the curtains to peer through the litter’s lattice window.

            Bitter autumn air breezed through the irregular, ovular openings. Beyond, a blanket of fog had settled upon yellowed hills, providing only impressions of trees—dark and looming, their immense canopies leafless networks of veins. The Zaunite procession marched through mud with the squelch of feet and hooves and wheels. Viktor shivered, breathing cold air.

            “Anything to see?” Silco asked.

            Viktor glanced at his mother, seated across from him, but Silco motioned at the lattice, so Viktor turned his eyes to the hills once more.

            After a moment, he shook his head.

            “Clan Kiramman’s land looks like Zaun,” he replied.

            Silco’s scent flared with satisfaction, almost acerbic in its strength.

            “Isn’t that interesting?” he rumbled.

            Viktor let the curtains close. Borders were imaginary things. Drawn and held in the mind. Zaun had fought hard to free itself from the shackles of Piltover’s clans, to be respected rather than stepped upon, but the fight had not ended when Zaun gained independence. It had continued every decade hence. Today, for the first time since Vander had taken the throne, peace flickered into possibility: a mate-bond. One of Piltover’s powerful clans joined to the Zaunite royal family.

            He could feel Silco’s eyes on him, watching in their predatory custom. Weighing Viktor against the political battlefield into which the litter would carry them both. Silco tilted his head, his eyes unblinking.

            “What have we to learn, then?”

            Viktor considered the question.

            “The differences between Piltover and Zaun are not geographical,” he said. “If our land is the same, there must be some fundamental similarity between our peoples. Zaun was part of Piltover once. Perhaps Piltover will be part of Zaun.”

            Again, Silco’s scent flared—notes of iron and the intruding tang of shimmer.

            A vicious smile unfurled across his lips.

            “It is no coincidence that Piltover bargained for you, my child,” he said. “They would have us believe you were selected by accident of biology: the only eligible omega in our royal family. Not so. Piltover’s great clans have no shortage of sons or daughters of every designation. They could have offered suitors for Violet, or Powder, even Vander, but they chose you, and not for the sake of convenience.”

            That smile soured so that Silco was simply baring his teeth.

            “It always falls to us,” he continued, low and coursing. “The consequences of every action, the impact of every mistake, the decisions no one wants to make... It all falls to omegas to bear.” He clicked his tongue. “It is a thankless task, holding up society.”

            Viktor hummed his agreement. He knew how his mother labored in the shadows. Not considered a king, not quite an advisor, the opportunity to rule as queen come and gone in a complex series of turns of youth. He and Vander had led Zaun to freedom. Vander ruled, but Silco ran the country.

            “This arrangement with the clans is not yet set in stone, Viktor,” Silco said. He leaned forward to clasp both of Viktor’s hands in one of his own. “Piltover has played their game too plainly, and I suspect they will agree to whatever they must to obtain you.”

            Silco lifted his other hand to Viktor’s cheek.

            Viktor pressed into his mother's palm.

            “Nevertheless,” he said, “we need this alliance. Do we not?”

            Clicking his tongue again, Silco released Viktor’s face and sat back.

            “We do.”

            “Then it falls to an omega to bear it.”

            His mother’s eyes flicked to meet his. He was a shrewd and ruthless man who wore those traits so plainly that he tricked others into believing he was neither shrewd nor ruthless. Perhaps they believed an omega incapable of such brutality. No matter what they believed, Silco resented the need for this alliance. He resented the need to give up his only child. Resentment was a dangerous emotion in him.

            Viktor still remembered the day Silco had found him in Singed’s dungeons—an ill, abused, and unpresented orphan rescued by the most powerful omega in Zaun. The Zaunite royal family did not live in a palace, but it had seemed a palace to Viktor, and Silco and Vander had raised him as a princess.

            “You are a princess of Zaun, a gifted mage, and my child above all else,” Silco said, his words echoing Viktor’s thoughts as they so often did. “I know you will not forget, no matter the burdens that fall to you to bear.”

            Viktor nodded. “It is a promise.”

            Smiling, Silco bridged the space between them to lift Viktor’s chin on his fingers.

            “Good boy,” he said.

            Clopping hooves approached the litter. Silco sat back.

            From outside came a loud whisper, asking, “Are you in there, V?”

            “Of course, Powder,” Viktor chuckled. “Where else would I be?”

            “Prove it,” the girl replied.

            Viktor peeled back the curtains to show Powder the patchwork of his face through the lattice. She stood in stark contrast to the landscape, her hair and colorful clothing bright even in the fog. She rode alongside the litter atop her paint pony, its mane and tail braided with ribbons to match those in her own hair. Powder grinned when she saw him.

            “Pretty cushy ride you’ve got,” she said.

            “Would you like to trade places?”

            “Bleh, no.” She waved a hand as if to waft the very idea away from her. “The last thing I want is some Pilty alpha attached to my hip.”

            The girl had only recently presented as a beta, but she was already enjoying the relative freedom that accompanied the designation. A second child with a brilliant mind, her course was now set to serve as advisor to Violet when her sister eventually ascended the throne. The bonds of statehood would not rest quite so heavily on Powder’s shoulders. For that, Viktor was grateful.

            “What do you think they’ll be like?” Powder asked. “Your Pilty alpha.”

            Viktor shook his head. “There is little point in speculation,” he replied. “It does not matter who they are. We will be bonded.”

            When negotiations had begun, both sides had acknowledged that marriage alone would not be strong enough to satisfy Zaun or Piltover. A mate-bond, or nothing. The parties on either side needed to submit to an irreversible union. Undoubtedly, Piltover felt they’d gotten the better end of the bargain. As an omega, Viktor would be expected to obey his mate, granting Piltover greater political control, but they had neglected to consider that Viktor was an omega who had been reared by Silco.

            He did not worry over his ability to maneuver this alpha however he saw fit.

            But there was also the matter of his magic.

            If Piltover wanted him to serve as their mage, they must first serve him.

            “Are you nervous?” Powder asked.

            “No,” Viktor replied. He offered her a smile through the lattice. “Are you, Powder?”

            The girl chewed on her bottom lip, her whole face contorted into a betrayal of her feelings. She was nervous. Nervous for him, and her expression turned into a playful glare when Viktor chuckled at her.

            “They’d better not try anything funny,” she said. “That’s all.”

            “Powder!” Vander called from the head of the procession. “Back in formation, please.”

            Powder pouted, but gathered up her pony’s reins.

            “Coming!” she called. “Bye, V.”

            “Goodbye, Powder,” he replied, and with a light nudge to the pony’s flank, Powder clopped out of view. Viktor let the curtains close once more.

            Their procession was set to reach Clan Kiramman’s ceremonial hill before sundown, but the wet weather blurred the daylight. Viktor rested against the back panel of the litter and emptied his mind. Silco remained silent, undoubtedly focused on his own machinations. In the rhythm of the march and the swaying of the litter, Viktor did not mark the passage of time until horns trumpeted and the procession came to a stop.

            Silco prepared to exit. He smoothed his clothes, then turned his hands to Viktor, raising the hood of the Piltovian betrothal cloak they had agreed he would wear. The heavy fabric pooled around Viktor in iridescent white and shimmer-dyed threads. In the dim light, Silco paused, and spent a moment observing Viktor’s face.

            “I will take the clans for all they have, and even that will not be enough,” he said.

            A muscle flexed in his jaw.

            “Wait here, my child.”

            Silco knocked on the litter door and the bearers lowered them to the ground. Viktor caught only a glimpse of the Kirammans’ great hill and the clan tents circling the base as his mother left the litter to join Vander in final negotiations.

            How odd it was to sit still while others decided his fate.

            Viktor emptied his mind once more to wait, lest he make himself sick with anticipation.

            By the time the litter door next opened, night had fallen.

            Torches and firelight transformed the clan tents into hulking silhouettes and cast Silco’s face in shadow.

            “The betrothal ceremony will proceed,” he said. Eyes adjusted to the dark, Viktor recognized both exhaustion and victory in his mother’s demeanor. Negotiations had concluded to his satisfaction—as much as he could be satisfied with such arrangements. He retrieved Viktor’s staff from where it lay tucked between the cushions. “Lower your veil. I will walk ahead.”

            The door closed. The litter rose. Viktor unrolled the gauzy fabric sewn into the hood of the cloak to cover his face.

            Outside, the horns of Zaun blew. Long, loud, and resonant in their harmony.

            Viktor drew in a deep breath to steady his suddenly galloping heart.

            The procession resumed its march, stripped back into ceremonial formation to move to the top of the hill. Vander would lead on foot, Powder following behind. Then an honor guard of Zaun’s finest warriors with their shimmering armaments, then Silco in front of Viktor’s litter. Violet would bring up the rear. In part for protection, in part to signal that the king and his heir supported Viktor on both sides.

            The firelight burned much brighter when the procession stopped next. Viktor could see the flames flicker even through the curtains. Horns blew, and the litter lowered to the ground.

            “It is with great pride that Zaun gathers tonight.” Vander’s booming voice sounded like it could have carried for miles. “Peace is always an admirable pursuit. In working together, we put to rest the contentions of the past. With this bond, we plant the seed of a new vision for our lands, united in purpose as well as in blood. For the future!”

            The horns blew and the shout went out: “For the future!”

            Quiet followed Vander’s speech. Someone from Piltover’s delegation must have been speaking, but Viktor could not hear them, likely by design.

            The people of Piltover would not condescend to shout.

            Nor were they united enough to cheer.

            The quiet continued, and they must have introduced their agent in this union. The alpha with whom Viktor would spend the rest of his life bonded. The individual he must steer through Piltover’s treacherous waters to ensure a prosperous future for Zaun. His heart raced. He found himself straining to hear—which clan, what titles, why this alpha—but he could not. And he could not inquire sympathetically without revealing himself.

            “Newfound friends of Piltover—” Silco spoke so loudly and so near the litter that his voice startled Viktor. “—great clans of the northern peninsula, we present our representative bondmate: Viktor, Princess of Zaun, High Blood Mage, and Herald of the Arcane.”

            The door opened. Firelight spilled in. Silco stood beside the litter, one hand raised to help Viktor exit, the other holding his staff.

            Viktor took his mother’s hand and climbed, carefully, out.

            A murmur spread through the gathered crowd—the heads of all of Piltover’s clans, their children, their trusted warriors. The same sorts of people Zaun had brought in their procession, but in much greater number. Incredible that any nation with such power behind it would stoop to an alliance with the people who had shaken them off, but stoop they must. Zaun was powerful enough. Viktor smiled beneath the veil.

            With any luck, Zaun would be more powerful yet.

            Viktor took his staff. Between the twisting wood and Silco’s support, he walked with relative grace toward the bonfire that roared in the center of the gathering.

            There, one person stood apart from the crowd.

            An alpha.

            A breathtaking alpha so beautiful the faces of at the edge of the firelight blurred.

            Broad-shouldered, tall. Clothed in shining red and gold. Thick hair with thick eyebrows and the beginnings of a beard, all brown. Firelight glowed across tan skin and shined in hazel eyes, turning them to gold.

            He was, by every physical account, an ideal specimen for an alpha—strong, handsome, dominant—but there was something in the way he held himself that spoke to a naivete. Straight and stiff with perfect posture, uncomfortable or unused to all of the eyes on his back, but clearly invested in playing his part, in doing his nation proud, or perhaps simply not making a fool of himself in front of every important figure in Piltover. He looked nervous, but determined.

            It was rather endearing.

            Even his scent betrayed him—spice and musk tinged with an edge of uncertainty. The man swallowed as Silco approached. No one would see him tremble, but Viktor felt it when Silco passed his hand to the young alpha. His fingers were warm. Viktor very gently squeezed them and smiled.

            Their eyes met through the veil.

            The alpha stared back with open amazement.

            Viktor nodded to Silco, who bowed his head and rejoined Zaun’s delegation.

            A beautiful woman with skin adorned in gold came forward, lifting her arms to gesture at the pair by the fire.

            “Let the betrothal then be sealed in blood,” she said.

            So Viktor would begin this bond without even knowing the alpha’s name.

            Steadying himself, the alpha removed Viktor’s veil, breaking the threads and casting the fabric into the fire. The two of them then twined their left arms together so that their own hands hovered in front of their own faces. The attention of the gathering sharpened with intense anticipation. No stranger to blood, Viktor moved first, the alpha followed his lead, and each brought their hands to their mouths to sink their teeth into their own flesh below the thumb.

            The tang of blood was hot iron in his mouth.

            Viktor released his jaw to clasp the alpha’s hand and let their blood blend.

            The alpha had not removed his eyes from Viktor in all that time.

            Zaun blew their horns. Piltover applauded. The pair released their hands, but as Viktor withdrew, the alpha very sweetly clasped his fingers and asked silent permission with his eyes. When Viktor nodded, the alpha brought Viktor's hand to his lips and sealed his mouth over the wound, numbing the sting and spurring the healing process.

            His mouth was wet and hot as blood.

            The pad of his tongue curled against Viktor’s skin.

            With a start, Viktor withdrew.

            “Thank you,” he said, his voice small.

            Flushing, the alpha hurried to his next task. He lowered the hood on the betrothal cloak, which would join the veil in the fire. He was careful not to touch any part of Viktor while doing so, not even his hair. The gathering’s attention sharpened again, leaning closer or craning their necks to get a better look at their new Zaunite princess.

            But the atmosphere twisted when the cloak was removed.

            Murmurs of dissent spread throughout the crowd.

            Before them stood an omega thin and narrow, dressed in the scant robes of a herald mage, marks of plague evident across his body. His staff clearly served as more than just a conduit for his magic. That magic had left its mark, too—strange and spreading purple scars, like skin peeled away to reveal the muscle underneath. If not ill, he was certainly fragile. A body barely held together. Far from the supple form of an omega fit to bear heir after heir.

            A young female alpha with bared teeth and midnight hair cried, “Piltover is deceived!” and the crowd erupted into outright clamor.

            “Wait—” the alpha said, but he need not have spoken.

            Viktor drew upon the blood smeared across his palm to unleash a wave of sympathetic influence and silenced them all in an instant.

            Only the pop of the logs in the fire made a sound.

            In that silence, Viktor let them feel him. The strength of his mind. The strength of his magic. A bottomless well of pathos. He did not let them sense how easily he could shift their emotions. He did not let them grasp the true depth of his power, only let them see enough to know that such depths could not be fathomed. Then he retreated from their minds.

            “Zaun does not traffic in deceit,” he said, a gentle voice carried to their ears through the echoes of the connection. “You knew me as our bondmate long before today. The same cannot be said of your representative, yet here I stand. Would Piltover break this union?”

            That would be grounds for war. War in which Viktor—the mage they so desperately wished to acquire—would fight for Zaun. Piltover may have had manpower, but who amongst their armies could stand against a Herald of the Arcane? They did not answer him.

            Over his shoulder, the entire Zaunite delegation down to the litter bearers stood in strength and stillness. Vander, a warrior king who had advocated for peace. Violet, his heir and a force in her own right who would not shun a fight. Powder, whose trap-like mind would devise such devious methods of dealing with Piltover that their armies might not even have a chance to meet. Silco, with a smile that only scratched the surface of his monumental control. So far, everything had proceeded according to plan.

            Viktor extended a hand to his betrothed alpha.

            “Your wound,” he said.

            Starting, the alpha glanced at his hand and the blood that ran down his fingers to fall in dark droplets on the earth. Slowly, he offered that hand to Viktor.

            Viktor had but to brush his fingers over the skin to stitch it closed. He left behind a scar that would have naturally formed—an engagement mark—though this one flashed with iridescence in the firelight. Murmurs again from the Piltovian crowd. The alpha studied the scar with undisguised wonder, then balled his hand into a fist.

            “The union stands,” he said.

            His voice was much lighter than Viktor had expected, but warm and impassioned. Given the reactions of the delegation behind him, he absolutely did not have the power to decide such things, but they did not contradict him.

            Instead, the woman sheathed in gold made the final declaration.

            “We witness then the sealing of this betrothal. Hail, Jayce, head of Clan Talis. Hail, Viktor, Princess of Zaun.”

            The gathering repeated her words, a full spectrum of emotion on display. Some spoke with hatred, others fear. Some spoke with hope, others pride. Some hardly spoke at all, and when the recitation had concluded, the clans broke up across that spectrum as well, some whirling to leave the bonfire without a backward glance, others lingering with curiosity, others making way with cheers and shouts to begin the subsequent festivities.

            Viktor’s betrothed alpha—Jayce—turned to him and offered his arm.

            “Would you join me for the feast, princess?”

            “You may call me Viktor, Lord Talis, and of course,” he replied, accepting the escort. “It would be my honor.”

The clans of Piltover had never known the meaning of the word moderation. The feast that followed the betrothal ceremony could have fed the entirety of Zaun. Honey, wine, and roasted meats. Spiced cakes and candied nuts. Fish and fruit and vegetables from somewhere on the other side of the sea, preserved in salt or syrup. Bounteous tables lit with lanterns and torches and candles. Viktor wondered what they planned to do with the excess.

            He and Jayce sat side-by-side on a fur atop a dais separate from the celebration. A pedestal upon which they could be properly admired.

            “Princess—”

            “Viktor.”

            “—Viktor,” Jayce amended, turning pink around the ears. “Is your hand all right?”

            Viktor inspected his own engagement mark, which had stopped bleeding thanks to Jayce’s prior ministrations, but would not heal for many days yet.

            “Yes,” he said. It hurt, of course, but the pain was hardly unbearable. The tiny prickling of pins in comparison to the injuries and illnesses of the past. He folded his hands into his lap and offered Jayce a smile. “You are kind to inquire.”

            The alpha’s scent swelled at the compliment, not so much preening as beaming, though his face did not show it quite that brightly as he hid behind a sip from his cup.

            “It seems unfair,” Jayce said once he’d swallowed, examining the flash of his own mark.

            “Self-healing is a difficult art to master,” Viktor replied, “and my power only extends so far.” The honest truth was that the moment his magic had awakened, he had pushed it to its absolute limit to repair as much as of himself he could. He wandered the world with that magic writ across every inch of his body down to his bones. He still required his staff to walk. He still felt the shallowness of his lungs. “I could not tell you why I find it easier to heal others.”

            “Would you like to know why?” Jayce asked.

            Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Are you claiming to have answers?”

            “No, no, nothing like that. I apologize, pr—Viktor.” Jayce shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, his whole face pink now. “I don’t have answers, but if you wish to study, to...research your magic, I would be honored to assist you.”

            “You are a scholar,” Viktor said, an observation and a question.

            He had not, after all, heard anything about Jayce before meeting him at the bonfire.

            “Of a sort,” Jayce replied. “My family are smiths, craftspeople. I am as well, of course, but I’m more interested in the development of craft itself. Not just smithing, but carpentry, stonework, farming, husbandry. Every occupation. When we understand how a practice is done, when we know what works, we can start to implement the best systems—more efficient means of production.”

            “To what end?”

            “To better people’s lives,” he said. True intent lent fire to those words and stirred something long-cold in Viktor’s heart. “If we increase crop yield without increasing the demands on labor or land, that means more food. If we can build more efficiently, that means lower costs, and therefore greater affordability. If we can understand how your magic works, we might be able to channel it more easily and with less strain on you. I—love magic, but Piltover has so few mages, I don’t have many opportunities to work with them.”

            Ah, so that was why Piltover had chosen this alpha for their representative bondmate. Yet the alpha in question had no idea.

            Viktor’s sympathetic resonance betrayed no ulterior motives from Jayce, no subterfuge. It made Viktor wonder to whom Jayce belonged, what the clan lords had offered him in exchange for his cooperation. Viktor could not afford any outside influences that might steer Jayce a different direction than Zaun wanted him steered. He would need to sniff out these answers as swiftly as possible. Perhaps Silco already had them.

            “I apologize,” Jayce said with a self-effacing chuckle. “I have a bad habit of—”

            “You have no need to apologize,” Viktor replied. “Your passion does you credit.” Jayce hid behind another sip. “I was simply contemplating what the possibilities might look like.” He smiled to assuage any doubts. “I am a scholar as well.”

            Jayce’s eyes lit up. His genuine excitement made Viktor’s heart pinch.

            Any more displays like that and he might be in real danger.

            “Tell me more about your work,” Viktor continued. “About yourself. I regret I am unfamiliar with Clan Talis.”

            Jayce offered another self-deprecating laugh as he shook his head. “You wouldn’t have heard of us. Clan Talis didn’t formally exist until today. I’ve been a ward of Clan Kiramman up to now. They’ve generously sponsored my studies and taught me much about governing as well.” Ah, so the Kirammans held Jayce and he had been given a clan of his own in exchange for his cooperation. “At the moment Clan Talis is me, my mother, and—uh—you. Once we’re bonded.”

            Jayce blushed, but Viktor hardly noticed. Their own clan. That might prove very advantageous for Zaun.

            “Is your mother here?” he asked.

            “Regretfully, no,” Jayce replied. “She couldn’t make the journey.”

            That, or clan leadership had not wanted her present.

            “That is a shame,” Viktor said. “I would very much like to meet her.”

            The alpha smiled, soft, his scent exuding comfort to match. “Thank you,” he said, shifting, sinking his fingers into the fur, holding himself back from taking Viktor’s hand it seemed. “I... I’m glad to hear you say that.”

            “Looks like the two of you are getting along just fine.”

            Jayce started, and Viktor looked over to find Violet approaching the dais. She raised a cup to offer a toast, as was required.

            “For the future, and peace, and your continued health and all that,” she said, then drank.

            Viktor and Jayce raised their own cups and sipped in acknowledgement.

            “Would you rather we were at each other’s throats?” Viktor asked.

            “No,” Violet replied. She leaned her shoulders against the dais and slung her elbows up to rest atop it. “But it’d make this so-called party infinitely more interesting...” In Zaun, such celebrations were loud and rowdy affairs, often with more than a few fights—sincere or sparred. In Piltover, feasts did not even include music. Violet leaned her head back to grin at Jayce, raising her fists. “What do you say, lordling? Wanna go a few rounds?”

            “Against you?” Jayce asked, blinking.

            “Yeah, against me,” Violet replied. “How else are you supposed to prove you’re alpha enough to provide for our princess?”

            Her grin sharpened to a mean edge. Underneath the teasing, she was quite serious.

            “That won’t be necessary, Violet,” Viktor said. “Not tonight, at least. If you’d like to organize a contest, however, I’m sure you will find plenty Piltovians more than willing to take up your challenge...”

            He trailed off as another alpha approached the dais. The same young female with hair the color of the night sky. She outright ignored Violet as she lifted her cup to Jayce and Viktor.

            “Clan Kiramman’s congratulations to you both,” she said. “May your lives be as long and prosperous as our new alliance.”

            Viktor raised his cup but did not drink.

            He had not forgotten the insult she’d paid him at the bonfire any more than she had forgotten the demonstration of his magic that had followed. She had a cold demeanor and a scent to match. Pine and clear water. Violet’s own smoky amber rose to match as she glared at this perceived intruder. Perhaps subconsciously, Jayce’s scent, too, increased in strength. Viktor kept his breathing shallow, too tired after days of travel and an evening of ceremony to deal with the scents of three alphas competing for control of the conversation.

            “Thank you, Caitlyn,” Jayce replied.

            “You’ve done Clan Kiramman proud,” Caitlyn said.

            Violet huffed. Caitlyn’s eyes flicked her direction, and that was all the acknowledgement Violet needed.

            “You gonna apologize?” she asked, voice low.

            “I don’t see why I should.”

            Violet growled. “Are you stupid? Or just rude?”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            Violet hefted her elbows off the dais, leaving her cup behind, clearly looking for a fight. Caitlyn, for all her pomp and circumstance, looked quite keen to give her one.

            “Vi,” Victor said.

            She glanced at him, and he softly shook his head. Violet’s lip curled, and she glared fiercely at Caitlyn, but retrieved her cup and lowered her arms. To Viktor’s eye, she seemed to restrain herself from spitting on the ground at Caitlyn’s feet, then exercised what remained of her self-control to leave without another word. Caitlyn watched Violet stalk away and huffed to herself, amused.

            “Imagine if we had tried to find a match for her,” she said.

            “Make no mistake, Master Kiramman,” Viktor replied. “She would have put you on your back if given the opportunity.”

            Caitlyn stared at him—somewhere between affronted and impressed.

            “Well,” she said on an outward breath, “if I’d known Zaun’s princess to be so capable of defending himself, perhaps I would have reconsidered my opportunity to become Piltover’s representative bondmate.”

            She was mocking him, and plainly so. Despite everything Viktor had endured and the thick skin he’d endeavored to develop, the insult stung. He had no reply for Caitlyn Kiramman, at least not one that did not end with her brain matter spilling from her ears, and so he could say nothing, and that stung worst of all.

            A shock of warmth sparked at the base of his spine as Jayce set his hand there.

            Jayce did not seem to notice Viktor jolt, his eyes fixed on Caitlyn with territorial intent. When he spoke, he spoke through his teeth.

            “Actually, Cait, I think you should apologize.”

            She blinked. “Jayce—”

            “To Viktor. Not to me.”

            Astonished, Caitlyn stared at him. Her mouth hung open, and Viktor might have found her expression more amusing had not every ounce of his attention been focused on the palm pressed against his skin. Jayce’s hand was like hot coal, the sudden smoldering of his protective pheromone like heat off a forge. Viktor had never smelled anything like it, had never been touched so intimately. He froze, in spite of being so warm.

            “I...apologize, princess,” Caitlyn said, haltingly and without a trace of sincerity. “My behavior was unbecoming of a lord of Piltover.”

            Stiff, she bowed her head and took her leave. Jayce turned to Viktor, a sigh on his lips and concern in his eyes.

            “I’m sorry about Cait,” he said, and his hand swept up Viktor’s spine, causing him to tense as if pulled taught on a string from above. Jayce did not notice this, either, settling that hand across the back of his neck. “She’s been combative since negotiations with Zaun started.”

            Viktor could not find the words to speak for a moment as Jayce looked into his eyes.

            Jayce had beautiful eyes.

            “I understand,” Viktor said, eventually. “There are misgivings on both sides.”

            “We’ll prove them wrong, won’t we?”

            He spoke with such hopeless sincerity that Viktor could not guard against it. His heart kicked like the feet of a frantic rabbit. Who was this man, and how had he so easily found his way around Viktor’s defenses? Viktor could not keep himself from nodding, could not tear his eyes away from the bright light of Jayce’s smile, which shined across his face like the sun.

            Releasing Viktor’s neck, Jayce reached for his hand. He hesitated, blushing as if he had not just touched every inch of Viktor’s back. He pressed forward, and lifted Viktor’s left hand to look at the engagement mark. The outline of Viktor’s own teeth below his thumb. Heedless of anyone who might have been watching, he brought Viktor’s hand to his lips and touched a kiss to the wound.

            The gesture itself was quite chaste, but its placement and all that had come before made Viktor wonder for the first time in his life what it would feel like to have the outline of someone else’s teeth carved into his neck.

            His breath came and went in a deep pattern that burned his lungs.

            Jayce changed his grip, kissed Viktor’s knuckles, and let go of his hand.

            “I’m looking forward to it,” Jayce said.

Chapter Text

“You have bewitched him,” Silco remarked.

            “I have not touched his mind,” Viktor said. “I swear it.”

            He looked with alarm at his mother’s reflection in the silver mirror of their dressing tent. Clan Kiramman had arranged for their guests to attend a hunt the morning following the engagement ceremony, and Silco saw to it that every hair on Viktor’s head sat perfectly in place. He came to Viktor’s side, his expression a maze.

            “Of course you have not,” Silco said, “but you should prepare yourself for every accusation.” He retrieved a fur cloak and swathed it around Viktor’s shoulders. “Though the clans do not understand the specifics of your magic, neither do they have a firm grasp of magic on the whole. To them, a mage is an object to be feared. Particularly a mage that is also an omega.”

            He stepped around front to secure the cloak with a golden pin in the shape of a hammer.

            “A gift from your betrothed,” he said.

            Viktor admired the shine of fine craftsmanship, but ultimately lifted his eyes to Silco.

            “It is a good thing, is it not?” he asked. “If he likes me?”

            “Of course, my child,” Silco purred. “It is an excellent omen for Zaun.”

            Dressed, they left the tent and walked together to meet Vander, Violet, and Powder and head to the hunting grounds. The moment Powder saw them, she bounded over to nudge Silco off Viktor’s arm so she could escort him instead. Chuckling, Vander offered his arm to Silco, and the five of them fell into step, Violet walking opposite Powder.

            “Let’s see those teeth,” Powder said. She turned Viktor’s hand over in her own to examine the engagement mark and nod appreciatively. “Coming along nicely. Isn’t it weird that alpha spit’s a healing reagent?”

            “I suppose...”

            “I also think it’s weird they don’t let omegas join the hunt, and by weird I mean completely moronic.”

            “Powder,” Silco warned.

            “Sorry, sorry, I’ll whisper.” And she did. “I mean, what’s the point of making you all stay behind? Do they think omegas can’t hunt?”

            “I will not pretend to understand every one of Piltover’s customs,” Viktor replied, whispering as well, “but perhaps that is another purpose of this alliance. To get to know each other, and allow our strengths to overcome their weaknesses.”

            Powder grinned at him, Viktor smiled back. Violet cracked her knuckles.

            “It’s ridiculous,” she said. “You and Silco should be out there. Showing that Kiramman lordling what’s what.”

            “I fear I will have to rely on you for that, Vi,” Viktor replied.

            Violet huffed, but took the challenge upon her shoulders like she was donning a coat.

            “My pleasure.”

            The forest to the east of the great hill would serve as the setting for the hunt. While their masters slept late, servants had worked hard raising tented pavilions and planning routes and preparing dogs and horses. The omegas in attendance would remain at the pavilions, sheltered and pampered until the hunters returned. Frankly, it seemed silly to Viktor to bring omegas out at all if they were not allowed to participate. There wasn’t much to spectate through the woods.

            The royal family’s arrival at the hunting grounds caused a light stir, and, in a matter of moments, the relevant parties had descended upon them to whisk Vander and Violet and Powder away to prepare. Powder went half-heartedly, pouting the whole way, promising to get a few rabbits just for Viktor. Then he and Silco stood alone.

            Overhead, the sun shone out of a blue sky, but the air was crisp and cold. Dogs barked. Horses knickered. Servants called to each other and masters to their servants.

            A voice called to Viktor.

            “Princess! Good morning.”

            Viktor turned to find Jayce approaching at a trot, his face bright, his ears and nose red from the chill. He was well-dressed in riding leathers and fine furs, but Viktor was most taken by the way his smile brightened when their eyes met.

            As Jayce arrived, he bowed his head respectfully to Silco.

            “I can show you to your pavilion if you’d like?”

            Lifting his face, he offered Viktor his arm.

            “I have said that you may address me by my given name, Lord Talis,” Viktor replied. “I trust I will not need to say so again?”

            “I haven’t forgotten,” Jayce said with a laugh. “I was thinking about last night, and I realized that you never called me by my given name, so I’ve decided to stick with titles until you do.” He grinned. “Princess.”

            That grin was both annoying and charming, and made abundantly more so by the combination of the two. Shaking his head, Viktor took Jayce’s arm and tried not to dwell on the discovery that Jayce had been thinking about last evening—about him. Jayce led the way. Silco followed behind.

            Viktor had to work up the ability to speak. “No one addresses me as ‘princess’, Jayce,” he said, and the name felt lovely in his mouth.

            Jayce positively preened. “What do they call you?”

            “Herald,” he replied, “or Viktor.”

            Nodding, Jayce said, “I’ll stick with Viktor, then. Though I may still call you princess. From time to time.” Still grinning, he added, “You’re wearing the pin I made.”

            “You made this?”

            Unable to stop himself, Viktor glanced down at the gift. The luster of the gold seemed more beautiful somehow, the details finer, knowing Jayce had crafted it himself. Viktor preened a little, pleased. Jayce had mentioned that his family were smiths, but he had not imagined goldsmithing was part of their repertoire.

            “Yes. For you,” Jayce said with a smile. “Obviously, I’d like you to add your own touch, but I hoped the hammer might serve as the base for our clan crest.”

            Viktor’s head shot up, a small chirp slipping from his lips.

            He had not expected their enemy’s representative bondmate to be so...considerate. It was not obvious that a Piltovian alpha would want an omega’s input on the symbol that would represent his clan on all their heraldry. Even in Zaun, Viktor was powerful, yes, but he did not hold power. He served Vander and Silco, and he was proud to do so, but no one had ever asked him to put his own mark on something. No one had ever courted him before.

            What was more, Jayce did not need to do so. They were already betrothed.

            Was he courting Viktor simply because he wanted to?

            “You’ll think about it?” Jayce asked.

            Swallowing, Viktor nodded. “I will,” he said. “Thank you.”

            By then, they had arrived at the pavilions. The omegas of Piltover lounged on furs and cushions or milled in small groups to socialize. Most cast their eyes toward Viktor and Silco with curiosity, disdain, and dismissiveness in equal parts. Jayce unhooked Viktor’s arm, but held onto his hand.

            “I’ll find you here after the hunt?”

            “I have no other pressing plans.”

            Jayce chuckled. “In that case, I’ll catch a few rabbits for you. Make a meal just for two.”

            “You will have to beat Powder to them, then,” Viktor replied.

            “Oh? Got a little competition, do I?”

            Something in the low and playful roll of his voice caused Viktor to avert his gaze. He felt his face flush, and tried to clear it, but failed to succeed before Jayce was lifting his hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

            “I’ll do my best, princess.”

            “Do not overexert yourself on my account, Lord Talis,” Viktor replied.

            Jayce just smiled. He bowed once more to Silco, then took his leave, trotting off to find his horse and hunting party. Viktor watched him go.

            “Perhaps he has bewitched you,” Silco said.

            Viktor blushed a brighter red.

            His mother chose a place for the pair of them to spend the hunt, central to the pavilion and with a good view of the forest. It was a position that communicated command. Silco would not cow to the omegas of Piltover. The others regarded them as foreign entities, alien and unfamiliar, which was absurd. Zaun had separated from Piltover only a few decades ago—during Silco’s lifetime—but Viktor understood that Piltover had regarded Zaun as separate and beneath for centuries.

            The hunt began with horns and yowling hounds, men on foot ordering the dogs into the forest to flush out prey. Their primary target was not rabbit, but boar—a dangerous animal that would turn and fight when cornered. Most rode out with javelins, others armed with bow and arrow. If anyone managed to snare any rabbits in all the noise, it would be a marvel.

            As the hunting parties crashed into the woods, the woman in gold who had overseen the betrothal ceremony approached Silco and Viktor.

            “Your majesty, your highness,” she said. “Good morning.”

            Viktor was surprised to see her here. He had not identified her as an omega at the ceremony. Perhaps that had to do with her subdued scent—like fine ash and crushed rose—but more likely it had to do with her position. He almost could not believe Piltover had allowed an omega to preside over such an important event. This woman, however, had a particular presence about her. Kind, but sharp. Calm, but willful. Like a soft, but enduring metal. Gold.

            “Lady Medarda,” Silco replied, inclining his head.

            Viktor did the same.

            “I hope last evening’s feast was to your liking,” Lady Medarda said.

            “Indeed. Piltover can be quite generous when the need arises,” Silco replied, “but, feasting aside, you must have our thanks for officiating the betrothal ceremony. Your steadiness proved quite crucial.”

            Lady Medarda shook her head. “I believe we have his highness to thank for soothing the agitation,” she said, sending a smile toward Viktor. “You have an extraordinary gift.”

            “Thank you, my lady,” Viktor replied. The longer she spoke, the more he sensed the movement of magic within her. Lady Medarda must have been a mage in her own right, though she hid it well. “However, without your contribution, I doubt the ceremony would have proceeded. Please accept my personal thanks as well.”

            Placing a hand over his heart, Viktor lowered his head. Strong emotion crashed against the barrier of his sympathetic resonance, so he opened himself to it, and an unexpected wave of regret swept over him.

            “You are kind to say so, princess,” Lady Medarda replied. The words made her ache. “I am glad to see this alliance finally take shape. Lord Talis might seem a surprising selection on Piltover’s part, but I assure you his talent and ambition will carry him far. He is almost more committed to this peace than anyone.” She smiled again, but that regret still lingered in the corners of her mouth. Through the resonance, Viktor sensed her affection for Jayce. A deep, personal investment. Love, even. The emotions made him feel quite small.

            “Lady Medarda advocated well for Lord Talis during negotiations yesterday,” Silco said, ostensibly to Viktor, though it was clear he spoke only to pay Lady Medarda a compliment.

            “I meant every word of what I said, your majesty, I assure you,” she replied, accepting it.

            But her mind still echoed. She had sacrificed Jayce for this alliance. That was the source of the regret that radiated from her, but a spine of steel backed her decision. She wanted Jayce in this position because of the bond they shared.

            Lady Medarda believed she could still steer him.

            Viktor retreated from her mind before he probed too deeply, before Lady Medarda’s own magic could detect him.

            “Would you like to join us, my lady?” he asked, motioning at their cushions.

            “It would be my pleasure, your highness,” Lady Medarda replied. “I must make the rounds to offer greetings, but I promise to return.”

            With the requisite bows, she departed. Viktor and Silco settled to wait for the hunt to end. No one else dared approach, not even after Lady Medarda rejoined them. Viktor let Silco do the talking. His mother was much more attuned to such things, but Lady Medarda continuously steered the conversation back to Viktor. Had Viktor not already touched her mind, he might not have recognized that underneath her kindness—real as it was—she sought answers. Information about him and his magic.

            He answered her inquiries very carefully over the next few hours.

            The hounds were the first to return, exhausted and proud, their masters close behind with a pair of boar hauled amongst them. One of the creatures looked to have been bludgeoned to death. The other bristled with long-shafted arrows.

            Servants swarmed forward to see to the dogs and clean the kills. The hunters and their horses emerged from the forest. Horns blew. A controlled chaos unfolded across the hunting grounds—riders dismounting, servants coming to meet them, meal preparations beginning, news of the hunt spreading.

            “Viktor! Viktor!”

            Powder appeared, trotting her pony right up to the pavilions, so Viktor, Silco, and Lady Medarda went to meet her. The girl’s face was pink with cold and exercise, but she positively gleamed as she hefted a brace of five or six rabbits over her head.

            “Tah-dah!”

            Jayce, not far behind, chuckled and nodded his head at the pair of rabbits that hung from his horse’s saddle.

            “I think the winner is clear,” he said.

            Viktor’s heart jumped when the alpha met his eye.

            Powder giggled a little manically. She loved a chance to show her strengths, but mostly she seemed to have had fun. When a servant came to collect and clean her kills for her, though, she swept the rabbits out of his reach.

            “I can do it,” she said.

            “Let them, Powder,” Silco instructed. “Do not spurn the generous service of our hosts.”

            Lips pursed, Powder handed over the rabbits and even more reluctantly handed over the reins of her pony after dismounting. As she marched up to Viktor, she turned briefly to bark a few orders to the servants, “Be extra careful with the pelts and the feet. All of my rabbits are for Viktor, all right?”

            “As are mine,” Jayce added, his gaze still fixed on Viktor as he passed the rabbits over.

            Viktor startled when Powder slung her arms around his middle.

            “Can I have one of the feet, V?” she asked.

            “You can have as many of the feet as you like, Powder,” he replied, distracted by the strong scent of spice and musk as Jayce approached. The engagement mark on Viktor’s hand prickled, but the sensation was not unpleasant. “They are your kills, after all.”

            “Powder’s an excellent shot,” Jayce said.

            Powder grinned. She slipped off Viktor and wrapped her arms around Silco instead.

            “Learned from the best,” she said.

            Had the other attendees been within earshot, Powder’s comment might have turned a few heads. Thankfully, most had maintained their distance. Lady Medarda redirected the conversation all the same.

            “What news of the hunt?” she asked Jayce.

            “I’m told we have young Master Kiramman and Zaun’s heir apparent to thank for our boars,” he replied, “but truthfully I couldn’t tell you what happened. Powder and I sort of wound up on our own course.”

            “Yeah, rabbits run when there’s noise,” Powder said. “Big surprise.”

            So Jayce had spent the morning off in the woods with Powder in a contest for rabbits that would earn him no glory outside of a promise to Viktor. A promise that had been largely banter, no less. Viktor had known the man less than a day and already he could understand the depth of Lady Medarda’s feelings for him, though, perhaps that was the engagement speaking, the comingling of their blood across their palms, or Jayce’s saliva his wound.

            Viktor shivered at the thought.

            Jayce looked over as if he’d felt it.

            “Are you well, princess?” he asked, brow furrowed.

            “Yes, thank you, Lord Talis,” Viktor replied. “And thank you both for the rabbits. I will see to it their meat makes it to this evening’s meal.” He turned a little too quickly toward Lady Medarda. “Would you join our table tonight, my lady? You would be most welcome.”

            “I would be honored to join your table, your highness, but I am afraid I must decline,” Lady Medarda replied. “I have already promised to join Clan Salo this evening.”

            Jayce glanced between her and Viktor.

            Silco smiled. “Another time.”

            “Of course,” Lady Medarda replied.

            She made her bows and took her leave. Viktor moved to do the same.

            “I will speak with the butcher...” he said.

            “I’ll join you—if you’d like?” Jayce replied.

            The offer held both allure and alarm in equal measure, but even without the allure, Viktor would not have refused him. A nod, and Jayce looped his arm for Viktor to take. They set off in step. Already Jayce had learned a steady gait to support Viktor without obstructing him. He led the way along the edge of the hunting grounds. Viktor found himself leaning closer to better breathe the alpha’s scent. Jayce smelled concerned.

            “Lady Medarda was very generous with her time this morning,” Viktor said. “She sat with us for most of the hunt.”

            “Yes, she is a...remarkable woman.”

            That smell of concern strengthened.

            “I understand she holds some position of power?” Viktor asked. Neither he nor Silco had been able to get a firm answer out of Lady Medarda about her role.

            “Yes, she leads the Lords’ Council,” Jayce replied.

            Viktor could not quite contain his surprise. An omega with real power in Piltover? Lady Medarda was sharper than he had given her credit. He opened his mouth to ask a few follow-up questions but Jayce came to a sudden stop and turned to face him.

            “Viktor,” he said, and swallowed. “Mel and I—that is to say—Lady Medarda and myself, we...courted in the past.” The recent past, judging by the intensity of his declaration, and Lady Medarda’s earlier regret. “Nothing was ever formalized, and we ended the courtship amicably, so she’s a good friend, and I’m certain she’ll prove an excellent ally for our clan, but we’re likely to work with her often, and I don’t want—I mean, I hope our past courtship doesn’t...come as an unwelcome surprise...”

            He ended the ramble with an imploring expression Viktor was fairly certain was completely unconscious. Of course, he could not tell Jayce his courtship with Lady Medarda did not come as a surprise, because Lady Medarda had not spoken about it.

            “Thank you for telling me, Jayce,” he said instead. He curled his fingers a little tighter around Jayce’s arm, and the alpha glanced at his hand, drawing in a breath. “I am glad to know you are on good terms with Lady Medarda. I enjoyed our conversation, and would have hoped to pursue her as an ally.”

            Relief flooded Jayce’s face. His scent, too.

            “You’re not upset?”

            Smiling, Viktor shook his head. “Not at all.”

            Jayce smiled back. “Good. I—thank you. You agreed to this mate-bond without knowing anything about me, and that is...incredibly brave. I want you to know that you can trust me, that I won’t hide anything from you.”

            It was little wonder the clans had made such good use of Jayce already. He was entirely too sincere, too truthful. Too unsullied by their wealth and greed. Viktor had not known what to expect from Piltover’s representative bondmate, but reputation had led him to believe their chosen alpha would at least serve his own interests, if not ignore Viktor’s entirely. Perhaps Jayce was performing, but he seemed too open for that. Too true.

            Silco would say Viktor had allowed the alpha to sweep him off his feet. Bewitched was the word he’d used before. Perhaps he was right.

            But perhaps Viktor wanted to be swept off his feet.

            “The more I come to know you, Jayce, the more I find to admire,” he said.

            Jayce’s breath left him in a rush. Viktor held his eye.

            His heart began to beat fast. Faster.

            A little uncertain of himself, he took Jayce’s wrist and brought it to his neck. The alpha’s pulse spiked and his scent unfolded, deepening. Viktor’s stomach tumbled at the thought of having those notes linger on his skin. Light, but deliberate, he rubbed his neck against Jayce’s wrist—scenting him.

            Jayce swallowed. Viktor let go of his wrist. Rather than lower his hand, however, Jayce carded his fingers up into Viktor’s hair. Viktor jolted, and the alpha pulled him closer.

            His eyes roved up Viktor’s neck to his mouth.

            All at once, Viktor could not breathe.

            “Lord Talis?”

            Jayce released Viktor and stepped away from him in a blink, his face bright and embarrassed. Flustered, they both turned to the servant who had approached. The man betrayed none of his thoughts on what he had or had not just seen.

            “The rabbits from the hunt have been skinned and the pelts are drying,” he said. “What would you have us do with the meat?”

            “Please serve it alongside the boar,” Viktor replied. “There should be enough for each table to take one.”

            The servant did not respond.

            “You heard his highness,” Jayce said, almost growled.

            The servant bowed and walked away.

            Jayce sighed. “I’m sorry. That was—”

            Viktor shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll get used to Piltover’s customs.”

            “You shouldn’t have to.”

            Utterly disarmed, Viktor stared, speechless. A fire of indignation burned in Jayce’s eyes. He’d taken offense on Viktor’s behalf, but that was not his first kindness. He had helped to heal Viktor’s engagement mark. He had explained his position and ambition and past courtships without hesitation. He had come to Viktor’s defense against Clan Kiramman’s heir. Jayce was committed to this alliance, to peace—to Viktor.

            It baffled him.

            Here was an alpha: handsome, intelligent, and socially adept. An alpha who had courted a mage like Mel Medarda, but was Viktor’s promised bondmate. He’d sat with Viktor at the feast, run his hand up Viktor’s spine, pressed his lips to Viktor’s hands so many times already. The knowledge stirred a possessive, primal instinct in his breast. He had not expected to like Jayce, much less find him so...attractive.

            Jayce had been about to kiss him before. Hadn’t he? On the mouth?

            He wanted very badly for Jayce to kiss him on the mouth.

            “Jayce—”

            “I’ll join Zaun’s table for dinner tonight—oh, my apologies.”

            They’d spoken at the same time.

            “What were you saying?” Jayce asked.

            Viktor shook his head. “It’s nothing. Zaun would be pleased to have you.”

            “And you, princess?” he asked.

            His voice had dropped into a low, rumbling register. Viktor shivered, warmed and chilled. An entirely foreign desire pooled in his belly. He looked up at the alpha, parted his lips.

            “I would be pleased to have you, too.”

            Jayce purred, and the sound sent another shiver through Viktor from head to toe. He hardly had time to recover before Jayce had grasped his hand and lifted it. The tip of the alpha’s nose brushed the tendons of Viktor’s wrist as he drew in an audible breath. Viktor silenced a small gasp. His hand flexed involuntarily in Jayce’s grip.

            “Never in my life have I smelled a scent like yours,” Jayce said, so softly he might have been speaking to himself.

            Viktor did not know what to say. He’d gone noseblind to his own scent shortly after presenting. Everyone did. Until now, however, he’d never realized that no one had ever told him what he smelled like. He teetered, hoping Jayce would.

            “I don’t know what it is about you, Viktor,” Jayce said, “but I... I feel like we’ve met somewhere. I feel as if I know you.” 

            The comment sent Viktor on a swooping spiral of emotion: disappointment, then elation, then a powerful stillness. He could not say that he felt the same—the alpha was as unknown to him as any other Piltovian—but their meeting did seem to carry the weave of fate. As if they were already bound together across time and space.

            Jayce still held Viktor’s wrist in his hand.

            At once, he brushed his neck against it, and Viktor felt the vibration of a rumble in his throat, the scratch of his beard along his jaw. His breath abandoned him.

            “I’ll make sure your orders for the rabbits are followed,” Jayce said, folding Viktor’s fingers over his palm before returning his hand. Swallowing, Viktor clutched his own wrist and nodded. “Save me a place at Zaun’s table? One next to you?”

            Viktor just nodded again. Jayce beamed, and Viktor’s knees went weak.

            “I’ll see you there.”

            With that, Jayce disappeared into the scattering of tents on the hunting grounds, accidentally abandoning Viktor in his eagerness to be of service.

            It made Viktor laugh.

            He lowered his nose to his wrist and drank deep the scent of spice and musk.

**

“He’s bewitched you.”

            Caitlyn had taken one whiff of Jayce as he entered the butcher’s tent and known exactly why he’d arrived with a spring in his step and an idiotic smile on his face. Jayce hadn’t expected to find Caitlyn here, but he should have assumed she’d want to oversee the preparation of her boar. She was as particular as Powder, though she would never have handled the meat herself. Jayce chuckled at the thought.

            “You prove my point,” she added.

            “He hasn’t bewitched me, Cait,” Jayce replied. “Not in the...literal sense, at least.”

            What a strange thing to specify. In the metaphorical sense, Jayce did find the princess rather bewitching. How could he not? He kept reliving the moment Viktor had stepped out of the litter over and over and over: that shining, shimmering, almost-rainbow white cloak cascading from his shoulders; the soft touch of cool fingers as Jayce took his hand; a gentle squeeze and a smile from behind a veil that only lightly obscured his face; the most beautiful face Jayce had ever seen. And his scent—gods his scent—like an entire field of night-blooming wildflowers and the earth and the water and the moon all at once.

            Jayce didn’t know how anybody could smell like moonlight, but Viktor did.

            The Herald of the Arcane High Blood Mage Princess of Zaun did.

            Jayce’s betrothed omega did.

            “You saw what he can do, Jayce,” Caitlyn said. She spoke through gritted teeth and curled lips, keeping her voice down so the butcher and servants would not overhear. “You felt it. He silenced all of us. He spoke in our minds. I’m certain he showed only a glimpse of his power. We have no idea what he’s capable of.”

            “He’s a herald, Cait. Not exactly your average mage.”

            Caitlyn glared at him, but the expression rolled off Jayce like water off a duck.

            “Wasn’t the whole point of negotiating for him to be Zaun’s bondmate so we could ensure we’d have his power on our side?” he asked. “I sat through those council meetings, too, Cait. I know the only reason the clans agreed to entertain the alliance is because Viktor’s hand was on the table.”

            And what a lovely pair of hands they—Jayce needed to focus.

            “Piltover wanted him,” he said. “You can’t deny it. We gave up control of three ports yesterday to get him, not to mention—”

            “I did not,” Caitlyn hissed.

            Jayce shut up. He knew when to shut up with Caitlyn. He knew how much she hated this alliance, how she’d bitten her tongue so hard during so many council meetings that she’d drawn blood. She may have been a Kiramman, but she was not Lord Kiramman, not yet—an heir in training, expected to keep silent on matters of state. That was exactly why Jayce always wound up fielding her complaints the moment those meetings ended.

            “Do you honestly think, Jayce, that if Zaun and Piltover go to war, their herald would fight on our side?”

            “Zaun and Piltover aren’t going to war.”

            Caitlyn clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes like that was the most absurd, childish response he could have given. She opened her mouth.

            “We’re not, Cait,” Jayce interrupted. “That’s why we’re doing this.”

            “What we are doing is welcoming a foreign agent into our midst,” she replied. “A foreign agent with the ability to affect our minds. When Zaun arrives with their invasion force, Piltover will simply throw open the gates. Zaun has a seat on the council, Jayce.”

            “I have a seat on the council.”

            Caitlyn went quiet. Clan Talis receiving a council seat had been the most unexpected turn in the final negotiations. Mel had proposed it, but Silco had backed her, much to everyone’s surprise. Jayce did not want a seat on the council any more than he wanted his own clan, or lands, or titles, but if it meant putting himself in a better position to help Piltover’s common people, he’d do anything.

            “You think I don’t deserve it?” he asked.

            “That isn’t what I said, Jayce.”

            “Then you think I won’t represent Piltover well? That I don’t have the skill? Or are you simply annoyed that I’m on the council when you’re not?”

            She did not contradict him.

            That was it, then. A petty, prideful grievance. Jayce shook his head.

            “I want peace, Caitlyn. Our people deserve that. They deserve to live lives with full bellies and rooves over their heads. That can’t happen if they have to fight, if all of our money goes to our armies. I didn’t agree to this mate-bond for a seat on the council. I agreed because Lord Cassandra Kiramman asked it of me. Because you wouldn’t do it. Because your father wants peace. And so do I.”

            He should have kept his mouth shut, but he meant what he’d said. There was nothing more to say, so he stepped away to speak with the butcher about ensuring each table received one of the rabbits and that all the feet and pelts went to Powder once dry. Then he left without sparing another glance for Caitlyn.

            Outside, Jayce took a deep breath. Around him, the fresh air of the hunting grounds rang with lively noise. He tried to shake off the unpleasant conversation as he made his way to his tiny, private tent. He tried not to think of Zaun and Piltover going to war as he set out his clothes and retrieved his own water to wash before dinner.

            Jayce bathed and dressed and avoided scrubbing too hard at the wrist Viktor had scented.

            Viktor.

            He brought his arm closer to his nose to revel in moon-darkened wildflowers. Layered with his own scent, the aroma had changed. Heavier, maybe. Dark and earthy.  

            His engagement mark flashed when he lowered his arm.

            Inspecting, Jayce turned his hand to the left and right. Left and right, the scar caught the light. The mark seemed transcendent somehow. As if it stitched Jayce to another realm, and through that realm, to Viktor. That healing magic had touched him like biting cold and burning heat in perfect balance: the sensation of everything at once and nothing at all.

            Caitlyn was right about one thing.

            Piltover had no idea what Viktor was truly capable of.

            Jayce spent longer than intended getting ready for dinner. He didn’t like to think of himself as a vain person, but he did want to look his best. As he left his tent, however, perfectly groomed, he was alarmed to discover that sun was setting. Mealtime sounds already echoed through the grounds. He almost took off running.

            In the center of the tents, the long meal tables sat in rows, one for each clan. Meat and vegetables roasted on fires. Servants carried jugs of wine. Jayce combed the crowd for the Zaunite royal family.

            He spied them near their table, mingling with the members of their delegation. Vander laughed loudly with a handful of warriors. Silco carried on a conversation with the litter bearers. Violet had her arm slung over Powder’s shoulders, grinning with pride as the girl spoke to a boy who looked about her age. It took Jayce a moment to find Viktor—already seated.

            By the gods he was so beautiful.

            The same fur cloak sat upon his shoulders—Jayce’s pin catching the torchlight just below his throat—but he had donned new robes. Red and gold, that engrossing iridescence woven into the fibers. The front pieces of his long hair were braided away from his face, the white strands beneath catching the torchlight, too.

            He looked a little small at the table on his own. Brows drawn, lips pursed.

            Jayce wanted to kiss the mole above his mouth.

            Wanted to kiss his mouth, too.

            Sensing eyes on him, Viktor looked up, and looked right at Jayce. His whole expression brightened—shoulders rising, mouth softening—as all that tension flowed out of him. He looked relieved. Jayce wanted to climb over the table and kiss that smile off his lips and onto his own.

            A romantic Jayce might have been, but he’d never felt this way about an omega before.

            “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said as he came to Viktor’s side and that fantastic scent bloomed around him.

            Viktor looked a little chagrined. “I thought perhaps you had decided not to come.”

            “What? Of course not,” Jayce replied. I wanted to look my best for you.

            As he climbed onto the bench beside Viktor, he noted tiny, shimmering ribbons woven into the braids in his hair. It was the closest thing to a crown Jayce had seen him wear. Though, in fairness, none of the royal family wore crowns. Not even Vander.

            “Lord Talis!”

            The king himself appeared behind them, and he clapped an enormous hand on Jayce’s shoulder, jostling him a bit, though the gesture was undeniably friendly.

            “Glad to see you could make it,” he added with a wink. “Powder’s been regaling us with tales of your hunt.”

            Jayce laughed. “I assume my role in these tales is the comic relief.”

            “The trusty sidekick,” Powder declared, hopping onto the bench across from them and taking a seat. “Not very handy with a bow and arrow, but pretty good at finding rabbit warrens by stepping right in them. Have you ever heard the sound a man this size makes when falling straight to the ground?”

            Jayce might have been embarrassed by Powder’s colorful storytelling save for one important detail: Viktor laughed. Viktor laughed and if Jayce never heard another sound for the rest of his life, that would have been just fine.

            “Forgive me, Jayce,” Viktor said, “I do not mean to have fun at your expense.”

            “I do,” Powder replied, but Jayce didn’t mind that either. Not if it made Viktor smile.

            “You’re a smith, right?” the boy Powder’s age asked, sitting down next to her. “You make stuff?”

            “Ekko makes stuff,” Powder said, motioning at him with her head.

            Jayce nodded. “I have been known to ‘make stuff’, yes.”

            “What kind of stuff?”

            “Don’t interrogate the man, Ekko,” Violet laughed. She followed up with an encouraging and therefore conflicting nudge on the shoulder. “He just got here.”

            “I don’t mind,” Jayce replied, smiling. “I design tools, primarily. Equipment, machinery. I don’t build as much anymore, outside of mockups, but I do enjoy it.” Clan Kiramman ultimately oversaw what happened to everything Jayce built. With any luck, the council would shift those responsibilities to Clan Talis. “So, it’s a good thing I enjoy the modeling as much as I enjoy the making.”

            “Oh, that reminds me,” Viktor said, perking up at Jayce’s side. “I have brought you something...”

            He produced a small pouch from within his cloak and gave it to Jayce.

            “You didn’t have to get me anything, princess...”

            “Nonsense,” Viktor replied with a smile. “I would like to see what you do with it.”

            Curious now, Jayce untied the strings and carefully dumped the small object inside the pouch into his hand. It was a crystal—shard-like, but smooth. Blue facets shone with a faint light. Jayce realized with no small amount of surprise that that light was not a reflection, but came from within the crystal itself.

            “It is a focus,” Viktor said. “A sliver of the Arcane contained within an object than enables one to channel its power.”

            “I...thought you had to be born a mage in order to channel the Arcane...”

            Jayce turned his eyes from the crystal to Viktor, but the omega simply smiled and shrugged in a way that suggested he knew more than he would ever let on.

            He said, “I suppose we will see, won’t we?”

            Jayce could only marvel at him. The crystal in his hand coursed with power—not quite tangible, but not quite intangible either. A mote of potential. A resource to analyze, categorize, and utilize. The Arcane. The Arcane in the palm of Jayce’s hand. The Arcane in the hands of the commons. He could change the world with this stone. He wondered if Viktor knew that. He wondered if that was why Viktor had given it to him.

            “I...don’t know what to say...”

            “Say, ‘thank you, Viktor, I promise I’ll take good care of it and not break it or do anything stupid’,” Ekko supplied.

            “Oh, oh! You could say, ‘Ugh, I don’t even know where to start!’” Powder threw her hand to her forehead and sighed dramatically. “‘If only there was a mage who was intelligent and knowledgeable and loved studying this exact thing who could help me.’”

            Powder and Ekko laughed together as food finally began to arrive at their table. Vander and Violet and everyone still standing moved to take their seats. Jayce turned to Viktor in the bustle of activity.

            “Thank you, princess,” he said. “I will take good care of it.”

            He closed his hand around the crystal, placed it in the pouch, and tucked the pouch into his breast pocket.

            “Would you help me study it?” he asked.

            A shy, delighted smile overtook Viktor’s mouth. His scent changed, expanding somehow—and Jayce swore he could smell every individual flower, every granule of earth, every fleck of moonlight. The omega nodded.

            The universe rearranged itself around that nod.

            Everything before had led Jayce to this moment. Everything after would hinge upon it. Yesterday, there were negotiations and betrothal ceremonies. Tomorrow, there would be Zaunite rituals and the signing of a treaty and the forming of their bond. Tonight, there was feasting and firelight and the incomprehensible presence of Viktor, Princess of Zaun, at his side.

            Dishes of meat and vegetables, baskets of bread, pots of some steaming, spiced grain Jayce had never seen before all made their way onto the table. At the clan tables of Piltover, each guest received a plate with a portion of boar and whatever else they’d requested. At Zaun’s table, everyone passed their plates to each other and served from the communal dishes in the center. The rabbit proved a particularly popular item, the meat divided into tiny pieces so everyone could taste it.

            Jayce couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so warm, so welcome.

            This. This was what he wanted for the people of Piltover. What he’d always wanted for himself, what he wanted to provide.

            Perhaps, with Viktor, that dream would become reality.

            When he looked next at Viktor, Viktor was looking at him. Jayce couldn’t read his thoughts, but for a moment he felt like he had—as if Viktor was a plucked string Jayce could not hear, but could touch and feel vibrating. That sympathy resonated between them, magic and alive. Tangible magic in a pouch in Jayce’s breast pocket. In the omega beside him.

            This time tomorrow, Viktor would be Jayce’s bondmate.

            He wished tomorrow was tonight.

Chapter Text

While hunting rabbits, Jayce had learned from Powder that marriages in Zaun were celebrated in spectacular fashion. Dancing, drinking, music. A party that lasted for a week so everybody would have a chance to attend. Each day involved new contests and games and performances. Guests brought food to share in place of gifts. It sounded like fun—to revel like you meant it—but this was Piltover, not Zaun.

            This was also a mate-bond, not a marriage.

            In Zaun, mate-bonds came with solemn ceremony and ancient custom that Piltover would still brand as spectacle.

            Bondmates and their families were supposed to conduct the rituals together, so Jayce was invited to join though he had no idea what to expect. He agreed, of course. Beyond gawking curiosity, he wanted to understand his new mate better. To experience the things that made Viktor Viktor.

            They began early in the morning, long before sunrise. The entire Zaunite delegation left camp to survey the woods until they found a suitable clearing among barren trees. With the site selected, they spread out to gather stones from the surrounding forest and bring them to Viktor who, as their High Blood Mage, blessed each one and laid them out in a circle. When the circle was complete, he knelt within to offer prayers.

            Jayce listened, enraptured, as Viktor spoke a language he did not understand.

            The others swept the clearing, gathering every stray branch and leaf from the ground. They piled them within the circle on the south end in the direction of Zaun. Viktor took flint and a striking stone and brought the offerings to a smoldering, smoking burn.

            A handful of Zaunites erected a pair of tents in opposite corners of the clearing and furnished each with furs and blankets and a trunk. Powder tended to the small fire from outside the stone circle. Violet oversaw the weaving of a braided cord through the trees around the edge of the clearing. Vander and Silco poured water, then milk, over each of the stones.

            Family in Zaun had very little to do with actual progeny. Neither Silco nor Vander had sired Viktor, Violet, or Powder. Violet and Powder were sisters by blood, but they’d proven to be equally devoted to Viktor. Of course, Jayce also knew the rumors that Vander and Silco had been bondmates once. If that was true, though they’d broken that bond, they remained together—a united front for the family they’d chosen and the nation they’d built.

            Seeing them together, watching them prepare the circle where their child would enter a mate-bond, Jayce’s heart twisted.

            He wished his mother was here.

            It seemed a strange cruelty that she was not. Jayce was going to tie his soul to another person forever and his mother wouldn’t be here to celebrate.

            Powder suddenly appeared at his side.

            “Where’s your mom?” she asked.

            Jayce jolted. “Wh—”

            “It’s Viktor,” Powder said. “His magic, I mean. It sorta...” She motioned vaguely between their heads. “You’re not used to it yet. Here. Try to guess what I’m thinking...”

            Furrowing his brow, Jayce opened his mouth to ask what on earth Powder was talking about, but the thought was interrupted by a recollection of the hunt: Jayce stepping into a rabbit warren and tumbling to the ground while Powder laughed so hard tears rolled down her cheeks. Powder, presently, giggled.

            “See?”

            Powder hadn’t projected anything into his mind, but it was clear she had been thinking about the hunt. Jayce didn’t know how he knew.

            “He calls it sympathy,” Powder supplied. “Your mom couldn’t make it?”

            Ximena had expressed her concern over the potential for poor weather, living out of tents in the cold and wet. When Jayce had tried to persuade her, she’d said the event was a matter of state and that she ought not to interfere. Jayce had stopped pushing after that. The “event” was a matter of state, yes, but it was also a mate-bond. Castle Kiramman, where they’d been staying during preparations for the march to the hill, was only an hour’s ride on horseback. Ximena could have returned easily if the weather had changed.

            Rather than say any of this to Powder, Jayce simply shook his head.

            “How come?” Powder asked.

            Jayce gave her the weather excuse.

            “The weather’s fine today.”

            “I know—”

            “Jayce.”

            He felt Viktor call him. Like a bell ringing in a tower. He looked to the stone circle to find the omega smiling and motioning him over. Jayce went without question.

            “Stand here, please,” Viktor instructed, so Jayce settled his feet outside the circle near the still-smoking pile of branches and leaves.

            Silco and Vander came to flank him on either side.

            “We’ll stand in for your parents, lad,” Vander said. “Unless you’d like me to send someone to fetch the Kirammans?”

            Jayce shook his head, his heart twisting again—desperately sad and happy and honored and aggrieved. He usually had a good handle on his emotions, kept them in check. He didn’t know why this was happening now, but he summoned a smile for Vander.

            “No need to fetch anyone,” he said. “I’d be honored, your majesty.”

            Vander placed a hand on Jayce’s shoulder and smiled back.

            “Just Vander, lad,” he said. He pointed at the edge of the copse where Violet had just finished tying the two ends of the braided cord together, enclosing the clearing. “Right now, we’re in Zaun.”

            Jayce might have laughed at such a declaration—as bold as it was treacherous—but he couldn’t. He felt the reality of that statement too keenly. The air took on an unfamiliar smell. The wind made an odd noise as it whistled through the trees. The Zaunites gathered around the circle with the easy gait of ownership. Silco placed his hand on Jayce’s other shoulder and turned him to face Viktor.

            The sight of his promised bondmate took Jayce’s breath away.

            Nothing about Viktor had changed, but everything was different. Jayce felt suddenly insane—this wild creature of instinct rearing up to thrash against his logical mind. Logic informed him he had known Viktor for less than two days, that their union was one of political necessity. A sacrifice Jayce was willing to make for the sake of his people. Instinct advised him that this omega was exceptional and exquisite, and if Jayce didn’t claim him immediately, someone else would.

            His teeth ached.

            His. He wanted Viktor to be his. And if Viktor had asked him to lay his head upon the altar in exchange, Jayce would offer up his neck quite willingly.

            The Zaunites linked hands. Now the center of a circle in a circle in a circle, Viktor tucked his staff into the crook of his arm and bent to gather a handful of ash. Murmuring incantations, he blessed the ash and pricked his thumb on one of his incisors. Murmuring still, he traced his thumb across the plane of Jayce’s forehead in a figure eight, leaving a trail of blood. He dipped that same thumb into the ash and traced the figure eight again, the opposite direction.

            “Amen,” Vander and Silco said in unison.

            “Amen,” said the Zaunites.

            Vander and Silco lifted their hands from Jayce’s shoulders and traded places to rest their hands on Viktor. Viktor nodded at Jayce and extended his hand, cupped, full of ash.

            “You will do the same to me,” he said.

            Jayce bit his thumb as Viktor began the incantation once again. The wound stung as he applied pressure to it, drawing the symbol for infinity across Viktor’s forehead. It burned as he dipped it in the ash and retraced the lines he’d drawn.

            Red and gray—forever—across pale skin.

            “Amen,” said Vander and Silco.

            “Amen,” the Zaunites said.

            “Amen,” said Viktor, and scattered the remaining ash into the wind.

            The ritual completed, the Zaunites broke their circle and Vander and Silco stepped away. Viktor smiled at Jayce, some skin of responsibility shed.

            “Now we are ready to be bonded,” he said.

            Jayce grasped his hand, smearing ash between their palms.

            “I’m ready, Viktor.”

            Viktor blushed, and the scent of moonlit wildflowers turned pink. Still, he smiled and clasped Jayce’s hand in turn.

            “Then I expect you will show up to this event on time?”

            He meant to tease, but all Jayce heard was that he wouldn’t be spending the rest of the day with his promised bondmate.

            “You won’t be with me?” he asked.

            “As High Blood Mage, I must remain within the circle until then,” Viktor said. And Jayce could not stay with him—he had a council meeting to attend and a treaty to sign and matters of state to settle. Viktor sounded regretful, at least, so that was a small mercy. “It is...unusual to oversee one’s own bonding, but needs must. Do not worry. Violet will stand watch with me.”

            Instinct raged against leaving his omega in the care of another alpha alone in the woods. Logic soothed the beast. Viktor trusted Violet—and she was probably a better guard than Jayce.

            “I will entrust the securing of our clan’s future to you, Lord Talis,” Viktor said.

            A rumbling purr bubbled up out of Jayce’s chest before he could stop it. He clutched Viktor’s hand tight in his own and gave him a firm nod.

            “It’s a promise, princess.”

            With one final squeeze, they released their hands.

            Jayce’s came away gray, coated with ash.

After lunch, the Lords’ Council called their conference to order with Silco and Vander in attendance as distinguished guests. This was Jayce’s first meeting as a proper member of the council, but his thoughts were elsewhere: a stone circle in a clearing in the middle of the woods.

            “How were the rituals this morning, your majesties?” Mel asked with a diplomatic smile.

            Silco inclined his head. “Satisfactory,” he replied. “Lord Talis has been adequately prepared, as you can see. The ring is quite near this camp. Piltover will not have to walk far for the bonding.”

            The others shifted in their seats. Mate-bonds were private matters in Piltover, conducted between the couple and the couple alone, but this was the sort of matter that demanded public witness. Piltover had agreed to attend the Zaunite bonding ritual for plausible deniability. They could ease their minds by claiming they didn’t want to witness the bonding, but Zaun’s customs required it. Jayce was just grateful the chosen method had actual significance beyond spectation.

            “I am looking forward to it,” Mel replied. “Zaun is very gracious to include us in their traditions.”

            She carefully avoided making eye contact with Jayce as she turned to retrieve a folio from beside her chair.

            “Here is the final draft of our treaty.”

            Mel read the document aloud. The council listened with keen ears. Most of the treaty remained unchanged. Piltover and Zaun had officially entered peace negotiations a year ago, and had already haggled over all of the treaty’s conditions. The only adjustments came from Zaun’s bargains two days hence: control of the three ports on the southern peninsula, governance over the islands in the southern sea, oversight on the distribution and sale of their miracle potion shimmer, and—perhaps most damning—command of all but one of the bridges across the river between their lands.

            The council held their breath as Mel read, waiting for one stray word, one last-minute addition that would throw the meeting into disarray.

            It did not come.

            Mel concluded her reading, and all was as it had been.

            Though the council did not relish the treaty nor its contents, neither did they object. Mel looked to Silco and Vander. Both signaled their approval.

            “Excellent,” Mel said. “We will sign it upon the hill this evening.”

            There was still time for everything to go wrong, Jayce supposed.

            “Let us move, then, to council matters.”

            Agriculture. Commerce. The progress of food stores for the winter. When prompted, Vander offered his insights on the matters discussed. He even offered Zaun’s aid should Piltover need it. Such kindnesses caused the council to bristle, but provided a segue for Cassandra Kiramman to broach a new topic altogether.

            “It seems to me, lords,” she said, and the table went silent, “that it would behoove us to establish a modus operandi for future interaction with the...nation of Zaun.” She chewed on the word nation before she spat it out. “As Lord Talis does not currently oversee any council responsibilities, and is well-positioned with great proximity to the royal family, I would propose that all future communications fall under the jurisdiction of Clan Talis.”

            She nodded at Jayce. Jayce nodded back. They had discussed the idea and agreed upon it after Jayce had returned from the morning ritual. The lords muttered to each other, considering.

            “I agree, Lord Kiramman,” Mel said. “With the princess as his bondmate, Lord Talis will have excellent insights on Zaun’s culture and current affairs. The princess is beloved by his people and would represent them well. Is Clan Talis willing to shoulder this responsibility?”

            “We are, lords,” Jayce said, humbly bowing his head.

            With Jayce’s acquiescence and Clan Medarda and Kiramman’s backing, the proposal would pass. The council rarely voted against one of them, much less the two together.

            Mel turned to Silco and Vander.

            “What says Zaun?”

            Jayce braced for a fight as  Vander and Silco exchanged inscrutable, tranquil expressions.

            Looking at Mel, Silco nodded his assent and said, “This manner of communication is agreeable to Zaun. As our representative bondmates, we believe Clan Talis is suited to maintaining the peace all here have long labored toward.”

            From across the table, Cassandra flicked her eyes to Jayce. Jayce returned a bewildered expression.

            “Then let us vote,” Mel said.

            The proposal passed unanimously, and Jayce and Cassandra walked out of that council meeting having accomplished exactly what they’d hoped.

            “It does not sit right with me,” Cassandra said as Jayce fell into step. “He should not have agreed so readily.”

            “It saved us a protracted debate, at least,” Jayce said.

            “That is precisely my point,” Cassanda replied. “You saw him during negotiations. He fought every one of our proposals until circling around on a whim to settle them without amendments. What he creates is merely the illusion of compromise, and the council rewarded that silver web by agreeing to all of Zaun’s appalling propositions. For all I tried to stop it...”

            It had been like watching an eagle take on a mongoose—cunning, bloody, brutal. But it was difficult for such a noble bird to outwit an animal accustomed to fighting snakes.

            “We must ensure this bond is sealed, Jayce,” Cassandra said. “Without it—”

            Lord Kiramman stopped dead in her tracks.

            “Ximena?”

            Jayce looked up and, sure enough, his mother was standing in the thoroughfare between Clan Kiramman’s tents, caught by surprise. Sudden tears sprang up in Jayce’s eyes. His mother was here! She was here! Jayce had to restrain himself from running as he and Cassandra closed the distance.

            “Lord Kiramman,” Ximena said, offering a low curtsy. “Good afternoon.”

            “Good afternoon, Ximena,” Cassandra replied. “How is it you came to be here?”

            “Officially, I am a guest of Zaun,” Ximena said, and Jayce felt Cassandra freeze beside him as distinctly as if she’d actually turned to ice. Ximena continued, “I am here to attend my son’s bonding ritual. I will not overstay my welcome, nor make a nuisance of myself.” She inclined her head, though her words were not submissive. “I had hoped to speak with my son before his...wedding this evening.”

            “Of course,” Cassandra said. She flashed Jayce an iron expression and took her leave.

            The interaction was about as abrupt as it was strange, but Jayce did not care. The moment Cassandra departed, he gathered his mother in his arms and hugged her tight. She smelled so wonderful, like honey and cinnamon and home.

            “I’m so happy to see you,” Jayce said, tears welling in his eyes once more.

            Ximena stroked his hair. “I am happy to see you, too, my sweet boy.” She drew back to cup his cheeks in her hands. Surveying the symbol on his forehead, she frowned. “What’s this on your face?”

            “It’s from the ritual this morning,” Jayce replied. “I’m sorry you missed it. You said you’re a guest of Zaun? What does that mean?”

            He couldn’t help hugging her again. Ximena gave a soft laugh.

            “Yes,” she said, “one of their little royals arrived at Castle Kiramman this morning with a horse and an invitation for me. She was very insistent that I attend.”

            Powder. It must have been Powder. Jayce made a note to give the girl a hug, too, as he squeezed his mother harder. Ximena hugged him back, but when they separated, her expression darkened.

            “I must speak with you.”

            Jayce nodded, and they stepped off the thoroughfare into the tight space between two tents. Ximena spent a moment listening to see if either tent was occupied.

            They were not.

            Ximena took hold of Jayce’s hands.

            “You don’t have to go through with this, Jayce.”

            Surprised, Jayce opened his mouth, but Ximena raised a hand for silence.

            “It is neither fair nor right of Clan Kiramman to ask this of you,” she said. “I know how much you love this country. I know how badly you wish to see it change. I know you want peace. I only ask you to consider if this is too high a cost.”

            Jayce swallowed.

            To the grand schemes of clans and kings, the cost was negligible. One man bound for life. What was one life worth when weighed against thousands of others? And if that one life included a title and land and power, did it tip the scales at all? The answer was a clear and resounding no. But to Jayce, the cost was everything. His life would never be the same. He could not take back a mate-bond. He could not change his mind. He had no idea what the future held outside of change.

            He was willing to risk everything for change.

            “You’re right,” he said and nodded at his mother. Ximena breathed a sigh of relief, too soon, and Jayce hated to disappoint her. “Thank you for your counsel, Mama. I know how... frightening all this has been for you, and... I don’t know what to say aside from I’m sorry. I don’t want you to be afraid, but... I want to make this choice. It’s the right one. I know it is.”

            Eyes wet with tears, Ximena shook her head. She pressed her hand to his cheek, her scent clouded with fear. Jayce pressed forward.

            “I think we can do it, Mama,” he said. He kept his voice small, as if speaking too loudly would jinx his words. “Viktor is—the princess is so much more than we imagined. He’s gentle, Mama, and kind and so easy to talk to, and—and generous.” Piltover, being Piltover, had assumed any reclusive omega son of Silco’s would be cold, haughty, and impossible to please. “If he wants peace, I don’t think anything could stand in our way.”

            “If, Jayce,” Ximena said.

            Jayce could think of no other way to convince her. Removing the pouch from his breast pocket, he untied the strings to show his mother the crystal inside—glowing in the dark of the bag. Ximena drew in a breath.

            “What is this?”

            “An Arcane focus,” Jayce replied. “The princess gave it to me, as a gift.”

            “This is dangerous, Jayce,” Ximena said, shaking her head, stepping back.

            “I know. I know that,” Jayce said, tucking the crystal away, “but Zaun wouldn’t put magic like this in Piltover’s hands if they didn’t trust us. I know that, too.”

            Ximena looked at him and there was something desperate and sad in her eyes.

            “There is more at work here than you or I could possibly know, my son.”

            “Piltover wants peace.”

            “You want peace, Jayce,” she said. “Piltover wants power.”

            They went silent. Around them, the noise of camp sounded distant, dampened.

            Jayce drew in a breath and let it out through his mouth.

            “I’m glad you could make it, Mama,” he said, and stepped away. “Will you walk with me to the ritual tonight?”

            Ximena fought down her tears, nose wrinkling, as she nodded.

            “Of course.”

At sundown, the council climbed the hill with ink and quill to sign the treaty.

            Every member of both delegations except for Violet and Viktor had gathered. Hundreds of eyes assembled to witness history in the making. Lord Kiramman signed first. Then Mel. Then Lord Hoskel, and on down the line until Jayce’s turn came. He passed the quill to Vander and Silco, who approached together. With their signatures, the document was ready, but the treaty was not yet complete.

            The horns blew. The people applauded. The Piltovians gathered their lanterns and followed the Zaunites into the forest to witness the bonding.

            Only then would peace be truly in hand.

            Jayce and Ximena walked arm in arm at the head of Piltover’s party. Uncertainty and discomfort clouded the air. Jayce’s countrymen were as curious as he had been, but salaciously so. He tried not to feel too embarrassed about having an audience, focused instead on the feeling of dried blood and ash flaking off his forehead. On the knowledge that at least the Zaunite part of the audience would not be scandalized at all.

            A single light flickered in the forest ahead, but the lights grew in number as the Zaunites arrived and took their places in the circle. By the time Jayce and the rest of Piltover crossed under the braided cord, the whole clearing was ablaze.

            Viktor stood in the center of it all, resplendent and resolute.

            Jayce’s heart skipped, thrilled.

            He pushed forward suddenly with no other thought in his head than the need to introduce his mother to his omega. The crowd melted away behind him.

            “Timely tonight, Lord Talis,” Viktor said, but then his gaze landed on Ximena and his expression changed, softening with wonder and surprise, his scent following suit. He turned that surprise on Jayce, a question in his eyes. Smiling, Jayce nodded.

            “Viktor, this is my mother, Ximena Talis. Mama, this is Viktor, Princess of Zaun.”

            Viktor extended a hand to Ximena, clasping her fingers when she accepted. Ximena, for her part, looked positively awestruck, and Jayce couldn’t blame her. In the firelight, balanced and beautiful, Viktor was a sight to behold. The two of them chirped softly at each other—a greeting between omegas Jayce had not often had the opportunity to hear.

            “I am honored to meet you, Lady Talis,” Viktor said.

            “The honor is mine, your highness,” Ximena replied.

            “Please call me Viktor,” he said, shaking his head, squeezing her hand. “We become family this night.”

            Dazzled, Ximena nodded, and she remained dazzled as Powder scurried up to bring her over her to stand with the rest of Zaun’s royal family. Vander welcomed Ximena with a smile, Violet a nod. Silco stiffened and simply flicked his gaze from Ximena to the crowd, surveying for something, ever indecipherable.

            “Are you ready, Jayce?” Viktor asked.

            The crowd disappeared once again.

            “Yes, Viktor.”

            Viktor extended his hand, Jayce took it, and the omega urged him to step into the circle.

            If passing under the braided cord had felt like entering Zaun, passing over the stones felt like entering another realm altogether. The hair on Jayce’s arms and the back of his neck stood on end. He nearly lost his balance. The stone circle must have amplified Viktor’s power. An inquisitive presence brushed against his mind—light-fingered, like a butterfly, erratic and impossibly graceful in its passage.

            His engagement mark burned. So did his face when Viktor smiled.

            Turning, Viktor addressed their audience. He described the preparations that had gone into the ceremonial circle that morning, the significance of the ritual in Zaunite culture, the duties of a High Blood Mage, and his dual roles in this particular rite. As he spoke, his magic flowed over the stones and filled the entire clearing like a rising tide, creeping so carefully around the ankles of those in attendance that they did not notice until they were under his spell.

            Then, the stone circle kept that magic out rather than in.

            Viktor turned to face Jayce, and there was something newly and violently human about him. A body of flesh and blood and bone. Physical, touchable, obtainable.

            He smelled so...

            Jayce didn’t know when, but he’d begun breathing very heavily. His heart was racing, but his mind and body were frozen still.

            Viktor took his hands, lifted them, and rubbed either side of his neck across his knuckles on the right, then the left. They changed their grip, and Jayce did the same to Viktor. Right, left. Jayce’s hands were shaking.

            A mate-bond. He was about to enter a mate-bond, and he found himself desperate to seek out his mother’s face in the crowd, but he couldn’t get his eyes to move. His breath grew heavier still, but also faster and shallower, and he was about to make another person his bondmate. Where was the creature of instinct now? The ache in his teeth? Why was this so much more frightening when—

            Jayce.

            The voice was Viktor’s, but he had not spoken.

            Whenever you are ready. There is no rush.

            The words poured into his mind like warm water. He fixed his gaze on Viktor. The fall of his hair. The line of his brow, nose, cheek, jaw. The ever-evolving wildflowers-in-moonlight scent that seemed to change with every inhalation. The golden eyes. The curve of his lips. The mole by his mouth that Jayce had already thought about kissing.

            The infinity symbol on Viktor’s forehead had flaked a little, too.

            Letting his breath out, Jayce dropped his forehead to Viktor’s. He felt Viktor startle, then purr. The tiniest sound that barely reached Jayce’s ear. Jayce closed his eyes.

            Then, he pressed their lips together.

            The kiss was brief, fleeting—just long enough for Viktor to gasp and pull the air from Jayce’s lungs into his own. They both must have parted their lips, and the thought made Jayce insane again. Instinct reared, and he wanted to gnarl his fingers in Viktor’s hair and crush his mouth against those lips until neither of them could breathe, until he could taste Viktor like he had two nights ago at the bonfire, flesh and blood on his tongue.

            He pulled Viktor closer as he drew his face back to run his nose across his cheekbone, down his jaw, to his neck.

            Viktor fit so perfectly in his arms. As Jayce inhaled the overwhelming concentration of his scent at the slope of his neck, he felt Viktor swell against him. That scent changed—darker, sweeter. Aroused.

            Rumbling, Jayce gave himself up to instinct at last.

            He opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the bend of Victor’s neck.

            The omega made this noise that seared into Jayce’s mind—high and nasal and entirely instinctive. He dug his teeth deeper, Viktor mewled again, Jayce swallowed, and the bond pheromones crashed over his head. Mate, his body declared. Mate, mate. Mine. Bondmate. Mine. His self blurred with another self, vibrating, merging, fusing into alloyed metal—a new, stronger substance born in fire and pressure and heat. He released his jaw to seal his mouth over the wound. Viktor’s blood was like honey, and he was trembling, so Jayce rumbled and released his protective pheromone. Safe. Mate. Safe.

            When he finally drew back to look at Viktor, the omega’s eyes were dark and glittering, the rise and fall of his chest visible. Around them, the Zaunites hummed a harmonious celebratory song. Viktor stepped away, but his essence remained tethered to Jayce, a fledgling bond stretching its threads between them.

            Jayce knew he had to move. He was supposed to pick up a stone from the circle and carry it back to one of the tents the Zaunites had set up that morning, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Viktor. He could not let his bondmate out of his sight. Not as Viktor set down his staff and selected a stone before stepping out of the circle, breaking the spell. Not as Vander and Silco and Powder and Violet came hurrying over to support him, Vander taking his arm to lead him to the other tent. Not as their audience began to disperse. Not even as Ximena called to Jayce.

            Not until the tent flap closed behind his bondmate.

**

No sooner had the tent flap closed than Silco had his hands around Powder’s throat.

            “What were you thinking?” he snarled. “Bringing her here?!”

            Caught completely off-guard and still not fully grown out of her pup reflex, Powder went limp in their mother’s grip. Violet froze. Vander sat Viktor on a trunk, the stone in his lap, as he moved to intervene. Silco let go, and Powder tumbled to the ground before she could get her legs under her. She stared up at their mother, eyes wide and terrified. The scent of iron and acid choked them all.

            “I don’t—”

            Silco rounded on Powder, but Vander seized his elbow.

            Always so quick to cry, tears began streaming down Powder’s cheeks. “I don’t—I don’t understand,” she blubbered. “I just—thought—h-he was sad this morning because his mom couldn’t make it, so I thought—I thought I could help. I just wanted to help!”

            Silco shook Vander’s hand off his arm. “That woman,” he said, “was under explicit orders from Clan Kiramman not to attend these events.” It did not matter how Silco knew this, for he knew everything, and the weight of what he knew settled upon them all. “They believed her a threat to the peace—opposed to the treaty for the sake of her son—the one person capable of talking him out of it. And now we have flouted Piltover, parading her around as Zaun’s guest at proceedings from which she was barred!”

            Powder sobbed. Vander huffed. Violet clenched her fists. Silco bared his teeth.

            “And you, Powder—”

            “Mother,” Viktor interrupted.

            Breath heavy, head dizzy, reeling from the bond swirling through his blood and beyond, Viktor looked at each member of his family and touched their minds to quiet the tension.

            It was easy, his sympathy so stirred by the ritual.

            “Powder did not mean any harm,” he said. “She did not know of Clan Kiramman’s ban. Lady Talis took advantage of Powder’s invitation to serve her own cause. If Piltover protests, we will simply explain what happened. Powder is a child. They will understand, or show themselves cowards. Besides...” The wound in his neck burned, a swiftly spreading fire. “The peace is secure. The bond is sealed.”

            Silco leveled his breathing. Unclenched his jaw. After a moment, he nodded.

            “You’re right,” he said. “Of course you are right. Forgive me, Powder. I forget myself.”

            Still crying, Powder scrambled to her feet and went to Silco’s arms to bury her face against his chest. He hugged the girl, stroked her hair. Vander looked to Viktor to nod his thanks. Still agitated, Violet mumbled something about clearing everyone out of the forest and vanished.

            Quiet settled among them, save for Powder’s sniffles.

            A breeze ruffled the top of the tent, pulled at the sides. Across the clearing, Jayce was alone. Viktor reached for Vander.

            “He does not know all our customs,” he said. “Would you offer your assistance?”

            Nodding, Vander stepped closer. He brushed a hand over the top of Viktor’s head with a sigh, then leaned to kissed his hair. Viktor could not keep down a little chirp.

            “I’m proud of you,” Vander said. “Congratulations.”

            He departed, and Powder was right behind him, throwing her arms around Viktor’s neck. The force jostled him, pulled at his wound, but Powder just squeezed tighter, heedless of any pain she caused.

            “Thank you, V,” she whispered. “Sorry if I ruined your bonding...”

            “You haven’t ruined anything, Powder,” Viktor replied. “I promise. Now, go find Violet and make sure she knows you’re all right, hm?”

            Humming, Powder agreed, but pressed their cheeks together before she left.

            In the silence, Viktor could still feel Silco’s rage rumbling through his resonance.

            His mother came to the trunk upon which Viktor sat. Viktor eased himself to his feet though his legs were trembling. Silco took the stone, set it inside the trunk, and removed the cloak and oils from within with maddening slowness. Viktor wanted nothing more than to sit down, or vomit, or bury his nose in the crook of Jayce Talis’s neck for the next thousand years. The bite mark pulsed in reply.

            “Only ill will come from this breach,” Silco said.

            Viktor’s vision blurred as he grew dizzier still. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them next, he was sitting and Silco had already begun cleaning the blood and ash from his forehead, oil on the corner of the cloak. He forced his eyes to stay open, to look at his mother.

            “Do you not trust me?”

            Silco stilled. He looked at Viktor. Soft, but incalculable.

            “It is not you I do not trust,” he said.

            Gentle, he removed Viktor’s clothing down to the skin and wiped the oiled corner of the cloak over the mate mark.

            “I know what this feels like, my child,” he said. He had his eyes on the wound, but the mind behind those eyes was thousands of miles away. “Like you’re sharing the same soul. Like everything in the world is good and right when he is at your side. I also know that a bond is not unbreakable. I know what it feels like to break it.”

            He tucked a knuckle under Viktor’s chin.

            “Remember our promise.”

            Viktor nodded. Silco helped him to his feet, tied the cloak around his shoulders. A few steps, and his mother eased him down onto the furs and blankets. Without another word, Silco left. Viktor curled up on his side.

            His mind fuzzed. The edges of his body seemed to blend into the furs. Even with the ground beneath him, he couldn’t be certain which way was up. It was a strangely euphoric and miserable experience. His neck hurt—broken blood vessels, punctured skin. Muscles sore and bruised already. But through that pain, the most distinct pleasure hummed. A warmth, a refuge. A place for his soul to settle, inextricably bound to another.

            A bond like this could never truly be broken. Viktor knew that. Silco was tied to Vander forever in one way or another, the same way Viktor had now tied himself to Jayce.

            Jayce.

            The tent flap lifted, and Jayce appeared as if summoned.

            Viktor’s very soul rejoiced.

            The alpha stared.

            He stood stock-still in the entrance, his arms full of furs and blankets from the other tent. Even in the lantern light, his forehead shined with oil. He’d accepted Vander’s help, then. 

            Jayce wasn’t moving.

            “Is something the matter?” Viktor asked, his delirium turning the words into laughter.

            Jayce dropped the bundle of furs and went to his knees at Viktor’s side. He, too, wore only a cloak over his shoulders, and Viktor caught a glimpse of skin that nearly sent him into a state of outright madness as Jayce rumbled and checked him over, warm hands pressing against Viktor’s arms and ankles and face.

            “Are you all right?” Jayce asked.

            Viktor nodded. “Yes.”

            His mind and body were hazy, but his soul was singing. His bondmate was here. The world began to reorient itself around this new axis.

            “Are you sure?” Jayce asked.

            “Yes, Jayce,” Viktor laughed. He pushed himself up just enough to thread their fingers together before dropping head and shoulders into Jayce’s lap. Musk and spices stirred to greet him. Viktor hummed. Through the bond, he felt Jayce’s mind humming, too, trepidatious. He was so sweet.

            They were quiet, for a moment.

            Viktor smiled to himself. “You kissed me,” he said. “In the circle.”

            Jayce’s scent flushed. His mouth opened, but only stammering sounds came out. Viktor pushed himself up again, right into Jayce’s face, their noses brushing, their mouths only a few breaths apart. Jayce’s cheeks flushed as red and embarrassed as his scent. Viktor almost couldn’t believe that he was the cause of it, but Jayce was undeniably his now. The truth of it made Viktor feel quite bold.

            “Couldn’t claim me without kissing me first?”

            Jayce liquified beneath him, rumbling. Viktor chuckled.

            “My bondmate is such a gentleman,” he said.

            The alpha’s lips parted on a sigh, but then he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed, shaking his head. He looked like he was trying to clear his mind.

            “Viktor,” he said, eyes closed tight. “Because this is a mate-bond, we...don’t have to—I mean, no one will expect us to, um—to consummate it.”

            That was true enough. Sex would not be any more binding than the mark on Viktor’s neck. He wondered how it was that a mate-bond did what it did. How much was biological and how much was metaphysical. All that had happened was the rupture of a particular gland, but could that explain the reverberation between them? The way Viktor seemed now to be able to pick up the notes Jayce’s mind played more keenly than before.

            “You do not want to?” Viktor asked.

            Jayce’s eyes shot open. “That wasn’t what I—meant.”

            He swallowed, confronted with the full weight of Viktor’s gaze once again. Smiling, Viktor turned his face and touched a kiss to Jayce’s cheek.

            “I want to,” Viktor said, “but only if you do as well.”

            Swallowing again, Jayce gazed at Viktor. Viktor smiled, preening, perfectly happy to be looked at like that. His bondmate was so caring. He’d caught rabbits for Viktor. Made him that pin. Introduced him to his mother. Participated in Zaun’s rituals without fear or judgement. He would not force himself upon Viktor, and so Viktor would repay that kindness, though his body begged to be beneath this alpha, to let him scent and knot and mark him again. To intertwine their bodies as they had their souls.

            Jayce raised a hand to Viktor’s cheek.

            “You are so beautiful, princess,” he murmured.

            Viktor purred, nuzzling Jayce’s hand, letting the full weight of his head rest in his palm.

            “Do you really think so?” he asked.

            Jayce sank his fingers into his hair. “I have eyes, don’t I?”

            Viktor laughed. He couldn’t help it. Jayce spoke as if Viktor’s beauty was the most obvious thing in the world. That laughter unwound him and he surrendered to whatever the night might bring—happy just to feel Jayce’s fingers in his hair, against his scalp, laced with his own. Happy just to breathe the scent of spice and musk.

            If they only observed each other until sunrise, that would be enough for him.

            Jayce looked into his eyes and Viktor looked back.

            As he looked, Jayce’s scent began to shift, deepening with desire. Viktor purred, and something animal sparked in Jayce’s gaze that made Viktor’s thighs quiver. He was certain his own scent shifted to match his mate’s. Jayce turned his eyes to Viktor’s mouth.

            Viktor held his breath.

            Then Jayce kissed him.

            It was nothing like the kiss they’d shared in the circle save for the fact that their lips met already parted. No, this kiss was frenzied and fraught and accompanied by a growl from Jayce that rumbled to the marrow of Viktor’s bones. Viktor wrapped his arms around the alpha’s neck and climbed all the way into his lap. Jayce pulled him close. His tongue invaded Viktor’s mouth, and their teeth scraped against each other as if Jayce wanted to devour him. Fantastic heat pooled in Viktor’s belly at the thought.

            Jayce kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until they were both panting, struggling for air but refusing to retreat. Viktor kissed him back, his blood singing, his ears ringing. He could not control the little noises of pleasure that spilled from his throat as Jayce kissed him any more than he could control how swiftly he went slick.

            Jayce’s hands found their way beneath Viktor’s cloak.

            Viktor keened into his mouth as those hands stroked his ribs, his sides, his hips, exploring with a vicious need. Jayce squeezed his rear and Viktor nearly came undone right then. Gasping, he broke their mouths apart and turned his face upward to catch his breath, but Jayce sealed his lips to Viktor’s throat underneath his chin and forced the air from his lungs.

            “Jayce...”

            “...so...beautiful, princess...”

            Viktor gnarled his fingers in Jayce’s hair and gripped just hard enough to sting.

            “Viktor,” he said.

            Nodding, Jayce rumbled. “Viktor.” He kissed the middle of his neck. “Viktor...” He kissed the hollow of his throat. “Viktor.” His fingers fumbled to untie the cloak and continue his path, kissing his way down Viktor’s sternum to his belly, easing the omega onto his back and kneeling between his legs. Viktor went with a sigh, a hand on Jayce’s head. Jayce pressed a kiss to his pelvis, and Viktor purred, growing slicker still as his cock began to fill. “Viktor...”

            “I hope you are not too disappointed by your new mate.”

            Jayce sat up at once and, almost in the same motion, grabbed Viktor by the hips and pulled his rear up over his thighs into his lap, canting the omega’s legs around his waist. The force of it knocked Viktor’s mouth open and his thoughts from his head.

            “Are you kidding?” Jayce replied, breathless. He bowed to kiss him, but could only reach Viktor’s chest. “You’re perfect.”

            Nobody was perfect, least of all Viktor, but those words held no artifice, coming from Jayce. He could feel the alpha’s cock against the small of his back, already hard and hot and only becoming more so as Jayce peppered kisses across his skin. Even if Viktor had not believed his words, that cock was all the evidence he needed to know that Jayce was telling the truth.

            “Hm, you are a sweet talker,” Viktor said, chuckling, purring, wrapping his legs around Jayce’s waist with intention.

            Jayce made a small, adorable noise of protest.

            “It isn’t sweet talking if I mean it,” he said.

            Viktor laughed. “That is not true.”

            Though it strained his weaker leg to do so, he locked his ankles together and squeezed his thighs to sit up, pulling on Jayce’s cloak as an anchor. Jayce just watched him rise, drowsy with arousal. He purred at Viktor as Viktor untied the cloak and tossed it aside, evening the playing field. He admired the spread of Jayce’s skin, the sculpted muscle underneath. Truly such a specimen... He draped his arms around Jayce’s shoulders to kiss Jayce’s lips, his cheek. The alpha quested after his mouth. Viktor hummed softly.

            “Nobody has ever sweet talked me, Jayce Talis,” he said. Rumbling, Jayce secured an arm around his waist and a hand on his thigh. “You are the first.”

            He kissed Jayce again, soft, sweet, sighing into his mouth. Not the frantic force of the first time, but a lovely little back and forth. Getting to know each other, feeling the bond hum between them with every nip and peck. As the kisses evolved, Viktor licked into Jayce’s mouth and began rutting his hips against him. The friction was fantastic, hot and slow. Every movement made the alpha groan. 

            “Viktor...”

            “Hm?”

            “I want to...be inside you...”

            Viktor shivered, delighted. He grasped the hand of the arm wrapped around his waist and guided those fingers to his tailbone.

            “Then make yourself useful,” he said.

            Jayce just groaned again, and Viktor grinned, but the alpha would have the last laugh. He pressed hard at Viktor’s entrance right away, circled once, and slid a finger inside. Never in his life had Viktor made a sound like the one that came out of his mouth then.

            “Fuck...” Jayce murmured in response, and that word from this man in that tone nearly made Viktor come undone again. “You sound so...”

            He crooked his finger, and Viktor keened again. Jayce rumbled, nipping at his throat. He began to slide that finger in, and out, and Viktor scrambled for his hair as he gasped, grabbing great fistfuls to yank Jayce back so he could kiss his mouth.

            The exchange began again—a back and forth, but this one fueled by fire. Viktor rutted against Jayce, enjoying the contrast of the friction of their cocks against the gentle way Jayce stroked inside him. Viktor keened when he added a second finger, breaking off for a moment to look down, find Jayce’s cock, and take it in hand. He went to kiss the alpha again, but Jayce’s head had tipped back, his mouth open. Viktor dropped a kiss to his collarbone. Jayce rumbled. Viktor rubbed their necks together and Jayce responded in kind.

            “I like your scent,” Viktor hummed. Jayce’s cock twitched in his hand at the compliment, and he wanted that cock inside him, too. “You are very handsome on the whole.”

            “Now who’s sweet talking?”

            Viktor tucked his face against Jayce’s neck, breathed deep, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his skin. The rhythm of Jayce’s fingers stuttered. Viktor was done waiting.

