The sun had set over the Imperial Palace, painting the sky in bruises of purple and black. For most people, this was a time to rest. For Elian, it was a countdown to doom.
He stood outside the heavy oak doors of the Royal Bedchamber. The guards—two hulking Alphas named Brutus and... well, probably also Brutus—crossed their halberds.
"The Prince has retired for the night," Guard #1 grunted. "Scram, valet."
Elian checked his vision.
[Time Until Death: 72 Hours, 15 Minutes.][Status: Draining... (-1 Minute per Minute)]
"But does he have his water?" Elian pleaded, holding up a pitcher. "Does he have his extra pillow? What if he gets cold? I am a specialized thermal-regulation valet."
"He has blankets," Guard #2 said, unimpressed. "Go back to the servant's quarters."
Elian gritted his teeth. 'I can't go back there. It's five miles away from the WiFi Zone. I'll lose eight hours of life just sleeping!'
He needed a plan.
"System," Elian whispered. "Shop."
The menu popped up. He had 35 LP now (thanks to the 'Dirty Talk' bonus).
Skill: Stealth (Level 1) - 100 LP
Item: Invisibility Cloak (One Use) - 50 LP
Item: Lockpick of Silence - 30 LP
"Thirty LP for a lockpick," Elian muttered. "That leaves me with five. If I buy it, I can break in... but then what? If Cassian wakes up and finds me creeping around his room, he'll execute me for assassination attempts."
It was too risky. He wasn't at the "Bed-Warmer" relationship tier yet. He was barely at "Tolerated Furniture."
"Fine," Elian huffed at the guards. "But if His Highness wakes up with a stiff neck, it's on your heads."
He turned and walked away, the heavy sound of his cheap valet shoes echoing in the corridor.
The servant's quarters were located in the basement of the castle. It was damp, it smelled like boiled cabbage, and it was decidedly not luxurious.
Elian found his assigned bunk. It was a thin straw mattress sandwiched between a snorer and a guy who smelled like wet dog.
'This is my life now,' Elian thought, staring at the stone ceiling. 'I used to have a memory foam mattress. I used to have air conditioning. Now I have fleas and a death clock.'
He pulled up the timer. It was ticking down relentlessly.
72:00:00...71:59:59...
"Stop looking at it," he whispered to himself. "You have three days. One night won't kill you."
But it was terrifying. Every second that ticked away was a second he wouldn't get back.
Just as he was trying to close his eyes, a shadow fell over his bunk.
Elian looked up. Standing there, holding a candle, was Ambrose.
The White Lotus looked perfectly at home in the dingy basement, mostly because his white robes seemed to repel dirt by magic. He was smiling. It was not a nice smile.
"Hello, Player Three," Ambrose whispered.
Elian sat up, instinctively checking his pockets for his wallet, then remembering he didn't have one. "Ambrose. Shouldn't you be swooning somewhere?"
"I wanted to welcome you to the game properly," Ambrose said, sitting delicately on the edge of the bed.
Elian looked at the air above Ambrose's head. A golden timer floated there, ticking down lazily.
[Time Until Death: 340 Hours, 15 Minutes.]
Elian felt a spike of jealousy so sharp it almost physically hurt. 'Three hundred hours? That's two weeks!'
Ambrose looked at the red timer floating above Elian's head. "Seventy-one hours. Cutting it close, aren't we?"
"I like living on the edge," Elian drawled, trying to hide his panic. "It keeps the complexion fresh. Must be nice having a trust fund of time, though."
Ambrose laughed, a soft, tinkling sound that grated on Elian's nerves. "You got lucky today, Elian. Cheap tricks."
"Cheap?" Elian raised an eyebrow. "I got three hearts in one day. How long did it take you to get thirty? A month?"
Ambrose's smile twitched. "I have a legacy. I have a backstory. You are a glitch. A servant with no plot relevance. Do you really think you can win?"
Ambrose leaned in, his voice dropping to a hiss. "The Prince is programmed to love purity. To love tragedy. I have read the book. I know exactly what happens next week during the Solstice Festival. I know exactly what gift he wants. I know exactly what song makes him cry."
