Cyrus stumbled out of the Transport capsule, his head still spinning and throbbing with a dull ache. The world around him seemed to tilt and sway as he took a moment to steady himself. With deliberate, careful steps, he moved silently towards his destination, each footfall measured and precise despite his disorientation.
As he approached the building, a graceful figure materialized from the shadows, pulling the door open with fluid elegance. Without hesitation or announcement, Cyrus stepped inside, finding himself in a spacious suite that exuded luxury and refinement. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls dominated the space, allowing the ethereal glow of moonlight to spill across polished surfaces and cast long, silvery shadows.
His eyes roamed the opulent interior, taking in the tasteful decor and expensive furnishings. At the center of the room stood a plush sofa, its inviting cushions practically beckoning to his weary body. Cyrus allowed himself to sink into its soft embrace, feeling as though he were being gently enveloped by a cloud. Above him, an intricate chandelier cast a warm, soothing light that seemed to soften the harsh edges of reality.
"What happened to you?" Mariline's voice cut through the silence as she approached, a crystal glass of water held delicately in her slender fingers. Her eyes, filled with a mix of concern and curiosity, studied his disheveled appearance.
Cyrus accepted the offered drink gratefully, taking a long sip before responding. They had been in frequent communication since leaving the island, exchanging messages and thoughts with an ease that surprised him. Unlike his interactions with others, where every word felt calculated and guarded, he found himself able to speak openly with Mariline. There was a freedom in their conversations, a sense that he could reveal his true feelings without fear of judgment or repercussion.
"She pleaded for help," Cyrus finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. He kept his head bowed, unable to meet Mariline's gaze as the weight of his actions pressed down upon him. "But I still left."
Mariline moved to sit beside him on the sofa, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. "You weren't prepared for that, nor for the karmic monster," she said softly, her tone gentle and understanding. "You couldn't have known."
Cyrus shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "No, I did know," he countered, his voice thick with emotion. "Just like I knew accepting the queen's offer was signing a pact with the devil. I knew all of that, but what have I done about it?" As he spoke, hot tears began to trickle down his face, leaving glistening trails on his cheeks. "I-I..."
Before he could finish his sentence, Mariline leaned forward and sealed his lips with hers. The kiss was unexpected, passionate, and over almost as quickly as it had begun.
Cyrus blinked in disbelief, gently leaning back to create a small space between them. His mind raced, trying to process what had just occurred. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion and a hint of hope. It seemed almost too incredible to be real. While he had always harbored feelings for Mariline, he had long since resigned himself to the belief that his affections were one-sided. This sudden shift in their dynamic left him reeling.
"I just find you different," Mariline replied, her voice low and husky. With deliberate slowness, she stood and began to remove her night robe. The silky fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet like liquid moonlight.
Cyrus felt his throat constrict, his pulse quickening as he truly took in her appearance for the first time since entering the room. He had been so consumed by his own inner turmoil that he had scarcely noticed what she was wearing. Now, with the robe discarded, he found himself transfixed by the sight before him. Mariline stood confidently, clad only in the thinnest of undergarments. Her eyes, calm yet filled with an audacious glint, never left his face.
With feline grace, she moved towards him, crawling onto his lap with fluid movements. Cyrus felt his heart thundering in his chest, threatening to burst from its confines. At this proximity, he had an unobstructed view of every feature, every curve, every subtle nuance of her beauty.
"Let go of what you have been holding," Mariline murmured, her lips brushing against his ear and sending shivers down his spine. Cyrus trembled beneath her, a mix of desire and trepidation coursing through his veins.
Slowly, hesitantly, his trembling hands rose to caress her jaw. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent in its gentleness. But as his fingers traced the contours of her face, a name escaped his lips in a whispered breath: "Leora."
The effect was instantaneous. Mariline's eyebrow arched sharply, and in one fluid motion, she stood, retrieving her discarded night robe. "You should rest," she said, her tone suddenly cooler as she wrapped the silky garment around herself once more.
Before Cyrus could fully process what had happened or formulate a response, exhaustion crashed over him like a tidal wave. The combination of emotional turmoil and whatever he had imbibed earlier proved too potent a mixture. Within moments, he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The following morning arrived with brutal swiftness. Cyrus's eyes snapped open, the harsh light of day assaulting his senses. He sat up with a groan, feeling as though his entire body had been pummeled by a relentless opponent. His head throbbed mercilessly, veins pulsing at his temples with an intensity that threatened to split his skull.
"What exactly did you drink?" a light voice asked, cutting through the fog of his discomfort. Cyrus's bleary gaze fell upon Mariline, who approached bearing a cup of water. She was now dressed impeccably, every aspect of her appearance perfectly composed.
"A good friend of mine," Cyrus replied with a bitter laugh, slowly pushing himself to his feet. The events of the previous night were a hazy blur, fragments of memory refusing to coalesce into a coherent narrative. What he did know was that Mariline had shown him kindness by not casting him out onto the street. Still, he couldn't linger here indefinitely. The ever-present threat of the bureau loomed large, and he needed to make his exit sooner rather than later.