            Jayce’s cock in hand, he rose a little so that the alpha’s fingers slipped out. He brought the two of them into alignment and sat down with very little warning. Viktor’s body wasn’t entirely ready to take Jayce's cock, but the burn was so sweet, the steady push as the alpha entered him so exquisite, that a few stars danced in the corners of his vision. For his part, Jayce swore like he was trying to raise a storm. Viktor hummed, smiling, shivering as he carefully bottomed out and Jayce’s cock pressed against his prostate. His thighs were trembling.

            “Was this what you—”

            Jayce silenced him with a fierce kiss. Viktor returned it, hungry, gasping when Jayce turned his mouth to his mate mark instead.

            “Fuck, Viktor. Fuck. You’re perfect, you’re perfect...” Jayce slurred against his skin. He grabbed Viktor’s hips, his thighs, trying to figure out the best way to rut into him.

            Viktor could only whine as tears pricked his eyes.

            At once, Jayce lifted him up and spread him out on the furs. Jayce tumbled over him, kissing, rumbling, choosing a rhythm that was as forceful and relentless as it was slow and sincere. He fucked Viktor with such incomprehensible honesty that a few of those tears welled up and rolled down Viktor’s temples. Jayce was so heavy, so heady, and his hands were everywhere—in Viktor’s hair and clutching at his hips, and leaving little trails of fire down his arms. Whether he meant to or not, his every thrust hit Viktor’s prostate so precisely that Viktor began to drown under devastating pleasure, unable to speak. It was all he could do to keep his trembling legs wrapped around Jayce’s waist.

            He gave himself over to it, this unfamiliar affection, no longer certain where Viktor ended and Jayce began. He could feel Jayce’s pleasure—almost as acutely as his own—and that sensation compounded and reflected when Jayce realized he could sense it, too, like turning two mirrors to face each other.

            “Viktor...”

            He swallowed, summoning the strength to speak. “Yes, mate?”

            Jayce just groaned, the word spiraling through him, and through him to Viktor. He pressed his forehead to the crook of Viktor’s neck, grabbed his hips, and fucked him harder.

            It proved too much.

            Viktor came first, suddenly, Jayce’s name on his lips, and Jayce fucked him through it with such determination that, by the time his own orgasm struck, Viktor was certain he must have come a second time himself, though he couldn’t have distinguished between the two. Jayce filled him, his knot swelling, and Viktor might have come a third time had he not been so overstimulated.

            Perhaps he did. It was hard to say.

            His whole body was shaking. He clung to Jayce, breathing hard. Jayce sank his teeth into the mate mark, and Viktor really did come a third time then—though it was short and almost painful in its pleasure.

            They both collapsed after that.

            A moment passed.

            The wind ruffled the tent once more. Outside, the clearing would be empty, silent.

            Viktor felt every one of Jayce’s breaths against his chest.

            As he returned to himself, Jayce turned the pair of them onto their sides. His knot tugged, and Viktor hissed, so the alpha rumbled and released a little of his protective pheromone. When he reached to grab one of the blankets to throw over them both and his knot pulled again, Viktor outright socked him in the sternum.

            “Stop moving, Jayce Talis,” he said, any actual scolding lost under laughter.

            “Sorry,” Jayce replied, laughing, too.

            Settled, Viktor tucked his head under Jayce’s chin and closed his eyes. Jayce drew in a breath. Held it.

            “I...”

            “You don’t have to speak,” Viktor said.

            He touched a kiss to whatever part of Jayce was nearest to his lips. Jayce’s arms tightened around him, and through the bond now tuned to his sympathy, Viktor sensed the thrumming of deep and turbulent emotion in his mate—so happy it somehow circled back to being sad. Viktor offered up his own contentment in return. The sensation of being cradled and protected. He chirped, softly, to let his mate know that he felt safe.

            Letting out his breath, Jayce settled, too.

Chapter Text

For a moment, in the space between wakefulness and sleep, Jayce lay in a field of wildflowers.

            When his eyes opened, dim morning light cast the tent in shadow, but the scent of wildflowers remained, blended with the smell of sleep and furs and sex in the stuffy air. Birds called to each other outside, their warbling chirps echoing through the forest, and Jayce’s mate was purring.

            Viktor was purring.

            The two lay curled together, tangled in a few blankets, Viktor tucked in Jayce’s arms, his head on his chest. Sometime in the night, while Jayce had slept, Viktor had rearranged the furs around them both.

            A nest.

            Jayce’s heart thrilled. His mate had built them a nest.

            Careful, Jayce inched his head back so he could look at Viktor—all reedy limbs and wild hair. Jayce was well-acquainted with the fascinating map of his skin now. Purple striping that coursed with magic. Scars consistent with recovery from the gray plague. Beauty marks like scattered constellations. Viktor had a new mark now: the arcades of Jayce’s teeth at the bend of his neck. A bruise had spread from the bite overnight. It looked tender, but that didn’t stop Jayce from salivating at the thought of sinking his teeth in again.

            He noticed then that he’d woken up with an erection. Between the bond hormones and current environment, it was basically inevitable. He dropped his head against the furs and shut his eyes. All that lay behind his eyelids, though, was the memory of Viktor gasping out his name as he came.

            Jayce rumbled. Gods his mate was gorgeous.

            Mate. Jayce rumbled again.

            Viktor stirred, drawing in a waking breath, and Jayce found himself running a hand across his shoulders and up into his hair.

            The purring did not stop.

            “Did I wake you?” Jayce asked.

            Pushing up, Viktor smiled blearily and shook his head. He drew close, pressed a sweet and honeyed kiss Jayce’s mouth, then settled again. For some reason, his purrs sounded louder each time he inhaled.

            “Good morning,” Viktor said.

            Sudden tears welled in Jayce’s eyes almost out of nowhere. His fingers tightened in Viktor’s hair.

            “Good morning,” he whispered, heart full.

            He’d never believed he’d get to have this.

            His parents had been bondmates. Warmth and strength and security colored his every memory of them together. Even as a kid, it had seemed to Jayce that a mate-bond was a higher calling—a relationship for the chosen few. As the child of a minor house under the feet of the major clans, the best Jayce could have hoped for was a marriage of mutual tolerance. Now, having made a match based purely on political motivation, he had what he’d only ever dreamed about: a bondmate. He couldn’t make it make sense.

            “Thinking too much,” Viktor said with a little hum of a laugh.

            He turned his face to kiss Jayce’s neck. Jayce rumbled, so Viktor continued to kiss him, and Jayce curled his fingers down the nodes of his spine.

            “Can you read my thoughts?” he asked.

            Viktor shook his head. “Not thoughts,” he replied. “Emotions.”

            Having reached the bend of Jayce’s neck, Viktor turned to his collarbone and chest, but Jayce caught a hand under his chin and lifted his head so he could look him in the eye. He got a little distracted, looking into Viktor’s eyes. The omega smiled, still sleepy, and folded his arms across Jayce’s chest to prop himself up, his chin at rest in Jayce’s palm.

            “Powder told me you call it sympathy,” Jayce said.

            “Mm,” Viktor replied. “I do not feel how you feel, I only sense what you feel. Sometimes the magic also attunes nearby minds to one another.”

            Jayce could not wait to study Viktor’s magic—to catalogue his abilities and discover new possibilities together. He’d been taken with magic since childhood, too. Another thing he’d assumed he would never get to have.

            Somehow, he’d found them both in the same person.

            He wanted to ask another question—he wanted to ask another thousand, really—but Viktor had lowered his head from his palm and resumed those careful, persistent kisses. He pecked his way down Jayce’s chest, dragging back the blankets, and very shortly discovered his erection. With a pleasant hum, Viktor brushed his fingers up the length of Jayce’s cock. Jayce could not keep from quivering.

            “Do I do this to you?” Viktor asked, and there was no way he couldn’t hear his own voice, dark and dusky. That made Jayce quiver, too.

            A rush of cold air hit him as Viktor left the nest and disturbed the blankets. Jayce had hardly opened his mouth to ask where he was going when Viktor returned with oil on his hands, knelt at his side, and wrapped his fingers around his cock. Jayce couldn’t help but arch into that first downward stroke, even as the breath punched out of his lungs.

            “You don’t have to—”

            Viktor interrupted him with a kiss.

            “I want to,” he purred. “May I?”

            The breath Jayce had yet to regain left him again. “Of course,” he replied, hoarse. “Of course, Vikt—hngh.”

            Jayce’s eyes almost rolled back in his head as the omega stroked again. It was a little embarrassing, frankly. Jayce couldn’t have said if Viktor just really knew what he was doing, if the alpha-omega polarity between the two of them was just that compatible, or even if being bondmates just meant compounded pleasure, but sex had never felt like this. Maybe it was a combination of all three, or none of those things. It didn’t matter. Not when Viktor had his hands on his cock.

            He let Jayce set the rhythm at first, stroking in time with each shallow thrust, golden eyes fixed on Jayce from above. He seemed to be observing, logging each reaction as he tested different motions, grips, pressure. It was absolutely arresting. When he found the stroke that pulled an involuntary moan from Jayce’s chest—twisting, tight, his thumb trailing behind the rest of his fingers, pressed hard near the head—he hummed and leaned down to kiss Jayce.

            Then Viktor assumed control.

            All in all, he made pathetically short work of him. As soon as the omega’s lips parted against his, Jayce found himself on the edge of an orgasm. He tried to fight it down, told himself he’d probably been erect for a while already so that was why, but with Viktor’s tongue in his mouth, he couldn’t stop that heat from mounting, building, coiling behind his hips. Not really.

            Viktor barely stroked his thumb against his frenulum and orgasm hit Jayce hard. He broke their mouths apart, but Viktor chased him down, kissing him again as Jayce came all over his hands. He even slid one hand down to take hold of his knot as it swelled.

            Jayce could barely breathe.

            Trilling, purring, Viktor nuzzled little kisses to his lips and cheeks and nose. Then he curled himself around Jayce and rested his head on his chest and closed his eyes as if he had never woken up in the first place.

            For a moment, the only sounds in the tent were Jayce’s panting and Viktor’s purring. Viktor’s head rose and fell atop his chest until Jayce got his lungs back under control.

            “I do not wish to go back to camp,” the omega said, softly.

            Threading his fingers once more into Viktor’s hair, Jayce entertained the daydream. Wandering off with his bondmate. Traveling far away from Piltover and Zaun and their political quarrels. They could make a new life for themselves and no one but themselves. The idea held a certain appeal, though, their disappearance would absolutely send their nations into war.

            “We can take the morning,” Jayce replied.

            Viktor lifted his head to nod and smile.

            “I would like that.”

They began by finding a bend in a nearby creek where the water eddied deep enough to bathe. Given that their breath was visible in the air, the water was absolutely freezing. Viktor swept his thumb across one of his incisors, squeezed the resulting blood into the creek, and used his hand to stir as he murmured incantations. Slowly but surely, steam began to rise off the surface. He looked up at Jayce and smiled.

            “There,” he said.

            Marveling, Jayce shed his clothes and followed Viktor into the creek. He had never bathed in such pleasant circumstances, nor with such pleasant company. Viktor was not shy, but seemed to retreat inward as he began to untangle the knots in his hair, so Jayce exercised restraint and kept to himself. As lovely as it would have been to slide his hands down his omega’s thighs in the warm water, maybe repay the favor from this morning... Jayce only managed to keep to himself for a moment, wading over to offer his help with Viktor’s hair. Pink, smiling, Viktor accepted.

            He purred as Jayce worked his fingers through the strands, suspended in the water.

            He’d never stopped purring, actually.

            Clean, they climbed onto the bank of the creek where Viktor spelled them dry. They dressed, and Jayce took particular pleasure in securing Viktor’s cloak with the Clan Talis pin. The way the omega smiled up at him made his heart pinch. He took Viktor’s face in his hands and pecked a kiss to his lips.

            “You’re purring,” Jayce grinned.

            Viktor’s eyes went wide and his face flushed. Jayce chuckled, amused that a man with such boldness in bed could be caught off-guard by simple affection.

            Though Viktor glanced away, he took hold of Jayce’s wrists.

            “I...am happy...” he said.

            Jayce rumbled. “I’m happy, too.”

            The flush in Viktor’s cheeks deepened, but he still hadn’t stopped purring.

            Jayce just kissed him again, bright and brief. As he drew back, he rubbed his neck against Viktor’s. The omega somehow managed to purr even louder as he returned the gesture.

            Hand in hand, they set off into the woods.

            Breakfast proved easy to hunt down. Viktor picked up a trail of dove tracks in the frost and followed them until they spied the bird plucking through the undergrowth. He knelt, extended some strand of magic, and simply coaxed the thing into his hands. Murmuring soothing words, he stroked its head and wrang its neck before Jayce could blink. Quick, painless. The bird died instantly. Viktor rose and offered it to Jayce.

            Helplessly impressed, Jayce could not deny the flare of attraction he felt as he accepted the dove. In Piltover, omegas did not present their mates with kills. Maybe they should.

            “How did you do that?” he asked.

            “Sympathy,” Viktor responded, already moving off—on the trail of something else. “I am able to influence the emotions of other creatures. I simply made the bird feel safe.”

            There was absolutely nothing simple about that, but Jayce let it lie.

            “That would have been incredibly helpful hunting rabbits,” he said with a laugh.

            Viktor looked back at him and smiled. “I know.”

            After snaring a second dove, Viktor found and dug out wild vegetables, gathered herbs, and started a fire when they returned to the clearing. He defeathered and cleaned the doves with a deft hand and set them up on stick skewers to cook. As the fat began to melt, he seasoned the meat with the herbs and suspended the vegetables over the flames where they could roast and catch the dripping juices. These were all things Jayce knew how to do in theory, but had rarely had the opportunity to put into practice—particularly as a ward of Clan Kiramman. He helped, but largely followed Viktor’s lead, learning from him.

            “Do you...do this often?” Jayce asked as Viktor removed the birds from the fire and passed Jayce his share. It was the least insulting way he could think to ask.

            “Most of us in Zaun still practice the old ways,” Viktor replied. “We eat what the land provides. Of course, this is not possible in the cities where the population outpaces what we find in nature, but to answer your question, yes. I do.” He smiled, carefully picking meat off delicate bones. Jayce’s eyes caught on the fat that rolled down his fingers as he ate. “I prefer to take only what I can find with my own hands.”

            These “old ways” were a major contributing factor toward Piltover’s view of Zaunites as primitive—but to watch Viktor hunt and eat, the practice seemed as sophisticated as any farming technique or animal husbandry. The dove was delicious, the vegetables savory. All obtained at no cost, without middlemen, zero commerce between an empty belly and a full one.

            “Thank you for the meal,” Jayce said, his voice soft with wonder.

            “You are my bondmate,” Viktor replied. “It is my honor to provide for you.”

            It took every ounce of Jayce’s restraint then not to drag Viktor to the forest floor and make such terrible, wonderful love to him that they would have to return to the creek to bathe again. He settled for catching Viktor’s arm to press a fervent kiss to the inside of his wrist. The omega chirped in surprise.

            The scent that bloomed beneath Jayce’s nose was his now, and everyone would know it.

            He still couldn’t believe Viktor was his.

            He kissed his wrist again.

            “I don’t want to go back to camp either,” he said.

            Ears pink, Viktor drew close. “I will be with you this time,” he said.

            Rumbling, Jayce leaned down and kissed his mouth. He loved the way Viktor seemed to drink in the kiss before returning it. Jayce nuzzled their noses together and pecked another kiss to his mate’s lips.

            “I don’t want you out of my sight,” he said.

            Purring still, Viktor pressed his face to Jayce’s neck.

**

Together, the pair prepared the clearing for their departure. They tidied their breakfast and doused the fire. They scattered the remaining stones from the circle through the forest. They folded the furs and blankets and placed them into one trunk, then disassembled the tents and placed them into the other. With each step, Viktor moved slower and slower, but earned himself only a few stolen moments. They could not delay their return to camp forever.

            The time had come to put an end to playing house in the woods.

            Later, Violet and Vander would visit the clearing to collect the trunks and ensure they went with Viktor wherever he was destined. A little sliver of sorrow pricked his heart at the thought. He would leave his mother and father and sisters behind—or rather they would leave him behind. Viktor would remain in Piltover while the rest of his family went home.

            “Is something wrong?” Jayce asked as he set the last of the tent ropes in the trunk.

            Either he was too insightful by half, or their bond had given Viktor away. There seemed little point in lying to him.

            “I was just...thinking that I will be sorry to part ways with my family,” he replied and closed the trunk. “That is all.”

            Jayce’s brow furrowed, sorry in sympathy. He wrapped his arms around Viktor and swathed him in protective pheromone. Viktor let himself be comforted by the gesture, by the lovely smell and the security of their souls in resonance. For better or for worse, this alpha was his home now. Where Jayce went, Viktor would follow. How odd to feel so anchored to a man he barely knew.

            “We’ll visit them as often as we can,” Jayce said, “and they’re more than welcome to come stay with us for as long as they like.”

            “Do you mean that?”

            “Of course,” Jayce replied. He spoke that way so often—as if such things were simply a given. As if welcoming enemy leadership into his home was as easy as asking a friend over for tea. “They’ve been so welcoming to me. An open invitation is the least we can offer.”

            We. Viktor liked the sound of that more than he probably should have. To be we with Jayce seemed a very nice thing.

            “And where will we be living?” he asked.

            Their bond hummed with Jayce’s joy. Evidently, he liked the sound of we, too.

            “Well, the land now designated to Clan Talis is right on the border with Zaun. Across the canal. It’s mostly empty, but there’s a manor house. I think. I haven’t seen it.”

            “You think?” Viktor laughed.

            “I only became a lord three days ago,” Jayce chuckled. “Have a little mercy.”

            Viktor smiled, but a thought entered his mind and his mood soured once more.

            Jayce’s new rank as a lord had elevated the Talis household to clan status, but that clan had only three members. Undeniably, the immediate expectation would be the expansion of the household—the securing of succession with an heir or two. Viktor did not know how to tell Jayce that children were already an impossibility. Between the gray plague and Singed’s experimentations, Viktor’s body had undergone such stress as to render him infertile—if he’d even been able to bear children to begin with. His attempts to remedy this through magic had only made things worse.

            His mind snagged on this manor house neither of them had seen—empty halls and empty rooms that would remain empty. A hollow monument to Piltover’s greed.

            “Viktor?”

            Startling, Viktor stepped back. He smiled unconvincingly and said, “Let us retrieve the bond cord...”

            He went to where the two ends of the braided cord that hung around the clearing were tied together, picked at the knot. He’d never been upset over pups before. While he wasn’t precisely upset now, he did feel unsettled. Uncertain. His shortcomings would create conflict with Piltover. That much was sure. They already had.  Beyond that, however, it seemed a shame to deny Jayce the possibility of posterity.

            Viktor did not want to care.

            He cared regardless.

            Silent, he coiled the bond cord around his palm and elbow as he pulled it down from the trees. Equally silent, Jayce assisted—tugging when the cord caught in branches or climbing the trees when it became well and truly stuck. Eventually, Viktor placed the cord inside the trunk with the blankets and furs and one of their bond stones. Things that would take up such little space in that empty house.

            Viktor startled a second time as Jayce came up behind him and twined the fingers of both their hands together, rumbling softly. The iridescence of Viktor’s magic in his engagement mark flashed across his skin. The wound in Viktor’s neck ached, an echo.

            Jayce pressed his lips there, and Viktor nearly melted into a puddle at his feet.

            “I don’t want you to be afraid,” Jayce whispered.

            Was this how others felt when Viktor turned his sympathy on them? Exposed and vulnerable? Jayce kissed his neck again and Viktor could not keep from whimpering. It brought a low growl out of his bondmate, and he felt Jayce inhibit himself from biting as acutely as if Viktor had been the one inside his skin.

            “I am not afraid,” Viktor said.

            “Then—”

            “I am not afraid, Jayce.”

            Jayce was quiet.

            Viktor let his breath out.

            “I am sorry...I—do not know how to describe what I feel...but it is not fear.”

            He turned around and Jayce folded him so easily into his arms. Viktor had come to Piltover ready to despise his new mate, to fight against the instincts of their bond. However, even before Jayce had sunk his teeth into his neck, Viktor had liked him. Admired him. Found him handsome and intelligent and honorable. Ever aloof, Viktor had never expected to attach himself to another person—to even want to do so. That desire was as new as it was confusing. The one detail he understood was that he could not attribute all of that desire to mere bond instinct.

            Though, neither could he admit that he had fallen for Jayce.

            Three days.

            Was he really so easy?

            “I know this is hard for you, Viktor,” Jayce said, and even now Viktor could not comprehend his gentleness. “I thought I was prepared to sacrifice whatever was necessary for this peace, but I’ve just been...given things instead. You have to leave your home and your family and try to make a new life somewhere that’s only ever been hostile toward you, and I can’t even imagine, but I—I want to do whatever I can to help. I want to...make you happy.”

            Silco would scold him, surely, for placing any measure of trust in a Piltovian. It was Viktor’s responsibility to play Piltover to Zaun’s advantage, to charm and guide Jayce to serve Zaun’s interests, but in truth neither charm nor guidance were necessary. Jayce would give Viktor whatever he wanted.

            All Viktor had to do was ask.

            He tucked his face against Jayce’s shoulder and breathed deep his scent. This morning, waking up in this alpha’s arms was the happiest Viktor had ever been. Simply remembering it brought a purr to life in his chest.

            Viktor would have to be very careful not to hurt Jayce in the process of serving Zaun.

            “You already make me happy,” he replied at last. The honesty chaffed, but he soldiered forward. “You have been so kind to me, Jayce. So considerate of my feelings. I did not expect to find this mate-bond agreeable, but I do.” He lifted his head to look up at his mate, and the alpha looked down at him with warm adoration and quiet concern. “Much to my surprise, I think we get along quite well.”

            Their temperaments were remarkably suited to each other, all things considered.

            “I am glad it is you who is my bondmate.”

            A purr in the back of his throat, Jayce dropped his neck to press their foreheads together like he had in the circle. For a moment, the phantom sensation of blood and ash prickled between their skin. Forever. Viktor would be with Jayce forever. How exhilarating, how terrifying. Jayce kissed him, and the ease of it was so strange—their bond as familiar as it was foreign.

            Sighing, Viktor wrapped his arms around his alpha’s neck and kissed him back.

            He was positively infatuated with this man. The way he held Viktor so tightly but so tenderly—possessive and protective all at once. The way his teeth tugged at Viktor’s lips, coaxing them apart. The way he rumbled with such satisfaction when Viktor gave him access to his mouth. It made Viktor’s stomach turn, lovesick.

            He broke their lips apart, but did not retreat from Jayce.

            “I am afraid we must return now, my dove,” he said softly, and Jayce surged against him, kissing as if to swallow the pet name into his soul. Viktor could not help but smile against his lips. Jayce rumbled.

            “Promise you’ll stay with me, princess. Promise you won’t leave my side.”

            Humming, purring, swelling with such happiness as to make him ill, Viktor nodded.

            “I promise.”

**

Walking into camp with the Herald of the Arcane on his arm was like walking onto a battlefield with an exceptionally large hammer. Viktor carried himself with the deliberate poise of a weapon ready to be wielded. Implacable, pristine, high above every pair of eyes drawn to his shining edges. Jayce had never felt more powerful—though he did send a subsonic growl toward anyone who stared too long at his bondmate.

            “There you are.”

            Jayce turned to find Caitlyn approaching from behind, pulling off a pair of riding gloves and looking very put out.

            “The council’s called a meeting,” she said. “Sent me to fetch you.”

            Her distaste for playing messenger could not have been more abundantly clear.

            “Understood,” Jayce replied with a nod. “Thank you, Cait.”

            He and Viktor started toward the council tent.

            “Jayce.”

            Jayce stopped, and turned again, brows raised at her insistent tone. Frowning, Caitlyn flicked her eyes toward Viktor. Jayce raised his eyebrows higher.

            “Yes?”

            Though she tried, Caitlyn couldn’t bring herself to voice her objection out loud. Unfortunately for her, she did not sit on the Lords’ Council. Jayce did. And Viktor would accompany him to the council meeting whether she liked it or not. Frankly, Jayce could not have cared less if Viktor’s presence irritated every last one of the clan heads. He was serious when he’d said he did not want his omega out of his sight.

            As they moved once again toward the council tent, a gentle inquiry tapped Jayce’s mind. He looked down at Viktor to give him a reassuring nod and a rumble. Viktor offered a quiet chirp in return. Jayce smiled.

            Viktor trusted him.

            When they reached the council tent, Jayce swept back the entrance and held it aloft so his mate could enter.

            “Lord Talis,” Mel said, voice warm, “welcome. We were—”

            She came up short when her eyes landed on Viktor. Silence swept through the whole tent as a matter of fact—every clan head gawping at the magnificent Princess of Zaun. Mel recovered quickest.

            “We were just wondering about your return,” she said. “Will...Lady Talis be joining us?”

            The only thing Jayce heard was Lady Talis. The title had the ring of perfection to it: Lady Viktor Talis, Princess of Zaun, High Blood Mage, Herald of the Arcane, and bondmate to Jayce. Who could ask for a more ideal companion?

            “Lord Talis?” Mel prompted.

            “Yes, he will,” Jayce replied, returning to himself. He went to his chair and pulled it away from the table to offer to Viktor.

            Hoskel opened his mouth. “Lord Talis, I really must pr—”

            One glare from Jayce and Hoskel’s mouth snapped shut.

            “I apologize if we’ve kept you waiting, lords,” Jayce said, practically preening as Viktor slid off his arm and into his chair. “What brings the council together this afternoon?”

            “The Zaunite delegation will return to their homeland tonight,” Cassandra said. She eyed Jayce from across the table with a level of scrutiny he wasn’t certain he deserved. “Their majesties have insisted that certain terms of our treaty take immediate effect. The moment they cross their border, control of our ports and bridges will go to Zaun. We must determine how to prevent this.”

            Lord Kiramman certainly wasn’t inclined to mince words in Viktor’s company.

            “When else would the terms take effect?” Jayce replied.

            Cassandra was so affronted by the question, she actually could not answer. Mel spoke up.

            “The peaceful transfer of power takes time, Lord Talis,” she said. “Planning. These terms are new to the treaty and will come as a surprise to our people. Think of our port merchants, or our bridgemen. We cannot simply turn over their wages and business to Zaun without warning.”

            “Nor can we trust Zaun to administrate that which they do not understand,” Salo added.

            “I’m sure Zaun is perfectly capable of managing a few bridges, Lord Salo,” Jayce replied, unable to completely disguise his disdain. “If they didn’t have a plan for administration, they wouldn’t have negotiated for control. As far as the ports are concerned, aren’t they already majority Zaunite?”

            “The issue is neither Zaun’s capability nor pervasiveness, Jayce,” Cassandra said, using his given name to render him a child before the council. “The issue is a smooth transfer, and the assurance that we create favorable conditions for Piltover in the process.”

            “We’ve already ceded control,” Jayce said. “If we wanted specific conditions for Piltover, we should have negotiated them into the treaty.”

            Beside him, Hoskel sneered. “Do you want Piltover to suffer, boy?”

            Jayce’s fury flared—less insulted by the address than he was by the implication that he wished any sort of harm on Piltover. He was only in this position because he wanted the express opposite. Fuck, without him, Piltover would be at war with Zaun right now, not sitting around a table with the herald they coveted. He could have strangled Hoskel. It would have been easy. The man had an exceptionally weak spine.

            “Perhaps the princess might serve as our advocate in these circumstances,” Mel said, turning everyone’s attention back to Viktor. “Would Zaun be willing to discuss a protracted transference of control?”

            “With respect, Lady Medarda, Piltover and Zaun have already discussed terms such as these ad nauseam,” Viktor replied. “You all have seen how my mother negotiates. If you desire my honest opinion, any delay in the enforcement of the terms of the treaty is likely to be viewed by Zaun as hostile action.” As Viktor drew in a breath to continue, Hoskel opened his fucking mouth again, so Jayce growled at him. “That said, my parents are always sympathetic to the plight of the working man. If the council desires, Clan Talis could speak with them about ensuring those affected by this change receive fair treatment and compensation.”

            It was not at all what the council desired, but it exactly addressed the issue they’d propped up as their shield. They cared more about their revenue than the people who generated it, but if their well-being brought Zaun back to the table, what choice did they have?

            “I believe it is imperative we settle these matters with as little friction as possible,” Mel replied, addressing the council. “I am in favor of Clan Talis overseeing these negotiations.”

            “What? And letting Zaun trample us?” Salo scoffed.

            “That won’t happen, Lord Salo,” Jayce said.

            “It’s already happening!” Hoskel replied. He gestured sharply at Jayce, but spoke to everyone else. “Look at the boy! One night in some Zaunite slut’s bed and—”

            The rest choked off as Jayce grabbed Hoskel by the throat. He yanked the old man out of his chair, lifted him into the air. Hoskel panicked. The council erupted. Jayce only saw red. Everyone was shouting and Hoskel was struggling and nobody in this tent could match Jayce in strength. The blood in Hoskel's veins coursed beneath Jayce's fingers. His throat bobbed as he tried and failed to gasp for air. Jayce might have actually strangled Hoskel to death had Viktor not pressed a hand to his waist.

            “Lords!” Cassandra howled.

            Jayce released Hoskel and the man fell coughing into his seat. Breath heavy, Jayce clenched his jaw. He reached back to grasp Viktor’s forearm and anchor himself.

            Cassandra glared at them all.

            “I would think a man of your age would know better than to insult the mate of a newly bonded alpha, Lord Hoskel,” she said, her lip curled in a snarl, “but evidently, your foolishness knows no bounds. I trust you have been adequately punished for your mistake?” Still coughing, Hoskel nodded weakly. “Good. As for you, Lord Talis, I am inclined to overlook this indiscretion on account of bond instinct, but I will not do so again. Control yourself. Is that clear?” Still breathing heavily, Jayce nodded, too. “Good. Now, this business with Zaun. I will agree to Clan Talis handling negotiations provided Master Caitlyn Kiramman supervises. Are we in agreement?”

            There would be no disagreeing with Cassandra Kiramman.

            The council voted, and the meeting ended.

            Jayce helped Viktor to his feet and led him out of the tent, an arm around his waist, eager to leave before he changed his mind and decided to finish what he started with Hoskel.

            “I’m so sorry, Viktor,” he said as they went.

            Viktor shook his head. “I should not have been there.”

            His face was pale, and though he put on a brave expression, Jayce could sense how rattled he was.  

            “No,” Jayce said, “you proposed a solution. One that will lead to the quickest resolution. Hoskel would have said what he said no matter what. The man is an ass.”

            “My mother warned me,” Viktor said, distant. “He told me I should prepare for every accusation, but—” He swallowed, shook his head. “I will bear it.” Jayce almost whirled around to march back and strangle Hoskel after all. “No, Jayce. You cannot jeopardize your seat on the council. You must not make enemies of them.”

            “They’re not exactly allies, Viktor.”

            “Your highness!” Mel called.

            She hurried after them, catching Viktor’s hand in her own as she arrived.

            “I must offer my deepest apologies for your treatment just now,” she said. “It was not my intention to open the door to such vile language. Lord Hoskel does not know his place, but that is no excuse. I beg your forgiveness.”

            “You are not at fault, Lady Medarda,” Viktor replied. He squeezed her hand and Jayce resisted the violent urge to separate the two of them. “I appreciate and accept your apologies, but please know that I understand it is not you who should be making them.”

            “You are very gracious, princess.”

            Viktor shook his head. “I only hope we can avoid any repercussions.”

            Mel sighed and released Viktor’s hand at last. Jayce tightened his arm around his waist.

            “I believe most of the council will follow Lord Kiramman’s lead for now,” Mel said, “but it would behoove Clan Talis to produce results from your negotiations that appeal to Piltover’s interests.” She glanced between the two of them. “Prove that you have things in hand, that your bond is an asset, and they will not dare breathe a word against you.”

            It was sound advice.

            After a moment of reflection, Jayce nodded. It was not like him to react the way he had.

            Not that he could claim to regret it.

            “Thank you, M—Lady Medarda,” he said. “I...owe you an apology as well for behaving as I did. I know it isn’t easy to keep the council in balance.”

            “These are tenuous times, Lord Talis,” she replied. “I fear one stray spark is all it will take to set our peace ablaze.”

            “Viktor! Trusty sidekick!”

            Powder appeared out of nowhere, though it was clear she’d been looking for them. Word of their return must have spread through the camp. Mel excused herself with a bow of her head and a careful glance at Viktor. Powder bounded over, heedless of Mel. The girl had her arms tucked behind her back.

            “Made you something,” she trilled.

            Beaming with pride, she presented two pairs of mittens on outstretched arms. They were fashioned from the rabbit pelts and had an oddly crude look about them in spite of their clear craftsmanship—colorful thread stitched into the seams.

            “Oh, and look!” she continued, dumping the mittens into Viktor’s hands so she could dig something else out of her pocket. She held up three rabbit feet, each attached to a looped leather strip. “Charms.” She gave one to Jayce and one to Viktor and kept one for herself. “You know, so we can send each other luck no matter how far apart we are...”

            Her bottom lip trembled. Humming, Viktor placed a hand on her head. Powder threw her arms around him as he drew her close. Jayce wound up somewhat tangled in their hug, his arm still around Viktor’s waist. Powder slid over to squeeze him, too. He hugged her back.

            “Thank you for the gifts, Powder,” he said, “and thank you for inviting my mother.”

            She let go of him and stepped away in a hurry, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

            “You shouldn’t thank me for that,” she said. Her fist clutched tight around her rabbit foot. “Tell her I said sorry, will you? If you see her again.”

            As suddenly as she had arrived, Powder scurried off. Jayce did not know what to make of her words. Ximena had said she would not overstay her welcome, so it was possible his mother had returned to Castle Kiramman after the bonding ritual or that morning, but what need had Powder to apologize to her? Jayce looked to Viktor, seeking a Powder interpreter, but the omega simply hummed at him and held up one of the mittens from the larger set so Jayce could slide his hand inside.

            The fur was soft. Viktor took the rabbit foot from Jayce to slip the second mitten onto his other hand, then tucked the foot into the pocket of Jayce's cloak.

            “Come,” Viktor said. “Let us prepare for my family's departure.”

Chapter Text

Viktor bid farewell to his family in the cold dark at the edge of camp.

            Powder cried, and hugged him, and cried harder. Violet wrapped her arms around his shoulders, careful not to press upon his mate mark or leave too much of her scent behind. Vander gathered him up and held him so warmly that Viktor felt like the pup he’d never been, cradled by his father. Silco did not hug him, but brushed his fingers through his hair and held his chin in one hand to survey his face.

            “Violet and I will see you again soon,” he said.

            In two weeks’ time, they would cross the canal and make the journey to the Clan Talis seat to settle the matter of the bridges and ports.

            Viktor nodded. “We will be ready to receive you.”

            Silco’s gaze flicked to Jayce, who had positioned himself some distance away: far enough to give Viktor privacy, close enough that he could keep an eye on his mate. His dislike of the space between them buzzed through the bond.

            “I hope he is prepared to bargain,” Silco replied.

            Viktor simply nodded.

            His mother drew in and let out a deep breath, kissed his cheek, and turned to go. Vander, Violet, and Powder followed, waving goodbye as they took their places in Zaun’s procession to begin the march home. That sliver of sorrow from before sprouted roots that lodged in Viktor’s heart. The pain was eased only by the knowledge that two weeks was not so long—and by Jayce’s returning to his side to secure an arm around his waist.

            No one else from Piltover had come to see Zaun’s delegation off.

            His kinsmen carried their torches into the darkness. Viktor stood to watch in silence as the hills swallowed every last light.

            “Tomorrow we’ll go to Castle Kiramman,” Jayce said. Carefully, quietly. “There’s a lot to pack up, but we only have to stay a few days. Just long enough to gather the necessities and give instructions about the rest.”

            “Mm,” Viktor replied.

            They were silent for a moment.

            If Viktor squinted, he could trick his eyes into seeing Zaun’s lights.

            “Viktor...” Jayce began, “in the council meeting—”

            “I do not wish to discuss it, Jayce.”

            Hoskel had caught him off-guard. That was all. Viktor had prepared to thwart accusations of manipulating Jayce’s mind through magic, not to be called—of all things—a slut in front of the highest governing body of Piltover. It would have been laughable in different circumstances. However, in these circumstances, Lady Medarda was right. Peace was tenuous—and Jayce attacking another lord in Viktor’s defense did not place their clan in an advantageous position. No matter how attractive he’d looked while doing it.

            Jayce hummed at him, anxious. Viktor finally removed his eyes from the hills to look up at his mate. Brows knit, Jayce hummed again.

            “I am beginning to understand that the peace is not as secure as we thought,” Viktor said to him. “Our bond is new. Piltover does not trust me. We now know exactly what they think of my character.” A small, helpless laugh did escape him then. “I am bothered neither by the word nor the supposition that it carries, but the hatred with which it was spoken.”

            Rumbling, Jayce drew him closer. The vibration loosened Viktor’s tongue.

            “What does Piltover plan to do with me, Jayce?”

            “What do you mean?”

            His naivete was showing. Viktor shook his head.

            “Peace benefits both our nations, yes, but Piltover would suffer incomparably less if we went to war. You have standing armies, established infrastructure, supply lines. Zaun has only grit and magic. We both know Piltover did not give up three ports and nearly all their bridges in the name of peace.” A brief and brilliant anger flashed through him. “So, do they plan to use me, or do they merely want my piece removed from the board?”

            He held Jayce’s eye. The alpha did not answer—either because he did not know or because he did not have an answer he felt Viktor would like.

            “This is why I did not wish to discuss it,” Viktor said, and set his eyes on the hills again.

            The silence returned.

            A cold wind whispered through the trees.

            Viktor flexed his fingers inside his Powder-made mittens.

            “I don’t know what they’re planning, Viktor,” Jayce said, after a moment. “I’m just a smith. A piece on the board, same as you. If I knew how to play the game, I wouldn’t have—” He growled, irritated with himself. “I would have kept my mouth shut.”

            “Only to see Piltover renege on the treaty the day after they signed it?” Viktor replied. “I do not believe that, Jayce. You would have spoken in favor of the peace, no matter what.”

            “All right, then—I would have spoken more tactfully.”

            He was frustrated. That was good. He understood his misstep, but it was clear he did not understand how to improve. Perhaps with Viktor’s help they might make a pair of players out of their two pieces.

            “We must show Piltover what we have to offer,” Viktor said. “As a pair. As Lady Medarda suggested.”

            “Seems all I have to offer is a short temper,” Jayce replied.

            In spite of everything, Viktor chuckled. He freed the arm pinned between Jayce and himself and removed his mitten to comb his fingers up the back of Jayce’s neck into his hair, saying, “You are a smith. I am a mage. We are both scholars. I am certain we will figure something out.”

            He smiled when Jayce looked down at him all puppy-eyed and repentant.

            “You really are too gracious, princess,” Jayce said.

            “Well, one does not get far in this world as an omega with a short temper.”

            Huffing a humorless laugh, Jayce pressed a kiss to the top of Viktor’s head The alpha lingered there a moment, burying his nose in his hair. Viktor’s heart fluttered. He could not keep from leaning into Jayce, nor scratching his nails against his scalp. He almost could not believe Jayce showed him affection such as this—as if he was determined to court him still, even after bonding and bedding him.

            “I wish I had the words to describe your scent,” Jayce said, and Viktor’s breath caught. “It’s always changing. Like I’m walking through a field of wildflowers, and every step stirs up a new fragrance.”

            “Wildflowers?” Viktor asked, throat tight.

            “Mm, the kind that bloom at night?”

            Viktor’s heart cracked open, and everything inside spilled out. Jayce would not know he was the first person to even try to describe Viktor’s scent. He would not know Viktor had never wondered about his scent until Jayce had shared how much he liked it. He would not know why tears sprang up in Viktor’s eyes, nor why the omega ducked his face against his shoulder. It was not the wisest hiding place if his goal was the evasion of his feelings. Jayce was too sweet, his scent too comforting. The alpha rumbled, worried.

            “What’s wrong, princess?”

            “Nothing, my dove. Nothing...” Viktor said, looking up, shaking his head, blinking away the tears. “On the contrary, and against all odds, everything is right.”

            Jayce brightened. Happy, he leaned down to kiss Viktor’s forehead. Viktor shut his eyes, basked in the warmth, in the soft press of Jayce’s lips against his skin.

            “Take me to your tent?” he asked.

            Rumbling, Jayce obliged. He almost lifted Viktor off the ground as he tightened the arm around his waist and set off.

            He brought Viktor into a small tent at the edge of Clan Kiramman’s section of camp, set him atop the sleeping pallet, and carefully stowed his staff for him before returning, already shedding his cloak and mittens. Viktor welcomed the kiss Jayce dropped to his knees to give him, let the alpha undress him, push him back on the pallet, and press his lips to every inch of his skin with such reverence as to call it worship.

            Jayce marveled at his scars, watching Viktor’s magic pulse through the muscle, kissing its wake. He traced the irregular, circular marks of the gray plague, then lavished each mole with plush attention. Viktor might have been cold, except every kiss sent a surge of heat through his veins. He couldn’t keep from purring. Jayce simply brought it out of him.

            A kiss to the top of his foot. Heat. The inside of his ankle. Heat. All the way up his shin, to a knee, to a thigh, to his hip, where Jayce buried his nose in the crook and rumbled. Heat, heat, heat, heat, heat. Viktor hummed in response.

            Jayce kissed the base of his cock, and the smallest gasp left Viktor’s mouth.

            Rumbling again, Jayce turned to the inside of Viktor’s thigh, but he’d made his intentions clear. As he nipped and sucked open-mouthed kisses to sensitive skin, Viktor went slick. The alpha’s ministrations were certain to leave marks—love-bites and bruises left behind where no one else would see them. The thought made Viktor slicker. His cock filled. Of course, Jayce took notice. Gathering slick on his fingers, he brought Viktor fully erect with a few easy pumps. Then he sealed his mouth over the head of his cock and sucked.

            Viktor’s head dropped hard against the pallet.

            “Jayce.”

            The alpha rumbled. He bobbed his head down, up, his tongue cupped along the underside of Viktor’s cock in a way that made him writhe.

            Viktor’s whole body worked itself into a strange state of total relaxation and delicious tension. The alpha’s mouth never left his cock. He eased Viktor’s legs up over his shoulders, his own body flat against the pallet. Settled, he took Viktor deeper and deeper with each motion until one smooth dive pressed his nose against Viktor’s pelvic floor. The head of his cock bumped the back of his throat and Viktor gasped, gnarling his fingers in Jayce’s hair. The alpha rumbled, and that heat surged in Viktor’s veins.

            No one had ever wanted him in this way. Not that he’d known, at least. The dissonance between his own self-consciousness and Jayce’s straightforward nature warred within him, even as Jayce rose up, sucking, and dived down again, breath huffing across Viktor’s skin.

            Viktor could smell the arousal in Jayce’s scent, could feel his satisfaction through their bond. That was new for Viktor—to feel as another felt.

            He could do nothing save hold on as Jayce hummed up, and down, and up—where he popped his mouth open to touch a kiss to the tip. Viktor mewled at him, and Jayce nuzzled into his hands.

            “You make the most beautiful sounds,” Jayce said.

            The trill Viktor gave him turned into a groan as Jayce took him into his mouth once more.

            “Ngh, I am glad you think so...”

            Jayce laved his tongue around the head before releasing him again, taking hold with one hand, and turning his lips to the tendon at the bend of Viktor’s thigh as he stroked him. “I don’t know who gave you the idea that you’re not beautiful,” he said, “but I’ll have to have a word with them, because you are. You’re so beautiful. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen...”

            Viktor whined; Jayce growled. The alpha shifted to kiss up the length of his cock.

            “So fucking—” A kiss. “—beautiful.” Another kiss. “I’m gonna take—” A kiss. “—such good—” And another kiss. “—care of you, princess.” A kiss, and another kiss, and another kiss.

            Vicktor trembled. “Jayce...”

            “Everything I have is yours.”

            Viktor keened. “Jayce.”

            “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

            Anything Viktor might have said in response caught in his throat when Jayce consumed him completely, teeth grazing on the way down. Viktor bucked reflexively, so Jayce slung his arms around his legs to hold down his hips. He felt Jayce swallow, and pressure began to build. Jayce rumbled, and Viktor silently climbed toward climax, unable even to gasp as Jayce hollowed his cheeks. Then Jayce flicked his gaze up to look at Viktor. It was the eye contact that did him in. He came, shaking apart, squeezing Jayce’s head between his thighs, and spilling his useless spend down his throat. The alpha swallowed every last bit.

            Viktor’s whole body shuddered as Jayce pulled off, looking quite pleased with himself.

            Viktor wished the smugness looked even a fraction less attractive on him.

            Jayce just showered Viktor’s thighs with kisses that made his muscles jump.

            “Would you—ah—like to knot me?” Viktor asked.

            Jayce lifted his head, surprised.

            “Can I?”

            The innocence of the question made Viktor’s heart ache. He nodded, trying desperately to keep it from cracking open again, to keep everything inside, but he could not. It seemed he was absolutely helpless when it came to Jayce.

            “Yes, my dove,” he said. “Yes, please.”

            Jayce untangled himself from Viktor’s legs to shed his clothes. Lying behind him, he lifted Viktor’s thigh and tested a pair of fingers against his entrance, proceeding gently when Viktor hissed with sensitivity. Patient, Jayce worked him open, rutting against his rear while he prepared his mate. When he did push inside, Viktor shivered, and a breathy oh left his mouth. Jayce dropped his forehead to Viktor’s shoulder from behind, groaning.

            The alpha rolled their hips, holding Viktor tight, kissing his shoulder, then his neck, then the tender mate mark only a day old, and Viktor went completely boneless in his arms.

            Purring, Jayce took over their rhythm. The increase of his pace was almost indetectable as Viktor focused instead on the sound of Jayce’s breath in his ear and the slide of sweat between their bodies. He drifted off somewhere, completely relaxed, called back only when the rhythm stuttered and Jayce came inside him, knot swelling to lock them in place.

            Viktor was purring. He had been purring almost all day. He strained his neck to catch Jayce’s mouth so they could kiss. The alpha indulged him, happily.

            After a moment, Viktor let his head come to rest against the pallet and Jayce continued to kiss his neck and shoulder. Viktor laced their fingers together and pulled his bondmate’s arms tight around him like a blanket.

            He fell asleep shortly, perfectly at peace.

**

Piltover’s clans packed up to leave the following morning.

            Though Castle Kiramman was only an hour away from the ceremonial hill, that was as a single rider. As a troop of wagons and carts and carriages and people on foot and on horseback, the trip would take much longer.

            They did not get on the road until the afternoon. Too many lords with too many things. Viktor, by contrast, had only his staff and four trunks to transport, and two of those trunks were from the bonding ceremony. Jayce saddled and mounted his horse, then—with the aid of one of Clan Kiramman’s grooms—helped Viktor up to ride pillion. The omega settled behind him, their legs flush, his arms around his waist. Though Jayce very much enjoyed their proximity, he could sense Viktor’s growing discomfort as the journey wore on. By the time they rode into Castle Kiramman’s outer court and dismounted, the omega’s legs were so unsteady that could not stand on his own.

            Jayce made a mental note to arrange for a carriage to take them to their clan seat.

            “I’m sorry, princess,” Jayce said as he showed Viktor inside, feeling like he’d failed spectacularly at making considerations for his mate. Viktor simply shook his head and conjured up a smile—resilient, or maybe just stoic. It was hard to tell.

            What was clear was how poorly Viktor must have been feeling, some condition or other exacerbated by the ride.

            As quick as he could, Jayce led Viktor through the maze of tight corridors and dark passageways to the handful of rooms appointed for his use. Castle Kiramman was a massive, sprawling fortress that covered the entire hill upon which it sat, but in spite of its size, the castle was not the Kirammans’ primary residence. They spent most of the year at their manor house in Piltover’s capital. If war had broken out, however, the castle would have become their shelter, shielding them behind nigh-impenetrable walls.  

            “How long must we stay?” Viktor asked, brow furrowed. He looked like he was mentally mapping every hall they traveled.

            “I’ll try to keep it to two days,” Jayce replied.

            Viktor hummed, unhappy but understanding. Jayce couldn’t blame him. He felt like he was walking through the belly of some great, sleeping beast while inside the castle and he’d been Clan Kiramman’s ward.

            “As soon as these rooms are packed, we can go,” he said.

            Upon opening the door to said rooms, however, Jayce ran face first into complete chaos. Crates and trunks lay scattered throughout the space, books and furniture halfway packed into them, hay and reams of cloth strewn everywhere. Jayce came up short, blinking. Ximena called from another room, deeper in.

            “Who is there?”

            “It’s me, Mama,” Jayce replied, gingerly stepping inside and attempting to take the clearest path for Viktor.

            “Jayce? Thank the gods...”

            Ximena appeared in one of the doorways, but she, too, came up short. Her eyes had landed on Viktor. She looked like she’d forgotten he would be there. She recovered quickly and hurried over to greet them both, weaving through the crates.

            “Mama, what on earth is all this?” Jayce asked.

            “I figured I ought to make good use of my time,” Ximena replied, “so I’ve begun packing up our rooms.”

            Jayce leaned to look through the open doorway. The room beyond this one was in a similar state of chaos. They probably all were, though he wouldn’t call Ximena’s efforts so much packing as panicking. His mother fidgeted when she arrived in front of them, unable to hug Jayce or take his hand as he was currently holding Viktor up. She didn’t greet Viktor properly, either.

            “If we hurry,” Ximena said, “we may be able to leave tonight.”

            “Tonight?”

            She nodded.

            Jayce was speechless. He’d been looking forward to relaxing after the grueling morning. Taking a bath, maybe snuggling up by the fire with his mate. Viktor was in no state to travel tonight, and Jayce hadn’t planned for Ximena to accompany them to their clan seat for at least a week. He’d wanted to give Viktor time to settle, to assert his control over the house as its lady—a role Ximena would no longer occupy. Jayce realized abruptly that he hadn’t spoken to either of them about the arrangements.

            Sighing, Jayce cast about for the easiest piece of furniture to provide his mate and located a folding stool leaning against a nearby crate. He set it out for Viktor and helped the omega to sit. Viktor nodded his thanks, massaging his right leg.

            Ximena glanced between them with a worried trill.

            “I don’t think tonight’s possible, Mama,” Jayce said.

            “Now that the full complement of servants has returned to Castle Kiramman, it may be.”

            “They’ll be busy settling their masters and resuming their duties here,” Jayce replied, shaking his head. “They could help tom—”

            “Then we will work quickly on our own.”

            “It’s nearly dark.”

            “We can travel by torchlight.”

            His mother had settled on this course of action, and would not be swayed from it, apparently. Jayce resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, though he did sigh.

            “Viktor and I were going to travel ahead, Mama,” he said.

            He did not need to explain to Ximena the reasons why.

            She went quiet at last.

            They regarded each other—uncertain how to proceed.

            Viktor spoke up.

            “If I may interject,” he said, “I would prefer that Lady Talis accompany us.” Ximena turned to him, eyes bright with surprise. “I do not know the first thing about running a household. Not even the royal family lives as you do in Piltover. If you are willing, Lady Talis, I would appreciate your guidance, and perhaps your permanent oversight, if that is an acceptable arrangement to you both. I do not wish for any of us to become idle, and it seems sensible to me to establish our household as best suits our strengths.”

            Ximena exchanged astonished expressions with Jayce.

            “Are you certain, Viktor?” she asked, though she hesitated over using his name. “I do not wish to rush the two of you through making this new house your own.”

            “I will ask only for a room to be my study, and another that belongs only to Jayce and myself,” Viktor replied. “As for the rest, it would come as a great relief to be able to place them into your capable hands. Unless Jayce has any objections.”

            They both looked to Jayce—Viktor exhausted, Ximena with such hope in her eyes that Jayce couldn’t bring himself to disagree. Not that he had much recourse to disagree in the first place. Ximena had overseen Jayce’s household since before he was born. She was good at it, and it would give her a clear role of importance in this new order. It would also free up Viktor for matters of state—and matters of scholarship. The only real reason to object would have been social expectation, but this land would be governed by Clan Talis now, so if anyone was going to change social expectation, it was the lord and his household.

            “No objections,” Jayce replied. Relieved, Ximena let out her breath and smiled at Viktor, who smiled back. “But we’re not leaving tonight. We already broke down one camp this morning, and it was a long ride over.” He made pointed eye contact with Ximena, willing her to notice Viktor’s exhaustion. “I think your efforts have saved us a day, Mama, so we’ll leave tomorrow if we can. Sound fair?”

            Nodding, Ximena knelt beside Viktor’s stool and grasped his hand.

            “Thank you, Viktor,” she said. “I will not forget this kindness.”

            Viktor shook his head. “You are doing me a kindness in turn, Lady Talis.”

            “Ximena,” his mother insisted.

            “Ximena,” Viktor replied with a smile.

            Ximena trilled—honored, eased from whatever burden had sent her spiraling in the first place. She squeezed Viktor’s hand and chirped at him, warm and maternal.

            “Can I get you anything? Water? Something to eat?”

            “Yes, that would be very much appreciated.”

            With a firm nod, Ximena stood. She said, “I’ll have a meal brought up, and some hot water prepared for a bath. You rest here...” and walked out of the room, a woman on a mission. Jayce just sighed.

            Placing a hand atop Viktor’s head, he stroked the omega’s hair. Viktor looked up at him.

            “You’re sure?” Jayce asked.

            Viktor nodded. “I am.” He lifted Jayce’s hand and kissed his palm. His own fingers were trembling a little. “As long as we have our den, I will be comfortable. It is entirely to everyone’s benefit if your mother has run of the household, I believe.”

            Jayce was reeling from the ease of the conflict’s resolution, to be honest. He had often worried about what would happen to his mother after he married—displaced by another omega, relegated to obscurity. Had Jayce married into a family more distinguished than his own, he wouldn’t have been able to even bring her with him. Now, though Jayce had married into a royal family, Viktor was a rather unusual princess. Certainly more mage than socialite.

            “I think so, too,” Jayce agreed. “Though I have no idea what inspired her to do all this...”

            He gestured at the mess with his free hand. Viktor just kissed the other.

            “I hope it will not trouble her again,” he said.

            Quiet, Jayce took real stock of the state of the room. Ximena had begun packing almost everything, but finalized nothing. With the help of a few Clan Kiramman servants, they probably could finish by tomorrow afternoon and get on the road, but Jayce would have to make the necessary arrangements tonight.

            “I’ll need to get things in order if we’re really going to leave tomorrow,” he said. “Will you be all right here?”

            Viktor nodded. “I have no doubt your mother will make sure of that.”

            Chuckling, Jayce lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles—plus two more for good measure—then rubbed his neck against Viktor’s wrist. “I’ll be back.”

            “I will be here.”

            One more kiss to Viktor’s fingers, and Jayce finally tore himself away.

            Their bond stretched between them as he went—as discomfiting as it was reassuring. He would know if anything went awry with Viktor, but he hated to leave him behind. Jayce wove through Castle Kiramman’s corridors with half a mind on his mate and the other half on tracking down Caitlyn to see about travel arrangements and borrowing a few servants tomorrow. He found her in the outer court, supervising the disembarkation of all the clan luggage. Her nose wrinkled as he approached.

            “You smell like omega,” she said.

            Jayce feigned shock. “Do I?”

            Clicking her tongue, Caitlyn ignored him in all but word.

            “I do not understand the appeal,” she grumbled.

            “Then it’s a good thing you’re not his bondmate,” Jayce replied. Pride sparkled in his chest just to say it. Groaning, Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “You have to admit he’s pretty special, Cait. Even if he doesn’t appeal to your tastes.”

            “And here I thought you were insufferable before you bonded him.”

            “Well, we’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

            “Tomorrow?”

            Her icy exterior melted as she turned toward Jayce, disappointment coloring her face. The expression made her look her age for once. Caitlyn’s birthright so often forced her to wear a mantle of maturity.

            “Why?” she asked. “I thought you’d stay a few more days at least.”

            “What?” Jayce teased. “You’re going to miss me?”

            Caitlyn pursed her lips.

            Oh.

            “Oh, Cait...”

            She glanced away. Jayce put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.

            “We’ll see each other in two weeks,” he said.

            “And after that?” Caitlyn replied, irritated. She pushed down her emotions with a sniff, empty eyes on the outer court and the bustle of work. “Everything’s going to be different now. You’re going away. You’re bonded... I...” She shook her head. “This...just...isn’t how I expected things to turn out.”

            “You expected negotiations to break down.”

            Though Caitlyn understood her honesty would not do her any credit, she nodded.

            “I don’t want to go to war,” she added. “I understand that our victory would not be a certain thing. I understand the financial and the human cost, but I cannot help but feel like we’re only delaying the inevitable. Like Zaun is laying their groundwork, and we’re just standing by.”

            “With Viktor, you mean.”

            Her eyes flicked up, regretful. Sighing, Jayce shook his head. Caitlyn scowled.

            “Have you forgotten who he is?” she asked. “He’s not some simpering omega noble, Jayce. He is a Herald of the Arcane. A mage bound neither by components nor runes. His power is theoretically limitless. I think the only thing that could limit him is his physical health.” Jayce gave her a warning growl. “I apologize, but—”

            Caitlyn cut herself off, as if she’d been about to say something she shouldn’t.

            “But what, Cait?”

            She shook her head.

            “But what, Cait?”

            Her jaw worked, and she tried to resist, but Jayce wouldn’t let her look away. With a frustrated huff, Caitlyn gave in.

            “I can’t speak for the rest of the council, but as far as Clan Kiramman is concerned, we never expected Zaun’s princess to lend us his power.” She raised her eyebrows for emphasis. “Everyone knows mages are born, Jayce. Piltover wants its own. Children. Your children. I know my outburst at the betrothal was unbecoming, but I...I just couldn’t help but wonder what the point of all this was if those mages never materialize.”

            That was remarkably cold, even for Caitlyn.

            Colder still was the truth of a reality Jayce had not considered.

            Many things made much more sense now: Piltover’s willingness to give up their ports and their bridges, to give Zaun their islands and control of the market for shimmer. Piltover was not so stupid as to expect Viktor to wield his power against Zaun. What they expected was the loyalty of Viktor’s offspring—potential mages who would be born in Piltover, carry a Piltovian surname, mature in Piltover’s culture, inherit a Piltovian lord’s title. Jayce had been so blinded by the peace, he had failed to see how his nation was laying their own groundwork. Biding their time while they waited for the dividends of an exceptionally risky investment. 

            With their own cadre of mages, Piltover could conquer Zaun quite easily.

            It made Jayce’s stomach turn.

            “I know you’re not fond of omegas, Cait, but is bearing children really all they’re good for in your eyes?”

            “In this instance, it is exactly what he’s good for.”

            Revulsion stirred in Jayce so strongly he could not keep it from his face. Caitlyn was young, and exceptionally loyal, and she had learned statesmanship from one of the cleverest, most cunning politicians Jayce had ever known, but she thought only of Piltover, and only in black and white. He tried not to hold that against her.

            “Tomorrow, would the staff be available to assist us in packing?” Jayce asked, changing the subject. Caitlyn could tell that she’d disappointed him, her scent shifting in slight distress. “His highness only had four trunks, so I’d like to set those aside. We can load everything into our wagons all at once. Also, would we be able to borrow one of Clan Kiramman’s carriages? I don’t want the princess to ride pillion all the way to the border.”

            Swallowing, Caitlyn nodded.

            “Of course, Jayce.”

            “Thank you.”

            He excused himself to see to the arrangements.

            It took the rest of the evening to track down the right servants and stable hands and supplies to set everything in order for a swift departure the next day. It took even longer to locate Viktor’s trunks—stowed in a distant shed when the staff had not recognized their make. Jayce had them brought to the outer court, and opened the one he knew held the blankets and furs from their bonding ceremony. The least he could do was ensure his mate had some piece of home while he felt ill.

            Inside, the braided cord lay on top of everything else.

            Jayce brushed his fingers across the fibers as he delicately removed the blanket right underneath. The cord seemed charged somehow. He wondered what Viktor planned to do with it.

            By the time Jayce returned to his rooms, he was well and truly exhausted. Truth be told, he’d be glad to leave Castle Kiramman tomorrow. To put Caitlyn and Cassandra and the rest of Piltover behind him—for a little while, anyway. He opened his door to find Ximena packing books and sealing crates, but she left that work in an instant to go to the fire and serve up a portion of soup from the bowl kettle she’d retrieved.

            Jayce accepted the dish and sat down on one of the crates to eat, setting the blanket aside.

            “Everything’s ready for us to leave tomorrow,” he said.

            Sitting beside him, Ximena put a hand on his knee. “Thank you.”

            He shook his head. “Did you and Viktor get along all right up here?”

            His mother’s face softened as she nodded. “He is an absolute darling, Jayce,” she said. “I was so awed by him at your bonding ceremony, I admit I was nervous when I returned with dinner and found you had gone—but he is so warm. He indulged all my questions, and we talked a lot about life in Zaun.”

            “Good,” Jayce smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

            “I can see why you’re so smitten with him,” Ximena replied, pinching Jayce’s cheek when he laughed and glanced away. “I hope you will continue to be happy.”

            “I hope so, too, Mama.”

            He understood a little better now why Ximena had opposed the mate-bond so staunchly. As a bondmate herself, she had known the mingling of minds and hearts that would occur. Jayce had not. He could not imagine being so deeply connected to someone he did not like, nor could he imagine the pain caused by breaking that bond. His attachment to Viktor was brand new, so the feelings would settle, but right now Jayce hated to even be in a different room than him.

            “Where is he?” Jayce asked.

            “Resting,” Ximena replied. “They brought up a bath some time ago. I had them fill it in your sleeping chamber.”

            Jayce nodded and finished off his soup. As he rose and picked up the blanket, though, another thought occurred to him.

            “Did you know, Mama? What the Kirammans had planned for him?”

            Ximena’s brow furrowed in confusion, but when Jayce met her eye, understanding dawned.

            “For your children, you mean,” she replied.

            Jayce could barely bring himself to nod.

            “The Kirammans do not share their plans with me, my son,” she said, “but I have held my private suspicions.”

            Another reason she’d been opposed to the mate-bond, perhaps.

            How spectacularly cruel. To turn children against their mother’s kingdom, to use them as the very tool of that kingdom’s downfall. Nobody deserved that, least of all Viktor. Jayce would not let that happen—not ever.

            “Not even the Kirammans can control that which they do not hold, Jayce,” Ximena said, rising herself and returning to packing. “Remember that.”

            Nodding, Jayce left his mother to her work, moving deeper into his rooms toward the sleeping chamber. The door hung slightly ajar, so Jayce knocked before pushing it open. Inside, a low fire cast the room in an amber glow. A metal tub sat in front of the hearth. Viktor lay atop the bed in a heap, half asleep. Jayce’s heart stirred just looking at him. He came over to sit on the edge of the bed and brushed Viktor’s hair away from his face. The omega drew in a breath, but did not open his eyes.

            “How are you feeling?” Jayce asked.

            “Better,” Viktor replied, “now that you are here.”

            Jayce rumbled. “Anything I can do to help?”

            Viktor shook his head. “There are simply some days that are worse than others. I think the changes in my body since the bond has resulted in a flare. It will pass.”

            He did look pretty miserable. Jayce continued to stroke his hair, as that seemed to ease the knit in Viktor’s brow. Then he remembered the blanket and brought it up to drape it over his mate. Eyes closed still, Viktor trilled, curious.

            “What is this?”

            “One of the blankets your family gave us,” Jayce replied.

            Purring, Viktor snuggled into the blanket, pulling the fabric up to his nose and breathing deep. As he exhaled, a little more of his tension unwound.

            “Thank you, my dove,” he said. “You are so thoughtful.”

            “If I’d been a little more thoughtful, I would have found us a carriage this morning.”

            Viktor unearthed one of his arms from the blanket to locate and grasp Jayce’s hand. “I do not harbor any hard feelings,” he said. “You need not hold onto them for me.”

            Jayce interlaced their fingers and nodded.

            The fire crackled in the hearth.

            Yesterday, Viktor had asked Jayce if he knew what Piltover had planned for him. Jayce hadn’t known then. He did now. He knew, and it filled him with such righteous anger. How dare they? How dare they use Viktor like that, and how dare they presume Jayce would simply sit back and let it happen.

            “What troubles you?”

            Jayce startled. He’d forgotten Viktor would sense his emotion. That butterfly presence alighted on his mind and for a moment he could sense what Viktor felt. Weariness. Pain. The sorrow of separation coupled with a peaceful contentment. Then the presence fluttered off.

            “It’s like you said yesterday,” Jayce replied. “I’m beginning to understand that the peace isn’t very secure. I don’t know about Zaun, but it almost feels like Piltover didn’t even want peace to begin with.” He wasn’t sure if that was treasonous talk or not, but he didn’t care. “I feel like you and I are the only ones who do. I feel like we’re the only thing standing between our nations and war...”

            Chuckling, Viktor squeezed his fingers.

            “We are.”

            Jayce looked down at his mate and Viktor opened his eyes to smile—fatigued, but true. Jayce lifted his hand to kiss the back of it.

            “We’ll stand together?” he asked.

            “Mm,” Viktor replied.

            He’d closed his eyes again, but the smile remained on his lips. Jayce visually traced the lines of his face and neck. The bruise around Viktor’s mate mark had diminished substantially already, and the scar was healing well. The engagement mark on his hand—only two days older than the mate bite—was pink, but fading. That probably had to do with how often Jayce had kissed them, and something about that melted him down to raw materials.

            In a moment, he would bathe, and climb into bed, and bury his nose against the back of his bondmate’s neck to find such wonderful dreams in his scent. For now, he quietly admired Viktor’s dozing face. Jayce kissed the back of his hand again.

            “We’ll stand together,” he said.

Chapter Text

Three days of travel would see the humble Talis household to their new clan seat. In the morning, Jayce, Ximena, and a handful of Kiramman servants finished packing Jayce’s rooms. Ximena had given them more than a head start, having worked through the night like she had the devil at her heels. She saw everything safely loaded while Jayce went up to collect Viktor.

            Whatever ailed him had not passed yet.

            Cassandra, Caitlyn, Tobias, and every resident within Castle Kiramman’s walls turned out to bid Clan Talis and their borrowed wagons goodbye. All the pomp and circumstance prickled. Jayce was one measly lord who had only received a title to justify marrying him off to a princess. What was the point of all this grandeur? To mollify him? To make him feel special so when they came knocking on his door and demanded he hand over his children he would agree out of obligation?

            Fuck that.

            He tried to be gracious with his goodbyes, but he could feel Viktor flagging at his side. Jayce expressed his thanks and offered handshakes and hugs and fond farewells. He would be nothing without the Kirammans after all, but when Cassandra, Caitlyn, and Tobias turned from Ximena without so much as a word, he’d had enough.

            “Let’s go, Mama,” he said, and urged his mother toward their carriage.

            They climbed inside. The driver set off. Jayce waved out the windows until they passed through the castle gate and the cheers dwindled.

            Then he sat back with a huff.

            Viktor had closed his eyes and drooped against the carriage. Jayce reached to loop an arm around his shoulders.

            “You can lie down if you want, princess.”

            The omega hummed, and nodded, and let Jayce ease him onto his side to put his feet on the bench and rest his head in Jayce’s lap. Once he’d settled, Ximena leaned forward and adjusted his cloak so that it covered his feet. Viktor chirped at her.

            “Thank you, both...” he said.

            “Just rest, darling,” Ximena replied.

            Jayce and Ximena sat in silence as the carriage carried them away from the castle.

            Ximena did not unclench her hands until they crossed Clan Kiramman’s border.

            They spent that night in an inn, and the next day in the carriage, and the night after that in another inn. The landscape changed gradually, the rolling Kiramman hills creeping ever higher and ever steeper until transforming into rocky crags and sweeping moorland. Jayce worried, and Viktor went from lying in his lap, to resting his head upon his shoulder, to sitting up on his own, gazing out the window with hazy eyes. That third day in the carriage brought them across their own border—a boundary marked by a few standing stones.

            “This is Clan Talis territory?” Viktor asked.

            “It is,” Jayce replied.

            Viktor hummed. “It is beautiful.”

            At those words, Jayce finally relaxed. Everything would be all right. His bondmate was contented. His mother was with them. They had traveled far enough from Piltover’s troubles that if those troubles wanted to follow, they would have to make the same long journey.

            Jayce looked out the window.

            Snow dusted the high hills in the distance. Heather and rush covered the moor below. These lands had not fallen under the dominion of any particular lord for several decades following Zaun’s split from Piltover. Word of Jayce’s appointment would have only recently reached the populace—few as they were. Just the occasional farmhouse and homestead. Each one they passed, Jayce wondered about the people who lived inside. Were they happy? Healthy? Protected? Would they welcome Clan Talis leadership, or would they buck at greater oversight?

            They must have been a hearty people to carve a living out of such a rugged landscape. Jayce did not wish to interfere with their lives. He wished to enhance them. If he could. This territory would be the proving ground for every strategy he’d developed.

            That fact both thrilled and terrified him.

            Their journey ended at their own solitary house, which sat nestled at the bottom of a dell between two steep crags and a creek. On a clear day, from the top of those crags, they might be able to see as far as Zaun. The manor itself was modest by Kiramman standards, but certainly larger than anywhere Jayce had lived before becoming their ward: a two-story jumble of gray stone and pitched gables dotted with chimneys. Ivy—still green even in the approaching winter—covered the walls. Bright windows, some in stained glass, overlooked an overgrown garden that lay dormant. The manor had gone uninhabited for as long as the territory had been without a lord.

            Nevertheless, the distinct aura of possibility shined from it. A clean slate awaiting new chalk, or clay only halfway shaped.

            Ximena and the Clan Kiramman servants got busy right away—throwing open windows to clean and dust and air the house and its furniture. Jayce helped Viktor out of the carriage and stood with him on the stone pathway that led to the front door. His bondmate had recovered much of his strength by then.

            “What do you think?” Jayce asked.

            “It is quite magnetic,” Viktor replied, his eyes on the house, “if a little large for three.”

            Humor laced his tone, but Jayce couldn’t tell if he was joking about Piltovian excess or children. After Jayce’s conversation with Caitlyn, he had no idea what to say about the latter, so he wound up not saying anything at all.

            “What do you think, Lord Talis?”

            Jayce glanced down to find Viktor looking up at him. He blushed, stupidly. His new title had soured for so many different reasons, but to hear it from Viktor’s mouth...

            He found himself smiling a little, in spite of everything.

            “I like it,” he said. “I like that it’s ours.”

            “Eager to make your mark?” Viktor teased, but Jayce nodded. He was.

            “I am,” he said. “I want to change lives out here, Viktor. I want to learn from all those farmers we passed. I want to make things for them. I want to throw open the doors of this house to everyone who lives on this land. I want them all to feel like they’re part of Clan Talis. I want to show every clan head that there are better ways to govern.” If he could demonstrate, maybe they would follow suit. “Though, I’ve realized how inexperienced I am. How foolish.”

            Viktor’s brow furrowed. “Why do you say this?”

            “Because...they...played me, Viktor,” Jayce admitted, painfully. His own ignorance still irritated him. “The council made me a lord and gave me a seat and named me their representative bondmate because they knew I was easy. I thought—idiotically, I might add—that they’d chosen me because they believed in my vision. In what I could do.”

            With a gentle trill, Viktor reached up to stroke Jayce’s cheek.

            “Then take what they have given and use it,” he said. “Do what only you can do.”

            Jayce caught his wrist as he withdrew, pressed a fervent kiss to his knuckles, then held his hand against his heart.

            “What do you want to do, princess?” he asked.

            Viktor blinked at him. Through their bond, Jayce sensed his surprise—as if he’d never been asked that question. It seemed almost wholly unbelievable that a mage of Viktor’s caliber had simply been held in stasis in Zaun until now, but he had. Jayce wouldn’t exactly describe Viktor as submissive, but he’d submitted to his parents, submitted to the mate-bond, submitted to a will greater than his own for the benefit of his people. And right now he understood that Jayce wasn’t asking about what Viktor wanted to do for Zaun, but what Viktor wanted to do for Viktor.

            “I share your desire to improve the lives of the people in this territory,” he began. “I would like to set an example for Zaun and for Piltover, lead both our nations toward a brighter future. Of course, that presupposes that we will not be facing each other on either end of a sword tomorrow.”

            Jayce chuckled.

            “As for myself,” Viktor continued, “I would like to better understand my magic. I wish to study it with you, to disentangle what is mine from...other influences, and better harness it. A more efficient means of production, as you said the night we met.”

            The night they met. Jayce couldn’t keep from rumbling, nor from running his fingers across Viktor’s wrist and down his forearm. Three days in direct, constant physical contact had done wonders for Jayce’s bond hormones, but that only meant he’d grown more and more accustomed to the way the very thought of Viktor seemed to rearrange every fiber of his being. Leaning down, he pressed a long, lingering kiss to his mate’s mouth—rumbling still.

            He’d kept that Arcane focus in his breast pocket ever since he’d shown it to Ximena. He’d felt such excitement with Viktor beside him then, the night after the night they’d met. On the precipice of newfound freedom, that excitement reignited.

            “Consider it done,” he said, and kissed Viktor again.

            Together, they entered the house. The front door opened into a great hall with a vaulted ceiling that soared overhead. Almost as soon as they crossed the threshold, Viktor took the lead, grasping Jayce’s hand and bringing him along as he scoured the crates and trunks for the two from their bonding ceremony. When he found them, he let go and motioned for Jayce to open the trunk with the tents.

            “We must place our stones,” Viktor said.

            They each removed the stones from their respective trunks and brought them over to the front entrance to place them on either side of the doorway.

            “What does it signify?” Jayce asked as he stood up.

            “Everyone who passes through these doors will enter our bond,” Viktor replied, rising as well. “They become our kin for as long as they are in our house, and we show them a duty of care befitting family.” He smiled at Jayce. “The stones anchor wherever we call home to the circle where we made our bond.”

            Gods, the fanatical want that lanced through Jayce almost took him to his knees. He went straight to his bondmate and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. He could feel the vibration of the purr in Viktor’s throat as the omega looked up at him.

            “Zaun has such beautiful traditions,” Jayce said when what he meant was you are so beautiful I want to devour you.

            “Thank you for helping me keep them,” Viktor replied.

            As Jayce bent to press a kiss behind the shell of Viktor’s ear, Ximena entered the great hall and swept them both into the housework. Viktor went upstairs to see to the solar that would become their den, as well as the bower in the adjoining room. Ximena prepared her own solar, the two guest chambers, and a place for the Kiramman servants to sleep in the great hall. Jayce surveyed the rest of the house and property. From the kitchen and larder and pantry, to the storeroom and granary, to the stables and kennels, everything stood in good repair.

            The sun had long-since set by the time everyone gathered in the great hall for dinner, the manor thoroughly dusted, scrubbed, and made comfortable. Flames danced merrily in the hearth, the satisfaction of a job well done suffusing the atmosphere.

            “Will Lady Talis be joining us, sir?” one of the servants asked.

            A few of them had shown particular concern for Viktor along their journey, having recognized that he did not feel well. Viktor’s quiet, sharp, and enigmatic charm had also won more than a few of them over. In fact, they all looked quite hopeful that Lady Talis would come down for dinner.

            “I’ll find out,” Jayce replied.

            He went upstairs to the main solar at the back of the manor. Opening the door, the most wonderful scent greeted him—Viktor’s moonlit wildflowers suffused with the darker, earthy notes of Jayce’s own spice and musk. A smell he could only pick up in concert with his mate’s scent. The furnishings from Castle Kiramman had been thoughtfully arranged, the tapestries hung on the walls. The room was warm, embers glowing in the fireplace, and Viktor was asleep in the bed. Though, bed was not exactly the right word for it.

            The four-poster frame had come with the house—heavy and ornate, hung with thick, red curtains. Upon the mattress, Viktor had built the most fantastic nest Jayce could have ever imagined from the furs and blankets gifted to them by the royal family. The braided cord from their bonding ceremony hung wound and draped around the canopy rails.

            More than a bed, more than a nest, it was a sanctuary.

            And Viktor lay in the middle of it, fast asleep.

            Jayce could not put into words the overwhelming sensation that tugged hard at his heart. Though the tableau was remarkably similar to Viktor’s one and only night in Castle Kiramman, the omega had not looked nearly so peaceful before. Nor so at home.

            Jayce had to be very careful as he approached and leaned over to tuck Viktor’s hair behind his ear. If he climbed into the nest now, he would never leave. Viktor stirred at his touch, letting out a little questioning trill.

            “Everything all right?” Jayce asked.

            Viktor nodded. Opening his eyes, he said, “Only resting. I did not mean to fall asleep.”

            Jayce chuckled. “Can’t blame you. This nest looks absolutely divine.”

            Stretching, Viktor preened.

            “Would you like to join me?” he asked.

            “If I join you in there, princess, we’re going to be very late for dinner,” Jayce replied. He fished up Viktor’s hand to kiss his knuckles nevertheless. “You want to come down and eat?”

            “We could be quick,” Viktor replied. He playfully tugged Jayce’s hand, pulling him partway onto the bed. Jayce chuckled until Viktor used him as an anchor to sit up, and the blankets fell away to reveal that his bondmate was, in fact, naked underneath them. He must have incorporated his clothing into the nest, but Jayce couldn’t tear his eyes away to check. “I would like to come down for dinner. Would you bring me something to wear?”

            Viktor motioned toward where he’d placed their clothing chests—all but one of which belonged to Jayce. Jayce walked backwards, his gaze trained on his mate, and fumbled to open a random chest and reach inside without looking. Viktor laughed.

            “I’m reconsidering my answer,” Jayce said.

            Shrugging, Viktor smiled. “I like to think I can be persuasive.”

            “Oh, very.”

            Some miscellaneous article of clothing in his hand, Jayce returned to the bed. He held out whatever it was to Viktor. The omega grasped the fabric and reeled Jayce in until their lips met. Jayce let go to gather Viktor’s face in his hands and kiss him hard, a growl in the back of his throat. He still felt so possessive. He was beginning to think that that sensation might never go away. Not when Viktor trilled into his mouth and wrapped his arms around his neck and drew him into their nest the way he did.

            “We have to be quick,” Jayce said as he broke their lips apart, breathless.

            Viktor licked into his mouth, and Jayce groaned. Viktor chuckled.

            “Haste is dependent on you, dove,” he said.

            It seemed a shame to christen their nest with such an urgent coupling, but they had not had sex for several days while Viktor recovered, and Jayce could not walk himself back from it now. Some consolation came from knowing that these were the same furs and blankets his mate had used to make their first nest. Jayce realized with a rush that that was precisely the point. In the bounds of their bed, within their nest surrounded by the bond cord, the two of them were shielded, sheltered. As free as they had been in that clearing in the woods.

            He braced himself on one arm so he could undress only as much as he needed to take his cock out. Dropping a hand from his neck, Viktor laved his tongue across his palm to wet it before taking hold of Jayce to stroke. The friction wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was pleasurable, and Jayce let him know with a low rumble. Viktor smiled up at him, an absolute vision against the furs.

            Jayce tried to lean down and kiss him at the same time he coaxed Viktor’s legs apart, but there just wasn’t enough room to do both and leave space for Viktor’s hand to move, so he wound up awkwardly propped over his mate while the two of them focused singularly on preparing the other for their purpose.

            But Viktor had already learned how to bring Jayce right up to the edge.

            The instant he had enough slick on his fingers to justify putting his cock in his mate, he did, swallowing the absolutely incredible noise Viktor made as he closed that space between them to kiss. Viktor parted his lips, knotted his fingers in Jayce’s hair, kissed him back, and matched the rhythm of his hips by nearly letting his own go slack.

            Not a centimeter of space existed between their bodies save for Jayce’s clothes and he cursed them for it. That creature of mad instinct dug its claws deeper and deeper into him with every thrust—rushed, almost rough. Viktor made him crazy. This omega drove him to the brink of his sanity and Jayce didn’t know what to think about that, couldn’t think about that. Not when every gasp out of Viktor’s mouth matched perfectly with every thrust Jayce carved into his body.

            Fuck, he was going to come already. He held himself back.

            “Go ahead, mate,” Viktor purred. “The others are waiting...”

            “Gods, Viktor.”

            He pulled out and sealed their mouths together and thrust a few more times into the cradle of his omega’s hips before he came, painting his clothes and Viktor’s belly with his spend. Viktor purred as Jayce’s knot swelled between them. He wrapped his legs around Jayce’s hips to pull him closer.  

            Jayce broke their mouths apart to gaze down at him, hazy. Viktor’s lips had turned a kiss-bitten pink against his pale skin.

            “You are a temptress,” Jayce rumbled.

            Viktor giggled, then sighed when Jayce pressed a kiss to his mate mark.

            “We’re going to pick up right here when we get back from dinner,” he added.

            Giggling again, Viktor nuzzled against his neck. “You will not have to persuade me.”

            They separated to clean up with a couple of cloths at the basin Viktor had placed in their room. Viktor dressed, Jayce changed his shirt, and they made themselves presentable. Viktor even pinned the golden Talis hammer to the scarf he wound around his throat.

            “I have thought of the symbol I would like to add to our crest,” he said.

            Jayce almost knocked over the wash basin. “You have?”

            “Mm. I will draw it for you later. It is a rune. Less precise, but formed like this.” He held up two fingers, the shape of a V. Grinning, excited, Jayce hurried over to kiss him. Viktor blushed, and Jayce couldn’t resist that, so he kissed him again. Viktor cleared his throat. “This is acceptable to you?”

            “Of course,” Jayce nodded. “I love it.”

            I love you.

            He couldn’t say it, though. It didn’t make any sense even though it was the truth.

            “I am glad.” Smiling, Viktor almost absently closed his hand around the hammer pin. “Though, when we finalize the crest, I would like this gift to remain unchanged.”

            Jayce’s heartstrings tugged again, fiercely touched.

            “Is that all right?” Viktor asked.

            Gathering the omega’s face in his hands, Jayce nodded and kissed him.

            “Absolutely,” he said.

            Viktor trilled. “Thank you.”

            With that, they descended to the great hall, delayed enough, covered in enough of each other’s scent—and Jayce in recognizably different clothing—that every single person gathered for dinner would know exactly why they were late.

**

Behind the manor house, a footpath twisted up the escarpment to the top of the crags. There, the wind blew across the moorland and tugged at Viktor’s hair and cloak. Winter haze blurred the distant landscape, but he could still make out the shining cut of the canal that separated Piltover and Zaun. He stood facing home—a tiny watchtower, keeping an eye out for family.

            Two weeks of separation had passed swiftly, busily. Settling the house had required Viktor and Jayce venture into the nearest village—barely a hamlet, and the only one in the territory—to see about food and supplies. The people had been wary at first, understandably unreceptive to Piltovian interference. However, Jayce’s humility, inquisitiveness, and inescapable likeability had seen them slowly warm, and when they realized Viktor was Zaunite, any remaining trepidation had vanished.

            These lands once had belonged to the former clans that now formed Zaun—ceded when the canal had been drawn as the boundary between nations.

            Viktor had to wonder if Clan Talis’s appointment here was an oversight on Piltover’s part, if they believed Jayce strong enough to hold the line, or even if they had simply had no other choice but to grant them the only available land.  

            The crunch of footsteps drew Viktor’s attention to Ximena, coming to join him.

            “Will you be able to see their approach, do you think?” she asked, breathing hard with the ascent. She battled the breeze, but came to stand between it and Viktor as a windbreak nevertheless. Smiling at her, Viktor shook his head.

            “The best route would take them through the valleys,” he said. “I do not think they will be visible atop the hills, but...”

            Ximena put a hand on his elbow, squeezed. “They’ll be here soon. And Caitlyn should arrive within the hour.”

            The message was clear: time to come down.

            Nodding, Viktor looped his arm with Ximena’s and the two of them wound their way back to the valley floor—and their now bustling manor.

            The locals had begun calling it Hammer House after Jayce had acquired and repaired the necessary equipment to build himself quite the forge. He was often working when they came to visit, any hour of the day, the sound of a hammer echoing through the valley, greeting guests long before they arrived.

            And they arrived.

            News had traveled swiftly from house to house about the strange new lord and herald mage now living in the manor. Many made the journey out of curiosity, others with goods to sell or requests to make. Jayce met and shook hands and asked questions of every last one of them. Where do you live? What do you need? How can we be of service to you? Viktor healed the sick and injured. Not even a fortnight had passed and already the house had transformed into a lively center of community.

            As Viktor and Ximena entered through the back gate, they passed a few people clearing the garden for winter. Others had gathered to exchange pelts for seeds or seeds for spun yarn or spun yarn for eggs. More still were building a new dove cote near the house. A middle-aged man in a wool cap raised a friendly hand when he spied them.

            “Herald! I’ve brought those puppies by.”

            “You are just in time, Ranulf,” Viktor replied, parting ways with Ximena to approach the houndsman. “They are in the kennels?”

            “Yes, herald. All six.”

            “Lead on.”

            He smiled and gestured for Ranulf to walk ahead. When they reached the kennels, the houndsman brought Viktor over to one of the larger stalls where six large, long-limbed puppies were wrestling each other in the hay. Moorhounds. The prized hunting dogs of the region.

            “They are impressive, Ranulf. Which two do you think would be best?”

            Ranulf stepped up to sling his elbows over the stall door and point out a few of the puppies. “They’re all weaned and ready for training,” he said, “but those two big ones are the most independent. Should get along with other hunting dogs if need be, though I’d wager they’d do best on their own. Only ones I wouldn’t separate’s these two females here.” The little ladies in question had come over to the gate to greet them. Viktor extended a hand for them to sniff, then petted their heads. Both pushed insistently into his palm. “They start crying something fierce if they’re apart.”

            “Well, Lord Talis and I may want a pair for ourselves. Let us earmark those four, and I will speak with him.”

            Ranulf beamed. “Thank you, herald.”

            Nodding, Viktor left Ranulf in the kennels and sought out Jayce. Given the lack of noise coming from the forge, Jayce was likely right where Viktor had left him: the bower attached to their den. The most secure room in the house, it served as their private workspace and study, and the perfect place for magical experimentation.

            As Viktor entered the den, Jayce poked his head out of the doorway to the bower.

            “Perfect,” he said. “Can I get your eyes on this?”

            He disappeared inside. Chuckling, heart warm, Viktor followed.

            For the last week, Jayce had thrown himself headfirst into experimenting with the Arcane focus. He already possessed a greater working knowledge of magic than any non-mage Viktor had encountered, but he was also a quick study. He listened, he asked good questions, he proposed ideas Viktor had never considered. Magic came fairly intuitively to Viktor, so to work alongside another person to break it apart, rearrange the base components, and create something completely new was more magical to him than any feat he had accomplished on his own.

            Here, Jayce’s ingenuity truly shined.

            “This sequence keeps giving me trouble...” he said, bringing Viktor over to a table by the window covered in parchment, ink, chalk, and slate. He was a spectacularly messy genius. “The runes lose too much of their power when drawn smaller, but if I change them, I can’t get the right effect.”

            “What is the reason they must be this size?” Viktor asked, picking up a piece of parchment to inspect.

            Grinning, Jayce retrieved their largest slate and showed Viktor the schematic he had meticulously chalked onto it. A clipping hammer, such that a farrier might use. The runes Jayce had chosen would increase the precision of the instrument, but likewise cause it to generate heat, potentially saving resources on the fires needed to work metal. This was the application Jayce had chosen for the magic he was learning. Tools for others. Viktor could not help but smile.

            “A repetition of the same sequence may compensate for the loss of power,” he said as he admired the drawing.

            “That’s a great idea.”

            Jayce kissed him and set down the slate to pick up a quill.

            “Ranulf is here with the puppies,” Viktor said. “Would you come and see which one you think has the best temperament for Master Kiramman?”

            “Absolutely. Let me just write this down...”

            He made a quick note and turned to accompany Viktor, but paused to regard him instead.

            “What is it?”

            “You look really pretty today,” Jayce replied.

            Blushing, almost scowling, but laughing nevertheless, Viktor glanced away, which only drew Jayce toward him. The alpha wrapped Viktor up in his arms, cornering him and smacking a kiss to his cheek.

            “What?” Jayce teased. “I’m not allowed to compliment my bondmate?”

            “You compliment me daily,” Viktor replied, squirming.

            “Well, you look pretty daily.”

            Viktor tried and failed to escape his grasp, so Jayce kissed his head. Grumbling, but happy, Viktor yielded, overwhelmed by the affection he felt for Jayce even when he made himself a nuisance. The easiness between them had never ceased to surprise. It was a strange sensation. One that tugged ever-so-constantly at Viktor from the inside. He was not brave enough to call it love. Not yet. Not when he had known this man less than a month. Even so, he had to admit that for every day that passed, that sensation only grew in strength.

            He brushed his fingers through Jayce’s hair and asked, “How would you feel about puppies for our house as well?”

            Jayce went strangely rigid partway through the question, a spike of dread slamming into Viktor’s sympathy, but then it was gone as quickly as it had come.

            “From Ranulf?” Jayce replied.

            Confused, Viktor nodded.

            “That’s a great idea, too.”

            He rushed them from the bower to the kennels where he spoke with Ranulf at length about the dogs. They agreed that the two largest from the litter would make excellent gifts for Caitlyn and Violet, and that the pair of females would be wonderful first additions to the Clan Talis kennels. The bartering that followed amused Viktor, as Jayce was still learning how Zaunites haggled—and the people of the territory were certainly more Zaunite than Piltovian. Though he secured a fair price, and four puppies.

            “They’re massive,” Jayce said once Ranulf had gone.

            “The breed is best suited to hunting over moorland, but I think Master Kiramman will enjoy the challenge,” Viktor replied, opening the stall and stepping inside. The two little ladies came right over to smell him, their backsides wiggling along with their tails.

            “Are you sure they’re puppies?”

            Viktor laughed. “I am sure.”

            Kneeling, Viktor ran his hands over the puppies’ gray, wiry hair and scratched behind their ears. Singed had had a moorhound. He’d kept the creature both as pet and research subject—as he had kept Viktor. That dog had been his sole comfort during the long years he’d spent under the doctor’s lock and key.

            “This will be Rio,” he said, and gave one of the puppies a kiss on the nose. “Would you like to name the other?”

            “Sure,” Jayce replied, “but I might need a second to think.”

            “Lord Talis,” one of the locals said, coming into the kennels, “someone’s spotted a single rider on the approach—wearing Clan Kiramman colors.”

            “Thank you, Royse,” Jayce replied. He turned to Viktor. “Shall we?”

            Rising, Viktor dusted hay from his clothes and gave the puppies a few more pats.

            “We shall.”

            He, Jayce, Ximena, and their Clan Kiramman servants arrayed themselves in front of the house to greet Caitlyn as she arrived. The young alpha struck an intriguing balance between stateliness and simplicity astride her fine black mare. She’d traveled alone, and packed light, a longbow strapped across her back and her belongings in a pair of saddlebags. Her sharp, blue eyes caught on every center of activity around the house from the garden to the traders to the dove cote, and finally the pair of banners hung on either side of the front entry.

            The new Clan Talis crest. Jayce’s hammer crossed by Viktor’s rune. Gold and iridescent white on red, shimmer-dyed threads lending their shine throughout. A pair of weavers in the village had worked swiftly to finish in time.

            Caitlyn eyed the banners as she reined in her horse and dismounted.

            “Welcome to Hammer House,” Jayce said.

            He took Caitlyn’s hand and clasped her shoulder. Viktor and Ximena bowed their heads in greeting. The servants bowed their bodies.

            “Thank you...” Caitlyn replied, absorbing still.

            “We’ve got a meal started, I think?” Jayce said, glancing at Ximena, who nodded. “Come on in and we’ll show you your room so you can rest and change and we’ll eat whenever you’re ready. The royal family probably won’t arrive until after dark, so—”

            “Lord Talis?”

            It was Royse again, gingerly approaching, her voice lowered.

            “Pair of riders at the back gate, sir,” she said. “Say they’re from Zaun.”

            Viktor’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Jayce nodded for Royse to admit their guests, then subtly gestured for a few of the servants to retrieve Caitlyn’s saddlebags and stable her horse while he led the young woman inside, an arm around her shoulders, asking about her journey and her parents’ health. Ximena followed, taking the rest of the servants with her to see to the meal, so when Silco and Violet rounded the house leading their horses, Viktor was the only one out front waiting to greet them. He almost could not contain his excitement.

            “Welcome to Hammer House,” he said.

            “V!” Violet tossed the reins across her saddle to throw her arms around Viktor. “You look great. This place is crazy.”

            “I see you have been hard at work,” Silco added. Pride radiated from him as he came to kiss Viktor’s cheek. Viktor kept down a chirp and returned the gesture. Oh, how he had missed his mother. Silco stepped back, the barest hint of a smile on his mouth. “Hello, my child.”

            The three of them moved together to the stables.

            “I half expected Violet and I would come upon an empty house,” Silco added. “Piltover has dodged the execution of every other part of the treaty thus far. It would not have surprised me to see them change their minds about granting Clan Talis this particular territory.”

            “This was Zaun, right?” Violet asked. “Before?”

            “After a fashion,” Silco replied. As they entered the stables, they encountered the Clan Kiramman servants settling Caitlyn’s mount among the borrowed Kiramman horses and Clan Talis’s new collection of hearty, hairy moorland geldings. Silco waited for the servants to depart. “Those of the moors are their own people, though they share more in common with Zaun. I would have liked to bring them with us when we separated, but Piltover refused.” He shook his head. “A ‘necessary’ sacrifice for Zaun’s future. One I have long regretted.”

            One which Viktor now could remedy.

            “They have been quite welcoming to us,” he said.

            The three of them removed the horses’ tack.

            “No doubt they recognized you as Princess of Zaun,” Silco replied.

            “My identity merely opened the door. Jayce won their hearts.”

            “Really,” Silco said—not a question as much as an expression of amused disbelief.

            “He is quite a charismatic leader,” Viktor replied. He smiled at the dubious expression Silco gave him, one that seemed aimed at reminding Viktor not to be taken in by Piltovian charm. It was far too late for that. “He has a strong vision for what he wants to accomplish.”

            “I wouldn’t have thought a Kiramman lapdog would be good for much aside from following orders,” Silco said.

            Violet huffed a laugh. Viktor simply smiled again.

            “You will see.”

            Horses stabled, Viktor showed his family to their chamber. Ximena had outdone herself making the manor cozy for their guests. She came to see if Silco and Violet required anything and personally invited them to the meal when they were ready to eat. Silco met her hospitality with cool deference, composed and comfortable. When compared to the Kirammans, however, his demeanor was downright warm.

            Ximena hurried off to retrieve a few more blankets, and Silco posed a pertinent question.

            “Have there been any repercussions?” he asked Viktor, quietly.

            “I am...not certain,” Viktor replied. “When we arrived at Castle Kiramman, something had made Ximena nervous. Whether that threat was implicit or explicit, I could not say. She has not spoken with me about it. As far as I know, Jayce remains unaware that she was barred from the bonding ceremony. Though, the Kirammans shunned her when we left and he did not take kindly to that.”

            Humming thoughtfully, Silco nodded.

            “Wise to bring her with you, then.”

            “I hope with distance and a positive outcome to our negotiations here, her transgressions might be forgiven,” Viktor said.

            “I will be certain to sing her praises as a hostess if ever I have the misfortune to cross paths with Cassandra Kiramman again,” Silco replied with a clipped laugh. Such humor was naturally short-lived. “Ximena Talis is a chink in her son’s armor, Viktor. The Kirammans know it. Be careful with her.”

            Viktor nodded. He had always heeded his mother’s advice.

            He left Silco and Violet to settle and went down to the great hall where Jayce had brought up a cask of local ale for Caitlyn to sample. Hammer House’s wine cellar was practically devoid of wine, but the land was equally devoid of suitable locations for vineyards. Caitlyn sipped from a ceramic mug and looked pleasantly surprised by the flavor. It was the most open expression Viktor had ever seen her wear, but it shuttered when she noticed him.

            “Viktor,” Jayce greeted with a smile. “Your mother and Violet made it all right?”

            “Mm,” he said, and accepted the seat Jayce rose to give him. “I hope your journey was similarly smooth, Master Kiramman?”

            “Cold, but uneventful,” Caitlyn replied.

            “If the weather turns, you’ll have a carriage on the way back at least,” Jayce chuckled.

            Caitlyn’s brow furrowed. “You don’t want to keep it?”

            “Come on, Cait,” Jayce replied. “Your family has been so generous already. Besides, I sprang our need for a carriage on them. I’m sure they weren’t prepared to part with it completely. That’s far too generous a gift.”

            A brand new carriage would have been a perfectly reasonable gift for the most powerful clan in Piltover to grant their ward as a wedding present, to say nothing of the secondhand and well-worn one they had loaned. The Kirammans had plenty of carriages. They would not miss that one. What Jayce desired was to dig himself out from under his debt. The hole was too deep already, and spurning the Kirammans’ generosity now, even when it was not wanted, would not help.

            “You’ll need it, won’t you?” Caitlyn asked. “When you come to the capital?”

            Jayce briefly looked as if he would rather die than return to the capital, but he could not refute her. Viktor would not be riding a horse, and Jayce would not be leaving him here.

            “Perhaps all we need return are the wagons and horses,” Viktor said. “The furniture will remain where it is, and our own animals could haul the carriage.” He knew Caitlyn did not like him, but he was not about to let that stand in the way. “We would be most grateful for the continued use of Clan Kiramman’s carriage.”

            “Or you could just haul his ass around by hand,” Violet said as she came into the great hall. “Ever carried a litter, lordlings? That thing’s fucking heavy.”

            Both Jayce and Caitlyn reacted with staunch Piltovian affront at her entrance, their eyes wide and mouths open, but Viktor simply shook his head.

            “What Vi means to say is that she is less useful than a horse,” he said.

            Caitlyn cackled at that, snorting, then clapping a hand over her mouth.

            “My apologies,” she said behind her palm.

            So there was a young woman behind the Kiramman veneer after all. Viktor smiled. Violet regarded Caitlyn with evaluative, brash surprise.

            “Why’re you apologizing?” she asked. “Viktor’s the one with the insults.”

            “They are not insults,” Viktor replied. “They are factual observations.”

            Looking at Caitlyn, Violet tipped her head toward Viktor. “See?”

            Caitlyn cleared her throat, but could not quite replace her mask. “Yes, well,” she began, “...his highness is...very observant.”

            With a satisfied grin, Violet poured herself a mug from the cask and took a seat on the floor. As she needled Caitlyn further, Jayce settled his hands on Viktor’s shoulders and squeezed as if to ask if he was all right. Viktor turned his head to grasp Jayce’s hand and peck a kiss to his engagement mark. He was not in the least bit insulted by Violet’s behavior. On the contrary, she made the great hall feel that much more like home.

            “Quite the merry gathering,” Silco said as he joined them and changed the timbre of the gathering entirely.

            “Would you like a drink, your majesty?” Jayce asked. He removed only one hand from Viktor’s shoulders to step over to the cask.

            “Much obliged, Lord Talis, thank you.”

            Jayce poured, the mug exchanged hands, and Silco trained his attention on Viktor.

            “You have accomplished so much in less than a fortnight, Lord Talis” he said. “This house is beautifully appointed, and your people are happy and already hard at work. I take it you commissioned the garden clearing and the dove cote and other such projects?”

            “I suppose?” Jayce replied. He settled both hands on Viktor’s shoulders once more. “Clan Talis purchased all the tools and materials, but the garden and the dove cote and everything else are for communal use, so the people you saw working on them volunteered.” Apparently unable to help himself, he toyed with the ends of Viktor’s hair. “Viktor’s idea.”

            “The territory’s largest settlement is only a collection of homes,” Viktor said. “They have taken quite readily to having somewhere to gather.”

            Silco smiled. A slight slyness laced his expression.

            “If these are the results Clan Talis can produce not even a month past its inception, I daresay your future looks quite bright,” he said.

            “We can’t wait to show you everything we’ve been working on,” Jayce replied.

