Cassius flung the door open. He rushed to the bed, but stopped at the edge. He swallowed hard against the growing lump in his throat. His hands clenched at his side as he looked over the sad form laying on the black sheets.
Mica's back was covered in red stripes. The thin cuts were inflamed. His skin shined from the ointment a doctor had slathered on him. He hadn't let anyone help him walk back to his room. His pride would have never let anyone help him after the humiliation he'd faced.
Cassius had wanted to come to his aid. He couldn't believe the sympathy he'd felt when he saw Mica limp away. He'd almost fallen a couple times on his way to the large doors. But after he'd shoved the first guard off of him, no one had tried to help him.
The cabinet leaders had looked away—if it was out of respect or shame, Cassius didn't know. It didn't matter. He wanted to punch everyone of them in the face.
Cassius watched Mica. He took in the way his back rose and fell with each labored breath. His eyes roamed over the lashes, counting them and memorizing their pattern. Maxem hadn't gone easy on his son. He'd whipped Mica like he was slave.
Disgust rolled through Cassius. But it faded fast. Something else washed over him, something more maddening than anger or disgust.
He collapsed to his knees. He covered his head with his arms and let his face fall down onto the end of the mattress.
The tears were worthless. They were bitter. Still, they fell with no good reason down his face. He gritted his teeth as he tried to fight the tears off. He didn't last long though. He threw in the towel and let them come.
He smothered his face into the sheets, wishing he was locked away in a cell.
With his military status stripped away from him there were less sanctions on him. The rights of a bed slave were less than, but the freedoms were somehow more. He didn't need to be leashed in public—it was more fashion and humiliation tactics than utility—and with Mica's permission, he could leave the building by himself.
He wasn't permitted on missions and the duties expected of him were dehumanizing.
The worst of all though, the thing he didn't even want to think about, would break him. He would do anything Mica wanted, do anything, to get out of it.
The trade off for having more freedom was removing his magic completely. He'd basically be castrated.
Some said a Mekiah could go insane if cut off from their magic. Usually, Mekiah were sorted out at an young age and had their magic removed by an Exteru. It wasn't painless but having not experienced magic that much lessened the painful ache.
Cassius was more attached, more connected to magic that any Mekiah before him. He was directly hooked up. He was thrumming with so much magic that have it cut away from him would be like cutting off a limb. It might even be worse than that. It'd be like removing a part of his brain.
"Hnn..."
Cassius held still as Mica moaned in his sleep. He slightly moved and groaned when he moved the muscles in his back.
Cassius got up and furiously wiped his face. He moved to the side of the bed and crouched there so he was level with Mica's face.
He was asleep as Cassius had suspected. His brows were pulled together and the rest of his face was scrunched in obvious pain. His hands grabbed at the sheets, clenching the fabric as he mumbled something.
Cassius placed his hand onto Mica's arm. The man flinched, but didn't pull away. Cassius kept his hand there even though it felt wrong. He rubbed his thumb in circles. The soothing action actually relaxed Mica a little. His breaths were longer and less hurried.
But Cassius didn't let himself think that Mica was someone he needed to help. The Mica before him was only a sliver of the man. He wasn't weak and fragile.
It was hard to convince himself of that when Mica laid before him at his weakest. He didn't like it. He wanted General Rexton. He wanted the man that made him see red and made him want to kill. He wanted someone to hate.
He didn't want to see the humanity that even a man like Mica could still have.
***
Mica didn't wake until the next day.
Cassius was sitting at Mica's desk, reading a book about military strategy that was more boring than staring at the blank wall.
"Ah!"
He threw the book down and jumped up from the chair. Mica was halfway off the bed, struggling to get to his feet.
"What are you doing?" Cassius rushed to the other side of the bed and stopped Mica from getting up. "You're going to rip them open again."
The cuts were just starting to scab over. Any quick movement would open them back up and if they didn't heal in a decent time there was a chance they could get infected.
"Let me up," Mica growled out. He pushed Cassius's hands away. He grabbed onto the side of the bed and pulled himself up.
He stopped there with his torso on the bed and his legs shakily holding him up. He panted, already out of breath.
"Jesus," Cassius cursed as he looked over the slashes. A couple had opened up and they were actively bleeding. They looked worse than when they were fresh.
"Don't move." The order came out before he could think twice about it.
He faltered for only a second. He shook his head and moved to the desk where the doctor had left ointment and disinfectant wipes.
While magic could be used to heal superficial cuts like these, it was more of a waste to do so. The doctor had used some of his magic to heal some of it, a trade off that was made only because the doctor liked Mica.
As Cassius held the ointment in his hand and looked at it, he thought how different their lives were going to become. General Rexton had been making his way up, proving himself one step at a time, but here he was now. Bed ridden after his father publicly whipped him.
Cassius was no longer delusional to think he was ever close to being free. But he'd gained more freedom than he otherwise would have if Rexton hadn't shown up.
Except now here he was. A bed slave taking care of his master.