He tapped Elian's chest. "You know nothing."
Elian swatted Ambrose's hand away. "Maybe. But I'm the only one treating him like a person, Ambrose. You treat him like a vending machine where you insert trauma and get love."
Ambrose stood up, his face cold. "Enjoy your straw mattress, Valet. While you rot down here, I'll be preparing for the Festival. By next week, I'll have fifty hearts, and you'll be dead."
Ambrose blew out his candle, plunging Elian into darkness, and swept out of the room.
Elian lay back down in the dark.
"Solstice Festival," Elian muttered. "Okay. That's intel. Thanks for the tip, villain."
He closed his eyes, but he couldn't sleep. The anxiety of the timer was a physical weight on his chest. He watched the numbers drop while thinking about Ambrose's three hundred hours.
71 hours... 70 hours...
He finally dozed off around the 68-hour mark.
[SYSTEM ALERT: WAKE UP!]
Elian jolted awake. A bucket of ice-cold water had just been dumped on his face.
He spluttered, sitting up, shivering violently. Standing over him was the Head Housekeeper, a formidable Beta woman named Mrs. Gable.
"Up, Elian Vane!" she barked. "The Prince requested his bath drawn at dawn. It is dawn. You are late."
Elian scrambled out of bed, slipping on the wet floor. "I'm moving! I'm moving!"
He checked his timer.
[Time Until Death: 64 Hours, 30 Minutes.]
He had lost eight hours. Eight precious hours of life, gone while he slept on straw.
Panic clawed at his throat. He felt physically weaker than yesterday. His hands trembled as he pulled on his uniform. The 'Death Clock' wasn't just a number; it had side effects. As time ran out, his body would start to shut down.
'I need a recharge,' Elian thought, sprinting up the stone stairs toward the royal wing. 'I need a hit. I need Cassian.'
He burst into the Royal Bathroom, panting.
Cassian was already there. He was standing by the window, wearing a silk robe that was loosely tied. He looked fresh, rested, and impossibly handsome.
He turned as Elian stumbled in. "You are wet, Valet."
"Morning shower, Your Highness," Elian lied, water dripping from his nose. "Invigorating."
"You are late," Cassian noted, his voice cool. "Ambrose was here five minutes ago. He offered to draw the bath."
Elian's heart stopped. 'That snake.'
"Did he?" Elian asked, trying to sound casual as he approached the tub.
"He did," Cassian said. "I sent him away. I do not like the smell of lilies in the morning. It cloys."
Elian slumped with relief. 'Thank god for sensitive Alpha noses.'
"However," Cassian continued, stepping closer to Elian. He looked at the shivering, soaking wet valet. "You look terrible. You are shaking."
"I told you, Sire," Elian said, his teeth chattering. "I run hot. But the water was cold."
Cassian sighed. He reached out.
For a second, Elian thought he was going to hit him.
Instead, Cassian placed his large, warm hand on Elian's forehead.
"You are freezing," Cassian muttered.
[Contact: +2 Minutes.]
The warmth from Cassian's hand flooded through Elian's body like a drug. His trembling stopped instantly. The timer added a pitiful two minutes, but the physical relief was orgasmic. Elian leaned into the touch instinctively, his eyes fluttering shut.
"More," Elian whispered before he could stop himself.
"What?"
Elian's eyes snapped open. He realized he was leaning his face into the Prince's palm like a cat.
"I said... door," Elian improvised wildly. "Close the door? Drafty."
Cassian stared at him. Then, slowly, he removed his hand.
"Draw the bath, Elian," Cassian said. But his voice wasn't as cold as before. "And dry yourself off. You are useless to me if you die of pneumonia."
[System Notification: Elian +0.5 Hearts.]
'Half a heart,' Elian thought, grabbing a towel. 'I'll take it. I survived the night.'
He looked at the tub.
'Now, let's see if I can turn 'Bath Time' into 'Recharge Time' without getting executed.'