            Silco’s focus turned to Jayce, but he did not dismiss him outright, as Viktor might have expected. Instead, he appraised him—looking for lies, stripping back any artifice to seek out true potential. Jayce did not shy from this scrutiny, but lifted his chest and opened himself to it. He wanted Silco’s approval as much as he wanted to stand on equal ground with Zaun’s most infamously influential omega. He recognized that Silco outclassed him, and he let Silco see that he knew, fearlessly.

            With a smile, Silco tipped his mug to Jayce.

            “I look forward to seeing them,” he said.

            Jayce’s mind swelled with relief and excitement, squeezing Viktor’s shoulders, this time to say we did it.

            Ximena entered the great hall then, flanked by a parade of Kiramman servants, dinner carried among them. They brought the meal to the table and arranged it with such professional swiftness even Violet looked impressed. Smoothing her skirts, Ximena turned to face them and rallied the warmest, bravest smile Viktor had ever seen.

            “Welcome to Hammer House,” she said. “Dinner is served.”

Chapter Text

The first round of negotiations spanned the course of two hours.

            Viktor and Jayce took their seats on one side of the table in the great hall. Violet and Silco sat on the other. Caitlyn, as supervisor and mediator, occupied the head of the table, but she served only as an eye and ear for Piltover—present to observe and report what she had witnessed. Her voice would not be necessary here. In Hammer House, Jayce spoke for Piltover. He had such a beautiful voice.

            They began by reviewing the treaty. They agreed upon which language was vague and which language was absolute. Jayce described Piltover’s concerns. Silco detailed Zaun’s grievances. They diagnosed the problems down to minutiae, agreed on those problems, and broke for lunch.

            After the meal, when Viktor came to collect Caitlyn and show her to the kennels, her voice reached his ears for the first time that day, conversing with Jayce.

            “...don’t know,” she said. “I suppose I assumed he would simply place all the blame on us. Instead he’s...listening.” Disbelief colored the word. “Is it because the princess is present? He was never so straightforward in any meeting with the council.”

            “Give me one time the council has been straightforward,” Jayce replied.

            Caitlyn grumbled, which made Jayce chuckle. Viktor leaned quietly against the wall outside the open chamber door.

            “Silco agreed that Zaun would communicate with Clan Talis,” Jayce continued. “He’s a man of his word. I don’t think our failure is his goal. I think he wants what’s best for his people, and he’s willing to fight for it by any means necessary. Viktor and I are just trying to create a space where he doesn’t have to fight.”

            Caitlyn conceded the point. With a swelling of pride, Viktor made himself known.

            “Master Kiramman, if you have a moment,” he said, entering, “Clan Talis has prepared a gift for you, as thanks for your attendance.”

            Startling, Caitlyn turned to Jayce, a question coloring her face. Jayce gave her an encouraging nod, so she nodded as well and collected herself to go with Viktor. Violet was already waiting outside, pacing a small circuit to keep warm. She greeted Caitlyn with a level of familiarity that only disconcerted the young woman further, but shaved off the Kiramman edge. When they arrived at the kennels, both received the puppies with bright eyes and almost childlike excitement.

            “If you prefer,” Viktor said, “we can keep them here and have the houndsman train them, then return them to you when they have grown, but of course you are also welcome to take them with you when you go.”

            “You think I can’t train a fucking dog?” Violet laughed.

            “That is not at all what I said,” Viktor replied with a laugh of his own.

            “Will Clan Talis keep these two?” Caitlyn asked. She gestured at the pair of females, snuggled together in one corner of the stall.

            “We will,” Viktor replied. “All four come from the same litter. They are family, much like ourselves.”

            He smiled at Caitlyn. She returned an expression of concerted thought. After a moment, the young woman nodded. Her hands passed over her puppy’s coat a little absently, her brow furrowed, as she continued to think. With the lightest touch, Viktor extended his sympathy and soothed the anxiety that tingled the back of her mind.

            “We should take them on a hunt tomorrow,” Violet said. “Show you how to train them, lordling.”

            “You think I cannot train a dog?” Caitlyn replied.

            Violet grinned. “A ‘fucking’ dog, you mean.”

            “I will not use such vulgarities.” With a haughty sniff, Caitlyn rose. Despite appearances, though, she exuded amusement. “Neither should you for that matter. It does not befit an heir to the throne.”

            “Sorry, were you under the impression Vander doesn’t curse?” Violet asked. “Who do you think taught us?”

            “Us?” Caitlyn replied, and both of them looked at Viktor.

            “I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,” he replied.

            “Don’t fall for it,” Violet said to Caitlyn. “He knows how to swear in five or six different languages.”

            “Eight.”

            “Fuck you,” Violet laughed.

            Their playful banter rubbed off on Caitlyn. With her anxieties eased, her shoulders relaxed and she let herself smile and enjoy the joke. Viktor promised to organize a hunt for the next day and left them to play with the puppies until the second round of negotiations. Both alphas arrived late.

            “Lost track of time,” Violet said when Silco’s eyes bored into her.

            “My deepest apologies, your majesty,” Caitlyn added with a genuine bow. “We were completely absorbed in Clan Talis’s gifts to us.” She turned to Jayce and Viktor and added, “Thank you, Jayce. Thank you, your highness. The dogs are remarkable.” Then back to Silco, “Would you join us for a hunt tomorrow, your majesty? I’m told your abilities are quite renowned in Zaun.”

            In the beat of silence that passed, Silco stared at Caitlyn. Only Viktor would sense his complete and total shock.

            “I would be delighted, Master Kiramman,” he replied. “Thank you for the invitation.”

            Satisfied, proud, Caitlyn took her seat at the head of the table.

            Bewildered, but equally proud, Jayce resumed their discussion.

            Over the course of another two hours, they categorized and organized the agreed-upon problems. Overlapping issues were grouped together. The most critical earned their place at the top of the list. Chief among those issues were revenue, maintenance, and security. Despite their political separation, Zaun and Piltover remained economically linked. The push and pull between them, the exorbitant taxation and poor treatment of Zaunites wishing to cross the bridges to sell goods, buy goods, or even visit family was one of the primary sources of tension that had necessitated the treaty.

            “What is Zaun’s plan for operations?” Jayce asked.

            “Our plan is quite simple, Lord Talis,” Silco replied. “The bridges will be staffed by bridgemen from both nations. A small toll will be levied for each crossing in either direction, and the tolls collected will be used to pay the bridgemen for their work and ensure the bridges themselves remain in good repair. The funds would not be used for anything else.”

            Jayce nodded. “Who would oversee the collection and distribution of those funds?”

            “We have a small trade council prepared to assume operations.”

            “Would you be willing to have a few representatives from Piltover join that council?”

            “Provided Zaun retains the majority, yes.”

            Nodding again, Jayce smiled. “Thank you, your majesty. I think that’s a good place to stop for today. We can take the night to think, and finalize the details tomorrow.”

            Dismissed, Caitlyn and Violet rose at the same time, froze at the same time, then falteringly left the room at the same time, no doubt headed back to the kennels. Viktor chuckled. Someone would likely have to collect them for dinner.

            “If you’ll indulge me, your majesty,” Jayce said as Silco, too, began to rise, “I’d like to show you the arcane research Viktor and I have been conducting.”

            “Arcane research?”

            “Yes.”

            “What manner of research?”

            His gaze flicked toward Viktor so briefly that the glance almost evaded Viktor’s notice.

            “Practical applications of magic for everyday use,” Jayce replied. “Currently, tools, seeing as they’re my family specialty, but I believe the potential applications are theoretically endless.”

            Jayce had meticulously prepared a presentation of selected discoveries to show Silco. With a smile, Viktor excused himself from the great hall. His mate would win over his mother. The alpha’s irresistible charisma became especially infectious when he was speaking about his work. With Viktor present, sympathy would give his mother room enough to doubt his feelings, so Viktor went to the kitchen to see if he could assist Ximena with dinner.

            “How is it going?” Ximena asked as he arrived. Servants buzzed about the kitchen in a well-orchestrated dance he need not interrupt.

            “Very well,” Viktor replied. “I think we will conclude negotiations tomorrow.”

            “So quickly,” Ximena breathed, beaming.

            “Jayce speaks very plainly,” Viktor said. “My mother has responded well to his honesty.”

            Ximena’s smile settled in to stay as she laughed, lightly. “To hear Lord Kiramman speak of the peace talks with Zaun, I was prepared to host our guests a month.”

            At the mention of Cassandra, Viktor probed Ximena’s mind for fear, but the woman’s pride in her son overpowered any subtler emotions. Viktor let the matter rest for now. They were safe in Hammer House. Tomorrow, they would settle the matter of the bridges and ports with such fairness that Piltover could not reject the agreement without losing face. Caitlyn would carry the news to the Lords’ Council with a smile and a new hunting dog, having received such hospitality as to place Clan Talis beyond reproach. Jayce would prove himself an adept leader and diplomat. The peace would be that much more secure.

            “Oh, Viktor,” Ximena said, drawing him aside. “A few of the servants have asked if they might stay on with us rather than return to Castle Kiramman.”

            “Have they?”

            Viktor could not hide his surprise.

            “Yes, and I’ve told them I must have your blessing, but they would be a great relief. Especially if we continue to host such distinguished guests.”

            “I see. Well, we will not be able to pay as high a wage as they receive from the Kirammans, but if they wish to stay, of course they are most welcome. You have my blessing, but you should seek the approval of Master Kiramman as well.”

            “I will,” Ximena said, smiling still. “Thank you, Viktor. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

            As anticipated, Caitlyn and Violet arrived late to the table. A shared interest had made them fast friends. Though Caitlyn still harbored her long-trained reservations, her newfound comfortability and enjoyment were clear. She and Violet even joined Jayce and Silco’s ongoing conversation about their research, showing an excitement about the possibilities that only served to spur Jayce forward.

            After dinner, the young women dragged him off to prepare for the morrow’s hunt. Viktor, Silco, and Ximena gathered by the fire with tea and ale and honeyed cakes, though Ximena soon excused herself to bed.

            Silco swirled his ale, looking into the mug to watch it eddy.

            Viktor settled, blissfully warm and perfectly content to sit with his mother.

            “I assume Piltover is aware of Lord Talis’s penchant for magic,” Silco said.

            “They must be,” Viktor replied. “Clan Kiramman had him developing all sorts of tools and research. I doubt Jayce could have kept his interest a secret.”

            Nodding, Silco sipped. “The success of your studies may prove to be your saving grace, my child,” he said. “Proof to Piltover that the sacrifices they made to gain you were worth it. But that sword is, as always, double-edged.” He looked at Viktor. “Whatever you build with Jayce Talis will belong to Piltover. He may wish to put magic in the hands of the commons, but Piltover’s lords do not take kindly to the commons having something they do not. Keep them placated. And do not let your bondmate overextend himself. He is amiable, but inexperienced.”

            “Would Zaun desire this new magic?” Viktor asked.

            Silco shook his head. “We have shimmer. Let Piltover lay claim to your creations. It will help them sleep at night, secure in their perceived superiority. Keep us apprised of your developments, and we will ensure we have the capability to match them.”

            Nodding, Viktor said, “I would be curious to see what Powder and Ekko might create with our new magic.”

            “And I would be curious to see what Jayce might create with shimmer,” Silco replied.

            They smiled at each other in the firelight and settled into companionable silence until the alphas returned with all four dogs in tow.

            “Violet is convinced it’s too cold out for the puppies,” Jayce said, exasperated.

            “Because it is! Can they sleep inside, V?”

            Viktor chuckled as Rio and her sister bounded over to the hearth to greet him and sniff Silco. He patted Rio’s head and said, “I do not mind if they join us indoors. We can set aside a space for them somewhere warm.”

            Grinning, Violet all but stuck her tongue out and rounded up the puppies to find a servant to organize somewhere for them to sleep. Caitlyn went with her. Viktor rose from the fire and bid his mother goodnight to go upstairs with Jayce, who looked exhausted. The moment the door into their den closed, Jayce heaved a tremendous sigh and gathered Viktor into his arms. He buried his nose against his neck and breathed deeply—in, and out, and in, and out. Purring, Viktor stroked his hair.

            “Well done today, my dove.”

            Jayce rumbled. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

            “Even Caitlyn and Violet are getting along.”

            Jayce let his forehead slide to rest on Viktor’s shoulder. “Maybe we won’t have to be the only ones advocating for peace.”

            “I hope the council will be pleased with the agreement we reach.”

            “They agreed to let us handle the negotiations,” Jayce said and lifted his head. “As long as Caitlyn approves as overseer, then the council has already approved by extension.”

            “Yes, but let us not forget the circumstances under which that agreement was made.”

            Jayce had strangled Lord Hoskel and Lord Kiramman had backed the others into a corner to resolve the conflict. Viktor doubted any of them would view Clan Talis’s handling of the negotiations as legitimate unless they returned results that perfectly pleased the clans, and the only outcome that could possibly achieve that was Zaun giving up their claim to the bridges entirely, which would not happen. Silco was right. Only this new and powerful magic would win the lords over to their side.

            “I’m still sorry about that,” Jayce replied.

            Viktor shook his head. “Do not be. In truth, I found it rather attractive.”

            A mischievous, ill-behaved grin unfurled across Jayce’s face.

            “Really?”

            Viktor blushed. “Yes, well, one could hardly fault me for—”

            Jayce kissed him, rumbling. Eyes fluttering shut, Viktor could do nothing save part his lips and sigh into his alpha’s mouth. There was more to say, however. Viktor pulled away.

            “Someday soon they will accuse me of influencing your mind, Jayce,” he said. Jayce only nuzzled his nose and kissed him again. “Manipulating your emotions to serve Zaun’s purposes.” Another kiss. Viktor pushed him back, a light pressure on his chest, to give him room to hold Jayce’s face in his hands. “I need you to know that I will not do that. Not ever.”

            Even then, more remained to say, but Viktor could not speak. The words were right there, in his mouth, on his tongue: I think I am in love with you and I need to know if you could truly love me, too. He dreaded the answer as much as he desired it.

            Jayce lifted Viktor’s hand from his cheek and pressed a kiss to the middle of his palm.

            “I know, princess,” he said. “I trust you.”

            Perhaps Viktor would feel more secure if he could find the courage to express the depth of his feeling, but he did not know if such words existed, and if they did, he did not have them.

            As it was, he only keened softly at his mate. Jayce pressed another kiss to his palm, to the heel of his hand, to his wrist, and on down his arm, pushing back Viktor’s sleeve to caress his skin. Jayce came to a stop at the bend of his elbow and lifted his face to smile at Viktor with such helpless fondness that Viktor felt those words build behind his teeth. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. He clenched his jaw to hold them in.

            “I’m proud of what we’ve built here,” Jayce said. “I think we make a great team.”

            Tears stung Viktor’s eyes, but he hid them behind a smile.

            “I think so, too,” he said.

            They could only hope Piltover would agree.

**

According to the locals, moorland wildlife was most active at dawn and at dusk. The hunting party met Ranulf and his best hound at the gate before sunrise to set off on foot, bows on their backs, their own puppies scampering around their legs. The Talis hounds came alive on the moor—showing a confidence Jayce had not seen from either of them in the kennels.

            They moved swiftly through the heather and over the rocks, surefooted even with their noses to the ground. Each time they caught a new scent, they transformed into gray blurs until Ranulf whistled them back.

            “They’re like quicksilver,” Jayce laughed, catching Viktor’s hand as he walked alongside him. “Oh, what about Mercury? For the other puppy?”

            Viktor smiled and squeezed his hand. “It is perfect.”

            The hunt was not the most productive with four unruly puppies learning the ropes, but it was fun. Caitlyn pestered Ranulf about the best methods for training her dog. Violet raced the puppies each time they bolted, almost as surefooted as they were. Amid all the disturbance, Silco still shot six birds, most of them mid-flight, and all of them with such fierce focus and cold precision that Jayce had to reevaluate his understanding of the man.

            Vander was not the only warrior who ruled Zaun.

            Caitlyn earned his respect by shooting down four birds of her own.

            That camaraderie followed them into their final negotiations. Within three hours, they had reached an agreement. Caitlyn gave her approval, and Jayce shook hands with Silco over the table. Zaun’s now-structured governance of the ports and bridges would begin one month hence, giving the council time to prepare for the changes. They celebrated over a dinner of the birds they’d caught that morning.

            “If I may,” Caitlyn said, lifting her mug, “I would like to raise a toast to both our nations.” She hedged as everyone’s attention turned toward her. “I...admit I was skeptical that we would be able to reach any sort of agreement, but since coming to Hammer House, I feel like my eyes have been opened to new possibilities, to new ways of life...” She cleared her throat. “I would also like to thank our hosts for their generosity and patience. I hope that Zaun and Piltover will look to your example in how to treat each other. For the future.”

            “For the future,” they echoed, raising their own mugs and drinking together.

            Jayce couldn’t help placing a hand on Viktor’s leg. He smiled when the omega turned to smile at him. He was so beautiful with those tiny ribbons braided into his hair, so happy in the company of his mother and sister. Caitlyn, too, was part of their family now, having entered their bond from the moment she passed between those stones by the door. It had been wonderful to watch her open up over the last few days, to see her show Viktor and Violet and Silco who she was when she was herself.

            Jayce would be sorry to see them go.

            After their mothers went to sleep, Jayce and Viktor sat up with Violet and Caitlyn by the fire in the great hall. Talking, sharing excitement for the years ahead when all four of them would lead. As the conversation wore on, Viktor quietly leaned against Jayce, shutting his eyes, eventually sliding to his lap and falling asleep. Jayce pulled Viktor’s hair away from his neck.

            “I’ve never seen him so happy, you know,” Violet said. Jayce looked up in surprise. “Known him my whole life and I’ve never seen him smile the way he smiles at you.”

            Jayce blinked.

            “He does seem a rather serious person,” Caitlyn observed.

            “You’re one to talk,” Violet laughed and gave Caitlyn a playful shove that brought a pink hue to Caitlyn’s cheeks. Maybe that was just the ale. Either way, Violet sobered a little when she looked at Jayce next. “Seriously, lordling. You have my respect for this.” She nodded at Viktor. “He’s seen a lot of shit. We all have, but... Viktor more than most. It’s...I mean, fuck, it’s a relief, you know?”

            “What do you mean ‘seen a lot of shit’?” Jayce asked, stroking Viktor’s hair.

            Violet shook her head. “Not my tale to tell. I don’t even know the whole story. Only Silco does. Viktor doesn’t talk about it.”

            Jayce looked down at Viktor. The sharp lines of his profile. The mole near his eye. The mate mark at the bend of his neck. He wanted to know everything about him. He wanted to crawl inside his skin, understand how the world looked through his eyes. He was not surprised to learn that Viktor had suffered more than he knew. He had the sort of mental fortitude that could only have been learned. All the same, the knowledge filled Jayce with a sympathetic sorrow. He loved his mate too much to tolerate even his past suffering.

            He loved Viktor.

            At the thought, a familiar fire kindled deep within him. In the whirlwind of the treaty, the betrothal, the bonding, and the establishment of their house, Jayce had lost track of when to expect his next rut. To a degree, his body had gone dormant following the bonding, waiting for his mate to enter a heat so that he could answer with a rut and keep the two of them in sync for the rest of their lives. Nearly a month had passed, however, and without a heat from Viktor, Jayce’s alpha cycle was bound to take matters into its own hands eventually.

            He eagerly anticipated spending that time with Viktor, but it would also mean he could no longer avoid talking with him about pups—and the Kirammans’ plans.

            “I’m glad to see you so happy, too, Jayce,” Caitlyn said gently. “I apologize for my callousness where Viktor was concerned. Seeing you live and work together, I...I understand. I truly believe the two of you have a promising future.”

            That meant a lot, and he knew Caitlyn was sincere.

            “Thanks, Cait.”

            “Let’s do this again, lordlings,” Violet said. “You make for pretty good company.”

            She looked at Caitlyn when she said it, and Caitlyn smiled in a way Jayce had never seen before. Thankfully, he had a sleeping bondmate as an excuse to leave the pair at the fire. He carried Viktor upstairs and kept himself from straining to hear what Caitlyn and Violet discussed next in warm, hushed voices. The poor servants might have to sleep in the kitchen if those two never left the great hall. Jayce chuckled as he tucked Viktor into their nest.

            “Did I fall asleep?” Viktor asked, groggy.

            “Mm-hmm.” Jayce kissed his cheek. “Don’t think twice about it.”

            “Thank you...”

            He drifted off again while Jayce dressed for bed. He almost felt bad waking Viktor up a second time to help him into his own nightgown, but Viktor was so pliant and adorable, he couldn’t regret it completely. Once Jayce had climbed into their nest, Viktor fussed with the blankets around them both like a mole—digging blindly but with a purpose. Jayce held still and smiled until Viktor settled, his head tucked under Jayce’s chin.

            “Jayce...” Viktor said, and it sounded like a question, or the beginning of a sentence. It sounded like something important.

            “Yes, Viktor?” Jayce replied, but Viktor had fallen asleep.

            Jayce wondered what he had been about to say all night. He wondered through his dreams, and woke up wondering. He wondered through breakfast and bidding Caitlyn farewell. He wondered as he stood with his arm around Viktor and waved at the wagons and servants who went with her. Roughly a third of them had chosen to stay at Hammer House, and he wondered at that, too, but not as much. He wondered in the bower as he gave Viktor the morning with his mother and sister before they departed that afternoon.

            As they watched Violet and Silco disappear beyond the rear gate, he turned to his mate.

            “Viktor.”

            He had important things to say himself.

            “Yes, Jayce?”

            “I have something I need to discuss with you.”

            Appropriately concerned—it was a concerning subject—Viktor followed Jayce back up to the bower and sat across from him. Jayce grasped his hand.

            “Um,” he said and let his breath out. “Sometime in the next few weeks, I’m pretty sure I’m going to go into rut.” Viktor’s hand tensed in his. “I—I’m sorry I didn’t bring this up sooner, but there was a lot going on, and also, honestly, I didn’t want to talk about it, or know how because it made me really fucking angry—” Anger lanced him then. “—and still does, sorry...” He huffed and shook his head. “When we were at Castle Kiramman, Caitlyn let me know some plans of Piltover’s. I don’t have all the details, and I can’t say how far ahead they’ve plotted, but...at least part of the reason they wanted you to serve as Zaun’s representative bondmate was to—was because they were—are—hoping our children would be mages.”

            He didn’t need to explain any more. He probably hadn’t needed to explain at all. Viktor and Silco were too intelligent not to have considered offspring.

            Jayce could still throttle himself for his own ignorance. Omegas lived such different lives, and only after spending so much more time in their company had he come to realize how poorly Piltover treated them—even if that treatment looked soft from the outside.

            Viktor had not spoken.

            “Please say something,” Jayce breathed, begged.

            “I have never been in heat.”

            Jayce’s breath left him with all the force of a gut punch. That was not at all what he had expected to hear.

            “I do not know whether this is an accident of biology, the influence of the gray plague, or the result of the studies in which I was forced to participate, but I am...infertile,” Viktor continued. “All of my attempts to remedy this particular affliction have been unsuccessful. I did not know how to tell you. Before the treaty, it did not matter. It was a secret. One I could not keep indefinitely, but one I have come to fear nevertheless. I am sorry.”

            Jayce had been knocked into a state of shock, but that apology brought him out of it with a start. He clutched Viktor’s hand.

            “What? No. You have nothing to apologize for. That isn’t your fault.”

            “Nevertheless, I know the value of omegas in Piltover.” Tears had brimmed in Viktor’s eyes and Jayce began to panic. His mate was upset—devastatingly upset—and he did not know how to fix it. “They will not get their mages from me, and I do not imagine they will wish to keep a Herald of the Arcane around to meddle in their affairs if he cannot serve his purpose.”

            Jayce growled. “Don’t say that.”

            His anger stirred up equal, and justified, anger in Viktor. “I speak the truth, Jayce, whether or not you want to hear it.”

            “I know! Fuck. I know, Viktor. Sorry we don’t all live by Zaun’s ideals, sorry that—” No. He growled again, gritting his teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you, I’m not. I don’t mean to speak to you that way. Not after—”

            Viktor had just told him he could not bear children.

            No matter one’s culture or creed, that was a difficult truth to shoulder. Jayce didn’t know if Viktor even wanted pups. Now he could not bring himself to ask. The choice had been taken from his mate—and from him by extension—and Jayce ought to feel something about that, but he was only empty shock. Shock and the smallest thread of relief. They would not have children for Piltover to leverage against them. But the lack of those children would absolutely pit every single lord against Viktor. The thread of relief faded, snapped.

            Leaning forward, Jayce pressed Viktor’s knuckles to his forehead.

            “I’m sorry, Viktor,” he said. “I can only imagine how that must feel.”

            “I had not minded until now.”

            The omega’s voice was tight, and when Jayce looked up, Viktor was holding back tears.

            “I think you would make a magnificent father, Jayce,” Viktor said. “I think I would have liked to raise pups with you.”

            His lips trembled, and Jayce could not take any more.

            He shot to his feet and pulled Viktor up with him and threw his arms around his mate, offering so much of his protective pheromone at once that the room clouded with it. Rumbling, he hugged Viktor tight and pushed every ounce of comfort he could muster through their bond. At first, Viktor jolted, stiff, but the longer Jayce held onto him, the more his rigidity slackened.

            Then he began to weep.

            Viktor wept with the sorrow of a man who had never wept before. A man who held everything behind an implacable mask until he had convinced everyone, including himself, that he felt nothing. Viktor wept over the pups, but he wept over other things, too. Things Jayce hadn’t learned about yet. Jayce cried with him, silently, wounded for his mate, for all that he had feared and suffered.

            “I am sorry I cannot give you pups, Jayce,” Viktor said once his tears had softened.

            “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Jayce replied. “You’re enough for me. More than enough. I never thought I’d get to have a bondmate, Viktor.” He drew back to look him in the eye, to hold his face in his hands. “And you are so much more than I ever could have imagined. Don’t be sorry.”

            Viktor’s tears welled all over again.

            “Please don’t cry,” Jayce said and kissed them from the corners of his eyes.

            “I do not know what I did to deserve you...” Viktor said, throat tight.

            “You deserve the world, Viktor. I would give it to you if I could.”

            A few more sobs bubbled out of Viktor. He slipped forward to bury his face against Jayce’s shoulder. His arms tightened around him in a way Jayce had never felt before, not from anyone. As if he was the center of the world, the one thing keeping Viktor grounded.

            “I love you...” Viktor whispered.

            Jayce stopped breathing.

            Time stood still.

            In that stillness, Jayce understood that the reason he couldn’t give Viktor the world because he was already holding the whole world in his arms.

            There was only one thing he could give.

            The truth.

            “I love you, too.”

            Hiccupping, Viktor pulled back, his face red and tear-stained. Jayce brushed his fingers along his jaw, combed them back into his hair, and Viktor closed his eyes to bask in the touch. Jayce rumbled, brushed his cheeks with his thumbs, and planted his forehead against his bondmate’s as if that would melt their minds together, let him finally crawl into Viktor’s skin and understand perfectly not just what but how he felt. Rumbling still, Jayce touched a featherlight kiss to his mate’s lips.

            “I love you, Viktor.”

            He kissed him again.

            “I love you.”

            And again.

            “I love you so much.”

            Viktor clung to him, wrapping his hands around Jayce’s forearms and kissing him back.

            “Terrifying, isn’t it?” Viktor said with a tiny, syrupy laugh.

            “Yes,” Jayce replied, laughing, too, “in a good way.”

            Viktor opened his eyes and they looked at each other from such a close distance that it strained Jayce’s eyes to do so, but he wouldn’t pull back. Not ever.

            “You have nothing to fear, Viktor,” he said. “Not from me. We’ll face Piltover together. I love my country, and I love my people, but my first loyalty is to you.” Viktor drew in a sharp breath. “I mean that. You’re my bondmate. The sun rises and sets for you. No one else. As long as I am breathing, I swear you will not come to harm.”

            Swallowing, Viktor pressed closer. “And I will exercise every particle of my power to protect you, dove.”

            The words swept gooseflesh across Jayce’s skin, and he shivered.

            “I love you, Viktor,” he said again, and it made him giddy.

            “I love you, Jayce,” Viktor replied, and he tilted his face up to give Jayce a burning kiss so sweet, Jayce would swear he could taste nectar on his tongue.

Chapter Text

A shared anticipation for Jayce’s rut worked against them in the end. A week from negotiations, they had word of Caitlyn’s safe return to Castle Kiramman, but no rut. Two weeks from negotiations, they had prototypes for the clipping hammer and several other implements, but no rut. Three weeks from negotiations, they had a dove cote and a cleared garden and a second well and merchants from Zaun flowing through the rear gate to trade with the people of Talis territory, but no rut.

            By the end of the third week, Viktor was certain he was the problem.

            A pent-up vigor roiled in Jayce. He spent his days entangled with their work and his nights entangled in Viktor. His scent expanded into the most unbelievable aroma with such strength that Viktor worried everyone within a mile would be able to smell him. Jayce crafted a cloak pin bearing the official Talis crest, a second staff of gold alloy engraved with runes, and a peculiar bracelet of glass baubles filled with shimmer he must have obtained from one of the Zaunite traders. All in an effort to coax a heat from his mate, all without success.

            Any longer in such a state and he was bound to develop a fever.  

            The past few days, he’d taken to resting his forehead against Viktor’s mate mark, his arms wrapped around Viktor’s waist from behind, as they worked together in the bower. The heat that radiated from his temples had reached concerning heights.

            “You don’t like it...” Jayce lamented.

            “I do, my dove,” Viktor replied. In a fit of mania, Jayce had worked through the night on accessories for the staff—interchangeable and interlocking mechanized shafts engraved with every known rune. “I merely wondered about the possible configurations of the pieces.”

            In principle, Jayce had designed the staff as a more efficient channel for Viktor’s magic—a tool capable of bearing the strain of the Arcane on his behalf. In practice, Viktor had already broken it twice during testing. Jayce drew in a breath and heaved the most pitiable sigh Viktor had ever heard.

            “You don’t like it.”

            Chuckling, Viktor turned around in his arms. He had to lift Jayce’s chin in his hands to even get the alpha to look him in the eye. Jayce pouted. His cheeks were hot to the touch.

            “It is ingenious,” Viktor said. “I will endeavor to be gentler with it.”

            “You’ll try it?”

            “I will.”

            “You like it?”

            “I do.”

            Honey-slow, rumbling, Jayce gathered Viktor up and lowered his head to kiss him, sensuous and insistent. The sort of kiss that would have Viktor slick in a moment if he let it continue. He tried halfheartedly to draw back from his mate, but Jayce followed after him, securing a hand around the back of Viktor’s head to keep him in place. He pushed his tongue into Viktor’s mouth and his back against the table.

            “I like watching you do magic,” he purred.

            Now that he’d trapped Viktor, his hands were free to run down the omega’s sides.

            “You’re so powerful...”

            There were not many alphas in Piltover who would relish having a mate like Viktor, but every time their research required the exercise of his magic, Jayce only grew more enamored.

            “...keep on breaking all the gifts I make you...” he chuckled.

            He slid a leg between Viktor’s to kiss him again. Viktor mewled, clay in his hands. Jayce knew it. He kissed his way across Viktor’s lips to his cheek, down his jaw to his neck, where he lingered, sharp teeth grazing his mate mark, forehead misted with sweat. Poor thing.

            “If you are going to take this further, I must insist we move to the nest,” Viktor said.

            Jayce groaned as if their nest lay half a continent away rather than in the adjoining room. That groan turned into an outright growl when a knock sounded at the door of said room.

            “Easy, dove.” Viktor stroked his hair. “Stay here. I will answer...”

            It was Ximena, an enormous sealed letter in her hands.

            “A rider delivered this,” she said.

            The ink of the address to Lord and Lady Talis glimmered gold. Viktor opened the letter.

            “It is an invitation,” he said as he scanned. “The Lords’ Council is holding a peace celebration in the capital.” He looked at Ximena with undisguised concern. “Jayce cannot travel now. Not in his current state.”

            “Neither can you afford to miss official council business.”

            Viktor hummed, frowning. With Jayce on the edge of a rut, he would be equally if not more aggressive than he had following their bonding, and that was before he had realized how the council had manipulated him. To remove him from his home and den before his first rut as a bonded alpha seemed particularly cruel. Not to mention the fact that he very well might rip out Hoskel’s throat if the man so much as sneezed in his direction.

            “If we are lucky, his rut may conclude before we must depart.”

            They were not lucky.

            Jayce cut a picture of misery in the carriage, irritable, sweating even in the cold. Though Ximena had not been explicitly invited to the celebration, she traveled with them anyway. Jayce would not be able to show his face at public or even private events for any length of time, and someone would need to keep an eye on him while Viktor undertook Clan Talis’s social duties. It made Viktor uneasy and Ximena frightened, so all three of them were fairly miserable in the carriage in the end.

            One small mercy was that the journey only took a day. The canal between their territory and Zaun had somewhat ceased to function as a border, so Clan Talis was free to pass through Zaun and cross the river back into Piltover rather than travel overland.

            They paid their minimal fee to the bridgemen, and it pleased Jayce to see the fruits of their labor on display. That was until they reached the other side and were funneled into a separate traffic lane that bypassed what looked like newly-constructed tollbooths on Piltover’s side. While not technically part of the bridges, the booths and guards inside them stood in flagrant disregard for the agreement Clan Talis had reached.

            Only Zaunites waited in the lines.

            “What the fuck is going on with those tollbooths?” Jayce asked the instant he stepped out of the carriage in front of Clan Kiramman’s manor house.

            Thankfully, the hour being so late, only Caitlyn and a handful of servants had come out to receive them. Caitlyn paled, but she waved the staff forward to help unload the carriage. She approached Jayce with a stoic expression.

            “You saw them?”

            “Of course we saw them, we came through Zaun.”

            Caitlyn blinked at that particular revelation, but retained her focus. “I tried to convince the council not to do it, but they wouldn’t listen to me.” She glanced into the carriage and made brief eye contact with Viktor. “They claimed I had been unduly influenced.”

            “So they’re not honoring our negotiations at all?”

            “No, they’re honoring them—to the letter. They are simply ‘finding alternative methods to recuperate their losses’.”

            Jayce tensed, growling, ready to stalk the streets of Piltover and hunt down every last member of the Lords’ Council to give them a piece of his mind—or perhaps a thrashing. Viktor leaned out of the carriage door to place a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. The fight melted from him as the growl turned into a purr.

            “There is nothing we can do tonight,” Viktor said. “Let us sleep, and we can speak with Lord Kiramman in the morning.”

            Turning his head, Jayce kissed Viktor’s engagement mark and nodded.

            “You’re right. Sorry, Cait.”

            “I’m as frustrated as you are, believe me,” she replied.

            They followed her inside, servants at their heels, to settle in the suite of rooms still allocated to Jayce. The furnishings here were far finer and far more abundant than in Castle Kiramman. Jayce had lived within the walls of this manor for the better part of a decade. The familiarity of the rooms provided a small shield against the discomfort of being in the Kirammans’ home, but it was not Hammer House, not their home. The rooms did not carry any of Viktor’s scent.

            “Before we leave the city, we should look into buying a place of our own,” Jayce grumbled from the tub he’d dragged away from the fire.

            “We do not have the funds for that, my dove,” Viktor replied as he constructed their nest.

            “Land’s cheaper in Zaun, right? It’s right there. Any time we need to be in the capital, we could just cross the river. Paying the godsdamned toll we agreed to pay would still be less expensive than living on this side. I’d rather stay in Zaun anyway. It’d make council gatherings tolerable.”

            “Somehow I do not think the council would approve,” Viktor said.

            “Why not? The Princess of Zaun can’t keep a home in his own kingdom? Bullshit.”

            Viktor left the nest to go to Jayce. He sat down on a stool beside the tub, picked up a pitcher, and encouraged his mate to lie back so he could rinse cool water through his hair. The alpha rumbled with relief.

            “I agree with you,” Viktor said, “but we must consider the optics.”

            “I don’t care what the council thinks.”

            “If we want our efforts to succeed, I am afraid we must play by their rules until we are in a position to change them.”

            “We’re playing by their rules, Viktor,” Jayce replied, jaw tight. “See how they respond?”

            “Play and counterplay,” Viktor said. “The next move is ours.”

            Drawing a calming breath, Jayce nodded. Viktor leaned over to kiss his forehead.

            “I am sorry you are not feeling well,” he said. “I am certain that does not help.”

            Jayce shook his head as his eyes drifted to Viktor’s mouth. “Not your fault,” he said.

            “It is,” Viktor replied. “A little.”

            Extending his neck, Jayce pressed a sharp and lingering kiss to his lips.

            “Not your fault,” he said, and the fire behind the words made Viktor shiver.

            They finished building their nest together, arranging the furs and blankets they’d brought from home. The moment they finished winding the bond cord around the canopy rail, Jayce relaxed and collapsed into bed. Much to Viktor’s surprise, he fell right asleep, and much to Viktor’s concern, he barely stirred the following morning, his whole body burning with fever. The alpha hauled himself out of bed nevertheless.

            “I can handle council matters,” Viktor said. “You should stay and rest.”

            “You shouldn’t have to do it alone,” Jayce replied. “I’m coming...”

            Truthfully, Viktor worried the gathering would yield some conflict akin to Jayce’s attack on Hoskel, but in reality, Jayce hardly proved coherent. As the council met to congratulate themselves on the peace and nominally recognize Clan Talis’s success, Jayce sat with his head in his hands, sweat dripping down his face. He did not even broach the topic of the tollbooths. Every member of the council could smell exactly what was wrong. Their meeting adjourned early, but even an afternoon of rest would not see Jayce in a fit state to attend the grand banquet that night.

            As Viktor dressed for it, he could feel Jayce’s eyes on him from within their nest.

            The garment was new, in the fashion worn by bonded omegas—a portrait neckline intended to display his neck and the scar upon it. The only tailor in Talis territory had sewed tirelessly so Jayce could present it to Viktor before their departure. Another failed attempt to earn himself a heat.

            It was a beautiful gift nevertheless. A garment of stories. Rough and rustic construction spoke to the resourcefulness and tenacity of the people of the moors. Shimmer-dyed embroidery indicated the wearer’s roots in Zaun. Red cloth assured his allegiance to Clan Talis.

            Viktor styled his hair up, donned the bracelet Jayce had made him, and pinned the Talis hammer over his heart.

            “I will not be far, my dove,” Viktor said, stopping by the nest to pet Jayce’s hair. The alpha grabbed his hand and kissed his fingertips. “Your mother will fetch me as needed.”

            “I wish I could see their faces when they see you,” Jayce rumbled.

            “And I wish I could stay.”

            Jayce kissed his palm. “Duty calls.”

            Viktor nodded. “Duty calls.”

            As the Kirammans were hosting, Viktor had only to descend to the great hall to join the banquet. He bid Ximena goodnight and collected his final accessory for the evening: the golden staff Jayce had designed.

            If his mate could not be present, Viktor would ensure his presence was known.

            “His Highness Lady Viktor Talis, Princess of Zaun and Herald of the Arcane.”

            The announcement of his entrance swung the attention of the entire hall in Viktor’s direction—voracious eyes ready to evaluate and eviscerate. He squared his shoulders strode forward without hesitation. Let them look. Let them watch Zaun’s infamous princess make himself perfectly at home among Piltovian nobility. Let them see how Jayce Talis had tamed the Herald of the Arcane. It suited Viktor’s purposes to play the demure bondmate in these halls, as much as it chafed at his soul.

            The trouble with such a confident gait, however, was that he had no idea of his ultimate destination.

            Blessedly, Lady Medarda came to his rescue.

            “Your highness,” she hailed with a warm smile. “How lovely to see you tonight.”

            The pair of them had not so much as spoken a word to each other during the council gathering . Nevertheless, Viktor redirected straight toward her.

            “Lady Medarda. I am glad to see you as well.”

            Lady Medarda extended a hand and Viktor grasped it gratefully, chirping a greeting as she did. With effortless grace, Lady Medarda reeled him in so they could stroll arm-in-arm around the room.

            “This staff is exquisite,” she said.

            “Thank you, my lady,” Viktor replied. “It was a gift from Lord Talis.”

            “When Master Kiramman returned from Hammer House—” The woman spoke as smoothly as if that had been the name of the property for generations. “—she positively raved about the studies Clan Talis has been conducting.” Viktor could not imagine Caitlyn Kiramman raving about anything. “These are the results?”

            Lady Medarda smiled a glittering and conspiratorial smile.

            “Some of them, my lady,” Viktor replied, “though the staff is still a work in progress.”

            “What does it do?”

            “Do?”

            “It is lovely, but certainly it must also serve some function?” she laughed. “Jayce cannot resist the call of functionality.”

            To refer to the bondmate of another omega by their given name was a serious social offense in Piltover. Lady Medarda’s good humor faltered as she realized her mistake, but Viktor responded fluidly, before her laughter had even fully ceased.

            Repayment for her kindness in coming to his side.

            “It is functional in theory, my lady,” he said with a chuckle. “I would be happy to demonstrate, though, perhaps not at this precise moment.” Her gratitude swelled against his sympathy. “The staff is a conduit. Channeling the Arcane requires tremendous control, so this staff is intended to offset those demands. We are still working on the design. Truthfully, Lady Medarda, this is the third model Lord Talis has gifted to me.”

            Lady Medarda smiled—fondly, beautifully, sadly—and soldiered on.

            “I would very much like to hear more about your research,” she said.

            Viktor spent what time remained before dinner answering Lady Medarda’s adept questions, following as she floated from social circle to social circle. With each stop, she drew this lord or that lady into the conversation, introducing Viktor with tactful grace. She steered well clear of Lord Hoskel and Lord Salo, however, and the men took notice, their eyes trailing the pair of omegas until dinner.

            When the meal began, Viktor found himself seated near the center of the table—below the clan heads, but above the lesser lords, entirely isolated from anyone with whom he was acquainted. He decided not to speak unless someone first spoke to him.

            He remained silent throughout the meal.

            Halfway through, Lord Kiramman stood and delivered a rousing address. Peace achieved. Piltover prosperous. Prying eyes pricked into Viktor, ready to pick apart his every reaction. He smiled and applauded in all the appropriate places.

            Did they think he would not play along?

            Following the meal, the guests shuffled off to the manor’s second hall to drink and give the servants time to clear away the tables and make room for mingling and dancing in the great hall. In that exodus, Hoskel and Salo made their move, intercepting Viktor and falling in to flank him on either side.

            “Lady Talis,” Salo said with a saccharine smile, “how brave of you to join us this evening. Lord Talis remains...indisposed, I take it?”

            Rather than follow the rest of the guests, Viktor drew to a stop. The lords hardly noticed, stopping alongside him. Salo possessed the sort of simpering charm that convinced only himself of his cleverness. Hoskel, meanwhile, was simply a blowhard.

            “’Course he’s indisposed,” the old man huffed, amused. “You saw the lad during today’s meeting. Practically sweating right out of his seat!”

            The two of them laughed, attentions trained on Viktor like a pair of vultures.

            “Lord Talis regrets his inability to attend tonight’s banquet,” Viktor said, “but with a week of festivities ahead, we hope he will be able to rejoin us soon. As such a key figure in the securement of the peace, I am certain the people of Piltover will wish to celebrate with him. He is, as I understand, a man of the people.”

            Salo clicked his tongue. Hoskel’s lips curled.

            “Oh, to be certain,” he sneered. “A man of the people confined to his rooms in a rut.”

            “A blessing, then, that he has a Zaunite slut to attend him,” Viktor replied. Both Salo and Hoskel jolted, shocked. With a perfectly pristine smile, Viktor gave them no opportunity to interrupt. “We are looking forward to the celebrations. I have not had the occasion to visit your magnificent capital and I am eager to see more of it in person. Piltover has much yet to offer the world, would my lords not agree?”

            They stared at him—clearly questioning whether or not they had actually heard him say what he said.

            Neither was bold enough to ask him to repeat himself, however.

            “I agree, my lady, yes,” Salo replied while Hoskel sputtered. “We do.”

            “Oh, and I suppose Jayce Talis has some grand plan up his sleeve?” Hoskel spat.

            “With the peace secure, it is only natural a man of his caliber would turn his talents toward another project,” Viktor replied.

            “Secure.” Hoskel scoffed. “We all know the peace is secure as gravel.”

            Even Salo grimaced at that comment. Viktor feigned innocence.

            “But we are here to celebrate the peace, are we not?”

            Baring his teeth, Hoskel stuck his face into Viktor’s and hissed. “You don’t fool me, witch. I know what you are and I know why you’re here. We follow the natural order on this side of the river. You can flex your plague-cursed fingers in the Talis boy’s mind or around his cock all you want, but you will not circumvent our governance.” He pounded his chest, his face a furious, fuming red. “So take your vile magic and that abominable staff and crawl back into the sump where you belong.”

            This was the sort of accusation Viktor had anticipated.

            By then, the great hall had emptied. Only servants stood on the fringes of the room. Viktor regarded Hoskel with an unnerving and implacable tranquility. He held the old man’s eye and watched him slowly, surely lose confidence in his anger as he waited for Viktor to react. Viktor did not react, save to indicate that he had heard and would remember every word.

            “Lord Hoskel,” he said at last, and the man startled. “Please rest assured that I do not require this staff to visit ruin upon you.” Viktor smiled. “It would only make it easier.”

            Hoskel put up a mask of fury, but Viktor sensed his fear.

            “Is that a threat?”

            Still smiling, Viktor leaned down into his face.

            “When I threaten you, Lord Hoskel, you will know.”

            With that, he marched out of the room. Hoskel and Salo scrambled to follow, streams of astonished curses spilling from their mouths. They were not so stupid as to put their hands on Viktor, though, especially not as they entered the second hall and returned to “civilized” society.

            “My lords and ladies of Piltover,” Viktor said, lifting his voice just enough to let sympathy carry it to every ear. He had the room’s attention again in an instant. “Lords Hoskel and Salo have arranged a presentation for your esteemed company.” He turned to gesture at the men behind him. They straightened, smiling and nodding, their apprehension singing to Viktor from their blood. “Clan Talis is, of course, most honored to serve the Lords’ Council. We hope you will enjoy this glimpse into the future.”

            Viktor motioned Hoskel and Salo toward the center of the room. The crowd murmured as they parted, creating a circle of empty space. From the edge of that circle, Cassandra Kiramman warily watched with an eagle’s eye—but the potential for her wrath was trained on Hoskel and Salo, not Viktor.

            “The staff is the tool of the mage,” Viktor said. “The mage is the tool of the Arcane. Magic speaks to them, and through them, miracles are made manifest.” He raised a hand and murmured to darken the oil lamps and torches. The audience surged—uncertain, almost fearful. Viktor turned their sympathies toward excitement. “House Talis were the makers of tools. With the gracious sponsorship of the council, Clan Talis shall be as well. Tools that may remove the mage, and place magic into your hands.”

            He planted the end of his staff against the floor, imbued it with power, and let go. Runes glowing, the staff remained upright. Whispers from the crowd. Curiosity.

            He gestured between Hoskel and Salo and the staff.

            “Take hold, my lords.”

            Both men scrutinized him, attempting to determine if he was mad enough to murder them in front of every lord and lady of Piltover. Had he desired it, Viktor could have killed every lord and lady present along with Hoskel and Salo, but that was not his goal. Though neither Hoskel nor Salo was intelligent enough to realize it.  

            They grasped the staff despite their fear—their heads high, shoulders back, stances wide. The runes brightened. The staff trembled, then lifted from the ground.

            Both lords went with it.

            Of course, neither Hoskel nor Salo was responsible, but they did not know, and neither did anyone else. The audience gasped. Hoskel and Salo brightened with amazement that was quickly replaced by pride, power, and covetousness. Blue light radiated from the runes and cast the whole hall in a glow like the sky before dusk. The lords rose all the way to the rafters, and, as they hovered there, the audience began to realize that they, too, had been lifted off the floor.

            Their burst of excitement nearly overwhelmed Viktor, but with the staff bearing the brunt of the magic, he held firm. The entire hall thus absorbed in his display, only Viktor heard the sudden clatter in the outer hallway, and only he looked toward the open doorway as Jayce stumbled into the frame.

            The scene slowed as they stared at each other—bathed in blue light, the only two people with their feet on the ground.

            The look in Jayce’s eyes was absolutely ravenous.

            Heart skipping, Viktor swiftly returned everyone to the floor. The hall erupted with animated clamor, the crowd rushing forward to ask Hoskel and Salo questions the men would not be able to answer. Viktor shifted everyone’s attention away from himself to squeeze between the press of bodies, collect his staff, and disappear. He had hardly reached the doorway when Jayce had grabbed his elbow and pulled him from the room.

            The alpha pressed Viktor against the wall beside the candelabra he had knocked over and kissed him with a pounding desperation.

            “Felt you,” he growled against his mouth, “felt your magic, worried.”

            Breathless, Viktor might have encouraged Jayce to move down the hallway, but his scent had already overwhelmed him. If Viktor thought he had smelled enticing before, well—

            “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you in these fucking clothes...”

            Jayce leaned back to rake his eyes down Viktor, hands dragging along the path of his burning gaze. It was then an out-of-breath Ximena appeared at the end of the hallway. Her face flushed, but she hurried forward nevertheless.

            “I am so sorry, Viktor,” she said. “One moment he was half asleep, the next he’d bolted.”

            Ximena would not have had the strength to restrain Jayce even if she had tried.

            “That is all right, Ximena,” Viktor replied, stifling a small gasp as Jayce squeezed his hips. “Perhaps you could close that door?” She nodded and moved past them. “And return this candelabra to its place? Jayce, dove.” Jayce rumbled at him. “Nest.”

            In a flash, the alpha scooped up Viktor and set off down the hallway, pace brisk and stride long, singularly focused. Viktor pressed his hand to Jayce’s forehead, but he need not test his temperature to know the cause of this delirious mania and the animal drive in Jayce’s eyes.

            He was finally in rut.

            Excitement and nerves tumbled in Viktor’s belly. He had no idea what was about to happen, not really. His understanding of heats and ruts had been purely academic until now.

            Jayce kicked open the door to their rooms—along with every other door all the way to the bed chamber. Viktor spelled the last few closed behind them, half-expecting Jayce to toss him into their nest and knot him immediately, but, much to Viktor’s surprise, Jayce set him on his feet atop the rug in front of the fireplace and retreated to the edge of the bed. Reeling, Viktor caught his breath.

            He could taste Jayce on the air.

            He smelled absolutely intoxicating.

            Eyes alight, the alpha studied every inch of Viktor as if he planned to draw a diagram. Viktor stood still, but even standing grew difficult. He felt a little dizzy. Certainly a little slick. Perhaps more than a little slick as each time he inhaled, the scent Jayce exuded stripped back another one of his inhibitions.

            Before too long, he would not have any inhibitions left.

            Viktor steeled himself, leaning against his staff, but wishing very badly to lean against his mate instead. Yield, Jayce’s scent commanded. Yield for you are mine.

            By contrast, Jayce’s comfortable posture rendered him vulnerable.

            “Sometimes,” he said, “I think about the way you looked in your betrothal cloak. Sometimes I think about the way you looked after our bonding ceremony. I’m going to think about the way you look right now for the rest of my life.”

            Viktor’s breath caught in his throat. His heart fluttered.

            “And why is that, mate?” he asked.

            The address earned a deep, guttural purr from his alpha.

            “It’s like you’re wearing armor, Viktor,” he answered. “Ready to fight. Ready to win. Ready for everyone to kneel at your feet and fucking worship you...”

            Jayce went to his own knees then, pooling across the floor and joining Viktor on the rug, staring up at him with indelible doe eyes. He was an absolute mess—hair disheveled, face glossed with sweat, clothes rumpled from unrestful sleep. Viktor had never seen him so undone. Yet even in that desperation, he was still so gentle. Sweet Jayce, his Jayce, who loved and respected and understood him in a way no other ever had.

            Jayce had promised once to take good care of him. Of course Viktor would do the same.

            Setting aside the instinct to submit, he cupped his alpha’s chin in his hand.

            He said, “These clothes were a gift from my bondmate.”

            Gazing up at him, eyes glazing, Jayce rumbled.

            “He is very generous,” Viktor continued. “So kind and considerate.” He dragged his thumb along Jayce’s jaw. “Good with his hands.”

            The whole weight of Jayce’s head fell into Viktor’s palm as he shivered.

            “Viktor...”

            “Now, now. Do not misunderstand.” Viktor clicked his tongue and dropped Jayce’s chin. The alpha nearly tipped over, but found solid ground when Viktor bent to bring their eyes in line. “He is a craftsman.” He ran his fingers down the staff. Jayce tracked their path until Viktor laid it down and knelt in front of his bondmate. He combed Jayce’s hair from his forehead. The bracelet glinted around his wrist, and the flash of gold and shimmer drew the alpha’s eye. “And a brilliant scholar.”

            Jayce grasped his hand and kissed his wrist like a man taking sacrament, his fingers tangling in the bracelet. Heat coiled in Viktor’s belly.

            “He should make you a necklace to match,” Jayce said.

            Viktor shook his head.

            The alpha’s face fell, wounded, ill-prepared for any perceived rejection.

            Viktor simply tilted his head to one side to display his mate mark. Jayce could not keep his eyes from sliding to it.

            “This is the only decoration my neck needs,” Viktor said. “Don’t you think?”

            Jayce growled, low. The animal had returned to his eyes, to his scent, and his hand trembled in Viktor’s. His whole body followed suit, so Viktor placed that hand on the other side of his neck.

            “You need not restrain yourself with me, my dove,” he said.

            Jayce yanked him forward and sank his teeth into the mate mark the next instant.

            Pure pleasure seared through Viktor. He could not keep down a small cry. The sound had an immediate effect on Jayce, and he dug his teeth deeper, his mouth hot and wet, his scent utterly overwhelming, the strength of his arms almost crushing as they wrapped around his bondmate. Nothing would feel as intense as the first time those teeth had ruptured Viktor’s mate gland, but this came close. He was already trembling, his legs weak, slick pooling, struggling for air as Jayce laved his tongue over the mark and drew back.

            Hungry, Jayce ran his eyes over every inch of Viktor once again.

            Then he tackled him to the floor.

            Gasping, laughing, Viktor trilled as one of Jayce’s arms cushioned his head from the fall, his mouth already pressing frenzied kisses down his neck and across his collarbone. Warm, aroused, he let his limbs fall loose so Jayce could do as he pleased, and what he pleased was wrestling an arm up Viktor’s skirts to pull his undergarments down to his ankles. Jayce rumbled when his fingers met slick.

            “For me?” he asked, and that delirium took hold of them both.

            Viktor nodded, dizzy. “Only you.”

            Any semblance of coherency fled Jayce then. Thrumming, he gathered enough slick to wrap his fingers around Viktor’s hardening cock and stroke beneath the skirts. Viktor moaned happily, heat spreading from behind his hips, and Jayce leaned down to kiss him halfway through the sound. Viktor smiled against his mate’s lips, wrapped his arms around his neck. Jayce stroked him and Viktor hummed in tune, carefully rolling his hips each time. Once Jayce was satisfied with his erection, he turned his fingers to Viktor’s entrance and rumbled.

            “Gods, you’re slick...”

            He slid a finger inside with very little resistance. Viktor keened.

            “Nngh, I know you cannot smell your own scent, but if you could—”

            A second finger—too soon—and Viktor tensed this time, but Jayce just petted inside him in a way that had him trembling loose not seconds later. Leaning over, Jayce sucked a mark to his neck to match the bite on the opposite side.

            “Love your scent,” Jayce said, mouth wet against his skin. “Love the way you taste, sound...” Viktor moaned as Jayce’s fingers pushed deep to circle his prostate. “Feel.”

            Viktor had not expected the rut to have such an effect on his own experience, but the more Jayce touched him, the more his haze transferred to Viktor. Every word, every kiss, every stray sound dragged Viktor deeper under his spell. Not even breathing was safe. No, breathing was the most dangerous thing Viktor could do. Drunk. That’s what it was. He was drunk on Jayce. In a vain attempt to regain his own clarity of mind, he said, “You have missed one of the senses, mate,” but this was a mistake.

            Jayce sat up to look down at him like a man possessed and spread his fingers apart.

            Viktor’s eyes rolled back.

            “Jayce.”

            “Love the way you look,” Jayce said. “You know that.” He spread his fingers wider. Viktor gasped, reaching down to grab his wrist, but failing with all the skirts in his way. “Most beautiful omega on the face of the earth and you’re mine.” He pushed his fingers deeper and Viktor very nearly lost his mind as he went rigid. “My omega, my bondmate.”

            Mercifully, Jayce released the spread and began petting again.

            “No one is more beautiful than my bondmate, and everyone knows that...”

            Panting, Viktor purred as he fell loose once more. He knew Jayce liked to listen to him, but such noises were also often his only means of communicating his pleasure to his mate. He did not yet have the courage to tell him that when they were together, he truly did feel beautiful.

            “The garment has the desired effect, then?” he asked, trying to deflect for his own sake.

            This was also a mistake.

            Jayce dropped low to graze his teeth across the fresh bite over Viktor’s mate mark. He raised blood, soothed the sting with his tongue, then licked a long trail to his ear.

            “You have no idea,” he rumbled.

            Viktor realized then that Jayce intended to fuck him fully clothed.

            More than that, Jayce had intended to fuck him in these clothes from the moment Viktor had put them on—a fact confirmed through their bond as Jayce’s mind spun sudden fantasies. The audacity of it was impossibly erotic.

            Not to be outdone, Viktor called on every last scrap of his senses to get his elbows underneath himself and push up to wriggle off Jayce’s fingers. The alpha keened, bereft, but Viktor simply crowded into his space to tug down his trousers and free his cock before following through and pushing Jayce onto his back.

            It would be his one and only chance to do this. He doubted his legs would have the strength even one more coupling from now.

            Battling the skirts and kicking off his undergarments, Viktor climbed on top of his mate and let the fabric pool around them as he folded his legs on either side of Jayce’s hips. Jayce just watched, breathing hard, as Viktor fumbled for his cock and pushed the alpha past his entrance. Groaning, Jayce grabbed his waist and helped him rise up and down, and up, and further down, a few times until he’d bottomed out.

            Jayce’s knuckles were white against red fabric.

            Viktor let those hands direct his movement, but provided the impetus himself.

            “I think I neglect to tell you often enough how beautiful you are,” he said.

            Hanging on his every word, Jayce began to roll his hips along with Viktor.

            “I think about how you looked by the fire when we met, and when you entered our bond tent,” Viktor continued. “It was like the rest of the world did not exist.” Jayce growled. “I liked your demeanor even more than I liked your face, and that is saying something because never in all my days have I seen a face as beautiful as yours.”

            Jayce stared up at him, eyes wide, pupils blown—a creature of complete instinct now. Sweat ran into his eyes, but he fought to keep them open, fought to meet every rut of Viktor’s hips with a thrust of his own. The rhythm was incredible. Feverishly, Viktor hoped it would continue forever.

            “No one is more beautiful than my alpha,” he purred.

            Jayce came at once, on an outward pull, surprising them both.

            Momentum carried Viktor back down and pushed Jayce’s burgeoning knot past his rim with a pop that made him see stars and seemed to make Jayce start the orgasm all over again. The rush of it had Viktor squeezing around Jayce reflexively, and the alpha swearing until his head dropped against the rug with a heavy thunk.

            In the abrupt aftermath, Jayce’s chest rose and fell laboriously. The shock of it had brought Viktor back to his senses. He would have liked to reach up and brush Jayce’s hair from his forehead, but he could not reach without tugging on the knot and his legs had already begun to tremble.

            He settled for plucking Jayce’s hand from his hip and kissing his engagement mark.

            The iridescence swirled in the firelight.

            When Jayce finally lifted his head, some of his sensibilities had returned as well.

            “Do you get off on making me come?” he asked.

            Viktor considered, chuckling. “Perhaps I do,” he said. Bringing his mate pleasure without taking any of his own was satisfying, though he very much enjoyed the pleasure his mate gave. “Feeling better?”

            Massaging Viktor’s hip, Jayce nodded and lowered his head back to the rug. “Yeah, but it’s not going to last...”

            “Greedy,” Viktor teased and kissed his hand again.

            “It’s a rut,” Jayce replied, “that’s sort of the point.”

            “I do not mind, dove,” Viktor said. “You may take what you need.”

            Rumbling, Jayce laced their fingers together and propped up his legs so Viktor could lean against them, and Viktor enjoyed the subsequent movement of his alpha inside him, his cock pressing against his prostate and making him quiver. As he settled, Jayce ran his other hand over Viktor’s thigh, dragging across red fabric.

            “What happened down there?” Jayce asked after a moment. “At the banquet?”

            “Hoskel and Salo cornered me,” Viktor replied. “Made their attempt at intimidation, so I made them our benefactors. Or, rather, I made everyone think they are our benefactors, and the lords will have no choice but to play their part—though, I suspect they will support our studies without the need for further coercion.”

            Half rumbling, half laughing, Jayce squeezed Viktor’s hand and thigh.

            “Wish I could have seen that,” he said.

            “Shall I reenact it for you?”

            Jayce lolled his head from side to side, a smile on his face. “No. I’ll enjoy imagining it.”

            “Try not to get too carried away.”

            Jayce simply continued to smile, eyes closed, his hands absently seeking Viktor’s touch. Playing with his fingers. Kneading his thigh. Viktor could not help the groundswell of affection that rose within him. He loved Jayce so much. To be loved in return seemed an impossible multiplication of that blessing, but Jayce’s own love for Viktor flowed over him through their bond and washed against the barrier of his sympathy—a barrier that barely existed where his bondmate was concerned.

            “How’d the staff perform?” Jayce asked after a moment.

            Viktor chuckled. How very like Jayce to be curious after data even in rut.

            “Smooth and stable,” he replied.

            That seemed enough to satisfy Jayce for the present, and Viktor was not about to pester him with more. Jayce’s knot was diminishing quicker than it ever had, but he remained erect. An effect of the rut. The longer they rested, the more his touch deepened, fingers pulling long and slow against Viktor’s fingers and pushing hard against his hip. A rich rumble formed somewhere low in his chest.

            Righting himself, Viktor began to rise, but Jayce pressed his hips back down. Viktor sucked in a sharp breath as the head of his cock hit his prostate.

            “Where are you going?” Jayce asked.

            “Well, to begin, our nest is over there,” Viktor replied. Jayce hummed as if that came as a delightful surprise. “Second, seeing as you enjoyed watching me put these clothes on, I thought you might enjoy watching me take them off?”

            Jayce sat up with comical swiftness, grabbing Viktor’s face to kiss him. He brought them both to their feet and shed his own clothes, which he turned to toss into the nest before leaping in himself. Once he’d settled, he motioned for Viktor, who was simply trying to remain upright, slick and spend running down his thighs, to go ahead. Viktor flushed as he admired the lovely planes of Jayce’s bare skin and reached behind his back to tug the garment’s laces loose.

            “You know this is not going in the nest, yes?” he asked.

            Jayce mourned immediately. “Why not?”

            “I need to wear it again, Jayce,” Viktor replied with a laugh. “It is the only one I have.”

            “You’re going to wear it again...”

            That fact came as much of a surprise as the nest had, apparently. Viktor could not resist making his way carefully to Jayce and leaning against the bedframe for support.

            “I am,” Viktor said, and combed his fingers through Jayce’s hair at last. Jayce closed his eyes and relished it so much, Viktor scratched his scalp, too. Jayce melted into his hands, purring. “I have my suspicions you will get to accompany me next time I do.”

            “Hope so...” Jayce replied, speech slurred. “...want to...show you off...”

            Had anyone else said that to Viktor, he might have found it insulting—but this was Jayce, who took such pride in his bondmate that Viktor could not help but feel flattered. 

            “And I want you to show the Lords’ Council what we’ve been studying,” Viktor said. Every last one of them knew Jayce was in rut, and the rumor would spread through the rest of Piltovian society. By the time they all realized no announcement of a Clan Talis pregnancy was to follow, Viktor needed to be viewed as indispensable. All he had to offer Piltover was his mind and his magic. Unjust though it was, only Jayce could convince them of his value. “Will you do that for me?”

            “I’d do anything for you, Viktor.”

            Viktor’s heart twisted, too touched, too tender to do anything but purr. He could wring Jayce’s neck and the man would thank him for it.

            “Would you do something for me?” Jayce asked.

            “Of course.”

            “Take off your clothes?”

            Viktor burst out laughing, his mirth returned in an instant. Incredible that Jayce had that effect upon him without even trying. Misunderstanding his reaction, Jayce pouted his bottom lip quite sincerely and amended a little, “Please?” to his request. Viktor kissed him, nipping that bottom lip between his teeth and earning a delicious growl from Jayce.

            “Well,” Viktor replied, “since you asked so politely...”

            Jayce pounced on him before Viktor could even take a backward step.

Chapter Text

Every time an orgasm brought Jayce—however briefly—out of the fever of his rut, he marveled at Viktor keeping pace.

            He must have knotted him five or six times that first night alone.

            Beyond that, he lost track.

            In the heat and haze, only Viktor remained in focus.

            The scent of wildflowers, earth, and water under moonlight heightened by arousal. The sweet flavor of his sweat and slick and blood and tears. The sounds that spilled from his throat, from his chest, even from his mouth when Jayce forced them out. The cool press of his skin in contrast with the impossible heat inside him. Jayce hardly removed his cock from his bondmate for what must have been a day, but could have been a lifetime.

            He would never get enough of Viktor.

            He catalogued every inch of his skin with his mouth, memorized the shape and pattern of every plague scar, the placement of every mole. He timed the pulses of magic that traveled through the purple striping and took tremendous satisfaction each time his attention was the source behind its surging. He noted the stimuli that placed undue strain on his bondmate. He learned the proper technique to coax the pain and stiffness from his leg when needed. He distinguished between sounds of enjoyment and exertion in his lungs. He resonated so acutely with his mind that he understood exactly how to bring them both to completion over, and over, and over again.

            Every time, Viktor only became more beautiful.

            This time, Jayce had his teeth buried in his neck from behind, his cock buried in his ass, Viktor face down in the nest beneath him and panting. Fuck, his mate was gorgeous—so, so powerful, and perfect, and coming—coming hard, his whole body rigid as he screamed silently into the furs at his mouth, as Jayce fucked him through it, until he’d come, too, pushing his cock deeper and deeper until his knot locked them in place.

            He unlatched his teeth, and Viktor twitched again, contracting around him with another, weaker orgasm. Jayce rumbled as he licked the wound. Viktor was shaking, so Jayce gathered him in his arms, and carefully turned them both onto their sides to bask for a moment in the radiant afterglow.

            As the feeling settled into a pleasant buzz, that fog slowly lifted from his mind.

            “Gods,” he breathed, nuzzling his forehead against the node at the top of Viktor’s spine. “We might actually be in the clear.”

            Viktor did not respond.

            “Viktor?”

            Nothing.

            Alarm cleared Jayce’s mind in an instant. He sat up and Viktor slumped—completely boneless—into the nest. The omega was breathing, deep and heavy, and his eyes were half open, but he was somewhere else. That was when Jayce realized the absolute state of him. Hair in knots, plastered to his face and neck. Limbs trembling. Skin covered in red marks from Jayce’s mouth and teeth—including a particularly imposing bruise that spread up his neck and down his shoulder. Tear tracks cut saline trails across his temples and cheeks.

            “Viktor?” Jayce cupped his mate’s face in his hands and lifted his head. “You with me?”

            Viktor still did not respond, so Jayce rumbled, worried, and kissed his mouth, then lowered him back to the nest, one arm under Viktor’s head, the other over his shoulder so he could keep his face turned toward him. After a moment, Viktor’s eyes began to focus. The omega swallowed.

            “Did you...say something...?” he asked, still winded.

            Relieved, Jayce shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Are you all right?”

            Viktor nodded, but he’d closed his eyes. His brow knit as he controlled his breathing.

            “Yes, mate,” he said. “I only...need a moment...”

            Jayce pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Take as many as you want.”

            Viscous, Viktor pooled against him. Jayce offered a little of his protective pheromone in return. He rubbed Viktor’s arm and side as best he could with his free hand, working some feeling back into the muscle, calming the trembling. His mate deserved a head to toe massage after this.

            A few minutes later, Jayce’s knot had subsided and his cock had finally softened, but Viktor still lay inert. Jayce brushed his hair from his face.

            “I’m going to pull out, all right?”

            Viktor nodded.

            He tried to be gentle. Viktor still winced.

            “Sorry, princess...”

            The omega simply shook his head.

            Outside of a little soreness in his hips, Jayce actually felt refreshed—which seemed tremendously unfair. Sitting up, he observed the small changes around the room. Viktor’s staff now leaned against the wall on his side of the nest. Several serving trays stacked with plates were piled by the door. The tub had returned. Drinking pitchers overran the bedside table. Jayce had been fed, watered, and bathed in his delirium—on top of everything else.

            He leaned down to press a kiss to Viktor’s cheekbone.

            “I love you,” he said.

            Quiet, half-conscious, Viktor purred.

            Jayce climbed out of their nest and made himself useful. He dressed. Washed his face. Examined the short beard that had grown in over the course of his rut. Cleared the pitchers from the bedside table and the serving trays from beside the door. A rush of cold air hit him as he stepped into the next room. How long had the rut lasted? Judging by the number of trays in his hands, he assumed at least three days.

            He had no idea how Viktor had managed.

            As he entered the sitting room, he made direct and immediate eye contact with his mother in one of the chairs. She looked surprised to see him. Jayce flushed—more than a little embarrassed.

            “Jayce,” Ximena said and came over to take the trays. “Good morning.”  

            “Morning, Mama,” he said, not sure what else to say.

            “How are you feeling?” Ximena asked.

            “Good,” Jayce said, nodding. “Better.” He felt fantastic, truthfully. “Um, sorry—if you were worried.”

            Smiling, Ximena shook her head. “I’ll order some breakfast up, shall I?”

            “That would be wonderful, Mama, thank you.”

            Ximena left, trays in hand, to hail a servant. Jayce stood for a moment in the quiet of the sitting room and tried to make sense of the satisfaction humming through his veins, the energy, the clarity of mind. If he reached for the memories, he could recall his rut, but there was a hazy, disordered quality about it—like a very long dream. The lingering pleasure made him shiver. Forget the massage, Viktor deserved to be sainted.

            Jayce hurried back to the bed chamber.

            Viktor still lay in the nest, but he’d turned onto his stomach, so that was progress. Jayce went around to his side of the bed and crouched so their faces were level.

            “Hey. You want to take a bath?” he asked. “I’ll wash your hair.”

            Bleary, Viktor cracked his eyes open.

            “Unless you want some time to yourself,” Jayce added. Gods above, he’d fucked the man senseless for three days straight. The liveliness that fueled Jayce only further contrasted his mate—limp in their nest, sticky with sweat and slick and semen. Earth-shattering as the tableau was, Jayce would not have blamed him if Viktor had avoided him for a week to recuperate. The omega was silent, his eyes struggling to focus. “Do you want some time to yourself?”

            “When did you leave our nest?” Viktor asked.

            “A few minutes ago.”

            “Your rut has ended?”

            “I think so.”

            “How are you able to walk?”

            “Honestly, I don’t know.”

            Laughing, Viktor gave up. “A bath would be very nice.” Jayce started to rise; Viktor caught his arm. “But first I would like you to come back to bed.”

            The latent arousal that remained in Jayce rose to the surface. Rumbling, he climbed into the nest and lifted Viktor, pulling him up so he could rest his head on Jayce’s chest while Jayce leaned against the backboard. Viktor wrapped his arms around his middle and snuggled close, breathing deep. Beginning to purr. Jayce joined him, brushing his fingers up and down his bondmate’s spine.

            “Sorry about all this...” Jayce said.

            Viktor hummed. “Why do you apologize?”

            “Well...”

            “I enjoyed myself, dove,” Viktor purred, turning his head to kiss Jayce’s chest through his shirt. “Very, very much.”

            Had it been possible, Jayce’s cock might have stirred at that. As it was, he could only shiver with sensitivity and rumble in reply. Viktor trilled, and Jayce let his contentment temper some of his own vigor. Unable to keep still for long, however, he began the process of untangling Viktor’s hair with his fingers.

            Some minutes later, Ximena knocked and announced she would leave breakfast by the door. Jayce called back his thanks, but only after she had gone did he remember the bath.

            “I should have asked her to send someone up with water...”

            “The bath is full, yes?” Viktor replied.

            “Yes, but it’s cold.”

            “Then heat it.”

            Viktor gestured at his staff.

            Jayce had watched Viktor warm water countless times—in the creek the first day after their bonding, at Hammer House when he did not wish to inconvenience the servants or when someone from the village wanted to wash up before heading home. Jayce had learned the verbal incantations and discovered a runic equivalent to evoke the effect, but never applied it to any of their tools. While it was theoretically possible for anyone to wield the staff, it lacked an Arcane focus by design.

            “There’s no power source,” he replied.

            Chuckling, Viktor levered himself up. “Come,” he said. “I will show you the trick I used on Hoskel and Salo.”

            He motioned for Jayce to hand him the staff, so Jayce did, curious. Viktor grasped it and poured his magic into it. One by one, the runes lit up blue. Viktor then tucked the staff back into Jayce’s hand.

            “You can determine the effect yourself, no?”

            Jayce had to kiss him. Viktor just laughed, and laughed again as Jayce hurried from the nest to the tub, already twisting the interlocking pieces of the staff to align the runes into the sequence he needed. He looked back at Viktor with nervous excitement. A little slumped in the nest, his mate nodded for him to continue. Jayce dipped the end of the staff in the water, took a deep breath, and stirred.

            Slowly but surely, steam began to rise from the surface.

            “It works...”

            Jayce’s fingers flexed around the staff.

            “Good gods, Viktor, it works.”

            Beaming, he turned to Viktor, now completely prone. Face half-covered by the blankets, Viktor grinned.

            “Of course it works,” he said. “My bondmate is a brilliant inventor.”

            An astonished laugh burst from Jayce’s mouth. He watched in amazement as the light faded from the runes. He’d crafted the staff while addled by pre-rut insanity and had put them there only to stabilize and amplify Viktor’s magic as needed. He’d never considered that the staff might be used to evoke effects on its own. If he crafted another and housed an Arcane focus within it, anyone would be able to do magic, provided they learned the runes.

            Though, anyone inevitably included the Lords’ Council.

            At once, Jayce’s stomach turned.

            “Hoskel and Salo saw this?” he asked.

            “Everyone saw it,” Viktor replied. “You saw it.” Jayce had only an indistinct recollection of the scene—Viktor awash in blue light, shadows, people, floating above him. He had a vague memory of Viktor telling him what had happened, too, but he could not recall the specifics. The three days since were just a blur of sex. “Hoskel and Salo did nothing, only held the staff. I invoked the Arcane.”

            “But you made them think they did?”

            “Yes.”

            Jayce set down the staff and paced across the rug. Concerned, Viktor used what little strength he had to push himself up.

            “Jayce?”

            “We can’t show them what we’ve been working on,” Jayce said.

            “We must.”

            “No. If they get their hands on this, if they think they can do any magic they want, they’ll raise an army and conquer Zaun. I won’t build them weapons, and they cannot be trusted with the potential the staff grants. If they’ve seen this at work, then the tools are only going to give them ideas. We can’t show them more.”

            “You promised you would.”

            “When? In rut? I wouldn’t have been thinking clearly—clearly.”

            He pushed a hand through his hair. This was disastrous. Jayce wanted to make tools. The staff was a tool for Viktor, but Hoskel and Salo had had their hands on it, they’d seen it in action, and they’d had three days to speculate and stew and scheme while Jayce was in rut. Gods only knew what they’d plotted, the traps they’d laid. The Lords’ Council wanted mages so badly, they’d capitulated to every one of Zaun’s demands in order to get their hands on a Herald of the Arcane. They’d been willing to wait, but now they could have mages immediately, and—Viktor was staring at him.

            Viktor was staring at him.

            Before he’d even turned to look, Jayce’s hackles raised.

            When he did turn, he fell absolutely still—caught and held in place by a pair of eyes like the edge of a knife pressed against his throat.

            Jayce had never seen so much betrayal, so much violence, contained in a single expression. He’d forgotten, foolishly, who Viktor was. The power he wielded was no mere trifle, no pleasant pastime, not a hobby, nor a puzzle to be solved. He had indulged Jayce, in their studies. Teaching, learning, showing him only the magic Jayce had asked to see. As alluring as that magic was, Viktor’s powers did not begin and end with warming bathwater.

            Viktor stared at him then with the rolling intensity of tempest.

            “You promised me,” he said.

            Viktor was Herald of the Arcane, High Blood Mage, and Princess of Zaun.

            He could raze Piltover to the ground if he so desired.

            “Viktor—”

            “You promised you would show them. You must show them.”

            Viktor gestured emphatically, but in lifting one arm, he caused his own collapse. He tumbled into the nest, and a livid growl ripped out of him. Viktor’s emotions were running high in his exhaustion, that was all, but that did not mean Jayce was not genuinely afraid of his bondmate. Startled, he froze.

            The only sound that came out of the nest, however, was distressed panting.

            Jayce steeled himself and approached

            Within the nest, Viktor’s chest and ribs ballooned. His eyes had gone glassy with tears.

            Jayce did not know what to do.

            “You do not understand the war we are fighting,” Viktor whispered.

            “Help me understand, Viktor,” Jayce said. “Please. I’m listening.”

            The tears ran over the bridge of Viktor’s nose, but Jayce did not dare touch him.

            “You do not understand how humiliating it is,” Viktor continued, “to be a bargaining chip. To be wielded as a weapon. In this place, I am not only omega, but mage. A creature to be leashed and lashed and made compliant. I am a maker of more mages, and since I am not that, I am nothing. Nothing I cannot make myself. Do you understand?” He did not give Jayce space to reply. “I am not human, Jayce. I will never be human, and you are not human, either. You are their stud horse—selected for your obedience and fine breeding to be whored out to a Zaunite animal to breed more loyal little animals like you. Do you understand?”

            That stung, and Jayce could not hide it.

            Viktor’s eyes flicked up to his face. He blinked, and the tempest vanished.

            Viktor looked at Jayce in abject horror. All at once he was struggling for air, saying, “I—I am sorry, mate. I am sorry, forgive me. Forgive me. I do not know—I do not know what came over—me.”

            Jayce dropped to his knees and stroked a hand over Viktor’s hair, over his shoulder and arm. He rumbled and shook his head, and tried for his protective pheromone, but he couldn’t disguise the tears in his own eyes. Viktor stared at them—at him—like he was afraid the world was about to end.

            “I didn’t mean to make you think I was going back on a promise,” Jayce said. “What you said only hurts because it’s the truth...” He drew in a breath and released it slowly. “I don’t like to think of our circumstances that way, but I don’t think the way you do. I don’t see the world the way you do, and I won’t know what’s in that blind spot unless you describe it for me. Can you describe it for me?”

            Searching his eyes, Viktor nodded.

            “Piltover chose us to bring them magic,” he said. “If we give them our magic, we will have fulfilled our purpose. We will be valuable to them, but they will never trust me. You must be the one to give our magic to them.”

            “It’s too dangerous, Viktor.”

            “So is failure.”

            He was right.

            Piltover would not tolerate Viktor’s presence within their borders any longer than they needed to secure what they wanted from him. If he could not provide what they wanted, they would find some subtle way to dispose of him as they would not be able to face him head-on. To give Piltover their magic in any form would be to walk the razor’s edge of that conflict, but Jayce supposed that was no different than the last twenty or a hundred years of relations between Piltover and Zaun.

            The whole of Piltovian society had seen what the staff could do. Clan Talis could not withhold that magic without consequence. Jayce had sworn he would not let Viktor come to harm, but he had also sworn his loyalty, and this was the course of action his bondmate wanted to pursue.

            Besides, what would Piltover have considered a lack of offspring if not a withholding of their magic?

            “I understand,” Jayce said.

            Viktor sucked in a shaky breath.

            “I want you to understand something, too,” Jayce continued.

            He waited for Viktor to confirm that he was listening with a nod.

            “You’re not a bargaining chip to me,” Jayce said. “You’re not a weapon. You’re not an omega, or a mage, or a princess, or a piece on a game board.” He brushed his mate’s hair back. “You’re Viktor.” He held his eye to make sure he understood. “You’re the most extraordinary human being I’ve ever met.”

            Another shambling breath went into Viktor’s lungs. His tears welled in his eyes and he used his last fraction of strength to throw his arms around Jayce as he began to sob. Jayce held him and pressed his cheek to his hair and let his own tears slide free, relieved.

            “I love you,” Viktor said. “I love you, my Jayce, my dove, my life...”

            “I love you,” Jayce replied. “You scared me.”

            “I know. I am sorry.”

            “It’s okay. I think I scared you, too.”

            Viktor nodded.

            Jayce followed suit. “I understand.”

            At last, Viktor relaxed. Jayce held him tight as the fight-or-flight seeped out of him. After a moment, once the tears had quieted, Viktor drew back, eyes clear.

            “I am grateful for your efforts to protect the peace, Jayce,” he said. “Few would wish to shield Zaun by keeping weapons out of Piltover’s hands. Not when providing those weapons would earn such wealth and acclaim. I am sorry I did not confer with you before demonstrating the power of the staff. Regrettably, however, I fear it is inevitable Piltover would demand you turn your talents toward the crafting of weapons.”

            Jayce wished he was not right, but Viktor knew Piltover better than Jayce.

            “Did you know?” he asked. “When you gave me that Arcane focus after the hunt, did you know what I’d build?”

            Viktor shook his head. “I did not know. I only hoped.”

            Though largely illogical, it was hard not to feel a little used. Hard not to feel like Viktor had taken a risk, made an investment, done what he could to secure his own safety in Piltover, and that hurt. Of course, Jayce could not hide the sentiment from Viktor. He could not hide any sentiment from Viktor. Not when sympathy betrayed his every emotion. Remorse overtook Viktor’s face as he grasped Jayce’s neck.

            “No one else could have crafted what you have crafted, Jayce Talis,” he said. “No one else could have even imagined it. You have a remarkable mind. A remarkable gift. I would not have given you that focus if I had not believed you a worthy steward.”

            “I know,” Jayce said, nodding. New tears burned his eyes, the liveliness exchanged for raw emotion. “I just—I’m always one step behind.”

            He wished he could take a step back, return to the moment his rut had ended and choose never to leave their nest. So much goodwill, such satisfaction, soured with his own stupidity. Tearing up, Viktor cupped Jayce’s face in his hands and shook his head.

            “I could not do any of this without you, Jayce. I would not wish to.”

            Jayce did not know what to say. Viktor hummed a sorry note.

            “Perhaps it is a greater cruelty that we should love each other,” he said. “It would be infinitely simpler not to care—to serve only as proxies for our nations to continue their struggle for dominance. Instead we have chosen to stand between them both.” He searched for a smile and found one, small and sparkling with tears. “But we stand together, do we not?”

            Jayce’s tears spilled over his cheeks as he blinked. Viktor wiped them away.

            Jayce nodded. “We stand together.”

            Heaving a sigh, Viktor wrapped his arms around Jayce’s shoulders. Jayce folded his bondmate to his chest and held onto him.

            Jayce wanted to play the game. He wanted to stand on par with Cassandra, with Silco, with the Lords’ Council—but it seemed to much too learn too quickly with stakes far too high. Viktor, though. Viktor knew how to play. Viktor had begun playing before ever setting foot in Piltover. Perhaps, then, Jayce did not need to learn, and instead rely on his bondmate. To trust Viktor’s instinct and intelligence and put strength behind his words. Though Jayce felt stupid, he need not feel inadequate.

            “What’s our next move?” he asked.

            “You must speak with the council,” Viktor replied. “Show them our studies and paint a picture of our current limitations. Gauge their interest and their offerings. Then, we attend what remains of the peace celebration and build goodwill with the people of Piltover. They are the ones to whom you wish to give our magic most, yes?”

            Jayce nodded. “They deserve it.”

            “Then let us discover what we can do for them.”

            Drawing back, Jayce gazed at Viktor. Still a mess, still exhausted. Still fighting. It was as admirable as it was astonishing.

            “Thank you,” Jayce said.

            Viktor shook his head. “I am sorry I panicked. I am feeling a little sensitive. After everything.” After Jayce’s rut, he meant. “Thank you for listening. Your patience and tenderness never cease to amaze me.”

            Relaxing at last, Jayce nuzzled Viktor’s nose and kissed him.

            “You’re pretty amazing yourself, princess.”

            Viktor smiled, kissing him back. “Then you are still willing to help me to the bath?”

            Jayce laughed. “Of course.”

            With an affectionate purr, Viktor gave Jayce a kiss of his own. It was nice—to simply receive without trying to return. To let Viktor communicate what he wanted to communicate. Relief. Devotion. Shyness. Warmth. Each emotion washed over Jayce through their bond, through the kiss. As Viktor drew back, he laughed a little and brushed his fingers over Jayce’s cheeks and beard.

            “This prickles...” he said.

            “I know,” Jayce chuckled. “I need to shave.”

            Viktor shook his head. “Mm, keep it,” he said. “I like it.”

            Jayce’s cock did stir at that. How could it not—holding such a beautiful omega in his arms, naked and woozy and covered in his scent? His hands ran down Viktor’s sides as he rumbled and captured his mouth in a kiss. His lips were salty. So was his neck. Jayce stood and lowered Viktor’s back to the nest, bending over to kiss his sternum.

            “This is not the—hah—bath, Jayce...”

            “Bath can wait...” Jayce replied, unbuttoning his pants.

            Perhaps his rut had not yet cleared. The sudden need to reestablish his claim to Viktor simmered in his blood and his cock hardened swiftly. His mate seemed willing, slick already, as Jayce discovered with his fingers. He rumbled in satisfaction, and Viktor keened. The omega’s eyes rolled back as Jayce circled his entrance.

            “Got one more left in you?” Jayce asked.

            “I do not—know,” Viktor replied. He swallowed when Jayce teased him with the head of his cock. “You may certainly try.”

            Jayce took that as the challenge it was and pushed into Viktor—loose from three days of sex in rut. His whole body tensed, but he cried the most beautiful note. Jayce massaged his hip until the joint too was loose enough for Jayce to lift Viktor’s leg and place it on his shoulder. Viktor looked up at him, eyes hazy, breath heavy, vulnerable, but Jayce recognized the tempest in him now, and how fucking heady was it to have the Herald of the Arcane gasping his name?

            Viktor could raze Piltover to the ground, but that was not what he wanted.

            He wanted Jayce.

            The thought sent Jayce spiraling back into the throes of rut—what remained of it, anyway. Lost to the need to mark, to claim, to declare, a slave to the sacred sounds that spilled from his mate.

            Both the bath and their breakfast would be cold by the time they finished.

As requested, Jayce attended the afternoon council meeting on his own. Bathed, dressed, notes and prototypes in-hand. He wouldn’t give the lords even an inch of rope to hang him with.

            Surprisingly, however, the atmosphere in the council chamber was blithe and friendly.

            “Lord Talis!” Salo called with a smile. “How wonderful to see you. You’re looking well.” He attempted a conspiratorial wink.

            Hoskel came up and slapped Jayce on the back.

            “Lady Talis won’t be joining us?” the old man asked.

            Jayce kept himself from rolling his eyes by clenching his jaw. These two lords in particular had put up such a fuss about Viktor’s attendance at council meetings, had even cornered him when they’d thought he was alone and defenseless, but to hear them speak now, one would think they were the oldest and dearest of friends of Clan Talis.

            “No, he will not,” Jayce replied, “but his highness will attend tonight’s festival.”

            “Good, good.” Hoskel patted Jayce’s shoulder and steered him over to sit together. Salo followed in tandem.

            “We must be sure to toast the future of Clan Talis,” Salo said. The impish glint in his eye this time had everything to do with Jayce’s rut. Impeccably groomed though Jayce was, they would be able to smell Viktor on him. “Happy news is sure to come, no doubt.”

            “We hope so,” Jayce replied with what he hoped was a gracious smile.

            That smile faltered, however, when Mel walked into the room.

            The two of them had never spent their heats or ruts together as a rule. A child conceived out of wedlock would have ruined them both. Mel knew as well as anyone why Jayce had been absent from the last three days of celebration. She knew better than anyone exactly what was at risk. Though, neither her face nor her scent betrayed any of her thoughts on the matter. She simply offered Jayce a warm and impersonal smile.

            “Good afternoon, Lord Talis,” she said. “We’ve missed you.”

            Cassandra entered right behind her and got the meeting underway. She wasted no time turning the floor over to Jayce. The lords had hundreds of questions regarding what had transpired at the grand banquet. Jayce showed them his and Viktor’s research. He explained everything, placing particular emphasis on practical applications and current limitations of the magic. Without a power source linking a given tool to the Arcane, the tools would cease to function as magical artifacts.

            “At the grand banquet, Lords Hoskel and Salo were able to make use of Lady Talis’s staff,” Mel said. “Yet you have stated that it—of all tools—lacks an Arcane connection.”

            Hoskel and Salo squirmed a little. No doubt they’d spent the last three days soaking up praise for their magical prowess. Jayce needed to avoid offending them while telling as much of the truth as possible.

            “I designed the staff specifically as a channel for his highness,” he replied. “The previous staff Lady Talis wielded served a similar purpose—to direct and stabilize his magic. This one simply possesses a greater capacity. In its case, Viktor provides the Arcane connection, but...” Jayce took a deep breath. He did not want to say more, but Viktor had encouraged him to do so. “Once his magic is in the staff, it can be wielded by another to achieve the desired effect.”

            Nodding, Hoskel and Salo relaxed. Mel pondered, lips pursed. Cassandra pressed on.

            “Could an alternative power source be added to the staff?” she asked.

            “No, my lord,” Jayce replied—a little too quickly. “The depth of connection required by the staff far surpasses that offered by any Arcane focus.”

            Cassandra frowned. She did not like that answer.

            “Our research is just beginning, truly,” Jayce added. “We haven’t even had a full two months and we’ve already come this far. I’m certain that with greater time and resources, we’ll be able to produce results that will prosper the whole of Piltover.”

            “I for one am all for it,” Hoskel said.

            “Myself as well,” Salo replied.

            “Could another mage wield the staff?” Mel asked.

            Eyebrows raised as the council turned toward her. Hoskel opened his mouth to protest, but Cassandra beat him to it.

            “Lady Medarda presents an excellent point.” She leveled every ounce of her shrewd attention on Jayce. “The last thing Piltover needs is for that ‘tool’ to fall into the wrong hands. Is there any possibility of another mage using its power against us?”

            “It doesn’t amplify power, my lord,” Jayce replied, confused, “so I can’t imagine another mage would have any particular use for it. They wield their own staves already. Not to mention they would have to take it from Viktor, and I doubt any of them are foolish enough to cross a Herald of the Arcane when they have very little to gain from it.”

            That seemed to satisfy Cassandra, though she did not set aside her iron attitude.

            “Very well,” she said. “Continue your research. You shall have Clan Kiramman’s sponsorship.”

            “Thank you, my lords,” Jayce replied. “Unless there are further questions, I’d like to propose the next topic of discussion?” They indicated for him to continue. “The tollbooths—”

            “There is nothing to discuss regarding that matter, Lord Talis,” Cassandra said.

            “My lord—”

            “Was I unclear?”

            “I only worry that Zaun—”

            Cassandra barked a laugh, harsh and loud. “Zaun? What worry could a lord of Piltover have for Zaun?” She challenged him to speak again with flint-struck eyes. “I would caution you against showing undue attention to our southern neighbors, Lord Talis. People may begin to question your loyalty.”

            Jayce had to flex every muscle in his jaw and every ounce of his self-control to keep his mouth shut. Seeing him muzzled, Cassandra moved the discussion to other matters. Pointless subjects such as what remained of the peace celebrations. Jayce kept his commentary to himself, but that did not save him from Cassandra when the meeting came to a close.

            “Stay behind a moment, Lord Talis,” she said.

            The other lords made themselves scarce.

            Drawing in a breath, Cassandra eased her posture once they were alone. She regarded Jayce with the tired exasperation of a parent.

            “Have you told us the whole truth, Jayce?” she asked.

            “I left out the part where Viktor invoked the Arcane at the grand banquet rather than Hoskel and Salo,” Jayce replied.

            “I suspected as much.” She sighed. “One would think they had discovered fire the way they boast.” Jayce knew better than to reply. “Is this sudden fondness for Zaun invoked by your bondmate as well?”

            “Forgive me, my lord, but it is far from sudden.”

            Cassandra narrowed her eyes.

            “You’ve known me most of my life, Lord Kiramman. You’ve raised me to care very deeply about the people of Piltover, and I do not consider it any great leap of logic to consider that care equally applied to the people of Zaun. I know how hard we’ve worked for peace. As Piltover’s representative bondmate, is it not my duty to maintain that peace?”

            “This new magic of yours,” Cassandra replied, ignoring the question. “How long until it will be applicable to weaponry?”

            Had she heard nothing he’d just said?

            “Indefinitely, my lord. I fear that will require far more research, and that such research would likely provoke Zaun.”

            Just like those godsdamned tollbooths.

            Cassandra laughed at him. “Are you so naïve as to believe Zaun is not in the process of developing their own weapons?”

            “Zaun has kept the peace.”

            “As has Piltover.”

            They regarded each other.

            “Part of peacekeeping, Jayce,” Cassandra said, slowly, as if speaking to a child, “is the assurance that enemies are evenly matched.”

            He would not build weapons for her. He did not even want to make her think he would, as that would only delay the inevitable or place Clan Talis in a more precarious position, but even if he pushed that boulder down the road, the way ahead would still be blocked.

            “I will keep the council informed of our progress,” he said.

            Much like that metaphorical boulder, Cassandra did not budge.

            “See that you do, Lord Talis.”

**       

Upon entering the Kiramman festival tent, when Viktor removed his cloak, Caitlyn’s attention went straight to his neck. She kept her cheeks from flushing, but the intrigue and embarrassment still reached Viktor through sympathy. The bruise around his mate mark shined like a beacon, accentuated by his red Clan Talis clothes. Viktor was not trying to hide it. Quite the opposite.

            The bruise was proof to every pair of prying eyes that Jayce’s rut had been productive. It circumvented the need to ask questions, displayed a microcosm of Piltover’s hopes and dreams.

            Zaun: conquered and controlled.

            “Does it hurt?” Caitlyn quietly asked while Jayce retrieved drinks for the three of them.

            “Of course,” Viktor replied with a smile, “though it looks far worse than it feels.”

            The young woman rubbed her own neck, imagining some phantom pain. For his part, Viktor was simply happy to be upright. His ability to walk had only returned an hour ago, and even then had still required the exercise of his magic to ease the worst of the soreness.

            Jayce, on the other hand, seemed quite pleased with his handiwork.

            He held his head high, chest broad and lifted as he returned and looped Viktor’s hand onto his arm to escort him after passing over his drink. Viktor had to tuck his staff into his elbow, but Jayce provided more than enough support, proud to stand beside his bondmate. He’d insisted Viktor wear ribbons in his hair, and Ximena had helped him with the braids though she herself would not be attending the festival. You are a princess, she had said. Piltover should remember that.

            “You know what else looks far worse than it feels...” Caitlyn said and tipped her head toward Jayce’s beard.

            Viktor laughed. Jayce glowered at Caitlyn.

            “Hilarious,” he replied, flat.

            “I think he looks very handsome,” Viktor said. He smiled up at Jayce and earned himself a blush from his alpha. “It is distinguished. Quite befitting a lord of Piltover. Does Master Kiramman not agree?”

            Caitlyn rolled her eyes and ignored the question, the onus of her discomfort now placed squarely on her shoulders. Even she had to admit Jayce looked the part. Hair trimmed, beard groomed, fine clothes embroidered with their clan crest. He was a monument to the ideal Piltovian alpha: titled, landed, intelligent, industrious. Zaunite royalty on his arm. It was little wonder the other lords had tried to collar him. Jayce threatened them with the very thing they feared and desired most: progress.

            He was a man of the future.

            “Is something the matter, princess?” Jayce asked.

            Viktor had been admiring him all that time with dreamy, half-lidded eyes. He blinked back to himself and shook his head.

            “Not at all.”

            Jayce smiled until Caitlyn pantomimed a gag reflex, which started the two of them bickering like siblings—an activity they swiftly abandoned when a guest arrived to say hello.

            Both Jayce and Caitlyn were popular among Piltovian nobility. Caitlyn for her prowess and potential. Jayce for his sociable demeanor. Everyone who approached offered their sincere congratulations on the mate-bond and the treaty. Jayce introduced them to Viktor, who made every effort to appear non-threatening. He gained some headway by remembering the names of all the lords and ladies whom Lady Medarda had already introduced.

            When the three finally ducked out of the tent to enjoy the festival proper, Jayce was positively beaming with pride. It only made him more magnetic.

            Banners fluttered between torches, turning the streets into a riot of light and color. Snow fell from the night sky, but melted on the cobblestones. Here, among the commons, music and laughter reigned. Caitlyn shied, but Jayce came alive.

            Shopkeepers and craftspeople called to him. Jayce greeted them all by name. They knew him, and he knew them—exchanging well wishes and asking after family members, inquiring about business. They shared their woes and joys and their delight in the festival, excited by the peace in a way the nobility would never appreciate. These were the people who would suffer the greatest impact of war. War Jayce had averted through his mate-bond with Viktor.

            He introduced his bondmate to the first few people they encountered, but was soon swept into a larger crowd, all eager for his attention. Viktor smiled and stood alongside Caitlyn, quite content to watch Jayce in his element. Caitlyn’s uncertainty and self-consciousness crept quietly around the edges of his sympathy.

            “I have been meaning to ask, Lord Kiramman,” Viktor said, “how has your moorhound fared in training?”

            Caitlyn’s whole countenance brightened. “He’s a quick learner,” she replied. “I ought to show you what we’ve been practicing when we return to the manor. Our hound master was a little uncertain when I brought him home, but safe to say she has since seen the light.”

            Viktor chuckled. “I am glad to hear it.”

            “And Vi?” Caitlyn continued, a curious affection radiating from her. “How goes her training regimen?”

            “Violet may be capable of training a dog, but that does not mean she is going to do so,” Viktor replied. “I have no doubt that puppy is being spoiled absolutely rotten by Powder and Violet both.” He smiled. “We should organize a contest the next time our families gather. Discover who is the better trainer after all.”

            Returning his smile, Caitlyn nodded. “I would like that.”

            Their conversation lapsed, so Viktor turned to take in the atmosphere.

            “Viktor...”

            Surprised by the address, Viktor looked at her.

            “I’ve said this to Jayce, but...I’d like to apologize for the way I treated you.” Caitlyn glanced at him, briefly. “I’ve been taught to distrust Zaun all my life, but I do not wish to be someone who simply accepts what she has been taught without question.” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know if you know this, but when the mate-bond was first proposed, my father asked if I would be willing, and I refused.” Viktor had not known that. “While I do feel that the two of us would not have made a good match, I now know that we would have learned to get along. To work together. I did not believe peace was actually possible, but I want you to know that I will stand behind you and Jayce to fight for it. Whatever the cost.”

            The young woman swallowed and looked up at Viktor, her face a little flushed and her eyes alight, resolved. Smiling, Viktor placed a hand on her shoulder.

            “We would be most honored,” he said, “Caitlyn.”

            That brought a genuine smile to Caitlyn’s face. It was astonishing how much the expression softened the sharp lines of her features. The cheerfulness was short lived, however, as Lord Kiramman came suddenly swooping down upon them both.

            “Caitlyn,” she hissed, appearing out of nowhere. “This is where you’ve been?”

            “Father—” Caitlyn started, forgetting herself in her shock.

            “Come,” Lord Kiramman said. “Your presence is required at the manor.”

            Caitlyn hardly had time to give Viktor an apologetic glance before Lord Kiramman hauled her away, off to rejoin Clan Kiramman and their guests as they removed themselves from the common folk already. Lord Kiramman said nothing to Viktor about following, and he preferred not to go, so he stood and puzzled a moment until Jayce appeared as suddenly as Lord Kiramman had.

