Zamiel's gaze left the man. "Is that how you cope with what you fear? By dehumanizing it?"
Cassian didn't respond immediately. The fire from the hearth crackled between them, casting shadows over his angular features. Then, slowly, he leaned back, and offered a lazy smile.
"I cope with what I fear," He said. "By making it sound like a bedtime story."
He let out a throaty chuckle, then shot to his feet with sudden energy, the dark clock he wore over his white tunic flaring behind him like wings.
"I need wine. Strong wine. Or ale, or.. hells, maybe something that tastes like dragon piss but still gets the job done."
"There's wine in the cellar." Zamiel responded dryly, barely lifting his eyes.
The latter shook his head, unimpressed. "I intend to drink from a woman's breasts."
Zamiel paused mid-sip of his thoughts. He turned his head slowly, brow arched. "Breast milk?"
Cassian winced dramatically. "Gods, no! It's called foreplay, you puritan. You pour the wine on her breasts, and then you drin—"
"Alright." Zamiel interrupted briskly, rising swiftly to his feet, already regretting the conversation. "Spare me the imagery. Go pour your wine wherever you wish, just not in my hearing range."
Without waiting for another quip, he strode toward the double doors, pushed it open with effortless grace and walked out.
Cassian smirked smugly, head tilted. "Prude." He muttered, before vanishing in a vortex of black and blue smoke.
~
When the smoke cleared, he landed soundlessly in the center of a narrow cobbled road lined with weary buildings stacked shoulder to shoulder, and dim lanterns.
Cassian flicked dust off his clothes, mischievous emerald eyes gleaming under the lights, before looking around.
"Oh?"
A small figure stood frozen near the corner, a boy, no older than ten, maybe nine. His mouth hung slightly ajar, his hands clutching a wooden knight toy, and wide eyes trembling.
Cassian tilted his head.
He approached slowly, crouched to the boy's level, and carelessly ruffled the kid's dark hair. "What you just saw," He said smoothly. "Wasn't real. Just pigment of your imagination."
The boy shook his head frantically, stepping back before bolting down the alley, screaming. "Paaapaa!!"
Cassian watched him go, amused. "These little bastards are so dramatic."
"Aren't you afraid he'll tell on you?"
The voice came from behind, and the latter turned swiftly, watching as black smoke swirled through the air before a man stepped from it, into the alley. He was tall, dressed in a plain grey tunic and dark trousers.
His right leg was reinforced with a gleaming steel frame, and in his left hand, an aid stick.
Lord Thaddeus Kaldor.
He was one of the lords entrusted with the court's affairs — those who aided the royal crown. There were six of them, handpicked by the Zamiel to assist in matters of court politics.
Lord Mordain Elvest, Lord Quillon Drevaris, Lady Vespera Crowe, himself, Lord Thaddeus Kaldor, and Lord Sullivan Ryod.
Cassian cocked his head. "Kaldor? And I thought I was the only sinful man out tonight."
"We all crawl from the same hole eventually." Thaddeus responded dryly.
The two walked side by side down the dim alley, and Cassian tucked his hands into his pockets.
"He's a child." He said. "No one will believe him. And if he persists.." He smirked. "They'll label him mad. Happens all the time with children. Poor things are so easy to dismiss."
Thaddeus said nothing.
The latter paused, then tilted his head. "And why are you here?"
"Same reason as you, I imagine." Thaddues limped forward, cane tapping softly as he kept pace.
Cassian's mouth curled upward. "Pleasure?"
"Food."
Cassian barked a laugh. "Ah. Typical Kaldor. Always hungry, never horny."
Thaddeus gave him a sidelong glance, unimpressed. "You only come for.. pleasure?"
Cassian shrugged lazily. "Pleasure keeps the mind young. A little sin, a little sweat, a lot of moaning - I find it clears the conscience."
Thaddeus frowned. "I find no use in pleasure." He said blandly. "It distracts the mind. Makes men foolish." His gaze shifted back to the front as they turned down a red-stoned alley.
"I was stabbed once, during sex. Laid low by a beautiful woman."
Cassian's brow quirked up. "A harlot?"
"My stepsister." Thaddeus' tone remained flat. "Sent by my biological mother to seduce and murder me."
Cassian blinked, then shook his head with a smug smile. He looked forward again. "But you're married."
"Indeed."
They walked in silence, boots clicking in sync over wet stone. Cassian didn't speak for a while. Until he chuckled.
"You need the wine more than I do, Kaldor."
Lord Thaddeus only hummed, and the pair finally reached the wide doors of the brothel. Warm light spilled from within, and the moment they stepped through, they were greeted by a riot of colors, flesh, and moans - half-naked women straddling noblemen, bodies rubbed with oil and wine, laughter filling the air.
Cassian's eyes swept the room lazily, the corners of his lips curling. He recognized far too many faces. Lords with wives, and daughters, the same age as the girls in their laps, grinding without shame.
"I believe this is where I depart, Cassian." Thaddues spoke.
Cassian raised a brow but didn't protest. The older man gradually limped off into the crowd, quickly swallowed by the bodies.