"What happened yesterday?" he asked, massaging his temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the pounding headache.
A smile played at the corners of Mariline's lips as she responded, "Well, we almost closed the deal."
Cyrus raised an eyebrow, an inexplicable feeling washing over him that her words weren't entirely truthful. There was something in her tone, a playful lilt that suggested she was withholding information.
"Unfortunately, I'm not called..." Mariline trailed off, offering him a conspiratorial wink.
Her demeanor as she spoke was utterly nonchalant, as though discussing the weather rather than alluding to intimate encounters. The casual way she delivered the statement only served to heighten Cyrus's confusion and embarrassment.
As realization slowly dawned on him, Cyrus felt heat rising to his cheeks. He averted his gaze, an awkward smile tugging at his lips. "I was really drunk yesterday," he admitted sheepishly. "How can I get pardoned?"
Mariline's response was philosophical, her tone thoughtful. "Some say the drunk heart makes our deepest desires resurface. I wonder if it's true?" She paused, considering for a moment before adding, "As for what I want, I haven't thought of it yet."
With those words hanging in the air, she moved to open the door. Cyrus took the cue, offering a small wave as he made his way out of the suite. Just as he crossed the threshold, Mariline's voice reached him one final time.
"And if you want my opinion, certain truths never stay hidden indefinitely. Lies always catch us back. They always do."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Cyrus alone with his thoughts and the lingering echoes of her cryptic warning.
The journey back to the villa was uneventful, and Cyrus found himself grateful for the reprieve. He spent the better part of a day off, using the time to recuperate and gather his thoughts. To his relief, it seemed that no one had noticed his absence, a small mercy in the precarious balancing act that had become his life.
As he made his way back to the training ground, fate intervened in the form of an unexpected encounter. The queen herself appeared before him, as regal and imposing as ever in her flowing gown. The familiar sight of her ever-present feline companion, nestled securely in her arms, provided a stark contrast to the deep frown etched across her features. The expression marred her otherwise angelic countenance, creating an unsettling dissonance.
Cyrus immediately bowed low, stepping aside to clear her path. He fully expected her to sweep past him without acknowledgment, as was often her way.
"Follow me," she commanded instead, her voice as cold and unyielding as steel. She didn't spare him so much as a glance as she continued forward, clearly expecting unquestioning obedience.
As Cyrus fell into step behind her, his mind raced with possibilities. What could have possibly transpired to put the queen in such a foul mood? The tension radiating from her was palpable, setting him further on edge with each step they took.
Their destination proved to be the queen's private apartments, a fact that filled Cyrus with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. As they entered her personal chambers, he was struck by how unexpectedly modest the decor was. The simplicity of the space seemed at odds with the queen's usual penchant for opulence and grandeur.
"My queen," Cyrus began hesitantly, already backing towards the door, "I don't think this is a place for me."
The look she fixed him with could have frozen blood in his veins. "Don't overestimate your importance," she spat, disgust dripping from every syllable. "You're not here for that."
Before Cyrus could process the conflicting emotions her words stirred within him—relief warring with an inexplicable sense of disappointment—the queen strode purposefully towards a large mirror. With a single, fluid motion, she pulled back the blanket covering its surface and stepped directly into the reflective glass, vanishing from sight.
Cyrus stood rooted to the spot, his jaw slack with disbelief. A part of him wanted nothing more than to flee, to pretend he had never witnessed such an impossible feat. But he knew, deep in his bones, that he had no choice but to follow. With a deep breath to steel his nerves, he approached the mirror and stepped through.
The world shifted around him in a dizzying whirl of color and sensation. When reality solidified once more, Cyrus found himself standing on the shores of an island. The rhythmic crash of waves against the rocky banks filled the air, punctuated by the distant cries of seabirds wheeling overhead. A crisp, salty breeze tugged at his clothing and tousled his hair, carrying with it the promise of adventure and hidden dangers.
Following the queen's unwavering gaze, Cyrus's eyes were drawn to a magnificent manor perched atop the island's highest point. The structure dominated the landscape, a testament to wealth and power beyond his wildest imaginings.
"She can have her own island," Cyrus murmured, awe and disbelief coloring his voice. He realized with startling clarity that he had grossly underestimated the true extent of this family's resources and influence. A small part of him rejoiced at this revelation—surely, with such vast wealth at their disposal, there would be more than enough for him to secure his father's freedom. Everything else, he reminded himself sternly, was inconsequential in comparison to that singular goal.
The queen's voice cut through his musings, sharp and filled with barely contained fury. "From now on, it's going to be hectic here. Never leave your guard down." Her eyes, when they finally met his, burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "Some bastards think they can threaten me. I, the queen, leader of the lion canine." Her lips curled into a snarl of defiance as she declared, "I will make their souls cry for mercy."
With those ominous words hanging in the air, she stepped forward, leaving Cyrus to contemplate the dangerous waters he now found himself navigating. Whatever storms lay ahead, he knew that his path forward would be fraught with peril and difficult choices. But for the sake of his father and the promises he had made, he would weather them all.