            “Princess,” he said, catching Viktor’s hand, oblivious to Caitlyn’s disappearance. “Come over here. There’s some people I want you to meet.”

            He brought Viktor to a shop on the corner that had its doors thrown open to admit festival goers and welcome them to warm themselves by a fire crackling in the forge. The shop belonged to a blacksmith. Farriers, judging by the number of horseshoes hanging on the beams. These must have been the people Jayce had had in mind when he’d designed the clipping hammer. A stout man with strong arms, his wife, and several children regarded Viktor with awed trepidation after being introduced.

            “The Orells and Talis families have a long history,” Jayce said.  

            “We’ve used Talis hammers for generations,” the father replied. “Only the best.”

            “Are you really a mage?” one of the children asked.

            The mother shushed her daughter, covering her mouth and apologizing to Viktor, but he smiled and shook his head, gently easing their fears through sympathy. He crouched to bring himself level with the girl.

            “I am. Would you like to see some magic?”

            She nodded, excited now. Viktor turned his palm over and conjured the image of a butterfly—iridescent wings shifting shape each time they opened. The girl beamed at the butterfly, mouth agape. Viktor let it flutter off his palm and disappear.

            “That’s so pretty,” she gushed.

            “Eda would love it,” her mother agreed.

            “How is Eda?” Jayce asked.

            The mother shook her head. “Not well, poor dear. Wanted so badly to attend the celebrations, but the cold weather just doesn’t agree with her lungs.”

            “Eda is ill?” Viktor asked, rising.

            “Mm,” the father said with a regretful nod. The sorrow that poured off them both washed over Viktor in waves. “City saw an outbreak of the gray plague when she was little.”

            “We’re just grateful she survived,” the mother added.

            Almost compelled, Viktor pulled back one of his sleeves to show them the irregular circular scars on his own arms. They exhibited remarkable decorum as they managed not to react to anything else unusual about the appendage. He dropped his sleeve once he was certain they had seen and understood.

            “I am a healer,” he said. “If you will permit me, I might aid your child.”

            The parents glanced at each other—frightened, hopeful—then at Jayce as he raised his left hand to display his engagement mark.

            “He’s very good,” he said with a smile.

            Seeing that, they agreed, and brought Jayce and Viktor upstairs to their home above the shop. There, a girl sat bundled by the window, watching the celebration on the street below through warped glass. She was perhaps only thirteen or fourteen years old, and she was so surprised to see them that it triggered a coughing fit. Her mother went to her side to pat her back and bundle her tighter.

            “Mr. Talis,” Eda said as the coughs quieted. “Hello.”

            “Hello, Eda,” Jayce replied. He brought Viktor forward. “I’d like you to meet someone. This is my bondmate, Viktor.”

            Shy, Eda glanced at Viktor. “Hello.”

            “Hello, Miss Orells,” Viktor replied. “Forgive our intrusion, and my abrupt offer, but your parents informed me you suffered from the gray plague some years ago.” Coughing, Eda nodded. “I am sorry to hear that. I understand how long it lingers.” He knelt near her and pulled back his sleeve as he had downstairs. Eda leaned forward to get a better look, eyes wide. “I cannot promise perfect results, but I can alleviate your symptoms through magic.”

            “You can?”

            Her voice was so small, as if she did not dare hope.

            Viktor nodded. “If you are willing. I will not force you.”

            She sat up and moved toward him, shedding the blankets and nodding profusely. Uncovered, her arms revealed a patchwork of scars and blisters filled with gray fluid. Viktor knew them well.

            “I will require some of my blood and yours in order for the magic to take effect.”

            Eda showed him a bandage behind her ear, beneath it an open sore.

            “That will do.”

            He cut his thumb along his incisor and pressed it to the sore without hesitation.

            The effect was not instantaneous. Nor painless. The removal of the gray plague was not as simple as stitching a wound closed. Viktor had to root out every last dreg of disease, push his magic through every part of Eda. The girl showed remarkable resilience. Gritting her teeth, controlling her breathing, tensing rather than squirming as the magic seared through her blood. The experience drained them both, but by the end of it, her arms dazzled with iridescence—like Jayce’s engagement mark or the wings of the illusory butterfly. Even the sore behind her ear now glittered white, the shape of Viktor’s thumbprint.

            The breath she took afterward filled her lungs entirely.

            Eda burst into tears.

            They all did—parents and siblings crowding the girl to throw their arms around her, then around Viktor, gratitude spilling from their mouths and their emotions so sincerely it made him dizzy. Though, perhaps he ought to blame that on exhaustion.

            Jayce steadied him, a warm and enveloping presence at his side.

            “All right, princess?” he asked, voice soft, eyes burning.

            Viktor nodded. “Yes. I think so...”

            He tried to stand on his own and tipped against Jayce, who chuckled.

            “Why didn’t you use your staff for that?” he asked. “It’s not like I designed it to alleviate the drain of your magic or anything.”

            Viktor had not noticed, but he supposed his mate was right. He had not utilized the staff as a stabilizer, but he felt too lightheaded to think through it now. Healing someone of the gray plague following three days with his mate in rut had not been the wisest decision, but he would not have waited, nor would he take it back. Though he did find the Orells’ subsequent attention overwhelming.

            “I’d like to go down to the festival now, Mama, may I?” Eda asked, eyes glimmering.

            “Of course, my darling,” her mother replied as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

            The children consequently swarmed their sister to help her dress and don her shoes to go down to the street and celebrate. The little one for whom Viktor had conjured the butterfly tugged on his cloak.

            “Would you come with us?”

            “Oh, yes, please,” Eda pleaded.

            Viktor smiled, but swayed on his feet. “I fear I must return to rest, as much as I would like to join you.” Both girls deflated, immediately sorry. “Do not worry for me. I am honored to have been able to help you, Miss Orells. Perhaps Lord Talis would stay and enjoy the festival on our behalf?”

            Looking into his eyes, Jayce lifted Viktor’s hand to kiss his knuckles. “If you’re sure, princess.”

            Viktor nodded, and the little girl tugged on his cloak once more.

            “You’re a princess, too?”

            “Mm. I am a princess of Zaun.”

            “Thank you for helping my sister, princess,” she said and hugged his legs with such tenderness. Viktor placed a hand between her shoulders and withheld the tears in his own eyes.

            “You are very welcome,” he said.

            Eda came over to hug him as well, followed by all the other children one by one. The parents offered their gratitude once more as the children scampered from the room to go and play. Viktor assured them he was happy to help and wanted nothing in return. They went downstairs when the children shouted for them to come along. Jayce and Viktor lingered in the doorway, watching Eda explore her newfound freedom and show her iridescent scars to friends and neighbors.

            “I would like you to stay and keep their company,” Viktor said. “I do not wish these people to believe we ever think ourselves above them.”

            “I’m happy to stay,” Jayce replied. “You’re sure you don’t want to?”

            “I would love to stay,” Viktor said, head spinning, “but I must rest.”

            Nodding, Jayce kissed his cheek.

            “I love you,” he whispered into Viktor’s ear.

            Viktor could not keep the blush from his cheeks. He gave his mate a quiet, heartfelt chirp and the two of them parted ways. Viktor returned to the Kirammans’ manor, unaccompanied and entirely fatigued.

            As exhausting as he found Piltover, he had to acknowledge that that had everything to do with the lords and the council. Walking the streets, he enjoyed the lively atmosphere even as he left it behind. Perhaps part of the reason he and Jayce got along so well was his comfortability among the commons. Whether Jayce knew it or not, he governed the same way Silco and Vander did in Zaun—living right alongside their people.

            The day settled heavy upon Viktor’s shoulders when the Kiramman manor came into view, rest within reach. He had hardly slept the last three nights—catching only snatches when Jayce had. That morning, he had wept and panicked, and only an afternoon nap had seen him in a fit state to attend the festival. He could have slept for another hundred years.

            A guard at the gate admitted him with a courteous nod. He received the same reception from each servant he passed even though they were busy attending to the Kirammans’ guests now occupying the great hall. Viktor did not care to inform the hosts of his return. Lord Kiramman had nothing to gain from his going to bed without his mate.

            However, as Viktor opened the door to their suite of rooms, fear and anger collided with his sympathy and he knew at once that Lord Kiramman was in those rooms.

            The door to Ximena’s private chamber stood ajar, leaking voices and light.

            “...have told you everything I know, my lord,” Ximena said. “I swear it.”

            “Then perhaps you have misunderstood the inquiry,” Lord Kiramman replied. “Your son is talented, Ximena, but you and I both know his intelligence only extends so far. Where does he plan to obtain the Arcane foci required to operate his tools?”

            Swift and silent, Viktor moved closer to the door, but did not reveal himself. If he leaned carefully, he could make out their silhouettes against the fire through the opening.

            “I do not know, my lord,” Ximena said.

            “You’ve never overheard them discussing it? Never been privy to a conversation?”

            Ximena did not answer. Lord Kiramman clicked her tongue.

            “Did you think you had escaped our grasp, Ximena? Did you think the Lords’ Council had forgotten how you opposed the treaty? How you disobeyed our orders and appeared as a guest of Zaun at the bonding ceremony?” She laughed, cruelly. “Is it your intention to flirt with treason or are you even more foolish than your son?”

            “My lord—”

            “The next words out of your mouth had better be an answer to my question or I will ensure you never speak another word.”

            Viktor had heard enough.

            Blood boiling, he pushed open the door without knocking and entered Ximena’s room without waiting for permission. Both Lord Kiramman and Ximena reacted with appropriate shock to his sudden entrance, but Viktor gave neither of them an opportunity to control the conversation, interposing himself between Ximena and Lord Kiramman.

            “What is the conflict here?” he asked, eyes fixed on his opponent.

            “Conflict, Lady Talis?” Lord Kiramman replied.

            “I heard raised voices,” he said. “You need not play stupid, my lord.”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “You need not. Play stupid. My lord,” he repeated, annunciating every syllable.

            Lord Kiramman’s face turned an impassioned red as she clenched her jaw.

            “Let us speak plainly,” Viktor continued. His exhaustion vanished in the face of this new battle. “We are both of us masters of duplicity. Neither will believe a word out of the other’s mouth unless delivered with the truth of vitriol, I fear. So I will ask you plainly, Lord Kiramman. What business have you interrogating my bondmate’s mother?”

            Baring her teeth, Lord Kiramman growled.

            “You’d like me to speak plainly, would you?”

            Viktor would not back down. “Yes, my lord.”

            “Then speak plainly I shall.”

            Lord Kiramman stalked toward him—a creature of controlled anger, talons poised to tear him to pieces, but Viktor was too angry to fear her. How dare she insult and frighten Ximena in the comfort of her own rooms in a home where she held no power and could pose no threat? He did not break eye contact with Lord Kiramman as she came to a stop not inches away.

            “The moment you forged your mate-bond, you became a citizen of Piltover, your highness,” she said. “You are subject to our rule, our law. You submit to the will of Lords’ Council as does every other member of this great nation. Jayce Talis may be a lord now, but let us not forget he was once my ward. I know that boy well. I trained him. I know how quick he is to trust. It would not even enter his mind that his newly beloved bondmate might have an agenda of his own. Still, he refuses to furnish Piltover with the means to defend ourselves. Why do you imagine that might be?”

            “The peace, my lord,” Viktor replied.

            “The peace.” Cassandra’s lip curled. “Of course. The all-important peace. The peace which prevents the Lords’ Council from meting out any due punishment upon you for fear of upsetting our southern neighbors.”

            “Have I done something to warrant punishment, my lord?”

            Huffing, Cassandra turned from him. “I will not insult your intelligence by assuming you do not understand the reason you were selected as Zaun’s representative bondmate.” She strolled toward the fire and looked into it, eyes ablaze. “Rest assured that you are safe, Lady Talis, inasmuch as yours is not the only life on the line.” She glanced over her shoulder to flick her gaze from Viktor’s belly to his eyes. “Of course, yours is not the only life at stake.”

            Her eyes turned then to Ximena.

            “Get out,” Viktor growled.

            “I beg your—”

            “GET OUT!”

            The room shook with the force of his voice, directed at Cassandra with such power of sympathy as to make it an order she could not refuse.

            Lord Cassandra Kiramman turned and walked out of the room against her will.

            The very instant she was gone, the weight of what he had just done crashed upon Viktor’s head. His breath left his lungs and did not return. His hands shook. He whirled to look at Ximena in apologetic horror that mirrored the expression on her own face.

            There would surely be hell to pay for this.

Chapter Text

Clan Talis abandoned the Kiramman manor that night.

            Returning from the festival, Jayce had found Ximena and Viktor so alarmed and so upset that when Viktor explained what had happened, only Jayce’s sense of self-preservation kept him from stalking straight to Cassandra to rip out her throat. They had to remove themselves from the manor. Jayce would slaughter Cassandra otherwise.

            They left a note with a servant thanking the Kirammans for their hospitality, giving the excuse that a personal matter required their attention. No one had witnessed the confrontation. At best, Cassandra would remain silent on the matter until it suited her schemes to defame Viktor. At worst, she would sound the war horns that night. Clan Talis packed up their most essential belongings and discarded the carriage, taking only their own moorland horses with them the one place they could flee on such short notice.

            Across the river to Zaun.

            Ximena rode ahead and Viktor sat in front of Jayce in the saddle rather than pillion. He refused to let either of them out of his sight. Such rage simmered in his bones that the fury burned all the way to the marrow.

            They paid their toll, and crossed the bridge, but only once the twisting streets had swallowed them did their pace slow.

            On this side of the river, the world was quiet.

            Piltover celebrated, and the people of Zaun tucked themselves away in their crumbling homes—scant shelters in the oncoming snow. Viktor directed their path, winding deeper and deeper into Zaun until they came to an enormous crevasse. There, they stabled their horses, shouldered their belongings, and wound their way into the earth itself.

            Jayce had heard of the Fissures, of course, but never seen them. Rumor abounded in Piltover about what Zaun got up to underground.

            Rumor did not even approach reality.

            The deeper they traveled, the more the city revealed itself. Countless homes and shops clung to the crevasse walls, suspension bridges crisscrossing between to link them together. Here and there, carved openings revealed a network of tunnels with more shops and more homes, all illuminated by burning lamps tapped into the stone or hanging lanterns that glowed with multicolored light. Cracks in the cliff face puffed out steam, contributing a sulfurous smell to a current of cooking oil and perfume and hundreds of other scents Jayce could not distinguish. The air grew warmer as they delved deeper, and the people grew more and more plentiful.

            What few scales remained fell from Jayce’s eyes.

            Shielded from the cold and dark by natural warmth and conjured light, Zaunites in the Fissures were wide awake and perfectly lively. Traders hawked their wares. Children raced across the bridges in spite of the late hour. Bawdy music and laughter poured out of mead halls. Everywhere, curious contraptions caught Jayce’s attention—artifice in its finest form, abundant, and apparently for public use.

            So, Piltover only thought Zaun primitive because they’d never looked below the surface.

            The city was a wonder. In better circumstances, Jayce might have stopped to ask questions about every device, sampled every food from every cart. Knowing Viktor, Jayce had assumed most Zaunites lived by his ascetic approach, but he had said the cities were different, and that was the understatement of the century.

            Viktor brought Jayce and Ximena to a tavern at the bottom of the crevasse. It was, quite easily, the liveliest place thus far. A stark juxtaposition to their silent, fearful flight. The sign over the door read: The Last Drop.

            “We will go around the back,” Viktor said.

            “Is this our destination?” Jayce asked, leading Ximena, who clung to his side.

            “Yes,” Viktor replied. “Vander will shelter us.”

            Jayce stopped dead. “This is your king’s tavern?”

            Viktor nodded. “It is how he holds court.”

            He wasted no more time steering them around the building and up a set of stairs to a rear entrance. No one stood guard, and the door was not locked. The three ducked inside. A moment of darkness, then a soft pink light flared to life, illuminating a tiny, empty entryway.

            “Someone will be up to admit us,” Viktor said.

            Not seconds later, the opposite door flung open, Vander at the handle.

            “Viktor? Good gods.”

            Rumbling with worry, the man checked over Viktor, looking for signs of stress which were quite easy to find. Powder appeared right behind Vander, crying, “V!” and leaping upon Viktor. She might have knocked him over had Jayce not been there to brace. He resisted the violent urge to grab Powder by the scruff of her neck and pry her off his bondmate.

            “What’s happened?” Vander asked.

            Viktor trilled, worried, spent, unable to stomach explaining a second time. He looked at Jayce, who understood.

            “Cassandra Kiramman threatened my mother,” Jayce answered. “Viktor overheard and stood up to her, but he had to use sympathy, and we felt it best to leave. I need no more evidence that we are not safe there, though I’m not certain we’ll truly be able to avoid the fallout...”

            Vander gave a low whistle. Powder paled, her mirth gone in an instant.

            “Are you all right?” she asked Ximena.

            “Powder, go fetch Ekko and get a guest room ready,” Vander ordered, but Viktor hastily grasped his elbow.

            “I’d like her to stay with us, Papa, please,” he said. He and Ximena exchanged glances and nervous warbles, confirming a shared fear between the two of them. “I would sleep better knowing she is within reach.”

            “Sure, sure, that’s no problem,” Vander said and placed a hand atop Viktor’s head. “Whatever you want, little lamb. Don’t fret. Powder—you and Ekko bring a mattress and blankets for Ximena, then. All right? Quick as you can.”

            Powder put her hand to her forehead, said, “Aye, aye, sir,” and hurried off.

            “You three head in,” Vander said. “I’ll let the Lanes know to be on the lookout.”

            “Thank you, Papa,” Viktor breathed, but Vander shook his head.

            “No need for thanks. Get some rest. You’re safe as houses now, all right?”

            Nodding, Viktor took Ximena’s arm and led her from the room. Jayce moved to follow, but Vander blocked his path.

            Unready to be scolded, Jayce silenced a growl, hands balling into fists.

            “There’s wisdom in retreat,” Vander said, and Jayce fell still. “It’s a wisdom few recognize, and even fewer appreciate, but I do.” He held out his hand. Slowly, Jayce extended his own and shook. “Thank you for bringing Viktor here. You’ve clearly earned his trust. You have mine as well. What’s ours is yours, all right?”

            “...Thank you, sir.”

            He couldn’t quite bring himself to call the king of Zaun by his first name right now.

            Vander clapped a hand on Jayce’s shoulder, then departed through the outer door with obvious purpose and a shadow over his face. Jayce shook himself out of his stupor and pushed deeper into The Last Drop, following Viktor’s scent. Powder and Ekko quickly crossed his path, arms full of blankets and pillows. The two circled him before heading in the same direction.

            “This way,” Powder said softly.

            The Last Drop’s upper rooms were a veritable labyrinth. Powder and Ekko led Jayce up stairs and down stairs, through corridors and along tight squeezes that seemed to be passages between the walls of other rooms. None of the construction made any sense, but that was likely by design. This was the royal family’s castle, after all. Their most defensible position. Jayce would have been able to find his way to Viktor’s quarters by his scent, though, so he found himself short on patience for his guides.

            “So, what happened with the Kirammans?” Ekko asked.

            “Better not talk about it, Ekko,” Powder replied.

            “Why? She can’t hear us.”

            Powder flicked her eyes from Ekko to Jayce, and the implication of that single look finally ignited his simmering rage. He ripped the blankets from Powder’s hands.

            “I am not a Kiramman spy,” he snarled.

            Startled, Powder’s mouth fell open and she stammered out, “That wasn’t what I—” but Ximena materialized at the end of the passage, her face more harrowed than it had been all night. Powder shut up. Jayce’s heart dropped into his stomach.

            “It’s Viktor,” Ximena said. “He’s collapsed.”

**

Get out. Get out. They needed to get out. They needed to flee, but Piltover was destined to follow, war inevitable, and they needed to get out, but the smells in Viktor’s nose made little sense. Smells mattered not, not now, not when they must flee, but the smells kept catching his attention. Hops. Sulfur. Pipe smoke and aromatic wood. The shimmering acidic iron of his mother’s scent. Smells of home that no longer smelled of home.

            Where was the stone and frost? The rush and heather? Where was the cinnamon and honey, the spice and musk? Where was Jayce?

            Jayce.

            Recollection came rushing back—rut, rest, festival, plague, sympathy, sympathy, sympathy. They had fled. Fled to Zaun. The scents surrounding Viktor were those of his room in The Last Drop.

            He struggled to open his eyes, and managed only long enough to identify his mother by the fire. Seeing Viktor stir, Silco came to his bedside.

            Get out.

            “I have made...a grievous mistake...” Viktor breathed. The words caught in his throat.

            Silco shushed him and stroked his hair.

            “Speak not,” he said.

            Trembling, Viktor moaned in agony and lost the battle with his eyelids.

            GET OUT.

            “Where is Jayce?” he asked.

            “Your bondmate has returned to Piltover—” Viktor sat up in a panic in spite of every ache and pain, but Silco eased him down. “—for the day, Viktor. Only for the day. He was not easily persuaded, but appearances must be upkept.”

            There was sense in that. Still, Jayce’s absence amplified every discomfort. Viktor’s eyes refused to open, and Jayce was not here. Viktor’s lungs admitted only shallow breaths, and Jayce was not here. Viktor’s blood coagulated in his veins, and Jayce was not here. The bruise on his neck offered only hollow pain, a burning cold with arcades of fire at the center where Jayce’s teeth had scarred his flesh over and over again, and Jayce was not here. Viktor keened, quietly—to himself and no one else. He wanted his bondmate.

            “He will return before nightfall,” Silco said. “Only a few hours now.”

            They’d fled.

            “I used sympathy on Cassandra Kiramman.”

            Viktor had collapsed.

            “I am aware.”

            Viktor had broken the peace.

            “I have taken their every doubt about me and made it truth.”

            Desperate to cry, to release some of this turmoil, Viktor longed for tears but produced none. His eyes burned, dry.  

            Viktor had broken the peace.

            “I have made a grievous mistake...” he said again.

            A cold, wet cloth fell across his forehead and covered his eyes. The relief it provided brought an involuntary chirp from Viktor’s lips. His mother was not the sort to coddle and comfort, yet here he was. In the whirling of his own emotions, Viktor could not sense what Silco felt. For once, Viktor was grateful he could not see his face.

            “Are you disappointed in me?” he asked.

            Quiet.

            The fire crackled.

            A sorrowful keen formed in Viktor’s throat.

            Silco sighed. “None of us live lives free from blunder, my child,” he said. He had sidestepped Viktor’s question. “Those in positions of power simply bear the added burden of knowing our blunders affect more than just ourselves.” He was disappointed in Viktor. “The measure of our mettle comes from how we choose to remedy our shortcomings, not the shortcomings themselves.”

            He was disappointed in Viktor.

            A pointless sob slipped out of Viktor’s mouth.

            “Viktor.”

            He tried to compose himself, could not.

            “This error did not begin with you,” Silco said. His mother grasped his hand, but his mother was not his bondmate. He wanted his bondmate. “It began with Ximena Talis openly opposing the peace. It continued with the Lords’ Council ordering her to stay away from the final negotiations when those negotiations included her son’s wedding ceremony. Next came Powder offering her an invitation, and Ximena accepting it, and on down the line until Cassandra Kiramman made her threats and you ordered her out of the room. The injustice lies in the requirement that only you must offer remedy.”

            “I do not know how to remedy this...”

            “Look around you,” Silco said. Viktor could see nothing, his eyes closed and covered by the cloth, though that was not what his mother meant. “Are Zaun and Piltover at war?”

            “We are deep in the Fissures. How could I know?”

            “Then I shall tell you,” Silco replied. “We are not. Lord Kiramman has not rallied her troops to march across our bridges. Brigades of Piltovian soldiers do not march our streets. You have gained a sure enemy, yes, but Cassandra Kiramman was never your ally. All that you have done is shown her exactly what she has to fear.” His voice dropped low. “You have spent too long in the company of Piltovians, my child. You have let them influence you into forgetting who you are. The Herald of the Arcane does not fear Cassandra Kiramman. Cassandra Kiramman fears the Herald of the Arcane.”

            Those words, coursing and quiet and impassioned, swathed Viktor, but did not settle him. Silco continued.

            “You possess something that they want, and Jayce has plainly demonstrated that his loyalty lies with you. Whether they believe that loyalty was justly won or a product of sympathy does not matter. Jayce holds their magic. You hold Jayce. If they want their magic, they yield to you, not you to them. You have occupied a defensive position until now. Lord Kiramman challenged that position, and you retaliated. That is all.”

            That was not all.

            Retaliation was only retaliation from Viktor’s viewpoint. Anyone else might reach any number of conclusions about the exchange, charitable or uncharitable. The Lords’ Council had not launched an attack on Zaun as retaliation for Viktor’s retaliation, but that was the ultimate source of the bad blood between their nations—forever engaged in he-said-she-said-they-said-we-said conflicts where “truth” looked entirely different to all parties involved and no one could agree upon exactly who had struck first.

            Had Viktor broken the peace, or was it Cassandra? Had Cassandra broken the peace, or was it Ximena? He understood that peace with Piltover never would have been as simple as the treaty, but that disheartened him no less.

            Nothing could ever be simple between Piltover and Zaun.

            How weary of that he was.

            “Your bondmate—” Viktor’s heart surged at the mere mention of Jayce. “—has crossed the river to attend his council meetings and celebrations as expected of his station,” Silco said. “You have kept your distance. Removed the threat. We shall see how the lords respond.”

            His stomach turned.

            “And if we go to war?” he asked.

            “Then we will fight.”

            Viktor need not see his mother’s face nor read his emotions to know exactly what he felt—the vengeance and intensity.

            For all Clan Talis’s complaints of Piltover’s false desire for peace, Zaun’s desire—where Silco was concerned—was equally false. Vander wanted peace, yes. Vander the warrior pacifist. Vander who had broken a mate-bond over a battle that had cost Zaun countless lives, but gained a nation its freedom. Vander wanted peace because he could not bear the blood, but Silco did not fear blood, and neither did his son: High Blood Mage of Zaun.

            The two of them had agreed to the treaty and the mate-bond it required, but not for peace.

            Viktor’s true duty was to delay the inevitable as long as possible. To buy his mother time to build the weapons and armies Zaun would need not to defend itself from Piltover, but to overthrow the clans entirely.

            In the grand scheme of those plans, perhaps all Viktor had done was shift the schedule. Perhaps he had only cost them a few precious months.

            But that was Silco’s desire.

            Perhaps what Viktor desired now was peace.

            And how weary of that he was.

            He wanted his bondmate.

            “Rest, my child,” Silco said.

            He swept the cloth from Viktor’s eyes and wiped his forehead as he had that night in the bond tent, but he could not wipe the infinite blood and ash from Viktor’s skin. Not anymore.

            Viktor may have held Jayce’s loyalty, but Jayce held Viktor’s just as surely.

            Exhausted though he was, Viktor reached for their bond, stretched across the distance between them—thin, wispy, and intangible, but unfathomably strong for something so ephemeral. He sent what little reassurance he could muster down that channel and prayed it would reach Jayce, prayed that Jayce would feel him and know how much his mate missed him.

            I love you, Viktor sent and prayed that that would help rather than hinder.

**

Seated at the council table, Jayce kept his mouth shut and listened.

            He could not believe the subtext under every word that left every other clan heads’ lips.

            None of them spoke the whole truth, not ever. They conversed in veiled courtesies and silent negotiations, making agreements with each other they did not intend to keep. His eyes had opened to that now. His eyes saw clear how Piltover was not a nation governed by the Lords’ Council, but a land shackled to the whims of those fortunate enough to have accumulated power. Jayce kicked himself for not realizing sooner.

            Caitlyn sat behind Cassandra—at her father’s right hand, but distant, like Jayce.

            Cassandra herself maintained a perfect veneer of impassibility.

            Nothing was wrong, not one damn thing. That’s what Cassandra’s conduct said.

            Jayce still wanted to rip her throat out.

            How dare she? How dare she trick him and test him and buy his silence and loyalty with her money and influence? How dare she treat him like a child, like a tool to be used? How dare she go after his mother when Jayce had refused to give her what she wanted? How dare she threaten Ximena’s life—and Viktor’s life—and stand before the council the next day like some blameless saint? Her actions might lead Zaun and Piltover to war, and she would hold Viktor accountable for her own mistakes. How dare she, how dare she, how dare she?

            Jayce could not stomach the sight of her, but he could not afford to miss the meeting. He was a lord. This was his duty. He needed to stand between his bondmate and the council, but it had taken Ximena, Vander, and Silco to convince Jayce to leave Viktor in their care. He knew he’d placed his bondmate in good hands, but Jayce wanted to be there, in Zaun, at his side. Not playing puppet in Piltover’s council chamber.

            “With the celebration of the peace concluding tomorrow, I wished to offer my sincere congratulations to this council for all that we have achieved,” Mel said as she brought the meeting to a close. They’d back-patted and congratulated each other to death over the last week. Jayce had only participated in two days of it, but he was sick of the arrogance. “It is an honor to work with you, my lords.”

            Smiles, applause. Jayce neither smiled nor applauded. He met Caitlyn’s eye across the table and she flashed him an apologetic frown.

            Seemed the last of the scales had fallen from her eyes, too.

            Everyone stood to mill around and congratulate each other some more. Jayce would not give them the satisfaction of his being the first to leave, but that meant he only stood beside his seat and glowered.

            Deep in the earth, Viktor lay ill, and Jayce stood on top of the world enjoying none of the fame he thought he’d always wanted.

            He wanted his bondmate.

            “Lord Talis.”

            Mel approached, all radiant resplendence in her victory. Who would Jayce be if she had not broken off their courtship? What would he be doing now? Fiddling around in his workshop at the Kirammans’ manor while Mel and Cassandra worked out how best to profit from the war?

            “I hope this is not untoward,” Mel said, “but I wished to inquire after Lady Talis? Lord Kiramman mentioned he had taken ill and returned to Zaun.”

            So that was the front Cassandra had concocted—one based in just enough fact to obfuscate the truth.

            “Thank you, Lady Medarda, yes,” Jayce replied. “With family so close, his highness wished to be in their company. I am uncertain if he will be able to attend tomorrow’s celebrations or not.”

            “Expecting already, is he?” Hoskel chuckled as he elbowed his way into their conversation. “That’s a sure sign of a bred omega—craving the comforts of home.”

            Oh how Jayce could rip out all their throats and feel no remorse.

            He growled at Hoskel, low and menacing. A reminder to the man of the last time he’d spoken disrespectfully about Jayce’s bondmate. They were not friends, they would never be friends, and Jayce refused to join this brotherhood of alphas who regarded their mates and spouses as little more than property. How humiliating to have to grin and bear it for the sake of a peace these people didn’t even value.

            “I hope his highness recovers quickly,” Mel said. “He is missed.”

            That wasn’t true, and she knew it.

            “You’re stuck in Zaun then?” Hoskel asked, endeavoring to ignore Jayce’s disdain.

            “I am not stuck anywhere, my lord,” Jayce replied.

            “Right, right, of course not. Still, hard to believe they have sufficient physicians on that side of the river.”

            As opposed to Piltovian physicians who attended only those who could pay? Who left children to suffer the symptoms of gray plague for the duration of their short lives? Jayce said, “We can always cross the river if the need arises.”

            “Don’t tell me you’re paying those tolls,” Hoskel laughed.

            “I am not so constrained by my finances that I cannot afford to give a small donation to the maintenance of our shared bridges each time I use them, Lord Hoskel.”

            Hoskel snapped his mouth closed, nodded, and excused himself, saying, “Very true, Lord Talis. Very true. See you at the gala,” and Jayce tracked his departure with a fierce glare to ensure the old man did not turn around.

            “My apologies, Lord Talis, I did not intend to open that particular gate,” Mel said.

            Jayce shook his head. “He’s responsible for himself.”

            “I truly do wish Lady Talis a speedy and complete recovery,” Mel continued with a short hum. She lowered her voice so that only Jayce would hear what she said next. “I know the other lords might disagree, but I have enjoyed hearing his highness’s perspectives. I hope he will continue to share them with us.”

            Whatever that meant.

            “I hope so, too, Lady Medarda.”

            The council broke up to prepare for the afternoon gala—a public affair hosted at Mel’s estate, gates and greenhouse gardens thrown open to welcome the city inside for dinner and drinking. Jayce sipped Noxian wine and longed for moorland ale, longed for Viktor on the other side of the river. Longed for privacy he would never have again, hounded by lords and ladies left and right, curious parties who wanted to know what he was crafting in the Talis workshop, how pleased he was with the peace treaty, why Piltover had not made him a lord sooner, when his clan could expect their first heir. No matter where Jayce stood, eyes found him, watched him, appraised his worth.

            Everyone had an opinion on Jayce Talis now, and why shouldn’t they? He governed them. His voice and his decisions had a direct impact on every human being in this room. Jayce wanted to hate them for it, but he couldn’t. Not in good conscience.

            He shook every hand. He smiled, and accepted compliments, and had to accept that this was the price to pay for everything he’d gained.

            Few commons attended the gala, understandably off-put by exorbitant Medarda wealth.

            Eda Orells braved the shame just to find and thank Jayce once again.

            “Your bondmate isn’t here?” she asked, sorrow writ across her face, Viktor’s magic writ across her shining arms that drew looks of wonder and intrigue alike.

            “He’s not feeling well,” Jayce replied, “but his family is taking care of him in Zaun.”

            “I’ll never forget what he’s done for me,” Eda said and her eyes sparkled like her arms. “Nor you, Mister—Lord Talis. Thank you. For everything. I’m glad someone like you is on the council now. I’ve been telling everyone what you and the princess did for me and for my family, and we all agree about how glad we are to have you. You’ve given us our lives, Lord Talis. You can’t know how much that means.”

            And here was a different kind of humiliation—one steeped in all the good intent of praise Jayce did not deserve, but which warmed his heart nevertheless.

            “I’ll be sure to tell the princess you said so,” he said.

            Tears in her eyes and a smile on her mouth, Eda nodded.

            “Could we come see him?” she asked.

            Jayce gave her the money she would need to cross the bridge, and raced to the nearest bridge himself the moment the gala concluded. He did not slow his pace until the holding chamber on the other side of The Last Drop’s rear entrance brought him to a halt. Powder let him in, but he hardly spared the girl a glance save to say thank you as he braved the maze to his bondmate’s room.

            Viktor lay in bed. The scent of his discomfort stuffed the room, but at the sound of the door, he opened his eyes.

            Jayce realized then that he’d been afraid Viktor would never open his eyes again.

            “Hello, my dove,” Viktor said.

            Relief overwhelmed Jayce and had him falling to his knees at Viktor’s bedside to gather his bondmate in his arms, rumbling and purring and kissing his face.

            “You are back?” Viktor asked.

            “I’m back, Viktor. I’m back.”

            He would never leave again if given the choice.

            “How are you feeling?”

            Viktor shook his head. “Not well. I regret that I will require more rest.”

            Jayce kissed his mouth, kissed the mole by his eye. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

            An acute, but quiet keen told Jayce his bondmate had missed him just as much. He’d never have guessed when he’d agreed to the mate-bond how much his very essence would fuse with Viktor. It was cruel. Theirs was a political union—two people who would never have met except on a battlefield, two people who must stand before their nations and face scrutiny at every step and misstep. Gods, how Jayce longed to wander off into the wilderness as he’d daydreamed the morning after their bonding. To live alongside his bondmate and only his bondmate,

            They were together now. He took refuge in that, breathing deep Viktor’s scent, treasuring the heft of him in his arms.

            “Are either of you hungry?”

            Ximena’s voice startled Jayce. He hadn’t noticed she was in the room until then, but of course she would be. That was part of the promise they had made to get Jayce to leave: someone in the room with Viktor at all times. He thought of his mate that morning, not so much asleep as unconscious and all the dread and anger resurfaced. Viktor lifted an arm to place a hand on Jayce’s head.

            “I think I could eat something light, Ximena,” he said. “Thank you.”

            Jayce’s mother left the room without another word.

            Jayce snuggled Viktor tighter and worked to calm himself. His own negative feelings would only impact his mate for the worse. Cassandra had not mobilized the lords against them. Viktor was awake. Better to count their blessings than ruminate on all that had gone wrong.

            “Any movement from Lord Kiramman?” Viktor asked.

            “Not yet,” Jayce replied. “She didn’t breathe a word to me. I’m guessing she’s assumed you haven’t told me what happened. The story in Piltover is that you preferred to be with family while recovering.”

            “From your rut.”

            “Yes.”

            “They will think I have conceived, Jayce.”

            “It was Cassandra’s cover, not mine.”

            That was the toll for crossing the bridge and leaving her responsible for the lie. Viktor heaved a sigh. Jayce sat up to look down at him.

            “I’m sorry,” he said.

            “I am tired of apologies,” Viktor replied.

            Jayce nodded, though he did not precisely understand. He understood that Viktor was worn-out and unwell and needed rest, and that was enough. Thankfully, Ximena returned then with bowls of broth and grains and a few slices of bread. Jayce helped Viktor sit up, and his mate remained upright under his own power. Though Jayce was not hungry, he ate, too, if only to encourage Viktor.

            “Jayce,” Ximena said, and her gentle tone raised alarm. “His majesty and Viktor and I were discussing our circumstances today, and we think it would be wise for me to return to Hammer House.”

            “What? Why?”

            Ximena exchanged expressions with Viktor. “So much of this mess started when I accepted Zaun’s invitation to your bonding ceremony. I cannot return to the Kirammans’ manor, but the longer I remain here, the more we court Piltover’s ire. I have given them reason enough to think me disloyal. At Hammer House, they cannot accuse me of consorting with Zaun.”

            “My mother’s personal guard is willing to travel with her, and stay until we return ourselves,” Viktor said. “I do not like the idea of Ximena being so far from us, but we cannot return to the Kirammans’ manor either, and we cannot leave the capital. Not while council business remains ongoing.”

            Ximena’s return to Hammer House would give Piltover one less rock to throw. Still, Cassandra had made threats against her life.

            “Do you trust this guard?” Jayce asked.

            Viktor nodded. “Sevika is exceptional. Outside of my trust, she has earned my mother’s, which I think speaks more highly of her than anything I could say.”

            Silco’s confidences were neither easily won nor kept. While Jayce likewise disliked the idea of being apart from Ximena, he had to admit that her staying in Zaun was not a good look—not for all those eyes that would never look away. Not anymore, not ever again. If she went home, she’d be safe on the moors, off in the middle of nowhere were no one could accuse her of meddling. Beyond that, though, he wanted to honor his mother’s agency. Looking back with new eyes, he could see now how little of it she had had throughout her life. If this was what she wanted to do, if both Silco and Viktor felt it was the best course of action, Jayce would agree.

            “When do you want to leave?” he asked.

            “If Viktor is feeling better, perhaps tomorrow morning,” Ximena replied.

            “Either way, she must depart by light of day,” Viktor said. “Piltover must see her go.”

            Ximena nodded. Jayce did, too. And that was that. They finished their meal. Jayce was pleased that Viktor ate almost everything. Ximena took their bowls and gave them some privacy. Jayce repositioned himself so Viktor could rest his head in his lap when he laid back down.

            “Do you want to build our nest?” Jayce asked.

            “Yes, but not here,” Viktor replied. “When your mother goes, I would like to move to my mother’s home. The Last Drop is...too loud. Too many people feeling too many things.”

            “We’ll be safe there?”

            “We are safe everywhere in Zaun,” Viktor replied.

            Clan Talis need not fear the Zaunite populace. Viktor’s people loved him. They believed he wielded his power on their behalf. They would not challenge him. If Piltover wished to keep from courting disaster, they would not challenge Viktor either. Ergo, they’d be safe in Zaun. Presuming Piltover launched no attack. 

            “I would prefer to leave the city altogether, but that is not an option,” Viktor added.

            Looking down at him, Jayce traced his brow and nose with his fingers. Viktor let the full weight of his head and body rest upon Jayce and the bed. When Jayce’s fingers traced Viktor’s lips, he kissed them.

            “I think we could live off the land,” Jayce said, that wilderness fantasy weaving an enticing tapestry once again.

            “I know we could,” Viktor replied with a purr.

            “I’d like that,” Jayce said.

            “So would I.”

            They were quiet. Jayce continued to stroke Viktor’s face and hair. The omega settled into a quiet purring that was the most reassuring sound in the world. Their bond hummed between them in concert. Through it, Viktor’s love for Jayce rang true—as sure and steady as the sunrise, as gentle as moonlight.

            All that they had suffered and all that they had yet to suffer, even as they stood in the eye of that storm, Jayce would choose to suffer it all again to have this remarkable man by his side.

            He bent over to press a kiss to Viktor’s forehead.

            “I love you, too,” he said.

Chapter Text

Jayce said goodbye to Ximena in the cold daylight at the edge of the crevasse.

            Sorrow brought to mind the night Viktor had bid his own family farewell—an uncertain future ahead of him, an untested bondmate by his side, an outsider in a foreign nation. Jayce hadn’t appreciated Viktor’s sacrifices, then.

            He certainly appreciated them now.

            One look at Sevika had confirmed her capability. An unusual tang in her scent caught Jayce’s attention and made it difficult to determine whether she was alpha, beta, or omega, but such things mattered less in Zaun than they did in Piltover. What mattered was that Sevika had kept Silco safe for years, and Ximena would be an easier charge. The women borrowed horses from the royal family’s topside stables, Jayce hugged his mother goodbye, and she set off toward the canal without him. A day’s travel would see her and Sevika safely stowed away at Hammer House in Talis territory.

            Jayce was only sorry he and Viktor had to stay behind.

            Viktor made the move to his mother’s residence while Jayce crossed the bridge into Piltover for the final day of the peace celebration.

            The city put on its finest show. The lords lorded. The commons comingled. Feast fed, and parades paraded. If nothing else, Jayce’s heart lightened to see the people so happy, so at peace. The threat of the war had hung over their heads for so long, wearing them down and making them wary. Now, Jayce and Viktor had alleviated that burden by suspending the threat over their own heads alone. The people did not need to know how precarious the peace was. They wanted something to believe in.

            For better or for worse, they’d chosen Jayce.

            They cheered when he waved and grinned when he shook their hands. He wished Viktor had been there to receive the same adoration, but perhaps it was naïve to think the people of Piltover would show their enemy’s princess equal praise. Jayce stood alongside Cassandra Kiramman and presented a false united front—master and protégé, the old guard and the man of progress. The faces of a promising future. A pair of alphas upon whom everyone could rely.

            How strange to be so visible and yet unseen. To be lauded for righteousness that only contributed to conflict at the end of the day.

            On that subject, Cassandra’s demeanor confirmed Jayce’s suspicions. She treated him as if he did not know the truth of her confrontation with Viktor and Ximena, as if he did not know about it at all.

            Sick of pretending, he excused himself from the proceedings at the earliest opportunity that evening, but the crowd slowed his progress. Where was he going? Back to Zaun? How lamentable, how tiresome, but his people did not mind. Their champion had a delicate, pregnant omega to care for, after all. How noble he was to sacrifice so much for his bondmate.

            Of all the power Jayce held, he did not hold the power to correct them.

            He made his way to the nearest bridge, the uncomfortable mantle of lord settling heavily upon his shoulders. Bridge traffic had been light during the peace celebration, particularly on Piltover’s side, but a small congregation near the tollbooths stood out in the early winter dark.

            More surprising still, one of their number raised a hand to Jayce.

            “Lord Talis!”

            He supposed he need not wonder how they’d recognized his face.

            Cautious, Jayce changed direction and approached them.

            “Evening, my lord,” the man said, bowing his head. “Happy peace day to you.”

            “To you as well,” Jayce replied. He surveyed the gathering. Commons, all. Most shied from his attention. A few pulled their cloaks around their faces. Others adjusted bandages under their sleeves. He did not recognize any of them, but he supposed that was to be expected. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the festivities...” They were certainly not enjoying the festivities now.

            “Yes, my lord,” the man said.

            “What brings you to the bridge?”

            His cheeks flushed and he glanced at his feet. “Truthfully, my lord? We have seen the miracle wrought by your bondmate upon Eda Orells. We’ve come to seek the healing of the Herald, but we do not know the way.”

            Jayce’s heart jumped.

            They were looking for Viktor. They were looking for Viktor and had happened across the one man they would dare ask for directions, but Jayce could not take them into Zaun. Not now. Not with Viktor convalescent. Viktor would not turn them away. He would insist upon healing anyone who inquired, even if it drained him of all his strength.

            The man must have recognized Jayce’s distress for he raised both his hands, ducked his head, and stepped back.

            “We’ve intruded,” he said. “Forgive me, my lord.”

            “No—” Jayce began, and had to immediately course correct when the man startled at his apparent refusal of the apology. “No, I mean—you haven’t intruded. Not at all. All are welcome in Zaun, and I know his highness would be honored to offer you healing, but he is...not...well. Right now.” May as well just have out with it. “I worry that exercising his magic will have an adverse effect on his health.”

            The group murmured to each other, concerned. Sympathetic.

            “Is there anything to be done?” the man asked. “Anything we can do?”

            “I wish I knew,” Jayce replied, far too vulnerable for a lord before a subject, but the mask had slipped and he lacked the endurance to put it back.

            An old woman came forward, her eyes averted, her voice whisper-quiet and weathered.

            “We know what the Herald has done for Eda Orells,” she said. “Such miracles must be costly. Though it is selfish, we seek them for ourselves. If time is the price, we shall pay. There are many among us who have waited all our lives...” Jayce realized with a wrenching sorrow that her eyes were not averted—they were blind. “What is one week, one month more? We will wait, my lord. Our troubles have taught us patience.”

            “There’s a tavern,” Jayce said, almost compelled, “in the Fissures called The Last Drop. Everyone in Zaun will know it. You may seek his highness—or news of his highness—there. If he is well enough to heal you, I am certain he will answer the call.”

            The old woman smiled. “Thank you, my lord.”

            With that, the gathering departed the bridge, talking amongst themselves, headed back into the city, to the celebration. Jayce watched them go—feeling both sorry and selfish—but he knew his bondmate, and he knew Viktor would not have asked any of them to wait. Jayce had a duty to protect Viktor, even if that meant protecting Viktor from himself.

            Jayce put his head down and pressed on.

            Before he’d left that morning, Vander had told him where to find Silco’s tower.

            Carved right out of the bedrock, the tower stood in a section of the Fissures that was quiet and dark and sparsely populated. Purple light glowed from a lantern room at the top. It was exactly the sort of place Jayce might have imagined an imaginary Viktor, High Blood Mage and Princess of Zaun, would call home—but the tower was as real as it was imposing. No visible guards stood watch, but he supposed one would have to be some kind of stupid to attack Silco and Viktor in the heart of their sanctum. Nevertheless, a certain unease hung about the place. One he could not shake.

            He’d tolerate it, though. For as long as Viktor wanted.

            Jayce entered without encountering another soul.

            Inside, a fire burned in a central pit. The entry hall stood empty save for a scattering of chairs, a low table, and a cellarette.

            Silco sat in one of the chairs.

            “Welcome,” he said.

            “Thank you, your majesty,” Jayce replied. “Is Viktor upstairs?”

            “Asleep in your nest, last I checked.”

            Jayce nodded, and moved toward the stairwell.

            “Stay a moment, Lord Talis.”

            Reining the urgent need to set eyes on his bondmate, Jayce drew to a stop. Silco rose. He motioned Jayce over to the cellarette where he poured two glasses of some thick, dark drink. He offered one glass to Jayce and sipped from the other.

            “You’re a smart man,” Silco said. “I assume you have diagnosed the source of Viktor’s current afflictions?”

            Jayce sipped. The liquor was smooth, but oily, and left a lingering taste in his mouth.

            “His magic,” he answered.

            Silco tipped his glass in agreement.

            “Many regard the Arcane as a curse,” he said. “I suppose that is not an unfair conclusion, given the devastations its power has produced. It is only natural that such a force of nature would damage those through whom it flows, but in Viktor’s case...” He shook his head. “His body is a particularly brittle focus.”

            Jayce kept silent. He assumed this was leading somewhere.

            “He showed me the staff you crafted,” Silco said. “It is ingenious.” Jayce’s breath caught, and he tried to hide it, but to earn this man’s praise was something otherworldly. “The research you showed at Hammer House was promising. I am pleased to see it come to such fruition. I have no doubt the staff has relieved Viktor of a great deal of burden.”

            “Not enough of the burden.”

            Silco smiled.

            “I am glad we agree.”

            Dipping back into the cellarette, he produced a bottle of glowing, purple liquid.

            Shimmer.

            “I believe you are familiar?” Silco asked.

            Jayce nodded, but frowned. “You think this could help?”

            “Shimmer is synthetic magic, Lord Talis. The potential applications are theoretically endless.” Those were Jayce’s words—spoken to Silco at Hammer House. “It is called a ‘miracle potion’ for a reason.” He set the bottle on top of the cellarette and stared at it, his eyes reflecting the liquid’s glow. “In theory, shimmer does what we want it to do, what we believe it will do—but, in practice, the results are mixed. If anyone could solve that mystery, improve the formula, why not Piltover’s foremost magical mind?”

            Jayce regarded the bottle. He’d experimented a little while crafting Viktor that bracelet, but he’d focused on shimmer as an aesthetic object then. Zaunites dyed thread and fabric with it, lit their lamps with it, traded it, drank it, did whatever they wanted with it. He’d assumed any effect on the mind or body was largely imagined, though he’d never personally witnessed anyone ingest it. The substance was highly addictive. He knew that much. It was part of the reason Piltover had tried to control the flow of it across the bridges.

            If Silco believed shimmer could help Viktor, it probably could. But there must also have been a reason they hadn’t tried it before.

            “I’ll look into it,” he said.

            With a gracious smile, Silco pressed the bottle into his hands.

            “More where that came from,” he said, and motioned at the stairwell. “Third landing.”

            Uneasy still, Jayce ascended the tower. The shimmer in the bottle sloshed with every spiraled step. When he came to the landing, he almost left it outside the door, but did not know if Silco kept his own rooms above or below, and so brought the bottle in.

            The landing opened onto a library. Tomes and scrolls and illuminated manuscripts sat, meticulously organized, upon their shelves. Through one doorway, Jayce spied a workshop not unlike the one in the bower at Hammer House. Through the other, a dressing room. Viktor’s scent led him through the dressing room to the sleeping chamber beyond, but not before he’d stowed the shimmer in the workshop.

            Within the sleeping chamber, Viktor lay bundled in their nest on a pallet on the floor, asleep and breathing deeply, their bond cord hung from the beams above him.

            Around him, tapestries depicting Zaunite rituals decorated the walls. One that showed three figures in a circle of stones, hands joined, the symbol for infinity above their heads caught Jayce’s eye, but the others were less familiar. A figure kneeling above a newborn, umbilical cord still attached. Another standing before three older children, each with different symbols on their foreheads. A third bearing a chalice of wine or blood beneath a full moon. The last interring a body wrapped in a red cloth, a wound across their palm dripping blood down a raised arm.

            The duties of a High Blood Mage. A title Viktor held in distinction from his title as Herald of the Arcane and even Princess of Zaun.

            The omega did not even stir as Jayce entered the room—a testament to his comfort here.

            Jayce left the door open as he returned to the dressing room to bathe. There he discovered a few sets of clothes left out for him. They’d abandoned everything at the Kirammans’ manor, after all. As he put on a shirt for sleeping, blankets rustled in the other room.

            “Jayce?”

            “Yes, princess?”

            Viktor trilled. When Jayce returned, he found his bondmate sitting up and smiling, which brought a smile to his own face as he stepped into their nest. The sanctuary invoked by the bond cord washed over Jayce, comforting him, and he sat to give Viktor a kiss hello, but the one was not enough. They kissed a few more times, light and affectionate and lingering, then Viktor settled to wrap his arms around Jayce’s middle and rest his head in his lap. Jayce brushed his fingers through his hair.

            “How are you feeling?” he asked. “You look better.”

            “This is the first I have been awake since this morning,” Viktor replied. “I think I do feel a little better. Mostly I am glad to see you.”

            Jayce wished he could do more for his mate than simply show up.

            He’d told the truth to those pilgrims waiting to cross the bridge. He did not know what anyone could do for Viktor—especially not when Viktor seemed hellbent on ignoring his own limitations. Their first conversation as a pair had concerned healing and self-healing. No wonder the latter was a difficult art to master. How was Viktor supposed to heal himself when calling upon his magic injured him in the process?

            Viktor had not taken off the bracelet Jayce had made since he’d donned it for the grand banquet. Jayce could feel the press of the glass baubles against his back where Viktor had his arms wrapped around him.

            He brushed Viktor’s hair away from his eyes.

            “As soon as you’re feeling up for it, I’d like to make good on that promise I made you,” he said. “To study your magic.”

            “I have my staff,” Viktor replied. “You have not neglected your promise.”

            “I’m grateful for the appreciation, princess, but I built that staff when all I could think about was getting you into bed,” Jayce said with a chuckle. “I think I can do better with a clear mind and more data.”

            “Do you not always think of getting me into bed?”

            Laughing, Jayce brushed his fingers down Viktor’s spine.

            “Sure, but it’s not the only thing I think about.”

            Viktor purred. Jayce continued to stroke his spine, his hair, his shoulders. Carefully, he pressed his fingers against tense muscles until they unlocked under his touch. With each one, Viktor pooled further into his lap, eyes closed. He even began to drift off after a moment, his arms loose around Jayce’s waist.

            “Tell me what you think about,” Viktor murmured.

            “Well,” Jayce said, “I think about you. I wonder how you’re feeling and feel sorry I can’t do more to help.” For now. He’d remedy that. “I think about the two of us and what we need to do to keep the peace. I think about the council, and their plans, and what to do about those plans. I think about our families and our nations and our peoples. I think about magic. What to build, how to get what I build in the hands of the public while still pleasing the lords. I think about how much more there is to learn and study. I think about our house and our people on the moors, and how much more life we have to live, and how lucky I am to do all of that with you.”

            He’d lost sight of that excitement in the stress and pain of Piltover’s politics. At the bonfire, when his role in all this had begun, he’d been naïve, yes, but full of promise. Potential. Optimism. If he let the Lords’ Council take that from him now, then he’d already lost.

            “I can’t imagine doing this alone, Viktor,” he said.

            Worse, he could scarce imagine having to stand against Viktor. He would have been wholly Piltover’s puppet, then. A tool for them to wield while he remained none the wiser. That had been their plan. They had not counted on the two of them getting along, on Viktor opening Jayce’s eyes. Infuriating as that was, the anger was wholly destructive and what Jayce wanted to be more than anything was a builder.

            “You think so much of others,” Viktor said, voice soft.

            Jayce did not tell him how much he was currently thinking about Silco and the shimmer, or the pilgrims on the bridge.

            “I think of you most,” he said.

            Viktor made no reply, asleep again already.

**

A day from their departure, word returned from Hammer House of Ximena and Sevika’s safe arrival. Jayce came and went from Piltover to attend council meetings, and returned with reports that Cassandra had not spoken of the broken peace. Powder and Violet took up their rooms in the tower, bringing warmth and protection. Jayce made himself at home in Viktor’s workshop, and Viktor made every effort to rest and recover.

            Even with so many positive omens, he remained certain Clan Talis had not slipped Lord Kiramman’s noose.

            Play. Cassandra threatened Ximena. Counterplay. Clan Talis moved to Zaun.

            Play. Viktor remained in Zaun while Jayce gave the council everything they wanted.

            Waiting for the counterplay kept Viktor up at night.

            Here, in Zaun, he could not be accused of manipulating any Piltovian other than Jayce. As long as Jayce kept the council appeased with progress on their manufactured magic, they would not care if his mind was his own. They could speculate on Viktor’s influence to their hearts’ content. They could even believe him pregnant, but would have no means to verify their rumors. Not while Viktor slept under Silco’s roof.

            However, even after so much rest, Viktor plateaued.

            Well enough. But not well.

            Powder had put on a brave face since coming to the tower, but kept to herself, vanishing entirely when Jayce was present. She could not avoid Viktor consistently, however. Not when she was the one so often tasked with bringing him something to eat.

            “Lunch, V,” she said, hovering in the doorway to the tower workshop.

            “I hope you brought enough for two,” Viktor replied.

            The girl turned and walked out of the workshop without a word. Several minutes later, she returned with a tray for herself, sat down on the floor, and started to eat.

            Quiet, Viktor went to join her, but Powder scrambled to her feet to keep him in a chair. Viktor hooked his staff around another and pulled it over, then patted the seat. Chewing on her bottom lip, Powder plopped into it. They ate in silence for a little while until that silence ate through Powder’s endurance.

            “What is all this?” she asked, peering at the notes and models and diagrams spread across the table behind her.

            “Tools,” Viktor replied. “For Piltover.”

            “Tools.”

            “Yes.”

            “Sounds boring.”

            Viktor laughed. “I suppose it is, but that is by design.” He smiled as the research drew Powder’s genuine interest. She pored over the formulas with a keen eye. “Jayce wishes for the people of Piltover to enjoy the benefits of magic, as we do in Zaun.”

            “Jayce.”

            “Yes.”

            “What Jayce wants.”

            Powder raised her eyebrows, but little subtlety laced the expression. She was such a mercurial creature. While Jayce hunted rabbits with her, he was her trusty sidekick. When he spirited her brother away to Piltover, he was an irksome alpha. There would be no pleasing Powder. Not when the root of her discomfort lay in a good deed that had twisted round to slap her in the face.

            “You should bring Ekko by,” Viktor said, “when Jayce is here. I think he would appreciate two pairs of fresh eyes.”

            “No, he wouldn’t.”

            “Why not?”

            “He’s...mad at me.” The girl abandoned her meal to toy with a piece of chalk, rolling it between her fingers and the table. “He should be mad at me. I—”

            Viktor placed a hand on her shoulder, Powder looked up in surprise, sudden tears filling her eyes. Tilting his head, Viktor gave her a sad smile, brushed his knuckles across her chin, and set his tray aside to draw his sister into his arms.

            “One mistake need not define you, Powder,” he said.

            Those were the words he most longed to hear himself.

            “But—but I did a bad thing,” Powder hiccupped, clinging to him.

            “No, you did the right thing,” Viktor replied, and how he wished Silco had said the same to him, but Powder was a child. Viktor had acted childishly. He ought to have cowered before Cassandra Kiramman and begged for mercy, adopted the virtues most prized in a Piltovian omega. “I know Jayce is grateful his mother could attend our bonding ceremony.”

            “He doesn’t know, though, does he? That they told her not to come?”

            Keeping such truths from his mate was not the right thing, but then, perhaps what was right depended entirely on perspective. Was it better to shield Jayce from the truth when that shield absolved him of blame, or was it better to suffer the consequences of his knowing everything? Viktor lacked an answer to that question. He said nothing.

            “I miss you,” Powder said. “Nothing’s the same without you here...”

            “I miss you, too, Powder.”

            She pulled back abruptly and swept her sleeve across her eyes and nose. “No you don’t,” she said. “You’ve got your Pilty alpha.”

            “Do I not have love enough for both my sister and my bondmate?”

            Her bottom lip pouted, but she did not contradict him. Instead, she reached into her pocket and produced a rabbit’s foot suspended from a leather loop. One of a set of three. Viktor had lost track of the other two in the move from Castle Kiramman to Hammer House to the capital. Powder’s fingers stroked the fur, pressed against the nails. She opened her mouth, but a knock at the doorway interrupted her.

            “Hey, V,” Violet said. Her moorhound scampered into the workshop, nose to the ground, sniffing everything and bumping into tables. Violet whistled, but of course the dog did not obey.

            Viktor drew his attention with sympathy and lured him over for a scratch on the head.

            “First of all, not fair,” Violet said.

            “You cannot train a fucking dog?” Viktor replied.

            Violet ignored him. “Second, there are some people asking about you at The Last Drop.”

            Viktor looked up in surprise. “Who?”

            “Vander asked me to look into that,” Violet replied. “They’ve been trickling in over the last couple of days. We thought they might be council spies, but as far as I can tell they’re just regular Piltovians. None of them have ties to the council or any of Piltover’s factions. The only thing they have in common is that they’re all...sick.” Viktor’s heart stilled. “They told Vander they’re here to meet the Herald.”

            Eda. They must have seen or spoken to Eda Orells.

            The sick had come, and his family had kept them from him.

            “Why was I not informed?” Viktor asked, rising, grasping his staff and departing the workshop to go to The Last Drop. Violet obstructed him at the door. Her moorhound barked at his heels.

            “We had to make sure they meant no harm,” Violet replied. Viktor pushed past her, but she followed him down the stairs, Powder following. “Or did you forget that Cassandra Kiramman’s probably out to get you?”

            Viktor whirled on her, Violet bumped into him, and he grasped the front of her shirt to pull her face to his.

            “Do not pretend to understand the stakes of our circumstances better than I,” he growled.

            Blinking, Violet retreated. Viktor let go and continued down the stairs and out of the tower altogether. Once he was outside, Powder hurried to his side while Violet remained several strides behind. Powder peered up at him, tripping over the moorhound as it bounded around her legs, expression awash with worry.

            “Lord Kiramman wouldn’t come after you, right?” the girl asked.

            “Not directly,” Viktor replied, “but that does not reduce the danger she presents.”

            He went straight to The Last Drop as swiftly as his legs and lungs allowed. Rather than enter through the rear, he strode through the front door and strengthened the barrier of his sympathy to keep himself from buckling under the wave of emotions from the tavern patrons. Even happiness in such numbers had the capacity to overwhelm him. He required no sympathy to recognize the flash of concern on Vander’s face behind the counter.

            Viktor would deal with his father later.

            “Who seeks the Herald?” he asked and let his magic carry the inquiry to every mind.

            The tavern quieted. The locals turned their eyes to Viktor, and from Viktor to a group of people huddled around one of the larger tables in the corner. That group cowered and shied and shuffled closer together—Piltovians on foreign soil. Viktor swept toward them, and the locals resumed their games and conversations. Violet vanished into the crowd. Powder stuck to Viktor like a leech.

            “Thank you for your patience,” Viktor said as he arrived. “I hope Zaun has been hospitable to you?”

            The group murmured to each other, but eschewed eye contact.

            “I am Viktor,” he said. “You have come to be healed?”

            The group shuffled an old woman to the front. Her eyes were milky, her gaze blank. Nevertheless, a smile unfurled across her face.

            “We have, Herald,” she said.  

            He cast his gaze over the gathering to assess their number and their ailments. More than a dozen people gazed back at him, their illnesses ranging from gray plague to missing limbs. Viktor flexed a hand around his staff.

            “Then you shall be healed.”

            Their faces brightened, their gratitude and relief swelling just high enough to flow over the barrier of his sympathetic resonance. They had waited days already—had waited a lifetime—and Viktor would not snatch that hope away from them now. He extended a gentle hand to touch the old woman’s sleeve.

            “Does anything trouble you aside from your sight, sister?” he asked.

            “No, Herald,” she replied, that serene smile ever-present on her mouth. “Only the aches of an old woman.”

            He nodded. A gesture to Powder saw the girl dragging over a pair of chairs for Viktor and the woman. Powder helped her to sit. Viktor followed, sliding his hand to her palm as he said, “Some blood is required as a conduit for the magic. Is that all right?”

            “Yes, Herald.”

            The old woman lifted a quivering hand and bit her thumb. She had to squeeze to force the blood to flow. Viktor spread the droplets across one of his own thumbs before opening his other on his teeth. He encouraged the woman to close her eyes before taking her head in his hands and touching his thumbs to her eyelids. Only after he’d done so did it occur to him to channel some of this magic through his staff.

            “Powder,” he said, “would you hold my staff? Touch it to my right hand, please.”

            She picked up the instrument and gingerly balanced the grip over the back of his hand.

            “Thank you.”

            He poured his magic into the old woman. She gasped. Viktor sucked in a sharp breath. The blood pulsed between his thumbs and her eyelids. When he released her and she blinked open her eyes, the milkiness had transformed into a flow of iridescence. Her pupils focused on his face. Tears welled in her eyes and as she began to weep, the rest of the crowd surged forward, eager to go next, but Viktor’s attention remained stuck on the staff.

            None of the runes had illuminated.

            While he healed the next person, he kept his right hand on the staff and his left on their gangrenous leg. However, even with a complete connection, the staff did not activate. For the next, Viktor poured a little of his magic into the staff before the healing, but even as that individual walked away with plague sores healed, the runes still glowed blue—none of their magic expended. He tried every configuration he could conjure, every sequence of runes available, but abandoned the staff as it stayed dormant. Only his confusion surrounding the instrument kept him from noticing how exhausted he’d become.

            That was when Jayce walked into The Last Drop.

            “Viktor?”

            Violet stood behind him. Both of them were breathing heavily.

            “What are you doing?”

            “These people have come for healing, Jayce,” Viktor replied. He focused on the supplicant in front of him, drove disease from her blood with his own.

            “Why aren’t you using your staff?”

            “It does not work.”

            “What?”

            “It does not work, Jayce.”

            He had not shouted, but The Last Drop rattled all the same. He finished his healing and soothed the fear that radiated from those who now shined with his ministrations. Jayce stalked across the tavern floor and stirred up their fear all over again. Viktor flashed him a glare and the alpha stopped dead in his tracks.

            “Thank you for your faith in me,” he said to the gathering. “Go now, and be at peace.”

            Bowing and thanking him, their eyes glittering with tears, they departed The Last Drop, an overwhelming beacon of joy.

            Jayce clicked his tongue. “They were supposed to wait...”

            A chill passed through Viktor’s blood.

            “You knew of this?” he asked.

            Jayce opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He could see he’d raised Viktor’s ire.

            Viktor flicked his eyes to Violet.

            “You both knew that people had come to seek my aid and did not tell me?”

            “Piltovians came to seek your aid, V,” Violet said. “Jayce just helped us confirm they weren’t here to harm you.”

            “Anyone could see they were not here to harm me,” Viktor spat back, rising. He leaned heavily on his staff, the runes too bright, their glow flickering as he stood. “What threat could they pose? I am Herald of the Arcane. You think they are Cassandra Kiramman’s spies? Good. Let them report exactly what they have seen! Let them tell her how strong Zaun has become below ground! Let them tell her how I restored limbs that were lost! Let them—”

            The staff surged. All of the magic Viktor had poured into it flowed out, through him, and his legs gave out.

            Jayce, Violet, and Powder all rushed forward. Closest, Powder took all of his weight. Jayce took the staff from his hands. Viktor gnarled a hand in Jayce’s sleeve.

            “Give that back.”

            “Viktor, please...” Jayce said, and there were tears in her eyes. He was terrified. Like he had been when they’d argued after his rut, but this time the expression did not quell Viktor’s anger. It stirred it.

            “You let those people suffer without telling me,” he hissed. “You—”

            Vander pushed through and scooped up Viktor. Shocked and affronted, Viktor had no recourse to resist as his father hauled him away, saying, “Vi, take over the bar. Powder, make sure those people get home safely. Jayce...bring that staff and follow me.”

            By the time they arrived in Viktor’s room, humiliation had bled his will to fight.

            Vander sat him on the bed.

            “Cassandra Kiramman made a threat on your life,” he said. His voice was earnest, but angry. “No matter how powerful you are, the people who love you are going to do their damn best to keep you safe. Understand? It’s no great leap of logic to think the council might send spies or assassins in a group aiming to get close to you. Every last soul there agreed to wait until you were well to meet you, and now you’ve reset all your progress.”

            “To heal them,” Viktor replied.

            “Healing them won’t fix your mistakes.”

            Vander had always known how to cut right to the quick. The words stole Viktor’s breath. Vander looked remorseful, but not sorry.

            “I know it’s not in your nature, little lamb, but you need to start thinking of yourself.”

            Tears stung Viktor’s eyes and he looked to his lap.

            “You can’t save another man from drowning if you’re in the water, too.”

            Viktor could not bring himself to lift his head.

            “Sacrificing for others is not a measure of your value, Viktor,” Vander said. “Not to the people who matter.”

            With that, he left the room. Left Viktor sitting on the bed, staring at his lap. Left Jayce standing by the door, clutching the staff. Even shielded as he was by sympathy, Viktor could feel Jayce’s regret and frustration. Those emotions came through the bond. An entirely different source of magic. The two of them were quite for a moment.

            “Is that why you did it?” Jayce asked.

            “Healed them?”

            The alpha nodded.

            “I would like to believe that I healed them because I wished to alleviate their suffering,” Viktor replied, “but I cannot deny that the ability to alleviate suffering, to be of service, alleviates some of my suffering in turn.” He lifted his eyes to Jayce. “I suppose you believe yourself my steward? That you have a duty to protect me from myself?” The flush that rose in Jayce’s cheeks confirmed it. “No one can protect me from myself, Jayce. Not even you.”

            He looked at his hands, smeared with the blood of all those who had sought him. Beneath that blood, scars from the plague and scars from the Arcane and scars from his own teeth when he’d first bound himself to Jayce.

            Viktor was a vessel. For the Arcane. For his mother’s will. For the faith of the people who practiced the old ways, who believed in the strength of a High Blood Mage. Only now that the vessel had cracked did anyone show any worry about its constitution. Only when the vessel made choices for itself did anyone tell it those choices were wrong.

            “Are you angry with me?” he asked.

            “Of course I am, Viktor,” Jayce replied, but he did not sound angry. He sounded exhausted. “I don’t—I... It hurts me to see you like this. It hurts that I don’t know what to do.”

            “Must you do anything?” Viktor replied. “Is your sense of self-worth so rooted in good deeds that you cannot comprehend another’s selfishness?”

            “Healing other people isn’t selfish, Viktor. It’s selfless. That’s the problem.”

            Only when the vessel chose to pour its contents itself did anyone protest.

            “You kept the knowledge of those people from me because you believed I would not wait until I was well enough to heal them.”

            “You didn’t wait.”

            That was true.

            As impassive as he may have seemed on the surface, Viktor was, at his root, a creature ruled by emotions. He could not fault Jayce for keeping secrets from him. There were many things he had not divulged himself. Was that right? From his perspective, yes, but then, from Jayce’s perspective, keeping the truth of those pilgrims from Viktor was right, too. The guilt of it threatened to overwhelm him, briefly. He fought back by biting his tongue. Jayce thought only of others. Perhaps that was the problem—two vessels superimposed upon each other trying to keep the other full by pouring from themselves.

            “I’m not going to go back to Piltover until we figure out what’s going on with your magic,” Jayce said. “There’s a reason the staff couldn’t help you today. Let’s figure it out. If we can figure it out, then we can design something that will help.”

            “The council—”

            “Fuck the council.”

            Viktor’s heart skipped.

            He had tested Jayce’s loyalty so often—unintentionally, but intention held no merit. At every turn, no matter the pressure, Jayce had proved true.

            He would do anything for Viktor.

            Unconsciously, Viktor had pushed him away. Used to giving, unused to receiving.   

            He finally looked up from his bloodstained hands.

            “I am not a worthy vessel for your love, my dove,” he said.

            “Does that matter?” Jayce replied.

            In soft astonishment, Viktor shook his head.

            “No,” he said. “It does not. That love is yours to give. I receive it gladly, and I give you mine. Not in return, but because it is mine to give.”

            Jayce had not moved, his feet rooted to the floor beside the door. Viktor could not move, his legs unsteady from the rebound of the Arcane, from expending so much of himself to heal. He understood the desperate desire to sacrifice oneself to help another, so he understood Jayce’s urge to do the same—he just could not quite comprehend that the other Jayce wanted to sacrifice himself for was Viktor.

            “I cannot promise I will not hurt you again, Jayce,” he said.

            It was all but certain that he would.

            “I’m not asking you to promise that,” Jayce replied.

            “Would you like to return to the tower?” Viktor asked. “We can begin cataloguing the findings today while they are fresh in my mind. Powder may be able to help. She was present for all of it.”

            Nodding, Jayce at last uprooted his feet and crossed the floor to help Viktor to his. As Viktor stood, Jayce swept his hair off his neck, leaned close, and sank his teeth into his mate mark without warning. Already weak, Viktor’s knees buckled, but Jayce shored him up, sinking his teeth in deeper until an involuntary mewl slipped from Viktor’s lips. Protective, possessive, Jayce rumbled in response.

            “I love you,” he said, his breath warm against Viktor’s skin. “Nothing in the world is going to change that.”

            “Then I suppose we will have to change the world.”

            The phrase was half a joke, but the confidence that it instilled in Jayce overflowed until it filled up Viktor as well. Jayce kissed his neck.

            “Count on it,” he said. “Count on me.”

Chapter Text

Jayce threw himself into their studies with a reckless fervor. The Lords’ Council had operated without him before. They’d be fine without him now. He sent a note to Mel which explained his absence as a dedication to magical research. A half-truth. No matter the results of his studies with Viktor, Jayce would not be able to return to Piltover without something for the council, too. Not under any circumstances.

            Not if he wanted to keep his head attached to his neck, anyway.

            While Viktor slept, Jayce developed theories and designed experiments. When Viktor woke, they tested those theories and conducted those experiments.

            They’d established a rapport in the bower at Hammer House. That connection served them now in the tower workshop. They spoke in shorthand, understood each other’s ideas, provided criticism without restraint. Jayce had had assistants in the past, but never partners. He might have enjoyed the growth of that relationship between them a little more had the impetus not been a remedy for Viktor’s health.

            Every day, he watched the circles darken under Viktor’s eyes, watched his cheeks hollow. Every day, he worried while he worked alone, and worried while he worked with Viktor. His alpha instincts screamed at him. His mate was suffering and he had to do something.

            Every day yielded only dead ends.

            “I don’t understand why the staff stopped working,” Jayce growled, tossing aside the latest in a string of modifications that had achieved nothing. “It’s pointless to keep adjusting the design until we know what changed.”

            He leaned heavily against the table and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing a little too hard just to ground himself in the pain.

            “We may not know what changed without observing further healing,” Viktor replied.

            Jayce bit his tongue to keep from telling his mate no. He wouldn’t stoop to giving Viktor orders, but reports from Violet had troubled Jayce. More and more Piltovian pilgrims were trickling into Zaun across the bridges, congregating in The Last Drop each day to inquire after the Herald, to see if he was well enough to sacrifice his own health for theirs, and that was not a charitable judgement, but Jayce could not curtail his feelings.

            He knew Viktor had only held off on helping them for Jayce’s sake—for his mate who could not bear to watch and yet could not look away. Even now, Viktor patiently waited for a response, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders to shield against the uncommon chill of the tower. Jayce sighed.

            “If you feel like you’ll be able to safely use your magic, it would be good to gather data.”

            Humming, Viktor pulled his stool closer and sloped to rest his head on Jayce’s shoulder. Jayce could not help rumbling, nor securing an arm around his mate, nor releasing his protective pheromone. Not enough, his instincts hissed, and he was powerless to push the thought from his mind, so there it remained. Needling at him.

            “I believe with proper rest, I will be able to aid a small number each day,” Viktor said, “but if I spend my strength there, I may not be able to join you here.”

            Jayce nodded. “That’s all right.”

            “In my absence, Powder and Ekko may be useful to you,” Viktor said. “I know they are young, but their minds are sharp.” Now that he’d had a partner, Jayce did not want to go back to having assistants, but his own selfishness would not help his mate. “I have not found healing so draining until now. I would like to understand this change as much as you, my dove.”

            They’d discussed it ad nauseam.

            Yes, healing had always sapped some of Viktor’s strength. No, he had never taken so long to recover. Yes, his illness had always been chronic. No, the triggers were never the same.

            Viktor’s flare at Castle Kiramman had come after the long ride from camp. He’d asserted then that the changes in his body from their bond were the cause, the ride over merely an exacerbating factor. The same might be true for his magic—like water flowing through a crack in the earth, widening it with its passage, but not the origin of the crack itself.

            “Do you want to go to The Last Drop tonight?” Jayce asked.

            Viktor shook his head. “Tomorrow.”

            “Tomorrow,” Jayce agreed.

            He cast his eyes across the workshop table, across the data logs and adjusted schematics and scattered pieces of the staff which he had disassembled and reassembled a dozen times. Elsewhere in the workshop, tucked into a cabinet, that bottle of shimmer Silco had given him lay hidden. Powder and Ekko worked with shimmer. If they were going to help, maybe that was the place to begin: bringing Jayce up to speed on Zaun’s most infamous miracle potion.

            He couldn’t have said why he’d hidden the bottle in the first place. Instinct, maybe. Distraction, more likely. Pride, even. A vain determination to help Viktor with their magic and no other.

            Glancing down at his mate, Jayce noted the dullness to his hair, the muted aroma of his scent. Flowers gone dormant under a waning moon. He pressed a kiss to the top of Viktor’s head.

            “You should get some rest,” he said.

            “So should you,” Viktor replied.

            The omega lifted his head—sleepy, his eyes half-lidded, unbelievably beautiful. Jayce’s heart swelled, and when Viktor leaned up to kiss him, his whole face warmed.

            Jayce tightened his arm around his mate, and Viktor kissed more insistently as Jayce pulled him closer, a purr vibrating against his lips. He parted them on instinct, too. Let Viktor test his tongue lightly against his teeth, which spread that warmth from his face down his neck, through his chest, and all the way into his belly. A few flowers bloomed in Viktor’s scent.

            “Come to bed, Jayce Talis,” he purred.

            Jayce’s blood ran cold.

            He pulled away from his mate, putting real distance between them though he only moved a few inches. Viktor’s sharp decline was due in part to Jayce exhausting him during his rut. He did not trust himself to go to bed with his omega now and not take things too far.

            “You go ahead,” he said. “I want to prepare some plans for tomorrow.”

            “If...you are certain...” Viktor replied, his expression indecipherable.

            “I am,” Jayce said with a nod and a smile he knew had not reached his eyes. He pecked another kiss to Viktor’s lips, but the distance remained. “I’ll try to be quick.”

            Viktor gathered the blanket around himself and left the workshop without a word.

            Jayce watched him go.

            He loved his bondmate. He loved him so much that desperation had alchemized wisdom into madness.

            Tearing his attention from the empty doorway, Jayce stuffed his longing back into his heart. He turned toward the table, toward his work, toward helping his omega the only way he knew how. If Viktor was going to endure healing magic, Jayce would ensure they maximized his effort, and so worked long into the night in preparation.

Apparently, word had spread of the Herald’s power.

            When Jayce and Viktor arrived at The Last Drop, Piltovians packed the tavern to bursting. Zaun and Piltover were at peace, after all, and the common folk need not fear crossing the bridges, so they’d crossed in droves.

            That first day, Viktor gathered the crowd to explain his limitations. They lapped up his words, absorbing them without ire—only gratitude.

            The pilgrims selected a few from among their number to receive healing first. All of them children. Children, ignored and abandoned by those who thought themselves superior. Jayce ignored his own frustration at the failings of Piltover’s lords in order to catalogue Viktor’s magic. He controlled what variables he could control, took Viktor’s reports, made suggestions.

            Day after day, the number of petitioners never decreased.

            For every person Viktor healed, two more took their place.

            The omega spent most of the time he wasn’t healing asleep, so Jayce worked alone in the workshop until he walked in one afternoon to find Powder and Ekko waiting for him, terse and uncomfortable.

            He’d snapped at them the last they’d spoken. He had hardly seen hide or hair of Powder in the tower since she’d taken up her rooms. Though he wasn’t in the mood to apologize, he apologized anyway. They were children, he needed their help whether he wanted to accept it or not, and they were already here, so he moved swiftly past the apology to an explanation of what he and Viktor were trying to accomplish, and what they’d discovered so far.

            “I’m curious if the two of you think shimmer might have an application here,” he said.

            Ekko pursed his lips. “We make artifice that uses shimmer as fuel, and I really wouldn’t recommend ingesting it. Shimmer’s effect on the body is temporary, and the stuff is...well, addictive is putting it lightly.”

            Powder nodded, her eyes on her feet.

            “I also don’t think V should drink it, but maybe he could use it as fuel?” she said.

            “Has anyone tried that?” Jayce asked.

            “No...” Powder replied, “but nobody ever tried sticking a focus in a hammer, either.”

            The three of them devised a few experiments to try the next day.

            “These people are not our test subjects, Jayce,” Viktor said, appalled as he and Ekko and Powder presented their suggestions to him in The Last Drop before the tavern opened. Outside, a crowd had already assembled at the doors, awaiting admission. “I understand that we are gathering information, but I will not risk injuring innocent bystanders in the process. They are counting on me. I cannot fail them.”

            Jayce drew a controlled breath through his nose and let it out slowly. “I wasn’t suggesting we test shimmer in secret, Viktor.”

            “I’d bet most of those people would jump at the chance to help you,” Ekko added.

            “I will not exploit them, Ekko.”

            The boy scowled to have his words twisted like that. He looked at Jayce, but Jayce could only give him a weary shake of his head. Viktor had declined the experiment. The next logical step was to go back to the drawing board. The crowd clamored now, beyond the doors. They would not be kept waiting.

            Out of nowhere, Powder unsheathed a dagger on her belt and drove it through her arm.

            “Powder!” Viktor cried.

            It happened in a blink. Neither Jayce nor Ekko had time to react before Powder gritted her teeth, yanked the dagger out, and tossed it aside to uncork a bottle of shimmer and dump the potion over the wound. She thrust her arm toward her brother.

            “Heal me, V,” she said.

            Eyes wide, mouth agape, Viktor stared at her.

            “Heal me!”

            Tears sprang into her eyes as a few hysterical sobs burbled out. Viktor grabbed Powder’s hand and yanked her closer, muttering curses in some ancient language and the modern tongue alike. Heedless of the blood and shimmer, he wrapped both hands around her arm and squeezed, hard, before pouring his magic into her.

            “—you foolish, selfish girl,” he spat, and let go.

            Powder’s arm came away clean—no shimmer, the wound replaced with purple-tinged iridescence.

            “It worked,” Powder hiccupped. “V, it worked! It worked!”

            She cut her celebration short when Viktor glared at her, positively livid. Jayce knew exactly how it felt to be on the receiving end of those knife-like eyes, and he watched Powder crumple as if Viktor had stabbed her through the gut.

            “How dare you force me to gamble with your wellbeing, Powder,” Viktor snarled. “How dare you steal healing from another for the sake of your experiment?”

            “Not for the experiment, V,” Powder sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “For you. For you! I want to help you!”

            Viktor bared his teeth, and someone needed to step in. Ekko returned to his senses first.

            “How do you feel, Viktor?” he asked.

            “I am furious,” Viktor replied.

            “And physically?”

            Viktor opened his mouth, but came up short. His gaze turned inward as he catalogued his body, his magic, the interplay between the two. In that silence, Jayce tried to help Powder to her feet, but the girl pushed him away and stood on her own, wiping tears and snot across the backs of her hands as she continued to cry.

            “The...strain...of healing was...significantly reduced,” Viktor said.

            The admission brought him no joy—only hollow shock.

            “You’re using your blood as a catalyst,” Ekko said, “and it looks like shimmer is a viable replacement.” He flipped his head to look over his shoulder at Powder. “How do you feel? Physically. You all right?”

            Powder nodded. “I think so.”

            “Then we’ll keep an eye on Powder over the next couple of days, and if she doesn’t show any side effects, I’d say you’re safe to use shimmer instead of your blood.”

            Those days passed, and Powder proved as fine as a girl with a mind as troubled as hers could prove. She ate and slept in the workshop, hard at work every minute she was awake. She refused to speak to Jayce, but Ekko informed him that she was designing modifications for the staff to store shimmer as well as the Arcane. Jayce silently asserted himself into her studies, and found himself busy as Powder’s assistant. If nothing else, he understood her fanatical desire to prove her love for Viktor through the crafting of tools for him to use.

            Soon, a new staff came into being—the gold of Jayce’s interchangeable runes mixed with glass tubes shielded by twisting woodwork, shimmer flowing through them in a permanent, purple glow. The staff was striking. Jayce had helped build it, but even he could not quite comprehend how.

            “You should be the one to give it to him, Powder,” Jayce said.

            Powder shook her head. “You did all the hard stuff,” she said.

            “Smithing is the easy part,” Jayce replied with a chuckle. “Designing something that works is much harder.”

            Pursing her lips, Powder considered it, the thoughts quite plain on her face. She imagined giving the staff to Viktor, imagined him receiving it, imagined how he would react. A glimmer of hope shined in her eyes, but she ultimately shook her head and pushed the staff closer to Jayce across the table.

            “You should do it,” she said.

            “If you’re sure...”

            She nodded and hopped off her stool, swaying on her feet—probably a matter of moments away from complete and total unconsciousness. She swayed over to the exit, but lingered in the doorway.

            “I could help with your tools next...” she said. “The ones for Piltover. If you want...”

            “Absolutely,” Jayce replied.

            Odd as Powder was, she was an undeniable genius.

            The tiniest of smiles crossed her mouth, then she vanished. Jayce picked up the staff and went in search of Viktor.

            He found his mate seated beside Silco near the low table on the tower’s ground floor. A bowl kettle simmered over the central fire along with a few lizard-like creatures on skewers. Silco and Viktor reviewed reports from Zaun’s reclaimed ports while they waited for their meal to finish cooking. Only Silco raised his head when Jayce entered the room. His eyes went straight to the new staff.

            “I have something for you, princess,” Jayce said.

            Turning, Viktor opened his mouth to reply, but fell silent when he saw the staff. Jayce finished his approach and presented the gift to him with a smile.

            That smile faltered, however, when he remembered that the last time he’d given Viktor a staff, he’d been in pre-rut, and, by his own admission, had only made the thing with the hopes of getting Viktor into bed. Hopefully Viktor wouldn’t receive this staff the same way, but it was far too late to worry about that.

            Viktor grasped the staff and lifted it from Jayce’s hands, tested the weight and balance.

            “That is quite the unusual construction, Lord Talis,” Silco remarked.

            “Powder’s design,” Jayce replied.

            Silco inclined his head in acknowledgement. Though he appeared largely impassive, Jayce had learned to recognize when Silco was pleased.

            Silco was pleased.

            “What do you think, Viktor?” Jayce asked.

            “I do not recall consenting to the use of shimmer as a replacement catalyst,” Viktor replied, and Jayce’s heart dropped into his feet. Viktor planted the end of the staff against the floor and levered himself up. “Nevertheless, it is beautifully crafted.” His brow furrowed and he flexed his fingers over the grip. “I cannot deny that I feel...attuned to it.” At last, he turned his eyes on Jayce, who straightened. “Thank you.”

            That might have been the most confusing reaction imaginable. Jayce decided to simply shake his head and say, “Let us know if you want to make any modifications.”

            “I hope you did not melt down the other staff to build this one,” Viktor replied.

            “A few pieces,” Jayce replied, and Viktor’s eyes flashed, so he quickly appended, “Nothing I can’t easily recreate.”

            Studying, Viktor nodded. He focused once more on the staff, assessing its every detail.

            “Shall we test it now?” he asked.

            “If you...want to...” Jayce replied.

            The question seemed a test in and of itself, but Viktor’s reaction gave no hint whether Jayce had passed or failed. The omega simply started for the door. Jayce hurried to follow, offered Viktor his arm. Viktor looped a hand through his elbow, but even as they walked side by side to The Last Drop, Jayce could not help but feel like they had fallen out of step.

The shimmer worked.

            Though Jayce could not explain how or why, the shimmer worked. The potion not only increased Viktor’s capacity to heal others, it also bolstered him in the process. Before long, he’d recovered so much of his strength that Jayce returned to Piltover quite confidently, once he and Powder had completed their prototypes.

            The Lords’ Council hurled a hero’s welcome at him—fawning over the tools, inquiring after Viktor with barely-disguised winks and nudges. Only Mel’s well wishes were sincere, but even she was so impressed by what Jayce had to show for his research that any thought for Viktor came second. That was for the best. Jayce crossed his fingers that Piltover would simply forget about Viktor, but dinner with the Kirammans shattered such hopes.

            “I’ve heard that traffic across the bridges has increased,” Cassandra said. Jayce sat beside Caitlyn on Cassandra’s right—the same place he’d occupied while he’d lived as their ward, but he wasn’t Clan Kiramman’s ward anymore. He was a clan head and, in a roundabout way, prince consort of Zaun. “Have you given up your crusade against Piltover’s tollbooths?”

            “I’m still opposed to them,” Jayce replied. He would never have spoken so frankly to Lord Kiramman in front of the council, but he was tired of cowering before her everywhere else. “But I recognize I’m only one voice on the council. We work better through cooperation rather than coercion.”

            Before, he’d lacked means to maneuver any of the other lords. Now, with magic, he had leverage to encourage them to see things his way.

            He’d have those tollbooths removed before winter’s end.

            “Indeed,” Cassandra replied. “Even Zaun and Piltover prove more cooperative with each passing day.”

            “In what way, my lord?”

            “The strangest stories have been circulating among our people,” Cassandra said, “regarding a certain Herald and the goodwill he so freely offers to all who seek him. The commons regard him with a level of affection I had not imagined they could hold for Zaunite royalty.”

            “Zaun’s royals are remarkably approachable,” Caitlyn put in. “I cannot say I am surprised our people have taken to him.”

            Cassandra flashed her a glare, but Caitlyn steeled herself, hands clenching in her lap.

            “Are we to believe our people’s minds are their own?” Cassandra asked.

            “His highness would not manipulate the commons in that way,” Caitlyn replied. Her father scoffed. As far as she was concerned, her own child’s mind was not her own anymore. “What would he have to gain?”

            What Viktor had gained was a shield.

            If the people of Piltover held him in high regard, Cassandra could not take any official action against him without provoking their anger. She may not have cared for the public as individuals, but she understood their power as an entity. Without the tacit submission of the commons, the lords held no power. Violating the peace treaty to fill Piltover’s pockets was one thing. Going against the express wishes of the populace was another.

            Jayce knew as well as Caitlyn that Viktor would not manipulate the commons through sympathy, but seeing the worship in their eyes when they encountered him, he understood why Cassandra harbored doubts.

            She had experienced the true power of sympathy firsthand, after all.

            “Zaun has plenty to gain by courting the allegiance of Piltover’s people,” Cassandra replied. “Have you been so courted yourself that I must spell it out for you?”

            Censured, Caitlyn pursed her lips. Tobias deftly turned the conversation toward the lasting success of the peace celebration, and no one raised Viktor as a subject again. Still, Cassandra had tipped her hand. Goodwill toward Viktor was on the rise among Piltovians, and that alarmed her.

            Unfortunately, the rise in goodwill likewise resulted in a rise of pilgrims. So many that regular patrons no longer had tables in The Last Drop. So many that Viktor decided to sleep in his room at the tavern rather than returning to the tower. So, at Vander’s behest and Silco’s encouragement, Viktor instructed his petitioners to seek him at the tower. In a matter of days, a small tented camp had sprung up around the base.

            “You don’t think this is insane?” Violet asked, gesturing out the workshop window.

            “Hasn’t Viktor always inspired this kind of following?” Jayce replied. It had happened everywhere Jayce had traveled with him thus far.

            “I don’t know. I guess,” Violet said, “but not like this.”

            “Not even as High Blood Mage?”

            She shook her head. “You know that’s a ceremonial position, right? Blood mages are spiritual advisors. ‘Mage’ is kind of a misnomer. Viktor’s the only one Zaun’s ever had with actual powers.”

            Jayce set down his slate and chalk.

            “Really?”

            Violet rolled her eyes. “Gods, you Pilties don’t know anything. Yes, really. Mages aren’t common anywhere, not even here. Zaun only has more because we haven’t historically slaughtered every single one we’ve come across.” Jayce restrained himself from bristling at that. “Blood mages are just priests. Arcane mages don’t waste their time conducting rituals.”

            “Why does Viktor?”

            “Why are you asking me? He’s your bondmate.”

            Jayce blinked.

            He had spent most of his waking hours engaged in his research while Viktor consulted with his petitioners. A profound horror swept over Jayce as he realized that any time they’d been together, one or both of them had been asleep. He hadn’t spoken to Viktor since he’d returned to the tower. He got up immediately and left Violet in the workshop.

            On the ground level, he found Viktor in the middle of those consultations, so he waited for a break in the flow, his stomach turning with nerves as he approached.

            “Hey,” he said. “Got a minute? Want to eat together?”

            His stomach twisted itself into an outright knot as he and Viktor took lunch in the library and ate the first half of the meal in silence.

            “How’s the healing going?” Jayce asked. “You’re feeling well?”

            “You can see that I am,” Viktor replied.

            He looked healthier than he had the day they’d met, to be honest. His face was full, his skin supple, eyes bright. He’d always had a subtle radiance about him, but now that shine seemed a physical, tangible thing. His scent had not changed, though. Jayce could barely smell him, even in close proximity.

            “Piltover is pleased with their prototypes?” Viktor asked.

            Jayce nodded, and Viktor’s shoulders lowered as if shedding some weight.

            “Good,” he said.

            “The new staff is working?” Jayce replied.

            The already stilted conversation stalled completely.

            “Would you like an honest assessment?” Viktor asked.

            “Always.”

            Shifting, Viktor set his meal aside and glanced at the staff leaning against his chair.

            “The use of shimmer unnerves me,” he said. “I works too well for a potion. I have wracked my brain and I cannot fathom why it is such an effective catalyst. My blood should not be replaceable, and yet...” He shook his head and shrugged. “I understand that shimmer is modeled after the Arcane—a magical resource to be drawn upon to achieve any desired effect, but that does not explain why it works when the first staff would not.”

            The alchemical compound of shimmer undoubtedly had everything to do with that, but not even Powder and Ekko knew how shimmer was made. Since Silco had kept the two artificers designing devices powered by it out of the loop, Jayce had figured it would be pointless to ask.

            “Why are you still using it, then, if it makes you uncomfortable?”

            A short, affronted laugh slipped from Viktor’s lips. “Because I want to help those people, Jayce. Because it is clear to me that I would not have been permitted to do so had I refused the use of shimmer. Because—whether or not I want to accept it—I would not be able to heal them without it. Not without killing myself in the process.”

            Jayce took no satisfaction in hearing him admit it. Instead, that knot in his stomach opened into a pit. His mate had shouldered this distress on his own because Jayce had had his blinders on—so focused on solving a problem that he’d created another.

            They still hadn’t figured out what was going on with Viktor’s magic. Not really. They’d only discovered a workaround.

            And Jayce had gone back to Piltover in spite of that.

            “I wish you’d told me,” he said, sorry.

            “You would not have listened,” Viktor replied. “You have hardly looked my way since all this began.”

            Only a thin veneer disguised the bitterness beneath those words.

            Viktor was talking about something else now.

            “What do you mean?” Jayce asked.

            His mate glanced away, but found no refuge in the books lining the walls. A sudden sense of shame streamed through their bond. Jayce held his breath and hoped for the truth.

            He got it.

            “We have not made love since your rut,” Viktor said.

            This time, Jayce’s blood chilled to the very marrow of his bones.

            “I know I have not been well, and I know this is illogical, but it has been difficult for me not to feel...as if you got what you wanted and cast me aside,” Viktor said, the admission flowing from him now that he’d unstoppered the bottle. “I do not understand why I feel this way, and I did not know how to speak with you about it. I...I am not good at this, Jayce. I had hoped you would approach me on your own and prove all my fears false, but you have not, and I recognize it is unfair to put that on your shoulders, but I am well now, I have been well, and still—”

            A sob surprised Viktor and he choked it off before any tears could surface. The sound snapped Jayce out of his petrification. Leaning forward, he grasped his mate’s hand, but then he found himself afraid to speak.

            Viktor held perfectly still.

            The silence suffocated.

            Jayce had to gather the courage to break it.

            “I’ve been...scared, Viktor,” he said. “I was afraid if I—that you’d... Like I’d hurt you, and I didn’t want to hurt you again  Even if my rut wasn’t the reason you haven’t been well, I can’t—disconnect the two, and I didn’t know how to talk with you about it either. Things have just been so...easy between us, I guess we haven’t learned how. I think I was hoping it would just sort itself out, too.”

            He rubbed his thumb over Viktor’s knuckles.

            “I’m sure I’d feel cast aside if I was in your shoes,” Jayce said.

            “And I would feel afraid if I was in yours,” Viktor replied. “I understand your reluctance, my dove. I have not been communicative. I have been embarrassed, but I have also been angry.”

            “I’ve been distant.”

            Viktor nodded. Jayce nodded, too. They were both of them tired of apologies by then, and the understanding was implicit. Letting out his breath, Jayce lifted Viktor’s hand and pressed a long, fervent kiss to his knuckles. Viktor had such exquisite hands. Long fingers, pale skin. Capable of so much healing and so much harm.  

            “You will not hurt me, mate,” Viktor said, almost a whisper.

            Jayce changed his grip to spread Viktor’s fingers apart and lace them with his own, but lifted Viktor’s arm to kiss the inside of his wrist at the same time.

            “I won’t ever cast you aside,” he said. “I wish I knew how to show you yourself, Viktor. I think if you could see the way I see you, the way your family sees you, the way those people camped outside see you, maybe you would worry a little less.”

            Viktor squeezed his hand. “I am learning,” he said. “I did not think of myself as beautiful until I met you.”

            Jayce lifted his eyes to meet Viktor’s.

            “But you do now?” he asked.

            Soft, shy, averting his gaze, Viktor nodded.

            A deep, rumbling satisfaction suffused Jayce and soothed the sting between them. He used Viktor’s hand as an anchor to pull his mate closer, gather his face in his hands, and press a kiss to his lips.

            “Good,” he said.

            Viktor’s skin warmed under his palms. Jayce brushed his thumbs over his cheekbones.

            “Let me make it up to you, hm?” he said, kissing him again. “Tonight? We haven’t had a meal just the two of us in a long time—this one notwithstanding.” Viktor chuckled and nodded, smiling. “All right. I’ll make some arrangements. How long until you’re ready to eat again? A few hours?”

            Viktor did not answer for a moment, his eyes fuzzy and focused on Jayce’s mouth. The expression was so changed from the gloom of before, Jayce had to laugh a little.

            “What is it, princess?”

            “I was only thinking how much I like it when you court me,” Viktor replied. “You are the first and only alpha who has ever done so.”

            Jayce still found it hard to believe Viktor had not had a trail of suitors following him around most of his life, but maybe that had to do with his reluctance to recognize how much others admired him. It only made Jayce more determined to make up for lost time. Had he met Viktor under different circumstances, had their union not been a sure thing, he would have courted him every day from the minute the sun rose to the minute the sun set in the hopes that Viktor might just glance his way.

            “Well, I like to court you,” Jayce replied, “so that works out nicely, doesn’t it?”

            Nodding again, Viktor smiled. He grasped Jayce’s hands and lifted them from his face to rub his neck against each wrist in turn. The scent he left behind was light, but lovely, and undeniably alluring. Jayce drew Viktor to his feet.

            “Thank you for telling me,” Jayce said. “I’m glad to know it’s important to you.”

            A brighter blush swept Viktor’s cheeks, but he wrapped his arms around Jayce’s neck. “Of course,” he purred. “I enjoy our time together very much. Surely you must know how spectacular you are in bed.”

            “I was talking about courting, but I like the direction you’ve taken.”

            The blush turned an outright red, and Viktor attempted to withdraw, flushed all the way to his ears, but Jayce caught his arms around his middle and pulled him close. Unease still prickled the corners of his heart—worried his attention would send his mate’s health spiraling once more, but he drew in a deep breath of Viktor’s scent and tried to let that go, pecked a kiss to Viktor’s cheek.

            “Why don’t you think about what you’d like, and I’ll see you again in a few hours?”

            “I will look forward to it.”

            Sliding free of Jayce’s arms, Viktor collected his staff and returned to his duties downstairs—but not without a backward glance that sent Jayce’s heart racing.

            He made the most of his time. He tidied their rooms, then retrieved every spare lantern in the tower to decorate the sleeping chamber. Satisfied with his handiwork, he ventured into the Fissures to source components for dinner. Not quite as skill-intensive as hunting, but he felt very much like a hunter as he navigated the rambling streets and stairs and bridges to find what he wanted. Salted fish from the southern seas. Root vegetables grown in boxes by the steam vents. A sulfur cider Violet had mentioned. Bread, cheeses, honey, anything that caught his eye.

