We took the chopper back home, the rhythmic thrumming of the blades doing little to soothe my frayed nerves. Levi, across from me, was noticeably restless during the ride, his gaze fixed on the disappearing landscape, a subtle tension in his jaw. I guessed he wanted alcohol in his mouth desperately, and to be honest, I completely understood him. If I had gone through something even remotely similar, I wouldn't even be able to explain it to anyone, bogged down by the sheer embarrassment and horror of it all.

After the chopper settled softly onto the landing pad, Levi helped me out of my seat, his hand firm and steady on my arm. He truly did have his peculiar domestic charms.

Once inside, I wasted no time. I unbuttoned my blazer jacket, tossed it across the living room sofa with a sigh of relief, and immediately loosened my tie. Formal clothes were simply not my thing, a suffocating constraint. Levi raised an eyebrow in a rare flicker of surprise, his gaze falling upon the discarded white suit lying in an unceremonious heap on the plush carpet. He would probably say something cutting to make me clean it up, if we were closer. After taking his own jacket off, Levi simply left for his room, leaving me in the sudden quiet of the vast living space.

I reached for the sleek glass cabinet next to the fridge, the familiar cold touch of the polished surface grounding me. We didn't store wine here; it was mostly Levi's carefully curated collection of dark, amber spirits. He loved his scotch, a singular devotion. I didn't particularly enjoy strong drinks myself, but at that moment, after the suffocating dinner, I wanted to drink scotch with Levi. I got some gourmet sweets out of the fridge, a tray of delicate truffles, and pondered absently whether we should have insisted on visiting the bakery with our chopper. It would have been an amazing story for the tabloids, a final, absurd flourish to the day's events.

I poured two generous glasses of scotch, the amber liquid glinting in the soft light, and placed them onto the coffee table, waiting for him to emerge from his room. While waiting for Levi, I unbuttoned the top few buttons of my white shirt, freeing my constricted neck, and removed my belt, allowing myself to slouch. I crawled onto the sofa, burrowing into the soft cushions. It had been a draining day, emotionally and mentally. I was sure he had suffered more than I had.

He came out of his room a few minutes later, wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt again, a fresh one.

I wanted to bitch and moan about his perpetual long-sleeved t-shirt obsession, but it seemed utterly insignificant to talk about just after he had revealed such a severely fucked up backstory. Besides, I genuinely wanted to know what was going through his mind, what made him sigh so profoundly. He gently sat on the couch, maintaining his customary distance. Levi thanked me for pouring the drinks before taking a slow, measured sip from his glass. Levi was a talker when asked, a precise fount of information, so I began, my voice hesitant yet direct, steeling myself for whatever revelation awaited. "Do you… wish to discuss your former marriage?"

Levi was obviously expecting this question; he finished his first glass in one swallow and ruffled his dark hair. "It was an arranged marriage between two noble families. We were married when we were eighteen." Levi answered, his gaze drifting to the glass cabinet, a clear desire for more alcohol in his eyes.

"That's far too young for either of you," I murmured. What a family, man. I would've bailed already just after hearing this story. I did actually bail, though.

I got off the couch and poured him another glass, placing the half-full bottle on the coffee table between us.

"Prior to that," he continued, his voice steady, "the nobles attempted to pass legislation to establish the legal age of marriage at sixteen. However, they were unsuccessful."

"So, they were going to marry you off when you were merely a teenager?" I asked, my mouth agape in genuine shock, the horror of it twisting my gut.

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"Yes. I was fortunate with the timing; I was already making preparations for my plan, which prevented them from passing the bill in the senate."

"Since when were you planning this?" I asked, utterly bewildered.

Levi watched the ceiling for a while, his expression unreadable, contemplating his response. He hesitated, unsure whether to tell me or not, the decision weighing on him. But eventually he finished his second glass, the empty tumbler clinking softly on the table, and answered. "Since the beginning, likely. But if you are asking for a chronological order, I began making moves around the time I was fifteen."

How could a fifteen-year-old child concoct a scheme of such magnitude, to ensure a bill didn't get passed, to orchestrate such a complex, generations-long downfall?

He was not just terrifying; he was unfathomable, a dark, gravitational sun around which everything else revolved. There wasn't a single thing in this country that wasn't affected by him, by his machinations. He had orchestrated the downfall of the aristocracy from the very moment his mind began to develop, from the time he was a literal child. Levi was unsettling, not in the way one would expect from someone with brute force. No, he was terrifying in that the very air of this country, once inhaled, made it impossible to escape his clutches. And yet, I found myself willingly crossing the threshold, drawn by this country's unexpected acceptance of gay people like me. I had accepted his proposal, thinking it must be for something mundane like money or inheritance, something easily understood, but I never imagined stakes this high.

A formless weight, a shadow with slender, cold hands, pressed me deeper into the luxurious cushions of the couch. The numbness in my legs crept in as the full, chilling reality dawned; he would have what he wanted, by any means necessary, no matter the cost, no matter who stood in his way.

I was petrified of him. But I was sure the moment he sensed my reluctance, my fear, he would nullify the contract between us. Since I was already so deeply entwined in his grand plan, he would simply get rid of me, effortlessly discard me. And I was in no position to blackmail him with an exposé; Levi, the architect of this revolution, would actually want his schemes to be known. Because Ascaria, the entire country, would then follow its Saint's footsteps, blindly, willingly, towards the revolution he had so meticulously planned.

He was being humble when he said I could kill the king if I wanted.

Oh. In this very room, where I was seated just a few inches away from this very man, a light bulb flickered in my head, a terrifying, illuminating realization.

That's probably why he helped everyone in this country. Because that way, he would get loyal political followers, a devoted populace. Instead of being the king himself, he would make the king bow down to him. If there was one power that was unmatched in this world, it was to sit on a throne. But if there was an even bigger power, it was to have absolute control over the person who sat on that throne.

But how could a man be so concerned about accessibility in every office in this country, about societal well-being, and yet be this menacing, this utterly ruthless? How could he feel nothing when he so very obviously knew what caring meant, what it looked like? I was not only petrified of him but profoundly confused by him. I was the mouse that was enchanted by the delicious scent of the cheese in the sticky, inescapable trap. I wanted to know, desperately, what went so wrong with him. I thought somewhere, deep within him, there was a glimmer of a conscience, a spark of humanity capable of caring. There must be still hope for him, somewhere.

I was silent for too long, lost in the terrifying labyrinth of my thoughts. Levi moved closer to my face and snapped his fingers in front of me, the sharp sound echoing in the sudden silence. "Why are you silent, Raphael?" he asked with his deep voice, his cold eyes studying my deer-in-the-headlights expression, analyzing every flicker of fear.

As if he didn't know that I was cold sweating in buckets, every nerve screaming in alarm. It felt as though he circled around me, a predator seeking weakness, his gaze searching for any sign of my resolve crumbling. I had to come up with something fast; I needed to respond, to break this terrifying silence. My mind was blank at that point, paralyzed by fear. I was scared how one wrong word from me would make Levi throw me into a pit of hell.

As I remained in my fragile state, Levi placed his palm on my forehead, the unexpected touch startling me, checking my temperature. "Raphael, are you cold?" he asked, his voice devoid of concern, the familiar flat tone that always unnerved me. "You are drinking scotch; how can you feel cold?" he asked again. He was not demanding an answer. He was, quite deliberately, illustrating my mistake, showing me where I had gone wrong.