The latter stretched, folding his arms lazily behind his head and scanned the crowd. He searched for the ripest catch of the evening. One who could suffice his hard member.
"Lord Cassian!"
A familiar voice boomed, and from the stairs descended a man. The rotund brothel master, Sir Farrow Grimsby, hurried down, dressed in layers of thick royal blue silks, studded with pearls, rubies, sapphires and a few diamonds that must've been stolen from a noble or two.
Cassian smirked. "Grimsby."
"The very one!" Farrow grinned, arms outstretched. "Our ever-regular patron! Twice in one month? I must be dreaming!"
Cassian chuckled. "I'd hardly say you're dreaming. More like praying I spend enough to replace your failing wine stock."
"Oh, you wound me my lord!" Farrow clutched his chest dramatically. "I provide only the finest for my finest customers. And tonight, oh tonight my lord — you are in for quite the delicacy!"
Cassian arched his brow. "Delicacy?"
"Mm-hmm!" Farrow nodded, eyes gleaming. "As luck would have it, we've got a new one! Small pretty thing, sharp mouth, and of course came willingly haha! Price was rather low for such a gem, if you ask me. Fresh off the market — but oh, there's a bite to them. A little beast."
Cassian's interest piqued. "You know how I feel about beasts, Grimsby."
"Which is why I thought of you!" Farrow grinned. "They tried to stab me, Lord Dainhart. Can you imagine? A blade to my throat! I nearly wept. But I tamed them!"
Cassian slipped a gold sovereign from his pocket, spun it between his fingers, and flicked it into Farrow's palm, paying no heed to his rant. "I'll take your little monster."
Farrow kissed the coin. "Ohoho, a gold sovereign? How generous of you my lord!" He beamed, pocketing the coin. "They're in your usual suite. I made sure everything was prepared to your liking!"
Cassian offered a smile. "Excellent."
—And finally, he peeled himself away from the intoxicating noise below, his boots echoing up the stairs. He didn't need directions.
Room nine was his, always had been.
After the third time he left the place, disgusted - bedsheets tangled with crusted cum and the scent of at least ten fucks - he'd simply bought the room for himself.
Paid enough that Grimsby had no choice but to keep it spotless and untouched between his visits. The others could keep their filth. He preferred neatness during sex.
Cassian finally reached the door and smirked as his fingers turned the knob - before stepping in.
It was pitch dark inside.
He smirked.
Another little trick of the trade. Grimsby must've told the whore to impress him with seduction, some lowlight fantasy to get his adrenaline racing. They always thought they were being clever.
He closed the door shut behind him, and flicked the switch on the wall.
The overhead crystal light brightened the room.
Empty.
His smirk twichted, now more curious than amused. The bed was untouched, no trace of lace, or a half-naked siren posing on the sheets.
He tilted his head. "Playing hide and seek, are we?"
There was no response. Instead he heard a faint shuffle from behind.
Followed by—
"You bastard!"
Before he could turn, something slammed into his back and he hit the floor with a grunt, arms instinctively catching his fall.
Slender legs locked around his waist from behind, and wiry hands pinned his head down, pushing his face to the cold floorboard. A sharp knife hovered dangerously close to his eye.
"Don't try anything, you bastard! I have a kni—AH!"
The voice cracked mid-threat as Cassian's strength surged. He flipped over like it was nothing, pinning the attacker beneath him in one smooth, fluid move. The blade clattered from the trembling fingers to the floor.
Cassian hovered above the smaller body below, brown hair falling across his face as he stared down.
And he frowned.
This person was young.
Much too young for this place.
Pale cheeks flushed with fury. Wild grey eyes, glossy but defiant, curly black hair a mess and a thin frame.
He couldn't be older than nineteen, and judging from the little bruises and stiffness in his limbs, he hadn't been in this hellhole long.
Cassian chuckled under his breath. "You're not one of Grimsby's"
The boy said nothing - just glared, lips curled in hatred, before dashing his head to the side. His chest heaved heavily beneath Cassian's.
"What's your name, boy?" Cassian asked, voice low this time.
The boy scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Go to hell, you bastard lor—"
Cassian didn't let him finish. With one hand, he pinned both of the boy's wrists above his head, the other settled against his throat - and his thumb traced the delicate skin there, slowly.
"Is that so?" He murmured, smirking.
The boy stilled from the sudden contact.
Cassian's thumb pressed down, gently at first.. then firmer, and the boy's eyes went wide, panic instantly hitting.
"P-please—don't kill me." He gasped. "Don't kill me!" His voice cracked as the pressure hit his windpipe. "My name is Russell! Russell!"
Cassian smirked.
Russell.
He let the name roll in his mind, tasting it.
"I see." Cassian echoed, lips twitching. He studied the boy's face, drinking in the details. So much defiance, so much fear. Delicious.
Then, slowly, he leaned down. Just enough for his lips to graze the boy's ear.
"Tell me." He whispered, voice raspy. "Is this how foreplay is done nowa—"
Before he could finish, the boy jammed a long jagged shard of broken glass into his neck.