His anger was nowhere to be found. He chalked it up to still being in shock.
"I don't want it," Mica said as Cassius walked toward him.
Cassius snorted. "You most definitely want this."
He squirted a bit on his fingers and didn't hesitate when he worked the jelly-like substance over Mica's cuts.
"Ah!" Mica yelled out. "Stop!"
He elbowed backwards at Cassius, but Cassius stepped to the side, evading the flailing limb.
He got most of it over the wounds and wiped the excess onto the top of Mica's shoulders.
"There. You'll feel better, trust me."
He was only slightly weirded by his reference to his own whipping. If Mica understood what he meant, he didn't show it. The man pressed his face into the covers as he caught his breath.
Cassius put the ointment back where it was on the desk. He cleaned his hands on his pants. The ointment had a numbing effect that made his fingers feel cool.
The silence that followed was more awkward than him caring for Mica. It was as if both of them didn't know how to move on from here. Their roles had changed in ways that weren't exactly outlined. It was then that Cassius realized that he'd become to accustomed to being told how he should act and behave that he didn't know how to be his own person when given the chance.
What would the Cassius do now?
The answer was more disappointing than the possibilities. Cassius did nothing.
He sat in the chair at Mica's desk and waited. For what, he didn't know. An order? A response that would trigger him? He felt stupid for not being at all confidence in himself.
"I'm sorry."
Cassius went rigid.
"You keep saying that."
Second time wasn't the charm. As he'd felt the first time Mica had said it, he felt angry. It was as if Mica thought that saying those words were enough. It wasn't. Cassius didn't feel better and he still hated Mica all the same.
Mica groaned. He pulled himself onto the bed. Cassius listened to him struggle. He was going to let Mica suffer—give him a taste of his own medicine—but the better side of himself couldn't stand to listen much longer.
With a sigh, he turned. "Let me help you."
He didn't wait for Mica to give him the go ahead. He crawled over the bed and grabbed Mica's arms. He helped Mica lay back on his stomach. He grabbed a pillow and tucked it under Mica's head.
Cassius brushed a piece of hair from Mica's face. Their eyes locked.
Cassius paused, his fingers still in Mica's hair.
"Thank you," Mica said.
Cassius pulled away. He gave a jerky nod. Mica grabbed his arm before he could get too far away.
"I meant it. Both times."
It took Cassius a second to realize Mica was talking about his apology. He looked at the hand on his arm and then at Mica.
A snort bubbled up before he could stop it. Mica just looked too funny with his face smushed against the pillow.
Mica glowered. "You're laughing at me?"
Cassius shook his head. "Not at you. Just this—this situation."
A quiet moment passed between them. With his thoughts swirling all around him, he came to a conclusion that might not be what Mica wanted to hear.
"I'm not ready to forgive you right now."
He gently took Mica's hand into his. He lowered it to the bed and before he could change his mind, he leaned down and pressed his lips to Mica's forehead.
The kiss was a possibility, a somewhat promise that Mica could win Cassius's forgiveness in the future. Cassius couldn't say it, he couldn't even think of another way to convey such a thing.
And when Mica closed his eyes, not opening them even when Cassius pulled away, Cassius knew Mica understood.
***
Maxem gazed out the large windows that overlooked his massive backyard. It was more than a backyard—it was a courtyard of thriving plants he'd collected from many different worlds. Unknown to anyone except the original Exterus that had landed with him over a thousand years ago, Maxem wasn't a savior as he liked the Remu to think. He was nothing more than a colonizer.
He didn't quite detest the word or the framing. By definition that was what Exterus were. They'd encountered this planet and the enslaved Remu whom which were seeking salvation. Maxem just happened to give it to them. Did he do it out of the kindness of his heart? Or had he done it simply for his own gain?
The answer was quite obvious. He'd needed a way to overtake the Mekiah. He'd arrived in a small ship with only fifteen thousand men and women at his side. That wouldn't be enough to fight against over millions of Mekiah.
The Remu were like ants. The Mekiah had been farming them like ones too for millenniums. A revolt with Exterus military prowess and advanced technology had gone perfectly.
Except Maxem wasn't satisfied.
He twisted around in his chair. He gazed around his home office—grand in every way. Everything was covered or lined with gold. The white marble was blinding to the eye. He'd picked each piece with special care, keeping in mind the whole picture he wanted to recreate.
It was boring. Surface level. He'd been young when he'd had the furniture and decor made. The hundreds of books that lined his walls were from his old home and from this new home which he'd forged.
This had been everything he'd dreamed about when he was younger. He was the king of this world. No one could stand up against him.
He sighed. The chair came to a stop once more in front of the large window.
He had this feeling. It should have been nothing. It was—if he was being rational. But he couldn't shake it. There was this growing anxiety that all he'd sacrificed for his power was going to be for nothing. His reign was coming to an end.
He forced himself to turn back around to his desk. He faced the papers in front of him that detailed what he feared most.