            As he headed back to the tower, a weaver’s stall drew his attention, and he stopped to examine the woman’s wares. Rugs and blankets—dyed to shine in the lantern light, woven with subtle and intricate patterns. He selected a rug for the floor beneath their pallet, and a blanket for their nest. Blue with a shimmering, wave-like pattern.

            Jayce brought everything back to the tower, prepared and plated all the food, rolled out the rug, tied the blanket with a ribbon, lit every lantern, and just as he thought to go looking for some incense to add to the atmosphere, Viktor trilled in the doorway behind him.

            “This is beautiful,” Viktor said.

            Any disappointment over the lack of a grand reveal vanished when Jayce turned and found his mate’s eyes alight. Smiling, he went to the door, lifted Viktor’s hand, kissed his knuckles, and scented his wrist against his neck.

            “Come in,” he said, and brought Viktor over to the rug.

            “Is this new?” Viktor asked as Jayce helped him to sit.

            “It is,” Jayce replied. “I thought we could put it under the pallet after this, since it gets a little cold in here when the fire goes out.”

            Viktor ran his fingers over the fibers. Jayce took a seat beside him and the trail of Viktor’s touch brushed up and over Jayce’s thigh. Unable to help himself, Jayce leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips. Viktor returned the kiss with a smile.

            “You are still so very thoughtful,” he said.

            Jayce pulled the plates closer so the two of them could eat. They tried everything, sharing between them, drizzling honey on cheese, spreading fish on bread. Most food in the Fissures tasted vaguely of sulfur, but the cider in particular had such sharp notes that Jayce choked on the first sip and the liquid went up his nose, which made it worse. Eyes running, nose burning, he coughed and coughed, and Viktor laughed. The omega retrieved a napkin and wiped his face.

            “So much for my romantic cool,” Jayce said, still coughing, trying to grin.

            Viktor shook his head. “You have not spoiled the mood at all,” he said. “On the contrary, I enjoy the reminders that you are human.”

            “You like it when I make a fool out of myself, you mean,” Jayce chuckled.

            “Nothing so mean-spirited as that.” Setting the napkin aside, Viktor cupped Jayce’s cheeks in his hands and brushed his fingers over the beard he had encouraged Jayce to keep. He spent a moment simply surveying his features. “You have such a perfect face and such a fine physique, it is easy to forget that you are even capable of making a fool of yourself.  To be humble and earnest while looking the way you do is a rare combination. I am both honored and astonished to call an alpha like you my own.”

            Jayce stared at Viktor—his face warm, his heart beating gently in his ears. 

            “You are a remarkable man,” Viktor continued. “You promised to take good care of me, and you have done so. I know I have not made that easy for you.”

            Loving Viktor was the easiest thing in the world, but that love was precisely what made their circumstances so difficult. Jayce grasped Viktor’s hand and turned his face to kiss his palm. How he longed to understand every single thread that made this man. He wished he knew the origin of every thought in his head, the motive behind every action, if only to be a better help.

            “I think perhaps you give too much of yourself away, too,” Viktor said.

            “But I take so much from y—”

            Viktor pulled his hand free to press his fingers to Jayce’s lips, quieting him.

            Jayce blinked, arrested by the spark of fire in his bondmate’s eyes.

            “You told me once that your first loyalty is to me,” Viktor said. His voice was soft and coursing, and it made Jayce’s hair stand on end. “You know now what that means, what it looks like, how it feels. Nothing for us will ever be easy.” He brushed his fingers down Jayce’s lips, under his chin. “I wish I could say that I want nothing more than for you to be happy, my dove, but that would be a falsehood. I wish many more things than simple happiness for you or me, and I know you have desires of your own. What I can say is that you are likewise my first loyalty.”

            Jayce’s breath rushed from his lungs. He moved to close the distance between himself and Viktor, but Viktor drew back.

            “You understand what that means?” he asked. “For you and me to give our loyalty to each other above all others?”

            Jayce nodded.

            Some thorn in Viktor’s eyes prompted him to elaborate.

            “It means going against the Lords’ Council,” Jayce said. “It means going against your family. It means that we set aside ‘representative’ and act only as ‘bondmates’.” Viktor did not draw back as Jayce pressed closer this time. “We’ve been trying to appease both sides, to keep the peace, but...why not just stop? Why not forfeit the game entirely?”  

            “We cannot do that...” Viktor whispered.

            “Why not?”

            “We must still try, Jayce,” Viktor replied. Jayce caught a hand around the back of his neck and relished the cool press of his skin. “If there is a path toward true peace...”

            “We’re not going to find it following any route planned by your family, or mine,” Jayce replied. “Besides...” He pulled Viktor in, pressed his mouth to his mate mark, and rumbled when a sigh slipped from his omega’s lips. “You’re my family. We’re a family, right?”

            Wrapping his arms around Jayce’s shoulders, Viktor nodded.

            “Then let’s follow our own path. Change the world, like you said before.”

            Drawing back, Viktor looked into Jayce’s eyes with such resolve that when he nodded, the universe rearranged itself around that nod all over again.

            There would be consequences to suffer. Battles to fight. Verbal wars to wage. But perhaps what Zaun and Piltover needed was for someone to call their bluff. Who better to step forward than their representative bondmates?

            Bondmates. Viktor and Jayce were bondmates.

            That fact filled Jayce up in a way he could neither categorize nor comprehend.

            “I love you, Viktor.”

            “I know you do,” Viktor said, nodding, their noses brushing. “I love you, too.”

            Jayce kissed him. Parting his lips, Viktor kissed back, welcomed Jayce’s tongue with his own, pressing, sighing, submitting when Jayce carded his fingers into his hair and fisted the strands. Keening, Viktor dug his fingers in Jayce’s shirt, but swiftly uncurled them to slide both hands up Jayce’s neck. Jayce pulled him back.

            “You’ve thought about what you’d like?” he asked.

            Viktor nodded.

            Easing him onto his back, pushing plates aside, Jayce said, “Can I tell you what I’d like?”

            Again, Viktor nodded, stroking his hair.

            “I’d like you to tell me if you feel even a little bit of your strength go. I won’t compromise your health, Viktor, but I need you to tell me if that’s happening.” Without that reassurance, Jayce might worry over sex for the rest of their lives, and that was the last thing he wanted. Viktor was far too irresistible for that. “Will you tell me?”

            “I will.”

            “You promise?”

            “I promise.”

            Relieved, Jayce came to rest atop Viktor, an arm braced beneath the omega’s head. He pressed their lips together, rumbled when those lips parted. Though still dim, Viktor’s scent deepened, shifting into that maddening, mind-numbing aroma that made Jayce wonder what he would smell like in heat. He kept that thought to himself, but arousal stirred within him nevertheless.

            “Tell me what you’d like,” he said.

            “Kiss me again,” Viktor replied, voice sticky already.

            Jayce obliged him. Of course he did. He kissed Viktor with true intent. Lengthy, sensuous, their lips never parting, not even as Jayce adjusted to kiss him more deeply and seek out his tongue. Viktor tasted like sulfur and nectar and magic, and he moaned a soft, nasal note into Jayce’s mouth that made his cock twitch. He broke their lips apart to gaze down at his mate, but returned to kiss the mole by his eye, near his lips, on his neck.

            “I would like for you do to do whatever you would like,” Viktor hummed. His hands wandered over Jayce’s shoulders and down his sides. “You are always so considerate of my pleasure while seeking your own.”

            Groaning, Jayce crushed his mouth against Viktor’s. The ideas that spiraled through him fanned the growing fire in his belly. His heart clenched, anxious—he had to retain control, he had to be gentle with Viktor—but Viktor broke their kiss, and Jayce nearly panicked until Viktor tilted his face up to press his lips to his forehead.

            “You need not rush, my dove.”

            He’d registered Jayce’s anxiety through sympathy.

            “Couldn’t you just take the fear away?” Jayce asked. “With your magic?”

            In all his studies, Jayce had never encountered record of another mage with such delicate control over the minds and emotions of others. The Arcane simply was not suited to such minute effects. Viktor shook his head.

            “I will not touch your mind,” he said. “Sympathy would provide only temporary relief. Your fears are yours to face, but I will help in every other way I can.”

            Jayce frowned, but he had to admit he agreed with Viktor. The best way forward was to simply proceed and trust that Viktor would tell him if anything felt amiss. A sympathetic smile crossed Viktor’s mouth, and he smoothed his thumb over the notch that had formed between Jayce’s eyebrows.

            “Take your time,” he murmured.

            Rumbling, Jayce leaned down to kiss his face and sip a few more kisses from his lips that turned into a lot more when Viktor signaled his enjoyment with a hum.

            Gods, Jayce loved the noises his mate made. Every breath, every moan, every trill and gasp. He loved the way Viktor’s hands ghosted up his arms and through his hair. He loved that an omega as magnificent as this found him a suitable alpha. More than suitable, even. He loved knowing that Viktor experienced and enjoyed the polarity between them, that Viktor thought he was spectacular in bed.

            The haze of instinct began to form in Jayce’s mind, but he resisted its influence. He pecked his way across Viktor’s face, down his neck, and over his clothes, untying and unbuttoning and loosening as he went. Viktor’s cock stiffened against him, particularly as Jayce peppered kisses along his collarbone and over the scar at the bend of his neck.

            If Viktor was hard, then he was also slick—and Jayce dizzied at the thought.

            “...want to touch you,” he said, unthinking, “want to make you come on my fingers...”

            Viktor whined, and nodded, and Jayce pawed enough of the omega’s clothes up or off that he could get to his undergarments and tug them to his ankles. Viktor kicked them free and spread his legs. It was an eye-catching sight, his cock flushed and his rear slick already.

            Jayce kissed the inside of his knee. “Gods, you’re gorgeous.” Viktor purred; Jayce sucked a line of kisses down the inside of his thigh. Viktor’s legs trembled at the attention, his scent deepening further. “My omega...” Jayce had only ever addressed Viktor that way while in rut, and it seemed a shame in retrospect. He secured a hand around either of his thighs and eased his mate’s legs up over his shoulders at the knee. Once Viktor had locked his ankles, Jayce worked one arm between them to run his fingers down his perineum and over his entrance. The omega sighed. “My bondmate.”

            Viktor nodded. “All yours.”

            Jayce circled a pair of fingers around his entrance. Another sigh slipped from Viktor’s lips. Jayce pressed a finger inside him, and Viktor tensed from head to toe, then shivered loose the deeper Jayce went—a little trick he had learned during his rut.

            Closing his eyes, Viktor splayed his arms above his head and relaxed completely. Braced above him, Viktor’s thighs between them, Jayce tracked each flicker of pleasure that crossed his mate’s face as he caressed inside him. Drawing that finger out. Pushing back in. Taking as much time as he wanted before adding a second.

            Viktor was so fucking slick.

            The only friction stemmed from tight muscle and Viktor deliberately clenching around him with each stroke. Jayce worked his way deeper and deeper until he could press his fingers against his prostate. Viktor whined.

            “Yes...”

            Maintaining that pressure, Jayce circled his prostate. The whine became a moan.

            “Nngh—yes, Jayce.”

            Fuck, he liked it when Viktor talked like that.

            “Feels good?” he asked.

            “Mmgh-hmm,” Viktor purred. “I told you that you are—ah—good with your hands.”

            In such circumstances, naturally Jayce’s cock had filled, but the compliment brought his awareness to it in earnest. He turned his head to kiss the inside of Viktor’s knee again.

            “Thank you, princess,” he said. “I’m glad you think so.”

            “The last time I said that, you—” Viktor groaned when Jayce pressed hard against his prostate. “—nearly melted into my hands...”

            “Oh, you’re having a similar effect now,” Jayce replied. “Trust me.”

            He shifted to press his erection against Viktor’s rear through his trousers. Viktor purred, sonorous and satisfied. Jayce spread his fingers a little just to see if that purr would turn into a moan, too, and rutted against Viktor when it did.

            “Are you going to knot me?” Viktor asked.

            “Would you like me to knot you?”

            “I would like you to do what you would like to do.”

            “Well, I think I’d like to knot you.”

            He had not stopped stroking his fingers deep inside Viktor all this time, and the mention of knotting caused a tremor in his mate he knew well—the turn toward climax.

            “How long can hold yourself back?” Jayce asked.

            He lessened neither his pressure nor his pace.

            Viktor shook his head. “I do not know...”

            “Try.”

            Viktor opened his eyes and looked at Jayce, accepting the challenge. Jayce kept his pace and pressure steady. Viktor held his gaze, tried to keep the orgasm at bay. The effort played across his face—lips parting, brow creasing, eyes glazing. His breath grew heavier and heavier, and still Jayce maintained his rhythm, drinking in every change as Viktor gnarled his fingers in the rug and squeezed his knees around Jayce’s head.

            “Just a little experiment with delayed gratification,” Jayce said, voice muffled by his legs.

            Viktor’s eyes flicked back and forth, but did not break contact. His mouth was open now, panting. He began to tremble. A man on the edge.

            “F-for you...or me...?” he asked.

            “For me,” Jayce replied. “You look so beautiful when you come.”

            Hips rising off the floor, Viktor came then. The tension in his body coiled, snapping with a silent gasp that turned into a groan as Jayce fingered him through the orgasm. He did look beautiful, so beautiful with his eyes fixed on Jayce and his brows drawn and his cheeks flushed. As it finished, his eyes rolled back a little and he pooled against the rug, limbs heavy.

            The tension of his legs released, and a sore spot registered on Jayce’s spine where his heels had dug in. Smiling, he pulled his fingers out and relished Viktor’s body twitching in response. He was careful as he lowered his omega’s legs from his shoulders, but lost restraint when he shifted back and saw the spend on Viktor’s belly, his cock untouched. Jayce folded immediately to take the tip into his mouth, and Viktor writhed, keening, though he knotted his fingers into Jayce’s hair and wrested his head off his cock.

            “Sorry,” Jayce said, sitting up, wiping his mouth. “Every part of you is just so pretty.”

            “You and your godsdamned sweet talking...”

            Purring, chuckling, Jayce wormed his way between Viktor’s legs again to lay on top of him. His erection brushed Viktor’s cock, and Viktor writhed once more, but could not dislodge Jayce this time.

            “I would like to take my omega to our nest now,” Jayce said and dropped a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “May I?”

            Nodding, Viktor half-consciously slung his arms around Jayce’s neck and shoulders, which made it very difficult to stand up, all things considered. Still, Jayce got his arms under Viktor, lifted him, and deposited him in the nest, most of his clothes left behind on the floor. As Viktor reached for him, Jayce remembered the blanket he’d purchased, and earned himself a noise of displeasure when he moved to retrieve it rather than join his mate.

            “Just a moment,” he replied with a chuckle. “I have something for you.”

            He brought Viktor the blanket, wrapped up in a ribbon.

            “For our nest,” he said.

            Sitting up, Viktor accepted the gift. He ran his fingers over the weave, untied the ribbon, unfolded the blanket, and brushed his hands across the whole sweep of fabric.

            “Thank you, Jayce,” he said, soft.

            He drew Jayce toward him to offer further thanks in the form of a kiss. Then he turned and carefully spread the blanket out beneath them. Arms around Jayce’s neck, he drew the alpha down so they could lay side by side and kiss, and kiss, and kiss. Viktor busied his hands with undressing Jayce, though the end result was haphazard as Jayce could not bring himself to part from him for more than a few seconds at a time.

            “Are you...feeling up...to...hands and knees?” Jayce asked between kisses.

            Viktor shook his head. “I do not think so, I am sorry...”

            Shaking his head, too, Jayce kissed him hard. “Don’t be sorry, that’s why I asked.” The honesty put him at ease him more than anything. He hitched Viktor’s leg up over his hip instead. “This okay?”

            Viktor purred and nodded. “This way I can see your face.”

            “Yes, you’ve mentioned how much you like my face,” Jayce chuckled.

            The omega just hummed. “You are likewise very beautiful when you come.”

            “Fuck, Viktor.”

            His cock was aching now. Viktor laughed, knowing he was the cause. That laughter melted into a breathy sigh when Jayce shuffled to align their bodies and his cock brushed against Viktor’s entrance. The omega’s fingers dug into his shoulders when he entered him, grip tightening as Jayce thrust deeper and deeper until he’d bottomed out and could roll their hips in tandem, Viktor’s cock between them.

            Viktor slackened his fingers in order to run them through Jayce’s hair.

            “Are you feeling—ngh, anxious still?” he asked.

            “You can’t tell?” Jayce teased, but Viktor shook his head.

            “Not when you make me feel like this,” he replied. “Everything else is drowned out.”

            Heart swelling, Jayce pressed his mouth to Viktor’s, sealed their lips together, and wished for the millionth time that he could meld into one with his mate. They came as close as they could—skin to skin from their heads to their feet, Jayce’s cock sheathed inside Viktor, their minds in perfect concert through their bond. The flowers in Viktor’s scent had fully bloomed once more, notes harmonized with spice and musk.

            Jayce wanted to savor the moment. To linger in the pleasure and comfort and security he felt in Viktor’s embrace. He took his time. Rolled their hips together in long, slow motions. Viktor hummed and sighed and keened and Jayce rumbled at him—willed himself to commit every sound to memory so that when nerves plagued him in the future he could recall what was waiting for him on the other side. Perfect heat, perfect friction. A perfect mate who was always perfectly slick. Who loved him and only him, as only a bondmate could.

            Viktor trembled in his arms, turning toward climax once again. The sensation of it sent a pang through Jayce and brought him right up to the edge himself. He held back as long as he could—it was only fair—but his goal this time was to synchronize their orgasms. Even so, he could not resist increasing his pace, fucking Viktor a little harder, driving little sounds from his throat with every thrust. Viktor coiled and coiled, clenching around Jayce until he came with a soft, shuddering sigh. Jayce was right behind him, sucking that sigh into his mouth as he finished inside Viktor with a flood of heat and hormones that left a tingling feeling in their wake.

            His knot swelled, but he and Viktor had their legs locked around each other just as well.

            Silent, they caught their breath, tangled in each other’s arms.

            After a moment, Viktor reached to pull the new blanket from where it was pinned underneath them and swathed it around them both.

            “I think I have received more gifts since meeting you than the rest of my life in its entirety,” he chuckled.

            Smiling, Jayce kissed the top of his head. “You don’t do holidays in Zaun?”

            Viktor went quiet.

            Sensing some change, Jayce squeezed him tighter and released a little of his protective pheromone.

            “I...grew up here, in the Fissures,” Viktor said, “but they were not always as you see them now. My parents have worked hard to make Zaun a safe and prosperous place for all our people, but that has taken many, many years. Even the artifice is only possible because of Powder and Ekko. The Fissures used to be...different...”

            Jayce leaned back to look at his mate. “How so?”

            Something flickered in Viktor’s eyes, some mental shield lowered.

            “When I was a child, I lived with a scientist,” he said, “called Singed. He was a doctor, and a brilliant alchemist, and I had no parents, no family, and he welcomed me. Taught me things. Let me help him with his studies and experiments. It did not cross my mind to question why he hid himself away from the rest of the Fissure folk, but... His alchemy relied on live subjects—animals, primarily. People, when he could get them.”

            Jayce’s stomach turned.

            “I tried to leave when I discovered the truth, but he could not allow me to reveal his whereabouts, and so I spent many years in his dungeons, serving as one of those subjects, until my mother rooted Singed out.”

            He spoke with such calm clarity, and left so much unsaid, Jayce could almost keep his brain from filling in the gaps, but the truth stood plain, no matter how ugly it was.

            He pulled his mate close.

            “I’m so sorry, Viktor.”

            Tightening his arms around Jayce, Viktor drew in a deep breath against his neck. “It is in the past,” he said.

            “Is there anything I can do?”

            “No, my dove,” Viktor said and kissed his throat. “Only love me.”

            Jayce squeezed him hard. “Understood.”

            They stayed cradled together for a long time, even after Jayce’s knot subsided. Jayce tried to keep his mind quiet, but concern wove through him nevertheless. Had Viktor struggled during their studies of his magic—the test subject once again? Had Jayce not noticed? Had the introduction of shimmer without consent conjured memories of Viktor’s childhood? Had he healed from those experiences? Had Singed been the source for his myriad infirmities?

            Entwined as he was with his mate, safe in the sanctuary of their nest, the questions did not rile Jayce. He felt no righteous anger, no desire to crusade. He was simply sorrowful, and at the same time honored to be trusted with the truth.

Chapter Text

The tented camp around the tower’s base grew more and more permanent as the visiting Piltovians decided they liked the warmth of the Fissures. They had to trade the sun for it, but with daylight hours so short in the winter, the superior option was quite clear. Jayce couldn’t criticize them—not as a Piltovian living in the Fissures himself.

            Here, rising lantern light replaced the rising sun, but Zaunites were a cathemeral people who woke and worked when they wanted. Thankfully, the petitioners had not yet adopted that trait and only requested their audiences with Viktor during the day.

            Or, what constituted the day in the Fissures.

            “Will you be joining me?” Viktor asked, his delight evident as he emerged from the dressing room to find Jayce dressed as well.

            Jayce nodded. “If that’s all right? I’d like to take some more notes. Maybe speak with a few people about their experiences. My...observations on shimmer leave a lot to be desired.” A self-effacing chuckle followed the statement.

            Viktor simply smiled and gave him a kiss. The omega’s scent had returned in full bloom, moonlight and wildflowers transporting Jayce to some ephemeral, nocturnal world.

            “Your company is more than welcome,” Viktor said.

            They descended to the ground floor together. There, Jayce helped prepare the space for the day, lighting lanterns and rekindling the fire while Viktor selected and measured draughts of shimmer for his staff. The first Piltovians soon trickled inside, most already bearing the Herald’s iridescent marks. They greeted Jayce as one of their own. Not only as their lord in Piltover, but as a man who bore a mark identical to theirs—on his hand, in the shape of his own teeth.

            Viktor led the group in prayer and blessings in that ancient language.

            Afterward, those seeking healing entered one by one.

            Jayce trained his attention on Viktor, noted the incantations and how often he refilled the staff. He observed the duration of each spell and the purple discoloration of the scars that followed. Comparing new data to old, shimmer seemed a near-perfect replacement for Viktor’s blood. Healing required the same amount of time and achieved identical results. Jayce might even consider it a superior alternative given that it relieved so much stress.

            Each petitioner entered, paid their respects, received their healing, and sent in the next in a well-orchestrated exchange that only paused midday so Viktor could sit and rest.

            “Has anyone reported any side effects?” Jayce asked as he came to stand by his mate.

            “Not to me,” Viktor replied. “Powder, as the first subject, would be the one to ask.”

            Jayce nodded and filed that away as a problem for later. He brushed Viktor’s hair off his neck and shoulders to massage the taut muscle underneath. Viktor softened under his touch with a gentle chirp.

            “Everyone who leaves this hall looks so happy,” Jayce said. “It’s good to see.”

            These were the exact people Jayce had wanted most to help. While the lords hemmed and hawed and claimed ownership over Jayce’s designs in order to keep them out of the hands of the public, Viktor had found a way forward. A way to tangibly change lives that the lords could neither disparage nor replicate.

            “I am honored that they trust us enough to make such a journey,” Viktor replied.

            “To be perfectly frank, I wouldn’t be surprised if a trail of ducklings follows us back to Hammer House,” Jayce chuckled.

            Eyes bright, Viktor looked up at him. “Will we return soon?”

            “Council business should conclude in the next couple of days,” Jayce replied with a nod, “and I’d prefer to work on the next round of tools in our territory, as helpful as Powder has been. Are you ready to go back? You don’t want to stay with your family a little longer?”

            Viktor lifted his hand from his shoulder and laced their fingers. “I love my family,” he said, “but I fear I have outgrown their house. I will miss them, but I also miss our home.”

            Touched, Jayce squeezed Viktor’s fingers. “I miss it, too.”

            “I will be ready to return whenever the council meetings conclude.”

            He brought Viktor’s hand to his lips to peck the back of it. “Thank you, princess.”

            The respite ended, and the petitions resumed. Viktor remained seated. He greeted each individual with a smile and a blessing and such effortless charm—firm and tender, present and aloof. The commons called him Herald in this capacity, but he seemed to Jayce to occupy the same role he had in the clearing where they’d constructed their stone circle and performed the bonding ritual. A High Blood Mage. A spiritual advisor. The only one Zaun had ever had with actual magic. Blood magic.

            Something clicked.

            Jayce did not know precisely what, but an answer glimmered within his reach.

            He stood up suddenly, and Viktor glanced over, in the middle of expunging gout from a petitioner’s leg. Jayce met his eye and Viktor understood without either of them speaking a word. He nodded, Jayce nodded back, then turned and bolted from the room—taking the stairs up the tower two at a time. 

**

The elderly man whom Viktor was healing watched Jayce’s departure with worried eyes.

            “Has something troubled Lord Talis, Herald?” he asked.

            “On the contrary,” Viktor replied with a smile. “I believe he has had an epiphany.”

            Of course, the man lacked the context necessary to understand, but he took comfort in Viktor’s smile nevertheless, settling on his seat. Viktor refocused his mind, reeling in a thousand threads of speculation over what Jayce might have realized. Very little about the healing process had changed supplicant to supplicant. Viktor had assessed their maladies, collected a little of their blood, then channeled shimmer through the staff to revitalize and accelerate the body’s natural recovery.

            Had Jayce noticed some detail Viktor had not? Was something different about this particular man that offered a key? Would Jayce reach an answer sooner with someone to help conduct that critical research?

            Focus.

            Viktor emptied his mind and let the magic flow freely through him. When the healing finished, the elderly man rose, and tears sprang to his eyes.

            “Nine long years since I last stood on my own two feet...” he whispered. He turned to Viktor, grasped his hands. “Thank you, Herald. Thank you.”

            “You are most welcome,” Viktor replied with a smile. In truth, a sliver of envy pricked his heart. He could return to this man the ability to walk unaided, but could not return it to himself. He could right the issues of blood of the omegas who came to him, but not his own. The injustice of it festered, but he refused to let that cloud his eyes. “If any remain, please inform them I have strength enough to heal perhaps one or two more today.”

            Nodding, bowing, profusely expressing his thanks, the elderly man departed.

            The supplicant who entered next was not a supplicant at all.

            It was Caitlyn Kiramman.

            Viktor stood the moment she lowered her hood.

            “Caitlyn?”

            She came forward with the urgency of a messenger tempered by the reticence of a Piltovian lord deep in enemy territory.

            “I must speak with you,” she said and continued before Viktor had even drawn another breath. “I have reason to believe my father is plotting something, however, she believes I am compromised, and has not shared any of her plans with me. Nevertheless I am certain she is laying her groundwork.”

            Viktor motioned for Caitlyn to sit in the supplicant’s chair, but she refused.

            “I have lingered too long already and my alibi will not hold to scrutiny.”

            “Then tell me quickly what evidences have led you to suspect your father,” he said.

            “She holds clandestine meetings in the small hours of the morning,” Caitlyn replied. “I have been unable to discover who joins, but I do not believe any member of the Lords’ Council could be so discreet. She also forbade me from attending to our family’s accounts, but I have reviewed them in secret, and several large sums of money were recently siphoned from our army budget.”

            It was possible Cassandra had earmarked that money to fund Jayce’s research—a stick and carrot to draw him closer to building weapons, but Jayce had not mentioned any bribes.

            “I have no proof,” Caitlyn added. “Only my word.”

            “Your word is more than sufficient,” Viktor replied.

            Caitlyn’s eyes glittered, relieved. There was, of course, the possibility of a double bluff, but as long as Zaun remained inactive, that bluff would yield no boon for Piltover. Besides, the reality of her anxiety sang to Viktor through her blood. She risked everything by ferreting out these scraps of information and bringing them to Zaun. That was proof enough she was as committed to preserving the peace as she’d claimed.

            “I will inform Jayce of this news,” Viktor said.

            Caitlyn nodded and turned to go, but heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs as a breathless Violet nearly tumbled down them. Caitlyn froze. Violet stared at her.

            “I did hear your voice,” she said, then, “What the fuck are you doing here, lordling? I told you it isn’t safe.”

            “I had urgent information to deliver to Clan Talis,” Caitlyn replied.

            “We’ll have hell to pay if you get caught.”

            “Yes, I am trying to leave...”

            “I’ll go with you.” Violet swept into the room, past Caitlyn, toward the door. “Put your hood up. There are secret ways into Piltover. You shouldn’t be seen crossing the bridges.”

            “And if I’ve already been seen entering Zaun?”

            “All the better for you not to be seen leaving,” Violet said. “If they saw you go in, but not out, then it wasn’t you they saw going in. Come on.”

            Violet motioned her head toward the door and did not wait to confirm if Caitlyn was following as she slipped outside. Master Kiramman paid Viktor one final backward glance before pulling up her hood and hurrying after Violet.

            In the wake of their departure, Viktor simply blinked.

            “Cozy, aren’t they.”

            Silco’s voice reverberated in the stairwell. Viktor turned to find his mother shadowed against the wall, eyes reflecting firelight.

            “They formed a friendship during our negotiations at Hammer House,” Viktor replied.

            “A friendship,” Silco remarked.

            He slid off the wall and strolled deeper into the room, coming to a stop beside the hearth where he watched the flames in earnest.

            “I believe it is a positive omen,” Viktor said, “to have Clan Kiramman’s heir and our future king on good terms. Our nations may improve their relationship by following their examples. The commons have become quite comfortable with one another already. Under Master Kiramman’s rule, the lords may follow suit.”

            “The lords will have no need to follow suit when we strip them of their titles.”

            Silco spoke as if Zaun’s victory was simply a matter of fact.

            Careful, Viktor approached the fire and took a seat near his mother.

            Outside, gentle voices echoed off the chasm walls. Men, women, children, elders, all safe and sheltered around the tower in this secluded part of the Fissures. Silco preferred isolation in order to preserve his secrets, but he had recognized the benefit of providing so generously for the Piltovian commons. When the time came for them to choose sides, surely they would stand with the hands which had fed them.

            Viktor could not help but feel they held greater potential than that.

            “If we could accomplish unification without war, would that satisfy you?” he asked.

            Silco sighed.

            “Piltover’s lords will not relinquish their power without a fight.”

            “Perhaps not this generation, but the next has proven themselves capable of change,” Viktor replied. “Lord Kiramman reared both Master Kiramman and Lord Talis, and they have shed her influence. Piltover’s populace is more eager for peace than we gave them credit. With time, we may see Zaun’s goals accomplished without bloodshed.”

            Silence followed Viktor’s statement.

            Penetrating silence.

            Silco turned his gaze on his son with such frightful intensity.

            “Time,” he said.

            Viktor knew better than to reply.

            “We do not have time, child.” The wrath that always boiled just below the surface bubbled forth. “Piltover’s lords are of my generation. I will not sit and twiddle my thumbs and hope for them to die first. You heard Master Kiramman’s report. Her father plots in secret. Piltover will strike, and we will be ready to bring upon them a war so just, they will have no choice save to submit to our rule.”

            A new, absolute, and chilling confidence suffused his voice now.

            Something had changed.

            “The weapons are ready,” Viktor said.

            Silco smiled. “Powder learned much while assisting Lord Talis.”

            Blood cold, heart skipping, Viktor suppressed his expression into neutrality. Had Silco instructed Powder to offer her help to Jayce, or simply made use of an opportunity? The truth mattered not, not when—

            “Our smiths are already hard at work.”

            Silco had never believed in the peace. Viktor would not convince him to alter course with entreaties to it. Silco had received that for which he had bargained: time. Now he wanted his revenge.

            Viktor reached for Silco’s hand.

            “Again, I ask, if we accomplish unification without war, would that satisfy you?”

            Silco snapped his hand away and restrained a sudden surge of violence.

            “Change of this magnitude is not possible without war, Viktor,” he snarled. “You are young. You did not experience the crush of Piltover’s boot. You did not witness our campaign for independence. Without war we would never have gained it. Zaun stands now in position to liberate those who live under that boot still, and you would have them wait? Did you wait to heal even when the price for urgency was your own life? Lives are on the line again, Viktor. Lives are always on the line. The human cost will never change.”

            Viktor swallowed.

            “I do not wish for the people to suffer,” he said. “That is all.”

            “They will not,” Silco replied. “They will be freed from suffering.”

            He tempered his wrath and extended the hand he had withdrawn to cup Viktor’s chin.

            “I am proud of you, my child,” he said. His iron and acid scent flared in satisfaction. “In this short time, you have won the hearts of countless Piltovians, established a stronghold within enemy borders, demonstrated your power as Herald, kept the council quiet, and earned the devotion of an intelligent and ambitious young alpha. You have born your burdens with such grace.” A strange and sparkling smile spread across Silco’s face. “What a magnificent creature you are.”

            Kneeling, he placed himself in Viktor’s eyeline. His chin in Silco’s hand, Viktor could not look away.

            “Piltover will strike,” Silco said and his fingers pressed into Viktor’s cheeks. “When they do, we will strike back. With our Herald of the Arcane behind us, what have we to fear?”

            Viktor’s heart beat hard and fast in his ears. Nevertheless, he summoned a smile for his mother. Silco nodded once, and let go. Viktor leveled his breathing and forced himself to remain seated for a few minutes more—in skin-crawling silence—before rising to excuse himself to rest. He kept an even pace as he climbed the tower stairs and quietly closed the door into his rooms.

            Jayce popped his head out of the workshop almost that same instant.

            “This is an insane question, but you don’t happen to have any of your blood from before our mate-bond stored somewhere do you?” he asked.

            The question was so bizarre, it brought Viktor up short and the conversation with his mother tumbled right out of his mind.

            “I am not in the habit of storing my blood,” he replied. “Why?”

            “I have a theory...” Jayce said and brought him a slate chalked with calculations. As Viktor reviewed them, Jayce continued, “You use your blood as a catalyst—primarily for healing, but also to enhance sympathy, or achieve other minor transmutative effects, right?”

            Brow furrowing, Viktor nodded.

            “Well, what if the makeup of that catalyst changed? When we bonded, the bite that ruptured your mate gland released a new hormone into your blood. Wouldn’t that fundamentally change the way the catalyst works? Even potentially compromise its efficacy?”

            Viktor looked up from the slate and into Jayce’s eyes.

            “It would,” he said.

            Jayce eased the slate from his hands to pass him a collection of scrolls. Records of the deeds of Zaun’s past mages, and high blood mages.

            “I have another theory,” he said.

            For some reason, his tone caused Viktor’s stomach to lurch.

            “Go on.”

            “In the written history you have here, which I’d hazard to guess is probably one of the most comprehensive in the world, I can’t find any instance of a mage using the Arcane to heal or influence the feelings of others,” Jayce said. “It’s your blood mages who are the healers and emotional counselors—though, from what I can gather, they were only practicing medicine.”

            Feeling rather liable to crumple the scrolls, Viktor gingerly set them aside. His hands had begun to shake.

            “And what conclusion have you drawn from these observations?”

            “I think you’re accessing two different sources of magic,” Jayce replied. “The Arcane is one, and life force—blood—is the other. They’re interchangeable in some instances, like heating water, but they’re not interchangeable for everything. The previous staff didn’t help with healing because it only stabilizes the Arcane, and you can’t heal without drawing on blood.”

            Magic had come so instinctively to Viktor, he had not considered the need to differentiate its sources. To his knowledge, magic only had once source. Magic and the Arcane were one and the same.

            He expressed as much to Jayce.

            “The Arcane is a natural force,” Jayce replied. “It just exists. Some people resonate with it and can channel that power. There’s so much we still don’t understand, and we understand even less about the world at-large. Who’s to say there aren’t other natural forces out there waiting for the right person to resonate with them? If your body has been bearing the strain of two magical affinities, it’s no wonder you’ve been so drained.”

            Drained failed to even begin to describe how Viktor felt. Dizzy, absent, he stumbled forward, seeking a chair, but too far to reach one on his own. Jayce caught him, caught his staff as it slipped from his fingers. He helped Viktor to sit, rumbling and worried.

            In the secret corners of his mind, Viktor had long suspected something like this.

            In Singed’s dungeons, he had tried to convince himself he was a willing participant. He had cowed and cooperated as a means of self-preservation. If there was one thing Fissure folk knew how to do, after all, it was survive. Viktor had entered the doctor’s acquaintance a child with a weak constitution and left a mage too powerful for his own mortal body.

            “I’m sorry,” Jayce said. “I’m sure that’s a lot to take in. I can’t prove any of it definitively, it’s just an idea...”

            An idea, perhaps, but an idea that rang that great and terrible bell of truth in Viktor’s soul. Jayce was right. Arcane magic and blood magic were distinct.

            Viktor was the one and only known practitioner.

            He suppressed the urge to vomit.

            “Talk to me, princess.”

            “My magic first awakened under Singed,” Viktor replied, blank. Jayce turned ashen. “I thought then that the gods had answered my prayers, blessed me with the means to protect myself, but he...”

            Jayce grasped Viktor’s face in his hands. The pressure startled him and he looked into his mate’s eyes in surprise.

            “It doesn’t matter where your magic comes from, Viktor,” Jayce said. “What matters is what you do with it—and every day I have watched you help as many people as you possibly can.” Viktor’s bottom lip trembled, so Jayce stroked his cheekbones with his thumbs. “Your power belongs to you, not the other way around. You are more than your magic.”

            Tears pricked Viktor’s eyes, but he nodded.

            Jayce shifted forward, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Viktor returned the hug, trembling.

            “It’s still my goal to find a way to make this power easier for you to use,” Jayce said, “but only if you want the same.”

            Drawing back, Viktor looked into Jayce’s eyes—hazel, his. Piltover could have chosen anyone to serve as their representative bondmate and they had selected Jayce, whose only wish was to be of service to others.

            So many of Viktor’s ailments had been with him since birth. His earliest memories consisted of fighting with children for scraps of food and losing, weaker than the others, unable to walk. The gray plague had come later, when Singed had been so impressed with Viktor’s capabilities and wanted to test his newfound power. Over and over and over again, the doctor had infected him. Over and over, Viktor had rid his body of disease—but the scars remained.

            Compromised down to his very foundation.

            Whether his magic originated with Singed or not, the man had certainly enhanced it.

            And here was a bondmate who had made it his life’s work to study how others worked and help relieve that burden.

            If the gods had not blessed Viktor with magic, perhaps they had blessed him with Jayce.

            He nodded.

            “I do,” he said. “Thank you, my dove.”

**

Between the remaining council meetings, Jayce conducted an extensive study on shimmer. Though the staff focused the Arcane, only shimmer had aided with healing. In order to understand why the potion worked, Jayce needed to understand what went into the compound. His knowledge of alchemy was rudimentary at best, but what choice did they have except to break shimmer down to its base components and determine which one was the active ingredient?

            “My mother will not like that,” Viktor had said, but they knew their first loyalty, and so the research had begun.

            Jayce was mentally designing a few more experiments while the council yammered on.

            “—Lord Talis?”

            He glanced up to find everyone’s eyes on him.

            “Could you repeat that?”

            “Lord Salo wished to know when the arcane tools will be ready for broad production,” Mel said. “Do you have any smiths in mind to shoulder some of the work?”

            The Orells were certainly skilled enough to tackle Jayce’s designs, but Jayce was not about to throw them to the wolves of the Lords’ Council—especially not when Eda was the first Piltovian Viktor had healed.

            “I plan on completing the next round of prototypes upon my return to Clan Talis territory,” Jayce replied.

            “Greater variety?” Salo asked.

            Jayce shook his head. “Enhancements to the existing designs.”

            The lords exchanged dubious expressions.

            “Is something wrong with them?” Hoskel asked.

            “Nothing is wrong,” Jayce replied, “but there’s room for improvement. At the very least, in order to go into broad production, they’ll need to be simplified so smiths other than myself can recreate them without risk.”

            Cassandra stood.

            “How long do you intend to lead us on this goose chase, Lord Talis?”

            She leaned forward, fixing Jayce with a vicious glare as silence swept the table.

            “Science is slow, my lord,” Jayce replied. “It takes time to—”

            “Then would it not behoove us to spend our time researching weaponry now, rather than wasting so many rounds of experimentation on common tools?” Cassandra straightened. Around her, the lords murmured their agreement. “You have proven the Arcane can be contained and channeled into handheld devices. Truly, what is the difference between a hammer and a sword save that one bludgeons and the other cuts? You cannot expect me to believe the Arcane would not be better suited to weaponry if it is truly as volatile and dangerous as you claim.”

            “My lord—”

            “One need not play stupid, Jayce,” Cassandra spat, and there was vitriol in those words not directed at him, but through him, to Viktor.

            All eyes shifted to Jayce once more.

            That boulder he had elected to push down the road would no longer budge.

            “I am reluctant to—”

            “Reluctant?!” Hoskel cried. He sucked in a breath to launch into a tirade, but Mel extended a gentle hand.

            “Let him speak, Lord Hoskel.” She nodded at Jayce. “Continue, please.”

            Jayce started over. “Our ancestors believed the Arcane was a wholly destructive force,” he said. “Historically, Piltover either executed mages, or exiled them from our midst. Our new application of magic should be something designed to build, to improve the lives of everyone who lives within our borders. The Arcane can be productive, but not through weapons. I am reluctant to engage in any behavior that Zaun might interpret as a threat to the peace.”

            “As representative bondmate, preservation of the peace is Lord Talis’s priority,” Mel said, as if the others needed reminding.

            “And what is Zaun’s representative bondmate doing to preserve the peace, hm?” Hoskel replied. “Courting the loyalties of our subjects? Infecting their minds with magic and poisoning their bodies with shimmer?”

            Jayce dug his nails into his palms and clenched his teeth. No longer a newly-bonded alpha, nor in pre-rut, he had no excuse for eviscerating the old man once and for all.

            “Many of those who go into the Fissures never come back,” Salo added.

            “They’re perfectly safe,” Jayce said. “The Fissures are warm. They’ve decided to wait out the winter, that’s all.”

            “Safe?” Hoskel scoffed. “In Zaun?”

            “No one is stupid enough to target them while Viktor is there, and Viktor isn’t going to harm them himself. Whatever you think of his character, it doesn’t benefit him or Zaun to have a bunch of Piltover’s common people go missing in the Fissures, and if you think the princess has charmed me into saying any of what I’ve just said, you’re more than welcome to come and see for yourselves.”

            Obviously, no one took him up on the offer.

            “I’d like to table the discussion of weapons for today,” Jayce said.

            “Are you so eager to return to your bondmate?” Salo asked, though given the way he said bondmate he may as well have said Zaunite slut.

            “Yes,” Jayce replied.

            “The day wanes, lords,” Mel said. “Let us adjourn until tomorrow.”

            Jayce gathered his things and walked out of the room without hesitation. Let them scheme and speculate and say whatever wretched things they wanted to say—they were going to do it anyway. May as well save them the effort of gathering a second time.

            Crossing the river, Jayce got caught up in another batch of pilgrims, and that irritated him, too, but that wasn’t fair to any of the parties involved, so he endeavored to ignore his feelings as he led them to the tower. Purple light shined through the steam, underpinned by the orange and yellow and green of the new lanterns below.

            Inside, the camp residents made use of the central hearth while others congregated in chatty groups awaiting dinner. Viktor peeled off from one of these to greet Jayce and go upstairs with him when Jayce took his hand.

            As the door into their rooms closed behind them, Viktor squeezed his fingers.

            “We need not study shimmer tonight if—”

            Turning, Jayce caught his face in his hands and kissed him. Viktor let out a muffled noise of surprise, but kissed him back.

            “Missed you,” Jayce said against his mouth.

            Viktor hummed. “I missed you, too.”

            Jayce dipped his head to kiss his mate again, but someone cleared their throat.

            Whirling, Jayce found Powder sheepishly seated in one of the library chairs. She raised a hand in a small wave. Relieved, but embarrassed nonetheless, Jayce ran a hand down his face.

            “You startled me, Powder,” he said.

            “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, rising, setting aside the book on her lap.

            “That’s all right...”

            The girl took a circuitous route toward the door, winding around tables and trailing along shelves. It occurred to Jayce as Powder approached that he hadn’t seen her speak to Viktor since the incident in The Last Drop. In fact, Viktor stiffened—bristling a little as Powder planted herself in front of them.

            “You’re studying shimmer?” she said. “Can I help?”

            “That would be unwise, Powder,” Viktor replied before Jayce could get a word in edgewise. “Our studies may place you in a compromising position.”

            “Why? You don’t want my help? I know more about shimmer than anyone. I can build anything that runs on shimmer. You know that. I designed your staff. Didn’t you tell him, Jayce? That I designed it? Now you can heal people without hurting yourself, and that’s because of shimmer. There aren’t rules. We can make whatever we want. What are you making? Why don’t you want my help?”

            Sighing, Viktor placed a hand on her shoulder. “There are rules, Powder. Rules you especially should not break.”

            Though she clearly relished his touch, Powder pouted at Viktor.

            “I just want to help,” she said.

            “I know you do,” Viktor replied. “It is the great curse of our family.”

            He gave her a smile and encouraged her out the door. Her bottom lip pouted further and further, but Viktor would not be swayed. In fact, as he closed the door behind her, the smile dropped from his face entirely.

            “We should suspend our study of shimmer until we return to Hammer House.”

            “We have better alchemical equipment here...”

            Something in the flash of Viktor’s eyes told Jayce not to press, so he relented.

            That night, Jayce opted to write down his ideas so that he wouldn’t have to keep track of them in his head. The following day, as he reviewed those ideas in the workshop, he felt eyes on him, and—looking up—discovered Powder peering over the edge of the table. Jayce jumped, knocking his knee against the table leg.

            “Gods, Powder.”

            “Sorry...”

            Jayce shook his head and rubbed his knee. Powder came around the table too swiftly for him to cover or collect his notes.

            “So, what are you working on?” she asked, already absorbing the information.

            “It really would be better for you not to know,” he said.

            “Don’t care,” she replied, singsong. Then her eyes widened at the notes. “Wait, are you trying to figure out what shimmer is?”

            It was hard not to answer a direct question. Powder—correctly—interpreted his silence as affirmation. Intrigued and scandalized, she grabbed the notes to inspect them more closely. Jayce balled his hands to keep from snatching them back. He had very little desire to alienate Powder further, but beyond that, he genuinely wanted to hear her ideas and opinions as an expert on shimmer.

            “Silco doesn’t know, does he?” she asked. “There’s no way he would have approved this research. I’m pretty sure I told you I tried asking him like a hundred times how shimmer is made? And he wouldn’t tell me? Me. He wouldn’t even spill it when Ekko and I started designing all those weapons.”

            Everything ground to a screeching halt.

            For a moment, the only sound Jayce could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears.

            “What?”

            “Oh.” Powder’s mouth dropped open. “Shit.”

            She had told him something she was not supposed to tell him.

            “Weapons?” Jayce growled. “Shimmer weapons?”

            He took Powder’s silence as affirmation.

            A roiling, dreadful rage crashed over Jayce and dragged him under. He swept out of the workshop. Powder followed, panicking, a ceaseless stream of words that only sounded like a constant buzz flowing from her mouth. Somehow, the girl kept pace with his long strides down the tower stairs. Viktor. They had a disaster on their hands. He needed to talk to Viktor. Where the fuck was Viktor?

            Viktor was coming up the stairs.

            The three nearly collided on the first floor landing. Jayce grabbed Viktor and pulled him through the open doorway, which led, fittingly, to an armory. He tried to close the door, but Powder wormed in after him, and between his anger, her mortification, and Viktor’s sympathy, the omega knew something serious was afoot.

            “What has—”

            “Weapons,” Jayce said.

            Viktor stilled. Tears and snot streamed down Powder’s face.

            “I didn’t mean to tell him, V,” she blubbered. “It just slipped out!”

            Wait.

            What Powder had just said, did that mean—?

            “You knew,” Jayce said.

            Viktor, at least, had the decency not to lie.

            “I did.”

            The truth was a lance. Jayce felt the impact of entry, the forceful slide through flesh, the exit. He felt thrown from his horse, felt the wind knocked from his lungs as the most fundamental part of his world revealed itself false.

            “Did you even try to keep Zaun from building them?”

            Viktor swallowed. “I did not.” 

            Viktor had kept this secret from him.

            The truth hurt more than Jayce could even comprehend, like his blood was pooling across the floor but he could not believe it was his blood.

            “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “No one in the world can prevent my mother from pursuing the course of action he deems best,” Viktor replied.

            “That’s no excuse!” Jayce cried, wounded. “No one can prevent Cassandra Kiramman from doing whatever she thinks is best, but I’ve tried, Viktor. I’ve endangered our name, our family by keeping weapons out of Piltover’s hands. I’ve completely destroyed my relationship with my patron by disobeying her orders. Every time I go into that council chamber, they tell me to make weapons for them, and every time I tell them no. Meanwhile, what? Zaun’s manufacturing weapons enhanced by shimmer and amassing an army?”

            Viktor was silent.

            An affirmation.

            Jayce couldn’t bear to look at him, not as the world continued to crumble. He turned away, a horrible, dreadful knot cinching tighter and tighter around his heart.

            “What happened to keeping the peace?” he asked.

            He’d told Cassandra that Zaun was keeping the peace, and like the naïve fool he was, he’d actually believed it.

            “When my mother and I agreed to the mate-bond, we did so under false pretenses,” Viktor said, which did not help. Jayce shut his eyes. “The only one who entered into that treaty honestly was you, my dove.” Viktor’s fingers brushed his, but Jayce recoiled from the touch like the sting of a brand. “My duty was to gain time for Zaun—for my mother—but his desires are no longer mine, Jayce.”

            A hiccupping laugh jumped from his mouth.

            “You expect me to believe you want peace now?”

            “You know me,” Viktor said, and his voice was so small. “You know me, Jayce. You know my heart. We are bondmates. We—”

            “Exactly.” Jayce flipped around to face him. “We’re bondmates. We’re supposed to be loyal to each—”

            “My mother’s actions are not my own.”

            “My problem’s not your mother’s actions, Viktor,” Jayce said, another strange chuckle following the first. “It was incredibly stupid of me not to assume Silco was planning something, yes, but do you know why I didn’t make assumptions? Because you didn’t tell me. You know every single thing that goes on in Piltover’s council chambers because I bring those problems to you. Is it so absurd for me to think you’d bring me Zaun’s problems in return? That you’d tell me what’s going on so we can work them out together? Of course I’d assume you didn’t know about this. Why would you keep it from me if you wanted to stop it from happening?”

            “It isn’t his fault,” Powder said. “I promise, I—”

            “Powder,” Viktor said, and the girl quieted.

            Attuned to Viktor through their bond, Jayce sensed the exercise of sympathy. Magic his mate had promised never to use on him. Magic he so freely imposed upon his family.  If Viktor had used sympathy on Jayce, would he even know?

            Viktor looked him in the eye, and Jayce flinched—forgetting, momentarily, that sympathy did not enable Viktor to read his thoughts.

            “My mother wishes to conquer Piltover,” Viktor said.

            After everything, the revelation should not have come as a surprise, but it did.

            It did, and it destroyed him.

            From the beginning, Jayce had known Piltover’s long-term objective. The conquering of Zaun. That subjugation was the reason they’d entered an unfavorable treaty: to obtain Viktor and lay claim to any mages born from their bond. Jayce had sworn never to let that happen, had feared sharing their studies with the Lords’ Council knowing they could make a mage of anyone with the right tools. The last thing he wanted was for Piltover to conquer Zaun. Yet, Viktor had encouraged him to give the council their magic. Was this why? To make them think they had the upper hand?

            Viktor said, “I wish to see our nations united, but I no longer agree with my mother’s approach. He wants revenge, repayment for the wounds of the past. I want our people to live in peace. Before our bond, I did not believe that was possible, but I know now that it is. Only you could show me this.”

            Jayce’s mind was reeling, too many strong emotions in a spiraling storm. Viktor would sense that, and in his anger Jayce wished for once to have a little privacy. To be able to keep his feelings to himself.

            Not only had Zaun begun making weapons fueled by shimmer, but they’d planned to use those weapons to march over the bridges they now controlled. They planned to conquer Piltover. They’d brokered one hell of a treaty, played the lords for all they were worth, then given them a mage they’d known would foil every single one of their schemes, and Jayce was nothing more than the conduit for all of it. The catalyst. The blood consumed in the casting of a spell. He was allowed to be angry about that, but he couldn’t be angry without worrying what Viktor would sense, and that only spurred his anger onward.

            “Jayce...” Viktor whispered, and Jayce could hear the tears held back.

            “I need—to think,” Jayce replied through his teeth.

            He needed fresh air. Daylight.

            Space.

            The next thing he knew, the tower stairs were underfoot. He thought he heard Viktor call after him, but the rushing of blood had returned to his ears.

**

Viktor stared the empty doorway. All around him, the light that spilled through that doorway glinted off the edges of swords and spears. Jayce had vanished without a backward glance, but each time Viktor blinked—and how furiously he blinked—his eyes tricked him into thinking that the doorway was not empty, that Jayce had not gone, but Viktor could not budge his feet, could not lift his legs, could not go after him, could not look away.  

            What had he done, what had he done, what had he done?

            “V! V, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

            Distantly, he felt Powder tugging on his sleeve, heard her desperate sobs. Distantly, some maternal instinct reared and he wanted to strangle and comfort his sister in equal measure.

            This was not Powder’s fault. Blame rested solely on Viktor.

            His mate had left him and he could not breathe.

            “V, please, you’re scaring me, please say something...”

            Distant still, tears burned his eyes and stung as they rolled down his cheeks.

            At once, Viktor fled the armory.

            Powder cried out, but did not follow. Viktor ascended the stairs as fast as his legs would let him climb. He stumbled onto the landing a few floors above his own and pushed open the door to Silco’s rooms without knocking. Inside, his mother sat up at his desk with a start, shock and alarm colliding with sympathy.

            “Viktor?”

            “We must stop the smiths,” Viktor gasped.

            Those five words were all he could manage before he collapsed to the floor, his staff slipping from his fingers. The wood and metal landed as hard as he did, and part of the glass tubing shattered, spilling shimmer across the floor. Silco was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room to kneel at Viktor’s side, hands on his shoulders.

            “What in the name of the gods has happened?”

            Viktor’s shoulders shook under Silco’s hands. He was sobbing. He had no idea how long he’d been sobbing, but hot tears ran down his cheeks in broad saline trails. Every breath he took was agony—not deep enough, shuddering from his damaged lungs before any oxygen could reach his brain or bloodstream.

            “We must—stop...the smiths,” Viktor said again. “We must not make the weapons, Mama, please.” He so rarely addressed Silco as mama, but he was too vulnerable, too wounded now to stay his tongue. “Please...”

            “What happened, Viktor?” Silco asked again.

            The whole story poured out of Viktor all at once—incoherent, interrupted by sobs. Silco listened, but as he listened, he grew colder and colder.

            Viktor did not understand.

            “Have you forgotten our promise?” Silco asked, and Viktor could not understand. Danger saturated his mother’s words, but that did not make sense. Silco clicked his tongue. “I see you have forgotten.”

            He rose, leaving Viktor bereft, blinking.

            Silco put his back to Viktor.

            “A princess of Zaun does not sob and snivel over delivering offense to a Piltovian alpha,” his mother said. “A princess of Zaun does not stray from the course once it is set. A princess of Zaun does not forget who he is.” Turning on his heel, Silco snatched Viktor up by the robes of one shoulder, pulling the clothing aside to reveal his mate mark. “This means nothing. Whatever bond you think you have, he will break it the moment he believes you have betrayed him.”

            “He won’t,” Viktor whispered.

            “Then where is he now? Gone? Guaranteed to come back? My child, you are far too intelligent to be this naïve.” 

            Quieter tears slipped past Viktor’s defenses.

            “If we halt—”

            Silco released the grip on his robes and Viktor tumbled to the floor.

            “I will not halt the production of weapons for Zaun, for the liberation of all people, for the sake of your bondmate’s delicate sensibilities,” he growled. “This mate-bond was arranged, Viktor. It is a political union first. You know your duty.”

            “He loves me, Mama,” Viktor said. “I love him.”

            Silco laughed.

            Viktor had expected the declaration might touch that tender part of his mother he knew all the spines and barbs were built to protect, but Silco laughed.

            “Is this how I raised you? To fall for the allure of our sworn enemies?”

            “You raised me to think for myself, to—”

            Silco laughed again—loud and piercing and harsh in Viktor’s ears.

            “No, I did not,” Silco replied. “I raised you to think like me, to see the world as I see it, to understand the sacrifices you must make in order to uphold your duty, and you learned nothing.” He pointed an accusing finger at Viktor. “You are my child before you are Jayce Talis’s bondmate, and this is not what you were made to do.”

            Another terrible revelation lurked behind those words, some other secret kept.

            Breathless, Viktor stared at his mother.

            “What do you mean?”

            Silco’s wrath subsided, replaced in an instant by a sharp and driving fear.

            “I raised you to be more than this,” he said, but the words were hollow.

            “What do you mean?”

            “What I have said.”

            “Tell me.”

            “Viktor...”

            “Tell me!”

            Fortified by sympathy, the words loosened Silco’s tongue and the truth came forth.

            “When Singed informed me he had a child who showed promise in attuning to the Arcane, I asked him to make me a true blood mage—a mage for Zaun and Zaun alone, a mage unlike any the world had ever seen. He succeeded.”

            Indeed, he had.

            Viktor’s heart had stopped.

            His lungs stilled.

            His blood slowed in his veins. 

            His whole life a fabrication.

            His mother an accessory to the torture he had endured.

            Raised to serve as Herald of the Arcane, as High Blood Mage, as Princess of Zaun. A bargaining chip. A weapon. An omega. A mage. A creature to be leashed and lashed and made to conquer Piltover, to bleed them dry, to bear the burden of every action, every mistake, every decision his mother made. Raised to submit, to obey, to hold up a society that had never accepted him as one of their own.

            That already-compromised foundation collapsed on him.

            Viktor folded to the floor.

            Someone was crying—wrenching, horrible, keening screams of sorrow that ripped the heart and throat to shreds.

            “Viktor—”

            “LEAVE!” someone shouted, and the blood that dripped from Silco’s nose following the order pattered the floorboards beside Viktor’s shaking hands.

            His mother had no choice but to go.

            His mother.

            His mother.

            Another aching, sorrowful scream echoed through the tower as Viktor collapsed on himself, wrapping his arms around such useless, trembling legs.

Chapter Text

Facing the wilderness, every exhalation from Jayce’s lungs transformed into a visible cloud.

            He hated the winter. He hated the cold. He hated the snow and the wind. He hated the darkness most, but he hated the winter even now with the sun bright in the unforgiving blue of the sky.

            He had taken neither cloak nor fur when leaving the tower, and had not stopped at the edge of the crevasse, but walked until he’d reached the boundary of the city on the surface. He stood and stared at barren hills and yellowed bushes that glittered with frost, one long and winding dirt road marked with potholes disappearing into the distance, Zaun and Piltover and all of their problems at his back.

            Zaun’s wilderness looked just like Clan Kiramman land.

            Jayce shivered.

            Zaun had plans to conquer Piltover. Viktor had known. Viktor had not told him.

            His eyes welled, but as much as he wanted to cry, the tears would not fall.

            He’d closed his heart and mind to their bond the moment he’d left the armory. He needed time to think, to feel, on his own. To lick his wounds. Maybe that was selfish, but he was only human. Human, pathetic, and deceived.

            The wind blew, and it cut right through him.

            Viktor had known and he had not told him.

            The landscape blurred with tears as his thoughts spun in pointless circles.

            All his life, Piltover and Zaun had been at odds. The proposition of a peace treaty had filled him with such radical hope. That hope had led him to agree to serve as representative bondmate. He had entered that treaty honestly, and therefore naively, too inexperienced to understand that other people were not necessarily candid just because he was. Everyone had used him. Zaun, Piltover, the Lords’ Council, Mel, Cassandra, even Caitlyn. Jayce had furnished her with the means to avoid becoming Piltover’s representative bondmate by taking her place.

            He couldn’t help but feel that their nations would have gotten exactly what they’d wanted if Caitlyn had entered the mate-bond instead.

            Instinct thrashed. Viktor was his omega—but the aggrieved, logical part of his mind wondered if that compulsion toward loyalty had only to do with the sinking of his teeth into Viktor’s neck, the consumption of his blood and bond hormone, the fusing of their souls.

            He could not take back a mate-bond, could not unmake an alloy, could not change his mind. He’d risked everything for change.

            Now his life would never be the same.

            Their first night together, when he’d entered that tent and seen Viktor on the furs, the immediate concern for his bondmate had brought him to his knees. He’d felt so driven to protect and please him, to shower him with praise and kisses, to knot and mark and claim him. Their first morning together, Jayce had been so incomprehensibly happy just to hold a bondmate in his arms—but how much of that was instinct and nothing more?

            Did it matter?

            When Viktor had emerged from the litter, when their eyes had met through that veil, some piece of the universe had clicked into place. As if their lives and souls were already intertwined, and Jayce had simply been waiting to meet this soul-mate. Jayce was exactly the right kind of stupid to believe in love at first sight. He could not rationalize those feelings away. Love was irrational. He loved Viktor, and that love was precisely the source of the wound in his heart. That love had betrayed his trust.

            Around and around and around in circles. Zaun. Piltover. Peace. Mate-bond. Blood. Viktor. Zaun.

            Frost and gravel crunched behind him.

            Whirling, Jayce found Vander approaching from the bottom of the hill.

            They eyed each other for a moment.

            “All right, lad?” the king of Zaun asked.

            “How did you find me?” Jayce replied, childishly.

            “They call me the Hound of the Underworld for a reason.”

            The playful response failed to lighten Jayce’s mood. He turned his back to Vander. Undeterred, the king came to stand beside him in silence. Vander cast his gaze across the winter wilds, then offered Jayce the spare cloak tossed over his shoulder. Part of Jayce was tempted to refuse, to relieve his mental anguish through physical suffering, but he relented and wrapped the cloak around his shoulders.

            The pair of them stood in silence for a moment more.

            Bitter, Jayce asked, “Did you know?”

            The sigh that left Vander’s mouth turned into a cloud, too.

            “I do now,” he said.

            Dipping into the interior pocket of his own cloak, Vander retrieved a smoking pipe and a tin of tobacco. He required neither flint nor fire to ignite it—some artifice of Powder’s sparking a flame for him. Vander took a long draw and exhaled a different kind of cloud.

            “Listen, Jayce,” he said, but Jayce was in no mood to listen to anything from anyone. “You’re caught up now in a problem that never should have been yours to solve. This...feud between Piltover and Zaun—it’s ancient history. History Silco and I couldn’t leave alone. We wanted better, and we kicked that hornet’s nest without a single thought for how many people were going to get stung.”

            The words offered little comfort.

            Jayce huffed. “Why are you here?”

            “Dispatched to find you,” Vander replied.

            “By whom?”

            “Silco.”

            Quiet disbelief saw Jayce turning at last to look Vander in the eye. Vander met his gaze, steady and open. He let Jayce see beyond the veneer of kingship to the man underneath. A man just as wounded by his devotion to a fierce and powerful omega.

            A man who would likewise do anything for his bondmate.

            “The rumors are true, then?” Jayce asked.

            “Don’t know what rumors you’ve heard,” Vander replied with a sigh, “but he and I are—were bondmates.” Jayce almost could not fathom that in light of everything, this was the conversation they were having right now. “I broke that bond. Used to say he drove me to it, but the decision was mine.”

            Vander looked away. Toward the wilderness.

            His kingdom, hard won.

            “When you’re young, and in love, it feels like there’s nothing in the world you can’t do.” His eyes shined at some distant memory. “We never agreed on everything, but we both wanted to see Zaun free. I wanted to politic and protest. Silco wanted to fight. To my frustration, it was the fighting that made Piltover pay attention to us.”

            Jayce knew the history, drilled into him by Cassandra. Zaun had provoked constant skirmishes and driven those not loyal to their cause across the bridges into present-day Piltover. Piltover’s counterattack had attempted to reclaim that land, and destroyed the city on the south side of the river in the process. Zaun had emerged victorious in the end—decimating Piltover’s army after retreating to the Fissures.

            “We won our freedom, but not independence,” Vander said. “Whether we like it or not, Piltover and Zaun are linked. That bond cannot be broken. Silco wanted it severed. Even after we got our kingdom, he couldn’t give up the fight.”

            Of course, Piltover had not taken kindly to Zaun’s secession and waged economic warfare, which Zaun had met with outright, if clandestine, bloodshed. At the time, Zaun had lacked the wealth or industry to stand on its own, and Piltover had been unable to decipher their battle tactics, leading to a stalemate. Piltover had imposed strictures, squeezed Zaun for all they were worth, and Zaun had lashed out against the treatment, leading to tighter restrictions still.

            “Nothing I said ever got through to him,” Vander continued. “He wouldn’t accept that we had the chips for politics, so he kept provoking fights. Kept kicking that hornet’s nest.”

            The king’s expression sobered.

            “One of those fights cost Powder and Vi both their parents,” he said. “Good friends of ours. Good people. When they died, I...couldn’t handle the grief. Took it out on him. Nearly killed him for it. Never felt so betrayed in my life. In that moment, I’m sure he felt the same.”

            Jayce recalled the battle in question. A child at the time, he had read the reports while safe and sequestered at Castle Kiramman. The encounter had been particularly bloody, fought over one of the bridges. Zaun had suffered heavy losses and retreated underground to resolve internal disputes and build strength. Piltover had continued their exploitation, confident in their perceived victory. Nothing had ever truly settled, though. Spats, tension, clashes of swords or fists—they’d all continued until the talks of the peace treaty had begun. Even then, both sides had intended to use that treaty to conquer the other for good.

            Vander placed a gentle hand on Jayce’s shoulder.

            “Silco will never give up this fight, Jayce,” he said. “These weapons, this army—they’re simply the next steps in a war he’s been waging since we were children.”

            “And you?” Jayce asked.

            “I believe in the treaty,” Vander replied. “Ridiculous, I know, but we were one people once. I’m certain we could be one people again. Seeing you and Viktor together, I’m even more certain of that.”

            Viktor.

            Jayce’s eyes welled. Vander squeezed his shoulder.

            “I know you’re hurt. Believe me, I know.” He sounded pretty hurt himself. “You have every right to be, but...something happened between Silco and Viktor after you left. I couldn’t get a coherent story out of Silco when he asked me to find you, but...he looked the same way he did the night I broke our bond.”

            The last person on earth whose feelings Jayce cared about right now was Silco. Strange, sharp, and inscrutable Silco who had managed to draw Jayce into his orbit without lifting a finger. He’d hungered after that man’s praise, followed his advice, willfully blinded himself to his schemes. Admired him, even. Why? How? Jayce could not make sense of it without attributing some form of supernatural charisma to him. Silco simply commanded respect.

            So did his son.

            Jayce’s throat cinched tight.

            Vander seemed to sense his thoughts.

            “Viktor and Silco have a bond I’ve never seen Silco share with anyone else,” he said. “I know he loves Powder and Vi, and I know Viktor’s one of mine, too, but at the core, he’s Silco’s boy. Their minds...I don’t know, resonate. They’re intelligent and dangerous and formidable and absolutely magnetic. The rest of us can’t help getting caught up in that magic.”

            He gave Jayce a sorry, knowing smile.

            “Your bondmate needs you,” he said. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

            The thought of facing Viktor now brought a sick pit to Jayce’s stomach. He did not know how to set aside or compartmentalize his anger. Viktor had impaled him with this deception. But what must Vander have felt, knowing his bondmate’s decisions had cost loved ones their lives? What furious grief had driven him to attempt to take his bondmate’s life? Jayce tried to feel some relief, find some mercy in the fact that in his and Viktor’s case, no battles had yet begun, but that meant so little when the core of the issue was not bloodshed, but shattered trust.

            “Can you forgive him?” Vander asked.

            Jayce shook his head. “I don’t know.”

            You know me, Viktor had said. You know my heart.

            “If your first answer isn’t ‘no’,” Vander said, “that’s enough for now.”

            Jayce looked at him. Vander met his gaze, forthright and honest in a way no one had been with Jayce in a very, very long time. He was a good man, a noble king, and—as Jayce realized for the first time—an ally. An ally who had made as many mistakes and missteps as anyone. Perhaps more.

            “You don’t know what happened?” Jayce asked.

            Vander shook his head. “Only that Silco was desperate.”

            Desperation in Silco was likely a sign of disaster.

            That did not bode well for anyone.

            “Where is Viktor?”

            “The tower,” Vander replied. “As far as I know.”

            Nodding, Jayce drew in a deep breath. The cold air burned his lungs. He flexed his hands. Nodded again. Said, “Thank you, Vander,” and headed for the Fissures.

            He knew the way to the tower by heart. He turned off his mind and relied on muscle memory to keep his legs moving. Bridges led to stairs that led to tunnels that provided the quickest route to the bottom. He had walked the same route each day he’d returned from council meetings. The warmth and the wet and the sulfur silently engulfed him, artificial light illuminating his path. He wasn’t ready to reopen himself to the bond, not yet, but as he descended, his engagement mark began to burn with a strange and searing cold.

            Around him, Zaunites went about their daily lives.

            Jayce envied them.

            His engagement mark burned colder.

            What he wouldn’t give to be an ordinary person again. He’d wanted renown, wanted his name recorded in history books as the man who had brought magic to the masses. He’d give up that dream now to live a quiet life, but giving up meant toppling the delicate balance of Piltovian politics.

            His engagement mark burned colder still.

            Fuck politics. Mel had pushed politics on him by proposing the formation of Clan Talis. Silco had pushed politics on him by agreeing Piltover should make him a lord. Caitlyn had pushed politics on him by refusing her role in the treaty. Jayce wanted peace, not politics, and his own countrymen had thrown him to the mercy of some of the most conniving political minds on the planet. How the hell was he supposed to compete?

            Colder and colder the mark burned and burned.

            Then Jayce remembered he was never intended to compete.

            He was intended to be controlled.

            Maybe he should build Piltover’s weapons. Maybe he should place unmitigated magic in the hands of the Lords’ Council. If Zaun and Piltover wanted to fight, let them fight. Maybe they’d destroy each other in the process and finally leave the rest of the world in peace.

            His feet met the bottom of the crevasse, and his engagement mark flared. Jayce gritted his teeth, gripping his hand to ward off the pain, but as the pain passed, and he let go, the mark began to glow.

            It brought Jayce to a perfect standstill.

            Beautiful iridescent light shined in a halo around his hand. The color and quality of the light shifted almost imperceptibly. White one moment, pink or green the next. It was as eerie as it was ethereal. Jayce could not tear his eyes away.

            Something terrible had happened to Viktor. He knew it instinctively. Instinct he could neither silence nor resist.

            Jayce bolted for the tower.

            The tableau that greeted him stopped him dead once more.

            Around the base, every single resident of the camp stood outside their tents. Their eyes pointed upward, entirely blank, mouths hung wide open. Their healing scars were glowing, too. Tears streamed down their faces. Mourning emanated from them so tangibly, the steam in the air had cooled and vanished.

            Winter had come to the Fissures.

            Alarmed, Jayce reached for the nearest person to ask what had happened, but the instant he made contact, everything they had experienced crashed over him as if he had experienced it himself: a trembling of the earth, a terrible cry from the tower, a wrenching of their minds toward the one to whom they were all sympathetically linked, a cataclysmic grief that rendered the body inert.

            Jayce pulled away, gasping under the weight of such screaming sorrow.

            Viktor.

            He rushed toward the tower.

            Hands grasped at him, trying to impede his progress, but he shook them off. None followed him across the threshold. Jayce climbed the stairs three or four at a time until a painful pulse from his engagement mark nearly took him to his knees. He pressed on, fighting his way upward and flinging open every door as he searched for his mate.

            When he reached the landing that led to Silco’s quarters, he had to throw his entire weight against the door to force it open.

            Inside, the floorboards and furniture glittered with frost like the hills above.

            The room was so cold that every panted breath from Jayce’s lungs puffed into a cloud. Bizarre, wispy tendrils wavered in and out of visibility in the air—an iridescent, inverted aurora. The fire had been doused, the lanterns extinguished, and in that darkness, Viktor lay on the floor, rumpled, shivering, his back to the doorway. His hair splayed in a small puddle of blood and shimmer pooled near his head and broken staff.

            Sobs echoed unnaturally off the walls.

            Jayce slipped in the frost as he rushed to Viktor’s side.

            He bent over his mate, almost afraid to touch him. Tears streamed from Viktor’s eyes, wetting his whole face. Two trails of bright red blood flowed from his nose, over his lips and chin. His mouth was closed, but the sound that keened from him was so horrible and heartbreaking, Jayce’s already-shattered heart shattered all over again.

            Cautious, he lifted Viktor’s head to turn him onto his back and check for injuries.

            The omega was completely limp. His head weighed heavy, but still felt so light—the frailty of his body more apparent than ever.

            “Viktor?”

            Viktor’s eyes were empty. Jayce brushed his mate’s hair away from his face, the strands sticky with blood and shimmer, but he could find no source for the blood other than his nose. That was a lot of blood to have come from just his nose. Every sob sent a spasm through Viktor’s limbs, ice cold as Jayce reached to hold them down, to try to warm and calm him.

            An acute horror crept up Jayce’s spine as he realized he could not smell Viktor’s scent at all. Usually, an upset omega would flood the room with their distress, but Viktor had simply disappeared.

            Never in his life had Jayce been so terrified as he was now.

            Folding, his pressed his lips to Viktor’s forehead.

            “Viktor...”

            He pressed his lips to his cheek.

            “Viktor, please...”

            He pressed his lips to his lips and tasted the salt of tears and the tang of blood.

            “Please...”

            Trembling, Jayce tucked his head against Viktor’s neck, his mouth so near the scar that had altered the course of both their lives. Fervent, he pressed his lips to Viktor’s mate mark.

            The quality of Viktor’s breath changed.

            Jayce held his own.

            “...my dove?”

            Jayce sat up with a start. Looking down at Viktor, he watched the omega’s eyes try to focus on his face.

            “Viktor?”

            “You...came back...?”

            “What happened?”

            “...I...hurt you—betrayed your trust, you—cannot return to me, my dove, I will—only wring your neck again, and again...”

            Viktor’s eyes blurred, new tears welling up to roll down his temples. Jayce tried to stand, tried to bring Viktor with him, but the omega was inexplicably rooted to the floor. Jayce pulled the cloak from his shoulders, swathed it around Viktor, wiped his tears with his hands and his blood with his sleeves.

            “We can talk about it later, Viktor,” Jayce said. “Tell me what happened.”

            “...cannot...”

            “Then show me.”

            Jayce doubled over to press their foreheads together. The flash of blood and ash and infinity that stung his mind reminded him that he had closed himself to their bond. He reopened that connection without hesitation, and the grief that swept through him was so exquisitely painful, his legs gave out.

            “...hurts...” Viktor wept.

            “I know,” Jayce said, pressing harder, closer. “I know, Viktor. I’m sorry...”

            Viktor only continued to cry. No voice entered Jayce’s mind, no imagery. Viktor’s mental fortitude and resilience, among his most remarkable traits, had been pushed beyond their breaking point. His bondmate had broken, and Jayce did not know how to help.

            He wrapped his arms around Viktor and held him tight.

            One, long, lingering keen left Viktor’s mouth, shaking the tower.

            Then he fell still.

            Sitting up again, Jayce discovered Viktor’s eyes closed and his face gone slack.

            “Viktor?”

            Overhead, the iridescent aurora flickered and faded. Fearing the worst, Jayce froze, but their bond remained intact. Viktor had not died.

            He had wept himself into unconsciousness.

            An awful, empty silence filled the room.

            Jayce had to do something.

            The frost remained, but testing revealed Viktor was no longer fixed to the floor. With the tower below him and the chasm above, Jayce felt the weight of the world pressing down on them both. He kissed Viktor’s face.

            “I don’t know what to do, princess...”

            Viktor, of course, did not answer.

            Gentle, as if handling glass, Jayce bundled his mate up in the cloak. Whatever had happened had likely happened in this room, and Jayce wanted to put the whole tower behind them, wanted to go to the one place he knew was safe, the place Viktor had taken him and Ximena when fleeing the Kiramman manor. He gathered Viktor in his arms. Carried him down the stairs. Upon reaching the ground floor, however, movement in the corner of the room caught his attention.

            Powder, cowering—her own face wet with tears.

            “Can you help me, Powder?” Jayce asked, his voice three steps removed.

            Rising, wiping her face, Powder nodded.

            “Go to Viktor’s chambers and pack up our nest and our bond cord,” Jayce said. He disliked the idea of Powder handling such treasured items, but he disliked the idea of letting go of Viktor even more. “Bring them to The Last Drop. Will you do that?”

            Powder nodded again and vanished up the stairwell.

            Jayce hefted Viktor more securely into his arms and shouldered open the tower doors.

            Outside, the camp of Piltovians had been freed from Viktor’s thrall as well, a recent thing, their eyes still shining with tears, their expressions confused. Many turned toward Jayce when he emerged and took alarm at the sight of Viktor’s bloody, tear-streaked, unconscious face, but the subsonic growl in Jayce’s chest kept all from approaching.

            He carried his mate to The Last Drop unimpeded.

            There, Violet admitted him through the holding chamber. He asked her to empty the tavern so the patrons and their emotions would not disturb Viktor. She agreed. She even brought up hot water, soap, a few cloths, and a comb once Jayce had sequestered Viktor in his room.

            “What the fuck happened?” she asked.

            Jayce shook his head. “I don’t know. Something with Silco.”

            Frowning, Violet departed. Breathless, Powder arrived. Every single blanket, fur, and pillow from their nest sat meticulously folded inside a trunk too heavy for her to have carried on her own. The bond cord rested on top.

            “Thank you, Powder.”

            She made herself scarce, and Jayce needed something to do.

            Wetting a cloth, he carefully cleaned Viktor’s face. Then he readjusted to dip his hair directly into the pot of water, rinsing out the blood and shimmer, working soap through the strands, smoothing snarls with the comb. He wrang as much of the water from Viktor’s hair as he could before weaving it into a haphazard attempt at a braid. Every so often, he pressed his fingers to Viktor’s throat and lowered his ear to his mouth to make sure his heart was still beating and his lungs were still breathing.

            They were.

            He settled his mate on the bed, hung the bond cord from the low ceiling, then built their nest around him, only moving him once to spread a blanket beneath his body. The nest was a poor substitute, but Jayce lacked the instinct. He’d never built one alone, and he hoped it would suffice as he climbed in, pulled Viktor close, and released as much of his protective pheromone as he could muster when he felt so defenseless himself.

            Viktor gasped awake.

            The sudden inhalation caused him to choke and cough. Reflexively, he tried to scramble away from Jayce, limbs flailing, but Jayce locked him in the vice of his arms and would not let go. The bedframe, floorboards, and walls of the room shuddered.

            Fresh blood trickled from Viktor’s nose.

            “Viktor? Viktor, breathe. Breathe.”

            “You must—fly, my dove,” Viktor replied. “I’ll only—hurt you...”

            His eyes rolled back and he went limp once again.

            Sitting up, Jayce looked at his mate—who had hurt him, who was hurting, whose hurting hurt him, too—and he could not help the horrible, helpless tears that filled his eyes any more than he could help but shed them, leaning over Viktor to hold him close and finally, finally cry.

Hours passed.

            Viktor did not wake.

            Jayce refused to leave their nest, refused to even take his eyes off his mate for fear he might miss some change in his condition.

            Left alone with his thoughts, an awful dissonance plagued Jayce. Viktor had broken his trust. He wanted to be angry. He was angry, but how could he be angry with his mate when his mate was in a state like this? The circumstances made him feel like he was not allowed to be angry, and that made him angrier still, made him wonder if his anger was to blame, and that made him angry, too.

            Some of that anger belonged to their bond, at least. His mate had been harmed, and that sent Jayce into attack formation.

            The rumbles that rolled through his chest carried fury, comfort, and concern in equal measure as he cradled Viktor in his arms and pressed kisses to the mark on his neck, hoping that would wake him up again. He’d wanted to claim Viktor before his teeth had broken that skin. He clung to that truth, but it muddled with the memory of the driven instinct of his body in rut, of Viktor in those arresting red clothes, scar on full display.

            Jayce could not rely on instinct to tell him the truth. He could not rely on his emotions to tell him the truth, either. Not with sympathy in play. The only thing he could rely on was Viktor. Either Jayce believed him, or he did not. And how could he believe Viktor when the reason he’d walked away in the first place was because Viktor had kept the truth from him?

            They needed to talk.

            Would Viktor even be able to talk?

            Jayce wanted Viktor to wake up, and he dreaded the moment Viktor would wake up.

            Violet checked in every hour or so—bringing food or water Jayce neither ate nor drank. He marked time by her visits, and by the evening, Viktor was still unconscious.

            “Where’s Silco?” Jayce asked the next time Violet ducked into the room.

            She’d brought up a bottle of sulfur cider, and poured Jayce a glass, which he refused, so she tossed back her own, then sipped from his.

            “Dunno,” she replied.

            Jayce growled.

            “You asked.”

            “You didn’t see him when he came to Vander?”

            “I’ve had run of The Last Drop since lantern rise this morning,” Violet said. “Wherever Vander is now, he’s probably with Silco—talking him back from the ledge of...” She waved a hand at Viktor. “...whatever caused this.”

            “I don’t want Silco anywhere near Viktor until we find out what happened.”

            “No shit.”

            Viktor stirred.

            “Go, Vi,” Jayce said, sitting up. Violet protested, but a snarl from Jayce saw her raising her hands and leaving the room. Jayce hovered over his mate. “Viktor?” He stroked his cheek, kissed his forehead. “Come on. Come back to me, princess, please...”

            Brow furrowing, Viktor fought his way up from unconsciousness. Watching him struggle, Jayce’s eyes filled with tears again. A few welled up and dripped onto Viktor’s face.

            Viktor flinched, then his eyes blinked open.

            He and Jayce stared at each other—a new veil between them.

            “...Jayce?”

            Jayce nodded.

            Shrinking, Viktor began to tremble. His eyes glazed as the memory of all that had transpired played across his face. Whatever it was, it threatened to overwhelm him once again. Jayce grasped his shoulders and shook him out of it.

            Viktor simply fell limp and let his tears roll down his temples.

            “You should not have come back,” he said, his voice hoarse, throat raw. “I have betrayed you. I have broken our bond...”

            “No you haven’t,” Jayce replied. “I just closed myself to it. I needed time to think, that’s all.” Now he’d had too much time to think, had thought himself into a bottomless pit. “It isn’t broken.” He pushed his own emotions through their bond—the fear and the anxiety and the anger. The uncertainty. “See?”

            Feeling what Jayce felt, Viktor curled in on himself.

            “I am so sorry, Jayce,” he whispered.

            “You don’t need to ap—”

            “I do!”

            The whole room rattled. Jayce glanced reflexively at the trinkets tinkling on the shelves, and when he looked back, Viktor was sitting up, staring him right in the face. He jumped back, but Viktor grasped his collar.

            “I swore I would do everything in my power to protect you, and I could not even protect you from myself,” Viktor said, suddenly and horrifyingly lucid. “You are my world and I have hurt you again and again, and you do not deserve that. You deserve a mate who will hold you up, who knows how to love you best, who shows you gentleness like yours. You should not have to forgive me only because I am fragile.”

            That was exactly the heart of Jayce’s anger and resentment.

            No exercise of sympathy could have revealed those thoughts to Viktor.

            How terrifying, to be known.

            Whatever had happened in the tower, whatever had broken Viktor and sent Silco to Vander, and Vander to Jayce, Viktor’s first thoughts upon waking were for his bondmate, not himself. That veil hung between them still, a strange metaphysical distance though Viktor hovered only inches away. Just beyond, Jayce could sense the sundering—the need for his mate to cling to anything else but what had transpired in the tower.

            A little blood oozed from Viktor’s nose.

            Jayce took hold of the hand gnarled in his clothes.

            “Lie back, mate,” he said.

            “Do not—call me—mate,” Viktor replied, breath heaving. “I cannot—bear your kindness.”

            His fingers slackened and he tipped backward into the nest, Jayce too close to catch him. That awful keen started in Viktor’s throat again, the heaving breaths turning into sobs.

            “I was not s-supposed to love y-you,” Viktor said. “I was supposed to s-steer you for the benefit of Zaun. I f-foolishly believed I could do b-both. I should have told you. I have no excuse, s-so I will m-make none.”

            Jayce did not know what to say. Did not know what to think. This man weeping in their nest was a master strategist skilled enough to win even Hoskel and Salo to his cause. He was a blood mage capable of ordering Cassandra Kiramman out of the room against her will. He was Zaun’s trump card.

            He was also none of those things.

            How many of those mantles had he donned himself, and how many had been thrust upon his shoulders? Jayce struggled to reconcile the Viktor he knew, the Viktor who worked tirelessly by his side at Hammer House, who blushed at a compliment, who enjoyed being courted, who would have liked to raise pups with him, with a Viktor who would do or say any of those things duplicitously.

            Even now, stretched thin, their bond said that Viktor loved him.

            That bond could not lie.

            “I am sorry, my dove,” Viktor wept. “I will not ask your forgiveness.”

            With those words, a strange relief flooded Jayce, and his anger drained with its passage. He collapsed over Viktor, gathering him into his arms, purring, holding him close. Viktor was too weak to resist, though Jayce sensed his aversion through their bond. He clutched him tighter, determined to dissuade Viktor from telling him to leave again. Viktor recoiled. Jayce rumbled. At last, Viktor relented, drooping beneath him.

            “I love you, Viktor.”

            Truly nothing in the world was going to change that, not even this.

            Viktor hiccupped. “I do not deserve it.”

            Jayce pulled back, perhaps a little too hard, a little too quickly, and fear flashed across Viktor’s face, so Jayce looked him in the eye.

            “One mistake does not define you,” he said.

            Viktor went rigid. He sucked in a deep, sharp breath. His eyes filled with so many tears that they slid free before he’d even blinked. At once, Viktor was sobbing—great, horrible, heaving sobs that wracked him from head to toe—but this time, he threw his arms around Jayce and dug his fingers into his shoulders. Jayce tightened his own grip, squeezing a little too hard.

            “Oh, my dove, my dove,” Viktor wept, clinging to him. “How did you know?”

            Those were the words Viktor had most longed to hear.

            Hurt, betrayed, his trust in tatters still, Jayce held onto his bondmate and let his own grievances rest for now, knowing he was not being asked to forgive, only to comfort. Desperate devotion clawed at him through their bond—Viktor, unmoored from the entire world now save for Jayce. He let his full weight rest atop Viktor, an anchor.

            “I still need time to think,” he said. “We’ll figure this out, but not right now.” Viktor nodded against his shoulder. “What happened in the tower? Can you tell me?”

            The jagged edges of splintered resilience threatened to cut.

            “My mother enlisted Singed to make me a blood mage,” Viktor said, his voice empty and tiny and so far away. “I forced the truth of it from him when I asked him to halt the production of Zaun’s weapons.”

            Jayce went still.

            It was like his blood stopped moving through his veins.

            Slowly, he lifted himself to look down at Viktor, uncertain of his expression, but understanding at least that it was one of naked horror.

            He knew how much Viktor revered his mother, adored him. Silco had rescued and raised Viktor, had taken him from the lowest pit to the highest hilltop, anointed him princess and mage, given him a family and a cause, cultivated his mind and rewarded his capabilities. He had treasured Viktor. Vander was right. The two of them shared an unusual bond—a bond unlike any they shared with anyone else. That bond had broken. A mother revealing himself not just false, but so monstrous it defied all reason.

            Jayce stared at Viktor and marveled at the fact that he was even cogent, that Silco was still alive, that Viktor hadn’t liquified the minds of every single pilgrim who’d had no choice but to bear witness to his grief.

            It was little wonder Viktor felt untethered, entirely alone. He’d betrayed his bondmate for his mother, and his mother had—

            Jayce couldn’t stomach the thought.

            Viktor had not really stopped crying, but his tears started anew. Jayce blinked back to himself to find his bondmate beneath him, shaking and sobbing. They’d both been betrayed today, both had their worlds rearranged, and while it was not fair to compare their experiences, Jayce could not fathom how Viktor must have been feeling.

            Though, he didn’t need to fathom it.

            He could feel it through their bond.

            He had no words for a pain so pointed and penetrating.

            Cupping Viktor’s face in his hands, Jayce smoothed the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs. He looked into those devastating, golden eyes and a soft, sad sigh slipped out.

            “We’ll get through this.”

            “How?” Viktor replied.

            Jayce shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose I’m full of platitudes and false hope, but I believe that, Viktor. We’ll get through this because we must.  That’s enough.”

            Tears brimmed. Rumbling, Jayce leaned down to kiss them away. He kissed the corners of Viktor’s eyes. His temple. His brow. His forehead, nose, and lips. He kissed Viktor’s cheek, and Viktor lifted his arms to wrap them around Jayce’s neck. He clung so tightly that it hurt, but Jayce welcomed the aching pain. Such anguish needed an outlet. Within that embrace, Jayce felt as he had only once before—in their bower, on the day Viktor had told him he loved him. As if he was the center of the world, and the only person keeping Viktor grounded.

            When he kissed Viktor next, Viktor kissed him back. He parted his lips, and Viktor did the same. Tears slid down Jayce’s cheeks as he kissed his mate hard and tasted the tears on Viktor’s mouth, too.

            Their minds and hearts hurt in harmony—wounded for each other, by each other. Jayce kissed Viktor and let his mind empty, let his heart burn, let his body take over and seek comfort, seek relief in the one place he could find it, the same place, paradoxically, where all the pain originated: Viktor.

            Before long, they had relieved each other of their clothes and Jayce turned Viktor over in their nest to kiss each node of his spine, his hips, his rear. Viktor’s scent bloomed slowly, subtly, dark and dusky. His slick was sweet on Jayce’s tongue, around Jayce’s cock when he pushed inside him. He fucked Viktor with mindless purpose, a creature of instinct meeting another creature of instinct in wretched need of release, both seeking something stronger than the pain.

            Neither of them spoke. Viktor met each thrust of Jayce’s hips with a roll of his own until he came some minutes later, and the contraction of his body brought Jayce along with him. Jayce’s rhythm faltered. His knot swelled. He collapsed on top of Viktor, and the two of them breathed heavily together, air huffing in and out of their lungs, their minds quiet at last.

            Many moments passed in silence.

            “Jayce...”

            “Hm?”

            “I want to go home. Tomorrow, can we go home?”

            Wrapping Viktor in his arms, Jayce turned the two of them onto their sides and huddled close. A thousand problems waited for them beyond the boundary of their nest. A thousand problems they could leave behind until they were ready to face them together.

            If nothing else, Jayce could rest assured that he and Viktor were on the same page now.

            There was wisdom in retreat.

            The answer came easily.

            “Yes.”

**

Viktor packed up the pieces of their nest.

            Utterly empty, he moved about his business unable to comprehend how it was that he was upright. The emotions that creeped at the edges of that emptiness were far too terrifying to allow entry. If he let them in, he would cease to exist.

            Therefore, he felt nothing.

            Jayce had dispatched Powder to the tower to gather his research, the remnants of the golden staff, and a few other items he wanted to take with them. Violet stood watch over The Last Drop, turning away patrons and pilgrims alike. Rumor had spread through the Fissures overnight. The princess weeping in his tower, his devotees turned into puppets, the story shifting and changing with each retelling. Viktor lacked the presence of mind to care what anyone heard or thought.

            They wouldn’t have believed the truth.

            Jayce maintained his distance, packing on his own—an effort both to give Viktor space and claim a little for himself.

            Together, they descended to the empty tavern to bid Violet farewell. Powder had returned by then, her small cart of boxes and bundles out-of-place indoors, waiting for the last few trunks. Vander stood nearby, and the three were speaking in hushed tones until Viktor and Jayce arrived. Without hesitation, Vander peeled off to stride over to Viktor and secure him in his arms.

            Viktor leaned against his father and let a few tears fill his eyes.

            “All right, little lamb?” Vander asked.

            Viktor shook his head. “No.”

            He pulled away. Vander let him go, so many questions in his eyes, his emotions a mystery as Viktor had dampened sympathy as much as possible.

            Magic he had begged the gods to give him. Magic he had received.

            “We are leaving for Hammer House,” Viktor said. “I am uncertain when we will return.”

            If they ever returned.

            “Thank you for your hospitality, Papa,” he continued. “Goodbye.”

            He only managed to take a half step before Vander interposed himself between Viktor and the door.

            “What happened, Viktor?”

            Viktor turned his eyes to his father. Vander took a half step back.

            “Ask Silco,” Viktor replied. “See if he is brave enough to give you the truth.”

            He moved past Vander. Jayce followed, shoring Viktor up by taking his arm. As they reached the door, Viktor unleashed a wave of sympathy that would deter any from approaching. Powder pressed through nevertheless.

            “I want to come with you,” the girl said.

            “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Powder,” Jayce replied.

            Beyond The Last Drop’s doors, the streets had cleared. Any lingering onlookers quickly looked away. Viktor paid no attention to them, only seeking a path to the surface. To the sunlight and the snow and the cold. His behavior would only fuel the rumors, but what did he care? Let Silco sort them out. Let Silco distort the truth.

            “Please?” Powder said. “My pony can haul the cart. V could ride in there.”

            “We’re headed into Piltover first,” Jayce replied. “We have to let the council know we’re leaving. I don’t think—”

            “I can wait! I can meet—”

            “Powder, take the cart and retrieve your pony and our moorland horses,” Viktor said. “We will meet you at the bridge across the canal. Council business may not conclude today. If we do not arrive at the bridge by sundown, return to the Fissures and we will meet you at the bridge by sundown tomorrow.”

            Nodding, eyes sparkling, Powder turned on her heel and hurried back to The Last Drop to retrieve the cart she’d left behind.

            Jayce cast Viktor a look of curious surprise.

            “We will need her if we are to uncover the secrets of shimmer,” Viktor replied.

            They made their ascent to the surface in silence. At the edge of the crevasse, Viktor paused to breathe in frigid air, close his eyes, and feel the winter sunlight on his face. No more darkness, no more sulfur. Viktor had not seen the sun since they’d fled Piltover, a little more than six weeks underground. He opened his eyes to find Jayce waiting patiently by his side. Viktor could not comprehend his decision to stand beside him. As he turned to face his mate, the sunlight caught the cloak pin secured beneath his throat. Their clan crest. The Talis hammer crossed by Viktor’s rune.

            “The first I ever saw the sun was when my mother brought me to the surface,”  he said. “It was so bright, I could not keep my eyes open.” He laughed a little, though the memory made him sad. “They watered and watered, and he kept telling me to fight through it, that the pain would be worth it, and when I beheld the surface for the first time... I had not believed in a world without shadows. The wilderness was...indescribably beautiful to me.”

            Rumbling, Jayce laid a hand across the back of Viktor’s neck. Squeezed.

            Viktor shut his eyes to breathe a little more fresh air.

            “Come,” he said after a moment. “We should not keep the council waiting.”

            He had no idea how Cassandra Kiramman would respond to his return. Six weeks she had plotted and schemed. Six weeks she had stewed over their previous encounter. Six weeks Jayce had stood against her alone—Piltover’s representative puppet.

            They’d taken precautions before leaving The Last Drop. Viktor dressed in loose robes to hide the flatness of his belly. Jayce had over-scented both the robes and Viktor to obfuscate his own scent, feeble as it was. Anyone with a keen nose was likely to sniff out whether or not he had conceived, and now, at least, they would only smell Jayce.

            The Lords’ Council greeted him as if welcoming an exotic animal into their midst.

            Viktor sat and made himself small. He had no staff, so perhaps they would not view him as a threat. Perhaps they would misunderstand his mood as the illnesses of pregnancy. Hoskel and Salo cast lurid grins his direction as they spoke openly about Jayce’s tools. Lady Medarda offered him a small smile. The others ignored or ogled until Lord Kiramman entered the room and brought the Lords’ Council to heel.

            “Welcome, Lady Talis,” she said as everyone took their seats. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

            “His highness and I will return shortly to Hammer House,” Jayce replied. “He...hasn’t been feeling well, and I wanted him nearby.” Hoskel chuckled and winked conspiratorially at Viktor, who returned an empty, demure smile. “If anyone finds his presence disruptive, we can make other arrangements.”

            This esteemed body had witnessed Jayce strangle Hoskel for an insult to his mate, and none dared object on the off chance that mate was now pregnant.

            The council meeting got underway. Viktor tuned out their voices.

            This was exactly where his mother had wanted him—in attendance at Piltover’s most sacred, most secure discussions. Here, the lords determined all matters of state, all matters of diplomacy, all matters of economy, of trade, of defense. Here, Viktor was supposed to whisper honeyed words in Jayce’s ear, encourage him to persuade the lords down winding paths leading to dead ends while Zaun worked underground to build their armies and furnish them with weapons, secure in knowing their princess had a direct line to invaluable information and the power to make everyone believe him harmless.

            Then, when the time was right, his mother would have unleashed him upon these very same lords. A vessel for his wrath.

            “Now to the discussion of weapons, which we tabled previously at your request, Lord Talis,” Lord Kiramman said.

            Viktor tuned back in.

            “I haven’t changed my mind, my lord,” Jayce replied.

            “Perhaps not, but now your bondmate is here,” Cassandra said. “The purpose of his presence at these meetings is to offer insight on Zaun, is it not? Tell us, Lady Talis. How would Zaun view Piltover’s endeavors to develop magical weaponry?”

            She meant to rile him, or catch him in some verbal trap. Viktor lifted his eyes and addressed the council calmly.

            “I do not think Piltover’s pursuit of armaments would come as a surprise to Zaun,” he said. “This is a nation of progress, and you have made one of the most gifted minds from among your minor houses a lord. To ignore his talents would be illogical. The treaty has soothed the tensions among our peoples, but everyone in this room understands that many things yet remain to be settled. It is only natural that Piltover would wish to take precautions against an old and bitter enemy, particularly if those precautions dissuade that enemy from taking action. As far as I can reason, Piltover has little to lose in developing armaments where Zaun is concerned.”

            Surprised and satisfied, Cassandra looked to Jayce. “You see, Lord Talis—”

            “That is not what Piltover stands to lose,” Viktor said.

            Naturally, Cassandra took affront. “Care to explain, your highness?”

            “Piltover cannot construct these new armaments without Lord Talis,” Viktor replied. “I believe my bondmate has made his opinion on the matter quite clear. He does not wish to build these weapons now. In forcing him, Piltover risks alienating one of its greatest assets. What you stand to lose, my lord, is Jayce himself.”

            They all stared at Viktor. He dared not raise sympathy, and so could make no sense of their expressions. How strange, to realize just how much of his insight relied on his ability to determine exactly what others were feeling.

            “Jayce Talis is not the only smith in Piltover,” Cassandra replied.

            Her focus had narrowed on Viktor, as if the two of them were the only people in the room. His mind itched, fatally curious after what would happen if he ordered her out again.

            “Your smithing guilds hold him in high regard,” Viktor said. “If he refused the work, undoubtedly your next best craftsmen would follow suit.”

            “We have the prototypes. Others would answer the call.”

            “And you expect these smiths to work backwards from prototype? To decode not only how the tools themselves were forged, but to reverse engineer the runes upon them when you yourselves have banned the study of magic among your people?” He was treading dangerous water now, just a little out of his depth. “Even if they have the skill, my lord, do you have the time? The Arcane foci?”

            “Perhaps Clan Talis would be gracious enough to furnish us with the blueprints, then?” Hoskel piped in. “If Lord Talis does not wish to create the weapons himself, certainly there are others who would—”

            “No,” Jayce said.

            All eyes turned toward him.

            “Any weapons Piltover needs will be designed by me.” He looked at Viktor, a shining edge of uncertainty in his eyes, ripples of doubt and regret. “Until I decide what those weapons are and how they will be made, no other smiths will take part in this effort.” He turned his eyes to the council to fix them with an unspoken, Is that understood?

            This was the price to keep Jayce Talis on their side: place all their eggs in his basket or risk alienating him for good.

            “What guarantee have we that you will follow through, Lord Talis?” Cassandra replied, appalled, the only voice in a silent room. Play.

            “None.”

            “You cannot expect—”

            “I do expect it, my lord,” Jayce replied.

            Counterplay.

            “You don’t know your smiths,” he said. “I do. They’re not skilled enough to make what you want. I design the weapons on my terms, or I won’t design them at all.”

            He’d called her bluff.

            Cassandra could threaten and cajole to the ends of the earth, but she had no diplomatic means to truly enforce her will upon Jayce. They needed him, but he no longer needed them. Viktor held his breath, waiting for Cassandra’s next move, perhaps a bribe of that money she’d siphoned from the Kiramman army, but no bribe came. No words came as a matter of fact. She had made a mistake in selecting Jayce to serve as representative bondmate and she was finally beginning to realize it.

            All of her plans had depended upon his loyalty.

            Loyalty she no longer had.

            “Will you design the weapons, Lord Talis?” Lady Medarda asked. The Lords’ Council needed a straight answer.

            Jayce looked at her. “I haven’t decided,” he said. “That depends on Zaun.”

            Eyes turned once more toward Viktor.

            He had nothing to say.

            The meeting adjourned.

            The Lords’ Council concluded their business for the season.

            The other lords departed swiftly, talking amongst themselves. Lord Kiramman cornered Jayce and the two began a hushed and heated discussion. Viktor remained where he was, dependent on Jayce to help him stand.

            “Lady Talis?”

            Lady Medarda had approached him. Had Viktor been able to feel anything, he might have been surprised.

            “It is good to see you, your highness,” Lady Medarda said.

            “You as well, Lady Medarda,” Viktor replied. He indicated for her to take a seat near him, should she wish it. Courteously, Lady Medarda sat. “Lord Talis and I appreciate that we can count at least one friendly face in these chambers.”

            Lady Medarda smiled. “You are kind to say so, Lady Talis.”

            Viktor said nothing.

            “I am sorry you have felt unwell these past weeks,” Lady Medarda continued. “I hope your time with your family was pleasant?”

            She could not know the dagger she had just twisted in his heart.

            Viktor had no idea what his face looked like, no idea what his voice sounded like when he replied, “Yes, my lady.”

            “Lady Talis?”

            That was not Lady Medarda who had spoken. The voice was younger, and had originated from somewhere on the other side of the room. Distant, Viktor turned his gaze toward the door to discover Caitlyn had arrived—either to inquire after the results of the meeting or at the behest of her father. Viktor could not determine if she was relieved or terrified to see him.

            “Good afternoon, Master Kiramman,” his voice replied.

            “Ah, Caitlyn,” Lord Kiramman said, suspending her discussion with Jayce to address her daughter. “Return to the manor and have the servants prepare Lord Talis’s rooms. The princess cannot be expected to travel to Hammer House after dark in his condition, and the day is half over already.”

            Viktor, Jayce, and Caitlyn all exchanged brief expressions of apprehension, but how could any of them refuse?

            Caitlyn turned and left as swiftly as she had arrived. Jayce took his opportunity to escape Cassandra’s talons and came to help Viktor to his feet. They bid Lady Medarda farewell, then put the council chamber behind them. Jayce did not stop walking until they had wound deep into the narrow lanes of the city that afforded at least a little privacy for a lord and lady of Piltover.

            Both of them were quiet for a moment.

            “I should talk to the Orells,” Jayce said. “They can spread the word to the other smiths.”

            Viktor nodded.

            The family was thrilled to see him, of course.

            Children scampered around his feet while Jayce spoke with their father. They told him everything they had done at the peace celebration, every noteworthy event from the weeks that had followed. Eda came down and blushingly showed Viktor the horseshoes she’d crafted now that she was well enough to join her father in the forge. The plague scars upon her arms shined and shifted in the late afternoon light.

            “I am sorry I never came to see you,” she said. “I gave the money Lord Talis gave to me to the others who hoped you might heal them, too. Did they make it?”

            “Indeed, Miss Orells,” Viktor replied. “They did.”

            Arm in arm, Jayce and Viktor left the farriers to their business.

            “I did not realize you had given Miss Orells the money to cross the bridge,” Viktor said.

            “She wanted to come and see you.”

            “She told me.” Viktor tightened his fingers around his bondmate’s arm. “That was kind of you, Jayce.”

            They said no more about it as they headed for the Kiramman manor. Neither had any idea what to expect when they arrived, but the last thing on Viktor’s list was Lord Kiramman’s express and immediate departure. No sooner had Jayce and Viktor arrived than Cassandra and Tobias packed themselves into one of their finest carriages and left the capital—off to Castle Kiramman to enjoy some rest and reprieve after the peace celebration and subsequent council dealings. Viktor and Jayce could have headed for Hammer House following their hosts’ example, but by then the sun was setting and Powder would no longer be waiting at the bridge.

            “What happened?” Caitlyn asked.

            So many people had asked. Neither Viktor nor Jayce really knew where to begin.

            They busied themselves that evening with packing up everything they had left when they’d fled this manor. Caitlyn would send it along behind them. They ate dinner with Caitlyn and discussed nothing untoward under the watchful eyes of the servants.

            Viktor constructed a makeshift nest from the bedding provided, the components of their own nest in the cart with Powder in Zaun.

            He and Jayce took their turns bathing and dressing for bed.

            “Thank you...for today...” Jayce said as he pulled his shirt over his head. “It felt...good. To finally stand up to the Lords’ Council.”

            Viktor shook his head. “I wish I had not left you to fight on your own for so long.”

            Jayce climbed into the nest and seated himself across from Viktor. In the firelight, they examined each other. Gentle, assessing, Jayce lifted a hand to stroke Viktor’s cheek, cup his chin in his palm.

            “How are you feeling?” he asked.

            “I feel nothing,” Viktor replied.

            Silent and understanding, Jayce nodded.

            They went to bed, tentatively curled up together. Sleep proved elusive in the tense atmosphere of an enemy house, and they rose before dawn, a long journey ahead of them.

            “We will entrust the peace to you,” Viktor said as they parted from Caitlyn.

            “Tell Vi we said hello,” Jayce added.

            Caitlyn’s face burned a furious and embarrassed red, and that made Jayce chuckle. His laughter lightened the mood a little, and putting the Kiramman manor behind them only lightened it further. They skirted most of the city on Zaun’s side of the river to meet Powder by the bridge over the canal, the sun just peeking over the horizon. The girl was asleep in the back of the cart, bundled in her cloak and furs.

            “I told you to go back to the Fissures,” Viktor said when she awoke.

            “I didn’t want to miss you...” she replied.

            Jayce saddled both their horses. He and Powder carefully distributed the belongings in the cart across the saddlebags to make room for Viktor without overwhelming the pony. Jayce lifted him into the cart, Powder handed him the reins, and together the three of them crossed out of Zaun, and not into Piltover, but Clan Talis territory.

            Steadily over the course of the morning, the hills transformed into moorland. Rush and heather. Stone and frost. The higher they climbed, the more a gentle snow fell, wetting the road ahead, though not enough to turn it to mud. Viktor breathed the damp air and let the rhythm of the pony’s hooves and the swaying of the cart soothe his nerves. He watched as Jayce’s shoulders lowered was they traveled—the world and its woes behind them now.

            They stopped for lunch in the afternoon, eating a feast Caitlyn had had the manor servants pack for them. Belly full, Powder finally relaxed as well.

            “What’s your house like?” she asked. “Vi told me about it, but you know how she is.”

            “You will like it,” Viktor said. “There is a lot to do. Lots of people around. Lots of space to play. We can go out on the moors, or take the puppies hunting.”

            “That sounds fun,” Powder replied. “Do you have a bow I could borrow?”

            “Of course.”

            “If we catch some rabbits, you could make mittens to trade,” Jayce said. “Our people would love your craftsmanship.”

            Powder beamed. As far as she could tell, the mistakes of the past had been forgiven, and as far as Viktor was concerned, they were. He lacked the strength to be upset with his sister. She lived under Silco’s thumb as much as he had, and so he would not fault her for agreeing to build the weapons, nor revealing their existence to Jayce. In fact, she yammered about them for an entire hour when Jayce asked her to explain what she and Ekko had made.

            “You have a forge, right?” she asked. “I could show you how to build some.”

            “That’s a great idea,” Jayce replied, and Powder beamed all over again.

            “How long until we get there?” she asked.

            “Several hours yet,” Viktor replied. “We will arrive after nightfall.”

            “But the sun’s nearly down...”

            “The position of the sun does not alter the distance left to travel.”

            Rolling her eyes, Powder gave her horse a kick to trot away from Viktor and ahead of Jayce. Jayce fell back to ride beside the cart and the two of them exchanged genuine smiles for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

            Powder kept her quick pace, trotting her horse high up the next hill.

            There, she reined it to a stop.

            “V!” she called.

            “Yes, Powder?”

            “Which way is your house? That way?”

            She pointed the precise direction of Hammer House.

           Concerned, Jayce and Viktor urged their own horses up the hill.

            “That doesn’t look good...” Powder said.

            The girl was right.

            In the distance, just visible against the sunset, obfuscated by the fog and the clouds, an unmistakable column of smoke was trailing into the sky.

Chapter Text

Hammer House was burning.

            Hammer House was burning, and they had hours of travel ahead. Hammer House was burning, and Ximena could be inside. Hammer House was burning, and the fire would spread. Hammer House was burning, and they would not make it in time.

            Jayce wheeled his horse.

            “We have to hurry,” he said.

            “It is too far, my dove,” Viktor replied.

            “I know!” Jayce barked, but he was tired of being treated like he did not understand what was happening. Viktor’s eyes steeled.

            “Powder, take the cart,” Viktor said and began to stand.

            “What? No.” Atop his horse, Jayce was powerless to stop Powder from dismounting. “Viktor, you can’t ride on your own.” Powder gave Viktor a hand down from the cart, and a hand removing the loaded saddlebags from the other horse. “I’ll ride ahead.”

            “You will not,” Viktor replied.

            “Viktor, be reasonable.”

            “You will NOT.”

            A pulse of sympathy swept through the rush, rustling and bending the grass like wind. Jayce felt the magic’s ability to compel, to command him, as acutely as he felt it divert before it reached him—a stone in a riverbed. Viktor wiped the resulting blood from his nose, then shattered one of the shimmer baubles on his bracelet. He forced healing into his legs without the channeling aid of a staff, and though he swung himself into the saddle, he swayed as he landed.

            “Viktor—”

            “Ride, Jayce.”

            “Viktor.”

            “RIDE!”

            A kick to his horse’s flank, and Viktor thundered down the hill. Helpless, Jayce looked toward Powder and startled upon finding the girl already at his side.

            “I’ll take these,” she said, and relieved his horse of the burden of its own saddlebags.

            “Follow as quickly as you can,” Jayce replied.

            With a slap of the reins, he took off.

            The swiftest route kept them low in the valleys, but as the sun set, the sky in the direction of Hammer House still glowed a fearsome orange. Jayce and Viktor rode hard, as hard as they and their horses could handle, trying to close the distance as fast as possible, but knowing with every pounding hoof beat that they would not be fast enough.

            The ride through the dark in rocky terrain demanded everything from Jayce. Sweat stung his eyes. His legs screamed. He had no idea how Viktor was managing their pace, except that he noticed him break open a few more baubles along the way.

            They emerged from between the crags to find the whole estate on fire.

            The sight stole the breath from Jayce’s lungs.

            Flames towered into the sky. Chimneys spilled smoke. Ivy smoldered across the walls. Everywhere people were shouting and wailing, trying to douse the fire consuming the house. Even as Jayce reined his horse to a stop, the roof collapsed with a creaking, booming crash only just louder than the roar of the fire itself. The house, the forge, the stables, the dove cote, granary, grass, and trees all burned with light as bright as the evening sun.

            Within that light, strange lumps cast strange shadows scattered throughout the yard.

            People.

            Their people.

            Dead.

            Jayce’s stomach clenched, and bile rose in his throat. He threw himself off his horse and simply let go of the reins. If the animal bolted, so fucking be it. He did not even pause to see if Viktor was able to dismount on his own. He just took off running.

            “Ma!” he cried. “Mama!”

            He was not the only one calling out for family.

            Some of lumps lay in the shadows of their loved ones, weeping and screaming.

            Jayce started checking bodies.

            Turning over the nearest, he came face to face with one of the weavers who had made the banners now burning beside Hammer House’s front door. Her throat had been slit clean to the bone. He came next to the tailor, who had made Viktor’s red dress. Disemboweled. Jayce’s hands turned over the body of Royse, dead. Everyone, dead, and the only thing louder than the fire was the ringing in Jayce’s ears. Where was Ximena? Where was his mother?

            When he turned over Ranulf, he reeled.

            The puppies.

            Jayce bolted for the kennels as fast as his legs would carry him—heedless of the heat of the fire. The stables were burning, but the flames had only just reached the kennels. He threw open the door, and smoke flooded out, into his eyes, blinding and choking him.

            “Mercury! Rio!” he called, coughing. He whistled instead.

            Furious, terrified scratching and whining reached him from the backmost stall. Jayce hurried to throw it open, and the moorhounds nearly bowled him over in their panic.

            He whistled again, sharp, eyes stinging from the smoke.

            “Out!” he ordered. “Out!”

            Hopefully, they wouldn’t run too far, but even if they vanished into the moors at least they wouldn’t burn to death.

            “Jayce?”

            “Mama?”

            But his ears tricked him. That was not Ximena’s voice.

            It was Viktor’s.

            He stumbled out of the kennels to find his bondmate kneeling at the center of a crush of bodies, Mercury and Rio swarming around him. Jayce hurried to his side, but as he arrived, he realized that he did not recognize any of the faces of these dead. They were strangers to him, men in dark clothes bearing weapons wet with blood. Sevika lay in the center of the crush, badly wounded, one of her arms completely severed at the shoulder, deadly lacerations across her stomach. Somehow, she was still breathing. Probably the work of the village medicine woman who knelt at Viktor’s right.

            Viktor showed Jayce the two remaining baubles of shimmer on his bracelet.

            “Heal her,” Jayce said.

            Glass shattered. Viktor pressed his hands against Sevika’s shoulder and channeled his magic into her. His hands were shaking.

            The woman groaned in pain as Viktor healed her shoulder into a stump.

            “Sevika,” Viktor said, “are you all right?”

            She coughed up blood. Viktor broke open the last bauble to heal her stomach.

            “Do you know what happened?” Jayce asked the medicine woman.

            She shook her head. “No, my lord. We saw the smoke and came as quickly as we could, but the fire had spread and all were dead, save for this one.”

            She indicated Sevika. Jayce focused on her instead.

            “What happened?” he asked.

            “We were attacked,” Sevika snarled, healed enough to speak. “Took out as many as I could, but there was a fucking army of them, and these people can’t fight.”

            It was a testament to her strength that she’d survived at all. And a testament to her tenacity that she sat up and spat blood on the ground the moment Viktor finished healing her. Sevika gritted her teeth, and Viktor nodded at the medicine woman, who hurried off to attend to the dead or newly injured.

            “Did you see my mother?” Jayce asked Sevika.

            “They took her,” she replied. “Alive. Unharmed, as far as I could tell.”

            “Who took her?”

            Digging into her breast pocket, Sevika produced a gold medallion on a broken chain.

            “Pulled this off their captain,” she said.

            The medallion spun, and flames glinted off the imprint of a clan crest.

            The Kiramman keys.

            Jayce’s blood ran cold.

            “Surely Kiramman soldiers aren’t that stupid,” he said. “Who would wear their crest into a fight like this?”

            Sevika curled her lip. “Had it pinned inside his coat.”

            No. No, it was too neat by half. Sevika the only survivor, conveniently carrying the Kiramman crest. No one else alive to corroborate her story, Jayce’s mother spirited away by unknown assailants. This had the stink of Silco about it—underhanded, sneaky, cruel. Jaw clenching, he grabbed Sevika by the front of her shirt. Riled still, the puppies barked.

            “How long did Silco have this planned?” he growled. “Since he sent you here?”

            “Silco?” Sevika replied. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

            “Sevika is a deft hand at picking pockets, Jayce,” Viktor supplied. “She would only have had to draw near to steal the medallion. Silco would not do this.”

            “Wouldn’t he?” Jayce scoffed, disgusted. “You’d defend him even now?”

            That sparked a flash of feeling in Viktor’s eyes—the first feeling Jayce had seen in Viktor since they’d left Zaun. Viciously, he wanted to dig in his thumbs, push harder, force Viktor to feel more, and the sensation terrified him, but he was threatened, and angry, and exhausted, and his home was burning. It was just one thing after another in an endless procession of atrocities that never would have happened if he hadn’t thought himself virtuous and noble for stepping up to serve Piltover as representative bondmate.

            Everything they’d built. Ash and embers.

            Jayce had wanted to return to Hammer House to escape the problems that plagued them, but the woes had beaten them home. How were he and Viktor supposed to repair the rift between them with this new rift torn open?

            “Silco had no reason to do this,” Viktor said.

            “Until you turned on him,” Jayce replied.

            “He turned on me.” The earth beneath them shook. One of Hammer House’s outer walls collapsed in a cascade of stone, sending the people trying to extinguish the fire scattering. “He will not attack me. He alone understands the devastation I can wreak. He knows I would no longer hesitate to bring ruin down upon his head.”

            Viktor looked at Jayce and the murder in his eyes locked every joint in his body.

            Jayce had faced the knife of Viktor’s eyes before, but he faced pure destruction in them now. Burning, sparkling, inhuman—reflecting a light on another plane of existence. 

            It was terrifying.

            Viktor turned those destructive eyes on Sevika, grasped her face in hands covered in her own blood and stared at her. “Tell us the truth of what happened, Sevika,” he said through sympathy, his voice echoing. “Was Silco involved?”

            “If he was, I wasn’t,” she replied, forced to speak the truth. “The villagers gathered here for dinner. Like always. Fifty trained fighters dressed like this—” She gestured at the body nearest to her. “—walked in just before sundown. Started raiding the house and slaughtering people. Nobody had time to run. I killed these fuckers, and their captain didn’t like that, so he took my arm, and I took that medallion. Left me for dead and rode north with Lady Talis.”

            North.

            Toward Clan Kiramman territory.

            Viktor released the hold of magic on Sevika’s mind.

            “You see?” he said. “Lord Kiramman knows Silco’s tactics as well as we do. What she does not know is that my mother has already...” He trailed off, the words dying in his mouth. “Cassandra wishes to turn us against Zaun. A Piltovian lord launching an attack against their own people is unimaginable, yes, but Caitlyn warned me her father was plotting something.”

            A chill passed through Jayce.

            “What?”

            Viktor had known.

            Viktor had not told him.

            Bile rose once again in Jayce’s throat. His eyes were already watering from the fire, but new tears welled up and rolled down his face.

            “Why didn’t you say anything?”

            “I intended to tell you,” Viktor replied, “but my own identity was collapsing around me at the time. Perhaps you can forgive such a transgression.”

            “I thought you weren’t asking for forgiveness.”

            Viktor’s eyes darkened.

            “Are we gonna bicker, or are we gonna after them?” Sevika interrupted.

            “They are hours ahead of us,” Viktor replied, his gaze still locked on Jayce. “Besides...” He glanced toward the house and the flames now lapping up the last of what would burn. “The staff I left here is cinders, and the one of Jayce’s make lies in pieces. Pieces with Powder, still many miles behind. Any further exercise of my magic without a channel would almost certainly require the sacrifice of my life.”

            “So we let them get away with this?” Sevika growled.

            “That is not at all what I said,” Viktor replied.

            “You’re not going to sacrifice yourself, Viktor,” Jayce said.

            “You are not my keeper,” Viktor hissed.

            “Stop it,” Jayce breathed, exasperated. “Stop it. Stop. Are you so determined to drive me away? Look at me, Viktor. I’m here. With you. I am choosing to stand by you. Because I love you, and this is the cost!”

            He pointed at the house—their house, in flames.

            “I didn’t have to come back. I could have gone straight to Piltover and made Lord Kiramman every single weapon she wanted. I could have created something to counter the weapons you let Zaun build. I’m sorry about your mother. I really am. I am gutted and devastated and sick for you, but please don’t make this harder on me than it already is. Our home wouldn’t be burning right now if I’d just given the lords what they wanted.”

            He wished he’d done it. Wished he’d built a staff and powered it with an Arcane focus and placed it right in Cassandra’s hands. Viktor had urged him to give the Lords’ Council their magic. He would have had no recourse to blame Jayce when Cassandra marched across the bridges to destroy Zaun. Viktor would have been the betrayed, Jayce the betrayer. He could have begged his bondmate’s forgiveness, but then what? Viktor, loyal to Silco, would have been dispatched at last. Raw, brittle power pitted against Piltover’s inexpert determination.

            Perhaps that was worse.

            Perhaps this destruction, though it stole everything from Jayce, spared his people and the people of Zaun from losing everything, too.

            Viktor stared at him with eyes he no longer recognized.

            “Homes would burn either way,” Viktor spat. “We are tools to them, Jayce. Blunt instruments they can swing at each other. Nothing more. Silco sought to use us to conquer Piltover. Piltover sought to use us to conquer Zaun. You wanted to forfeit the game, but I see now that my mother was right. True change—true peace—cannot be accomplished without war.”

            Jayce’s stomach dropped into his feet.

            Viktor struggled to rise to his.

            “This ‘peace’ was never real,” he said. “All this time, you and I have stood between our nations and war. This is our reward. Cassandra Kiramman broke the peace. Cassandra Kiramman turned soldiers against her own citizens. She will reap the bounty of the seeds she has sown.”

            “We can’t fight them,” Jayce said. This conversation was quickly sliding out of control.

            “The Herald of the Arcane does not fear Cassandra Kiramman,” Viktor replied, laughing, manic. “Cassandra Kiramman fears the Herald of the Arcane.”

            “We don’t have the means,” Jayce cried, desperate now. “If our people could fight, they wouldn’t be dead.”

            “Then it is a good thing my mother has raised us an army.”

            Jayce fell still.

            There was a brutal practicality in that. If Silco turned control of Zaun’s army over to Viktor and Jayce, he would have no army to wield against Piltover. If it proved true that Cassandra was behind this, Jayce would wield that army against Piltover himself. The rage he held against her had long simmered in his bones, but it had not boiled over. It had calcified completely. A hard and immovable thing.

            It stung. To be betrayed and abandoned by a person who had raised and molded him.

            Viktor already knew that pain in intimate detail.

            “Piltover betrayed this land,” he said, his words a strange echo of Jayce’s own thoughts. “Zaun abandoned it.”

            Viktor pulled his cloak pin free and grasped their clan crest hard.

            “This is the sovereign territory of Clan Talis,” he said, and drove the pin into the earth.

            This time, the pulse of magic passed through the very fabric of the universe.

            A declaration made reality.

            Spoken into truth by a Herald of the Arcane.

            Turning from Jayce and the smoldering wreckage of Hammer House, Viktor faced the darkness and Clan Kiramman’s distant land.

            “This,” he said, “is war.”

**

By the time Powder reached Hammer House with cart and pony, the fire was extinguished and the carnage neatly organized.

            Viktor had subdued and sorted his manic fury as well. He’d had no choice once his legs had collapsed underneath him. In the garden, he kept watch over the dead while Jayce led their people in dousing the last of the embers. The muscles in Viktor’s legs were shaking, and he had run out of shimmer.

            Without a staff, he was useful only for holding vigil.

            Twenty-seven of their people lay slaughtered around him simply for gathering in the wrong place at the wrong time. Outnumbered almost two-to-one, civilians against soldiers, only Sevika for protection. Piltover prided itself on honor, but there was no honor here. Viktor held no fault against Jayce for believing Silco was behind this. In Jayce’s eyes, Cassandra Kiramman was an honorable lord incapable of such brutality. She had planned her treason well.

            Neither she nor Viktor held any illusions about his mother’s brutality.

            Except where he himself was concerned.

            How foolish.

            He dared not think of Silco too long lest the frost and cold come to claim him.

            Mercury and Rio kept watch at his sides, curled close. Jayce had given them the order to guard, so they growled as Powder approached. Viktor stroked their backs to ease their fear. Already, Powder was crying.

            “How can I help?” she asked with a hiccup.

            “Bring me my staff from the cart,” Viktor replied. “If you have lanterns, I am sure Jayce and the others would appreciate some light, now that the fire is out.”

            Nodding, Powder hurried to the cart. She brought Viktor the pieces of his staff and went back for three shimmer-powered lanterns. As she lit them one by one, Viktor resisted the strange and sudden urge to break each one open and consume the shimmer inside. Powder gathered the lanterns, and disappeared to search for Jayce, failing to see him as they passed each other as he approached the garden, carrying a charred corpse in his arms.

            “The kitchen door was barricaded,” he said. “The servants were inside.”

            Four more for the count. A grand total of thirty-one. Viktor hoped the smoke had taken them before the flames. Jayce set the body at his feet. Viktor offered a quiet prayer for those innocents, Cassandra Kiramman’s former servants who had chosen to stay behind at Hammer House and serve the Talis clan. Such as it was.

            “I checked the bower,” Jayce said.

            Viktor looked up.

            “I can’t be certain, but it seems like the room was emptied before the fire started.” Jayce had fixed his eyes north. “They were after our research.”

             Viktor waited for him to form his own conclusions.

            Jayce’s hands clenched into fists.

            “Cassandra Kiramman has my mother.”

            “She will not harm her, Jayce,” Viktor replied. “Ximena holds more value as a hostage.”

            “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Jayce snarled.

            Viktor had pushed his bondmate too far too many times, and the destruction of their home had dealt the final blow.

            They were both of them broken now.

            Rather than answer, Viktor retrieved the pieces of his staff and reassembled what remained. Jayce had melted down more than Viktor had realized to form the staff of Powder’s design. This one lacked the capability to channel Viktor’s magic now, but it would serve as suitable support for walking.

            “Cassandra Kiramman will pay for what she has done,” he said as the staff came together. “Silco will feel every ounce of the pain he has caused me, and if Singed is alive, I will bleed that life from him with my own bare hands.”

            He levered himself up, but failed to hide the trembling of his legs.

            “Does that make you feel better?”

            Exhausted, covered in soot, Jayce shut his eyes.

            “I don’t want us to be at each other’s throats, Viktor.”

            “You are angry with me, are you not?”

            Jayce growled, his eyes opening to flash him a glare.

            “Then be angry, mate.” Viktor gestured at himself. “This is what awaits you on the other side of feeling nothing. I cannot say I recommend the experience.” He crossed the short distance between them, but stopped some space apart. “I will bear your anger willingly. It is no less than I deserve. The path we now walk will lead to more anger, and more heartbreak, and I must confess that the thought of bearing more does not unnerve me.” He looked at the body at their feet. “I truly do not feel anything. I do not even feel like myself. I cannot say I am certain I even know who I am.”

            He was liquid. No longer contained by a vessel, for the vessel had shattered. Without it, Viktor had no shape of his own.

            “I am certain of only one thing,” he said, “and that is you.”

            He looked at Jayce—his bondmate, the one good thing in a lifetime of miseries.

            Perhaps that was the problem. Viktor had never learned to let go of misery.

            “I have made so many declarations to you, and breached most of them,” he said. “Understand, then, that this is not a declaration, but an observation of a truth I wish for you to know: you are no longer my first loyalty, but my only loyalty.”

            Jayce was looking at him, the shine of strong emotion in his eyes. Viktor did not know precisely what he was feeling, but there was an odd relief in that.

            The not knowing.

            “Do you want to wage this war?” Viktor asked.

            The alpha’s brow furrowed. He took a long moment to think. “I want justice,” he said. “I want those who merit punishment to receive it, and I want the innocent to be spared suffering.”

            Nodding, Viktor stepped closer to him.

            “Your compassion is your strength,” he said. “It has kept you by my side, yet, at every turn, myself and others have taken advantage of your kindness. You deserve better. I am sorry to demand so much of you. Please know that I am grateful. I would still be on the floor of Silco’s study if not for you.”

            He would have frozen, bled, or starved to death—unable or unwilling to go on living. His grief had overpowered his survival instinct. In many ways, that instinct had yet to resurface.

            They were, after all, plunging headlong into war.

            Tentatively, Viktor bridged the gap between them, a hand on Jayce’s arm. He would pour himself into his mate, borrow his shape, share his vessel.

            “Whatever you desire, my dove, let me make it manifest.”

            Jayce’s bottom lip trembled. Then, at once, he threw his arms around Viktor. He hugged too hard. He smelled of soot and sweat and death, and his shoulders began to shake as Viktor wound his arms around him in return. Jayce wept, and Viktor sensed only distant remorse. He stroked his bondmate’s hair and neck—his turn to comfort. This would not heal their wounds, but it was a first step. Until Viktor confronted his mother, the breach between himself and Jayce may never close completely.

            “It’s all so awful, Viktor,” Jayce sobbed.

            “It is.”

            “None of these people deserved to die.”

            “They did not.”

            “My mother must be so afraid...”

            “We will free her, Jayce,” Viktor said, pulling back. He cupped his mate’s face in his hands, smearing soot and tears in his beard—ash on his palms, black now. “We have before us the opportunity to free all our people from the shackles of Zaun and Piltover. I will not let your mother become a sacrifice in that pursuit. I know my word does not mean much, so I will swear it on our bond.”

            Tears welled as Jayce gathered Viktor close again and squeezed too tightly. Viktor did not protest.

            It was nice. To feel something.

            “As soon as the forge is repaired, I’m going to build you a new staff,” Jayce said.

            Viktor offered him a quite chirp.

            “When our magic is restored, I could repair our home as well,” he said, “but until our goals are accomplished, I feel that Hammer House ought to remain as it is. As a reminder of what we have lost, and evidence of Clan Kiramman’s crimes.”

            Jayce nodded. His hands smoothed down Viktor’s sides, still pressing a little too hard.

            “I agree.”

            Around them, Hammer House and its estate smoldered. Viktor had warned Cassandra that Piltover stood to lose Jayce, and she had overstepped in a final bid to keep him under her control. Now she would face Clan Talis as an enemy, galvanized against her, with the full backing of Zaun. Viktor would see to it.

            He took Jayce’s cheeks in his hands again to look him in the eye.

            “I love you, Jayce Talis,” he said. “You have not heard those words from me for some time, and you do not hear them often enough. For that, I am sorry.”

            Jayce gathered Viktor’s hands together and pressed his lips to the sides of his palms.

            “I’m tired of apologies, too,” he said with a sad, wearied smile. “I know you’re sorry. I think this is our chance to set it right. If we’re going to fight Piltover, I don’t want to fight each other. Can we agree on that?”

            Viktor nodded. Letting out a heavy sigh, Jayce gathered him in his arms once more.

            From the direction of the house, three men carrying the charred remains of the last three servants approached the garden.

            “Wind’s picking up, Lord Talis,” one of them said.

            “The fire’s out, but if any of the sparks catch...” said another.

            “Right...” Jayce replied and turned from Viktor, wiping his face. He made no attempt to obscure his tears from his people. Their lord cared for them, and they would know it. “Let’s work quickly, then.”

            “Can I bring you a seat, Lady Talis?” the third asked.

            “If you can find one,” Viktor replied.

            The three of them laughed. Though Viktor had not intended the statement as a joke, he supposed their circumstances warranted a little levity. To be able to laugh in the face of devastation was a powerful thing.

            “I’ll see what I can do, my lady.”

**

After sunrise and through midday, Clan Talis scavenged the ruins of Hammer House. They turned up cookware and crockery, tongs and fireplace pokers. Little else had outlasted the flames. Curiously, the second trunk from the bonding ceremony proved an exception—the wood blackened, the varnish blistered, but the contents untouched. Inside, Jayce discovered the rabbit feet charms Powder had made resting atop the ropes and tents.

            “Only thing we haven’t touched is your bond stones, sir,” one of the village women said, fresh-faced and resolute. Others had arrived to swap places with those who had battled the fire.

            Jayce dropped the trunk lid and nearly caught his fingers as it slammed shut.

            “They survived?”

            “They’re still by the entrance,” the woman replied. “Shall we set up these tents, sir?”

            She nodded at the trunk. Jayce glanced across the grounds toward the garden where Viktor sat on the remnants of a scorched stool. He and the medicine woman had begun preparing the dead for burial, wrapping them in red shrouds, performing rites. No one would be able to dig graves until spring, when the ground thawed. The cold—and Viktor’s blood magic—would preserve the dead until then.

            His mate looked absolutely spent.

            “Yes, please,” he said and went to retrieve Viktor.

            Together, moorhounds at their heels, the pair exhumed their bond stones from the ash. The day they had placed them, Jayce’s eyes had been so full of stars. Excited at the prospects of their future—excited to study magic, to build their home, to welcome friends and family into their bond and prove to them that all misgivings between Zaun and Piltover could be forgotten. Excited to spend the rest of his life with Viktor.

            Now, they placed their stones inside the entrance to one of the tents.

            Burned, but unbroken.

            Powder unloaded the trunk with their nest from the cart.

            In tandem silence, Jayce and Viktor unpacked the furs and blankets, hung their bond cord around the tent canopy, built the nest beneath it. The puppies put their noses to every inch of the tent’s interior they could reach, sniffing around the edges of the nest.

            Two nights of restless sleep followed by more than twenty-four hours without it, to say nothing of the stress of the last seventy-two.

            Much more and Viktor might trigger a flare up.

            “You should rest, princess,” Jayce said, soft.

            “So much remains to be done,” Viktor replied.

            “We need our herald at full strength,” Jayce said. “I want you to rest. Please?”

            Eyes vacant, Viktor examined Jayce, weighing his own lack of desire to care for himself against his desire to do what Jayce wanted. It was strange—to see his thoughts on full display. An enigma no longer. Stripped back to the truth when Silco had stripped him bare. After a moment, he nodded and let Jayce ease him into the furs, tuck him under the blankets. A gentle click of his tongue and Mercury and Rio crossed over the edge of the nest to curl up with him. Sleep reached up to drag him under almost the moment he closed his eyes.

            “Hey, Jayce?” Powder said outside the entrance.

            With one final glance at Viktor and the puppies, Jayce left the tent.

            “What is it, Powder?”

            “We’re almost finished cleaning up the forge,” she said. “The blacksmith said he could bring some spare stuff here tomorrow, but I wasn’t sure what you would need...”

            So, Jayce went to the ruins of the forge, and spoke with the blacksmith. Then he went to the garden and spoke with the medicine woman. He went to the gate and spoke with grieving families who had come to claim their dead. At every stop, every person he spoke with responded with remarkable spirit. Forsaken by one nation, neglected and attacked by another, the people of the moors united under the Talis banner without reservation. The men who respected them needed their aid. Neighbors, friends, and family had been murdered. The lord of Hammer House and his lady the Herald pledged justice.

            It was only natural that their people pledged loyalty.

            By the time the sun set, many had set up tents of their own, retrieved from the village to make a camp of Hammer House and ensure neither lord nor lady went without company and guard. The farmers set a watch. The butcher and his daughter prepared dinner. Jayce ate, and as he ate he nearly fell asleep where he sat. Everyone badgered him into going to bed himself.

            He stopped only to wash his face and hands in ice cold water. Water Viktor could have warmed. He swayed into their tent and changed into the clothes someone had brought and laid out for him. His eyes welled to see such generosity.

            A few of those tears rolled down his cheeks when he looked at Viktor in their nest.

            His mate slept soundly. Breath steady. Brow furrowed. So small amid the blankets and furs and moorhounds. The dogs lay on either side of Viktor with their muzzles across his shoulder and stomach. Jayce had to move Rio to make room, and she huffed at the disturbance, but settled at his back once Jayce had gathered Viktor into his arms to settle himself.

            He tucked his head against Viktor’s neck, his mouth at rest not far from his mate mark.

            Viktor stirred with a small questioning sound.

            “Go back to sleep,” Jayce said.

            The omega did not protest. Jayce followed him into unconsciousness, but the two of them were wrested from it sometime later by a sudden and tumultuous shouting.

            He and Viktor sat bolt upright, Rio and Mercury throwing themselves to their feet already growling. Jayce got up and tossed a cloak over his shoulders as he helped Viktor to his feet and passed him his staff. The instant Viktor had donned his own cloak, they hurried from their tent.

            Outside, at the rear gate, torches flickered in the darkness. A bellowing argument echoed through the dell, but it was difficult to make out exactly what was going on.

            That was until Caitlyn came into view at the center of the throng.

            “You have no right to refuse us entry!” she was yelling.

            “Did you think we’d not recognize your face?” someone shouted back.

            “Enough!” Jayce cried over the racket. Everyone fell silent in an instant. “Master Kiramman is not our enemy.”

            Not yet.

            “Jayce.” Caitlyn heaved a sigh of frustrated relief. “Thank the gods. I thought we’d have to come to blows.” She flashed a glare at the people still blocking her path.

            “What are you doing here, Cait?” Jayce replied, dragging a hand down his face.

            Even as he asked the question, Violet fought her way through the crowd that had surrounded them, fists clenched, ready to fight, and that only confused the matter further. Caitlyn raised a hand for Violet to restrain herself.

            “I promised to send along your belongings from the manor,” Caitlyn said. “I...thought to make use of the opportunity to see you on my way to Castle Kiramman, so I brought them myself. Vi showed me the way to the canal through Zaun, and she had cargo of her own, so we felt it best to travel together.”

            “Cargo?”

            Violet gestured gruffly behind her. The crowd parted. Through the dark, Jayce could just make out a press of people hiding at the mouth of the crags.

            Piltovian pilgrims.

            They had followed Viktor to Hammer House after all.

            “I told them to go back to Piltover,” Violet said. “Some listened.” She bared her teeth. “Most didn’t.”

            “There are new rumors in the city,” Caitlyn added, glancing at Viktor. “They claim the Herald is holding hostage the Piltovian citizens who sought him out, that he’s lost control of the magic used to sway them. I’ve done my best to discourage these lies from spreading, but—”

            “We’re holding hostages?” Jayce growled.

            Confused by the sudden turn of his mood, Caitlyn came up short. She glanced at Violet.

            “We know the rumors are false, Jayce.”

            “I don’t give a fuck about rumors,” he replied. “Let the them spread all the rumors they want. I’m sure they’ll have their fill of propaganda to regurgitate when the reports roll in. Lord and Lady Talis have broken the peace. Lord and Lady Talis are holding Piltovian citizens hostage. Lord and Lady Talis have failed in their duties as representative bondmates. They can believe whatever they want. I know the truth.”

            Caitlyn threw up her hands. “What are you talking about?”

            “Take a look for yourself, Cait,” Jayce said, and turned to point at Hammer House.

            Little more than a dark shadow of scorched stone and crumbled walls.

            Caitlyn stilled when she looked upon the ruin. Her eyes flickered. Her lips parted in soundless shock. She drifted forward, as if pushing through the crowd to see beyond the glare of torches would change anything. She turned back toward Viktor and Jayce. Her lips moved. No words formed.

            “Lord Kiramman’s handiwork,” Viktor said.

            “She wouldn’t.”

            “She has.”

            The urge to deny it surfaced in Caitlyn’s expression. She pursed her lips.

            “You risked much to bring us warning of your father’s schemes,” Viktor said. He approached her, motioned around the estate. “Here are the results.” All the color drained from Caitlyn’s face when she laid eyes on the dead, wrapped in their red shrouds. “I had thought that the funds siphoned from your army might be used as a bribe to encourage Clan Talis to build your father’s weapons. I understand now that the money was a bribe, but not for Jayce.”

            “They took my mother hostage, Cait,” Jayce said.

            Again, the urge to deny it rose, and again Caitlyn failed to form words.

            “Clan Talis is preparing for war,” Viktor said.

            That shattered the stillness. Caitlyn flew toward Viktor and Violet flew toward Jayce, both of them talking over each other in alarm.

            “You cannot be serious!”

            “What the fuck do you mean you’re preparing for war?”

            “I mean precisely what I have said,” Viktor replied. He glanced at Jayce, and Jayce moved to stand beside his bondmate. A united front. “What happened here is an act of treason or aggression no matter your loyalties. Clan Talis will not suffer the murder of our people as a slap on the wrist. Cassandra Kiramman ordered our home raided, our research stolen, and Ximena kidnapped. Is that not grounds for war?”

            “But—the peace...” Caitlyn stammered.

            “What peace?” Viktor growled, his voice deep and echoing and rolling through the earth. “Let us not pretend Piltover ever wanted peace.” He scoffed. “They wanted me. They wanted the means to procure the weapons to conquer an ancient foe. They wanted the time for that foe to grow fat and complacent. Zaun wanted the same thing. They shall have neither.”

            Jayce placed a hand on the small of Viktor’s back and looked to Violet and Caitlyn.

            “I entered the mate-bond because I believed in the peace,” he said. “Ever since, I’ve been scorned and shamed and punished for trying to preserve it. Viktor and I have stood between our nations, and our nations have crushed us. If we represent the peace, this is what they think of it.”

            Burning, his eyes turned toward Hammer House, but he had no more tears left today.

            “If you are returning to Castle Kiramman, perhaps you would be so kind as to deliver our declaration of war?” Viktor said to Caitlyn.

            Violet stepped forward, saying, “V, this is madn—” but Viktor rounded on her.

            “And perhaps you, dear sister, would be good enough to return to Zaun with a message for your king? Clan Talis will have need of troops, and it seems fit to ally with Piltover’s oldest enemy. A common enemy.”

            “V.”

            “Oh, you need not depart tonight. If you have tents, you are most welcome to pitch them wherever you desire.” A slight glance in the direction of the crags, a hiss of magic, and his next words resounded in Jayce’s mind—and the mind of every Piltovian pilgrim. We have suffered a grievous loss, my brothers and sisters. Clan Talis will not turn you away. You may stand with us, but know that we march to fight against your motherland.

            The pilgrims began to filter forward from the crags.

            Violet and Caitlyn watched in complete and utter dismay.

            “Have you any ink and parchment?” Viktor asked. “Ours were consumed in the fire.”

            “I am not giving you the materials to write a declaration of war!” Caitlyn cried. “You entrusted the peace to me when you left the capital—to us.” She grasped at Violet. “Is there nothing we can say to dissuade you from this course of action?”

            “If Zaun had attacked Clan Kiramman’s manor house, would we have been able to dissuade you?” Jayce asked.

            Caitlyn had no answer.

            The pilgrims reached the edge of the torchlight then and hesitated, frightened by the people who were likewise frightened of them.

            “They bare my mark,” Viktor said, and Jayce raised his left hand in unison. His engagement mark shined as witness. “They are friends and allies all. They know our intentions and choose to stand with us. Please see them safely settled.”

            Eased, those standing watch and those roused by the fight went to the pilgrims to lead them through the gate. They took the torchlight with them, Piltovians murmuring thanks and consolation as they passed Viktor and Jayce. Then the two of them stood alone under cold moonlight with Caitlyn and Violet.

            “Well?” Jayce asked. “Will you deliver our messages?”

            “Zaun won’t give you an army, Viktor,” Violet said.

            “That is for Silco and Vander to decide,” Viktor replied, eyes of complete destruction now honed to a deadly edge. “If they will not, we will declare war on them, too.”

Chapter Text

“This is lunacy, Jayce,” Caitlyn said.

            She stood alongside her horse at Hammer House’s front gate, a missive for her father in one hand. Violet had set off before sunrise with a similar letter for Vander and Silco. Clan Talis of the Moors hereby declares war against Clan Kiramman of Piltover. In the interest of preserving innocent life, an envoy is requested to conduct negotiations. The only thing lunatic about it was the idea that Cassandra would even consider their terms.

            “Somebody needs to answer for this, Cait,” Jayce replied.

            By light of day, the destruction had only become more apparent—and all the more appalling—to Caitlyn and Violet. Hence their swift departure. Caitlyn had claimed once to understand the human cost of war, but none of them had truly understood until now.

            “I don’t—” Her voice caught. “I don’t want to face you on a battlefield...”

            Jayce didn’t have the energy to comfort or coddle her.

            “Whether or not you do is entirely up to you,” he said.

            Swallowing, Caitlyn steeled herself, but failed to dull the shine of tears in her eyes. She tucked the missive into her breast pocket, mounted, and steered her horse through the front gate without so much as a goodbye.

            That was fine.

            Jayce didn’t have the energy for goodbyes either.

            He waited until Caitlyn had ridden beyond his sight, then took himself to the forge. There, the village blacksmith and his apprentice had started repairs.

            With another set of hands, they might finish before nightfall.

            Jayce joined their work.

            By the time he was pulled from his haze, midday sun shone out of a cold, gray sky.

            “...so, is it okay if I work in here?”

            Powder was standing in the entrance, a bundle of notes and alchemical equipment in her arms. She must have asked him at least once already.

            “It’s just...this stuff is pretty delicate, and the tents don’t block all the wind, and—”

            “Sorry, Powder. I was—somewhere else,” Jayce replied. “Of course you can work in here. There’s a good space over there.” He motioned toward a stone slab tucked into one corner. “Will that do?”

            Nodding, she thanked him and made herself small as she arranged her equipment. She required a few trips before she had everything. Jayce peeled off to take a look.

            “What are you working on?”

            “Shimmer,” she replied. “V asked me to determine the compound.”

            Jayce supposed the girl had no better use for her time at present. With the forge inoperable, they wouldn’t be able to craft the shimmer weapons she had designed, and unless they wanted to buy shimmer from Zaun, they would need to learn to make the potion themselves. Viktor had agreed to Powder’s pleadings to join them for this express purpose anyway. If they could crack shimmer, Silco would have one less sword to dangle over their heads.

            “Want some help?” Jayce asked.

            “’Course I do, trusty sidekick.”

            So, Jayce left the repairs to the blacksmith and his apprentice, turning his attention toward alchemy instead. He reviewed with Powder the notes he’d taken from his own study of shimmer. They compared theories, came up with a few tests, and started running them on one of the vials Powder had brought with her as fuel for the lanterns. Fuel for anything imaginable, Jayce supposed.

            The sun had begun to set when the pair of them next looked up.

            Viktor had come into the forge.

            “Dinner is ready at the central fire,” he said.  

            The blacksmith and his apprentice set their work aside and hurried to wash up and eat. Powder called Viktor over to see their discoveries, already chattering as he approached. Jayce just watched, a host of emotions at war within him.

            He loved Viktor. He loved Viktor so much that the love threatened to tear him apart. He understood that Viktor was sorry for the harm he had caused. He knew his mate wanted to rebuild trust between them, but to see Viktor so...empty, Jayce struggled to imagine how that was possible. He wouldn’t hold that against him, but the emotional distance exacerbated the issue.

            Viktor’s devastating beauty struck him all the same.

            “This is remarkable progress, Powder,” Viktor said. The girl preened. “I would offer my assistance, but since you have Jayce, I believe our two brightest minds are already hard at work.”

            “We can crack it,” Powder replied. “We’ll be brewing shimmer in no time!”

            Viktor chuckled, a little shell of a laugh.

            “We’ll catch up with you at the fire, Powder,” Jayce said.

            With a salute, Powder made a few more notes before scampering from the forge. Jayce and Viktor stood in silence—Viktor looking at the research, Jayce looking at Viktor. Viktor picked up one of the vials and turned it between his fingers.

            “Did Caitlyn agree to deliver our declaration?” he asked.

            “She took it with her,” Jayce replied. “She’s honor-bound to follow through, I think.”

            Viktor nodded. He lowered his hand, but held onto the vial.

            “How likely is it Piltover will send an envoy?” he asked.

            “I think the chances are high,” Jayce replied. “The council likes to do things by the book. Publicly, anyway.” He stepped closer to his bondmate. “What about Zaun? You’re certain they’ll give us troops?”

            Glancing up at him, Viktor nodded. “My mother will see the wisdom in allying with rather than against me,” he replied. “My father is where we should focus our efforts. He believes in the peace and will be reluctant to break it, but moving Silco’s army into our land provides him with a convenient method to dispose of that army. If nothing else, I do not think he will wish to raise arms against his own child.”

            It went unspoken between them that Silco absolutely would have done so, had that been the logical choice.

            “I am certain, at least, that they will answer our request to speak.”

            Jayce carefully reached to tuck Viktor’s hair behind his ear, fingers brushing his cheek.

            “Are you ready to face him?”

            The omega’s breath shuddered from his lungs. He grasped the vial of shimmer hard enough to crack the glass and quickly deposited it in a bowl on the table to avoid wasting any of the substance inside.

            “I will never be ready,” he replied, the words spilling out of him. “Not ever.”

            That tangle of emotions trembled in Jayce, a butterfly caught in a spider’s web. He took this unfamiliar bondmate into his arms, rumbling, releasing his protective pheromone, holding tightly until Viktor’s rigidity slackened, until he, too, wrapped his arms around Jayce and buried his face against his shoulder.

            “You don’t have to confront him, Viktor,” Jayce said. “Only if you want to.”

            “I do,” Viktor whispered. “I want him to see what he’s wrought. I want him to see how he was wrong about me—about you, about us.”

            No one in either of their nations would have expected their bond to survive this.

            Now that bond would see them united against those nations.

            Jayce lowered his head and let his lips come to rest on Viktor’s mate mark. He kissed the scar softly, and enjoyed the gentle shiver the affection brought out of his mate. Gods, he missed his scent. Ever since that sundering, Jayce had hardly caught a hint of moonlight or wildflowers. He kissed the scar again. Willed himself to be patient.  

            Viktor gnarled his fingers in his shirt.

            “I will need your strength to endure this, Jayce.”

            His fingers trembled. Jayce drew back to press his forehead against Viktor’s, to remind them both of the promise that bound them through ash and blood into eternity.

            “We stand together, princess.”

**

Gray clouds hung low. Snow fell. White blanketed the hills between Hammer House and the canal, moving ever closer to the moors. The weather obscured Viktor’s view of Zaun. He had kept watch here before. Waiting for family. Eager to show his mother all that he and Jayce had built. Eager to prove Clan Talis could politic. Wind blew now, as it had then. Then, home had lain in the distance before him. Now, home stood at his back.

            The results of today’s discussion would determine if he kept an eye out for family, or a new enemy.

            Today, Viktor faced Silco.

            Underneath the emptiness, fear festered.

            He knew not what their meeting would bring. He had neither seen nor heard from his mother since he’d learned the truth. Would Silco wish to reconcile? Did Viktor desire reconciliation? What if, when he saw his mother, he lost control of his magic and lashed out, destroying him?

            Was that what Viktor desired?

            No. No, he did not think so. What he desired was the security of a mother’s embrace, but Ximena would not come to collect him today as she had before. If the gods had any sense of justice, Ximena would be kept under comfortable lock and key in Jayce’s old rooms at Castle Kiramman, not the dungeon. If she was dead, then gods help Cassandra Kiramman, for Viktor would have her head.

            Wind tugged at his cloak, his hair.

            On that wind, the impression of a message filtered through his mind from the scouts watching the road to Zaun.

            The king approaches.

            Viktor drew in a deep breath of biting cold. Then he made his way down the escarpment to the valley floor and the camp that now comprised the Clan Talis seat.

            Piltovian pilgrims and the people of the moors lived and worked in careful concert, feeling each other out. By then, they had scoured the rubble of every building and salvaged materials to rebuild. Many now labored to remove the trees too scorched to recover come spring. Others monitored cook fires and kettles. No one stared at Viktor’s passage. He walked among them as one of them, and he knew not what to make of that.

            He had never been part of anything before.

            He came to a stop near the rear gate, alongside the garden.

            Alongside thirty-one bodies wrapped in red winding sheets.

            Jayce came to stand by his side, flanked by a host of Piltovian pilgrims. They had all received the same impression from the scouts.

            Soon, the march of boots echoed between the crags.

            Zaun’s delegation arrived with the snowfall.

            First, the honor guard on horseback. Then Vander, followed by Violet, with another cadre of guards on foot, bearing weapons that glinted purple even in the diffused light. Carts and camp followers trailed them. For a moment, Viktor’s heart caught between the fright and relief that perhaps his mother had decided not to attend these talks, but one final horse entered their estate, riding at the rear.

            Silco.

            A long face and ice blue eyes. Chin lifted, shoulders square.

            Pride worn as armor.

            Seeing him, Viktor froze, but a static tension fuzzed through his mind and blood. Around him, the pilgrims glared, expressions of vivid vitriol on their faces.

            They knew what Silco had done.

            Viktor had not meant to show them, and they likely had not meant to see, but in that shattering of himself, he had drawn all their minds into his. It served him now, at least, to have the sympathy of all his people.

            Silco had entered a den of vipers awaiting any excuse to strike.

            “Welcome to Hammer House, your majesty,” Jayce said once Vander had called the procession to a halt. “What remains of it, anyway.”

            Vander cast his gaze across the devastation, eyes shining with inscrutable sorrow. He dismounted his horse and passed the reins to a guard. Violet followed suit, but from among the delegation, only the two of them approached. Viktor’s eyes stuck to Silco, though Silco refused to look at him—his own gaze pointed impersonally into the distance, too proud to concede. Viktor’s breath grew heavy.

            “When we crossed the canal, I felt the change in this land,” Vander said. “Before we proceed, let me ask: do I speak ruler to ruler or parent to child?”

            “Both,” Viktor replied. He tore his eyes from Silco to look at his father. “For now.”

            Lips pursed, Vander nodded. “Very well.”

            Jayce turned to gesture over the camp. “There’s space for your party to set up on the eastern side of the estate,” he said. “You’re welcome to stay as long as needed, though I suspect our discussion won’t last long. If nothing else, we’re prepared to host you for the night so that you don’t have to travel after dark.”

            “See to it, Vi,” Vander said.

            With a passing glare-turned-grimace, Violet obeyed her king and father. She barked orders at the soldiers and attendants, herding them into the camp. Those from Clan Talis who had come to observe followed after her, intent to guard their own.

            “Well, your majesties?”

            Jayce fixed his eyes on Silco, who at last brought his horse forward and dismounted.

            “Lead on, Lord Talis,” Silco said.

            Viktor’s heart beat hard in his ears.

            They went to the second tent Jayce and Viktor had received following their bonding ceremony—furnished now to receive guests and conduct matters of state. A woven rug covered the ground, atop it a low table and cushions donated from the village. Jayce gestured for Vander and Silco to make themselves comfortable, then helped Viktor lower himself to a cushion. He poured four mugs of moorland ale from a cask in the corner.

            No one drank.

            Viktor stared at Silco across the table.

            His mother’s face remained as still as a shallow pond.

            What was he thinking? Why had he agreed to attend? How could he sit in silence before the child he had utterly destroyed?

            For the first time in more than a week, Viktor raised sympathy, desperate to understand what his mother actually felt. His own devastation threatened to level him, but he pushed that pressure aside. Silco was not deserving of such tears, nor such mourning. Silco deserved to be leveled himself.

            Though his mother dampened his emotions well, the tiniest sliver of fear reached Viktor.

            Afraid.

            His mother was afraid.

            The ringing in his ears cleared the moment he realized they were ringing, the moment he realized both Jayce and Vander were looking at him.

            “Does he know the truth?” Viktor asked Silco, nodding toward Vander.

            Silco remained silent.

            Viktor’s lips curled. “I see,” he said. “Well, let us come to an agreement as far as the war is concerned, then we will summon Powder and Vi and you will tell our entire family exactly why I left Zaun.”

            Silco’s expression did not flicker.

            That sliver of fear did.

            “You truly intend to march against Piltover?” Vander asked.

            “We intend to march against Cassandra Kiramman,” Viktor replied. “If the other lords elect to throw their lot in with her, as I presume they will, then we will march against as many as are foolish enough to stand in our way.”

            “After everything we worked for, little lamb? You’re content to cast that aside?”

            “That peace was a farce,” Viktor snarled, suddenly and violently angry. Gods, he had not felt angry in so long, the emotion was almost foreign to him. “Jayce and I have given everything for it, and here we stand—devalued and degraded and treated like petulant children. Did you not see the bodies of our dead? Did they give their lives in the name of peace? No. Their lives were stolen from them. Clan Talis stands now as a sovereign territory. You felt the truth yourself. We are no longer bound by any treaty between Zaun and Piltover.”

            Vander turned to Jayce, and Viktor growled. How dare his father look to another alpha as if Jayce was the more rational of the two of them. Jayce placed a hand on Viktor’s knee.

            “Lord Kiramman murdered our people, kidnapped my mother, and tried to frame Zaun,” Jayce said. “I won’t stand aside and let her trample us—or anyone else—anymore. Clan Talis will march on Piltover. All we want to know is if we’ll be fighting a war on two sides.”

            Vander’s eyes widened.

            “The Princess of Zaun requests an alliance,” Viktor said.

            “Demands, more like,” Silco replied, apparently unable to help himself.

            Viktor’s eyes narrowed on his mother with such intensity that the hidden fear surfaced in a brief flash.

            “You prove my point,” Viktor said through his teeth, “to paint me as the petulant child in my own land when my own people lie dead. Did I say ‘demands’? Have I ever demanded anything from you in all my days?” Viktor barked a laugh. “I have never asked anything of you. I have gone where you willed, done as you willed with no thought for myself, and when I come to you, asking for aid to fight against an enemy you planned to conquer, you would refuse me? Why? Where is the logic in that?”

            Stymied, Silco could not answer. Vander asserted himself between them.

            “Zaun has no plans to conquer anyone, Viktor,” he said.

            “The same cannot be said of Piltover,” Viktor replied. “As we speak, they are making what little sense they can of the scraps of research stolen from us. It may take time, but they will build weapons, and the moment they have them, they will storm the bridges. We have an opportunity to neutralize that possibility.”

            “What’s to stop them from storming the bridges with the armies and weapons they currently have once they learn Zaun has lent Clan Talis their aid?”

            “You could destroy the bridges,” Jayce said.

            Vander and Silco stared at him in outright shock, but Viktor’s heart leapt.

            “If you truly think your people incapable of defending the bridges Zaun controls, destroy them.” Jayce shrugged. “I’ve seen the Fissures. Your kingdom is more than capable of sustaining itself without Piltover, particularly with the ports now under your purview.”

            He was right. Wild, but right.

            “Piltover need not know our troops come from Zaun,” Viktor added. “I will construct a mask for myself in the tradition of the herald mages, and could provide masks for every one of your soldiers. Zaun has an army and weapons it does not plan to use. Give them to us, and let Clan Talis shoulder the work.”

            Vander shook his head and said, “If we refuse, will Clan Talis march to war against Zaun and Piltover without an army?”

            “We are the Clan Talis army.”

            Viktor glanced at his bondmate, who gave him a firm nod. Their people were not fighters. They would not pit them against Clan Kiramman’s expert warriors. They would conduct battle on their own. Better their people should live.

            “Zaun’s army would serve primarily as defense for our people while we’re away,” Jayce said, “though we would march with some of them as a fear tactic.”

            “We must appear to require strength beyond Jayce and myself,” Viktor added.

            Vander leaned forward and tried to grasp Viktor’s hand, but Viktor pulled away.

            “I don’t want to see the two of you waste your lives on war,” his father said. “Your potential is so much greater than that.”

            “Potential?” Viktor bared his teeth. “My dear father, I was made for war.”

            Helpless, sorrowed, Vander fought to find the right words to say and came up empty.

            He sat back, defeated.

            “Perhaps it is time for the truth,” Viktor said.

            “I would speak with you first, Viktor,” Silco replied.

            Viktor laughed—as harsh and loud and cruel as his mother had been when Viktor had come to him in tears, pleading for mercy.

            “You would speak with me?” he said. “You have hardly uttered ten words until now. Nearly a week has passed, and thousands of opportunities to seek me out have come and gone. Apologize—or pretend to apologize. The moment you arrived, you should have begged my forgiveness. Yet you have not. Because you are a coward.”

            “Viktor—” Vander started, but Viktor stopped his father’s mouth with a fierce glare.

            “You will not utter a single word in his defense until you learn the truth.”

            Vander pursed his lips. Viktor tuned his mind to the connection he shared with Powder through the healing she had forced him to work upon her arm. Find Violet and come to the command tent. Through that connection, affirmation reached him, and not a minute passed before Powder announced herself at the entrance and shoved Violet in ahead of her. Violet came to a dead stop in the acerbic atmosphere. Powder carefully avoided making eye contact with either of their parents as she hurried around the table to plop down behind Viktor and Jayce—her sword and shield.

            “Have a seat, Vi,” Viktor said. “Our mother has something to say.”

            Frowning, Violet sat behind Vander and Silco.

            Viktor set his eyes on Silco.

            “Tell them,” he said.

            He used no sympathy. Forced no compulsion.

            His mother would speak the truth without the exercise of magic.

            “Viktor—”

            “Tell them,” he said again, dangerously calm.

            Drawing a sharp breath, Silco glanced at Powder, at Violet, at Vander, so that when he once again met Viktor’s gaze, a strange frankness had overcome his expression.

            “You are my son, Viktor,” he said. “My love for you is not false.”

            “Prove it,” Viktor replied.

            Open fear sang to him from within his mother’s blood. These revelations would shatter their family. They both knew it. Silco stood to lose the respect of the people he claimed to love most, but he had always gambled with their love. Always counted on their loyalty to keep them within his grasp, no matter how hard he squeezed.

            He began slowly, steadily.

            “I first became aware of Viktor when an associate of mine, Dr. Singed, mentioned his apprentice,” he said. Viktor scoffed at the choice of words. He had been no one’s apprentice. “Singed is an alchemist focused on finding a ‘cure’ for death. A cure he believes lies somewhere within the intersection of the Arcane and man’s physical form. He has very few scruples when it comes to the demands of his research. When he recognized that Viktor had the capacity to resonate with the Arcane, he undertook experiments to manifest that resonance. When he told me of them, I—commissioned him to forge a true blood mage for Zaun.”

            Powder stiffened. Violet reeled. Vander steeled his face.

            And that was not even the whole truth.

            “You knew of the torment I endured under his knife?” Viktor asked.

            “I did.”

            “You knew how he opened me up, sedated me with poisons, stole my blood to work his alchemy upon it before returning it to my body? You knew how he saw fit to infect me with disease over and over to test my capacity to heal?”

            “I did.”

            A few tears welled up and rolled down Viktor’s cheeks at last.

            “That man tortured me,” he said. “My body was never fit to bear the Arcane, and now my veins bleed magic, all so you can wield me as a weapon in this feud you refuse to give up until you destroy everything around you.”

            “I made you strong!” Silco countered.

            “I was a child!” Viktor cried. “I did not need to be made strong. I needed to be made safe.” The tears fell freely now. “Do you even regret it?”

            Silco considered his answer.

            Appalling, that he required consideration.

            In that new silence, horror and revulsion began to choke the air. The situation was sliding out of Silco’s control.

            “Life is suffering, my child,” he said, quickly. “Setting aside all magic, you cannot deny that your suffering gave you unrivaled strength. I cannot say I regret the outcome, Viktor. Look at yourself. You are magnificent.”

            The little piece of Viktor’s heart which had held out hope finally broke.

            “I am sorry for you, Mama,” he said—and that would be the last he ever uttered the word. “To have lived so long in shadow that you no longer feel joy in sunlight. I might have agreed with you once, but you are wrong. Life is not all suffering.” He looked at Jayce, his devoted, remarkable mate. This man who had instilled in Viktor such indescribable happiness. Happiness Viktor had never imagined could be his. “I know that now.”

            Jayce squeezed his knee.

            Fear and desperation twisted in Silco.

            “I gave you an honest answer, my child,” he said. “You deserve the truth.”

            “Oh? I deserve the truth only now that you stand to lose me? It is far too late for that. You have lost me. You lost me the moment you threw our promise in my face when I came to you for help.”

            Real tears sparkled in Silco’s eyes. Viktor stared, amazed.

            “Tell me what to do, Viktor,” Silco said. “Tell me how to make amends.”

            “Give me Singed.”

            Gritting his teeth, Silco squeezed his eyes shut. A soft hiss left his mouth.

            “If you will not, then we have nothing more to discuss.”

            Silence.

            Silence still.

            Silco did not answer.

            With Jayce’s help, Viktor levered himself to his feet.

            “That concludes our dealings, then,” he said.

            Together, he and Jayce walked out of the tent.

            Upon their exit, furious shouting subsumed the royal family. Vander, Violet, Powder, and Silco—fangs bared, tearing into each other. The disturbance drew the attention of the camp, but Jayce and Viktor simply kept walking. Out the rear gate. Between the crags. Up the escarpment trail until the blowing of the snow and wind drowned all sound from below.

            Viktor’s breathing came as harshly as the wind.

            He turned abruptly and buried his face against Jayce’s chest, wrapped his arms around his waist, and wept.

            Jayce held him, trembling too.

            Viktor cried and cried and mourned his mother. The man who had given him everything. The man who had taken it all away. The first person to instill in Viktor an appreciation for his own potential. The first person to show him the sun.

            “I’m so proud of you,” Jayce said.

            An awkward sound somewhere between a trill and a sob bubbled out of Viktor.

            He had seen another sun since then.

            “That took courage,” Jayce said.

            “I may have cost us our army,” Viktor replied.

            “I don’t care. Silco needed to hear it. Your family needed to know.”

            Drawing in a wobbly breath, Viktor nodded. He lifted his face to look up at Jayce, but could only look for a moment before rising to press a fervent kiss to his alpha’s lips. Rumbling, Jayce kissed him back, Viktor pulled him closer, and the exchange became a little frantic as Viktor fought to strengthen his anchor to his mate.

            He would not let Silco destroy him.

            He would not let his mother make him doubt this bond.

            Silco had taken enough.

            He would receive no more tears.

            Drawing back, Viktor admired Jayce through blurred eyes. Piltover had no idea whom they had cast aside. Though his heart ached for the loss of his mother, he had no choice but to rejoice over the gain of his bondmate. Their first day as a pair, Jayce had declared his desire to make Viktor happy.

            Perhaps happiness and loss existed side-by-side.

            He nuzzled another kiss to Jayce’s lips.

            “We will get through this,” he said, reminded of those words, “because we must. Lean on me, dove, and I shall lean on you.”

            The alpha’s chest rose with a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he gathered Viktor closer. Viktor had not dampened sympathy, and through that magic, and their bond, he sensed the settling of tangled emotion in his mate. Very little in their circumstances had changed. They had only just begun to change themselves. Now, however, for the first time in his life, change did not frighten Viktor.

            On the other side of this metamorphosis, they might emerge as something beautiful.

            “We ought to attend to the aftermath,” Viktor said.

            Jayce offered his arm and they descended from the moor into the camp. Viktor made little effort to clean the tears from his face.

            They encountered Violet first, at the back gate, on a warpath to track them down.

            “I’m staying,” she said as they nearly collided. “I want to fight with you.”

            Both Jayce and Viktor came up short.

            “Vi...” Viktor whispered.

            He drifted forward, Violet followed suit, and in an instant they had their arms around each other in a tremendous, terrible hug.

            “Vander’s furious,” she said into his shoulder. “He’s leaving tomorrow morning first thing with our guards. I’m not sure where Powder went. She said something about shimmer. Silco...” Rage rolled off her in great, seething waves. “Silco’s leaving tonight. Alone.”

            Viktor loosened his arms, took hold of Violet’s shoulders. She shook her head.

            “I’ve always known he was fucked up, but I never thought...”

            The words caught in her throat. She cleared it fiercely—desperate not to cry.

            “I have not lost a sister today, then?” Viktor asked.

            She grabbed his arms and squeezed, hard. “Never, Viktor. Never.”

            They embraced once more, and though Viktor’s nose had dulled to alpha scents not belonging to his bondmate, he took comfort in Violet’s self-assured, smoky amber. As they separated, Violet stepped back and wiped her nose on the back of her hand while Jayce stepped forward to loop Viktor’s hand around his elbow once more.

            “So?” Violet said. “Are you gonna let me join your army or what?”

            “I do not know if it is wisdom or folly for a prince of Zaun to be seen allied with us on the field,” Viktor replied. He looked to Jayce to gauge his opinion.

            “You may have to face Caitlyn,” Jayce said.

            Violet shook her head. “All the more reason to put me out there.”

            “It is a generous offer, Vi,” Viktor replied. “Your skills are sorely needed, and if it is to be only the two of us—better for that number to be three. I do not see how we could refuse.”

            “In the meantime, would you be willing to ride to Castle Kiramman?” Jayce asked. “I’d rather talk Caitlyn out of fighting altogether if we can, and I think you’re probably our best shot at convincing her.”

            “You may tell her what transpired here, if you believe it will help,” Viktor added.

            With a nod, Violet replied, “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”

            Together, the three returned to Hammer House. The whole camp buzzed—bees upset by a disturbance to their hive. Jayce offered to search for Powder, suspecting she’d taken refuge in the forge, so Violet and Viktor went to the east side of the estate where Zaun’s guards and camp followers were erecting their tents. As soon as Vander saw their approach, he turned and came straight for Viktor, enveloping him in his arms.

            “I’m so sorry, little lamb,” he said.

            Viktor let his father cradle him. Tears rose in his eyes and his throat tightened.

            “I wish I’d known,” Vander continued, “but that’s no excuse. I did know the cruelty Silco is capable of inflicting. I just hoped...when he brought you home...”

            He shook his head.

            “You hoped I would change him?” Viktor replied.

            “You did change him, Viktor. I’m certain that’s impossible for you to believe, and I won’t blame you if you never want to see Silco again, but—he was desperate, when he came to me that day. He begged me to find Jayce because you’d compelled him to leave and he could not return. He was terrified of losing you.”

            “Is that supposed to change the way I feel?”

            Vander pressed his hand to Viktor’s head and stroked his hair.

            “Absolutely not,” he replied. “I broke my mate-bond with him, Viktor. The pain is different, but I know it all the same.” He sighed. “I suppose what I’m trying to express is that I believe Silco really loves you, as I believe he really loves me. While I don’t understand how he can do what he does to the people he loves, I don’t want you to throw the good memories out with the bad, hm?”

            Viktor furrowed his brow, but refrained from protesting.

            “Thank you, Papa,” he said. “I will...consider your advice.”

            “Consider my advice about this war you’re waging, too.”

            Viktor drew away from him at that, though he harbored no hard feelings toward his father. War had cost Vander everything. Perhaps it would cost Clan Talis everything, too, but Viktor refused to shy from this conflict.

            “Then you will not send your soldiers?”

            Vander replied, “That army is loyal to Silco. They’ll go where he wills, and I’m not particularly keen to convince him to send them to you. Nobody wins in war.”

            “I see.” Each of them had their own morals to cling to, Viktor supposed. “Please do not depart tomorrow without saying goodbye.”

            “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

            Viktor slipped away from Zaun’s tents toward the remains of the stables where their horses were sheltered. Enough time had passed that Silco may have already saddled his horse and ridden for Zaun, and Viktor could not determine if he truly wanted to speak with him again, but neither could he abide the gnawing uncertainty in his gut.

            He sought out his mother.

            Lowered, snarling voices reached his ear as he approached.

            “You would betray me, too,” Silco said.

            “This has nothing to do with betrayal,” Sevika replied, “and everything to do with revenge. I want that Pilty’s head on a pike, and it better be my arm holding the shaft. Until then, I fight for Clan Talis.”

            “And I return to Zaun alone, unguarded?”

            “Crawl into whatever hole Singed hides himself in,” Sevika said. “That shimmer cesspit has got to be the most secure place in Zaun.”

            She stormed from the stables following her declaration. Viktor shielded himself from her attention with a strand of sympathy. Inside, Silco cursed and muttered to himself, and as Viktor heard the clop of hooves on hay, he stepped into the shell of the entrance.

            He and Silco stared at each other.

            Viktor knew not what to say.

            This man had raised him, loved him, taught him everything he knew. Silco had encouraged Viktor in a way no other ever had. He had molded him to be fierce, to be strong, to shoulder burdens with grace. He would never forgive him, but that did not mean he would not appreciate the gifts Silco had given.

            “Happy now?” Silco asked, unable even now to lower the barbs.

            “These are your consequences,” Viktor replied. “Bear them.”

The snow continued through the night, driving everyone into their tents. As he and Jayce secured the entrance to their own, Viktor spared a passing thought for Silco on the road. If nothing else, he hoped no harm would befall him.

            “Where are Mercury and Rio?” Jayce asked.

            “With Powder,” Viktor replied. “She requested their company for warmth tonight, though I suspect all three will make their way to Violet’s tent eventually.”

            Powder had holed up in the forge as Jayce had suspected, determined to keep her mind busy with her shimmer experiments in the face of collapse. Viktor had coaxed her out for dinner, and she’d spent the whole meal at his side, quietly crying into her bowl and slipping morsels of bread to the dogs.

            Viktor reached to dim the shimmer lantern hanging from the tent canopy.

            “We will have to make do with each other,” he said with a chuckle.

            Rumbling, Jayce drew him into his arms. Viktor purred as he returned the gesture.

            “I think that’s the first I’ve heard you really laugh since then,” Jayce said.

            Viktor hugged him tight. “I feel...lighter,” he replied. “Many burdens remain, but I will not allow Silco to rob me of the joy amid those sorrows.”

            Jayce shifted to gaze down at him, but Viktor nestled into his shoulder.

            “Thank you for lending me your strength.”

            Some of Jayce’s stiffness eased, shedding a few of the burdens he carried. Viktor hummed and let the new lightness in his own heart suffuse their bond. They ought to rest. Recuperate. Rebuild themselves while Hammer House remained a ruin. Jayce had enjoyed little rest, holding everything together on his own.

            “What can I do for you, my dove?” Viktor asked.

            Sighing, Jayce shook his head. “Nothing,” he said.

            “Anything at all.”

            He considered, then laughed at himself, replying, “In that case...it feels so trivial, but it seems like months since we had a hot bath.”

            Viktor lifted his face. “One of the springs that feeds our creek is deep. We might go there?” Their wooden tub had not survived the fire. “It is not too great a distance.”

            “Tonight?” Jayce asked, blinking. “Now?”

            “Why not?”

            Safety was the only reason to refrain from venturing away their camp, but they would face no greater danger in the wilderness than they would facing down Clan Kiramman’s army. Jayce had no real protest, and they had not yet removed their cloaks and boots, so they set out arm-in-arm with the lantern, fresh clothes, and a bar of soap from Zaun between them.

            At the front gate, Viktor informed the villagers standing guard where he and Jayce were headed. As they plodded to the creek and wound along the bank, the camp faded into the silence of snowfall, darkness, and the stretch of trees that lined the water. In the lantern light, Viktor bundled close to Jayce and took comfort in their easy coordination. They had fallen out-of-step for some time. No more.

            When they reached the spring, Viktor stamped the bottom of his staff across the ice to break it up and send it flowing downstream while Jayce cleared away a patch of snow on the bank. Viktor crouched to cut open his thumb and warm the water with a few drops of his blood.

            The spell pulled palpably upon him—a light tug. What little discomfort he experienced, however, melted away once he and Jayce disrobed and submerged themselves in the water.

            Jayce released a heavy sigh of contentment.

            Smiling, Viktor left his mate to unwind with his eyes closed, floating on his back in the spring’s gentle current. He retrieved the soap from the bank and washed himself. After rinsing, he did feel quite refreshed. He had given little thought to his own health as of late, and that was a mistake. Jayce was right. Clan Talis needed their herald at full strength.

            Viktor picked his way over the stones and silt underfoot until he reached Jayce.

            “May I wash your hair?”

            Eyes closed still, a smile on his mouth, Jayce nodded.

            This was a kindness Jayce had so often shown to Viktor, repayment of the favor was its own reward. Jayce’s hair had grown some since they had met, but it was so thick that that growth seemed much more significant. Viktor carefully scrubbed his scalp and combed the strands with his fingers until every inch of Jayce’s hair was soapy.

            “This reminds me of our first morning together,” Jayce said, opening his eyes.

            Viktor leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead. The alpha rumbled.

            “That was a happy time,” Viktor said.

            After a moment of quiet, Jayce replied, “...do you think there will be happy times again?”

            Humming, Viktor pondered.

            “I suppose that happy times come in cycles, like the day and night,” he said. “Like the seasons. We cannot always be happy, but we cannot always sorrow. Neither is the night completely dark, nor the day completely bright. There will be moons and clouds amid the sorrows and the joys.”

            He dipped Jayce’s head below the water to rinse his hair and floated back a step or two. Jayce righted himself, broodingly silent.

            “You’re so wise,” he said after another moment.

            Viktor was not certain that was a compliment. A spur lurked under the language.

            “Speak your mind, mate,” he said.

            Jayce shook his head, but the gesture seemed an internal thing, directed at himself. He spoke with his face pointed at the water.

            “I feel like I don’t have the right to be angry with you,” he said. “About anything. Ever. You understand the world so much better than I do, and since we’ve been together, I’ve tried not to feel inadequate in comparison, but—what you did, keeping that secret for Zaun, I want to understand why, and I don’t. I’m just...hurt, and that seems like such a useless emotion.” He glanced at Viktor with so much more to say, so Viktor kept his mouth closed. “I told you how I always feel one step behind, and you kept me one step behind...”

            Viktor drew a little closer.

            “My choices were cruel, Jayce,” he said.

            “I know, but I also know that you never make a choice without weighing your options,” he replied. “That means that you did what you did for a reason. A good reason. And that just makes me feel...more inadequate.”

            “Jayce.”

            His bondmate finally looked at him.

            “You are not, and have never been, inadequate.” Viktor sought out his hand to lace their fingers. “The qualities you admire in me may be those you desire for yourself, but the qualities I admire in you are those which I desire, too. You are what I am not.”

            Viktor had been Zaun’s recluse princess, waiting idly for his time in the sun. Jayce had been Clan Kiramman’s ward, eager to make his mark on the world. Neither had achieved anything of note until they had entered each other’s lives.

            “We are bondmates,” Viktor said. “What is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. Together, we are complete.”

            Letting his breath out, Jayce nodded.

            “I just...needed to get that off my chest,” he said.

            Viktor squeezed his fingers. “Whatever you wish to express, my dove. I will listen.”

            That was all Jayce wanted to say for the moment, it seemed. Viktor released his hand and drifted backward once more to give him space. He took himself nearer to the bank where he could sit upon the rocks while keeping his shoulders submerged. The spring would stay hot as long as he willed, so Jayce was free to take his time.

            Viktor watched as Jayce waded to a shallow spot where he could lift his arms and legs to wash. His eyes trailed water running along the strong lines of Jayce’s back, his sculpted shoulders, gentle hands sliding across skin. Viktor averted his gaze to give his mate privacy, but his cheeks burned hot all the same. How strange, to feel any sense of shyness in admiring his bondmate. Perhaps that had to do with this division between them. A division Viktor would honor until his mate decided otherwise.

            “Are you...blushing?”

            Startling, Viktor glanced toward Jayce to find the alpha looking at him in astonishment. The question only made that blush deepen. He opened his mouth to deny it, which was pointless.

            “You have an owl’s eyesight,” he grumbled instead.

            “No, I could smell it in your scent...”

            “My scent?”

            Suddenly, Jayce was wading toward him quite quickly. “Yes, the wildflowers all go pink when you blush. I—” He came up short as he reached Viktor.

            They stared at each other in the lantern light, both deer, both hunters.

            “I...I’ve missed your scent,” Jayce whispered.

            At a loss for words, Viktor swallowed, but his lips parted as he found himself unable to take his eyes off Jayce.

            “I did not realize it had vanished,” he said, falteringly.  

            “What made you blush?”

            Viktor flushed to the tips of his ears. As he glanced away, Jayce took hold of his face, and the contact jolted them both. Again, they stared. Viktor endeavored to keep his breathing steady. A difficult task in present circumstances.

            “Why does this...feel so...charged?” Jayce asked.

            Viktor shook his head. He did not know.

            The atmosphere between them glinted with uncertainty, attraction. As if they were brand new lovers not yet acquainted, equal parts amorous and afraid. Viktor’s heart kicked in his chest. From the moment they had met, Jayce had found his way so effortlessly around all of Viktor’s defenses. Viktor had never been one to trust; Jayce trusted too easily. Another matter on which Viktor was certain they both wished their roles were reversed.

            The alpha’s hands were wet and warm on his cheeks, as warm as his eyes as they roved his face and neck and shoulders.

            Under the faint herbal scent of the soap, spice and musk signaled relief—and desire.

            Viktor purred at him.

            “Come here, my dove,” he said, and wrapped his fingers around Jayce’s wrists to skim up his arms and draw him down into the water. Jayce knelt in the silt in front of Viktor as Viktor twined his arms around his neck. “We must begin somewhere.”

            Jayce slid his fingers into Viktor’s hair. Viktor shivered, his lips parting, and he pulled himself closer to Jayce to kiss his mouth.

            The alpha parted his lips, too, but let Viktor kiss him without returning, absorbing instead. Viktor touched his tongue to his tongue, brushed his lips across his lips. He could not resist drawing closer, closing the gap between them so that their chests were flush and his own fingers wound into Jayce’s hair. This pushed them further from the bank into slightly deeper water. Jayce wrapped his arms around Viktor’s waist as they went.

            Viktor trilled into his mouth when their hips met and the stiffening of Jayce’s cock became apparent. He drew closer still, kissing his alpha, hoping his alpha would kiss him back, but Jayce took hold of his hips and pulled away.

            Before Viktor could ask what was amiss, Jayce dipped his head to rub their necks together. His chest shuddered with his breath. Viktor clung to him.

            “I missed your scent so much...” Jayce whispered.

            “You made me blush,” Viktor replied, voice soft. “You looked so handsome, but I also wanted to preserve your privacy, so...” He blushed once more and felt quite silly, but Jayce rumbled at him. “You are generous with your love. I never want to be presumptuous.”

            Jayce squeezed his hips, then wound his arms tight and squeezed as much of Viktor as he could at once.

            “Thank you, princess...”

            Viktor stroked his hair.

            “We need only proceed as far as you desire.”

            “And if I want to knot you?”

            Viktor trembled as his breath left him, deep arousal stirring. He could only nod, already hazy at the thought of Jayce’s knot.

            Shifting, Jayce pressed his lips to Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor hummed. The alpha pecked his way up Viktor’s neck, over his mate mark, to the hollow behind his ear. His beard tickled, and Viktor shivered, pleased, unable to keep from giggling. His hands trailed down Jayce’s own neck, over his shoulders, along his back, and around his hips to take hold of his cock. Teeth accompanied the next kiss to his neck and made him shiver all over again, slick.

            He stroked Jayce in that way he knew he liked best—tight and twisting with his thumb pressed hard and trailing behind. Jayce growled, unsealing his mouth from Viktor’s neck to kiss his lips instead. Viktor sighed happily, and Jayce’s cock continued to harden in his hand.

            “...love you,” Jayce said against his mouth. “...ngh—love you so much.”

            Purring, trilling, Viktor nodded. “I love you, my bondmate. My alpha—ah...”

            Jayce had brushed a pair of fingers over his entrance. The water carried away most of the slick, but acted as its own sort of lubricant. Jayce circled his fingers around and around and around in such a spellbinding pattern that Viktor found himself unable to do anything other than drop his mouth open and close his eyes.

            He accidentally squeezed Jayce’s cock when the alpha pushed a finger inside him, and that made Jayce growl, though not in anger.

            Shaking his head in apology, Viktor ran his hands up Jayce’s arms to anchor around his neck and kiss Jayce as he fingered him open—Viktor rutting against his hips and cock, humming and purring and huffing. Jayce deliberately avoided stroking too deep.

            Viktor keened.

            Jayce chuckled. “What?”

            Viktor only keened again. He tried to rock himself further onto Jayce’s fingers, but the alpha removed them entirely, so he settled for what he hoped was a persuasive whine.

            “Please?”

            With a splash, Jayce flipped him around and took a step backward into even deeper water, where his feet reached the bottom, but Viktor’s did not. He ran his hands up his hips and sides, settling to support him at the same time he entered Viktor with one, long push. Reflexively, Viktor sought purchase on the stones below, but found none, groaning, going limp, as Jayce slowly bottomed out.

            “Fuuuck,” he gasped, pawing at Jayce. His face nearly dipped below the surface, but Jayce shifted an arm to hold him up, a hand braced up his neck and under his chin.

            “You never curse,” Jayce said, amused.

            Viktor cursed him in several languages then, but that only made the alpha laugh, and those curses turned into a moan of pleasure as he began to fuck him.

            Utterly at Jayce’s mercy, Viktor had no idea how long he would last. The alpha rolled his hips, unhurried, sensuous, his cock pressing against Viktor’s prostate with every thrust. There was little point in resistance. When Jayce had been in rut, Viktor had simply accepted that orgasm was out of his control, and the memory made him writhe, clenching around Jayce. The alpha rumbled and pressed his lips to Viktor’s mate mark.

            “Jayce...”

            “Yes, Viktor?”

            Viktor keened in response. Jayce fucked him harder. Ah, that was right. Jayce liked the sounds his mate made.

            Viktor treated him to a chorus. Humming. Moaning. Sighing with shivering pleasure. He let every thrust Jayce carved into him create some new harmony. Trills, whines, whatever Jayce wanted, he would hear. One small consolation Viktor could offer in times like these.

            Every touch, every kiss, the motion of their bodies in concert brought their souls back into tune.

            Jayce showered his neck and shoulders with kisses that grew sloppier, sharper, his teeth grazing Viktor’s skin. Viktor knew the instant Jayce sank his teeth into the mark, he would come, yet Jayce waited to initiate the bite until Viktor was already coming, and pleasure which had only just become apparent compounded twice over. Viktor shook apart as the sensation dragged him under, hot and driving satisfaction, his mate finishing inside him, his knot securing them together.  

            He’d tipped forward again, his nose brushing the water, though Jayce kept him out of it, bent over him, teeth in his neck. He keened when Jayce unlatched his jaw, shivered when he licked and kissed the wound.

            Legs unsteady, Jayce brought them back over to the shallows to sit, Viktor in his lap. Viktor rested his head back against Jayce’s shoulder and caught his breath.

            Jayce did, too.

            “It really is an honor, Viktor,” he said after a moment, “to stand at your side. To have you by mine...”

            Reaching up and backward, Viktor pressed his hand to Jayce’s cheek at the same time he turned his head to receive the kiss Jayce dipped to press to his.

            “Believe me, Jayce. The honor is mine.”

**

While Clan Talis waited for word from Piltover, repairs on the forge finished. Before departing, Vander had agreed to supply materials for a staff for Viktor. His only contribution to their war effort. Jayce finalized a new design, and the instant that metal rolled through the back gate, he went to work.

            The sound of hammer on anvil rang once again through the valley.

            Clan Talis was gathering their strength. Violet set out for Castle Kiramman. Viktor drafted battleplans. Powder hit a dead end with her research and took a break to build Sevika an artificial arm for the fight ahead. The Piltovian pilgrims meshed with the people of the moors, all of them lending their work and few worldly possessions to the cause. Jayce spent several days laboring over the new staff—crafting a perfect union of everything he had learned since bonding with Viktor. The forge was the one place he could empty his mind and let his feelings flow from his hands into his hammer.

            When the hammering finally stopped, he brought Viktor into the forge and presented his mate with a weapon of bizarre beauty.

            Though straight as a rod, the metal exhibited a twisting quality, like a natural branch or piece of driftwood. The alloy shone silver from one angle, white from another. A robust cage of gold filigree inspired by Zaunite design capped the top, irregular ovals that formed an orb. No interchangeable runes, no shimmer tubing. Only brilliant metal meant to serve as a perfect conduit for Viktor’s magic and Viktor’s magic alone.

            The moment the omega’s hand closed around the staff, an iridescent light flickered to life inside the filigree.

            Viktor stared. Wide eyes reflected that light.

            He looked at Jayce.

            “What do you think?” Jayce asked.

            His bondmate came forward to wrap his arms around him, heedless of the sweat and soot of the forge. Viktor hugged him, staff in hand, a trill in his mouth.

            “Thank you, my dove,” he whispered, tucking his face against Jayce’s neck and drawing in a deep breath before scenting him. “I do not have the words to describe this gift. It is beyond exquisite.”

            With a gentle rumble, Jayce bent and pressed a kiss to his neck.

            “How does it feel?” he asked.

            “As if it has relieved the burden of the Arcane through mere touch...”

            Viktor’s voice trembled. Strong emotion swelled within him, so Jayce rumbled and kissed his neck again.

            “Good.”

            Viktor only gathered him closer, hugged him tighter. “I have lived under the weight of the Arcane for so long, I never imagined I could feel relief. I—I would not have thought to ask for this.” Swallowing, Viktor drew back to brush tears from his eyes. “You ought to craft something for yourself, too. Unless you mean to march into battle emptyhanded?”

            Sighing, Jayce leaned his weight against the stone table.

            “Truthfully, my martial skills are...passable at best,” he said. “I only practiced enough to keep from embarrassing myself among the lords.” He’d never planned to march onto any battlefield, much less one of his own choosing. “Practically anyone can outshoot me with a bow. I have marginal experience in shortsword and longsword, but even with a greatsword, I’m nothing special. I feel the most at home with a hammer in my hand...”

            “And why not a hammer?” Viktor stoked the back of his neck. “The man who is capable of crafting something as unparallelled as this—” He maneuvered the staff between them. “—is certainly capable of crafting a suitable weapon for himself.”

            Jayce glanced at the staff, focused on the filigree, examined the light within.

            The staff was a weapon, as far as Viktor was concerned. Jayce acknowledged that. Viktor would use it to channel his magic to wage war for their clan. Beyond that, though, the staff served an infinite number of purposes, and need not serve as a weapon forever. A hammer, however, was another matter.

            “Maybe,” he replied, “but am I fit to lead people into battle?”

            Viktor tilted his head. “You think yourself unfit?”

            A harsh puff of air left Jayce’s mouth, and he laughed a little, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to think, Viktor. I just...I never expected to be in this position. I’m not anybody special. When I was Clan Kiramman’s ward, I was perfectly content—ignorant, but content. I agreed to the mate-bond to avoid war, and now—now I’m instigating it. What right do I have to lead? To send people to their deaths for my benefit?”

            “We will not be leading anyone from Clan Talis into war.”

            “They want to fight, Viktor,” Jayce replied. “I’ve heard them talking.”

            Their people were loyal, brave, and hearty people. Jayce supposed camaraderie and shared sorrows had galvanized them toward taking action, but the Kiramman army would decimate them. No matter how hard they trained, Cassandra’s soldiers had time and money on their side. It was part of the reason Jayce and Viktor had agreed to fight as a pair, regardless of Zaun’s decision. They’d gained Violet, and Sevika, and that doubled their numbers, but Jayce disliked the idea of having to tell his people to sit down and wait for their lord to fix things.

            Powder wanted to fight, too.

            They had yet to broach the topic with any of them.

            Viktor set the staff aside, and the light faded from the filigree. Even under the returned weight of the Arcane, he held Jayce’s face in his hands and lifted his chin.

            “Build a brilliant hammer, my dove,” he said. “Make for yourself what your nation covets. I will provide all the magic you require.”

            Turning his face, Jayce folded one of his hands over Viktor’s and kissed his palm.

            “I will need your strength to endure this, Viktor.”

            The omega purred, nodding, leaning against Jayce. Though still subdued, his scent had returned since their night in the spring. Gentle water, quiet moonlight, the first few wildflowers of spring, blooming in snow. That scent brought Jayce more comfort than anything in the world.

            “You shall have it, my dove,” Viktor said. “Together, we cannot fall.”

            A message reached them through the scouts.

            Two riders from the north.

            “Piltover’s envoy arrives at last,” Viktor said, righting himself and taking the staff in hand once more.

            Jayce drew in and released a deep breath.

            This was their final opportunity to avoid war.

            He wondered who Piltover had sent.

            Together, he and Viktor went to the front gate. The pilgrims who had likewise heard the message began to congregate, but Viktor urged them to return to their daily tasks. They all wished to please their herald and dispersed as quickly as they’d gathered, so that by the time the riders came into view, they were two meeting two.

            The rider in front wore a black fur cloak with the hood raised against the cold. The rider behind held aloft a banner billowing with the crest of Clan Medarda.

            They slowed as they reached the open gate and reined their horses to a stop.

            “Welcome to Hammer House,” Jayce said.

            Both he and Viktor bowed.

            Sweeping back her hood, Mel dismounted and passed the reins to the standard bearer—a beta Jayce recognized as Elora, one of Mel’s honor guard. Mel came forward, and offered a bow in return.

            “The Lords’ Council received your message,” she said. “I serve as envoy and carry the full capacity to conduct negotiations on the council’s behalf.”

            “The council falls behind Clan Kiramman, then?” Viktor replied.

            “To declare war against one lord of Piltover is to declare war against all lords of Piltover,” Mel replied, though she took no pleasure in saying it. “They’ve chosen me as representative in this matter, and I sincerely hope we will reach a peaceful resolution. We are allies, are we not?”

            She glanced between them, warm eyes imploring.

            “That remains to be seen,” Viktor replied.

            “Come in,” Jayce said. “We can shelter your horses in what remains of the stables.”

            Mel followed where they led, Elora trailing after. Mel fell still, though, as soon as the charred remnants of Hammer House came into view.

            “Jayce...”

            “Did you think we’d declared war for no reason?” Jayce replied. He had all but lost his tolerance for the shock and sympathy of others. A few villagers stepped forward to settle the horses, so Jayce and Viktor continued onward. “Viktor and I understand what’s at stake better than anyone.”

            Mel and Elora followed swiftly into the command tent.

            “Jayce, I am so sorry.”

            “Thirty-one dead, my mother taken hostage, our home destroyed, and our research stolen,” Jayce replied. He gestured for Mel to take a seat before dropping down himself. “I believe that’s adequate grounds for war.”

            Viktor lowered himself to sit by Jayce’s side.

            Mel and Elora remained on their feet.

            “You believe Clan Kiramman responsible,” Mel said.

            “We have evidence,” Jayce replied. “A clan medallion taken off the captain of the opposing force. A witness reported seeing those fighters flee north upon abducting my mother. Zaun has no reason to attack their own princess. The animosity between Clan Talis and Lord Kiramman is well-known. Mercenaries don’t waste their time on the moors—and no mercenaries would raid only our research.”

            Finally, Mel knelt on the other side of the table.

            “They believe you mad, Jayce,” she said. “The narrative spun by the council is that you’ve fallen victim to his highness’s magic, that he wields you now as a puppet of Zaun, intent to conquer and destroy the peace.”

            “Yes, that was Zaun’s plan,” Viktor said.

            The admission caught Mel by surprise.

            “We are all of us servants to two war-mongering nations,” he continued. “Strife and discord are so deeply embedded in our peoples that they may as well be our culture. Silco had plans to conquer Piltover, yes. My magic factored as a key component of those plans, but make no mistake, Lady Medarda. This war is not his.”

            Beneath them, the ground rumbled and a sharp wind shook the tent.

            There could be no doubting that truth.

            “We have terms,” Jayce said.

            “Piltover will hear them,” Mel replied.

            He laid them out quite simply. First, the release of his mother and assurance of her safe return to Clan Talis. Second, for the captain of the soldiers who led the attack, along with all of the soldiers under his command to receive due punishment—execution for the captain, with Sevika wielding the blade, imprisonment for the soldiers depending on their roles and rank. Third, Piltover would recognize the Talis territory’s independence. And fourth, Cassandra Kiramman must relinquish her title as lord.

            Whatever Mel’s reaction, she kept her expression perfectly neutral.

            “Piltover cannot agree to those terms.”

            “Then what’s your counteroffer?” Jayce replied.

            “Clan Talis has no army, Jayce. Your territory has no infrastructure, no industry. You may be self-sufficient, but you cannot stand between Piltover and Zaun and expect to be treated as an equal.” She raised a hand when that comment brought low growls out of Jayce and Viktor alike. “I do not believe you unequal, but within the broader political landscape, that is how you are perceived.”

            Petulant children, like Viktor had said.

            “Piltover is willing to facilitate the safe return of Lady Ximena Talis,” Mel said.

            Jayce clenched his jaw. “So Clan Kiramman does have her.”

            Mel made no answer. To do so was to admit guilt.

            “Is that all Piltover is willing to facilitate?” Viktor replied. “They will not even agree to a trial for their soldiers?”

            “Again, the belief is that Jayce has been magically influenced into this course of action,” Mel said, “and knowing what a fierce negotiator his majesty is, knowing that his highness is the same, I am under explicit instruction not to bend to any additional terms.”

            Jayce laughed once, harshly. “Then why come at all?”

            “To make you see sense,” Mel replied.

            “What sense?!” Jayce threw out his hands. “We’re supposed to capitulate to Piltover? Just because? Cassandra says so, so everyone else has to fall in line? I won’t do it, Mel. I am done falling in line. You pushed this on me. You broke off our courtship. You urged me to agree to the mate-bond. You proposed the council make me a lord. Why?”

            But even as he asked the question, he understood why. Mel had maneuvered him into this position because she’d wanted Piltover’s representative bondmate to be someone she could influence. Someone who trusted her, and would take her advice.

            She had ended everything between them for her own political gain.

            Jayce was a game piece to everyone save one person now.

            Viktor.

            He placed his hand on his bondmate’s thigh.

            “We have the strength to fight,” he said. “If Piltover is too proud to see that, then we will meet them on the battlefield.”

            “We need not go to war, Jayce.”

            “You forget yourself, Lady Medarda,” Viktor said. Sitting back, Mel inclined her head. “If the alternative Piltover proposes in place of war is simply for Clan Talis to sit down, shut up, and endure their mistreatment, Clan Talis will politely decline. Our differences, it seems, will only be settled through physical conflict.”

            “People will suffer.”

            “Your lords will suffer,” Viktor replied. “Their people shall be spared.”

            Viktor’s word was absolute. Resilient and resplendent, there could be no mistaking his strength as a mage—like a deity descended to the earth. Ready to fight. Ready to win. Ready for everyone to kneel at his feet and fucking worship him.

            Jayce squeezed his thigh.

            War may have been foolish, but at least they’d chosen it for themselves.

            “Have these negotiations concluded, then?” Mel asked.

            “Lady Medarda, we all know Piltover did not send you to conduct negotiations,” Viktor replied. “You are here to save face. To paint us the villains in your propaganda. If Piltover truly will not agree to any terms outside of the return of Lady Talis, then I do not see what more there is to discuss.” He looked at Jayce. “Do you?”

            Jayce shook his head.

            “I’m sorry it’s come to this,” Jayce said, “but not as sorry as Piltover will be.”

            That was that.

            “Negotiations” with both Zaun and Piltover had not even spanned the course of a half hour. Clan Talis would march to war against Clan Kiramman without the aid of Zaun, and Piltover would stand behind Clan Kiramman. Mel and Elora did not even stay the night, instead departing with all swiftness to deliver the news to the Lords’ Council. The sun set not long after their withdrawal.

            Viktor and Jayce remained in the command tent.

            “Clan Hoskel stands between us and Clan Kiramman,” Viktor said, a crude map laid out before them on the table—borders and landmarks constructed of small pebbles. “Given our history, I doubt we will pass through his territory unimpeded.”

            “Hoskel will fight,” Jayce replied with a nod. “Salo, too, but I think we can use that to our advantage. Demonstrate our power before advancing on Castle Kiramman.”

            They were really going to do this.

            They were really going to war against Piltover.

            “Ximena is our first priority,” Viktor agreed. “We should not expect them to retain her at Castle Kiramman. They will move her deeper into Piltover if we wait too long.”

            “Let’s give Violet a few more days to return, then prepare to set out.”

            Viktor surveyed the map, drawing in and releasing a long breath.

            “So be it.”

            The tent flap flew open as a breathless Powder stumbled inside.

            “V! Jayce! Come quick!”

            Startled, Jayce and Viktor exchanged expressions, but Powder had no patience for that. She scrambled over the table and dragged them to their feet and herded them toward the exit.

            “Powder, what is the meaning of—”

            “I tried to do the mind magic thing, but I couldn’t reach you,” she said, pulling them toward the back gate and running for the trail up the escarpment. “Sevika and I were up on the moor testing her new arm where nobody would get hurt, and after the sun went down, we saw something moving through the valleys...”