No one except the cabinet members knew about this. However, what none of them knew was that Maxem had lied to them all those years ago when they'd fled their mothership with him.
They knew the mothership had reached this galaxy. The radar which had been salvaged from their crash into this planet was a tracker. It had once been used to track the tiny ship that had detached from the mothership, but Maxem had made it his priority to modify it so the mothership couldn't find them.
Except now, it was showing that the mothership was getting increasingly close.
It could be a matter of months before the mothership docked the planet—and Maxem would have to face the life he'd left behind.
The secret that Maxem kept from the cabinet members was just how scaled this attack would be. He'd let them believe it was only one ship. That would be manageable for the size of army the Exterus had built. It had given them hope. It had given them reason to keep going.
But that wasn't the case.
Maxem hadn't been surprised when he got the data back. He'd made sure no one else had gotten their eyes on it. It would be the collapse of the calm he wanted to keep until the very end.
There was just one mothership on its way. There were twenty.
Maxem had done the calculations in his head many times over. Back when he left, a mothership could hold 100 million passengers with ease. Technology only could get better which meant the passenger limit probably doubled.
Four billion soldiers.
Maxem laughed at the papers detailing his demise. He rubbed his hands over his face.
"You fucking bastard."
He laughed harder as he pictured the face of the man who had no doubt made sure the Emperor had given him the resources to retrieve Maxem: Huce Krel.
The image was blurry from time. But he'd know the man when he saw them. Even time between them couldn't diminish the hatred they had for one another.
Maxem was in the process of imagining what his greatest enemy was up to when a loud knock came at his door. It opened a second later and Lucius rushed in with fury in his eyes.
"That isn't what we discussed."
Maxem had tolerated his son's attitude for a long time. He usually found it amusing, but tonight, he wasn't in the mood.
"I made it very clear that you are to knock and wait for me to let you in," he said with obvious annoyance.
Lucius paused and looked confused for a second. He wiped the expression away. He did, however, reign in the tantrum Maxem could see coming on.
Maxem covered up the papers and pushed them into a file holder. "I also never promised to get you what you want."
Lucius's calm facade broke. He made a disgusted face. "Everything he's done has undermined us. He's working for Isteria. I know it."
Maxem gave his son a look. "Just like you knew the Mekiah was working with a demon and an escaped Mekiah?"
Lucius looked away. "I can get the proof."
Maxem stood up. He tucked the file holder into his desk and locked it. "It's too late for that now. The Mekiah and Mica have been dealt with. It is you that you should be worried about."
Lucius balked. "Me?"
"Your boy, Mattius, was caught staying out past curfew." Maxem pulled a blue slip from his breast pocket. He dangled it in front of Lucius's face. "Did you know he's gotten himself caught-up in street fighting?"
Lucius snatched the report. His fluster turned to anger. "That little fucker."
Maxem chuckled. "Like I said, take care of your business before you start poking around in others. Now go. I have things to do."
***
A few days later and Mica could sit up. Cassius had just rubbed in a layer of ointment when Mica got a visitor. Cassius got up to get the door, but Mica stopped him.
"I'll get it."
Cassius would have argued if he didn't suddenly feel strange. The days that had rolled by had been without much talking between the two of them. They'd settled into a routine that involved Mica sleeping for most of the day and Cassius reading the stack of boring political books that Mica for some reason liked.
With the arrival of someone from the outside, the bubble had burst.
Mica opened the door. A soldier spoke in a low voice.
"Yes. Thank you."
He closed the door and painstakingly made his way back to the bed. In his hands was a black envelope. He threw it onto the bed.
Cassius had gone to the bathroom and washed his hands. He'd watched the exchange from the open door and had come back, wiping his hands dry. "What is that?"
He tapped the envelope. It had a velvety feel. It screamed high quality.
Mica clenched his jaw. He glared at the door like he was thinking about chasing the soldier that had delivered the letter.
"An invitation."
Cassius rose a brow. "One of your social events? Going to suck up to some cabinet members?"
It might not have been the best joke to make when Mica had been whipped in front of all of them.
Mica shook his head. "Worse. Maxem is holding a...banquette."
Cassius confusion deepened. "For what?"
"My birthday."
He couldn't hold back the snort. Mica gave him a look.
"Sorry," he laughed, covering his face. The laughter died off completely as he realized how stupid this was.
Maxem was throwing a party for his son. That he just whipped in front of everyone. God, he thought his family was fucked.
"We're not going."
Cassius stilled. "I was invited?"
He grabbed the letter and opened it.
"It's the perfect opportunity to have the public get an eye of you as a bed slave. The cabinet members need proof that you won't be on the field."
There was nothing in the letter that explicitly said that Cassius was to come, but he took Mica's word for it. Bed slave's were much like accessories. Owners liked to flash them like they were jewels.
"Are you sure your father won't get angry if you don't show up?"
Mica growled into the pillow he was clutching.
"Fuck. We have to go."