            They all hurried to the moor and the sweeping view that stretched all the way to Zaun. In the dark, what Powder and Sevika had seen became immediately apparent.

            Sevika pointed it out nevertheless.

            “The hell do you think that is?”

            Between the hills, snaking along the road to Zaun, a stream of purple light was advancing on Hammer House.

            “Zaun’s army,” Viktor breathed.

            The four of them flew to the valley floor. Powder and Sevika spread word through the camp to begin evacuation. Jayce and Viktor went out the back gate to intercept the force now marching toward their home—uncertain if they came as friend or foe.

            Gradually, the crags shined purple, and that light grew brighter and brighter as the lock-step crunch of boots echoed between the cliffs.

            The first of Zaun’s soldiers emerged three abreast—outfitted in slick, black armor, bearing pikes that radiated purple light. They saluted Jayce and Viktor, then moved to line up in formation. More pike bearers poured from the crags, saluting and lining up, saluting and lining up. After the pikes came soldiers with shields. After the shields came soldiers with bows. After the bows, came soldiers with swords and scimitars, and the procession continued and continued until the clearing between the crags and the rear gate had filled with neat lines of soldiers and there was no more room to contain those still trailing through the valley.

            One of them gave a whistle, then they all cried in unison: “Hail, Jayce, head of Clain Talis! Hail, Viktor, princess of Zaun!”

            Jayce’s breath left him and did not return.

            “How many are you?” Viktor called, his knuckles white as he gripped his staff.

            “Two thousand, your highness,” the nearest captain answered, saluting. “Ready to serve.”

            “Two thousand and one.”

            The voice that spoke had an ancient quality—dusty, croaking. Hearing it, Viktor went as stiff as a board at Jayce’s side. The very air around him chilled with magic. Someone moved within the soldiers, their ranks shuffling and shifting to allow passage. An old man appeared. Thin, haggard, bald. A scarf covered his nose and mouth but failed to hide the pocked, red scars that spanned half his face. He came to a stop, his hands tucked behind his back.

            The atmosphere quivered like static before a lightning strike, the smell of ozone and hair standing on end.

            Though Jayce had never seen him before, he knew immediately who this man was.

            Singed.

            “Hello, Viktor,” Singed said. “I’m told you seek the secrets of shimmer.”

Chapter Text

No sooner had the breath left Singed’s mouth than Viktor brought the man to his knees. The sudden change in air pressure caused his ears to pop, but he ignored the pain. Singed collapsed, blood dripping from his own ears as Viktor concentrated every last iota of his magic upon him. Singed had neither the strength of body nor the presence of mind to resist, especially not when the light within the filigree flared, flattening him to the ground.

            Viktor tugged on the old man’s blood.

            “Give me one good reason not to kill you where you lay,” he growled. The air wavered, the ground shuddered, and his voice reverberated between the crags.

            Compelled by sympathy, Singed replied, “I will—teach you—to brew...shimmer.”

            As he spoke, blood seeped through the scarf covering his mouth.

            “Is that all?” Viktor replied.

            Singed fought for air.

            “You are—now—a bonded omega,” he gasped. “With this change in your blood, I could brew for you a—stronger shimmer, more potent than any potion known to man.”

            Viktor pulled Singed upright and toward him so roughly, the man’s neck snapped backward and he groaned in pain. Hovering a few inches off the ground, Singed squinted in the light of Viktor’s staff. They may as well have been the only two people in the world.

            Once, before everything had gone wrong, they had been.

            “If a change in my blood produces a change in shimmer, that would make my blood a key component in its creation,” Viktor replied.

            “That is correct.”

            Of course it was correct. Only an alchemist as talented as Singed was capable of crafting a potion able to mimic the power of the Arcane. Only a scientist as unconscionable as he was willing to develop a potion which required human blood. Viktor’s blood. Blood which resonated with the Arcane, blood which Singed himself had alchemized into a medium for magic previously nonexistent. He must have found a way to replicate that blood, else his supply would have run dry long ago.

            “Your magic—you’ve used shimmer as a catalyst,” Singed said. “I can sense its presence on you—on your followers. You—”

            A spurt of blood from his mouth cut off the rest.

            “I do not recall giving you permission to speak.”

            Rage churned in Viktor—cold and relentless, the howling of a winter wind that stung the skin and burned the lungs. He was a helpless pup no longer. He would not cower before Singed. He did not fear him. The man was a sacrifice laid upon the altar by his mother to atone for Silco’s sins. A blood offering.

            “Silco sent you here to die,” Viktor said.

            Wisely, Singed made no reply.

            Viktor ought to liquify his brain in retribution, but a swift death was too merciful an end, and to waste such a resource on the eve of battle was pure folly.

            Viktor had only one recourse, then.

            “You will show Clan Talis perfect obedience,” he said. “You will create a new shimmer compound to aid in our war effort. You will betray neither me nor anyone loyal to me. You will not plot, you will not scheme. You will prove your usefulness and loyalty to me with every breath you take, or you will die.” The words etched themselves into Singed’s blood like commandments on stone. A truth, a curse. Conditions. If Singed broke them, his blood would rebel. “Indicate your understanding.”

            “I understand.”

            “Understand that your heart beats by my will and my will alone,” Viktor replied. “There are many in this camp who can attest to my ability to fill one’s head with visions. As I do not wish to damage your brain at this precise moment, I will refrain, but rest assured that I will have you undergo each and every horror you inflicted upon me.” He shifted closer. Strange, to see this monster from his childhood revealed a frail man of flesh and bone. “The passage of such visions will seem to your mind as long as the many years I endured your agonies.”

            Viktor stepped back.

            “That is a fate you will not escape, no matter how valuable your talents.”

            He released his hold on Singed, and the man collapsed to the ground. There he remained, coughing, fighting for air, and Viktor raised his face to the soldiers arrayed before him.

            “My brothers and sisters of Zaun,” he said, and sympathy carried his voice to every ear as if he stood within arm’s reach of each of them. “Clan Talis marches to fight against Piltover. Many of you will march with us. Most will remain behind to protect the innocent lives of our people. We will harm no civilians, burn no homes, trample no crops. We fight soldier against soldier, lord against lord. If this manner of conduct does not suit you, return to Zaun now.”

            The ranks shuffled as the soldiers glanced around to see who would depart.

            Every last one stood their ground.

            Satisfied, Viktor laid out the plan he had drafted for an army he had only half-expected to receive. Some of their number would remain at Hammer House while a division moved to protect the village, and others still would spread into the hamlets and homesteads that dotted the moors. Their best fighters would march with Clan Talis when the time came.

            “Captains, I will leave the execution of these orders to you.”

            The soldiers saluted, and the captains called their units to attention. Viktor looked down at Singed by his feet.

            “As for you...”

            A simple mental summons brought Sevika swiftly to his side.

            “See that he has what he needs to conduct his studies,” Viktor said. “I believe I have imposed sufficient restrictions upon him, but do please incapacitate him if he makes trouble.”

            “My fucking pleasure,” she replied.

            Though still a prototype, the mechanical arm of Powder’s artifice functioned well enough to yank Singed to his feet. Sevika dragged him, swaying, into camp. The soldiers, on the other hand, dispersed in orderly lines, some preparing to march for the village, others making their way into the estate to erect tents for those who would remain at Hammer House.

            Viktor drew his magic back into the staff, and the light dimmed. He felt his hair fall across his neck as if it been suspended all that time.

            Blinking, he suddenly felt quite small.

            It was then Jayce drew him into his arms.

            Squeezing, rumbling, pouring comfort through their bond, Jayce held onto Viktor.

            Trembling, Viktor tucked his face into his shoulder.

            Perhaps his bondmate thought he had shown Singed mercy, but mercy had had nothing to do with it. Letting that creature live was the more logical, more beneficial choice for the war effort. Even now, the social strategies instilled in him by Silco ruled his decisions.

            Perhaps he ought to liquify Singed’s brain after all.

            “How do you feel?” Jayce asked, peppering his hair and the side of his head with kisses. “Any strain?”

            Viktor drew in a deep breath and released it slowly.

            “No...” he said. “None at all...”

            The alpha swelled with pride. Viktor drew back, but his gazed fixed on the ground.

            “Am I too soft, Jayce?”

            “What? What do you mean?”

            “Cassandra Kiramman yet lives,” Viktor replied. “Hoskel and Salo live. My mother lives. Singed lives. Had I inflicted upon any of these individuals even an ounce of the treatment they inflicted upon me, they would have had me flayed.” He lifted his eyes to Jayce. “Am I too soft?”

            Jayce carefully cradled Viktor’s face in his hands, his own eyes shining.

            “What you are is unstoppable, Viktor.”

            Viktor’s breath caught in his throat.

            Looking at his mate, he realized with astonishing clarity that not only was Jayce unafraid of Viktor’s magic, he was enticed by it. Attraction sang to him through his bondmate’s scent and blood. Viktor swallowed. He supposed he need not ever worry about alarming his mate with his power, but then again Jayce had always made his fascination with Viktor’s magic quite clear.

            “You could bend the whole world to your will,” he rumbled.

            Everything was spinning out of control, but Jayce remained unshakably rooted—steady as iron. Yes, his alpha was right. All Viktor had to do was place his hand on the scales, and the delicate balance between Piltover and Zaun—that intangible tension which kept them both upright—would topple. Their people must evolve beyond vendettas and hatred. The nations which restrained them must be destroyed.

            “They should count your benevolence a blessing,” Jayce continued.

            He held onto Viktor with such possessive pride, such hot hands.

            “Are you approaching rut?” Viktor teased, voice low.

            He intended the question as a playful deflection, but enough time had passed. Jayce should have enjoyed less-demanding ruts, but not without Viktor in heat. He could not fathom why this of all things occupied his mind now. He had welcomed into his camp the man who had broken every bone in his body and every shred of his spirit to mold him into a mage. His mother had made this sad attempt at recompense. His war would break his father’s heart, and people were going to die. Yet he stood outside the gate to his ruined estate, breathing in the heady scent of musk and spice.

            Jayce shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. I hadn’t—I hadn’t thought about it, but...” He swallowed, and Viktor watched his throat bob. “We—can’t afford that right now...”

            “The body has a will of its own, Jayce,” Viktor said, cupping his cheek in his hand. “You cannot resist your rut any more than I can will myself to—”

            He could not speak the words.

            For some reason, that was too difficult a truth to utter now.

            “What if—” Jayce replied, but stopped himself for the same reason as Viktor.

            Viktor stroked his cheek. “You will not harm me, mate. I will make certain of that.”

            Jayce kissed him then—long and sensuous, drawing Viktor’s tongue into his mouth. The kiss lingered on Viktor’s lips, buzzing until they retired to the privacy of their own tent later that night. There Jayce kissed Viktor again, and freed him from his clothes, and fucked him until they were both sweating, panting for release. Jayce came with Viktor’s name on his tongue and his tongue in Viktor’s mouth. Viktor shivered into orgasm at the sensation of his bondmate’s knot swelling inside him—Jayce’s name on his tongue, too.

            After, they lay still, lay quiet.

            Jayce’s fingers brushed every inch of Viktor’s skin within reach, passing over scars as if they did not exist at all.

            Though lavished with such attention, Viktor’s eye caught on the glint of gold around his wrist—the bracelet Jayce had crafted for him, once a home to shimmer, now a set of empty rings. That strange craving for the potion rose within him, hollow and hot. A longing, perhaps, for the person he had been before this change in his blood. The change in perspective. Would Singed’s new shimmer satisfy this thirst, or would Viktor’s reckless use of magic he did not understand follow him forever?

            Gingerly, he slid the bracelet off his wrist. He had not removed it since the grand banquet all those weeks ago—when Jayce had been in rut.

            “Do you think this can be repaired?” he asked.

            Viktor passed the bracelet into Jayce’s hand.

            “Do you need shimmer?” Jayce asked.

            Technically, Viktor had no need of the potion with a staff now capable of channeling both aspects of his magic. He shook his head.

            “No, I—I simply feel compelled to keep it near.”

            Propping himself up, Jayce looked down at Viktor. Skin to skin, Jayce’s knot securing them together, Viktor had nowhere to hide. He tried not to let that frighten him. He had no desire to keep secrets from Jayce.

            The alpha set the bracelet aside and laid his hand across Viktor’s chest.

            “All the more reason to keep it as far from you as possible.”

            Protectiveness rumbled through his voice, suffused his scent. He must have hated sheltering in their camp the man who had harmed his bondmate, yet he had voiced no protest, had not tried to talk Viktor out of this course of action. He had recognized that the decision was Viktor’s and Viktor’s alone. A sudden, overwhelming appreciation for Jayce swept over Viktor and chased away that hot and hollow longing for the past.

            Purring, he pressed his rear into the cradle of Jayce’s hips. Jayce growled, his cock stiffening a little even as his knot subsided. In all likelihood, he would enter rut in the coming days. Viktor clasped the hand over his chest and turned his face to seek out Jayce’s mouth and kiss him. He rocked back into his hips until Jayce took over the rhythm. Viktor sighed.

            What a gift to be loved by Jayce Talis.

**

The day after their bonding ceremony, walking through Piltover’s camp with Viktor on his arm, Jayce had pictured himself as walking onto a battlefield bearing an exceptionally large hammer. Back then, he had thought of Viktor as a weapon—someone to be wielded, someone with implacable poise, someone who made him feel powerful. His view of Viktor had evolved since then, developing in complexity as their bond deepened, as they hurt each other, as the world heaped its sorrows upon them and they shored each other up to bear the burden.

            They were the weapons of their nations no longer. They were not bargaining chips, nor alpha and omega, nor scholar and mage, nor lord and princess. As Jayce put the finishing touches on the hammer he’d forged for himself, he was no longer a piece on the game board either.

            He was a player. Pure and simple.

            He placed the Arcane focus Viktor had given him as an engagement present into a chamber at the center of the hammer’s head. Blue light flared to life, illuminating runes that ran up and down the handle. The thing was massive, but those runes would make it as easy to lift and swing as the tools Jayce used every day in the forge.

            This hammer, however, was a tool for war.

            As Jayce stood and stared at the shining edges and Arcane light, he knew not what to feel. Regret—to have given in to the need to build weapons at all. Relief—to have done so on his own terms. Fear for the lives this hammer might take. Excitement over the opportunity to prove himself. Eager for the justice of retribution.

            That eagerness unnerved him, but he remained eager nevertheless.

            Powder had staked her claim over one corner of the forge to craft her artificery for Sevika’s new arm—her alchemical equipment donated to Singed, himself now housed in the remnants of the kennels like the dog he was. The girl looked up from her work and removed the tufts of cotton she’d stuffed in her ears, only having just noticed the silence in the forge. Maintaining that silence, she came to stand by Jayce and look at the hammer.

            “Is it finished?” she asked.

            Jayce nodded.

            “It’s pretty big.”

            “That’s the idea...”

            “I can fight,” she said. “I’m better than you with a bow.”

            “We need you here, protecting Hammer House,” Jayce replied. “Coordinating defense.”

            “I know...” Powder sighed, “but what if something happens? And I’m not there to help?”

            “If something happens to us, know that this is where you’re needed,” Jayce replied. “You’ll be protecting what’s most precious.”

            Pouting, Powder narrowed her eyes at the hammer, said, “Well, I think you’re gonna need a lot more magic than that if you want to make it out alive,” and turned on her heel to march out of the forge.

            A grim chuckle formed in Jayce’s chest.

            Powder was probably right.

            He hefted the hammer in his hands. Marveled at its lightness, at the fearlessness he felt with such a weapon in his hands. The crystal at the hammer’s core coursed with power: the Arcane at his command, asking: what is your will? He’d wanted to give this power to the commons, but he’d been naïve to think that people who had lived their lives in constant conflict would eschew the tools’ potential as weapons. Cassandra had challenged him on that once—the difference between a sword and a hammer.

            Jayce supposed a hammer like this would change the world one way or another.

            “Powder mentioned—” Viktor was saying as he entered the forge, but the words died in his mouth when he laid eyes upon the hammer. “By the gods...”

            Jayce must have been in pre-rut after all because the look on Viktor’s face as he admired the hammer had him preening like a newly-presented alpha eager for any omega’s attention. Viktor grinned at him, and it was the first real smile Jayce had seen on his face in weeks. Coupled with everything else, the expression nearly knocked him flat on his ass.

            “This is marvelous, Jayce,” Viktor said.   

            Jayce preened at the compliment, too. His bondmate was so godsdamned gorgeous.

            “Is this the same alloy as my staff?”

            “Mm-hmm.” Jayce could not resist the urge to wrap an arm around Viktor’s waist, so he braced the hammer against the ground in his other hand. The metal flashed both white and silver. “It’s got a focus, too, so it should be able to hold your magic.”

            Viktor looked up at him. “Shall I?”

            “Please.”

            Humming, Viktor took hold of the hammer and closed his eyes to pour his blood magic into it. Where his palm met the metal, the runes glowed red, and that color swirled with the Arcane’s blue, combining into a purple not unlike shimmer. The change in the magic likewise prompted a change in the metal—the head of the hammer warping, sharpening, elongating into irregular shapes. Jayce had not expected the alloy to react so significantly. Once Viktor released his hand, the hammer’s head resembled the filigree orb at the top of his staff, only solid and squared.

            Viktor started upon opening his eyes.

            “Oh, my dove, I am sorry, I did not intend—”

            Jayce silenced him with a fierce kiss.

            “Don’t be sorry,” he said, nuzzling his nose behind his ear. “Now we match.”

            Purring, Viktor pooled against him, no more immune to the effects of pre-rut than Jayce.

            “We need not wait for Singed to complete his new shimmer before we advance on Clan Hoskel,” Viktor said. “Should that power manifest, we ought to hold it in reserve for the day we face Clan Kiramman. We need not even wait for Vi to return. Either she is delayed or captured, and it would be most efficient to meet her on the road. I would like to send for Ekko as well—to support Powder.”

            “I like that plan. Is Zaun’s army ready to march?”

            Viktor nodded. “I have finished conjuring their masks. Only mine remains.”

            He’d explained the symbolism to Jayce over dinner the night before. Herald mages of the past had all covered their faces when engaging in war—indicative of a shedding of their personhood in order to allow the will of the Arcane to speak through them. Historically, the will of the Arcane had been complete destruction.

            None who faced a herald on the battlefield had ever emerged victorious.

            An Arcane hammer in one hand and a herald mage in the other, Jayce felt pretty unstoppable himself.

            “Then we march.”

**

The Clan Talis army departed Hammer House in solemn, sacred assembly.

            Five hundred of the finest fighters from Zaun, their armor slick and black in the winter sun, their shields and weapons coursing with shimmer that still called to Viktor of times past, of sacrifices made. Upon their faces, the masks he had conjured shimmered, too—the golden Talis hammer on a field of red, crossed by the chromatic white slash of Viktor’s rune.

            Viktor bid farewell to Powder, told her to keep watch for Ekko and mind the dogs, whose noses he kissed. The puppies whined, and Powder’s eyes welled with tears, but she kept herself from shedding them by ensuring both he and Jayce had their rabbit feet charms instead. He bid farewell to the villagers, who swore to stand guard with the soldiers in their absence and keep Talis territory protected. He bid farewell to his Piltovian pilgrims, those who bore the marks of his magic. They wept, and wished him well, and told him they would pray for a swift victory.

            Victory.

            Was there truly such a thing in war?

            Viktor blessed them all, cutting open the palm of his hand and pouring his blood upon the ground, where it soaked past the frost and frozen earth to etch his will upon the land. Safety for his people. Peace in their lord and lady’s absence. Peace upon their return.

            After, he joined Jayce at the front of the procession. Sevika would guard the rear with an arm of artifice unlike anything Viktor had ever seen, her jaw set, bloodthirst in her eyes.

            He donned the mask he had conjured for himself.

            Simple, silver. The mask crossed his forehead and shielded his brow, but arced above his eyes, leaving them uncovered. One smooth shape stretched down over his nose and mouth to reach his chin, obscuring, but not hiding his features. He did not intend to surrender to the Arcane completely, but to bend that force of nature to his own will.

            Jayce observed him with open amazement—the same as he had when their eyes had first met through the betrothal veil.

            Viktor looped his arm through his elbow.

            “And so we begin.”

            They set off on foot. At their number, and without horses, the journey to the border would require two full days of travel. Hoskel would see them coming—presuming he had even a single operable ounce of brain matter in his skull. Piltover prized borders as much as they prized power. Viktor assumed their armies would meet near the standing stones that marked the boundary between their lands. Hoskel likely believed himself an impenetrable wall between Clan Talis and Clan Kiramman.

            To Viktor, his forces would be as parchment.

            They camped the first night not far from a collection of moorland homesteads. The farmers saw the soldiers fed while Jayce and Viktor reviewed their strategy with the captains of their unit until the alarm was raised at the edge of camp and a shout went up.

            “It’s the prince!”

            They dismissed the captains and hurried to find Violet, dismounting her horse, drenched in sweat from a long ride without rest.

            “We feared you captured,” Viktor said, embracing his sister.

            “Came fucking close to it,” Violet replied. Jayce ushered them both back into the camp and saw to it that a meal was brought for Violet. As she sat down to eat and drink and catch her breath, she shook her head. “Caitlyn delivered your message. She said they sent an envoy, but seeing as you’re on the move, I assume negotiations broke down?”

            “If one could call them negotiations,” Viktor replied.

            Violet huffed, unsurprised. “I stayed as long as I could trying to convince Cait not to fight. She’s conflicted. Convinced her father must have had a good reason to do what she did, even if she can’t see it. She even tried to convince me to fight on Piltover’s side, get you two to stand down.” She shook her head. “Lord Kiramman wanted my hide when she found me hanging around, but Cait persuaded her to let me go. I don’t know if she’s going to fight or not. She’s not the type to shy at first blood.”

            “Any sign of Hoskel’s army?”

            “Yeah, the bastard’s camped along the road to Castle Kiramman,” Violet replied. “Right at the border. I had to take the long way around.”

            “Any news on my mother?” Jayce asked.

            Violet returned a grim nod. “They’ve got her under heavy guard in Castle Kiramman, but Cait assured me that she’s safe. I don’t doubt they’ll try to move her, though, if we break Hoskel’s lines.”

            Viktor nodded. All was as anticipated, then.

            They brought Violet up to speed on their own developments before she departed to sleep and recover for the long march tomorrow.

            A sad, sorry worry wriggled from Jayce to Viktor. He stroked his bondmate’s neck.

            “We will see her safely home, Jayce.”

            Nodding, Jayce brought Viktor’s fingers to his lips to kiss their tips.

            “I hope so.”

            They marched the following day through biting winter wind, and camped a short distance from the standing stones. It snowed that night, darkening their own lights and obscuring the fires from Hoskel’s camps, which pockmarked the hills like blisters of the gray plague, sheltered from the storm.

            When the morning came, fresh snow glittered under a crystal blue sky.

            Carrying the Talis banner, armored in iron and leather, Jayce, Viktor, Violet, and Sevika made their way to the stones to meet the party trudging from the opposite direction under Hoskel’s banner. This was the way of war in Piltover—a final meeting between lords, the last chance to settle things with compromise and a handshake while the armies behind them craved blood. Violence suffused the air in its stillness.

            Hoskel led his clan’s party himself. That prideful old man would not dare miss an opportunity to humiliate an enemy.

            “Lord Hoskel,” Jayce said, inclining his head.

            Squinting in the sunlight, Hoskel glared up at Jayce. “Talis.”

            “Our fight is not with you,” Jayce replied, “but Clan Kiramman. Given the presence of your army on the road, I assume you’ll not grant us passage through your lands?”

            “And give you free reign to attack a fellow lord?” he scoffed. “Preposterous!”

            Cool and collected, Jayce replied, “Then we shall come to blows. Clan Talis has little interest in punishing your soldiers for their loyalty. They are ordinary men and women. In the interest of time and the preservation of life, we propose a series of one-on-one contests.” He gestured at himself, Violet, and Sevika. “Our champions against yours.”

            Hoskel barked a laugh so loud that the sound echoed off the hills. “The prince of Zaun and some one-armed mutt? Clan Hoskel would crush them where they stand! Your odds are better pitting your—what is it?—five hundred soldiers against our three thousand.”

            “No matter your numbers, your odds remain the same,” Viktor said.

            Jolting, Hoskel glanced his way and startled as if only now recognizing he stood in the presence of the Herald of the Arcane.

            “You will not win this fight, Lord Hoskel.”

            That was a threat, and Hoskel knew it.

            “I do not seek to fool you,” Viktor continued. “You know who I am and you know why I am here. You may believe you follow the natural order in Piltover, but in truth you know nothing of the wrath of nature. I have come to visit ruin upon you at last. That is the magic you so dread and desire, is it not? The power to destroy? I would be quite pleased to show it to you, my lord, but rest assured it will the last thing you see.”

            Affronted, Hoskel sputtered, but could form no words. Beneath his anger, fear churned.

            “Our armies will meet on the field of battle,” Hoskel spat, “for that is the natural order.”

            “Very well, my lord,” Viktor replied.

            He could not resist drawing Hoskel’s fear forward, deepening its depths.

            “Let us reconvene in an hour’s time.”

            Hoskel stormed away, his face red, his breath blustering into clouds as he muttered curses. His party followed. Jayce, Violet, and Sevika stepped away to rally their troops.

            Viktor remained precisely where he was.

            He watched with keen eyes as Hoskel’s forces broke down their camp and carried their tents over the hills to avoid sullying them in the fight ahead. He listened to their trumpets and war drums, tracked the formation of units and lines, the mounting of horses and the organized march across the snow. Three thousand troops stood armed and eager—their anticipation growing with every passing moment.

            Silent, Zaun’s army arrived behind Viktor.

            They were only five hundred, but there could be no doubt as to their quality. These were vicious fighters, fed and nourished on Silco’s hatred, so that their only thought was the destruction of Piltover. Clan Hoskel wielded a dozen daggers. Clan Talis wielded a single, shimmering longsword.

            Jayce, Violet, and Sevika returned to the frontline.

            Viktor glanced over his shoulder at his bondmate.

            Hammer in hand, Jayce gave him a nod.

            Viktor stepped forward, and the instant he moved, trumpets blared from Clan Hoskel’s forces, his soldier shouting, ready to rush—but Viktor raised his hand, closed his fist, and brought all to absolute silence.

            He gripped his staff. The light flared.

            Through the magic of sympathy, he gave every last soldier a single command.

            “KNEEL.”

            Three thousand enemy soldiers fell to their knees in perfect unison.

            This was the single greatest exercise of magic Viktor had ever deliberately invoked. Sympathy, empowered by the Arcane, fused into a magical alloy and so easily channeled by the staff Jayce had forged that Viktor felt no strain whatsoever. His body and blood formed a perfect conduit. His awareness of himself deepened, expanded, until the scope of that awareness broadened outside of himself to every soul on the battlefield.

            He stoked the fire of their fear until it transformed into pure and terrible awe.

            “Clan Talis gave your lord the opportunity to conduct this fight honorably, and your lord refused,” Viktor said. They had no choice but to hear him, his voice echoing in their ears and minds alike. “It would be as easy as breathing to snuff out your lives, but your lord’s decisions are not your own. You shall not suffer for his arrogance. Clan Talis seeks justice. Not revenge. Your lord shall receive a second chance. Come forward, Lord Hoskel.”

            Compelled by sympathy, one lone figure at the back of their phalanx had to pick his way forward through all the ranks of his soldiers. Hoskel emerged, red and trembling with rage.

            This was the summit of sympathy—absolute power over an opponent. This was the curse inflicted upon Viktor by the two men he had most respected. One out of simple curiosity, the insatiable need to know. The other out of revenge, the insatiable need to control.

            This was his gift—great and dreadful. The ability to leave himself behind, to become a creature of higher perception, to tune the emotions of every living thing to suit his needs.

            He could simply compel them to peace.

            But there was something monstrous in that, too.

            Viktor forced himself to look through his own eyes—at Hoskel, who stood before him.

            “Since you have rejected our proposal for contests between champions, and since you now see that our troops may walk freely among yours and slit their throats without protest, we shall extend one final opportunity for your success.”

            Jayce came forward.

            “Our lord against yours.”

            Hoskel went as white as the snow.

            “As a traditionalist, Lord Hoskel, you must appreciate the value of combat,” Viktor said, “in which the superior alpha will win.”

            “If you want to yield your place to another, I’ll fight whomever you choose,” Jayce said.

            That stoked Hoskel’s rage more than anything thus far. He flushed a deep, beet red, so angry he forfeited all powers of speech. That pride would be his undoing. He stood before the pinnacle Piltovian alpha. Intelligent, benevolent, a leader. Powerful and tall and handsome and bonded to an enemy mage who would do whatever he asked. Hoskel faced Jayce at the peak of his strength—both virile and agile in pre-rut. The old man did not stand a chance.

            “I will not yield,” Hoskel spat.

            “Then draw your sword,” Jayce replied.

            Sunlight glinted as Hoskel’s weapon flashed from its scabbard.

            Hoskel broke the rules of engagement immediately, flying toward Jayce, swinging his blade at his throat. Jayce stepped back and brought up the handle of his hammer to block. Hoskel’s sword blow glanced off the metal.

            “Foolish boy,” Hoskel cried, swinging again, nearly catching Jayce’s fingers. “You would betray your homeland? The very people who made you what you are?”

            He whirled to strike again, but Jayce forced him backward with a swing of his own.

            “If you want to hold Piltover responsible for forging its own greatest enemy, that’s fine by me,” Jayce growled.

            He advanced on Hoskel, and the old man had no room for insults. Jayce had hardly begun to warm up. His opponent already approached exhaustion. It was not a fair fight. Everyone would know it, just as everyone knew Hoskel had had several opportunities to avoid it. He might avoid it still. All he had to do was yield.

            The first time Jayce knocked his sword from his hand, he did not even hit him hard enough to bruise.

            The second time he knocked his sword from his hand, Hoskel’s fingers trembled.

            The third time, the blade lodged itself in the snow, and Jayce held his ground while Hoskel turned his back to retrieve the weapon.

            “You’re outmatched, Hoskel,” Jayce said. “Yield.”

            Hoskel’s grip closed around the hilt and he rounded to attack, crying, “I will not yield to some upstart pup and his Zaunite bitch!”

            Jayce’s hammer swing that time met Hoskel’s knee with shattering force. The blow sent the man tumbling prone in a cascade of snow. Frantic, he righted himself and searched for his sword, but failed to find it before Jayce’s shadow fell over him, hammer raised.

            “You’ve insulted my bondmate for the last fucking time,” he snarled. “Yield, or die.”

            “I—will never—yield.”

            The hammer arced up over Jayce’s head.

            And came down on Hoskel’s.

            Purple, white, and silver exploded with red as the force of the swing, charged with magic, pulped the man from head to heel. The sound of it was sickening. Afterward there was silence.

            Jayce panted, all adrenaline and exertion.

            The snow around him, his face and front, were covered in blood.

            Viktor turned once more to Hoskel’s troops, his heart hammering so hard inside his chest he hoped they would not hear it in his voice.

            “Your lord is defeated,” he said, and he wove his next words into a command. “You will lay down your arms. You will take your camp and go to Castle Kiramman. There, you will give Lord Kiramman a full and truthful report of all that you witnessed here. Go.”

            The soldier struggled to their feet and began to march away on Viktor’s order.

            He let sympathy subside.

            The army left behind a single casualty—Lord Hoskel, reduced to blood and viscera.

**

Even as Hoskel’s troops fled over the hills, Jayce could not tear his eyes away from the old man’s corpse. If he could even call it a corpse. It was still hot, heat forming vaporous clouds in the cold air. That lump of flesh and bone had been a living, breathing man mere moments ago. A man Jayce had known all his life. A vile man, yes. A loathsome warmonger, blinded by his greed, who had been given every chance to avoid this fate, and had chosen death rather than to give up his pride.

            Some might have called that honor.

            Jayce didn’t know what to call it.

            The air stung his nose and throat and lungs as he inhaled and exhaled great, heaving breaths. Hoskel’s blood was sticky on his face, in his beard, but he couldn’t unclench his hands to wipe it off. He gripped the hammer, breathing hard, staring at Hoskel, face to face with the fact that he had taken a life today.

            He had killed Hoskel.

            Oh, gods, what had he—

            “—Jayce?”

            That voice was a clarion call. He turned toward Viktor, his glorious bondmate, more beautiful now than ever, wearing that strange mask that seemed to split his face in half and transform him into some otherworldly being.

            Looking at Viktor, Jayce could forget the corpse at his feet, the blood on his hammer. He wasn’t sorry about Hoskel so much as he was terrified. Terrified by how easy it had been.

            By how badly he’d wanted him dead.

            Jayce’s knuckles were white and his hands were red, and they were shaking.

            “My dove, this was a necessary evil,” Viktor said.

            Jayce looked at him again, and in the winter light, his golden eyes seemed changed somehow—laced with pink, or was that green? He looked back at Hoskel.

            Red on white.

            “You could have ordered him to stand down,” Jayce said, and his voice sounded miles away. “You could have made him think we were allies. You could have put the same conditions on him as you did on Singed.”

            “The permanent removal of one’s agency is a punishment I will only inflict on the most deserving,” Viktor replied. Then, gesturing at the heap of blood and bones and armor and skin, “Hoskel chose this, Jayce. You disarmed him three times. You gave him every opportunity to yield. This is a decisive victory for Clan Talis. Three thousand lives spared, a scourge among the lords removed.”

            It was a victory.

            So why did it feel so awful?

            Viktor’s hand fell across Jayce’s cheek and turned his face toward him, heedless of the blood, but Viktor had never been afraid of blood.

            “It is a thankless task,” Viktor said, “changing the world.”

            “I—I never wanted this, Viktor,” Jayce said. As he spoke, his voice tightened, tears springing to his eyes, unable to fall. “I want—I want peace.”

            “And if I promise that this is the path toward peace, dove, will you follow?”

            He would.

            For better or for worse, Jayce would go with Viktor anywhere.

            That truth had been etched into the universe, too.

            He closed his eyes and nodded.

            However, even the reassurance of his bondmate could not make the path less harrowing. He couldn’t even lift his feet from the ground to take a single step. He had killed today. He had given something up he would never get back, crossed a line he could never uncross.

            He swallowed.

            “Viktor.”

            “Yes?”

            “Will you take this feeling away?”

            Stiffening, Viktor drew back.

            “Do not ask this of me, Jayce.”

            The tears finally cut a few clean trails through the blood on Jayce’s cheeks.

            “Please,” he whispered. “I—I don’t think I can—I can’t...I can’t bear it...”

            “I will not touch your mind, Jayce,” Viktor replied. “You know that I will not. Do not ask me to break that pact. If I exercise sympathy over you, I will forfeit your trust forever.”

            Tears had risen in Viktor’s eyes, too, and as soon as Jayce noticed them, he folded forward, releasing the handle of his hammer to take Viktor’s face in his hands and kiss those tears from the corners of his eyes.

            “Don’t cry,” he said. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”

            He found himself kissing Viktor’s mouth over the mask. The metal was cold on his lips.

            “This is a victory,” Viktor said.

            He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

            With their camp already packed, the Talis army advanced into Clan Hoskel’s territory. They took their time, carefully, slowly, ensuring the road remained secure, prepared to root out any ambushes Hoskel might have left behind. The old man’s remains came with them, in a cart, preserved by Viktor’s blood magic until they could be delivered to his family. Jayce did not remember setting up camp in the hills that night. He barely remembered the march. His hands were still trembling, his breath still heavy.

            A necessary evil.

            A necessary evil.

            “My dove.”

            Viktor stood before him once more, cast in the vaguely-purple light of the shimmer lantern that hung from their tent canopy. He held a cloth in his hand—wet, red from cleaning the blood from Jayce’s face. He’d removed his mask, but Jayce blinked, and he swore he could still see the silver shining.

            “You made a great sacrifice today,” Viktor said.

            “Is that what we’re calling it?” Jayce replied—not angry, just empty.

            Sighing, Viktor resumed his cleaning. “You are the best among us, Jayce. For you to take a life only exemplifies how dire the situation has become. I understand that you are unsettled, and upset, and you have every right to be. Those feelings speak to your character even now. But you must put your actions into perspective lest the guilt consume you. We have broken Hoskel’s lines by taking only one life.”

            In the grand scheme of things, that was an accomplishment.  

            “Whether or not we like it, whether or not we agree, this is the way to bring Piltover to heel,” Viktor said. “They will not acknowledge any other form of strength.”

            He and Viktor had agreed on this course of action.

            They would fail if Jayce shied from it now.

            “I don’t know how anyone could watch you out there and fail to acknowledge your strength,” he replied. How utterly magnificent his mate had been on the field of battle, driving three thousand soldiers to their knees, just as Jayce had always imagined. No wonder Viktor had broken every other staff Jayce had built for him. His power was limitless. He could barely be contained by his own body, much less the clumsy craft of a smith only just finding his feet. “Without you, we couldn’t have spared those lives.”

            Now that he was looking at Viktor, he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away.

            Jayce hadn’t noticed, as distracted and withdrawn as he’d been on the march, but sweat had beaded on his brow, in spite of the cold, and Viktor was so beautiful.

            “Do not sell your own performance short,” the omega replied.

            “You liked watching me fight for you, hm?” Jayce rumbled.

            Viktor hummed in response. “I am a mage,” he said, “but I am also an omega.”

            He started to draw the cloth away, but Jayce grasped his wrist. Looking at Viktor, Jayce could forget again the body he’d crushed and the life he’d taken. Viktor was his refuge, his relief.

            “You’re certain this will lead us to peace?” Jayce asked.

            “At great cost,” Viktor replied, “yes. I am certain.”

            Jayce pulled him forward and took his mouth. Viktor melted into the embrace with a trill, his scent flushing pink.

            That familiar fire rekindled in Jayce’s belly, in his blood, and his logical mind urged him to resist fueling the fire, but the animal of instinct refused. If Jayce went into rut now, they’d be pinned for several days—surrounded on all sides by enemy territory, their greatest means of defense indisposed while Jayce knotted him over and over and over again—but what could they do? Better a day’s walk from their borders than deep in Clan Kiramman lands. Better to clear his head than wallow in misery and sweat and distraction with so many lives on the line.

            He’d pulled Viktor tight against him, a hand around the back of his neck, the other at his hip. His fingers dug into his flesh, and Jayce was already half hard just from kissing. Viktor drew back, his lips pink.

            “Unless I am mistaken, it seems your pre-rut is coming to an end,” he said.

            “What gave it away?” Jayce asked with a chuckle, his voice low and rough.

            Viktor hummed. He cupped a hand over Jayce’s cock and pressed.

            “Who could say?”

            Growling, Jayce grabbed his wrist again and pushed hard against his palm. Viktor responded in kind, drawing closer, pulling Jayce down to kiss his mouth. Jayce nipped at his lips.

            “Better now than later, right?” he asked. “Right?”

            Viktor purred, and fuck if that sound didn’t go right to Jayce’s cock. His bondmate nodded, and Jayce took complete confidence in that agreement, though part of him had to acknowledge that Viktor might not have been in his right mind, either. They may never have this luxury again. Better to indulge while they still had the breath to do so.

            “We should—let someone know,” Jayce said, breaking his mouth from Viktor’s briefly. “Violet—could...” He groaned as Viktor gripped his cock. “...oversee the camp.”

            “Violet has command already,” Viktor replied. “Our tent is pitched in a private cove—sheltered and far from the others. They will keep watch. If Hoskel’s forces come, they will beat them back.”

            Jayce blinked, unable to hide his surprise.

            “Did you think I would not recognize these signs?” Viktor replied with a soft chuckle.

            “No—I just...I don’t remember any of that.”

            “You have been disconnected since this morning,” Viktor replied, “but that is no cause for regret. It is why we have each other, yes?”

            He had not stopped caressing Jayce’s cock over his clothes. Between the friction and his rapid descent out of pre-rut, he was fully erect and completely uncomfortable in the confines of his clothes and armor.

            “Let me help you,” Viktor purred, and Jayce went woozy.

            Unhurried, Viktor doffed Jayce’s armor, his fingers sliding every strap and undoing every buckle with such dexterity as to drive Jayce mad. He could only watch, his skin on fire, as Viktor set the armor outside their tent to be cleaned and tended. He stood obediently still upon his return, blood rushing through his every extremity, while Viktor loosened his garments and removed them from his body. He liked the way Viktor got distracted looking at him. He liked the low sound that trilled in his throat as he unlaced Jayce’s pants, letting his fingers brush electrically over the fabric. Then Jayce’s cock was free.

            Viktor took hold of him right away, spreading pre-cum down the length to use as lubricant as he stroked. Jayce growled, thrusting into his grip, grabbing Viktor’s chin to pull him into a kiss. With every passing second, his presence of mind slipped further and further away, overcome instead with insatiable hunger for his mate.

            He turned Viktor’s head to the side to kiss the length of his jawbone, down his neck. Viktor sighed, the rhythm of his hand unfaltering.

            “Why aren’t you undressed?” Jayce rumbled as he sucked his mouth against his neck.

            “I can only do so many things at once,” Viktor laughed, shivering with pleasure.

            “Then let me help you...” Jayce said and drew back to untie, unbutton, and remove every article of his bondmate’s clothing. He was rewarded with bare skin and the blooming of Viktor’s scent. The omega returned to stroke him, and Jayce grasped his face to kiss him long and deep.

            Viktor had always exercised perfect pressure when handling his cock, and now was no exception. He did, however, press his thumb quite insistently against Jayce’s frenulum with each pass. Through their bond, Jayce sensed his intention to bring him to orgasm as quickly as possible. An attempt to cut the rest of pre-rut short, perhaps. Save them several hours, or several days, and there were few things Jayce loved more than pleasing his omega.

            He covered Viktor’s hand with his own and gave a few hard pumps into both that brought him just close enough to the edge to tumble over and come, his spend making their fingers even slipperier.

            Jayce’s mind did not clear, and his cock did not soften.

            Seeing this, Viktor trembled, his scent deepening, his lips parting.

            Fuck, Jayce loved his scent.

            “Are you slick enough to take me?” he asked, low, even as his knot swelled in their hands. Viktor trembled again, swallowing.

            “I hope so,” he said.

            That was all Jayce needed to hear. He let go of his cock to turn his mate around and bend him over, pressing a perfunctory pair of fingers at his entrance, but he’d known Viktor would be slick. Viktor was always slick for him—so quickly and so much. He rumbled when his hand came away wet, squeezed Viktor’s rear, then spread him open to push inside without preparation. Viktor moaned, clenching reflexively. He was so incredibly tight, Jayce’s vision so white with pleasure, that he could not be certain he’d made any progress at all until slowly, surely, his knot met Viktor’s entrance and his cock would go no further.

            Shaking, breathing hard, Viktor was trying to steady his legs. Jayce massaged his hips and thighs, which resulted in the most beautiful whines. He stroked Viktor’s cock for good measure and was pleased to find it hard and hot between his legs.

            His knot subsided swiftly, and his cock slid slowly deeper still until he’d bottomed out. Viktor writhed, but his pleasure cascaded over Jayce just the same.

            Jayce ran a hand up his spine to hold the back of his neck, gripped the other over Viktor’s hip. Viktor would need something to hold onto if this was to continue, and so he strugglingly reached toward the trunk where they stored their nest. Jayce slipped the hand on his neck under his sternum instead and simply picked him up to carry him closer. Viktor went to his elbows the second he had a hand on the trunk.

            “Ahhn, gods, Jayce...”

            This was a superior arrangement. Jayce could hold onto his hips with both hands now.

            “You’re all right?” he asked.

            Groaning, Viktor nodded. “Yes, mate—nngh, yes.”

            His legs were trembling still, so Jayce worked his fingers over the muscle to ease their tension. At his touch, Viktor clenched around him, still spine-tinglingly tight, so Jayce continued, enjoying himself very much, rumbling as Viktor gradually lifted himself to brace his hands on either side of the trunk.

            “I am—” Viktor swallowed. “—ready now.”

            Rumbling again, Jayce began gradually. Gently. Drawing out, then pressing in. Opening his omega up on his cock. Viktor tensed again from head to toe, but he was so hot, and so slick, that after a few moments of these leisurely thrusts, he finally relaxed with a deep shiver.

            “Mhm, your cock is...fantastic,” he purred.

            Jayce growled, pleased. He fucked him a little harder, a little faster, and Viktor liquified in his hands with a bright keen that vaporized the last of Jayce’s restraint.

            Grasping his omega’s hips, he let himself go, thrusting hard and strong and with ferocious purpose. Viktor was his bondmate, his omega, his eternity, and he would spend every ounce of his devotion ensuring this man knew he was loved beyond measure, desired beyond measure. Jayce knew of no one more worthy of worship than Viktor, and what an honor it was to be the one on his knees. Fuck, his mate was perfect—not faultless, but perfect—and Jayce would make him understand even if he had to fuck it into him a thousand times. What a pleasure, what a privilege.

            The next thing he knew, his knot was swelling and his cock twitched hard, spilling deep inside his mate. The orgasm had overwhelmed him so entirely, he hardly remembered it, and that seemed a shame. He thrust a little, lightly, seeking more, and the tug of his knot brought a soft whine out of Viktor.

            The omega’s legs were shaking. His chest had fallen against the trunk, his arms limp.

            Jayce maneuvered his hands underneath him to lift him so he could turn around and sit down with him in his lap, his own back against the trunk.

            He buried his nose against Viktor’s neck and suffused himself with the scent of wildflowers, all red and pink under sultry moonlight. He kissed Viktor’s neck, stroked his cock. He couldn’t recall if Viktor had come, but he probably had—contraction and heat hazy in Jayce’s memory. No matter. He would make him come again.

            Gasping, Viktor went taut as he gave of himself, then melted against Jayce with a purr.

            Jayce purred, too, the rest of the world forgotten.

            “Before we continue...may I build our nest...?” Viktor asked.

            Jayce grazed his teeth over his mate mark and relished the shiver it brought out of his mate. He pressed a profound, appreciative kiss to the scar.

            “Please.”

Neither Jayce nor Viktor left the nest for hours, their bodies entwined long into the night. Jayce fell asleep with his teeth in Viktor’s neck and his cock in his ass, and woke in much the same position—his lips resting against his mate mark, his cock hard between his own hips and Viktor’s rear. His bondmate breathed steadily, asleep, but stirred when Jayce kissed his shoulder. Viktor trilled, Jayce rumbled, and all he had to do was slide his fingers between Viktor’s thighs and the omega was lifting his leg and shifting to give Jayce an angle to enter him.

            He purred when Jayce pushed inside, beautifully pliant and loose enough still to accommodate his cock.

            Jayce held onto his hips and rocked thoughtlessly into Viktor until the coiling heat snapped and he filled up his mate, knot swelling, absolutely blissed in the warmth of their nest and the silence of the snow beyond the tent.

            “Good morning, my dove,” Viktor said as Jayce sat up to scatter kisses across his face and shoulders.

            “Mm, good morning, princess,” Jayce replied, his mouth on Viktor’s skin, his hands unable to keep still as they ran down his sides and over his legs. “How are you feeling?”

            “Very well, thank you.”

            He returned the kiss Jayce pressed to his mouth.

            “Are you hungry?” Viktor asked. In response, Jayce grazed his teeth over the curve of Viktor’s shoulder and the omega laughed. “For breakfast. I would like you to eat.”

            Well, if that was what Viktor wanted, that was what Viktor would get. Jayce nodded, and kissed his neck, and cooperated enough for Viktor to draw a board of bread and cheese and a bowl of cold broth to the edge of the nest. Between kisses, he let Viktor feed him bites of cheese and pieces of bread dipped in the broth, now warmed by magic. The food was salty, and filling, and exactly what Jayce had needed. Viktor must have prepared this meal while Jayce slept. He basked in his mate’s thoughtfulness as Viktor put a waterskin to his lips and told him to drink.

            “Thank you,” Viktor said, kissing him once before eating a little himself.

            Jayce nuzzled his forehead against the top of Viktor’s spine. “Thank you.”

            He dozed a little until his knot subsided. Then his eyes opened and the whole tent had gone hazy. Staring at the draped fabric, Jayce recalled the first morning he had woken up in this tent—only then the bond cord now fastened around the canopy had surrounded the entire clearing where he and Viktor had promised themselves to each other. That seemed another world, another lifetime, Viktor an unfamiliar presence in his bed. Most welcome, but a stranger nonetheless.

            Now this man knew Jayce with more depth and breadth than he could ever have imagined. And he knew Viktor the same way. It was so awful and so wonderful to let someone in. To let them wound him.

            He’d begun running his fingers down Viktor’s sides again, pressing hard into his flesh. The striped purple scars felt different underhand than the pale stretches. From his skin to the very marrow of his bones, Viktor radiated magic. Biting cold, burning hot—that sensation of everything at once and nothing at all. He was fucking intoxicating.

            He was also fucking slick.

            Growling, Jayce got to his knees. He intended to pull out only long enough to grab Viktor by the hips, turn him over, and draw him up to his own knees, which he did, but the sight of Viktor splayed below him in the nest was so engrossing. He stared for a long time, his cock aching, running his eyes, then his hands over the lines of his hips and the nodes of his spine.

            Viktor relaxed under his touch, sinking into the position, knees spreading, back curving. 

            “Gods, you’re so fucking pretty,” Jayce rumbled.

            He pulled a pair of fingers down Viktor’s spine, over his tailbone, then his entrance. Viktor mewled. Jayce slid his fingers inside him just because he could, spread his slick up his cock because he couldn’t resist.  He felt a little manic, his blood boiling, his cock impossibly hot and hard in his hand. He was also stuck, stroking himself while he stared down at his mate.

            A rut was a hell of a thing. Jayce had only ever dealt with them on his own. He understood instinctively that a rut served to prime his body to keep up with the demands of an omega in heat—to meet those needs, and sire pups in the process. Viktor, however, was not in heat, and so the rut became a vehicle of pure pleasure. An exhausting, demanding act that served no greater purpose than to bring them closer together.

            Whining faintly, Viktor shifted to press his rear against Jayce’s hand as he stroked.

            He had to squeeze the base of his cock to keep himself from coming right then.

            Shuddering, breath heavy, Jayce gripped Viktor’s hips and pulled him back onto his cock. What began as a trill evolved immediately into a cry of surprise when Jayce took up an absolutely punishing pace. He fucked Viktor as hard and fast as his delirium allowed, no other thought in his head than the need to bury himself as deep in his omega as possible.

            Viktor tried unconsciously to scramble away, simultaneously sinking even further and pushing into every other thrust. He keened beautifully.

            “Nghh, fuck, Jayce—yes!”

            Music to his ears.

            Viktor whined again, the sound caught in his throat. He turned his head into the furs of the nest beneath them, but Jayce leaned forward to wrest his fingers in the roots of his hair and pull his head up so that the sounds he made would not be muffled. Viktor gasped, catching himself on his hands to keep from pulling too hard on his hair. Jayce kept his hand there, the other on his hip, as he maintained that delirious pace.

            “Jayce.”

            Jayce growled.

            “Yes, Jayce...”

            Somehow, he fucked him harder.

            “Jayce—!”

            Viktor came then, shaking apart with a glorious groan, his eyes rolling, his elbows buckling. Jayce prolonged the orgasm by fucking him through it until Viktor’s knees buckled, too. He pulled his hair and hips back at the same time he snapped his own hips forward, finishing inside him with a driving madness and a gorgeous whine from his mate.

            His own orgasm seemed to go on forever as Viktor contracted around him.

            As his mind cleared, Jayce found himself braced above Viktor, having collapsed a little himself, but with enough forethought not to drop his entire bodyweight on his bondmate. Viktor was panting, shivering, trilling, twitching with aftershocks.

            Careful, Jayce lowered himself to gather Viktor into his arms and settle together to cuddle, Viktor largely underneath him, but not bearing his weight.

            It was lovely, but it did not last long.

            A matter of minutes, and Jayce’s knot had subsided, but his cock remained stiff, as it would for as long as his rut continued.

            He rose, rolled Viktor onto his back beneath him, wrapped the omega’s legs around his waist and fucked him like that until sparkling tears slid from his eyes. Jayce levered himself up to lick them from his cheek, long and slow, Viktor’s breath hot against his own. He clung to Jayce, gnarling his fingers in his hair, kissing him hard and parting his lips. He sighed into Jayce’s mouth when he came again, weakly, his limbs liquifying completely so that by the time Jayce came next, Viktor’s arms and legs were simply dead weight around his neck and waist.

            He settled atop his omega and felt the comfort of his own weight in Viktor’s mind.

            This time, the fog lifted enough to speak.

            “Thank you for this, Viktor,” Jayce said, tucking his face against his neck to breathe in his scent, kiss his mate mark. “If ever the opportunity arises for me to repay the favor, I hope you know I’ll do so gladly...”

            Fingers as heavy as the rest of his limbs, Viktor stroked Jayce’s hair and chuckled.

            “You speak as if this is an ordeal for me,” he said, “when it is in fact a great pleasure.” He tipped his face to the side to kiss Jayce’s temple. “Nevertheless, dove, thank you.”

            They were quiet for a moment, their hearts and minds attuned to their bond, which hummed like a plucked string—not with sound, but with an almost physical resonance. Jayce sensed the somber, sensitive shift in Viktor long before he spoke next.

            “If ever the opportunity does arise...would you...wish to sire pups with me?”

            Jayce lifted his face to press his mouth hard against his mate’s—all passion and tangled tongues. Then he lifted himself again to look Viktor in the eye.

            “Of course I would,” he said.

            Tears rose again in Viktor’s eyes, so Jayce kissed him again, just as hard.

            “I’d love to raise a family with you, Viktor,” he said. “Whether they’re our pups by blood or by bond, if we ever get the opportunity, when it's safe...yes. With my whole heart, yes.”

            Viktor hugged him as tightly as his trembling arms would allow. Jayce offered a little of his protective pheromone in return.

            “I need you to know, though, no matter what, you are and always will be enough for me.”

            Sniffling, Viktor nodded.

            “And you for me, dove.”

            A resounding rumble reverberated through Jayce’s chest. He kissed Viktor, and as their lips met and parted, heat and fog formed in his blood and mind. He knew his mate would see him fed and watered. He knew his mate would see to his own needs, would remove himself if ever Jayce’s attention became too much. He might have dreaded this rut had they not endured all they had endured, had they not learned to bare their souls so completely.

            Though it was a vague impression, largely lost under the sensation of his knot going down and his desire once again to bring himself and his mate to completion, Jayce felt as if he and Viktor occupied the same space at the same time in perfect sympathy. Temporally and physically sharing one form.

            Cocooned, for now, to undergo this painful transformation together.

Chapter Text

Consciousness returned to Viktor without haste and without urgency. The last time his mind had been so still seemed an age ago now. Stillness prevailed nevertheless—soft and syrupy as he catalogued the warmth of the nest, the jellied weakness of his limbs, the wonderful ache of lengthy exertion. This, coupled with bright sunlight on snow, and bracing air, fresh and cold, breezing through the opening to their tent, made for a lovely way to awaken after three days with Jayce in rut.

            The alpha in question was up and bustling. Viktor’s eyes refused to focus well enough to determine what Jayce was doing.

            He let out a little huff of discontent.

            “Did you learn nothing from the last time?” he asked, sounding far more disgruntled than he was thanks to the rough quality of his voice. “Why have you left our nest?”

            Jayce obediently returned to him, chuckling as he brushed Viktor’s hair away from his eyes. His fingers felt a part of Viktor where they touched his skin. He tried to grab hold, pull his alpha back into their nest, but failed to budge him even an inch.

            “I wanted to get breakfast and a bath ready for you,” Jayce replied.

            “Have I slept long?”

            “It’s midday.”

            Well, that was less than ideal. Viktor tugged on Jayce again anyway.

            “You haven’t had enough of me?” Jayce chuckled.

            “I will never have enough of you.”

            That, at least, coaxed his alpha down into a kiss. Jayce rumbled as their lips met. Viktor looped his arms around his neck and made one final effort to draw him into the nest, but Jayce countered the attempt by getting his own arms under Viktor, lifting and carrying him a few steps to deposit him in a steaming tub.

            The bleariness cleared while Jayce untangled and washed his hair. As Viktor became more aware of his body, he likewise became aware of the repercussions of rut. Love bites dotted his skin. His legs trembled in the warm water and he would not be able to walk on his own. His neck and shoulder ached like dull fire under a bruise that was tender to the touch—his mate mark opened, healed, reopened, and healed again by Jayce’s teeth and saliva.

            Deep satisfaction had settled into every fiber of his being, too, but satisfaction would not serve them in the march through Clan Hoskel’s territory.

            “Any news?” he asked as Jayce passed him a waterskin.

            “I wanted to wait and receive all the news together,” Jayce replied, “but I do know that Powder and Ekko are here.”

            Viktor sat up and nearly dropped the waterskin into the bath.

            “Why have they come?”

            “They arrived in the cadre that’s here to hold the border,” Jayce said, “but they said they came to deliver the new shimmer.”

            So, Singed had completed his work already. Viktor supposed it was feasible. The alchemist had only to revise shimmer, not invent it anew. Singed had claimed it would be more potent than its predecessor. Would the weapons accommodate this change?

            Would Viktor?

            A single sip of shimmer would likely see him in a fit state to march.

            “We can afford to camp another night,” Jayce said, as if he had sensed Viktor’s thoughts.

            “Can we?” Viktor replied. “We should hear the reports before we make any decisions. If our task requires that we move today, we must move today.”

            They had delayed three full days already. Though no harm had befallen their camp, the enemy had had ample time to set traps and ambushes, to make ready their arms. Viktor had not compelled Clan Hoskel’s soldiers to give up the fight. Lord Kiramman may very well have recruited them into her own ranks. Had they any sense, they would permanently retreat, but Viktor was not counting on that. War, after all, was not conducted sensibly.

            Jayce tucked a knuckle under Viktor’s chin to turn his face and look him in the eye.

            “I’d like to ask you not to use any shimmer,” he said.

            Caught out, Viktor’s mouth opened, but he remained wordless. Jayce brushed across his neck and jaw to cup his face in his hand.

            “Singed hurt you, Viktor,” he said. “He didn’t give you blood magic or transmute your body to resonate with the Arcane out of any thought for you. Shimmer’s the same. Whatever power this new potion offers, we shouldn’t use it on people. There’s no telling what it does.”

            Such wisdom and restraint where Viktor had none. He found himself nodding.

            “I agree,” he said. “I will keep my distance from it.”

            Smiling, Jayce leaned forward to give him a sweet kiss, one Viktor tenderly returned. He finished his bath, dressed and dried with Jayce’s help, and the two of them sat to consume a light meal in the pleasure of each other’s company, relishing the last of their reprieve before they departed their tent to reenter the world.

            Legs shaky, Viktor leaned on Jayce for the walk to the command tent. Violet, Powder, Ekko, and the captains of their contingent had already gathered, and greeted Viktor with warm relief. There were no stares, no lurid speculations. What had transpired between himself and Jayce did not scandalize them, or even pass their minds as anything other than the natural course of life. Viktor had forgotten this comfort of his culture. How alleviating it was to be among his own people now.

            “This is the latest from the field,” Violet said, gesturing at her map of the territory on the table, at one valley in particular. “Our scouts report forces amassing here, under Salo’s banner. We’ve had a few close calls with their patrols, but nothing I’d call a real fight. A few bruises, no casualties on either side. With Salo in the way, we haven’t had much luck getting any reconnaissance on Lord Kiramman’s movements. They rout every scout we send.”

            Viktor nodded. “I would wager that is precisely Salo’s purpose—to provide Lord Kiramman cover and impede our progress. Hoskel was the superior warrior. Salo knows it. He will employ other tricks.”

            “You think he doesn’t intend to fight?” Jayce asked.

            “I think he intended to send his soldiers out to face us while he hid at the back with a sure escape route,” Viktor replied. “However, given our encounter with Hoskel’s army, he knows that will not be possible. I could not tell you his strategy now...”

            “Speaking of Hoskel, a few of his troops showed up under a white flag two days ago,” Violet said. “They wanted his remains, so I turned them over. Hope that’s okay.”

            “Of course,” Viktor replied with a nod. “Better that his soldiers deliver him home.”

            At his side, Jayce shifted—unnerved at the mention of Hoskel’s death. Viktor set a hand on his thigh. He was sorry to have made a killer of his mate, but such was the cost of war. They would all of them have blood on their hands by the end of this, Viktor had no doubt. It was simply a matter of whose blood and how much.

            “Ekko and I brought all the new shimmer that’s been made so far,” Powder contributed. “We can set up a supply line to make sure you don’t run out.”

            “Have you tested it?” Viktor asked.

            “At Hammer House,” Ekko said with a nod. “We haven’t put any in the weapons you’ve got out here, but it works really well in the ones I brought from Zaun.”

            “The quartermaster must have strict control over shimmer,” Viktor said to the captains. “Whomever is most adept with shimmer-enhanced weaponry should be the first to train with this new draught, but I would like every soldier to be familiar eventually. We will save this power for our fight with Clan Kiramman, but we must know what to expect from our weapons when that day comes. Our supply, for now, will be limited. Ekko, would you show the captains and the quartermaster how to use it and what to expect?”

            Ekko nodded. “I can stay and train folks as long as needed.”

            The captains nodded back.

            Powder squirmed.

            “What is it, Powder?” Viktor asked.

            “Nothing,” she replied, “just—since I’m here already I thought maybe I could stay and fight? Ekko’s more than enough to keep an eye on Hammer House and—”

            “No, Powder,” Viktor replied. She pouted, ready to protest, so he continued, “Ekko may need to stay behind for training. I did not give you that charge because I think anything less of your skills as a warrior. I gave you that charge because I trust you—and there are few I trust to watch over our home and our people. Hammer House is vulnerable while Jayce and I are away. Besides, we cannot risk the lives of both of Zaun’s heirs on the battlefield.”

            “What about you?” she countered.

            “I never stood to inherit rule of Zaun,” Viktor replied. “Let us not pretend otherwise.”

            The briefing concluded with Powder stomping from the tent, Ekko departing with the captains, Violet following after Powder, and Sevika following after Ekko. The Clan Talis detachment would camp the night, prepare to depart early the next morning, and send an advance party to clear the way ahead—or report any obstacles they could not overcome. Jayce and Viktor remained in the command tent.

            Viktor surveyed Violet’s map. Rough ink scratchings. The approximations of borders imposed upon the hills and valleys. The map was imperfect and outdated, but that mattered little. None of those political lines actually existed on the landscape.

            “I like watching you lead,” Jayce said, rich and warm.

            “You are a credit to your sex,” Viktor replied with a gentle laugh and a kiss to his mate’s lips, “for I have encountered few alphas who feel the same.”

            “Then everyone else is a fool,” Jayce replied, and kissed him again.

            The captains and their best soldiers spent the rest of the day under Ekko’s tutelage. Violet coaxed Powder back to camp to modify Sevika’s arm for the new shimmer. Jayce and Viktor pored over three days of reports, tracking Salo’s movement and the gathering of his troops.

            “What’s the plan when we face him?” Jayce asked once they were up to speed.

            “As much as our soldiers want to fight, I am reluctant to send them into battle,” Viktor replied, “if only because we have a sure means to preserve their lives and win. However, I also recognize that they are capable fighters. Our methods may feel ignoble to them, and alienate them over time. I am uncertain if that is reason enough to let them loose on Salo’s forces...”

            “I don’t think it is,” Jayce replied. “Not yet.”

            Viktor hummed his agreement.

            “Do we give Salo the same opportunity we gave Hoskel? Bouts between champions, or lord against lord?”

            “Salo is neither stupid nor prideful enough to believe he could overpower you,” Viktor replied. “His people are merchants, not warriors, and I doubt he has many soldiers capable of surpassing Violet or Sevika, either. He will only agree to conditions he finds favorable and will feel no shame in retreat. If we want to beat him, we must cut off his means of escape.”

            They turned to the map, to the hills and valleys around Salo’s encampment.

            “We don’t have the numbers to surround them,” Jayce said.

            “We do not need numbers,” Viktor replied.

            Even as he spoke, a chill swept through his blood. He shivered, his mind drifting, his gaze turning inward toward the cosmic eddy of the Arcane and all connected matter—stone, flora, fauna, humankind. Viktor had touched so many souls through his magic, blood magic, and if he focused, he could ferret out the wispy tethers that tied him to them still. Three thousand Clan Hoskel soldiers, his Piltovian pilgrims, the Zaunites who had donned his masks, Jayce...

            “—tor...? Viktor.”

            Startling, he blinked. That void vanished, replaced by Jayce’s worried face, brows drawn.

            “Are you feeling all right?”

            Viktor nodded, but the chill churned in him still. The exhaustion of rut and nothing more. He reached for his staff and sighed in relief as the weight of the Arcane flowed into the metal and left his body so much lighter.

            “I can give our soldiers the opportunity to surround Clan Salo,” Viktor replied. “Is this the course we wish to pursue?”

            “I say yes,” Jayce replied. “What about you?”

            Viktor shored his grip around the staff and released a deep breath.

            “Yes,” he replied, “let us plan.”

**

Clan Talis got on the road before sunrise the following morning. At the head of their ranks, Viktor on his elbow, Jayce battled apprehension with every step. Many weeks ago, the biggest conflict between himself and the Lords’ Council had been those ridiculous tollbooths. Now, he led a fighting force intent to unseat the lords for good. He agreed with the principle. He had yet to decide if he agreed with the practice.

            Viktor left him to his thoughts, a steady presence at his side. That silver mask truly transformed him into a being of otherworldly awareness. He seemed much more in-tune with the Arcane, and through the Arcane to the world around them.

            That was why Jayce’s heart dropped into his stomach when Viktor gave the order to halt.

            “Something is amiss,” he said, and let go of Jayce’s arm to move ahead.

            Jayce retrieved his hammer and followed.

            At the bottom of the next hill, they encountered a gruesome sight.

            The advance party they had sent to check the road lay slaughtered in the snow.

            Salo was not the sort to have had their bodies arranged in any intimidating tableau. They lay where they had fallen—their throats or thighs or bellies cut open. Seven soldiers, ambushed sometime in the night. Jayce’s stomach turned, but he suppressed the urge to vomit.

            “Salo’s forces must have suffered casualties as well,” Viktor said, indicating pools of red in the snow compacted by the footprints of a fierce fight. “This is far too much blood.”

            They had taken their dead, though, making it impossible to determine a precise number.

            “We won’t have an accurate report on the road ahead,” Jayce said.

            Here was the cost of his rut on grim display. Salo’s forces able to plot and move freely. Members of the Clan Talis army dead as a result. Their soldiers would want to fight with a greater fervor now than ever before. Viktor crouched to speak the prayers of a High Blood Mage over each of the bodies.

            An arrow whistled out of nowhere, aimed straight at his head.

            The arrow halted upon meeting his magic. The shaft quivered in midair, then snapped in a shower of splinters. Both Viktor and Jayce whirled in the direction of the shot, but it had come from the east, and the sun blinded their eyes.

            Jayce hefted his hammer to give chase.

            Expecting a lone marksman on the other side of the hill, he came upon the full force of Salo’s troops instead.

            They’d moved.

            And a wall of archers had arrows pointed right at him.

            “Loose!”

            Jayce’s foot slipped in the snow as he stopped abruptly, barely managing to swing his hammer up and block the barrage. He’d hardly regained his footing when the land itself shifted under him. Cold air crackled with magic. The hill flattened, the ground thundered, and the hills under and around Salo’s forces flattened, too. Their mass swept into the shape of a caldera—steep sloped sides surrounding the enemy army and preventing their retreat. Viktor appeared at Jayce’s side.

            “It seems—”

            Another arrow, right at his face. This one glanced off the mask when he turned his head.

            “You cannot kill me, Caitlyn Kiramman,” he said, his voice reverberating.

            Jayce’s stomach clenched.

            Caitlyn was here.

            Intimidated and displaced by the change in landscape, Salo’s forces attempted to regroup. Jayce searched their ranks for Caitlyn, but she remained well hidden, and would not shoot at Viktor from the same spot twice. Their own soldiers had leapt into action at the raising of the caldera, arriving behind them in perfect formation—their confidence in their herald absolute.

            Viktor struck the bottom of his staff against the ground. Above them, the caldera’s ridge arced and extended into an open dome. If any managed to scale the slope, such an obstacle would send them tumbling straight back down.

            Underfoot, the snow melted and the earth hardened to give their soldiers solid purchase. For Salo’s fighters, the field turned to mud.

            “Hear me, warriors of Clan Salo,” Viktor said, echoing through the caldera. “You have spilled first blood. You stand between us and our true target. Perhaps you believed the reports of Clan Hoskel an exaggeration. They were not.”

            Jayce required no sympathy to sense the panic palpable in the air.

            “You will face both the wrath and the mercy of the Hammer of Clan Talis and the Herald of the Arcane.” Viktor turned to address their own soldiers. “Subdue them,” he said. “Kill no one. We will show them who is the superior fighting force.”

            Their soldiers signaled their readiness with a single, unified shout.

            “Sevika.”

            “Herald.”

            “Target their captains,” Viktor said. “Break their chain of command.”

            The woman nodded. “Done.”

            “Violet.”

            “Herald...”

            “Accompany Jayce. Clear his path and guard him well.” Viktor hardly acknowledged Violet’s reluctant salute. “Jayce—find Salo. Force his surrender. End this swiftly.” Another arrow. This time, the light flared in the filigree of Viktor’s staff and the projectile simply disintegrated as it neared him. “I will locate Master Kiramman myself.”

            Turning, he raised his staff high above his head.

            “Attack.”

            Their soldiers flooded the caldera like ink in water, sunlight catching the purple shine of their weaponry. Sevika charged directly for the first captain in her sights: the man leading the archers. She grabbed him by the throat and slammed him to the ground. Jayce lost sight of the rest of the fight as the archers swarmed Sevika, and the Clan Talis forces swarmed the archers. He had his own assignment to complete. He turned to regroup with Violet. She was watching Viktor stalk away.

            “Vi,” he said. “He won’t harm her.”

            Jayce hefted his hammer and motioned at the field.

            “Fuck,” Violet growled.

            Her hands clenched into fists, but she forced herself to move, carving a path with her fists. Jayce followed. His hammer served as a deterrent to those aiming at Violet’s back.

            As they cut through Salo’s ranks, the way opened behind them for their own soldiers to flow forward and subdue as Viktor had ordered. They were brutally efficient—knocking enemy combatants to their knees, dealing blows to the backs of their heads, wresting their arms behind their bodies, bruising—but not breaking—bones. Salo’s army numbered roughly half the size of Hoskel’s at just over fifteen hundred. Three on one was actually quite favorable for Clan Talis. They proved it with every Salo soldier they left unconscious in the mud.

            Viktor and Jayce had theorized that if Salo was present, he would hide at the rear. Knowing Piltovian pride, Jayce knew Salo must be with his forces lest he look a spineless weakling in the eyes of his fellow lords. He and Violet kept their pace, eager to reach the rear before Salo could regroup.

            They encountered their first real obstacle when they collided with his honor guard.

            Five alphas, undoubtedly Salo’s best, most trusted warriors.

            Violet concussed two of them and Jayce incapacitated the remaining three with a swing of his hammer for each.

            Not much of an obstacle, in the end.

            Beyond them, Salo had fled, apparently intent on making use of the chaos to retreat to the far end of the caldera and perhaps skirt around the edge to the only point of egress. He would not have expected Jayce and Violet to come straight for him any more than he would have expected Viktor to rearrange the landscape.

            “Guard the rear,” Jayce said. “I’ve got Salo.”

            Violet turned and squared up, ready to deal with the soldiers who had given chase. Salo, for his part, ran hard, but he had never been one for physical pursuits. Jayce gained ground on him with every step.

            Just as Jayce reached Salo, though, Salo whirled, the point of a rapier flashing from its scabbard and piercing into his shoulder at the armpit joint. Jayce cursed.

            Salo was full of surprises today, apparently.

            The fool had the stupidity to look smug for about a half second before Jayce swung the hammer right at his head. If the bastard wanted a real fight, he’d fucking get one. Salo leapt backward, ducking. The hammer missed its target as the wound Salo had dealt sent a bolt of pain through Jayce’s shoulder. Gritting his teeth, Jayce adjusted his grip.

            “Lord Talis, I am certain we could reach an accord—” Salo said, but cut himself off, lunging forward with his rapier when Jayce took a step toward him.

            Jayce used the opposite end of the hammer to strike Salo’s wrist. Salo’s grip opened, and the rapier slipped from his fingers. Salo crouched to reclaim the weapon, but Jayce kicked it out of his reach. In a blink, Salo drew a dagger and sprang upward with enough raw force to puncture Jayce’s armor—had the blow landed. Jayce, though, had had enough of surprises. He wheeled the hammer’s shaft and bowled Salo over. The man landed hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him. He tried to scramble backward as Jayce adjusted his grip once more.

            “Wait—!”

            Jayce slammed the hammer down on Salo’s legs.

            The scream was worse than the crunching of bone. Hoskel, at least, had not cried out. Perhaps it would have been more merciful for Jayce to have simply ended Salo, but if he could avoid taking a life, he would.

            “Surrender,” Jayce said, breathing hard.

            Salo almost could not speak around the heaving gulps of air that seemed to do him little good. “I surrender,” he gasped anyway, shaking, staring in shock and horror at the bloody remnants of his legs. “I surrender. Mercy, Talis. Mercy.”

            “Call off your soldiers,” Jayce replied.

            He turned so those near them on the field had a clear view of their lord.

            “Enough!” Salo cried. “Clan Salo surrenders!”

            Word spread like a ripple through the battlefield, bringing stillness in its wake. Stunned to have had their own trap turned on them, the Clan Salo soldiers who were still on their feet raised their arms in surrender. Jayce watched only long enough to confirm the soldiers had obeyed their lord. There was no telling what last-ditch attempt Salo might make on his life.

            Behind him, Violet started barking orders to have the Salo soldiers stripped of their weapons, but that soon turned into a growl.

            “Cait!”

            Viktor had arrived, Caitlyn in tow—her arms bound by invisible force behind her back, her quiver emptied. Her jaw clenched and her face burned red as if she was trying to curse him out but was unable to open her mouth.

            One look from Viktor and Violet stopped dead in her tracks.

            “As you were,” he said.

            Gritting her teeth, Violet turned and called more orders, chewing out the nearest handful of soldiers when they did not move fast enough for her ire.

            Viktor herded Caitlyn over to Jayce and Salo.

            “I believe we have avoided the worst of the casualties,” he said to Jayce, then, to Caitlyn, “Your binds will loosen, Master Kiramman, once you have regained your composure. If I wanted you dead, I would have taken one of the hundreds of chances I have had to stop your heart.” He released the hand he had on her, but Caitlyn remained rooted to the ground. As he came closer to Jayce and Salo, his attention fixed immediately on the blood staining Jayce’s armor under his arm. “Are you wounded?”

            Jayce nodded.

            Frowning, Viktor chirped and stepped over to press a hand to the joint and flood Jayce with his healing magic—that biting cold and burning hot. The pain vanished.

            “Thank you, princess.”

            “Heal me...” Salo wept from the ground. “Heal me, please...”

            Viktor turned to look at him and Salo shrank immediately, squeezing his eyes shut as he trembled. Tears and sweat alike ran down his face.

            “Such an exercise of my magic would inexorably bind you to me,” Viktor replied. “Your legs are destroyed. It is within my power to rebuild them, but you would become as those pilgrims you so despised and overlooked. Is this all it takes to reduce such towering pride to rubble?” Without a healer of Viktor’s caliber, Salo was likely to die. At the very least, he would never walk again. “Are you prepared to pledge your fealty to Clan Talis? Are you prepared to bear the brands of both coward and traitor?”

            On the verge of unconsciousness, Salo nodded as he fought to reopen his eyes.

            Viktor crouched to look at him.

            “Give me reason to believe you,” he said.

            Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, Salo spilled his guts.

            “Lord K-Kiramman has p-plans for...Lady Talis,” he said, haltingly. “She means to execute her. Publicly. As p-punishment for Clan Talis’s crimes against Piltover.”

            The quiet of the battlefield vanished under a sharp new ringing in Jayce’s ears.

            His heart stopped completely.

            Cassandra meant to execute his mother.

            He found himself turning toward Caitlyn, seeing her as if from a great distance. She was looking at him, her face pale, and her mouth open, her expression one of utter betrayal. Viktor’s magic had released its hold, and she stood slumped and motionless. Too shocked, her eyes too open, to see anything but the truth.

            Jayce didn’t need to ask if she had known.

            Cassandra never would have told her.

            “When?” Viktor asked.

            Salo shook his head. “She hasn’t set a date, but—” He swallowed painfully. “—with my defeat, n-no doubt she will move soon.”

            “I will require further details, as well as your complete surrender,” Viktor replied. “You must forfeit your title as lord and your holdings in Piltover, but that will be of little consequence in the end. This nation, as you know it, will cease to exist.”

            “Clan Talis shall have my f-fealty,” Salo replied.

            “A wise decision,” Viktor said.

            With that, he reached forward, set a hand on the bludgeoned bone of Salo’s left leg, and poured his blood magic into the limb. The process required precise attention, but with the aid of the staff, Viktor completed the mending without depleting from himself. He moved to the right leg and knitted it back together, too. The deed done, Salo collapsed in relief, his eyes closed, his breath heavy, both his legs shining with iridescence. Viktor rose.

            “I will not insult your honor, Master Kiramman, by asking if you have had anything to do with Ximena’s planned execution,” he said.

            Caitlyn swallowed.

            Jayce reeled.

            “I will, however, ask what you intend to do about it.”

            How was Viktor so calm? Jayce felt like ripping his own flesh off his bones.

            Caitlyn’s mouth opened, but she struggled for words.

            “It...is...unconscionable,” she managed, after a moment. “Lady Talis is a—a victim in this. I know she opposed the treaty, but that is not reason enough to be condemned to death.”

            Condemned to death.

            For the first time, Jayce wondered if his mother had foreseen this outcome when the mate-bond was proposed. She knew her son well—his determination and devotion. Before they’d signed the treaty on the hill, she had urged Jayce one final time to reconsider. Had told Jayce that while he wanted peace, Piltover wanted power. She’d been right. Jayce had not believed her then. Now he had all the power in the world and no peace to speak of.

            “I doubt my father will allow me to oversee any part of Lady Talis’s execution, as she still believes me compromised, but she will demand my presence there,” Caitlyn continued. “If I can provide assistance in thwarting this violence, you shall have it. Without hesitation.”

            “Where was this execution to take place?” Viktor asked Salo.

            “Hangman’s Hill,” he replied. “Just outside the capital.”

            Nodding, Viktor turned his gaze to Caitlyn. “We will intercept Ximena en route. Are you able to inform us of her planned movement?”

            Grim, Caitlyn nodded.

            “Very well,” Viktor replied. “Then perhaps you ought to hurry back to Castle Kiramman and report Clan Salo’s defeat.”

            Caitlyn’s hands clenched into fists, but she made no protest at being ordered around by Viktor. Across the battlefield, Salo soldiers were dragging their unconscious comrades into orderly lines to account for the wounded. Clan Talis’s soldiers were doing the same, only their numbers included the dead. As Caitlyn left, Violet rerouted to intercept her. Whatever the topic of conversation, it looked heated.

            Sevika approached Jayce and Viktor with a salute.

            “How many dead?” Viktor asked.

            “Sixteen.”

            A sharp breath left Viktor’s nose and the very air around him seemed to vibrate, his own grief and frustration radiating from him in near-palpable waves.

            “Thank you, Sevika,” he replied. “I shall prepare them for a safe return to Zaun.”

            Sevika nodded, departed. Viktor nudged Salo with his staff.

            “You will travel with us until we reach Clan Kiramman’s borders,” he said. “I will not have our advance parties murdered in the night, nor trigger any more of your traps. Prepare. We march on foot.”

            Nodding, Salo struggled to his feet and wobbled on new legs to reestablish command of his own army—such as it was. Jayce had been aware of himself only as an observer for the last several minutes. It wasn’t until Viktor met his eye that he found himself back in his body, horrifically present. Tears sprang to his eyes almost immediately.

            Cassandra was going to execute his mother.

            Viktor came forward, trilling and shaking his head.

            “No harm shall befall her, my dove,” he said. “I swear it.”

            “We have to rescue her, Viktor,” Jayce replied, his voice tight.

            There was no telling what kind of monster he’d become if they failed.

**

While Jayce and Violet wrang Salo for every ounce of information he possessed, Viktor performed rites over Zaun’s fallen. He appointed an escort to take their bodies to the border camp along with an order for twenty-three of their number to return to replace them. By midday, those soldiers appeared on the horizon, and Salo’s army had regained consciousness. They received news of their lord’s newfound fealty, while Clan Talis prepared to march and make camp down the road.

            Once everyone cleared from the caldera, Viktor returned the landscape to its original shape. He saw little sense in forcing nature to suffer for their schemes.

            The exercise of magic sent a sweeping ache through his body. The chaos of the Arcane had always disliked a return to order. Viktor shivered as the snow-covered hills reformed before him. The light in the filigree calmed, and he found himself breathless, his hands tingling from the vibration of the staff.

            He turned to address Clan Salo’s soldiers all the same.

            “As you know, your lord has sworn fealty to Clan Talis,” he said. “I would encourage that you relinquish your weapons and seek peace henceforth. Should you join Clan Kiramman’s army, you will face us again.”

            That sent a rush of anxiety through Salo’s forces.

            Viktor waved them off.

            “Disperse.”

            They obeyed, half-scattering-half-marching over the hills to escape whatever remained of Viktor’s wrath.

            He made his way to Jayce, who emitted anxiety himself.

            “Did Salo have anything useful to say?” he asked.

            “Apparently Mel’s been in contact with her homeland,” Jayce replied. His face was pale, his eyes agitated. “Noxus is prepared to send soldiers to fight on Piltover’s behalf if things get dire.” That did not bode well. Noxian warriors were renowned the world over. They knew how to do battle with mages, how to defeat them. “He said Piltover was reluctant to welcome foreign fighters, but if we make them desperate enough...”

            “The Noxians will have no developed means to combat sympathy as they do the Arcane.”

            “Mel knows about your magic, Viktor,” Jayce replied. “What if she’s told them? Sure, she’s an exile, but the fact that she’s even considering inviting Noxus here—”

            Viktor placed a hand over Jayce’s lips.

            “One thing at a time, my dove. Let us focus on the rescue of your mother.”

            Again that anxiety emitted from Jayce, charged and static.

            “Can we afford to focus on only one thing at a time?”

            Frowning, Viktor stroked his cheek.

            “Get a room!” Powder called with a laugh.

            Powder?

            Turning, Viktor found his youngest sister marching in with the troops who had come from the border camp. Irritation flared. What in the name of the gods did that foolish girl think she was doing? He stalked toward her.

            “Powder,” he snapped, “why are you here?”

            “You said you needed more fighters to replace the ones you lost,” she replied with a shrug. “I’m here to fight. Obviously.”

            “And what of Hammer House?”

            “Ekko can watch Hammer House.”

            “Ekko is training our soldiers with shimmer,” Viktor replied, a cold rage at her flagrant disregard for his orders taking root in his chest. “Hammer House lies unguarded! Singed works without eyes to watch him!”

            “He’s not gonna do anything!” Powder countered. “He’ll die if he does, right? That’s why you put that curse on him. Plus there’s a bunch of soldiers at Hammer House, too. It’s not like nobody’s there to keep watch. I’m way more useful out here. Sitting around waiting for a fight is so boring.”

            “This is not a game, Powder,” Viktor snarled.

            The girl shied at once, afraid. Good. Let her fear him.

            “People have died. More lives will yet be lost,” he said. “If you are bored, return to Zaun. Do not burden me with your petty demands.”

            Powder’s bottom lip quivered, but Viktor had no patience for her tears.

            “Go,” he ordered. “You will not fight with us.”

            “But, V—”

            “GO.”

            He had not intended to lace the word with sympathy, but it happened nonetheless.

            So, Powder turned on her heel and walked away.

            Dizzy with anger, Viktor shook his head, but he could not bring himself to call her back. Jayce came to his side.

            “Was that wise?” he asked. “She only wants to help.”

            “If she wants to help, she has been told precisely what she can do,” Viktor snapped. “Her reasoning is utterly incomprehensible to me. Perhaps I was unkind, but I was not unwise. We cannot have both of Zaun’s heirs on the field with us. Violet is folly enough.”  

            Jayce made no further argument.

            In the subsequent quiet, Viktor watched Powder’s back as she retreated over the hill, departing as quickly as she had arrived. He wondered if this was how Silco had felt each time Powder had stood in the way of his plans. The girl was gifted, but clumsy, her focus too narrow, too centered on her own perspective. Viktor wondered if this was how Powder had felt each time Silco had scolded and scared her. He wondered how like their mother he had seemed to her now. A chill shivered down his spine as his hands tingled once again.

            “I apologize for speaking so venomously,” Viktor said.

            “It’s been a long morning,” Jayce agreed.

A few days’ travel brought them within sight of Clan Kiramman’s border. There, they parted with Salo, who had called off the small brigades of his soldiers they’d encountered along the way. While Viktor hoped never to lay eyes on the man again, he knew some part of Salo’s essence would remain tethered to him through the magic worked upon his legs. If nothing else, that tether might warn Viktor if Salo’s changed heart reverted to his old ways. The former lord of Piltover had proved remarkably amenable on the road.

            A brush with death would do that to a man.

            Clan Talis set their camp atop a hill with a good view of the Kiramman hills. How like Zaun they looked still.

            Clan Talis held the entirety of Clan Hoskel’s territory now, though they had no means to defend it. Viktor drove his staff into the earth, shut his eyes, and erected a barrier along the border—invisible, but tangible. The charm would not prevent individuals from crossing over, but fill them with such fear that those who intended harm would turn around of their own accord.

            His hands tingled. Painfully, this time.

            After sunset, a Kiramman messenger arrived bearing missives and condemnations aplenty. Jayce and Viktor went down to meet the diminutive beta at the border.

            Most of the documents dealt with a much-delayed acceptance of Clan Talis’s war declaration, along with a return declaration signed by all the lords of Piltover. The declaration bore both Hoskel and Salo’s names. Two of seven, already defeated. Two more, and Piltover would topple.

            Clan Talis had little to say in return, and so sent only a single missive back with the messenger: We march on Castle Kiramman. Our objective has not changed.

            The messenger took their leave.

            Once the coast was clear, Jayce and Viktor opened a letter discreetly attached to the back of another, bearing no seal but written in Caitlyn’s hand. It detailed Clan Kiramman’s plans for transporting Ximena to the capital—and Hangman’s Hill.

            Five carriages and armed guards on horseback were to escort Ximena, traveling only at night. By Caitlyn’s reckoning, and accounting for the delay in the message’s delivery, that caravan would already have left Castle Kiramman. In all likelihood, they were on the road even as Jayce and Viktor finished reading Caitlyn’s missive.

            “We must move now if we mean to intercept them,” Viktor said.

            Jayce nodded, his teeth set like steel. “You and I can take Vi’s horse.”

            Violet, naturally, protested.

            “You can’t go alone,” she said.

            “Yours is the only riding horse in our possession,” Viktor replied. “We cannot go on foot, and we cannot burden the animal with a third rider. Both Jayce and myself are essential to this endeavor. What would you have us do? Require Jayce to stay behind and leave the rescuing of his mother to another? Forfeit the use of my magic? No. We will ride together and we will requisition your horse. You and Sevika will have command here.”

            “V—”

            A fearsome glare saw Violet silenced. Clicking her tongue she threw up her hands.

            “Fine.”

            “You are far too old to pout as Powder does,” Viktor said.

            “We’re here to help you!” Violet snarled, throwing herself into Viktor’s face. He did not cow, but took the opportunity to loom over her.

            “Why is it you insist that you know the best way to help me?” he replied. “You forget, sister, that I am not an omega who will bow to your whims and your will simply because you are an alpha. Your presence here is most valued and appreciated. It is also a terrible risk. Do not threaten me with the removal of your assistance, for that poses no threat at all.”

            Violet flashed her teeth. “Are you calling me a liability?”

            “I made no such claims,” Viktor replied. “Jayce and I will be taking your horse. We will depart within the hour. You have command of this force until we return. Hold the border, and take no hostile action.”

            He retrieved Violet’s horse from the quartermaster and met Jayce, who had packed supplies for their journey.

            “Will you be all right riding pillion?” Jayce asked.

            “With this, yes,” Viktor replied, tilting his staff.

            “I’m not sure how to transport the hammer...”

            The weapon was light only when wielded, and it was far too large to simply strap to the side of the horse.

            “I will hold it,” Viktor said, “and sit before you.”

            He mounted the horse. Jayce passed him his staff, then the hammer. Purple runes flared to life at his touch. Alight with magic, the weapon felt no heavier than the staff in Viktor’s grip. Jayce swung himself up and settled behind him, his legs stabilizing Viktor in the saddle, his arms providing a barrier with his hands on the reins. They took off without so much as a goodbye to their troops. The less the soldiers knew, the better. Theirs was a mission which required the utmost haste, and the utmost secrecy.

They rode swift and steady to keep the horse from tiring. Hoof beats pounded on snow, bright under moonlight. Overhead, the stars glittered in a clear sky. The only clouds came from Viktor, Jayce, and the horse as all three breathed hard with exercise.

            Viktor fed himself small doses of healing each time his legs began to tremble.

            Hours passed in such a fashion, their tension never waning.

            Viktor recalled the ride to Hammer House with smoke on the horizon.

            This time they would not be too late.

            If the gods had any sense of justice, they would reach Ximena tonight.

            Onward, they rode.

            Several more hours passed. In the early morning, darkness still upon the hills, Viktor caught sight of distant lights on the road ahead. Carriage lanterns. A procession of five, surrounded by mounted guard. Caitlyn’s information had proved accurate. They were lucky to have encountered them while still under the cover of night.

            They were lucky to have encountered them at all.

            “There,” Viktor said, and Jayce spurred the horse.

            Of course, the guards posted at the back of the rearmost carriage heard and saw their approach, but in the dark, it was difficult to make sense of a pair of lights on a single horse rushing straight for them. By the time they were near enough to recognize Jayce and Viktor as a threat, Jayce and Viktor were near enough for Viktor to command these men with sympathy.

            “Keep silent,” he ordered.

            The guards’ mouths snapped shut.

            Jayce and Viktor shot past the rear carriage. The guards watched them go with wide eyes. A shout went up as those not compelled to silence raised the alarm, but by then, Viktor and Jayce had shot past the fourth, third, and second carriages and begun to wheel around the front.

            “Halt!” Viktor ordered.

            The driver of the first carriage reined their team to a stop. The others had no choice but to follow suit—the road too narrow for them to go around.

            “What is the meaning of this?!” roared a voice within the first carriage.

            Jayce grabbed his hammer from Viktor and swung down off the horse.

            Just as the first carriage’s door opened, it splintered as Jayce swung his hammer straight into it. He glanced inside, growled, and moved to the next. Some Clan Kiramman official stuck his head out of the carriage in a rage, perhaps thinking their party beset by highwaymen. However, the instant he had a clear view, he paled. He opened his mouth, but the words died when Jayce smashed open the door to the second carriage—which was empty.

            “Where is my mother?” he growled.

            Rather than bluster, the official grabbed a sword from his seat inside the carriage and made to jump down. Before Viktor could stop him in his tracks, one of their own guards drew a bow and aimed for his heart.

            “Second to last carriage, Jayce,” Caitlyn said.

            “M-Master Kiramman!”

            The official blinked at Caitlyn in shock, which spread through the rest of the guard. Their hesitation bought Viktor time enough to weave a subtle spell to keep every last person in place.

            “Clan Kiramman has forgotten the values of justice and equity upon which we were founded,” Caitlyn said. Her eyes shined in the moonlight, her brows drawn. Anger, resentment, and resolution rang in her blood. “Ximena Talis has committed no crime. I will not be party to her execution. I will see justice done.”

            Behind her, Jayce slammed his hammer against the fourth carriage’s door. Two guards leapt at him from the interior, but he batted them aside, and the moment they entered Viktor’s line of sight, they fell under his spell, their feet freezing to the ground beneath them.

            From within the carriage, Jayce removed Ximena—her hands bound, a sack over her head. She was terrified, struggling, until Jayce pulled the sack free.

            She took one look at her son and burst into tears.

            Jayce dropped the hammer, threw his arms around Ximena, and sobbed.

            The threat of the guards neutralized, both Viktor and Caitlyn steered their horses to the fourth carriage. There, Caitlyn dismounted, pulled a dagger from her belt, and cut Ximena’s bindings. Ximena wrapped her arms around Jayce the instant she was free.

            “Might we beg the use of your horse, Caitlyn?” Viktor asked as Caitlyn stepped back, tears in her eyes.

            “If you’re willing to shelter a traitor to Piltover in your camp, you may have the use of my horse, my bow, and my breath until my father is brought to heel,” the young woman said.

            “The true heroes and traitors will be determined with time,” Viktor replied. “No matter the markers you bear, your allyship would be a most welcome relief.” He extended a hand to her. She reached up to grasp his elbow, and they squeezed each other’s arms. A pact formed, a promise fulfilled. “Jayce, Ximena. We must make haste.”

            Caitlyn passed Jayce the reins to her horse. He pulled her into a haphazard hug that she tearfully returned. Jayce then helped Ximena into the saddle, and Caitlyn retrieved his hammer, which she passed to Viktor before mounting behind him as Jayce swung up in front of Ximena. She clung to Jayce, burying her face against his back as she wept uncontrollably, too overwhelmed even for words. The emotions swarmed Viktor, but he warded them off. One of them must keep their head. They were not in the clear just yet.

            As Jayce and Ximena started off, Viktor turned to face the Kiramman caravan.

            “You will remain exactly as you are until the sun reaches its zenith,” he said, sympathy weaving into unbreakable bonds. “Then you will complete your trek to the capital, and tell no one along the way of the encounter here tonight.”

            With that, Caitlyn urged their horse forward to catch up with Jayce.

            As they crested the hill, the first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon.

Chapter Text

Honey and cinnamon enveloped Jayce. As he rode, Ximena cleaved to him, her arms so tight that they trembled with the effort. Against his back, her sobs echoed through him, and tears fell from his own eyes, the wind pulling them into cold streaks across his cheeks. Paranoia had him checking over his shoulder every few minutes, but each time he looked, only Viktor and Caitlyn were following. His mate. His mother. The young woman he had long regarded as a sister. All were safe. They had foiled Cassandra’s plans.

            Over the Kiramman hills the horses flew, the winter sunrise turning the snow orange.

            By the time they reached their camp, the sun shined high and the horses were completely spent. That caravan bound for the capital would be resuming their journey any minute now, but the truth of what had happened wouldn’t come to light until they reached the capital.

            Both Violet and Sevika came to meet the Clan Talis riders at the edge of camp.

            “Thank the fucking gods,” Violet breathed.

            She threw her arms around Caitlyn the second she dismounted. Caitlyn startled. Tears filled her eyes. Then she hugged Violet back, fierce and hard, though brief.

            “I’m sorry,” Caitlyn said, retreating. “I wish I had listened to you before it came to this.”

            Violet shook her head. “Just promise me you’re here to stay.”

            A few tears falling, Caitlyn whispered, “Yes,” and let Violet hug her fiercely once more.

            Sevika offered a hand to Ximena. Weary, Ximena accepted, and Sevika shored her up when her landing faltered in the snow.

            “Glad to see you back in one piece, Lady Talis,” Sevika said. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

            “There is no need to apologize, Sevika,” Ximena replied. “You fought valiantly.”

            By then, Caitlyn and Violet had separated, and Caitlyn had taken both the hammer and the staff from Viktor. Violet was moving to help him off the horse, but protective instinct flared in Jayce, and he swung down swiftly to go to his mate. Caitlyn had tried to kill him in that fight with Clan Salo, after all. It was a dissonance Jayce wasn’t ready to confront just yet. Viktor’s full weight fell against him as he dismounted.

            His bondmate seemed strangely light.

            Ximena came running to throw her arms around them both.

            “Thank the gods, thank the gods,” she wept.

            Jayce wrapped an arm around her and Viktor, and Viktor did the same. As they held onto each other, Jayce tried to ground himself in his body. They’d rescued Ximena, but he couldn’t quite believe he held his mother in his arms. He couldn’t quite fathom that she was still breathing, her heart still beating, her head still attached to her neck. Another few days, and Cassandra would have had her executed for no other reason than to hurt Jayce and Viktor. Such cruelty seemed beyond comprehension.

            Before them, the chatter of a war camp demanded he comprehend it anyway.

            “My boys, my sweet boys,” Ximena sobbed. “Thank you...thank you...”

            With a gentle chirp, Viktor drew Ximena closer. Through their bond, Jayce sensed the extension of a strand of sympathy to soothe the driving anxiety in his mother, leaving only the relief. Her tears softened, and she lifted her face.

            “What has happened?” she asked. “I understand Clan Kiramman is at war, but none were permitted to speak to me...”

            It struck Jayce then how much time had passed since he and Ximena had parted. The morning of the final day of the peace celebration, to be precise. He hardly knew where to begin. So much had happened. So much time had passed. He and Viktor had undergone so many changes. Perhaps that was why Ximena did not quite feel real. She’d said goodbye to a different man all those weeks ago.

            “That is, perhaps, a story for the road ahead,” Viktor replied as he drew back. “Suffice it to say, following the attack on Hammer House, Clan Talis declared sovereignty and now wages war against Clan Kiramman.”

            Pale, Ximena nodded.

            “Zaun lent us troops and weapons,” Viktor continued. “We hold Clan Hoskel’s territory, Lord Salo has sworn fealty, and we now have Clan Kiramman’s heir on our side.”

            For this, Cassandra had planned to kill Ximena.

            Jayce dug his fingers into her shoulder. She was real.

            She was real.

            “The atmosphere in Castle Kiramman seemed...disturbed,” Ximena said. “Now I understand why.”

            Clan Talis presented a real and credible threat.

            Cassandra had not counted on that.

            Five hundred soldiers now camped on her border.

            “We ought not linger here,” Viktor said. “As soon as the horses have rested, we must see you safely back to Hammer House, Ximena.” He squeezed her arm. “Sevika will accompany us. Violet and Caitlyn will hold the border.”

            Exchanging worried glances with Violet, Caitlyn stepped forward.

            “Every moment we delay is a moment my father strengthens her position,” she said.

            “That is a risk I am willing to take,” Viktor replied.

            He looked at Jayce, and Jayce nodded.

            “My mother can’t stay here, Cait,” he said. “She’ll be the first person they target, and passage through Hoskel’s territory is only safe in theory. We have time before Clan Kiramman realizes what we’ve done. Your father won’t retaliate until then. Viktor and I will take my mother home. Between Powder and our soldiers, Hammer House is the safest place for her.”

            Caitlyn opened her mouth to protest, but Violet put a hand on her shoulder.

            “Don’t bother,” she said. “They don’t want advice.”

            The air crackled, ice cold as Viktor growled.

            “You speak as if our plans have proved themselves flawed,” he said through clenched teeth, “when we have rescued Ximena and unseated two of Piltover’s lords by taking only one life. What would you have advised, sister? That we kill indiscriminately? Raze villages to the ground until Clan Kiramman capitulates to our demands?”

            Affronted, Violet’s mouth fell open. “What? Of course not! Is that what you think of me? That I’m so hungry for a fight I’ll kill anyone in my path?”

            “Did you think I do not know you, Vi?”

            “Oh, fuck off, Viktor.”

            The air crackled again, charged now, as Viktor stepped forward, teeth bared, and Violet moved to retaliate, snarling, too. Jayce and Caitlyn simultaneously intervened, physically restraining their respective partners.

            “You may know me,” Violet spat as Caitlyn dragged her back, “but I sure as fuck don’t know who you are anymore.”

            Pure destruction burned in Viktor’s eyes—that light on another plane of existence.

            Seeing it, Jayce froze.

            “Please,” Ximena implored, “do not fight amongst yourselves.”

            Softly spoken, the words revived the humanity in Viktor. He stopped pulling against Jayce. His eyes turned to Caitlyn.

            “Do you have an alternative solution to this problem?” he asked.

            Drawing in a deep breath, Caitlyn shook her head. “I regret that I do not,” she said. “I can sympathize with your desire to escort Lady Talis back yourselves. Vi and I are more than suited to the task of holding the border. I agree that Hammer House is the safest amid options that offer very little safety. However, I worry what my father will accomplish while you are away. Should she attack, we will not stand a fighting chance without you.”

            “You have until the horses are rested to ideate on alternatives,” Viktor replied. “In the meantime, we should rest, too, Jayce, Ximena.”

            Sapped, Ximena nodded.

            Slowly, Jayce nodded as well.

            The three of them left Caitlyn and Violet and made their way into the camp. With every step, their soldiers offered congratulations and admiration.

            Had they truly been foolhardy? That was difficult to judge when they had likewise been successful. Jayce struggled to regret his actions—or even them from an alternative point of view. He and Viktor had made a good choice. They’d made hundreds of good choices, but even now, as the heads of their own sovereign land, the generals of their own army, all anyone seemed to do was doubt those choices and fail to offer any real alternatives.

            What Jayce wouldn’t give to turn around and take refuge in the wilderness where none of these troubles would reach them ever again.

            He and Viktor and Ximena settled in one of the tents for a brief rest. Jayce slept fitfully, plagued by strange dreams he could not remember after opening his eyes. They rose, and ate, and prepared themselves and their supplies, but Violet’s horse had not recovered, so they opted to take one of the supply carts and a pair of ponies instead. Caitlyn had come up emptyhanded as far as plans were concerned—so Jayce and Viktor turned over command of the border camp to Violet and set off with Ximena and Sevika in the late afternoon.

            Sevika kept a weather eye at the rear of the cart. Viktor nestled among their supplies, a hand on Jayce’s hammer to lighten the load. Ximena sat beside Jayce on the driver’s bench, her hood drawn, her arm looped with his, while Jayce steered the ponies through the snow.

            Quiet, detached, Viktor recounted all that had happened to them since Ximena left Zaun.

            “Oh, my darlings,” she said, grasping Viktor’s hand. “I am so sorry.”

            They camped that night in a small copse of trees off the road, a pair of tiny two-person tents hidden amongst barren branches and heaps of snow disguised by magic. Sevika agreed to keep first watch so Ximena could have her privacy. The four of them would rotate until the sky was light enough to travel.

            “I’ll see you in the morning, Mama,” Jayce said outside Ximena’s tent, giving his mother a hug. “I hope you can get some sleep.”

            “I am certain the fatigue will see to that,” she said and held him tightly.

            Neither of them let go for a moment.

            “Thank you, my son,” Ximena whispered, her throat tight. “I—I cannot even begin to tell you...” Her breath shuddered out of her, so Jayce drew her closer. “I knew. Somehow, I knew that you would come.”

            “I wish we’d never said goodbye,” Jayce replied.

            Ximena nodded. There were no more words to express their sorrow and relief. They bid each other good night.

            Jayce stood and stared at the stars through the branches of the trees.

            Then he crawled into his tent with Viktor.

            The omega sat atop his bedroll, his head nearly brushing the roof. He was massaging his hands. In the dark, the light that pulsed through his scars illuminated his face.

            “May I?” Jayce asked, sitting beside him.

            Nodding, Viktor offered both hands. One at a time, Jayce worked his fingers over Viktor’s palms, then his fingers, joint by joint, stretching each, easing the muscle and tendons. Gradually, that pulsing magic calmed. Viktor sighed. Jayce pressed a kiss to his knuckles, to the engagement mark over his thumb. His own engagement mark pulsed—tingling and connective.

            “How are you feeling?” Jayce asked.

            “Exhausted,” Viktor replied.

            Jayce hummed his agreement and kissed his knuckles again. Viktor’s scent softened, blooming, so Jayce turned his hand over to kiss his wrist. With a purr, Viktor stroked his hair. Jayce laid down to rest his head in his lap so he could continue the gesture.

            “My hands feel strange,” Viktor said, the hands in question tingling as they brushed across Jayce’s scalp. “It is as if they have fallen asleep. The sensation comes and goes, but there is a certain numbness to it. I think perhaps because they are the connection between my body and the staff, they endure the greatest impact of transferring the Arcane.”

            “You’ve used a lot of magic,” Jayce agreed.

            “I also prefer to carry the staff than rest. The relief I feel, not bearing the Arcane...”

            Jayce turned over to look at Viktor. Even in the dark, he recognized a few tears in his eyes. Jayce reached up to run a hand across his cheek.

            “You shoulder it well,” he said.

            “What choice have I?” Viktor replied.

            Sitting up abruptly, Jayce grasped Viktor’s face and pulled him into a fervent kiss. Viktor jolted, but drank it in, those tears sliding down his cheeks. Jayce kissed them from his skin and released a little of his protective pheromone. Enough to offer comfort, but not to overwhelm. Viktor leaned into him.

            “I am tired of this, Jayce,” he whispered, “and the greatest of our enemies lies before us still. We must finish what we have started, but...what Violet said...I think I am afraid of what I am becoming.”

            His thumbs pressing against Viktor’s cheeks, Jayce nodded.

            “Me too,” he said.

            “Are we doing the right thing?”

            Throat tight, Jayce had to swallow before he could reply.

            “I don’t know.”

            A terrifying answer, but the truth. They may never know if this course of action was the “right” one. With every decision, hundreds of branching possibilities died, and hundreds more were born. Only time would tell if their chosen course would lead their nations to a harmonious future. Jayce certainly hoped that future would come to fruition, but peace was too often used as a justification for war.

            “When this is over, I do not wish to lead,” Viktor said. “The last thing I want is for Clan Talis to become a conquering force. Whatever the outcome, you and I cannot be the ones to rule Piltover and Zaun.”

            “When this is over, I want to go as far from here as we possibly can,” Jayce replied. “I want to build a life that’s ours.”

            Humming, Viktor encouraged Jayce back into his lap. He brushed Jayce’s hair away from his face, ran a finger down the line of his nose. As he absently traced the shape of infinity around and around on Jayce’s forehead, he asked, “What would such life look like, do you think?”

            Closing his eyes, Jayce let his mind spin tapestries.

            “Us,” he replied. “The puppies. A pair of horses, probably. My mother sometimes, when she wants to visit. We live out of our bond tents, or a wagon. Maybe both. You teach me how to live the old ways, and we travel. Meet new people who have never heard of Piltover or Zaun. Learn new things. Add a few pups to our family when the time is right...”

            The image came to him so clearly—beautiful in its impossibility.

            His bondmate trilled, soft and somber.

            “You have such lovely dreams, my dove,” Viktor said.

            “We can share them,” Jayce replied, grasping his hand to kiss his palm. “I only ever want to dream with you.”

            Gentle, Viktor leaned down and pressed a kiss to Jayce’s lips.

            “I like the sound of this life,” he said. “I shall dream it, too.”

**

Nestled in the bed of the cart, Viktor quietly watched the landscape pass. The rise into moorland seemed subtler under all the snow. Though they traveled slower than they would have on the riding horses, the ponies maintained a steady pace that would see them to Hammer House within the next two days. Along the way, they passed their second border camp within Clan Hoskel’s territory and stopped to deliver the latest news and receive reports.

            Ekko had command here—training the soldiers to utilize the new shimmer weapons.

            “I’ve got lots of folks who are ready to fight,” he said, “if you want to send more my way, I can dispatch these soldiers to Vi at the Kiramman border.”

            Jayce and Viktor agreed.

            “We will want the majority of our numbers to join that detachment,” Viktor said, “as we may have to contend with Noxus before we reach Castle Kiramman. We will deliver the orders to those stationed at the homesteads on our way to Hammer House.”

            As they prepared to depart, Viktor drew Ekko aside.

            “Has Powder crossed your path?” he asked.

            Frowning, Ekko shook his head. “Not since she left with that group to replace the casualties from the fight with Clan Salo. Why? Is something wrong?”

            “Only that I ordered her to depart,” Viktor replied, “and did so harshly.”

            She had not stopped at this camp on her return to Hammer House. That concerned him. Viktor had hoped time with Ekko would have soothed some of the sting he had inflicted, but Powder was a mercurial creature. If she wanted to nurse that wound, she would. Even if it meant bypassing a dear friend.

            “Send word if you see her,” he said.

            Viktor bid Ekko farewell and let Jayce help him into the cart.

            By evening, they reached the standing stones which had formerly marked the boundary between the Clan Hoskel and Clan Talis territories. Fresh snow had long since erased any evidence of blood or battle, but Jayce urged the ponies onward for another hour or so, understandably reluctant to camp so near the place where he had taken another man’s life.

            They set their camp, set their watches. Viktor climbed atop his bedroll and under a fur to tuck himself as near to his mate as he could manage.

            Spice and musk stirred in welcome, filling his lungs.

            “Sevika will not wish to stay behind to guard Ximena,” Viktor said, soft enough so as not to be heard by the woman in question, standing watch. “She joined our ranks only to seek revenge against the captain who led the raid on Hammer House.”

            “We can leave my mother in Powder’s care,” Jayce replied.

            “Can we trust Powder to stay where she is told?”

            The alpha heaved a sigh. “We have to give her a chance.”

            “We do not have to do anything,” Viktor replied. “Sevika, while we would earn her ire, would at least follow a direct order.”

            Sighing once more, Jayce freed an arm from underneath the fur to brush Viktor’s hair away from his face. He toyed with a few of the strands and said, “I know you’re frustrated with her, princess, but she’s young. She loves you. She looks up to you. She doesn’t mean to cause problems, and it’s only natural for someone her age to think she knows best. When we see her, let’s see what she says. I think she’ll enjoy staying with my mother much more than she would staying on her own.”

            Viktor sighed, too, but his was born from sorrow and irritation.

            “Perhaps you should speak with her,” he said.

            They broke camp at first light and continued toward Hammer House, stopping at each homestead to deliver orders for the troops stationed there. A sense of unease followed Viktor throughout the morning as he considered his confrontation with Powder. He had not intended to use sympathy to compel her, and that made the outcome of the order unclear. He had told her to go, but go where? How much freedom of choice would Powder have had in her destination?

            By midday, his anxieties took on a much more tangible shape.

            He and Ximena had traded places so he could sit alongside Jayce and she could lighten the hammer. With a higher vantage, Viktor had a better view of the moors—and a strange, sweeping depression in the heather.

            “Jayce,” he said, and pointed.

            A broad line of heather had been trampled flat. The line weaved across the moors, following the path of least resistance, but approaching the road at an angle. When the cart reached the point where the line converged with the road, the line disappeared and snow that should have been fresh was instead marked with hundreds of footprints.

            “What is it?” Ximena asked as Jayce reined the ponies to a stop.

            “Our own soldiers would have had no cause to move in such large numbers,” Viktor replied. “Nor would they have avoided the road.”

            An enemy had invaded their land.

            “Hurry,” Viktor said.

            The wheels of the cart squealed as Jayce urged the ponies forward.

            They moved as swiftly as their transportation allowed, but Viktor could not shake this creeping sense of dread.

            They had already failed Hammer House once.

            He could not bear to fail his people again.

            His own turbulent feelings would not make the ponies move any faster.

            They came upon Hammer House at sunset.

            Echoing through the valley, the noise of pitched battle reached them before they even sighted the estate. The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon. Red and orange bled across the sky. The sunset only. No smoke, no flames. Ahead, however, a force of at least three hundred soldiers in Kiramman blue were attempting to breach the gate.

            “You’re outmatched!” their captain called. “Surrender, and we may spare your lives!”

            At once, Sevika leapt from the cart and went tearing over the snow like a wolf.

            Viktor only just kept himself from calling after her.

            He turned to Jayce instead.

            “Stay here, my dove,” he said. “Retreat with the cart and protect your mother. Sevika and I will...deal with this.”

            He retrieved his staff and levered himself off the bench into the snow.

            He heard Jayce curse behind him, followed by the squeal of the wheels as he steered the ponies to withdraw. Sevika’s rapid approach went unnoticed under the noise at the gate until she had nearly come upon the captain. Someone called out, the captain turned, and Viktor unleashed a wave of sympathy with a simple command to all the Kiramman soldiers: “Hold.”

            The magic washed across the Kiramman forces.

            It had no effect.

            Viktor stopped dead in his tracks, true fear lancing his heart.

            Sevika ripped right through two of the soldiers who interposed themselves between her and the captain. Four others leapt into action to slow her approach. She sliced one across the neck, stabbed another through the heart, brought her flesh-and-bone fist up under the chin of the third, and barreled into the fourth, taking her to the ground. Red spattered the snow while Viktor stood and stared—his mind blank. Sevika rose. She pointed a metal finger at the captain.

            “Today’s the day you die.”

            Pandemonium ensued.

            The captain barked orders. Attempted to retreat. Soldiers in the rear reorganized to fight Sevika, which gave Viktor a clearer view of the battle at the gate. His Zaunite troops had formed a line, but many already lay dead, their formation weakened.

            Why had his magic failed?

            He tried again to influence the enemy, focusing this time on a smaller contingent—one which had divided to rapidly approach him.

            “Retreat,” he commanded, but the soldiers advanced.

            “RETREAT.”

            The light within the filigree flared, but the soldiers still advanced. Around their necks, amulets bearing strange runes glowed green. Viktor recognized neither the amulets’ form nor function.

            “Viktor!”

            Jayce’s voice brought him back to himself just as the soldiers surrounded him.

            The soldiers had surrounded him.

            Without thinking, he reached toward the nearest man, grasped the amulet, and ripped it from his neck. “Protect me,” he ordered, and this time, the sympathy stuck. The soldier moved against the others, batting swords aside. In the confusion, Viktor took his opportunity to escape, turning to erect a dome of ice and rock around the contingent, though he had no idea how long the magic might last against those amulets, or if the soldiers had any means to utilize their properties offensively.

            His heart beat hard in his chest. Cold air burned his lungs.

            Another contingent was approaching him.

            Jayce arrived at his side, hammer in-hand.

            “What are you doing?” Viktor breathed.

            “As long as none of the soldiers get past us, my mother will be safe, right?” Seeing that they now faced two foes, the approaching contingent slowed. “So, let’s make sure none of them get past us.”

            Both terrified and touched, Viktor nodded at his mate.

            They turned to face the soldiers together.

            The amulets prevented Viktor from affecting the soldiers directly, but could not prevent him from shifting the environment around them. Snow turned to ice underfoot. As they lost their balance, Jayce swung his hammer and they toppled to the ground where they both yanked the amulets from their necks and Viktor gave them the order to stay down.

            That was when the line holding the gate broke.

            With shouts of triumph, Kiramman soldiers swarmed into the estate.

            Those shouts turned into screams not moments later.

            The noise was so visceral, it brought the battle to a standstill in every place but one: Sevika, surrounded by the bodies of too many Kiramman soldiers to count.

            She had the captain of their forces by the throat. Blood poured from his nose and mouth, his teeth red as he bared them at her. Grinning, eyes glittering, Sevika tightened her grip.

            Then she ripped his head off his shoulders.

            The Kiramman soldiers saw, but could not retaliate, as the threat from within the walls of Hammer House made itself known.

            Monstrous, hulking creatures—perhaps nine or ten feet tall, corded with muscle barely contained by pale skin—swarmed the soldiers. They had decimated the forces which had breached the gate, having quite literally torn them limb from limb. Dagger-like teeth protruded from their mouths, dripping with spittle as they roared, shining with blood as they bit into flesh. Purple magic coursed through their veins.

            They were unlike anything Viktor had ever seen, and they struck such terror into his bones as to render him motionless.

            No. No, that was not right.

            He had seen creatures exactly like these.

            Nothing so large, nor so powerful, but Viktor would recognize Singed’s work anywhere.

            He likewise recognized the iridescent purple scars through which the glow of shimmer flowed. Scars in the shape of his own hands.

            These were his Piltovian pilgrims.

            They tore through the Kiramman forces like scythes through grass. With their captain dead, command broke down, and the soldiers fled, crying, screaming. Their amulets would not protect them against the raw, overwhelming power of creatures with such unquenchable bloodlust. Not all of them proved fast enough to escape, and Viktor could not bring himself to stop the ones who did. He could only stare, his lungs heaving, his eyes blurred by tears, as his pilgrims reduced the Kiramman soldiers to little more than viscera upon the snow.

            Sevika retreated.

            Jayce grabbed Viktor, tried to pull him back.

            Viktor remained rooted to the earth.

            Soon, the creatures ran out of Kiramman soldiers to eviscerate.

            Soon, their glowing purple eyes turned to Viktor, to Jayce, and Sevika.

            The creatures launched toward them with frightening speed.

            Tears streaming down his face, Viktor spoke to them through sympathy.

            “Peace,” he whispered. “Peace, my brothers and sisters, please...”

            The creatures skidded to a stop before Viktor, spraying him and burying Jayce with snow.

            Not creatures. People. Within their minds, Viktor sensed a dread sundering. His pilgrims rejoiced to see him safe, to have protected their home and the people of the moors, but terror rang in dissonance alongside that relief. They were monsters. They had killed. They were monsters and they had killed. They were monsters, but they were people, too, and a pit filled Viktor’s stomach as he soothed their fears, compelled them to calm.

            This was an act of blood magic. No blood magic could reverse it.

            Singed appeared, making his way to the gate as if coming to observe the sunset.

            Viktor’s final shred of sense abandoned him.

            He stalked straight to Singed and swung his staff across his face. The metal cracked against bone, and Singed went to one knee.

            “How is it you are still alive?”

            This betrayal should have activated the curse placed upon the old man’s blood.

            “They took the draught willingly,” Singed replied. “Every last one. They knew what it would do to them, for I explained quite plainly, but with the soldiers at our gate—”

            Viktor struck him across the face a second time.

            “I should have killed you the moment you dared show your face here,” he snarled. “I should not have let myself be swayed by the allure of shimmer. Look.” He grabbed Singed by his collar and pulled him to his feet, magic aiding the effort. He forced his eyes open and turned him toward the battlefield. “See what you have wrought.” Trembling monsters, whimpering in fear, fighting the urge to kill. Dead Kiramman soldiers, their blood feeding the earth. With Singed fixed in place, Viktor stepped in front of him. “See what you have made.”

            Expression indecipherable, Singed regarded Viktor.

            “What have you to say for yourself?”

            Singed said nothing.

            “Do Powder and Ekko know how to brew your new shimmer?” Viktor asked.

            “They do,” Singed replied.

            “Is my sister among the number transformed?”

            “I have not seen your sister since her departure from this estate,” he said. “If she is among their number, I did not provide her with the draught, as I did the others.”

            Swiftly, Viktor surveyed the minds all the pilgrims. Those minds had broken, and his heart twisted to see how they suffered, but he did not find Powder among them.

            That was one small mercy.

            “Can anything be done for them?” Viktor asked.

            “You know yourself that there is nothing,” Singed replied. “Transformations of such magnitude are, by their nature, permanent. To revert will only kill them. Their bodies will not bear the strain.”

            “Then it seems your usefulness has run its course.”

            Viktor extended a hand and touched the pads of his fingers to Singed’s forehead.

            The time had come to make good on the fate he had promised.

            Though Viktor could not see into Singed’s mind, nor read his thoughts, as every horror Singed had inflicted upon Viktor entered his mind, he sensed his emotions. Familiar fear. Familiar sorrow. Abject grief and exquisite pain. The betrayal of a teacher and the suffering of a child. Singed lived it all, as Viktor had, in visions so long, they passed not in the blink of an eye, but over the course of ten, long excruciating seconds. It was perfect agony. Naturally, Singed attempted to retaliate against the attack.

            His limbs hardly moved, bound by magic, his brain occupied with its dissolution, but the intent was there.

            Intent was enough.

            Singed’s blood rebelled.

            An explosion of red, vaporous mist coated Viktor and the surrounding snow.

            Viktor stood still. Glanced down his front. Saw the blood that covered him. His face, his clothes, his staff, his hands.

            He felt...

            Nothing.

            An empty sensation, but a sensation nonetheless. Fleeting, cold. It slipped away like wind through his fingers as he tried to grasp onto it, but there was nothing to grasp. Nothing to feel. Perhaps that was best, given what must be done next.

            He turned to face his pilgrims.

            Innocent souls, tricked into taking the power to protect themselves. They would have might have died anyway, but death on the end of a Kiramman spear would have been preferable.

            Viktor might have transformed like this, had he taken shimmer as he had wanted.

            Jayce had saved him from that fate.

            The least Viktor could do was ensure his pilgrims did not suffer.

            Drawing on the blood of the man who had given him this magic, drawing on the Kiramman blood spilled across their estate, Viktor conjured a wave of sympathy powerful enough to override the terror now plaguing his pilgrim’s minds. He murmured soothing words, eased their fears, filled their minds with peace, and gratitude.

            Thank you, sweet souls. You shall be remembered.

            With that, Viktor wrang their necks.

            Quick, painless. Simultaneous. His monstrous pilgrims collapsed into the snow. Dead.

            Viktor collapsed as well.

            Someone was screaming, and his throat hurt.

Chapter Text

Viktor’s knees hit the ground before Jayce could take a single step. One moment, those monsters had buried him in a spray of snow, the next Jayce had freed himself and found his hammer only to see the monsters to collapse. Their necks broken, Viktor the lone figure left standing on the battlefield. The keen that ripped out of Viktor’s throat made the very air and earth vibrate—and the sound just kept going.

            Jayce dropped his hammer and ran straight for his mate.

            Viktor was covered in blood, so much that it was impossible to tell how much, if any, was his own. Jayce grasped him, but his eyes were totally empty.

            “Viktor?”

            He was still keening. Through their bond, his mind teetered on the brink of collapse.

            Jayce seized his face, smeared blood on his palms.

            “Viktor,” he said. “Viktor, look at me. Look at me.”

            Eyes widening, shining and blank in a field of red, Viktor forced himself to focus on Jayce. His breath huffed from his lungs, which never quite refilled, and that keen clawed at the back of his throat, but he tried, at least.

            For a moment, the two of them were the sole creatures on the face of the planet, but as that moment stretched, reality crept in like a prowling cat. Snow soaked their clothes. Blood soaked the snow. On all sides, dead monsters and pieces of dead Kiramman soldiers scattered the road, the gate, and their estate. If one could even call Hammer House an estate anymore. No manor, a handful of half-repaired outbuildings, scorched earth under snow. Piltover had gifted Jayce this land and Piltover had ruined it.

            Stars winked into the sky as the sun vanished, bathing that ruin in darkness, and Jayce was still staring at Viktor.

            Beyond the gate, among the tents, torches flickered to life. The people of the moors in the Hammer House camp cautiously emerged to survey the aftermath. The battle had finished. The only sounds now came from Viktor.

            “It’s over, princess,” Jayce said.

            He couldn’t bring himself to say it’s all right. Nothing was right. Nothing had been right since they’d fled Piltover after Cassandra had threatened Ximena.

            “It’s over. Breathe, mate. Breathe.”

            Viktor made a valiant effort, gasping for air, but filled lungs quickly broke into sobs. Jayce gathered him up and held him tight and tried to keep his own fortitude intact.

            Murmurs spread. Their people took up the grim work of tending to the battlefield without hesitation. They gathered the remains of the Kiramman soldiers, lined them along the road. They collected weapons and equipment, including those awful amulets, sorted them in the camp. The monsters proved too heavy for any one person to move, so they brought forth sleds to drag them closer to the gate. Sevika assisted. Ximena kept her distance.

            Viktor sobbed and sobbed.

            As a small group hauled one of the monsters past Jayce, he recognized her face.

            He recognized her eyes—once milky and blind, their sight restored to glorious iridescence by Viktor. Those eyes were dead and glassy now. That monster was the old woman who had been among the first people to approach Jayce and inquire after the Herald.

            Horror gripped him, and he gripped Viktor.

            These monsters were Piltovians—Viktor’s followers through Zaun.

            “Gods...”

            The word punched out of him, but felt like a blow dealt to him.

            If the gods were real, surely they would not condone this. Surely they would intervene. Perhaps, then, there were no gods.

            None that were merciful, anyway.

            Viktor had not stopped sobbing, and Jayce could not entreat him to do so.

            This tragedy was worthy of much more than tears.

            Something bumped against Jayce’s elbow, and he glanced down to discover Rio at his side, Mercury right behind her. Rio nudged insistently, attempting to burrow under Jayce’s arm to get to Viktor, so he loosened his grip, and the puppies pushed between them, huffing and whining as they licked Viktor’s face without a care for the blood or the tears. Slumping, Viktor draped a weak arm over each of their necks.

            Snow crunched as Ximena approached.

            “How can I help?” she asked.

            Jayce shook his head. He didn’t know.

            “I could see the ponies settled,” she suggested, “and inquire after dinner and a hot bath? I am afraid I do not have the stomach for...”

            She made a small gesture at the ongoing effort to organize the dead.

            Jayce nodded, so Ximena headed off.

            Dull darkness and the muted noise of somber work engulfed Jayce.

            Finally, Viktor fell silent.

            An enormous, shuddering sigh shook his body and the air around them both. Still held in Jayce’s arms, he ran his hands across the puppies’ backs. He glanced upward. Some of his presence had returned to his eyes, but Jayce held his breath all the same.

            “Singed is dead,” Viktor said, distant. “The blood curse took effect when I invaded his mind. We have him to thank for the...transformation...of the pilgrims.”

            Though he had to fight against the puppies, Jayce grasped Viktor’s face in his hands.

            “I am so sorry, Viktor,” he said.

            He wouldn’t patronize him by asking if there had been a way to save them. He could see at a glance what had happened to their bodies. Jayce understood better than anyone the limits of Viktor’s healing. No one would be able to tolerate that level of transmutation twice. The fact that they’d even survived such a transformation in the first place was astonishing.

            “I am trying not to shutter my emotions,” Viktor said, “but I do not know how else to bear this...”

            Displacing the puppies entirely, Jayce gathered Viktor up all over again and attempted to rumble. The sound came out small and strained. The puppies whined in concert. They sounded exactly how Jayce felt. Cassandra had attacked their home again, in secret, not for the tactical advantage of stealing Jayce and Viktor’s research, but to destroy their clan seat. The fall of Hammer House would have dealt a tremendous blow to the Talis war effort. Hammer House had not fallen, but the blow had landed nevertheless.

            “I want her dead, Jayce.” Viktor’s voice was sharp, edged by fate. “I want Cassandra Kiramman dead, and that desire fills me with such dread.”

            Jayce’s heart stopped, cold.

            “I—feel the same,” he replied.

            Yet another terrifying truth.

            “She has the means to combat sympathy,” Viktor said. “I can only imagine she acquired those amulets from Noxus, and it is too much to hope those amulets are all she acquired. We have shimmer, but...”

            Could they still win?

            “We will need more soldiers,” Viktor said.

            There was only one place to get them.

            Zaun.

            “Vander will never agree,” Jayce replied.

            “There is no shame in asking,” Viktor replied. “Two thousand of his people and all of his children fight for the same cause. We may yet rally him. Besides, we cannot leave Ximena at Hammer House. We cannot leave any of our people here. We must take them to Zaun, to—Silco. The Fissures are the only place they will be safe.”

            The sheltering of Clan Talis refugees would be viewed as an act of war.

            Vander might not agree to that, either.

            Still, Clan Talis needed every last one of their soldiers. None could remain in the territory to protect the people of the moors, and the people of the moors could not go unprotected. Zaun lay only a day’s travel away, across the canal. Viktor and Jayce could guide them, bargain for their safe keeping. With those people sheltered, a full offensive attack for Clan Talis became a real possibility. One they needed now more than ever.

            Under the waning moonlight, Viktor stood against the snow in vague contrast—dark red on pink. Jayce ran his hands over his head. His neck and shoulders. Arms and sides. As if to carve him out of this tragedy. As if to hold him together.

            “Let’s send word,” Jayce said. “To Zaun, to our soldiers. They can escort our people here to Hammer House, and we’ll leave for Zaun as soon as they’ve gathered.”

            Having a plan of action seemed to soothe Viktor. The omega nodded and reached for the dogs, stroking their muzzles, then preparing to stand. Jayce rose first and offered both hands. Viktor took them, but as soon as he’d begun to rise, his legs buckled. Jayce caught him before he tumbled back into the snow.

            “Are you all right?”

            “It is the Arcane,” Viktor said. “I can feel the magic eroding me.”

            Jayce’s whole body went cold.

            “What?”

            “Ordinary mages make use of components to fuel their spells,” Viktor replied. “I suppose, since I was not born a mage, my body has become the component...” He glanced up at Jayce and, seeing his horrified expression, added, “I am sorry. That is the best way I could think to describe it.”

            Viktor was calm. Too calm. He must have dampened his emotions after all. Instinctively, perhaps. His scent, at least, remained detectable. Jayce took comfort in that.

            “What can we do?” he asked.

            “Suspend our use of magic, I suppose,” Viktor replied, “and hope I recover before we encounter our next fight.”

            Without their herald, Clan Talis might not win this war.

            Without Viktor, Jayce might lose the will to live.

            He searched for the right words to say to his mate, but found none that would not burden him. Instead, he held Viktor tight and pushed every ounce of his love through their bond. They were both shivering, wet to the skin, sticky with blood, and defeated. Neither of them would call what had transpired here a victory. Silent, Viktor rested his forehead against Jayce’s shoulder and let him take all of his weight.

            “Jayce? Viktor?”

            Ximena stood at the gate.

            “Come,” she said. “We have hot water ready.”

**

The people of the moors required several days to assemble. Farmers abandoned frozen fields. Ranchers drove cattle, herded goats, and hauled chickens, intent on bringing them to Zaun. Viktor acquiesced.

            Land, at least, was plentiful across the canal.

            Sevika departed for Zaun the day after the battle, bearing missives which detailed Clan Talis’s plans. Viktor had no idea how Silco and Vander would receive the letters, much less the hundreds of people shortly approaching their border. The prospect of seeing Silco ought to have worried Viktor, but he felt nothing. What was one more wound when his very foundation had already crumbled twice over? Was this not what he had practiced in Singed’s dungeons? The art of healing the same affliction time after time after time?

            One would think he would be better at it.

            His sole comfort came from meticulously checking the bodies of each of his transfigured pilgrims, accounting for each, and failing once more to find Powder among them. None at Hammer House had seen her since she and Ekko had departed to deliver the shimmer.

            It seemed she had escaped this tragedy.

            Viktor wanted to believe the outcome of the battle might have differed had Powder not foregone her post at Hammer House, but he knew his sister was not to blame.

            She was only one archer. The pilgrims may not have taken the shimmer under her leadership, but then they would have fallen to Kiramman swords. Besides, Viktor was the one who had ordered her to go. In all likelihood, she had been compelled all the way back to Zaun. He only hoped no harm had befallen her on the road.

            Mercury and Rio accompanied him to see to the pilgrims, and Jayce soon arrived, too.

            “I do not know what they would have preferred for their burials,” Viktor said to his alpha as Jayce came to stand resolutely by his side.

            “They believed in you, Viktor,” Jayce replied. “I think they would have wanted a blood mage’s rites.”

            They had believed in Viktor.

            This was their reward.

            Flexing his grip around the wooden staff he now carried, Viktor sighed.

            “Without magic, I will not be able to preserve them as I have the others,” he said, “nor do we possess the quantity of cloth needed to shroud them all.” The ground remained frozen as well, too hard to dig. The cold, at least, would slow their decay. “I wish I had sent them back to Piltover. That way, at least—”

            His throat cinched, and he could not finish the thought.

            “Don’t, Viktor,” Jayce said. “If we start dwelling on past decisions now...”

            Viktor clenched his hands—into a fist, around the staff. Between the cold and the ache of the Arcane, his joints twinged with pain.

            “You are right,” he said.

            He murmured prayers over each of the pilgrims, but that was all he had to offer.

            Too little. Too late.

            “The captain Sevika killed...” Jayce said, shifting topics as he and Viktor fell into step to return to Hammer House. “I’ve identified his remains. His name is—was Marcus. Our paths only ever crossed a few times, briefly, but I know he was Cassandra’s most trusted captain.”

            “Is he the only captain she would entrust with clandestine missions?”

            Jayce shook his head and shrugged. “I think she’ll have a hard time replacing him.”

            Another “victory”, Viktor supposed.

            Beyond the gate, Hammer House buzzed with activity. Zaunite soldiers prepared to march to the Kiramman border. The people of the moors packed their scant belongings and tended to their livestock. Come nightfall, the territory’s entire populace filled the valley. Come morning, they made their exodus to Zaun.

            Viktor rode in the cart at the head of their procession. Mercury and Rio rested their heads in his lap. Jayce held the reins, Ximena on the bench beside him. The blacksmith had taken charge of the hammer and staff. He and his apprentice drove their own wagon close behind.

            The descent from the moors into the hills provided relief from the snow, but not the cold nor the wind. Clouds grayed the sky, fat and heavy, threatening rain or sleet. This winter seemed eternal. Any day now, the weather should turn, the snow melt, the rains fall without freezing, but the cold persisted. Shivering, Viktor pulled his cloak close around his neck. The original pin Jayce had crafted shined dully. The gold Talis hammer without Viktor’s rune.

            The first gift Jayce had ever given him.

            Travel proved slow and laborious with so many people and animals. Their procession stretched for miles through the hills. By the time Viktor sighted the bridge over the canal, the last of their company still trailed an hour behind.

            Torches lined the bridge. A few figures stood guard in the flickering light. Viktor climbed up to replace Ximena so that his face would be the first illuminated.

            “Hail, brothers and sisters of Zaun,” he called.

            The nearest guard raised her hand and stepped out of the light to approach the cart.

            Jayce reined the ponies to a stop.

            “Hail, herald,” the guard said. “We’ve kept watch for your arrival. How many are you?”

            “A little more than three hundred,” Viktor replied. “Adults, children, and elders. Many have also brought livestock.”

            The guard nodded. “I’ll send a runner ahead to notify a few households topside. Those with animals can see them safely settled in their pens and paddocks. The rest can go straight to the Fissures. We’ve lodgings prepared.”

            Tears filled Viktor’s eyes.

            Zaun had not turned away their renegade princess.

            The people of the moors were simply absorbed. They would be sheltered in Zaunite homes and fed from Zaunite kettles. Clan Talis’s people were exhausted, but they waited with patience as the guards sorted them into groups upon their arrival. Those with elders and children crossed first, then the ranchers with their livestock. The farmers and craftspeople followed. The blacksmith transferred the staff and the hammer into Jayce and Viktor’s cart, where Ximena took hold of the weapons.

            The three blooded members of Clan Talis crossed last, leaving their land truly empty.

            On the other side of the bridge, the guard supplied Viktor with stack of wax tablets which detailed where each family was staying.

            “Thank you,” Viktor whispered, and firmly clasped her hand.

            “Where to, princess?” Jayce asked.

            Even in the dark, the red of exhaustion rimmed his eyes.

            Viktor studied the tablets. While many of the families had been spread out across the surface city and down into the Fissures, the largest concentrations centered on two locations: The Last Drop, and Silco’s tower.

            “Which would you prefer?” Jayce asked.

            “More of our people will be sheltered at the tower,” Viktor replied, “but...for tonight, perhaps The Last Drop.”

            They stabled their ponies and left their supplies. Jayce took the staff and hammer from Ximena, and Ximena took Viktor’s elbow. Mercury and Rio followed close at their flank, unsettled but unwavering as they wound their way into the warmth of the Fissures.

            The Last Drop bustled with families settling, finding their way to rooms or clearing tables to lay out bedrolls around the bar. Vander bustled right alongside them, answering questions, providing guidance, pouring drinks. A fierce shame overwhelmed Viktor the moment he laid eyes on his father. He had not heeded this man’s counsel, and yet Vander opened his doors and bottles and kingdom freely. Viktor stalled in the doorway. Jayce and Ximena stalled in tandem.

            As soon as Vander noticed Viktor, he came right over.

            “There you are, little lamb,” he said, and Viktor had to bear down to keep from bursting into tears. “I’m afraid I’ve given your room away, but you three can share mine tonight, hm?” He clapped a hand on Jayce’s shoulder, who nodded. “Anything I can get you?”

            Viktor shook his head, tears stinging. “No, Papa. Thank you. You’ve done so much.”

            A shadow darkened Vander’s face. “We read your letters, and heard Sevika’s report.”

            “Still,” Viktor said, swallowing. He found himself unable to look his father in the eye. “To shelter Clan Talis refugees must certainly be in violation of your treaty with Piltover.”

            “Viktor, our treaty collapsed the moment you declared yourselves sovereign.”

            Viktor’s heart twisted. He fixed his eyes on the floorboards.

            “Did you forget, little lamb, that your mate-bond was the crux?”

            The words were not admonishing, and somehow that was worse than if Vander had scolded or shouted. Instead, a world-weary humor colored his tone. Disappointment, exhaustion, an air of the inevitable. As if he had expected the worst, but fought for the best, and received exactly what he expected in spite of his efforts. Vander knew well the shape of the scars Jayce and Viktor now bore, for he bore them himself. He, too, had sacrificed friends and family in the name of his cause. He’d even sacrificed Viktor to the mate-bond.

            “Is Powder here?” Viktor asked, desperate to talk about anything else.

            “Powder?” Vander replied. “Sure. She arrived days ago, spectacularly upset. Decided she wanted to stay with Silco.”

            No doubt in the hopes that Silco would serve as a deterrent to Viktor.

            “I am...glad to hear it,” Viktor said. “I think I will go to bed now.”

            “I’ll make sure everyone gets settled,” Jayce replied.

            Viktor nodded. Jayce grasped his hand to draw his wrist to his neck to scent him, then they parted, and Viktor went up to his father’s room with Ximena and the dogs.

            Vander kept modest quarters in The Last Drop. A bed, a wardrobe, and a writing desk arranged around the hearth. No fire burned, but the room felt warm after the chill of the road, deep in the Fissures. Viktor and Ximena collected a pair of worn wool mattresses and the last of the blankets from The Last Drop’s stores. Viktor settled on the edge of the bed and soothed the dogs while Ximena set up sleeping spaces in the least intrusive corners of the room.

            “When Jayce and I return to the front, you might shelter with my—” Viktor swallowed. “With Silco, in the tower.”

            Ximena said nothing, only turned from her work to look at Viktor.

            She knew now, of course, what Silco had done.

            “I only thought it might be discomfiting to keep such close quarters with an alpha,” Viktor continued. “As considerate as my father is, he—at the tower you would be afforded more privacy. I am certain Silco would welcome the opportunity to repay the favor of hosting...”

            Still, Ximena said nothing.

            Blinking, Viktor realized he had turned his face once more to the floor.

            Ximena’s skirts appeared in his view, then her face as she knelt before him.

            “Viktor, darling,” she said, tucking his hair behind his ear, “you have been so strong. You need not put on a brave face for my sake.”

            The tears Viktor had withheld suddenly rose in his eyes, a sob slipped from his mouth, and when Ximena wrapped her arms around him, he lost all control. Ximena murmured to him—no words, just gentle sounds of comfort—as he clutched her shoulders and sobs shook his own. Holding onto her, Viktor could not quite determine if it was him or Ximena who had grown thin. Both, perhaps.

            “I am so relieved that you are safe,” Viktor wept.

            “We’re all safe now, Viktor,” Ximena said. “We’ll be safe in Zaun.”

            “Until Piltover crushes Clan Talis and marches over the bridges,” Viktor replied, bitter.

            “Do not speak of such things,” Ximena admonished.

            “We have failed, Ximena,” he replied. “Jayce and I were meant to keep the peace—”

            “Viktor, you know as well as I that the peace was a charade.”

            He had never heard Ximena speak so plainly. Drawing back, he regarded her with open surprise. She drew a kerchief from the pocket of her dress to wipe his face.

            “Zaun and Piltover have been at odds for generations,” she said. “This treaty only created a new shape for that conflict to take. Both nations intended to puppet you and Jayce for their own purposes. Perhaps, if they had understood the bond you formed, they would have placed their trust in you in earnest.”

            She took a seat beside him on the bed, grasped his hand.

            “It was not fair of Piltover and Zaun to require so much to forge a promise they did not intent to keep. I find it ridiculous even now that two civilized peoples could not come to a better agreement. If I had not opposed the treaty so openly, I might have saved us a world of grief, but...I knew the cruelty the council’s plans would inflict. To ask an omega to bond with an alpha they’ve only just met...to angle for their children, I—” She shook her head. “I could not keep silent, but I am sorry for the part my own brazenness has played in this disaster.” 

            Viktor shook his head in turn.

            “Jayce advised me against rethinking the decisions of the past,” he said with a small, helpless chuckle. “So I will hypocritically pass the same along advice to you.”

            Smiling, sad, Ximena replied, “And I am sure I will apply it just as well as you have.”

            Viktor returned her sad smile. Ximena was so much wiser and worldlier than anyone gave her credit. In another life, she might have made a grand matriarch or high priestess, valued for her insight, experience, and compassion. Instead, she had gone ignored—a widow amid Piltover’s minor houses, unable to provide any more apparent value to her nation as bonded omegas were not permitted to remarry.

            She, too, had an intimate acquaintance with grief.

            “I hope you know how much I value your counsel and company,” Viktor said. “It is an honor to have you for a mother.”

            Tears welled in Ximena’s eyes. She cupped his cheek in her hand, then drew him into her arms once more, saying, “The honor is all mine, Viktor. From the first we met, you have shown me such kindness. You have been my advocate and protector. I do not think it possible to truly express my gratitude.”

            Viktor held onto her, and she held onto him.

            “You are a fine son,” she whispered. “I am glad that you are mine.”

            The aching, fractured pieces of Viktor’s heart trembled, and he could not keep himself from crying once more.

            Ximena simply held him tighter.

Viktor delayed the trip to Silco’s tower as long as possible by ensuring each and every household from Talis territory had settled well in Zaun. Inevitably, however, such ministrations included those whom Silco himself had agreed to shelter. By midmorning, Clan Talis no longer had a choice. Viktor donned his mask, grasped his silver staff, and sighed in relief as his magic flowed into the metal, even as his hands tingled with pain.

            Jayce shouldered his hammer, and the two of them went to meet the rulers of Zaun as the rulers of the Moors.

            Viktor had not laid eyes on the tower since that sundering fracture when he had learned the truth. What once had served as a sanctuary now seemed a strange monument to what might have been. Silco’s singular vision for Zaun: dominant and powerful, imposing and feared. In truth, the tower stood alone. Shrouded in steam and darkness, tucked away in a distant corner of the Fissures, sheltering a man too proud to admit that he stood alone, too.

            As they checked the families now living in the camp once erected by the now-dead Piltovian pilgrims, Viktor caught a flash of blue hair, which vanished the moment he turned to look. Within the tower, the people of the moors had established further shelter and made use of the central fire, but Powder was not among them.

            “Silco and Vander are in the gathering chamber,” Sevika said.

            Viktor paused to regard her as he headed to the stairs.

            “You have had your revenge,” he said. “Do you fight with us still?”

            Impassive and yet fiery still, Sevika cocked her head.

            “I know a losing battle when I see one,” she said, “and I saw those amulets.”

            “That is not an answer,” Viktor replied, but he ascended the stairs with Jayce before Sevika could retort.

            He knew not what to expect within the gathering chamber. A month had passed since Silco had revealed the truth to Vander, and every wedge driven between the two of them always lessened with time. It was only a matter of how much time they required. Viktor had stopped outside the chamber door. He knew not for how long.

            Jayce’s hand fell warm across the back of his neck.

            “We’re not pieces on the board anymore, Viktor,” he said. “We’re here to play.”

            Steeling himself, Viktor took comfort in his mate’s confidence and rapped his knuckles against the door before pushing it open.

            Inside, Vander and Silco occupied opposite ends of the room. Here and there, blankets and bedrolls bundled in small groupings across the floor. This chamber housed refugees, then, and had been borrowed back in order to hold a secure conversation.

            “The Herald and the Hammer,” Silco said as he turned to receive them, implacable countenance held firmly in place. “Your reputation precedes you.”

            Viktor politely ignored the bait and took a seat at the table as Jayce pulled out his chair. Vander and Silco came to join them, though they sat quite far apart. A quiet, controlled anger seethed in Vander, buried deep below the surface. Viktor elected not to probe Silco’s emotions. He cared not what his mother was feeling.

            “Please allow Clan Talis to express our gratitude to Zaun,” Viktor said. “We owe this kingdom a great debt for sheltering our people, supplying our weapons, and training our army. It is a debt I do not believe we can ever repay.”

            Humble, Jayce nodded his agreement.

            “Thank you, your majesties,” he said.

            “How fares Zaun during this time of war?” Viktor asked.

            Sighing, Vander exchanged expressions with Silco, then spoke. “We’ve closed the bridges,” he said. “Had a few skirmishes, but nothing unusual, not until a few days ago when Lady Ximena Talis failed to show up for her execution. I wouldn’t call it a riot, but...Piltover was eager for an outlet. We shut the bridges down to keep Zaun secure. That defense is holding.”

            “Naturally, Piltover does not believe Clan Talis acts of its own accord,” Silco added. “They are quite convinced Lord Talis is puppet to the Princess of Zaun and that the princess serves his homeland. Dispelling these rumors has proved impossible.”

            “Does Piltover hide behind the treaty, then?” Viktor asked.

            “Only to claim that Zaun broke it first,” Silco replied.

            How strange it was to speak to this man as a political equal. Silco had raised Viktor too well in that regard, taught him too much. They were too alike—except that Viktor had learned to let others see behind his many masks.

            “Then it’s safe to say the treaty is defunct for all parties involved,” Jayce said.

            “And yet this is not Zaun’s war,” Vander replied.

            “With all due respect, sir, Piltover resented Zaun long before this kingdom even gained independence,” Jayce said, calm and level. “For the Lords’ Council, the treaty was simply the first step toward the reconquering of Zaun. They wanted Viktor’s loyalty, and if they could not have that, they wanted him neutralized. They also hoped any children born of our bond would be mages they could use. They were willing to plot for decades, but Viktor and I insisted on the peace, and that is what brought us here. We would be foolish to think Piltover would have continued to honor the treaty indefinitely.”

            It went unspoken among them that Silco, too, had plotted against the peace.  

            “If Clan Talis falls, Zaun will be Piltover’s next target,” Jayce said.

            Vander grit his teeth, stifling a growl.

            “Of course, Clan Talis does not intend to fail,” Viktor said, “but our victory now is far less assured.” He produced from within his cloak one of the amulets taken from the Kiramman soldiers. “Lady Medarda retains ties to her homeland. We have it on good authority that the council has begun negotiations with Noxus for their aid. However, Noxus offers nothing without conditions. For all their faults, the council is both intelligent and cautious, and I believe they will hold their ground—but only for so long. We must put an end to this conflict now. Should Piltover ally with Noxus, neither Clan Talis nor Zaun will survive their combined might.”

            He set the amulet on the table. Vander narrowed his eyes at the object, troubled.

            “What does Clan Talis propose?” Silco asked.

            “A real alliance with Zaun,” Jayce replied. “These amulets ward against sympathy, and I don’t doubt Noxus has hundreds of other tricks like this in their arsenal. Viktor cannot act freely, which significantly reduces our power. We need warriors.”

            “Our target is Cassandra Kiramman,” Viktor added. “If we remove her, the Lords’ Council will crumble. One of their number is already dead, and another has sworn fealty to Clan Talis. It is our belief that the remaining clans will surrender following Lord Kiramman’s defeat. Particularly with Master Kiramman as a member of our camp.”

            “Does that include Clan Medarda?”

            Jayce shook his head. “I’m not sure. Mel believed in the peace,” he said. “I’m certain she still does. I don’t know what her plans are, but I think she could be convinced to withdraw.”

            Pursing his lips, Silco nodded and sat back to consider.

            Vander tapped a pair of fingers against the table. “I won’t lie to you,” he said. “Zaun’s itching for a fight. We resent Piltover as much as they resent us. You’ve made your case, and it’s a compelling argument. I’d like a few hours to consider, but—” He drew in a deep breath that huffed out of his nose. “—no matter the decision, I won’t be joining Zaun on the battlefield. I swore to hang up my sword, and that’s a vow I cannot break.”

            Viktor bowed his head toward his father.

            “I understand,” he said.

            “We’ll leave you to discuss, then,” Jayce said, rising. “Thank you again, your majesties.”

            He helped Viktor to his feet and they offered respectful goodbyes. As the door shut, Vander and Silco’s muffled voices reached Viktor’s ear, but he made out none of the words as he made direct eye contact with Powder, peering at him from the curve of the staircase, and startled.

            The girl slipped out of sight up the stairs.

            “I’m guessing she heard all of that...” Jayce said.

            Viktor nodded, and shifted to follow after his sister. “I should speak with her,” he said. “Will you see to our people below?”

            “Of course,” Jayce replied and kissed his cheek.

            Ascending the stairs, Viktor found the door into his former chambers ajar. He entered into his old library, where only a single shimmer lantern cast its purple glow across the tomes and scrolls. He came to a stop in the center of the room, illuminated by the light in the filigree of his staff. He sensed Powder’s presence through his magic, which bound her to him, though he could not see her. He removed his mask and set it atop the nearest table.

            “Powder.”

            Quiet for a moment.

            Then, “I heard what happened. At Hammer House. Sevika...told me.”

            “Then you know that Cassandra Kiramman’s attack and Singed’s experimentation have claimed precious lives,” Viktor replied. He leaned against the table. “I am not angry with you, Powder. I wanted to be, but I am not. Not anymore. It was never my intention to compel you with sympathy. Intentions have very little value in times like these. I am sorry.”

            Quiet again.

            Powder did not reply.

            “Singed told me you know how to brew shimmer,” Viktor said.

            “Is that all you want me for?” the girl snapped, voice warbling. “You came to apologize so that I’ll come back and make your potions for you?”

            Viktor sighed. “It is likely Zaun and Clan Talis will become official allies,” he said. “When that agreement is made, I have no doubt many Zaunites will heed the call for warriors. Will you answer that call and lend your single bow, or will you instead empower the bows of thousands of others?”

            With Singed gone, either Powder and Ekko took over his alchemy, or Zaun’s entire supply of shimmer would run dry.

            “I’m not weak,” Powder said.

            “I did not say that you were weak.”

            “If you can fight, why can’t I?”

            Viktor could not force her to understand. He should have simply apologized to Powder and left her to her feelings. Instead, he had pushed her further from him. Righteous anger radiated his direction and stoked his own irritation. He held his tongue, but Powder would sense his frustration through the very same bond that exposed her to him.

            She had always been sensitive to sympathy.

            “The choice is yours, Powder,” Viktor said.

            Her anger flared.

            “I know.”

            Then the door slammed shut.

            Closing his eyes, Viktor turned his face to the ceiling and let his breath leave his lungs. For a moment, he did not inhale, choosing instead to feel that strange, empty pressure in his ribs. To test how long he could withstand that pressure.

            A few seconds later, he was gasping for air, coughing, gripping his staff so hard that the light brightened.

            Viktor forced himself to calm.

            He needed a distraction.

            He began combing his old chambers for items of use.

            The books would be too heavy to transport, the scrolls too delicate. From the workshop, he gathered a few sets of alchemical supplies, along with a few stores of powdered reagents and components for casting. Scattered throughout the workshop, he found bits and pieces of the research he and Jayce had conducted pertaining to the Arcane and shimmer—methodologies for harnessing their magic.

            In a fit of almost manic compulsion, Viktor gathered every last scrap of research he could find, went straight to the sleeping chamber, pushed the pallet and the rug aside, and started a fire in the middle of the floor.

            The research burned fast and hot and bright and left behind only ash and darkness.

            How he wished he could burn the Arcane out of himself the same way.

            Burn it out of the world.

            By the light of his staff, Viktor breathed smoke and lifted his eyes to the tapestries on the walls. The Blood Rituals.

            Before him, Birth—a blood mage delivering a newborn babe. Beside it, Designation—a mage blessing a juvenile alpha, beta, and omega. Next, Sacrifice—an offering beneath the full moon, blood given for the continued health of believers. Bonding—three figures in a stone circle, hands joined forever. Finally, Death—the decedent wrapped in a red cloth, the blood from the mage’s palm shed in place of tears.

            This was the ancient religion of Zaun. The Old Magic. The art of faith and healing. Viktor had conducted every one of these rituals many, many times before he had become Lady Talis of Piltover. He had joined midwives to deliver babies, had proudly placed the symbols of secondary sex on the foreheads of Zaun’s youth. He had prayed for peace under the moonlight and offered his blood to the chalice. The death rites had come too frequently as of late, but the most recent bonding he had overseen had been his own.

            His fingers were on the Bonding tapestry, though he could not recall stepping near it. Up close, the colored thread bled together into indistinct shapes.

            Someone had entered the chamber.

            Viktor knew Silco’s presence without turning to face him.

            “Why was this the form you wished for me to take?” he asked. He brushed his fingertips across the tapestry, feeling every thread.

            “The blood mage is the incarnation of Zaun’s ideals,” Silco replied. “They are a symbol of leadership, pride, sacrifice. The old ways. The noblest of callings, and the first practitioners of magic. Who better to lead Zaun than a High Blood Mage?”

            The vision was so clear, and yet it had become so warped.

            Viktor stepped back from the tapestry until the figures in their circle of stones, the symbol for infinity above their heads, came back into focus.

            “The Arcane is a curse,” Viktor said.

            “All power is a curse,” Silco replied. “For as long as mankind has existed we have sought to hold power over one another. The Arcane is simply a means to an end.”

            “Singed is dead.”

            If Silco felt any surprise, he betrayed not the slightest flicker.

            “I forced him to endure a vision of the tortures he inflicted upon me,” Viktor continued. “I am uncertain how much he actually underwent. Enough, I suppose. I had expected the experience to be cathartic, but afterward I felt only emptiness.” He turned, finally, to face his mother. “I wonder, Silco, when the last time was that your machinations brought you anything other than emptiness.”

            They regarded each other by the light of the staff.

            Silco swallowed.

            “Always cutting right to the quick,” he said, huffing, humorless.

            “I see no point in pretense,” Viktor replied.

            Silco’s lip curled at some internal thought, some eternal battle within himself. Under different circumstances, Viktor might have pitied the man, but he had no heart for pity now.

            “Everything I do, I do for Zaun,” Silco replied. “You understand now what it means to lead a nation. To hold lives in your hands. Every decision you make directly impacts your people. I am not an individual, Viktor. I have not had the luxury of being anything other than Zaun for the better part of my life. It is my duty to make the difficult decisions. To sacrifice what must be sacrificed in order for the greatest number to succeed. I do what must be done. So imagine my surprise when the blood mage who was supposed to be the key to Zaun’s prosperity turned into a boy so bright, he chased away every shadow.”

            “And yet you sacrificed him,” Viktor said.

            “I did,” Silco replied.

            They were quiet for a moment.

            “Will Zaun join Clan Talis?” Viktor asked.

            “We will.”

            “As many warriors as wish to fight will be needed at the border of the Kiramman and Hoskel territories. We have delayed too long already. Cassandra will have fortified Castle Kiramman. The sooner Zaun can march, the greater our chances of success.”

            Silco nodded, once. “Zaun will mobilize swiftly.”

            Viktor nodded back and moved to leave the sleeping chamber. The thought crossed his mind to roll up the rug—which had been another gift from Jayce—and take it with him, but where would he put that rug? In the ruin of Hammer House? On the frontlines in their tent? Within a room that was no longer his at The Last Drop?

            Silco hardly stepped aside as Viktor passed him, and Viktor found himself drawn to a stop beside his mother.

            In spite of everything, he could not seem to stop thinking of Silco as his mother.

            “When this is over,” he said, “I think it likely that the Zaun and Piltover you know will cease to exist. When that day comes...you might consider setting aside Zaun and embracing Silco. You have done enough. Further sacrifice will only bring pain.”

            With that, he left the chamber, reclaimed his mask, and gathered the alchemy supplies under his arm.

            He did not look back as he closed the door behind him.

That evening, Zaun and the Moors sealed their new alliance not with a treaty, but a handshake. Viktor and Jayce agreed to remove Cassandra Kiramman from her lord’s seat. Vander and Silco agreed to recruit as many as wanted to fight. Upholding Clan Talis’s end of the agreement was largely conditional upon Zaun fulfilling theirs. Trust in each other proved their only path forward. Amusing, how everything always hinged on trust.

            Jayce and Viktor had stolen too much time for this detour, and so departed as soon as the deal had been struck—and goodbyes had been given to Ximena.

            She hugged each of them in turn.

            “I will pray for your victory, my children,” she said as she separated from Jayce. “Fight well, knowing you have kept us safe.”

            After only a day in their company, the refugees in The Last Drop already looked to Ximena as a source of constancy. She would see to the people of the moors, and to the puppies, while Jayce and Viktor were away. Piltover had never penetrated this deep into the Fissures, but this was a season of the impossible made manifest. Victory was not guaranteed, and Viktor would take nothing for granted. Ximena kissed his cheek.

            “We shall see each other again soon.”

            Mercury and Rio received their own hugs and kisses, then Jayce and Viktor made the long trek to the surface, staff and hammer in-hand. The sun set as they collected their cart.

            They headed for the front as a solitary pair.

            Hours of travel passed in silence. Jayce steered the ponies with the reins wrapped partway around the handle of his hammer, the head in the cart bed, to keep it in his grip. Riding alongside the hammer, Viktor emptied his mind, and woke sometime later, uncertain when he had fallen asleep, only that he had dreamed of the litter which had carried him to the Kirammans’ ceremonial hill.

            The moonless night made for profound darkness. Viktor knew not which road Jayce had taken, whether they were passing through Clan Hoskel’s territory, or their own. Viktor supposed those territories were one and the same now, and he found himself longing for the whole of Piltover and Zaun to be one—not through conquering and kingship, but a true bond. If only his own bond with Jayce had served as the foundation. Instead, they had sired a war.

            Mud squelched under wheels. Zaun lay behind them. A battle against Piltover and Noxus loomed before them.

            “You awake, princess?”

            “...Yes.”

            Jayce transferred the reins to the hand holding his hammer and reached back to brush his fingers over Viktor’s hair. The gesture brought a gentle chirp out of his mate.

            “When would you like to stop for the night?” Viktor asked.

            “I’d like to push through, but that won’t be good for the ponies, or us,” Jayce replied.

            Stretching, Viktor worked the cold and stiffness from his limbs and carefully climbed up to join him on the bench, saying, “I will keep watch for a suitable shelter.”

            They nestled close together to combat the chill. The air was still and silent, so the only noise came from their cart—the creaking wood and the huff of the ponies, whose breath billowed into steaming clouds. Another hour’s travel brought the cart into a small valley of cragged rocks better traversed by daylight. Viktor selected an alcove. Jayce unharnessed the ponies and tethered them to graze the dead grass peeking through stone and snow. Viktor spread the canvas of their tent over the bed of the cart and made the tiny space as cozy as he could manage with their bedrolls and blankets.

            When Jayce climbed into the cart, they ate their evening ration without speaking. As they finished the meal, Jayce took one of Viktor’s hands and massaged the joints and muscle.

            “How are you feeling?” the alpha asked after a moment.

            Viktor shook his head. “I am uncertain,” he replied. Jayce switched to his other hand. “I admit I am not the best judge. I have lived so much of my life in pain, even a marginal improvement feels monumental.”

            Jayce said nothing.

            “Before, I drew a comparison between my body and the components required for ordinary mages to cast their spells,” Viktor continued. “Such plants and potions are consumed in the casting, not borrowed. I suppose, as a living being, I am a more renewable resource, but...to recover entirely while still bearing the curse of the Arcane...”

            Nodding, Jayce bowed his head to press a kiss to his knuckles. Viktor laced their fingers and took his bondmate’s hand into his lap.

            “I’m sorry,” Jayce whispered. “I wish I could help you.”

            He kept his voice level, and the dark prevented Viktor from seeing his face clearly, but Jayce’s sorrow sang to him through sympathy all the same. He squeezed his hand.

            “Do not pity me, mate,” he said, warm, drawing closer. “It is thanks to you I have known relief from that burden. It is thanks to you I have known so many of life’s joys. Perhaps it is selfish, and cruel, but had I the opportunity to undo all that we have done...if it meant I could no longer be your bondmate...I would choose to bear all this again to have you by my side.”

            Jayce’s fingers trembled in his. Viktor reached for his face with the other hand. Tears had wetted Jayce’s cheek. Viktor brushed those tears away, and Jayce began to cry in earnest. Humming, Viktor drew him into his arms.

            “I love you, Viktor,” Jayce wept.

            Viktor stroked his hair, tears rising in his own eyes. “I love you, too.”

            One more battle.

            The way the Arcane coursed through him, absolute chaos seeking an outlet to unleash itself upon the world, Viktor knew he would withstand only one more battle. One more chance to change the world, one more chance to change their fate. After that, no matter the outcome, the consequences would be theirs to bear. Viktor would not sacrifice himself upon that altar, not if he could avoid it.

            Even amidst such sorrows, there were so many reasons to live.

            “We will see this to the end,” Viktor said. “I think perhaps we are preparing the way for something new to sprout—not as sowers, nor tenders, but tillers. We will plow and dig and make ready the soil, but I do not believe we will be the ones to plant the seed, or see it grow. For that I am sorry, my dove. I know you wanted to bring magic to the world.”

            “All I want is you, Viktor,” Jayce replied.

            The words stole the breath from Viktor’s lungs.

            He felt flung backwards through time to that day in their bower when he had confessed his feelings to Jayce and Jayce had declared Viktor his first loyalty. They could not have known then where such feelings would lead them. They could not have known the destruction born of such bone-shattering love. Had anyone foreseen this future, undoubtedly they would have exercised all their power to keep Jayce and Viktor apart, and yet Viktor understood with perfect certainty that nothing could ever keep them apart.

            They were bound together, across time and space. They had been before they met. They would be when they passed from this life.

            He hugged Jayce as tight as possible and trilled into his ear.

            “You have me, Jayce,” he replied. “Body and soul.”

            Drawing back, Jayce cupped Viktor’s face in his hands to study him in the dark, too close, their noses almost brushing. There was very little room in the cart, but suddenly even the handful of inches between them seemed too far. Gentle, Jayce eased Viktor up and kissed him. The alpha’s lips were salty with his tears, but the flavor soon faded as he parted his lips to lick into Viktor’s mouth.

            Viktor purred, but Jayce broke away from him with a gasp.

            “What is it, mate?” Viktor asked, sinking his fingers into Jayce’s hair.

            Jayce shook his head. “I don’t—I don’t know, I just—what if this is the last time...?”

            Viktor stroked his beard, kissed his cheek, chirped softly in sorrowful sympathy, and wished he had a protective pheromone of his own to exude for Jayce.

            “It will never be the last,” Viktor replied. “You are my bondmate. That is forever.”

            Jayce’s breath shuddered from him, and he tipped forward to gather Viktor into a crushing embrace. Viktor filled their bond with his own sense of assurance and certainty. If nothing else, he was simply grateful for the opportunity to provide stability to Jayce, who so often had been his rock.

            Gentle, he turned his face to kiss Jayce’s neck. The alpha exhaled. Beneath Viktor’s lips, near his nose, Jayce’s scent deepened. Spice and musk in sharp concentration. Viktor grazed his teeth over the scent glands in his neck.

            Jayce huffed, rumbling.

            Purring in return, Viktor rubbed his neck against his mate.

            “Your scent is so beautiful,” Jayce said. His arms loosened as he ran his hands down Viktor’s back. Viktor took the opportunity to loop his own arms around Jayce’s neck.

            “I am certain it is no secret I find yours quite alluring as well,” he replied.

            With a helpless, painful sigh, Jayce pressed their mouths together. Viktor returned the kiss, easing himself down, bringing Jayce with him. Jayce let his weight come to rest on Viktor. Their lips met and parted in a redolent back and forth. Viktor’s face flushed. His heart wheeled. He opened his mouth once more to meet Jayce’s tongue and relished the languid exchange. Jayce kissed him slow, his hands grasped around Viktor’s waist, in no hurry to do anything except savor each other’s company.

            With each kiss, Viktor grew hot. The affection Jayce pressed to his mouth and jaw and neck drew soft noises of pleasure from his throat. He trilled when Jayce’s fingers found their way beneath his clothes to brush the bare skin of his back. Rising, Jayce looked down at Viktor. His fingertips traced absent circles around the nodes of his spine.

            “Your hands are always so warm,” Viktor said.

            “Are they?”

            “Mm. It is lovely.”

            Squeezing a little, Jayce ran both hands up Viktor’s waist and ribs in response. Viktor’s eyes fluttered shut.

            “You feel pretty warm yourself,” Jayce observed.

            “Well, we have your hands to thank for that.”

            Chuckling, Jayce stroked those hands down Viktor’s sides, then up once more, saying, “You have such a sharp tongue,” as Viktor hummed with pleasure. “If we’d met under ordinary circumstances, I think you would have run circles around me.”

            An absurd notion when he was currently working Viktor into putty in his hands. Viktor shook his head.

            “I think you would have found me easy to woo.”

            In the dark, Jayce’s eyes had little light to reflect, but they seemed to shine nevertheless. This talk of lives that were not theirs pricked Viktor’s heart. In this life, without the treaty, their paths would never have crossed—except perhaps in battle. How terrible to know the magnitude of the sacrifice required for their bond. The world did not deserve the disorder they had inflicted. Jayce’s eyes shined in earnest, as if casting their own light.

            “I did find you easy to woo,” he said.

            Shocked, Viktor burst out laughing. He could not recall the last he had laughed—bright and loud and inspiring laughter in his mate. Even as Jayce kissed him, they continued to laugh, the vibration humming between their lips.

            “Which of us is sharp-tongued now?” Viktor chuckled.

            “Are you denying it?” Jayce replied, nipping at his ear.

            Viktor giggled, delighted, his heart suddenly and completely light.

            “By no means,” he replied. “Three days in your company and one night in your bed and I was quite in love with you.”

            Jayce sat up so swiftly, the canvas Viktor had draped over the cart tented around his head.

            “Really?” he asked.

            A little embarrassed, but smiling, Viktor nodded.

            “I thought it was just me...” Jayce breathed.

            “I think in every lifetime, in all possibilities, I would fall for you.”

            A rush of air swept through the cart as Jayce dropped to kiss Viktor and the canvas fell back into place. Jayce pressed his lips to every inch of Viktor’s face. Showered with kisses, Viktor laughed, then purred when Jayce’s hands came to life once more to remove his clothes. Viktor returned the favor, pulling Jayce’s cloak off his shoulders and his shirt over his head. He lacked the leverage to reach his trousers, but by then Jayce had sealed his mouth over the mate mark on his neck and Viktor’s whole body liquefied. Slick pooled immediately between his legs. Jayce rumbled when his fingers crossed Viktor’s entrance.

            “You’re easy to slick, too,” he chuckled, his breath hot on Viktor’s neck.

            He interrupted any counter by pushing a pair of fingers inside Viktor. Gasping, Viktor focused every ounce of his attention on those fingers for a moment, then found the presence of mind to press the heel of his palm against Jayce’s cock, which was hard inside his trousers.

            “As if you are any different,” Viktor replied.

            Laughing, blushing, Jayce just spread his fingers. Viktor groaned and wrapped his arms around Jayce’s neck. He kissed his face and mouth as his mate opened him up, their limbs a little tangled in the tight space. Eventually, Viktor folded his legs to give Jayce more room. Even as he moved, Jayce shifted his attention to Viktor’s weaker leg, massaging the hip joint.

            “Mm, thank you, dove,” Viktor purred as he settled his legs comfortably on either side of his hips. “Always so thoughtful...”

            He sighed happily at the kiss Jayce sucked to his throat, shivered when Jayce removed his hands entirely to loosen his trousers. He did not bother to shed them, only pushed them far enough down his hips to take out his cock, which he smeared with slick, bringing himself fully erect before aligning their bodies. Viktor sighed as Jayce entered him, enjoying the stretch and the pressure and the fullness.

            Jayce settled over him, and they kissed as he carefully thrust in and out and worked his way deeper. Viktor carded his fingers in his hair and rewarded every new sensation with a hum or a moan. Even after Jayce had bottomed out, he maintained that gentle, lazy rhythm.

            He rocked into Viktor, as unhurried as he had been with his kisses.

            This was a change of pace from the frenzy of rut, but no less pleasurable. Jayce rendered Viktor into jelly over the first few minutes. Hot, pliant, he let the feeling of their bodies in motion wash over him. The air in their makeshift shelter had long grown stuffy, but Viktor did not mind. The smell of their scents in concert was stifling, yes, but it was comforting, too.

            Climax came slowly to both of them—approaching the edge inch by inch from a great distance until they simply tumbled over. Only a small noise left Viktor’s mouth as he squeezed Jayce with his legs, then melted completely, his vision gone warm gold.

            Jayce’s knot swelled, and he braced himself over Viktor, breath heavy. Only a few encouraging kisses saw him relax that posture.

            Viktor pecked a few more kisses to his cheek.

            They were quiet until the knot subsided. Jayce massaged Viktor’s legs a little before he pulled out. Rearranging themselves to lie side by side proved ridiculous in the mess of cloaks and clothing, but they soon settled atop their bedrolls under their blankets, Viktor with his head on Jayce’s chest, Jayce with an arm around Viktor’s shoulders, bundled and warm.

            Outside, the world was still and silent save for the ponies’ steady breath.

            “Do you really believe in forever, Viktor?” Jayce asked.

            Releasing a contented sigh, Viktor weighed the question.

            “I do,” he answered after a moment. He spread his hand open across Jayce’s chest, over his heart, which beat against his palm, pumping blood through his mate’s veins. “Each of us has some immutable aspect that can be neither changed nor destroyed. Some essence of life—our consciousness, perhaps. The soul. I do not know from whence it comes, nor where it goes, but I believe it is there. That spark. That is forever.”

            “And our sparks, our souls, are bound.”

            “If nothing else, my dove, I know that to be true.”

            Jayce gathered Viktor to him so that their every inch pressed skin to skin. He heaved a tremendous sigh like a moorhound lying down to go to bed, truly settling at last. Viktor smiled at the image such a comparison conjured in his mind. Jayce pressed a fervent kiss to the top of Viktor’s head.

            “I’m looking forward to forever with you,” he said.

Chapter Text

All was quiet when Jayce and Viktor returned to the front. Well, as quiet as a camp which had expanded from five hundred to two thousand could be. On the other side of the border, Clan Kiramman’s land lay empty and unchanged.

            The sight unnerved Jayce for reasons he could not articulate.

            “We’ve spotted their patrols, but never more than two or three scouts at a time,” Violet said as they met with Caitlyn in the command tent just after sunset.

            “I am certain my father has taken a defensive position at Castle Kiramman,” Caitlyn added. “Whatever agreement Piltover has reached with Noxus, she must feel more confidence in a prolonged siege than a decisive battle. Given your reports from Hammer House...we ought to assume Noxus has furnished her—and the castle—with some means of protection from magic.” She glanced at Viktor with a sorry frown. “The prospect does not bode well for us.”

            “We’re certain they’re allied with Noxus, then?” Jayce asked.

            “Lady Medarda led the council for years,” Caitlyn replied. “She’s well-trusted among the lords, so they’re primed to accept aid from her homeland, and I can think of no other source for those amulets...”

            “Even our stolen research would not have produced such artifacts,” Viktor said.

            All eyes turned to him—their cornerstone, their deliverer. He had recovered some of his strength since the battle at Hammer House, but Jayce recognized the signs of chronic fatigue. Stiffness in his shoulders. Vacancy in his expression. Dark circles under his eyes. He bore the weight of their cause, their lives, the future of their world. Jayce longed to relieve him of that burden, and knew, painfully, that he could not. Not in any meaningful way.

            “There will be limits to the wards Noxus can supply,” Viktor continued, “but my magic will likewise be restricted. We must plan to conduct this battle the old-fashioned way. Our own allies in Zaun will send as many warriors as they can muster.”

            “Noxus is a nation of war,” Caitlyn replied. “Their soldiers may outclass ours.”

            “It is almost certain that they will.”

            “What does Noxus stand to gain?” Jayce asked. They turned to him then, brows furrowed. “Like you said, Cait, they’re a nation of war. They’re not going to fight someone else’s battles without reason.”

            The question gave them all pause.

            A quiet horror dawned on Caitlyn’s face.

            “Piltover is vulnerable,” she said. “They face a formidable enemy is Clan Talis. Two members of the Lords’ Council have fallen, and those who remain are eager to seek help. What if Noxus does not intend to aid, but to conquer?”

            The already chilly atmosphere turned to ice.

            “Perhaps they have had their sights set on Piltover all along,” Viktor said. “What proof have we that Lady Medarda was truly an exile?”

            Jayce opened his mouth to speak in Mel’s defense, but silence ruled his tongue. He wanted to believe he’d known her, known her heart and desires and dreams, but the Mel he’d known would not have broken their courtship to urge Jayce into the representative mate-bond, or made him a lord to suit her purposes, and those were things which Mel had done. She had never spoken fondly of her homeland, but a lack of warmth did not equal a lack of loyalty.

            Caitlyn was already thinking several steps ahead.

            “If Noxus conquers Piltover...”

            “Zaun will not be far behind,” Viktor finished.

            Yet another reason Clan Talis had to win this fight.

            “We will march for Castle Kiramman as soon as our reinforcements arrive from Zaun,” Viktor said, and their meeting adjourned for much-needed sleep.

            Violet lingered. Caitlyn pressed a hand into her shoulder on her way out.

            “Can I talk to you, V?” Violet asked.

            The tent flap closed behind Caitlyn. Viktor motioned for Violet to go ahead. She glanced at Jayce, but Jayce was not keen to leave his mate. Viktor was exhausted, his relationship with Violet strained. She pursed her lips, but that was her only protest.

            “I don’t know what you said to Vander to get him to agree to let Zaun fight,” she said, a poor start that earned a growl from Viktor. Violet raised both her hands. “I’m not saying you coerced him, I just—Cait and I have been talking, about Zaun and Piltover and all this...chaos, and while it might be too late to fix any of it without a fight, if there was another path toward peace, would you support it? Or are you determined to fight?”

            Shutting his eyes, Viktor schooled his expression into neutrality, but Jayce felt his anger through their bond.

            He was probably the only person on earth who knew how deeply Viktor felt.

            “We began this war in pursuit of justice for Clan Kiramman’s initial raid on Hammer House,” Viktor replied. “Since then, their cruelty has only compounded, but...so has ours.” He opened his eyes to regard his sister with calm clarity. “I am not so prideful as to refuse a suitable offer of peace.”

            Violet swelled—relieved, then suddenly nervous. She swallowed.

            “What is your proposal?” Viktor asked.

            “Uh—marriage.”

            “Between?”

            “Me and Cait.”

            Jayce very nearly tipped over. He exchanged shocked expressions with Viktor, both of them wide-eyed. They looked at Violet, who shied, face red, gaze averted. Incredible that in this utterly inhospitable political landscape, two bonds between Piltover and Zaun had flourished. Jayce had not known Violet and Caitlyn shared a connection so strong, but there were plenty of things he didn’t know. What to say, for example.

            Viktor came to the rescue.

            “Vi,” he said, soft. “Of course you have our support—both as Clan Talis and as family.”

            Swallowing, Violet raised her eyes to him, an odd mixture of defiance, disbelief, and relief alight in them.

            “Does Caitlyn believe Clan Kiramman would consent to your union?” Viktor asked. “Lord Kiramman had already shunned her for far less before she defected. Surely, Cassandra will view the match as a product of sympathy.”

            “That’s one benefit of the amulets,” Violet replied. “If we can get an audience with Lord Kiramman, and agree to wear them, she’ll see for herself that you haven’t compelled us.”

            “We should have a chance to speak with her before the battle,” Jayce added. “She’s a traditionalist, like Hoskel. She may not be primed to negotiate, but she won’t break form.” Piltovian ethics practically ran in her blood. “That will be our one and only opportunity to convince her not to fight.” He looked at Violet. “What’s the likelihood she’ll stand down?”

            Violet shook her head. “Fuck if I know, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

            Against all odds, Jayce found himself nodding, almost smiling. They had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Maybe the bond Zaun and Piltover needed to truly unite was not the one between himself and Viktor, but Violet and Caitlyn. Caitlyn was the closest thing Piltover had to a prince, after all, and Violet stood to inherit rule in Zaun. Theirs was an unconventional match—a pair of alphas, the children of bitter rivals—but that filled Jayce with equally unconventional confidence.

            “It’s absolutely worth a shot.”

            Viktor levered himself to his feet and circled the table. Violet took a half step away from him, but halted when Viktor laid a hand on her shoulder and drew her into his arms.

            “I am happy for you, sister,” he said.

            Tears filled Violet’s eyes as she hugged him back.

            “Thank you for bringing forward this idea,” Viktor continued. “I know I have not been receptive to your counsel, and I am sorry for that.”

            Shaking her head, Violet parted from him to wipe her eyes and secure her composure by clearing her throat. Jayce took his opportunity to rise as well and stand beside Viktor, an arm around his waist.

            “No, I’m sorry, too,” Violet said. “I’m not—you know—tactful.”

            Viktor laughed, and it was so nice to hear a happy sound out of him that Jayce almost forgot where they were.

            “I didn’t appreciate the weight of what you’re carrying,” Violet added.

            “And I am still learning to share it,” Viktor replied. He looked up at Jayce with a gentle smile. Jayce rumbled, lightly, enough for Viktor to feel the vibration without Violet hearing. “I am grateful for your willingness to fight at our side even so. I trust this union between yourself and Master Kiramman is not strictly one of political necessity?”

            “No—I love her. Fuck, that sounds crazy...”

            Viktor chuckled. “I can empathize with you on that account.”

            Again, he smiled up at Jayce, and the affection in his eyes made Jayce’s heart swell.

            “I am hopeful this will be our path toward peace.”

            Violet hugged them both, hard, then dashed out of the tent—likely to avoid any more humiliation. Jayce and Viktor glanced at each other again and laughed. That laughter alone felt like a marvel. This glimmer of hope an outright miracle.

            Over the next few days, Zaun’s new recruits arrived by the hundreds, outfitted with their own assorted weapons and armor. They made for a stark contrast against the soldiers who wielded shimmer weaponry and wore Silco’s armor and Viktor’s masks, but they did not need to be trained to fight. Caitlyn organized drills nevertheless, teaching them to march and hold formation. Soon, Ekko and his division broke down their border camp and joined the main force. Two thousand became three thousand became four thousand, then five.

            An energy buzzed through the encampment—something Jayce could only describe as fighting spirit. It occurred to him for the first time that while Piltover had publicly celebrated the peace, Zaun had not. Jayce understood why now. The injustices Piltover had inflicted on Clan Talis were the same which they had inflicted on Zaun for decades. Jayce had wanted, and chosen, to fight.

            He wouldn’t turn away a single sword.

            Together, he and Viktor reviewed tactics. Zaun’s warriors learned to hold a line. Ekko brewed small draughts of enhanced shimmer using a set of alchemical tools Viktor had retrieved from the workshop in Silco’s tower. Violet kept morale high while managing expectations—spreading the word that if it was possible to avoid the battle altogether, everyone was to lay down their arms and return to Zaun without protest. They all agreed.

            The last cadre of Zaunites arrived by the end of the week. Sevika led their march.

            “Decided one miserable Pilty’s head wasn’t enough for me,” she said with a grim, wolfish grin when Jayce and Viktor received her.

            “There may not be more heads to claim,” Viktor replied, but Sevika shook her own.

            “Fine by me,” she said. “Means fewer of our own dead, too.”

            Viktor called a gathering of their captains outside the command tent to ensure everyone was up to speed. Sevika, Violet, Ekko, and Caitlyn mingled among them—the latter with an uneasy excitement. She had probably anticipated pushback, but Zaun had welcomed her. They praised her expertise, appreciated her backbone. She was also their prince’s chosen mate. No further endorsement required.

            “No Powder?” Jayce asked.

            Viktor sighed.

            “I had hoped to see her among Zaun’s warriors, but Sevika’s unit will be the last.” He gestured with a handful of missives in his hand which Sevika herself had delivered. Details about the defensive measures in Zaun and confirmation to proceed with the march on Castle Kiramman. “I am afraid my apology to her was a poor one. While I did not forbid her from fighting, I did encourage her to choose a supportive role, and, well...”

            “Better for her not to see combat,” Jayce replied.

            Viktor’s brow furrowed, but he nodded, then called their gathering to order.

            The plan was simple. Following Piltovian tradition, Jayce and Viktor would approach Cassandra for the final meeting between lords—and Caitlyn and Violet’s final attempt to persuade her to yield. If negotiations broke down, Clan Talis and Zaun would fight with Clan Kiramman and Noxus. First priority: the removal of any amulets or other wards against sympathy. Second priority: immobilizing Kiramman and Noxian leadership as swiftly as possible. Everyone was to wait for Viktor to create favorable terrain before launching any attacks. If they were destined for a fight, it was going to be a long, hard fight to the death.

            Not one of their captains shied from the challenge.

            “There is one final matter I wish to bring to attention,” Viktor said. “I am uncertain whether or not we will face this particular threat, but I would rather worry than be caught unaware.” He glanced at Jayce, briefly, out of the corner of his eye. “Mel Medarda is a mage.”

            Jayce’s breath rushed from his lungs.

            Mel was a mage.

            Did she know? If so, how for long? Since she’d come to Piltover? Before? What terrible purpose had brought her to these shores in the first place? Piltover’s clans held no love for mages and had given them no quarter since they’d founded their nation. Strange, in retrospect, to consider how easily a Noxian exile had earned herself a place leading the Lords’ Council. That had not happened by accident.

            “Her magic is nascent, but I have sensed its flow within her. If she has mastered the means to truly channel the Arcane, I would ask that you leave her to Lord Talis and myself.”

            Murmurs spread throughout the gathering, but no one objected.

            “We march on the morrow,” Viktor said.

            Dismissed, the captains made way to make their preparations. Jayce stared at Viktor.

            “How long have you known?” he asked.

            “Since the boar hunt,” Viktor replied.

            Jayce reeled. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

            Viktor regarded him solemnly. “It was not my secret to tell.”

            That was fair enough.

            “Are you angry with me?” Viktor asked.

            “No—” Jayce answered, too quickly. “I just—I wish I’d known...”

            He’d never known Mel. Not really. He’d known his own idea of her. She had never confided in him, and they never would have bonded. A bond would have exposed her thoughts and feelings to him in a way Jayce had neither comprehended nor appreciated until he’d forged his bond with Viktor. Even without looking at his mate, Jayce sensed his concern over having kept this secret as clearly and keenly as if he was the one concerned.

            Jayce wrapped a hand around the back of Viktor’s neck.

            Such a remarkable man, his bondmate.

            “That’s quite the load of leverage you’ve held over one of Piltover’s  lords,” Jayce said, surprising himself with the warmth in his voice.

            “She would not have known I held it,” Viktor replied, “nor do I believe I would have ever needed to employ it. Lady Medarda had the makings of a true ally. I am sorry to go against her in this capacity, and not simply because she is a formidable opponent.”

            Jayce had to agree with him. He rolled the thought along his mind once more before letting it go, squeezing Viktor’s neck a little with his fingers.

            “We can do this,” he said.

            “We must,” Viktor replied.

**

On the eve of battle, returned at last to their nest, Viktor slept so soundly, he woke feeling transformed. His mind proved clear as they rose and dressed. His legs proved strong as they broke down their camp. His voice proved steady as he gave orders to their army. When he donned his mask, the Arcane proved clear and strong and steady. A force of nature, a force of will. His to command.

            Five thousand Zaunites crossed the border and marched over the Kiramman hills.

            Above, the sky shone blue. A light wind ushered a few clouds across that great expanse. As the morning warmed, the road turned to mud beneath their feet. Across the hills, fields of purple and yellow crocus had begun to bloom, their petals piercing through the ice and snow. 

            Spring had shown her face at last.

            Clan Talis had no time to halt their march, and so the soldiers ate and drank as they walked. Viktor and Jayce set the example at the head of their procession. Afternoon would see them to Castle Kiramman. They kept a stable pace to warm their bodies without risk of exhausting before a fight.

            However, when they arrived, the view exhausted on sight alone.

            Castle Kiramman had transformed, too.

            Soldiers in red cowls and iron armor lined the battlements, bearing strange halberds with long, straight blades that glinted in the sunlight. Along the outer walls, enormous stones hung suspended by red ropes, their surfaces etched and glowing with green runes. The stones formed a network of wards, each linked to its neighbors and to every tower. The drawbridge was shut tight, a rune stone suspended above it from the barbican. At the right angle, a green dome was hazily visible, enclosing the entire castle and a stretch of land around the frozen moat.

            The Arcane recoiled within Viktor at this aggressive display of anti-magic.

            A siege it was to be, then.

            He gave the order for their soldiers to make camp along the tops of the hills surrounding the castle. Their most defensible position, should any Kiramman fighters emerge from their stronghold. He sent word for Caitlyn, and the young woman soon appeared.

            “Are these wards familiar to you?” Viktor asked.

            She clicked her tongue, a disgusted scowl fixed upon the castle.

            “It had not been outfitted thus before I left,” she said.

            “Mel must have been convincing,” Jayce replied, shaking his head. “If Noxus really is here to conquer, they’re already inside the walls of Piltover’s most defensible castle.”

            A grisly prospect. One which blanched Caitlyn’s face.

            It was then a deep and resonant horn blew. The sound belonged neither to Piltover nor Zaun, but to Noxus. The rune stone on the barbican rose. The drawbridge lowered. From within the castle, a small retinue of two emerged, shielded from the sun by a red canopy. It was madness to step beyond the bounds of their fortified shelter.

            They must have been confident.

            “Caitlyn, coordinate with Vi and prepare our soldiers for battle once the camp is set,” Viktor said. “Jayce and I will meet this envoy.”

            Jayce hefted his hammer and the two of them descended the hill.

            Underneath the canopy, they did not encounter Cassandra Kiramman, whose castle this should have been, but Mel Medarda, whose castle it had become.

            She was resplendent, as always, though changed. She wore her hair down her back and had traded white clothes for black. Something had hardened in her expression, too, but Viktor failed to pinpoint her exact emotions as one of those Noxian amulets encircled her neck. More concerning than the amulet, however, was the new staff she carried. Shining gold, like her skin. Covered in runes and identical in construction to the first staff Jayce had made for Viktor. They must have found or forced a smith to recreate it.

            “Lady Medarda,” Viktor said in greeting.

            “Herald,” she replied, bowing her head. “Lord Talis.”

            “Curious that you see fit to keep Piltover’s customs before a battle when so much of Noxus now stands behind you.” Viktor cast his eyes upward to the crenellations on the battlements, the soldiers visible between the notches. “Why risk the safety of your stronghold?”

            “Piltover is my home,” Mel replied. “I respect its traditions.”

            She had with her that same beta honor guard she had brought to Hammer House to receive Clan Talis’s declaration of war. This meeting had an identical stink about it—held out of obligation, a formality to cover Piltover’s honor and ease their conscience, unconcerned with reaching an actual accord. Viktor withheld a snort of humorless laughter in the interest of brokering a real negotiation.

            “Was all of this necessary?” Jayce asked, gesturing at the wards.

            “Clan Talis has but one objective,” Mel said. “The Herald and the Hammer have repeatedly demonstrated their capacity for great feats of magic. Had Castle Kiramman forgone the wards, would you not simply have torn down her walls?”

            “The Herald and the Hammer,” Viktor replied.

            Mel glanced his way. “Such is your epithet among the commons.”

            “And among kings.” His mother had used the same address. “Tell me, how fare the commons in this time of war with Zaun’s ports and bridges closed? I understand you have held my homeland accountable for breaking the treaty, but of course the Lords’ Council would not disclose their own machinations to the commons. Your rule remains dependent on their submission, after all. The Herald and the Hammer were quite popular amongst Piltover’s common people not so long ago. Perhaps their unrest has more to do with the council’s betrayal of the peace than the clan heads would like to admit.”

            “The Lords’ Council has not betrayed the people,” Mel snapped with surprising venom.

            “One of them began this war, one of them has died for it, one has sword fealty to Clan Talis, and one more has opened the gates to a daunting enemy,” Viktor replied, indicating the Noxian soldiers with a flick of his eyes. “How would you describe such actions if not betrayal?”

            Mel clenched her jaw and said nothing.

            “Why is Noxus here, Mel?” Jayce asked outright.

            “They are Piltover’s allies in this war,” she replied. Her face remained a mask of perfect politics. “They have supplied wards to protect our soldiers and stronghold. They stand guard atop our battlements as a show of good faith and kinship.”

            “In exchange for what, exactly?”

            Shifting, Mel gathered her words. “Well, as you can see,” she began, “Piltover has completed the construction of certain magical implements.” She motioned with the staff. “Many of our own soldiers have been supplied with this new weaponry. Noxus...will receive their share of these weapons when all is said and done.”

            “So you have let them into your castle and furnished them with the tools of your slaughter,” Viktor replied. Mel leapt to deny it, but Viktor continued, “Your weapons are no threat to us, Lady Medarda. Jayce and I designed them. Their operations will be quite simple to thwart. The Clan Talis army, on the other hand, bears weapons wholly alien to Piltover.” His mind prickled to think of the shimmer weaponry now, this thing which had driven a wedge between himself and Jayce, which had cost his dear pilgrims their lives. “Weapons you can neither comprehend nor counter.”

            Closer to the castle now, Viktor had a better view of the runes and determined their purpose. They were tuned to counteract the Arcane. The amulet around Mel’s neck bore modified runes which blocked the blood magic of sympathy. Shimmer, as synthetic magic based in sympathy, would likely pass through the castle’s wards unimpeded—or at the very least only with reduced effect.

            They might end this siege swiftly after all.

            “Your weapons come from Zaun,” Mel said as if that was any kind of condemnation.

            “Of course,” Viktor replied. “I sought aid from my homeland as you sought aid from yours. Zaun has furnished us with warriors and the means to conduct this battle. However, Clan Talis’s goals have not changed. We seek recompense from Lord Cassandra Kiramman only. We need not fight. We need not lay siege.”

            “We’re not here to conquer anyone, Mel,” Jayce said. “And we’re not messengers of Zaun either. If we win this battle, that’ll be the end. Zaun won’t use it as an excuse to crusade.”

            He fixed her with an imploring expression, a question in his eyes.

            Can you say the same of Noxus?

            One look at Jayce and something sundered in Mel. Her implacable mask cracked. Her grip tightened around her golden staff. A tiny, helpless breath escaped her mouth. For the briefest flash, she looked like a cornered fox.

            “I am an exile from my family,” she said as if she could not keep the words from spilling forth. “I came to Piltover to prove myself. At the time, I believed I only wished to prove myself to myself, but Noxus has taken advantage of that desire. They came bringing offers of aid the council could not refuse. I was...I am powerless to stop it. This crisis has spiraled so far out of my control, I—” She laughed, a desperate hollow thing. “I know war. I know that it must be avoided at all costs. I do not wish to fight any more than you do.”

            But this war had the momentum of hundreds of years of hatred behind it now, had the backing of a powerful, war-fed nation. Such forces were nigh unstoppable.

            “We have an idea, Mel,” Jayce said, “but we’ll need your help.”

            Presented with hope, Mel stared at Jayce as if she dared not believe he spoke true.

            “Tell me,” she said.

            “Well, it’s really Cait and Vi’s idea,” Jayce replied, “but they want to marry.” The proposition struck Mel with the same shock as it had Jayce and Viktor. “I know it sounds mad, but they’re earnest. Obviously, there will still be things to work out, scores to settle, but it might put an end to the violence now. They want to meet with Lord Kiramman, but Cassandra’s not likely to believe them unless they have a pair of those amulets. Could you provide those? Would you see if Cassandra’s willing to talk? Viktor and I don’t even have to be there...”

            Her lips parted, Mel stared at both of them, and her silence seemed to last a lifetime.

            “You’re serious?” she breathed.

            Jayce nodded.

            “It is mad, but...” Mel’s eyes shined. “I will speak with Lord Kiramman im—”

            At the far end of the castle, sudden commotion. Horns blew, soldiers shouted, magic and anti-magic alike tore through the air. That warded dome rippled, and revealed a Noxian army stationed around the edge of the moat.

            A trap.

            They should have expected no less.

            The time had come to fight.

            Viktor wheeled to subdue Mel as she simultaneously unleashed a flare of golden magic from her staff. The force knocked Viktor off his feet. The Noxian army advanced. Zaun’s horns sounded. Viktor looked up in time to see Jayce step in front of him and brace his hammer to deflect a sword blow from Mel’s honor guard.

            On the hill, Zaun’s warriors scrambled to abandon camp and form ranks.

            Jayce deflected a second strike and swung the end of his hammer up to bludgeon the beta’s wrist, disarming her.

            “Back off, Elora,” he growled.

            She had no choice but to fall into a defensive position as Viktor struggled to his feet.

            “This is how you honor Piltover’s traditions?” Viktor spat. “Pretty agreements which a disguise sneak attack?”

            Mel did not reply. That minor exercise of magic had winded her. Viktor knew the look on her face without the aid of sympathy, for he had felt that drain thousands of times himself. The burning burden of the Arcane.

            “Your forces—struck first,” she replied.

            “Nonsense,” Viktor snarled. “They had not even formed ranks.”

            “The ward...” was all Mel could say.

            “You didn’t lift it?” Jayce replied.

            “I did not.”

            On the hill, Zaun’s fighters had not quite fallen into formation when they met the full brunt of the Noxian army. The clash of sword on sword and pike on shield echoed across the field with a great crack. Bodies met blade, and the dying began. Viktor moved to aid his soldiers, but again that golden magic flared, this time blocking his path to his people.

            “Do not test me, Mel Medarda,” he growled, and the Arcane rose within him, roiling and raging for release. “You may wield a herald’s staff, but you are unproven and unpracticed. A fight between us will not go your way.”

            She lashed at him with a wave of brilliant light. Viktor opened a deep, narrow hole in the ground beneath her, but she fell only a short distance before catching herself on one of her golden barriers and hauling herself out. Elora had retrieved her sword in the meantime, but had no barrier for protection when Viktor opened the ground beneath her instead. She tumbled into the earth up to her neck. Mel growled, eyes alight, golden skin glowing. Her gaze focused on Viktor and he felt her—felt her mind in his mind, felt her hands on his magic, felt what she felt, the fear and the anger and the betrayal.

            If she fathomed him fully, she had the capacity to turn his magic to her own benefit.

            Piltover had no idea whom they had welcomed into their midst.

            The mage Mel Medarda bared her teeth. Brutal and efficient, the Noxian army carved their way up the hill just as they would carve their way across Piltover to Zaun. Again, the Arcane raged in Viktor. The Clan Talis army would not withstand such attacks for long.

            “Mel,” Jayce said, stepping between them, hand raised and hammer lowered. “Noxus is here to conquer the peninsulas. Are you?”

            Attuned to Mel through her own magic, Viktor sensed her deep, abiding, aching sorrow, her fierce wrath. Two thorns planted in her from childhood, nurtured to prick and to cut. He knew them as well as he knew the gray, festering wounds in his own heart. Both were the wounds of children with parents whose love confused and confounded, parents who reared with sharp edges and hands as heavy as their expectations. They were both children cast aside in the name of conquest.

            Viktor took a risk.

            He opened himself to her.

            Her awareness of him bloomed, and her instinctive probing pushed to the forefront of her consciousness. Mel gasped, overwhelmed. She would know every thread of Viktor’s magic, know how to bend that magic to her will, but...

            “Lady Medarda,” he said, “we are both of us omegas, both of us mages. I know what it is to be wielded as a weapon. I understand the desire to prove yourself to family. I speak now not as a counselor, but as one who was once your ally and would be again. The Arcane is a curse.” He let her touch the edges of his erosion, let her see her own future in his fate. “If you must wield this power, wield it as you will. Do not let anyone make you a passenger in your own life.”

            With that, he severed the connection between them, shunting her from his mind with the power of sympathy for her amulet shielded only herself.

            Mel stumbled and steadied her footing with the golden staff.

            Again, her silence stretched a lifetime.

            “Your proposal...” she breathed. “Was it sincere?”

            “Yes,” Viktor replied.

            Gritting her teeth, Mel squeezed her eyes shut. Then, straightening, she unleashed a tremendous, harrowing cry that carried across the battlefield.

            “Noxus—stand down!”

            But Noxus did not stand down.

            Noxus continued their attack against Clan Talis.

            “STAND DOWN!”

            She lacked the power of sympathy to compel them, and even if she had had such magic, the amulets around their necks would have prevented her. This army was not hers to command. She was an exile in truth, and Noxus had indeed come to conquer. A visible shiver swept down Mel’s spine. Terrified, she turned to Jayce and Viktor.

            “I will locate Lord Kiramman and tell her of your proposal and Noxus’ betrayal,” she said. Bracing her staff against the ground, she pulled Elora from the earth and two started for the castle. “Go. Protect your people. I will find you when I have secured an audience.”

            “Mel—” Jayce called, and she glanced backward over her shoulder. “—thank you.”

            They nodded at each other, then Mel and Elora moved swiftly toward the drawbridge and Jayce turned to Viktor, extending his hand.

            “Let’s go, princess.”

            With Jayce’s support, Viktor ran, only slipping on the ice once. The plan had been for him to manipulate the terrain to their advantage, and so manipulate the terrain he must. As they neared the hill where their soldiers fought, order began to emerge from the chaos under Caitlyn and Violet’s competent leadership. Formations materialized, lines held. Shimmer shields and pikes to the front, archers at the rear. Red blood and brown mud soiled the snow, but Clan Talis had given no ground.

            “Zaun!” Viktor called, his voice amplified by sympathy to cross the battlefield. “Brace!”

            He slammed the end of his staff through the snow, past the ice, and into the earth. He had exercised magic like this before, against Clan Salo, but now the wards surrounding Castle Kiramman fought against him. Nevertheless, the ground beneath the Clan Talis army rumbled, a sheer ring of frozen earth rising slowly, encircling the castle.

            Noxus regrouped with haste. The fighters at the front simply mounted the earthen wall. Zaun endeavored to badger them back over the edge. Viktor pulled against the wards for every inch of height, the light flaring in his staff. The Noxians with a clear view quickly identified him as the source of this magic and a unit peeled off to dispatch him. Hammer raised, Jayce stepped between Viktor and the advancing Noxian detachment.

            “Keep casting,” he said. “I’ll hold them back.”

            Viktor’s heart twisted at the absolute faith Jayce placed in him, at the absolute trust he held in return. Their unbreakable bond—their forever—which demanded nothing and gave everything, a most benevolent god who required neither obeisance nor sacrifice. Viktor wrested more control from the wards, for Jayce could not hold back the enemy indefinitely.

            The ground beneath the two of them lifted just as the Noxians arrived.

            The soldiers attempted to mount this new pillar, but jumped back as Jayce swung his hammer at their heads. Most moved to encircle the pillar. A few reached up and dug their fingers in the earth. Jayce brought the hammer down upon their hands, and the impact released a flash of green light—anti-magic within their armor protecting their limbs from complete destruction though Jayce forced their grips open. They changed tactics, drawing bows and throwing knives. Jayce knocked these missiles from the air, but took a cut across the cheek, and several more across his hands as the Noxians aimed to disarm him.

            His blood called to Viktor with a distinction no other blood possessed. His mate was wounded, and feral instinct raged in response. Sympathy begged for the use of that blood. Between sympathy and the surging of the Arcane, Viktor found himself split into two minds. One present with Jayce, concerned for his safety. The other facing down the depths of the Arcane, channeling its chaos through the conduit of his body into the world. The staff Jayce had designed negated the strain, yes, but nothing could completely negate the need for components.  

            A chill swept through Viktor and froze the mask upon his face. He had refused to give himself over to the Arcane, but as he and the Arcane fought to dominate the wards, the Arcane also fought to dominate him.